Dragon and Herdsman

"Yes, we've established that," Jack said, eyeing her suspiciously. Was there a hint of actual admiration in her voice? Or was it just more sarcasm? Whatever it was, he didn't like it. "And I'm reformed, remember?"

"Sure," she said, the faint admiration turning to equally faint amusement He liked that even less. "Well. That was fun, but we really ought to try to get a little more distance before sundown."

Ten yards behind her, Jack caught a glimpse of gold dragon scales. "If you insist," he said, wincing as he pushed himself up off the ground. Even during the brief rest break, his leg muscles had stiffened up considerably. "You still want to handle point?"

"I'm still the one with the gun," she said. "By the way, have you noticed that these Phookas can change color?"

Jack's first reaction was to wonder which of these animals could possibly have gotten riled up enough to go into K'da combat mode. He'd seen that effect a couple of times with Draycos, where some of the poet-warrior's heightened blood flow seeped into his gold scales and turned them black.

But a second later he realized what she was actually talking about. As one K'da left his Erassva host and a differently colored one took his place, Alison would naturally interpret that as the original Phooka changing colors. "No, I hadn't," he said. "Interesting."

"You should pay better attention to your surroundings," Alison said reprovingly as she got to her feet. If she was feeling stiff, it didn't show. "And try to keep them quiet. I'm guessing the Malison Ring will make some move before nightfall."

However Draycos had worked his end of the scheme, he'd clearly done a terrific job of it. The group reached the area he'd described as the site of the Malison Ring picket line to find it completely deserted.

Jack had gone perhaps twenty yards past the picket line when, from somewhere ahead and to the right, came a sudden crashing of branches and a distant howl of pain.

Ducking around trees and bushes, he ran toward the sound. Rounding one last stand of reeds, he nearly ran full tilt into Alison as she stood at the edge of another of the sharp drop-offs. "Watch it—watch it," she said, putting a hand out across his chest. "This whole ridge is crumbly."

"What happened?" Jack asked.

"We've lost one," she said grimly, nodding down the cliff. "Take a look. But be careful."

Holding on to a nearby tree branch, Jack eased up to the edge. Thirty feet down a steep slope, a dusky red Phooka was lying on his side, two of his legs thrashing weakly as he struggled to free himself from a tangle of vines. "Did you see what happened?"

"About what you'd expect," she growled. "Stupid thing wasn't watching where he was going and walked off the edge of the cliff. Question is, what do we do about it?"

Jack took a step back and looked around. Draycos was nowhere to be seen, probably still playing shepherd off to the left. "Let's start by asking Hren," he said. "Hren? Hren!"

"Yes, young Jack?" the Erassva's voice called from behind him.

"Come here a minute, will you?" Jack called back. "We've got an injured Phooka on our hands."

The fat alien appeared and stepped to the edge of the drop-off with what seemed to Jack to be a complete lack of caution. "How sad," he said as he peered down. "How very sad."

"Never mind the sadness," Jack said. "How do we help him?"

"Help him?" Hren seemed puzzled. "There is no help for him, young Jack. Not down there. A few hours and he will be gone." He turned to go.

"Wait a second," Jack said, grabbing his arm as he looked down at the injured Phooka. The creature's eyes were half-closed, but even in the fading light Jack could swear he was looking directly at him. "We've got some rope in these packs."

"We'd need more than just rope," Alison said. "These things are heavy, and we'd be dragging him against all that vegetation. At the very least we'd need a block and tackle."

"But we can't just leave him there to die," Jack protested.

Alison shrugged. "I'm open to suggestions."

Jack clenched his hands into fists. There had to be a way to do this. "How about if I go down to him?" he suggested.

"And do what?" Alison asked. "Hold his paw while he dies?"

"I was thinking more about carrying him to safety," Jack growled, pointing past the drop-off. "That cut goes around that low hill over there. If I can get through it, I should be able to get around the hill and meet you a little ways northwest of here."

"And what if you can't get through?" Alison countered. "It wouldn't be safe to leave the rope tied here—we might as well put up a sign telling the Malison Ring which way we've gone. If you can't get through, you'll be trapped."

"I'll get through," Jack said stubbornly, pulling off his backpack. "Just get me down there and take the herd around that hill. I'll do the rest."

"Jack—"

"And we're wasting time and light," Jack cut her off. "Give me a hand with this rope."

Alison hissed between her teeth. "Fine. It's your funeral."