Inigo’s Second Dream

EDEARD HAD BEEN looking forward to the trip for months. Every year in late summer the village elders organized a caravan to trek over to Witham, the closest medium-size town in Rulan province, to trade. By tradition, all the senior apprentices went with it. This was part of their landcraft training, of which they had to have a basic knowledge before they could qualify as practitioners. They were taught how to hunt small animals, how to clear farmland ditches, which fruit to pick, how to handle a plow, and what berries and roots were poisonous, along with the basics of making camp in the wild.

Even the fact that Obron would be a traveling companion for three weeks had not lessened Edeard’s enthusiasm. He finally was going to get out of Ashwell. Sure, he had been to all the local farms, but never farther than half a day’s travel. The caravan meant he would see a lot more of Querencia: the mountains, people other than the villagers he’d lived among for fifteen years, forests. It was a chance to see how others did things, explore new ideas. There was so much waiting for him out there. He was convinced it was going to be fantastic.

The reality almost lived up to his expectations. Yes, Obron was a pain, but not too much. Ever since Edeard’s success with the ge-cats, the constant hassle had not ended, but it certainly had eased off. They did not speak as friends, but on the journey out Obron had been almost civil. Edeard suspected that was partially because of Melzar, who was the caravan master and had made it very clear before they left that he would not tolerate any trouble.

“It might seem like this is some kind of holiday,” Melzar told the assembled apprentices in the village hall the night before they departed. “But remember, this is part of your formal education. I expect you to work hard and learn. If any of you cause me any problems, you will be sent back to Ashwell right away. If any of you slack off or do not reach what I consider a satisfactory level of landcraft, I will inform your Master and you will be dropped back a year from qualification. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the apprentices muttered grudgingly. There were a lot of smirks hidden from Melzar as they filed out.

They had taken five days to reach Witham. There were seventeen apprentices and eight adults in the caravan. Three big carts carried goods and food; over thirty farm beasts were driven along with them. Everyone rode ge-horses; for some apprentices, it was the first time they’d ever been up on the animals. Melzar quickly assigned Edeard to help tutor them. That allowed him to open up conversations with lads who had ignored him before; after all, he was the youngest senior apprentice in Ashwell. But out on the road they began to accept him as an equal rather than the freaky boy about whom Obron always complained. Melzar also entrusted him with controlling the ge-wolves they used to keep guard.

“You’re better than all of us at guiding those brutes, lad,” he said as they made camp the first night. “Make sure they do their job properly. Keep three of them with us, and I want the other four patrolling around outside.”

“Yes, sir, I can do that.” It wasn’t even a boast; those were simple orders.

Talk that night among the apprentices was of bandits and wild tribes, each of them doing their best to tell the most horrific stories. Alcie and Genril topped everyone with tales of the cannibal tribe that supposedly lived in the Talman Mountains. Edeard did not mention that his own parents had been killed while on a caravan, but everyone knew that, anyway. He was thrown a few glances to check how he was reacting. His nonchalance earned him quiet approval.

Then Melzar came over and told them all not to be so gruesome; bandits weren’t half as bad as legend had it. “They’re basically nomad families, nothing more. They’re not organized into gangs. How could they be? If they were a real threat, we’d call the militia from the city and go after them. It’s just a few bad ’uns that give the rest a lousy rep. No different from us.”

Edeard wasn’t so sure. He suspected Melzar was just trying to reassure them. But the conversation moved on, quieting as they gossiped about their Guild Masters. Judging by their talk, Edeard was convinced he’d gotten a saint in Akeem. Obron even claimed that Geepalt would beat the carpentry apprentices if they messed up.

Witham might have been five times the size of Ashwell, but it had the same air of stagnation. It was set in rolling, heavily cultivated farmland, with a river running through the middle; unusually, it had two churches for the Lady. Edeard bit back any disappointment as they rode through the big gates. The buildings were stone or had thick timber frames supporting plaster paneling. Most of the windows were glass rather than the shutters used in Ashwell, and the streets were all stone cobble. He found out later that water was delivered into houses through buried clay pipes and that the drains worked.

They spent two days in the central market square, negotiating with merchants and locals and then stocking up with supplies, such as glass, that were not made in Ashwell. The apprentices had been allowed to bring examples of their work to sell or trade. Edeard was surprised when Obron brought out a beautifully carved box made from martoz wood polished to an ebony luster. Who would have thought an ass like that could create something so charming? Yet a merchant gave him four pounds for it.

For himself, Edeard had brought along six ge-spiders. Always the trickiest of the standard genera to sculpt, they were highly valued for the drosilk they spun. And these had only just hatched; they would live for another eight or nine months, and during that time they would spin enough silk to make several garments or armor jackets. Three ladies from the Weavers’ Guild bid against one another for them. For the first time in his life Edeard’s farsight could not discern how eager they were when they haggled with him; they covered their emotions with steely calm, the surface of their minds as smooth as a genistar egg. He hoped he was doing the same thing when he agreed to sell them for five pounds each. Surely they could sense his elation. It was more money than he’d seen in his life, let alone held in his hands. Somehow he did not manage to hang on to it for very long. The market was huge, with so many fabulous items, as well as clothes of a quality rarely found in Ashwell. He felt almost disloyal buying there, but he did need a decent full-length oilskin coat for the coming winter and found one with a quilted lining. Farther on there was a stall selling knee-high boots with sturdy silkresin soles that surely would last for years—a good investment, then. They also sold wide-brimmed leather hats. To keep the sun off in summer and the rain in winter, the leatherworker apprentice explained. She was a lovely girl and seemed genuinely eager for him to have the right hat. He dragged out the haggling as long as he dared.

His fellow apprentices laughed when he returned dressed in his new finery, but they had spent their own money, too. And few had been as practical as he.

That evening Melzar allowed them to visit the town’s taverns unchaperoned, threatening horrifying punishments if anyone caused trouble. Edeard joined with Alcie, Genril, Janene, and Fahin. He spent the evening hoping to catch sight of the leatherworker apprentice, but by the time they reached the third tavern, the town’s unfamiliar ales had rendered them incapable of anything other than drinking more ale and singing. The rest of the evening was forever beyond recollection.

When he woke up, slumped under one of the Ashwell carts, Edeard knew he was dying. He’d obviously been poisoned and then robbed. Too much of his remaining money was missing, he could barely stand, he couldn’t eat, and he stank worse than the stables. It was also the first night he could not remember being troubled by his strange dreams. Then he found out it was a mass poisoning. All the apprentices were in the same state, and all the adults found it hilarious.

“Another lesson learned,” Melzar boomed. “Well done. You all should graduate in record time at this rate.”

“What a swine,” Fahin grunted as Melzar walked away. He was a tall boy, so thin that he looked skeletal. As a doctor’s apprentice he’d managed to get one of the few pairs of glasses in Ashwell to help his poor vision. They were not quite right for him, magnifying his eyes to a disturbing degree for anyone standing in front of him. At some time during the night he had lost his jacket. Now he was shivering, and not entirely from the cold morning air. Edeard had never seen him looking so pale before.

Fahin was searching through the leather physick satchel that he always carried; it was full of packets of dried herbs, small phials, and rolled linen bandages. The satchel had made him the butt of many jokes in the taverns the previous night, yet he had refused to abandon it.

“Do you think they’ll let us ride in the carts?” Janene asked mournfully as she looked at the adults, who were huddled together chortling. “I don’t think I can take riding on a ge-horse this morning.”

“Not a chance,” Edeard said.

“How much money have you got left?” Fahin asked. “All of you.”

The apprentices began a reluctant search through their pockets. Fahin managed to gather two pounds in change and hurried off to the herbalist stall. When he came back, he started brewing tea, emptying in several packets of dried leaves and adding the contents of a phial from the satchel.

“What is that?” Alcie asked as he sniffed the kettle and stepped back, his eyes watering. Edeard could smell it, too: something like sweet tar.

“Growane, flon seed, duldul bird eyes, nanamint.” Fahin squeezed some limes into the boiling water and started stirring.

“That’s disgusting!” Obron exclaimed.

“It’ll cure us; I promise on the Lady.”

“Please tell us you rub it on,” Edeard said.

Fahin wiped the condensation from his glasses and poured himself a cup. “Gulp it down in one, that’s best.” He swallowed. His cheeks bulged as he grimaced. Edeard thought he was going to spew it up.

The other apprentices gave the kettle a dubious look. Fahin poured the cup full again. Edeard could sense the doubt in their minds; he felt for Fahin, who was trying to do his best to help and be accepted. He put his hand out and took the cup. “One gulp?”

“Yes.” Fahin nodded.

“You’re not going to—” Janene squealed.

Edeard tossed it back. A second later the taste registered, kind of what he imagined eating manure would be like. “Oh, Lady! That is…Urrgh.” His stomach muscles squeezed up, and he bent over, thinking he was going to be sick. A weird numbness was washing through him. He sat down as if to catch his breath after a winding blow.

“What’s it like?” Genril asked.

Edeard was about to tell Fahin off something rotten. “Actually, I can’t feel anything. Still got a headache, though.”

“That takes longer,” Fahin wheezed. “Give it fifteen minutes. The flon seed needs to get into your blood and circulate. And you need to drink about a pint of water to help.”

“So what was the lime for?”

“It helps mask the taste.”

Edeard started laughing.

“It actually works?” an incredulous Alcie asked.

Edeard gave him a shrug. Fahin poured another cup.

It turned into a ritual. Each of the apprentices gulped down the vile brew. They pulled faces and jeered and cheered one another. Edeard quietly went to fetch a bottle of water from the market’s pump. Fahin was right; it did help clear his head. After about a quarter of an hour he was feeling okay again, not a hundred percent, but the brew definitely had alleviated the worst symptoms. He could even consider some kind of breakfast.

“Thanks,” he told Fahin. The tall lad smiled in appreciation.

Afterward, when they packed the carts and got the ge-horses ready, the apprentices were all a lot easier around one another, and the joshing and pranks weren’t as hard-edged as before. Edeard imagined that this was what it would be like from now on; they had shared together, made connections. He often envied the casual friendships between the older people in the village, the way they got on with one another. It was outings like this that saw such seeds rooting. In a hundred years’ time, maybe it would be he and Genril laughing at hungover apprentices. Of course, that would be a much bigger caravan, and Ashwell would be the same size as Witham by then.

Melzar led the caravan on a slightly different route back, curving westward to take in the foothills of the Sardok mountain range. It was an area of low valleys with wide floors, mostly wooded, home to a huge variety of native creatures. There were few paths other than those carved out by the herds of chamalans that grazed on the pastures between the forests. Farsight and the ge-wolves also sniffed out drakken pit traps that would have swallowed a ge-horse and rider. The drakken were burrowing animals the size of cats, with five legs in the usual Querencia arrangement of two on each side and a thick, highly flexible limb at the rear that helped them make their loping run. The front two limbs had evolved into ferociously sharp claws that could dig through soil at a phenomenal rate. They were hive animals, digging their vast warrens underground, with populations over a hundred strong. Singly they were harmless, but they attacked in swarms that even a well-armed human had trouble fighting off. Their ability to excavate big caverns just below the surface provided them with the means to trap their prey; even the largest native creatures were susceptible to the pit traps.

A biannual hunt had eliminated the drakken from the lands around Ashwell, but in the wild they were prevalent. Watching for them heightened Edeard’s senses as they passed through the endless undulating countryside. On the third day out of Witham they reached the fringes of the foothills and entered one of the massive forests there, parts of which reached across to the base of the Sardoks themselves.

Edeard had never been in a forest this size before; according to Melzar, it predated the arrival of humans on Querencia two thousand years before. The sheer size of the trees seemed to back up his claim; they were tall and tightly clustered, their trunks dark and lifeless for the first fifty feet until they burst into a thick interlaced canopy where branches and leaves struggled against one another for light. Little grew on the floor beneath, and in summer when the leaves were in full bloom, not much rain dripped through. A huge blanket of dead crisped leaves covered the ground, hiding hollows from sight, requiring the humans to use their farsight to guide the ge-horses safely around cervices and snags.

It was quiet in the gloom underneath the verdant living awning, the still air amplifying the mildest whisper to a shout that reverberated the length of the plodding caravan. The apprentices slowly abandoned their banter, becoming silent and nervous.

“We’ll make camp in a valley I know,” Melzar announced after midday. “It’s an hour away, and the forest isn’t as wretched as it is here. There’s a river as well. We’re well past the trilan egg season, so we can swim.”

“We’re stopping there?” Genril asked. “Isn’t that early?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, my lad. This afternoon you’re going galby hunting.”

The apprentices immediately brightened. They had been promised hunting experience but had not expected it to be galbys, which were large canine equivalents. Edeard often had heard experienced adults tell of how they thought they’d gotten a galby cornered only to have it jump to freedom. A galby’s hind limb was oversized and extremely powerful, sometimes propelling the animal as much as fifteen feet in the air.

True to Melzar’s word, the forest began to change as they reached a gentle downhill slope. The trees were spread out and shorter, allowing pillars of sunlight to swarm down. Grass grew again, swiftly becoming an unbroken stratum. Bushes grew in the long gaps between trees, their leaves ranging from vivid green to dark amethyst. Edeard could not name more than a handful of the berries he could see; there must have been dozens of varieties.

As the light and humidity increased, the yiflies and bitewings began to appear; soon they were swirling overhead in huge clumps before zooming down to nip all the available human skin. Edeard constantly was using his third hand to ward them off.

They stopped the carts by a small river and corralled the genistars. That was when Melzar finally distributed the five revolvers and two rifles he had been carrying. The majority belonged to the village, though Genril had his own revolver, which he said had been in his family since the arrival. Its barrel was longer than that of the others and made of a whitish metal that was a lot lighter than the sturdy gun-grade steel produced by the Weapons Guild in Makkathran.

“Carved from the ship itself,” Genril said proudly as he checked the mechanism. Even that snicked and whirred with a smoothness that the city-made pistols lacked. “My first ancestor salvaged some of the hull before the tides took the ship down into the belly of the sea. It’s been in our family ever since.”

“Crap,” Obron snorted. “That would mean it’s over two thousand years old.”

“So?” Genril challenged as he squeezed some oil out of a small can, rubbing it onto the components with a soft linen cloth. “The ship builders knew how to make really strong metal. Think about it, you morons. They had to have strong metal; the ship fell out of the sky and still survived, and in the universe they came from ships flew between planets.”

Edeard did not say anything. He’d always been skeptical about the whole ship legend, though he had to admit it was a great legend.

Melzar slung one of the rifles over his shoulder and came around with a box of ammunition. He handed out six of the brass bullets to each of the apprentices who had been given a revolver. “That’s quite enough,” he told them when there were complaints about needing more. “If you can’t hit a galby after six shots, it’s either jumped back out of range or it’s happily eating your liver. Either way, that’s all you get.”

Only five apprentices had been given a gun, including Genril. Edeard was not one of them. He looked on enviously as they slid the bullets into the revolving chamber.

Melzar crouched and began to draw lines in the earth. “Gather around,” he told them. “We’re going to split into two groups. The shooters will be lined up along the ridge back there.” His hand waved into the forest where the land rose sharply. “The rest of us will act as the flushers. We form a long line with one end there, which will move forward in a big curve until we’re level with the first shooter. That should force anything bigger than a drakken out in front of us and hopefully into the firing line. Under no circumstances does anyone go past the first shooter. I don’t care if you’re best friends and using longtalk, you do not walk in front of the guns. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they all chorused.

“Okay, then; after the first sweep we’ll change over the guns and move to a new location.” He glanced up at the sky, which was starting to cloud over. “There’ll be enough light to do this three times this afternoon, which will give everyone a chance to use a pistol.”

“Sir, my father said only I can use our pistol,” Genril said.

“I know,” Melzar said. “You get to hang on to it but not the ammunition when you’re in the flusher line. Now, if you’re a part of the flusher line, you must keep within farsight perception of the people on either side. So in reality that means I want you spaced no more than seventy yards apart. Orders to start, stop, and group together will be issued vocally and in longtalk; you will relay both along the line. You will obey them at all times. The flusher line will use three ge-wolves to help encourage the galbys to run. This time, Edeard and Alcie will control one each and I will take the third. No one else is to order them; I don’t want them confused. Any questions? No? Good. Let’s go, and the Lady smile on us.”

Edeard called one of the ge-wolves over and set off in the group following Melzar. Toran, one of the farmers, led the pistol carriers up toward the stony ridge.

“I don’t see the point of this,” Fahin complained grimly as he hiked beside Edeard. “We’ve all done pistol shooting at the targets outside the walls, and galbys aren’t edible.”

“Don’t you listen to anything?” Janene said. “This is all about experience. There’s a world of difference between firing at a target and being out here in the woods with dangerous animals charging. The elder council needs to know they can rely on us to defend the village in an emergency.”

Except Melzar told us the nomad families aren’t threatening, Edeard thought. So what is the village wall actually for? I must ask Akeem when I get back.

“What if the galbys don’t go toward the shooting line?” Fahin asked. “What if they come at us?” He gripped his satchel tighter, as if it could shield him from the forest’s animals.

“They won’t,” Edeard said. “They’ll try to avoid us because we’re a group.”

“Yeah, in theory,” Fahin grumbled.

“Quit whining, for the Lady’s sake,” Obron said. “Melzar knows what he’s doing; he’s done this with every caravan for the last fifty years. Besides, galbys aren’t all that dangerous. They just look bad. If one comes at you, use your third hand to shield yourself.”

“What if we flush out a fastfox?”

The apprentices groaned.

“Fastfoxes live down on the plains,” an exasperated Alcie said.

“They’re not mountain animals. You’re more likely to get one in Ashwell than here.”

Fahin pulled a face, not convinced.

As they approached the edge of the forest again, Melzar used his longtalk to tell them: “Start to spread out. Remember, keep the people on both sides within your farsight. If you lose contact, longtalk them.”

Edeard had Obron on one side and Fahin on the other. He was not too happy about that; if anyone was going to screw up, it would be Fahin—the lanky boy really wasn’t an outdoors type—and Obron wasn’t likely to help either of them. But the worst thing Fahin can do is fall behind; it’s not like he’s got a pistol. And he’ll yell hard enough if he can’t see us. He sent the ge-wolf ranging from side to side. The mood of excitement was filling his farsight, the minds of everyone in the flusher line twinkling with anticipation.

They moved forward, slowly spreading out as Melzar directed until they had formed the line. The trees were growing tall again, their dark green canopy insulating the apprentices from the cloudy sky.

“Move forward,” Obron ordered. Edeard smiled and repeated the instruction to Fahin, who grimaced.

Edeard was pleased that he had kept his new boots on. The forest floor was littered with sticks among rotting clumps of grass, uneven ground with plenty of sharp stones. His ankles were sore where the new leather pinched, yet the boots protected his feet well enough.

With his farsight scouring the land ahead, he kept a slow pace, making sure the line stayed straight. Melzar told them to start making a racket. Obron was shouting loudly, and Fahin let out piercing whistles. For himself, Edeard picked up a thick stick and thwacked it against the tree trunks as he passed by.

There were more bushes in this part of the forest: big zebrathorns with their monochrome patterned leaves and oozing, highly poisonous white berries and coaleafs that were like impenetrable black clouds squatting on the earth. Small creatures were exposed to his farsight, zipping out of the way of the humans: nothing big enough to be a drakken, let alone a galby. The ground became soft under his feet, wet loam that leaked water from every footprint. The scent of moldering leaf was strong in his nose. He was sure he could smell fungus spores.

Obron was out of eyesight now, somewhere behind the bushes. Edeard’s farsight picked him up on the other side of dense trunks.

“Close up a little,” he longtalked.

“Sure, sure,” Obron replied casually.

A ripple of excitement went down the line. Somewhere up toward Melzar’s end a galby sped away, not quite in the direction of the shooting line. Edeard’s heart started to beat quickly. He knew he was smiling and didn’t care. This was the kind of thing he had wanted ever since he had learned he was going on the caravan. There were galbys here! He would get a chance to flush one and, if he was really lucky, maybe take a shot later on.

Something squawked above him. Edeard flicked his farsight focus upward in time to see a couple of birds dart up through the canopy. There was a thicket up ahead, a dense patch of zebrathorn, just the kind of place for a galby to nest in. His farsight swept through it, but there were dark zones and steep little gullies he could not be sure about. He sent the ge-wolf slinking in through the bushes as he skirted the outside. Now he couldn’t see Fahin either, but his farsight registered the boy’s mind.

Apprehension hit him like a solid force, the mental equivalent of being doused in icy water. Suddenly all his delight deserted him. His fingers actually lost their grip on the stick as his legs seized up. Something terrible was happening. He knew it.

“What?” he gasped. He was frightened and, worse, frightened that he was frightened. This makes no sense.

In the middle of the thicket, the ge-wolf he was directing lifted its head and snarled, responding to the turmoil bubbling along his tenuous longtalk contact.

“Edeard,” Fahin called. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t…” Edeard pulled his arms in by his sides as his knees bent, lowering him to a crouch. He instinctively closed his third hand around himself to form the strongest shield he was capable of. Lady, what’s the matter with me? He pushed his farsight out as far as he could and swept around as if it were some kind of illuminating beam. The tree trunks were too dense to get any kind of decent picture of anything beyond his immediate vicinity.

“What is the matter with you?” Obron asked; his mental tone was scathing.

Edeard could sense both apprentices hesitating. The ge-wolf was wriggling around, trying to get out of the thicket and back to him. Dry leaves rustled, and he whirled around, raising the stick protectively. “I think someone’s here.” He directed his farsight where he thought the sound had come from, pushing its focus as hard as he could. There were a few tiny rodent creatures scuttling along the forest floor. They could have made the noise.

“What do you mean, someone?” Fahin demanded. “Who?”

Edeard was gritting his teeth with the effort of extending his farsight to the limit. “I don’t know. I can’t sense them.”

“Hey, we’re falling behind,” Obron longtalked impatiently. “Come on, get moving.”

Edeard stared back into the forest. This is stupid. But he could not get rid of his dread. He took a last look at the forest behind, then turned. The arrow came out of the empty trees on his left, moving so fast that he never saw it; only his farsight caught the slightest ripple of motion. His shield tightened as he gasped, his mind clamoring its shock.

The arrow hit his left pectoral muscle. His telekinetic shield held, but the force of impact was sufficient to knock him backward. He landed on his ass. The arrow tumbled down in the loam and weeds beside him, a long blackened shaft with dark green needlehawk feathers and a wicked barbed metal tip dripping a thick violet liquid. Edeard stared at it in horror.

“Edeard?”

His mind was swamped by the telepathic voices. It seemed as if the entire flusher line was shouting mentally at him, demanding an answer.

“Arrow!” he broadcast back at them as forcefully as he could. His eyes did not move from the arrow lying beside him, showing everyone. “Poison arrow!”

A mind materialized thirty yards away, sparkling vivid sapphire amid the cluttered gray shadows that comprised Edeard’s ethereal vision of the forest.

“Huh?” Edeard jerked his head around. A man stepped out from behind a tree, dressed in a ragged cloak that was almost the same color as the tree trunks. His hair was wild, long and braided, filthy with dark red mud. More mud was smeared across his face and caked his beard. He was snarling, anger and puzzlement leaking out of his mind. One hand reached over his shoulder and pulled another arrow from his quiver. He notched it smoothly into the biggest bow Edeard had ever seen, leveling it as his arm pulled back.

Edeard screamed with voice and mind, a sound he could hear replicated along the flusher line. Even his assailant winced as he let fly.

Edeard thrust his hands out, a motion he followed with his third hand, using his full strength. The arrow burst into splinters before it had covered half the distance between them.

This time it was the forest man who radiated shock into the ether.

“Bandits.” Melzar’s call echoed faintly around Edeard, spoken and telepathic. “It’s an ambush. Group together, everyone; combine your strength. Shield yourselves. Toran, help us!”

Edeard was scrambling to his feet, vaguely aware of other shouts and adrenaline-boosted emotional pulses reverberating across the forest. More bandits were emerging from concealment. Arrows were being fired. His mind reached for the ge-wolf, directing it with frenzied urgency. There was not going to be time. The forest man had slung his bow to the ground and was charging. A knife glinted in his hand.

A telekinetic shove nearly knocked Edeard back to the ground. He countered it easily, feeling the force slither over his skin like icy fingers. The bandit was trying for a heartsqueeze, an attack method that apprentices talked about in nervous awe when they gathered in Ashwell. Using telekinesis inside someone else’s body was the ultimate taboo. Anyone found to have committed the act was exiled forever.

Now a bandit was thundering toward Edeard, knife ready and death lust fevering his mind. His third hand was scrabbling to assail vulnerable organs.

His earlier fear had left Edeard. He wasn’t even thinking about the others. A maniac was seriously trying to kill him. That was the whole universe. And as Akeem had explained during their all-too-brief sessions on defensive telekinetic techniques, there was no such thing as a disabling blow.

Edeard stood up and let his arms drop to his side, closing his eyes. He shaped his third hand. Waiting. The pounding of the bandit’s bare feet on the forest floor reached his ears. Waiting. The man’s berserker cry began. The knife rose, gripped by white knuckles. Wait…judge the moment. Edeard’s farsight revealed the man in perfect profile; he even perceived the leg muscles exerting themselves to the limit as they began the leap. Any second—

The attempted heartsqueeze ended; telekinesis was channeled to assist the attack leap, to strengthen the knife thrust.

—now.

The bandit left the ground. Edeard pushed his third hand underneath the airborne figure and shoved, the effort forcing a wild roar from his throat. He’d never exerted himself so much before, not even when Obron’s torment was at its worst.

In an instant the bandit’s semitriumphant scream turned to pure horror. Edeard opened his eyes to see a pair of mud-encrusted feet sail over his head. “FUCK YOU!” he bellowed, and added the slightest corrective sideways shove to the trajectory. The bandit’s head smashed into a bulky tree four yards above the ground. It made a horrible thud. Edeard withdrew his third hand. The man dropped like a small boulder, emitting a slight moan as he struck the ground. The ge-wolf pounced.

Edeard turned away. All his emotions returned with tidal-wave power as the ge-wolf began tearing and clawing at the inert flesh. He had forgotten just how fierce the creatures were. His legs were threatening to collapse under him, they were shaking so bad, while his stomach heaved.

The loud crack of shots ripped across the forest. They made Edeard spin around in alarm. That has to be us. Right?

There were shouts and cries all around. Edeard did not know what to do. One of the cries was high-pitched: Janene.

“Lady, please!” Obron wailed. His mind was pouring out dread like a small nova.

Edeard’s farsight flashed out. Two fastfoxes were racing straight at the weeping apprentice. He had never seen one before but knew instantly what they were. Only just smaller than a ge-wolf but faster, especially on the sprint, it was a streamlined predator with a short ebony fur stiff enough to act like armor. It head was either fangs or horns, and way too many of both. Its hindlimb was thick and strong, allowing it a long sprint-jump motion as the ultimate lunge at its prey.

They had collars on.

Edeard started running toward them and reached out with his third hand. They were forty yards away, yet he still felt their metal-hard muscles flexing in furious rhythm. He didn’t even know if they had hearts like humans and terrestrial beasts, let alone where they were. So forget a heartsqueeze. His telekinesis penetrated the brain of the leading one and simply shredded all the tissue he found there. It dropped in midbound, its flaccid body plowing a furrow through the carpet of dry leaves. The remaining fastfox lurched aside, its demon head swinging around to try to find the threat. It stopped, growling viciously as Edeard trotted up, limbs bent as it readied itself to pounce.

“What are you doing?” Obron bawled.

Edeard knew he was acting crazy but did not care. Adrenaline was powering him recklessly. He snarled back at the fastfox, almost laughing at it. Then, before the creature could move, he closed his third hand on it and lifted it clean off the ground. The fastfox screeched in fury. Its limbs ran against nothing, pumping so fast that they were a blur.

“Are you doing that?” an incredulous Obron asked.

“Yeah.” Edeard grinned.

“Oh, crap. Look out!”

Three bandits were running toward them. They were dressed the same as the one who had attacked Edeard: simple ragged camouflage cloaks and belts with several dagger sheaths. One of them carried a bow.

Edeard sent out a single longtalk command, summoning the ge-wolf.

The bandits were slowing. Consternation began to glimmer in their minds as they saw the furious fastfox scrabbling uselessly in midair. More gunshots rang through the forest.

“Protect yourself,” Edeard ordered sharply as the bandit with a bow notched an arrow. Obron’s shield hardened.

The three bandits came to a halt, still staring disbelievingly at the writhing fastfox. Edeard rotated the predator slowly and deliberately until it was pointing directly at them. He was studying the animal’s thoughts, noting the simple motivational currents. It was similar to a genistar mind, although the strongest impulses seemed to be fear-derived. Some kind of punishment/reward training, probably. The bandit with the bow shot his arrow. Obron yipped as Edeard confidently swiped it aside.

There was another pause as the bandits watched it clatter against a tree. Telekinetic fingers skittered across Edeard’s skin, easily warded off. All three bandits drew short swords. Edeard slammed an order into the fastfox’s mind, sensing its original compulsions changing. It stopped trying to run and snarled at the bandits. One of them gave it a startled look. Edeard dropped it lightly on the ground.

“Kill,” he purred.

The fastfox moved with incredible speed. Then its hindlimb slapped the earth and powered it forward in a low arc. Telekinetic shields hardened around the bandits. Against one demented predator they might have stood a chance, but the ge-wolf hit them from the side.

“Ho, Lady.” Obron shuddered as the screaming began. He paled at the carnage yet could not pull his gaze away.

“Come on.” Edeard caught his arm. “We have to find Fahin. Melzar said to join up.”

Obron stumbled forward. A burst of pistol fire reverberated through the trees. It must be from the shooting line, Edeard thought. They’ve come to help. The turbulent shouting was turning into distinct calls. Edeard heard several apprentice names yelled. Longtalk was hysterical snatches of thought mostly overwhelmed with emotional outpourings; a few raw visions threatened to overwhelm him. Pain twinned with blood was pumping out from a long gash in Alcie’s thigh. An arrow stuck out of a tunic, numbness from its entry point spreading quickly. Mud-caked faces bobbed as punches were thrown. Impact pain. A camouflaged bandit was sprinting between trees as the rifle barrel tracked. A fastfox was a streak of gray-black. Blood was forming a huge puddle around a torn corpse.

Edeard ran around to the side of the zebrathorn thicket. “Fahin! Fahin, it’s us. Where are you?” He could not see anyone. There was no revealing glimmer of thought in his farsight. “Fahin!”

“He’s gone,” Obron panted. “Did they get him? Oh, Lady!”

“Is there any blood?” Edeard was scanning the leaves and soil.

“Nothing. Oh—”

Edeard followed Obron’s gaze and caught sight of a bandit running through the woods. The man had a sword in his hand that was dripping with blood. Anger surged through Edeard, and he reached out with his third hand, yanking at the man’s ankle, then pushing him down hard. As the bandit fell, Edeard twisted the sword, bringing the blade vertical. The bandit’s agonized bellow as he was impaled made Edeard recoil in shock. The man’s dying mind wept with frustration and anguish. Then the glimmer of thought was extinguished.

“He was fifty yards away,” Obron whispered in astonishment and no small measure of apprehension.

“Fahin,” Edeard called. “Fahin, can you hear me?” His farsight picked out a tiny iridescent glow that suddenly appeared inside the thicket. “Fahin?”

“Edeard?” the lanky boy’s longtalk asked fearfully.

“Yes! Yes, it’s me and Obron. Come on, come out. It’s safe, I think.”

They both watched as Fahin crawled out of the bushes. His face and hands had been scratched mercilessly; his loose woolen sweater was missing completely. Tacky berry juice was smeared into his hair and over his glasses, which hung from one ear. Amazingly, he was still clutching his physick satchel. Obron helped him up and abruptly found himself being hugged.

“I was so frightened,” Fahin mumbled piteously. “I fled. I’m sorry. I should have helped.”

“It’s okay,” Obron said. “I wasn’t much use, either.” He turned and gave Edeard a long thoughtful look, his mind tightening pensively.

“Edeard saved me. He’s killed a score of them.”

“No,” Edeard protested. “Nothing like that…” He trailed off as he realized he really had killed people that day. His guilty glance stole back to the bandit impaled on his own sword. A man was dead, and he had done it. But the sword had been slick with blood. And the other bandits…would have killed them. I didn’t have a choice.

Sometimes you have to do what’s wrong in order to do what’s right.

“Can anyone still see or sense bandits?”

Edeard’s head came up as he received Melzar’s weak longtalk. Obron and Fahin also were looking around.

“Anyone?” Melzar asked. “Okay, then please make your way toward me. If anyone is injured, please help bring them along. Fahin, are you here?”

Somehow, Melzar being alive made the world a little less intimidating for Edeard. He even managed a small grin. Obron let out a whistle of relief.

“Yes, sir, I’m here,” Fahin replied.

“Good lad. Hurry up, please; we have injured.”

“Oh, Lady,” Fahin groaned. “I’m just an apprentice. The doctor won’t even let me prepare some of her leaves.”

“Just do the best you can,” Edeard said.

“But—”

“You cured our hangovers,” Edeard said. “Nobody will start mouthing off at you for helping the injured. We’re not expecting you to be as good as old Doc Seneo. But Fahin, you have to do something. You can’t turn your back on wounded people. You just can’t. They need you.”

“He’s right,” Obron said. “I think I heard Janene scream. What would her parents say if you walked away?”

“Right, yes,” Fahin said. “You’re right, of course. Oh, Lady, where are my glasses? I can’t do everything by farsight.” He turned back to the thicket.

“They’re here,” Edeard said. His third hand lifted them gently into place, at the same time wiping the berry goop from them.

“Thank you,” Fahin said.

They hurried through the forest toward Melzar. Other figures were moving with them in the same direction. Several apprentices sent panicky hellos via longtalk. Edeard remembered an image of Alcie and the wound in his thigh. It had looked bad.

Toran and the apprentices with pistols had gathered into a defensive group with Melzar. Edeard exchanged a relieved greeting with Genril, who was all jitters. He said he had one bullet left in his revolver and he was sure he had hit at least one bandit. “I got really scared when the fastfoxes charged us. Toran killed one with his rifle. Lady! He’s a good shot.”

“You should see what Edeard did,” Obron said flatly. “He doesn’t need guns.”

“What?” Genril asked. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Edeard said. “I know how to deal with animals, that’s all. You know that.”

“Just how strong are you?” Obron asked.

“Yeah,” Genril said. “We heard your longtalk right over on the ridge. It was like you were next to me, screaming into my skull. Lady, I almost ducked when that arrow came at you.”

“Does it matter?” Edeard asked. He was looking around, wondering where the others were. Out of the twelve apprentices and four adults in the flusher line, only five had made it back so far, including the three of them. Then Canan the carpenter arrived, carrying an unconscious Alcie. Fahin gave his friend a worried look, seeing the crudely wrapped wound already soaked in blood. His mind started to get agitated.

“Go,” Edeard directed with quiet longtalk. “Do as much as you can.”

“P-p-put him down,” Fahin said. He knelt beside Alcie and started rummaging through his satchel.

Edeard turned back to the forest, sending his farsight ranging out. Where are the others? His heart quickened as he detected some movement. A couple of apprentices came running through the trees.

“It’s all right,” Melzar said soothingly. “You’re safe now.”

“We left Janene,” one of them wailed. “We tried to save her, but she took an arrow. I ran—” He collapsed on the ground, sobbing.

“Nine,” Edeard whispered as he kept his vigil. “Nine out of twelve.”

Melzar’s hand came down on his shoulder. “It would have been none without you,” he said quietly. “Your warning saved us. Saved me, in fact. I owe you my life, Edeard. We all do.”

“No.” Edeard shook his head sadly. “I didn’t warn you. I was terrified. That was all. You heard my fear.”

“I know. It was powerful. What happened? What tipped you off?”

“I…” He frowned, remembering the sensation of fear that had gripped him. There was no reason for it. “I heard something,” he said lamely.

“Whatever, I’m glad.”

“Why couldn’t we sense them? I thought I had good farsight. They were closer to me than Obron and Fahin, and I never knew.”

“There are ways you can eclipse your thoughts, bend them away from farsight. It’s not a technique we’re very familiar with in Ashwell, and I’ve never seen it practiced so well as today. The Lady knows where they learned it. And they tamed fastfoxes, too. That’s astonishing. We’ll have to send messengers out to the other towns and warn them of this new development.”

“Do you think there are more of them out there?” Edeard could imagine whole armies of bandits converging on their little caravan.

“No. We put them to flight today. And even if there were others lurking about, they have pause for thought now. Their ambush failed—thanks to you.”

“I bet Janene and the others don’t think it’s failed,” Edeard said bitterly. He didn’t care that he was being rude to Melzar. After this, nothing much seemed to matter.

“There’s no answer I can give you to that, lad. I’m sorry.”

“Why do they do this?” Edeard asked. “Why do these people live out here hurting others? Why don’t they live in the villages, in a house? They’re just savages.”

“I know, lad. But this is all they know. They’re brought up in the wild, and they’ll bring their children up the same way. It’s not a cycle we can break. There are always going to be people living beyond civilization.”

“I hate them. They killed my parents. Now they’ve killed my friends. We should wipe them out. All of them. It’s the only way we’ll ever be allowed to live in peace.”

“That’s anger talking.”

“I don’t care; that’s what I feel. That’s what I’ll always feel.”

“It probably is. Right now I almost agree with you. But it’s my job to get everyone home safely.” Melzar leaned in close, studying Edeard’s expression and thoughts. “Are you going to help me with that?”

“Yes, sir. I will.”

“Okay, now call back our ge-wolves.”

“Right. What about the fastfox?” Edeard was still aware of the animal prowling at the limit of his farsight. It was confused, missing its original master.

“The fastfox?”

“Edeard tamed it,” Obron said. “His third hand scooped it up, and he made it attack the bandits.”

The other apprentices turned to look at Edeard. Despite the exhaustion and apprehension dominating their thoughts, a lot of them were registering surprise and even some concern.

“I told you,” Edeard said sullenly. “I know how to deal with animals. It’s what my whole guild does.”

“Nobody’s ever tamed a fastfox,” Toran said. Melzar flashed him an annoyed glance.

“The bandits did,” Genril said. “I saw the collars on them.”

“They’d already learned to obey,” Edeard explained. “My orders were stronger, that’s all.”

“All right,” Melzar said. “Call the fastfox in. If you can control it, we’ll use it to guard the caravan. If not, well…” He patted his rifle. “But I’ll warn you now, lad. The village elders won’t allow you to keep it.”