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What?
They re expecting Pretender himself to be here. He s going to talk to them. She paused again. I
don t like this.
I m hoping we get to stay in our little cocoons and aren t asked to join the party.
I won t be able to mindspeak with you. I don t want Pretender to pick up on our being here.
Can t you cover your mind the way Kale does? She asks Wulder to protect her thoughts and keep
them guarded.
I can, and I will. You better do the same. And keep repeating it. There s going to be a lot of evil
going on here tonight. I don t want us vulnerable for even a moment.
A chant rose from the gathering. A drum beat a steady rhythm, and Bardon surmised a wild dance had
begun. He squirmed around until he could get out his small dagger. With the point, he broke open a niche
between two staves, so he, too, could have a peephole.
He placed his eye against the crack and sighed with frustration. A row of mountain ogres stood in a line,
obstructing his view of the main participants. He could see the taller grawligs within the circle and those
who leapt high enough during their chaotic celebration.
A clap of thunder stilled the grawligs. The loud crack indicated a nearby lightning strike and should have
been preceded by a flash of lightning.
As if they understood this as a signal, the grawligs sat on the ground in a large circle. Bardon could see
more but had no way of estimating the number. I hope Latho has an idea when we climb out of these
stinking barrels. No reason to think we won t get out of here. Hopefully in one piece. Wulder,
order our way.
The hush that fell over the throng seemed unnatural. Bardon found he was holding his breath and
deliberately let it out. The sound of his heart beating echoed in his ears. A murmur ran through the
gathering, and then that unnatural silence again. Bardon recited the words that would keep him connected
to Wulder and protected from evil.
A cloud formed in the center of the grawlig circle. Lights sparked within, sending off refracted flashes of
different colors. The flickers ceased. The cloud pooled on the ground. In the center stood a man, twice
as tall as any bisonbeck, covered with a shimmering black material, and producing a constant outpouring
of vapor that sunk to swirl around his feet. Coarse dark hair covered his bulky head, including the face.
A hefty nose like a bull s; a mouth, giant but looking like an o rant s; and enormous eyes with undersized,
black pupils combined to make a hideous visage.
Quite a show. I m sure the grawligs are impressed. Bardon swallowed. I think I m impressed.
Wulder, guard me as I seek Truth.
The figure raised his arms and lightning streamed from his fingertips, spreading out into the night sky.
Now, that was spectacular. I wonder if he ll rain brimstone for an encore.
The performer turned and looked Bardon s way. Bardon caught his breath. The man s prominent eyes
sparkled for a moment and seemed to focus on the wagon, then on the barrel where a shiver spread
through Bardon s chest.
Wulder, protect me, for I am a dolt. Keep me ever mindful of Your strength, Your honor, Your
presence.
The man looked away and lowered his arms to his sides.
I am Lord Ire. His announcement boomed over his listeners. The grawligs cowered. I have chosen
you for my subjects. It is your honor to serve me. Together we shall dominate the world. You will be
revered, not spurned. You will be great, and those who pass before you will cower and cry with fear.
Bardon expected a mighty cheer. But the awed grawligs only mumbled in their throats and nodded their
massive heads.
This will be my challenge to you. Lord Ire drew from his pocket a red cloth that dripped scarlet drops
onto the ground. He held it above his head. Do you smell it?
His audience grunted and growled and stirred in their seats.
It excites you, doesn t it? The smell demands that you run. The smell insists that you hunt. You are urged
to your feet.
The mass of grawligs rose as one. They fidgeted as if they could not keep still, nor could they move from
the spot until released by the speaker. Their feet shifted in the dirt.
You need to hunt. You need to track. You need to ferret out all those who carry this smell. You need
to kill.
Bardon felt the swelling desire churning among the grawligs. They craved to be set free, to break loose
from this confining circle.
Lord Ire waited just one moment longer, restraining them, making them all the more eager to be off. He
allowed the cloth to drop. When it hit the ground he said, Go.
The wagon shook as the multitude stampeded away from the camp. Dust rose in the air. Bardon peered
through his small crack and watched. The air became still. The cloud of grime settled. Lord Ire stood for
a moment and then vanished.
The bisonbeck soldiers started as if awakening from a trance. They moved around, straightening
overturned barrels, putting out the fires, and collecting cooking utensils and abandoned food supplies.
Soon even that activity stilled.
Bardon waited.
He listened.
He heard a whimper and then a sob.
Leetu?
A mangled word came back to him through the staves of the barrels.
What is it? he asked.
She choked and moaned and managed to speak. Kimens. He has sent them to hunt kimens, as hounds
would track down a fox. They will tear apart each kimen they find with their teeth and their claws.
Another sob escaped her. He has commanded it so.
32
TODAY OR TOMORROW?
Practicality stalled the choice to go on. Kale and her father couldn t proceed without the cooperation of
the ropmas. Without being deliberately obstinate, the ropmas threw up one obstacle after another. To
them, the threat of Burner Stox and her army had already been removed, so there was plenty of time to
do enjoyable things like eating and sleeping. Nothing Kale or her father said could change what the band
of ropmas decided to do.
The villagers expected music and stories from the visiting o rants. They provided dinner, a place to sleep,
and breakfast in return.
When will you take us to the valley of dragons? Sir Kemry asked.
Tomorrow, each would answer when quizzed.
After inquiring of all the ropmas who seemed to share a loose leadership role, Sir Kemry shrugged and
wandered over to sit on one of the crude benches clustered under a shade tree. He pulled out his flute,
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