Gamarron moved in front of her, blocking her view of the struggle. “Nira, you must come away. I will make it unpleasant if I must.”
She wouldn’t look at him. “The more you talk the less I like you.”
He pulled her to her feet. “That is unfortunate, but it does not change our necessity.”
She yanked her arms from his grip, her expression passing from anger into disgust. “Using big words and a soft voice doesn’t make you any less of a tyrant.”
He pointed in the direction he wished her to go. “We will have to discuss it elsewhere.”
With a silent snarl, Nira turned to go just as another croaking roar split the air. The disturbance in the water doubled in size and then trebled. “Well, look at that,” Guyrin said, breaking from his muttering trance with a bemused smile. He pointed out into the swamp, and they saw Kest break the surface some distance away from the fight. He moved slowly, barely disturbing the water. He seemed to be trying to sneak away, and it was working. Gamarron now saw more than one lizard maw flashing at the heart of the conflict, and the involved parties didn’t seem to miss their human prey at all.
Nira was right there at the water’s edge to help him out when he finally arrived. He flopped onto his back on the muddy knoll, panting as if he’d run a race. A thin streamer of blood trickled down one leg and onto his bare foot, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.
“How did you get away?” Gamarron asked.
“Turns out,” the young Beast Rider heaved between gasps, “that there are a couple of the males that would like to be the mating bull this season. The one that grabbed me was the old prime breeder, and I told the others he was getting tired.”
“Was he?” Nira asked.
“Not even a little. He’d have drowned me in another minute.” Kest staggered to his feet. “We need to get away from here.”
“We were just having that discussion,” Nira said acidly, throwing a glance to Gamarron.
In short order they were back in the water, swinging wide of the brawling lizards and keeping to the shadows of the trees that lined the frequent little islands dotting the swamp. Kest took the lead, but less than five minutes later he was hustling them back out of the water and pressing them down into tall reeds, commanding silence.
Gamarron complied with an ill will. He knew Kest was in his element here, but his terrible urgency flogged him, demanding that he stand up and leave the others behind, consequences be damned. He held himself to still and tried to slow his heartbeat, but it did not respond. Frustrated, he tried again. One beat per breath. It was the simplest of the koda exercises. His body resisted, his heart trotting on heedlessly at one and three quarters beats per breath. He could not affect it, no matter how he tried.
He was so caught up in this internal crisis that he nearly missed the Naga. In fact, had one of them not murmured to her companions as they sleeked through the water, Gamarron would never have noticed their passage. There were three of them about fifteen meters out, in the center of the channel, dark hair wet and eyes alert. Only their heads and the tips of their spears pierced the surface of the water. They were moving in the direction of the brawling great lizards.
Before Gamarron could inspect them closely, one of the Naga cried out and sank beneath the black water. Her companions exclaimed in shock, and one of them dived under after her. In a moment the second Naga’s head broke the surface, but just barely. She babbled to her companion in their sibilant language, sounding alarmed. She was straining against something and having a hard time keeping her head above the waves. The other one floundered nearby, unsure of how to help.
Thick bands of seaweed snaked up out of the water of their own accord, wrapping themselves around the head of the struggling Naga. She went under, her eyes bulging in terror. With a soft cry of fear, the single remaining Naga abandoned her doomed friends, swimming mightily back in the direction from whence she came.
Renna rose from the grasses beside him, a thin bundle of seaweed clutched in her fist. Grim delight painted her face and the tendons on her neck stood proud against her skin as she strained herself in some unseen way. The plant in her hand trailed down into the water, apparently still anchored in the soil. The Weaver Hand muttered viciously, and a tangle of green burbled to the surface in front of the fleeing snake woman, snaring her in swampy loops. A wail of despair escaped the Naga, and she was gone.
The old woman took a deep breath, dropped the strand of wet foliage, and turned to Gamarron, a satisfied smile breaking the grim hollowness of her features. “Plenty of green things underwater.”
Gamarron stood. “You should have consulted me.”
She grimaced. “I don’t need your permission.”
Gamarron clenched his fists. His control was slipping both inside and out, but they hadn’t the time to argue about it. “Let’s move on.”
Renna smoothed her farm dress over her hips, looking pleased with herself. He wondered if he would ever get used to her in these drab everyday clothes. She looked like some back-country grandmother. A back-country grandmother that died two weeks ago and rose from the grave with murder on her mind, he amended. He slipped back into the water and motioned for Kest to take the lead.
The sun was red and swollen over the canopy when the young tracker motioned for the others to gather under the swaying fronds of a massive fern. Guyrin and the two women muttered curses as they discovered that they were sharing the space with a swarm of stinging gnats, but Kest shushed them. “We’re here,” he whispered, pointing across the water.
The constant,
