The gnoll’s leader stepped forward and raised himself up to his full seven-plus feet. A patchwork of leather, stitched together from bloodstained articles recovered from previous victims, covered his shaggy hide. “Give us your pack, flatface,” he said, grating his voice to sound more animalistic.
The human straightened up and stretched, still panting heavily. “I only … have time … to kill… one of you.” He waved one finger back and forth, pointing side to side. “Who’ll it be?”
The lookout felt an unnerving sensation in his gut. The human neither smiled in jest nor shouted in bravado. The gnoll felt as if his presence was almost an annoyance to this tired man. He felt the first trembling of fear. Sensing this, and not wanting to lose his privileged status in the tribe, he buried his fear beneath a feral snarl and advanced. The human nodded, a gesture of acceptance.
The lookout heaved his war pick high then slung it hard at the human. Propelled by his great strength and the angular momentum, the pick’s head whistled through the air.
Even as the pick descended to split the human’s torso wide open, the gnoll saw the little man move. He kicked out with one foot, displaying a startling limberness, and struck the gnoll’s left elbow, locking it. The lookout felt his joint give between the impact and the downward force of his blow. The war pick kept moving, however, and the handle pried itself against the gnoll’s thumbs, loosening his grip. Time slowed as the lookout realized that the human’s bravado had nothing to do with bragging. He also realized that there would be no time for pain.
The human’s hands darted out, one grabbing the butt of the handle, the other grabbing the haft. With a sharp pull, he levered the pick out of the gnoll’s hand and spun it upward. The lookout felt his own weapon strike him right in the jugular. His taloned hand tried to rip at the human’s throat, but the world spun away before it reached its target.
The Shadow Fox and Oargesha rode up to the Lyrandar airship, which hung thirty feet in the air near the outskirts of town. She was an elegant ship, with smooth curving lines and a wide hull for stability. Even the struts that held the elemental ring in place amidships had been built to accentuate her grace.
The Cyrans reined in their horses. Oargesha slumped forward, wrapping her arms around her horse’s neck and falling into a numb doze. The Shadow Fox dismounted stiffly, stumbling and falling to her knees. She rose and lurched over to the crewmen beneath the airship, wobbling on her sore and unstable legs.
She pushed her hair out of her face. “Is there an officer here?” she asked.
“I’m the second mate,” said one. “Jendro of House Lyrandar at your service. The captain’s in town, bargaining for water, and the first mates up on the ship supervising. What can I do for you?”
“Well, I hadn’t expected to find an airship here,” said the Fox, smiling.
“Oh, yes, well, I suppose it’s a bit of a novelty out in these provincial locations, isn’t it? We hadn’t expected to be here ourselves. Rather thought we’d be approaching Fairhaven by now.”
“What happened?” asked the Fox, making an effort to keep her eyes bright and perky despite her exhaustion.
“Well, we’re running from Sharn to Wroat to Fairhaven, but it seems we put in a load of tainted water back in Cragwar. Half the crew are down with dyse—um, that is, they’re indisposed, if you please, young miss. We’d hoped to be able to resupply with water here, but the farmers aren’t much for letting us have any.”
The Shadow Fox reached out and brushed an imaginary fleck of lint from the petty officer’s jacket. “Well, Jendro,” she said, dropping her eyes, “I was hoping I might be able to purchase a passage to Fairhaven, for myself and my friend. Would that be possible?” She looked up at him from beneath her dark eyelashes.
“Well, um, miss,” said Jendro, “we’re not precisely a passenger vessel.”
“But it would be an excellent chance to add five fine horses to your manifest. And I’m a very good cook.” She raised her eyebrow suggestively. “I’d be happy to show you. If the horses aren’t enough, I can pay extra for our passage.” She turned her body not quite halfway around, reached into her blouse and pulled out a small stone, very pretty but ultimately worthless. She handed it to the second mate with a self-conscious smile.
“Um, it seems like a very … very logical proposition,” said Jendro. “I’ll, um, make arrangements for everything.”
“Thank you,” said the Fox. “And if you could arrange for a hot bath, too, I’d be very … grateful.”
The second mate flushed slightly. He touched his brow with one finger, turned, and began to climb the rope ladder that dangled from the airship’s gunwale.
The Shadow Fox turned and walked back over to Oargesha. “Up,” she said. “We need to get moving.”
“What?” grumbled Oargesha, “Why?”
“I’ve got us an easy ride to Fairhaven,” replied the Fox. She heaved a bemused sigh, “Men. When they’re young, they’re just so easy to manipulate.”
With the sound of a click and a creak, a shaft of red light struck Praxle across his unconscious face.
“Master? You need to wake up, master.”
“Mwha?” asked Praxle. He raised his head from the polished floor of the carriage. There was a small ripping sound as his cheek peeled way from the smooth varnish. He wiped the drool from his lips with his sleeve and tried to sit up, striking his shoulders on the bottom of the bench seat. “Damnation,” he cursed. With a grunt, he pushed himself out from under the seat, sat up, draped one arm across the padded bench and let his head fall sideways upon his shoulder. He looked at Jeffers, bleary eyes topped by an unkempt mass of tousled hair. “Where in the dark dragon’s dungeon are we?”
“Five miles east of Ghalt by the best of my estimation, master.”
“Why are we stopped?”
“It was necessary to the furtherance of our current disposition, master,” said the half-orc, scanning the horizon for any activity.
“Right,” mumbled Praxle. He tried to stand, but failed, “I feel terrible.”
“You had a most difficult afternoon, master,” said Jeffers, and a hint of compassion crept into his voice. “If you don’t mind my speaking out of place, master, I doubt I could have resisted any better, despite my stock.”
Praxle managed to stand, and stepped over to lean against the doorframe. “That’s because magicians have an advantage in that regard, Jeffers,” he said, exhaustion sagging his voice. “We are trained to concentrate, and to endure many distractions, both expected and unexpected, while preparing our spells. I was able to focus my mind on reciting cantrips in my head, and that blunted the worst of their efforts.” He hung his head, blew out, and drew a deep breath, then he descended the carriage’s stair very carefully. “It’s one of the many inherent advantages of being a mage.”
He lurched around, finding his legs, and looked about at the rolling, empty landscape. “With the Sovereigns as my witness, Jeffers, I do not know whether I hurt or just think that I hurt. Which will help? Should I try to stretch or relax?”
“I am afraid we have not much opportunity for either course, master,” said Jeffers. “We must be about our business if we are to elude pursuit. They believe we have stolen something from them, which, in fact, we now have, as I purloined the prelate’s carriage to effect our departure. I sincerely doubt that they will refrain from using every means at their disposition to prevent us from crossing the frontier. Among those methods would be the employment of the speaking stone at Ghalt to alert the guards at all border crossings, and using airships and shifter scouts to patrol the empty areas. I thought first of pressing eastward, but it is a wide and empty place, and one scout with a dragonhawk could locate us. I considered westward into the Eldeen Reaches, but we are ill prepared for such an expedition, having had most of our supplies seized at the monastery. I opted instead to purchase passage aboard the lightning rail here at Ghalt, hoping to reach the border before word of our escape. Therefore speed is of the utmost import.”