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“There are general spells to make an area secure,” Numair said hesitantly. “I would hope that the darkings aren’t immune to their effects. Of course, chances are that our friends are using such spells now, to hamper the enemy’s spy-mages.”
Colors rippled over Gold-Streak’s skin. The other two blots flowed into it to form a single, quivering mass. They seemed to be conferring.
Movement in the pot where Numair was brewing their tea caught Daine’s eye. On top of the curtain wall at Port Legann, Tkaa the basilisk stood by Kitten. Yellow fog was drifting through the air over their heads: The wyverns were on the attack once more.
A burning log snapped, throwing up sparks, and the image dissolved. Mute, Daine pulled off the silver claw that hung around her neck, the symbol of the tie between her and the badger. She held it out to him. “I’m asking you now, by this symbol of the bond that’s between us: please help my friends.”
The badger whuffled, wet nose quivering.
“If it helps, I will take them as far as I can,” the duck-mole told his fellow god.
“What is it, Gold-streak?” Numair asked. The three darkings were surging up and down beside Daine, reminding her of children trying to get an elder’s attention. Gold-streak had stretched until it stood taller than Leaf and Jelly.
To her surprise, a slit opened in the knob that served Gold-streak as a head. The opening moved; a squeak reached the girl’s ears. Quickly she bent down so that her ear was close to the blots. “I go,” repeated Gold-streak. Its voice was tiny.
SIX
CHESS GAME
Numair touched her shoulder. “What’s the matter?” She looked up at him. “It’s Gold-streak. It—it talked.”
“But they don’t talk, do they?” he asked. “My impression was that they only communicate what is said to them, or near them.”
Gold-streak stretched a bit more and said, “Now talk.” It was louder this time, enough so that everyone heard. “I go. Talk to darkings. Teach them—” It returned to its huddle with Leaf and Jelly. They vibrated together until Gold-streak’s head rose out of the mass. “Freedom,” it said clearly. “Choosing.”
“Do you know where your brethren are—who they spy on?” asked the badger.
All three blots nodded.
“And I can transport a darking from place to place, here or in the mortal realms,” the badger commented. He sighed, and pointed out, “It will take us a while, even going from spy to spy by magical means. Transporting all over the mortal realms, I will need to rest. Numair Salmalín, look after my kit. Put that back on your neck,” he ordered Daine crossly, meaning his claw.
She obeyed. Gold-streak ended a last conference with Leaf and Jelly, and rolled up the badger’s leg to his back. The god looked at it. “Ready?” he asked. Gold-streak nodded. Silver light exploded, and they were gone.
Numair straightened their camp. He filled their fire pit and the trench that had served as a privy, scattering leaves and stones to make the place seem untouched. Daine packed, rapidly stowing their belongings. Broad Foot, Leaf, and Jelly watched from a safe distance.
“It’s as good as the courtship dances of cranes,” the duckmole remarked. When they finished, he created a pouch in Numair’s fresh shirt, and materialized in it. “You never bump into each other, and you never try to do the same tasks.”
Daine smiled up at her tall friend. “We’ve been doing this for a while,” she explained. “I’ve lost count of the camps that we’ve put up and broken down.”
Numair reached, as if he wanted to stroke her cheek, then dropped his hand. “Where do the darkings ride?”
Leaf coiled around Daine’s neck. Jelly, still aquiver, tucked itself into a pocket of the girl’s breeches, letting only its makeshift head stick out.
Today Daine set the pace. She knew exactly how fast she and Numair could walk together, just as she knew how often they had to rest. The man and Broad Foot talked quietly; Numair had a great many questions about the home of the duckmole’s mortal children. Daine and the darkings watched their surroundings. The small blots were fascinated. Wary, the girl carried her bow in her free hand. She wanted no surprises.
Their trail led downhill, through a less heavily forested land. It was almost noon when they came to the narrow arm of a swamp. “Mauler’s Swamp?” asked Daine, seeing that Numair was looking at their map.
The mage nodded. “There should be a bridge ahead.”
Daine pointed. The bridge was a low one, rising a handful of inches over the water’s surface. Fashioned of sturdy-looking logs, it would hold them clear of the murky water until they were completely across.
Mosquitoes and biting flies came for them as soon as they stepped onto the bridge. Killing the insects did no good: They were gods, and restored themselves instantly; their dead bodies fell into the mouths of waiting frogs and fish. Their bites raised welts that itched crazily. At last Numair spun a fiery magical shield to keep the things at bay.
The insects buzzed outside, on a level with the humans’ faces.
“The bears and the deer let us feed off them!” protested a horsefly.
“Muskrats,” a tiny voice said; Daine couldn’t see who spoke. “Don’t forget them.”
“They are gods,” Numair replied calmly, undisturbed by a chat with insects. “No doubt they replace their blood instantly. We are not gods.”
“Mortal blood tastes best,” added the small voice. “It has life in it. The blood of gods doesn’t.”
“I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am to deny you such a treat,” Numair said.
“You know very well we could break that shield, if we wanted to,” cried a blackfly. “We are gods, after all.”
“What good is blood that’s given so grudgingly?” the horsefly grumbled.
“What good indeed?” inquired the mage, voice mild.
“Selfish,” a mosquito snapped.
“I hope that Mauler eats you! It would serve you right!” the invisible bug told them. The insects left as abruptly as they had come.
Daine wiped her forehead on her sleeve; it was hot and close in this marsh.
“Broad Foot, what is this Mauler?” Numair asked. He kept his staff—its crystal charged with his Gift—raised before him in case something larger than insects came to feed. “He looked like a crocodile in the image that Weiryn showed us.”
“Lord Mauler is an older god of the People,” said the duckmole. “He is a link between crocodiles and the dinosaurs. May we move faster?”
“Why?” asked Numair. Daine paused briefly to string her bow. When she reached back to her quiver, an arrow met her fingers—Leaf had gotten it for her.
“Mauler isn’t entirely friendly to trespassers,” Broad Foot told him. “He puts up with them on his good days, of course.”
“You’re afraid today may not be one of his good ones?” suggested the mage.
“Exactly.”
Daine watched their surroundings closely as they followed the log bridge around the bole of an immense cypress. Below, in murky water, she saw an oddly regular pattern that ran under their bridge to emerge on the other side.
The pattern moved; water heaved and rolled. A hollow tree boomed like a giant drum. The bridge shook, then settled. The thing underneath headed for open water, pulling skeins of vines in its wake. Daine’s jaw dropped. At best guess, the creature was over thirty feet in length; any three of the crocodiles she’d seen in Carthak, lined up head to tail, could fit inside its skin comfortably. It curved back around, then stopped.
Twin yellow rounds popped through the surface.
A tiny voice just under the girl’s ear—Leaf’s—said, “Uh-oh.”
Dark shutters slid down over the orbs, then lifted. They were eyes. Daine gulped, sweating. It was one thing to see a creature in a vision over her father’s map; such a vision was very misleading as to size. One of those eyes alone was larger than Broad Foot. If she used her bow, would her arrows do more than tickle him?
“What the
—?” Numair stared at those two immense yellow eyes.
“Lord Mauler,” Broad Foot whispered. “Greetings to you, cousin!” he called.
