Free Legacies by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page A

more than a handspan in length, fangs that glittered crystal sharp in the sunlight.
    Alucius raised his rifle, but the nightram blocked a good shot at the sandwolf.
    The sandwolf snapped, its teeth seeming to close on the ram’s snout, but at the last moment, the ram lowered his head and then twisted upward. The sandwolf lurched aside, trying to escape the knife-sharp horns, but a pair of long gashes scored the beast’s heaving chest. The sandwolf growled, backing away.
    The nightram snorted, a hoof pawing the ground.
    Alucius saw another tannish red shape farther to the south.
    â€œThe sandwolf!” called Royalt.
    Alucius caught himself and raised the rifle, firing his last shot.
    The wounded sandwolf growled, turned, as if to retreat…and collapsed.
    Several other shots echoed across the quarasote flats, but Royalt missed, for the other two sandwolves sprinted away through the quarasote.
    For a moment, Alucius just looked at the sandwolf—taking in the reddish tan fur that shimmered in places where the sun struck it, the fangs that looked more like crystal knives, the broad paws and large chest, and the yellow-amber eyes.
    A snort turned his eyes to the nightram, streaks of blood on the curled horns whose forward edges were every bit as sharp as the fangs of the sandwolf, and the red eyes set in the black face, eyes that seemed to carry both satisfaction and sorrow.
    From the ewe came a soft bleat. She licked at the dead lamb sprawled in the open space between the quarasote bushes. For a moment, Alucius just looked. The sense of loss and sadness that emanated from the ewe was as palpable to him as the sunlight and the wind.
    Then he jerked his head around, expecting another sander, but there were none…and the sense of violet-red that had nagged him all morning had vanished. But there was a sense of something shimmering and green. Alucius studied the flock, then glanced up, his eyes tracking to the northeast. There, a good hundred yards away, was a soarer, hovering just above a clump of quarasote bushes, her features and figure shrouded in the indistinct shimmer that had surrounded the handful of soarers Alucius had seen over the years.
    Royalt reined up beside his grandson. His eyes took in the soarer. The older man had his rifle out and cocked, but he did not raise the weapon.
    â€œWhy…?” murmured Alucius.
    â€œDon’t know. Sometimes you see them around sanders. Mostly not, though. Old tales say that soarers favor us by not meddling with people. Don’t know for certain, but one thing’s sure. You don’t shoot at them. Bullets don’t hurt ’em, and, besides, they don’t do anything if you leave them alone.”
    â€œIf you don’t?” Alucius asked.
    â€œSaw a fellow who tried to shoot one, years back. Bullet hit her and vanished. Three sanders rose right out of the ground around him and killed him. Not worth it.”
    As suddenly as the soarer had appeared, it vanished.
    Royalt glanced down at the lamb and nodded sadly. “Diversion. When the sanders got us worried up with the rams, the sandwolves sneaked in back here.”
    â€œWhat…what do we do now?” asked Alucius.
    â€œLeave the sandwolf. Not good for anything we need, and don’t want to spend the effort on the pelt. Just pack the lamb up behind you. Nothing else we can do. Cold enough that we don’t have to skin it here. Besides, we don’t really have the knives. The sanders won’t be back. Nor the sandwolves. Not today, and the rest need to graze. Have this feeling it’ll be a hard year, Alucius. Sanders don’t come after nightsheep this early.”
    â€œWhy? They look like they’re stone. How could eating…or killing…” Alucius wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but the feeling was clear to him, that sanders were different, and that should have meant that they didn’t need to kill sheep, not for food—although the