Lovely things, these daughters and sons of Elyon, but so pigheaded at times. Thought they knew everything. Even after changing their minds five times on the same matter, they didn’t pause to consider the fact that they might be wrong this sixth time as well. Heaven forbid! They would fight for the sixth opinion with as much conviction as the first!

“It’s red, I say. Red! ” one would cry.

“No, it’s blue,” another would respond.

“Red, you fool. Red, red, red.”

“Blue for certain. Look at it from this angle and you see it’s blue. Or maybe a bit green, if you think about it.”

“Say what? Not green. Only an idiot would see green. More like purple, if you must. But not blue and not green.”

“I say green. Definitely green. If you can’t see green, you’re not fit to hold a rank in the Guard.”

“Purple! For the sake of Elyon, open your eyes! Any half-wit can see it’s purple.”

Only the arguments weren’t usually about colors but something more interesting, such as whether this tunic or that face marking would be appropriate to wear.

Gabil saw Billos and Darsal ahead now, slumped on the two horses, hopelessly lost. Both had grayed and lost their minds to the disease, a condition that would quickly change from the stupidity they currently displayed to plain deceit. The Horde could be as sharp as Teeleh’s claws once their minds grew accustomed to the disease’s influence, but their deception would only strengthen. He clucked with shame for them and sped up with wide sweeps of his wings.

He dove for Darsal’s horse, slapping it hard on the rump with his right wing as he screamed past. The horse jumped to the right, plowing into the other horse.

“Watch it!” Billos snapped. “What are you doing?”

“It’s . . . it’s this blasted horse.”

Gabil had to get them headed to the north, and fast. The fact that they could no longer see him in their diseased state meant he would do it the old-fashioned way, which had often proved to be disastrous in his rather extensive scope of experience. Other Roush seemed to boast of more success, but Gabil often succeeded in doing nothing more than upsetting all involved.

If they still had canteens strapped to the horses, he would have dumped the water on them to bring them out of their stupor. But the bottles had evidently been stripped off by the Shataiki.

He grabbed the reins of Billos’s horse and tugged to the right. “This way, you black stallion beast!” Gabil flapped his wings hard, blowing up dust, tugging the stubborn horse.

“Hey!” Billos mumbled at no one in particular. “What are you doing? Where’d that wind come from?” His horse veered to its right, north, and Darsal’s followed.

“Where’re you going?” she asked dumbly.

“Where’re you going?” he returned. “Isn’t this the way?”