A Forge of Valor by Morgan Rice

questions, and half the time he spoke he referenced things which Merk would never understand.
    They continued for hours more in silence, trekking through the forest, until finally there came a gushing noise; they emerged from the thick woods to find themselves facing a raging river. Merk was in awe at the sight of the white, foaming waters of the Tanis. There it flowed, its wall of rapids blocking their way, seeming impossible to cross. Yet there was no other way.
    Merk knew he couldn’t just stand here. He began to step forward toward the water, when he felt a firm hand on his chest. He looked at Kyle, puzzled.
    “What is it?” he asked.
    Kyle stared into the wood line. He didn’t say a word—he didn’t have to. Merk could tell he sensed something. The way of Watchers was a mystery.
    Merk had great respect for his friend, and stopped, trusting him. He examined the landscape, the thick woods on the far side of the river, yet he saw nothing.
    “I see nothing,” he said. “Perhaps you are being overly cautious.”
    After a long wait, Merk stepped forward, and Kyle walked beside him, the two entering the clearing and approaching the river’s edge. Merk took a step, wondering if he could brave the rapids, and immediately, the freezing, strong currents nearly knocked him over.
    Merk stumbled back to the safety of shore, realizing they would need some way to cross it. He saw some motion downriver, something bobbing, and he walked along the sand with Kyle until he spotted a small boat tied to a rock, rocking wildly in the currents, just big enough to hold them both.
    “I don’t like it,” Kyle said, coming up beside him.
    “You have another idea?” Merk asked.
    Kyle examined the currents, and the horizon beyond it, but fell silent.
    Merk stepped into the small canoe, nearly falling out as it rocked wildly, and as Kyle got in beside him, he reached over and sliced the rope with his dagger. The boat swayed violently. He pushed off with the oar, and a moment later, they were caught up in the currents, racing downriver.
    Merk and Kyle rowed, struggling to cut across the raging waters, as whitecaps crashed all around them. As they fought their way their small boat nearly turned sideways; Merk felt certain it would capsize.
    Kyle looked in all directions, as if expecting something to attack them, and that kept Merk on edge.
    Finally, though, they were able to get out ahead of the current. They cut across the river, and they reached the other side, dripping wet from the spray.
    They jumped out onto the shore, and no sooner had they set down when the currents took away the boat. Merk turned to watch it shoot downstream, soon lost in a sea of white.
    Kyle stood there and studied the tree line with a concerned expression, still appearing troubled.
    “What is it?” Merk asked again, feeling on edge himself. “Surely if there were something, then—”
    No sooner had he finished uttering the words than he suddenly froze. There came a noise, sounding like a snarl crossed with a howl, one that made his hairs stand. It came from something evil.
    Kyle, still watching, raised his staff.
    “Baylors,” he finally said, his voice ominous.
    “What are—”
    No sooner had Merk uttered the words when out of the tree line there appeared a pack of savage beasts, charging right for them. There were four of them, looking like rhinos, yet with six horns instead of one, and with thick black hides. They each had two long fangs, as sharp as swords, and intense white eyes, and they bore down on Kyle and Merk, the thunder of their hooves shaking the ground.
    Merk turned and looked back at the gushing river, and realized they were trapped.
    “We can swim,” Merk said, realizing it might be better to take their chances in the rapids.
    “So can they,” Kyle replied.
    Merk felt a cold dread climb up his back. The baylors closed in, now hardly twenty yards away, the sound thunderous, and Merk, not knowing what else to do, reached up with his