"Which would you rather face, Traybor, the entire Order army or that one-armed barbarian and his dwarf friend?"

Traybor didn't hesitate. "We'll break camp tonight."

"Report, Lieutenant," said Eesha, looking up from her maps as Dinell entered her command tent.

"The Cabal forces have holed up in the foothills, ma'am," said the lieutenant. "They may be planning an assault on the barbarians."

"What of the assassination squad?" asked the commander. "Any news since they slipped past you into the mountains?"

"N-no ma'am," said Dinell. "One of your aven units located three dead barbarians in the lower elevations that we believe were the handiwork of the squad."

"What makes you say that?"

"They were still walking about," said Dinell. "Zombies. In fact, they attacked the aven unit, which easily destroyed the monsters."

"Zombies!" spat Eesha. "The Cabal has no respect for the order of life." The commander sat down at her field desk and looked at the map of the Pardic Mountains. "Show me where the Cabal forces are, Lieutenant."

Dinell came up to the table and pointed at a secluded area in the foothills.

"You say their forces are planning an assault? What makes you think that?"

"They've had scouts in the lower elevations since last night, ma'am," replied Dinell. "My guess is they're awaiting word from their assassination squad before proceeding."

"Yes, that makes sense," said Eesha. "If their assassins retrieved the orb, they will leave with it. If not, they will ascend the mountain for a larger attack. Either way, we must stop them. Prepare your men to move out, Lieutenant. We attack tonight."

It took Balthor the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon to rig harnesses that would allow two horses to carry Jeska's body, strapped to a litter, between them.

"I'll ride this one, so I can keep an eye on her," he told Kamahl. "Me legs are short enough that they won't get in the way of the litter."

"She'll have a rough ride in that, won't she?" asked Kamahl.

"It's the best I can do, especially for mountain travel," said Balthor as he tested the straps on the harnesses one last time. "Once we're in the plains, we'll borrow a wagon from some farmers."

"Well, pad the litter with firecat furs, and take it slow," said Kamahl. "And bring some gold to pay the farmers. I have enough plains folk mad at me as it is."

"I'll get them now," said Balthor as he turned to leave. "Come help me with your sister, boy."

"Not yet, old man," said Kamahl. "We'll leave at dusk. Believe me, it's better to travel at night in the plains."

Kamahl left to say his farewells to Talon and the Elite Eight while Balthor checked on Jeska, who still lay unconscious in her room, her brow damp with sweat from the fever. Her wound had been bandaged, but Balthor could still see the strange, blue glow coming through the cloth. The dwarf dabbed an extra bandage in the pot of water next to the pile of furs and patted her warm brow with it.

Then, checking to make sure Kamahl had not yet returned, Balthor grabbed Kamahl's sword from the chest in his room and slipped it into the specially made pocket he'd sewn into Jeska's litter.

"I hope ye don't mind sharing your bed with this thing, girl," said the dwarf, "but I can't let him leave without his sword." Balthor then pulled a few extra firecat furs out to cover the litter and his stowed cargo.

CHAPTER 15

Laquatas squinted up at the noon sun and cursed. "Norda's fins! I hate the plains. How can people live so far from water with that ball of fire staring at them?"

As usual, Burke did not answer. He merely stood beside the mer lord quietly, waiting for his next command. "I need shelter from this blasted sun, Burke," said Laquatas. "Find the nearest farmhouse, and make it vacant." Following a wooden fence, the mer and his jack made their way toward the manor of the local landowner. "Clear the stables, Burke. I will rest in there while you cleanse the rest of the manor."

As Laquatas and Burke approached the buildings, two large, blond farmhands came out of the stables and spotted the odd duo.

"What d'ya want old man?" asked the first as he grabbed a pitchfork leaning against the doorframe.

"Shelter from the sun," replied Laquatas, smiling. "Burke?" With a mental command the mer sent his fighter forward to greet the farmhands.

"What in the spheres is that thing, Root?" asked the second worker as Burke approached.

Root lost some of his bluster as he looked at Burke. Turning to Laquatas, he said, "This land is protected by the Order, mister. You'd better leave, and take that thing with you."

As Root finished his little speech, Burke, who was still fifteen feet from the farmhands, shot out his arm. It stretched and hardened, hitting Root in the chest and breaking several ribs. The appendage just as quickly withdrew back to its normal shape and size, leaving Root gasping for air on the ground.

Pushing himself up on one hand, Root threw the pitchfork as hard as he could at Burke. The tines speared the jack in the groin, but the featureless humanoid merely reached down and pulled the makeshift weapon free, and the marks disappeared.

Burke then strode up to the gasping Root, stuck the pitchfork into large worker's torso, and raised the burly farmhand up over his shoulder as if his body were nothing more than a bale of hay.

Root's friend turned to run. Burke whipped the pitchfork forward, tossing Root's body through the air at the fleeing worker some thirty feet away.

Hit in the back by a two-hundred-pound missile, the farmhand tumbled to the ground, his arm shattering as he landed, pinned to the ground by the dead weight of his former friend. Burke strode over to the prone worker and drove the pitchfork through Root into the neck of the second man. Burke then looked back at his master, waiting new orders.

"Secure the house. I do not wish to be disturbed. I will wait in the stable for your return."

Burke nodded and then turned and strode toward the house. Laquatas entered the stable. Inside, the mer found horses and farm equipment but no more residents.

"Good," he said. "Now to find out what has been happening while I've been traveling."

The mer pulled the enchanted mirror out of his pack, passed his hand over its surface, and concentrated on Talbot. A moment later, the disheveled face of Laquatas's ambassador to the Cabal appeared in the mirror.

"Is this how you appear to your lord?" asked Laquatas. "At least run a comb through your hair, Talbot."

"Sorry, my lord," groveled Talbot. "I was somewhat indisposed when your call came in."

"Ah, I see," said Laquatas, smiling at his advisor. "I, too, liked to partake of the pleasures of the Cabal. I do hope your recreation hasn't impeded your mission."

"No, my lord," said Talbot. He reached out and produced an ivory comb to run through his fine, silken hair. "I have much news to impart to you, sire. News I have learned from my sources here in the Cabal."

"Excellent, Talbot," said Laquatas. "Havelock and his troops are proceeding on to Krosan. I have come topside to check on our allies and make sure the rest of the plan is proceeding apace. What can you tell me about the Cabal and Order forces?"

"Nothing good, I'm afraid, sire," said Talbot. "Braids has failed to either secure the Mirari or force the barbarian to leave the mountains. Her death squad lies dead in a Pardic village, and she has left the mountains."

"Is that all?" asked Laquatas. "That is but a minor setback. I never expected the summoner to succeed on her own."