Free Storms of Destiny by A. C. Crispin Page B

fur provided some protection. Then, awkward with its heavy pack, the scholar gave a little hop, leaving the path and crashing back into the blade-brush. It stifled a whimper as the leaves drew blood.
    Hastily, trying to ignore the stinging of its palms from the leaves, Khith pushed the screen of brush back into place.
    Then the Hthras wiped the edges of the leaves to remove the narrow blood-trails. Sprinkling herbs to hide its scent, the scholar arranged the branches as it would a living sculpture.
    When the brush was back in place, Khith ducked its head to protect its eyes, then backed away on hands and knees, ignoring more stinging little slashes from the leaves.
    Finally, when it was at least three body lengths off the trail, it subsided into a little huddle, trying to repress its shivers.
    This was a calculated risk. The blade-brush might discourage a jagowa, but it would also make flight nearly impossible.
    Voices …
    Khith’s ears twitched. They’re here!
    It stiffened with fear as its pursuers came swiftly up the trail, with the jagowas bounding in the lead.
    Khith whispered another verse of the chant, its voice so soft that it could barely hear itself.
    “Briars < beat, beat >
Tear their clothing
Roots catch < beat, beat >
At their feet
Swamp ground < beat, beat >
Stirs their loathing
Hold them until I can retreat
Hold them so we will not meet.”
    The Hthras heard the hunting party go past, headed for the stream, then heard the irritated snarls and yowls of the jagowas. The big hunters hated water. Still, from the sounds of it, they splashed right into the stream. Khith heard the hunters exclaim excitedly, and dared to hope that its spell was working and they would be lured downstream.
    If only the Hthras trackers trusted their senses! If they did, the spell would work on them, fooling their eyes, their ears.
    They would follow the leaf downstream, thinking they saw glimpses of a running figure, thinking they heard running footsteps, thinking they smelled the fear of a fugitive.
    The spell would not fool the jagowas, of course, but the water would do that … or so Khith hoped.
    Still whispering, Khith began edging back again, careful not to move the brush more than necessary. Stoically, it ignored the scratches, chanting in a voice that was scarcely more than breath.
    “Searchers < beat, beat >
Will not find me
Hunters < beat beat >
Lose my trail
Forest < beat, beat >
Help and guide me
Shield me with the forest’s veil
Help me that I may not fail …”
    It was a long, slow, miserable crawl. Khith backed away for many lengths before it could find a place to turn. Once it could crawl forward instead of scuttling backward, it was a little easier. The Hthras ducked its head, ears flattened with misery, crawling doggedly as insects feasted on its cuts, and its palms, knees, and feet grew sore and abraded, despite the softness of the forest loam.
    Finally the Hthras took a chance and crawled out of the brush. Only then did it dare to turn and look back whence it had come.
    Dusk was falling, and the searchers must have activated
    their lightsticks. There was a distant phosphorescent gleam far downstream.
    The spell had worked!
    Khith drew courage from that knowledge, feeling the swell of pride. It had studied for years, but never before had a spell been so important. The scholar had feared that the old spells would prove ineffective. Khith had wondered whether Hthras magical abilities had waned over genera-tions, and that was why most Hthras had given up on the old spells.
    But that one had worked. Khith hugged itself in triumph.
    Then the scholar stiffened, as it heard a different sound.
    Snarls and growls, followed by a keening, uncanny wail, and it was growing louder!
    The jagowas—they’ve loosed them! They only sound like that when they’re coursing free!
    Quickly, Khith changed its escape plan. It could no longer hope to stay to the forest paths on its way northwest. No, for now it must go due west.