Teri McLaren
Javin nodded, rebandaged his arm, and found his blanket. Doulos climbed the rangy oak above them, settling back on a large bough and wrapping his robes about himself against the cold night.
Doulos never knew when he drifted off, but when he awoke, the moons were not only past the sisters, but nearly down. High over Drufalden's mountain, one bright light flared briefly through the fog, then died like a falling star.
Then there were six stars. Then twenty. The wind changed, and the unmistakable odor of canistas assaulted Doulos's nose, their foul, musty scent choking him. The slave whirled around, his spear ready. But there were too many targets. The canistas blinked redly at him through the white mist, then dropped their huge jaws open, and he could see their long, bright teeth. One of them began to chuckle, a low, almost human laugh. Like Riolla's laugh, Doulos thought, like the Schreefa about to eat you alive.
The laughter spread, growing louder and louder until the Neffian was surrounded with the hideous sound, his ears ringing with pain, his eyes suddenly unable to find the leaping, cavorting canistas as they prowled the foggy campsite, circling closer and closer to (avin.
Doulos knew if he made a sound, they would all spring upon the wounded man as one and tear his king to pieces before Doulos could reach him. If he didn't shout a warning, they would only move in steadily, playing their game, ripping and teasing Javin to death, and then turn upon Doulos himself. It seemed hopeless.
Doulos looked skyward, mouthed a silent prayer, and raised his spear. If he was going to die, he would take some company with him. He backed up one step, bracing himself, and felt the massive oak at his back like another fighter. Doulos put his foot into the next branch down and lowered himself to the ground, ever so slowly, holding his breath, listening beyond the hideous laughter for sounds that Javin was conscious.