"Aren't you going to talk?" Aldrick asked, his voice a lazy drawl.

Fidelias reached up a hand to scratch at his neck, squinting at the Marat. "These three evidently disagree with their Cho-vin. Their chief. They aren't interested in talking."

Odiana let out a breathy, "Oh, goodie."

The former Cursor gripped the hilt of the knife that hung at the back of his neck and whipped his arm forward and down. There was a flicker of grey light on steel, and then the spike-like throwing knife buried itself in the herdbane, its handle protruding from the bird's head, just where its beak met its

skull. The herdbane let out a scream and leapt into the air in a great spasm. It fell to the forest floor, screaming still, thrashing viciously in its agony.

From the left and right came a sudden shriek of sound, the war cries of the birds and their masters, one savage paired with a bird rushing the group from either side. Fidelias felt, more than saw, Aldrick slip to the ground and turn to face one pair, but he heard quite clearly the rasp of the man's sword being drawn. Odiana murmured something under her breath, a soft, cooing sound.

The lead Marat rushed to the fallen herdbane's side for a moment and then, with a decisive motion, ripped the hook-shaped knife over the bird's throat. The herdbane let out a final, weak whistle and then shuddered to stillness on the ground as its blood stained the earth. Then the Marat turned toward Fidelias with his face set in a flat, murderous rage and flung himself at the former Cursor.

Fidelias barked a command to Vamma and flicked his hand in his attacker's direction. The ground beneath the Marat bucked in response, throwing him to one side, sending him sprawling. Fidelias took the opportunity to dismount from his increasingly agitated horse and to draw the dagger from the sheath at his hip. The Marat regained its balance and rushed him, aiming to move past his opponent, raking the horrible knife along Fidelias's belly in passing, disemboweling him.

Fidelias was familiar with the technique and countered by facing the Marat squarely, meeting his rush with one boot abruptly thrust out at the Marat's knee. He felt his foot connect hard, and something snapped in the Marat's leg. The Marat let out a squall and fell, whipping its knife at Fidelias's thigh as it did. The Aleran pushed away from the Marat's body in the same motion, pulling his leg clear a finger's width ahead of the knife, then turned to face his opponent.

The Marat attempted to rise to his feet, only to have his knee buckle. He fell into the pine needles. Fidelias turned and walked toward the nearest tree, glancing back at the others as he did.

Aldrick stood at the edge of the clearing, facing out, his blade gripped and held parallel to the ground, his arm extended straight out to his side, an almost dancelike pose. Behind the swordsman lay a herdbane, its head missing, its body flopping and clawing wildly, evidently unaware of its own impending death. The Marat that had rushed Aldrick knelt on the forest floor, its head lowered and swaying, its hands pressing at its belly and stained with blood.

On the other side of the clearing, Odiana sat on her horse, humming quietly to herself. The ground in front of her had, it had seemed, quite abruptly transformed into bog. Neither Marat nor herdbane could be seen, but the silt and mud before her stirred vaguely, as though something thrashed unseen beneath its surface.

The water witch noticed him looking at her and commented, her tone warm, "I love the way the ground smells after a rain."

Fidelias didn't answer her. He reached up, instead, using his knife to make a deep cut, scoring a branch on the nearest tree. He broke it off and, as the others turned to watch him, put his knife away, took the heavy branch in both hands, and, from out of the lamed Marat's knife reach, methodically clubbed him to death.

"That's one way to do it," Aldrick commented. "If you don't mind spattering blood everywhere."

Fidelias tossed the branch down to one side. "You got blood everywhere," he pointed out.

Aldrick walked back to the clearing's center. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to fastidiously clean his blade. "But mine's in a pattern. It's aesthetically pleasing. You should have had me do it for you."

"Dead's dead," Fidelias said. "I can do my own chores." He glanced at Odiana and said, "Happy now?"

The water witch, still atop her horse, smiled at him, and let out a little sigh. "Do you think we shall have more rain?"

Fidelias shook his head and called out, "Atsurak. You saw what they intended." He had the satisfaction of seeing Aldrick tense and half-turn to one side, and even Odiana caught her breath in her throat. The former Cursor smiled and took up his horse's reins, laying a hand on the beast's neck and stroking it.

From the trees came a gravelly voice, a satisfied-sounding, "Hah." Then there was the sound of motion through the brush, and a fourth Marat appeared. This man had eyes of glittering, brilliant gold, a match for those of the sleek, swift-looking bird beside him. He wore his knife at his belt, rather than in his hand-and he also carried a sword, bound with a rawhide thong about its hilt and blade and slung over one shoulder. He had a half-dozen grass plaits bound over his limbs, and his face had been rawly abraded, bruised. The Marat stopped several paces from the trio and held up his hands, open, palms toward them.

Fidelias mirrored the gesture and stepped forward. "What I did was necessary."

Atsurak looked down, at the dead man only a few paces away, whose skull Fidelias had crushed. "It was necessary," the man agreed, his voice quiet. "But a waste. Had they met me openly, I would have killed only one." The Marat squinted at Odiana, staring at the woman with a silent, hawklike intensity, before turning an equally intent regard to Aldrick. "Deadlanders. They fight well."

"Time is pressing," Fidelias responded. "Is everything in readiness?"

"I am the Cho-vin of my tribe. They will follow me."

Fidelias nodded and turned to his horse. "Then we go."

"Wait," Atsurak said, lifting a hand. "There is a problem."

Fidelias paused and looked at the Marat chieftain.

"During the last sun, I hunted humans not far from this place."

"Impossible," Fidelias said. "No one goes here."

The Marat took the sword from his shoulder, and with a pair of casual motions, unbound the thong from the weapon. He flicked it forward, so that its point drove into the ground a pace ahead and to one side of Fidelias. "I hunted humans," Atsurak said, as though Fidelias hadn't spoken. "Two males, old and young. The old commanded a spirit of the earth. My chala, the mate to this one," he put his hand on the herdbane's feathered back, "was slain. Wounded the old one. I hunted them, but the young one was swift and led me from his trail."

Aldrick stepped forward and took up the sword from the ground. He used the same cloth he had cleaned his own weapon with to brush the mud from the blade. "Legion-issue," he reported, his eyes distant. "Design from a few years ago. Well cared for. The wrappings are worn smooth." He took off a glove and touched his skin to the blade, his eyes closing. "Someone with a measure of experience used this, Del. I think he's a Legion scout. Or was one.

Fidelias drew in a sharp breath. "Atsurak. These two you hunted. They are dead?"

Atsurak shrugged. "The old one's blood flowed like a stream. His spirit carried him away, but he was already pouring out into the earth. The young one ran well and was fortunate."

Fidelias spat a sudden, acid taste out of his mouth and clenched his jaw. "I understand."

"I have come to look at this valley. And I have seen. I have seen that the Deadlanders wait to fight. That they are strong and watch carefully."