“Because we can’t afford to stand still,” Dieredon said. “Given the nature of our foes, you will find rare opportunities for clean, unhurried shots. Learning to aim while jostled and moving will prove invaluable.”
They walked a dirt road surrounded by tall yellow grass leading toward the Castle of the Yellow Rose. The road continued on for several miles ahead, ending at a distant forest. They’d sent the survivors of many villages that direction, and Jessilynn was relieved they’d found no signs of an ambush. Several hundred yards away, a hollow log sat in the center of the road, and Dieredon insisted she fire at it during their approach. She’d told him it was impossible, and in reply he’d fired off a single shot, the arrow arcing through the air to strike the log dead center with a dull thunk.
“Fine,” she’d murmured. “It’s almost impossible.”
Her first attempt landed painfully short, the arrow hitting the dirt and burying the point. She overcompensated on her second and sent the arrow sailing into the surrounding grass.
“You’ll need to retrieve that,” Dieredon said.
Groaning, Jessilynn attempted a third shot. Each step she took threw off her aim, and though she tried timing it for when the bow was calm, she still failed. The arrow shot wide.
Frustrated, Jessilynn reached for another, then decided against it. Her fingers brushed the drawstring. At her touch, an arrow of pure light appeared, and without need of an arc, she aimed straight at the log and released. The arrow flew, not once dropping toward the ground. It blasted into the center of the log, sending pieces of wood flying in all directions.
“There,” she said. “I hit your log, as requested.”
She didn’t need to look at his face to tell he was upset, only listen to the strain his voice.
“You did,” Dieredon said. “But not with an actual arrow. Now go retrieve the two you lost.”
“I don’t understand why,” she said. “It’s not like I need them.”
“You do,” the elf insisted. “And as long as you are training under my tutelage, you will use your regular arrows.”
“Even in combat?”
The elf sighed.
“Yes, even in combat if at all possible. I do not wish to argue this matter, Jessilynn.”
Jessilynn looked to the tall grass, thinking of the bugs that would be crawling on her as she searched for two stupid little arrows.
“Well I do,” she said, her temper flaring. “Why are you so insistent I use real arrows? You’ve seen what I can do without them. Ashhur is with me. All I have to do is touch the drawstring to summon an arrow, so why bother?”
“Because one day it will fail!”
Jessilynn lowered her bow, taken aback by his sudden outburst. She froze in place there in the road.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked softly.
Dieredon crossed his arms and looked away.
“I have seen it a thousand times over,” he said, “and I fear I’ll see it again. Mankind contains such potential, but that potential is not just for good. For all your virtues, you also fall prey to doubt, to fear, and to confusion. It is inevitable. No man or woman goes through their life without such things.”
He turned to her, and she was stunned by the compassion in his eyes.
“One day, when your life is at risk, I fear your faith will falter. And in that moment, I would have you readying a real arrow that is sure to be there no matter what you believe.”
“Do you truly think so little of me?” she asked. “Are you so certain my faith will crumble? I am stronger than that, Dieredon. Stronger than anyone’s ever given me credit for, and look how Ashhur has rewarded me for it. I won’t doubt. I won’t.”
Dieredon shook his head.
“The heroes you worship in your stories are not heroes because they never doubted, but because they doubted and still fought on to accomplish great deeds. Your confidence in your own faith in Ashhur borders on arrogance. If I wounded your pride, so be it, but better your pride than your flesh.”
The elf abruptly resumed walking down the road, not waiting for a response. Jessilynn stood there holding her bow, unsure of how to react. Part of her was furious; he was doubting her faith, and insisting she would someday falter in her beliefs. But part of her, the quiet voice that never seemed to go away when she was trying to sleep, insisted he was absolutely correct. She would fail, and often. Was it so terrible for the elf to point out the inevitable?
Jessilynn followed the elf down the road. When she reached the shattered log she turned off into the grass in search of her lost arrows. The first one she found easily enough, but the second proved much more difficult. Using her bow to push grass side to side, she worked her way back and forth, steadily getting farther from the road.
Just when she was about to give up and call it hopeless, she heard something whistling through the air. She looked up to see an arrow land thirty feet to her left. Far down the road, Dieredon lowered his bow. Jessilynn following his arrow, found it sticking in the dirt right beside her own. Retrieving both, she returned to the road, putting her two into her quiver and holding Dieredon’s third.
“Thanks,” she said after catching up to him.
The elf nodded but said nothing.
The two traveled in unbroken silence for much of the hour, Dieredon speaking only when they arrived at where the road vanished into the forest. The trees were tall and bare, most of their leaves fallen. Dieredon peered into the forest and frowned.
“The locals call this the foxwood,” Dieredon said. “We must pass through, or waste two days traveling around to its southern edge.”
“Why wouldn’t we pass through?” she asked.
In answer he guided her off the path and toward the forest’s edge. He stopped at a tree and paused. Jessilynn wondered what his elven eyes had spotted. She then spotted four deep grooves cut into the bark high above the ground, their size and shape painfully familiar. Jessilynn’s hand brushed her scarred face and winced.
“Wolf-men have been here,” she said.
“They have.”
“What if it was from before? Back when Darius and Jerico fought them?”
The elf shook his head.
“That was years ago, while these are a day old at most. The wolves have beaten us here, Jessilynn. The question is, did they continue on, or do they wait in ambush?”
Jessilynn shuddered. How many bones might lay among the leaves? Had any of the people they saved made it through, or had they died, mauled in the dark as they traversed the foxwood?
“We can’t go around,” Jessilynn said. “If the wolf-men are ahead of us, then we’ve wasted too much time as it is. We must go through. If they try to ambush us, well...” She grinned at the elf. “You are the legendary Dieredon, after all. They’re welcome to try.”
Dieredon smiled, and he looked relieved despite the potential danger. “I’m glad you are with me. You are like Jerico in many ways, including his ability to tell jokes when other men would be afraid.”
“I’m flattered,” she said, pulling her bow off her back. “Now lead on. We should cross as much distance as we can before dark.”
“Indeed, ” said Dieredon. “Come nightfall, I expect the wolves to come out to play.”
They ate before heading into the forest, not expecting to have much chance to rest once they entered. The path they found was hidden under leaves but still easy to follow given how densely the trees grew together. Jessilynn had missed it at first, but Dieredon, who could spot a single arrow lost in a giant field from one hundred yards, did not.
Two hours into their travel, the sun began its descent and the first of the howls sounded, piercing through the woods and echoing all around them. Jessilynn’s hands shook.
“Remember to stay calm,” Dieredon whispered. Leaves crunched underneath her feet with each step, but Dieredon didn’t make a sound. The fact that she was surprised by that left her feeling embarrassed.
“Calm,” Jessilynn muttered. “Right. Calm.�
��
“I mean it. They’ll try to frighten you, chase you off the path. Once you’re lost and afraid, it’s only a matter of time before...”
He paused. When another wolf howl came from behind them, Jessilynn felt her heart rate triple. If the creatures were surrounding them, how long until they sprung their trap?
“Maybe we should hide,” she said. “We can wait until daylight before crossing the rest of the way.”
“They’ll track us by scent,” Dieredon said. “There will be no hiding from them, not in a forest. We have to keep moving. Follow the path, even by moonlight, and slay those that would stop us.”
“What if there’s too many?” Jessilynn asked, unable to keep herself from voicing her strongest fear. The shadows of the bare tree limbs stretched long across the path, filling the forest with dark corners. Dieredon hastily counted his arrows, a quirk she’d seen him do only a few times. It was the closest the elf ever came to admitting nervousness.
“There won’t be too many,” he said. “And if there are, we’ll kill them until the number becomes acceptable.”
The howls continued, each one closer than the last. Jessilynn pulled her bow off her back and tapped Darius’s sword, hoping it might inspire some confidence. Dieredon’s head remained on a swivel, constantly checking both sides of the road.
“We’re already surrounded,” he said softly. “I can see several in the distance, lurking.”
Jessilynn tightened her grip on her bow. She searched the woods, wishing she had eyes as sharp as the elf’s. So far, she saw nothing, but she trusted her teacher.
“Why don’t they attack?” she asked.
“They’re waiting for dark.”
The continued down the path, the wolves kept howling. Jessilynn’s heart beat faster and faster, a cold sweat ran down her neck. Why couldn’t they just attack already? Memories of her torment at the hands of the sons of Redclaw raced through her mind, of her humiliation, her torture. The scars on her face itched as if they were freshly formed.
Calm down, she told herself. At the river you stood your ground and killed dozens. This time you’re not alone.
Her hand brushed Darius’s blade.
Not that I was ever alone.
The sun dipped lower, and Jessilynn found it increasingly hard to see. All around her the rustling of leaves grew louder, and many times she caught the glint of tawny eyes staring from deep off the path. There came another wave of howls, and she shivered.
“I hear at least fifteen,” Dieredon said when the howls died down. “Maybe twenty. This might be a problem.” The elf glanced her way. “Jessilynn, do you trust me?”
Nothing good ever followed such a question, but she nodded anyway.
“I’m going to leave you,” he said. “I want you to run for fifteen seconds down the path, just long enough for me to hide. Once you reach fifteen, stop wherever you are and hold your ground. Don’t move. Don’t run.”
“You want me to be bait,” she said.
“If it comforts you to put it that way, yes.”
“It doesn’t,” Jessilynn said. To her right, three pairs of eyes peered at her hungrily from behind a copse of trees. “I’ll do it, Dieredon, but I’m trusting you. If I die, I swear I’ll haunt you for at least a decade or two.”
The elf grabbed her shoulder and squeezed.
“You’re not the first to make me that promise,” he said, winking. “Now run.”
Jessilynn swallowed, counted to three in her head, and took off. Immediately leaves and broken twigs exploded all around her. It seemed the entire night had come alive as the prowling wolf-men gave chase. Dieredon sprinted alongside her for a moment before diving into the forest. She prayed for his safety as she heard muffled grunts and a yelp. Howls chased her, and up ahead, howls greeted her. The beasts no longer hid, their long, muscular bodies easily visible as they flanked her. The fifteen seconds passed by with agonizing slowness, but at last she planted her feet, pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it. Blue-white light shone from the arrowhead, and telling herself to be brave, she slowly spun in place.
“Do you think I’m afraid?” Jessilynn screamed. Her role wasn’t just as bait, but as a distraction, so she played the part as best as she could. “Do you think I’m afraid of pups like you?”
Several snarled as they stood to their full height, towering a solid two feet above her. Three lumbered into the road ahead, three more blocked the road behind. Saliva dripped from their teeth, low growls rumbling in their throats.
“We remember you,” the middle wolf-man blocking the road ahead of her said. “You were our prisoner. You were Moonslayer’s pet.”
Jessilynn grinned despite her fear.
“I killed Moonslayer,” she said. “And I’ll kill you too, unless you run.”
The wolf-man bared its fangs as it tensed for a leap.
“Arrogant human,” it said. “You will suffer as we feast.”
It howled, and at its signal, the rest attacked. Jessilynn released her arrow, striking the wolf’s leader in the chest. The shot blasted it off its feet, innards spilling across the road as the body rolled. She reached for another arrow, but from the corner of her eye she saw a beast lunge at her. It was too close for her to react in time, but one of Dieredon’s arrows plunged into its neck, dropping it. Jessilynn breathed a sigh of relief and fired, her own target receiving an arrow in the face, shattering its skull.
She heard the whistle of more arrows, the projectiles raining down at an incredible speed from Dieredon’s high perch. Jessilynn spun, spotted a wolf-man with a shaft lodged into its leg trying to flee. Pulling an arrow from her quiver, she sighted it, let loose. As the beast died, Jessilynn heard another of them cry out.
“The tree! Up in the tree!”
Jessilynn turned to see several leap onto the same sturdy trunk, their sharp claws sinking into the bark. Dieredon was on a high branch, perfectly balanced as he rained down death. Even as more wolf-men raced toward her, she trusted the elf to protect her, just as she would protect him. One after the other she killed the climbing wolf-men, her arrows ripping them off the trunk.
Despite the chaos, Jessilynn felt strangely calm. She was in control. She had the power. A wolf-man died mid-leap, its body crumpling mere feet away, yet she did not let it shake her aim. One last wolf climbed up toward the elf. Her hand reached back, found the quiver empty. Deciding Dieredon couldn’t possibly mind, she grabbed her bowstring anyway, an arrow of light swirling into existence at the touch of her fingers. When she fired, it hit the wolf-man in the spine, exploding with such power it cleaved the beast in two. Both halves fell.
It was the last.
Dieredon swung his bow over his back and climbed down. Jessilynn stood among the carnage, overwhelmed by how many they’d killed. It was almost surreal. At least fifteen dead wolf-men lay all about her, and she hadn’t even been scratched.
“That was incredible,” she whispered.
“I wish you’d used a regular arrow on that last one,” the elf said. “Either that, or left it for me.”
“I was out of arrows,” she said, immediately defensive. “At least I waited, like you asked.”
“It’s not that,” the elf said, and he smiled despite their long night. “I was worried you would chop the tree in half and send me tumbling down with it.”
He tousled her hair, and she accepted the gesture in a state of mild shock.
“Did you just tell a joke?” she asked.
The elf shrugged.
“Perhaps. Why?”
Jessilynn stared at the dead bodies, the blood everywhere.
“Nothing,” she said, hurrying down the path, hoping to put a mile or two between the carnage and their eventual campsite. “Just...nothing.”
8
It’d been two days since Alric ate when he stumbled upon the little cabin beside the forest. He’d crossed a stream the day before, and drank until his stomach ached, but the closest he’d had to a meal was a grasshopper he’
d caught and crushed in his hand. He’d almost eaten it. Almost. Instead he’d tossed the filth to the ground, wiped his hand clean, and continued on. As he crossed the rolling hills, he’d begun to fantasize about that grasshopper, and the many others that had flitted about the fields on either side of the stream. If he’d known how hungry he’d become, he would have swallowed down both pride and bug.
Alric more crawled than walked to a foot-worn path that stretched from the door of the cabin to the hills beyond. Unable to go on, he dropped to his stomach and lay there, staring at the cabin. It was a nice cabin, he decided. Small. Well-cared for. If only the person inside would notice him lying there, cold and hungry. Since he’d lost his supplies in the Corinth River, he’d had to beg for every scrap of food he’d eaten from the various farms he encountered on his trek north. Like a fool, he’d avoided the main road, thinking an angel might spot him for questioning. Should they discover who he was...
“Why in Karak’s hairy ass are you here?”
Alric looked up to see an older woman frowning down at him. Her hair was gray, her skin wrinkled, but her blue eyes were lively. She wore a faded dress that might have once been green before dirt and time had their way with it.
“Traveling,” Alric said, as if that were a worthwhile explanation. “My...my name’s Alric. I hate to be a bother, and I’m ashamed I must, but...”
“Yes, yes, you can have something to eat,” the woman said, dropping to her knees so she might wrap an arm underneath him. “It’s either feed you or bury you, and I know which one’s easier on these old bones.”
Slowly she stood, and Alric forced his limbs to work. The woman had at least twenty years on him; he would not be carried into her cabin like an invalid. Together, step by step, they approached the cabin. Alric slumped against the wall as she grabbed the door.
“You’ll have to endure for a bit,” she said as she shoved the door open. “I’ve got a stew cooking over the fire, but it’s got some time before it’ll be ready.”
Inside was warm and cozy, a veritable paradise after Alric’s last few days. An old rocking chair waited by the fire, and the woman helped him over to it. Collapsing, Alric let out a moan as he gently rocked back and forth. The heat of the fire seeped into him. The feel of heat slowly spreading throughout his body was divine after the last few cold nights. His host took a step back and frowned.
The King of the Vile Page 9
