Clovache was creeping closer to Geit, inch by inch. The sun finally made its way through the trees of the swamp. A ray glinted off something in the air around Geit.
“Freeze where you are,” Batanya commanded. For the first time in ten years, she wasn’t sure Clovache would obey.
But she did, at least for this moment.
“There’s a trap right in front of you,” Batanya said. “It shines when the light hits it.”
“I see it now,” Clovache said, after a long moment of silence.
“Throw a rock through,” Vandler suggested. “Or a stick. Anything.”
“Try it,” Batanya said, after mulling it over.
Clovache reached down to pull a branch from the sticky earth. With some caution, she scooted forward a bit and held her arm directly in front of the circle of the trap. In one quick move, she tossed the stick through and snatched her arm back. There was a clear, but small, popping sound.
Instead of falling back to the ground, the stick was suspended in midair, rotating along with Geit.
“Crap,” Clovache said. The trap was sprung.
Batanya heard the slightest noise in the brush behind her and knew they’d been diverted for too long.
“Ready!” she said. Though Vandler was puzzled for a moment, Clovache wheeled, her back to the oblivious Geit. Clovache drew her gun in one hand and a knife in the other. Batanya leaped into the tiny clearing, glad to discover it was solid, and turned to face the other side.
Vandler came with them. He caught on instantly and raised his hands, popping a shell around them.
The first volley of weapons bounced off the shell. Those were the fierce spears that had wreaked such havoc with the first team. Vandler’s shield held for the blast, but shivered. “Won’t hold them for much more of that,” he said.
“Thanks,” Batanya said. It might be the last thing she ever said to Vandler. Since he’d stopped bitching and started helping, it was the least she could do.
Clovache screamed, not a shriek of pain or fear, but an attackalert. She fired, her Salton gun making the softtat, tatknown through many worlds. Two of the attackers fell before they had a chance to retrieve their spears.
There was one of those odd pauses that can happen in the middle of a fight. None of the attackers were quite within range, and it seemed they were not going to throw more spears.
Into this pause ran a young man, maybe seventeen, his copper hair streaming behind him. He wore only a loincloth and was waving his arms while yelling.
Batanya couldn’t understand him, but she was pretty sure he was saying, “Stop! Stop!”
The war party came out of their concealment. They appeared to be led by a tall woman with golden skin and long copper hair, tied back.
The boy deliberately stepped between the war party and the Britlingens and began to deliver a long harangue, his hands gesturing wildly.
Batanya took advantage of the moment to examine the Coturigans. They were definitely golden, taller than the Britlingens, and they were robust. In this tropical climate, all the locals were dressed in some kind of covering between the waist and the knees, but otherwise they were a clothing-optional crowd. A few of them carried spears, but those had been thrown, except for the tall woman’s weapon. A few carried bows and arrows, machetes, and slings. The rest were armed with knives and clubs.
Batanya could reach two spears that had been stopped by Vandler’s shield. She crouched to pull them under Vandler’s protective spell. She herself might not be skilled in spear throwing, but at least the hostiles would not have them.
Then she watched the result of the young man’s oratory.
It was clear the attack team was dismayed.
“Maybe they were lucky with the first crew?” Clovache said.
“I think the boy has magical training,” Vandler said. He was so full of curiosity he sounded like a different man. “He’s very young. But some of his hand movements look familiar.”
“He’s the one keeping Geit up in the air?” Batanya said.
Vandler shook his head. “No, that’s a crude and almost made-up spell. If I had to guess, I’d say it was the woman. I think she’s his mother.”
“Huh. Can you talk to him?”
