By arm and iron , is change wrought

By one's own hand, the wheel's turning bought.

Of evil to confound the good, I

Gather in the Burlie night,

Breathing out renewed daylight.

From the Lay of Drake by Thavis Wayland

Chord directed the unloading and setup of the cage while the rest of us located adequate nearby cover from which to monitor the trap site. When all were ready, Chord laid his enchantments, opening a small glowing spot within the cage. A rope connected to the now open cage door trailed away behind some brush, where two of the farmers waited, ready to swing shut the trap. This done, Chord also retreated, joining Harold and myself behind another nearby copse. We didn't wait long.

Their black shiny skin glistened, and lambently glowing yellow eyes flashed in the mountain's shadowed vale. Scrabbling claws found easy purchase as they dropped down from the rocky clefts of the mountain's roots. The low keening I had heard before in the cavern elevated the hair on the back of my neck, chilling my spine as they came.

There were six of them, and they loped across the open ground, drawn toward the pulse of the glowing hole within the cage. They sniffed and fingered the bars of the cage, swaying and scuffling. One found the open side, entered, and bending low, slid his face over the bright hole. Another followed quickly, pushing on his pack mate to grovel at the spot, crowding the cage to capacity.

Chord laid his hand on my arm, which had knotted with muscle tension as the grip on my blade tightened, to still my unease. Then he shouted and the two sequestered farmers hauled on the rope, shutting the cage door on the startled Burlies and engaging the simple latch. Chord released my arm and shouted again. Out from behind cover we rushed, yelling and waving as Chord dispersed his spell. The four remaining Burlies jerked alert, clawed hands elevating, eyes focusing on our sudden appearance. The keening increased, and three of the Burlies leaped back from our goading line of beaters to climb the mountain slope and threaten them from safety or disappear into the rocks and rubble.

The last creature stood its ground sweeping long dangerous arms toward Harold and his sons. Unaccountably, I froze, like a startled deer caught in a headlight. Cursing, I thrust myself forward just as one of its sweeps connected with Harold, knocking him down. His sons had done as well as they could, but their cumbersome pole spears were easy for the quick beast to dodge, and it had decided not to be chased off. Large bloody wounds opened on the Seneschal's thigh, and a wet red stain spread over his leggings. Interposing, I slashed at the thing, and it withdrew from the blade. My hesitation had allowed the beast its opportunity to maim Harold, and I felt disgusted with myself.

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Einte rushed the beast from my left, thrusting at it with his spear, fear for his father haunting his face. The Burlie knocked the spear away with one clawed arm as it glared open-mouthed, animal hate radiating from its eyes. Dwayne had meantime dropped his spear, and was dragging his father back from the beast. The other beaters were still busy chasing off the rest of the withdrawing pack, so for a few moments, I would have to hold my own.

Suddenly the Burlie lurched forward, raking at me, shoulders rotating as both extended arms alternately swept for my head. I was angry now, and let rage get the best of me. In no further mood to play at defense, and shamed by my former inactivity, I ducked under its swinging arms and thrust deep into its belly, twisting the steel as I did so.

My arms bulged with effort as I skewered it; my face, reflected in the Burlie's glaring eyes, distorted with the rictus of my clenched teeth. As the blade rotated, a ragged hole ripped open in the tough hide of the monster. Its red life guttered and ran down the steel, slopping onto the ground.

The beast screamed, spasming out the remaining moments of its existence. It slipped loosely off the sword and fell dead at my feet. Almost, I felt surprise at this exhibition of anger, but a strange satisfaction had coursed through me when I had unleashed it. The satisfaction haunted me. True they were, I told myself, only animals, but killing in defense, or for food shouldn't give rise to feelings of hatred or satisfaction. I had never felt these aberrations before. Had this place changed the way I felt about things on such a basic level?

I felt a heat rise in my blade, and perhaps a trick of the fading sun, it briefly infused with a strange glow. A feeling of exaggerated well-being pushed aside the adrenaline of the melee, surging up inside my hammering chest. I stood and wiped the blade clean. I cannot say why I did not question this headiness at the time. It just seemed proper somehow, as if I had set right an imbalance.

Dwayne knelt by his father, intent on wrapping the leg wound tightly with clean cloth.

Having finished his ministrations, he rose, threw me a grateful look, then helped Harold to his feet. Apparently no one had noticed my earlier hesitation, or felt disposed to mention it. The farmers had already threaded long poles through the cage, and with the help of Einte, the four managed the feat of remounting the cage to the cart base.

Still keening, the two trapped Burlies were otherwise passive. I sheathed my blade over my back, and supporting Harold who staggered on weakly, we started off towards the tower. There was no elation over the success of the hunt among my companions. I reminded myself that these people did not consider it sport. Chord eyed the blade and seemed about to speak, but changed his mind, and we marched on quietly for a time, saving our energy for hauling the cart.

We trundled the cage through the cavern entrance and tilted it forward over the oubliette. Einte swung the trap's gate open, and by banging the cage while prodding with long poles, we discharged the things into the depths of the pit. In leaving, I crossed the dais where I had witnessed the rite two nights before. I noticed the sword warming against my back as I did, but kept my curiosity to myself, and said nothing to Chord. We went out twice more, to capture a full count of five beasts, which, adding to those on hand, brought the total number in the pit to eight. It was long after dark, and we were all thoroughly exhausted.

A stack of woolens and thick furs had been heaped on my pallet inside the forge. Mentally thanking Dimanda, I gratefully arranged them to form a comfortable nest for myself, onto which I threw my tired body. Exhausted, I let sleep claim its dominion over me, and sank at once into a deep slumber. Again, my dreams sailed upon strange waters, disturbing and dark.