gray-green fungus. R’ksis scraped some off with a crescent-shaped claw and stuck the appendage in her mouth.
She spat it out. Compared to the rich, moldy taste of such food from beneath, it had little taste. It was sun-spoiled. It was not what she and the others had braved the surface for, anyway.
R’ksis sniffed, testing the air. Blood. Sweat. The odor of horse and Ogres hung in the air, scenting the forest. “The Old Ones,” she nearly hissed, motioning for the males to come forward.
They stayed inside, in the comforting darkness. When she motioned again, they hissed and clicked their claws against the rock walls. “Light bright. Too bright. Hurt eyes. Sun too warm,” they protested.
With an oath, she left them, knowing they would follow.
The scent of the Old Ones thinned as she moved through the forest. She adjusted her course. By the time she’d picked up the trail once more, the ten males had caught up. They had taken the time to roll on the ground, camouflaging their pasty green flesh.
She nodded her approval, then quickly flung handfuls of leaves and dirt across her own body.
“Food,” G’hes, the oldest male, clicked and hissed, sniffing. He sounded much more assured now.
“Old Ones!” She bent, scooped up a large rock and crushed it in her claws, as she would crush the Old Ones. The Ogres were an ancient enemy, thieves who lived above, yet forced their slaves to tunnel into the mountains—not to make homes, but to rob the earth.
“Old Ones taste good?” The youngest member of the party asked eagerly. S’rk was the only one of them who had never been above before. He stood completely upright, taller than the others, his compact body taut with excitement and fear.
The others hissed their pleasure. Ogres tasted even sweeter than the tunnelers, the slaves of the Ogres.
It took almost an hour to find the source of the lush blood scent. As they walked, trees and boulders thrust up through the earth’s surface, and dense patches of undergrowth, where the sun broke through the canopy of leaves, passed by unnoticed. It was all featureless terrain to eyes accustomed to the lush darkness of the underworld, to the beauty of dripping caverns.
As the scent of the Old Ones grew unbearably thick, G’hes, the oldest male, chortled, “Tribe be pleased.”
“First, catch,” she warned him.
----
Jyrbian ranged from the front of the procession, where Lyrralt rode silent and morose, to the back, where Khallayne did the same.
He joined her for the third time in as many hours, asking the same question he had before. “Why so glum? Isn’t this a beautiful day for a ride?” Then he loped ahead once more when she refused to talk with him. Then Tenaj called, “Quiet!”
They obeyed at once, because Tenaj was the hunter of the group, the one who spent long hours on the trails, in the forests.
Jyrbian waited for Tenaj to catch up with him, motioning the others past. “What?” He mouthed the word, making not a sound.
Tenaj glanced down the trail, the way they had come, then into the forest. Except for the unnatural quiet, which could easily be caused by their passing, everything appeared normal.
Except for that sense of someone—something. Not watching exactly, but
waiting
.
Tenaj shook her head. “Something,” she said quietly. “I don’t know.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Maybe I should ride back a ways, just to check things out.”
“Not too far, okay? There’ve been a couple of attacks on hunting parties on this trail. I don’t think we should get too spread out along here.”
Nodding agreement, Tenaj reined her stallion around.
She kept her hand on her sword as she rode toward Takar. The forest was too still, showing no signs of life, even though the party had passed by several minutes before. It made her jittery, and her horse, already half-wild, skittish.
Then she went around a turn, and there was the reason. Disr, four of them, on the trail! They blinked their pale,
She spat it out. Compared to the rich, moldy taste of such food from beneath, it had little taste. It was sun-spoiled. It was not what she and the others had braved the surface for, anyway.
R’ksis sniffed, testing the air. Blood. Sweat. The odor of horse and Ogres hung in the air, scenting the forest. “The Old Ones,” she nearly hissed, motioning for the males to come forward.
They stayed inside, in the comforting darkness. When she motioned again, they hissed and clicked their claws against the rock walls. “Light bright. Too bright. Hurt eyes. Sun too warm,” they protested.
With an oath, she left them, knowing they would follow.
The scent of the Old Ones thinned as she moved through the forest. She adjusted her course. By the time she’d picked up the trail once more, the ten males had caught up. They had taken the time to roll on the ground, camouflaging their pasty green flesh.
She nodded her approval, then quickly flung handfuls of leaves and dirt across her own body.
“Food,” G’hes, the oldest male, clicked and hissed, sniffing. He sounded much more assured now.
“Old Ones!” She bent, scooped up a large rock and crushed it in her claws, as she would crush the Old Ones. The Ogres were an ancient enemy, thieves who lived above, yet forced their slaves to tunnel into the mountains—not to make homes, but to rob the earth.
“Old Ones taste good?” The youngest member of the party asked eagerly. S’rk was the only one of them who had never been above before. He stood completely upright, taller than the others, his compact body taut with excitement and fear.
The others hissed their pleasure. Ogres tasted even sweeter than the tunnelers, the slaves of the Ogres.
It took almost an hour to find the source of the lush blood scent. As they walked, trees and boulders thrust up through the earth’s surface, and dense patches of undergrowth, where the sun broke through the canopy of leaves, passed by unnoticed. It was all featureless terrain to eyes accustomed to the lush darkness of the underworld, to the beauty of dripping caverns.
As the scent of the Old Ones grew unbearably thick, G’hes, the oldest male, chortled, “Tribe be pleased.”
“First, catch,” she warned him.
----
Jyrbian ranged from the front of the procession, where Lyrralt rode silent and morose, to the back, where Khallayne did the same.
He joined her for the third time in as many hours, asking the same question he had before. “Why so glum? Isn’t this a beautiful day for a ride?” Then he loped ahead once more when she refused to talk with him. Then Tenaj called, “Quiet!”
They obeyed at once, because Tenaj was the hunter of the group, the one who spent long hours on the trails, in the forests.
Jyrbian waited for Tenaj to catch up with him, motioning the others past. “What?” He mouthed the word, making not a sound.
Tenaj glanced down the trail, the way they had come, then into the forest. Except for the unnatural quiet, which could easily be caused by their passing, everything appeared normal.
Except for that sense of someone—something. Not watching exactly, but
waiting
.
Tenaj shook her head. “Something,” she said quietly. “I don’t know.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Maybe I should ride back a ways, just to check things out.”
“Not too far, okay? There’ve been a couple of attacks on hunting parties on this trail. I don’t think we should get too spread out along here.”
Nodding agreement, Tenaj reined her stallion around.
She kept her hand on her sword as she rode toward Takar. The forest was too still, showing no signs of life, even though the party had passed by several minutes before. It made her jittery, and her horse, already half-wild, skittish.
Then she went around a turn, and there was the reason. Disr, four of them, on the trail! They blinked their pale,
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