"This great beast is not here," a voice said forcefully. "We are being dragged away from the advance in a futile quest for glory."
"And the statement of the elf prisoners?" another voice countered. "These beasts stand guard over ancient ruins. Perhaps the ancient heroes lived here millennia ago. Can you imagine standing on the streets where our distant ancestors lived and fought? Can you imagine the respect that would flow to us from the army and Keld? This would make us known in every cradle house and in the Witch King Council. It is worth missing the first few battles of the new offensive."
The only reply was a snort of disgust.
Jolreal carefully moved so she could see the speakers, but the warriors were standing up and moving toward the mounts. They knew something about the timing of the new Keldon offensive. She must learn more. Jolreal watched the warriors pulling themselves into their saddles. Slaves finished packing the last of the gear and threw it onto mules. A few minutes to let them ride on, and Jolreal would go back for Rayne and the others. It was vital that they capture one of the Keldons. A breeze blew over her, and she shivered slightly. The gap in the trees overhead allowed the wind to dip toward the ground.
Jolreal tensed, her blood beginning to race. There was something in the air, some odor. The Keldons and their slaves rose in their stirrups, their heads held high like dogs smelling the wind. The horses, mules, and colos breathed in the air as well. Like stallions to mares in heat, they began moving, their riders pulling briefly at the reins but soon losing themselves in taking deep breaths.
Jolreal's mouth watered as she inhaled the intoxicating odor. It took all her will to lie there and not look for the source of that delicious smell. She concentrated on her mission-find the Keldons and bring back information. But the Keldons were riding off, their noses questing for something. The colos shouldered their way to the head of the party and off the trail into the forest. Warriors and slaves jostled after them. Keldons swore as their fawning servants ignored their orders to clear a path. Jolreal followed the fragrant lure, dragging after the party she spied upon.
Everyone rode into the trees, spreading out as riders and beasts ignored everything in their rush. Jolreal was in the open now. She ran after them, still trying to use cover as her mind fought to overwhelm her instincts. She stumbled over roots and depressions, her usually invisible trail looking like the passage of a drunkard. The Keldons should have outdistanced her but each warrior and servant fought to pass by another, and the whole party began to string out. Jolreal raced to the side to get a better view. The colos and their warriors stopped in front of a soaring tree. The smell that had been so overpowering intensified as the warriors dismounted and tore into the trunk. The bark was ripped, and mushroomlike growth grew in giant clusters up the vertical slashes. The wounds continued high past the heads of the mounted men and the warriors drew swords to cut more of the spongy flesh free.
Jolreal's mind went blank, and she moved blindly forward. She was some yards away from the milling crowd and ignored the land around her. The pit was shallow and overgrown, left by a toppled tree, but it was deep enough to collect water, and her mouth and nose submerged in scummy muck as she fell. Swollen flowers and pitcher plants burst as her limbs churned the mud and rotting needles.
Just then she felt a tugging at the back of her robes, and her head cleared the water. The plants were acrid, and her eyes wept with tears even after she cleared the muck from her face. The crushed foliage wept potent chemicals, and Jolreal's nose filled, a headache pounding at her temples. A dire wolf, one of her escorts, had a firm hold on her clothing and was pulling her free of the trap. She was aware again and furious at her soiled condition, but a look at the Keldons made her glad for her accident.
The party members were fighting amongst themselves. As plentiful as the fungus encrusting the tree was, the greed of the men tolerated no sharing. Slaves tried to fight their way through to the tree. Knives used for cooking were yanked out of saddlebags and pierced living flesh as the former servants attacked their masters.
Jolreal watched the slaughter. Warriors went berserk as they turned on the men scrabbling to the tree. One Keldon grabbed hold of a slave and began hitting the smaller man with bone-breaking blows. Ribs shattered like cheap pottery, and then the warrior laughed as the dying man stabbed at the arm holding him up with a table knife. Kettles rattled against the shield of the apparent party leader as desperation overwhelmed the slaves' survival instincts. The huge whip sergeant swung himself off an unmanageably large colos as his bloodthirst overwhelmed the unnatural appetite inspired by the tree fungus. He did not even draw the sword slung over his back but pulled a mace from his saddle. Single blows turned charging madmen into corpses. The few surviving slaves crept up to the tree under the bellies of horses and picked up chunks of fungus from the ground. They ignored the blood and mud and scrambled for cover, stuffing their mouths as they hid.
The warriors mastered the servants, but their mounts now fought to eat of the tree. Horses reared and struck at the trunk, tearing off more of the fungus. The spongy mass went deep, and a horse's head plunged out of sight to eat and tear. The colos pushed the animal away with sweeps of their curled horns. Horses collapsed as broken bones tore internal arteries and organs ruptured. The colos turned their heads outward, seeing their riders. Warriors and mounts charged into new battle. The Keldon whip sergeant swung his mace overhand into the head of his colos, but the beast shook off the blow like a bothersome fly, sending his rider cartwheeling back. Other warriors darted in from the side, plunging long swords deep into colos sides. The blades snapped off as the mounts spun, knocking the men down. Cries sounded from the animals as they coughed up blood. Even dying in agony, they reared and trampled men and lesser animals. The living and the dead came apart under the thrashing hooves.
Jolreal felt the pain of the animals tearing at her self-control. The colos finally fell, one landing on top of a crippled slave whose limbs protruded from under the massive animal. The legs scrabbled and pushed at the ground for minutes as the trapped man slowly suffocated. The animals were nearly all dead and only a few mules remained. The heavy freight saddles broke in the fighting, and heaving withers tossed them free. A mule spun like a dancer, and two rear hooves thudded into the face of a warrior. He fell, a limp doll as his neck snapped. The expedition leader was back on his feet and charged the victorious mule. The Keldon's gray skin was suffused with blood, and he grabbed the animal's neck with two swollen arms. The beast tried to tear free, but even its strength and energetic rolling on the ground could not break the implacable grip. The crack of its spine signaled a pause in the battle. Only a few warriors and slaves survived. All fell to devouring fungus spread over the forest floor, ignoring the dead and dying as they filled their mouths. The feasting stopped as stomachs began to rebel, and the men sat in a nauseous stupor.