“We’re heading toward the highway.” After the wild run, it had taken Ashara a while to find her bearings, especially with clouds hiding the sun, but she recognized the peaks surrounding them and could tell which direction they were walking.
“Yes, but you don’t know where our lorry is parked, and our driver doesn’t know who you are. He might decide you’re with the rest of the Kendorians and that he should shoot you.”
Ashara almost said that she could handle one Turgonian soldier—or at least avoid being shot by one Turgonian soldier—but in her condition, she doubted she could dodge a drunk grandmother swinging a broom. “I’ve heard stories of medical care in Turgonia. Maybe I’ll just crawl into a cave and let nature heal me.”
“Sounds lonely,” Maldynado said. “And Basilard would be upset with us if we left you in a cave.” He didn’t bother hiding the longing gaze he cast back toward the woods they had left. It seemed he would rather be fighting a shaman too. Crazy Turgonians.
“Do we need to worry about pursuit?” Ashara asked. “Basilard had weeds hanging from the back of his shirt and looked like he was caught in a flood.”
“He was,” Amaranthe said. “As was the entire Kendorian encampment. A lot of people and equipment were swept downriver, and many of their supplies should be ruined. Sicarius and his new Mangdorian friends only kept from being swept away by climbing the cliff walls. A few Kendorians managed to do that, too, but most went downriver with their gear. We left before we could see if they would try to regroup and return, or if they would head back across the border, but we’re hoping for the latter, of course. Their commander was killed. Their shaman is… obviously still a problem.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Their fledging outpost was also utterly destroyed,” Maldynado said, sounding smug. “Did you know that a single squirrel-chewed blasting stick can make a sufficient fuse in the presence of kegs of black powder?”
“I could see that.”
Ashara put a hand on a fir tree for support as she stepped over a large log but paused, a sense of wrongness coming over her. She couldn’t tell if it was coming from the fir or from the forest itself. Or maybe her own intuition had been set off by some magic or menace in the area. The birds were chirping, but she couldn’t dismiss her feeling.
“Something wrong?” Amaranthe asked quietly, glancing into the trees around them.
“I’m not sure. Can you give me a second?” With her hand still on the bark, Ashara dropped her chin and closed her eyes. She did not feel comfortable using her power in front of these Turgonian witnesses, but that intuition told her that she had better do it, regardless.
Barely aware of Amaranthe and Maldynado murmuring to each other, Ashara stretched her senses out, using the network of roots once again, seeing more than she ever could have with her own limited power. That disquiet came to her through the link, from the animals crouching or running across those roots, from the birds sitting in the branches above them. In this area of the woods, there did not seem to be danger, but a couple of miles away and farther up the mountain, something was happening. A scene flashed into her mind, one of bloodied and fallen men, one of a huge, shaggy beast on a rampage.
The intensity of the images made Ashara gasp and stumble back from the tree. Scarcely seeing anything around her, she would have fallen over the log, but Maldynado gripped her shoulders to steady her.
“What is it?” Amaranthe asked.
“I… I’ve never seen one before, but I think that was a makarovi.”
Amaranthe sucked in a quick breath and met Maldynado’s eyes. They seemed to exchange some silent communication, but Ashara was too busy trying to push the image of the mauled soldiers and of the creature out of her mind to worry about it.
“The others need our help,” she managed to say. Based on the grisly stories she had heard of makarovi, she did not know if this one had been acting of its own accord or if it was being controlled, but she suspected Tladik was responsible.
Ashara thought Amaranthe and Maldynado might question her vision, but maybe Basilard wasn’t the only one who had figured out that she had a few talents other than archery.
“Where?” Amaranthe asked.
“This way.” Ashara turned up the slope, hastening her pace even though it hurt. Her vision of the makarovi had been brief, but she’d had the sense that it was after something, that it was on the hunt.
“Should we have a plan?” Maldynado asked Amaranthe. They were letting Ashara lead, but they were staying close, too, with their firearms in hand.
“Probably,” Amaranthe said. “It’s a shame we’re out of blasting sticks.”
“I’m not sure those work as well on makarovi as they do on dams.”
“I’m assuming the shaman is controlling it. We’ve seen him using everything from grimbals to owls.”
“Cougars,” Ashara said, though she wasn’t paying much attention to the conversation. She was focusing on walking through the pain and finding the makarovi before it found Mahliki—if it hadn’t already. She hoped Basilard and the others were on the trail too.
“A cougar? Is that how you ended up falling?” Amaranthe asked.
“It pushed me over the edge.”
“Hm, he definitely spends time in the minds of a lot of animals. I wonder if there’s a way to use that against him.”
“I didn’t think to bring any catnip,” Maldynado said.
“Shortsighted,” Amaranthe murmured.
“It veered down from the higher ground,” Ashara said after touching another tree, trying to update herself on the creature’s location. She couldn’t sense Mahliki or the others, but the makarovi created such terrified emotions within the wild animals that it left an imprint on the forest. “We’re not that far.”
“Wish we weren’t that far from the lorry,” Maldynado said. “I’d rather face it from inside some steel walls. Preferably, moving steel walls that are outrunning it while we fire cannons back at it.”
Ashara did not point out that a steam vehicle would be useless out here in this roadless terrain. She wouldn’t have minded steel walls and cannons, either. She had no idea how they would kill a makarovi, especially when she didn’t know if she could draw her bow right now; she just knew that they couldn’t let it have Mahliki or kill any more people without trying to stop it.
A bone-shaking, unearthly roar emanated from the forest ahead of them. It made Ashara shudder—and grab an arrow to nock. Broken fingers or not, she would have to try and shoot.
“Can we circle around and find some high ground?” Amaranthe asked. “Maybe a spot where we can shoot at it and it can’t reach us?”
Ashara thought of the tree she and Mahliki had shared a few days earlier. She did not know if that would be enough of a deterrent to stop a makarovi—it might tear a trunk up from the roots with its massive strength. But perhaps they could find an outcropping of rocks or a big boulder to climb up. She wished she had personal experience fighting the creatures and knew what they were capable of.
“We can try.” Normally, Ashara would run ahead to check, but she only pointed in a direction that would let the others circle around the location where the roar had originated. She couldn’t move faster than they could and admitted to fear seeping into her blood. She didn’t want to chance facing a makarovi alone, not right now. “That way.”
Another roar came from the trees up ahead. She couldn’t see the source yet, but her ears told her that the creature hadn’t moved far from where it had made the first cry. She also didn’t think it was facing in their direction. So what was it roaring at?
“Watch my back,” she whispered and touched a tree again, hoping nature would share another vision with her. And also hoping that this one wouldn’t include mangled corpses.
For a moment, Ashara saw only the creases in the bark of the pine tree under her hand. Then her mind settled enough, and she had her vision. She glimpsed a thick stand of fir and hemlock and a looming pile of granite boulders. He
r first thought was that she had located the high ground that Amaranthe wanted, but the makarovi loomed right in front of the boulders, standing on its hind legs, towering twenty feet. With massive paws, it was cutting at the rocks, tearing away shards as if its claws were unbreakable axes.
Ashara’s stomach sank. There could only be one reason for its obsession. It had someone trapped. Mahliki. Ashara wanted it to be someone else, one of the shaman’s companions, but she knew with otherworldly certainty that it wasn’t. Her head sagged. Mahliki might have somehow evaded Tladik, but she hadn’t escaped his latest minion.
Someone shook her shoulder, pulling her from her trance.
Ashara lowered her hand and took a breath. Mahliki wasn’t dead yet. There was still hope.
“She’s trapped inside a small cave in some rocks,” Ashara whispered. “I’m not sure how long she has until the makarovi forces its way in, but I did see a cliff rising up in the background. Maybe we can climb up and shoot at it from the top.” As she spoke, she was already moving. Though it rattled her aching body, she forced herself into a run. There was not much time.
Grim-faced, Amaranthe and Maldynado did not argue. They followed her, keeping up easily, glancing toward the sounds of the roars as they circled widely around the spot. The scrapes and squeals of claws gouging rock were also audible now.
When Ashara saw the cliff with her own eyes, it did not impress her. It would take them to about twenty feet above the makarovi, the ledge about even with the top of the jumble of boulders it was attacking, but it would not take any fancy climbing to reach the top. They ran up a slope on one end, a move the makarovi could replicate once it noticed them attacking. Ashara hoped the creature was too obsessed with reaching Mahliki to leave the rock pile—and that she or one of the others could luck into a killing shot. Her experience shooting the grimbals on the highway did not lead her to believe that would be easy. The grimbals seemed small next to this dark, shaggy predator. But maybe if she could catch it in the eye…
“Dear ancestors, that is one ugly monster,” Maldynado whispered, dropping to one knee at the edge of the overlook. His rifle was already loaded with the six bullets it could hold, and he laid a small pile next to his knee for quick reloading.
Amaranthe didn’t respond, simply raising her own weapon to aim. A few trees stood between the makarovi and their ledge, but they could see it clearly—and smell its musky stench as if it were inches away instead of meters. Unfortunately, they were to its side, so they couldn’t target the eyes. Ashara lifted her bow, the grip awkward with two fingers held straight with a splint. Her aim would be awful, but maybe she could draw its attention, so the others could strike for the eyes.
She shot first, loosing an arrow that glanced off the boulders beside its head. It didn’t even turn toward them. She cursed the abysmal aim and tore off the splint and bandages with her teeth. She would rather deal with the pain than poor aim.
By now, Maldynado and Amaranthe were firing. Their bullets thudded into the creature’s thick fur, but it gave no indication of being hurt or even that the projectiles were piercing its hide. Surprisingly, spatters of blood marked the grass and rocks beneath its feet. Had they been there all along? Was the makarovi doing bodily damage to itself by clawing at the granite?
Amaranthe struck the creature in the ear. For the first time, it spun toward them, snarling as it waved its paws in the air and looked about until it spotted them. Ashara loosed an arrow, aiming for its eye, a dark, bloodshot eye that stared right at her. It almost seemed as if the creature recognized her, and there was a cold intelligence glittering in there that chilled her to the core.
Her arrow whizzed past its head without doing any damage. For the first time, she noticed blood dripping onto the rocks underneath the makarovi. A long gash had been cut through the fur of its torso, and there might have been other injuries too. The dark, thick fur made it difficult to tell.
“It’s already injured,” Amaranthe said.
“Wish I could say I did that,” Maldynado said as his rifle cracked again. Smoke hazed the air around them, and the smell of gunpowder almost overrode the pervading musk stench.
“It must have been the Kendorian soldiers,” Ashara guessed, grimacing as another arrow went astray, bouncing harmlessly off the makarovi’s leg. “My aim is lizard dung. Shoot for that big cut. Maybe it’ll be more vulnerable there.”
Before the others could comply, the makarovi dropped to all four legs.
“Maybe it heard our plan,” Amaranthe said, “and doesn’t approve.”
The creature left its spot in front of the cave and raced toward the slope that Ashara and the others had come up.
“Or maybe it just wants to eat us.” Maldynado grabbed his spare bullets and jumped to his feet. “Mahliki,” he yelled, “if you’re in there, now’s your chance to escape.”
“Escape where? She’s in a safer place than we are.” Amaranthe glanced toward the trees, none of which were that stout, then pointed farther along the ledge. “Maybe we can go down the other way, join her in there.”
“Uh.” Maldynado’s upper lip wrinkled, showing what he thought of the idea of trapping himself in a cave.
Ashara didn’t think much of it, either, but she doubted she could climb a tree with her injuries. The cave might be their best bet. They could continue to shoot at the creature through the narrow entrance.
A small tree snapped, knocked to the ground as the makarovi charged up the slope. There was no time left to plot strategies. Ashara joined the others in running for the far side of the cliff. She hadn’t scouted in that direction and hoped there was a place to climb down. An image of being trapped, her back to a drop-off, flashed through her mind.
They pushed through a canebrake. Ashara hoped the dense growth would slow down the makarovi, but it might mow right through.
Amaranthe outpaced them and called back with a quick, “Hurry! Over here.”
Ashara’s battered body did not want to hurry, but the fear coursing through her veins gave her the strength to ignore the pain. She pushed and squeezed through the dense canes and almost tripped over a hidden log. Maldynado, who had stayed behind her, caught her and righted her. She gritted her teeth and reminded herself this was not the time to be annoyed that she needed help.
Amaranthe had found a way down, but it was much steeper than the slope they had used to come up. Roots dangled over the edge of a rock face.
The snarling breaths and crashes of heavy feet tramping the canebrake not that far behind encouraged Ashara to drop to her belly and squirm over the edge without comment. Amaranthe did the same, while Maldynado fired a couple of shots.
“Don’t hesitate, Mal,” Amaranthe said, not slowing. Like Ashara, her hands found holds quickly, and they descended so rapidly that rocks flew free. They almost lost their grips more than once. “It might jump down.”
“I might jump down too.” As Maldynado slung his rife on his back and slithered over the side, dozens of small rocks pelted Ashara and Amaranthe on the heads. “You’ll catch me, right?”
Focused on climbing, Amaranthe did not answer. Ashara did not, either, taking a moment to glance down. Another ten feet. Any other time, she would jump that, but she did not want to risk hurting herself further. They had to run twenty-five meters to reach the pile of boulders.
An ear-splitting roar came from the top of the ledge. Something hot spattered Ashara’s face. Blood? Saliva? She didn’t check. She only descended more quickly.
True to his suggestion, Maldynado leaped from his perch up above them, risking the fifteen-foot drop. Amaranthe jumped down, too, and they landed together, both swinging their rifles up to shoot.
Ashara skimmed down the last eight feet and turned, racing for the boulders. She hated leaving the others but knew they could run faster than she could right now. Besides, her bow was even more useless than their rifles.
“It’s jumping,” Maldynado yelled.
“Move,” Amaranthe barked.
From the sounds of their footsteps, Ashara knew they were catching up with her. So long as the makarovi wasn’t. She ran around the base of the rock pile, the jumble of the massive boulders reaching far over her head. She slowed down when she reached the torn up ground and rock litter that the creature had left. Where was the cave? She squinted at the uneven rock formation. From the ground, she couldn’t see it, but it had to be up there.
Another roar came from the cliff, this one sounding pained as well as enraged.
“It hurt itself,” Maldynado said.
“Enough to slow it down?”
“Uh, doesn’t look like it. Go, go.”
“I’m going.” Amaranthe raced past Ashara and leaped onto the rock face, climbing like a monkey. “Mahliki?” she called as she ascended. “Are you in there? Don’t shoot. We’re coming in.”
Ashara did not point out that Mahliki hadn’t been shooting anything even when the makarovi had been trying to come in. The eyes of the forest had told her Mahliki was in there, but Ashara worried she was hurt, maybe unconscious.
Above her, Amaranthe slithered through a crevice. It looked more like a slender fissure than a cave. As Ashara continued to climb, she worried that whatever gap lay between the rocks wouldn’t be large enough for all three—four—of them to hide in. What then?
From the rocks below her, Maldynado cried out, something between an exclamation of alarm and a curse. It turned to a yelp of pain. Injured or not, the makarovi had caught up with them.
It reared up, its head as high as Ashara, but Maldynado was its target. It had clawed a gash in his calf and was pulling its arm back for a swing at a more vital target. Maldynado was trying to hold the rifle, using it as a club to deflect those swipes, even as he clung to the rock face. The makarovi knocked the weapon aside with so much power that it flew all the way back to the cliff.
Hanging onto the side of the rocks below the crevice, Ashara could not use her bow to help. Though she feared it was a waste, she pulled out her knife and threw that, aiming for the creature’s eye. The blade hit but not before the makarovi squinted its heavy lids shut. They proved as thick and impenetrable as the rest of its hide, and the dagger fell away. But her attack, feeble as it was, gave Maldynado the few seconds he needed to scramble up the rocks.
Diplomats and Fugitives (The Emperor's Edge Book 9) Page 37
