Both girls paused long enough for Drynn to try again. “Kydall—”
“What are you stuttering about?” Cindle asked. “If you have something to say, just say it.”
Drynn’s face burned, and Kyrah glared on his behalf. “How dare you talk to Aldrayndallen-Falberain like that? He’s our prince—”
“If he’s a prince, he should act like one and you should take time to actually listen to him,” Jorrey said. “What is it?”
The whole group stared at him as if they expected princes all looked like Tayvin or the heroes of legend. Drynn’s gaze dropped. “Well, m-ma’am . . .” It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t been stuttering until the dorran mentioned it. He swallowed and tried again. “It’s just that, scrufflings, they can heal themselves if you replant them. Most of the time, anyway. So I . . .” He pointed to the scruffling.
Jorrey nodded. “Problem solved then. I’m glad at least one of you has some sense. Shall we continue on?”
Kyrah stuck out her hips, scowling, but started to lead the group again without a word.
The dorrans grounded the broad-leafed tree and hacked it into manageable pieces without speaking. The males had stripped off their shirts, revealing more dark hair and sweat pooling in the dry heat. Ropes of thick muscle went taut across their backs with every movement.
Drynn felt useless sitting there, but he wasn’t as strong as a dorran—no elf or human was. The dorrans handled all their heavy equipment in such a seamless assembly line that he would probably be in the way if he even offered to help.
They might even snap at him if he dared ask such a question.
Kyrah stood from the log. “Aldrayndallen-Falberain, do you want to get the elk now?”
Drynn sprung to his feet. Anything to get away from the dorrans.
Cindle shook her head as they walked past, hauling another branch behind her. She kept her shirt, but her tight, sleeveless leathers seemed to have shrunk in the heat, doing nothing but hugging her feminine curves along with muscles that were just as thick as the dorran men. “Now you’re going off alone in this place?”
“You’ll be fine.” Kyrah kept her smile, but it was so strained that it had to be a bit patronizing. “We’ll just get the elk and be right back. They can help carry everything in.”
“I know we’ll be fine.” The dorran broke her branch over her knee without her hammer or an ax. “What about you two? Have you tamed everything in your ‘haunted’ forest?”
Drynn frowned at the split wood, nearly as wide as his waist, but Kyrah shrugged.
“Aldrayndallen-Falberain has a bow,” she said. “We won’t need it, though.”
“The one who doesn’t talk?” Cindle’s eyes narrowed at the red hair falling to his shoulders. “How old are you? I can never tell with you people, but don’t you tie your hair up or something when you’re older?”
Drynn pulled his hood up, but he wasn’t sure why. It was barely dusk—too warm to huddle under his cloak—and everyone wore their hair like that. Only rangers shaved parts and tied it up.
Cindle turned back to Kyrah. “You’re young, too. Maybe you should wait a few years before you let boys drag you into the trees alone, prince or no.”
“It was her idea.” He didn’t drag girls around. They were nothing but a nuisance.
Cindle laughed, the beads in her hair clinking together. “I bet it was. Human princelings get offers like that all the time; noble bastards are worth a fortune if they inherit and the ‘maids’ like to collect. At least, that’s the written law. More often the men find other ways to silence those kinds of rumors.”
Drynn’s eyes went wide. What could someone collect with a baby? Force a betrothal? Not that he would blame the girl for that; babies belonged to wedded couples. He had heard whispered rumors of betrothed and otherwise committed couples becoming overeager before the marriage ceremony, but he couldn’t think of an actual baby being sired that way in his holt.
“Bastard” was a strictly human and dorran word that his mother would have yanked his ears off for uttering. He probably wasn’t even supposed to know what it meant.
The brash confidence in Cindle’s words drew him in; it seemed she had traveled the world countless times and found it all terribly predictable, even boring. The dorrans might know nothing about the forest, but maybe Cindle still knew something about humans, things he and his brother should know before leaving.
He opened his mouth, hundreds of questions racing together, but Kyrah shook her head.
“We’re not human, and you should be more respectful. He’s our prince, and I’m a lady.”
Cindle shrugged. “We all would’ve died out a while back if we weren’t suspicious and paranoid. But if you’re really that naïve, you only have yourselves to blame.” Stomping back through the trees, she went to sit by her forgemaster and the other dorrans.
Drynn watched her heavy steps, ringing as loud as a rabid bear, until Kyrah pulled at his hand. “Ignore her, Drynn. We’ll be back in a second.”
Drynn nodded. It wasn’t like he could ask about humans with Kyrah around anyway. Tayvin still wanted to keep their mission secret until it was too late for someone to try and stop it.
Kyrah turned bright red beside him. “Oops. I meant to say Prince Aldrayndallen-Falberain. I’m sorry. I’m not used to—”
“Call me Drynn. Everyone does.” He hadn’t even noticed the supposed slip.
Kyrah sighed, walking farther into the treeline. “Oh good. I know the elders say full names are more respectful, but it’s so much to bother with most of the time . . . You can call me Kyrah, like your brother does. I spoke to him on the way up. He’s really nice.”
There it was. She wanted to ask about Tayvin. Drynn should have known the moment she started acting so friendly. She wasn’t from their holt, but she looked like one of the maids who followed his brother during the celebration and volunteered for the trading in droves when Tayvin signed on. But Tayvin was a ranger and was currently out scouting the forest, providing unseen cover to all the groups and leaving the maids no choice but to pin Drynn down for information instead.
Kyrah paused. “So, what do you think of the dorrans? My father said they were hardened savages, worse than the humans sometimes, but I didn’t want to believe it.”
Drynn was so surprised that her question wasn’t about Tayvin it took him a while to sort out his thoughts. “Yeah-yeah, they’re a little intimidating.”
“Scary is more like it . . . Wait, something moved over there. Can you see it?”
Drynn squinted into the shaded grove, tracking the movement. “It’s a cat. Odd, it looks like a panther. You get panthers, don’t you? In Verngalla?” Verngalla was a holt in the far south near the swamp. Panthers never came up here. Drynn pulled out his bow.
Kyrah laughed musically. “What are you, a dorran? They’re perfectly harmless. Cats never bother anybody but fish.” She tried calling to get its attention, but it ignored her. “Oh, well. I think I see the elk. Put the bow away before you scare them.”
She pointed to the elk herd grazing in a nearby clearing.
“They’re beautiful. We don’t get anything like this in Verngalla.” She raised her voice. “Hello, everyone. Would you mind helping us bring some wood in?”
The elk moved in closer and a few of them bobbed their heads.
Something snapped behind them. Drynn started to look, but then he shook his head. He hadn’t heard of cats attacking anyone, even if it was a bit far from its home region and bigger than it ought to be. Maybe he was being a dorran.
And if Kyrah actually wanted to talk to him, he wanted to try. It might be fun—at least as fun as studying a new animal in the forest or a pack of dorrans in their mines. Better than a dorran, Kyrah was gorgeous. He liked the delicate way she walked and the warmth in her voice as she spoke to the elk, leaving no question that the animals would want to follow her anywhere.
Drynn wanted to follow her too. He put the bow down to rest against a log and rubbed the
shoulder of an elk that had come up to his side. “Did you know that none of the other races can do this? Talk to the animals, I mean. The animals don’t understand . . .” Drynn froze. He was quoting one of his textbooks again. Maids didn’t like that. No one did. She was going to shake her head like Tayvin always did.
She was already shaking her head, eyes narrowed, chestnut curls falling to one side. “Really? That would make me so sad. I love talking to the animals.”
Drynn stared. She was interested. She wanted to talk to him.
Drynn smiled, trying to stand as his brother did. This was easier than he had thought. “Maybe that’s why the dorrans are so scary.”
Kyrah giggled. “You’re funny. I had no idea. Milay, my cousin, she lives in Titainia. She said you’re cute, but you never talk at all.”
Blood raced to his cheeks, pushing Drynn from excitement to something closer to terror. He ducked behind the elk, and Kyrah started laughing again.
Movement flashed in the tree above them. He looked up as black fur and the outstretched claws of the panther lunged toward him.
CHAPTER 5
THE ELK SCATTERED with their cloven hooves ringing against the undergrowth.
Drynn sprang to a tree. Wood snapped behind him. His bow. The giant cat had landed on his bow.
Drynn winced, clinging to the middle of a tree trunk, heart speeding onward as the rest of the world seemed to slow. What was going on? Animals never attacked elves in the forest, but the panther was set in a predatory stance. Its glowing eyes narrowed, focused on him.
Kyrah screamed, and the beast turned its head.
Kyrah hadn’t even brought a bow. Why would she? They weren’t hunting. One bow should have been more than enough and he had let it break.
He ripped off the bark under his hand, throwing it to get the panther to look at him again. It sprung around. The wood vibrated under Drynn as he pulled himself higher through the branches. Claws dug after him in an eerie whine, slicing the bark without holding.
Maybe the cat was too big to climb? At least not very well.
“Kyrah, run! Get the dorrans.” They might be too slow to do anything, but they had weapons. And he could draw the beast off until . . . until . . . who knew what, but Kyrah would be safe.
Cindle stepped into view, war hammer still in hand. “She already screamed loud enough,” Cindle said. “Lucky I’m stupid and paranoid and was already on my way.”
She swung her hammer at the panther’s haunches.
It snarled and vanished. The hammer passed through the air in a great arc, hitting a tree with a thunk and tilting the trunk slightly to one side.
The panther had disappeared! Impossible. Drynn had never taken his eyes from the cat. But he had watched it flicker out of existence. He would not have believed it otherwise. It had been solid enough when it snapped his bow.
“Where is it?” Cindle jumped at the sound of leaves rustling. Drynn lowered himself to the ground, still staring at the place the beast had been. And where was Kyrah? Had she run?
He hoped so.
The panther leapt from the tree behind him. Drynn ducked under its claws and jerked away.
Cindle’s hammer caught the panther’s side. The cat flailed, swiping the hammer out of her hand. Before it had a chance to attack again, Cindle bolted forward and slammed her bare fists into the giant cat’s head. It flickered out of existence.
Silence followed. Cindle whirled around. “What in the—”
She cut off with a yell as the panther reappeared directly behind her and slashed at the leather armor on her back. She fell and shielded the nape of her neck with her hands.
Still unarmed and panting, Drynn looked after the hammer, half-buried in the mud. He still wasn’t as strong as a dorran. He could never lift that and Cindle needed help now.
He rushed the cat empty-handed.
The panther held its position like a furry tree trunk as he crashed into it.
Drynn fell back, dazed and gasping for breath. What kind of creature was this? It might kill them, but he still wanted to know.
If it killed them, he deserved to know.
Still on the ground, Cindle rolled and used her legs to throw the panther into a nearby tree.
The giant cat slammed into the tree so hard it seemed the wood should break in half from the force. The panther struggled to its feet, claws extended and sharper than arrow points. They swiped downward at Drynn as Cindle flung herself in front of him.
Both movements stirred a breeze across Drynn’s cheek. Cindle almost lost her footing as the cat had vanished mid-swing.
Cindle dove for her hammer. She clutched it with both hands and looked around wildly.
Seconds passed.
When the forest stayed still, Cindle lowered her hammer and held out her free hand to help Drynn back to his feet. “What were you thinking? You should’ve run off with your girlfriend! You’re much too small to try an attack like that. That thing was huge; it could’ve killed you!”
Drynn tried to shrug, but he was shaking too much. At least Kyrah was safe.
He was glad Cindle was safe too, even if she was still yelling. “Elves are so stupid! You said you had a bow! Did you not see the giant beast? That, that . . . What was that thing?”
Drynn shook his head. Certainly not a normal panther. “We saw it, but animals don’t attack elves. Cats shouldn’t be up here at all.”
“You are an idiot. All monsters come from the north. We haven’t seen them in your forest before, but it’s not like we can really look with you elves around, jumping down and throwing a fit if we crush a flower.” She waved her arms as she spoke.
“We’ve yelled ourselves hoarse at your kings, trying to tell them about all the new raids—that they should bring some of their so-called warriors out before it’s too late, maybe train your villagers to do something other than run and scream if they get beyond us. But no, they just say we’re ‘warmongering,’ still letting children frolic around here without the sense the Stone Shapers gave a goat.” Cindle no longer yelled, but her voice dripped with scorn and annoyance.
Drynn waited until she ran out of words. She had that right after helping him.
“You were wounded. Do you need any help?” He reached for his waterskin, hanging under his cloak.
Cindle looked genuinely puzzled before she twisted around, trying to peer at the damage the panther had caused to her back. She sighed heavily, finally giving up on her post-battle rant. “It’s not too bad. Shirt got most of it. I’ll just wash it off.”
“Here.” Drynn sat on a log and ripped a piece of his cloak. He dripped some water on the fabric and passed it over. “Do you need help?”
“No, I can get it.” Cindle retreated from him.
Drynn shrugged and tried not to watch her struggle with the rag. Then she glared at him as though it were his fault she couldn’t reach it.
“I’ll just go back there for a second.” She pointed to the distant trees then back to the log where he was sitting. “Stay there until I get back, and scream loud if you need me.”
Drynn nodded. He wasn’t going anywhere. Their fight with the panther should have already given Kyrah enough time to regroup with the other dorrans, and they all needed to stay together until they figured things out.
He dug into his pocket and pulled out the opal as his thoughts continued. Why had the creature come after them? The forest sprites in Falberain—who had created many of the forest’s magical creatures like the scrufflings—enjoyed a good joke, but they were hardly cruel. They wouldn’t have created such a senseless brute on purpose.
He put the opal away and reached for his broken bow with a sigh.
A heavy weight threw Drynn forward from the log in one swift motion. The ground rose to meet him as the panther reappeared directly on him and strong paws crushed his face into the dry loam. The panther yowled and tore at his back—his quiver, dragging him about as if the cat had gotten its front claws stuck in the leather strap.
&
nbsp; Cindle couldn’t be that far, but he couldn’t catch his breath to yell. The panther jerked, pressing and pulling as it tried to get free from the quiver’s strap. Drynn stretched out his arm, unable to find even a rock to use against the beast. The paws bit deeper into Drynn’s back.
Spots clouded his vision. No air. His arms flailed uselessly over grass and dirt.
There was a thwack, a yowl.
Warm blood rained across his back, and the cat’s weight vanished.
Drynn flipped around and gasped for air. An elven ranger stood on a branch that cracked under the cat’s added weight as the creature reformed. The panther's head veered back and forth, stupidly searching for the source of the cracking noise as the archer struck with another arrow and scrambled higher up the tree. The cat jerked backward, toward the thinner part of the branch.
Another crack. The branch broke.
As it fell, the cat flicked in and out of existence. It crashed to the ground as a fully formed corpse. The archer, Tayvin, started down the tree as something else crashed through the forest.
“Elf prince?” Cindle threw her hammer down and ran to Drynn’s fallen form. “I thought I heard that blasted animal again . . . Are you all right? You’re bleeding.”
Cindle rolled Drynn over to inspect the damage all before he could voice a single protest. “Where does it hurt? You’re all scraped up, but I can’t tell where all the blood came from.”
“Tayvin . . . hit . . .” Drynn gasped, his breathing louder than his words. He tried to get up, but found the dorran just as apt at holding him down as the cat had been.
“What? He shot you?” She looked around for the other elf, glaring.
“I did not!” Tayvin said. “I’m a better marksman than that.”
“Well, he said you did, you great idiot. Now, where is the wound?”
Drynn tried again, but his words mumbled into something that was not recognizable Elven or Dorran as Cindle pressed him down to help her search.
His strangled words ended in a coughing fit, searing his lungs.
The Queen's Opal: A Stone Bearers Novel (Book One) Page 5
