Dion caught the anger that flashed in the elder's eyes, then realized the resemblance of the elder's aged features to those of the youth. No wonder the young man had done as he had, warning her of his status without speaking of it at all. Her own anger, fed by exhaustion and Hishn's rising aggression, swamped her. It wasn't about the venge, she realized, it was about respect for others' lives. She worked so hard to save those she could... Aranur drove her to it by example, the council by request; but she believed in what she did. To be confronted with an elder who had such a lack of consideration for others that she could cause Ariyens to die-and have no better excuse for it than a desire to look important... Dion fought to form words, not fists. "And there are no more experienced fighters in this village? What happened to Bogie and Jonn?"

"They are-" the elder began.

"Asleep, Wolfwalker," the youth cut in blandly. "Or out of the village boundaries. At best, they are half an hour away."

Dion tried to bite off her anger, but it clipped her words so that they hit the

air like cracks of a whip. "Elder Lea, my relay request for a riding beast and escort should have reached you an hour ago. I've got to make Carston by the seventh moonrise, and I've got to hit Kitman by dawn. The Zaidi shortcut is the only route that will get me there on time. It is not a ride for the inexperienced. We'll be outside the barrier bushes for over fifteen kays.

The moons are high, so any predator will catch the glints even from our eyes. There's fog to hide the road from our hooves, and the worlag packs are hunting nightly. Yet you hand me a grain-fed dnu for a mount and an escort who has yet to earn his sword."

The elder broke in. "Healer, Royce is from my own family. We're simply

trying to honor your presence with our best-"

"My presence be damned. I'm here as a relay rider, and I need a relay dnu. I don't need a beast whose strength peters out after the first hill. I need a dnu with endurance. More, I need a beast that has seen enough trail riding that it doesn't jump off the road with every intimation of danger." She glared at the elder. "Have you or haven't you such a beast?"

"These, Healer-"

Dion snarled suddenly, and the sound was too much like a wolf. "Damn it to the seventh hell." Her anger brought a tightness to the gray wolf's throat.

Yellow eyes gleamed at the elder, and involuntarily, the old woman stepped back to the light, leaving Dion, in the dark, a somehow menacing shadow.

At the edge of the village proper, the approaching rider, trailing two

riderless dnu, rounded the street corner and pounded loudly toward the growing group.

In front of the wolfwalker, Royce felt his stomach tense. That third beast-

that was for him. So he'd ride with Dione after all. His hands were suddenly nervous, and his feet itched in their boots. Gray Hishn's eyes gleamed at him, but only the wolfwalker noticed.

"Healer Dione." One of the stablemen caught her suddenly sharp attention.

She half wheeled her mount to face him. "What is it?"

The short man cast a cautious look at the elder. "There are relay dnu if you

wish one, but it will take us some time to get them."

By now there were a dozen people on the street, but Dion ignored them.

"Do it," she said to the man. "Please," she added belatedly.

The elder's pride snapped out. "They are my stables, Healer. I choose the mounts that are to be used for relay, just as I select those who work in my stables." She gestured sharply to the man who had unwisely spoken. "Those dnu are not fit for you. Take these or take nothing."

Slowly, Dion cursed under her breath. Shortcut or no, she couldn't make it to Carston, let alone Kitman, on the worn-out dnu she now sat-it was tired as a winter worlag. And weary as she herself had become, she'd been careless again with her words. She'd escalated a challenge of the elder's leadership, and with it, gods help her, she'd put the lives of her mate and his men at stake. For a long moment, she stared at the elder. Then her anger hardened into a coal, igniting a slow burn in her gut. She didn't give a damn if she offended this woman or not, she realized. The long ride had left her no patience.

"You would put my people-our people's-lives in danger for the sake of your pride?" Her voice was low and steady, but hard as steel in the air.

"How many of your own men and women have ridden out on a venge trusting that their elders had the judgment to send the fastest and most experienced to help? Do you think they'd trust your dnu on such a ride?"

There was an ugly murmur in the small crowd. Dion's hand crept toward the hilt of her sword, but the sound had not been directed at her.

The incoming rider pulled up his dnu, and the elder glanced at him, then glared as she recognized the one-armed figure. "Tule? What are you doing

here? Go back to your fields. You have no business with me this night."

The hulking man didn't bother looking at the elder. Instead, he gave Dion an appraising look then maneuvered one of his extra dnu close to her tired beast. The others gave way like water, but the elder placed herself between

Tule's dnu and Dion's. "Get your ronyons away from here, Tule." She grabbed at the reins. "They aren't fit for her to ride."

The elder came close to Dion's dnu, and Gray Hishn was there instantly,

snarling as she glared at the elder. The woman gasped and stumbled back.Hishn, Dion snapped. Back down.The gray wolf's eyes gleamed. Wolfwalker, the creature acknowledged. But Hishn slunk only slowly from the elder.

Tule eyed Dion. The anger that tautened the shoulders of the wolfwalker was palpable even in the darkness. He hid a humorless grin. Had it been he, not the wolfwalker, who dealt with the elder, there would have been blows flying between them by now. The wolfwalker was still trying to talk-if one could call that near-growl talking-and he eyed her curiously. Dione was as he'd heard her described: slender, dark-haired, lean as a wolf. Her clothes were drab and stained in patterns that melted into the background; the silver healer's circlet he knew she wore was hidden beneath a dull warcap. The hilt of her sword was wrapped with worn leather, and her bow and quiver were dark. Even her boot knives were barely visible against her legs. Nothing glinted; nothing reflected light except her teeth-white and

sharp as she bit her words out to the elder-and those flashing violet eyes.

"Healer Dione?" he asked without preamble.

Dion nodded curtly, returning his look with one of her own. With Hishn's

aggression coloring her words, her voice was as low as Tule's, though his was as gravelly and bitter as if he'd drunk too much grog on a cold day. His words held a slight tone of irony. In the faint light from the elder's house, she could see that the man's tunic was not that of a scout or fighter, but the heavier fabric of a farmer; yet his warcap and jerkin, obviously old, were well stitched and well worn, still supple for his movements. On one side his wide shoulders ended abruptly in a shortened sleeve, but the sword that hung down his back showed which hand he now used in a fight. He didn't bother with the reins that were looped loosely around the saddle horn; instead, he controlled his dnu with his knees.

Dion nodded almost imperceptibly to herself. The beast this man rode was as lean as a dnu could get, its eyes small and mean, and its neck barely more than bone in its hardness. The second beast was nearly as lean, scarred across its rump and back, with its tail twisted and raggedly cut as if it had been broken twice. Its neck had the barest shape, as if the fat layers had begun to shape up last ninan, but the definition on its hammer-like head spoke of long-distance endurance. The third beast, lean as the others, was marked with half-patches and stripes. The size of the third dnu's saddle spoke of someone other than Dion, and she raised her eyebrows at Tule. He nodded slightly at the youth.

The elder, seeing the bare relief in the wolfwalker's manner, missed Tule's motion toward her great-grandson, and angrily gestured at Tule. "He has only one arm!" The old woman spat toward Dion. "Royce at least has two! He's more than qualified to ride as your escort-"

"As student, not escort." Tule's voice, harsh and cold, cut the elder into silence. "Or he'll ride not at all. The fighting rings have their own authority, Elder Lea. It's not you who decides who's ready to ride out on a raider venge. The day Nulia releases your great-grandson is the day Royce can ride out alone. Till then, he will ride with me." He glanced at Dion. "With your permission, Healer Dione."

Dion looked at the youth. The expression on the young man's face was not that of anger, but of eagerness. It was the elder, not Royce, who objected to the one-armed man. For an instant, time seemed to stand still, and she saw not Royce's face, but those of her own sons. Someday, Olarun and Danton would stand like that-as eager to ride out as this youth. And someday, if the moons willed it, they would be ready to run with the Gray Ones-to hear the packsong in their heads, not just human song in their ears.

"I'd be honored," she said to the one-armed man, including the youth in her answer. She threw her leg over her saddle and slid to the ground, her numbed thighs refusing her weight. She barely caught herself on the stirrup before Royce's hand steadied her arm.

"It's an honor for me also, Healer Dione," he said quietly.

She saw he meant it. She nodded. "Dion," she corrected, giving him her nickname. The young man drew himself up, his pride almost palpable. When he withdrew his arm, Dion forced her legs to work, pushed past the elder, and mounted the second dnu. The youth vaulted onto the third animal's saddle, and Dion envied his energy. Then Tule wheeled his beast and flashed into a canter. A few minutes later, they were swallowed by forest as dark as the elder's rage.

With the moons overhead for a guide, Pacceli and Merai worked their way warily down the track. The rootroad was new and still growing, barely hardened and still filled with gaps. Rounded roots and soft potholes tripped up their dnu so that there were few places they could ride faster than a lope no matter how well they knew the way. That and the fog kept them from anything but a slow trot.

Merai couldn't help the look she cast at the line of rootroad trees. They were not yet full-grown, and their spindly trunks were like sticks, not bands of reassurance. Behind them, outlining the new road, the line of barrier bushes had sprouted but was thin and patchy. The shrubs wouldn't thicken up for years. Merai swallowed and tried to force her eyes back to the track, but the unevenness of that thorny wall gave it uncomfortable humps so that it looked like a line of waiting worlags hunched against the ground. The moonlight glinting off glossy thorns gave the impression of squinting eyes, while the pale white roots over which they rode were like skinny white arms in the dark.

Something cried out to Merai's left, and she started, jerking at the reins. Her dnu skittered, and she soothed it automatically, though her own voice was not calm or steady. Her hand clenched one of the message rings until the wolfwalker's name rang out in her mind. Dione, the healer. Wolfwalker Dione, riding in like the wind. No night-beast sounds would frighten that one from the woods. Merai rubbed the slashes of the healer's name and straightened her back and shoulders. She had signed on to ride the black road, and no beast sound would scare her either. If she were Dione, she told herself, she'd pass Pacelli and ride on like a wolf. If she were a wolfwalker herself...

The sharp forest cry came again, and her bravado abruptly fled. She felt the sweat start on her brow. "Pacelli?" she asked softly.

His voice was confident and curt. "Night-beating birds."

But his sword, she saw, was loose in its sheath, the holding thong gone, and his hand didn't stray from its hilt. "Are you sure?" she blurted out before she could bite at her tongue.

"More sure than you are that you're ready to ride the black road." He glanced back. "For someone who wants to be like Wolfwalker Dione, you startle like a city girl."

She knew he was just teasing her to make her less afraid, and she opened her mouth to retort. Then the sound came again, and she was suddenly crowding his dnu. It skittered slightly; the young man cursed over his shoulder. "Moonworms, Merai. What are you trying to do? Bolt my dnu off the road?"

She reined in too hard, and her own dnu grunted sharply. Apologetically, she soothed it. The riding beast was fast, but skittish-like her this night, she admitted. She dropped back again to lope just off Pacceli's flanks, grinding her teeth as though the bit were in her mouth, not in that of her dnu.

Inside her boots, her feet had begun to sweat as the clammy leather warmed up with the ride. But the chill that hit her as the night-beating birds cried out crawled down her legs to her heels. Night-beasting birds? Or bihwadi? The question echoed in her head while her mind conjured up a nightmare vision of those doglike predators. Pink, slitted eyes guided sharp, curved fangs that could tear through leather as easily as skin. She'd seen them twice in the northern meadow last ninan, up behind the tower. They had been moving

fast, like wolves on the hunt, but nastier and lower. They hadn't loped- they'd slunk through the grass, leaving it somehow dirty. The second time she had seen them there, the bihwadi had stopped at the treeline, turned, and looked right at her. Even at that distance she'd felt their gaze, the speculation in it. Like looking a six-legged rast in the eye, she had thought, and had quickly stepped back from the window.

Now the night-beating birds cried out again, and Pacceli's dnu snorted softly. He soothed it, then said over his shoulder, "It's all right, Merai-it's just the birds. We're only a kay away from the road."

She didn't answer, but her dnu felt her uneasiness and began to fight the reins. She cursed herself and urged the beast forward, struggling with herself to do it. Her right hand closed on one of the message sticks so that the wooden edges cut into her hand. Raider strike, and they needed fighters, and Wolfwalker Dione was coming...

But the barrier bushes, scrawny and thin, seemed to move on the road beside her. The shadows, which pooled like the mist in the gullies, almost seemed to breathe. "Pacceli," she whispered.

He didn't hear.

"Pacceli," she tried again, louder.

And then the road erupted.

Merai screamed. Her dnu half reared. Its front legs flailed out against the

shadows that leaped from the dark. The middle legs kicked out, humping its back in the middle. Merai screamed again and realized that her throat was clenched tight with terror, and it was Pacceli's voice, not hers, that she heard. Something slammed into her riding beast's neck; something else

yanked hard on her foot, unseating her from the saddle. She caught the pommel with one hand, her other hand tangling in the reins. Her dnu whirled, striking out with its hooves. The weight on her foot was suddenly gone. A pair of slitted eyes flashed in front of her, missing her midflight. Pacceli screamed again. His dnu, riderless, screamed with him and bolted into a patch of moonlight. Merai caught a glimpse of bloated shadows clinging to its flesh. Pacceli was on the ground, staggering, and there was moonlight on his sword, then none, as blood covered his blade.

Merai's dnu staggered, and she lost her grip on the pommel, falling beneath the hooves. She hit the road hard on her back. Her breath slammed out. Hooves flashed above her head. Then something pink and slitted stared into her eyes. She couldn't move. Its fangs spread out and lashed down toward her throat- And suddenly it was gone, torn from her as it would have torn her throat. Pacceli was dragging her up, yanking his sword free of the beast, and hauling her at a dead run up the road. He staggered, half turned as he ran, his sword arm heavy as he tried to keep the blade up and pointed out. Merai's legs didn't seem to be working-she couldn't keep up at all. She didn't notice Pacceli's fingers digging through her shoulder; she didn't see the blood on his face. She grabbed the message sticks and pressed them close to her side. Her other hand found the hilt of her knife and yanked the steel from the sheath. As she was dragged back from the dnu, from the feeding bihwadi, she held the blade out like a sword between her and the snarling darkness.

The gray wolf prowled the small clearing, then disappeared into the forest while they watered their dnu at the well. The riding beasts needed the five-