The Gods of Garran Read Online Free PDF Page A

only wanting to put distance between him and the lizard.
    Moorhen slowed near a ravine. There had been the faint sound of footsteps to the east--or had it been his imagination? Moorhen scarcely breathed for a moment. Had he been followed? For how long? But as he stood there, he heard no sound at all. He kept still awhile longer, waiting, but there was nothing. It could have been the wind.
    Slowly, and more carefully this time, Moorhen crept down the path. Norbi should not have defied him--Moorhen had forbidden him to go. This angered him. Going alone at night to the plains was foolish. Surely, Norbi knew he'd endanger others by his selfish quest. Moorhen would punish him once he found the boy. This was no light matter.
    Moorhen followed a ravine towards the Black Hills, which held a trickle of water at the bottom of it. But soon he left this shelter and headed west.
    The moons slipped behind cloud-cover, making the night darker than ever. The chill deepened, or perhaps it was just a fear welling up in Moorhen’s heart, for his brother.
    Moorhen made his way up out of the ravine, but before he could get out--another sound stopped him short. He turned back toward the trail, looking for the source of the sound. Suddenly something struck Moorhen on the side of the head and knocked him down to the bottom of the ravine. He reached for his dagger, but before he could find it pain ripped across his shoulders. Moorhen cried out, trying desperately to turn around.
    Somehow he pulled free enough to pivot around just before the sechule sprang towards him, baring large fangs and claws. This sleek, feline creature was larger than Moorhen and ran swiftly on four paws. Sechule were deadly, quick and as black as night. Moorhen tried to dodge but failed. He felt the claws rake his left shoulder. Dazed, Moorhen hit the ground and rolled.
    A second or two passed as Moorhen struggled to get to his feet. The creature landed and turned towards him, preparing to lunge. Moorhen cursed and grabbed again for his dagger. But he had little experience in close combat. He barely managed to draw out the dagger before the sechule sprang towards him with a snarl. Knowing he could not take the creature on at short range, Moorhen threw the dagger, aiming at the creature's throat. But as he did, the sechule shifted and caught the dagger on the side of his right leg.
    Moorhen dodged clumsily to the side, the animal barely missing him. He swung around, now weaponless. The creature, merely stung by the attack, batted the dagger to the ground. Moorhen glanced around for his bow, but it had fallen somewhere beyond the beast. He couldn't reach it. Moorhen knew he should run--but the creature was fast. It could easily overtake him.
    Just then, in the distance, Moorhen heard the call of a horn. The creature also paused when he heard it. Moorhen didn't recognize the call--it wasn't one of his clansmen. Neither Moorhen nor the creature moved, both puzzling out the sound, deciding what action to take. The creature growled and paced a bit, as in warning. Moorhen stayed still, unsure whether or not to run.
    Another horn sounded, just a little closer now. They stared at each other, beast and man. Moorhen had never stared such a deadly animal in the eyes before. Finally, the beast turned and bounded off into the night. Quickly Moorhen gathered his wits, and his belongings, and crept up the slope of the ravine.
    Moorhen couldn't see well in the dark, but he sought out a spire of rock and hid, straining his eyes to see who approached. Several minutes passed before he could make out movement up ahead. Cautiously he moved forward, drawing closer to the source of the horn. It could be the Lost Hill Clan, on a hunting expedition--a friendly neighboring clan. But there were others who might venture this far--and not all clans were friendly to the Sand Plain Clan.
    Slowly, Moorhen made his way toward the group. It sounded like ten or more people. Moorhen had a talent for moving