It felt cool in the orchard. The shadows from the trees were lengthening as the sun continued to slip below the horizon. Galvin estimated they would have another half-hour of twilight, and they would have to make their way through the orchard in that time. Wynter explained that the bulk of the slave crews started work at dawn, sometimes earlier, and it wouldn’t be wise to be caught here then. Most slaves had no compunction about turning in trespassers or Thayvians discovered in the wrong territory. Such discoveries often resulted in the slaves being rewarded.
They were nearly through the orchard when the sun disappeared on the horizon and the sky turned a darker blue. In another half-hour, perhaps not even that long, the sky would be totally black. Brenna began to worry that they might become lost in the hostile country.
Just then a sharp cry cut through her thoughts and rooted the Harpers in place.
“You! Intruders! Stop and surrender!” a disheveled figure stepped out from the shadow of a large citrus tree, surprising the trio.
Brenna and Wynter had difficulty noticing any details, but Galvin’s acute eyes picked out a half-dozen more shapes behind the first figure. Their discoverer was human and was evidently in charge of the group; those in the shadows were orcs, pig-faced sentries who were more monster than man.
Galvin smelled their offensive odors and noted that they wore crude uniforms similar to the one worn by the gnoll he had killed, yet different enough to indicate they served another master.
“There are seven of them,” Galvin whispered.
“What did you say? Speak up, trespasser!” the human called.
Quick to realize that they faced an orchard patrol, Wynter trotted forward, roughly pushing Galvin out of the way and knocking the druid to the ground. Galvin’s rump stung, and he started to get up.
“We’re no intruders,” the centaur said sternly, planting the tip of his thick staff on Galvin’s chest to keep the druid from moving. “I work at the slave plantation near Thaymount, and I’m returning these runaways.” He curled his lip when he glanced at Brenna and waved his arm indicating she should move near Galvin. She complied, cowering visibly.
The man came closer, motioning his orc charges to join him. “You’re a long way from Thaymount, centaur. Your plantation workers were lax to let a pair of slaves get this far.”
“They’re a tricky pair, these two,” Wynter said. Then he thumped Galvin with the end of his staff and ordered him to get up. The druid stood next to Brenna and cast his eyes at the ground sullenly. Brenna copied him.
“These two escaped many days ago,” Wynter continued. “I was sent to retrieve them, and if I didn’t find them, I was told not to come back. It wasn’t hard to follow them. The clumsy fools don’t know how to cover their tracks.” He smiled at the sentry.
Wynter reached out with his free hand and yanked Brenna’s hair to pull her closer to him. She yelped in surprise and pain. “I would’ve killed them, but the boss wouldn’t have stood for it. No. Not at all.” He yanked on Brenna’s hair again until she cried out. “She’s been around awhile. Him, too. Look at the hair. It would have been my mane if they’d gotten killed.”
The patrol leader grinned, showing a row of dirty broken teeth; the front two were missing. Despite his poor appearance, Wynter guessed he was probably an able fighter. He was muscular, the sleeves of his uniform fitting snugly over the large biceps beneath. A longsword hung in a tooled leather scabbard on his right side, while a broadsword hung on his left. Half a dozen daggers were strapped to his chest. The orcs behind him each carried two weapons.
“So… they’re special slaves,” the sentry observed, his attention obviously directed at Brenna. “Why don’t you let me see just how special the female is. Then I’ll let you pass through the orchard. No problems.”
“I couldn’t do that,” Wynter retorted, pulling Brenna closer to him. “This pair is prime breeding stock. You’d better let us pass. I’m not looking for any trouble.”
The man motioned his orcs to remain still. “Breeding stock? A wizard’s stock?”
“Yeah,” Wynter replied. “They belong to a zulkir. Do you want me to say his name nice and loud, just in case he might be listening?”
“No,” the man growled morosely. “You can go.”
He waved a thick arm forward, and Wynter proceeded. Brenna stuck close to his side, and Galvin walked a few paces in front, prodded along by the centaur’s staff. The three were relieved that the ruse had worked, but their optimism was crushed when one of the orcs shouted, “Weapon, boss! Slave weapon!”
The speech was crude, but the trio knew the meaning. The patrol had spotted Galvin’s scimitar. All eyes had been on Brenna before, which is likely why they had gotten this far.
“Run!” Galvin ordered, but Wynter and Brenna were already in full stride.
The sorceress was lagging behind, however. The day’s journey and the climb up the cliff had already taxed her to her limits. Wynter doubled back to get her.
“Help her up on my back!” Wynter yelled to Galvin.
“No time,” Galvin replied, positioning himself between the centaur, Brenna, and the oncoming ores. “They’re on us.” The druid drew his scimitar and squinted his eyes, reaching out with his mind to the citrus trees.
The screaming orcs, led by their angry leader, closed fast, and the druid could smell the dried sweat on their grotesque bodies. Their lips curled back in a hyenalike snarl as they chanted for the trespassers’ blood.
Galvin continued to concentrate on the trees, and in response, the branches snaked forward like striking snakes to entangle the orcs. The limbs whipped around the orcs’ flailing arms and legs, holding them fast and hoisting them several feet above the ground.
The lead sentry struggled and barked a few orders in the orcish tongue, but his charges were slow to respond, looking astonished at the branches that were like ropes about their limbs.
Brenna took advantage of the situation to begin a spell. Her singsong chant was uneven because she was out of breath. Still she persevered, padding through the grass toward the entangled guards as she continued to murmur the arcane words. When she stood in front of the sentry, she finished the incantation. His struggles stopped, and he stared at her with wide, attentive eyes.
“I’ve bewitched him,” she announced over her shoulder to the Harpers. “He’ll be mine for several days, but now that I have him, I’m not so sure what to do with him.”
“He can be our guide,” Wynter answered. “Can you make him lead us?”
“Sure,” Brenna said. “I could even make him cook for us and polish your hooves if you want. What about the orcs?”
“The entanglement won’t last much longer,” Galvin said, a touch of concern in his voice. The orcs had begun to strain against the branches. “Do you have something else—some spell to keep them quiet about all of this?”
The enchantress smiled broadly, pleased to have Galvin ask her for help. She searched through a small pouch at her side, gathering more spell components.
“I can try to make them forget about us, but I’m not sure it will work. They seem rather dense. But I’ll do what I can.” She breathed deeply and began another enchantment. Between phrases, she thought she heard the druid say, “Thanks.”
When she finished, she returned to the Harpers and her charmed friend. “We’d better get out of here,” she suggested, “just in case it didn’t work.”
Wynter fell in behind Galvin, Brenna, and their newfound guide. The centaur’s legs felt weak; he suspected it was nerves. He continued to remind himself how much he hated this country as they proceeded to move deeper into Thay.