The trip through the forest went smoothly, but when they crossed into the grasslands again Ezhno began by setting fire to the grasses.

“This will deprive Poplar and Tupi of their advantage for a bit, but we won’t be able to do it for long. Keep practicing your awareness of their movements.”

Mato wasn’t sure what to make of their return trip to Nambe. They burned the grass off along the trail, which annoyed the wisdoms greatly. They stopped doing it when they encountered their first caravan moving along their route. It wouldn’t do to burn other travelers.

This put Mato and Ezhno both on high alert. For the final three days they slept in shifts, and tried to introduce tricks into the situation as well. They would set up their shade cloths and bedrolls, then slip out and sleep under a shrub or tree. The constant strain affected the finders and seekers too.

Some of them made more effort to be friendly with the priests, while Moki, Otaktay, and a few others copied Ezhno and set watches.

There was some excitement at one of the wells. When Mato approached it, a creature the size of his head, with eight spider-like legs and two pincered arms, leaped out of the well and rushed him. It had the head of a raccoon, instead of a body, and a jointed tail with a stinger.

He backed away, watching the horrid looking thing. More of them boiled out of the well, clicking their claws and spreading out to surround him.

Mato pulled through his guardian pairing, hardening his flesh. The first one reached him and tried to sting. The barb on its tail went through his boot leather, but could not pierce his leg.

Then the finders descended on them. The monsters had no defense against spirit blades, and fourteen young men made short work of the hundred or so creatures.

After that they had the fun part. Ezhno made them take turns climbing down the well to clean out all of the eggs. The eggs were clusters of bright orange spheres about the size of a pea. They covered the inside of the well almost completely, in a layer several inches thick.

Ezhno showed them how to steam the eggs in a leaf, then eat them. Mato wasn’t sure about it at first, but they were salty, richly flavored, and had a nice, smooth consistency once they popped. Everyone ate until their stomachs were stretched. Then they threw the rest away. There was easily enough left to feed two hundred people, but Ezhno said they would be spoiled by morning.

The following day they were making good time, and came around a bend in the trail to find another cohort resting and eating in the shade beneath some trees.

“These are not trusted trail masters,” Ezhno said quietly, then went to greet them.

Initially everything went well. The seekers were hungry for any information about the trip, and Mato shared what he could. The change in route beyond the gorge got their attention, and they soaked up the battle with the draxotherm like they had never heard an exciting story before.

When Poplar and Tupi arrived they pulled the new cohort’s wisdoms to the side. It wasn’t lost on Mato that Ice Foot was one of them. Ezhno told him Elki was the other. They talked for a few minutes, then summoned their trailmasters.

“They will try to kill us and hide the existence of the child,” Mato said.

Ezhno nodded. “I suspect you are right.”

“What should we do?”

“Avoid battle. A duel with training swords would be acceptable, but killing four priests and two trail masters… We must not do that.”

Mato relaxed a bit. Ezhno seemed to think they were more than a match for the other six, and Mato trusted his judgment.

The group walked toward them. “What is this heresy you speak of me?” Elki demanded.

Mato signaled Ezhno to wait. Then he stepped forward and drew his blade. The others hissed and drew their own, but Mato placed his blade on the ground in front of himself. Then he retrieved Ezhno’s drawing from his sword sheath.

Ezhno had done a very good job. The sketch was detailed, and Mato could almost believe the image might move at any time. He held it up for them to see.

“My teacher drew what we saw. The thema were adamant that the father was named Elki.”

“Give me that,” Elki snapped as he lunged forward.

Mato put up his shield, then carefully folded the sketch and returned it to his sheath. He picked his sword up, and put it away.

Meanwhile they were even more upset by the shield.

“What is this trickery?” Ice Foot demanded. “You were not touching your sword.”

“He has an unapproved pairing on his back and chest,” Tupi said.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“What?” Ice Foot thundered. “Sorcery! You lay with the thema. That is why they gave you this power. And now you accuse one of the faithful of committing your own crimes!” His voice rose to a near screech.

“Mato,” Ezhno called. “Put the shield around them.”

He let the shield drop and snapped another in place over the priests and trail masters. That got gasps and shouts from the new cohort, who had no experience with the decaying relationship between Ezhno, Tupi, and Poplar.

Elki tried to cut his way out. His forest blade cut through the shield with sufficient effort, but the shield reformed right behind the blade. It didn’t seem to cause any strain on Mato, so he let Elki continue.

“Silent,” Moki shouted at the new cohort. After a few seconds they decided to listen. “There is no way for you to make a decision here. These are arguments far above our level. Be calm, and allow the wisdoms and trail masters to work this out. As you can see, Mato and Ezhno have not injured anyone. Trust me, if they wished to fight, all six of these men would be dead.”

Tupi pulled Elki back from the shield, then raised his blade and pointed it at Mato. Light and sparks surged around it, and Mato dropped the shield in favor of pulling hard through the pairing.

The blast hit him in the chest and hurled him back, flipping and rolling in the grass.

“Perhaps you have forgotten, Moki Eagle Wing, who the keepers of Abo’s wisdom are,” Tupi said. He stepped forward and took a strange stance, with his blade held straight up, hilt in front of his chest, and gripped in both hands.

Mato rolled onto his belly, then pushed himself to his feet. His shirt was a ruin, but his skin was only mildly burned. He seemed to be alright.

His sword came up in a more orthodox, one-handed stance, and he moved toward Tupi. He could feel his protection rebuilding. It would be good to delay another blast like that.

Mato pulled through the warrior, and things around him clarified. He flashed Ezhno a hand signal to be wary, then focused on Tupi. The initial clash surprised him. It was a flurry of high blows that seemed designed to draw a strike at the body. Instead he defended and gave some ground.

Tupi attacked again, and this time the sword movements were largely predictable. Mato parried and evaded, and gave a bit more ground.

Again Tupi advanced, and this time Mato refused to give ground. Tupi’s predictable blows came, and he batted them aside.

A kick hit him in the knee, and he heard a crunch. A glance showed the joint had bent sideways. Mato dropped the warrior and pulled hard through the guardian pairing, stiffening his flesh. Tupi’s sword bit into the side of his neck, then Mato batted it aside and forced himself to his feet. The injured knee popped back into place, and some of the agony left.

“Impossible,” Tupi said.

Mato wasn’t sure what to say in reply, so he went for a taunt. “I told you there was no power in your stance.”

Off to his left, about ten yards away, Ezhno shifted into a flurry of motion. He spun, slipped his sword upward in a slicing cut, and an arm appeared in the air, flew for a few feet, and flopped in the trampled grass.

There was a grass sword clutched in the arm’s hand. Behind Ezhno, Poplar sagged to his knees, clutching the stump.

“Fire!” Elki screamed.

A cloud of darkness exploded from Ezhno’s sword, and several arrows hurtled through the black.

Tupi and one of the new trail masters leaped at Mato, and he went into a staggering retreat. His knee shrieked in agony, and both of them knew techniques he hadn’t seen yet. He needed the warrior glyph, but he couldn’t afford to drop the guardian pairing.

He struggled backward, doing his best to work through the exercise for pulling on a second symbol. The warrior came alive, and he still had the guardian pairing.

Suddenly two against one wasn’t so bad. He defended against Tupi, almost without effort, and focused on the new trail master.

“We’ve never met, my name is Mato Stone Foot. I’m Ezhno’s apprentice.”

There was some grunting, and both of them pushed him as hard as they could. He saw opportunities to lop off hands and feet, but it seemed better to leave them as healthy as possible. Sotsona could make this problem go away, but he was only going to side with them if they had done everything possible to protect his priests and trail masters.

“What’s your name?” Mato asked after a couple more exchanges.

“Stop talking and fight.”

Mato identified a pattern, shoved the trail master off of his feet, and then threw Tupi over his hip. That left him with two swords.

An arrow slammed into his arm and bounced away, leaving a shallow puncture. It stung badly. He glanced at the archer.

“Do that again, and I’ll take that bow and shoot you back.”

The moment of distraction cost him. The trail master lunged in, chopping against Mato’s blade. His sword flew out of his fingers, so he grabbed the trail master and dragged him down. They rolled across the ground, and then Mato got ahold of his neck. A few seconds later, he went to sleep.

“Mato, over here,” Ezhno called.

Mato picked up the three swords in his area, then went to his teacher. Ezhno was trying to hold Poplar’s arm in place and drip healing water on it at the same time.

“Do you have your guardian effect going?”

“Yes.”

“Here, hold his arm so I can work.”

“Can you really put it back on?”

“Sure. I’ve done it before. Just hold it still.”

“Why are we doing this?” Mato asked.

“Because we’re having a disagreement, not a war,” Ezhno said. “He isn’t the enemy, and we need to do everything we can to keep Abo strong.”

Mato hated that argument, particularly because it mirrored his own thoughts. They had put up with so much from the priests, and now they were going to put Poplar’s arm back. He would just use it to try and stab them in the back again. However, the effort would help sway Sotsona. As usual, Ezhno had thought things through enough to make a rational choice.

“Wisdom Poplar?”

“What?” Poplar asked in a strained voice.

“Please tell Sotsona that when you most needed it, I was willing to give you a hand.”

“I will see you buried, Mato Stone Foot.”

Mato chuckled. “I will be sad when you die, Wisdom. We were born to hate each other.”