Midworld by Foster Alan Dean

Author:Foster, Alan Dean [Foster, Alan Dean]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781453274101
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2012-09-10T16:00:00+00:00

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NO ONE KNOWS HOW silently a big animal can move until an adult furcot has unexpectedly padded up close to him. Ruumahum moved that way when the odor woke him, rising so muffled-ear quiet even Born, lightest of sleepers, failed to awake. The aroma came from outside and above, so heavy with its distinctive musk it penetrated down through two levels and the still falling rain. Geeliwan stirred in sleep as Ruumahum padded to the front of the cavern. He stuck his head outside, stared upward with triple piercing eyes, which blinked frequently against the stinging rain.

The smell was unmistakable, but there was no harm in making sure. He gripped the wood with forelegs, followed with the middle pair and then the hind, and swung out onto the side of the trunk. Close-bunched leg muscles worked in unison as he clawed his way up the trunk. It was harder than finding a spiralling path in the thick vegetation, but time was important if his suspicion was correct. The hair behind his ears bristled as the threatening miasma grew stronger and stronger. Few sensory impressions can raise the hackles of a furcot. Ruumahum was absorbing one of them now.

The long vertical climb was tiring, even for him. Then he saw it, still far above, but moving steadily downward, and he knew why their excellent shelter had been empty: This was a silverslith’s tree.

It had their scent, that was certain. They were already dead, unless the persons could devise a new thing. Turning, he rushed back down through branches and vines, eating up the meters with prodigious plunges and leaps. He was making enough noise to rouse every night prowler nearby, which was the idea. Perhaps one would be foolish enough to investigate. The temporary snack might divert the silverslith for a few precious minutes.

They had little time. The silverslith was moving slowly, deliberately, playing with its intended prey. And the giants would slow them further. He burst into the cave noisily enough to wake Born and Losting instantly. Geeliwan gave a warning growl, relaxed at the familiar smell.

Ruumahum stood panting before them, wet fur glistening in the glow from the coals. “Wake others,” he puffed. While Losting moved to rouse the giants, Ruumahum whispered something in the talk of furcots, which prompted Geeliwan to hurry to the cave entrance. He stationed himself there, staring upward.

“What’s going on? What is it now?” Cohoma grumbled sleepily as Losting shook him. Logan had already moved to a sitting position and waited to be told.

“We must leave here immediately,” Born told them. He fastened his cloak more tightly at his neck, moved to gather his few things. Losting was doing likewise. “This is a silverslith’s tree. It explains why we did not have to fight for this shelter. It is shunned, as we should have shunned it. There was no reason to suspect, none. I feel no better for it, though.”

“All right,” Logan asked tiredly, “another pesty beast. What’s a silverslith, Born, and what can

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