’Twas Reina’s horn that pierced her arm? Sir Brennus was right; the unicorn would make a formidable enemy.
“Cut a strip of cloth from her gown to bind her arm,” Reina said.
Jarad complied, gripping his knife in an odd fashion. As he tied the strip around her wound, Lyssanne searched for the source of the clamor that filled the room. Jarad moved aside, and the sight before them fair stilled her heart.
The monster skittered about on its three, claw-tipped legs, wings flapping and tentacles flailing. And circling it, bobbing and ducking like a cork on rough water, was Sir Brennus.
“We should be out of the way here,” Jarad said. “Wish I had my bow.” He bounced on the balls of his feet as if itching to jump into the fray. “This thing’s useless now.”
Something clanged between them, drawing Lyssanne’s gaze. The blade of Jarad’s hunting knife lay on the floor, its handle nowhere in sight. She looked up again toward the creature and knight, still locked in their deadly dance.
Jarad gasped and tugged at her arm. “I almost forgot! Don’t look into that beast's eyes.” He slid to a sitting position. “Sir Brennus said they could kill you.”
No chance of that. She couldn’t even tell the beast had eyes from here. It swatted at Sir Brennus with a long, lethal-looking tentacle. Was any part of that creature not deadly?
“How’s he gonna get close enough to kill that beast?” Jarad said. “Even his sword’s too short to get past those tentacles, and who knows what those sucker-things on them would do to you.” He drew in his feet as the knight sidestepped a blow, coming too near to where they sat.
Lyssanne strained with all her will to move her outstretched legs, lest Sir Brennus trip over them. Her toes twitched! As she kept trying, they wiggled with more and more freedom.
“Fear not, young Jarad,” Reina said. “The knight is quite skilled.”
“My bow would still be better than a blade,” Jarad said. “I could shoot that monster from here.” His next words snapped out, harsh and defiant. “But I’m not leaving you to go get it.”
Lyssanne glanced his way. He was staring at her. She smiled, attempting to reassure him.
“I started to go for it, you know,” he said, looking back at the combatants, “when I saw that creature attacking you. I knew I couldn't fight it and get you out of that cocoon at the same time, so I went to find Sir Brennus.”
The creature’s shrieked as it lunged and struck at Sir Brennus, distracting Lyssanne from Jarad’s tale and her attempts to coax the muscles in her feet and legs to respond.
“We ran into the innkeeper on our way here,” Jarad said, as if no interruption had occurred. “She pushed past us to reach the doorway first, and…” He gasped. “Watch out!”
Lyssanne snapped her gaze back to Sir Brennus, just as a tentacle swept toward him. He ducked and rolled out of reach. Before his body had made a full revolution, he swung his sword upward. With a squelching thud, the severed tentacle fell to the floor.
The monster shrieked and took to the air, dripping dark liquid. Its wings thrashed, stirring up a rush of wind that slapped at Lyssanne's face, before they stretched out, nearly the width of the small room. Then, the creature dove.
With surprising grace, Sir Brennus leapt. For a moment, he, too, seemed to soar—his black mantle, dark wings billowing out behind him; his up-thrust sword, a deadly talon that pierced the underbelly of the monster, even as it swooped down upon him.
Then, both man and monster fell to the ground—one panting as he wrenched his blade free, the other writhing in the throes of death.
“Yes!” Jarad said, jumping to his feet, fist raised. “That was brilliant!”
Sir Brennus spun in a slow circle, sword extended, as if searching for more foes. His gaze passed over Lyssanne and the others. Finally, he lowered the blade. “Is everyone intact?”
‘More or less,” said Reina.
As the knight poked at the remnants of the cocoon with the tip of his stained sword, Jarad lowered his fist and jabbed it toward him. “She almost died in that thing!” he shouted. “Why didn’t you help me cut her out?”
“In case you failed to notice, boy,” Sir Brennus said between breaths, “I was a bit busy at the time.” He looked up and said in a voice every bit as lethal as the creature he’d just slain, “Or would you have preferred I allow the beast to kill us all?”
“That web could not be severed by mortal weapons,” Reina said. “Only an object of powerful magic could have freed her, young Jarad.”
“So, that’s why my knife broke,” Jarad muttered.
“The cocoon would have broken a sword just as easily,” Reina said. “Has there been any change, Lyssanne? Can you move at all?”
Lyssanne drew up her knees then straightened her legs again. While Reina explained the situation to Sir Brennus, she managed to lift her fingers from the floor.
After the death of the monster, the effects of its venom faded more rapidly. As Lyssanne continued to regain control of her limbs, Sir Brennus cleaned his sword. Then, he motioned Jarad over to the body of the creature.
“Help me drag this out behind the barn,” he said, sheathing his blade. “Between Reina smashing through barn doors and windows and the shrieks of the beast, some of the inn’s patrons have doubtless been roused.”
“Strange,” Jarad said. “With its wing folded over its lumpy body like that, it almost looks like a pile of clothes.”
Lyssanne squinted at the monster. It lay on its back, one wing outstretched, the other flopped over its midsection, exposing the wing’s mottled, black and grey exterior. Her breath stilled as she glanced toward the corner where old rags had lain when she’d entered the shed. The corner was empty.
Jarad gasped, pointing to the corner. “That beast was in here the whole time! When the innkeeper brought us, it was waiting!”
“An ingenious disguise,” Reina said. “I doubt even she was aware of its presence.”
“I don’t know…” Jarad said, drawing out the words. “You didn’t hear the way she talked to Lady Lyssanne. She didn’t like us much.”
“Perhaps,” Reina said, “but no sane human would willingly consort with such a beast. It was no creature of nature. Such abominations cannot be reasoned with, nor controlled without the aid of powerful dark forces. You should burn its body.”
“Where,” Lyssanne whispered. She coughed to clear her throat. When again she spoke, her voice was raspy and weak, but audible. “Where is she?”
“Who, child?” Reina asked. “The innkeeper?”
Lyssanne nodded, able to move at last. Her entire body remained limp, however, as if she’d drunk too much mead like those men in the common room. She looked up at Jarad, as he rushed over to her. “You said…she came with you?”
Jarad turned toward the door, his abrupt silence closing over Lyssanne like a shroud. Why was he avoiding her question? She followed his gaze, and her heart skittered.
Across the doorway, lay a human-sized lump of shadow.
“Madam Vivva-Beh?” Lyssanne whispered. “She’s injured!" Bracing her palms against the mat, Lyssanne pushed herself up. Her arms trembled then gave way, and she slumped back against the wall, spent.
“You can’t help her,” Sir Brennus said. “No one can. Madam Vivva-Beh is dead.”
“What? How?”
“Slain by the creature.”
“When she came in just ahead of us,” Jarad said, “she screamed. That creature looked up, right into her eyes, and”—he snapped his fingers—“just like that, she dropped dead.” He sighed. “Sir Brennus pushed me out of the way—I was right behind her—and yelled at me not to look at the monster. He attacked it, and I ran to you. Dunno how he knew about the eyes, though.”
“Many lands hold legends of beasts that can kill with a stare alone,” Sir Brennus said. “The innkeeper was too strong to die of mere fright. The explanation was obvious.”
“But how’d you fight it?” Jarad asked, helping the knight remov
e the innkeeper’s body from the doorway. “You never looked at it, but you always knew where it was.”
Sir Brennus dropped Madam Vivva-Beh’s feet and tapped his sword. “Reflection,” he said, “and sound. Sight isn’t the only sense useful in battle.” He strode toward the monster. “It is no great feat; I spent part of my earliest training wearing a blindfold.”
“A fortunate thing, for all of us,” Reina said.
“Yes,” Lyssanne whispered, a tear trickling down her cheek. “Thank you, all of you. I—” Her throat constricted. If Madam Vivva-Beh hadn’t attempted to come to her aid…
“There, there, child,” Reina said. “You are pale as the moon and limp as water-weed.” She bent to nuzzle Lyssanne’s hair. “You should lie down and get some sleep.”
“No!” Lyssanne said with force that surprised even her. She tried again to push herself from the wall. “I, I can’t stay here.” She looked first at the body of the creature, then at the innkeeper, and shuddered.
“You can take my room,” Sir Brennus said, stepping back to the doorway, carrying one end of the creature. “I’ll be up most of the night disposing of this.”
“She’d never make it up the stairs,” Jarad said with a grunt, shifting his burden. “She can’t even stand.”
“I’ll see to that once we return,” said Sir Brennus.
Moments later, the knight strode back into the shed and sank to one knee in front of Lyssanne. “You are still unable to stand.” It wasn’t a question. “I shall have to carry you. Jarad is gathering his things and will bring yours up when he’s done.”
Before Lyssanne could protest, Sir Brennus snaked one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees. He lifted her and strode into the night.
Just as they left the light of the doorway, voices reached them from the inn. Sir Brennus slipped into the shadows beside the shed, and Reina met them at its corner. Footsteps pounded across the yard, then onto the dirt floor that had almost been Lyssanne’s deathbed.
“Madam Vivva-Beh?” shrieked a woman’s voice. “She’s dead!”
“Someone slept here,” a man said. “Who?”
“That peasant girl who dined with the knight,” said the woman.
“Alert the magistrate,” commanded the man. “We must form a search party.”
“Shining One,” Sir Brennus whispered.
“Place her on my back,” Reina said, her voice echoing his urgency. “My power will hold her.
“Head due west into the forest,” he said, settling Lyssanne into place.
“Jarad!” Lyssanne whispered. “If he’s gone to the barn, he won’t know—”
“We will follow. Go!”
As Reina flew through the streets, buildings and trees blurring past, Lyssanne managed, somehow, to keep her seat. When they reached the forest, Reina stopped just inside the tree line, insisting Lyssanne stay put until the others joined them.
Once Jarad and Sir Brennus arrived, Lyssanne’s cart and the knight’s stallion in tow, they all moved deeper into the forest. Sir Brennus cleared away brush and laid a fire, while Jarad helped Lyssanne dismount and settle against a tree. Serena alighted on the ground beside her.
Sir Brennus rose, flames dancing at his feet, and called to Jarad. “We haven’t much time. They’re looking for us,” he said. “For you, rather. Already men comb the village, convinced the two of you were involved in the innkeeper’s death.”
“Us?” Jarad asked.
“Indeed,” Sir Brennus said. “I must return and drag the monster into the wood before anyone sees it. Those people are a superstitious lot. Suspicion I can deal with, but a witch-hunt?” He strode to his horse and retrieved a rope affixed to its saddle. “Your lady is too weak to outrun or outride that kind of frenzy.” He issued his next orders like a general commanding men on a battlefield. “Finish laying this fire, but use only what you can find in the immediate area for fuel.” He turned to Lyssanne and Reina. “I shan’t be long. Stay here…and stay alert.”
With that, he melted into the trees like a shadow.
An hour later, Lyssanne stood alone beside the fire, grateful for a moment’s privacy. Though her silent tears had subsided, she still trembled. She’d nearly died, again.
Craving warmth and light after the darkness of this night, she inched so near to the whispering flames, the taste of wood smoke coated her every breath. No flame or cloak could ward off a chill from within, however, nor quell this shivery weariness of spirit and body.
How could the others remain so unshaken? Sir Brennus had been gone an age, unflinching in his disposal of that creature. Jarad gathered wood as if they’d merely stopped to camp, while Reina scraped her horn against a rock some yards away, cleaning it, she’d said.
Lyssanne rubbed her arms then extended her frozen hands toward the flames. Would she never be warm again? At least the venom’s effects had faded, leaving behind the tingling numbness one might feel when a foot has rested too long in the same position.
A shiver ran along her spine, a subtle shifting and solidifying of the air at her back. Something, someone, was behind her…watching.
She froze, trying to coax herself to look over her shoulder. Her back’s vulnerability to the unknown at last forced her to turn. Flinching, she all but stumbled into the fire.
Sir Brennus stood three paces away, imposing and silent as the shadows flitting across his face. “You fear me,” he whispered, “don't you?”
She shook her head, her cheeks rivaling the hissing coals for warmth.
“The truth.” He stepped closer, forcing her to tip her head up to avoid staring at the middle of his chest. Any nearer, and she might fall over backward.
“You, you startled me. That's all.”
“Lyssanne,” he said, her name both caress and command.
“Perhaps…a little. Sometimes.” She resisted the urge to duck her head, just.
He nodded. A gleam of white flashed in the firelight. A smile? “Good.”
“What? How can that be good?”
“It shows you have at least some wisdom. You should be wary of those things capable of causing you harm: fire, wild beasts…” He gestured in the direction he'd taken the body of the monster, then he stared back at her. “Me.”
“You? But you wouldn't…would you?”
He laughed, the sound far from merry. “If I intended you harm, would I admit to such?”
“Well, no. I suppose not.”
“Remain wary, Lyssanne. The amphisbaena spoke true in this, you are far too trusting.”
He brushed past her and…tweaked her chin!
Lyssanne’s cheeks flamed anew. The citizens of Cloistervale might have thought her odd, even accused her of sloth, but no one, ever, had accused her of stupidity. Until now. Until him.
She spun to say…what? Her shoulders tensed. She would not give him cause to laugh at her a second time.
Fire drummed in her chest. Afraid of him? Hardly! Fury was fatal to fear. How dare he treat her like a silly girl who couldn't take care of herself? He knew nothing of what she’d overcome. So, she'd gotten into a few scrapes. She hadn't asked him to save her life. Twice.
Jarad burst through the trees, arms laden with broken branches. Lyssanne fled from the firelight, hiding her burning eyes and cheeks in shadow to avoid questions.
“I’ll stand watch,” Sir Brennus said, as Reina trotted into view. “The rest of you should get some sleep. It will take time to complete disposal of the creature’s body. Besides, I shall be on my way before sunrise.” He addressed his words to Jarad and Reina, as if Lyssanne’s presence were inconsequential. “Wherever you plan to journey next, avoid the road. News flies faster than the wind in these parts. I would caution you to stay clear of towns for a time.”
“We’ll travel west, then,” Reina said, “through the wood to the Lyryan border.”
“That,” said Sir Brennus, “should be safe enough.”
Lyssanne spread her blanket beneath a tree, her anger draining away
with the last of her energy. She sighed. The forest, again. She could never go home, and now she dared not return to Westerfield. Once more, events and forces beyond her control decided her fate.
She closed her eyes, feeling as insignificant as the knight considered her. Those thoughts and more malevolent shadows chased her into restless slumber.
The following evening, Noire’s wings assaulted the air over northern Cloistervale with unnecessary force. He was tired, he was irritable, and he was in no mood to deal with the witch.
After being up half the night—what with that unnatural creature and such—he’d slept all of an hour-and-a-half, thanks to Venefica’s incessant summoning. She wanted a report? Fine. He’d tell her what he knew, then seek his solitude.
Even the trees seemed to sense his ire, for when he plunged into the mountainside forest, branches snapped out of his way faster than usual.
Noire shot through the open window of the bedchamber Venefica had assigned to his use, then sailed into the corridor. Broken statues littered the floor, here and there a portrait hung askew, and splintered tables lined the walls.
Near the landing of the once-grand staircase, Venefica’s ancient maidservant stooped, scooping up shards of shattered statuary. She straightened and brandished her brush-broom at him. “You’ll be food for your feathered kin if you aren’t careful, Prince of Ravens.”
Oh, the old hag would like that. Noire squawked and flew at Magda, just to make her duck. She should count herself fortunate he had such a talon-hold on his temper, else she might have found herself missing a pair of eyes.
Still, her warning gave him pause. Signs of Venefica’s fury littered every room he’d passed. He hovered near the stairs, listening. A haunting sound drifted from the upper floors. Music? He arched his wings and propelled himself upward.
He found her once again in the music room, the same eerie melody as before emanating from the dusty pianoforte in the center of the chamber.
As he alighted atop the piano, his feathers twitched. He knew that tune, a mournful waltz once favored in the Navvarish court. How had this Lastarran-born woman learned it? The melody’s dark beauty held him transfixed. He forgot everything, his caution, the events in Westerfield, the lateness of the hour.
Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1) Page 14
