Odyssey

CHAPTER 13

"It is like a picnic," Laquatus decided, as he shifted in the saddle, directing his mount around another clump of dead animals. "One is invariably bored and must create one's own amusement." The horse shied away at the scent of blood, and he sawed the toothed bit in the animal's mouth.

The plains were thick with destruction as the Order and the forest's forays clashed. After a week of piled corpses and devastated towns, Laquatus ached for a change. The death of drylanders was always enjoyable, but even a favorite dish might loose its appeal if sampled too often.

Turg felt the ambassador's lack of interest, and the amphibian did its best to enliven the journey. Forbidden from attacking the villagers along the way and banned from assaulting the mercenaries, it took a few days for the frog to act. Laquatus could feel his champion drawing on the merman's cunning though he lacked enough interest to interrogate his servant.

A horse's scream made the ambassador look up, wondering if they had fallen into an ambush. One of the pack-horses fell and thrashed, a caltrop sunk deep into its hoof. Laquatus could see iridescent glitter on the metal and knew it to be a deadly poison. A mercenary ran to care for the beast, stooping to draw the iron from the leg. But Turg seemed to appear, blocking the way.

"It appears to be poison," the ambassador called as the hired servant hesitated to force his way past the frog. "If you touch it, you will be too weak to walk within the hour. If you cut yourself, you might as well dig a grave." The frog nodded emphatically and turned to the downed horse. Borrowing a knife, he slit the beast's throat, moving slowly as if expressing grief. The ambassador would be ill at the mawkish sentiment if he were not sure that Turg had dropped the caltrop into a pouch.

The mercenaries patted the frog awkwardly on the back. They expressed that night their gratitude for his quick thinking. They saved him the first cuts of the dinner. The merman sneered at their stupidity. They neglected to ask how an aristocrat from the depths of the sea might recognize a poison on sight, especially one volatile enough to be deposited for contact use. Did they think him a sage to know every toxin? He knew the deadliness of the concoction because he carried a good supply of it secured in the depths of his luggage. The frog was cheered at dinner, and the ambassador wondered what else might happen.

A mental command reinforced his previous orders. He could not afford to lose any of the men, though the steeds were expendable as long as there was a surplus. Perhaps this game might keep his attention until they reached the lieutenant.

The frog did not use poison again, and the ambassador was glad. It could be an indiscriminate tool, rather like the amphibian. Instead the jack amused himself and the merman by daring the mercenaries into dangerous lapses in judgment, primarily by example. The frog took to taunting the forest animals who were gripped by the strange com' pulsion. He seemed to turn his back on them with unconcern. Laquatus knew the champion's peripheral vision was extraordinary, especially in seeing movement. But to the ignorant, and there were few air breathers who were not, he appeared oblivious.

The frog also took to helping with the horses, always quick to step in when a strap came undone or a stone was in a shoe. The animals shied away from the champion, showing better judgment than the fools riding them. However, even Laquatus was hard- pressed to see the camouflaged frog sabotaging the packs and saddles. The merman wondered at the ingenuity of the amphibian. The race was known for its savagery, not playing petty tricks and doing small injuries. It could only be the mental link, the ambassador decided. With other things to control and plots to tend to at the Cabal pits, Laquatus was the overwhelming dominant partner. But now his aggression and deceit flowed in ever-increasing amounts to the jack.

It doesn't matter, he said to himself. Joining spirits was a difficult task, but surely his control would prevent things from getting out of hand. If only they could reach the lieutenant. He forced himself to look at their prisoner. The knight smiled absently, the stench from his wound strong enough that none cared to ride close. In camp the confused man was left alone.

The knight was already broken, and it was the work of a few minutes to invade his mind, inserting new memories. Now he could only babble that the ambassador was his savior, his rescuer from forbidding odds. Occasionally he would lapse into spasms and blurt out the names of his supposed tormenters. Laquatus amused himself by inserting the names of fighters who had irritated him. Kamahl and his noxious partner Seton had prominent roles. But like a pie, the situation's humor grew more stale every day. Furthermore, he must force his temporary minions to care for the madman.

The next morning the knight was still alive, though Laquatus doubted he would last the day. A perfectly good plan ruined by the lieutenant's stubborn insistence on staying hidden. There were villagers, but the ambassador wanted a performance for the Order. A preview was performed for the cheap crowds, but he moved on before the man could say more than "He rescued me," and name a few names.

He stopped only one time at a village. The headman, seeing the poor condition of the knight, offered hospitality. The ambassador was forced to influence his mind and leave a cover story with the others.

"The messenger," he explained, "suffers from an infection of the blood. Only healing magic might offer a chance."

So they continued. The merman opened his kit of poisons and drugs. Some elixirs were deadly but in miniscule amounts could give temporary strength. The knight rallied, his eyes growing brighter. No longer did he lie strapped like a sack to the back of his mount, his arm tied to the bridle. He tried to sit up, to move with his steed. But it was a feverish energy that gripped him, and Laquatus knew they were running out of time.

Turg was free of scrutiny as the ambassador worked on his project. The malice that the merman planted in the jack took full flower and blossomed as Laquatus mixed another stimulant for the knight.

The mercenaries set up the midday camp, making a bed at Laquatus's orders for the knight. The dying man was cut from his saddle. The ropes parted to let him fall to the piled blankets.

"We must continue," the wounded warrior insisted, trying to rise, only to fall back. He attempted to push himself up with his hands, forgetting somehow that he only had one. The stump bled once more, even through the heavy cushion of bandages.

"Perhaps a sedative or a smaller dose of the stimulant," Laquatus muttered, boiling water to prepare an infusion. All that he carried was deadly, and he tired of trying to make poison give life rather than take it. Rarely had he worried his potions might be too effective. Laquatus tried to calm the knight's spirit even as he worked to rebuild the body. False memories and commands were increasingly useless as the captive's mind lost itself and could not remember the impulses he implanted. He mixed more powerful drugs, knowing that he was buying hours without sustained rest or magical healing.

The merman needed time to mix the potions properly, and he went to the perimeter of the temporary camp. He concentrated, tying a spell to the line he traced around the tent and mounts. With each step Laquatus took, a subtle cry sounded from the ground. "Look elsewhere," it seemed to say. "There is nothing here," the magic whispered. The wards were based on misdirection and would keep beasts way from the camp. The ambassador had grown piqued at being unable to command the bizarre attacks of wildlife. He could no longer command the animals by his magic, but he could mislead them.

Turg and two of the hunters made for the perimeter, watching for signs of danger. Laquatus mixed the poisons inside the tent. He wielded the mortar and pestle, selecting the herbs and sealing everything into a porous bag. Then he went to the fire; to the eyes of the ignorant he was brewing a healthy tea. He wondered how long they would survive if he invited them to share with the patient.

His champion watched a swarm of insects pass, their buzzing creating background noise. Like a rolling cloud, the tiny warriors dipped and flew over the plain. Sometimes they moved with the wind and at other times against it. Barely aware of them, Laquatus measured out a cup of the tea.

Screams sounded from the perimeter, drawing everyone's attention. One of the soldiers was outside the wards, twisting on the ground. A mercenary ran outside to help him, then swatted at the air. Stinging insects boiled from the ground, settling on the would- be rescuer and pumping venom into his body. The first man down convulsed. The rest of the soldiers took a few steps to help but stopped, unwilling to risk death for one already doomed. The warrior still standing turned and came back to the camp in a drunken stagger. The mercenary's face swelled until he was blind. He called for help, his bulging throat choking off the cry in mid-word. Turg grabbed a spear and put out the butt end. As the dying man came closer he pushed him, the jack's muscles sending his victim reeling head over heels backward. Unable to stand, the man crawled. He set off away from the camp, having lost his bearing in the fall. After only a few yards he collapsed and was still.

"Stop!" commanded Laquatus as other mercenaries grabbed weapons, closing on the frog. He poured the tea down the knight's throat ignoring the sputters, sure his minions would hold until he finished the unpleasant chore. Swords whispered from scabbards, and he stood up, livid, seeing a few fools edging closer to the champion. Turg stood hunched over with arms spread wide. The ambassador could see the gloating on his face. The merman threw the filled teapot at the bravest fools, the hot metal burning a man, putting him down.

"I said, stop!" Laquatus bellowed. He stalked to the edge of the wards, slapping armed men out of the way. "Leaving the camp is death!" he shouted. "The moment those two men stepped outside they were dead!"

He stalked to the leader of the mercenaries and hissed into his face.

"If your incompetent minion had crossed back into the wards, they would have fallen. We would all be kicking our last!" he said, inches from the warrior's face. "Now tell these fools to sit down and wait until the insects pass."

Fear and loathing was in the other man's eyes, but he nodded curtly and stamped back to the fire, his hands holding an animal prod. Those still standing against the frog saw the hatred rising off the man and slunk away, not wishing to call attention to themselves.

Laquatus moved back to his tent and put away his poisons. Once his equipment was packed he called Turg to him with a mental command. The moment the amphibian let the tent flap close the ambassador bludgeoned him immobile with a mental assault.

"You have had quite enough fun for one trip," the merman whispered, looking into the frog's spirit. The flow between them had changed the jack. The amphibian's intelligence had soared, and mentally he bore little resemblance to the near animal he once was. Laquatus pondered the champion, wondering at the signs of familiarity the new creation showed.

"Why, it's me," the ambassador said. His murderous impulses and controlling nature had bonded with the frog's savagery. Like a baby taking its first steps, the amphibian was manipulating the people around it. Like a proud parent, the ambassador admired how far his offspring had come in luring the mercenaries to their death. But sadly, like a child, the frog had no grasp of the larger plot. With a faint sigh of regret, Laquatus channeled power along their connection. Turg screamed, his body thrashing as a flood of energy scoured his mind.

"Just stay out," the merman said to panicked questions from the mercenaries at the tent flap. "I am working with Turg on a question of discipline."

The mental constructions giving the amphibian its independence and reasoning power melted under the assault, dissolving like sandcastles before an incoming tide. Laquatus scarred the frog's mind, crippling its ability to grow mentally. Even as he attacked the mind he could feel the frog vainly trying to repair its shattered spirit.

"Strong, aren't you," the ambassador chuckled, bearing down a little harder. "We'll just have to make this a daily ritual then." He tore at the soul, pleased by the jack's agony.

It was a somber expedition that moved through the plains. The casualties kept the mercenaries close to the ambassador, scared to leave the safety of his wards. Turg was as he used to be, a sullen mountain of muscle. The frog could barely restrain himself from attacking anything that moved. The ambassador devoted more attention to managing the jack, amazed at how much more work it required, but the extra effort engaged his attention. The boredom that plagued him vanished under the workload. The soldier was in a coma, drugged to near-death in the hopes that they might find a healer. Laquatus regretted the delay Turg had created, but he must have absolute control.

The cries of battle sounded, and the ambassador stood in his stirrups. The forest was closer, but most of the land was open ground. The ground was dry, and the merman could see only the dust of the melee. He cursed the mercenaries' newfound timidity. If they were to be useful, his guards should be scouting ahead. The noise was dying down, and he feared the fight might end before he could join. The chance to finally receive accolades for rescuing the dying knight riding behind him was too great to resist.

"Attack," he ordered with a great cry, unleashing his champion as he spoke. There was movement from ahead. Mounted figures becoming visible as a breeze began to clear the scene of dust. The mercenaries broke into a charge and echoed a battle cry. Turg was obvious as he ran toward the fighting, and the guards knew that if the amphibian left the ambassador's side then the wards protecting them from observation were gone. Laquatus waved the laggards forward, his frown driving them to overtake their fellow. Fear could create as bold a fighter as courage, the ambassador said to himself.

It was an Order detachment, the ambassador realized with glee. The mounted knights maneuvered against reptilian beasts that gathered in a circle as the soldiers dressed their ranks. Laquatus's mercenaries drew near the formed ranks, but except for a few glances, the soldiers ignored the rough irregulars racing to join them. The merman kept back, wanting disposable minions between him and any dangers. Besides, he must tend his captive, who showed signs of life as he approached a detachment of his fellows. Laquatus's passport gave a feeble cheer before lapsing unconscious. Only the straps and webbing kept the man on his horse. The merman drove his horse and that of the sick man faster. All his hard work could not expire within sight of the finish line.

The Order finished dressing its lines, and boots thudded into mounts' sides. The knights moved forward, lances dropping to ram home. Their opponents were great lizards, their sides heaving in the sun. Dust settled over their scaly bodies, making it difficult to count them despite their size. The knights shifted their angle of attack, their lances tearing at weaving heads and opening up necks.

Laquatus's mercenaries arrived in a disordered mob, but their attack did more damage. Doubtless this was due to their experience in gathering animals for caravans, the ambassador said to himself as he slowed and tried to appear more solicitous of the wounded man.

Familiar with the species, the mercenaries dodged strikes and unleashed blows to the joints and fragile bones at the back of the head. Despite their size, thousand-pound creatures fell as easily as cattle in the slaughterhouse. The Order forces swept back to attack again, but this time they cheered the irregulars as the last reptile fell. The ambassador led his passport forward, interrupting the victory cries as he struggled to get the Order's attention before the knight could inconveniently die.

"I have a man in desperate need of healing!" he cried out, his face flushed in apparent fear for his prisoner's life. "He might die any minute!"

A sergeant of the Order threw himself from his horse, rushing to the wounded man's side. He drew a dagger and cut away the restraining cords.

"Bring blankets and erect a tent!" he ordered his men, easing the patient to the ground.

"I prayed to find someone who could help," the merman said, trying to sound relieved. "I am Ambassador Laquatus of the Mer Empire. Can you do anything?"

The sergeant ignored him, already falling into a trance. The energy rolling from his hands was almost invisible in the sunlight. Used to the rich golden color of healing, the ambassador wondered if he misunderstood the sergeant's intentions. But the one- armed man's breathing seemed to improve by a miniscule amount as more power soaked into the body. "The sergeant is exhausted," a soldier explained, coming from a packhorse with a bundle of wood to start a fire. "We've been marching for days, slaughtering anything we can find." He dropped the fuel and began cutting a circle of turf away for a fire pit. All the Order soldiers looked exhausted. Some stood with still bloody weapons, too tired to clean them.

"I am Corporal Vale," the soldier continued as he stacked the wood, laying down the kindling, then the heavier pieces. The warrior was twisted as if a healing had gone wrong, but intelligence glinted from the slack face.

"Why are you here so close to the forest?" Corporal or not, there was suspicion in his look.

"Attacked," came a gurgling cry from behind them.

The corporal spun, his dirt-covered knife ready to stab.

"I was attacked," the wounded knight repeated, his eyes glassy as he looked toward the sky.

The corporal crowded closer, his knife still ready but his attention on the wounded man.

"Who attacked you?" Vale asked gently. The knight's face was flushed, and the corporal motioned for one of other soldiers to continue the fire building. "How were you injured?"

The sergeant was deep in his trance, his face growing hollow as he poured more healing power into the wounded man. Laquatus watched with interest, for the stimulants and poisons he had poured down the knight's throat were nearly as deadly as the seeping wounds.

"A metal-hued barbarian and a centaur," came the implanted answer. "They fell on us behind a wave of animals, killing everyone before I was rescued. A frog carried me away," he gasped and passed out.

The ambassador restrained a wide grin, all the work had been worth it. He tried to look concerned.

"He means my jack, Turg," he said, pointing to the battlefield where the amphibian tore away raw flesh and gulped it down. "I was coming after Lieutenant Kirtar when we happened upon the ambush. We were only able to save the one man before being forced to flee. We were lucky to make it to you alive."

The corporal grunted, then knelt to catch the sergeant as he toppled. The healer looked as wasted as his patient, and Laquatus wondered if they would both die. Vale looked lost as he held his superior's head, already tucking blankets around the drained figure.

"Kirtar is five miles farther in the forest," he said distractedly, "Follow the main path, and you will come upon his camp." He turned to the ambassador. "If you could leave a few men to help protect the wounded, it would be greatly appreciated."

"Of course I can," Laquatus said expansively. He waved three mercenaries over. "I will leave these guards here with supplies and food if you could give me one man to lead me to Kirtar."

Vale nodded, exhaustion catching up with him. Even three unknowns would be an infusion of strength to the weakened command.

"Toltas," he called. A soldier stood up from the fire building. "Escort the ambassador and his men to the lieutenant. Tell him of the aid they provided."

The soldier made no protest, looking like a sleepwalker. Laquatus accepted the guide, for the rest of the command looked like the walking dead.

The detachment appeared asleep as the ambassador's men and their guide left for the lieutenant. As they proceeded, the ambassador looked for further signs of the forest's aggression. He kept a ward up to deter attacks from whatever they might meet. Scattered groups of animals lay piled, killed by the Order. The guide took them around the corpses, too tired to speak. Turg jumped to inspect each mound, but Laquatus kept firm control over the frog's appetite.

They came to the main Order camp, nearly abandoned except for five guards. They did not even challenge the ambassador and his party, their faces dull as they ate. The distant sounds of battle could be heard, and Laquatus and his mercenaries drew weapons.

"Where is the lieutenant?" the ambassador barked. A soldier eating beans gave only a vague wave toward the noise.

Laquatus looked at his guide, who was glassy- eyed and swaying in his saddle. "Stay here. We can find Kirtar on our own."

Too tired to argue, the soldier dismounted and slowly walked to the cook pot.

"Come on men," Laquatus said loudly. "The lieutenant might need our help." He put his heels to his steed's side and moved out at a bone-jarring gait. Once they were out of sight of the camp, he slowed down. "Pull up, you fools," he said to the mercenaries. Caught up in the moment, half of his riders forgot he was no friend of the Order.

"We will slowly scout out the situation, and if Kirtar truly is in trouble, we'll finish him off," Laquatus said coldly. "If he appears to be winning or there are flying messengers, we will act in support. But do nothing until I give the order."

At a mental command,Turg faded from view. His camouflaging skin mimicked the small undergrowth on the border between the forest and the plains. Laquatus fed more energy to his wards. The mercenaries and the ambassador moved slowly ahead while the frog sent mental pictures back to the merman. Laquatus threw his reins to a mercenary and slumped in his saddle as his champion's visions filled his mind.

There was a clearing in the brush, and inside it the Order laid siege to the herd of giant animals. They appeared reptilian, as large as dragons, though without wings or signs of magical ability. They sounded cries of distress like mighty elephants, as the lieutenant sent mounted squads against single animals.

The knights lowered their lances, the wood and steel flickering as magic flowed through the weapons. The horses approached at a slow gallop, closing obliquely with the group. The hills of flesh shifted, trying to retreat farther into the herd, but there was no more room. The points cut into the belly of a huge reptile, tearing through the hide. Blood poured down, gallons soaking into soil. The final lance tore through the ligaments of a leg, sending the animal down. Turg was overwhelmed by the smell of hot blood, and Kirtar sent another squad after a different animal.

The ambassador came out of his light trance, disappointed at Kirtar's strength. He must come in as an ally, he realized. He drew his personal weapon, a trident, and called softly, "We will support the lieutenant, men."

They came out of the concealing brush nearly opposite the Order. Laquatus sent his steed around the perimeter of the clearing to link up with the lieutenant, seeing little point of charging into a battle before making sure the effort was appreciated.

Over the bellow of the giants, the screams of griffins carried on the wind. A flight of Order soldiers came down, their weapons ready to be unleashed. However, instead of charging the herd, a woman dismounted. Kirtar saluted her, and Laquatus realized this must be Captain Pianna, head of the Order. He enhanced his senses and drifted back to the brush.

"Captain, you are just in time to join us," Kirtar said, the bird warrior standing proud. In contrast to his men he seemed alert and eager.

The captain drew off her helmet and handed it to a mounted subordinate. "I need to speak to you alone," she said, her voice flat.

Kirtar looked to the animals, as if to mention the lack of time.

"I am sure your butchery can wait." She walked away, her sword of command sheathed over her shoulder providing an easy way for Laquatus to track her movements through the detachment. Finally they were far enough away that she stopped and turned to Kirtar.

"What, by all the stars in the sky, are you doing here Kirtar? What insanity drove you to attack into the forest? I directed you to scout and protect the western villages, not initiate a war." She looked over the slaughter and the dead animals.

"The forest and its creatures are part of the natural order. Why would you order needless killing that goes against our basic ideals?" she asked passionately. Laquatus focused his attention on Kirtar hopeful that he could use the answer to good effect.

"To protect the plains, the enemy must be destroyed," the aven replied, his tone growing hot. "These attacks are only a symptom of the chaos deep in the forest itself. It is long past time something was done to tame the west and its beasts! For now, only destruction can protect our land from the contagion here."

Laquatus chuckled to himself as the captain stood stock still. "Rank hatred and insanity," the ambassador whispered lovingly. "I can make use of that."

Pianna rallied and pointed to the lieutenant's men.

"Setting aside your unique views of handling the current problems," the captain said carefully, "there is still no excuse for the condition of your men. I just came from your camp. After a flight of griffins landed, I was forced to wake your guards to find out where you were. Your men are completely spent, their magic dissipated in these pointless attacks." She pointed to the few remaining herd animals in the clearing. "You have dragged your pickets so far forward you are beyond support. You have nowhere to fall back to in an emergency. We should be back where the militias can act in concert, not driving for the depths of the forest!"

The few remaining animals broke their instinctual response to band together for protection and started for the woods. The lieutenant's men moved to attack, sending their mounts in pursuit of the giants. Their lances dropped parallel to the ground. Pianna called out for the men to stand, but only a tired blood-thirst remained in their minds, and they did not obey.

Laquatus thought quickly, the captain might obey the Order Strictures and destroy the prize. He sent Turg to find the sphere in Kirtar's camp, burning the need to stay concealed into the frog's mind.

He raised his trident and shouted, "Kill the animals!" The mercenaries followed.

The ambassador sent his troop to head the beasts off. Only after the charge began did he realize the true size of his opposition. Just the whales and great sea beasts were larger, and he wondered if the mercenaries could do anything with their swords and spears. But these men hunted the forests, and they were ready for such foes. A few nets flew up, trailing long ropes, to land against the reptilian sides. They stuck, the throb of magic bonding them to their targets. The entangled beasts trailed long lines behind them as they bolted. The nets tore trees from the ground, but the lizards fell as they became tangled with massive rocks. The Order followed, and their lances pierced the unprotected bellies, letting out rivers of lifeblood.

The ambassador swung his trident, power snapping among its tines. A lash of lightning danced along the lead beast's side, the current destroying nerves and locking muscles. Tons of flesh piled up as the Order and the mercenaries worked together in the slaughter. Laquatus turned toward the leadership, the lieutenant and the captain already mounted and closing. The griffins spread out in a half circle behind their leaders.

"Always glad to be of service," the ambassador called out, enjoying the rage threatening to boil out from the captain's demeanor. "We met a detachment of your men after rescuing one of your knights. Arrived here just in time to help you deal with these animals."

The captain visibly forced herself to be polite.

"Thank you for your aid, Ambassador. We are thankful that you could come, but it would be best if we adjourned back to the base camp," Pianna said with a tight smile.

The merman still had no response from Turg as to whether the prize was located. He needed to keep the leaders out in the field.

"Surely the best thing is to continue killing your way into the forest," Laquatus said, swinging his trident to point west. "The business of the Order is to end the threat of attacks."

"The business of the Order is what I say it is. Ambassador," Pianna said, interrupting any comments that Kirtar might have had. "We have lived with the forest for generations. It is foolish to risk everything when we do not even know why these attacks have begun or how we can stop them. We are not the Cabal to believe that death is the final answer and first response."

She turned the horses and started back to camp, forcing the rest of her troops to follow. The merman could see the rebellion in Kirtar's face. He could race after her, but that lacked dignity. A spurt of animals showered from a cluster of brush.

"Beware," Laquatus cried, and a bolt of energy arced from his trident to the bushes at the side of the trail. Soldiers drew weapons as small animals flowed out and up the legs of their mounts. They were stoats and shrews, and Laquatus cursed the fates that supplied him with such diminutive foes. He needed some great menace to impress the Order and help cement an alliance, but only vermin presented themselves.

The Order steeds pawed the ground, starting in fright as the small animals tried to scramble up their legs. The lieutenant swung a long flail with gusto, the heavy ball tearing its way through the creatures as his soldiers and Laqua-tus's mercenaries maneuvered to give him room. Swords and lances swung, and creatures died, though their numbers seemed undiminished.

The captain and her officers dashed the ambassador's hopes for any victory by. summoning their own creatures. Several of the griffin riders concentrated, letting their steeds snap up mouthfuls of the furry foes. Huge single- and double-horned beasts set the ground shuddering as they stamped their way into the flow of sharp-toothed vermin. Gray rhinos dipped their heads and swept the small animals away. Tiny teeth worked at their gray hides in vain as the Order-directed creatures shattered the flow of small beasts.

Laquatus, however, was not willing to give up. He raised power, but the blasts that ripped from his trident barely stung the stoats. That was not where his power had gone. The merman's sly summoning drew greater beasts from the brush, attracting creatures that had fled Kirtar's murderous attacks.

Great cats leaped at them from cover, throwing themselves on the rhinos. The horned beasts rolled and tried to scrape their feline attackers off as larger teeth worried at their hides. A few giant bulls thundered out, shoving panicked rhinos and goring the gray beasts' sides. Laquatus ceased his call, concerned that he might destroy himself in calling up more dangerous animals. Predators, large and small, attacked the Order, and the ambassador watched as his mercenaries aided the beleaguered knights.

"Hold them for a few seconds," Pianna cried, a bow in her hands. The captain's arrows flew low to the ground. The missiles were for cutting harnesses and standards, but the curving blades instead dismembered the stoats and badgers. Then the razored half-moons lodged deep in the legs of the bulls coming from the forest.

The small animals were so easily killed, the ambassador lamented, and not even poisonous. Laquatus threw arcs of energy that leaped from small animal to small animal, stunning them. He drove his horse among the unconscious creatures, cursing his horse as it failed to trample enough.

The lieutenant and his men had dismounted, swords killing the last of the small creatures before they closed with those slyly summoned by the ambassador. The rhinos returned, finally free of the great cats. Huge horns sundered ribs, and the bulls died quickly. The Order knights killed off the last of their attackers and turned to help the mercenaries.

A lion leaped at Laquatus, pulling down his horse and spilling him to the blood-soaked ground. His guards tried to spear it but missed, allowing the lion another chance to kill Laquatus. He laid his image over his horse, sacrificing the beast as he rolled away. The gaping jaws locked on the equine throat as the merman's steed did him a final service. The ambassador called for his champion, regretting that Captain Satas and his dependable minions were far to the east, still mapping their way to the Order's Citadel.