They say that, in the horse-riding business, small jockeys are preferred. Lighter is better, I suppose. But my guess is that they didn't ask the jockeys this. I base my guess entirely on the experience I'm having flying along the wooded track on a horse that Rob called "Thunder," because, as he put it, "It's the sound his hooves make as he runs."

After about five minutes of Thunder's hooves, I was done. I mean, I could never have gotten on a horse's back again for the rest of my life and I'd be a happy, happy gal. If Thunder's hooves made the noise, it was his saddle that made the flashes of lightning every time I bounced on them. 

Did I mention that I don't actually know how to ride? I mean, it's not hard, right? Sit on horse, say things like "Nyeah!" and "Whoa!" and "If you don't turn this way right now, I will never give you sugar again," pull on the bridle this way and that--not hard, to look at people who do it a lot. But people like me, I'm used to riding coaches. Inside or outside, and on occasion, underneath. Sure, it's bumpy, but it's not Thunder's hooves bumpy. 

So off Thunder and I went through the dark. The tree tops above us obscured any starlight, and I'm told that the Old World, known as Ord, had what they called a "moon," which orbited the planet the way that, say, Serenity orbits Zorn--very close, very fast, and reflecting a lot of the light, so much so that you could see your way home by it some days. Weird. What the Ordfolk didn't have, though, was infrared vision, which is a perk of being a dwarf. And while the night doesn't look very different in infrared, the fact is, the trees did still glow with residual heat from the day and large animals were fairly easy to spot. 

Did I mention that the saddle and stirrups were sized for an unchanged man? Which meant they were about a foot too long for me, and really, almost two feet, given that my hips aren't that wide, either. Thunder's backside was wide enough for me to make a decent bed on it. As it was, I didn't even have a bedroll, which really goes to show how completely unprepared, unsuitable, un-me this was. For not the first time on this ride, I asked myself, "Hero, when you get there, what are you going to do?" and the answer came back, again, "Manna help me, I haven't a clue."

I thought of Sasha and her game. Manna, I wish I was there right now. The warmth of a room, the comfort of non-thudding chairs, good food--when had I eaten last? I have no idea. Breakfast? When was that spotter going to give me a call? Maybe I missed it? I can't possibly reach the cards in my bag right now. 

These are the thoughts of a dwarf as she's tossed around on the back of a horse that she hopes knows where it's going.

We flew along for an hour, after which Thunder decided it needed a rest and a snack. Apparently, this was a popular stopping point, because there on the side of the road was a small pond and there was plenty of tracks and horseshit and other types of excrement to avoid. Judging from the freshness of some of these piles, we might even be close--maybe an hour or two more. While the horse munched on some namaranth which appeared to be plentiful around this pond, I climbed an oak tree to try and get a visual on our runner--or for that matter, anyone else. 

The problem with oak trees is that they never grow as fast as the bamboo. The problem with the bamboo is that it can't support a person's weight like oak can. It's a perpetual cycle of disappointment, because the bamboo tops tend to obscure everything but the sky, which, now that I could see it, was worth stopping for a moment and getting a good look at, but prevented much in the way of seeing over a forest.

Luckily for me, though I couldn't see through the forest, I could make out the light of a campfire and a steady rise of smoke. Maybe two or three kilometers further. But even more luckily,  as I watched for a moment, I saw the triangle shape of a glider quietly floating over the smoke, and under it, something that looked suspiciously human. I checked my cards, but, yeah, didn't have Anti-grav's. So I did the only thing I could think of: I lit a match. 

Spotters are an ethnic group all their own. They are aviators, sure, which has a culture that we landlubbers simply do not understand, but beyond that, spotters are known for being able to see prey from sometimes kilometers away. I'm told they wear special goggles with binocular lenses built in, but able to switched off somehow. Crazy stuff. 

I relied on that now, as my tiny light attempted to light a wet leaf on fire with little success. I tried waving it slowly, but the match burned to my fingers, and I had to start again. This time, though, I noticed the glider change direction toward me! I almost yelped for joy, but this operation needed stealth. So I waved in the darkness and waited a few minutes for the glider to come closer. 

The glider itself was a simple design. It was unmotorized, but relied on magic to maintain flight--a simple enchantment of the wings, I'm told, though I have no idea how it's done. Under the glider, in the darkness, I could spot what appeared to be a dwarf with a large nose. Might have been a helmet. Difficult to tell, even with infrared sight. It flew over me and I shook the branch to draw its attention. With a flourish, it turned and landed the person on a nearby branch.

"Are you Anti-grav?" I asked, my excitement throwing other questions to the wind. 

"Yeah! Anti-hero?" This gal had a strange accent I couldn't identify. 

"That's me." 

"Oh thank the Manna. I was going to contact you hours ago but I dropped your card over a lake and...couldn't."

"Oof. Well at least it's a lake. I won't be getting pranks that way." I fished a new card from my purse. "Here, take a new one." 

"Thanks! Good thinking climbing the tree." She took my card and gave me hers in return. 

"Well, I was just looking for any signs of my quarry, but I saw you in the firelight and took a chance."

"That worked out. When I saw your little light--"

"--A match, really--"

"--Wow. Just a match? Talk about a good spot!"

"Keen eyes you've got there."

"Aw, you're sweet," she said proudly. "Anyway, I saw it and, like you, decided to take a chance. So--what's the plan?"

Plan. Right. I'd been hoping something would form up in my mind, but...no. 

"I haven't a clue. I'm a thief, not a fighter. I'm not a negotiator. I have nothing to offer."

"Well, I've got intel. I see six guards: three stationary, three rotating. They take turns. Judging from the size of the camp, it looks like maybe three, four times that in total people. They have some horses, but nothing else alive. A wagon with some large chests. Another wagon for transporting people, looks like. About ten horses. Here, let's go down to the ground and I can sketch out the campsite in the dirt."

She jumped off the branch and instantly was airborne again--magic, for sure. She floated off to a clearing and slowly circled to a landing. I climbed down as fast as I could, which, actually, met her on the ground about the same time. She then drew a map of the campsite, pointing out various structures and guard posts. 

"I've got townsfolk coming soon," I said, "but they're practically unarmed--just pitchforks and torches. I worry that these guys have plenty of weapons, even booby traps."

"Well, if they have traps, their guards aren't giving them away."

"I don't suppose you have anything to take them out?" I asked hopefully.

"Nah. I've just got my usual kit: my signaling mirror and lighter, a rope, some bait, material to fix my glider, some jerky for long flights and water." She opened a flask, took a swig and offered it to me. I suddenly found my throat quite dry and drank more than I maybe should have.

"No weapons at all?"

"Spotters don't need 'em. That's for the hunters. We're just finding the quarry." She tilted her head to the side, thinking. "Come to think of it, though, I did see a sizeable pack of chickensaurs to the east of here as I was coming over. They'll be nesting for the night, so they won't have moved. It's maybe a couple of kilometers away."

"How do you spot them at night?"

Anti-grav pulled out her goggles. "Night vision goggles. Sorry, should have mentioned them. Standard kit for spotters. Can't be losing the quarry just 'cause the suns are down."

She continued, "We could go and scare the critters awake, leaving a trail of bait right to your fugitive's camp."

I nodded, getting the idea. "A chickensaur stampede right through their camp? Someone's going to die."

"Yeah, maybe, but not us."

I snapped my fingers. "Oh! And the townsfolk are perfectly equipped to deal with chickensaurs. That works out! You're a genius!"

"Well, aviators are known for their intellect...."

"Well deserved! Let's go set this up. You lay the bait. I'll make my away to the nest."

It was a good plan. Straightforward, easy, and didn't put us in harm's way. A chickensaur alone isn't too much to handle for most adults. They have vicious pecks and their talons are nothing to laugh at, but as long as you keep those weapons at bay and throw it some food, you should be fairly safe. But a chickensaur stampede? That's been known to kill lots of people. The birds are just on you and over you, and they don't stop until nothing is moving. A stampede is every farmer's nightmare. 

We set our plan in motion, and half an hour later, we regrouped, the trail was set and we now were on the outskirts of the nest. Anti-grav pulled up her goggles and together, we looked at the sleeping nest. 

"What now?" I asked.

"Well, the usual method is to run through the nest toward the trail making whatever noise you can."

"Okay, but then they attack me."

"That's where the rope comes in. I'll be right above you. You hold the rope and when the nest is up and angry, I pull you up."

"You can't possibly...with a glider...carry two people"

"Well, first, you're small and light like me, so I might. But second, this is a magic rope."

"Sheesh. You're loaded with magic gear." 

"Spotters are valuable. People pay for our services."

"I'm in the wrong line of work." 

"You wanna learn to fly?"

"No."

We grinned. 

"So, what, I yank on the roap and...?"

"And it will levitate you--basically makes it so you feel weightless to me, so I can pull you up out of danger."

"You've done this?'

"Standard spotter technique. This is a weekly occurrence, if not sooner. I promise, I've got you."

"Then what?"

"Then we float over the trees, watch the mayhem below us, drop some bait to keep stragglers in line, and see what happens."

"Nothing to lose." 

"Well, the bait."

"Yeah, but that's not anything important, right?"

"Nah. I'll just have to fill up before I go on another spotting run."

"Okay. Let's do this."

"Alright, give me a couple to get airborne, lower the rope. Once you see my lighter, run through here like you're on magical fire, grab the rope, and yank. I'll handle the rest."

She slipped away to get her glider ready while I watched the nest. There were maybe 50, even a hundred birds here, and I was going to be the fool to run through, loudly, waking them up in a frightened frenzy of beaks and talons and ear-splitting screeches. And, if I survived that, turn these monsters loose on unsuspecting people. Wow. 

I felt a rush of air as the glider passed by, and made out the shape of Anti-grav against the stars. Then I took a deep breath, used her lighter to light a torch and ran through the middle of the nest, yelling like my life depended on it. 

Chickensaurs might be larger than the birds back on Ord, but they're no less frightened, and the sudden light and sound and, comparatively, large stomping thing tearing through the nesting place caused no little commotion. Cocks crowed with the aforementioned ear-splitting ferocity. Hens flapped and flew as fast as their legs could carry them in all different directions, but thankfully, not directly at me at first. It would take a moment for the mass of clucking, crowing, terrified feathered beasts to figure out which of all these sights and noises was causing them distress. 

So I ran, torchlight guiding my way, trying not to step on the squawking horde. I did step on one that raced under my legs and it tripped me up, but I'm small and light and was able to roll with the flow, springing back up. The hen, on the other hand, thought her days were through and gave a death-shriek that I don't think I'll ever forget. It seemed that was enough to get the others to look at me as the interloper and suddenly the chaotic mass became very ordered and surged toward me. From prey to predator, just like that. 

"Rope!" I called, and Anti-Grav was on it. She said that, from her position, it was like watching pieces of floating iron suddenly sync up in the presence of a magnetic field. One moment, everything is spreading out, the next, they are very definitely attracted to one point. She said it looked cool. It did not feel cool to be the point. 

The rope fell in front of me, about ten feet away, but getting farther. Gliders aren't stationary and she was already pretty low so couldn't slow down more without risking joining me as chicken food on the ground. Adrenaline--which had already well kicked in, fueled a last push which was helped by the chickensaurs, because as they aligned to chase me, some of them in front of me also aligned with the others and stopped getting in my way. I guess even in their tiny avian brains, they recognize that being at the front of the pack is better than trying to stop the pack.

I grabbed the rope and immediately felt weightless. My feet stopped touching the ground and in a second, I was out of reach of even jumping chickensaurs. But on we flew into the forest and I could see the mass of fire-lit eyes chasing that torch. 

Of course, once we hit the forest, I'd need to be above the trees. I wrapped the arm holding the torch into the rope as Anti-grav pulled us higher. With my free hand, I used my coat to extinguish the torch. Do it fast enough and it barely singes. Don't ask me how I know that.

In the darkness, we could see that the camp's fire was now the only light source--the target for the stampeding chickensaurs. They might not see it right away, but the bait would keep their attention until they could. Their thudding talons and angry cries were easy to follow and I imagined that all the other beasts of the forest cleared out of their way well before they arrived. But humans are stupid creatures and tend to think that "stay and fight" is the way to solve all problems. So, as the horde approached, we watched from overhead as the guards woke the rest of the camp. People milled to and fro, collecting weapons and setting up fortifications. Grav was right: about two dozen people. Thankfully, with all the activity below, no one was looking as we circled overhead. 

The stampede hit the camp like the rush of water. Incensed chickensaurs, smelling food and wanting vengeance, broke against the defenses, running right and left around them. Guns fired, but the noise was muffled in the cacophony of the birds. As more waves of birds hit the barricades, some simply flew over, attacking the defenders with beak and claw. Surely some screamed, but it was all a torrent of "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!" from above. If the townsfolk didn't know where to go by now, they could just follow the sound. 

I looked up at Anti-Grav and found her laughing and that started me going, too. Hardened men undone by chickensaurs. Wow. It's a sight to see. Definitely glad I wasn't on the ground right now.

I stopped watching the carnage and looked for escapees. One person who seemed to be farthest from the front lines broke and ran into a tent near the fire. I guessed it was probably the brother we were after, so I lit up the torch again and, as though reading my thoughts, Anti-Grav steered us that way. I dropped the firebomb onto the tent and smiled as it tore through and caught flame. Direct hit! The person in the tent ran out and was immediately attacked by chickensaurs on both sides. They ran away from the fire and the swarm into the trees. I motioned for Anti-grav to follow in that direction, and, as we approached an oak, I motioned for Anti-grav to let go of the rope and she dropped me into the tree branches. 

We were ahead of the escapee, but it took a moment to clear the branches and gather the rope into something useful and get my footing in the dark. Trees don't give off a great heat signature, but the light of the camp's fires was still good enough to get down and I could see our quarry running through the trees below us, the sounds of battle and bloody feasting behind us. 

Whoever was the runner, they were unprepared: they apparently lacked infrared vision, which gave me all the advantage. They basically were feeling their way from tree to tree and stumbling and falling a lot, which meant getting cut up on the rocky ground. I could see that they favored one hand, which I guessed was holding a gun. 

By the time I got to ground level, we were well away from the camp, at least several hundred meters, and our quarry had stopped to rest behind some bamboo. I scooted up to the bamboo silently--I am a thief, it's kind of my thing--and tied one end of the rope to a thick tree. then I quietly circled our victim, laying out the rope in a circle behind me. The sound of gunfire and screaming was still loud and masked some of my steps, but if our quarry hadn't been so focused on avoiding chickensaurs, they might have heard me. 

I had to work fast, though. If he decided to run further, my trap would be ruined. As I nearly finished my circle, I pulled the rope quickly to me, grabbing up all the slack. it ran over the rocks from all directions, frightening the quarry, but they couldn't see anything to focus on. I gave the rope a yank  vertically from the other side of the bamboo, and felt and heard the satisfying yelp and thump of a man tripping on the rope and scrambling on the rock. Still holding the rope, I ran around to his prone body and jumped on top of him, working the rope around his neck and slamming his head into the dirt. He tried to roll over, but I pulled the rope tightly against his neck and whispered menacingly, "Drop your gun or I'll snap your neck." I didn't know if I could snap his neck, but I gambled on the idea that he'd never had his neck in a rope before. I crossed my hands to put more pressure on the rope.

His hand dropped the gun. Not very far, mind, but at least it was not in his hand, so win for me. He gasped out, "Who are you?" and that "lack of a plan" came back to bite me again. 

Thinking fast, I repeated the question back. "No, who are you?"

"I'm Brock Kinden, of the Kinden Family. I'm here to meet up with the Smokers."

So, it was true. The Master really knew his stuff. And then an idea came to mind. "How do I know you're telling the truth?" I asked, squeezing the rope again. 

"Please! Those are my people back there, fighting the chickensaurs! Ask them!"

I freed a hand and grabbed the gun away from him, sticking it in my coat pocket. "I'm going to keep you tied up here, Brock, until the rest of the Smokers arrive. I'm just the forward scout. Did you bring the chickensaurs?"

The man was genuinely scared. "NO! I don't know where they came from. One minute, I'm sleeping, the next, the alarm goes out and then...then they were on us. I've never seen anything like it! How far away are your people?"  He let me tie his hands and tie him to the bamboo stand. I made it comfortably tight. We were supposed to be friends and, at present, we were safe. Most importantly, he wasn't armed. I didn't really know how to use a gun, but at least it wasn't in his hands. 

"I'll go check. They weren't far behind me but the chickensaurs might have slowed them down."

"Don't leave me like this!" 

"Relax, you're safe. Just be quiet and don't move and the chickensaurs won't even notice you."

"Seriously? What about everything else? Snakes or lizards or...anything!?" There was an edge of panic in his voice. 

"Okay, okay. I'll stay here and call. Don't move, don't make a noise, okay?" He nodded and was silent and still.

I fished Anti-grav's card from my pocket and pressed it. It took her a moment to answer. "Raven." 

"Yeah, this is Hero. I've got someone here who claims to be Brock of the Kinden family. Says he's meeting with us. How long until the group gets here?"

"Looks like they're hurrying to the camp. Maybe two, three minutes?" 

"Anyone else coming?"

"Err...oh. Looks like. Maybe five, ten minutes out."

"Better warn the others, then. I'm going to stay with this one."

"Will do. Call if you need anything."

The connection closed and I turned back to Brock. "Did you bring more people?"

"No. Just my house. If others are coming, they must be coming to stop us and kill us all. We've got to get out of here."

"Okay, listen to me, Brock. Can you see at all?" 

"No, except by the fire."

"Right. So it's not safe for you to go anywhere. Certainly not safe to light a torch with all those chickensaurs about. So your best bet is to lay low, stay quiet, don't get hurt. If you break a leg out here, you're as good as dead."

"Okay, just...don't leave me."

"It's okay. I'll stick with you. I'm just going to go get a closer look at the camp, okay? I'll be right back."

"Okay."

I stepped away from the stand of bamboo, keeping my eye on him. He didn't move. I took some furtive steps toward another tree and checked back. Still there. Then I got a call. This time, it was Sasha.

"Hero here."

"You free?"

"Talk quiet." 

"I'm here with a bunch of angry townsfolk. Can't really be quiet. We're approaching a camp. Looks like some kind of massacre happened."

I looked into the light and could see her, sitting on horseback, her armor shining in the campfire. "I see you. I'm in the trees, a few hundred meters at your horse's seven-o-clock. I've got Mr. Kinden tied up."

"Yeah? Okay, I'll come to you, then. Looks like the others have this well in hand." I saw her jump back on her horse and head my way. 

"Okay. Keep the line open. I'm going back to Mr. Kinden." I looked over and could see he was trying to get comfortable. 

I hurried back to him. "Hey, quiet and still!" 

"Sorry, but this isn't very comfortable."

"Our people have arrived at the camp and are sorting things out, Mister Kinden. I have a rider on their way here to pick you up."

"Ah. And then we'll meet your leader?"

"I expect so."

"What's his name again?"

Well, shit.