Mika looked out past the fire and nodded his agreement. Hornsbuck was right; the plains were a desolate place, nothing but rock, scree, greasewood, and an occasional salt bush all the way to the horizon and beyond. By comparison, the spring seemed a magical place and one he would be loath to leave.

"Have you been here before?" Mika asked the older man. "This seems like such a good spot. Why has no one set up a base camp here, used it as a way station or even a trading post? The water is exceptional, sweet and satisfying to tongue and thirst. I've told the men to empty the waterbags and fill them with water from the pool."

"Water. Pah! I never touch the stuff myself," said Hornsbuck and setting his bowl down on the ground he poured himself an ample portion of honeyed mead from the large skin that hung from his saddle. He set-tied himself comfortably in front of the fire.

"As for this place, I dunno, something funny about it if you ask me, which you did. I've never seen it before. It's not on the map, and I've never heard anyone talk about it. And there's no rogues hanging about. Water on the prairie would draw them like trolls to flesh.

"Only thing I can figure is that there was a rain, just a little one, see, and it filled the pool and brought on the gra.s.s. I've known it to happen that way in the desert sometimes. Probably this place will be dust again in a day or two. Just luck, that's all. Doesn't mean anything. We'll still have to be on our toes if we want to reach the city with all our body parts attached."

The older man's sour words depressed Mika, and he felt a strong chill of misgiving pa.s.s through him.

"What do you figure is so important about this cargo that it has to reach the city in such a short time?" Mika asked, suddenly losing his appet.i.te and giving the remainder of his meal to Tam.

"Who knows?" answered Hornsbuck, easing the heavy beaten metal buckle that cinched the leather tunic around his ample girth. "Guildsmen. Merchants. Pah! What kind of life is that for a man, mewling and haggling over cloth and foodstuffs and fancies that no one really needs. And for what, piles of coins! Fie! May the Great She Wolf take them all and lose them in the forest!"

"You think that's all it is?" Mika persisted. "I wouldn't think that even a Guildsman would ask us to take this risk for profit alone. It has to be something more."

"Don't go looking for trouble, lad. It will find you soon enough all on its own," advised Hornsbuck, growing more mellow as he quaffed his brew. "If there were something valuable on board, we'd know about it. Yon narrow-nose Guildsman would have told us to keep a special eye out, but he has not. This caravan is no different from a hundred others. Go to sleep, lad. Save your strength for the morrow."

But Mika could not stop thinking, and long after Hornsbuck had lapsed into a nest of deep, rumbling, mead-scented snores, Mika lay awake, his arms laced behind his head, staring up at the night sky, pondering the problem.

Hornsbuck's a.n.a.lysis of the situation appeared sound, with one exception-the heavily laden, squeaking wagon. It was different from the others. True, Mika had not been told to guard it specifically, but the driver was well-armed and looked as though he could protect himself and his cargo if the need arose.

Mika had continued to observe the wagon all day long and noted that even though it was heavily weighted, it kept pace without difficulty, thanks no doubt to the extra pair of mules.

Although he could find no complaint with its speed, the shrill screeching of the axle signaled their presence to every brigand and rogue within hearing distance. What could the wagon hold that would weigh it down so?

Perhaps it was gold. Gold bars were very heavy and would certainly weigh a wagon down and cause the Guildsman to take great risks. No doubt it was being sent to ransom the supposed mysterious princess who had been kidnapped and was being held somewhere by who knows what variety of fiends. Mika would rescue her, slay the brutes, and have the gold-and the royal beauty-as his reward. . . .

Or maybe it was precious stones being sent to Eru-Tovar to pay homage to a G.o.d some n.o.bleman had offended. Yes, that was it. Enor was right. There was no princess. The dead messenger was just trying to sidetrack the Wolf Nomad and appease his G.o.ds. But Mika could think of no G.o.d who could not be honored in Yecha as well as Eru-Tovar, the G.o.ds being much the same, with the exception, Mika shuddered at the thought, of Iuz, demi-G.o.d of oppression, deceit, and pain.

Many of those who worshipped the dark G.o.d made their home in Eru-Tovar. But why would anyone make an offering to Iuz? Many answers, all unpleasant, immediately filled Mika's mind before he could turn his thoughts in another direction.

"Hornsbuck, you know that wagon, the one that squeaks . . ." Mika began, but only snores replied, erupting from the nomad's slack lips.

"Come on, Tam," Mika said, determined to have a talk with the driver of the wagon. Maybe he could learn something about the cargo and either confirm or deny his suspicions.

Most of the drivers had abandoned their wagons and were lounging about the central fire finishing their meal. Some few were casting knucklebones with the nomads, thinking them dull country fellows, but Mika knew from long practice, that his fellow nomads could hold their own gambling with any race and likely emerge winners.

The men crouched on their knees in a circle that had been swept smooth of gra.s.s and stone and were throwing a pair of highly polished knucklebones, the ridges of which had been incised with various numbers. The idea was to bet correctly on which combination of numbers would land face up. Nomad pouches would be many grushnicks heavier by morning.

The wolves were curled up near their chosen humans, licking their rough footpads and grooming their thick pelts. Some were already asleep, noses tucked beneath their thick brushy tails.

The driver of the squeaking wagon had not joined his a.s.sociates in their various endeavors but instead sat upon the hard seat of his wagon, alert and watchful.

"Ho, driver," Mika hailed the man in a friendly manner. "How went your journey today?"

"Well enough," the driver said grudgingly, seemingly reluctant to pa.s.s even those few words.

"Good," said Mika. "But I think that you would do even better tomorrow if you did not have such a heavy load to pull. Share your load out among the other wagons tonight so that the weight is more evenly distributed."

"No," said the driver in a steady voice.

"What?" said Mika, startled. Drivers were generally no more than drunkards off the streets or out of the jails who agreed to take the job rather than rot in prison. They had little or no character and usually vanished into the nearest tavern as soon as they reached their destination. There, they drank themselves into oblivion until their funds ran out and they were tossed in jail once more, their only escape another driving job. None had the spine to stand up to a Wolf Nomad, much less defy one!

Mika gaped at the man, then repeated his request a little less pleasantly, thinking that perhaps the man had misunderstood.

"No," the man said quite clearly, not at all intimidated by Mika's manner. "My beasts are able to bear the load. They will keep up with the rest."

"But you are very heavily weighted," persisted Mika, wondering at the man. "The axle squeals as though it is in pain. Aside from the fact that the strain might break the wheel and cause us to waste valuable time, the noise alone could easily attract just the sort of villains we seek to avoid.

"Do not be a stubborn man. I am commander of the caravan, and I am giving you a direct order to divide your load among the other wagons. Just what is it you carry that is so d.a.m.ned heavy?"

"No," repeated the man for the third time as though he had not heard any of what Mika had said. "I will not shift the load, and what I carry is none of your concern." And his hand tightened on the handle of his knife.

Mika's eyes bulged and he took an angry step toward the man, his hand shifting to the handle of his own knife. Tam snarled and paced restlessly, awaiting Mika's command.

Mika reached out, intending to pull the man from his seat and thump him on his ears to improve his hearing, which was obviously faulty. But before he could do so, the Guildsman appeared out of the shadows at the rear of the wagon.

"What's the problem, now, Master Wolf?" he asked coldly, giving a sarcastic twist to the tide, deliberately removing any hint of respect from his voice.

"I gave this man a direct order and he defied me!" Mika said in a strangled voice. TamTur started a growl that rumbled deep in his throat, adding his quiet menace to Mika's words.

"What's the problem, Cob?" the Guildsman asked, directing his question to the driver in a normal tone of voice.

"He told me to divide my load. I said no," replied the driver, his hand still on the handle of his knife.

"Quite right," agreed the Guildsman. "This load is not to be touched until we reach Eru-Tovar.

"But it is too heavy," said Mika, his face growing flushed. And he repeated his earlier arguments.

"No," said the Guildsman. A sneer spread across the driver's face.

Mika started to speak, then stopped, a smile crossing his own lean features. No need to get into a fight that he could not win. Their voices had already attracted the attention of several nomads and drivers. After all, he thought smugly, there was more than one way to skin a rabbit.

"All right," he said calmly. "But be warned, if there is trouble and you lag behind, none will turn back for you. You will be on your own." And as he strolled away, Tam lingering threateningly, he was pleased to see a look of consternation on the driver's face as he began to speak to the Guildsman with much waving of arms and hands.

Late that night, after the last of the grumbling gamblers was sound asleep and the fire had burned down to embers, Mika rose from his bedroll as though he were going to relieve himself, and slipped into the darkness that lay beyond the wagons. He paused to make certain that no one had noticed or followed him, then quietly made his way round the perimeter until he was within two wagon lengths of his goal.

Stealth was a skill that Mika excelled at, somewhat surprising in a man of his great size. But he could rival even TamTur when he set his mind to it, and he did so now.

Together, man and beast crept closer and closer to the secret wagon. Mika looked at Tam and smiled, no words necessary. Tam's tongue lolled out of the corner of his mouth, and he seemed to grin in return. Many was the time that they had crept up on some unsuspecting prey together in a similar fashion.

It was Mika's intent to slip inside the wagon and find out for himself what the mysterious cargo was. The value of the secret cargo soared higher and higher with each thinking. It wasn't that Mika wanted the treasure for himself, it was just that, well, the commander of a caravan needed to know what he carried. Yes, that was it. After all, how could he protect them adequately if he didn't know what he was protecting? It was his solemn duty to investigate.

Mika was within one wagon of his objective when he stopped for one last check. The moon was conveniently tucked away behind a dark cloud. Everything was silent other than the occasional cry of a night bird and the dull tink, tink, tink of the mules' bells as they snorted and muttered through their dull mule dreams.

Satisfied that none was about, save he, Mika began to slither forward. Suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, there appeared near the rear of the wagon the figure of a tiny, wizened little old man dressed in a tattered robe! With a start, Mika crouched behind a bush, almost unable to believe what he was seeing.

How could it be? Where had the man come from? There were no trees or bushes for him to have hidden behind; the land was entirely open except for the small hill that lay in the opposite direction. It was as though the man had materialized out of the night itself!

The more Mika stared at the old man, the more familiar he looked. Was it? Could this be the same cloaked figure who placed the stun spell on him at the River Fler? The dark cloak was gone, but the posture was the same and with gnawing fear Mika knew the figure at the river and the man before him were one and the same. But why was he here?

As Mika watched, the old man looked in all directions and then gestured at the wagon with both hands. It seemed to Mika that the wagon and the air around it became hazy . . . fuzzy. Mika blinked, mistrusting his eyes and wondering if they were clogged with sleep.

The view remained the same-blurry. It was as though the old man had placed a spell on the wagon.

The old man began to unlace the tightly stretched hide that sealed the back of the wagon. Magic-user or no, Mika was not going to stand, well, lie idly by and watch someone else steal his priceless cargo.

Mika grasped the single crystal bead that hung from a fine gold chain around his neck and quickly uttered the words to a simple globe of invulnerability spell.

This spell, which he had taken special care to master, created a magical buffer around his body for five feet in all directions and protected him from all spells up to the fourth level of ability.

It seemed unlikely that the old man's abilities would exceed third-level spells.

The magic buffer was also capable of repelling the stun spell that had frozen him like a statue back at the arroyo. He had a score or two to settle with the old man. Next time he'd be more careful whom he enchanted. Once the spell was in place, Mika stood up slowly and began inching toward the little man.

Mika glanced down and saw that Tam was at his side, creeping forward on silent paws. A low, ominous rumbling sound that Mika felt more than heard uttered from Tam's throat, but evidently the little man had exceptional hearing for he whirled around instantly.

Seeing Mika and Tam, the old man permitted a smile to cross his wrinkled face. He took his hand from the back of the wagon and fumbled in a pouch hung from his waist. Then he began to mutter in a low voice and gesture in the air, pointing his skinny hand in their direction.

Confident that his spell of invulnerability would protect him from anything the little man might do, Mika advanced swiftly, a nasty smile on his face.

Suddenly, Tam leaped forward.

The old man gestured sharply and snapped out one last guttural word. No sooner had he spoken than a huge wind rose up out of nowhere and slammed into them.

Mika was shielded from the wind by his spell, but Tam had left the area of protection and the wind struck him full force, tumbling him head over tail through the air and smashing him to the ground some distance away.

Mika only had time for a brief glance, ascertaining that Tam was not seriously hurt, before a number of brilliant b.a.l.l.s of fire began streaming from the old man's finger tips and arcing directly toward him.

He cringed, throwing his arms up over his face and head, even as he told himself that the magic missiles were but a lowly first-level spell and could not harm him. But the missiles were impressive and even frightening. Had he not been shielded by his spell of invulnerability, they would have killed him easily.

Mika had gone no farther since the old man had begun his attack; now, growing more confident, he took several steps forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Tam had gotten to his feet and was advancing again.

The old man looked at Mika and smiled gently, then wiggled his fingers. A great bluish white light obliterated him from sight and headed straight for Mika.

Mika barely had time to blink before the light exploded around him, striking the shield and bouncing off with a loud booming noise. Mika opened his eyes, temporarily blinded, and heard a shrill yipping, trailing away to whimpers. Tam! All of a sudden, Mika felt a strange tingling running up and down his back from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.

He stopped running and looked down, trying to remember where he was going and why. Nothing occurred to him. He looked around, puzzled, and saw Tam.

Tam looked very strange. He was lying on his stomach with his head between his paws and his hind legs and tail stretched out behind him. His fur was standing up straight all over his body. He looked like a giant hedgehog. And he was stiff, unmoving. Mika stared at Tam, unable to think of what had happened to him. He looked very strange.

His mind a whirl of foggy, confused images, Mika turned around and saw the old man smiling at him. Mika put his head to one side and stared at the old man. He looked familiar, but Mika couldn't seem to remember who he was.

There seemed to be a lot of noise. Mika turned his head and looked between the wagons toward camp. He could see lots of people stirring around and beginning to run toward him. He wondered what they were excited about. Vaguely, he wondered if he should be excited, too.

The fuzzy feeling still gripped him, addling his brains and slowing his actions. He tried to loosen his knife from his belt, thinking he might need it for whatever it was that was happening.

The old man gave him a penetrating look from small dark eyes that seemed to have no pupils, and the smile dropped from his face. He glanced at the nomads and drivers and then took a step forward, raised his hand and pointed his linger at Mika.

Mika pulled back, knowing even in his confused state that something terrible was about to happen. He thought that maybe he should run, but couldn't decide in what direction.

As the old man began to chant, the first of the nomads appeared between the two wagons, swords raised and torches flooding the area with bright light. The instant the light touched him, the old man disappeared, simply faded out of existence as though he had never been!

Mika raised his hand to his eyes slowly and rubbed them, wondering if he had imagined the whole thing. He looked again, but the old man was gone, leaving nothing to show that he had been there, other than the loosened flap of hide on the wagon.

"Mika, what is it! Are you all right?" asked a nomad named Klaren.

"Old man," Mika said thickly, still wrapped in confusion. "There was an old man here. Uh, not here. There, trying, trying to get into . . . wagon."

"Where is he?" roared a large burly driver who wore a hostile scowl and waved a heavy cudgel above his head. "Must have been a bandit! Which way did he go?"

"Who?" asked Mika, forgetting what they were talking about.

"The bandit! The old man!" shouted the burly driver.

"Oh, was he a bandit?" Mika asked in surprise.

"I don't know. I never saw him! Where is he?" yelled the driver, beginning to get angry at Mika.

"Who?" asked Mika, totally bewildered and wondering why the man was yelling at him.

"Where's the old man?" said Klaren between gritted teeth.

"Oh. Him. Well, he was right there," said Mika pointing to the wagon. "He was a magic-user, I think."

The clamor of voices broke around him excitedly.

"What would a magic-user want with a wagon train?" asked Cob, the driver of the secret wagon, now wide awake, his brow furrowed with suspicion as he stared at Mika.

"I don't mind bandits, but I don't like magic," said the other driver, lowering his club and looking around him carefully as though the magic-user might be secreted among them.

"What's all this nonsense about bandits and magic-users?" said the Guildsman as he pushed his way through the throng. He looked at Mika and said, "Is this some of your doing? I will not allow you to stir up the men."

"No nonsense," mumbled Mika, fighting to shed the dazed feeling that shrouded his brain and tongue. "Old man came. Unlaced wagon. Tried to stop him. Threw a spell. Musta' been a magic-user."

"An old man, hmmm," said the Guildsman, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. "And can you explain just how you happened to be so conveniently nearby to foil his attempt?"

"Uh . . ." Mika said stupidly, flogging his stricken brain to come up with something, anything that would make sense, but nothing occurred to him.

"Uh . . ." he stammered futilely, trying to remember.

"I suggest that you had a little too much to drink and decided to have a look inside the wagon yourself," said the Guildsman. "Too bad you made so much noise and got caught."

After a shocked moment of surprise at the tone the Guildsman used, the drivers broke into hoots of laughter, drowning out any answer that Mika might have made, had he been able to think of one.

"By the Great Wolf Mother, you do not speak to a Wolf Nomad thusly unless you wish to guide your own wagons across the plains," roared Hornsbuck, pushing his way up to the Guildsman and spitting his words down into the man's face from his great height. "Apologize!" he roared.