in wait. It rose up almost in front of them, thrusting out of the
earth where it had burrowed, hissing and shrieking, a sort of
birdlike thing on legs with a great hooked beak and claws at its
wing tips. Talons swept downward to rip at Stresa, but the Splin-
terscat’s backside hunched and rippled instantly and a flurry of
razor-sharp quills flew into the attacker. The creature screamed
in pain and tumbled back, tearing at its face.
“Sssttt! Quick!” the Splinterscat snapped, hurrying away.
They fled swiftly, the cries of their attacker fading behind
them. But now others were alerted and began to close. The
sounds were all about, snarls and growls and huffings, slicing
through the haze, out of the shadows. Garth drew his short
sword. They slipped down a shallow ravine and something flung
itself out of the brush. Wren ducked as the thing flew past and
saw the glitter of Garth’s blade as it swept up. The thing fell
away and was still. They climbed from the ravine onto a new
stretch of lava rock, then raced for a cluster of trees. A flurry
of small, four-legged creatures that resembled boars tore from
the cover and bore down on them. Stresa crouched and shiv-
ered, and a shower of quills flew into the attackers. Squeals filled
the air, and clawed forefeet tore at the earth. Stresa veered past
them, quills lifting like spikes. One or two made a vain attempt
to rise, but Garth kicked them aside.
Then they were into the trees, pushing through damp grasses
and vines, feeling the wet slap of the foliage against their faces
and arms. Just give us a few minutes more, Wren was thinking when
a coiled body dropped out of the trees, wrapped about Garth,
and lifted him away. She wheeled back, her sword drawn, and
caught a final glimpse of the big man as he was pulled from
view, half carried, half dragged, thrashing powerfully to break
free.
“Garth!” she cried out.
She started after him instantly, but had only taken a dozen
steps before Stresa slammed into her from behind, sweeping her
legs from beneath her, knocking her to the ground, crying
“Down, girl! Ssstt. Stay!”
She heard a hissing sound like dozens of snakes, then a rip-
ping as the foliage overhead was sliced apart. Stresa pushed for-
ward until he was next to her.
“That was foolish!” he spit roughly. “Look. Phffttt! See what
almost got you?”
Wren looked. There was an odd-shaped bush that was as
quilled as the Splinterscat, needles pointing in every direction.
As she stared in disbelief, leaves folded about the needles to
hide them, and the bush took on a harmless look once more.
“Hsssst! That’s a Darter!” Stresa breathed. “Poisonous! Touch
it, disturb it in any way, and it flings its needles! Death, if they
prick you!”
The Splinterscat fixed her with his bright eyes. Wren could
no longer see or hear Garth. Anger and frustration filled her,
their bitter heat churning in her stomach. Where was he?
What had been done to him? She had to find him! She had
to .
Then Stresa was up and moving again, and she was moving
with him. They pushed through the heavy foliage, searching the
haze, listening. And suddenly she could hear struggling sounds
again, and ahead there was a flash of movement. Stresa lum-
bered forward, bristling; Wren was a step behind. There was a
grunt of pain and a thrashing. Garth rose up momentarily and
then disappeared from view.
“Garth!” Wren shouted, and rushed forward heedlessly.
The big Rover was sprawled on the earth when she reached
him, scratched and bruised, but otherwise unhurt. Whatever it
was that had latched onto him had apparently tired of the strug-
gle. Garth permitted the girl a momentary hug, then gently dis-
entangled himself and stumbled back to his feet.
Stresa got them moving again at once, back through the
trees, through the heavy undergrowth and out onto the lava
rock. A cluster of shadows passed overhead and disappeared,
silent, formless. The sounds of pursuit continued to build
around them, rough and anxious. They scurried along a flat to
a ridge that dropped into a pit of swirling mist. Stresa took