by Bridget Zinn
No. Kyra spun away from Fred.
Across the river was the drooping willow she’d sat under earlier, back when her life had been simple. She almost laughed out loud at that—the simple life of hiding from the kingdom’s soldiers and her business partners, and trying to kill her best friend.
She watched the water rush by, once again as beautiful as it had been before she’d taken an unexpected dip in it.
And then, right before Kyra’s eyes, the water roiled and turned red—a deep dark red, the color of blood. The bloody river filled her vision, and the rest of the world faded away. The river stank of death.
Then she blinked and her vision was gone.
The river looked completely normal, just as it had moments before.
She hugged her black-sleeved arms around herself.
Behind her, she heard Fred talking to the animals.
“See, Rosie? Langley’s a nice dog. He just wants to be friends. I know he’s big and looks scary, but he’s just a puppy at heart. And, Langley, you’re going to have to be gentle with Rosie, okay?”
What had Fred said? He was a traveler? No job, no people to worry about, just living for the moment. What would it be like to have such an easy life?
“Here we go,” he said. “Let’s just set you on the ground here.”
Kyra turned to find Rosie and Langley sniffing one another. They began nuzzling noses. “Hey!” Kyra shouted.
Before she could stop it, her pig was trotting off with the wolf-dog.
“You’re welcome, Kitty.”
Kyra caught up to the animals just as they reached what must have been Fred’s camp. A small tent was set up among the trees, and a campfire was at a low smolder with a simmering pot suspended above it. She reached for the pig’s leash, but it dodged away.
Fred sauntered up and pulled out another biscuit. “Here you go, Rosie.”
The pig devoured the treat with relish.
“You can lunch with us if you’d like.” Fred stirred the embers with a long stick, not looking at Kyra. “It’s the least we can do after nearly drowning you. It’s nice to have some company sometimes.”
“We don’t need lunch.” Kyra’s stomach tightened at the refusal. The campsite smelled deliciously of spices and wood smoke. Kind of like Fred himself. “We need to get going.”
Fred looked up, his eyes catching Kyra’s. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Kitty.”
He took her hand. She pulled back, startled. “Parting gift,” he said.
Kyra looked down and found a dog biscuit in her palm.
ROSIE.
She couldn’t believe he’d named her pig. Her worker pig. Who didn’t need a name.
Kyra bit off a hunk of stale bread as she stomped through the sun-bright forest. They were on a wide birch-lined path, but Kyra saw with relief that the forest grew denser farther ahead. One problem with following a Katzenheim pig—it went down the most direct path, but it wasn’t always the best route for someone who didn’t want to be seen.
Fred better not have ruined Rosie’s nose with all of his food and getting-the-animals-used-to-each-other business.
And the name had stuck. That’s what was so infuriating. She couldn’t look at the pig without thinking Rosie.
Fred was the most annoying kind of guy—beautiful and full of himself. He’d found the whole incident SO amusing. Kyra blushed at the memory of herself sopping wet and half naked in his arms.
Rosie kept looking up at her hopefully, as though she might have another dog biscuit in her pocket.
Kyra dropped a piece of bread for her. She ate it, but Kyra could have sworn Rosie gave her a reproachful look.
There was nothing wrong with old bread. Kyra loved bread. She’d pretty much been living off of it these past few months. Why did Fred have to go and tempt her with hot food and a warm fire?
What could it have been? It smelled kind of like stew, but there was a strong spicy scent of herb. It reminded her of the Gypsy food stalls at the Saturday market—sort of ethereal and woodsy, yet at the same time earthy and filling. Scrumptious. But her favorite by far was the cheese stand. They made this potato dish that was all mashed up with long strings of melty cheese whipped through it. Garlicky, buttery deliciousness.
A branch snapped behind her.
Grabbing Rosie, Kyra dove into the bushes, scratching herself on a clump of prickers. The sound had been distant but closer than it should have been. Daydreaming about food had brought her guard down.
Rosie didn’t seem to mind the rough treatment. Instead of struggling, she snuggled in under Kyra’s arm for a nap.
As the sound of footsteps grew closer, Kyra reached into her velvet potions bag and pulled out her cloaking charm. She spritzed herself and Rosie, and she and the pig took on the patterns of the leaves around them until their individual outlines disappeared completely.
The footsteps stopped suddenly right beside her hiding place.
Through the small spaces between the leaves, Kyra could see heavy black boots with oversized shiny silver buckles bearing the Kingdom of Mohr insignia. A king’s soldier. Glancing up, all she saw was black, black, black all the way to collar height. This wasn’t just any soldier; he was part of the king’s special regiment. Only elite-force soldiers wore all black.
Their weapons weren’t to keep the peace or disarm an opponent; they were meant to kill. Kyra knew because she had enhanced most of those weapons herself.
He thrust the tip of his sword into the hedge and leaned forward to look inside. She had to stop herself from gasping as she recognized the man’s chin-length black hair framing a drooping mustache. Dartagn.
Of all the soldiers to be after her.
He had trained her.
Dartagn crouched down and peered deeper into the bushes. The tip of his sword, glowing green with poison, was inches away.
Behind him came the fffeeet, fffeeet, fffeeet of a small animal scurrying toward them. Dartagn paused to listen.
The animal stopped a few feet away. A squirrel.
Kyra held her breath.
Please leave, please leave, please leave.
She felt Dartagn hesitate.
Kyra palmed a small rock and flicked it to land a scant inch from the squirrel’s tail. The animal took off, shooting out from beneath the pricker bush onto the path in front of Dartagn.
He swore to himself and stood up. His black boots moved away.
Kyra slowly let out a deep breath, but stayed where she was. Once she was sure there was absolutely no chance that Dartagn was still in the area, she stood. She shook the invisible pig in her arms and heard her wake with a loud yawn.
Kyra held tight to her end of the leash as she deposited Rosie on the ground. “So glad you got a nice nap in.”
Kyra spent the rest of the day following Rosie and alternately jumping at every sound that might be Dartagn or another elite-force soldier.
And obsessing about food.
The memory of that spicy stew of Fred’s haunted her. How could someone so annoying make something that smelled so good?
The sun was sinking into the horizon when Kyra heard noises behind her that could only be footsteps.
She dove into the bushes with Rosie for the second time that day and waited for whoever it was to pass by.
Just as the footsteps drew near, Kyra looked again at the pig and realized that she was as solid and pink as could be. The cloaking charm had faded. How had she let that happen?
The footsteps and shuffling noises grew closer.
And closer.
She didn’t want to risk the noise of her cloaking mister.
The next thing Kyra knew, a wet nose was thrust into her face.
And a tongue licked her.
A dog’s tongue.
“Come on, Langley,” Fred’s voice called, already walking away. “There’s nothing in there.”
What was he doing here?
Kyra held her breath.
Langley pulled his head out of the bushes, and Ky
ra heard him shuffling off after Fred.
A few moments later she heard a loud shout, followed by a scream.
KYRA RAN DOWN THE path and came to the top of a rise just in time to see a goblin smash Fred in the head with a club.
Fred fell to the ground.
Langley growled low in his throat and placed himself between the goblin and Fred.
There were six goblins in all—vicious, gray-skinned creatures with oversized globelike eyes, sharp teeth, and knotted muscles. They were shorter than an average man—just about Kyra’s size. The one with the club circled around the big dog as another goblin with a long wicked knife advanced head-on, one eye on Langley, one eye on Fred’s pack. The others crowded around and snickered.
Goblins were the worst. It wouldn’t be enough to steal the unconscious man’s bag. They’d slit his throat, and Langley’s, too—and then probably make a meal of them both before leaving.
She had to do something. But what? Goblins didn’t react to potions the same way that humans did. There was something different in their body chemistry that skewed the effects of potions, often with surprising and horrible results.
She was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.
“Stay here,” she whispered to Rosie. She grabbed a couple of egg-sized rocks.
Kyra whipped one of the rocks at the goblin on the far left. It hit his skull with a loud crack, and he collapsed, stunned. She nailed a second with another rock, dropping him too.
Now there were only four.
With an enormous leap, Kyra landed beside Fred and the growling dog. Right in front of the goblin with the knife.
She slammed the side of her hand against his wrist, and his weapon flew to the ground. A quick jab to his throat and a sweep of her leg, and he was down just in time for her to jam her elbow into the solar plexus of a goblin who’d come at her from behind.
Another swiped at her with one long-nailed hand.
In the quick, measured moves she’d been taught by Dartagn, she locked the goblin’s arm, kicked him in the stomach, and sent him sprawling. She turned on the goblin with the club just as a shadow fell on them both.
A dark, winged creature flew up above the fray.
A greck.
It came at Kyra, a foul-smelling leathery wing brushing her face as it alighted on her head. Pinpoint claws scrabbled against her scalp, reaching for her eyes. Grecks, she knew, blinded their prey and then used their long pointed beaks to crack open their victim’s skull.
As she reached up to tear the greck from her head, the goblin with the club ran at her, and the greck’s talons sank in just above her eyebrows.
Kyra rolled to the side and kicked her leg straight up, smacking the goblin in the jaw. He fell back, and she grabbed the club, swinging it up at her own head. It connected with the greck with a satisfying squelch. The thing shrilled and loosened its grip.
It took two more swings until the greck released her and slid off her head.
Kyra wiped the blood from her eyes and glared at the three goblins that were back on their feet. “Come on,” she said, waving the club.
Shrieking, one leaped at her and she batted it aside. It tumbled to the ground and lay unmoving.
The remaining two looked at each other and then sprinted away, leaving their companions. For one second, the club raised over her head, Kyra almost chased after them.
She stopped herself.
There was no real danger that they would spread tales about the human girl who beat them—no one listened to goblins.
Except Arlo.
There had been goblins at Arlo’s. Had he sent these to ambush her? But why would he do that? For once, Kyra’s goal and Arlo’s were the same.
As long as she’d known of him, Arlo had been plotting to destroy the kingdom. When Kyra was little, he’d even managed to get bear trolls into the palace. They’d killed three people before the guards managed to contain them. And he was rumored to be behind even worse attempts on the royals.
But Arlo never got punished for his crimes against the kingdom because no one could ever prove he was responsible. He always got someone else to do his dirty deeds. Someone else to take the blame while he walked free.
Someone like Kyra.
Kyra tore a strip of cloth from the hem of her shirt. She wiped the blood off her face and tentatively touched the holes the greck’s claws had made. They stung, but she could tell the wounds weren’t deep. She couldn’t quite shake the sensation of it up there, feeling like it was about to suck her life away.
Kyra tied the cloth around her forehead to stanch the blood.
She had to get Fred out of there before the goblins regained consciousness.
Lowering herself to her knees, Kyra pulled Fred and his pack across her shoulders. Carefully, she stood up.
“Oof,” she said. Fred was not a small person. He was at least a head taller than she was, and a good half a person wider.
She caught Rosie watching her from the top of the hill. At least she’d stayed put. “Come on, Rosie. Langley.”
The animals fell in line behind her as she staggered out of the clearing and into the forest, putting as much distance between themselves and the goblins as possible.
A half hour later, when she could carry him no farther and hoped they were a safe distance, Kyra collapsed and dropped Fred to the ground. She shrugged off his pack and her own, and propped him up against a tree. For a pretty young man, he sure weighed a lot.
“Fred,” she wheezed. “Wake up.”
He had to regain consciousness soon. She couldn’t carry him any farther, and she didn’t have any healing potions.
She sat back on her heels, considering. There was water in her canteen. She could at least try to clean his wound.
Before she could do that, Langley began licking Fred’s face.
His striking green-gold eyes fluttered open. “Kitty?”
“Hello, Fred.” Kyra set down her canteen.
“What happened? The last thing I remember was a pack of goblins coming at me.” He reached up to touch his head, winced, and came away with blood on his fingertips. “Ouch.”
“I think the goblins hit you on the head.” She sat back on her heels and thought quickly. “By the time I got there, they’d been chased away.”
“By what?” He blinked beautifully. “Do you know you have blood all down your face? You look awful.”
“Gee, thanks.” She wet a corner of her shirt and scrubbed at her face. One of the tricks to lying was to keep the story close to the truth. “A pack of grecks went after the goblins, but one got me before he took off after the rest.”
That sounded more believable than that she’d single-handedly taken on a pack of goblins and a greck.
“So you tried to save me.” Fred’s smile lit up his face.
“I thought they were all gone when I found you. Don’t get any ideas.”
“But you must have moved me.”
“Just in case they came back.”
“So you tried to save me.” He just kept smiling at her.
“You’re insufferable. How can you keep smiling with that giant gash on your head?”
He reached for his pack and pulled out a small jar. “Very special super healing balm,” he said as he unscrewed the lid. “It takes the sting out of any scrape or cut without so much as a whisper of a scar left behind.”
Fred dabbed some onto his head wound, wincing with every tap.
He handed the jar to Kyra.
It smelled like sunshine. Kyra unwound the strip of cloth around her head and patted the mixture lightly on her own injuries. She tried to conjure up pages from her medical potions textbook to pinpoint what had gone into the mixture, but the only image that came to mind was her crabby medical potions instructor glaring at her as he pulled out a copy of Effective Coatings for Blade Metals and Alloys from where she’d been covertly reading it behind her textbook.
“Can you walk?” Kyra said, taking the bandage Fred handed her. �
�We should keep moving. We’re not that far away from where they attacked you.”
He smoothed a bandage on his own head and stood up slowly. “Yeah, I think so.” He wobbled a little bit. “Whoa.”
Kyra stepped beside him and let him put his arm around her shoulder. They started walking, Fred leaning on her. “You’d better not be faking.”
Fred chuckled. “So, how did you happen to be so close by?”
“I was going to ask you the same question.”
“Langley. He was following a trail, pulling me along all day. I assumed he was hunting a rabbit or something.” Fred looked down and started shaking with laughter. “I’m so stupid.”
She followed his gaze and saw Rosie and Langley avidly sniffing each other. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Love,” Fred said. “It does the strangest things to you, doesn’t it?” He reached down and vigorously rubbed the dog’s head. “I had no idea you were such a romantic, Langley.”
When he stood again, he seemed steadier on his feet. “Good thing we caught some fish before we set out, as that elusive rabbit seems to have turned into a figment of my imagination.”
Fresh fish. Kyra’s stomach growled. It was like the clouds had parted and delivered her greatest wish. She was probably drooling. There was his fishing rod poking straight up out of the top of his pack. “I didn’t think to bring my reel on this trip,” she said.
“I wouldn’t leave home without it. Towns are few and far between in this part of the world. Makes it difficult to stock up on supplies without grubbing for some of it yourself. And there’s nothing like fresh fish.”
“I wasn’t really thinking about that when I left home.”
“Your trip probably isn’t quite as extended as mine.”
“Why would you say that?” Kyra realized she was revealing too much. Damn her hungry belly.
But Fred just shrugged. “You don’t exactly look equipped for a long journey.”
