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going to flee. Perhaps that thing , left like a deadfall in the path behind them, would perform some sinister trick and delay the enemy.
    Therian slowed, however, before they reached the top of the next rise, where the road switched back upon itself on its serpentine route up the mountainside. He wheeled his pony smartly and sat waiting. Gruum slowed, then stopped in the middle of the turn.
    “Shall we not flee, milord?” he asked in a hissing whisper, lest those that followed hear him.
    “My pet needs time to do its work. We will stand here.”
    “Should we not at least stay out of sight?”
    Therian turned toward Gruum with a quizzical expression. “Whatever for?”

-6-

    The nine men clattered up the road and made the turn. They spotted Gruum and Therian sitting upon their horses at the top of the road, staring down at them. They pulled upon their reins, suspecting an ambush.
    “See?” Gruum said in frustration. “They will come on with great caution now. They suspect your trap.”
    “No,” Therian said. “They have no idea what awaits them.”
    When no ambush materialized, the horsemen advanced cautiously. Gruum watched nervously as the mercenaries approached at a steady pace. They were indeed a hard lot. They bore the scarred faces and the hooked noses of men who’d been in many rough fights.
    When they reached the spot where Therian had left his quivering blob upon the roadway, Therian raised his hand in greeting.
    “I wish to speak with you, men of Kem.”
    His words were answered with exchanged glances, but no speech. They kept coming, slowly, watching the road and every bush they passed.
    “I would offer each of you coins for your troubles.”
    One man who led the rest sneered. His face bore a mouth slit up one cheek. His teeth could be seen inside, slobbering and drooling because he could not close his slashed face entirely. The effect made his words somewhat hard to understand.
    “Have no fears, sorcerer,” said the scarred man. “We will have your coins.”
    “No, I’m afraid not. You see, I’ve hidden them.”
    The men looked at one another. One from the rear of the pack came forward then. He had one arm in a dirty sling of linen. His eyes were red with strong drink and his brows were deeply furrowed. Gruum recognized him as Fareg, the man Therian had humiliated at the Counting House .
    “Then you have nothing to bargain with, and your lives will end the sooner,” said Fareg.
    “I did not say they were lost to you,” said Therian. “I’ve hidden them just there.”
    Fareg and the others halted in their advance. Their horses milled nervously. The men squinted at Therian and Gruum and peered into the indicated bushes at the side of the road.
    “Very amusing, sire,” said Gruum in a whisper.
    “What?” asked Therian, turning to look at his servant.
    “This business of pretending they will find the gold.”
    Therian stared at Gruum. “I’ve pretended nothing,” he said.
    Just then, one of the men shouted. Every eye went to him. He held aloft a bulging sack. His face split into a wide grin. None present was more surprised than Gruum himself, whose mouth sagged.
    “When did you…” Gruum asked Therian, but could not finish the words.
    The man with the sack fairly danced upon the stones, such was his delight.
    “What will happen now, milord?” Gruum asked.
    Therian touched his chin with a black glove. “I’m not sure,” he said.
    The men gathered and dug their hands into the coins. Each drew out a fistful. They whooped and shouted while Therian and Gruum watched. For the moment, the mercenaries had forgotten about them.
    The first odd occurrence struck the horse of the man who had dismounted and dug the sack of gold from the snow banks. The animal whinnied, the sound quickly rising in octaves into a drawn-out scream. One foreleg went down, as if it had split a hoof. The horse got up again, painfully, favoring the leg. Most of the men took little heed, so interested were they in