~Chapter Thirteen~
The next morning it was still drizzling, though the thunder and lightning had subsided somewhere around midnight. Again we met for breakfast, though Petre was absent. In fact, we were almost ready to leave when he finally staggered down the stairs.
“Sorry,” he muttered when he drew closer.
No one was going to vilify him. If he’d slept, then we were glad. Yasmin swooped on him with two hot steam buns wrapped in a handkerchief, and though he took them with a forced smile, he ate very little of them on the ride there.
“Father apologizes for not accompanying us today,” he said as we hitched our horses again. “He has matters of the city to deal with.”
We had already gathered that Lord Hugh was an important man in the eyes of the city. I’d almost rather be out here hunting Du’rangors than dealing with paper work and angry townsfolk.
We set off into the marshes again. I’d made sure to bring my charm pin with me, as well as renewing the enchantments on my swords, including the one that I hoped would preserve them against the Du’rangor’s venom.
When we reached the trees, I ducked low to avoid the branches and who knows what insects. The mud was worse than ever, thanks to the downpour of the previous day and night.
“I think I’ll split off,” I announced after two hours of fruitless searching. I was met with blank stares.
“Why?” was all Dena could manage.
“When we were on the Paw Islands, the Du’rangor didn’t attack me until I was by myself. What if it’s been watching us this whole time, but won’t attack us until one of us goes off on our own?”
Silence followed my words, broken only by the insects and frogs in the marsh water.
“Why don’t we use you as bait?” Theresa suggested. “We’ll all hide and then-“
“Then what, leap out at it?” I didn’t mean to make her suggestion sound ridiculous. “The Du’rangor is intelligent. It’ll know what we’re doing.”
“You’re not going off on your own, Sky,” Dena said exasperatedly. Behind her, Petre stood immobile. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I have to,” I pleaded. “We agreed to do this,” I met Petre’s eyes as he glanced up. “Whatever it takes.”
He nodded once, as though thanking me.
“I’m not saying you guys have to go off on your own, but I want to try this tactic.”
The others didn’t say anything, so I began to head off in a different direction. They didn’t follow me, and I was half glad, half terrified.
The marsh lands seemed to stretch for ages. Whenever I felt sure that I had to be nearing the edge of them, they just continued, like they were testing how far I’d walk.
I was about to change direction when I noticed prints in the mud. They were deep depressions, still filling with water. I crouched, and then looked up ahead.
The Du’rangor was just up ahead. I was trailing it.
I followed the tracks carefully, silently. As they went on, the frown between my eyebrows deepened in thought. The Du’rangor wasn’t wandering aimlessly like it had been when we found its tracks yesterday. It seemed to be hunting something.
Could it be hunting one of the others? No, surely I’d come too far for them to have circled around out here.
I put the thought out of my mind. Hopefully it was stalking a deer or something, and I’d be able to sneak up on it with relative success. I touched a finger to my ear, making sure I still had my ear plugs.
I followed the tracks so low to the ground that I resorted to my hands and knees, not caring that slimy mud immediately covered my hands and arms. I crawled under a particularly low tree, peering out from between the sparse branches silently.
The Du’rangor was before me, in a small clearing formed by an island of dry land. It had its back to me and its nose close to the ground. It was tracking, searching. I swallowed, trying to ease my dry throat. This Du’rangor was even larger than the one I’d fought on the Paw Islands.
I began to creep backwards; maybe I could find one of the others to help, the Du’rangor was moving slowly enough that I’d be able to find him again with ease.
Just as I began to draw back through the branches, my eye caught something in the branches of a low slung tree. A small boot poked out from the flaky bark.
What was a boot doing in a tree? - was my first mad thought. But then my eyes travelled along the boot, which was attached to a small leg, which belonged to...
Sammy. I couldn’t believe my eyes. But there he was, tucked into the tree branches, stiff with terror, his eyes huge. His eyes met mine, and from where I was I could see his tear stained cheeks. He had been able to see me, had seen me almost leave him behind, but he couldn’t call out to me without the Du’rangor noticing him.
And that, I realised in another moment, was the most pressing issue of the moment.
Sammy hadn’t been able to climb high enough; the trees were just too small. If the Du’rangor noticed him, if he made just one sound, it would realise where he was, and either howl its fatal hunting call or, if it was annoyed enough, claw him so that the poison in its talons would kill the small boy.
As I was stilling mulling my next move over, the Du’rangor decided to force my hand. It turned its head, apparently catching a scent. It was going to see the little boy above him.
I burst out of the trees without a second thought. I had only one planted in my mind.
Get Sammy back to Petre.
“Hey, death-breath,” I called, drawing my swords. “Over here.”
The Du’rangor started, and I felt a small, savage satisfaction; at least I’d had the element of surprise.
In the very few seconds that I still had that advantage, I tore the charm from my hairpin, tossing it to Sammy, who, to his credit, caught it deftly at the same time it activated. A large bubble erupted from the silver, encasing him in it completely. If the Du’rangor didn’t like magic, it would hate that enchantment. Plus, I was pretty sure it would protect him from the howl, unless I could silence it first.
“Oh yeah, here I am, meals on wheels, well, legs,” I wasn’t so good at the banter, but I wanted to keep it distracted. “I’m a much tastier meal than a little boy. I’ve got a bit of meat on my bones, because you see,” I lowered my voice to a pretend whisper. “I’m naughty; I don’t stick to my diet.”
The Du’rangor paused, confused by my lack of fear. Out of the corner of my eye, I was rewarded with a grin from Sammy, who was still clutching the charm in his fingers.
I spun my swords in a circle, just once to get my muscles loose. The Du’rangor, beginning to regain its footing, snarled at me, the sound coming up from its belly like thunder. It clawed the ground underfoot, fixing me with its luminous eyes. I met its gaze, and then threaded magic along the length of the blades.
Fire erupted along their lengths, green flames that flickered and danced, lighting up the clearing around us. The Du’rangor jerked back, startled.
“I heard you had a thing for magic, so I brought you a little gift,” I’d realised that when I spoke, it stopped as though to listen. I lifted one of the swords in front of me, and the Du’rangor flinched.
“I didn’t think you’d like this,” I murmured, almost to myself.
The Du’rangor snarled again; I was working it up. It opened its mouth, baring its three inch fangs at me. Despite my efforts to look cool and unflustered, my heart was racing at a million miles an hour. From down here on the ground, it looked a lot taller. As it began to pace, uneasy, I spotted a wound on its right flank; white scar tissue had already knitted over, but it still looked fresh.
If only I’d had skill as an archer. I’d be able to sink a nice sharp arrow into the wound, maybe distract it a little.
I sheathed one sword and felt for the dagger on my hip, the one that Jett had giv
en me after my old one disintegrated. I may not be an archer, but my knife-throwing skills weren’t the worst. I weighted it in my hand, and then flipped it around so I was carefully grasping the blade. As the Du’rangor turned to pace again, still wondering if I was going to be worth eating, I leant back and then stepped forwards, flinging the knife easily. It flipped through the air, hilt over blade, finally sinking point first into the new scar on its hide.
The Du’rangor roared in pain, turning on me with new fire burning in its eyes. I held both swords at the ready, but the Du’rangor was done being afraid of the magical fire that burned along their lengths. It was angry, and now it was hurt. It didn’t matter anymore if I was going to be a tasty snack; I was certainly going to be a dead one.
It coiled like a taipan and then sprung at me. At the last second I dived out of the way, trying to gash its underbelly with one of the swords. As I hit the mud and rolled, I was dismayed to see that its underside was, too, armoured and scaled. I smacked it with a sword anyway, sparks flying as the sword connected with a solid chink. I scrambled to my feet again as the Du’rangor came back. I could’ve sworn that it was smiling. It knew now that I did not have the upper hand, that it, the powerful predator, the mage killer, had an easy fight on its hands.
I backed away, which was my first big mistake if I wasn’t counting getting into this fight in the first place. The Du’rangor was now assured of its victory, and as my foot slid in the mud and I almost lost my footing, I was almost certain of it as well.
It sprang again, and I ducked out of the way. It had been expecting it though, and I was dismayed to see its paw with claws extended come at me. I moved to the side again, though I’d been lacking momentum. The claws instead caught my shirt, gashing it open. I wasted a precious second checking my exposed stomach, making sure it hadn’t nicked me.
My skin was unmarked, though now I felt hideously exposed. The Du’rangor shook the fabric of my shirt from its paws, irritated. I was frustrating it. The cat was too big, the mouse too agile.
It began to work up to its howl. I braced myself, hoping that Petre’s earplugs would do what they were supposed to, that the charm bubble around Sammy would indeed hold any sound back.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sammy stuff his fingers in his ears and was tempted to do the same. Instead, as the Du’rangor opened its maw to howl at the sky, I held both swords in one hand and with the other, conjured a fireball and sent it barrelling down its throat.
The Du’rangor broke off mid howl, choking on the magic. I thought that might have been the end of it, but it just came back angrier than ever. I ducked and weaved as it tried to bite me, tried to claw me, anything that would make me die, would rid itself of the annoyance so that it could go back to hunting the small boy, the one it had lost a week or so ago and was desperately trying to find.
As I dodged another outstretched claw, I saw the hilt of the knife that I’d hurled into its flank fall onto the ground, the blade disintegrated from the venom that flowed through the large cat. I was tiring fast, and I could only hope that Petre and the others had heard its half howl and were on their way.
I stepped backwards to avoid it again, swiping at it with my swords. One connected, and the cat yanked its paw back as brackish blood began to flow onto the ground. I allowed myself a small smile, thinking I might have gained an advantage.
Any ground I might have gained was lost, quite literally, as I took another step and fell. I’d backed up too far and had reached the end of the dry land. My foot had slipped in the mud, and now I was floundering in the marsh water as the large cat advanced on me. I saw Sammy in the tree behind it, his eyes huge. My swords were still alight, but I could hardly see anything to aim at. Muddy water was in my eyes, the mud on the bottom of the pool pulling me down, bogging me in its filth.
As the cat lunged at me, mouth open so as to bite me if its claws failed, I took one last chance and plunged the sword in my right hand upwards, just at the Du’rangor filled my vision, its stinking breath worse than the marsh.
My flaming sword entered the roof of its mouth and kept going until it emerged from the top of its head. The cat died immediately, slumping on top of me and almost drowning me in the marsh water. I wriggled out from underneath it, dislodging my sword from its maw. I checked my right arm, half expecting to see a large fang embedded in it somewhere. I wouldn’t have felt it; I was too high on adrenaline.
I was unmarked though, and I let myself breathe a huge sigh of relief. I was alive and so was Sammy.
I extinguished the swords, sheathing them in the scabbards that had somehow managed to remain on my back, though they’d filled with marsh water when I’d fallen, the same water that filled my boots and plastered my clothes to my body. My hair had come loose from its bun at some point, and was stuck all over my face and neck. I stank like the marsh. At this point, I wouldn’t have minded some rain to wash off in.
I approached Sammy, lifting him out of the tree and through the charm bubble, which popped into nothingness as my arms reached through it. He was younger than I’d thought, about four or five, and thin from spending a week in the marshes.
“Are you alright?” I asked anxiously.
“Yes,” he said nodding. He was trembling from the cold, as was I. “That was exciting.”
I grinned, setting him on the ground so I could examine him.
“Maybe if you were the one in the tree.”
He seemed to be fine, apart from being malnourished. I twisted my fingers so a small flame popped into my palm and began to dry him off with the same charm that Jett had used on me after the river.
“My name is Sky,” I said. “I’m a friend of Petre’s. He’s here looking for you. Let’s go find him, shall we?”
I lifted him easily onto my hip, stooping to pick up the hilt of the disintegrated knife, tucking it back into the sheath on my hip. We crossed the marshes faster than I’d tracked the Du’rangor, though I couldn’t avoid all of the pockets of the slimy marsh water.
We reached the other side of the marsh just as it began to rain again. Through the thinning branches, I could see that the others had regrouped at the horses. I allowed myself one small smile before ducking through the cover and out onto the plains.
Soul Fire Page 31
