The Dragon Star (Realms of Shadow and Grace: Episodes 1-3 of 7)

THE CARNIVAL - YETH

Beside her, Shifhuul placed his spoon down and turned to Tarak.

"You hear?" Shifhuul sniffed the wind.

"Yes." Tarak turned his ears toward the trees lining the road where the carnival made camp. "Humans in the forest. Ten maybe."

"Ten and two." Shifhuul sat the bowl on the ground and rose to his feet, drawing his slender sword from the sheath at his waist.

Yeth and Tarak stood as well. The roagg hefted the two axes resting at his feet while she grabbed her spear from where it leaned against the log. She gestured to one of the nearby humans, a boy of fifteen, the animal tender, Donjeo.

She did not want to call out and give warning to whoever advanced toward them. She pointed to the forest and shook her spear. The boy stared blankly at her for a moment and then jumped as though poked by her weapon, the realization of her meaning breaking upon his mind. He ran toward another group of carnival folk, quietly alerting them that someone approached from the woods.

Yeth turned and stood to face the dense wall of forest trees with her companions. She could now hear the sounds of the humans approaching. They made more noise than she expected for a possible ambush.

"More militiamen?" Yeth asked Shifhuul.

"I not think." Shifhuul raised his snout and inhaled. "Smell no same."

"They smell unwashed." Tarak rubbed the black nose of his muzzle with the back of his massive, claw-tipped hand as though trying to wipe away the odor.

The leaves of the trees at the edge of the forest shook, and Yeth readied her spear. They had been attacked by bandits and harassed by militias repeatedly. Between the two, she hoped for the militia. As long as the carnival harbored no pilgrims, they generally lost interest, especially at the sight of Tarak and his twin axes.

Wide eyes and dirt-smudged faces emerged from the forest into the late morning light.

"Great goddess!" A woman in near rags shouted in Easad and stumbled backward, clutching a small boy in her arms.

"Goddess protect us!" A man carrying a large canvas pack on his shoulders held up his palms as though to defend himself with his open hands.

More humans stepped from the trees, each with frightened looks and raised arms. One man with gray hair stepped forward from the small crowd clinging to each other. He walked with the aid of a long branch to favor his left leg. Yeth noticed the carnival master, Leotin, step up beside her. He always made an appearance to assume his leadership once a potential threat had been deemed satisfactorily controlled. She rested the butt of her spear in the weeds at her feet. Shifhuul and Tarak lowered their weapons as well.

"Hello, friends." Leotin said in Easad, casting his arms wide with dramatic flair. "What brings you from the forest this fine, bright morning?"

"Fear for our lives," the gray-haired man said.

"The militia," the woman with the child added.

"Dangerous times." Leotin lowered his arms.

"We seek sanctuary in numbers." The gray-haired man hobbled forward, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

"We are not a traveling refuge, I am afraid." Leotin raised his open palms in a gesture of regret.

"Pilgrims have a duty to protect one another." The man stopped and gripped his walking stick tightly.

A word from the man's plea kindled a memory in Yeth's mind.

"You have armed beasts to guard you," the man with the canvas pack said, his eyes darting warily between Yeth, Shifhuul, and Tarak.