Early the next morning, a couple of hours before sunrise, the four spies, armed only with swords, their spears and shields left behind for stealth, crept out through the town gate and ran splashing down the muddy road towards an arm of the forest that thrust to within a couple of miles of the besieged community, hoping that the evil humanoids laying siege to the town wouldn't see them in the darkness. The shologs were probably expecting them to send out a few spies, having almost certainly watched the patrol entering the town the day before. They only hoped they could reach the forest and lose themselves in it before they could be cut off and surrounded. Mercifully the rain had stopped, and a few stars shone down through gaps in the cloud cover, but right now Drake wouldn't have minded the cover provided by a good downpour.

Fortunately, they made it. They scattered, each running off in a different direction, and Drake hid behind a tangle of bramble just as a dozen goblins came running up, fanning out into a semicircle around the point where the road entered the forest. They looked around in disappointment, realising they'd missed the spies, and broke formation, wandering around as they searched the forest floor for footprints.

"What's goin' on here?" demanded a harsh, cruel voice, and Drake saw the huge figure of a sholog come striding out of the forest. The huge monster, well over six feet tall and all muscle and hairy hide, towered over the small, green skinned goblins who cringed at his appearance. All but one, larger and braver than the rest, who dared to stand up to him. "'Human spies, from the town, sneaking out to spy on us," he said, spreading a nervous grin that showed dozens of tiny sharp teeth. "We tried to get 'em, but they got away."

"Well find 'em then, you useless maggots! Find 'em quick or I'll flay yer 'ides!" The goblins scattered and began searching frantically, while Drake crouched down behind his bush, wondering if he would have to fight them all by himself. If so, he might very well be killed, on his very first real mission outside Ilandia. If My Lord wills, he muttered as the goblins got closer.

He could see them better now, as the first rays of the yellow sun lit the underside of the clouds in the eastern sky. The nasty little creatures wore crude leather clothing, poorly sewn together with thick, stringy thread in widely spaced stitches and with a few half hearted ornamental touches sewn on. Their weapons were mainly ironwood, but a few of them had weapons of high quality steel, bought or stolen from someone who knew how to handle a forge. Drake began to feel a little fear, wondering if he'd made a mistake to leave the safety of the walled town, but he forced the feeling down angrily. I am a priest of Samnos, he told himself. A servant of the God of righteous warfare. I do not, will not, feel fear. If it is My Lord's will that I die here, so be it. I will die as a priest of Samnos should, with my sword in an enemy's heart.

He rested his hand on the hilt of his short sword, ready to leap up and strike out at the nearest as soon as he came within reach, but then one of the goblins gave a cry and pointed to the ground about fifty feet away. The others and the sholog gathered around to look, and then they all charged off together to follow the trail. As soon as they were out of sight Drake stood up, stretched his aching muscles and breathed a sigh of relief.

It must be Chubb's trail they were following, he thought. He was pretty sure that he'd been the one who'd gone that way. That was strange. According to the gossip he'd overheard between the men over the past few days, he was one of the best woodsmen in the area, much too good to have left such an obvious trail. Maybe he'd left the trail on purpose, to lead the goblins after him and away from Drake. The possibility made him angry. He hated to be in someone's debt.

He set off through the dripping wet forest in the direction Ableman had said their temporary camp was. Shologs and goblins were both basically nomadic creatures, rarely staying more than a few months in any one area before moving on, except where they came across a series of caves or abandoned ruins left by some other race into which they could move with the minimum of fuss and effort. Even then, they rarely stayed more than a few years before growing tired of it and leaving.

The tribe would set up its main camp in a safe, remote area, in which they left their females and young, along with a few of the older males to guard and protect them, although the females were usually just as dangerous as the males. They often shared their camp with larger numbers of smaller creatures such as buglins, goblins, korreds and bitlans, who did most of the menial work. In some tribes, these smaller creatures could outnumber the shologs by as many as ten to one, but the female shologs were big and tough enough to keep them in their place should they get uppity.

Most of the male shologs went out on raiding parties, ranging up to fifty miles and setting up a temporary war camp if they found a particularly juicy target to which they could return again and again, or which would take several days to conquer. If they had lesser races in their tribe, they would take the fighting males with them and send them in first to soften up their victims before going in themselves. Many people wondered why the smaller creatures, who were treated as little more than slaves, put up with it when they could simply leave and set up their own independent tribes, rejoining the majority of their races.

The truth was that they enjoyed working with shologs, despite the abuse and beatings. They admired their strength and ruthlessness, and knew that with them as 'allies' (as they thought of it), they could accomplish much more than they could alone. Independent tribes of goblins and buglins rarely dared to attack human, trog or shae villages, let alone towns, unless they outnumbered them outrageously. With a few shologs backing them up, however, even a single sholog in some cases, they became much more confident and could become quite a serious threat to isolated communities. It was the shologs the Beltharans had to deal with, therefore. Kill them, and the goblins, no matter how numerous they were, would cease to be a problem.

A few minutes after leaving the clearing, Drake came across a trodden down path through the forest and followed it at a distance of several dozen yards to its right, far enough away to be able to duck down out of sight if anyone or anything came along it. Although no woodsman like Chubb, he thought it looked recent, no more than a few days old, which meant that it had to have been made by the shologs and must therefore lead to their war camp. Sure enough, after following it for about half a mile, he spotted activity in the distance and dropped to his belly to crawl closer.

He saw about forty buffalo hide tents. Ten larger tents on one side of the camp and around thirty smaller ones on the other. Between them was a wide open space in which several forest animals were being roasted on spits. A couple of shologs and about a dozen goblins were sitting around the camp, sharpening weapons, gambling, practising with their weapons and chewing the meat off some bones. Drake tried to work out what kind of animal the bones had come from, and realised with horror that some of them were human. He looked more closely at the animals roasting above the fires and tensed up, his teeth gritted with rage, when he recognised the carcass of a young child. Skinned and gutted like a pig and dripping fats and juices as it turned above the dancing flames. A goblin poked it occasionally with a sharp fork, and drooled as he sniffed at it with his long, pointed nose.

The size of the camp puzzled him. It was much smaller than he had expected. Assuming there were two to a tent, that meant that there were two dozen shologs and about fifty goblins, minus however many had been killed fighting the townsmen. How could so few possibly lay siege to a town of seven hundred humans? Even after losing most of their experienced fighters in the war with Conyspring, they would still have at least two hundred adult men, and even if none of them had ever held a weapon before, a force that size armed with broomhandles and pitchforks would be enough to deal with even the bravest sholog.

It just didn't make sense, he mused. The only possible answer was that this was just one of several camps, but that was, if anything, even more unlikely. Shologs, goblins and virtually all humanoid races stayed in one big camp whenever possible, this being easier to defend than lots of small ones, a very important consideration in the Overgreen Forest. They would need to have a very good reason indeed to split themselves up and make themselves vulnerable. Something more important than defence. I must find out what it is, he thought.

He didn't need to wait long to find out the truth. A third sholog emerged from a tent and went over to chat with the other two. Drake stiffened and stared in horror. The third sholog was dressed, not in the crude furs and leathers of the other two, but in flowing robes of high quality cloth the colour of fresh blood, very similar to the robes he himself was wearing under his earth brown travelling cloak. As he walked, he saw the gleam of chain mail armour through gaps in the robes, and his bestial head was protected by a steel helm which had two steel horns protruding from it like the horns of a bull. He was armed to the teeth with more weapons than he'd ever seen on a single person and around his neck, on a leather cord, was a lump of cold iron in the shape of a clenched fist. The sholog was a priest, a worshipper of Skorvos, the God of conquest and slaughter. Sworn enemy of Samnos, God of the endless fight against evil.

Everything was now clear. There was no need to imagine the existence of several other temporary war camps nearby. The fifty or so humanoids here were quite capable of defeating two or three hundred humans if they were led by a priest of Skorvos. Indeed, the tasks of the other shologs and goblins had probably been merely to protect the priest while he wiped out the humans single handedly. The townspeople had no wizards to help them, and their only priests were a couple of clerics of Caroli, no good at all in a fight. They wouldn't have stood a chance against the might of the evil God of War, channeled through the body of the sholog priest. No wonder the few survivors, who must have seen only the humanoid bodyguard and not the priest himself, had overestimated their number by several times.

He saw that the three shologs were talking about something, and decided to try to get a bit closer to hear what was being said. It would have been impossible ordinarily, as the camp was surrounded on all sides by several yards of open ground, but fortunately his tutor in the priesthood training school had recently taught him how to pray for invisibility and this seemed like the perfect time to try it out. He took a sprig of pine from one of the many pockets on the inside of his crimson robes, therefore, and a box of firestarters from another pocket.

The firestarters were one of the most popular and sought after items invented by the brilliant trog alchemists. Each one consisted of a wooden stick, about two inches long, with a blob of a special red substance on one end. When it was rubbed against a strip of fine sandpaper along one side of the box, it burst into bright flame and would burn for up to a minute. The disadvantage was that each stick could only be used once and, as the trogs charged a high price for each box of fifty, most people still used the good old reliable tinderbox. They were invaluable for when a fire needed to be started quickly and silently, however, such as now.

He moved behind a tree, so that the flare and smoke wouldn't be seen from the camp, lit one, and used it to set fire to the sprig of pine, making it smoulder slowly. Then, making the necessary signs and motions with his free hand, he prayed to Samnos to lend him a portion of His power. The war God responded, and Drake felt a cold shock as the holy power flowed through his body, being shaped and directed by his hand movements and the burning sprig. He wasn't able to see himself becoming invisible, his hands and legs were still visible to his own eyes, but his faith was strong. As long as the sprig continued to smoulder, he knew that he could not be seen.

He stood without fear and walked out of cover towards the war camp. He walked carefully, knowing that, although invisible, he could still be heard, and that one dry twig broken underfoot could be the end of him. Also, the shologs had a very well developed sense of smell and it was quite possible that they would scent him if he got too close. Fortunately, what wind there was was currently blowing away from the camp, towards him, but he was very aware that it could change in an instant, without any warning. He picked a spot close to one of the tents, close enough that he could clearly overhear their conversation, but with cover nearby in case his invisibility failed early. Then, holding his breath to quell a sudden attack of nerves, he listened.

They were speaking a local dialect of the sholog language, which consisted of growls, barks and other animal sounds, but he was able to follow almost every word, having been required to learn the languages of his principal enemies in the fortress monastery in which he'd had his training. "You said it would be ready today!" one of the shologs was saying angrily to the priest. "You said it would take six days. Six days!"

"It will take a day longer," replied the priest, his eyes glinting dangerously. "Maybe two. The Gods cannot be hurried. It will be ready when it is ready."

"Bah!" spat the first sholog. "That means another day camped out here. We should have been in the city by now, killing and burning, taking what we want and who we want."

"And we will be," said the priest. "As soon as the broth is ready. Sometimes it takes a little longer. It is not something that can be helped."

"Tomorrow," said the first sholog. "It had better be ready tomorrow, or else!"

"Or else what?" demanded the priest furiously, seeming to grow as he filled with rage until he loomed menacingly over the other two. The first sholog shrank back, realising he'd gone too far, and all around the camp goblins scurried for cover, having seen the results of the priest's rage before. "You dare speak so to a priest of Skorvos, mightiest of the Gods?"

The sholog wavered in indecision, knowing he ought to apologise but prevented by his pride from doing so in public. To apologise in front of goblins, even to the priest himself, would destroy his status among the other shologs. Death would almost be preferable to that. Unfortunately, the priest could do much worse things than merely kill him.

Fortunately, he was saved by the other sholog who appeared to be his friend, a very rare thing indeed among the huge, humanoid race where strength and aggression were all that mattered. "Come on Gristle," he said. "What's the hurry? What difference does it make if the city walls fall today or the day after? It won't affect the final outcome. The city and everything in it are ours. It's worth waiting for."

"Yes, you're right Durfang," said Gristle gratefully, giving the priest a look that seemed to say you're lucky to get off so lightly but don't cross my path again. The priest roared in fury and the other two shologs made to leave hurriedly.

They paused as they became aware of a commotion from the other side of the camp, and Drake and the three shologs turned to see what it was. The sholog and the goblins that had almost discovered Drake were returning, and with them was a human prisoner, one of the scouts. As they got nearer, the young priest saw that it was Chubb, bruised and bleeding. His clothes in tatters and his hands tied behind his back.

"What's this?" demanded the priest, striding over and followed at a respectful distance by the other two shologs. Drake also followed, moving to stand just behind the captured scout, hoping for a chance to free him. He felt a tremendous weight of guilt, knowing that Chubb had been caught trying to lead the goblins away from him. If Drake had stayed put in Eastglade, as he should have, instead of tagging along and making himself a burden to the professionals, poor Chubb would still be free.

"Spy from the city," answered the sholog who'd brought him in. "Caught him snooping around to the south."

"Good, good!" said Durfang. "We'll have some fun with him, eh?" Chubb looked up fearfully at this. Evidently he understood a little sholog.

The priest was looking at the tattered remains of his uniform, however. "He's one of them that came to the city last night," he said. "A soldier. We'll learn much from him. I'll take him back to my tent, you can have him when I've finished with him."

"But there'll be nothing left of him by the time you're finished with him!" protested the sholog who'd brought him in. "You'll spoil all our fun! He's mine! I found him, he belongs to me!"

"You dare question me?" demanded the priest. "I am in charge here! Any prisoners caught by any of you belong to me, and I alone will decide what's to be done with them! Is that clearly understood?"

He tapped the clenched fist of cold iron with one clawed hand, and the sholog shrank back in fear. "Yes, yes of course," he stammered, his voice trembling but his eyes blazing with fury. "Whatever you say."

"Good," said the priest. "Don't worry, I'll make sure he's still in good enough condition that you'll get plenty of sport out of him, and when we get back to Darmakarak I'll see you're well rewarded for capturing him." This last remark surprised Drake considerably. Shologs were generally rather stupid, brutish creatures. Not well known for the thoughtful, skilful manipulation of those under their command but rather ruling by brute force, killing all those who tried to oppose them. This priest was evidently quite intelligent, by sholog standards. Wise enough to know the dangers of getting too many of his men angry with him at once. They were afraid of him, and appreciative of the power he wielded, but that would only keep them in their place up to a certain point. It was sometimes necessary to make the occasional concession in order to maintain their loyalty and make them see him as an asset rather than a liability.

He made a gesture, and the sholog led the prisoner towards the priest's tent while Drake followed, nervously wondering how long the power keeping him invisible would last. The sprig of pine was still smouldering away quite nicely, but had been almost half burned away, and they sometimes burned out before they were completely consumed. Fortunately, the wisp of smoke it produced was as invisible as he was, visible only to him, or it would have given him away long before.

As they walked, he thought about what he'd heard them saying. The priest had said that they came from a place called Darmakarak. That sounded like a trog name, and was probably one of their small abandoned mining villages in the Copper Mountains to the north. Even today, the mountains still contained small veins of precious and semiprecious metals, particularly copper, silver and gold, sometimes even iron. Whenever one was found the trogs would move in and mine it, digging a tunnel village nearby to live in while they did so. When the vein was exhausted, they would move out, abandoning the village, which would then be occupied by the mountain's other inhabitants, mainly buglins, goblins and shologs. It was largely because of the trogs that there were as many evil humanoids in the mountains as there were, because they left behind so many handy places for them to live in. Every so often, they would send an army to clear them out, but these tended to be infrequent. The trogs had better things to do in their deep tunnel cities than worry about what went on up near the surface.

The Sholog priest entered the tent, dragging his prisoner behind him, and Drake carefully ducked his head to follow.