Because if they found her, she was finished.
But she did not believe this would happen. Her confidence was high and her determination strong. She would find Redden Ohmsford and she would bring him out of his prison to safety before the night was over. For she had her own Furies buried deep inside, and they were every bit as dangerous as the real thing.
She was still some distance from the perimeter of the camp when something small and dark flashed by her boot. A second later Lada was in front of her, standing on his hind legs, chirping softly. He watched her for a moment, then dropped down on all fours and scurried away. Quickly he was back again, peering up at her.
She understood. He wanted her to follow.
She smiled. In spite of all her predictions of doom and gloom, Tesla Dart had sent Lada to lead Oriantha into the camp and to the cage of Redden Ohmsford.
She changed then, discarding her human form, turning into a phantasm composed of shadows and smoke. She was transparent and amorphous as she moved down through the darkness toward the camp, a shapeless gathering of detritus from fire and dust. Lada scurried on ahead of her, zipping first one way, then another, always careful to make certain no one was looking and to choose a path cloaked in shadow.
It was a long journey to their destination, and more than once Oriantha thought she had been discovered by one of the enemy. A head that was lifted and swiveled, searching. A voice that paused in mid-sentence and went still as eyes shifted warily. A near collision that was avoided only by her quickness. A shriek or a snarl that signaled a suspicion all was not right.
On each occasion, she was in danger of discovery. Her shape-shifting abilities had their limitations. So long as she remained untouched by a living creature, she could remain hidden from view. But if she were bumped or grabbed or just brushed against even for an instant, her disguise would fail and she would be revealed. If that happened, she would have no chance. She was stronger and quicker than most, but she was surrounded by enemies who would overwhelm her by sheer numbers long before she could get clear of them.
She pressed ahead nevertheless, wafting through the Jarka Ruus as if she were just a part of the campfire smoke. She followed Lada, but tried to choose paths that were less crowded and more easily navigated. She had gone into a mind-set where she was exactly the thing she was pretending to be, all the way down to lacking real substance or cohesion. It was extremely taxing, requiring intense concentration. She had carried off this particular effort before, but not when the risk of discovery was so great or when the time required for maintaining the disguise was so protracted.
The minutes dragged. Lada kept going, darting here and there, a quick bit of movement beneath boots and clawed feet and iron-rimmed wheels. Oriantha expected the Chzyk to be crushed at any moment, but he always managed to avoid the worst. At one point, he darted so far ahead that Oriantha lost sight of him completely, and was then cut off by a clutch of Goblins that crossed her path while hauling weapons and supplies. She was forced to wait until she could get clear of the crowd before trying to continue, advancing blindly through the masses, trying to maintain the same direction, searching for something that would tell her where to go.
But then Lada reappeared, coming back for her in a series of short rushes that took him through scores of creatures, stopping long enough to let her see him before turning back again and darting off.
The hunt continued for almost an hour. The Straken Lord’s camp was huge and his army massive. Stopping and starting again was frequently necessary. Detours and changes of direction were mandated by a continual shifting of the positions of the creatures all about them. But they pressed on, Oriantha managing her disguise and keeping her eye on Lada until time lost meaning and her thoughts were of nothing but continuing her advance.
When it finally reached a point where it seemed her ordeal would never end, Oriantha stumbled into a cluster of tents that included one so large she was certain she had found Tael Riverine’s quarters. Seconds later she rounded a tent wall—and there was the cage, with the crumpled form of Redden Ohmsford inside it.
She stopped where she was, pressed close against the canvas as she watched Lada rush toward the cage then veer off sharply as one of the prowling wolves wandered too close. Oriantha could see the danger of trying to do more. Even if the Chzyk managed to leap into the cage to allow the boy to see him, he would be completely visible to anyone looking in. A quick snatch of a hand or snap of jaws and it would be over. Oriantha held her breath as the Chzyk tried to approach the cage a second time. This time one of the wolves turned its head toward the little creature and sniffed the air, growling deep in its broad chest.
Lada had endured enough. He darted back to where Oriantha hovered in her smoke-and-dust form and looked about for her. Then, having done what he had been sent to do and having no way to reach the cage that held the boy, he scurried back the way he had come and was gone.
Oriantha held her position by the tent wall, studying the movements of the wolves and the Goblin guards. The guards remained stationary when they weren’t chasing away the curious and the troublesome, but the wolves roamed aimlessly through the entire area surrounding the cage and what she was assuming to be the Straken Lord’s tent. She could find no pattern to their movements, and it was impossible to know from one moment to the next what they were going to do. If she attempted to reach the cage, she would have to react to their wanderings and sudden changes of direction spontaneously.
It was an incredibly dangerous situation. One mistake and the game would be up. One small bump against one of those wolves and she would be revealed.
But she had known the risks before she set out and had come too far to turn back now. And looking at the slumped figure of Redden Ohmsford, she thought she was probably too late in any case. She hadn’t seen him move since she had found him. She hadn’t seen any sign of life at all.
Still, they had him caged, and that meant they believed they were keeping him a prisoner. So he must be alive.
She knew she was thinking too hard about what she needed to do and should just get on with it. Tightening her disguise about her and dropping farther into her shape-shifter mind-set, she eased away from the canvas wall of the tent and moved toward the cage.
Right away one of the wolves stopped where it was and began to sniff the air. Nervously, Oriantha slowed but did not cease her forward movement. She kept easing ahead through the smoky light, all darkness and wafting gray haze, indistinguishable from the air. The wolf sniffed about a few more times before losing interest and resuming its wanderings. None of the other wolves seemed to have detected anything. But they growled and snarled at one another and anything else that came too close, enough so that even the Goblin guards shifted uneasily at their positions in front of the cage.
But just as it seemed she might reach the cage safely, she sensed that something was out of place. She slowed further, her instincts sparking inside her shape-shifter form in tiny bursts, too strong for her to ignore. There was magic at work—a strong magic—and close at hand. She reached out for it, seeking its source. Not the wolves or the Goblin guards, she decided. Nor was it attached to anything moving; it was stationary, but very close. Her attention returned to the cage, and she moved right up to one corner, staying between the guards on either side as she peered in, able to see Redden Ohmsford clearly and note the tiny movements of his body as he breathed.
He was still alive.
Her gaze shifted to the door of the cage, situated right behind the Goblin on her right. It was fastened in place by a simple hook lock and chain. Much too easy to break apart if someone strong enough attempted a rescue.