Page 36 of Into the West

“That’s a damned clever thing you’ve invented,” Endars finally said, after the eighth ball went off to the horses.

“Oh, I didn’t invent it,” Venidel corrected hastily.

And that was when Delia saw it. A tiny, approving little smile.

Endars was testing him!

“No, it’s just some hedge-witchery I learned, and Sai helped me turn it into something useful while we were at the Lake,” Venidel continued. “I figured it would be a good way to compact fleeces when we needed to shear and slaughter sheep on the way. But Delia said something yesterday that made me realize I could make grass bales that way too.”

Endar’s smile broadened. “Well, boy, you’re smart, to study every bit of mage-craft you come across, be it ever so lowly.”

Venidel showed just a flash of temper, but damped it down. “I am a farmer,” he just said.

“And my pa was the miller of Goverton,” Endars countered. “Not every mage is a Kordas Valdemar.”

“Ah!” was all that Venidel said, but he managed to pack a lot of meaning into that single syllable.

But things seemed a lot more companionable between them after that.

She was quickly coming to the end of her strength, though, at least physically. Her arms felt as if they were on fire, and her cutting got slower and slower as she forced herself on. Bend, gather, cut, drop, she told herself, wishing she could stop. Bend, gather, cut, drop. She was glad she was wearing gloves, as were the other two, because the leather of the palms was definitely getting scored by the sharp-edged grasses, and she hated to think what her hands would have looked like without protection.

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Save yourself for what only you can do,” Endars said, as she started and looked up. “No point in cutting the damn grass if we have to walk it to the horses because you’re too tired to Fetch it there.”

Anger rose, but she quelled it, because he was right. It smarted, though, and she felt as if she was somehow letting Kordas down.

It made no sense to feel that way, but as she leaned against a tree, aching on the inside as well as the outside, she decided that “sense” really didn’t matter.

Feelings did not answer to any logic but their own.

If only they did . . .

The afternoon of the third day found Delia, Endars, and Venidel back at camp; with three of them cutting, they were able to gather enough forage for the rest of the day and into the night between breakfast and luncheon. Her arms still ached. Not as badly as the first day, but between that and her feet hurting from walking on those rocks, what she wanted to do was lie on her bunk and doze. But Sai was baking more trail biscuits and needed help. So just after luncheon she was kneeling next to the fire, moving coals onto the top of the baking pot, when Amethyst gave the warning call of a blue-crested shrike, something they had all agreed was a good alarm call. It carried far better than a shout. Delia looked up sharply and followed the Doll’s gaze.

Amethyst’s sight was certainly sharper than hers was, because she didn’t spot their uninvited visitor until it pushed through the underbrush and moved to the rocks at the river’s edge, about as far away from their fire as the average village street was long.

It was a bear. There was no mistaking that shape, or that rolling gait. Its shaggy brown coat had blended perfectly with the weeds at the forest edge until it moved into the open. But it was not “just” a bear.

Amethyst should have done more than whistle. This thing was a monster.

Delia had been up and down this stretch of the river enough times to know just how tall everything on it was, and this bear’s back brushed the branches that overhung the path, which meant it was the size of the Tow-Beast.

And it was looking right at them.

She froze. Sai froze. Alberdina was in the barge, but with a “danger” signal, she knew to stay inside it and arm up with whatever was handy. Endars was behind Delia, so she couldn’t see what he was doing, but Venidel whispered a curse.

“Don’t move,” Sai whispered back. “Bears have good eyesight, but we’re downwind of him, and if we don’t move he might not know what we are.”

The horses, of course, scented the creature, because they all brought their heads up at once, and the Tow-Beast snorted. Another breath of icy breeze brought the scent to them, and not only was it strong enough for a human to smell, it was a strange, bitter musk, nothing she’d ever smelled before.

The bear reared up on its hind legs, and Delia’s mouth dried and her stomach clenched when she realized it was well twice as tall as a man that way. Its stance conveyed the sheer weight of the thing.

The horses, sensible for once, froze.

The bear stuck his nose up into the air, sniffing so loudly they could hear him.

But now that it was on its hind legs, Delia saw something else that was even more alarming about it. Instead of fur, its belly was covered in leathery scales, like a lizard. So were its paws and its muzzle. It opened its mouth and wrinkled up its lips, like a cat does when it wants to get a better scent, and the yellowed, stained teeth looked from here to be as long as her hand. Every row of them.

Her skin crawled, and she had to fight the urge to get up and run.