The Black Irix

* * *

They were three now as the journey continued. Panamon regaled the other two with tales of his exploits, most of which caused Shea to smile and Flick to roll his eyes. The thief made so many outlandish claims and recounted so many improbable happenings, it was impossible to believe half of it. But it was entertaining, and it helped the time to pass more swiftly. To his credit, Flick did not say or do anything to deliberately irritate Panamon. He did not question the purpose of their journey or the details surrounding how the thief intended to fulfill it, and studiously avoided offering any sort of challenge to the other’s authority.

But Panamon was clearly irritated by his presence nevertheless, which eventually persuaded Shea to confront him.

“You don’t seem too happy having Flick along,” he said. They were standing alone at their campsite on the fourth day out while Flick was off gathering firewood. By now they were above the Dragon’s Teeth and only a day from their destination. “Why are you so upset?”

“Because, Shea,” Panamon replied in a dismissive tone, “this effort doesn’t need a third person. It just needs you and me. Flick will only be in the way. He might even cause problems for us when we go after the Irix, just by being here. I didn’t plan on him coming, and I don’t need him.”

Shea held his temper. “But perhaps I do.”

“That’s nonsense. You were on your own when I found you two years ago. You didn’t seem to need him so badly then.”

“Well, appearances can be deceiving. I missed him terribly. I can’t tell you how much being separated from him bothers me. So let’s understand something. I am happy he came to find us, and it would be a good idea if you stopped acting as if he shouldn’t be here. It makes me think I shouldn’t be here, either.”

Panamon seemed to take his words to heart. On the following day, he went out of his way to speak with Flick, telling him how much help he expected he would be to them and how pleased he was to have him along. Flick was clearly doubtful at first, but after a while he began to respond to the other’s efforts, and the ride north immediately became more pleasant for everyone.

During their travels, they had seen almost no one. By the time they reached the banks of the River Lethe and the Knife Edge Mountains came into view through a screen of mist and gray, the country had turned so barren that it seemed impossible anyone or anything could possibly find a way to subsist. The landscape was composed of rock and dirt and grasses that were so dried out and prickly, they cut like knives if you brushed up against them.

That was all you could see in any direction.

There was nothing out there. Anywhere.

Except for the Harrgs.

At least Panamon knew what they were and was prepared for them when they appeared. The travelers were camped on the evening of the fifth day, their horses tethered, their fire built, and the night black and silent around them. But moon and stars lit the blasted terrain surrounding them so they could see the squat shapes when they began to close in.

“What’s that?” Shea asked, the first to catch sight of the creatures moving at the edges of the firelight like vague and indistinct shadows.

“Harrgs,” Panamon answered casually. “Don’t move.”

“Don’t move?” Flick asked in disbelief, getting a good look at what they were facing now as the creatures edged close enough to be seen clearly. They not only sounded like pigs, snuffling and grunting, but they looked like pigs–pigs with tusks and huge, hairy bodies and mean little eyes. There were at least a dozen of them, moving back and forth like phantoms.

“What are those?” Shea whispered.

“Feral pigs, of a sort. Boars, really. They live here; this is their country. They eat those sharp–edged grasses, mostly. But they’re omnivores, so we don’t want to take chances. Quiet, now.”

He was fumbling beneath his cloak in the pouch he always wore strapped about his waist, digging in it.

The Harrgs were getting close. Very close. Shea and Flick edged nearer the fire, scooting like startled crabs. “Panamon,” Shea hissed.

A second later the thief leapt to his feet and flung what appeared to be a handful of pebbles at the Harrgs. The creatures backed off a few steps, hesitant yet undeterred. Then one or two of them inched forward, sniffing loudly. A moment later Shea and Flick could hear the sound of chewing.

But only a heartbeat after that the night silence was filled with the sounds of agonized squealing and snorting as one or more of the Harrgs went wild, leaping and charging about, sending the others into a frenzy that ended with all of them racing away into the darkness.

Panamon brushed off his hands. “Pepper root. The Harrgs can’t stand it. I disguised the smell so they would eat it, knowing they will eat just about anything. They won’t be back. Not that we were in any real danger from them.”

“Those tusks suggest otherwise,” Flick pointed out.

“Well, yes, perhaps they do,” the thief conceded. “But Harrgs are not hunters; they’re opportunists. They were more curious about us than anything.”

He came back to where they were still crouched by the fire and sat down again. The night air had turned chilly with the deepening of the darkness, and he rubbed his hands briskly.

“Cold,” he said.

“How do you happen to know so much about Harrgs?” Shea asked.

Panamon shrugged. “I know a few things.”

“It was fortunate you knew about this one, wasn’t it?”

Panamon did not miss the implication. He shrugged. “I knew about the Harrgs because I’ve run into them before.” He cleared his throat and spit. “Now if you don’t mind, I would like to leave any further discussion of the subject until morning. I am tired, and I need my rest.”

Shea and Flick exchanged a quick glance as the thief picked up his blanket, found a suitable piece of hard ground, lay down with his back to them, and went to sleep.

He needs his rest, Flick mouthed to Shea and rolled his eyes.