Rithmar Skirvon sat slumped in his chair while Fifty Narshu's splattered brains and blood dried into a caked residue on the back of his neck and the back and shoulders of his elegantly tailored civilian coat.

There were probably at least a few specks of Uthik Dastiri's brains mixed in among the rest of it, and his face seemed to have crumpled in on itself. There was no sign of the confident, masterful diplomat now, Dorzon chan Baskay thought grimly, and felt a fresh ripple of anger roiling about in his belly like slow magma as he glared at the Arcanan.

Skirvon had, indeed, worked hard to convince chan Baskay to let him live. In fact, he'd spilled his guts, more than half-babbling in his urgency to tell chan Baskay anything—anything at all—which might placate the Ternathian's frozen rage.

Which meant chan Baskay knew just how utterly and totally screwed he and all of Hulmok Arthag's surviving troopers actually were.

"We're ready," a voice said behind chan Baskay, and the platoon-captain turned to find Arthag standing behind him. The Arpathian stood beside his magnificent Shikowr-Daykassian-cross Palomino stallion with his Model 10 slung over his shoulder, and the rest of their surviving men stood saddled and ready to ride behind him. Every bit of movable, useful equipment had been loaded onto pack horses at truly Arpathian nomad speed. Two of them had packed up chan Baskay's and chan Rothag's gear and saddled their horses, as well ... and the bodies of every dead Sharonian were lashed across their saddles.

"Is that really necessary?" chan Baskay asked very quietly, nodding at the dead men.

"As a matter of fact, I think it is," Arthag replied. Chan Baskay couldn't quite hide his surprise.

Arpathians, as a rule, weren't particularly sentimental about the bodies of the dead. As far as they were concerned, once the soul had fled, the body in which that soul had once resided had no intrinsic importance, which made Arthag's apparent concern for these bodies unusual, to say the least.

"We don't have time to bury them," Arthag explained, responding to chan Baskay's perplexed expression, "and one thing all of us canny Arpathian nomadic warriors get taught at a very early age is that it's important to keep an enemy guessing about your losses. Let the bastards find their men's bodies lying around here without a single one of ours. You don't think that's going to make them more than a little anxious about just what happened here?" He shrugged. "The way I see it, anything that can convince them to be even a little hesitant about chasing after us is well worth the effort."

Chan Baskay gazed at him for a moment, then nodded.

"Good enough for me," he said. "Of course, there's still the little problem of exactly where we're going to go while they hesitate about chasing us, isn't there?"

"I take it there's no point trying to make it back to Company-Captain Halifu?"

"You take it correctly," chan Baskay said grimly. "I'm sure Master Skirvon still has quite a bit to tell us, but I think I've got the essentials for our immediate problem. Which includes the fact that these bastards have dragons, Hulmok."

"Dragons?" One of Arthag's eyebrows rose perhaps a sixteenth of an inch, and chan Baskay snorted.

"Yes. According to Skirvon, they come in two varieties—one that's basically for transporting cargo, and the other that breathes fire and lightning. And the buggers can fly at up to a couple of hundred miles an hour."

"Marvelous."

"Wait, it gets better. The transport version?" Chan Baskay paused, and Arthag nodded. "They can transport entire companies of cavalry by air, and they've been shipping in men, weapons, horses, and still more dragons the entire time they've been talking to us here. They've got what sounds like at least the equivalent of a light division or heavy brigade, and they're probably rolling right over Company- Captain chan Tesh while we're talking."

"I see."

Arthag cocked his head, his expression thoughtful, and chan Baskay felt an incredible temptation to punch him right on the nose. At this particular moment, the Arpathian's total imperturbability was almost as maddening as it was reassuring.

But only almost.

"They've got something Skirvon calls 'gryphons,' too," chan Baskay said, instead. "He says they're about the size of a good-sized pony but with wings, beaks, and great big claws, and they're even faster—and more maneuverable—than these dragons of theirs. They aren't as smart, though."

"Can they get at us through the tree cover?"

"That seems to be about the only good news I've gotten out of the bastard," chan Baskay said, shaking his head. He waved one hand at the overhead canopy of leaves and towering branches. "They can't get down through that, and Skirvon swears the dragons can't see through it very well, either."

"And he's telling the truth?"

"That's what Trekar's Talent says. Of course, the son-of-a-bitch is scared to death. Trekar says that sometimes someone who's piss-himself terrified convinces himself that whatever the other guy wants to hear is the truth, and his Talent can't tell the difference in a case like that."

"Um." Arthag scratched the tip of his nose thoughtfully. "I'm inclined to believe him on this one," he said after a moment. "At least as far as their being able to get at us directly." He smiled crookedly. "You know, this is the first time I've ever been grateful for the way these godsdamned trees get in the way!"

"Maybe. On the other hand, it's not going to be enough to get us back to New Uromath. According to Skirvon, their horses are a hell of a lot better than ours, too."

For the first time, Arthag bridled. He straightened, one hand reaching up to Bright Wind's ears, and his eyes narrowed.

"He says they've used more of this damned magic of theirs to 'augment' their horses," chan Baskay said.

"They're faster than ours, according to him, and they've got a lot more endurance, and if they can breed dragons, I don't see any reason why they couldn't do that, as well."

Arthag nodded unwillingly, and chan Baskay shrugged.

"Assuming he's right about that, they'd almost certainly run us to ground long before we could get back to New Uromath. Besides, it turns out they've scouted the New Uromath portal, too. Apparently one of their people made it all the way to Halifu's fort and back again before we took out their base camp.

They've known exactly where it is all along, and they're planning to attack it as soon as they've secured control of the swamp portal."

"I figured they must have something like that in mind," Arthag said. "I hadn't considered the possibility of these 'dragons' of theirs, of course. But none of this—" he waved one hand at the body-littered clearing "—would have made any sense at all if they hadn't planned on going all the way. I had expected to be able to outrun them back to Fort Shaylar, though."

"Agreed."

Chan Baskay turned to survey the area himself. The tangle of fallen trees where the Chalgyn Consortium survey crew had been massacred had seen far more than its fair share of bloodshed in the last couple of months, he reflected grimly.

Arthag's people had been busy doing more than just packing while he and Trekar chan Rothag interrogated Skirvon. The three surviving Arcanan cavalrymen sat on a fallen tree trunk, hands bound behind them and shoulders slumped. From their expressions, as well as their body language, chan Baskay was strongly tempted to believe Skirvon was right—those men hadn't had a clue what was going to happen here today. Nothing was likely to make chan Baskay feel particularly kindly towards Arcanans at the moment, but despite himself, he felt an unwilling sense of sympathy for those prisoners.

He felt none whatsoever for Rithmar Skirvon, however.

His mouth tightened at the thought as his eyes traversed the line of Sharonian bodies tied across their horses. There were sixteen of them, in all, and the twenty-three Arcanan bodies scattered about under the trees were no comfort at all as he considered their losses.

"We'll have to jackrabbit," he said after a moment, and Arthag nodded, then cocked his head slightly.

"Which portal?" he asked.

"That's the question, isn't it?" Chan Baskay's eyes slitted as he thought hard, considering their meager menu of options.

"I think we'd better go for the New Farnal connection," he said finally. Arthag grimaced slightly—the equivalent of a shouted protest, coming from an Arpathian—and chan Baskay shrugged.

"I don't like it a lot better than you do," he said, "and I know the horses are going to hate it. But if they've got these dragons, and these 'gryphon' things, we're going to need all the terrain advantage we can get. And if they don't like flying through tree cover like this—" he waved at the leaves overhead again "—then they're going to hate triple-canopy jungle."

"There is that," Arthag agreed. "It's a little further to go, though. If they've really got better horses, they could probably overtake us."

"They'll probably figure we broke back for New Uromath," chan Baskay countered. "They know that's the only way home to Sharona, and, according to Skirvon, that's the only other portal they've actually located and scouted. Besides, they've been working extra hard to keep us from finding out about their dragons. If they think they've succeeded—and they did, after all—then they'll expect us to try to outrun them back to Company-Captain Halifu."

"But if they sweep through here on horseback, they're going to be able to tell which way we actually went."

It could have been a protest, but Arthag's tone was thoughtful, not argumentative.

"I know. But I still think it's our best option."

"So do I." Arthag nodded. "And I think I have an idea about how to ... delay the pursuit just a bit, too."

"On your feet, you fucking son-of-a-bitch!" Sword Keraik Nourm barked.

The wounded Sharonian soldier just looked up at him. The Sharonian's expression was a mix of hatred, shock, disbelief, and pain as he crouched on his knees, cradling a savagely burned left arm against his chest.

"On your feet, godsdamn you!" Nourm snarled, and buried the reinforced toe of his combat boot in the Sharonian's ribs with a brutal kick.