“Which one of you is Veltan?” the solid-looking native asked when they approached him.
“That’s me,” Dahlaine’s brother said, nudging his horse closer.
“Your big brother wanted me to tell you a few things,” the native said. “My name is Tlatan, and I am of the tribe of Tlantar. I’m supposed to warn you and your people that there’s a pestilence roaming around killing people off to the north and that the Atazakans have invaded the lands of the Matans.”
“You said what?” Veltan exclaimed.
“We’ve got a pestilence and an invasion,” Tlatan replied. “You really should learn to listen more carefully.”
“Let’s set the pestilence aside for now and concentrate on the invasion. Why are the Atazakans invading?”
“Probably because their high chief is crazy,” Tlatan said with a shrug. “I thought everybody knew that Azakan is crazy.”
“When did this invasion start?”
“Sometime last week, I think. We haven’t received too many details yet. Your big brother’s quite concerned about it. You might want to hurry on down to Mount Shrak and talk with Dahlaine. He can probably give you more in the way of details.”
“I want to thank you, Tlatan,” Veltan said.
The native shrugged. “I’m just doing what I was told to do.” He looked around at the mounted Malavi. “Do these people always sit on the animals they’re going to eat for supper?” he asked, curious.
“They’re called bison, Ariga,” Veltan said. “The Matans hunt them—for food, primarily, but I understand that their hides are also useful.”
“They’re quite a bit bigger than cows,” Ariga observed, “and I don’t think I’ve ever seen an animal with horns that are all one solid piece like that.”
“Dahlaine says that the bulls are quite aggressive. They don’t just run away when something—or someone—attacks the herd. The bulls fight back, and they’re very bad-tempered.”
“That might take a lot of the fun out of hunting them. They look very shaggy, don’t they?”
“That’s why the Matans value their hides so much. It gets very cold up here in the winter, and shaggy garments keep the Matans warm and dry when winter arrives.”
“If it wasn’t for that cold weather, this would be a great place to raise cows,” Ariga suggested.
“Not really, Ariga. There are wolves up here in Dahlaine’s country, and I’m fairly sure that the wolves would eat all your profit.”
“I’ve heard about wolves, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen one.”
“If you’re lucky, you never will. They’re very clever animals, and they hunt in packs. If a dozen or so wolves decide that you might taste good, they’ll probably have you for supper.”
“They’d have to catch me first, and I’m fairly sure that my horse could outrun them without too much trouble.”
“Possibly so, Ariga, but how long can your horse run?”
“All day, if it’s necessary.”
“That wouldn’t be quite long enough, I’m afraid. A pack of wolves could make your horse run as fast as he possibly could for two or three days—and nights. Sooner or later, your horse would collapse, and then the wolves would eat him, and have you for dessert.”
Ariga shuddered. “Do you suppose we could talk about something else, Veltan?” he asked.
“Of course, Ariga. The weather maybe?”
Mount Shrak was one of those solitary peaks, much like some of those in the southern reaches of the Land of the Malavi. Most mountains had family members clustered around them, but every now and then, a lone peak would stand off all by itself—possibly because it didn’t get along with its brothers and sisters. Ariga found the notion of a grumpy mountain stalking away from its family in a huff rather amusing.
Veltan spoke briefly with Ekial and then went to a large cave-mouth in the side of the lonely peak to talk with Dahlaine and with the most beautiful woman Ariga had ever seen.
“She did what?” Veltan exclaimed in an astonished tone of voice.
“She was trying her very best to hide Lillabeth’s Dream from the rest of us, baby brother,” the beautiful woman said. “She wanted everybody in the world to run on down to her Domain to protect her ‘Holy Temple,’ but I jerked the rug out from under her. Now she’s all alone down there with nobody to protect her except for several thousand fat, lazy priests who couldn’t tell one end of a knife from the other. I think we’ll let her sweat for a while before we send her any help. It might be good for her.”
Than a large man with a broken nose came out of the cave with a bleak-faced native beside him. “Did I hear you right, Lady Zelana?” the bulky man asked. “Is Narasan on his way up here?”
“He and his men were boarding their ships when I left, Sorgan,” the lady replied. “It’s going to take them a while to sail up the east coast, and then they’ll have to march the rest of the way here from the beach.”
“I really need him here, Lady Zelana,” Sorgan declared. “I went down and had a look at the canyon called ‘Crystal Gorge,’ and we’ll need a good strong fort to hold back the bug-men when they begin their attack, and Narasan’s men make better forts than my men can.”
“I think you might just be overlooking something, Captain Hook-Beak,” Veltan said with a faint smile. “I just happen to have Sub-Commander Gunda in my party, and Gunda’s the best fort-builder in the entire Trogite Empire. That wall he built down in my Domain will probably still be there a thousand years from now. If your men can follow his instructions, the creatures of the Wasteland will never get out of Crystal Gorge.”
“Unless they decide to take up flying again,” the bleak-faced native added.
“Why do you always have to do that, Longbow?” the one called Sorgan demanded.
“It keeps you on your toes, Sorgan. Always expect the worst. If it doesn’t come along, it’ll brighten your whole day.”
“I don’t think you’ll be involved in the building of the fort, Captain Hook-Beak,” Dahlaine said. “I think it might be a good idea for you and Prince Ekial to get to know each other. I have a sneaking suspicion that Ekial’s horse-soldiers will radically change the way we’ll be fighting wars from here on, and the servants of the Vlagh are going to be getting some very nasty surprises before we finish up this time.”