Destiny

Unlike the deep desert, the foothills abounded in game. Tamid and a party of three hunters had flushed a stag and a wild sow in a rocky ravine east of camp. On their way back with the dressed carcasses, the hunters were set upon. Two men were unhorsed, and the creature had carried off the game. Few animals bold enough to attack armed and mounted men. Fewer still were strong enough to carry off two carcasses at the same time.

Adala asked if the creature was a desert panther. The long-legged cat, large as a donkey, was nearly extinct in the deep desert but might still prowl in the shadow of the mountains. Tamid vowed the beast was no panther, although it walked on four feet. None in his party had ever seen its like before. He had left the others to trail the beast while he came back to report to Adala.

Such a creature was too dangerous to be allowed to remain so near their camp. Adala sent Tamid to round up more men. The creature must be killed.

When Tamid returned with eleven mounted men, he was surprised to see Adala herself mounted on Little Thorn, her tireless gray donkey. She was going with them, and as usual she was unarmed. The men did not waste time protesting. She was the Maita, and she would do what she would do.

Tamid led them southeast along the edge of the lower range of hills. The ground was stony. Cacti and bone-colored spear bushes were thick on the ground, forcing the horses to their way carefully. Adala’s sharp nose detected the strong scent of soter. She noted a small stand of the evergreen shrub and marked the spot for a later return. From soter she could make never a natural wound cleanser, and her store was sorely depleted after the recent battles.

When the nomads reached the spot where Tamid had parted company with his fellows, they halted. One man raised a short brown curled ram’s horn to his lips and sounded a long note.

In less than a minute, an answering bleat came from ahead and above. The slope was steep. Adala’s donkey was more sure-footed than the horses and outpaced them, but soon all of them were struggling upward, leaning forward to keep their balance. Loose stones rolled down the hill behind them. The distant horn blew again, twice, sounding more urgent.

A mile passed before they spied two riders waving sword over their heads. The slender blades, bare of crossguards, caught the setting sun and flashed like beacons. Adala tapped Little Thorn’s rump with her stick. The stalwart donkey increase its pace, leaving the horses behind.

“Where is it?” she called.

One of the riders pointed with his sword to the sun-washed crest at his back. “Beyond the ridge yonder, Maita.”

At the end of another steep climb, the group came to plateau perhaps a hundred yards long and forty yards wide. The last member of Tamid’s hunting party awaited them at the far end. He was mounted, his bow at full draw. His target was hidden by intervening rocks, but its presence was obvious. The archer’s horse, trained to stand quietly in the face of nearly any danger, stamped and shied, shaking its blunt head.

“Keep back, Maita!” called the archer, never shifting his gaze. “It can leap far!”

She acknowledged his warning but tapped Little Thorn urging him forward. The donkey snorted and balked. Stolid even in the presence of griffons, Little Thorn did not like whatever was ahead. Adala chided him as though he were a pick naughty child and tapped his flank with her stick. He shuffled forward, obedient but unhappy.

Adala knew every beast that roamed the desert, but she’d seen anything like the animal perched on a low pinnacle at the extreme end of the ledge. It was fully six feet long and covered with dark reddish-brown fur. The upright ears of a cat were oddly mixed with the muzzle, brow, and liquid eyes of a canine. Its forelegs were half again as long as its stubby rear legs. Adala’s approach set it to snarling, revealing long, yellow teeth.

“Kill it,” Adala commanded.

The archer loosed. The arrow was tipped with a hunting point, shaped like two miniature swords crossed. It flew straight and true at the creature’s chest. The beast held its place until the arrow was an arm’s length away then snatched the shaft from midair. Shocked by its uncanny speed, the nomads only then saw that its front paws were articulated like fingers.

The men uttered oaths, Adala did not. “Spears!” she ordered. “Spit that monster!”

Riders crowded forward. Half a dozen iron spear points bored in. The creature dropped the arrow and lowered its chin to the stone.

“Do… not… “it rasped.

The attackers halted in shock.

“Did you speak?” Adala demanded.

Black tongue lolling, the beast nodded, a bizarrely human gesture. “Do… not… kill… me,” it said, brown eyes never leaving Adala’s face.

Mother of the Weya-Lu was not known for indecision. Summoning the strength of her maita she ordered the men to fall back. Tamid protested, but she cut him off.

“Withdraw, I say. Those on High will not allow me to be hurt.”