The rearguard, annoyed by the cloud of dust kicked up the oxen, gradually dropped farther and farther back until the occupants of the last wagons could no longer see them. Akkar-bin and the point guards fought their drowsiness and tried to stay alert, but their attention was wavering when the caravan entered a short ravine between two tall hills.
The cook wagon rolled along at the rear of the caravan as usual. Lucy drove this afternoon while Challie sat beside her and Ulin slept in the back under the shade of the canvas cover. Lucy breathed a sigh of gratitude when they entered the ravine. Red rock walls reared over their heads and cast the narrow trail into shadow. It wasn’t much of a change, but any interruption from the fierce sun was welcome. She glanced back down the trail and still could not see the rearguard through the hanging clouds of dust, nor could she see much in the ravine ahead. The head of the caravan was lost from sight among the steep walls of stone.
The first indication of trouble they heard was a thud on the side of the wagon.
Challie looked over her side and cried, “Lucy! That’s an arrow!”
Abruptly, the air seemed full of arrows, dropping down from above. Several passed close to the women or slammed into the wooden slats of the wagon. One struck their wheel horse on his flank. He screamed in fear and pain, and both horses reared in panic, causing the wagon to jerk and pitch.
Just ahead, the driver of the freight wagon slumped in his seat. His oxen stopped in their tracks, blocking the path.
A shrill scream followed by several more pierced the hot, dusty air. Many voices shouted now, from behind and ahead and from above.
Ulin jolted upright as Challie fell backward over the seat and landed on top of him. “What’s happening? What’s going on?” he shouted, still groggy from sleep.
The canvas cover of the wagon blocked his view, but it did not stop the arrows. Two ripped through the cover and embedded in the wooden cupboard. Cooking pans fell from their hooks in clattering clangs. Challie lay flat, gasping for breath.
“We’re under attack!” Challie shouted. She tried to roll off Ulin and grab her axe.
“Ulin, help me!” Lucy called, her voice full of urgency.
Ulin struggled through the bedrolls and over Challie. He snatched his sword and climbed over the seat.
Lucy had both hands on the reins and fought to control the plunging horses. Her face was pale under her sunburn, and her lips were pressed into a bloodless line.
Behind them came more shouts and muffled curses. Some voices Ulin recognized as draconian, while others seemed human but used a language he did not know. Someone screamed a Khurish insult and the clash of weapons rang in the dust and haze. A riderless horse careened by. The roar and crash of fighting sounded along the line of wagons, too, yet Ulin and Lucy could not yet see who was attacking the caravan.
Clutching his sword, Ulin jumped down, ran to the horses, and grabbed their bridles to calm them down.
“Lucy!” he heard Challie shout. “Back here!”
Ulin’s heart leaped to his throat. He let go of the horses to rush to her aid, when something big and heavy dropped out of the sky. Large, leathery wings flapped, washing a foul odor into his face, and a screech of fighting rage pierced his ears as a Kapak draconian glided down from the rock wall and thudded to the ground by the horses. It crouched for a second on all fours then rose to two legs, its wings fanning the dust.
The Kapak’s lizardlike face split in a hideous grin. With a swift movement, he slashed his sword across the throat of the nearest horse, and warm blood sprayed his muscular chest and face. The horse staggered against his teammate and fell, dragging the frenzied bay with him.
Ulin backed away, his eyes on the big creature. By the gods, he hated draconians. This was a particularly ugly one with a mane of coarse dark hair that fell across its head and shoulders, bulky muscles, and thick coppery skin. It wore no clothes or armor. Only a festoon of necklaces and chains hung around its thick neck, and a Solamnic knight’s helmet, several sizes too small, perched on its horny head. Its wings clapped together across its back, and with a yowl of glee, it raised its bloody sword and sprang after Ulin.
The young man raised his sword to ward off the blow, but he knew better than to face a Kapak’s venomous saliva and curving claws without so much as a shield. He needed help, and he feared desperately for Lucy. Step by step he backed away from the wagon, keeping the draconian’s attention focused on him.
The beast stamped after him, its lips curled over sharp fangs in a hungry snarl.
Behind the wagon and out of Ulin’s sight, Lucy and Challie had their hands full.
A man, a Khurish exile by the look of his ragged robes and rusty scimitar, rushed the back of the cook wagon, waving his blade to intimidate the two women who quailed in the wagon amidst the bags and boxes of food. He grinned foolishly at their fear and put a hand on the tailboard to swing himself up into the wagon.
A silver axe flashed in the hand of the dwarf and slashed into the Khur’s hand between his middle fingers. He reared back and his mouth opened to release a screech of pain just as Lucy lifted two iron skillets and slammed them together with his head in between. He collapsed back to the ground and did not stir.
Challie and Lucy had only a moment to celebrate before they heard the pounding of horses’ hooves from the ravine behind them. Three of the rearguard riders stormed into view through the dust and shadows, closely pursued by two humans on horseback and a second Kapak draconian wearing a battle harness and carrying a mace.
One Khur, riddled with arrows, barely clung to his terrified mount, and even as Lucy and Challie pulled back into the shadowy interior of the wagon, the Kapak bounded up beside the horse and raked a clawed hand across the Khur’s face. The rider fell shrieking into the dirt, convulsed into a rigid arch, and died. The draconian hissed with pleasure and smashed the man’s head.
The last two guards saw the cook wagon and kicked their horses toward it, perhaps hoping for shelter or a place of defense. Swift as they were, the mounted brigands were faster. The outlaws raised their scimitars and rode down the guards. Swords rang and flashed in the hazy light. A horse screamed. The two Khurs had their own swords in their hands, and they fought back like frenzied wolves.
Lucy sucked in her breath as she watched them. She realized the Khurs were not going to make it to the wagon. If they fell without seriously wounding their attackers, she and Challie would be left facing two armed men and a Kapak with only an axe and a couple of iron skillets.
She didn’t have much time to think or worry. The second Khur toppled from his saddle, his body split across the abdomen by his enemy’s scimitar. The brigands shouted insults at his corpse and turned their full attention to the last man.
Lucy did not wait any longer. She reached into a barrel and pulled out a handful of small, reddish potatoes. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to concentrate on a spell she remembered practicing time and again. Originally, the spell had been used as a joke in the slow, sleepy hours of late nights at the Academy, and a few times she had used it to discourage vermin or drive away a would-be burglar. It was simple. It was basic. It was effective. But she had never tried it on something as big as a draconian.
Fiercely, she forced away all distracting sounds and focused on the magic around her. From the wood, the earth, the dust, she drew the energy and shaped it to her will. It had to work, she promised herself. It had to! She forced each word of the spell into the magic and, to her surprise, she felt the power respond. It did not fade from her grasp or dissipate into emptiness. Like a long-lost friend it surged into her embrace, warm, familiar, and oh, so welcome. Desperately, she poured the magic fire into her handful of potatoes and felt them become fiery hot to the touch.
“Lucy, hurry!” Challie’s voice rose in fear.
Lucy opened her eyes and saw the two men circling their horses in front of her. Their bearded faces leered at her.
The Kapak squatted behind them, his leathery wings folded, his copper sk
in splashed with blood. His eyes glowed a bilious green as he tore the limbs off the bodies of the Khur guards and searched their clothes for valuables.
Lucy hurriedly dumped her hot potatoes into the skillet before her fingers burned. Worry and fear made her hands shake. The potatoes didn’t look quite right and felt much hotter than she remembered. The magic had worked, but something was wrong.
Then she had no more time. The two men dismounted and clambered up the tailboard of the wagon, daggers in their hands.
Challie cursed in Dwarvish.
Her heart racing, Lucy threw a potato at the nearest attacker. It struck him on his leather vest and burst like an overcooked baked potato: hot, mealy, and steaming. Lucy gasped in dismay. The man grinned and reached up to brush it off, but before he could touch it, a strange expression covered his face. The pale potato bits flared white hot, and where the potato stuck, flesh and fabric burst into flame. The man screamed a hideous, racking cry of agony and fell back, flailing at his burning body. His companion stared in horror.
Challie’s mouth fell open as she watched the man writhe in the dirt. She knew Lucy had been a sorceress at one time, but she had never seen anything like this.
Lucy didn’t have time to see the final effects of her potato bomb. The second man drew back and attempted to thrust his sword into the interior to reach her. Another potato left her hand and burst on his neck and shoulder.
The results were just like the first one. The split tuber burst into a brilliant white light that sizzled and hissed, setting the man’s clothes on fire. He beat frantically at his clothing, tried to tear it off, then he, too, collapsed, a screaming, smoking ruin. The first man was already dead. A hideous stench filled the air from the scorched corpses.
“Gods!” breathed Lucy. This wasn’t exactly what she had intended when she formed this spell.
Just then the Kapak looked up from its task of stripping the dead bodies. Its hooded eyes met Lucy’s and its breath hissed between its teeth in a snarl.
“You’re next,” Lucy muttered. She snatched up the last two potatoes, ignoring the heat that singed her fingers, and clambered down from the wagon. In the distance, somewhere down the ravine, she heard the ring of weapons and the shouts of fighting men. Far away, so soft she might have imagined it, she thought she heard the baying of hunting horns.
Her head lowered, her arm drawn back to throw, Lucy advanced toward the draconian. She needed a good shot, for she had only these two potatoes left, and her aim was notoriously bad.
The Kapak’s next move was so quick it caught her by surprise. It sprang sideways on all fours, then rose to its full height and leaped at her, its wings spread like a great cloak. That was its worst mistake.
Lucy had no time to adjust her aim. Her teeth gritted, she hurled the small potato at the beast and heard a soft splat before she dropped to the ground and covered her head with her arms.
The draconian sailed over her body and crashed to the ground. Crouching, it sniffed at the potato bits on its right wing and shoulder. Its lips curled into a grimace of pain just as the potato began to smoke. In seconds the draconian was enveloped in white fire. Hideous, piercing shrieks burst from its twisted snout. Kapaks never died neatly, and this one was no exception. While Lucy and Challie watched, its smoking body slowly stilled in death and began to dissolve. A dark, loathsome liquid oozed from its body, forming a puddle close to the wagon. Swiftly the entire body broke down and vanished into the liquid.
The ravine suddenly became very quiet.
Lucy thought she would vomit. She gingerly clutched the last potato and took several deep breaths. “No!” She called wildly to Challie who wanted to climb down. “Stay away from that liquid. It’s acid. Go out the front. We’ve got to find Ulin.”
She hurried around to the horses and found one dead in a pool of blood. The other lay trapped beside it, nearly dead itself from terror and exhaustion. There was no sign of Ulin.
Clutching her axe, Challie came up beside her. “Where is he? Why is it so quiet?” she asked softly, afraid to speak any louder.
Lucy’s answer came out like a sob. “I don’t know.” She hurried forward up the line of wagons.
They passed three stalled freight wagons before they heard angry voices and the hissing snarl of a draconian just ahead. One of the Khur drivers lay dead on the ground near his wagon, his face and neck ripped open.
An inarticulate sound escaped Lucy’s lips, and she hurried forward. The trail curved slightly, the rock walls blocking her view until she passed the third wagon, then the defile straightened and widened enough for several wagons to pass abreast. There the sun slanted down into the valley and illuminated four fighters: two Khur drivers, Ulin, and the second Kapak draconian. Lucy skidded to a halt and put out her arm to stop Challie.
The men did not notice the women at first. They circled the beast, using their swords to keep him within their circle. None of them had a shield. They were panting and drenched with sweat, and they looked exhausted. The draconian growled and stamped as it flapped its wings. It had only a long dagger, but Lucy could see from its unhurried movements and regular breathing that it was just biding its time until one of the men made a mistake.
“Lucy, keep away!” she heard Ulin yell.
“No, Ulin! Listen!” she cried. “Back away! All of you!” She edged toward them, the potato burning hot in her hand. “I made a spell. It worked! Just get away from the Kapak.”
The Khurs did not understand her. They stayed where they were, too close to the Kapak for her throw her weapon. Ulin understood, but he did not believe it.
“That’s impossible,” he yelled, one eye on the draconian and one on Lucy. “How could a spell work now?”
Lucy ignored the faint derision she heard in his voice. “It just did,” she insisted. “Now, get out of the way!”
She made her demand in Common, loud and urgent, and this time the drivers understood. They shot a startled look at the woman, then at Ulin, and stumbled back out of her path, leaving a gap in their defenses.
The opening was what the draconian was looking for. Giving a roar of defiance, it whirled to face Ulin, snapped its tail like a whip, and lunged to bury its claws and blade in the pale man’s chest. Ulin managed to avoid the viscous thrust and twisted out of the way of the draconian’s attack. Pivoting, the draconian sprang into the air, beating hard with its wings to lift itself up over Ulin’s head, and again it launched itself at the man.
The force of the draconian’s attack slammed Ulin to the ground. He fell hard, and the creature pounced on top of him, its heavy weight forcing the air from his lungs. Slavering and growling, it tried to stab him with the dagger as he struggled to defend himself.
Lucy screamed and threw her potato hard and fast against the draconian’s back. The tuber burst into white pulp against its dark, muscular back.
This strange new attack from the rear startled the Kapak. He sprang to his feet to face Lucy, his wings flat against his back. Then the pain hit him.
Lucy saw the smoke and the white fire ignite on his back, and she dashed to Ulin’s side. “Come on,” she told him. “Get out of its way. It’s going to die.”
Her urgency propelled him to his feet and sent him running out of range. He knew all too well what happened to dead Kapaks. The drivers, Challie, Lucy, and Ulin watched, awed and fascinated, as the draconian’s burning body collapsed and slowly dissolved into a smoking pool of acid.
“Great gods!” Ulin exclaimed. “Lucy, how did you do that?”
She looked up at his face, her green eyes filled with confusion, excitement, and a glint of fear. “I’m not sure. I—”
“You did that?” A new voice exclaimed. “Boys, it looks like we’ve found ourselves a sorceress.”
Startled, Lucy and Ulin saw a troop of warriors halted on the trail, staring at the puddled draconian and her with various expressions of awe and surprise. Akkar-bin and three of his guards were with the troop and looked equally stunned.
&n
bsp; Ulin had seen some mixed bands in his life, but he had never seen a troop as strange as this one. He counted fifteen in all: five Khurs on horseback, two kender on ponies, a wild elf, three men of indeterminate background, and two dwarves in light armor. All were heavily armed and all wore a silver emblem on their tunics that looked something like a wolf’s head.
Their leader sat on a tall gray horse, his lean handsome face tanned by the sun and his pale grayish clothes immaculate. His hair was silver, though he appeared to be young, and his ears bore the slender points of a person with elven blood. He beamed at Lucy and dismounted, revealing an athletic grace and energy that confirmed his youth.
“Spread out,” the leader ordered his band. “Search for the rest of the brigands.” Talking excitedly among themselves, the warriors split into groups and moved off to obey their commander. He made a straight line to Lucy, bowed over her hand, and said, “My Lady Sorceress, this is indeed an honor. May I introduce myself? I am the Silver Fox, Captain of—”
“That’s impossible,” Ulin snapped. “You’re too young.” He immediately regretted his outburst.
The man turned his wide smile to Ulin and bowed to him as well. “I am too young,” he agreed affably, “to be the original Silver Fox, but I am the third man to bear that name. We’re trying to keep the reputation going, you see. The revered resistance leader, the dreaded scourge of ogres, goblins, and draconians, the vaunted master of the Thieves Guild, the roving ranger of the desert realms … The Silver Fox, feared throughout Malys’s realm.” He flourished his sword and struck a dramatic pose.
Lucy laughed and Challie rolled her eyes.
Ulin felt his annoyance toward the man fade a little. It was difficult to dislike someone who saw such humor in his situation—as long as the man kept his distance from Lucy. He moved beside her and took her hand, making it clear where his loyalties lay. Lucy cast a twinkling glance at him.
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