Roads near towns, big or small, were always occupied by a variety of travelers during the day. Simple farm wagons, coaches like Ellie's, riders both urgent or leisurely, and of course a variety of travelers on foot.

  They made their way back south to the fork to resume their westward travel, passing a number of people headed this way or that. Some were friendly and waved or gave a quick greeting to the driver as they were on about their business; none tried to start up a conversation — differences in speed and direction made that all but impossible without intent. And so signs of intent was what Novek was on the lookout for.

  This might just be a simple day job, but he took his work seriously, no matter the source, or the task. Daytime robbery near a town was relatively rare, true, but it took only moments to force a fellow off the road where he could be robbed out of sight. He'd have preferred to sit up with the driver, normally, but in this case the anonymity of the coach would suit him better, he thought.

  While the coach might be a target for opportunists, his actions in escaping the village — or the kit he'd taken — were the primary reason for his hypervigilance. Maybe the villagers complained to the constable, or maybe some poor fools would get it in their heads to try to follow him. He hadn't made it this long by ignoring severe consequences even with low chances. It wasn't a relaxing life, but it was life.

  Novek would only relax his vigilance for pursuit once they were well near the wildlands; and then the vigilance requisite to any foray into the wildlands would start — and of the two, the latter was more of a concern in his mind.

  As they came upon the fork in the road, that attentiveness turned to alert. He knocked twice on the slat to the driver's bench, and Ellie slid it open.

  “Those riders were west of us, facing that direction. They looked this way, saw us, and are now ambling east — back towards town.”

  “Aye, I see them. They're half ready to canter, you can see it. Good eye. Think they're for us? Or just any opportunity?”

  “They're almost sure to be for us. Likely the coin is too tempting with a single driver and just one guard.”

  “Agreed. Back to town's out, then. No need to run into their hands. We could turn around and head back to the mill.”

  “Are any there good in a fight? How well do you know them?”

  “Not well, I'm just taking on this route regularly next week.”

  “Okay, so then I wouldn't want to bring them trouble, or trust they'd aid you. Your other friends are to the west? How far?”

  “Too far, probably but we won't know unless I bring the horses up to pace.” The decision was made.

  “Okay, we're committed. Are your friends at the riverbed any good in a fight?”

  “If you'd asked me that yesterday I'd have laughed, but well, there's the matter of how we got the scrav meat.”

  “You're serious? You didn't scavenge the leavings of a territory dispute?”

  “One's a Silverpaw. The other's some kid from the hospital just south, but an adult scrav attacked them and the result was our trip to the warehouse. I didn't see it, but I can do that math.”

  Ellie continued, “I assumed they were going to meet someone, but I'm not so sure anymore.”

  “Okay, good enough. I can handle a small group, myself. Fair notice — I don't do warning shots. If you'd rather try to run for it, but surrender if caught, you should tell me now, and I'll make my own way now.”

  “You should know better than to think there's safe surrender for a woman alone.” She pulled a small lever and Novek heard a thunk as the mechanism opened a panel. She came up with a coach gun, short black barrels well cared for, and held it across an arm in a way that suggested long familiarity.

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  “I do indeed, but some people try to convince themselves that luck or good intentions will save them.”

  “I'm not one of those people. Get yourself ready, I can see riders off in the distance now. They'll not chase at speed till we're further away from the crossroads.”

  Novek put the top of the door opposite the kit's ledge down and leaned out the half-door window. That was too many riders for the sum they'd gotten for the Ber meat.

  “Ellie, I'm sorry, but I think this might be trouble for me.”

  “You sure, or just guessing? If you're sure, I can put you out now.”

  “It's a guess, but I'd say the odds are good considering the numbers.”

  She looked back, and gave a low whistle. “What did you do? Or is that kit?”

  “Both. Saved it from being put to death or sold by a village that one of its pack attacked. It was in a sack in a smuggler's hole. The pack was looking for it when something went wrong and the Ber went mad.”

  Ellie frowned at that, but the question she asked wasn't what Novek had expected. “Went mad? Like, suddenly spooked?”

  Novek squinted at her. “Yes. What do you know?”

  “I really think you need to talk to my ‘friends’”.

  “Well, I hope I get the chance. How many do you think that is? I put it over a dozen.”

  “Same. And looks like our reprieve is up, it looks like the better riders have decided to slow us for the rest.”

  Novek did some quick math. Didn't like the answer. He looked down at his belt. At the kit.

  “Okay, Ellie? I've got some friends of my own. I don't know if they can make it here in time, or if they'll even see this. But they've got a… soft spot, for Ber in trouble like this. But I don't think I can take that many, even with you gunning as well. Given who we're meeting, I'll take it that you've no problem with Ber'Duun, right?”

  “You'll hear no objections from me. I've no idea how you could call your friends, but do it fast if you're going to.”

  Novek nodded, then leaned out the window and looked around. There, to the northwest, deep within the wildlands was a smallish series of mountains, maybe some 30 km away. He pulled a short, wide-barreled gun from his belt, dropped a blue shell down the barrel, and fired it into the air.

  Ellie looked up, having heard the shot. “Not much of a call, is it? Just a smoking streamer?”

  “I'm told it can't be missed by the one who gave it to me.”

  “Ber'Duun, eh? They're just not fair.”

  “Never have been. In this case, I'll take it. Let's buy them time to get here.”

  “I can't imagine anyone could, how would they know where to find us, and how would they ever get to the road in time.”

  “I'll answer both the same way — they're just not fair.”

  Ceress pored over her crude map of the area, drawn in sand sprinkled atop a rough stone table. We're stretched thin as it is. Besides, what could even cause that kind of event? Some new Human action? Natural occurrence?

  “Boss! Flare to the southeast!” One of the new recruits shouted.

  She loved what she did, really she did — but sometimes she asked herself if volunteers were worth it. They were enthusiastic, certainly, but it could be exhausting to train people who wouldn't take things seriously.

  It wasn't like she had much choice in the matter — there weren't any Ber'Duun nations still willing to fund opposition to the Human encroachment. They'd fled, or been eaten by the Human nations, sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally. Life really wasn't fair for Ber.

  I don't have time for this right now.

  “Signature and distance?” He should have just called those without being prompted. She'd talk to him privately later, there was no point ruining his morale by pointing it out in front of the others.

  “Oh! Um, Cesium-Indium, Maybe 30 kilometers.”

  Novek! Her hackles raised immediately. Just what had her troublemaker of a mentor gotten himself into this time? He'd never actually used that flare. She was actually surprised he still had it.

  Grabbing her go-bag, always stocked and ready, from its place on the central tent pole, Ceress's voice boomed out, “Soot! Get Soot saddled up!” She sighed, and smoothed her neck spines down. It wouldn't do to look agitated in front of the others.

  The small fluffy orange ball lounging near the remnants of the fire opened an eye and glanced at her inquisitively. He might not understand the words, but the tone and volume was more than enough. “You coming, Hekkan? Up, boy.” The small felinid yawned, stretched, and leapt into the air. She caught him easily and placed him behind her neck spines, where he draped himself securely in moments. She ignited the spines closest to him with a low heat, so he'd stay happily in position.

  Stepping out of her tent into the center of the small camp of misfit Ber, Ceress looked to Soot. All nine meters, nose to tail-tip, of sinuous draconoid were already half saddled, less than 10 seconds since the call. Excellent work, there.

  The flare was still visible in the distance, slowly drifting down. It was indeed Novek's signature. She marked the location, and leapt atop Soot's saddle, grasping the harness and securing her line to it. Soot staggered a little under her weight — long she might be, but a third of that was tail and neck.

  “You're in command, Ba'chus. Elevated alert should remain in effect, given the disturbances. If you don't see my signal within three hours, send a response team.”

  The over two-meter tall canid Ber, almost of a size with Ceress, nodded wordlessly.

  “Soot! Drop!” was all she said, and then the draconoid leapt off of the cliff face, and snapped her wings out to their full fifteen-meter extension.