by Drew Wagar
But she was not entirely helpless this time.
With a cry she stabbed at the black orbs with all the strength that remained to her.
For a moment she was afraid the knife wouldn’t penetrate. The orb compressed under the point of the knife like a thick egg yolk. Then there was an unpleasant pop and a spray of black ochre exploded out from the point of attack. Zoella squealed as the stuff splattered across her.
Before she could draw back her arm for another strike, the molossc spasmed around her. Zoella was jolted hard as the creature flailed around in agony, whipping first one way and then the other in a raging turmoil. The molossc’s grip on her loosened and she fell. Before she hit the ground she was jerked around. Her tunic was caught in its mouth and she was hanging from one of the sleeves as the clothing came apart. As she watched, the creature convulsed again, whipping her back and forth. The sleeve ripped.
Zoella was abruptly flung free. She tumbled through the air and landed on the muddy slope. The impact knocked the breath out of her. She’d been fortunate to land between two of the shades. If she’d hit one …
She rolled herself over, looking at the mud pool. The molossc was slithering backwards, still moving erratically in extreme agitation, splashing mud around with abandon. As she watched, it retreated into the mud and disappeared from view. The mud churned for a moment, a couple of bubbles popped and then everything was still.
Zoella caught her breath in deep heaving gasps, before the shock caught up with her. She stared numbly at the pool as Raga bounded across and nosed her. Only then did she start to sob, grasping hold of the faithful carn.
A burst of bubbles from the pool brought her back to her senses. She might have wounded the molossc, but she certainly hadn’t killed it. There was no telling how long it might take to recover. She had to get away from here.
The arrow she’d fired was lost to the undergrowth somewhere, but she couldn’t afford to leave the bow behind. Her survival depended on it. She forced herself to approach the pool, trying to stop her hands shaking. She kept talking to herself, trying to stay focussed on what she had to do.
‘Get the bow. Get the bow …’ she chanted to herself, hoping to overcome her dread.
It was sticking out of the mud just a few hands into the pool. She shivered in fright as she felt the warm mud against her feet. She forced herself forward, expecting every moment for the creature to return. Her fingers reached out, trembling uncontrollably, just touching the end of the bow.
She grasped it, just as the mud began to shift again.
She backpedalled furiously, nearly losing her footing, but gained the security of the bank. Then she ran, Raga at her heels, stumbling and heedless of direction; anywhere away from the horrors of the pool. She was consumed by nothing else but the desperate need to put some distance between her and the molossc, turning and heading uphill wherever she could. She managed to run for a while before the burst of adrenaline fuelling her flight was exhausted. Her run slowed to a walk and then to a stagger. She had no idea in which direction she’d been running, or for how long. The forest was the same as ever. She collapsed on the ground, crawling forward for a moment before succumbing to the blissful relief of unconsciousness, her knife and bow scattered around her.
Ioric and Rajan had pushed their hergs hard through the depths of the forest until they too began to notice the ground dropping. The girl had kept up a good pace, yet they soon picked up tracks in the softening mud as the trail led downhill.
‘The bogs,’ Rajan said, sniffing with distaste.
Ioric rubbed his chin. The bogs were avoided by travellers who knew these parts well. They were tricky to cross, with mud pools deep enough to swallow a man without a trace. There were other hazards too, various denizens of the forest inhabited these pools, lying in wait to trap the unwary.
The trail led downwards. The smell of rotting vegetation reached them.
‘Watch your shadow,’ Ioric said, looking forward cautiously. ‘We’ll walk it from here.’
As they dismounted Ioric gestured for Rajan to be silent and then listened intently. He frowned. Rajan’s expression was a question mark.
Ioric leaned across.
‘The King’s men. They’re not far away.’
‘How did they …?’
‘I don’t know, but here they are. Careful now …’
Ioric tied his herg to a shade. Rajan did likewise and then both men walked carefully up a slight slope, gingerly peering over the top.
Below, in a small glade, they could see the armed riders that had torched Tarq’s hall. Ioric signalled for quiet once again, studying the scene below him.
The leader was standing at the edge of a churned morass of mud in the centre of the glade. Even from their remote vantage point Ioric and Rajan could see faint footsteps in the mud leading to the pool. The trail led to the edge of the mud and then stopped.
The leader of the riders moved cautiously forward, prodding the ground with his foot. There was something lying in the mud. Ioric couldn’t see what it was, but had evidently caught the rider’s attention. The rider grabbed a stick and managed to snag it, pulling it from the mire. He gave it a shake as it emerged. A piece of muddy material …
Ioric’s fist clenched as the rider held it up for inspection. It was a tunic, clearly sized for a small frame, ripped and torn.
‘Shards,’ he cursed. ‘Something took her, but maybe she escaped this too. Rajan, we must evade them and search the surrounds, go back and ready the hergs.’
The riders retreated from the mud pool, still holding the tunic aloft. They tossed it between themselves with glee.
Rajan didn’t respond.
‘Snuts, man,’ Ioric exclaimed. ‘What are you …?’
There was an unpleasant stretching sound from behind Ioric. Familiar; the sound of a crossbow being readied. Ioric turned in surprise.
‘Get to your feet, my Prince.’
It was Rajan. He had retreated behind Ioric, a loaded crossbow pointed at him.
Ioric stared in disbelief, ‘Rajan?’
Rajan called out, loudly. ‘My Lord. Atop the rise.’
‘Rajan … you.’ Ioric fumed impotently, gesturing towards Rajan. Rajan stepped back a pace, the crossbow held steadily.
‘I’m sorry Prince Ioric.’
The other riders swarmed up the hill, quickly surrounding Ioric and Rajan, with swords drawn. Ioric recognised Lord Westin, a loyal lackey of the King, a favourite at his court.
‘So … who do we have here?’ Westin said. ‘Excellent work Rajan, we’ll see you an Earl for this.’
Rajan bowed low to Lord Westin and stepped back. Westin turned to Ioric.
‘Prince Ioric.’ Westin inclined his head briefly, but omitted the bow that was required by formality. The gesture did not go unnoticed.
‘What is your business, Lord Westin?’ Ioric demanded.
‘I think you know my business,’ Westin returned, discourteously.
‘I’d hear it now,’ Ioric demanded.
‘I am undertaking a delicate matter as commanded by the King. I might ask you the same thing. I was given to understand you were on a hunt in the forests to the shadeward of Viresia, not here in the poor lands of Serenia. Perhaps you lost your way?’
The riders chuckled.
‘Am I not at liberty to hunt where I may?’ Ioric returned.
‘Indeed you are,’ Westin replied. ‘For now at least. You seem ill equipped for hunting though, this garb of yours, hardly fitting for a Prince of the realm. If I didn’t know better, I’d be drawn to the inescapable conclusion that you were trying to travel without being observed.’
‘My business is my own and no concern of yours, Lord Westin.’
Westin’s eyes narrowed and he took a step closer.
‘I beg your indulgence to disagree,’ Westin said smoothly. ‘I have orders from the King himself and a surfeit of leeway in my choice of how to discharge them.’
‘And these orders?’ Ioric demand
ed.
‘We seek a traitor’s charge, a child,’ Westin replied. ‘A girl.’
‘And what crime has she committed?’ Ioric asked.
‘Her crime?’ Westin asked. ‘She shares her master’s crime, high treason. She is to be taken back to Viresia for the King’s pleasure.’
‘A girl? What does a girl know of high treason?’
‘In the absence of the traitors themselves, responsibility for their crimes falls upon the progeny.’ Westin smirked. ‘I do not make the law, I only enforce it.’
Westin held up the tunic and made a show of inspecting it.
‘However, it would appear that the task at hand is now moot. One of the creatures from the bog has taken the girl. Our work is done, almost.’ He turned to look at Ioric once again.
Ioric glared at him. ‘What did he promise you, Westin? More estates? A choice of women? A new title?’
Westin looked offended. ‘I seek only to serve his Majesty, nothing more. If the King wishes to bestow gifts upon me, that remains his generous prerogative.’
‘And you’d murder in the name of the King?’
Westin stood close to Ioric, now looking directly at him, face to face.
‘Yes, Prince. I would so do. I serve the King, unlike others who seek to undermine him. It seems you truly were ill-equipped for the hunt. There are many wild creatures in the forests, a foolhardy outing that ended tragically for the oldest Prince. Fortunate that your inexperienced younger brother can by instructed in how to step up to take the throne …’
‘You leave my brother out of this …’
Ioric’s hand went to the pommel of his sword, fingers grasping and tightening. The sound of metal being unsheathed echoed through the glade.
When Zoella came to again she was conscious of her aching muscles and a burning sensation across her chest and arm. She propped herself up, giving Raga a reassuring cuddle as he nosed at her, clearly concerned.
Zoella looked at her arm, it was covered in thin striped burns where the tentacles had wrapped themselves around her. Her chest was the same, but to a lesser extent. Wearily she got up, grabbed her knife and walked over to the nearest shade. Her skin was hot and sweaty already and she wondered if she’d been poisoned. She drew another diagonal cut on the bark of a nearby shade and held her arm up as the sap leaked out of it. She felt nothing from the shade as she touched it, no hint of the consciousness she had sensed before. It still made her feel guilty though.
This time she didn’t drink the sap, but caught it in her palm and rubbed it on her arm. She winced as she did so, but she didn’t stop until she’d given herself a complete rub with the shadewater. Ideally she’d have boiled it up, but she knew even in its dilute natural state shadewater had strong medicinal properties. It stung enough; it had to be doing some good.
She returned to Raga and sat down beside him, already feeling a little better. He looked mournfully up at her.
‘I know, I’m hungry too. Just give me a while.’ She rubbed the carn affectionately above the eyebrows. Raga growled softly and closed his forward eyes in delight, settling down on the ground. Zoella could still feel herself trembling.
The terror of the mud pool had receded now. Zoella realised she’d been far too cavalier in traipsing through the forest. The little victory over the marsips had made her overconfident.
But I escaped from the molossc though. Few can say that! I survived. I can do this …
She checked her knife and bow. Both were mucky but still serviceable. One arrow was lost and two had been broken in the fight with the beast, but she still had nine left. Her clothes had come off worst of all; she only had her breeches now and they were soaked in mud and filth from the pit. Cold and exposure would be her enemy if the weather turned foul. She’d need more clothes somehow. That wasn’t going to be easy.
‘Bet I look a nargin’ mess too,’ she muttered to herself, sniffing in distaste at the pungent smell of rotting vegetation that rose from her. ‘Scary as anything else in this forest.’
A faint cry reached her ears. Raga heard it too, his ears pricking up as his head swivelled around. It was coming from away down the hill, back from where they had fled. More sounds followed, angry shouts mixed with sharp words.
She stealthily crept to the brow of the hill so she could see down towards the pool, secreting herself behind the shades.
A man in a dark cloak was surrounded by the very same armoured soldiers she had seen set Tarq’s hall ablaze. He stood with a sword drawn, with the soldiers spread around him in a large evenly measured circle. The soldiers also held swords, points extended inwards. The circle of steel was slowly closing.
As Zoella peered from behind the shade, the battle began. Swords were swung, the forest echoing to the clash of metal and the shouts and grunts of exertion. One of the soldiers was quickly injured by a deft thrust from the cloaked man, falling back into the mud. Zoella wondered who he was.
A traveller, also being hunted? But he’s a swordsman too …
Another soldier went sprawling, but the cloaked man took a hit, staggered and fell to his knees. He was accosted from behind and borne down to the ground by two of the other soldiers. He was disarmed and roughly held between two of the soldiers, then dragged forward for the inspection of the third. From the way he stood Zoella was convinced it was the same one who had beheaded Tarq; the bearing and stance spoke of surety and arrogance.
Zoella couldn’t catch the words that were spoken, but the intention was clear. The third man drew a sword, readied it and prepared to swing.
But the blow never fell. With horrifying speed, tentacles exploded out of the mire, grabbing the two soldiers that had been thrown into the mud and hurling them through the air. Zoella heard the dull thud as they hit shade trunks and then slid to the floor, arms and legs bent at unnatural angles. More tentacles followed, grabbing at the remaining men. Zoella watched with horror as the molossc appeared again.
It must have been dozy when it caught me … now it’s properly awake!
The soldiers had released their grip on the cloaked man to deal with the new threat. Swords swung, but were wrenched from their grasp and flung into the depths of the forest. Zoella couldn’t see who had managed to dodge the tentacles, though one soldier seemed to have a blade with a far sharper edge, which kept the tentacles at bay. In moments only two of them remained.
The cloaked figure managed to find a sword and they both swung their swords wildly, trying to fend off the glutinous tentacles of the molossc as it moved in on them. As Zoella watched the soldier fell backwards, unbalanced as a tentacle caught hold of his ankle and pulled him into the mud, shrieking with fear.
Zoella fidgeted from her hidden vantage point for long moments before another yell galvanised her into action. The cloaked man, now alone, had been caught by the tentacles. If anything the creature was having an easier time of securing a grip on the men due to their size.
I have to know …
She took off down the hill, yelling and waving her hands, Raga leaping and yelping beside her.
The cloaked man looked up in bewilderment as she came screeching out of the depths of the forest. He watched in disbelief as Zoella drew her bow and rapidly fired a series of arrows at the beast’s head.
Her aim was good; an arrow hit one of the molosscs remaining dark eye spots. Zoella knew its weakness now. The molossc turned to face her, releasing its grip on the man. She let another arrow fly. The deep echoing sigh came from the creature again before it dived back into the mud, wasting no time in disappearing into the depths of the pool, satisfied with the prey it had already secured. She had beaten it a second time.
Zoella watched cautiously as the man struggled out of the mud on the other side of the pool. He seemed to be injured as he staggered to his feet, pain evident on his face.
Raga growled from beside her. She held down her hand to calm the carn.
‘No Raga. Be still.’
The man looked towards her, his face flushed. He br
andished the sword. In a flash Zoella fitted an arrow and pulled back her bow.
‘Drop it!’ she cried, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘And put up your hands!’
Such a waste, my father will pay for this! Rajan …
His friend and loyal servant a traitor! For how long? He’d never know. Rajan had been dragged away by the creature too. Two of the soldiers’ bodies also lay nearby, their figures contorted by broken bones from the fall they’d taken after the creature had thrown them. Lord Westin and the others were gone, taken down into the mud by …
…Whatever that thing was. The girl …
He staggered to his feet, his sword swinging around uselessly in his hand. Something was wrong with his ankle, he could put no weight on it at all. He fell backwards into the mud, only to be confronted by the girl, standing not far from him, with her bow drawn and an arrow aimed right at his heart. Still sitting, he turned around to face her.
Screaming like a wraith from the depths of the shades …
‘Drop it!’ the girl cried, her voice wavering. ‘And put up your hands!’
Ioric appraised her as she watched him warily, putting his sword down. She must be around seventeen rounds old, the right age. It was impossible to tell what she looked like; she was caked in mud from head to foot. Ioric could see she was painfully thin, but the arms that held the bow and its string were taut and wiry. From a cursory examination of the bow Ioric could tell it was crude and poorly made, but it was powerful enough to be potentially lethal at close range.
Then there was the large carn at her side, clearly under her control and protecting her. It was a fearsome beast. Ioric could see it was well past its prime, but it would not do to underestimate the sabre-toothed bite.
It’s her, it has to be …
‘Well,’ he finally said after he had raised his hands at her tense instructions. ‘I’m your captive now. What would you have me do?’
