“A what?” Roland yelled, leaning as far over the edge as he dared.
“A fungus! A giant mushroom!”
Catching his sister’s fiery-eyed glance, Roland shrugged. “How was I supposed to know?”
“I think it’s stable enough to use for a landing anyway,” Paithan returned, after a moment’s pause. The two humans caught something additional about being “damn lucky,” but the words were lost in the vegetation.
“That’s all I needed to know,” said Roland cheerfully. “All right. Sis—”
“Stop calling me that! You’ve done it twice now today! What are you trying to do?”
“Nothing. Sony. Just a lot on my mind. Over you go.” Rega tied the rope around her waist, but she didn’t lower herself over the edge. Looking out into the jungle, she shivered and rubbed her arms. “I hate this.”
“You keep saying that, and it’s getting boring. I’m not wild about it either. But the sooner finished the sooner ended, as the saying goes. Hop on over.”
“No, it’s not just … the darkness down there. It’s something else. Something’s wrong. Can’t you feel it? It’s too … too quiet.” Roland paused, looked around and listened. He and his aster had been together through tough times. The outside world had been against them since they’d been born, they’d teamed to iety on and trust only each other. Rega had an intuitive, almost animallike sense about people and nature. The few times Roland—the elder of the two—had ignored his sister’s advice or warnings, he’d regretted it. He was a skilled woodsman and, now that she drew his attention to it, he, too, noticed the uncanny silence.
“Maybe it’s always quiet down this far,” he suggested. “There’s not a breath of air stirring. We’re just used to hearing the wind in the trees and all that.”
“It’s not just that. There’s no sound or sign of animals and hasn’t been for the last cycle or so. Not even at night. And the fctrds are silent.” Rega shook her head. “It’s as if every wild creature in this jungle is hiding.”
“Maybe it’s because we’re near the dwarven kingdom. That’s got to be it, kid. What else would it be?”
“I don’t know,” Rega said, staring intently into the shadows. “I don’t know. I hope you’re right. Come on!” she added suddenly, “let’s end this.” Roland lowered his sister over the edge of the moss bank. She rappeled skillfully down the side. Paithan, waiting below, reached up his hands to steady her landing. The look she gave him from her dark eyes warned him to stand clear. Rega landed tightly on the wide ledge formed by the fungus, her lips curling slightly as she eyed the ugly gray and white mass below her feet. The rope, tossed over the edge by Roland, snaked down and landed in a coil at her feet. Paithan began attaching his own length of rope to a branch.
“What’s this fungus attached to?” Rega asked, her tone cool and business-only.
“The bole of a tree,” said Paithan, his tone the same. He pointed out the striations of the bark, wider than both elf and human standing side by side.
“Is it stable?” she asked, looking over the rim uneasily. Another moss bank was visible below, not that far if you had a rope tied securely around your waist, but a long and unpleasant drop if you didn’t.
“I wouldn’t jump up and down on it,” suggested Paithan. Rega heard his sarcasm, cast him a angry glance, and then tamed to shout above. “Hurry up, Roland! What are you doing?”
“Just a minute, dear!” he called down. “Having a little trouble with one of the tyros.”
Roland, grinning, sat down on the edge of the moss bank, leaned up against a tree limb and relaxed. Occasionally he poked at one of the tyros with a stick, to make it bellow.
Rega scowled, bit her lip, and moved to stand on the edge of the fungus, as far from the elf as she could possibly get. Paithan, whistling to himself, fixed his rope tightly around the tree limb, tested it, then began to fasten Rega’s.
He didn’t want to look at her, but he couldn’t help it. His eyes kept darting glances in her direction, kept pointing out things to his heart that his heart wasn’t the least bit interested in hearing.
Look at her. We’re out in the middle of this Om-cursed land, alone, standing on a fungus with a twenty-foot drop beneath us and she’s as cool as Lake Enthial. I never met a woman like her!
With luck, whispered a certain vicious part of him, you’ll never meet one again!
Her hair is so soft. I wonder what it looks like when she lets it down out of that braid, falling over her bare shoulders, tumbling around her breasts…
. Her lips, her kiss was just as sweet as I’d imagined … Why don’t you just throw yourself off the edge! The nasty voice advised him. Save yourself a lot of agony. She’s out to seduce you, blackmail you. She’s playing you for a foo—
Rega sucked in her breath and backed up involuntarily, hands clutching at the tree trunk behind her.
“What is it?” Paithan dropped the rope, sprang over to her. She was staring intently straight ahead, straight out into the jungle. Paithan followed her gaze.
“What?” he demanded.
“Do you see it?”
“What!”
Rega blinked and rubbed her eyes. “I—I don’t know.” She sounded confused. “It seemed … as if the jungle was … moving!”
“Wind,” said Paithan, almost angrily, not wanting to admit how frightened he’d been, or the fact that the fear hadn’t been for himself.
“Do you feel any wind?” she demanded.
No, he didn’t. The air was still, hot, oppressive. His thoughts went uneasily to dragons, but the ground wasn’t shaking. He didn’t hear the rumbling sound the creatures made moving through the undergrowth. Paithan didn’t hear anything. It was quiet, too damn quiet.
Suddenly, above them, came a shout. “Hey! Come back here! You blasted tyro—”
“What is it?” Rega yelled, turning, standing back on the ledge as far as she dared, trying hopelessly to see. “Roland!” Her voice cracked with fear.
“What’s the matter?”
“These stupid tyros! They’ve all bolted!”
Roland’s bellow faded into the distance. Rega and Paithan heard the sound of crashing, tearing leaves and vines, felt the pounding of his feet shiver the tree, and then silence.
“Tyros are tractable beasts. They don’t panic,” said Paithan, Swallowing to moisten his dry throat. “Not unless something really terrifies them.”
“Roland!” Rega yelled. “Let them go!”
“Hush, Rega. He can’t! They’re carrying the weapons—”
“I don’t give a damn!” she cried frantically. “The weapons and die dwarves and the money and you can go to the pit for all I care! Roland, come back!” She beat on the tree trunk with denched fists. “Don’t leave us trapped down here!
Roland!
“What was that—”
Rega whirled around, panting. Paithan, face ashen, stared out into the jungle.
“Nothing,” he said, lips stiff.
“You’re lying. You saw it!” she hissed. “You saw the jungle move!”
“Ifs impossible. Ifs a trick of our eyes. We’re tired, not enough sleep …” A terrifying cry split the air above them.
“Roland!” Rega screamed. Pressing her body against the tree trunk, hands scrabbling at the wood, she tried to crawl up it. Paithan caught hold of her, dragged her down. Furiously, she fought and struggled in his arms. Another hoarse scream and then there came a cry of “Reg—” The word broke off with a strangled choke.
Rega went suddenly limp, collapsing against Paithan. He held her fast, his hand on her head, pressing her face against his breast. When she was calmer, he backed her up against the tree trunk and moved to stand in front of her, shielding her with his body. Once she realized what he was doing, she tried to shove him aside.
“Rega, don’t. Stay where you are.”
“I want to see, damn it!” Her raztar flashed in her hand. “I can fight—”