by Barb Hendee
A silver-furred dog howled and snarled wildly from across the cavern, where a red-bearded man held it at bay. Beside them knelt the light-haired half-elf, loading a crossbow.
“Ratboy,” Rashed called. “Get up!“
The hunter rushed him, swinging the falchion. To his own surprise, he dodged instead of parrying, instinct acting for him. He could not allow that blade to touch him. If he were seriously injured again, he was finished, and there would be no one to protect Teesha. Disarming the hunter was his first and only real priority. He needed to back her into the tunnel where she couldn’t swing and his strength might give him an advantage. But the wound in his shoulder from their last battle still burned. Feeling slightly off-balance by his near useless left arm, he gained good footing and charged back at her.
“Yes, my dear,” Edwan said, peering down at Teesha’s fluttering eyelids, his head merged through the coffin lid. “Wake up. We have to flee.”
She wore her velvet gown of deepest red, like rich wine, and her thick curls of chocolate brown spread about the coffin’s bed, framing her lovely oval face. He still remembered the first time she had smiled at him. It was one of the few old memories that stayed with him after death.
Like Rashed, Teesha refused to sleep in dirt and spread a white satin comforter over the earth of her homeland. As she sat up and pushed open the coffin’s lid, Edwan pulled back out of her way. She blinked at him, and he noted how the pale quilt lining of her resting place made the color of her dress more vivid.
“We have to flee,” he repeated.
“Why?” she asked. “What is wrong?”
He started to tell her about the stranger at The Velvet Rose, then realized that telling her of that was foolish. He must tell her about the hunter first, so that she would escape with him. Rashed was fighting the hunter. If fortune was kind, the warrior would be killed and Edwan would have Teesha to himself again.
“The hunter has entered the tunnels,” he said. “She brought the dog and other mortals and many weapons. We must go.”
Alarm altered Teesha’s pretty features. “Where’s Rashed? Didn’t you wake him?”
“The hunter found him first, and Ratboy. They can fight her. Come with me, now.”
She quickly climbed out of her coffin and ran into the tunnel toward the warrior’s cave.
“No!” Edwan called in shock. He flew past her and stopped directly in her path. “The hunter is there. You are running toward her. We must escape through the tunnels on the other side.”
“Move, Edwan,” she cried out. “I have to help Rashed . . . we need him.”
Edwan’s shock increased when she ran straight through him. He could not believe this course of events and followed after her in stunned confusion. Sounds of growling and shouting and clanging steel grew louder as they approached Rashed’s cave. Teesha stopped, leaning close to the wall of the tunnel at its opening.
Edwan saw Rashed battling the hunter. Every clash and rush of steps moved them both closer to the opening on the far side of the cave. Rashed was trying to back the hunter out into that tunnel. To the far right, just beyond Rashed’s resting place, the half-elf and a large red-bearded man, holding the silver hound, were about to open Ratboy’s coffin.
Teesha’s eyes shifted back and forth between the hunter and her companions.
“Edwan,” she called, “help Ratboy, now!“
Edwan hovered behind her. She had not even looked at him, just ordered him.
“No.”
Teesha turned back to stare at him in shock. Her mouth opened, but not a word came out. When she looked back into the cave, Rashed had the hunter two steps from the opening. He made a sudden rush forward, trying to close in, slashing down hard with his blade.
The hunter shifted to the right against the cave opening and slashed down on top of Rashed’s sword, driving it to the floor. Her other hand, gripping the stake, swung out and struck his wounded shoulder.
The large warrior spun halfway around until his back flattened against the cave wall, his chest fully exposed. At the same time, the upper half of Ratboy’s coffin lid shattered outward into the air. The hunter twisted back into the cave, facing Rashed, ready to strike again with the stake.
Before Edwan could say anything more, Teesha launched herself wildly into the cave and leaped on the hunter’s back. Edwan’s beautiful wife screamed as her arms began to smolder.
Leesil crept closer to the coffin’s bottom end, crossbow aimed downward to pin the beggar boy with the first shot. His sack of supplies hung off one hip from the strap slung across to his opposite shoulder. The sound of Magiere’s falchion clashing against the nobleman’s long sword came from behind him, but he could not turn to look. He would have to trust her to keep her opponent busy, just as she trusted him to get the beggar boy. If either of them failed, the other would end up falling to an attack from behind.
He nodded at Brenden, who simultaneously held the torch and gripped Chap by the scruff of the neck.
“Let go of Chap and pull the lid open,” Leesil said.
Brenden moved to do as he was bid, but before his hand touched wood, the coffin lid’s upper half exploded as Ratboy smashed his way out. Startled, Leesil lost his aim and stepped back.
The beggar boy grabbed Brenden’s wrist and jerked, hard. The blacksmith stumbled off balance and fell across the bottom half of the coffin, blocking Leesil’s line of fire. Chap was forced back as Brenden fell, and the torch in the blacksmith’s hand tumbled to the ground. Its light partially blocked by the coffin, shadows leaped upward along the walls in front of Leesil.
Between the sudden shift in light and Brenden’s falling body, Leesil lost clear aim at his target. Ratboy curled backward, feet thrusting up above his head as he flipped himself over the coffin’s back end. He landed, sitting on the ground.
Leesil tried to set his aim again, but Ratboy kicked out with both feet against the coffin’s near end. It slid sharply across the floor, slamming bottom end first into Leesil’s legs.
Leesil tried to catch himself with one hand as he fell, and toppled on his side. With the lid’s top half shattered, his torso dropped inside the coffin. His clothing snagged on shards of wood, and Ratboy was above him before he could twist over and right himself.
Leesil glimpsed a shadowed and filthy alabaster face with round, red-tinged eyes and openmouthed grin. The teeth, with fangs jutting top and bottom, were yellow. Leesil twisted and ducked his head at a flash of movement.
A clawlike hand slashed down, missing his throat. It caught him across the cheek and mouth. Leesil felt his own blood spatter across his face before feeling the pain.
“No one will recognize your corpse,” Ratboy hissed.
Leesil closed his hands to grip the crossbow, but it was gone—he’d dropped it when he fell. Ratboy’s hand flashed up again, and Leesil flinched, one arm raised to shield his head, while grasping at his belt for a stake or stiletto or whatever weapon he could find first.
The face and hand disappeared in a silver-gray flash.
Leesil thrashed his way out of the coffin, rolling over its side, and almost falling on the crossbow he’d dropped upon the ground.
“Shoot!” Brenden shouted, now pulling himself up, a trickle of blood running from a gash in his forehead. “Shoot him.”
Leesil rolled again into a crouch, with the crossbow at ready, and saw Chap on top of Ratboy. Dog and undead were locked in a thrashing tangle of teeth, limbs, claws, and snarls that moved so quickly Leesil couldn’t follow all of it. Chap’s fangs snapped and connected over and over, and though Ratboy could not return the same, his claw-hands battered at the dog. Tufts of fur were ripped from Chap’s body.
“I can’t. I’ll hit Chap,” Leesil answered through gritted teeth.
“Fool!” Brenden spit out. He snatched up the torch and flung it skittering across the ground at Ratboy.
“No, don’t . . .” Leesil began. He barely had time to see the torch hit Ratboy in the hip. Both dog and undead s
truggled to get away from the flame.
Out of the corner of his eye, Leesil saw the huge nobleman backing Magiere toward the tunnel opening, the two combatants swinging their blades at each other. Magiere chopped her opponent’s sword to the ground and struck his wounded shoulder with her stake. The nobleman spun away along the cave wall, and Magiere pivoted back into the open. Both their faces were distorted with hatred beyond sanity, each having forgotten the existence of anything but the other. Magiere’s own features twisted in a silent snarl of exposed fangs as she drew up her falchion to cut the nobleman down.
Leesil started to turn his attention back to his own opponent when a flash of red rushed toward Magiere from behind.
A woman. Brenden had been right.
A mass of brown hair and a red dress enveloped Magiere as the woman leaped upon her back, arms wrapping around Magiere’s shoulders and neck. The woman screamed as she began to smoke, burned by the garlic water. Magiere slammed her left elbow back into the woman’s side, then, half turning, struck her in the face with her falchion’s hilt. The woman toppled backward to the cave floor, and as she fell, Magiere slashed down once with the falchion.
The action cost Magiere the advantage. The nobleman regained his footing and raised his long sword to strike.
Everything else dropped from Leesil’s awareness.
He raised the crossbow and fired.
Monster.
The word echoed over and over in Magiere’s mind as she slashed and charged and dodged the tall creature in front of her. She was vaguely aware of his physical appearance, his short black hair and clear eyes.
Rashed. She knew that his name was Rashed. The name simply appeared in her mind, but she did not understand how. As her rage and strength increased and her jaw began to hurt, she recognized flashes of images from his mind.
He saw her as a killer, an invader. But she knew what he was.
Monster, she thought again, raising the falchion to strike.
His name didn’t matter. His head sliced from his shoulders—that mattered. She was strong, so strong . . . and fast. Her mouth ached, and she couldn’t speak.
A shriek sounded in her ears and weight collided with her back and shoulders. Strong, thin arms wrapped around her neck as the wailing voice in her ears turned to a pain-filled scream. Smoke rose around her head, obscuring her vision.
Magiere thrashed backward with her elbow, connecting with a soft torso, and was answered with the pleasing sensation of bones snapping inside flesh. As the arms released, Magiere whirled and slammed her sword hilt at whoever had grabbed her, not even aware if the blow had connected. She only saw billowing red fabric obscured in trails of smoke, and chopped hard at it with the falchion. The blade connected, but she didn’t stop to look at her target and turned her head.
Rashed’s sword arced down at her. Magiere twisted on instinct, trying to move out of the way.
A crossbow quarrel suddenly sprouted from Rashed’s stomach and the path of his blade changed slightly. It passed close by her shoulder and swept outward away from her.
Magiere felt the hate rise up in her like burning elation. She spun back, her sword arm coming up, blade arcing over her head to come down on her prey.
The monster reversed his swing before she’d finished turning.
She felt surprise more than pain as the tip flashed out of sight just below her jaw. Hate and strength spilled out of her at the dull sting in her throat. Wet warmth ran down her body inside her vestment.
Dropping to her knees, she released the stake and grasped her throat. The same warmth ran between her fingers from the side of her neck.
Rashed staggered back one step, pulled the smoking quarrel from his body, then moved forward again, his lips curled in a sneer.
Leesil dropped his gaze long enough to pull another quarrel from its holding place below the crossbow’s stock. He couldn’t afford to step between those two in their maddened state without being cut down by one or the other, so he readied for another shot. It might not kill the nobleman, but it could slow him enough for Magiere to take the advantage. Fitting it in place, he raised his eyes again as he pulled on the bow string.
Magiere knelt on the ground, hand to her neck. Her face was no longer twisted in rage; rather her brow wrinkled in confusion, eyes wide. Her fingers were already dark with blood.
“Chap!” Leesil screamed, not even looking to see if the dog was free of his opponent. “Chap, here, get him!”
The nobleman pulled the quarrel from his stomach much in the same manner Leesil had seen Ratboy do on the road to Miiska. Chap rushed by Leesil in a blur. The dog’s feet struck the ground only twice before he closed enough to launch himself at the nobleman.
As Leesil turned away, he heard rather than saw Chap connect with the nobleman—snarls, the clattering of metal as a sword tumbled to the ground, followed by a half-intelligible scream of anger. He focused his attention on Ratboy.
Blackened and bleeding, the small undead battered out the last flames from his shabby clothing where Brenden’s torch had struck. Brenden was already charging with the longer of his garlic-soaked stakes in both hands. The blacksmith dropped his full weight down onto his smaller opponent and drove the stake through Ratboy’s chest.
Ratboy’s mouth snapped open to scream, but no sound came out. The undead did not fall limp, or die. He thrashed, striking at Brenden’s head and shoulders with one hand while trying to grasp the stake with the other. Even with his size, it was all Brenden could do to keep his small opponent pinned to the ground.
“You missed the heart,” Leesil shouted. Then he whispered, “We’re going to die. . . . We’re going to lose this . . . Magiere!”
Everything was falling apart around him. He could grab the falchion and try finishing Ratboy—or the nobleman with Chap’s help—but he didn’t see how he could get both of them quickly enough. He’d never trained to use a sword. It was not his kind of weapon. And even if he were that lucky, Magiere could die before he got to her.
Leesil reached into his bag, pulled out an oil flask, and smashed it against Ratboy’s broken coffin. He had to kick the coffin’s base hard, twice, to get it to slide over against the nobleman’s own sleeping place, forming a low barrier around the blacksmith and Ratboy struggling on the floor against the cave wall. As he hurdled over the coffins, crossbow still in his other hand, he pulled a stiletto from his sleeve and slashed the remaining waterskins filled with garlic water hanging from the back of Brenden’s belt. There was no way he could try a fast use of a stake with Brenden on top of his target, and he hoped luck was with him now.
Water splashed out across both struggling forms on the ground, and Leesil saw the smoke begin to rise. He grabbed Brenden by the shirt and jerked the blacksmith upright with all his strength.
“Get Magiere!” he shouted to Brenden. “Get her out of here, now!“
Free of the blacksmith’s weight, Ratboy clutched with both hands at the stake, off-center through his chest. His body shivered as the garlic water burned into him. Brenden pulled away and hurried off in Magiere’s direction.
Leesil grabbed Brenden’s torch from the ground in the same hand as his stiletto, and moved outside the coffin barrier. As he turned, Ratboy was climbing to his feet, body still quaking in pain, though the smoke had now dissipated into a thin haze around him. Leesil didn’t hesitate. He pointed the crossbow at Ratboy and fired. Then he struck the oil-coated coffin with his torch. The aging wood ignited like a pyre, trapping Ratboy behind. Leesil did not bother to see if his quarrel had struck the charred undead, and threw down the crossbow so he could fumble in the sack for another oil flask.
Across the room, a bloodied Chap tried to corner the disarmed nobleman, or at least force him farther away from the cave opening and Magiere. Chap’s strategy against Ratboy had been to knock the undead off his feet and land on top, but even wounded, the nobleman was too large and strong for that ploy. The dog was limited to snapping and biting at the nobleman’s legs and hands, do
ing little more than holding him at bay. And that would not last for long.
Brenden already had Magiere in his arms, having ripped off one of his shirt sleeves to bind her bleeding neck. He grabbed her falchion as he stood up.
“Go, now!” Leesil ordered him, then backed into the tunnel’s mouth behind them and smashed another oil flask on the ground. “Chap, come on!”
Chap snapped at his opponent one last time, then wheeled and headed for the tunnel at full speed. The nobleman was immediately behind the dog, but Chap was too quick. As the dog rushed by into the tunnel, Leesil struck the oil on the floor with his torch and backed hastily into the tunnel. The cave opening went up in flames.
“Run!” Leesil yelled.
Neither Brenden nor Chap needed such coaxing. The blacksmith was well down the tunnel when Leesil caught up to him, Magiere slung over his shoulder and Chap now in the lead. Leesil could see blood already staining Brenden’s back from Magiere’s wound.
Darkness and dust and fear ran with them.
When they reached the cave-in, Chap crawled immediately through the opening on top of the debris. Brenden crawled through and began pulling Magiere’s still form after him. Leesil heard the sound of booted feet coming down the tunnel. He did not have time to wonder how anyone could have gotten through the flames.
“Hurry,” he urged.
Magiere’s feet slipped through the opening, and Leesil tossed the torch through and followed as well. Sliding down the other side of the cave-in, he stopped to dig in his sack. He had only one flask of oil left. Picking up the torch, he pulled the flask’s stopper with his teeth, spit it aside, and poured half the oil over the boards caught in the debris. He then stuffed his oil-stained sack into the opening and lit it. The gap through which they’d crawled closed in flames.
