Ed Greenwood: The Wizard's Mask

Tantaerra growled silently at that and kept scuttling, running on hands and knees just as fast as she knew how, trying to-

" There! I saw it! Over there, under Derethrai's wagon, now!"

"What's all this?" Sharper voices, and unfamiliar, not from the caravan. She risked a look.

Molthuni soldiers. Big, clomping hobnailed boots, dark breeches, blood-red tunics, helmets too big to stay on without chinstraps, and spears. Led by an officer without a spear, who was instead carrying some sort of short battle-hammer with a wicked-looking spike where its pommel should be.

"Stowaway, or a thief, under the wagons. It broke yon turnip cart, somehow."

Oh, aye. Blame me for your born-of-neglect breakdowns, now!

"'It'?" the Molthuni officer snapped. "Some sort of beast?"

"Don't rightly know, yet. Small, and fast-and some thing's been stealing food from us, all the way from Canorate! If you'll look under that wagon!"

"Trail thefts are your problem, citizen, not the duty of the soldiers of Molthune to …"

Boots, tramping closer, the sharp points of spear-heads dipping down into view, and Tantaerra had run out of wagons.

Cursing silently, she doubled back. The one place they'd not be so enthusiastic when thrusting spears would be in among the mud-spattered legs of the oxen at the front of each wagon. Oxen cost coin, good coin, and so did harness, and-

"Hah!" One of the soldiers, too dim-witted not to thrust his spear right into the snorting, stamping midst of the oxen. "I see it-a boy, a really small boy, a-no, a girl! Barefoot-"

"Croel, haven't you ever seen a halfling before? Slave Pits of Absalom, boy, but they're- mind! You'll have-"

Whatever else the older soldier might have been going to say was lost in a dozen shouts of alarm. An ox had felt the burning bite of a careless spear-slice, and tried to rear back and kick out at where the pain had come from. The wagon it and three fellow beasts were yoked to shuddered under its buffeting, and frightened and angry muffled shouts arose from within it.

Shouts that grew suddenly louder as doors banged, and the ox kicked again and soldiers leveled spears at the beast as if it were some sort of battlefield foe.

" What by the ponderous teats of Lamashtu are all you idiots doing? We just about got a dozen jars of Mereth's best honey-wine sauce in our laps ! D'you have any idea how much that goes for in Braganza? Nearly lost a handful of Crysta's map-painted plattercloths, too! Stand back from my oxen, you spear-waving idiots, or I'll have your guts for my next batch of sausages, I will!"

"Citizen, have a care for how you speak to soldiers of Mol-"

"I am having a care, helm-for-brains! If I were treating these louts of yours like mere brigands, they'd be choking around my fists run far down their gullets right now! You in charge of this untrained, murderous rabble, then? Well, let me tell you a thing or two about how officers conducted themselves when I was wearing a uniform as ugly as yours, and going up against real foes of Molthune rather than handy oxen ! Why, back in those days, we-"

Tantaerra grinned. Good old Bryhraun, and his Finest Sausages, too! He could keep this up right through the night, and would, if someone didn't put a spear through him to shut him up.

Bryhraun! Yes! His wagon was crammed with edibles, and it had those little light-windows up by the front that opened from within. If she scampered just right, she could snatch and be gone onto its roof before anyone could grab her.

Bryhraun was still spewing oaths and belligerence at the Molthuni officer, who was busy putting one of those sneeringly weary "I'm only going to put up with this for so long, old windbag, and my patience has just about run out" expressions on his face.

Tantaerra stuck out her tongue at him as she raced into view, caught hold of the trail-step of Bryhraun's wagon, and swung herself into a backflip and roll up and into the wagon-right between the merchant's legs, where she hoped they'd not be foolish enough to thrust spears at her, given the old merchant's temper.

Ah, but they were. She found her feet only to see Bryhraun's stout and hog-ugly wife and daughter converging on her, shrieking.

Tantaerra plucked up a fat "dragonsmoke" sausage as long as her arm, sprang to the high shelves beside the little window on her left, hauled on its dog-lever as hard as she knew how, and was out into the breeze and the gathering dusk before Bryhraun's wife could draw breath for her next scream.

And up onto the wagon roof, thanks to a hard swing on the frame of the window itself. Only long enough for a deep breath and a wild peer all around, before she took a firm grip on the sausage-sinking her fingers into it, that was the trick-then sprang into a wild leap for the roof of the next wagon. Dingy blue, which meant it housed Maraskho's Fine Garments.

She only just made it, landing hard and bruisingly, skidding along most of its dirty, warp-boarded length.

Behind her, Bryhraun's wagon rocked. Its oxen grunted and shrieked and tried to snarl as their hooves sliced into each other, and general mayhem erupted. She could hear falling goods crashing around in the merchant's wagon and his family's screams rising into wild and frightened incoherence, but was more intent on all the villagers converging to see what was happening.

No more soldiers yet, which was good, and some of the patrol that had gathered around Bryhraun's wagon were being jostled by arriving locals, spears waving wildly as they tried to follow her yet not gut someone. Even better.

It would be dark soon, but not soon enough. Everyone who cared to could see her, and it seemed Halidon bred or reared hardened folk. If any of them got a grip on her, she'd have to be fast and vicious with a knife to get free.

And her left hip was aching from that landing. Time to get gone. On her left, not much more than two streets away, the forest loomed up like a great dark wall. That's where she'd have to hide-and climb, because a village next to a forest meant skulking beasts with sharp teeth prowling by night.

Tantaerra dropped onto Maraskho's oxen, her landing and swift run along them setting them to snorting, bucking, and twisting, too. Perhaps she could get work as an ox-tamer, if-

Blast! More soldiers were coming, hurrying down those streets she had to get through to get to the woods, and they were alert and hard-eyed-and had spotted her already. Keeping in formation, carrying the same long spears, and led by an officer whose swift hand-signals were being heeded. No slouches, these soldiers. She'd not get past them alive, unless they wanted her taken for questioning.

And when they discovered the slave brand under her chin …

Her escape must be the other way, using the halted wagons of the caravan as a barrier to these Molthuni reinforcements, and it must be now .

She sprang off an ox that seemed heartily glad to be rid of her, landed with a wince, and ran, ran as she'd never run before, keeping close to the line of wagons as she darted along it, a racing arrow more than a thing of stealth. She could tell by the thunder of boots and the waving spears that soldiers were running, too, on the other side of the wagons, which meant she'd have to time this just right …

Here, and now! Where this knot of village women were standing hands on hips gossiping, obviously sourly amused at seeing soldiers having to run. She dug at the slits in her belt as she ran, her thumb finding the sharpened edges of the coins she kept as handy slicers and moving on to-yes, the gold piece that wasn't sharpened. Absalom minting. She could clearly recall the disbelieving face of the merchant she'd plucked it from, and she was going to miss it, but-