Next she stampeded the village cattle by beaming pure fear into their minds, sending them pounding against the fence of their corral until they broke it down, then continuing to build their fear until they ran headlong into the grasslands. They might come back; they might not. The villagers would have to send men out to get them.

They did—and she killed one and wounded five more before their fire drove her back deeper into the forest.

They brought the cattle inside with them—barely half of the herd she had sent thundering away. That made Chali smile again. With the cattle would come vermin, noise, muck—and perhaps disease.

And she might be able to add madness to that.

Bakro? she broadbeamed, unafraid now of being overheard. Have you found the mind-sick weed yet?

But to her shock, it was not Bakro who answered her.

Daiv struggled up out of a darkness shot across with lances of red agony. It hurt even to think—and it felt as if every bone in his body had been cracked in at least three places. For a very long time he lay without even attempting to move, trying to assess his real condition and whereabouts through a haze of pain. Opening his eyes did not lessen the darkness, but an exploratory hand to his face told him that although the flesh was puffed and tender, his eyes were probably not damaged. And his nose told him of damp earth. So he was probably being held in a pit of some kind, one with a cover that let in no light. Either that, or it was still dark.

Faint clanks as he moved and his exploring fingers told him that chains encircled his wrists and ankles. He tried to lever himself up into sitting position, and quickly gave up the idea; his head nearly split in two when he moved it, and the bones of his right arm grated a little.

He started then to mindcall to Dahnah—then he remembered.

Hot, helpless tears burned his eyes, scalded along the raw skin of his face. He didn’t care. Wind—oh Wind.

For he remembered that Dahnah was dead, killed defending two of the traders’ tiny children. And uselessly, for the children had been spitted seconds after she had gone down. She’d taken one of the bastards with her, though—and Stubtail had accounted for another before they’d gotten him as well.

But Daiv couldn’t remember seeing Brighttooth’s body—perhaps the other cat had gotten away!

He husbanded his strength for a wide-beam call, opened his mind—

And heard the stranger.

Bakro? came the voice within his mind, strong and clear as any of his kin could send. Have you found the mind-sick weed yet?

He was so startled that he didn’t think—he just answered.

Who are you? he beamed. Please—who are you?

Chali stood, frozen, when the stranger’s mind touched her own-*-then shut down the channel between them with a ruthless and somewhat frightened haste. She kept herself shut down, and worked her way deeper into the concealment of the forest, worming her way into thickets so thick that a rabbit might have had difficulty in getting through. There she sat, curled up in a ball, shivering with reaction.

Until Bakro roused her from her stupor with his own insistent thought.

/ have found the mind-sick weed, drabarni, and something else as well.

She still felt dazed and confused.

What—she replied, raising her head from her knees.

And found herself looking into a pair of large, golden eyes.

Kevin had expected that the Horseclans folk would find them, eventually. What he had not expected was that they would be kind to him and his family.

He had a moment of dazed recognition of what and who it was that was approaching them across the waving grass. He pushed himself away from the pony, prepared to die defending his loved ones—

And fell over on his face in a dead faint.

When he woke again he was lying on something soft, staring up at blue sky, and there were two attentive striplings carefully binding up his head. When they saw he was awake, one of them frowned in concentration, and a Horseclans warrior strolled up in the next moment.

“You’re damn lucky we found you,” he said, speaking slowly so that Kevin could understand him. He spoke Merikan, but with an odd accent, the words slurring and blurring together. “Your mate about t’ fall on her nose, and your little one had heat-sick. Not to mention the shape you were in.”

Kevin started to open his mouth, but the man shook his head. “Don’t bother; what the pony didn’t tell us, your mate did.” His face darkened with anger. “I knew Dirtmen were rotten—but this! Only one thing she didn’t know—there were two of ours with the traders.”

The nightmare confrontation with Howard popped into Kevin’s mind, and he felt himself blanch, fearing that this friendly barbarian would slit his throat the moment he knew the truth.

But the moment the memory surfaced, the man went absolutely rigid, then leaped to his feet, shouting. The camp boiled up like a nest of angry wasps. As his two attendants sprang to their feet, Kevin tried to rise.

Only to pass into oblivion again.

Chali stared into the eyes of the great cat, mesmerized.

My brother is within those wails, the cat said to her, and I am hurt. You must help us. True, the cat was hurt; a long cut along one shoulder, more on her flanks.

Chali felt anger stirring within her at the cat’s imperious tone. Why should I help you? she replied. Your quarrel is nothing to me!

The cat licked her injured shoulder a moment, then caught her gaze again. We have the same enemy, she said shortly.

Chali pondered that for a moment. And the enemy of my enemy—is my friend?

The cat looked at her with approval. That, she said, purring despite the pain of her wounds, is wisdom.

Daiv had just about decided that the mindcall he’d caught had been a hallucination born of pain when the stranger touched him again.

He snatched at the tentatively proffered thought-thread with near-desperation. Who are you? he gasped. Please—

Gently, brother, came a weaker mind-voice, joining the first. And that was one he knew!

Brighttooth!

The same. Her voice strengthened now, and carried an odd other-flavor with it, as if the first was somehow supporting her. How is it with you?

He steadied himself, willing his heart to stop pounding. Not good. They’ve put chains on my arms and legs; my right arm’s broken, I think. Where are you? Who’s with you?

A friend. Two friends. We are going to try to free you. No-Voice says that she is picking up the thoughts of those Dirteaters regarding you, and they are not pleasant.

He shuddered. He’d had a taste of those thoughts himself, and he rather thought he’d prefer being sent to the Wind.

We are going to free you, my brother, Brighttooth continued. I cannot tell you how, for certain—but it will be soon; probably tonight. Be ready.

It was well past dark. Chali, aided by Bakro, reached for the mind of Yula, the cleverest mare of the Rom herd. Within a few moments she had a good idea of the general lay of things inside the stockaded village, at least within the mare’s line of sight—and she knew exactly where the Horseclans boy was being kept. They’d put him in an unused grain pit a few feet from the corral where the horses had been put. Yula told Chali that they had all been staying very docile, hoping to put their captors off their guard.

Well done! Chali applauded. Now, are you ready for freedom?

More than ready, came the reply. Do we free the boy

as well? There was a definite overtone to the mare’s mind-voice that hinted at rebellion if Chali answered in the negative.