Tale the Seventh

Mateo was not a Seeker’s apprentice for no reason, though he did lack a Seeker’s training, the sharpening and heightening of his senses that would have alerted Wari to the presence of enemies, and he did not have the instinctive link with people that he had with animals. He was also not a legend among Tappuah’s woodsmen and hunters for no reason. He was aware of something amiss in the yard outside almost as soon as he left the door of the house.

Rather than halting, thereby letting whoever was waiting for him know that he was aware of their presence, he continued walking and retained what little advantage surprise gave him. They waited until he was halfway down the walk to the street, out of easy earshot from the house, and then Mateo felt the shift of air, heard the quiet tread of two foes behind as another rose before him. Hands stretched for him, moving swiftly in the night air with only a whisper of sound.

It was enough for Mateo. He dropped and rolled out of the way, coming up on his feet, hand reflexively reaching over his shoulder for an arrow. His fingers struck only the fabric of his dove-gray jacket.

"Fewmets," he said softly, and raised his empty hands instead, turning slightly to keep all three in his sight. They stood in the moon-silvered darkness of the grassy lawn, he on the rectangle of light stretching from the brightly illuminated house, though this far out the light had dissipated enough to be of little help.

"What do you want, Zoan?" Mateo asked. He did not have to see the tallest youth's face to know it was Servant Hyran's son. "No, let me guess. You are angered that Hikano was spared the cruelty of your archery contest, and wish to make me a target in his place? I'll wager your fists hit bull's eyes much more often than your arrows do." He was astonished by how glibly the sarcastic words came. This was nowhere near as hard as talking to Joqirl or Arandfel or even Wari had been.

"I told you, Zoan," one of the other youths said. His voice was disgusted. "Ambushes of Seekers always fail."

"Shut your gob," Zoan snapped. "You didn't sound quite so certain when you said that few minutes ago. And he's not a Seeker--he's just a mouthy little wildboy!"

Mateo stomped his foot. "Enough of that. Whatever I am, your ambush did, indeed, fail. What are you going to do? Come at me three on one? Your courage is inspiring--I'm sure there will be many ballads sung of your nobility and courage when we are all gaffers rocking by the fire."

The other two stepped forward, fists raised in outrage, but Zoan held out a hand to warn them back. "Nay, he is right." The cruel youth's voice was calm and thoughtful, somehow all the more hard and cold for its lack of passion. "I acted unworthily, bringing you two into it. This is between the little barbarian and myself."

The two grumbled, but lowered their fists and stayed where they were. Mateo, eyes now adjusted to the deeper darkness here, recognized them as Stej and Brok, the two who had been most eager, besides Zoan, to take their turns shooting at Hikano. Both were Zoan's size or larger, and easily dwarfed the boy from the Mingled Forest. If they had gotten their hands on him, he would not have been able to twist free.

"How about it, wildboy?" Zoan said. "You and me. Right here, right now. Stej and Brok will referee." He stepped into the rectangle of light as if entering a sparring box, blue eyes level and confident.

"Oh, yes, that will be much more fair," Mateo said, fighting to keep the tremble out of his voice. "I've never been in a fist-fight in my life!"

Zoan slipped off his jacket and handed it to Brok, then unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled them up. "Then this will be very educational for you."

"I will learn to fight under your instruction? As well throw a toddler into a lake to teach him to swim!"

Zoan flashed a white, predatory grin, looking very much like his father. "Learn to fight? Did I say I would teach you how to fight? Nay! I'd much rather teach you how to take a beating."

A lesson I've learned a thousand times over, Mateo tried to say, but the words stuck somewhere in his throat. The number was more of an estimate than an exaggeration.

It wasn't a very threatening brag to throw out, in any case. Mateo stopped trying and slowly shrugged out of his jacket, then followed his enemy's example in pushing his cuffs to his elbows.

"I'll let you throw the first punch," Zoan said, voice suggesting that he was an indulgent uncle offering sweets to a small nephew. "Come--give me the best you've got."

Mateo looked down at his hands and tentatively, experimentally clenched a fist. No, that wouldn't work--the thumb should curl outside the fingers, unless he wanted torn skin or dislocated knuckles. He loosed the fist and tried again.

Zoan watched this process with his usual proud, self-satisfied smirk. Mateo looked up at him, and the Servant's son nodded and placed his hands on his hips, baring his stomach for a blow. He lifted his chin and smiled heroically, posing like some warrior of old in an engraving. "Come, wildboy, strike me as hard as you can."

Mateo hesitated, biting his lip. Slowly he drew back his fist, cocked it . . .

And went for a sweeping kick at Zoan's legs, trying to knock him down.

Zoan yelled in rage as Mateo's foot connected with his knee. He lunged forward instead of falling down, keeping upright quite easily. His left hand caught a fistful of Mateo's shirt, hauling him up, and the right fist landed two blows on Mateo's face before the smaller boy realized what was happening.

Mateo got in a couple of inexpert blows on Zoan's midsection, but the muscles there felt as stiff as hardpacked dirt, and he couldn't imagine that he'd made much of an impression. Meanwhile Zoan's fists kept up a steady rat-a-tat-tat on Mateo's head and shoulders, practiced and confident. Mateo only barely suppressed his yelps.

A particularly well-placed blow to the temple knocked Mateo dizzy, and he reeled, his shirt ripping in Zoan's fist. Mateo fell, trying to raise his arms to protect his head, trying to convince himself that this was still slightly better than if he'd been caught and held by Stej and Brok. Both ways Zoan was going to give him a thorough thrashing, but at least this way he'd gotten in a few licks for himself.

"Here! What's this then? Get off him!"

The new voice was loud, getting louder as its owner approached, and Mateo thought, hazily, that he ought to recognize it. The blows stopped as Zoan was hauled off him. Mateo peered up through a fog and saw Constable Ingfred holding Zoan by the scruff of the neck, shaking him like a naughty pup. Stej and Brok were nowhere in sight.

"What do you think you're doing, beating up Mateo?" Ingfred asked.

Mateo tried to rise and failed, falling back on the dewy grass. At last he got an elbow under himself, and blotted ineffectively at his bloody nose with his other hand. "I'm well, Ingfred," he croaked. "Don't hurt him."

The constable glanced at him worriedly. He let go of Zoan's neck, but kept a hold on his arm. "I cannot believe your father will be pleased," he said to the Servant's son.

"He'll be much more displeased by your actions, manhandling me like this," Zoan said, his anger cold.

"What will the Seeker say when he sees what you've done to his apprentice?"

"Ask him yourself." Zoan nodded at the house. "Here he comes."

Mateo lost a few heartbeats, then, and the next he knew, Seeker Wari's hands were on his shoulders, holding him up. Wari's voice was as worried as it had been that first day, when he had found Mateo in a similar state.

"Mateo, my lad, are you injured? Where are you hurt?"

"Just my nose," he answered as strongly as he could, dabbing at it again. "Ingfred stopped him."

"Here." For a second time, Wari whipped out his kerchief. He folded it in fourths and held it to the boy's nose. "Lean forward and pinch it shut."

Mateo obediently laid his head on his raised knees, pressing the cloth to his face. Wari left a hand on his back and looked up at Ingfred, Zoan, and Tyat, who had again followed him when he felt the heartcall and ran to answer it. The Servant's son looked entirely unrepentant, and his face bore no marks testifying to the brutal fisticuff he had just engaged in.

"Did this truly compensate for the pleasure you lost earlier?" Wari asked the handsome youth. "Do you feel better now?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Zoan said, lifting his chin.

The Seeker resisted the angry words that sprang to his lips. After a moment he said slowly, gravely, "I pray that your heart will be softened. You turn toward a path that will lead you only downward."

Zoan shrugged expressively, rolling his eyes.

Wari sighed through his nose and looked at Ingfred. "Let him go, friend. If he can enjoy the rest of the evening, it is on his own conscience." It was not enough, but he could not repay the youth for what he had done. Not as he wished to.

Zoan shook free of the constable's grip and stalked off to the house, pausing only long enough to scoop up his jacket. Tyat and Ingfred glared after him, similar darkness in their two sets of brown eyes.

Wari gently rubbed Mateo's back, feeling the old scar-ridges through the thin shirt. He looked at Ingfred. "How did you know to come?"

The big man blinked. "I saw Zoan leave the drapes next to where Mateo and me were talking. When I saw him get two friends and go out the back way, I thought I better follow. I'm sorry it took me so long--Zoan like to've killed the boy before I got here." He paused, looking at the Seeker quizzically. "How did you know to come?"

"Twice I felt that Mateo was in trouble, and twice I was correct. This was no fluke." He looked at Tyat apologetically. "I'm sorry our dance was interrupted, though--it was the best I've enjoyed for years."

Tyat smiled the gentlest smile Ingfred had ever seen her wear. Her nod seemed to say all that was needed.

"I don't understand," Ingfred complained.

Wari's hand brushed over Mateo's short curls. He crouched closer to the boy, including him in this explanation. "I do not understand it either, friend Ingfred. I've never experienced it before, though others have described it to me. Mateo and I--you and I, young one--we have somehow formed a bond, a link in the Spirit Dimension. They are rare, and very strong. When you were shocked and horrified earlier, and when you were in pain just now, I felt it, so I came. It is possible that the bond works both ways, and if I am ever in distress, you will know it."

Mateo stirred under the Seeker's hand, then finally raised his head, still holding the now-bloody kerchief to his nose. "More than possible," he said, voice raspy and somewhat stuffy. "I think it is almost certain. I hope we never need test it."

Wari laughed gently. "In our calling, young one, that is more than 'almost certain.' It is impossible to avoid."

The boy smiled slightly, beautiful despite the puffiness of his face, the dark swellings around his eyes. When he removed the kerchief, blood still crusted his cheeks and upper lip, though it had stopped flowing. The nice shirt was quite ruined.

"I'll get some water," Ingfred said abruptly, and took himself off.

Tyat gracefully knelt next to the man and boy and put a hand on Mateo's shoulder. "Are you all right, sweetie? That must have been awful."

"I'm well." The boy blinked suddenly and looked down at the kerchief in his hand. His voice was very small and young. "But I want to go home."

Wari hugged his shoulders. "As soon as we clean you up a little and say our farewells, and I recommend to Servant Hyran that his son be restricted to the house on bread and water and hard labor for at least a month." That would not be enough, either.

"Sounds about right." Tyat nodded briskly, then got to her feet. "I'll fetch Apple."

Tyat drove at a much more sedate pace on the way back, a change Wari deeply appreciated. He was too drained to enjoy the dangerous speed she loved.

Mateo felt the same way, no doubt. He lay in the cart-bed with his head pillowed on the sleeping Hikano's stomach, bruised face tilted toward the stars as he gazed up, too sober to be enjoying the sight much. Wari sensed the boy's desire for silence and said nothing, until one of his frequent glances back caught Mateo's eyes shut, body limp in repose.

The Seeker turned forward again, feeling his tight expression relax at last. He had not realized how grim he must have looked. Tyat saw the change and smiled, her usually brilliant grin somewhat subdued.

"You care for the boy, very much," she stated quietly.

The night breeze carried the scent of sweet grass to Wari's nostrils. He nodded matter-of-factly. "Mateo cannot believe it, I think. I've seen how he looks at me--always testing, making sure the earth is still firm under his feet. At least he no longer trembles when I touch his shoulder."

Tyat nodded, staring at Apple. The horse was quivering, ready to break into a run at any second. Tyat tugged gently on the reins, holding him back. "You would cheerfully have beaten Zoan as badly as he beat Mateo."

Wari shivered, unnerved that she could so easily pierce his most hidden thoughts. "It . . . did cross my mind," he admitted slowly. "I never thought myself capable of hitting a child. But what he did to Mateo . . . You have noticed Mateo's troubles, have you not? You are too observant to have missed them. My heart burns when I think of what that boy suffered in the days and years before I found him. What happened tonight was only a silly, boyish fight. But when I saw Mateo's face, for a moment I thought . . ."

The Seeker shivered again. "If thoughts were reality, Zoan would be dead. It is a darkness I didn't know I had within me."

Tyat shook her head, lovely forehead wrinkled. "There is no shame in wishing to protect your ward."

"But there is shame is wishing to kill. It was only a half-heartbeat thought, and I have already asked the King's forgiveness. But if I ever lost control, what could I be capable of?"

"You will never lose control," Tyat said conclusively. "You will never let your heart grow so weak. And Jah will guard you. Do not fear, Wari. That is what Kataphage wants."

"Yes . . ." Wari stared at the gap between the wooden planks under his feet. Below he saw the rocks of the path, silver in the moonlight. "Kataphage always did love to build up doubts, make fears worse than the reality." He sat up straight and looked into his companion's deep brown eyes. "I take your advice, mistress. Perhaps it is time to speak of something else."

Tyat laughed, but softly, mindful of the sleeping boy and dog behind them. "I much enjoyed our dance."

Wari felt himself tense up again, but not so tightly as before. "Why do you choose that subject?" he asked, mock-embarrassed.

"Because it was the only part of the evening I enjoyed at all." She chuckled again. "You move with surprising grace and skill, and knew the steps perfectly. Are you sure you didn't grow up in Maychoria Castle?"

"Of course not," he said with exaggerated indignation. "I grew up in a small Maychorian village a day's journey south of the Tappuan border. But when my friend Tirzah was called to be Prince of Maychoria, I journeyed with him to the capital."

Tyat's smile grew gradually broader and brighter, complementing the light from the almost-full moon. "And you learned all a Prince learns, hey?"

Wari's eyes grew suddenly dark as memory claimed him. The gaiety fell from him like an ill-fitting cloak. "Not all." He hesitated, then went on. If Mateo could find the courage to share hard memories, even if not all of them, Wari could, too. "It was in Maychoria Castle that I first understood my own call, the call of a Seeker. I was--it . . . there were . . . complications. It was my own fault, how difficult it was. My stubbornness had a high price, causing a great deal of pain."

Tyat's eyes were calm and understanding, accepting without question everything he said, accepting him. Her gaze tugged on him like an ebb tide-current, slow and inexorable. Wari felt himself being drawn to the comfort her eyes offered as surely and lethally as a starving animal drawn to the smell of a hunter's meal.

No. Wari jerked his eyes to the path ahead, swallowing his desire. This was not the time, nor the place. And he could not be unfaithful to his task, to--

"You knew the steps just as well," he interrupted himself, mock-cheerfulness not teasing, but forced. "But I heard the rude murmurs calling you an uncultured hill woman. Where did you learn?"

Tyat laughed darkly. "I think that is another tale for another time, my friend. But . . . I did grow up in the hills. My people are wanderers, wild as the herds of feral horses that run there. I feel trapped, even in the little 'civilization' hereabouts. I can't wait to clear up these troubles and get back to my people."

She quieted, and he felt no need to break the silence. An owl's wings swept up and down in silent majesty, giant eyes burning the air as it searched for prey, an edge of feathers and a gold glint the Seeker caught on the corner of his vision. A rabbit was eating roots on the hill to their right, tiny nibbles only barely audible. The stars shimmered peacefully.

Tyat gestured with her furled riding whip. "Ho, up there ahead! The lights of Ranof's holding. They've waited up for you."

Wari saw the lights with mingled relief and regret. She was a complex woman, this Tyat Morelo--she pulled on him in a hundred different ways, not all of them pleasant. Part of him--perhaps the wiser part--could not wait to jump down from the cart and get away from her confusing presence. But before they halted at Ranof's holding, he looked at her firm profile, the starlight in her hair, and vowed he would not forget the sight.

Wari clambered into the cart-bed when they pulled up, but hesitated to wake Mateo. The boy looked so comfortable and at peace despite the dark blotches on his face, his arms outflung in childlike serenity. A sudden burst of emotion welled in the Seeker's chest like tears. Yes, he wanted to protect this young lad; he wanted to turn back the pages of the years and protect him from everything.

Though the Seeker did not move or speak, the ceasing of the cart's motion or the slight chill of Wari's faint moon-shadow crossing his face must have woken Mateo. He started up with a gasp, and the moment broke, scattered on the night breeze. Sadness touched Wari's heart--it was too late to protect this boy from the past. The pages of time turned only forward, never back. It was too late to prevent the instinctive flinch on waking, the wariness that replaced the peace in Mateo's battered face. It was even too late to prevent the bruises Zoan had administered--Wari had failed to protect his apprentice from that, too.

"All is well," Wari said quickly, catching Mateo's shoulder as he rose. "We're home."

Mateo blinked at him for a moment, then raised his hand to rub his eyes and winced when he touched the bruises. Then comprehension returned and he nodded, yawned, and turned to rouse Hikano. Wari gathered their packs.

Ranof and Vemáley had come out to meet them, though their children were evidently already abed. The shepherd and his wife gasped when Hikano jumped down from the cart. "What is that?" Vemáley asked.

Wari smiled as he climbed down behind the big dog. Mateo gingerly followed. "He is Mateo's friend Hikano, the dog we told you about."

"Dog!" Ranof shook his head incredulously. "It looks more like a small pony! But I thought you said Servant Hyran had taken him in?"

Wari started to respond, but Vemáley gasped again and rushed forward to take Mateo's face in her hands. "Wind and rain, child, what happened to you?" Gently, she turned his head to examine his bruises in the dim light.

Hikano growled, suspicious of her intentions in handling Mateo, but the boy held out a hand to calm him. "Peace, Hikano. Vemáley--and Ranof--are friends."

"Who did this to you?" Vemáley demanded, releasing Mateo's face. "It is completely intolerable!"

"Only bruises," Mateo protested, looking uncomfortable.

"That they are, and completely intolerable, on the face of a child! What happened?"

"It is a long tale," Wari said. "And I believe Mateo wants only to go to sleep. Would you hear it from my lips instead?"

"Of course." Ranof stepped forward to wrap an arm about his wife. "We look forward to it."

"I'll leave you to it," Tyat said. "Apple needs a good run, to work off his nervous energy."

They said their farewells and thanks, saw Tyat off on her swift, cart-ruining way, and went inside the cottage. After the boy and dog had stumbled off to bed, Wari told Ranof and Vemáley all that had happened. They were attentive listeners, and offered sensible, optimistic counsel when he was through. Seeker appreciated their friendship, and enjoyed this talk much more than any of the others he'd had that evening.

Mateo lay awake for awhile, listening to the murmur of adult conversation on the other side of the wall. It was a soothing sound, one he was coming to associate with the shepherd family's home, the peace he felt within these four walls. He wondered if this was how most children felt when they knew their parents were in the other room--safe, protected, all's-right-with-the-world.

Hikano was a warm, assuring bulk across Mateo's shins, already asleep and snoring softly. Thanas, on the floor, wheezed a gentle counterpoint. Mateo sleepily wondered whether he himself made any noises in the night.

Mateo's face throbbed, but not too badly. He knew the pain would be almost gone by morning. Strange how quickly he'd gotten used to not hurting when he lay down to sleep. And this wasn't even close to as bad as . . .

He half-expected the memories to flood him again, but his sleepiness, and the comfort he felt in this house, seemed to hold them off. He could deal with them later. The exhausted youth drifted off, floating peacefully in a sea of starlit darkness.

Mateo's dreams returned that night.

Farig Solma, known better in some circles as Namágol, the Shadowhand, favored the garrote. It was quiet and easy to conceal, but deadly in the right hands. He was fingering his now. The garrote hung about his throat as a necklace cord, bearing a single silver symbol hidden under his shirt.

It was the symbol of the Golbora Guild. The Shadow Guild.

Namágol had not lied when he'd given his name as Farig Solma. Nor would he have been lying if he'd given his name as Seren Wanderer, Umit Linden, Prester son of Toblias, Fridas Naphu, or any number of others. He could have even said a name he'd borne almost a decade and a half ago, one from another world, another dimension. George Colburn.

Seeker Wari thought he was so clever, puzzling out the intricate shades of meaning behind the ambiguous words Namágol had used. Poor jerk didn't have a clue. The assassin really had expected it to be much more difficult, duping a Madran Seeker. But that was just part of his gift, the unique gift that belonged to those not of this dimension.

"Our friend the Seeker was entirely taken in," Estaed said to Servant Hyran, echoing Namágol's thoughts. The assassin chose to pay attention to their conversation again. "Master Solma seems to have completely fooled him."

The wool merchant's vacant mask had been dropped now, in the privacy of the Servant's office. Namágol felt a faint admiration for such accomplished acting. Estaed's suety expression was now as cold and ruthless as any Namágol had seen on his fellow assassins.

The handsome Servant nodded. "And all is in readiness for the morrow?"

Gordath nodded. The scabbed cuts on his arms and face looked quite livid in the lamplight, and Namágol was mildly curious about where they had come from. "All is in readiness," the Chief Constable said. "The horses are penned just out of sight of the common green. The Seeker won't suspect a thing."

"What about the little apprentice?" Namágol said, startling them all. He hadn't spoken for awhile. "He has some kind of bond with the animals." Little Doctor Doolittle, he thought, and chuckled inwardly at the joke nobody in this world would understand.

"Rumors," Estaed snorted, but Hyran shook his head.

"Truth. Remember how wild that dog used to be? Constable Ingfred is not the only one impressed by the lad's taming of the beast. We three saw proof of it tonight, and Gordath saw it yesterday."

"No matter," Gordath said. "By the time they sense any trouble, it will be far too late. And maybe the Seeker won't bring his lad tomorrow."

"Unlikely," Namágol said, and they shut up again. They knew his opinions carried weight. "That boy is as dear to him as the sun, moon, and stars. It is clear in his face."

Hyran nodded thoughtfully. "Then it will be well to capture them both."

Namágol tuned out the rest of the conversation. Really, he couldn't care less about what they did with the Seeker and the boy once they had them. By then his job would be done, and he would travel on in search of another challenge.

It would have been a great challenge, indeed, to assassinate a Seeker. That would have been a task worthy of Namágol's talent and expertise. Too bad they only wanted to capture this one. It was turning out to be far too easy. Oh well. He would get his chance, someday.

The man who had once been George Colburn of Terra fingered his garrote and smiled.

Mateo stood in the cottage he and his father shared in the Mingled Forest, a broken longbow in his hand, a quiverful of useless arrows scattered at his feet. He stared around, almost witless. At least his father was gone on one of his trips, but why were all the walls so full of windows, huge glass windows that let him see in every direction? Mateo could have seen for leagues, if there hadn't been this odd gray fog obscuring the view a few paces out.

Familiar dread pressed Mateo's heart, grinding as between the stones in a mill. And yet it wasn't his father he was afraid of, not this time. It felt like he already knew exactly what was going to happen, as if he'd had this dream before. But he knew he hadn't.

Despite his strange foreknowledge, it was a shock when the dead white face appeared at one of the windows, leering. Mateo fell back with a gasp, clutching the splintered bow to his chest. The face was human, but twisted and almost bloated, corpselike. Dead white fingers clawed at the window's bottom, trying to push it open.

Mateo gasped again and lurched forward, dropping the bow to seize the wooden frame around the glass and slam it down. What insanity was this? Sliding windows? What lunatics would leave their home so vulnerable, with big, moving windows and no shutters?

There, a catch, halfway up the window on a wood bar that crossed the glass horizontally. Mateo's fingers fumbled with the strange mechanism, then shoved it to the right with a reassuring click. The monster outside snarled horribly and slithered, smooth and quick as cold spoiled milk, to lay its obscene fingers on the next window. It was so fast!

Mateo raced to get ahead of it, to hold the glass down, to turn the catch. They ran all around the cottage in that fashion, the creature outside hurrying to each window succession, Mateo only barely getting each window locked before the wormlike fingers found their entrance. His heart was surging hard and fast against his ribs, the blood rushing dizzily to his head. He thought he would faint from fear; black mist pushed at his temples.

"No!" They ended at the door, Mateo pulling the bolt to just in time. He stumbled back, panting, looking for a weapon. The creature outside appeared human, but it wasn't, features somehow, undefinably, off. This Katamobic corpse was much more horrifying than any other demonic creature Mateo had ever seen.

As he had known he would, Mateo found a shortbow and scooped up an arrow, nocking it with shaking fingers. Then the growl behind, and he whirled, gasping, to face the creature that had somehow found its way in despite his efforts. It smiled death at the terrified Mateo and quickly, impossibly, morphed before his eyes into an enormous Katamobic wolf-wildcat, far too big to be real, smiling that same white death, black death, death of soul and heart and mind.

Mateo stepped backward and lifted the bow, drawing the arrow's fletching to his right ear. As he had known it would, the bow cracked in half. Mateo fell as the monster leaped on him, and cracked his head on the wood floor, tibian-sharp claws tearing his chest and shoulders. His hand grasped frantically for a weapon and found only an empty waterskin, seams split up one side.

Yet he knew, impossibly, that he was going to beat this unbeatable foe, beat it with this holed waterskin.

Ridiculous. But it was so.

He was going to get terribly mauled in the process, but he was going to beat it, against all odds, against all sanity. Later someone would come and gather him up as he lay unable to move, would bind his wounds and hold him as he wept, and somehow it would all be worth it.

But the fight was going to be long and hard, and it was going to hurt horribly. Mateo decided he didn't want to deal with it at that moment. Without even a cognizant effort, just that whisp of a thought, Mateo woke up.

It was not yet dawn. Mateo sat trembling in bed, staring at the open window of Thanas's lean-to and trying to convince himself that it was only a dream.

--end tale the seventh

Comments: I had a dream just like this a couple of weeks ago. The only differences were that the shortbow was a modern crossbow that split when I tried to use it, the holed waterskin was a big blue balloon, and the monster owed more to the dinosaurs of Jurassic Park than to the demons of my own fantasy world. It was the first nightmare I've had for years, and very disturbing, but also kinda cool.

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