“Yes, good. This is good. Something has brought back many meals here. Not everything cleans all the meat from the bones, and so you smell what they leave. There must be good hunting not far from that smell, or else how would the things get there?”
“There is another smell, too. There is something . . . strange about it.”
“Yes. Yes. It is like a thing with feathers, but also a thing with fur. I do not know the smell, but it is an old smell, and there is no path of it leaving or coming. Maybe it is one of the rotten things now, yes?”
Teyn pressed on uncertainly. The journey so far was already the farthest she'd traveled from the familiar section of forest that had become their home, and the source of the scent was quite a bit farther.
Gradually, they began to find signs of what they had been smelling. Here and there were the partial remains of a very large piece of game. Some of the old and moldy remains appeared to have once been full-grown thorn elk. One broken skull still bore a mighty set of antlers. Other piles of bones were too broken or too old to offer any hint of what beast had produced them. They pressed on, hoping to find something with a bit of fresh meat left—or, better yet, something that the hunter that had left these trophies of past meals had not quite been able to kill. A beast half the size of some that they'd come across, weakened by a prior run-in, would feed the pair of malthropes for weeks.
Despite the enormous potential reward waiting at the end of the trail of remains, Teyn found himself growing more uneasy with each step away from his home.
“How do we know that whatever did this to these animals won't do the same to us?” he asked his mentor.
“It would do this to us gladly. But your nose has been getting sharper, your ears and eyes are pointed in the right directions, and I am smelling and listening and watching also. We will know if anything is creeping up to eat us.”
He nodded and turned back to the task of rooting out something worthwhile from the veritable graveyard, but her assurance did little to ease his nerves. The mountains in this part of the woods had been growing steadily steeper, eventually leading to a rocky cliff face. The treacherous wall of stone was looming over them as they threaded their way out of a particularly thin patch of trees.
Just ahead was a small waterfall trickling over the edge of the cliff. It began as a strand of water, but the wind pulled it apart into feathery sheets as it fell, leaving it little more than a freezing mist by the time it settled to the surface of the shallow lake below. The cold blue of the sky reflecting in the rippling surface, combined with the majesty of the falls and the tall, proud pines, would have made for a striking and beautiful view, if either of the malthropes had been in the proper mind to enjoy it.
As it was, the burning uneasiness that had lingered in the back of Teyn's mind had spread to Sorrel as well. Her vigilant gaze was now darting in a hunted and anxious fashion. There was a stillness to this place, a lifelessness. It was almost the same sort of fearful hush that their own section of the woods had taken on once Teyn's hunting skills had improved, but to a vastly greater degree. With nothing else to do but keep to his task, he tracked down the source of the latest unknown scent. It had led them just beyond the fringe of the sparse woods, to a narrow stretch of barren ground. Ahead was a clump of chalky substance, a bit smaller than Teyn's head, that the young malthrope could not identify.
“What is it?” he asked, crouched low as he investigated.
When no answer came, he looked to Sorrel. She was distracted, her face serious and her eyes scouring the landscape for anything that might be a solid cause for concern. He turned back to the substance. A nudge with his toe caused it to crumble apart, revealing the odd tuft of hair or twist of gristle and unleashing a fresh whiff of pungent odor.
“Gohveen . . .” came Sorrel's voice in an awed hush.
“That's what I thought it was. It smells like . . .” he began, turning to see her eyes turned not to the fragrant discovery, but to the sky. She seemed frozen, eyes quivering and lips parted in disbelief. Teyn turned to match her gaze, and quickly spotted what had seized her attention.
While the pair of them had been keeping their eyes trained on the ground in search of food and threats, they had failed to notice danger drifting on the wind above them. It was just a dark point against the bright sky, but something about the way it moved through the air kindled an ancient and well-earned dread within Teyn. He squinted, trying to take in the details of the form. There were wings—the massive, broad wings of a bird of prey—but this was no eagle. To earn such a sprawling silhouette, an eagle would have been near enough for him to hear the rustle of its feathers, and this beast was still high in the sky. A thin cloud drifted in front of the sun, darkening the sky enough for him to make out a hooked beak, piercing eyes, and slate-gray feathers. It had stout talons pulled sleekly to its breast. Behind them, pawing at the air as though eager to strike, was a pair of powerful cat-like legs and a sweeping tail.
Teyn had heard the men of the plantation tell stories of such things. They called it a griffin. As they watched, the creature pitched downward, dropping into a dive that was enough to shake Sorrel from her stupor.
“Run!” she shrieked, stumbling backward for a few steps before turning to coax her ailing leg to as near to a sprint as she could muster. Teyn matched her speed. “No! The other way!” she cried between the yelps of pain that accompanied each stride. “We split! It cannot catch us both!”
“But what about you? You're hurt! If it goes after you it will catch you!”
“It is a flier! It will catch whatever it decides to chase. Go!”
“I won't leave you to face it alone. There's got to be a way.”
A stride landed hard on the bad leg, sending a jolt of pain that was momentarily intense enough to eclipse the fear and panic.
She tumbled to the ground, her muscles rigid with agony for a few long moments before the wave of pain subsided. Her teary eyes opened to find Teyn had already gathered the crutch and thrown her arm around his neck to haul her to her feet. When they were unsteadily upright again, both of them snapped their eyes to the sky. The beast had wheeled around and was rushing toward them from directly ahead, descending from above the cliff. On her best day, Sorrel would barely have had a chance of making it to the shelter of the rocky crevice. With her leg in such terrible shape, there was no hope of getting that far. Even the nearest of the trees might as well be half a world away.
She heaved a few shaky breaths and pushed herself away from Teyn. “Fine,” she said, tears in her eyes and voice. “Head for the cliff, you understand? Head to the cliff and find a place too small for the flier to go. Run fast as you can.”
She spoke with her eyes trained on the sky, the desperation and urgency in her tone rising with each beat of the creature's wings.
“Right, let's go,” he stated, duty and purpose gleaming in his eye.
“No,” she instructed. “You go alone. It will chase you, not me.”
“Why?”
She looked to the sky a final time to see the beast just moments away, then turned to Teyn. As if attempting to gather her nerves for something, she drew in a deep breath. With a blur of motion, a cry of fury, and a flash of her claws, she raked a long, shallow slash across Teyn's chest where the open shirt left it bare. He staggered backward, disbelief and shock making the pain seem distant and inconsequential. The wounds were superficial, but already they were beading with blood.
“That is why! Now go. Run!”
She sprang toward the trees, favoring her bad leg to the point of hopping. He looked up to the swooping form, and in its cold predatory gaze he saw the same calculations he'd been learning to embrace. It flitted its eyes first to the injured motion of Sorrel, then to the bright red streaks of blood on Teyn's chest. When he saw the creature curl its talons toward him, he knew that it had made its decision. There was only time enough for a pair of bounding steps before the creature was near enough to strike, but he made them count, rushing low to the gro
und and tucking his shoulder into a roll when he felt the rush of wind from its wings. Claws longer than his fingers cut through the air, missing his head but catching his ear, slicing a notch out of the outer edge.
He rolled to his feet and dashed for the cliffs. Behind him the ground shuddered under the beast's landing. An eagle was an ungainly creature on land. Pity, then, that he was not facing an eagle. As sleekly as its avian aspect had allowed it to navigate the skies, its feline aspect allowed it to match that grace on the ground. It pivoted, dug its hind claws into the earth, and once again Teyn was being pursued by a much larger, much faster creature. Unlike before, there were no trees to serve as cover or obstacles. As the griffin steadily gained, all he could do was pour as much as he could into his sprint and pray that he reached the cliff in time.
The ground grew rockier and more uneven with each step toward the cliffs, but he'd learned to be surefooted in his time with Sorrel. He also knew better than to waste an ounce of his precious strength and coordination to attempt to see how close the monster had come. He relied on the rest of his senses instead. The sound was the most telling, a distinctive sequence of scrapes and slaps as the bony bottoms of the avian feet and fleshy pads of the feline feet alternately struck the earth. At a puff of wind, he reflexively ducked his head, narrowly avoiding a snap of the beast's razor beak. Twice there was a stutter in its step, and twice Teyn shifted directions in time to dodge a swipe of a talon.
Each missed attack gained him a step, and finally he reached the stone wall.
Vast boulders that had been sloughed away from the rest of the mountain by decades of wind and weather littered the base of the cliff. Eroded-away stone alcoves and ice-carved rifts dotted its face. There were dozens of places to hide—hundreds, even—but at a glance, there was no telling which would be large enough to hide him yet small enough to keep him from harm. It hardly mattered, though; his racing mind and pounding heart were both ready to give out, and even a moment's pause would cost him his life. Luck would simply have to be with him. He picked the nearest slice in the mountain that seemed to have a chance to conceal him.
A frantic turn and shuffle slid him into the pocket of darkness within the cliff wall. It was narrow, and the stone on either side was jagged and sharp, but if the alternative was being torn to bits and gulped down by the beast a step behind him the choice was an easy one. He scoured himself across the stone, scraping his already clawed chest and wedging himself as deep as he could manage. His head was turned to the opening without room enough to move it and he could scarcely breathe as the monster reached the wall.
Talons raked and clawed at the stone, scoring lines into it mere inches from his flesh. The griffin unleashed a furious screech as it chipped and scraped at the stone wall with its pickax of a beak, crumbling bits of stone but, mercifully, making little progress. Finally, it angled its head it to cast one last scornful glare at the morsel just out of reach before stalking backward a few steps to sit, rage in its eyes. Teyn's mind turned back to the rabbits, and the day he'd trapped them with a single exit and waited for them to try to leave. He dearly hoped that this beast did not share his patience.
For a few moments, they simply stared at each other, the monster swishing its tail with quick, angry motions. It stood and charged the wall again, making a halfhearted attempt to fish him out before slowly turning its sharp eyes back to the rocky stretch leading to the forest. It scanned steadily, then stopped, body instantly and eerily still. Slow, tentative steps followed, head locked toward something blocked from Teyn's view by its unfurling wings.
It didn't matter; he didn't need to see it. He knew what the beast saw.
“Here!” Teyn croaked, not able to get air enough in his lungs to speak properly, “Here! Keep your eyes on me!”
He raised his arm, reaching out until his fingers were nearly at the opening of the crevice, and slapped the stone. It was no use. The beast had its new target, and would pursue it as doggedly as it had pursued him. Teyn tried to fight breath into his lungs to call out a warning to Sorrel. He'd yet to catch his breath from the run, and narrow shelter allowed only tiny sips of air. The beast kept moving, stalking low to the stone. He twisted and turned his mind, trying to find some way, any way to keep it from targeting her until she'd had more time to find safety. There was one obvious choice. He had to give up his shelter and make himself the more appetizing prey once again.
So close to the monster, it might well be the last choice he made, but he did not hesitate.
A quick shove with his feet heaved him from the crack, sending him tumbling out into the open. This time the sound and motion was enough to draw the attention of the beast. Once again, the stillness seized it, as though it knew that safety was just a step behind Teyn and to betray its intention a moment too soon would send the prey scurrying back. Every instinct, every whisper of intelligence, every corner of Teyn's mind demanded he do just that, but he willed those voices into silence. A moment spent staring down the monster was a step toward safety for Sorrel, and she needed very step she could get. He simply had to hope that she was moving as quickly as she could. The monster took a slow step toward Teyn, but he held his ground, senses attuned to every minor movement, every twitch of muscle in the massive predator. The tension grew more intense, each beast knowing the next move was the last of the game, and each waiting for the perfect moment to make the fateful choice.
A sound pierced the air, one that nearly tore Teyn's heart from his chest. It was Sorrel, her voice twisted in agony. The monster's head snapped toward the sound, and before the shrill echoes had died away, it was already bounding toward her. Teyn's legs moved of their own accord, breaking into a sprint that made his earlier flight seem leisurely by comparison. He trailed behind the beast, pushing himself harder than he ever had. This time it was not his own life on his mind, but hers. His pace quickened further, eyes locked on a crumbled form in a shallow gully among the sparse trees of the forest's fringe. Desperation and fear had driven Sorrel to rely upon her much abused leg and it had finally failed her. Even at this distance Teyn's keen eyes could make out a horridly crooked bend in her now useless limb. Unwilling to give up, she was working her way backward crab-wise, one arm and one leg dragging her along while she brandished her crutch. Even in the face of certain death, defiance gleamed from her eyes.
Teyn pushed himself harder. The fear was gone now. Every step was sure, determined. Even the exhilaration of the hunt had dropped away. His mind, body, and soul were one, dedicated to this single task. Save her. He had only known her for a short time, but Sorrel must survive. Too many others had been lost—by his hand or another. He would not allow her to be taken away.
He was beside the griffin now, running half a dozen strides for each of the beast's, and gaining only a few precious inches. Ahead, Sorrel beat the lashed end of her crutch against the ground, breaking it away and leaving a cruel, jagged spike. A toss in the air and a shift of her hand left it in a javelin grip.
When the beast was ten long strides away, Sorrel sent her weapon flying with a heave of her arm. The charging monster swung wide, curving to dodge the weapon and approaching from the side. Sorrel was unarmed now, but her eyes were wide and her teeth were bared. Her attack did not meet its mark, but it had forced the creature to waste enough steps to give Teyn the time he needed. Approaching from the other side, he hurled himself through the air to collide full-force with the creature, wrapping himself around its neck. The impact forced the air from his lungs and was barely enough to stagger the beast, but he did not allow his momentum to slow.
A rage came over him suddenly and completely, as though it had been a soldier waiting at the ready, eager to be deployed. He plunged his claws deep and clamped down with his jaws. Madly, he tore away clumps of feathers in search of something vital.
The griffin reared, pain finally cutting through instinct. Sorrel scrambled away, managing to pull herself clear just as the monster's claws came down hard, throwing Teyn to the ground before it. He ro
lled aside, avoiding a lightning-quick strike of the creature's beak. Eyes dancing across his surroundings, he spotted the broken crutch where it had landed a few paces away. He sprang to his feet, ducked below a sweeping claw, and snatched up the weapon. Makeshift spear held tight in his grip, he turned to face the monster once more, stalking sideways to place himself between it and Sorrel. The griffin took a cautious step back. Teyn growled a vicious challenge.
For a moment there was another standoff, like the one at the cliff except that the roles of predator and prey were no longer so certain. When the massive beast let its eyes flick toward Sorrel, Teyn made his move, leaping high and putting all off his weight behind a single strike of the spear. The weapon met its mark and sunk deep into the griffin's shoulder, eliciting an ear-splitting cry from the beast. Instinctively, it leaped, pumping its wings and taking to the sky.
Perhaps it was dedication or perhaps it was blood lust, but Teyn refused to release his grip on the weapon. He was dragged into the air, dangling from the spear. The creature rolled, a motion that whipped him about and shook his grip, but he managed to dig his claws into the pelt and hold tight. It soared higher, and a brief glance over his shoulder treated Teyn to a view of the retreating ground. The sight was enough to cut its way through the fervor that had been clutching his mind. He looked to the griffin's head looming over his own. Even without seeing its eyes, it was clear that hunger had been overruled by fear in its mind. It was fleeing. He'd won. Now all he had to do was survive.
Each thrust of its wings shook the beast, threatening to break Teyn's grip and send him plummeting to the ground. He needed something to hold onto that was more substantial than feathers. The only option was the spear. Scrabbling with his feet and lunging forward, he managed to get his fingers around it. Instantly, the monster cried out, tipping forward into a dive. Soon it was heading directly toward the ground, and for a heart-stopping moment his fingers slipped and he was falling beside it. The wind whistled in his ears and the rocky field rushed closer, but he kept his eyes on the beast. It pivoted and worked its wings harder, pulling itself out of the dive and drifting near enough for Teyn to latch onto its back.
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 164
