A HORN BLASTED. LESEACH LIFTED in the saddle and tightened her single-handed grip on the handle, the unpleasantly squishy splatterbug cradled close to her stomach.

The next blast then the next sounded. Shouts rang out. Her centaur spurred into action, long strides breaking into a swift gallop.

Wind rushed past her face, whisking errant hairs back from her forehead. The scent of the khalazyons reached her nostrils and they prickled at the sharp arid smell. Her heart ...