So be it, Tanaros thought, conscious of the steady throb of his beating heart, and all that he owed, every breath drawn, to Lord Satoris.

A matter of corruption?

No. Never.

SIX

SIX

FROM HIS PERCH HIGH ATOP a pine tree, Dani saw the Fjel.

It was the fourth time that day he had clambered up the tree, using it as a vantage point to survey the barren reach. Each time, he whispered a prayer to Uru-Alat, praying to find the landscape empty as it had been the day before, and the day before it.

On the third day, his luck ran out.

Although it was hard to tell from so far away, they appeared to be the same kind he had seen before—lean and predatory, with smooth, grey hides that were blended into the rocky terrain. If he hadn’t been keen-sighted, he might have missed them. But, no, there it was again—a steely flash in the distance, the northern sunlight glinting on armor plate. Clinging to the pine’s trunk with his good right arm, he stared intently at the direction of the Fjel. There were more of them this time, though only one wore armor. Save for the waterskins strapped over their torsos, the rest were unadorned.

They were traveling in a pack and they were traveling swiftly. For a moment, Dani watched, mesmerized by their steady, tireless lope. Even at a distance, an awful grace was in it.

Then fear returned in a rush, the sour taste of it in his mouth. Using both feet and the one hand, Dani descended the pine tree in awkward haste, heedless of the prickling needles and rough bark, and hurried into the hidden cave.

“Fjeltroll?” Uncle Thulu’s voice was faint and thready.

“Aye.” He met his uncle’s feverish gaze. “A dozen at least.”

“Did they see you?”

“No.” Dani shook his head. “They’re pretty far south of us and moving fast, all in a pack. It doesn’t even look like they’re hunting. I think they’ll miss us,” he added hopefully. “Maybe they’re not even looking.”

“No.” Uncle Thulu coughed weakly and wheezed, one hand scrabbling at his chest. In the dim light, his shirt was stained dark with seeping fluids. Despite Dani’s best efforts to clean and tend them, his wounds continued to fester. Yesterday, they had begun to slough dead flesh and the small space stank of it. “Help me sit.”

With alacrity, Dani eased him into a sitting position, propped against the cavern wall. “Better?”

“Aye,” Uncle Thulu whispered, licking his dry, cracked lips.