Quag Keep by Andre Norton Page B

else but what the wizard had impressedupon them—that concentration could change the arbitrary roll of the dice. Concentrate he did. Dice spun, slowed. Milo concentrated—another turn, another—so much he did achieve, he was certain, by his efforts.
    Moving with the utmost caution, the swordsman arose, drew his blade, brought his shield into place. Now he could hear sounds, clicking of hooves against the stones and gravel of the shrunken river.
    Two men rode into view. They bore weapons but neither swords nor long daggers were at the ready, nor was the crossbow, strapped to the saddle of the second, under his hand. It would seem that they had no suspicion of any danger ahead.
    Two men. Where was the third—the magic worker?
    Milo hoped that Naile would not attack until they learned that. However, it was Yevele who moved out. Instead of drawn steel she held in her hands a hoop woven of grass. This she raised to her mouth, blowing through it. He saw her lips shape a distinct puff. There came a shrill whistling out of the air overhead, seemingly directly above the two riders.
    They halted, nor did the leader, who had been bending forward to mark the signs of any trail, straighten up. It was as if both men and mounts had been suddenly frozen in the same position they held at the beginning of that sound.
    Milo recognized the second rider—Helagret, the beast dealer they had met in the market place in Greyhawk. His companion wore half-armor—mainly mail. His head was covered by one of those caps ending in a dangling streamer at the back, which might be speedily drawn forward and looped about the throat and lower part of the face. This suggested that his employment was not that of a fighter but rather a skulker, perhaps even athief. The crossbow was not his only armament. At his belt hung a weapon that was neither dagger nor sword in length but between those two. That he used it skillfully Milo had no doubt.
    There was a limit to the spell Yevele had pronounced, Milo knew. But though they had so immobilized two of the enemy (which was an improvement on an outright ambush), there was still that third.
    Milo waited, tense and ready, for
his
answer to Yevele’s action.
    Afreeta was heard before she was seen—her hissing magnified. Now, with a beat of wings so fast that they could hardly be distinguished, save as a troubling of the air, she came into sight, hung so for a moment, and was gone again downstream. Milo made a quick decision. If the spell vanished, surely Naile and Yevele could between them handle the two men in plain sight. It was evident that the pseudo-dragon had located the third member of the party and was urging that she be followed to that one’s hiding place.
    The swordsman stepped out of concealment, saw the eyes of the two captives fasten on him, though even their expressions could not change, nor could they turn their heads to watch him. On the other side of the stream Naile appeared, his axe swinging negligently in one hand, his boar-topped helm crammed so low on his head that its shadow masked his face. He lifted a hand to Milo and then pointed downstream. Apparently the same thought had crossed his mind.
    As Milo twisted and turned among the rocks and bushes, so did the berserker keep pace with him on the other side of the flood, leaving Yevele to guard the prisoners. Seemingly Nailehad no doubts about her ability to do so. Had her spell-casting answered to concentration on her bracelet, thus giving it added force? Milo hoped fervently that was so.
    Naile’s hand went up to signal a halt. That the were possessed senses he could not himself hope to draw upon, Milo well knew. He drew back into the shadow of one of the wind-tortured trees, watching Naile, for all his bulk, melt into a pile of rocks and drift.
    There was no sound of hooves this time to herald the coming of that third rider. But he was now in plain sight, almost as if he had materialized out of sand and rock.