“I’m not sure,” said Edge. “I don’t even know why he’s bothering to send these messages. Does he really think he could scare us away with these kinds of threats?”
“How could he be certain that we would find them?” Deathclaw asked. “If Lenny had not opened that pouch or we had not found that tavern, we wouldn’t have either note.”
“It’s a gamble. He’s taking risks even by trying to leave messages while traveling with Jhonate,” Edge said. “If she discovered either one of them she would kill him.”
“I think it goes back to what Lenny said earlier,” Fist said. He was still sitting down on the deck, his long thick legs stretching out in front of him as he leaned back and supported his weight on his hands. “This is done to unnerve us. To make us doubt and argue. The more discombobulated we become, the more likely it is that we will do something foolish that he can take advantage of.”
“Well you know what I think?” said Lenny. “I think that foul-arsed, no-good, corn-jiggin’, hoop-skirtin’, cheek-squeeaki-!”
The dwarf’s tirade cut off with a gurgle and Edge looked at the dwarf in shock. An arrow had plunged into Lenny’s neck.
Chapter Fifteen
Sir Edge – Archer
Lenny staggered, his hand reaching for the red feather fletchings of the arrow that protruded from his neck. There was a look of surprise and confusion on his face and blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth.
Edge sent out mental orders. Deathclaw moved to the railings, his mind speeding up and his senses focusing as he watched for more arrows. Fist rolled to his knees and grabbed Lenny. He pulled the dwarf close to him and began sending healing energies into the wound.
Lenny tried to say something, but no words were coming out. He gripped the arrow and gave it an experimental tug, but it didn’t budge.
“Don’t touch it!” Fist said with a grimace. He told Edge, “It’s difficult to see inside him. His blood magic is interfering.”
All dwarves’ flesh was infused with magic that toughened their bodies, lengthened their lifespan, and made them resistant to magic. This was useful when they were fighting against wizards. It was not so useful when a wizard was trying to heal them.
Edge stood in front of Lenny and the kneeling ogre and, like Deathclaw, used his mind to slow the world around him as he searched for another incoming missile. What kind of arrow is it? he asked Fist. What kind of arrowhead? Can it be pulled out?
Fist’s concentration increased. He was beginning to sweat. It’s too fuzzy for me to tell, but he tried to pull it out and it won’t budge. I think it’s pronged. Lenny gurgled and coughed, sending a gout of blood across Fist’s arm. The ogre glanced back at Edge. It’s obstructing his airway and his lungs are filling with blood.
“Damn it!” said Edge. If another arrow came in right now he would be too distracted to catch it. He forced his worry for his friend aside. Fist was a good healer. He needed to let him care for Lenny and focus on the attacker.
One of the ferrymen had seen the arrow hit the dwarf. He hurried over to them with bandages. “I-I don’t know how this happened. The shore is still a half mile away.”
“Just set them down,” said Fist absently, his brow furrowed. Bandages would be little help if he couldn’t get the arrow out.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, and it was obvious that he knew the identities of his passengers. An incident like this could make both the city of Filgren and the Roma family look bad.
“You and your friend extinguish the lanterns!” Edge ordered.
The ferryman hesitated. “We’re not supposed to do that. Without the lights we won’t be able to see any debris coming towards us.”
“They’re hampering our night vision,” Edge said. “And they’re making us easy targets to whoever’s out there in the darkness.”
The ferryman nodded, and he and his coworker put out the lights. For several long moments the boat was silent, the only sound being Lenny’s gurgling attempts to breathe.
Deathclaw sensed the second arrow coming before it struck. He heard it whistling through the air. He focused in, slowing the world within his mind as much as he could. This arrow had been fired from a slightly different position in the darkness than the first and it was being propelled at a faster speed than most arrows. His eyes, altered to see well in the darkness despite the moonless night, caught a flash of movement and he reached out to catch the arrow.
The raptoid miscalculated slightly, and the arrow buried itself in the meat of his left hand. It would have passed through completely had it not lodged itself in the crook of his thumb. Deathclaw hissed in pain and anger. I just grew that hand back!
With his teeth bared, he grasped the shaft of the arrow and leveraged it away from the bone, then shoved the barbed arrowhead through. It was a wicked-looking thing, with curved hooks on the edges. He broke off the head and pulled the shaft of the arrow out of his hand. Ignoring the blood that pattered onto the deck, the raptoid concentrated his body’s regenerative magic on the wound and returned his attention to the direction the arrow had come from.
“This was not fired from the shore,” Deathclaw declared. He pointed. “I think there’s a boat out there.”
“North of us?” said the ferryman, who had watched the raptoid attempt to catch the arrow in shocked awe. He rushed back to the rail and leaned out over the water, a hand to his ear. “I don’t hear any oars.”
I know where it is, said Squirrel, projecting his thoughts to the others from Fist’s side of the bond. He had left his pouch and was perched on the domed top of Rufus’ gorilla-like head. I can see it through Rufus’ eyes.
“Ooh! There!” said the rogue horse, pointing with one massive arm. He sent Fist a mental image of what he saw and Fist passed it to the others.
Out on the river to their northwest was a small water craft. It was the size of a one-person rowboat, but there were no oars to be seen. Somehow it managed to maintain its position without floating downstream towards them. Standing in the center of the boat was a man wearing a hooded cloak.
Very little of his form could be made out in the darkness, but he had a longbow and had pulled another arrow back. He was lining up his shot.
Deathclaw, watch for that next shot. Edge pulled his bow off of his back and quickly strung it. He must have some sort of magic in his bow to hit us from that distance.
Before he could grab an arrow from his quiver, he heard the next arrow coming. It was headed for the dwarf in Fist’s arms. Deathclaw had moved too far down the railing to catch it.
Edge focused his eyes, intensifying his vision. It was a trick Deathclaw had taught him that went beyond a simple slowing of the world. His irises widened, taking in more of the ambient light. For a few moments he could see as well as if there had been a full moon out. He couldn’t have his senses ratcheted up this high for more than a few seconds. In this state bright lights were painful, and he had discovered that keeping it up was a heavy strain on his eyes and gave him horrible headaches.
His enhanced sight was barely enough for him to see the arrow coming in. As he had suspected, the arrow passed just out of Deathclaw’s reach. When it passed the raptoid’s outstretched claws, Edge’s hand was already closing. In the silvery light of the stars he saw the wicked head of the arrow pass between his fingers. Then his hand closed onto the shaft. When his senses rushed back to normal, he held the arrow by its fletching.
He lifted his Jharro bow, prepared to send the cruel arrow right back at its shooter. He just had to be able to see him and unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to refocus his vision for a while. “Rufus, keep your eyes on that boat. Fist, feed what he sees through to me. I’m going to try and fire back.”
Edge, wait! sent Fist, panic rising in his thoughts. I need your help.
Edge hurried to his side. Lenny was gasping, his lungs mostly full of blood. He was pale, and he was mouthing something. He reached out to Edge and pointed at the arrow. He made a shoving motion.
&nb
sp; “He’s saying we have to push it the rest of the way through,” Edge said.
Fist grimaced and shook his head. “It’s going to do a lot of damage and he’ll lose blood even faster.” He looked at Edge. “My magic isn’t working. You’re going to need to stab him. Maybe healing will work better from the inside.”
Edge pulled Peace from its sheath. He had never tried to use his sword on a dwarf before, but Fist had a point. The sword created a temporary bond and healing through the bond had advantages over regular healing. It allowed the wizard to see the body from the inside and get a better perspective on the wound. The only downside to using the sword in this situation was the intimate nature of the bond. He didn’t know what would happen when their minds were connected.
Lenny’s eyes were wide, and he was shaking his head.
“Sorry, Lenny,” he said, knowing how private the dwarf was about his innermost thoughts. “But this is the only way,” he said and stabbed the tip of the sword into the dwarf’s arm.
Deathclaw felt a wave of emotion overtake Edge, but pushed those feelings away. “This archer is going to keep firing at us until it has finished its purpose,” he said. “I could swim out there if I wasn’t trying to catch these arrows!”
This wasn’t entirely true. Even if the archer wasn’t firing at them, the water was frigid, and the boat was too far away. Also, he didn’t like to swim. He had forced himself to learn and had become proficient at propelling himself through the water, but he had bad memories of the last time he had swam across the Wide River.
“Ooh! Ooh. I can see it. I can throw . . .” Rufus looked around the ferry for something heavy enough to sink the small boat in the distance.
Deathclaw thought that wasn’t such a bad idea. Rufus knew how to throw at great distances and he had proven his accuracy many times over the years.
“Do you think you could throw me at it?” Deathclaw asked.
“Ooh! Okay,” Rufus agreed and eyed the distant boat, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth as he did some internal calculations. He began to swell in size, his arms lengthening and the muscles in his torso bulging as he altered himself to make the perfect throw. Squirrel wisely scampered down from his perch on the rogue horse’s head.
Deathclaw tried to determine the best way to go about this. He had seen the rogue horse pick up boulders and launch them at foes hundreds of feet away. He pulled his sword sheath off his back and set it on the deck, not wanting Star to become dislodged and lose it at the bottom of the river. Perhaps he could crouch in Rufus’ hand and at the precise moment that the rogue horse threw, he could-.
Rufus grabbed Deathclaw’s tail in both hands. He lifted the raptoid of the deck and began to swing him.
Not by the tail! Deathclaw cried mentally, but Rufus was already spinning, gaining momentum as he prepared for the throw. Hissing, the raptoid drew in his legs and wrapped his arms around them, ducking his head in an attempt to provide the least amount of resistance possible.
Rufus’ spin quickened, and his muscles bunched in preparation. The ferry rocked with his increased weight and momentum. With a wood-cracking stomp and a roar, the rogue horse slung Deathclaw high into the air.
The raptoid hurtled through the dark night sky and quickly overcame his fear and discomfort to look down at the river passing beneath him. To his quickened mind, he wasn’t moving that fast at all. There was something exhilarating about soaring through the air. Maybe one day he’d see about having Edge help him grow wings. But at the moment he had hit the peak of his upward momentum and was starting a downward path.
He set his eyes on the small boat he was falling towards. It was a curious craft, shallow and leaf-shaped. The figure that stood in the center of the boat was aiming an arrow up at him. He saw a flash under its hood just before it fired.
Deathclaw spread his arms and legs wide, trying to contort his body out of the arrow’s path. The arrow that was meant for his heart struck two inches below the mark. The arrowhead sunk into his chest and through his left lung to exit his back. The raptoid accepted the hit and reached towards the archer intending to land on it claws first.
Without making any move that the raptoid could see, the archer somehow caused the boat to shift five feet to the south. Deathclaw plunged into the icy water.
His body seized up, his muscles clenching in response to the cold. But that reaction was momentary. He knew that the current would soon drag him away from his enemy. Ignoring the cold and his wounds, he swam up under the craft. With swift kicks and a whip of his tail, he burst out of the water and grabbed the lip of the boat.
The boat rocked and came dangerously near to tipping as he scrambled aboard. The archer let out a startled yelp and staggered, but it was light on its feet and recovered quickly. It drew a knife and thrust it at the raptoid. A flick of Deathclaw’s tail gashed the hand holding the knife and the weapon fell into the water.
Deathclaw rose to his feet, slightly unsteady on the boat. His body was hampered by the cold and his punctured lung. The shaft of the arrow was still stuck in his chest. He closed off the use of that lung and just used the right one for now. He lunged at the archer, slashing with his claws.
The archer leapt nimbly backwards and perched on the pointed prow of the small craft, then swept off its cloak and threw it over the raptoid. Deathclaw caught a brief glimpse of the archer’s face. It was a female and appeared to be human. Her hair was tied behind her head and she wore a strange apparatus on her face. It was like a pair of spectacles with multiple lenses stacked in front of each other causing a telescoping effect.
He spun, sweeping out with his tail to knock the cloak aside and saw the archer dive into the water. Immediately, the boat started to move away from her as if commanded by her mind. Hissing, Deathclaw dove in after her.
He swam after the woman. She was several yards ahead of him and seemed to be a competent swimmer. Deathclaw used his powerful tail to propel him through the water and he gained on her.
She gasped when Deathclaw’s claws latched onto her foot. He yanked her towards him and she cried out, swinging her arm at him, another knife in her hand.
The blade stabbed him in the shoulder, but Deathclaw grabbed her arm and wrenched it, breaking the archer’s wrist.
He wrapped his arms around the woman, his feet kicking to keep their heads above water. “Do you wish to live, archer?” he hissed. “Tell me! Why did you attack us?”
She sneered back at him. “I don’t wish to die, monster, but I will tell you nothing!”
Deathclaw took no pleasure in causing pain, but he was prepared to do so for the sake of his tribe. He bared his mouthful of pointed teeth. “Are you certain? Your death will not be pleasant.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” she said, and her sneer turned into a confident smile.
She ducked to the side just as the leaf-shaped boat struck the back of Deathclaw’s head. The raptoid’s eyes glazed over and his grip around her loosened. She kicked him away and swam back to the boat.
Deathclaw shook his head, sparks flaring in his vision. He was having a hard time recovering from the blow. Lack of oxygen and loss of blood were slowing him. The woman was climbing back into the boat. He didn’t understand how she propelled the boat, but if he didn’t act soon she would get away.
Numbly, he grabbed his bandoleer and drew Speedy, the throwing knife Lenny had made him. It was a ridiculously complicated throw to make while treading water and with his head spinning, but Deathclaw took command of his weakened body. Focusing his will, he whipped his tail to raise him out of the water and swung his arm forward. With a flick of the wrist, the knife was away.
There wasn’t much force behind his throw, but his aim was accurate. Speedy took over from there. A blast of air propelled the knife forward and just as the woman came to her feet, the weapon plunged into her side. She turned to look at him with uncomprehending eyes and collapsed into the bottom of the boat.
Deathclaw somehow managed to swim his tired body to the bo
at. He pulled himself in just as the woman let out her last ragged breath and died. The leaf-shaped craft began to spin out of control.
In the disorienting first few seconds after Edge pierced Lenny’s flesh, his mind surged through the dwarf’s memories. Before he could take control of the magic, he experienced the dwarf’s early childhood.
Lenui Firegobbler had been born to Jimbeau Firegobbler, his proud blacksmith father, and Maggie Cragstalker, a mother who had run away from her smuggling past to marry Jimbeau. His early years had been happy ones. His parents were loving and early on his father brought him into the forge to train him. But his mother began to chafe under the laidback lifestyle of a blacksmith’s wife and one day she ran away and went back to join her smuggler kin.
Edge had already known these things about his friend, but much more was coming at him and without intending to, he skimmed along the dwarf’s memories, catching glimpses here and there. In his 268 years of life Lenui had done about everything there was for a dwarf to do. In his youth he had joined his mother in her smuggling trade. Then he had farmed the land for a few years before rejoining his father and discovering he had a true talent for smithing.
In the culture Lenui was from, being a blacksmith was about the noblest trade for a dwarf to aspire to. He received praise from all around for his work, but like his mother had, he chafed under the structured lifestyle that being a blacksmith demanded. He left the forge and spent years adventuring. He saw just about every corner of the Known Lands. He fought everything from dark wizards and dragons to monsters of legend.
Eventually, he decided to quit the adventuring life and returned to the forge, where his fame grew even more. But that restless spirit that came from his mother’s side of the family still burned within him. He was never able to stay in one place for too long. He would build a forge and a reputation, then after a few years move on to another adventure.
Then he had met Edge and his life had taken a new direction. He had met his wife Bettie and became a father, then a leader, something he had never aspired to. Now he was in a crucial role for his people, the head of the Wobble Smithing Conglomerate with a seat on the Academy Council. His wife was the Academy Forgemaster and he had four children, each of whom he loved dearly.
Sir Edge Page 17
