FALLING INTO A DEEP SLEEP after tucking his cloak around the stricken wolf, Mika had wakened to chaos and Hornsbuck's rough hand on his shoulder.
"Wake up! Mischiefs afoot," he said gruffly.
Mika leaped to his feet, sword in his hand, ready for anything from bandits to kobolds. But all he saw was sand.
He blinked his eyes, hoping, wondering if it were some lingering affect of the spell. But when he opened his eyes the view was the same.
The pool of water was gone, as was the lush carpet of grass. In their place was a barren hill sprinkled with a thin covering of grease bushes and rocks. The men were staring about them with wide, frightened eyes, swords drawn uselessly against an unseen enemy.
"Magic. Illusion," Mika said. Thirst already clawed at his throat even though he had drunk his fill of the sweet water only a few short hours before.
"Oh, no," he groaned as a thought hit him and he ran to the nearest pile of harnesses and packs and stared in dismay at the withered and empty waterskins.
"Gone. All gone," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, remembering that it was by his order that the men had emptied the skins and filled them with water from the illusionary pool. It was some kind of magic delaying tactic, nothing more, he told himself. Or was it the prelude to something worse? Who was putting obstacles in their path?
The sun was rising fast over the edge of the horizon and already the mules were bawling for their morning drink. The horses, while quieter, were restless and shaking their heads from side to side.
The drivers huddled together, muttering in low tones and casting black glances at Mika.
The nomads were breaking camp and saddling their horses. Their years of training and self-discipline enabled them to exhibit a calm front, but Mika knew that they were surely filled with the same feelings of fear and uncertainty.
"We must turn back to the forest," Mika decided, drawing Hornsbuck to the far edge of the wagons. "No matter what the Guildsman says, we cannot continue without water. Even he will be forced to agree."
"I do agree," said the Guildsman, popping up at Mika's back. "But look yonder-storm clouds, coming this way fast. I warrant they will be here no later than midday. I say that we continue on. We should be able to fill our waterskins with ease, and the rain will bring on the grass. The horses and mules will feed well, and we will make good time."
"What do you think, Hornsbuck?" asked Mika, unwilling to do the man's bidding.
"He's right," growled Hornsbuck as he stroked his beard and squinted at the rapidly approaching front. "Black, heavy. Full of rain, no doubt. Be hell to pay if they catch us in the open. Never get back to the forest before they hit. Lose time. Might as well stay here."
Mika was forced to agree. Though he was anxious to have the trip over and done with, it made no sense to get caught up in a foul storm. So they saddled the horses, loaded the pack animals, and led the mules to harness, working quickly against the advance of the ominous curtain of billowing black clouds that stretched across the entire northern horizon.
The animals were nervous and allowed the humans to do as they wished. The mules showed the whites of their eyes and brayed long and loud, each outburst setting off others until the whole camp echoed with their cries. Even the wolves were affected and lifted their muzzles and howled forlornly till everyone, even the nomads, were half-crazed.
"I've never seen nuthin' like this 'afore," cursed the one-eyed driver. "Stupid animals."
But Mika had his doubts and eyed the storm with apprehension, wondering if it were truly an act of nature or another apparition.
Yet the storm was real and hit them before they had traveled more than a mile. It might have been better had they remained in camp, for they were barely able to turn the wagons into a circle before the curtain of wind and rain smashed into them.
The rain was cold and slashed down on their exposed skin with the force of hail, leaving men and animals feeling bruised and sore after only a few minutes' time.
The wind tore at them, whipping at their clothes and hair and screaming through the wagons, causing the hides to billow and pop, threatening to overturn those wagons that stood broadside to the force of the wind.
"Turn those wagons!" Mika screamed, and whipping the grey horse into the wind, rode up alongside three wagons that were in danger of tipping.
The wind seized his words almost before they were spoken, plucking them from his lips and hurling them away, unheard. Only by gestures was he able to tell the drivers what to do. So set in their ways were they that it was necessary to beat one of them with the flat of his sword before he would turn the wagon, so that the back end could take the brunt of the wind.
Using his sword, Mika then split the tough cowhide that sealed both front and back, allowing the wind to whisde through unimpeded, doing no damage.
Mika was quick to notice that the Guildsman himself was directing the placement of the creaking wagon and stayed close by its side even when it was in place, its wheels chocked firmly with stones. Many of the drivers had followed Mika's lead and opened their wagons to allow the wind through. But the secret wagon still remained tightly sealed.
Nor did the driver take shelter under or inside his wagon as many of the others had done. Instead he remained huddled on his seat as though standing guard.
The wolves, fearsome predators and fierce fighters, unafraid of anything that walked or flew, drew the line at rainstorms. They did not like the water, they hated the lightning, and they were nearly driven mad by the thunder.
Each dealt with the storm in the only way it knew, by crawling under the nearest wagon, digging a shallow hole, curling into a tight ball, and burying its head beneath its thick brushy tail.
The nomads knew from past experience that they would not emerge until the storm was over. May the Great She Wolf help them if it were ever necessary to go into battle during a rainstorm!
Mika himself, along with the other nomads, patrolled the perimeters of the wagons, water streaming off their already hopelessly wet heads and shoulders.
As soon as the main front had passed overhead and the wind abated somewhat, Mika and Hornsbuck directed the hanging of waterskins. They used the cowhide flaps to funnel water from the tops of the wagons into the waterskins, which soon bulged with the precious water that would carry the caravan safely across the prairie.
The storm seemed to ease the humiliation of the previous night, and Mika was pleased to note that the men obeyed his orders with no signs of rebellion. He was determined to see that it remained that way.
He was doubly determined to find out what was concealed in the secret wagon.
Thunder boomed and crashed around them, and lightning bolts split the dark skies and pierced the prairie. The rain continued to plummet from the clouds, turning the hard ground into a slippery quagmire on which the horses could find no firm footing.
The storm continued until mid-afternoon, but after the worst of it had passed, Mika, Hornsbuck, and the Guildsman decided that there was no advantage to staying put. They could scarcely get wetter, and everyone, humans and animals alike, would feel better doing something.
Everyone except the wolves. It was hard to stir them, and Mika felt sympathy for Tam. He had proved his mettle many times over, taking on fearsome adversaries, larger and more powerful than he, without a thought for his own safety. But once the wagons creaked forward, the wolves were exposed to the full force of the rain and could do little else but follow.
They did so unhappily, their fur matted and spiky with moisture, their tails curled low beneath their bellies, their feet glopped with clinging mud, and their yellow eyes sick with fear. They slunk alongside their humans, although a few chose to run along beneath the wagons.
TamTur ran beside Mika's horse, all but groaning when the grey kicked up water that splashed into his face. Mika met his eyes briefly and had to repress a smile at the look of disgust the wolf gave him. Mika shrugged, "I'm as wet as you are. Don't like it overly much myself. Just be glad we have water. We could be choking on our own dust."
Tam did not seem to appreciate Mika's logic and ran onward with his head down.
Mika forced the grey into a gallop, advancing until he found the scout who rode the forward point.
"How are we progressing?" he asked the man, a squinty-eyed dark-skinned nomad named Marek from one of the Eastern clans along the River Fler, from whose ranks most of the casualties had come during the battle of the kobolds.
"All right. Better than I would have hoped," replied the man as he ran a well-callused hand over his dark braid. "The wind is behind us and is pushing us forward."
"The wagon wheels are sliding in the mud, easing the mule's loads," Mika added. "Almost like sledding."
"Whatever the reason, we're doing well and should make twenty, thirty miles today if we keep on as we are. That will bring us to Bubbling Springs, and we can make camp there tonight."
"Bubbling Springs?" asked Mika, totally unfamiliar with the geography of this stretch of the plains, having always followed the forest route.
"Sometimes there's as many as three springs there," replied Marek. "Sometimes none. But there must be water under the land; there's a large grove of trees that are always green, even in the dry years. We might have to fight for it though, because bandits are drawn to it like bees to honey."
"How many bandits? Would it be safer to avoid the area?" asked Mika.
Marek gave him a sideways glance from narrowed eyes, clearly surprised that a Wolf Nomad would avoid the chance for battle.
"I speak out of concern for the caravan, not out of my own preference," Mika said hastily. "Yon Guildsman places great importance on his wagons arriving safely and on time. Were it left to me, I would be the first to head for these springs and slaughter every bandit there. Rid the plains of the low-life!"
"Water the din with their blood!" added Marek, reassured by Mika's words. "No, we'd be safer in the woods and would have wood to burn as well, which we'll need after this wet day. Killing them as are hiding there will give the men a little bonus, cheer them up like. You can have first crack at them, being commander and all."
"No, I wouldn't think of depriving you of your pleasure," said Mika, who could not think of anything he'd less rather do than fight a bunch of desperate bandits.
"I shall kill one for you, sir," said Marek, his dark eyes bright with growing admiration.
"Do that," said Mika. "May the Great Wolf Mother, she who birthed the world, watch over you and keep you safe!" Smiling, he allowed the grey to drop back. The rain quickly blurred his vision.
"Fool," whispered Mika. "He'll never make old bones." Positioning himself among the wagons, he rode without incident throughout the remainder of the day.
As Mika rode, once again he pondered the secret wagon. But he could not decide on a plan that would provide him with enough time to enter the wagon and discover its contents. Sooner or later, he told himself, something would occur to him.
Marek had figured correctly, and shortly before dark, just as the rain was ending, the lean nomad rode back to pass along the news that Bubbling Springs could be seen on the edge of the eastern horizon.
Anxious to be done with hard wagon seats and saddles, wet chafing clothes, and the constant chill of moisture, drivers and nomads whipped their tired animals until they were within easy viewing distance of the woods. Smoke rose above the treetops in several different locations.
"Best take some men and see who's there," Mika advised Marek. "But be certain that they are bandits before there is any bloodshed. We wouldn't want to slaughter any innocents; it would cause too much trouble with the Guild if their bones were found."
Marek nodded his understanding, and taking half of the nomads, he rode swiftly toward the distant woods, wolves streaming behind him and the party.
For a time there was silence, then there was an eerie howl that climbed high and hung on the air, shivering the skin, followed by other wolf voices, the ululating cries of a wolf pack on the hunt, destined to bring fear to all who heard.
Those wolves that had remained behind circled wildly, then stopped abruptly, threw back their heads, and added their frenzied cries to those of their brothers. The howls almost covered the sound of human shrieks, but not completely.
Mika's stomach turned queasily, and for a moment he sympathized with the unknown humans who were going to their deaths violently, their throats ripped out by wolves or hacked to death by nomad swords.
After a while there were no more cries, and Marek and his companions rode back out of the woods and rejoined the wagon train.
"All clear, Captain," Marek said with satisfaction.
"You're sure?" asked Mika, not at all interested in meeting up with some crazed survivor.
"I swear it on the Great Mother's tail," Marek said solemnly. "We hunted them out from under every bush and stone. We dragged them out of trees where they thought to hide, and we stuck a few with swords where they hid in holes in the ground.
"You may tell these townsmen that they have nothing to fear. There were but a dozen of the creatures, and they had no more than three knives among them, although they fought like wild men, and one of them even dared to throw a club at Klaren. Hit him, too!"
"Is he all right?" Mika asked anxiously, unwilling to lose even one of his men in case there was more fighting to come.
"He'll be fine after a good night's sleep," said Marek, noting Mika's concern with approval. It was always good to have a captain who cared about the welfare of his men. "The club did no more than crease his thick skull. Can you imagine the luck of such a one felling a nomad?" Shaking his head over the disrespect of the dead man, Marek took his leave.
Nomad though he was, Mika could very much imagine the situation. If he himself were attacked by someone bent on taking his life, he knew that he would fight with any means available to him, and he spared a moment of begruding respect for the brave, but dead, bandit.
Bells jingling cheerfully, the wagons rolled along smartly. A strange light, thrown into contrast by the dark clouds now far to the east, bathed the prairie with a glowing incandescence, transforming the bare rocky earth into shining gold and the puddles into pools of quicksilver. The freshly washed, electrically charged air was sharp and clear and held the rich scent of earth and wood smoke.
Although humans and animals alike were still wet, cold, and uncomfortable, their earlier misery was all but forgotten with the promise of food and rest as the wagon train entered the dripping forest.