Chapter 11

Tarrin wasn’t sure which was garnering more attention from the newcomers…him, Miranda, or the Pegasi.

Not that he cared. Having so many strangers around caused both him and Mist to all but withdraw from the group. They rode at the back of the column when it moved, to keep them all in sight, and always kept as many of them as possible in sight whenever they stopped. The two feral Were-cats seemed to become a single unit of wary surveillance, watching each other and helping each other keep all these potential threats under a watchful eye. But it was probably unfortunate that him and the other two Were-cats seemed quite interesting to this Skord and his band of soldiers, who seemed to want to ask endless questions. He learned almost immediately to direct all those questions to Kimmie, because Tarrin and Mist would have very little to do with him.

Again, though, it was Miranda that seemed to capture the attention of the others almost immediately, and not entirely positively. Her obvious inhuman appearance, so much more so than the Were-cats, again attrracted overwhelming attention, and Tarrin still hadn’t quite figured out why she was so much of an item of interest to these people. Only Skord didn’t seem to have any fear of Miranda, riding along with her the first day he’d joined them and politely but quite thoroughly trying to grill her for all kinds of information. Skord reminded Tarrin of Phandebrass, an inquisitive fellow with a sharp mind, but he also seemed quite tolerant of the alien nature of some of Lorak’s companions, more curious about them than afraid. There was also something of a thin, wispy aura around Skord that Tarrin found pleasant, something that his awakened divine senses could detect, something that was missing from Lorak and the others. He wasn’t quite sure what it was or what it meant, but Skord seemed quite agreeable to Tarrin in some ways, but Tarrin’s ferality wouldn’t allow him to explore this agreeable quality.

For most of them, though, it was the Pegasi that seemed to most solidly take their attention. They gawked at the winged horses almost all of that first day, which unsettled them just a little bit, making them a bit jumpy. They’d already been restless from being forced to stay on the ground for so long, so Tarrin ordered that all the Pegasi be taken on a “recreational flight” the morning after Skord’s group joined them. Perhaps that had been what caused it, he supposed, for the guardsmen were infatuated with them since that morning. Ulger still seemed very uncomfortable flying on the back of his mount, which his mount seemed to take as somewhat offensive. The Pegasus stomped on his foot after they landed and dismounted, then headbutted him in the back several times as they walked the mounts back to the area where they were keeping all the horses.

“Now listen, you feather-headed mutt, don’t be getting me mad,” Ulger warned the Pegasus as they reached the edge of the pasture where the horses were contentedly grazing. The Pegasus responded to this threat by pulling his reins out of Ulger’s hand, then quite deliberately turning his back on the Knight. “Serves you right, you—“ Ulger started, turning around, but that was a fatal mistake. The instant Ulger took his eyes off the winged horse, it leaned forward, pulled its back legs off the ground, then drove both back hooves into Ulger’s armored back. Ulger slid about five spans along the grass before coming to a stop on his stomach, with two impressive hoof-shaped dents in the shoulders of his backplate. He laid there for just a moment, then moved to get his elbows and knees under him, but the Pegasus came over and put a foreleg on the small of his back and put enough weight on it to stop that.

“Hey!” Ulger said in a growling tone. “Get off me if you don’t want to be in Mist’s stewpot!”

“I think you’d better apologize,” Haley said lightly as he let his own Pegasus to a large trough of water that one of the Wizards had created using magic.

“What do I have to apologize for?” Ulger demanded.

“Oh, all the yelling and screaming when we were flying, to start,” Haley chuckled. “Not to mention all those times you threatened to brain your Pegasus every time it went down.”

The Pegasus snorted out a neigh and nodded its head vigorously.

“It shouldn’t scare me like that!” Ulger snapped.

“No, I think you should have a bit more faith in your Pegasus,” Haley told him evenly, his tone more serious. “He wouldn’t let you fall. Well, he might let you fall now, but only if you’re really being an ass,” he chuckled, giving the Pegasus a warm smile.

“I am not apologizing to my horse,” Ulger stated adamantly.

The Pegasus put both forehooves on Ulger’s back, then started to press down. There was the clear sound of bending metal in the air.

“Hey! You’re bending my armor!”

“I think you’d better rethink that declaration,” Haley chuckled. “You’re in no position to make any, you know.”

“Stupid animal—“

That was cut off when the Pegasus put all its weight on its forelegs, which caused Ulger’s armor to squeal in protest. The Knight gave out a breathless “whuff!” and tried to struggle out from under his mount.

“Down,” Tarrin ordered tersely as he came up to them. The Pegasus gave Tarrin a single nod, then removed himself from the back of his rider. Tarrin reached down and hooked his claws into the base of that backplate, then hauled the Knight up off the ground, holding him almost by the seat of the pants, from the look of it. He turned to face Ulger’s Pegasus, then held him up so he was dangling at eye level with the animal. “First thing, Ulger, never call them stupid. They’re probably smarter than you are, and if you didn’t notice, they can understand what you’re saying.”
The Pegasus nodded, glaring at Ulger openly.

“Apologize.”

Ulger was defiantly quiet.

Tarrin bent down, then slammed the Knight into the ground. He was not gentle. Ulger’s armor made a loud clatter as he impacted the ground, and the Knight’s eyes were just a bit woozy when Tarrin picked him back up. “That was the only warning you’re going to get, Ulger,” Tarrin warned in an ominous tone. “Don’t disobey me again. Now apologize. Both of you.”

Ulger wasn’t stupid enough to miss the threat of impending violence in Tarrin’s voice, were he not immediately obeyed. “I’m sorry I insulted you,” Ulger said grudgingly. The Pegasus simply bowed its head in an act of contrition.

“Good. Go take your armor off.”

“What? Why should I—“

Tarrin shook him just enough to make him hold his tongue. “You’re afraid of flying,” the Were-cat noted. “There’s nothing wrong with that, but you need to get over it. So you’re going to spend most of today in the air. You’re today’s flying scout.”

“But you need me on the ground,” Ulger protested.

“I’m sure that Zak can direct those new men well enough. You need to get over your fear, and the only way to do that is to face it.” Tarrin looked to the Pegasus. “You understand that it was his fear talking. You’ve dealt with him on the ground, he’s much different.”

The Pegasus nodded.

“Good. Do you feel up to spending today airborne?”

The Pegasus nodded vigorously, obviously very happy about the idea.

“I’ll feel naked without my armor,” Ulger complained.

“It needs to be fixed, and besides, you won’t tire out your mount by making carry that extra weight.” Tarrin dropped him unceremoniously, then padded off with those long, slow strides that made him seem to move in slow motion, yet was a pace faster than a human could match. Fireflash soared through the air and landed on Tarrin’s shoulder, nuzzling him affectionately and getting an absent pat on his flank from the Were-cat, who was watching the new men with hawkish eyes.

“Thhhaarriiihhh,” Fireflash hissed sibilantly.

“Keep practicing, little one, you’ll get it eventually,” Tarrin told his drake affectionately. “It took Sapphire a while to learn too.”

They encountered no patrols or flying Demons that day, which was, in Tarrin’s opinion, not a good thing. He wanted to see if these new men could fight, and besides, fighting patrols was the norm, and Tarrin didn’t like deviation from the norm. If the patrols were pulling back, either they had other orders, other plans, or they were moving ahead to ambush with combined forces. Tarrin sent Ulger far ahead to scout around noon, but he came back to report nothing but empty farmland as they passed the Fangwood to their right, and nothing within the Fangwood but animals, thanks to Haley’s quick scouting of it.

By evening, the dull ache in Tarrin’s wings became more noticable to him, and it made him just a little short tempered…at least more than usual. He had his first and only brush with one of the new soldiers that evening as they made camp, hissing threateningly at a man who tried to offer him a skin of water. The others kept their distance after that, which suited Tarrin just fine…he had no doubt that Lorak or Neh had made sure to explain the rules to them. He sat by a fire with Dolanna, Mist, and Miranda, as Haley and Kimmie ranged out to hunt some fresh meat, and Sarraya flitted around with Fireflash chasing her after she poured one of Phandebrass’ inkwells onto his head. Gouts of fire and gas erupted from the furious drake’s mouth as he chased the more agile Faerie around, but Tarrin paid them little mind. Fireflash wouldn’t hurt Sarraya—much—and she deserved anything she got if he caught her. Ulger was out with the Pegasi, rubbing his mount down and spending a little quality time with him. Ulger had spent the entire day in the air more or less, and though it didn’t teach him to love flying, at least he’d learned how to tolerate it. Zyri and Jal trotted over, both of them holding their bows. “Master Tarrin, have you seen Mistress Shara?” she asked hastily. “We need more arrows.”

“I think she’s over at Lorak’s tent with the others, honey. They’re having a talk,” Miranda told her.

“You mean Master Phandebrass is talking and they’re all trying to interrupt him,” she giggled, and Jal smiled impishly.

“Probably,” Tarrin agreed with a slight smile. “How many have you hit?”

“I hit nine, and Jal hit two,” she said proudly.

“Then you need to go back twenty steps,” he told her, looking at the circular target made of soft earth and wood that jutted out of the ground which they were shooting at, something that Shara had used her magic to create for them. “Why do you need more arrows?” he asked curiously. “I see bunches of them out there.”

“But then we won’t know what we hit,” she protested. “And we’d have to go down and—nevermind,” she said sheepishly when Tarrin fixed her with a cool stare. She grabbed Jal and started towards the target.

“Lazy, lazy, lazy,” Miranda laughed.

“Just seeing what she can get away with is more like it,” Mist grunted, watching them.

“Have you been able to move your wings yet, Tarrin?” Miranda asked.

Tarrin glanced back at them. “Not yet,” he answered. They were almost halfway formed now, looked definitely like wings, but wings with their feathers clipped. “I was thinking of stealing my sword back from Dolanna tonight and seeing if that won’t help them heal a little faster.’

“Well, she didn’t use any Sorcery today, so she probably won’t mind,” the Wikuni mused. “The pain eased any since yesterday?”

She asked this question every night, and Tarrin’s response had yet to change. “No,” he answered.

“Anything unusual? New?” she asked.

Tarrin glanced at her. “How do you mean?”

“Oh, just fishing from the rail here, but something tells me to ask that. Well, someone,” she corrected.

“Oh, what information is she fishing for?” he asked bluntly.

“She’s worried about you, Tarrin,” she said immediately. “And if you don’t recall, Kikkalli is how Niami’s getting information about you. They want to know if anything feels different, or if you’ve noticed any changes.”

He was quiet a moment. “Well, I’m starting to see things, things I can’t really explain,” he told her, turning and looking at Zyri. “There’s like a nimbus around some people, glowing colors. Some people’s colors seem to hint at some things, others just strike me in certain ways without me seeing anything.”

“Really? Give an example,” she pressed.

“Well, there’s that new Elementalist…Skord. There’s an aura around him that seems, well, agreeable. Something hints at me that Skord might me someone I could get to know. Lorak has a sense about him that’s almost completely opposite, but that’s not something I can see…it’s just something I can feel. There’s a coldness around Lorak that doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Well,” Miranda mused. “Well, well, well. What do you see around me?”

“A blinding light,” he told her honestly, looking at her. “Well, it would be blinding if it were real, but it’s that strong. I know what that is. When I look at you, I can see your mother’s power around you. It’s a mark of what she did before you were born. It’s the mark of what you are. Almost like she was reaching out to you and putting her hands around you.”

“Well, I hope she’s not trying to wring my neck,” Miranda laughed.

He ignored that. “What I can see around you would be impossible to hide, girl. It’s holy. I bet every Demon that looks at you immediately sees it. I bet they can feel it from a longspan away. It’s like a beacon of holy power, and that’s the kind of power that Demons fear more than anything else. That’s why they either come right after you immediately or start running as soon as they take notice of you.”

“I’m just a popular girl,” Miranda said with a winsome smile. “What do you see around Mist?”

“Nothing,” he answered. “I told you, I don’t see things around everyone, at least not all the time.”

“Ah. What about Jal and Zyri?”

“Nothing. The only one I can see anything about in our group is Phandebrass.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” she giggled, “but what do you see?”

“Power,” he answered immediately, looking in the general direction of the Wizard.

“That’s not much of a surprise,” Miranda said, tapping her muzzle thoughtfully.

Dolanna and Haley came over from the other group. “Might we sit a spell, Tarrin?” Haley asked politely.

“You never have to ask, Haley,” Tarrin chided as he waved his paw at them.

“I’m a Were-wolf, Tarrin,” he said dismissively. “If I didn’t have manners, I wouldn’t be much of a Were-wolf.”

“I didn’t realize that thieves had manners,” Miranda winked.

“Of course they do, that’s how they keep their victim nearby while they pick his pockets,” Haley said with a smile in reply as he and Dolanna sat down.

“What are they talking about over there?” Mist asked.

“Not much, I fear,” Dolanna answered. “Lorak is exploring the possibility that Phandebrass can open a gateway once we reach the Dura.”

“Does he have that kind of spell?” Tarrin asked.

“Lorak carries copies of them with him,” Haley answered. “From what I’ve pieced together, they already gave him the spells, and he’s learned them. Kimmie’s studying them right now, but she doesn’t think she can cast the spells. She told me it’s magic on a level she’s never seen before.”

“How are you feeling, dear one?” Dolanna asked Tarrin.

“I feel fine,” he answered.

“I would challenge that statement, given your earlier behavior,” she said with a slight smile. “What is wrong?”

“Oh, just more ache than usual,” he said, shrugging absently. “Added to being surrouded by all these strangers.”

“I thought as much,” she told him. “Lorak has started quietly hinting that he would like for someone to teach him Sulasian,” she informed them.

“No,” Tarrin and Miranda said in unison.

“My feeling as well, but one wonders why you would be against it, Miranda,” Dolanna said.

“Lorak has no reason to need to know Sulasian,” Miranda stated. “Besides, if he does learn it, I’ll just start speaking Sha’Kar.”

“He might be able to puzzle some of that out,” Tarrin mused aloud.

“Wikuni then. You can just translate for me, Tarrin,” she said with a cheeky grin.

“How many are you up to now, Tarrin? Twelve?” Haley asked with a chuckle.

“Thirteen,” he corrected absently. “Sulasian, Arakite, Sha’Kar, Sharadi, Selani, Ungardt, Wikuni, Amazon, Duthak, dragon, and the three languages from here.”

“Dragon? Sapphire taught you dragon?” Haley said in surprise.

He nodded. “About half of it. Dragons are born knowing their language, so when I took the shape of a dragon that first time, the rest of the language got imprinted into me. I hadn’t really thought of that until now,” he admitted with a thoughtful stare past Haley, into the night.

Haley laughed. “You should teach us to speak it, so we have a failsafe fallback language.”

“I can’t speak it like this,” he said. “Many words are based on the shape of a dragon’s mouth, and I can’t reproduce those sounds.”

“Ah. Clever,” Haley said after thinking a moment.

“Don’t you already speak Arakite, Haley?”

“What caterer to the worldy traveler doesn’t?” Haley answered with a smile.

“Figured. All that time in Dayisè, you’d better speak Arakite.”

“And Shacèan,” he chuckled, then he looked to Dolanna. “But I think my favorite language has to be Sharadi,” he admitted. “There’s a sense of formality and ancient traditions lurking in it that appeals to a Were-wolf. We’ve always been ones for tradition.”

“It is an ancient language, Haley, virtually unchanged for thousands of years,” Dolanna smiled. “It is only logical that it would seem thus.”

“What language do the Woodkin speak?” Miranda asked curiously.

“We don’t have a common language,” Haley answered her. “Generally those closer to this or that area speak whatever they speak around there. Generally, most in the west speak Sulasian, or an old dialect of it, from back when Sulasia destroyed Rauthym and annexed the lands abutting the Heartwood. The people on the eastern side of the forest speak Arakite, because of the Arkisians, and the ones in the south speak whatever local dialect of Shacèan or Torian happens to have dominance. There’s also a large number of local or dead languages floating around in there. I know one pack of Were-wolves who speak Ruri, the language of Rauthym. They’re the only ones I know of who know that language, probably the only people left in Sennadar that do. If you want to be able to speak to most anyone in the Heartwood, you’d best be able to speak both Sulasian and Arakite on top of whatever language you learned growing up.”

“Ruri eh? Talk about secure communication,” Miranda chuckled.

“That’s why they do it,” he nodded.

“That wouldn’t be your old pack, would it Haley?” she asked with a grin.

“No, but I convinced a certain handsome young female to teach it to me,” he said with a laugh.

“Audry?” Tarrin asked, and Haley nodded. “That girl’s full of surprises,” he mused.

“Be careful then,” Dolanna said with a smile. “You speak a language that Tarrin does not. That is not something he will allow to stand for long.”

“I speak two,” he chuckled. “Shacèan and Ruri. But he speaks about nine that I don’t, so he has no reason to be jealous.”

“Well, I’d better get dinner going,” Mist announced.

“You don’t have to keep cooking,” Miranda told her. “They have people for that.”

“They can cook for themselves,” she said bluntly, standing up. “I won’t eat anything they make, and I won’t let Tarrin or the cubs either.”

She stalked off without another word, going to where they had their packs set, near the horses and Pegasi, and Haley watched her go. “Cubs? Sounds like you have two new children, Tarrin,” he said in a quiet tone, full of amusement. “That sounded rather final to me.”

“I won’t mind,” Tarrin shrugged. “I have a big house, and it’s sitting empty at the moment.”

“It’s a good thing you don’t. Sounds like you don’t have much choice,” Haley chuckled.

After dinner, after an evening as Lorak and Skord compared information and made plans, which Tarrin didn’t bother sitting in on, darkness caused most to seek out their tents. Lorak seemed to want to object to the fire that had been built for Tarrin, but it just took one glance in Mist’s direction to make him hold his peace. He’d tangled with Mist once already, and it seemed that Lorak was the kind that learned his lessons. Tarrin sat within the large fire, which caused wild curiosity by the soldiers before they went to their tents, his sword sitting on his legs as he closed his eyes and concentrated in silent meditation. The power of his element seemed to be awakened by the presence of his sword, and he could feel much more energy around him than other times he had done this. He wondered idly why there was more around him this time than the others, more energy surrounding him, but he could find no easy or quick answer. All he knew was that there seemed to be more around him to work with, more available energy to use to bend to the task of reparing his wings, and he had to take advantage of it while he could.

He could hear their voices now. He didn’t tell Miranda that. He could hear them, like whispers, like ghostly sounds that seemed to be far away, but they were clearer now than they had ever been before. He could hear them talking to each other, hear them trying to talk to him. He wondered what they were trying to say…who they were. There were eleven of them that he could hear, and not all of them were friendly. One voice railed and screamed and raged, hurled curses that were directed at him, but it was just as distant as the others.

That was the One. The other ten were the remaining gods who inhabited this world.

He touched the blade of his sword, and those voices suddenly became much closer, much clearer. Touching on the power locked within the sword, the other part of his dual existence, brought him closer to that power that was locked away from him…that he had locked away from himself.

That was true enough. That power was his power, and it was him. The sword was not something separate from himself, with its own will, it was him. The sword locked that power away because he wanted to be separate from it. That was a simple, fundamental truth, something he had always evaded or ignored, because he did not want to understand, he did not want to know, he did not want to admit it. He had long denied the divine part of his being, because it represented something he did not want to face.

That he no longer belonged in the mortal world.

But now he faced a threat from the divine side of things, and now he found himself desperately needing that power. And it was there, still locked within his sword, simply waiting for him to call upon it. It could not just instantly heal him, for the wounds done to him were dealt by a divine hand, and thus made them true. But if he could touch on that power, unlock it, it would help accelerate his ability to repair the damage done to him. Unlike the One, he did not rely on others for his power. It was all his own.

He meditated on this truth for long hours, until the concept of time dissolved into the recesses of his mind. He looked within, trying to find the path to the power locked in his sword, trying to understand how he had separated himself from it, and learn how to unlock it.

It was not easy. Walking through the tunnels of his mind, he found multiple barriers in his path…barriers he himself had erected. They were the isolation of man from god, mortal from divine, a series of blocks he had put inside himself to deny the truth within, to cling to his mortality despite the grim reality of his condition and futility of such an act. They were barriers he discovered that he could not penetrate, because despite his need to find that other part of himself, he still refused to accept, deep down in his soul, what he was.

There was no getting past that. To unlock his full power, he had to accept his divinity, he had to abandon his mortal life and fully embrace the power of his divine soul. That was something that he would not do, that was something he would die to avoid having happen, because he desperately feared destroying everyone and everything around him should that come to pass. He hated who he was, hated it with a passion, because he was afraid of it. It was his only real fear, and in a way it had replaced his old fear of losing himself to his ferality. Now he feared losing his mortality, of giving up his life…it would be like dying to him, and the Cat joined with the Human in raging against that possibility. Self preservation was the most powerful instinct within him, and both sides of his nature agreed that accepting the power of his godhood would end his life as a mortal…which would not be allowed.

But he did feel that he could make progress. Maybe he couldn’t accept what he was, but he could acknowledge it. He could admit it. That was a step in the right direction, and he found that to be relatively easy. Yes, he could admit that he was at least part god. Yes, he could admit that he had that power, and yes, he could admit that right now, he needed it.

That did matter. He felt more of a connection with that other side of himself. Acknowledging that the power exists allowed the power to touch him more strongly…odd, that was. It was almost like a mortal admitting the existence of a god, which allowed the god to make contact with him…just like what happened with Keritanima and the Goddess. Keritanima had to acknowledge she existed before Niami could even begin trying to communicate with her. He had never acknowledged his power the way he had like this before, and it was like opening a door inside of him, just a little bit.

He felt that power blossom inside him like a rose, flowing into him from his sword. It was a warm, gentle sensation flowing into his wings, and for the first time in many days, the pain was completely washed away…if only for a moment. He became aware of the fire around him, surrounding him, and he touched on its power, commanding it in a way he had not been able to since his injury. He made it hotter, intensified it, feeding his power into it even as he drew power from it, forming a symbiotic bond with the fire. He felt that power surround him, to the point where he wasn’t quite sure if he was still on the ground or not, but he was too lost in his work to worry about such trivial things. He bent this influx of power to the task at hand, sending it into his wings, attempting to repair the damage done to them during his battle with the One.

He had no concept of time. There was only the time when he was working to repair his wings, and then the instant when he felt a paw grab hold of his ankle. That touch instantly conveyed to him that it was Mist grabbing hold of him, reaching into the fire. She was concerned, but she was also quite happy about something, and a little excited. He opened his eyes and found him looking down at her, and realized he was hovering in the air within the fire, a fire which was no a raging bonfire whose flames reached a hundred spans into the air.

With but a thought, he caused the fire to subside, until it was gone. He dropped to the ground at a stately pace, then looked at Mist for a moment without recognizing her by sight, absorbed in looking upon what was within, looking directly at her soul. What he saw inside of her was much different than what was outside. Her soul was a loyal, loving soul, shining like a blazing star with both its purity and its power, and he realized that the bonds of loyalty shining in her soul were tied directly to him. The loyalty and trust he had earned with her since that first day he’d met her, healing away the scar deep inside her and restoring her ability to have children had only strengthened over the years, blossomed into a powerful love that made Jesmind or Kimmie’s feelings for him but candles held up to the sun. Mist’s devotion to him was so utter, so absolute, that her soul almost seemed to begin where his ended, the ghostly tendrils of their bonds visible to his eyes, snaking between them like wispy cords. Tarrin was a male who had many powerful bonds with many people, for it was in his nature to be so accepting. His bonds with Mist were powerful, but in their way, so also were his bonds with Allia and Keritanima, or his bonds with the Goddess, or his bonds with Dolanna, his bonds with Triana and his parents and Sapphire, and his bonds with Jesmind and Kimmie, and his children. But where Tarrin’s soul was receptive to holding others, Mist’s soul only had room for him. Not even her own child held the same place inside her soul that Tarrin occupied.

She was smiling at him. He blinked, then looked over at her, and impulsively reached out and put the pad of his palm to her cheek. She cupped his paw with her own and gave him a look of sedate, boundless love, the utter contentment of a woman who had everything in the world she would ever want.

“What?” he asked absently.

“Are you killing the One today?” she asked.

“Why ask that?” he retorted.

She reached past him, over his shoulder, then he felt her grab his wing. There was some pain, but it wasn’t sharp or raw. She pulled on it, and Tarrin felt it move. He looked over his shoulder as she continued to pull, and saw, to his surprise, that his wings were now fully fledged and grown out. They looked whole, even down to the licks of flame that appeared to be feathers. But they were a shell, nothing more, because inside of them there were still injuries to heal away. Tarrin found that he could move them, but he still could not retract them, nor could he cause them to change shape. He had made significant progress towards repairing them, however. At first, he had shored up the arches to provide a foundation. Now, he had accelerated filling them out so he could again move them. Now simply came repairing the rest of the damage, to fully restore the powers and abilities that those wings represented. He could sense about himself that by restoring partial functionality of his wings, he now had access to some of his divine power. Not much, and certainly not anything spectacular, but he had certainly regained the ability to affect fire, and to create and extinguish it. He could fly again, though that wouldn’t be quite as easy as it usually was. If he really pushed himself, he might be able to shapeshift, because that power really wasn’t a very hard one to enact. Traveling through fire was absolutely out of the question, as was any kind of large-scale expression of fire or direct implementation of divine power. No matter how small of a thing he did, though, he already knew that it would come with a cost in pain, since he was using a half-healed ability. It would be like trying to run on a sprained ankle…more than possible, but certainly not pleasant, and also with a risk of injuring it worse.

“Oh,” he said, flaring his wings out to their full wingspan, shivering them a bit, then folding them behind him sedately. “I managed to get them filled out, but they’re still not whole. It’s going to be at least another ride before I’m fully healed. I can’t retract them yet, but at least I can move them.”

“Well, it’s a start,” she said with a nod. “Any pain?”

He nodded. “Not nearly as much as before, though. Now it just feels like an old half-healed cut.” He looked around and saw that it was morning, and the camp was almost completely packed up. The horses were saddled and ready, and everyone was staring at him, even Dolanna. He had been in the fire all night, and had not even registered the passage of time.

“Are you hungry? I saved you some breakfast,” Mist said, taking his paws in hers and staring over at him. Then, impulsively, she leaned over and kissed him tenderly.

“What?” he asked with a slight smile.

“I’m just relieved to see you healing, my mate,” she told him. “And happy you’re not hurting so much. Besides, I’ve told you I think you look so majestic with these,” she told him, reaching behind his shoulder and touching the rising arch of his wing, where it came out of his back.

“You certainly don’t seem to like them at night,” he teased.

“They get in the way,” she answered immediately. “Though they are convenient ways to get a grip on you that you can’t break.”

He should have known better than to joke about something like that. He cleared his throat as Dolanna and Ulger approached with Lorak. “Dear one, that is some dramatic improvement,” she noted. “How much are you healed?”

“Just enough to flesh them out,” he answered. “It’s still going to be at least ten days before I’m completely whole. Maybe more, I’m not sure.”

“Have you regained any of your power?”

He nodded. “A little,” he answered. “I can do little things, but that’s about it. And it will definitely hurt to do it, so I’m not doing anything unless it’s a last resort.”

“That is encouraging news,” she told him. “Are you hungry? Mist saved you some breakfast.”

“He can eat as we move,” Lorak announced. “We’ve spent too much time here already. Have you gotten one of those winged horses into the air yet? We need a scout to ensure our path is clear, and to search for others so they can join us.”

“Master Tarrin, Master Tarrin!” Zyri called as she ran up to him. She looked at his wings and smiled brightly. “You’re better!”

“Some,” he nodded. “What’s wrong, little bit?”

“May I do the scouting? Please? I can be careful, and I’d love the chance to do something other than be in everyone’s way.”

“You’re never a burden, girl,” he chided. “But if you want to do it, you’re more than welcome to.”

She beamed him a brilliant smile. “Thank you, master Tarrin! I’ll go get my Ped—Pegi—uh, the Pegisus.”

“Pegasus,” he corrected.

“You would send that child to ensure we’re not ambushed?” Lorak asked sharply.

“She can do the job,” he said cooly. “She’ll be safer up there than she’ll be on the ground, and she knows how to handle her Pegasus in the air. Besides, it will be good for her.” He then fixed Lorak with an icy stare. “And you’d best remember right here and now that I don’t ever let someone question me, elf. That sounded pretty close to you challenging my decision. I’m sure Dolanna explained to you how I deal with people who challenge me. Do you understand me?”

Lorak said nothing, turning to walk away. He didn’t get far, however, when Tarrin reached out and grabbed the slender elf by the shoulder and whirled him around. Tarrin’s claws snagged on his robe, tearing two small holes in it. “I said do you understand me?” he repeated in a voice that dripped with hostility.

“I understand you,” Lorak answered, though his stiff back and his cold tone showed that he was not intimidated in the least.

Tarrin did decide to eat on the move, enjoying a breakfast of cold bacon and bread from the back of his Pegasus as he absently flexed his wings, getting used to the feel of them moving again. Despite the pain involved whenever he moved them, it certainly felt better than the two immobile things that had been there the night before. They moved across the relatively flat area towards low hills on the northern horizon, behind which he was pretty sure was that mountain range that Lorak had said was there, the one he’d said they might have trouble crossing. He watched through the day as those hills got closer, noticing a forest on the hills to the right of where they were going, that marked the end of the open grassland. Zyri swooped from one side of the sky to the other, flying in wide circles then coming back to see where they were now. She indeed handled her Pegasus with surprising competence for such a young lady, enjoying riding on its back as it flew through the air. Fireflash was riding in her saddle, and when the Pegasus slowed down, he would jump out and soar along with the winged horse.

Zyri swooped in and landed to the side of the main host in the midafternoon, about an hour before they were going to stop for the night, then galloped up to Tarrin quickly. “Master Tarrin!” she called. “There’s soldiers ahead of us!”

“Where?” Tarrin asked as Lorak, Skord, and Dolanna came up along with him.

“About a half an hour ahead, if you keep going this fast,” she answered. “But there’s more. There’s a big group of weird things over that way,” she said, pointing to the west. “They’re not on horses. There’s a group of soldiers on horses behind them, though. I think they’re chasing them. If they keep going the way they’re going, they’ll run into those soldiers directly ahead of us just a while after we go by.”

“How many soldiers stand ahead of us?” Lorak asked.

“Lots. Over a hundred,” she answered. “And there’s lots of those Demon things with them. A few tried to chase me after I flew close to them, but they couldn’t keep up. I didn’t want to lead them back to you, so I went a way out that way, and that’s when I saw the others,” she said, pointing again.

“What exactly did you see over there, child?” Dolanna asked.

“Well, they’re a bunch of weird looking people wearing odd clothes. They’re running kinda that way,“ she explained, pointing northeast, “but they’re over there,” she said, pointing due west. “About ten minutes behind them on horses, there’s about another hundred or so soldiers. They’re from the One’s army, they’re wearing red, just like the ones ahead of us. I didn’t see any Demons with them, though. It looks like they’re chasing the people on foot into the soldiers ahead of us, because the people running are really stretched out, like they’re just running really fast and the kids and slow people can’t keep up with the faster ones.”

“How many of these people on foot are there?” Lorak asked.

“Kids? There are children with them?” Dolanna asked.

“Lots, and yes, Mistress Dolanna,” she answered. “It was hard to count that many, but there were lots and lots more than there were soldiers. But some of them were real small, like they were just kids. They were mainly at the back of the group.”

“It sounds like they’re being routed, and pushed into the waiting soldiers,” Skord grunted with a grim face. “An ambush.”

“I do not see why any Shadows would be ferrying children,” Lorak said uncertainly, frowning as he thought. “Or display such a lack of discipline if they were. If they have the advantage in numbers, they should turn and attack the soldiers, even if they’re mounted.”

“You assume that they’re Shadows,” Tarrin grunted, leaning over his saddle. “Zyri, did they look kind of green to you?”

“Orcs? They could have been,” she said. “You think they’re like those others we saw before we met Master Lorak?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” he nodded. “It’s not the first time we’ve seen them moving with their children. Did they have men with them this time?”

“I think so,” she answered. “The ones in the front were pretty big.”

“If they’re leaving their women and children behind, they’re definitely orcs,” Skord said with a little vituperous grunt.

Tarrin continued to ponder for a moment, then he sat up again. “I see what they’re doing now,” he said grimly. “We haven’t run into any soldiers for a couple of days because they’ve figured out where we’re going. They’re moving them up to those mountains to fill the passes, to stop us there. It’s easier for them to simply build up numbers in a place where we have to go instead of just chasing us around in the open. We’re not running away from them now, we’re running right into them.”

“How are they passing orders like that? If the One can’t speak to them, he can’t organize them,” Lorak asked.

“The Demons,” Dolanna answered. “They have their own ways of communicating, and it seems odd that there are so many of them. I cannot understand where they are coming from, if the One’s Priests cannot summon them anymore.”

“Maybe they were already here,” Tarrin said, “but that’s not really the issue. Lorak, are these passes large enough for us to slip by?”

He shook his head. “They are very narrow and somewhat treacherous,” he answered. “The objective of us moving fast was to get past them before they could build up their forces. We would have had to get past the citadels, but that would have been possible if they had not overmanned them.”

Tarrin didn’t like the implied accusation in that comment, that somehow Tarrin was responsible for their delay. “We don’t have the numbers here to fight our way through. And we can’t depend on finding any other Shadows. We have to keep moving, because if they’re pulling men into those mountains, we’re in the path of it.”

“We let the soldiers drive the orcs before us and go around,” Lorak said calmly. “They will be busy killing the orcs. We will circle as they engage, and I’m sure that the runners will keep them engaged more than long enough for us to get by them. Orcs are cowardly brutes.”

Tarrin sighed, getting down off his Pegasus. “Nothing is anything but a piece on a chessboard to you, is it, Lorak?” he asked. “I guess you don’t really care about the women and children, except that their slaughter just buys you time.”

“That is exactly how I feel,” he said bluntly. “What is coming is nothing but a winning situation for us. The orcs buy us time, and the soldiers kill the orcs.”

“Fine. When the time comes when we need a diversion, I’m going to abandon you behind us. That way you can slow them down while we get away. That sounds like a winning situation to me. You slow them down, and they kill you.”

“If it becomes needful to save my people, I would accept such a fate,” he said with quiet dignity.

“I’ll remember that, Lorak,” Tarrin said bluntly, walking out ahead of the horses.

“What are you doing, dear one?” Dolanna asked.

“We don’t have the manpower to get through the mountains. We need reinforcements, so I’m giung to get us some.”

“You would dare bring the orcs into our midst?” Lorak said with sudden heat. “I would not allow those animals within twenty paces of me!”

“I’m not recruiting orcs,” he replied absently. “I’m just going to save them. Stomping on some church soldiers should manage that easily enough.”

Lorak looked at him in confusion, but understanding dawned in Dolanna’s eyes quickly. “Dear one! Are you sure you can do it?”

“We need it, Dolanna,” he answered. “That kind of physical force is something that the One’s men out here can’t counter, even with Demons. I’ll have to try. I may sprain something in the attempt, but as long as I can get there, that’s all that matters. If I can do it, we can just march right through them. They won’t be able to do anything.”

“Do what?” Skord asked.

Zyri looked at Tarrin thoughtfully, then she clapped and laughed. “At least it won’t be so scary this time!” she said.

“What do you intend to do?” Lorak pressed.

Mist rode up to them with Jal in her saddle, her eyes baneful, but her expression neutral. “He’s going to change into a dragon,” she told them before Dolanna could speak.

“Pardon my ignorance, but what is a dragon?” Lorak asked.

Zyri held Fireflash up. “A dragon looks just like this, Master Lorak,” she answered, “but much bigger.”

“Much,” Dolanna agreed with a nod and a smile as Tarrin walked away.

“I don’t see how one of these dragon creatures can be large enough to make such a difference,” Lorak said uncertainly.

He wasn’t sure if he could do it, but if he was right, if they had to go through an army that knew they were coming, they needed his dragon form. There was no way they could fight against him if he was in that form, not even with Demons helping them. He could save those orcs and have them help protect the casters as they simply rammed through the mountain pass that was the fastest route to the Dura’s fortress. If they didn’t obey him, he’d just eat them. That would be a very pointed lesson about disobeying the one who saved them from death. He had no doubts that the orcs would be troublesome, because they were Waern after all, but they needed the reinforcements that those orcs could provide. Even in dragon form, Tarrin would be hard pressed to protect the others if they were attacked by large numbers of soldiers who were willing to die just to do some damage. It might come to that…those soldiers would be smart to be willing to die rather than face the wrath of a Demon they disobeyed. There were things worse than death.

Affixing the charm to the back of his amulet, he continued to walk further and further away. He would need it now, to speak to the orcs and to remain constantly vigilent. He would be the main protection of the host as they drove through hostile territory, relying on his size and power to defend the group and destroy their adversaries. He got out far enough, then came to a stop and raised his head and closed his eyes, feeling the sun and wind on his face. This was going to hurt. He knew that already…but he wasn’t sure if he could do this. Shapeshifting was actually a minor power, very easy to do, but with his injuries, he wasn’t sure. The power was willing, but it was still not fully healed.

He had to do it, and wasting time wasn’t getting it done.

He started at his paws. Fire appeared around his paws as he suddenly held them out and over his head, then snapped his wings out. Just producing fire hurt, and the twinge in his wings told him that the next step wasn’t going to be very easy. He concentrated on his wings, and started making them expand. The pain was immediate and sharp, blooming throughout each wing, even creeping into his back as he commanded them to grow. Every finger they grew out caused him more and more pain, but he blocked it out and continued, going more slowly to prevent hurting something, out further and further until they were ten times their normal size, fiery sails rising from his back and casting shade across large swaths of land behind him. Once that was done, he put the image of the dragon in his mind, and willed the change to occur.

It was like someone stuck a sword in his back. Tarrin sucked in his breath, his eyes losing focus as his wings shuddered, then exploded into discordant flame. He focused through that sudden agony, keeping the dragon firmly in his thoughts as he felt the flame eat into his flesh, flame that was incomplete, almost tainted by injury, corrupting him and causing pain wherever it touched. But if anything his many years and many trials had taught him, it was the ability to function through pain. He blotted the pain out, concentrated on what had to be done. He guided the injured power through its task, infusing him until his physical form was consumed by the flame, until he became a being of pure flame, unfettered by physical form.

The flame of his form expanded, grew, billowed out, though the motion of every lick of flame in that amalgalm caused striking pain to boil through him. The movements weren’t fluid and graceful as they usually were, they were sharp, erratic, almost jagged in the way the fire expanded, a reflection of the difficulty that he was having trying to do it. But he pushed on through the pain, and the fire got bigger, and bigger, and bigger. The limbs pushed out from the mass, as did the long, graceful neck and the whip-like tail, growing, expanding in discordant surges from this place and that, until the fireform was complete. With a wrench that would have made him suck in his breath were he in a physical form, he enacted the final change.

With a billow of flame away from the construct, flesh and blood and bone came into being beneath that fiery layer, and the fire was thrust away like a butterfly discarding a cocoon. The fire billowed out, revealing the massive form of a gold dragon as it evaporated away. The change was complete, he could feel it, but his entire body throbbed with jags of intense pain, so intense that he had to lower his head nearly to the ground and try to recover from it. Panting heavily, his breathing blasting waves of stiff wind across the tall grass, the titanic body of the gold dragon had replaced Tarrin’s humanoid form. He blew out his breath one final time as the last of the pain faded, then he turned with two steps and craned his long neck to face the others, regarding them with massive amber eyes. He could sense immediately a fundamental shift in the power inside him, relegating it to a much dormant state. He couldn’t use his divine abilities when shapeshifted, and as a result, that power was buried deeply within him, where he would have great difficulty accessing it. He realized that as long as he was shifted out of his normal form, the rate at which that power would heal, would become whole once again, would be much slower. But he saw little choice in the matter. They were only about twenty, and already there was a force of over one hundred to the west, and even more to the north. They needed him in this form, where his monstrous size would be a weapon against which the armies of the One could not stand. With him like this, he could crush a hundred soldiers in a matter of moments, if they even dared attack him at all. They’d probably run away.

Lorak and Skord were absolutely awestruck, and their horses shied nervously until Haley quickly rode up and started assuring them in the manner a Druid used to talk to animals that this massive form was no threat to them. They gaped at Tarrin like he was some kind of god fallen from the heavens, and Skord was physically trembling. “Well, Lorak, do you think I’m big enough now?” he asked pointedly.

“Amazing!” Skord finally managed to say, looking at Fireflash, and then back to Tarrin.

“Are you unhurt, dear one?” Dolanna asked in a conversational tone.

“It hurt plenty, but I didn’t break anything,” he answered. “I won’t be changing back for a few days. I won’t go through that every time I need this form. I’ll just stay in it til I smash through the fort up in the pass.”

Mist gave him a flat look, but said nothing.

“Perhaps now you understand Tarrin’s intention, Lorak,” Dolanna told him with a sly smile. “With the One’s Priests unable to use magic, what do you propose can stand in the way of something like that?” she asked, waving her hand at Tarrin.

“V-Very little, madam,” he agreed with a fervent nod. “But why save the orcs? What use are they to us?”

“Sometimes it’s not about what use someone is, Lorak. I’ll save the orcs because they need to be saved, and besides, I won’t let those soldiers hurt children. Not even orc children. Now, Zyri, lead me to them, the rest of you stay here.”

Spreading his huge wings, he thrust into the air, creating a backdraft of wind behind him so strong it almost pushed Skord out of his saddle. Zyri’s Pegasus climbed into the air a moment later and moved up quickly behind him, then came up even with Tarrin’s huge head. He glanced at her as he climbed higher into the air, and she was staring at him with a big smile on her face. “What?” he asked in irritation.

“I think you’re amazing, Master Tarrin,” she gushed with complete insincerity, obviously making fun of Lorak.

“Oh, get ahead of me and lead the way,” he told her waspishly. “And stay out of the way when I get there, young lady!”

“Yes, Master Tarrin!” she called over her shoulder as the Pegasus rather reluctantly got in front of him, seemingly afraid Tarrin would lunge forward and bite off everything between its wings. That fear clashed with the Pegasus’ understanding that it was Tarrin’s voice coming from that massive creature, and thus was a friend.

It didn’t take them long to reach the scene. Tarrin banked over and ran parallel to them but traveling the opposite direction, then looked over. They were indeed orcs, being chased by about a hundred men on horseback, who were now only about a minute behind the slowest of the running tribe. Tarrin could see that they were going slow on purpose, driving the terrified band of greenish-skinned humanoids before them, pushing them ahead for an easy kill with the ambushing party on the far side. He saw a few of the men look up and point, and he saw that Zyri was still flying in the same direction, soaring over the area and in sight of the mounted church soldiers, but not the orcs…she was behind them.

Bless that little girl, she was holding the attention of the men while the much larger Tarrin veered off and maneuvered for a clean pass at them. He contemplated just incinerating them from the air, but he wanted to save his fire. His gas sacks were completely full, he had six or seven good blasts in him, but there were other enemies out and about, and he might need that for another group of soldiers later on. If he landed, he’d have to deal with them with claws and teeth and tail, but that wouldn’t be all that hard. The only danger they really posed to him was if one had a bow and got a lucky shot in on his eye. It would take a lance driven by a man charging at full speed on a horse to put enough force behind it to penetrate his scales, and even then it wouldn’t go very deep…if they could hit anything other than his legs. His belly was a good twenty spans off the ground when he was standing on the earth, which wasn’t a good angle to drive a lance with force. They’d have to go for his legs and try to bring him down.

He banked around well behind the riders, nearly five longspans back from them, then came up parallel with them on the opposite side about five longspans away, getting the sun behind him. Once he had a good line, he turned sharply and, with a powerful thrust of his wings, surged forward with a burst of speed, closing the distance like a diving falcon, rushing his prey before they took notice of him early enough to scatter.

One soldier did glance in his direction, he could see—dragons had excellent eyesight. That soldier looked back quickly, and even from that distance, he could see the look of surprise and confusion on his face. Even from that distance, it would be clear to them that whatever Tarrin was, he was flying right at them. Since they’d never seen him before, they had no idea how big he really was, and the sun glistening and reflecting off his shiny golden scales behind him would make his form hard to see clearly.

To the soldiers, he was a glittering, mesmerizing mass of sparkling gold flying out of the sun. They slowed their pursuit of the orcs, trotting to a stop to gawk at the mystifying object soaring at them, getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger…then it dawned on them that it was too big. And it was getting bigger. It blocked out the sun, and when that happened, they realized that what they were seeing was much bigger than it looked.

One soldier looked down at the grass some distance ahead of them, and he saw the shadow. The shadow of something so huge that it shaded acres of grass from the sun.

When he saw the realization dawn on them, he announced his presence to the orcs and his intent to attack with an earth-shaking roar, a sustained sound that sounded both reptillian and like a lion. Powerful strokes of his wings caused him to rapidly descend, skirting the ground with his legs, then a flare of his wings caused him to both ascend and slow down, then stall out and fall to the ground. The earth shook when his tremendous weight stuck the ground, but he did not stop and let them stare at him. He charged ahead in what looked like an odd lumbering gait, but it ate up the distance between him and the mounted church soldiers with frightening speed. The display was meant to terrify and intimidate, and it did exactly as Tarrin wished it to do.

Not to the men…to their horses.

Any animal would flee in terror at the sight of such a large predator bearing down on them, and the horses were no exception. Almost in perfect unison, every horse suddenly panicked, some rearing and bucking, some turning and fleeing while ignoring the commands of its rider. Men were carried away with their mounts or thrown to the ground as the horses panicked and bolted, and those men who were thrown immediately got to their feet. Some of them drew weapons, some of them just stared at him in awe and terror, but not one of them held his ground when Tarrin roared again. They turned and fled on foot, though such a thing would be total folly. Tarrin could walk faster than any of them could ever run, and the lumbering gait in which he currently moved would allow him to chase down and catch a horse with relative ease. A creature whose legs were twenty spans long could move with some tremendous speed, if only from the amount of ground each stride took.

Without breaking his stride, he trampled directly over those who had been the last to flee, crushing them into something not even identifiable. Those that weren’t stepped upon were slammed by his lashing tail as he went past them as he lashed it back and forth behind him, leaving broken bodies in his wake.

“Buck your riders and run!” Tarrin bellowed at the horses as he chased them down, shifting his inflection so they would understand him in the Druid’s manner. “Any horse with a rider on his back will die when I reach you! The rest of you, get out of the way!”

Horses were not stupid animals. The ones fleeing from him slowed down and immediately started thrashing, bucking, rearing, even rolling over on their riders to shed them from their backs. The riders could understand Tarrin’s dire warning, but they were no match for the panicked animals’ frenzied strength and utter determination to live by getting them off their backs.

A steady stream of riderless horses flowed away from the mighty gold dragon as he charged the men they left behind down. Those men stared at the behemoth bearing down on them with terror in their eyes. Some just stood there, transfixed by terror. Some fled. Some drew their swords and shouted praises to the One and rushed forward. The only thing that they all knew in that moment was that they were all dead men. How they chose to die was the only thing remaining for them.

In moments, it was over. Tarrin showed no mercy, killing the soldiers of the One with his forepaws, smashing and stomping on them, crushing them in his jaws, killing them with blows from the tip of his tail, which moved so fast and with such force that it literally cut one man in two that took the full brunt of it at the very tip, where it moved the fastest. Three men had managed to get some distance on him while he was killing their braver or terrorized companions, then chased down the slower runners. Tarrin pulled up and reared up onto his back legs, in that squat-like upright position that dragons could assume to free up their prehensile forepaws for use. He chanted in the language of Wizard magic, his words booming across the plain as he made three precise gestures with those forepaws. He felt the magic flow into him from that elsewhere, and then channel into his paws to be unleashed in the form of lighting. Jagged arcs of lightning were released from his paws, raking across the ground and leaving a trail of explosions in their wake, cascading across the fleeing men and causing them to crumple to the ground in lifeless, smoking heaps.

Nodding to himself in satisfaction, Tarrin dropped back down to all fours, which caused the ground to shake, then turned to look at the orcs. They had stopped running, staring at him in unmitigated awe. That was good; he wouldn’t have to chase them down. “Zyri!” he barked, looking up into the air. “Round up their horses and lead them back to the others! All of you stop!” he boomed, his voice carrying well across the grassy plain, speaking so that the horses could understand. “Follow the strange flying horse that will land and gather you up! I promise that no harm will come to you, you’ll be joining the rider’s herd!”

He turned and advanced on the orcs, moving more slowly, more casually, much less threatening. They just stood there, the children the closest to him, and watched him advance. “Have your chieftan or leader approach and make himself known!” Tarrin called to them. They didn’t move, so he added a commanding “Now!” to that statement. He saw that the children and females were dressed in whatever filthy rags they could acquire, and the males were dressed in dirty clothes and bits and pieces of old, rusty armor. They were all carrying weapons of some sort, even the females, but it was apparent that the females had no idea how to use them. They were just carrying them to keep the tribe from losing them. He looked down at the two hundred or so orcs and decided that this many was just a bit too many. Discipline would certainly be a serious problem. He changed his plans quickly, before the frightened chieftan, a surprisingly large and burly fellow carrying a large, rusted battle axe, warily advanced out in front of the children, who were now with their mothers. “Who am I addressing?” he demanded.

“Kad, chieftan of da Two Fist tribe of da forest orcs,” the burly orc replied in a quavering voice.

“Well, Kad, I just saved your tribe from the soldiers of the One,” Tarrin told him. “You owe me a debt.”

“Kad thinks youz can have anything youz wants,” he said fearfully, putting his axe on the ground in some kind of ritual. “Kad ain’t to be thinkin’ dat he can’t win a chief challenge against youz. Da axe of da chief be youz.”

“You’re a smart orc, Kad,” Tarrin said with grave dignity, advancing a couple of steps and lowering his head to about twenty spans over the orc, making him crane his neck up to look him in the eye. “I want the you to spread out along the plain and tell any bands of humans you see that aren’t soldiers of the One to regroup at the stronghold of the Dura.”

“Youz means the Shadows?” he asked.

Tarrin blinked. “That’s exactly who I mean,” he answered.

“Kad worked with da Shadows before,” he said, thumping his chest and relaxing a great deal. Tarrin obviously said something that made the orc chief relax…as much as one could relax when talking to someone that was over five hundred spans long. “Kad knows da sign so dat dey won’t be shooting da arrows at us or doing dat magic thing on us. Kad seen da One soldiers rushin up a’ north, Kad figured deyz was all tryin’ to get ahead of da Shadows, since dey all went and run away from da cities after da big fightin’ over in Pyros.”

Tarrin quickly reassessed his impression of this big, strong, rather pungent orc. He was much smarter than he seemed, even with his rather primitive language and odd dialect. The Waern back home were actually very smart, and that’s what made them the most dangerous of the Goblinoids, even more dangerous than Trolls. Kad here didn’t sound very intelligent, or look very intelligent, but Tarrin could see that he actually was a rather smart fellow.

“You have a firm grip of the situation, Kad,” Tarrin said respectfully.

“Youz a Shadow all done up magic-like into that big scaly thing?” he asked.

“No, but right now I’m helping them, because it’s in my best interest,” he answered. “The same as you’ve helped them in the past because you share a common enemy. The One.”

Kad spat. “May Gruumsh put boils on his butt and make him sit on firestone for da ever,” Kad growled.

“I see we share a similar opinion of him,” Tarrin said with a nod.

“If youz be against da Onez, youz be a friend to da Two Fist tribe of da forest orcs,” Kad proclaimed, thumping his chest again.

“That’s nice to hear. I want the you to try to find groups of Shadows and warn them, and tell them to take the pass that’s the fastest route over the mountains and to the stronghold of the Dura. That’s the way we’re going, so they’ll encounter the least resistance if they follow the path I take. I’ll make sure there’s nothing left behind to challenge them.”

“Da fastest route to da shorties, Kad gots it,” he repeated with a nod. “Da Two Fist tribe of da forest orcs will do honor to da debt wez owe youz,” he said proudly, thumping his chest once more. “Kad will have da tribe spread out and warn da Shadows and send them da way dey needs to be goin’. Iz just tell dem to follow dese big footprints,” he said, pointing at the ground. “Deyz can’t miss dem.”

“Very good. I’ll take my leave now. Those soldiers chasing you were driving you towards a larger force. I’m going to go kill them.”

“Youz saved da Two Fist tribe of da forest orcs. Youz want orc warriors to bash da heads of da One soldiers with youz? Iz send youz lots of warriors.”

“Keep your warriors with the tribe to protect them,” he said absently, looking south. There was…something. He could sense it, south of him, and moving this way. Was this another of those divine abilities? Was he sensing a Demon? Or maybe the Avatar of a god? Whatever it was, it was very powerful, and it tugged at him in an odd way. No…this was a familiar sensation. This was—

Telven? Could it be Telven? That was the only creature on this world with which he was familiar that wasn’t with him. Were they sending him with an army of the One, along with Hunters, using the boy’s knowledge of Tarrin to help try to capture or destroy him? He wasn’t sure. But whatever it was, it was far away. Very far away.

“Be careful and be well, Chief Kad,” Tarrin told him, glancing south again. “I leave you now.”

Odd, that, he mused as he turned around and ambled towards the northwest, towards the others, as Zyri finished rounding up the horses she could get and had her Pegasus lead them. She’d managed to get about sixty of them, following behind the Pegasus and to the group, where they would be relieved of their gear and burdens, the best chosen to be reserve mounts, and the rest released. Strange that he felt the need to be so…so formal. Perhaps it was part of being a gold dragon, he wasn’t sure.

The walk back to longer than the flight over, so it took nearly an hour for him to get back to the others. They had taken the time to build some fires for cooking, and Azakar and Ulger were engaged in an informal training session with Skord’s guards…which meant that they were beating them senseless and showing them why they were getting beaten senseless. Tarrin ushered Zyri ahead with the horses, then stopped and sat on his haunches outside the camp, craning his neck over and down so he was close enough to hear them. All of the Shadows watched Tarrin very nervously, and they were still a bit wild-eyed. Sarraya flitted up and landed on his nose, staring into his eyes with a broad grin on her face. Sarraya, who delighted in shocking people, probably thought that Tarrin had done the grandest thing in the world.

“A nice catch, Tarrin,” Ulger said professionally as he and Azakar came over, sheathing their swords. “Some of these horses are very good animals.”

“Well, you’ll have to deprogram them. Gods only know, the Priests of the One probably made them attend church services,” Haley said with a slight smile.

“Strip them of anything you want and pick the good ones to be added to our train,” Tarrin ordered. “And be ready to move. I want to get to that other group of soldiers right around sunset. I don’t want to camp with so many enemies so close. Let’s just go kill them, then camp.”

“Why sunset?” Lorak asked.

“Because you never fight a Demon at night,” he replied bluntly. “Trust me. I know.”

Tarrin watched as Skord’s men quickly started stripping horses of their saddles and packs, and his friends gathered up near him, as did the magic-users among the Shadows. Sarraya contined to sit sedately on his nose, looking down at the others from her lofty perch. “How did it go?” Ulger asked up at him conversationally.