The spider spotted the potential prey immediately; mandibles clicking in excitement, it turned and ran straight for the lemur. The golden-furred beast paused a moment while Xylina caught her breath; then, at the last possible instant, turned and ran for the safety of the tentacle-beast.
It stayed just barely out of reach of the spider, which redoubled its efforts to catch this tantalizing prey, scuttling across the sand as fast as it could run. And after a few moments, Xylina realized that the lemur was deliberately lagging, to stay out of reach, but only just out of reach, of the spider.
The lemur ran straight back to the shelter of its home. The spider, so intent on the prey that was so very near, ignored its danger until it was too late.
The lemur made a strange, shrilling sound-and the tentacle beast was galvanized.
Xylina ducked as the tentacles lashed out over her head like so many whips. They extended farther than she had guessed, and struck the spider in hundreds of places. The armor protected it everywhere but its eyes and die vulnerable joints, but with so many tentacles lashing out at it, there was no way it could avoid being struck in those places, again and again.
The lemur cowered within the shelter of the beast; the tentacles receded, quieted, and went back to their normal aimless waving. On the sand outside, the spider writhed in its death-throes, mandibles clashing, mouth drooling, legs waving in the air uncontrollably. The tentacle-beast had struck with good effect.
Finally the spider made its last shudder, and lay still.
The lemur got up, cautiously, and sidled up to the dead spider. It tossed a pebble or two at it-perhaps to see if it was really dead-but when it failed to react, the lemur rose and loped boldly over to it.
Then, while Xylina watched in astonishment, the lemur seized one leg and began tugging the dead spider towards its chosen beast.
But the spider was too heavy for the lemur. It gave up after a moment, and looked directly at her.
It couldn't want her to help-could it?
Evidently that was exactly what the lemur wanted, for when she did not move, it came over to her, reached down for her hand, and tugged at her, impatiently.
Well-why not? The lemur had accepted her as a friend with surprising readiness, perhaps on the assumption that she was merely another species of tentacle-beast residents. All of them would have this in common, earning their keep. It behooved her to play the expected role.
She obediently rose and took one leg while the lemur took another. It was not easy, moving in the stiff bundle of wrappings, but it could be done. And after all, she had shared the shelter; it only seemed right that she pay for that shelter. Together, she and the lemur brought the spider within tentacle-touching distance.
It took a moment for one of the aimlessly groping tentacles to connect with the dead spider, but the moment the beast had done so, every tentacle on that side of the beast lashed out, seized on the spider and began dragging it in towards the center of the beast. At that point, the lemur let go, and so did Xylina. The tentacle-beast quickly conveyed the dead spider to its hidden mouth.
Content now, the lemur turned its back on Xylina and retreated into the waving arms on the other side of the beast, and was soon lost to sight.
And she, in her turn, moved out of the reach of the beast to gather her men together. It had been a surprisingly good night.
They spent four more nights this way, sharing the shelter of the tentacle-beasts with the gentle lemurs. Two or three of the boldest men even imitated the lemurs, luring spiders and other predators into reach of the tentacle beasts. The men could not imitate the lemurs' shrill warning to their hosts that "dinner was coming," but they didn't need to; the lemurs themselves saw what they were doing and galvanized their hosts into the appropriate action. Xylina marveled over their reckless courage; they treated it as a game, as if they could not believe in their own vulnerability. Faro pointed out to her that it was all the younger men, and not the ones with any real experience. "They haven't yet learned they aren't immortal," he said wryly. "No matter what they've seen, the fact that they've survived so far makes them certain that the fates and luck are with them."
The more time Xylina spent with her men, learning all about them and their lives, the less able she was to justify her position as "mistress" over her "slaves." What had she done to deserve it, after all? She'd had no more training or schooling than they had; in Faro's case, she'd had less. She was younger than most of them. And what had they done to deserve their fate? That they were not female and full citizens was only an accident of birth. It was not fair....
She spent the next long night, alone but for a drowsing beast, thinking about these things before she fell asleep. There was nothing she had done on this quest that any of the men could not have done, save only a bit of conjuration. How could something like that give her the right to life and death over, not only these men, but any man in Mazonite hands? The word of a single citizen could send any man to the arena unless his mistress protested. Men could not hold property, carry weapons without a permit, defend themselves, or contradict the will of a citizen. Except, of course, within the Freedman's Quarter, and among other men. She could not speak for all men, of course; surely there were lazy slaves, and stupid, and men who needed the firm hand of a mistress to rule them, lest they get themselves into trouble. But the men of this mission deserved better.
She would free them if she could, she thought, as she looked back over her shoulder at them, marching stolidly into the unknown. But these men were not hers to free.
They belonged to the Queen, and several of them felt a very powerful sense of loyalty to their royal mistress. So, in a sense, did Xylina. She "belonged" to Adria, at least until the mission had been fulfilled, and her loyalty had been ensured by her own oaths. And by her honor. That above all must drive her forward. She could afford to indulge her doubts only after the mission was fulfilled.
There seemed no end to this particular realm; no mist-wall appeared on the horizon, and Xylina wondered if they were ever going find their way across this perilous place. But land began to change a little on the third night, the plants and creatures becoming larger and fewer; the third night in this realm, the tentacle-beasts no longer outnumbered the party. They had to share the protection of the house-sized creatures, and somehow Xylina wound up paired with the mules, Ware, and his stallion.
As night fell, she found that she was not in the least sleepy. The inevitable lemurs snored quietly nearby, but the continuing silence between herself and Ware began to feel very strained. Finally she decided to break it.
"Have you ever seen anything like the creatures here before, Ware?" she asked into the darkness.
"Both yes and no," the incubus replied, softly. "Yes, because I have seen beasts with these powers, and of this nature, but no, because the creatures I saw were no larger than the palm of your hand at best. And there was nothing magical about them, nor were they as deadly, except to things their own size."
She made a noncommittal sound, trying to think of a way to continue the conversation. Ware found one for her.
"It is very strange, how magic works across the many realms," he said, as the nocturnal versions of the floating beasts drifted into view. She wondered how the lights were made. It was quite remarkable how often the land-creatures were lured into striking range by those fascinating lights. "I have seen a number of realms, over the years. Including my own, for I am not a native of Mazonia, you know."