But he hadn’t. The old man had just stood there. Choose, he’d said; as if his people hadn’t sent one of their own off upon a quest to fulfill Haomane’s Prophecy, to destroy Lord Satoris and everything General Tanaros held dear. And what had followed afterward, the black blade flashing, the dull thud of Fjeltroll maces and blood sinking into the sand …

“What else was he supposed to do?” Speros asked aloud.

“Boss?” One of the Tungskulder glanced quizzically at him.

“Nothing.” He squared his shoulders. There was one thing, at least, he could do. “Come on, lads, let’s move. We’ve got another one of these to build before Haomane’s Allies come a-calling.”

FJELTROLL WERE HUNTING THEM AND Uncle Thulu was sick.

He had denied it for days; and long, thirsty, grueling days they were. After the first Fjeltroll to follow them had turned back, Dani had dared to hope. They worked their way slowly westward, avoiding all save the smallest water sources, concealing their trail as they went. It was slow and laborious, and he was increasingly worried about his uncle’s condition, but at least they were spared the threat of Fjel.

Then they had seen another.

Dani had spotted it in the distance. It wasn’t like the others that had attacked them. This one traveled alone, moving swiftly and silently. It worked its way back and forth across the terrain in purposeful arcs, pausing at times to lift a narrow, predatory head and scent the air. If it hadn’t been for the glint of sunlight on its armor, he might have missed it.

Armor.

The Fjel hunting them was armed; worse, it carried a waterskin. Dani choked out a warning. Uncle Thulu clamped a hand over his mouth, casting around wildly for a place to hide.

Uru-Alat be thanked, he had found one—a cave, scarce more than a shallow depression, its opening partially hidden by pine branches. Uncle Thulu shoved Dani into it, scrambling after him and dragging the branches back in place. He stripped off a handful of needles as he did, grinding them hard between his palms.

“Here,” he whispered, pressing half of the damp wad into Dani’s good hand. “Rub it on your skin. It will help mask our scent.”

Dani obeyed awkwardly, hampered by the cloth that bound his left arm. “I don’t think he saw us,” he whispered back. “Can they track by scent like the Were?”

“I’m not sure.” Thulu peered through the branches. “But I suspect it’s live prey rather than a cold trail he’s sniffing after. If it wasn’t, he’d be on us already.” He settled back, adding grimly, “We’ll find out soon enough, lad.”