Toth's hands suddenly glinted with drawn steel. With each beat of his wings, he climbed a little higher—–but each foot of altitude cost the Nycht more than it would have.
Eohne reached out and took Jordan's arm in a firm grip. She brought her lips near Jordan's ear. "Can he do this?" The Elf's face was fraught with concern. She lowered her voice to a whisper, as though her speculation, if heard by the Nycht, would only serve to weaken him further.
"He threw up his food." Eohne’s whisper became harsh and desperate. "And he's still wet."
Jordan's lips parted. She wanted to say yes; she wanted to tell Eohne how she had seen Toth take on a harpy twice the size of the one circling them now. She feared her voice would betray her, would amplify the fear she felt at the burdensome strokes of the Nycht's wings.
She cleared her throat. "He can do this."
But Eohne did not miss how the Arpak cast about, cataloguing the weapons she saw strapped to the sailor's belts. The question was written in the air between them. How would they help if Toth got into trouble? How would they fare against an aerial attack if the Nycht failed?
The harpy was closer now, and Jordan could see that this one was indeed smaller. She felt some relief at this initially, but as she watched it move with an easy and powerful grace, her relief evaporated. Shouldn't this harpy be tired from his flight this far out to sea? But he seemed fresh and vigorous, and his obvious vitality left Jordan feeling cold. Her jaw worked, her teeth clenching and relaxing. Her voice felt like a loaded spring ready to release a barrage of curse-words and epithets at the beast. We only just escaped Trevilsom, and now this? Her cheeks flushed with a high fury.
This harpy's body was sleeker, leaner, than any she'd seen. As it wove between the drafts of air, it seemed like a black blade slicing lithely through. A beam of sunlight penetrated the thinning fog and illuminated the harpy briefly, and Jordan caught a flash of red. Her fingers twisted on themselves, thinking at first there was blood; she realized that a bright, arterial, crimson crest raced down its bare crown and neck. And his gory looking beak inspired a different brand of terror than the female harpy had, with her rack of devil's horns. He gave another raptor's shriek and, with a tight spiral and cycloning mist, he dove at Toth with heart-stopping speed.
For a moment of pure panic, it seemed Toth did not see the predator coming.
Jordan and Eohne cried out a warning as one, and several sailors behind them joined in. Jordan's throat seemed to tear with the urgency of her scream. The beast extended sharp, venomous talons. At the last second, Toth's wings pinched inward, and he turned in an arcing barrel roll. One muscled arm shot up, holding a short sword angled back in a reverse grip. The harpy rushed into the gap where its prey had been only moments before, dragging its breast across the readied blade as it fought with surprise to arrest its momentum.
The creature gave a keening wail as its feathery chest gleamed with blood. There was a collective inhale from the ship, but celebration was strangled as the harpy's whip-sharp dragon's tail snapped downward. Toth, still working too hard to stay aloft, did not move away fast enough. With a tremendous crack, the Nycht mercenary was thrown. Sent cartwheeling through the air by the terrible strike, he seemed unrecognizable——nothing but a spinning tumble of wings and limbs on a downward trajectory.
Toth righted himself with heavy, frantic wing beats. His flaps were out of sync, but he came out of his spiral in a wide swoop, a stabbing spear in hand, his head darting about, his narrowed eyes seeking the enemy. Toth used his momentum, turning it to his advantage. His skill in the air seemed to defy the laws of physics, and there were murmurs of amazement from the ship.
Had the harpy been coming after Toth, his speed from the recovered spiral may have spitted the monster then and there. But the fiend was in no mood to take risks; not after learning his quarry had teeth. The harpy banked hard away from the recovering Nycht, making a meandering loop toward the ship. His flight now seemed relaxed, taunting, even arrogant.
Jordan said to no one in particular, “The harpy wants to tire him out."
"Are they that smart?" Eohne's tapered fingers gripped the straps of her satchels.
Jordan never took her eyes from the airborne pair. "They're that smart."
Eohne frowned. She'd already frantically inventoried her magic in her head, casting about for something to help the Nycht. But her brand of magic was slow and customized; she was more scientist than magician. There was nothing she could think of that would make his time against this predator any easier. By the time she'd invented something with the meager supplies she had, the Nycht could already be dead.
She added to the mental list she kept, the invention of some kind of weapon that could be used from the ground against an airborne enemy. As she watched the battle unfold above them, her mathematical mind listed off criteria: light and mobile, accurate, high-powered, rapid-firing.
The harpy's pace was nothing near the eye-watering speed it had displayed earlier, but it would reach them soon enough if Toth did not catch up. Jordan did not know which would be worse; the harpy descending on them as they clutched the deck or Toth speeding back to die, exhausted, on waiting talons.
Toth's wings pummeled the air in a frenzy to build up speed. With gathering velocity, he swooped low over the water and then picked up altitude. His path through the fog-churned air would intercept the harpy's languid flight.
The harpy gave an exultant cry, arcing high and then diving toward the ship. It streaked toward the deck, and sailors scattered. As the demon passed through the narrow space between the two fore-masts, his talons snapped closed over the hair of a young sailor, who dove to the deck with a yell. Someone threw a thin-bladed sword at the harpy, which arced uselessly through the air and splashed into the water beyond the railing.
The harpy peeled about in an acrobatic display of aerial prowess as Toth flew over the ship in pursuit. Sailors scrambled to their feet and ran to the other side of the deck, making the ship list. Eohne and Jordan were right there with them, hands gripping the railing, faces jutting out over the water, necks bent and creaking. One of the sailors produced a small brass eyeglass and brought it to his eye. He enjoyed only a momentary glance through it before it was snatched from his grip by Captain Segolan, who then brought it to his own eye.
The harpy struck at the air with a few climbing wing strokes, his body angling back toward the advancing Nycht, bringing the two in line for an apparent head-on collision. The black and red projectile seemed about to hit the Nycht in a deadly rush of talons, but then banked wide less than a dozen feet from Toth. He wound a tight loop around the mercenary, which Toth struggled to keep pace with; spearpoint following wing beats. The harpy skimmed close by Toth again, just beyond the reach of his deadly spear.
Again and again, the harpy rushed past him, over him, under him, around him, always a little closer, but never within reach. It made Jordan dizzy to watch. Each pass took a little more strength from Toth, and each time, his spear seemed a little slower in coming about. For his part, the harpy seemed to only be gaining speed—–each pass and bank propelled him as though he was riding a typhoon.
With a desperate lunge, seeming at the end of his strength and patience, Toth darted into the path of the spiralling harpy, spear outstretched. With contemptuous ease, the monster dodged the thrust and rolled over to lash out at the mercenary, talons agape.
Toth jammed the spear haft between himself and the harpy's claws. A dull knock reverberated through the air as the harpy hit the stout wood and locked his talons around it. For a heartbeat, the two spun upward, stuck in a lethal dance, wings beating in unison. Up and up they went, turning around the focal point of the spear like a kind of insane top.
With a clicking hiss that could be heard from the ship, the harpy flexed its talons, and the spear shivered in its grip. It suddenly snapped with a sharp retort. Splinters and the bottom half of the spear fell away. In Toth's grip was half a foot of jagged wood and the stabbing head. The harpy ga
ve an exultant cry and snaked its toothed beak forward with a nasty snap into Toth's face. The Nycht reacted with lightning reflexes, shoving the broken haft of wood between the jagged ridges of the predator’s beak.
With a throaty shriek, the harpy chomped down on the spur of wood and steel, jaws clamping. His fist working like a piston, Toth punched into the creature's exposed throat, once, twice, thrice. From the ship, the strikes were silent. Jordan heard Captain Segolan blow air out from between tight lips, and the surrounding men made sounds of appreciation at the display of tight-quarters combat. Jordan thought she saw money exchanging hands in the corner of her eye.
She wanted to slap the sailors for enjoying the show. Her friend was risking his life for everyone on board.
Toth kept up his barrage of strikes. Nycht and harpy wings worked in sync to keep the fighting pair aloft, while at the center, a deadly battle raged. A waft of harpy stench drifted to the ship for the first time, and the crowd groaned in a reaction of delighted disgust.
The harpy gave a choked warble as its crimson head rebounded with the punishment Toth was delivering. The half-shaft of the spear came free from the harpy's jaws, and he snapped at the air desperately. The hollow click-click-click of the harpy's beak closing on air was faintly audible to those watching. With a savage beat of his wings for momentum, the Nycht delivered a devastating uppercut with the deadly iron tip, nailing his opponent through the vulnerable fleshy wattle under his beak.
A collective gasp went up from the ship, followed by several streams of foreign words, delivered on tones of awe. The spearhead burst from the top of the monster's hooked-tooth beak.
The gargles and shrieks gave way to a low, liquid whine as the harpy floundered; wracked with pain, blinded by blood, desperate to escape the creature who had turned the tables on it so utterly. The harpy’s once-graceful wings wobbled and spasmed, as his pierced, crimson head cast left and right.
Not to leave things torturously half-finished, the Nycht let the harpy drift below him then swooped down upon the back of the struggling creature. In his hand, a fang of steel glinted fiercely in the first real fog-penetrating rays of sunlight. He rode the beast down, and the pair began to spiral. His wings tucked tightly, Toth lay hold of the thrashing neck. The harpy's resistance was spastic at best, but Toth still had to avoid the harpy's head, which keened and swung every which way. At last his grip held sure, and the curve of steel journeyed across the harpy's throat, ending its suffering forever with a long, deep slash. Blood now fell in gaudy streamers rather than in wind-tossed speckles. With a casual caution, Toth released his quarry and let the monster fall, his own wings stretching out to catch his weight and lift him.
In his dying moments, the harpy recovered his lost elegance and aerial grace. With ribbons of life draining away, the fiendish raptor began an easy roll seaward. Tail corkscrewing behind it like a pennant, wings curling inward as though embracing itself in a final hug. The once mighty predator spun around and around like a dancer as it plummeted. It seemed a kind of climax to the performance, that elegant mortal dive.
Triumph lay with the weary Nycht who watched his foe plunge, lifeless, into the churning sea. For a moment, not far from the ship, Toth was caught in a vignette stark and clear enough for all to see. His sharp-edged batwings, finally dry, gracefully flexed in and out. His face, too far away to see the expression clearly, was downturned to the sea. His silver hair caught glints of sunlight. Ribbons of blood wrapped both forearm bracers and fists, dripping from his knuckles. The broken spear had gone beneath the waves with the harpy, but the shorter curved blade was held loosely in one hand, its duty done. The smooth bellows of Toth's wings could just be heard above the sound of the waves, licking the hull of the ship. Even the sea, it seemed, had paused to take a breath in acknowledgement of the moment.
The high exultant scream of a seabird jolted everyone from their reverie, and a jubilant cry of men's voices went up from the ship, loud and amazed. Feet stomped and hands clapped vigorously as the sailors applauded Toth's impressive performance and success.
Jordan and Eohne looked at each other, their faces a torrent of relief. Jordan thought she might burst into tears as emotion surged through her. Relief, exhaustion, worry for her father, fright, all caught her in a thicket of feelings. Eohne's own emotions were not so different from Jordan's, and the Elf threw her arms around her friend, squeezing her tight in a damp hug. Jordan felt the Elf laughing against her torso and joined her, her vision misting up as her eyes filled with moisture.
They turned to watch Toth descend to the ship, seeming to ride on the wave of his ovation. Though he'd been triumphant, his face was pale and drawn with concern. Jordan knew, watching as the sailors parted so Toth could land on the deck, that something was still dreadfully wrong.
CHAPTER SIX
The moment Toth's feet landed on the deck of the ship and his wings closed up, the sailors rushed him. Toth found himself jostled and slapped, his bloody hands pumped, his shoulders gripped enthusiastically and shaken with excitement. Questions in three or four different languages barraged him from all sides. Toth's face was pale and bluish circles had formed under his eyes. His expression did not reflect the jubilance of his congratulators.
Jordan watched the Nycht withdraw and shoved the sailors aside.
"Let him be," she barked, making Eohne blink at her with surprise.
The captain hollered orders and the crowd broke as the sailors jumped back to business, cheeks pink and smiles wide.
Toth's shoulders drooped with exhaustion and relief. He looked down at his bloody hands, the curved blade still dripping, then cast about for a way to clean himself.
The captain drew the Nycht's attention to a bucket of seawater sitting on the deck at the foot of the fore-mast. The young man's eyes followed the mercenary with an expression akin to worship. Toth crossed the deck and cleaned himself and then his blade, slipping it back into its sheath.
Jordan waited until Toth had stood and stretched his back before she asked, "Are you okay? The tail, the way it hit you. I thought––"
"Hit my armor," Toth murmured.
"I have never seen anything like that." The captain's voice made them turn. "I can offer you a king's ransom to join my crew–—" His words were silenced by the look in the Nycht's ice-gray eyes. Captain Segolan cleared his throat and gestured to the door leading to his quarters. "I'll have someone bring you food and water. Please, use my cabin to rest and collect yourselves."
"Thank you." Toth made for the cabin, seeming like all he wanted in the world was to be out of view for a handful of minutes.
The captain nodded respectfully. "If there is anything else I can bring you, please ask. I am at your service." He gave a little bow and turned away.
"Wait," Eohne stopped him. "Who are you? Why are you helping us?"
"One of my friends and business partners met your man Allan in some godforsaken prison in Vischer." The captain gave an easy shrug, but Jordan's eyes shuttered closed with horror. The man continued. "Seems he either felt he owed something, or he was moved to assist in some way. Marceau asked me to see what could be done about freeing Allan."
Eohne and Jordan took this in.
"How exactly were you planning to free him?" Eohne wanted to know.
"Cannons," he said with complete and utter confidence. "Then swords."
Eohne's dark eyes stretched wide. "Do you know nothing about what guards that place––" She blew out a breath. "Nevermind. It's over now. Did you happen to see any other ships on your way? Specifically, a fishing sloop?"
Captain Segolan’s mouth turned down doubtfully. He shook his head. "Nothing on our way from Rodania, but who knows what lurks in that fog; it was dense enough to gather in a pot for stew." He neared the women, looking from one to the other. "I think you are both tired. We have a full two-day’s journey to Rodania. We can talk again. Please, refresh yourselves. Nothing but the best I can offer will do for Marceau's friends." He gestured to the narrow cabin door
Toth had already disappeared through.
Eohne and Jordan thanked the captain and left him to the business of sailing. They found Toth perched on a stool, his threaded fingers propping up his chin as he stared at Allan, thoughtfully. He looked up as they closed the door.
Eohne made directly for Allan. "Do you mind?" she asked Toth, nearing the bed.
Toth got off the stool and made way for the Elf in the small space. Eohne bent over Allan, finding pulse points, lifting his eyelids, listening to his chest. Toth and Jordan watched apprehensively. Eohne whispered words into Allan's ears, pinched his earlobes. The man did not respond.
"Tell me you can help him?" Jordan's voice quavered and she hated the weak sound. She wished she sounded strong, the way Toth and Eohne were strong.
The Elf straightened, lifting the satchels from her body, and setting on the bed. She face Jordan. "I have not dealt with this before." The Elf's face was serious, possibly even angry, but Jordan felt that this anger was directed inward.
Jordan's lips parted, but no words came.
The Elf took the Arpak's cold hands. "I promise you that I will work day and night to figure it out." Eohne lifted Jordan's hands high between them, stepping close and pressing the Arpak's hands flat between her own, as though leading her friend in a prayer. "I vow not to leave his side until he wakes."
There was a moment of silence as the unthinkable words filled the space between them.
"Or dies," whispered Jordan.
"That's not going to happen." Eohne's words were fierce, and her eyes turned pleading. "Please forgive me. I am at fault."
Jordan could not think of how to react to this. Her teal eyes drifted down to her father's pale, still form. Her mouth flattened into a grim line. "Just save him."
Combatant: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Kacy Chronicles Book 3) Page 5
