Free Will Power by A. J. Hartley Page B

age was hard to guess. I might have said something over forty, though his movements had the ease and vigor of a younger man. He drew the hood back fromhis head and his hair, which was fair, spilled out over his shoulders. His skin was also fair, but weathered and tanned by the sun. His eyes were an ice blue, startling and intelligent. His countenance, though severe as Mithos’s, flickered into a smile and he bowed politely.
    “It seems my finding you was fortuitous,” he said in a clear and faintly musical voice. “There are dark creatures abroad these days.”
    There was a pause, then Orgos spoke. “I am Orgos, from Thrusia, and I offer our thanks for your help. As you can see, however, we have all suffered some hurt and Mithos, our leader, needs particular attention.”
    “Forgive me,” said the stranger. “I am Sorrail of Phasdreille, a watcher of the paths. I first observed you an hour before sundown. I would have come to you earlier, but I was unsure of your allegiances. Your appearances are, shall we say, misleading.”
    “Allegiance to who?” asked Orgos. “We are travelers in this land and know little of its business.”
    “Indeed,” said Sorrail, “you must have come from far afield not to know what stirs in the mountains here. But come, bind your wounds and rest. I must chase these creatures of foulness to earth. I will return at first light to guide you.”
    So saying, he took from inside his habit a leather satchel full of bandages and ointments. These he gave to Orgos and, without further comment, turned on his heel and left us, taking his strange spear with him.
    “Helpful chap,” I remarked. This was a laughable attempt to make light of our brush with being steak (heavily marbled in my case). No one, myself included, was taken in for a moment.
    There was another long silence and Orgos got to work on Mithos. Renthrette, whose injury was not so bad that she could not use her hands, took another roll of bandage and squatted beside me.
    “Let me see your wound,” she said.
    I removed the sodden rag of fabric about my wrist and her face darkened.
    “I can bind it for now, but this needs more expert attention.”
    I winced as she began to wind the fabric about my arm, but said nothing. The dressing was cool and slightly moist and gave off a sweet scent like honey and rose petals. Renthrette kept her eyes on her work but, as if considering the question even as she spoke, said, “Why did you throw that rock? This could have been avoided.”
    “You have got to be joking,” I said. “They came in here after us.”
    “They were beasts hunting. They might not have attacked,” she answered.
    “True,” said Orgos from where he was examining Mithos, “but they did, and I don’t know why. There was something strange about these creatures, and never have I heard of bears and wolves hunting together so deliberately. These were no ordinary animals. Perhaps, as our new friend said, there are dark creatures abroad.”
    Renthrette fell silent, thoughtful. I spoke up. “So what the hell were they? They sure looked like animals to me. Wolves and a bear. No question, no mystery.”
    Orgos looked at me, and he could see that I was looking for agreement that would silence my own doubts. “Have you ever seen bears or wolves of that size?” he asked.
    “Clearly they get a lot to eat,” I remarked, considering how close we had come to being just another meal on the run.
    “Their voices,” gasped Mithos. We all turned to look at him. He was pale and still bleeding heavily. His words came with a struggle that clearly filled Orgos with alarm, and the feeling spread to Renthrette. “I have not heard . . .” Mithos managed. “I have never heard animal voices so . . . so coherent. . . . So much . . . like . . .
speech
.”
    “Quiet,” said Orgos gently. “Lie still.”
    But Mithos was right. It made no sense, but I had had the same feeling about the noises the beasts had made to each other. It