"You hear that?" Haarn kept walking through the forest, ignoring the woman trying to keep pace with him. Druz Talimsir's efforts had become so noisy even across level ground that Haarn had finally given up in disgust and paced himself so that she could more easily walk with him. The other wolf hunters were little over an hour behind them. Druz grabbed his shoulder. Slipping out of her grasp, reaching for the inner calm that his father had taught him, Haarn stepped to one side. Instinctively, probably because of her training as a mercenary and probably from working in places where she'd had to control others, she tried to grip his shoulder again. She was already twisting sideways and fisting her sword, readying herself for an aggressive response. The druid blocked her grip with an open hand, curling his fingers over her wrist and pushing her hand away. "What are you doing?" she demanded, drawing back into an automatic defensive posture. "Don't put your hands on me," Haarn said. Anger and embarrassment colored the woman's face. "What the hell is wrong with you? I offered you no insult or injury." "Nothing is wrong with me," Haarn replied. "I don't like to be touched." The woman's voice bared steel. "I don't like to be ignored." "I haven't been ignoring you," Haarn replied. "If I had wanted to ignore you, I would have left you in the forest a long time before this. I have allowed you to accompany me as you wished." "You have allowed me?" Haarn considered his words and found he'd said nothing incorrect. "Yes." She started to say something but words failed her. Perhaps the woman had a problem with the harsh truth of the matter. He didn't care. What he'd said was true, even if it had been stated in a way that wasn't agreeable with her. He gazed into her eyes until she looked away. Less than forty feet distant, Haarn heard Broadfoot shifting restively in the brush. The brown bear weighed at least a dozen times as much as the young woman but made even less noise. Still, despite his own feelings about her woodcraft, Druz passed more quietly than the other group making their way through the dark forest no more than a hundred paces away. A cry of pain echoed through the night. Druz's head snapped up. "That was a woman's voice." Haarn made no response. He'd recognized the sound as being from a woman as well. Without another word, Druz crept through the forest toward the noise of the woman's pained scream as it was repeated. She slid her sword free of its sheath. Gracefully, more silent than a stirring leaf, Haarn fell into step beside Druz. However, he made certain to give her the personal space she'd dared take from him. "What are you doing?" he asked. "I'm going to see what's wrong with that woman." "There are others with her," Haarn stated. "I know, but why is she crying out?" The woman moaned again. "Because she's in pain," Haarn said. "That doesn't make you curious?" Druz pushed through saplings and low tree branches. Haarn gently stilled the quivering saplings and branches as he followed the woman. Where Druz left ripples in the forest, he quieted the wood, making sure, out of habit, that there was little sign of their passage. The woman cried out again. "If she's with friends," Druz said, "she wouldn't be moaning like that." "I've found that city people don't always treat each other well," Haarn said. "How do you know they're from the city?" Druz knelt at the edge of the forest. They stood on a small promontory overlooking a shallow valley basin. Haarn favored this valley and often watched the sun come up over the crest of the high hills around it. The trail worn by hunters and regular traffic cut through the trees. There were some, the druid knew, who would see the trail as a road, a place of civilization and refinement. Haarn saw it as a scar, a place where those who would conquer it rather than learn to live with it had sundered nature. A tight knot of lanterns wavered in the dark distance. The combined illumination created a hollow space beneath the canopy of the trees and the walls of brush. The nocturnal forest animals watched from discreet distances, all of them giving way to the invaders. Druz reached into her backpack and took out a device. Judging from the construction of the backpack and the time that had gone into the making of it, Haarn felt certain that sure-handed gnomes had crafted it. Their talent in the creation of things sometimes put discouraging thoughts into the druid's head. If only the gnomes had learned to live with nature rather than create ways to challenge it. Besides a generous storage space and comfort, the backpack provided a number of pockets of differing sizes. Moving with accustomed precision, Druz pulled on the thing she'd taken from her backpack. The device elongated in sections, forming a hollow tube. The mercenary placed the tube to her eye and stared through it. She was quiet only for a moment, then she lowered the device and looked back at him. "They're slavers," she said. "Yes," Haarn replied. He didn't tell her that he could smell them from the valley's ridge. The slaves exuded a spicy sweat from the foods they'd eaten and the fragrances they wore. Those unfortunate enough to be caught and held in chains carried a days' old sour, sickly stench. The chain links had been padded so they didn't make much noise. Slavers occasionally came deep into Turmish from Nimpeth and other lands on the southern coastline of the Vilhon Reach. Nimpeth had long been known as a slave city. The manpower shortages and the damage wrought by the recent war had increased both the demand for and the availability of slaves. "You knew that?" Druz accused. "I know it now," Haarn stated. He returned his gaze to the stumbling progression making its way southeast to the Turmish coastline. They were days away from the Vilhon Reach and whatever vessel might be awaiting them. "You let slavers raid these lands?" Druz asked, obviously angry. She put her device away. Haarn didn't even deign to answer the offensive question. "What are you going to do?" Druz demanded. "Hunt the wolf," the druid replied, "as we agreed." "You can't just let those slavers pass. Maybe we can do something." Haarn looked at her. "Do you know any of those people?" "I couldn't see them." "They could be strangers." "If we don't do something, they're going to be slaves." Haarn noted the urgency in the woman's voice and knew that her attitude was going to be troublesome. He said, "Those people could be slaves again in the next tenday." "You're going to stand by and let that happen?" "It's none of my affair," the druid said. He nodded toward the line of slaves and slavers. "What you see there is the work of man, of civilization. Animals don't take slaves." "Some of those people could be druids." "No," Haarn said quietly. "No one of my order would allow himself or herself to be taken as a slave." They would die first. He was certain of that. "If one of your order was down there," Druz persisted, "would you do something then?" "No one from my order is down there." A little irritated by Druz's constant talk of things that weren't happening and might never happen, Haarn turned and stepped back toward the sheltering forest. "Where are you going?" she asked. "The sooner I kill the wolf we seek, the sooner I can take my leave of you." "Those people are being taken into slavery." "It's not my concern." Haarn kept walking, his thoughts already turning from the slaves and the slavers. Broadfoot snuffled in the distance, the sound lost amid the night's other myriad noises. Haarn knew no one else would have heard it unless they were standing close to the brown bear. The druid cocked his head slightly, listening for what Broadfoot had sensed. Furtive footsteps neared their position. Quietly, Haarn considered the choices before him. The footsteps belonged to men. He'd gotten so caught up in the disagreement with Druz that he hadn't been as attentive as he usually was. "What?" she challenged. "Don't tell me you suddenly decided that you care about those people down there." "No," Haarn replied. The footsteps paused. The druid smelled the spicy meat on the breaths of the men around them and even heard a few garbled and raspy whispers. He marveled at the fact, with the men so near, that the woman didn't know they were there. "Then why are you-" Druz reached for her sword as Haarn heard footsteps rush from the forest around them. The sword cleared its leather scabbard and she stepped into a defensive posture. Knowing the men formed a loose semicircle around them, Haarn lifted his hands slowly from his sides and held them straight out. "Put down your weapon," Haarn advised. "No," Druz replied. "I won't be taken as a slave." "You don't have a choice." Broadfoot shifted in the trees, edging closer. None of the slavers around them noticed the slight noise the big bear made. Haarn growled, drawing the rumbling sound from deep in his chest. Broadfoot stopped in his tracks, but snuffled his displeasure at the command. Even with the magic available to him and the years of association he had with the bear, the druid couldn't talk directly to Broadfoot, but he could make his wishes known. "What the hell was that?" one of the men demanded. Another man spat. "He's one of those damned druids," he cursed. "We'd be better off killing him now, Brugar. There ain't no easy way we're going to take him with us." "Lord Vallis is paying by the head," a gruff voice said. "As long as that druid's head stays on his shoulders, it's worth gold." "The woman's worth more," another man said. "Look at her. See how pretty she is?" Haarn watched the dark stain of embarrassment touch Druz's features. "We'll hold her back from Vogalsang's auction block in Nimpeth then sell her to Warryl," the man went on. "Warryl can sell her to one of those fleshpots along the Golden Road down by the Nagawater." "You'll have to kill me first," Druz promised, lifting her long sword meaningfully. "A quick death now is preferable to a slow death later." Haarn watched the woman's eyes and felt his respect for her grow. Despite the clumsy way she interacted with the forest and let the men's taunts embarrass her, she knew her own true balance. Most men he'd met, the druid felt from his limited experience with those outside his order, had never been tested enough to reach that. The woman suddenly appeared more intriguing to him. "Tell her to put the sword down, druid," Brugar commanded. He was a mountain of a man, standing nearly seven feet tall. His skin was swarthy, almost black. He wore dark leather armor and carried a battle-axe. His shaven head gleamed in the moonlight. Scars littered his arms, shoulders, and face. He glared fiercely at Haarn. "She won't listen to me," Haarn replied. "Make her," Brugar ordered, "or I'll kill you both." Haarn didn't reply. He sensed the greed in the man, knowing that Brugar was already counting the gold he'd be paid for those he captured. The druid also heard the quiet footsteps coming up from behind them. He made himself wait. At the last moment, a twig snapped under the approaching man's foot. Haarn glanced over his shoulder, already hearing the mercenary in motion as she reacted to the unexpected sound. Druz spun quickly and moonlight flashed on the naked blade in her hand. She took a step away and almost succeeded in escaping the cruel blow that smashed into her head. Her fleeing step turned into an outright fall as she dropped bonelessly to the ground. The other man Haarn had heard creeping through the forest stood over the mercenary. The slaver was thin and unkempt, rawboned and ragged. His gaze was feral and fleeting, never looking in any direction too long. He grinned at the druid then spat contemptuously on the ground. Aware that all the crossbows were now turned on him, Haarn held his position. No emotion touched him as he faced his captors. "Hyle," Brugar called out, "you better not have crushed her damn skull." "I ain't crushed her skull." Hyle knelt gingerly and held a palm over Druz's face. "She's breathin' all right. Anyways, any wrong I coulda done her coulda been fixed by the tree-lover over there." Standing his ground, Haarn glanced down at the mercenary lying helplessly on the ground. Dark blood trickled through her red-gold hair. Anger stirred within the druid. The fact that the men were slavers had nothing to do with the dark emotion that moved restlessly inside Haarn. This part of the forest had been given over to him for his protection and he had never forsaken that charge. The presence of the slavers was an encroachment upon that territory, but even worse-they knew the group he represented and they had chosen to ignore that. Behavior like that couldn't be tolerated. Broadfoot huffed and growled out in the forest again, chafing at the restraint Haarn had urged him to. "Hyle," Brugar commanded, "take that man into custody." The tattooed man stared deeply into Haarn's eyes for a moment, then broke the contact. "This'n gonna be trouble, Brugar. Be best to just cut him and gut him." Haarn stood easily, his manner relaxed, but he remained ready. "Try to kill him," Brugar said, "and I'll slit your throat myself, Hyle. Bind him and gag him. Alive, he's worth a few gold pieces that I'll enjoy spending." Moving warily, the tattooed man took a leather string from his kit and strode toward Haarn. "Stick your hands out." Conscious of the crossbow quarrels pointed in his direction, Haarn held his hands out. Hyle pushed the druid's wrists together and wrapped them tightly with the leather string, then confiscated his weapons. Breathing shallowly through his nose, Haarn distanced himself from the degrading treatment. In all of his years he'd never been taken captive. He glanced wistfully at the forest. If the woman hadn't been with him, he could have escaped and wreaked vengeance from the protective shelter of the woods. However, he hadn't been in control of his life since he'd started finding the executed and scalped wolves. Hyle checked the tightness of the leather and seemed satisfied, but the man's mocking, cruel grin faded as he looked into Haarn's face. Suspicion narrowed the tattooed man's eyes. "What are you doing, druid?" "Praying," Haarn answered simply. "You got nothin' to pray for," Hyle said. "I'm asking Silvanus for the quick deaths of the men who have chosen to become my enemies tonight." Haarn kept his face impassive. Scowling, Hyle pulled out a dirty rag, jammed it into Haarn's mouth, and tied a knot behind the druid's mouth to keep it in place. "If I had my way," the tattooed man promised, "I'd have you sacrificed on an altar to the Beastlord." A chill threaded up Haarn's spine as he heard the reference to Malar the Stalker. Malar and Silvanus were old enemies, and those who followed each of those gods carried the enmity between them. The druid looked at the other slavers, noticing tattoos upon a couple more of them as they stepped confidently from the forest's darkness. Perhaps all of them followed the Beastlord's teachings. Perhaps everything that was happening followed a grand design Silvanus had put into motion. Hyle shoved Haarn from behind, pushing the druid down toward the valley floor. Forcing himself not to resist, Haarn stumbled then began walking ahead of the slaver group. He gathered his power within him, drawing it from the earth, the trees, and the very air around them.