spear length. 'Do you suppose they know what she's doing?'
'I've no idea.' Naldeth was eating with little enthusiasm while watching the wild men and women with a curiosity to equal their own. 'We know so little about their wizardry, or what the non-mageborn here make of it.'
'There doesn't seem to be anyone between here and the river,' Velindre said slowly.
'What about the far bank?' Kheda moved closer to peer over the magewoman's shoulder. He struggled to make sense of the miniature vista shining in the mossy shadows within the gourd. Bright patches of brown and yellow and green shifted and blurred. 'Try to find those caves we told you about.'
'We don't know who those people might owe allegiance to.' The cleft between Velindre's golden eyebrows deepened as she concentrated.
'If the river's some kind of boundary, presumably they owe fealty to the tree-dwellers' wizard,' ventured Kheda.
'Kheda.' Risala appeared in the doorway, hastily shaking drops of water from her hands. 'There's something going on.'
He followed her outside to see a handful of men hurriedly tearing open a gap in the thorn barricades on the far side of the enclosure.
Naldeth joined them. 'It's not the dragon.' He sounded sure of that.
'They're getting ready to fight something.' Velindre came to the doorway still holding the gourd.
The men of the village were hurrying to gather their spears and clubs from their rickety huts as a group of newcomers waved their hands in animated conversation with those who had opened the woven thorns. The newcomers' voices were increasingly raised, and edged with urgency.
Kheda looked back into the scrying spell. The river valley reflected in the oscillating mossy water was empty. The water flowed sluggishly between the rich brown of the mudflats and nothing was stirring on the grassy plains, bird or lizard.
'Are they part of this village?' Risala didn't look reassured. 'Or from another? We've no idea who else might be living up here, have we?'
'Or how far word of our presence here has spread,' Kheda said thoughtfully.
Velindre looked up from her gourd. 'Do you suppose some other wizard we haven't encountered yet could have spies set among these people?'
'It's what we'd do,' Risala commented frankly.
Kheda noticed that a girl who had been standing near the arguing men was running over to the old woman whom they had first encountered. The girl began speaking rapidly, her hands lively. The old woman answered her, equally animated. Some of the men and women who had been hanging around the dead mage's hut began to drift towards this new commotion.
'I've found those caves.' Velindre focused all her attention on her gourd. 'There's nothing there.'
'Nothing?' Kheda frowned. 'No people? No fires?'
'No.' Velindre looked up. 'Nothing of what we saw when I scried there yesterday. The place looks deserted.'
'Wait.' Naldeth was looking down at the ground with growing alarm. 'There's something—'
'Something's wrong.' Risala walked forward to meet the old woman, who was making haste towards them, her wrinkled face creased still further with anxiety.
The old woman waved Risala away and hurried up to Kheda to tug at his elbow with her twig-like fingers.
How am I possibly supposed to understand you?
Detaching her hand, Kheda tried to look receptive. The
old woman immediately seized his elbow again to urge him in the direction of the sizeable force now gathered by the gap in the thorn barricade. 'Velindre, are you sure there's nothing out there? Forget the caves. What's this side of the river?'
'Nothing that I can see.' Growing doubt tainted the magewoman's words.
'You may not be seeing what there is to see.' Naldeth stooped awkwardly to spread his fingers on the sandy soil. 'I can feel something working with the water deep within the earth.'
'Is it the black dragon?' Kheda realised he had already taken ten or more steps at the old woman's insistence, Risala following a few reluctant paces behind.
'No,' Naldeth said confidently.
'I'll go and see if I can make any sense of this.' Seeing Kheda approaching, a few of the wild men dropped their crude weapons, holding out empty hands, their faces apprehensive. The old woman scolded them and pushed Kheda's hand towards the hilt of his sword.
Tension tightening his belly, he drew the blade, prompting a murmur of fearful wonder from the newly arrived wild men as they stared at the thin, bright steel. One of the men near the gap in the fence broke into voluble explanation. The other men of the village deferred to him, nodding their agreement. The newcomers' eyes grew wider still as they stared at Naldeth and at Velindre over by the dead mage's hut.
/ have to learn how to tell these men apart.
Kheda studied the man who was doing the explaining. He was taller than most, his hair a solid mass of reddish mud. He carried a fire-hardened spear that reached to his shoulder and a worn leather sling tucked through his brief loincloth. His wiry arms and legs were sun-dried muscle and sinew while paler skin marred his flank, just above
the hollow of his hip. Some time long since, some beast with vicious claws or teeth had bitten deep into his side. Age and experience shone in his dark-brown eyes, surrounded by the creases of a lifetime spent squinting in the bright sun.
A lifetime that you mere lucky to see with that wound. How do I learn to understand what you want to tell me?
Kheda could see frustration to equal his own in the scarred spearman's face. The warlord gestured towards the gap in the thorn barrier with his sword and the wild men closest hurriedly retreated from the sunlit metal. Kheda kept his eyes fixed on the first spearman, raising his eyebrows in an exaggerated expression of enquiry.
The spearman licked his chapped lips and said something to his companions before nodding emphatically at Kheda. He moved towards the gap, jerking his head to indicate that Kheda should follow. The warlord complied, noting the newcomers and some of the men from the village following behind him.
The rest hurried away towards the huts, clapping their hands and summoning the women with urgent shouts. Kheda saw the old woman grab Risala, refusing to let go of her hand as she dragged her back towards the centre of the village. Brisk shouts brought more children than Kheda had expected running to the wide communal hearth. As the savages clustered together, they all looked anxiously at Naldeth and Velindre. The wizards didn't appear to notice. Velindre was still intent on her gourd. She had linked one hand with Naldeth, who was kneeling awkwardly, the fingers of his other hand thrust deep into the hard earth.
There's trouble coming. Still, both wizards have proved themselves since we made the mistake of coming ashore here. Risala must be as safe with them as anywhere.
Kheda turned his back on the village and scanned the thistle-studded expanse beyond the thorny barrier. He could see no movement beyond the odd dusty stalk stirred by the breeze.
The scarred spearman loped ahead, ducking low and looking from side to side. Kheda followed and the rest of the men spread out around him. They reached the open plateau dotted with swollen barrel trees and the wild warriors split up to take advantage of the cover. Kheda looked to the scarred spearman for guidance. The wild man nodded and beckoned to him. Kheda joined him in pressing his back to the leathery bark and edging around the tree. The scarred spearman craned his neck to see what lay ahead and, catching Kheda by surprise, ran swiftly to the next tree. Kheda followed and saw that the other wild warriors were also advancing from tree to tree in groups of two and three, faces grim.
They reached the edge of the plateau where the rain-scored sandy ground fell away towards the grassy plain. The scarred spearman led Kheda to a vantage point off to one side. As they crouched behind another fat tree, he pointed, and the warlord saw movement down among the straw-coloured tussocks. Movement running contrary to the pleasant breeze bringing some relief from the heat. Concentrating, Kheda picked out smudges of dark skin and an incautious head breaking through the sea of fronds.