Tyrus snarled with rage. He couldn't reach them! They were too fast and too well armed. He had to think of something, or he and his men would cower here until they were each pierced through and bleeding, wounded or dead. And then what? What would these green men do with their conquered intruders?
Of all the vivet stories he had heard -- that they were men, that they were animals, that they were quick and deadly plants -- he had never heard that they could fly. "Cadogan!"
Cadogan moaned.
"Cadogan!" Tyrus screamed. "Give your axe to Yolaf!"
"What? Why?"
Tyrus stepped back from the tree that shielded him and doubled up his grip on the sword. With a wild cry, he swung the blade at the trunk.
It flashed through.
Before the tree could topple, Tyrus ran to the next tree and slashed at the trunk -- at a downward angle this time. The tree slipped along the diagonal cut and the newly exposed wedge jammed into the earth. As the two trees toppled, Tyrus hacked through a dozen more.
The birdlike chittering above took on a desperate tone.
Yolaf yanked Cadogan's axe from him and swung at the nearest trunk. The axe blade buried itself three-quarters through, and Yolaf wrenched at the handle.
"Avaunt!" cried Cadogan, dragging himself to his feet. "That's my axe! Don't break it, you churl!"
The axe came free and the tree creaked, broke and toppled, cushioning itself in the branches of its neighbors. Yolaf smiled his childlike, dimwitted smile. He struck the next tree twice, a swing that arced up and another that arced down, and a triangular section of wood dropped free. The tree fell. Yolaf stomped uphill, dispatching trees with quick double strokes.
The trees were too close together to fall directly to the forest floor. The branches tangled with trees still standing, until the mass of trees that had been cut overwhelmed those still standing and pushed past them to lay flat. The crashing of trees and snapping of limbs drowned out the shrieks of the green men.
The onslaught of gold sling spheres slackened. Yolaf and Tyrus lay down a fan shape of leveled trees, and vivets leaped for unharmed trees beyond their reach. The fleeing creatures were in no way human -- too small, too frail for that. They were nearly naked and quite hairless, with skin as radiantly green as a ripe lime.
"Zane!" called Tyrus.
"Aye." Zane had already drawn, and let an arrow loose. It raced fifty feet up and struck a vivet square in the back, hard enough to pass through and keep going until the arrow drove itself into a limb farther on. The vivet fell and snagged in the branches. The tone of the vivet cries rose to shrieks.
Zane saw a vivet standing on branch as it dropped a gold ball in its sling. Zane let fly. The vivet ducked the arrow, whipped its sling about it and fired. The gold ball whizzed past Zane's head and whammed into a tree trunk.
Tyrus's path was blocked by felled trees now. He leapt onto a trunk and stalked along it, swinging himself around the branches. Where was a vivet? He had dulled his blade on so much wood, he was hungry to cut through green flesh. They didn't carry hand-to-hand weapons -- at least, none he could see - so it couldn't possibly be a fair fight. And the last Tyrus wanted was a fair fight.
The vivets scampered and cried and vanished. The last tree that Yolaf cut down crashed and was silent. Tyrus watched and listened. Nothing.
Tyrus hopped down and swung through a final tree -- the one holding their only kill in its branches. It crashed down.
Zane retrieved arrows while Cadogan snatched his axe away from Yolaf, thumbed the blade and pouted, his red braids hanging limp around his bearded face.
Tyrus doubled back to Uilleam, who lay bleeding on the pine needles and clung weakly to his arm.
"Broken," said Uilleam through clenched teeth.
Tyrus knelt by him. "Can you walk?"
"I'll not stay here."
Tyrus smiled. "If you can't, I'll have Cadogan carry you."
"Ach! Leave me to die."
Yolaf found a gold ball embedded in a tree limb. "Pretty." He pried at it with a knife.
Cadogan forgot about his harshly treated axe and scampered to the dead vivet. "Ooh," he cooed. "Isn't it lovely."
Tyrus helped Uilleam to his feet and walked him over. "It belongs to Zane."
"Disgusting!" Zane said, waving a delicate hand. "I don't want it."
Cadogan drew it out of the snag of branches by a slender-boned forearm and held it up, one-handed. Its bald green head, no bigger than a cantaloupe, hung low between its fragile shoulder blades. The blood from the arrow wound was white, like tree sap. Cadogan clutched its throat and rolled its head back. Its large, heavily-lidded eyes had blue-white irises. Its teeth were small and pearl-like, with white gums. The body had no odor.
It was four feet tall and weighed perhaps thirty pounds. Tyrus reached down between the branches and drew out its sling, woven entirely from vine. It would dry out in a few days. They must have to keep making them.
Cadogan pulled a necklace off the body. It was made of nothing but acorns and seed pods, and he tossed it aside. Tyrus reached down again, and came up with a sack in his fist.
"Aha!" said Cadogan.
Tyrus looked inside. Six golden spheres. He tossed the sack to Zane.
"What?" cried Cadogan.
Zane smiled. "You catch one."
Cadogan throttled the corpse. "Where are your friends, hm? How do you throw such gold about? You timber-head, you stumbling block!" He turned to Zane. "Couldn't you have wounded it? Think what it could have told us."
Zane scowled and pocketed his gold. "Go hang yourself, Cadogan."
"Let's move on," called Tyrus. "March, and tend to Uilleam. Cadogan, drop that thing."
Cadogan clutched the body close. "Never!"
"Suit yourself."
#
Chapter 12
Well on into the third day, it got colder and gray clouds bunched up in the sky, crowding out the blue and putting shadows on the ground. The wind picked up and blew chilly, not fiercely, more teasingly, but with dark promise.
Bogg and the pup came across a broad field of blackberry bushes. The tracks of the quarry passed right through, moving fast, with slashes in the brush here and there to clear a path.
Since starting this trip, the pup had apparently developed a hankering for blackberries. He lagged behind, reaching between the thorns to get to the fattest ones, eating some and keeping some in one of Bogg's old boots.
"You sure you want to put berries in there?" Bogg asked. "I walked a lot of miles in those."
Simon put his nose to it. "I think the river rinsed it out. It smells fine."
"Boy, the wilderness is getting to you. You're thinking a little more like me."
And the lad had a point about slowing down the pursuit on account of berry-gathering. Eat as you go, that was the way. Don't gobble up your food stores if you can help it. This world is a goose. Bogg stopped to pull a few berries as Simon caught up.
They walked together for a spell, then Simon lagged behind again. Bogg wondered how far the field went --nigh on three-quarter mile, it seemed. He drew his sabertooth dagger and whacked off a bundle of berries so he could eat and walk at the same time.
It might have been the cold breeze, or it might have been all the berries, but anyhow, he sure didn't smell the bear before he saw it.
It was a fine one. Not like a piddly Algolan bear. They grew big in Mira. This one was big as a wagon, and looked like it could have swallered Bogg's head whole, and also like it wouldn't mind trying such a stunt.
It was eating berries its own self, walking through the bushes. The bushes crackled as its paws mashed them, and its pink flat tongue lapped up berries between its black claws, paying no mind to the branches or thorns.
The warm, earthy stench of the bear came to him. Bogg wrinkled his nose. He could tell the bear had eaten fish lately, the smell was that strong. Good thing too. The wind was b
lowing Bogg's way, and the bear hadn't sniffed him out yet.
Bogg heard Simon's careless strolling footsteps approach behind him. Bogg would have warned Simon, but didn't know how to do it without moving or making a sound. The lad's footsteps stopped cold, and Bogg figured he'd laid eyes on the bear and that was warning enough.
The bear crunched its way through the brush, moving crosswise to Bogg and Simon, so big and close that Bogg couldn't see the top of the bear's back. He didn't think he'd ever killed a bear that big. He might have to today. If the wind shifted, or if the bear turned its head, Bogg could only draw his fang dagger and go to work.
Bogg reckoned he would live through such a confrontation, half likely or more. It was just a question of whether he would keep all his arms and legs.
Two cubs crashed through the bushes behind the bear, about as big as fluffy brown dogs. The first tackled a blackberry bush and gobbled up some berries. The second jumped on the first, and they tumbled about and wrestled.
Mama bears were the worst. All the billow dropped out of Bogg's sails.
Bogg could feel Simon creeping up behind him. Jupiter Pluvius! Didn't that boy know not to move? Stand still and let the critters pass, that was their only chance to not git et. Simon would barely make a decent snack, poor lad. Bogg, he was old and sour enough to give the bear a case of--
A cub lost the wrestling match and got knocked flat, opened its eyes and saw Bogg. Its round cub ears pricked up and it hissed. The other cub saw Bogg and Simon and froze, and mama bear sighted them too.
She hollered at them something awful, a roar so loud and low that Bogg felt it crawl up and down his ribs and ring in his ears. Her teeth were white, as big and hooked as Bogg's thumbs. The points glistened with the sheen of bear-spit and blackberry juice. Bogg thought he heard a little whimper from Simon, but with that racket coming from the bear, he couldn't rightly tell.
The bear reared up on her hind legs, and Bogg knew that was a sight that would stay with him. She was twice as tall as him like that, maybe more. The cubs scampered and hid behind her.
Bogg's legs quivered like they really wanted to go somewhere. He didn't know what they had in mind, but they were adamant about it. His hands were better behaved, and his right eased to the sabertooth knife in its sheath at his hip.
The bear slammed her front paws to earth, and Bogg felt it through the soles of his new boots. He shook away the sight of those boots digesting in her gut with his feet still in them.
She took a step toward him. That step was a reckoning, Bogg knew. There weren't no other choice, now. He stuck his jaw forward and took a step toward her.
A gentle hand gripped Bogg's left elbow from behind. It pulled.
Not now, pup.
But the hand was insistent. It gripped his deerskin sleeve and didn't let go. Bogg glanced to his left.
Simon's free hand held a boot full of berries.
It struck Bogg as a right decent gesture.
He took the boot, and Simon melted away behind him. Bogg, working to keep everything slow and smooth, hunkered a bit and dumped the berries out.
Mama bear snorted like a gust of wind as Bogg backed off. As he took steady steps away, he slipped the fang dagger free. Mama lumbered to the berries. Her black nose, big as Bogg's fist, probed at them.
She lifted her head and roared at Bogg. Bogg brought his dagger up slow between them, ready for the fight.
Mama glared at Bogg and seemed to think it though. Bogg crept back little by little.
She glared at him for a spell, then her head dropped to the berries and her tongue whipped a dozen into her mouth.
And that seemed to settle it. The cubs came around and joined in at the berries. Bogg wondered if all berry and no thorn was a convenience outside the regular experience of bear-kind... and he kept on backing off. It didn't take long for that bootfull to dwindle away, and just before it was gone, Bogg turned tail and sprinted for distance. Simon was ten yards farther back and when he saw Bogg turn, he got the picture quick and made off himself.
Bogg gained on the boy but didn't pass him until they were nigh on a mile from the blackberry field, with no sign of the bears behind them.
#
Simon Jones had never run so far or so fast in his life. The scene of Bogg sprinting at him, blue eyes wide, sabertooth knife flashing, his very beard hairs seeming to stand on end, with that brown wall of a bear behind him, would never leave Simon's memory.
It had taken a few hours to circle around the blackberry patch and try to pick up the trail of the Algolan privateers on the other side. Bogg acted like he knew exactly where they had gone, but Simon wasn't so sure.
The coming twilight forced them to stop and make camp at the base of a hill. The spot was just below where the pine trees started, and the slope of the hill looked like it climbed all the way up to the shoulder of the Chilly Mountains.
"We'll catch those mean skunks. See that?" Bogg put his face close to Simon's with a hand on his shoulder and pointed at the jagged skyline of frosted white above the trees. Gray clouds scudded across them. One great mountain rose above the others, the snow of its hestern slope touched pink with sunset.
"I see," Simon said.
"That's Desperation Peak. Eost of that is a wee little groove in the snow called Settler's Pass. It's downhill for us after that, past Deadreckoning Peak, to Pirate's Bay."
Grim, shapeless clouds blocked the peaks like a slowly drawn curtain. "And that's where you think they're going?" Simon asked.
Bogg stood up. "It's a damn-sight obvious, ain't it? Tomorrow, we'll head upslope and catch their trail. I ain't worried. These buggers ain't been exactly snake-stealthy so far." Bogg grinned. "They wouldn't know beans if they had their heads in the pot. They can have the extra day that mama bear gave them." He climbed a pine and hacked off some branches for a lean-to, while Simon dug a fire pit and fueled it with sticks broken off a dead log that lay nearby.
Later on, after they'd eaten (food stores were light, all the hominy and half the rice gone, but Bogg wasn't worried, so Simon tried not to), they sat together by the fire. Bogg scratched letters in the dust with Marshall Dunster's severed steel blade. "I'm getting it. A is for ain't, which means no how."
Simon turned the three sticks of the deadfall snare over and over in his hands and tried to figure them out. Maybe he could set them under one end of that log.
Bogg went on. "I like how the letters are named for the sounds they make. That's inspired. B is for bear, that nearly ate Bogg -- " His eyes went wide. "Great Scott... by jings, I don't believe it! B is for Bogg!"
Simon giggled. He scratched some letters in the dust with one of the sticks.
"Hey, you be careful with those." Bogg considered the letters.
B O G G.
"Good land. These little scratches mean me."
Simon's giggles broke out into real laughter. He fell back and rolled around, unable to contain himself, and Bogg blushed and chuckled softly.
Just then the gray sky opened up and sprinkled on them, and Simon sobered under the icy drops. He wondered why he had laughed so hard. Glad to be alive, maybe. Tomorrow would be their fourth day, and he worried about eating and being eaten, and about the men they were chasing. The smell of rain in the forest was thick and heavy, like a handful of moldy earth under his nose.
Bogg looked to the sky, blinking, and tiny beads of water appeared on his face. "That's about it. Lay out the frying pan and we'll hit the hay."
In the lean-to, Bogg lay on his back with his head sticking outside, his mouth open to catch the rain. Simon imitated him. It seemed an uncomfortable and painfully slow way to get a drink. The black cloak was not quite big enough to keep them both warm, and Simon tugged at the velvety skin to cover himself.
"You know, lad..." Bogg spoke in short phrases, keeping his mouth open and tongue out in between his words. "That bit with the berries... and the bear..
. saved me eight acres of hell... it was right clever."
Simon's jaw was already tired from holding his own mouth open. "You know, Bogg, I've been wondering."
Mouth wide open, Bogg said, "Uh-huh?"
"If splintercat skin is so invulnerable..."
"Uh-huh?"
"How did you kill it?"
Bogg pulled his tongue in so he could grin devilishly. The sound of rain in the trees hissed around them, heavier and heavier, and steam rose from the fire pit as drops fell in and sizzled.
"It's wasteful to talk in rain like this, boy. Got to drink while the drinking's good." Bogg opened his mouth.
The rain was too heavy for Simon. He reached over and sipped from the frying pan, and decided that was enough for him. He ducked into the lean-to and tried to sleep.
#
Chapter 13
Simon dreamt of following tracks.
He walked along, eyes to the soft earth, knowing he'd seen these tracks before, but all the same feeling in awe of them. They were tracks of someone walking barefoot, and Simon could fit his shoe inside each track with plenty of room all around it. They were three times the length of Simon's shoes, and touched the earth every five feet or so.
Simon felt like he should know who he was following, but he didn't. He felt like he was close, and it bothered him. He was unprepared.
The tracks came to a gully. A tree had been pushed over to bridge the gap, and Simon knew he had to cross. The roots of the tree splayed wide, sheltering the broken earth that had held them.
Simon scrabbled up on the log and stepped out over the gully. It was only eight or ten feet down to pebbles and ferns and a trickling stream below, but crossing over the gully took all of his willpower. It was another forest on the other side, a different forest, one he didn't know.
Once across, he jumped down from the log, and there in the ground was another track. He followed the trail.
He had to be close. Simon looked up, and saw an enormous figure walking through the woods, obscured by branches.
Simon sprinted to catch up, but couldn't get any closer. The figure strode away from him, walking its own course, paying him no attention. It was at least twelve feet tall, wore no clothing, and was covered head to toe in dull orange-brown fur.
Simon was scared but kept running after it.
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