Basilard snorted. A good flash flood would wipe away much of their equipment. Maybe them too. But this is not the rainy season here.
As Basilard finished signing the words, he realized what she must have in mind. Indeed, Amaranthe smiled and looked toward the blocked river.
“If we improved upon this dam,” she said, “stretching it all the way across the waterway, maybe it could be our backup plan. It might be a challenge to build in a floodgate or a reliable way of loosing the water all at once, especially when the base is made from mud and sticks, but…” She shrugged and looked around. “Does anyone think they could engineer something more clever than what the beavers made?” Even though she said ‘anyone,’ her gaze settled on Sicarius.
“Not me,” Maldynado said.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have sent away the scientist,” Corporal Jomrik said.
Sicarius stood with his arms folded across his chest, his expression cool.
“Do you think you could rig something?” Amaranthe asked him.
“You intend to leave me here while you go into a camp full of armed Kendorians? Kendorians whose trigger fingers could be unreliable since they’re in enemy land and know they could get in trouble if they’re caught?”
“I always intended to leave you behind while Bas, Maldynado, and I did that,” Amaranthe said. “You’re our backup plan.”
“Really.”
“What about me?” Jomrik asked.
She smiled at him. “You can help Sicarius with the dam.”
“Uh.” Jomrik eyed Sicarius warily, who eyed him back with something between distaste and indifference.
“Don’t let all of the knives fool you, Corporal,” Amaranthe said. “He’s very well-educated. I’m quite certain he’s at least as good of an engineer as a beaver.”
When Sicarius shifted his gaze toward Amaranthe, his expression did not grow any warmer. Oddly, she grinned at him. She was either a fearless woman, or when she looked at Sicarius, she saw, as Basilard had long suspected, something much different than everybody else did.
“I don’t know,” Maldynado said. “Beavers are pretty bright, aren’t they?”
Nobody looked at him.
While Amaranthe and Sicarius were staring at each other—or glaring, as the case was for Sicarius—Basilard debated whether he approved of the dam plan. Since Amaranthe had led their group back when they had all been outlaws seeking to clear their names, it was easy to fall into the old habit of letting her take charge. Indeed, a part of him wanted someone else to take responsibility, someone who had a talent for leading people and a record for making crazy plans turn out. So little in Basilard’s life had turned out well that he doubted his own ability. But nobody could care more about his homeland than he did, so he must do everything he could to ensure they were following a course that would lead to victory.
I do not believe the water could be withheld indefinitely, he signed after he had walked around the area, trying to guess how much more water might backfill before it would all spill over and wash away the dam. Partially obstructed, the logs might last all winter. But if it’s entirely obstructed, perhaps only a day or two?
He wasn’t an engineer and unlike Sicarius had no formal education, so he was only guessing.
“Approximately one point five days,” Sicarius said. “Water flow in a river isn’t a constant, so that is an estimate.”
“So the dam would eventually burst on its own?” Amaranthe asked. “That could be perfect. I was imagining you having to use some explosives to trigger it once I gave the signal, and then I was wondering how many blasting sticks Corporal Jomrik has in his pack. I was also reminding myself not to walk too close to him, since blasting sticks are a touch unstable.”
Perfect? Basilard asked. The canyon walls are high there. The only escape is up a trail on the far end of the Kendorian encampment.
“We’ll make sure to get out of the way well before those one point five days are up. We’ll give a signal if we need help.” Amaranthe nodded to Sicarius.
“What signal will that be?” he asked, his tone flatter than usual.
“Uh, us being tied up? Or shot? Or both.” Amaranthe grinned.
Basilard hoped she was joking.
“I prefer another signal.”
“I’ll work on something.” Amaranthe squeezed his arms. “You’ll work on the dam?”
Sicarius grunted.
Was that agreement? Basilard couldn’t tell. It must have meant something to Amaranthe, because she hugged Sicarius. His return hug was one-armed and brief, but that did not seem to faze her. It was more than anyone else got from him.
Sicarius stepped back and faced downstream, his posture one of alertness. Basilard did not see anyone, but he listened, trying to hear whatever Sicarius might have heard. They were close enough that a Kendorian scout might well have come up the canyon.
“What is it?” Amaranthe asked.
“I sense someone using the mental sciences,” Sicarius said, still gazing downriver.
“Of course you do.” Maldynado sighed. “Why can’t things ever be simple?”
Amaranthe grimaced. “I guess that means they have another shaman.”
“Do you wish to revise your plan?” Sicarius looked at Amaranthe and also at Basilard. The question came out as deadpan as anything else he said, but Basilard had the impression Sicarius believed it would be a good idea.
“You have an alternative?” she asked.
“We all stay here. Let the water build, then flood the canyon while we wait here.” He pointed back upriver, to an area that should be safe if the dam was built up, then overrun.
“That could be a deadly course of action,” Amaranthe said.
“For the Kendorians. Isn’t that the point?”
“I’d like to give them a chance to leave peacefully.”
“Because of Maldynado’s threat,” Sicarius said. He didn’t sound like he believed that would be effective.
“He did take off his hat. And he’s looking lush.”
Maldynado gave his best warrior-caste bow. Sicarius walked away.
Is he going to work on the dam? Basilard wasn’t entirely sure he and Amaranthe had reached an agreement.
“I think so,” Amaranthe said. “Now Maldynado, shall we show you off to the Kendorians?”
Jomrik frowned at them and then at Sicarius. He probably didn’t know if he should be pleased to stay with Sicarius or not.
“Oh, I can’t wait,” Maldynado said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and their shaman will be one of those telepathic mind readers.”
How would that be lucky? Basilard asked.
“He’ll smash our plans to tiny pieces right away. Otherwise, we might feel like we’re making progress, only to have our ore carts dumped when we’re almost out of the mine. That’s more disheartening.”
“You have a strange sort of optimism,” Amaranthe said.
“Yup.”
• • • • •
Usually, Ashara felt at ease when walking along seldom-used forest trails, but not today. She sensed that they were being watched. Not in a hair-raising, shamans-must-be-nearby way, but more in the hard-to-describe feeling that they were not alone in the forest. She was tempted to rest a hand on a tree and use the root network to search their surroundings, but Mahliki was walking right behind her, and Ashara had not yet admitted to having powers beyond enhancing potion ingredients. Mahliki seemed to know a few things about the mental sciences, perhaps enough to know the difference between someone who dabbled and someone who was a trained practitioner, someone who might be dangerous to her group.
Maybe it didn’t matter if the Turgonians figured out what Ashara was, or what she had been, but finding out she had once been handpicked by the government to track down and kill those who threatened Kendor might make them wary of her. She didn’t want Basilard to be wary of her. He had treated her like a friend even when she had given him reasons to be suspicious, even when his comrades had openly said they beli
eved she was a spy.
Ashara wondered if Basilard’s people might be keeping an eye on them from a distance. Since they were heading for their meeting place, that could make sense. She hoped they would not mistake her for an ally of the Kendorians who were giving them trouble. They might decide to hide instead of inviting them into their meeting place. Mahliki’s presence wouldn’t necessarily make a difference—there weren’t any nations in the world that welcomed Turgonians with open arms. Yes, Mahliki had mixed blood, but unless one came close enough to see the blue eyes, she appeared more like a Turgonian than anything else, especially with that height. Would the Mangdorians recognize her as the president’s daughter? Ashara doubted it. She almost wished she didn’t know, since it gave her one more reason to be nervous about this solo adventure. If Mahliki disappeared while she was ostensibly in Ashara’s care, another nation full of people would have a reason to want Ashara dead. Since Mahliki was half Kyattese, they might want to punish Ashara too.
“I’ve been thinking about solutions to our problem,” Mahliki said as they trod up switchbacks climbing the side of a mountain.
Our problem. Ashara had not yet decided if she wanted to claim the blight as her problem, but she grunted to acknowledge the comment, even as she kept her eyes on the slope ahead of them. The Mangdorians had not logged much of their land, at least not with a clear-cutting method, and the forest remained dense, with all ecological niches filled, from ground to canopy. She could not see very far up the tree-filled hillside.
“I’m familiar with topical sprays that can be applied to trees,” Mahliki said, “and if I had access to a lab, I might be able to tinker and make something that would thwart that altered fungus. But that’s usually done in an orchard situation. It’s hard to imagine the Mangdorians running all over the mountains, spraying individual trees. Plus, the heights of the mature oaks, in particular, make that a difficult proposition.”
A faint clatter drifted up the trail to Ashara’s ears, and she paused, peering back the way they had come. About a quarter mile earlier, they had picked their way through scree and boulders in a rockslide area. It wasn’t visible any longer, but that clatter… Rocks being disturbed? If so, by whom?
“A spray would probably have to be applied every year or every couple of years too,” Mahliki said, passing Ashara. Her eyes were toward the trail ahead of her feet, her expression thoughtful.
Ashara hurried to catch up, but she pulled an arrow from her quiver and rested it against her bow in case she needed to fire in an instant.
“Also, a spray would not permanently deal with the problem,” Mahliki went on. “I’ve done some tests and have a couple of ways to kill the fungus outright, but they might damage the trees, as well. And again, we have the problem of trying to run and climb all over the forest to treat affected areas. Not very practical. And with the accelerated way the fungus is spreading, it would be like trying to put out a fire in a haystack by spitting on individual pieces.”
Ashara spotted movement in the woods near the trail behind them. She paused, but whatever she had glimpsed did not show itself again. Hearing Mahliki still talking, Ashara hurried to catch up again. She did not want Mahliki to be attacked from ahead while she was staring at the woods behind them.
“I think the solution, or the best way of dealing with this, lies with the species that are proving immune to the fungus,” Mahliki said. “I’ve been using my loupe to study the samples I took, but I need a microscope. Even so, what I have in mind might be beyond the ability of modern technology to perceive, even in a good lab. That’s where I’m thinking you could help. I’ve seen practitioners do what eludes scientists, to see things that we can’t see even with magnification. Here’s what I’m thinking. Can you let me know if it sounds crazy? Maybe we could isolate what’s making some species immune and share that immunity with other trees, perhaps with an injection or topical treatment of some kind. I know plants aren’t like invertebrates, in that they don’t generate antibodies or have mobile cells that can sense and attack pathogens, but they do have immune responses. Systematic chemical signals that—Ashara?”
“Yes, coming.” Ashara had been peering back down the trail again. She knew something was following them. “I’m listening. You know more about this than I do.” A lot more. Earlier, Ashara had worried about the decisions she would have to make when she was asked to help. Now she wondered if she could help even if she wanted to. “I can look at your samples tonight, try to get a feel for the difference between the affected species and the resistant ones, but I can’t promise I can transfer the immunity from one to the other.”
“That’s all I ask.” Mahliki tilted her chin toward the trail behind Ashara. “Animal or human?”
“Pardon?”
“What you think is following us.”
Ah, she hadn’t been as oblivious as Ashara had thought.
“I had assumed human.” It wasn’t impossible that an animal would knock rocks loose, but they were usually more sure-footed than people. Something large and lumbering might not be. Ashara thought of bears, then of grimbals. “But another predator is possible.”
“Think that grimbal found a way across the river?” Mahliki removed her rifle from her back and checked to make sure rounds were loaded.
“Possibly, but we’ve covered many miles since then. There could be other predators about.” Ashara nodded toward the trail. “Keep walking. I think we’re less than five miles from Basilard’s meeting place.” Assuming Ashara had remembered correctly and chosen all of the right forks along the way. “If his people are there, they can deal with big predators more effectively than the two of us.”
Mahliki nodded and picked up her pace.
A roar came from the forest behind them. Ashara frowned. It sounded like the territorial posturing half-cry, half-growl of the grimbals.
“Go,” Ashara urged, waving up the path at the same time as she broke into a run.
With lesser predators, she would have advocated standing their ground, but those grimbals were hard to kill—and they knew it. With bow and rifle, Ashara and Mahliki might be able to take down one before it overpowered them, but if the attack on the highway was an example of what to expect, these grimbals weren’t displaying their normal isolationist tendencies. Any number of them might charge up the trail.
“Look for a spot where we can make a stand if we have to,” Ashara added, urging her legs to greater speed.
Her order to “Go” had worked, and Mahliki was sprinting up the rocky trail, her big pack clanking and thudding on her back as she ran. Ashara’s pack was lighter, and she kept up, even with shorter legs—and even though she kept glancing over her shoulder.
Behind them, a shaggy white beast lumbered out onto the trail. With the build of a giant bear, the grimbal didn’t look like something that should race through the mountains with the speed of a plains cheetah, but Ashara remembered how long the creatures had kept up when the steam lorry was racing away.
She thought about pausing to shoot an arrow, but the grimbal was still a hundred meters back. She would wait until her arrow had a better chance of hitting an eye.
“There’s nothing up here but trees,” Mahliki called from the trail ahead.
“Only one grimbal so far,” Ashara said, “but it’s gaining on us.”
“A second one just came out behind it.”
“Great,” Ashara muttered.
Mahliki reached the corner of the switchback and hesitated, frowning up the mountain at the new direction of the trail. Ashara winced. If the grimbals left the path, they would be able to run straight up the hillside and cut off Ashara and Mahliki.
Mahliki stepped to the side of the trail and fired past Ashara, shooting twice.
“Keep running,” Ashara said, knowing from Mahliki’s grimace that she had either missed or the bullets hadn’t done anything to slow the predators.
“Up?” Mahliki pointed up the steep slope instead of toward the trail. She’d seen the problem with the
switchbacks too.
“Try it.” Ashara did not know if they would run into their trail again up there, but they had little choice. They needed to climb up to the ridge, anyway. “And look for a stout tree while you’re going.”
“Uh.”
Pushing Mahliki ahead of her, Ashara scrambled into the underbrush carpeting the slope. They slid on pine needles and leaves, caught their toes on roots, and Ashara almost dropped her bow as she was forced to use her hands to help climb in places. The steepness coupled with the grimbals’ weight should have made the climb as hard for them, but they readily left the trail and charged up the mountain after Ashara and Mahliki. They had legs more powerful than pistons in a steam engine, and they seemed to defy gravity as they raced closer. The creatures’ hoarse pants, more like growls than gasps of breath, resonated through the forest.
Ashara searched for a thick tree. There was no way they could cover the five miles to the meeting place before the animals caught them. Already, her breaths came in labored gasps, and her thighs burned from the climb.
A branch snagged Mahliki’s cumbersome pack, and she tripped, tumbling to the ground. Ashara spun, an arrow already nocked. The pair of shaggy grimbals surged forward, as if driven by seeing their prey fall. Ashara forced herself to take a breath, to steady her hands, and to aim carefully.
As her arrow sprang away, Mahliki found her feet. She hesitated, turning and lifting her gun.
“Just go,” Ashara barked. “Tree.” She couldn’t find the breath for longer sentences.
Her arrow struck the lead grimbal in the eye. It reared up, stumbling against a tree and swatting at the shaft. An angry yowl rolled up the mountainside. As it broke the arrow shaft, hardly seeming to care that metal was embedded in its eye, the second grimbal, a slightly smaller one that might have been its mate, raced past it.
Ashara fired another arrow, but didn’t wait to see if it landed. Mahliki had gained ground and was nearing the top of the slope. She veered to the side, toward a thick cedar that must have been hundreds of years old. It was the stoutest tree in sight, but it didn’t have any branches near the bottom and would not be an easy climb.