Chapter 21
Mere mayhem didn’t slow down Chitiratifor. By the time the sun peeked above the valley walls, their little caravan had been on the road four hours. At their first rest break, the ragged-eared pack paraded around in the sunlight, as if to proclaim he was not skulking—or perhaps to show everyone that he was totally uninjured.
Ravna took a count: both wagoneers had torn jackets and wounds on various members. One of them had been a sixsome; now it was five. Amdi was crouched by Jef; the two were talking in the semi-private language they had used since they were little. Screwfloss stood all around the seated Ravna, as if keeping guard on the prisoner. Gannon Jorkenrud sat on the drivers’ bench of one of the wagons. He was unscathed, but at least for the moment his cockiness had disappeared. He didn’t even look sullen. Gannon was frightened.
The pale-eyed fivesome and one other pack were missing.
Chitiratifor swept close to each of the survivors; his gobbling sounded like a combination of boast and harangue. The two wagoneers shrank from his mindsound even as they cast nervous glances at each another. When Raggedy Ears stuck a snout in among Amdi, the eight gave a frank wail of terror and tried to hide behind Jefri.
And Jefri … Jefri did not flinch from the snapping jaws. He stared back at the nearest of Chitiratifor and his tone was level and stony. “I have no idea what you’re saying or what you want.”
That was probably an exaggeration. Jef had as much knowledge of Tinish as any human. Nevertheless, Chitiratifor’s verbal momentum faltered. He goggled at Jefri for a second and then emitted a very human-sounding laugh. “I was talking to the coward.” He gave one of Amdi a rough poke in the ribs. “I laugh to see one of us who thinks a two-legs—a piece of lonely meat!—can be protection.”
Chitiratifor’s laughter morphed into the natural Tinish equivalent. But he backed away from Amdi and Jefri. “And I forget my good manners. We are allies.” Two of him looked in Gannon’s direction. That worthy perked up, recapturing some of his usual arrogance. “That we are, Chitiratifor, sir. Nevil told us to give you full cooperation. Just tell us what you want. Sorry we don’t understand better.”
“Ah.” Chitiratifor rolled his heads with patronizing good humor. “Yes indeed.” He paused, giving all three humans a calculating glance. “So then,” he continued, “in words of simple Samnorsk, I say I found traitors last night. They both are dead now, totally dead.” He jabbed a snout at Screwfloss. “You. You speak Samnorsk.”
Screwfloss dribbled around Ravna to stand respectfully before Raggedy Ears. “Oh, yes indeed,” he said, “better than some humans do, as a matter of fact.”
“Whatever. I want you to explain things to the two-legs when they cannot understand me.” I can’t be bothered with dumb animals was the message.
Screwfloss made a grovelling smile. He was the picture of an intimidated pack, but his Samnorsk was spoken with a sly, Flenser voice. “Yes, my lord. I can be useful in other ways. I may be the only one left who can advise you about the country ahead.”
Chitiratifor emitted a cheerful Tinish laugh, but his patchwork of human voices said: “I’ll cut your throats if you say that to the others. Do you understand?”
“Oh yes, your worship. This is just between you and me and some humans who don’t really matter.”
“Very good,” said Chitiratifor, then added something jovial in Tinish. Amdi remained silent, still hiding his heads behind Jefri, but the wagoneers both chuckled back—surely as ignorant as rocks.
• • •
They were still following the river. The path was often steep, bordering rapids and waterfalls. The valley walls climbed high above them. To the west, the snow-covered heights were sun-bedazzled. Jefri was driving the last wagon now; Chitiratifor had given the usual driver some kind of scouting assignment. Raggedy Ears himself drifted up and down the length of the caravan but made no attempt to hustle them past open areas. Maybe Nevil had gotten control of the airship.
Several times that morning, Raggedy Ears consulted with Screwfloss—in Samnorsk. He was totally ignorant of this territory, and just as clearly, he didn’t care if Ravna knew it.
Perhaps the most striking change in the new order was that now Screwfloss chatted quite openly with her. “I wasn’t in on the kill, but I talked to the front wagon driver. The two traitor packs were killed. Chitiratifor hunted down the last of them and dispatched them himself. The pack called—” he warbled a chord or two “—the best you could pronounce it would be ‘Remasritlfeer,’ he was one of Tycoon’s top lieutenants. The other was his assistant. Apparently they both were experts on this rift valley.” At the moment, Chitiratifor was some distance up ahead. He might not be able to make out what Screwfloss was saying, but he could surely hear conversation noise.
Screwfloss must have noticed the surprise on Ravna’s face. “Why am I talking to you now?” he said. He shrugged. “Now that your small human mind has recovered, you’re just someone to listen. What you know doesn’t matter.”
Screwfloss was silent for a moment as he negotiated the wagon’s way across a dip in the trail that at this time of the year was filled with fast-moving water. Some of Amdi braved the cold directly, while about half of him hopped on the back of the wagon and came across dry. They kept their heads down so as not to mix mindsounds with Screwfloss, but nevertheless that pack said severely, “None of your tricks! Understand?”
Among Ravna’s disconnected memories was the vision of Screwfloss chasing Amdi away from her. What had that been all about? A moment later she found out, when Amdi’s focused voice came in her ears: “Screwfloss doesn’t believe I’m smart enough to talk secretly to someone as hard of hearing as a human, not when there is any chance of detection. But you have to know: With Remasritlfeer gone, Chitiratifor is just looking for—I’m sorry—some fun way to kill you, maybe kill Jefri and even Gannon.”
Screwfloss emitted a screeching hiss.
Amdi hunkered down at the blast, but his secret voice continued: “Heh. He’s just guessing.” But then aloud Amdi said, “I’ll be good. No more tricks. I promise.”
Anyone who really knew Amdi would know that he kept his freely given promises. Apparently, Screwfloss was such a person. He gave Amdi a long look, then replied. “Very well, Little Ones.”
In any case, that was the most informative, and frightening, moment of the morning. Screwfloss quit talking. Maybe he was sullen, or thinking—or listening to discover if Amdi would break his promise. They stopped briefly for midday meal, but Amdi was away with Jef and Gannon, and Screwfloss went with Chitiratifor to get a view of the way ahead. Back on the wagons, it was well into the afternoon before Screwfloss got into a talkative mood.
“It’s really too bad that we killed the traitors when we did. We’re entering an especially dangerous area,” he said. “It’s like I told Lord Chitiratifor at lunch. Little mistakes can be fatal here.”
Three of Amdi were sitting at the back of the wagon, but faithfully honoring his promise. Aloud he said, “So has Chitiratifor told the wagoneer packs?”
“Oh yes. Those packs are just city thugs. Till now, this job has been a fun adventure—real hunting, live meat almost every day. But now they need all the help Lord Chitiratifor can give them.” Screwfloss gestured expansively at the forest all around them. “It looks so peaceful, doesn’t it? But why do you think it’s mostly unknown to Tines? Because so few get through it whole—or at all. The Old Flenser studied the rift valleys. So did Steel. They got some of their most diabolical insights here.” Screwfloss turned a couple heads Ravna’s way. “Yes, I know you starfolk can be much deadlier, but we primitive folk, we do the best we can.”
Gannon Jorkenrud had been behind them, between wagons. Maybe he had caught some of the conversation, because now he trotted forward and jumped onto Screwfloss’ wagon, kicking Amdi’s members overboard in the process. “You assholes have no business riding,” he said. He settled down beside Ravna and gave her a big smile. “For that matter, we’re being generous to let you have a free ride.”
Amdi followed along the left side of the wagon, objecting: “Ravna’s not well enough to walk along. Chitiratifor wants her kept on the wagon.”
“Like I said, we’re generous.” He gestured Amdi away. “Why don’t you go back to your great protector?”
On the wagon behind them, Jefri had risen from his driver’s bench. Ravna knew that Jefri had some special recent hatred for Gannon; right now, Jef’s expression was deadly. Then his wagon began to drift, and he sat down and guided his kherhog back into line.
Fortunately Jorkenrud wasn’t really trying to start a fight. He was more interested in chatting with Screwfloss. “You’re spilling Chitiratifor’s secrets, eh Screwfloss?”
The pack shrugged. “It won’t do her any good.”
“So you’ve told her about the radio link to the orbiter?”
“No, but you’ve done that now.”
“… Oh.” Gannon thought about that for a second and then laughed. “Like you said, it doesn’t matter what she knows now. I bet it’s fun to see her reaction.” He gave Ravna a big grin. “The radio is just one of lots of toys Nevil has given our little friends. Giving you to the dogs is a similar gesture, and it removes a real inconvenience. It was a win all around. Nevil knew that word of the snatch on you would bring Woodcarver’s troops racing down from the castle. That would give us a chance to disappear various gear we’ve been wanting.”
Ravna couldn’t help baring her teeth at this. “So now Nevil is unmasked.”
“Not at all! I don’t know the details, how they got rid of Woodcarver’s guards, but the rumor is going to be that you weren’t kidnapped. You defected because you’d been kicked out of your cushy place on the Starship—and it was your agents who stole the equipment, maybe to set up your own operation. When I’m officially rescued, I’ll confirm whatever story Nevil decides on.” Gannon looked at the wagon behind them. “Jef will too, if he knows what’s good for him.”
“That—” Ravna started to say, and was temporarily out of words. “That can’t possibly convince anyone.”
“Oh? We did something almost as complicated when we snatched the Children.”
“Those stupid Tropicals played into our claws on that one,” said Screwfloss. He didn’t sound critical, more like he was stating a small correction.
Gannon started laughing. “True. But Nevil says that’s the reward for good planning. He tricked them into running like the guilty. Who’d have guessed Godsgift would leave part of himself behind? He thought he could get a hearing from Woodcarver and damn us all. Fortunately, we got to him first.”
Ravna looked at Gannon and felt sick. “And you grabbed those Children and killed their Best Friends?”
Some remnant of decency tugged at Gannon’s face. “Not me personally.… Bad things happen, little lady. You should never have been put in charge. Now fixing things is a mess.”
Amdi’s voice came up from beside the wagon. “We didn’t know, Ravna.”
Gannon gave a wave in Amdi’s direction. “The fatso pack is probably telling the truth. He and Jefri have been very useful, but not for the rough things. I know they weren’t supposed to be in on this current operation.”
Ravna closed her eyes for a moment and leaned back against the top of the wagon. It wasn’t hard to see why Jefri hated this boy so much, but, “Why, Gannon?”
Gannon looked back at her. It was clear he understood what she was really asking. For a moment she thought he would make some sadistic retort, but then something seemed to crumple inside him and desolation stared out at her. “Once upon a time, I was smart. Back in Straumli Realm, back in the High Lab. It was easy to understand what was going on. Then I woke up here, where I understand nothing and all my mind tools are gone. It’s like somebody cut my hands off, poked out my eyes.”
“All the Children have that problem, Gannon.”
“Yes, some more and some less, even the ones who don’t realize it. And you know what, little lady? Countermeasure took our home from us, exiled us here. You want to make that permanent. Well, it won’t work. You’re going down. If you cooperate, help our little Tinish friends, maybe Chitiratifor’s boss will let you live.”
Gannon stared at her for a moment, his face full of pain, for once free of sadism. Then his gaze flicked away, and after a moment he relaxed into his usual lazy bluster. He waved at the forest all around them and said to Screwfloss, “So what makes you think these woods are dangerous? I’ve been on expeditions before. I can spot weasel nests and weasel-made rockfalls. Chitiratifor has a pack scouting around us all the time. We’ve spotted one or two cotters’ cabins, but no organized settlements. So what’s coming down on us?”
“There’s the bloodsucking gnats. They make arctic midges look like friendly puppies. We’ll see them as soon as the weather gets a little warmer.”
“Gnats? I’ve heard of those.” Gannon’s voice was full of jolly contempt. Then an uncomfortable look came to his face. “Or do you mean these ones carry some kind of disease?”
Out of Gannon’s line of sight, Ravna noticed Screwfloss exchanging looks with himself, as if wondering how big a whopper he could put over on the idiot human. Then he appeared to pass up the opportunity: “Oh, no. Well, not that I know of, and you humans are mostly immune to our diseases anyway—at least that’s what Oobii tells you, right?”
“Er, right.”
“Anyway, the really bad diseases are in the Tropics,” continued Screwfloss. “The biting insects we’ll see are just extremely annoying. What makes this here variety of forest dangerous is the—I guess the simplest translation is ‘killer trees.’ Or maybe ‘arrow trees.’”
“Oh, I’ve heard of those,” said Ravna. Amdi made an agreeing sound. Killer trees had been part of some of Pilgrim’s stories.
Gannon made a rude noise. “Bullshit. Where are you getting the know-it-all?”
Screwfloss gave him a haughty look. “I was woods-runner before I entered Flenser’s employ. I’m a renowned expert on the rift valleys.”
Ravna remembered Woodcarver describing this pack as one of Flenser’s whack jobs. Whatever else, Screwfloss was an expert at telling tall tales.
Gannon had a narrower skepticism: “This patch of forest looks like bannerwood. It’s rare stuff, but I’ve seen it before. I hear it makes great building timber. Or are you saying these arrow killers are something rare, hiding, ha ha, like in ambush?”
“You have my point, sir—but not quite the way you may think. Bannerwood doesn’t like to be cut or chewed on—oh sorry, my lady Ravna, I don’t mean to be an ignorant medieval. I know that trees can’t think. I just don’t have the patience to dance with jargon. I leave that to Flenser and Scrupilo. In any case, only a certain percentage of this type of bannerwood has deadly capabilities.”
“What percentage?” said Amdi.
“It varies. It’s a very small percentage, though the killers are more common in these rift valley crazy patches. I imagine it depends on the nature of local herbivores and such.” He glanced at Amdi. “You, genius little ones, could probably figure a good estimate.”
“Probably,” said Amdi. He seemed unperturbed that Screwfloss constantly mocked him as “little ones.”
In any case, the gibe gave Jorkenrud a rather distracted chuckle. “I was supposed to be rescued before we got this far,” he said. “How long can it take Nevil to pry the dirigible loose from Woodcarver’s dogs?” He seemed to be looking at the forest with a more personal interest now; it might not be someone else’s amusing doom. The trees appeared to be of a single type, tall and graceful evergreens whose needles ranged from short and slender to long and thick. “Okay,” he said, “some of those needles could make arrows—if you cut them down and had a proper bow for them.”
“Ah, but there’s no need if you’re the killer kind of arrow tree. Next time we stop, climb up to the lowest branches on one these trees—one I say is safe. You’ll still be able to see the tensioning knot at the base of the longer needles.”
“Maybe I’ll do that,” said Gannon. “You’ve told Chitiratifor about this?”
“Oh, yes. He’s spreading the word to the others. See?” Up ahead, Raggedy Ears was indeed lecturing the front wagoneer, waving emphatically at the trees. “Hei, but don’t worry. Very few of the trees are deadly, and if we follow a few simple rules, we should get through fine.” Screwfloss didn’t say anything more for a while; he definitely had Flenser’s talent for teasing his listeners. They crossed over two more of the spring freshets, chilly snowmelt spilling down to the river. In places the beautiful, sometimes deadly trees came close to the trail, forcing those on foot to walk behind or in front of the wagons. Amdi was looking in all directions, but he seemed more curious than fearful. In this new forest, there was scarcely any undergrowth, just the great, vaguely fungal bushes that popped up around some of the trees. Ravna could almost imagine Amdi estimating the cover they might provide, figuring the fields of fire, generating a million questions that would break into the open if Screwfloss let him dangle long enough.
Gannon was also looking all around, and it was he who finally broke the silence, “Okay, you bastard, what are those ‘few simple rules’?”
Screwfloss chuckled, but he dropped his teasing game. He had lots of definite advice: “Notice all the open space? Those spaces are deadly. You can’t run far when you are full of arrows. If there was even one of the killer variety within bowshot, and if it got triggered, that would be enough to kill a two-legs. If there’s a cluster of the killer variety, then once one gets triggered, the whole mob goes—arrows coming from dozens of trees. You spacers would have lots of explanations once you studied them. Maybe there’s pollen that gets released and that’s a signal to others. Anyway, they all go off.”
“Are they aimed?” said Amdi.
“Not really. There’s a ripple of shooting that sweeps away from the beginning tree. The point is, there could be thousands of arrows. They can cut down whole packs, right to the last member. So rule one is, don’t stay in the open. See those bushes at the base of the trees? Those are the tree’s flowers—ha, the equivalent of a pack’s crown jewels. Very few arrows will strike there. So the best strategy whenever we’re stopped for any length of time is to stay near the bushes. Be ready to dive into them if arrows start flying.” Screwfloss shrugged. “That may be too late if you’re a two-legs, but it should be a life saver for us packs.”
When Screwfloss finished his advice, Gannon was thoughtful and silent. Amdi scouted ahead and around, sniffed at some of the bushes. Now he was in question mode. Amdi wanted to know everything Screwfloss could tell him about what would trigger a shooter attack and about how clusters of shooters might be arranged. Screwfloss was full of details, a weird combination of technical analysis and medieval folktales.
Amdi ate it all up and had even more questions. By the time Chitiratifor signaled that they were stopping to make camp, Jorkenrud’s interest in safety procedures had been satisfied in mind-numbing detail.
Apparently, Chitiratifor had absorbed some brief form of this advice at lunch time. Ravna could tell by Raggedy Ears’ nervous uncertainty in setting up the night’s campsite.
As Ravna climbed down from the wagon, Amdi was standing all around her. “You know,” he said, his voice quiet and casual but not really secretive, “this really doesn’t make any sense.”
Then he trailed off in the direction of Jefri.
• • •
Half an hour after they had stopped, Gannon and Jefri were at work with the evening housekeeping. Chitiratifor had decided on where the campfires should be but he was still ordering the wagons and draft animals moved around, trying to find the safest formation. Screwfloss accompanied Chitiratifor, providing his expert advice. Every time the two packs came within earshot Ravna listened with interest. One thing about Screwfloss’ story, it might distract Raggedy Ears from planning the murderous entertainment Amdi feared.
“Yes,” the ever-informative Screwfloss was saying, “you have to distract the trees. The things they react to are vibrations and physical attack.”
Raggedy Ears objected: “But we don’t eat these plants; we’re not even loggers. We won’t hurt the trees.”
“I’m afraid that doesn’t matter, my lord. The killer trees are more common here than I’ve ever seen, and I suspect that the way ahead will be even worse. Tonight we have some good luck, an opportunity to practice proper technique. On this side of the road we’ve found a small area that’s free of the killers, but our sounds will eventually cause a cook-off—that’s a human technical term, my lord, for when weapons spontaneously discharge. We’ll need to provoke a partial cook-off just to protect ourselves.”
“The troops aren’t going to like that.”
“Present it as a perfectly safe test, my lord—which is exactly what it will be. We’re camping on the west side of the trail, near the protection of the root bushes. I suggest you cause some small trauma to the trees on the east side.”
“Trauma?”
“I mean, cause some wound to the trees. You can have a single member do the job, using a wagon to provide it with safe cover. The rest of us can take shelter by the root bushes on this side of the road. We’ll get a good idea of what to expect on the road ahead.”
Raggedy Ears emitted a thoughtful noise, but the two packs were walking away and she couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation. The wagons eventually were parked, and the kherhogs sheltered a little behind the wagons. Jefri and Amdi were out of sight when Gannon and Chitiratifor came strolling in her direction. He was carrying a utility axe in one pair of jaws. Ravna suddenly realized that Raggedy Ears had figured out how an entertaining murder could help solve his other problems.
The pack dropped the axe on the ground in front of her. “You!” he said. “Go across the road and make cuts on the middle tree.”
• • •
“You’ll do what Chitiratifor told you!” Gannon waved her back to the east side of the path and away from the wagons. “Now take the axe, damn it.” He lobbed the utility axe across the trail. The spinning blade sank deep into the ground two meters from Ravna’s feet.
At the sound of Gannon’s voice, Amdi and Jefri came around the fodder wagon. They must have been feeding the kherhogs. The weather was so warm now that there was no need for ferment-warming, but feeding the hungry animals was still a messy job—the kind of work that even Gannon managed to avoid.
“What are you doing with Ravna?” Jefri shouted. There was a good ten meters separating Gannon from herself, so this was evidently no ordinary form of harassment.
“He wants me to chop a tree,” Ravna shouted back.
“What?”
As Amdi and Jefri ran toward her, Chitiratifor moved casually into their path. He’d pulled battle axes from his panniers and idly swung them back and forth. Ravna noticed that the wagoneers had unlimbered their crossbows.
Gannon waved Jefri back. “Hei, Jef. Keep cool.”
Jefri looked across the trail at where Ravna stood, alone. His gaze swept up, across the trees. Abruptly, he turned on the nearest of Chitiratifor. “You need her! That’s the whole point of this expedition.”
There was a lazy smile in Raggedy Ears’ aspect. He flipped a battle axe adroitly. “You’re wrong. I don’t need the Ravna two-legs alive. I have a good use for her now. More use than I have for most two-legs.”
Gannon gave a nervous laugh and said to Jefri. “Just go along with it, Jef.”
Jefri glared at him and then around at the packs. The air was still for a moment, and Ravna saw that Amdi had been absolutely right. With Remasritlfeer gone, Chitiratifor was free to complete his mission. Please don’t try to fight them, Jefri. Amdi seemed to feel the same. He uttered a loud screech and tried to hold Jefri back by grabbing at the cuffs of his pants.
“Fine,” said Jefri—and reached toward the nearest of Chitiratifor. “Then give me an axe, too.”
“You craphead!” said Gannon.
For an instant, Ravna thought Raggedy Ears might slash at Jefri’s hand. Then the pack gave a rattling laugh and flipped one of the axes out of its mouth.
Jefri snatched the axe from the air. He kicked loose of Amdi’s grasp and stomped across the path to stand by Ravna. Amdiranifani followed all around.
Chitiratifor’s laughter swelled into full honking, and he said something to Screwfloss and the wagoneers. They were all having a good time. Their leader was going to show them just what all the killer tree fuss was about—without putting anyone worthwhile at risk. He gobbled something imperative at Amdi.
Amdi replied in human talk. “No, I won’t leave Jefri.” The words were brave, but there was white around his eyes.
Chitiratifor boomed angrily. Then he said in Samnorsk, “You are of interest, but you can still be punished. Would you like to be seven? or six?”
Screwfloss put in: “Oh, let him stay, my lord. He can stand over by the tree with the root bush. That should be relatively safe.”
Amdi cowered back, shuffling toward the tree that Screwfloss was pointing to. Ravna noticed that the campsite had been very carefully chosen. No tree near hers had a root bush.
Chitiratifor watched Amdi move; a smile spread across his aspect. “You are a coward clown.” His attention returned to Ravna and Jefri, but he had good humor for them too. “Now you, the female. Pick up the axe. Cut the tree behind you. Is that the one, Screwfloss?”
“Quite so, my lord. That’s almost certainly a true killer, and the lowest arrows look well-tensioned.”
“Are the kherhogs safely away?”
Screwfloss glanced at the carts and animals. “Oh yes.” The kherhogs were milling around as if they realized that something extreme was in the offing. “You’ve positioned them perfectly.”
Chitiratifor gobbled to the others. He sounded like he was putting on a show. Ravna recognized the word for “wager” in his chords. “And you, the male, stand by the second tree on the left.”
“But don’t chop anything yet,” said Screwfloss. “We want to see if one attack can provoke the other trees.”
Raggedy Ears elaborated for his Tinish audience.
“I said, pick up the axe!” Chitiratifor boomed at her. “You have a good chance at living if you do.” He said something to his audience. They gobbled back at him, and he added. “Four to one odds in your favor. But you’re sure dead if you don’t move.” His wagoneers had both cranked back their bows.
Ravna grabbed the axe’s jaw handle and pulled it free of the sod. Flecks of needles fell from it and the edge glittered in the late afternoon light. It might be a utility blade, but it looked freshly sharpened.
On the other side of the trail, the wagoneers and Chitiratifor were watching her in the intense, still way that always bothered her about Tines. This wasn’t all a matter of entertainment. Except for the bow-holding members, they had wiggled most of themselves into the protective cover of the root bushes. Only Chitiratifor, Screwfloss, and Gannon were still standing in the open. Gannon looked around, seemed to realize his exposure. He turned and headed for the nearest unoccupied bush.
And now the wagoneers were making noise again. They were chanting, a blend of harmonics that made Ravna’s ears hurt. She knew the meaning: Do it, do it, do it. There were packs who chanted just that at the kids’ ballgames.
Ravna turned to the tree behind her. On her right, Amdi danced around in frightened excitement, edging nearer to the root bush that could protect him. He had no secret messages, at least nothing he would chance on human hearing. On her left, Jefri was looking at Amdi and then at her … and suddenly she realized that he and Amdi were playing a game, just as when they were very little, but now as a matter of life and death.
Do it, do it, do it.
“All right!” She walked toward the tree, gave the axe a little swing. An ancient human might have described the thing as double axe head fixed on a bale hook handle. There was no way she could get the full leverage a human would have with a real, made-for-human axe.
But the blade was sharp.
This particular tree was about eighty centimeters across, the bark almost as smooth as a baby’s skin, but a pale buff color such as you rarely saw on modern Homo Sapiens. The tree seemed no different from the thousands of bannerwoods she’d seen the last few days. Its straight trunk extended some forty meters up, a beautiful slim tower. The lowest branches grew straight out. The nearest were some thirty centimeters above her head, their needles growing in great sheaves from the lumps that Screwfloss called “tensioning knots.”
Do it, do it, do it.
She raised the axe and gave the smooth pillar a blow that was more a tentative tap. The blade sank a centimeter into the wood. When she eased the blade out, there was a film of clear sap on the steel and a little more oozing down the side of the tree. The smell of the sap was a dry, complex thing, somehow familiar. Oh. It was simply a sharp version of this forest’s pervasive smell.
Most important, the scent seemed to have no effect on the peaceful drowse of this late afternoon. Above and around her, the needle leaves hung in greenish silence, unmoving.
On the other side of trail, the audience was not happy. The chant had stilled, but the wagoneers gobbled irritably to each other. Screwfloss had nothing to say, but there was an ironic smile in his aspect, as if he were waiting for someone to say the obvious.
Chitiratifor’s voice boomed out, in Tinish and Samnorsk all at once: “Cut the tree, human! Chop up and down. We will see its insides, or we will see yours.”
The wagoneers laughed and swung their bows back toward her.
She turned back to the tree and began whacking. Her blows were still weak, but she did as she was told, hitting upwards and then down, at something like the same target line. At this pace, it might take her an hour to cut the tree down, but she was gouging a deep notch in the wood, revealing the growth ring pattern that was near-ubiquitous in the trees of Tines World.
She paused, partly because she was out of breath, partly because she heard Amdi make an anxious wheep sound. She noticed that Chitiratifor had edged closer to the safety of a large bush.
The forest was no longer silent. She heard a clattering sound in the branches above her. The nearest branches trembled, clusters of needles shivering faintly, jerked about by the tensioning knots that anchored them in place. The knots themselves, were … smoking? No, not smoke. It was a heavy haze of pollen, drifting slowly on the faint currents of the cooling afternoon. Where it floated through the brightest light, the reflection of the sun from the peaks above, it shone golden green.
On the other side of the path, some of the sporting humor had evaporated. The packs watched the drifting haze with wide eyes. As it floated outwards from Ravna’s tree, the rattling of branches spread to the trees around her and then across the wagon trail, creating a growing, golden green alarm. The wagoneers squeezed back beneath their root bushes; not even their bow carriers stood in the open now.
When the rattling reached the trees around Chitiratifor, he finally gave up his brave stance and wiggled himself deep into his own bush. Only screwloose Screwfloss was left unprepared. He hadn’t picked a big enough bush and now he was mostly unable to get adequate cover.
For the rest: the kherhogs were staring at them in uneasy wonder. Depending on how far the alarm spread, the wagons might not provide sufficient cover.
A dozen seconds passed. The rattling had spread beyond hearing, but no arrows had been triggered.
Screwfloss spoke up, sounding a bit nervous with his explanation: “When it comes, it could be an avalanche of arrows, my lord. Perhaps we have, um, overextended ourselves.”
Chitiratifor gave him an amused look. “Perhaps you have overexposed yourself, you silly asses. I see a small bush behind this tree. It may be enough for you. Burrow deep!” Then his attention finally returned to Ravna. “Chop us more wood, human.”
She turned back to her tree. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Amdi was all hunkered down, stubbornly refusing to take cover. What’s the game, Jefri?
Do it. Do it. Do it.
She held the axe by the handle and the haft and took out all her fear on the poor dumb wood. Whack. Whack. Whack.
The arrow needles clattered louder than ever, and the alarm pollen grew chokingly thick. When she triggered the cascade, the pain was like arrows piercing her ears. She dived for the ground, trying to find cover in even the most shallow troughs of the earth. But the pain was not from real arrows. The pain was in the sheer power of Tinish screams.
“Get up! Run!” Some of Amdi was around her, trying to pull her to her knees. She came up, saw the rest of him racing toward Jefri.
It was chaos that didn’t make much sense at the time. She staggered to her feet, still crouching against the ambuscade. But there were no arrows flying. Anywhere. And yet across the trail, the screaming grew louder, backed up by the fainter, whistling mouth noises of Tines in terrible pain. She couldn’t see either of the wagoneers. The bushes they had been hiding under seemed lower and wider than before, and they trembled as if something struggled beneath.…
Amdi pushed and pulled her. “Back to the wagons!”
As she stumbled along, she saw that not all the other Tines had disappeared. Most of Screwfloss was standing just at the edge of a root bush, hacking at its branches. His limper hadn’t been fast enough to jump away; it was tangled at the edge.
Some of Chitiratifor was clear of the bush that was munching on him. He was fighting back with all his remaining hand axes. He almost had his bow carrier free of the trap. Then he noticed Ravna and Amdi. He gave a roar of anger, and his three free members raced after her.
Ravna ran. Ordinarily, that would have been a futile gesture. On open ground, pack members could outrun any two-legs, and packs with military training could give up consciousness for a brief killing charge. But the part of Chitiratifor that couldn’t follow must be in terrible pain. The three that raced after Ravna seemed to be on an invisible leash. Never slowing, they circled wide around, heading back to the rest of their pack, where they resumed hacking at the bush that trapped them.
Screwfloss was doing much better. He had freed his one trapped member. It staggered along with a three-legged walk, but the pack was making progress in their direction.
“I’ve got him,” shouted Jefri. He was closer to the wagons than she, but now he rushed back, scooped up Screwfloss’ limping member in his arms.
“Help me, help me!” It was Gannon. The boy was on his elbows, his lower body hidden by the bush that had flattened itself upon him. Stark terror was on his face and his hands were reaching out to her.
She had not known Gannon Jorkenrud when he was a small child. At best, he’d been a snotty teenager, growing more malevolent with each passing year. But in the beginning she had seen him as she had all the Children, as someone she could help. There had been a time when he had not seemed evil.
By some miracle, she still had that axe in her hand. And now she was running across the trail, toward Gannon’s beseeching hands.
Amdi was still pulling at her. “No! No! Please—”
Someone else just sounded angry: “Well, damn! Okay.” That was the able-bodied part of Screwfloss, running back from where Jefri had set down the wounded part. Jefri came right behind him. They circled around in front of Ravna, blocking her from Gannon.
But they were doing what she wanted done. Jefri got to the tree, used his reach to attack the bush near its base, where there was no danger of striking Gannon. The four of Screwfloss used knives to cut the branches, then grabbed at Jorkenrud’s jacket and began pulling him out.
Ravna was in the midst of Screwfloss now, pulling with him. She had Gannon around the shoulders. Every blow that Jefri struck with his battle axe sent a spasm through the bush and won another centimeter of freedom for Gannon.
Screwfloss shrieked and staggered back, losing his grip on Jorkenrud. Ravna looked up in time to dodge the metal tines. Raggedy Ears’ loose members were among them, slashing. At least one part of a wagoneer had freed itself and joined the attack.
Jorkenrud slipped from her fingers, the relentless pull of the bush winning at last. As his body disappeared from view, there might have been one last scream, silenced with a crunching sound.
Bodies tumbled all around, bleeding.
She was on her feet, staggering back. She had never been in a fight before, but Johanna had regaled her with stories. Against even one pack, an unarmed human would be the loser. Stay on your feet. Climb some place where packs can’t follow.
Something slammed into her from behind, sweeping her off her feet. Jefri! Then she was looking down, from over his shoulder. He was quickly backing away from the battle, of which she could now see nothing! Parts of Amdi swirled around them, bloodied. Amdi was unarmed, but Jefri still had his axe. She could feel him swing it, hear the screaming. He staggered, turned, and she had a glimpse of Screwfloss. That pack was armed in every jaw and forepaw, even the limper. Between them, Screwfloss and Jefri were making a controlled retreat from—not so much a pack as a killing mob, three from Raggedy Ears, two from the wagoneers.
They’d reached the nearest of the wagons. They had all of Screwfloss; if she wasn’t counting anybody twice, Amdi was still eight. He had split into three groups and raced ahead, heading for the kherhogs
Jefri shrugged Ravna to the ground. “Help Amdi. We’re getting out of here.”
In this, Ravna really could contribute. One two-legs was worth at least four pack members when it came to dealing with kherhogs. She got her animal hooked up to the front wagon before Amdi was done with the other animals. Her own kherhog was cooperative—maybe too much so; the wagon was already moving forward. The kherhog didn’t want to be near the screaming carnivores.
“Don’t let it run away!” shouted Amdi, even as he scrambled to guide the second and third wagons. There was blood all over him, but he was eight for sure.
Behind them, Jefri and Screwfloss were continuing the defense. The enemy mob ran back and forth across the trail behind them, darting forward repeatedly. Jefri held the center of the line, but Screwfloss—all but the limper—was rushing back and forth, cutting and slashing, matching the desperation of the attackers with his own brand of mad rage, chasing any who tried to flank the rear wagon and go after Ravna and Amdi.
Meter by meter, their three wagons proceeded away from the campsite. Ravna walked beside the lead kherhog. It wasn’t pulling so nervously now. She had no trouble keeping up and staying on her feet. She glanced back. From somewhere under her own mortal panic, a tiny horrified vision rose … of the nightmare that faced their enemy: The two from the wagoneers, the three from Chitiratifor, they were now about fifty meters from the trees that held the rest of themselves. They were beyond the reach of their mindsounds. Pursuit would be mindless and would give up any chance of pack survival.
The two wagoneer members broke first, turning and heading back toward the campsite. The three of Chitiratifor shrieked rage at this desertion, then shrieked rage at the escapees. The fragment took one more wild charge at Jefri and Screwfloss, and then turned back, desperate to save itself.
• • •
“The ones in the bushes, they’re all dead, or they will be soon, either suffocated or crushed.” That’s what Screwfloss said when she asked him about Gannon and the others. His words were flippant, even more than usual. “Heh. What we gotta hope is Chitiratifor dies slowly, so what’s left doesn’t come after us till we are well gone.”
They were pushing on as fast as they could go. It had been light when they escaped, but now twilight was deepening into night and the wagons’ progress had slowed. For that matter, how do you do first aid when you can’t see the injuries? The stolen lamps were somewhere on the wagons, but they couldn’t stop and dig them out. When there had still been light, she had seen the general size of the problem. Everyone was cut up to some extent. Over the last ten years, Ravna had done her best to learn about first aid. Jefri’s forearm needed a pressure bandage. She had managed that, and he understood how to maintain it. Amdi had looked ghastly, blood oozing now from three of his heads—and yet he seemed to be thinking as clearly as ever. Okay, maybe they were just scalp wounds, not near his tympana. She had wrapped his heads in strips torn from their cloaks. That made it harder for Amdi to hear himself think, but the bleeding stopped. “I’m fine,” he said, “I just gotta pay more attention to where I’m at. Please. Check on Screwfloss.”
Now it was really dark. One of Screwfloss was aboard the rear wagon, driving it along. The rest of him was sprawled in an exhausted jumble atop the second wagon with Ravna.
“We should stop, get you properly bandaged up,” said Ravna.
“Naeh,” said Screwfloss. “We gotta keep moving. How is Amdijefri?”
Ravna looked around. Jefri was walking by the lead kherhog, guiding it along. All eight of Amdi was trotting beside the middle wagon and its kherhog, keeping them on the road. “I’m good,” said Amdi, but he was looking up at Screwfloss anxiously. “Are you all right?”
Screwfloss replied, “You did great tonight, Little Ones.”
Ravna brushed her hand across the nearest of Screwfloss. “But are you okay, Screwfloss?”
“Am I okay? Am I okay? What kind of an idiot are you? I still have the broken leg you gave me; it hurts like hell. Then tonight you screwed us into trying to rescue Jorkenrud. He was more of a dirtbag than either of the wagoneers, you know that?”
Ravna was taken aback, remembering the moment when all she could think of was saving Gannon. She’d never thought of herself as a racist. That was a Straumer vice. She bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Screwfloss. It’s just that I knew Gannon, I knew all the kids, when they were younger. I felt responsible.”
Screwfloss emitted a soft laugh. “Would you have done the same if you’d known he was the one who smashed your face into the side of the fodder wagon? Never mind, I’m afraid you would have. You and Woodcarver are both so soft-hearted.”
Woodcarver soft-hearted? Compared to what?
Screwfloss shifted uneasily under her hands, but let her touch and probe. She could see so little now, but there was blood all over, like Amdi. Keep him talking. “You were on our side from the beginning, Screwfloss. But you were part of Nevil’s conspiracy, too.”
“Of course I was! Didn’t Flenser tell you he had tunneled into the conspiracy? You can’t do that without being pretty damn credible.”
“You had me fooled about the trees, right up to when the arrows didn’t start flying.”
“Heh, I had a good time with that. There really are arrow trees, you know. Just not anywhere near here. The crusherbushes are much rarer, a transient stage in the way these forests sometimes regrow. I couldn’t believe our luck the other night when I saw that crusher grab you. My lies practically told themselves, though Chitiratifor was the perfect ignoramus. I don’t know why Vendacious put up with him all these years. Remasritlfeer wouldn’t have been fooled. But then he wanted you for Tycoon. We should be glad that’s not gonna happen. We have a chance. We just gotta avoid Vendacious and Tycoon, and wiggle our asses back to the Domain.”
It suddenly occurred to Ravna that she was in the middle of someone who could explain most of the deadly mysteries, and who surely must be a friend.
Twilight was past, but now the moon stood low in the south, its light chopping the forest floor into silver and shadow.
She used an open stretch of road to peer down between Screwfloss’ huddled members. He wasn’t talking so much now, though the one on the other wagon was peering alertly into the gloom, taking advantage of the moonlight just as she was. Then she realized that except for the outlier driving the rear wagon, Screwfloss was huddling, the dazed reaction of a pack that doesn’t consciously understand how badly it is injured.
“Talk to me, Screwfloss.”
The pack gave its human chuckle. “Yeah, yeah. I bet you have a million questions. And I have lots of answers, though if we knew exactly what was going on we’d never have wound up in this mess.” He mumbled to himself for a moment. “We didn’t realize how important Vendacious was. We didn’t realize he might double-cross Tycoon. We didn’t realize they would grab so much and all at once.”
The words weren’t slurred. The actual sounds were coming from all the pack. But there was a singsong cadence to the delivery; some member was not pulling its mental weight. Ravna slipped her hands gently between him, trying to encourage the pack to get out of its huddle. Here and there a jaw snapped at her distractedly, but the four slid apart. There was so much blood.
The one protected by the huddle was in a pool of it. The critter was humming to itself, not really in pain. In the reflected moonlight she could see it turn its head toward her, the faint glitter in its open eyes. She ran her hand up its shoulder, felt a faintly pulsing gash just short of its neck, the blood flowing past her fingers.
“Jefri!” she shouted.
• • •
Ravna and Jefri and Amdi did what they could, but it wasn’t nearly enough. She’d stopped the bleeding. They’d found a clearing, coaxed Screwfloss down to lie in the moonlight, where they could find all his injuries. By then the one member was silent and unconscious, and it was too late to save it. The death was a peaceful, painless ending. It might not have happened if there had been pain and whistling screams. Instead, the member had quietly bled and bled, its pack just dazed enough to miss the mortal peril.…