They ate a quick meal, strapped on their weapons, and set out. Obat led their Rindge escort, two dozen strong. Most of the Rindge carried six-foot blowguns along with knives and javelins, but a substantial number bore short, stout, powerful spears with razor-sharp star heads that could penetrate even the metal of creepers. They used them like pry bars, Obat explained when Panax questioned him about it. They jammed the heads into joints and gaps of the creepers’ metal armor and twisted until something gave. Numbers usually gave the Rindge the advantage in such encounters. The creepers, he advised solemnly, were not invincible.
It was educational to watch the Rindge at work. They were a tribal people, but their fighting men appeared to be well trained and disciplined. They fought in units, their numbers broken down by weaponry. The front ranks used the heavy spears, the rear the blowguns and javelins. Even during travel, they kept their fighting order intact, dividing the men into smaller groups, scouts patrolling front and rear, and spear bearers warding the edges of the march. The outlanders, untested in battle, were placed in the middle, screened by their would-be protectors.
Quentin noted the way the Rindge rotated in and out of their loose formation as they traveled, shifting here and there in response to orders from Obat, burnished bodies gleaming with oil and sweat. No one in the little company thought to question their tactics. The Rindge had been living in that land and dealing with the minions of Antrax for hundreds of years; they knew what they were doing.
After a time, Panax dropped back to walk with Quentin, letting the Elves walk ahead of them a few paces. He did so quite deliberately, and the Highlander let him choose his own pace.
“The Rindge believe that Antrax controls the weather,” the Dwarf told him quietly, keeping both his head and voice lowered.
Quentin looked at him in surprise. “That isn’t possible. No one can control the weather.”
“They say Antrax can. They say that’s why the weather in their region of Parkasia never changes like it does everywhere else. He says he knows of the glaciers and ice fields on the coast. He says it snows inland, farther north and west, on the other side of the mountains. There are seasons there, but not here.”
Quentin shifted the weight of the Sword of Leah on his back. “Walker said something to Bek about the weather being odd. I thought it must be a combination of wind currents and geography, an anomaly.” He shook his head. “Maybe Antrax is a god after all.”
The Dwarf grunted. “A cruel god, according to the Rindge. It preys on them for no discernible reason. It uses them for fodder and then throws them away, minus a few parts. I keep asking myself what we’ve gotten ourselves into.”
“I keep wondering how much of all this Walker knew and kept to himself,” Quentin replied softly.
Panax nodded. “Truls would tell you Walker knew everything because Druids make it a point to find things out and then keep them concealed. I’m not so sure. We walked right into that trap three days back, and the Druid seemed as surprised as any of us.”
They walked on in silence, passing into the midday calm and heat, winding along a well-used trail that took them through ancient hardwoods whose boughs canopied and interlocked overhead in such thickness that the light could penetrate only in slender threads and narrow bands. Birds flew overhead, singing cheerfully, and there were squirrels and voles in evidence. The sun traveled slowly west across a cloudless sky, and the air smelled of green leaves and dry earth.
Then Tamis dropped back to walk with them. “I’ve been thinking,” she said quietly. “Something is wrong about this.”
They both stared at her. “What do you mean?” Panax asked, looking around as if he might find the answer hidden in the forest green.
Tamis glanced from one to the other. “Ask yourself this. Why are the Rindge being so helpful? Out of the kindness of their hearts? Out of a sense of obligation to help strangers from other lands? Out of compassion for our obvious misery at losing our friends and finding ourselves stranded?”