Simon Hawke - The Seeker

Screech was not even aware of the little creatures. His attention was focused entirely on the campfire just ahead.

The two mercenaries had built it up with lots of dry scrub brush, so that it was burning very brightly and illuminating the area all around their camp. Most of the fuel that they were using to start the fire, dry as it was, burned very quickly, which necessitated their steadily feeding the flames. But the desert broom bushes they then added had a high resin content and burned hotter and more slowly. In time, as the heat built up and more broom bushes were thrown upon the blaze, it would burn long with plenty of bright light. The mercenaries were not green to the desert. They were both seasoned campaigners, and they knew the art of desert survival. As Screech approached still closer, he saw where Torian sat under the spreading, twisted, blue-green branches of the small pagafa tree. Ryana was bound tightly to one of its thin, multiple trunks, and the princess was secured to another. Neither of them were moving. The trunks of the pagafa tree were no thicker around than Sorak’s thigh, but they were immensely strong. There was no way that either Ryana or the princess, even if they were not weakened and totally exhausted, would have been able to break free. The three men obviously would sleep in shifts.

Sorak had hoped that two of them would sleep while one kept watch, but he soon saw that Torian was more careful than that. One of the mercenaries stretched out on his bedding roll between the fire and the tree, while his companion remained awake with Torian.

The mercenary that stayed awake paced back and forth to remain alert. Occasionally, he would throw more fuel on the fire, but for the most part, his gaze continually swept the countryside around them, and his hand never strayed from his sword hilt. As he neared, Sorak saw why. The man had fashioned a rawhide thong, attached to his sword hilt, with a loop around his wrist. Any effort to disarm him with the Way would not jerk the sword free from his grasp. These men learned quickly.

Torian remained close to Ryana, between her and the princess, with his back leaning against the tree. His obsidian sword was out and in his lap. With one quick gesture, he could bring it to Ryana’s throat. He sat very still, and Sorak might have thought him asleep. Indeed, perhaps that was what Torian wanted him to think. Instead, the man was wide awake, watching and listening intently. Any attempt to circle behind him and attack from that direction would alert the mercenary, who kept passing that position and watching for just such an eventuality. Any attempt to attack the mercenary first would give Torian plenty of time to threaten Ryana. And it would also give the sleeping man a chance to wake and join the fray—Torian was certainly no fool. However, he had never before been up against a tribe of one.

Screech was now down on his belly, like a snake. He had approached so close that if he rose up to his hands and knees, the mercenary would probably spot him. with his excellent night vision, Sorak carefully marked the disposition of the camp and the supplies. The kanks were staked down off to the right, perhaps fifteen or twenty feet away from the tree. The mercenary who walked the perimeter of the camp was armed with a sword and small crossbow, which he carried in one hand, drawn and ready to fire. The sleeping man had a drawn crossbow lying by his side, and he, too, had his sword out, with a thong fastened to it and around his wrist. Torian sat underneath the tree, his legs stretched out before him, one knee bent. He held his sword out in his lap, and his hand rested on a crossbow. He had also rearmed himself with three more daggers. They were not taking any chances.

“Now, Screech,” Sorak said.

Screech flattened out on the ground and closed his eyes as he sent out a psionic call. Moments later, it was picked up.

From the area all around Torian’s camp, small, brightly colored critic lizards began to converge on the pagafa tree. They scurried silently up the slender trunks behind the princess and Ryana, without making the slightest sound, and began to chew upon the ropes that held them. Meanwhile, Screech sent out another psionic call.

About a quarter of a mile away, it was picked up by a colony of desert antloids in their warren. The queen responded to the call and, moments later, the workers began to swarm up out of the huge mound that was the entrance to their underground labyrinth. The giant ants streamed across the desert in parallel lines, one after the other, like infantry trooping through a canyon, moving swiftly and purposefully, unerringly guided by the call Screech sent forth.

Ryana was the first to realize that something was happening. Having been knocked senseless by Torian hammering her head against the tree trunk, she regained consciousness slowly and painfully. Her head seemed enshrouded by a fog. She had the feeling that something was crawling over her hands. She tried to move them and found that she could not. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she saw the blurred image of the campfire. Slowly, it came into focus, and she remembered where she was and in what circumstances—recalled how Torian had kicked and battered her. The lingering effects of pain were banished by cold rage. She felt the tree trunk against her back and realized she was bound to it.

She looked to her left and saw Torian seated next to her, his head lolling forward on his chest. He wasn’t quite asleep, but he was close to it. As she watched, he jerked his head up quickly, catching himself, and gazed out beyond the fire.

Ryana lowered her head, feigning unconsciousness. Moments later, peeking from barely parted eyelids, she saw Torian’s head loll forward once more. Then she felt something crawling on her hands again. She froze. A snake? She was defenseless. And then she felt one of her bonds give slightly. She twisted her head back as far as she could and saw that the entire tree trunk behind her was crawling with brightly colored critic lizards. And they were chewing on her bonds. She looked toward where Korahna was tied up, just beyond where Torian sat, nodding, and saw the tree trunk behind the princess swarming with the lizards, as well. Dozens and dozens of them. And then understanding dawned.

Screech!

If Torian awoke now and turned around, or if the mercenary guard came any closer, either one of them would spot the lizards instantly. But one of the mercenaries slept, while the other was walking back and forth by the fire, peering intently out into the darkness. And Torian was oblivious to the creatures swarming over the tree trunks to either side of him. Ryana felt one of the bonds part. And then another. Slowly, she assisted the lizards by pulling with her hands, careful not to make the slightest sound. She felt one of them crawling up her back and onto her neck, where it started tugging at the gag tied around her mouth. A few moments later, it came free, and she took a deep breath.

Out beyond the campfire, Screech lay flat upon the ground, his ear pressed against the earth. He could now hear the thrumming sound of the approaching antloids. They were coming fast. A few moments more, and their approach would be clearly audible. Sorak knew he would have to move quickly when the time came. He lay still and waited.

Gorak suddenly stopped his pacing, alerted by some sound out in the darkness. Instantly, he scanned the desert beyond the fire for the gleam of lambent eyes, but saw no sign of them. What was it? It was almost like the sound of distant thunder, but not quite. He raised his crossbow and held it ready, his sword dangling from the thong loop around his wrist. It was growing closer now, and louder, a rumbling that sounded like ... and suddenly, too late, he realized what it was. His eyes grew wide, and he called out, “Rovik! Lord Torian! Wake up, quickly!”