The Silver Claw

by Erik Williamson

  Then Alixa’s neck tingled. Instinctively, she threw herself behind a bush. With a calm breath, she cataloged her senses, then parted the bush’s branches with the tips of her fingers and squinted past the full moon. Her eyes caught, and her gaze slowly tracked eastward through the sky.

  “Stink.” She dropped her head and let out a frustrated huff. “Really?”

  Renn woke the next morning to Emmie lying beside him, her teeth clacking and her face lined with frozen tears. She looked so pretty, sleeping fitfully. And so sad it almost broke his heart. He tucked his blanket around her balled-up, shivering body, then spread his cloak over top of her

  A faint smile crept onto her face. “Thanks, Renn,” she murmured in her sleep.

  “Anytime, friend.” Renn sighed, then went to find breakfast, which turned out to be soggy berries and some unidentifiable root that Alixa swore was edible (and nobody had died yet, so hey).

  After an unappetizing meal and a quiet round of apologies and pledges to do better (though neither believed themselves or each other), they faced up to the inevitable: they needed to move forward, best they could. They plodded through the woods, focusing on trying to orient their path eastward, gauging by the sun, hoping they’d somehow stumble across the Pass, where Alixa said they’d be safe. And after that. . . they had no clue.

  They made little headway and spent the cloudless night around a small, smoky fire. Alixa had been forbidding fires, but they were too cold, too miserable, and too hopeless to go without one for another night. It was a bad decision.

  “Comfy, are we?” a voice growled in Emmie’s ear, deep in the night.

  She woke to her hands being bound behind her back. She blinked, and in the glow of the embers of their dying fire, saw Renn struggling with two men.

  “Renn!” Emmie shouted.

  “Shut it, wheat-head.” A man drove his fist into her cheek, pinning her head to the ground. “I’d hate to have to damage the either of you before we deliver you to the witch.”

  “Witch?” Emmie whimpered through a throbbing cheekbone, her mind reeling to fathom their situation. “Who, what witch?”

  “Ain’t no worry of yours, filth.”

  Emmie gasped as the man wrenched her bonds tighter, then pulled her to her feet.

  “This one’s no Bandu,” a man holding Renn to the ground said. “Kill him?”

  “We’ll know for sure come dawn,” Emmie’s captor said. “The witch ain’t forgiving, you know.” He pressed his mouth to Emmie’s face. She tried to squirm away as his purred in her ear. “And, yeah, wheat-head, that witch. She’ll have some fun for you.”

  “Got a fair look now,” the other man called back. “He’s a Valelander.”

  “A Valelander travelling with this trash? We’ve our orders, men. March!”

  They stumbled through the woods, in the dark, for what felt like hours. Renn and Emmie were marched on opposite ends of the small party. She couldn’t be sure they’d hadn’t simply killed him. The thought made her heart ache. It would be her fault. And she’d treated him so poorly for. . . she couldn’t remember how long. Their easy banter on the banks of the Longar seemed like a lifetime ago, lived by another girl. Eyes blurring with tears, Emmie tripped and fell. Then again. The third time, she was dragged upright by her hair.

  “Halt!” the man bellowed.

  “Emmie?” Renn called.

  “Yah?” She almost sobbed with relief. He was alive, at least.

  “Not another word, either of you!” The man yanked her hair and Emmie’s neck snapped back. He learned in and growled, breath all garlic and clove. “Stay on your feet, wheat-head, or you’ll be hog-tied and hung on a pole. Lug you back like the animal you are.”

  Emmie bowed her head and did her best to stay upright. At least they were both alive; her only consolation. Another hour and the men stopped for a break. They tied Renn to a tree and forced Emmie face-first to the ground far from him. One man planted his boot on her bound hands.

  “What do you want with us?” Emmie whimpered.

  “You’ll see.” The man dug his heel into her wrists. “Doubt you’ll like it. Now, shut up.”

  “We’re lost, that’s all.” Which, without Alixa, was the sorry truth. “We have nothing. If—”

  “Ain’t taking no talkback from the likes of you.”

  Emmie gagged as a scrap of rough burlap was stuffed into her mouth. She was pulled to her feet. Her cloak, smelling as if someone relieved themselves on it, was clinched around her neck. They set off again. Exhausted and with only her nostrils to breathe through, her lungs could scarcely keep up. Her chest began to ache more than her bruised, swelling cheek, or the rope digging into her wrists, or her humiliated and frightened self.

  “Manquin,” Emmie’s handler yelled. “Alert that foul bird.”

  “Aye, I’ll send a flare.”

  Manquin shot a flaming arrow into the sky. Emmie and Renn exchanged furtive glances. It was the first time Renn had laid eyes on her since they’d been taken. She looked a mess. His forehead creased with concern. He opened his mouth, then thought better of it.

  “No sign of the blooming bird,” Manquin said after some time had passed. “See anything, Geth?”

  There was no reply. The men scanned the dark sky. Renn and Emmie did as well, trying to guess what they might be looking for.

  “Answer, Geth! I’m in charge here!” The man shook Emmie as he spoke. “Find him. Where’d that idiot go? Geth!”

  The woods remained black and silent.

  “Manquin, you see him?”

  An owl hooted in the distance and then, again, silence.

  “Manquin?” Emmie’s handler turned, peering around the dark woods.

  “Wanna see Manquin?” a voice seethed, mere inches away.

  Emmie stumbled as she was suddenly released. A dagger crunched through skin and bone. The man cried out once, then his body dropped with a thud.

  Emmie was pushed to the ground as two more men approached with a torch.

  “Manquin?” one asked. “That you?”

  The only answer was a blade being drawn. The figure hovering over Emmie sprang, feinting at the speaker—forcing him into a defensive posture—then clashing swords with the other man, who dropped his torch. They barreled into each other and, hilts locked, spun around. After a couple turns, the newcomer dropped the man to the ground with a savage kick just as his partner joined the fray. Steel clanged again. Swords flashed in the torchlight. The combatants were a blur of motion.

  “You okay?” Renn crawled to Emmie’s side.

  “Mhm. . .” Emmie murmured, blood trickling down the side of her mouth.

  As the first man began to rise, their attacker disarmed his partner with a flick of the wrist that flung his sword to the side, ran him through the heart, and in one fluid motion pounced, forcing the first man back down. After listening to a series of furious body-blows, Emmie and Renn watched a sword shoot high in the air then plunge down, the man’s voice cut off mid-cry.

  “Stay still,” a female voice hissed towards them, as she slid into the shadows of the torchlight burning along the ground. Her bow aimed skyward.

  “Alixa, is that—” Renn began.

  “Shush!”

  Time passed, everything still. Laying face-down, still trussed-up like baggage, they couldn’t see anything. They did sense the moment Alixa tensed when she spotted the enormous wingspan gliding across the moon. It dipped down to investigate the fire. With one twang of a bowstring, it faltered, then plummeted gracelessly to the ground. Alixa stomped through the woods. Two more arrows discharged, each followed immediately by a crunch and an avian cry. A sword chopped through flesh. Then silence.

  Alixa stalked back towards them, kicking dirt over the dying torch.

  “I swear. . .” Alixa grumbled. She pulled burlap out of Emmie’s mouth, then sliced off her bonds and Renn’s, and pulled each to their feet.

  “Lix!” Emmie’s lips felt gummy and raw. Her eyes, though, glistened with j
oyous tears. “You came!”

  “I leave you two alone for a bit and what do you do?”

  “It’s been two days!” Renn fingered his bloody cheek. “Where’d you go?”

  “Don’t care.” Emmie hugged Alixa.

  “You built a fire—which I forbade.” Alixa fought off the hug, threw her hands in the air. “Yell so loud, they could probably hear you all the way to the Mountain. You get yourselves captured. And you don’t even have your packs! You’re both bleeding and where’s our med kit, for crying out loud? Can’t you two do anything right?”

  Emmie threw herself at Alixa again. This time, to Emmie’s surprise, she could almost swear the hug was reciprocal.

  “Right. We, uh, missed you too.” Renn rubbed his shoulder.

  “Don’t leave again,” Emmie pleaded.

  “Looks like I have no choice. We best track down your junk, clean you up, and get re-directed towards the Pass. I mean, seriously! You’re further away than when I last saw you!”

  Alixa pushed at Emmie, still wrapped around her body. But it seemed a half-hearted push to Renn. Or, he mused, perhaps a halting attempt at a hug by a woman who hadn’t known physical affection in years.

  XXXVII – Lamberden Pass

  For three days they waded through the foliage of the scant trail. Three days, and Renn and Emmie hadn’t posed a single one of their myriads of questions: where Alixa had gone, why she’d returned, about the massive bird, the witch. They couldn’t risk setting her off.

  Alixa had taken to scaling tall trees to gauge their location, trying to locate the Pass. She’d been up this particular one for quite some time. Emmie dabbed at her bruised cheek. Renn stared absently around their clearing. His eyes landed on Alixa’s sword, its blade hanging partially exposed outside the scabbard. Renn crept closer to inspect the ornate designs visible on the naked blade.

  “She’ll give you a closer look alright, if you touch it,” Emmie warned. “Bet she’d know, too.”

  It was disheartening that her tone was so inscrutable. Ignoring her, he inspected a meticulously jeweled white cougar just above the hilt. “Emmie? You got to see this.”

  “Uh, no? I do value my life.”

  “Emmidawn, seriously. Get over here.”

  She paused, glared, and with a huff, rose to join him.

  “It’s the big cat from your necklace.” He pointed, careful not to touch. “Identical.”

  Emmie discarded her qualms regarding Alixa’s personal belongings and scrambled closer.

  “Completely identical.” It was indeed her gorgeous lynxie-cougar-cat, affixed to the sword; smaller but glittering with the same pure white gemstones. “Must mean something. But, hey, she’ll be back any second.”

  They hurried back to their packs, trying to look innocent and unassuming.

  “Renn?” Emmie met his eyes. “Thanks for snoopin’.”

  “Anytime.” Renn grinned; he would snoop anytime if for no other reason than to see the playful, mischevious Emmie re-appear, even briefly.

  Alixa dropped out of a tree shortly afterwards.

  “Found it! Road’s northeast.” Hoisting her things, she missed the searching looks they gave her. “C’mon, Sheep, I’m getting your stubby pins out of the thick stuff.”

  Alixa made a beeline straight east. The woods became less dense. A path slowly materialized, then they stumbled onto a wide weedy avenue where they swung their arms freely, not having to knock bushes out of their way. The sun was visible above, and no low-lying branches threatened to thwack them in the faces.

  For miles, they made swift, relaxed progress until Renn asked the obvious question they had somehow neglected. “I hate to be a downer. . .”

  “I don’t know, Renn, you seem to have that down pat,” Emmie interrupted him.

  “Uh, thanks?” Renn shook his head. “So, our pathetic deer trail suddenly becomes a real road. That doesn’t strike you as a bit . . . uncanny?”

  Emmie and Alixa surveyed their surroundings. The road had indeed grown more defined as they’d travelled further in. There were signs of cultivation along the edges. Some spots appeared raked and levelled. The pleasant roadway suddenly felt ominous.

  “Renn’s right. This is creepy. Alixa?”

  “Voice your suspicions any time, Longar. But, hey. . .” Alixa flashed a cocky smile. “No creepy talk. Nothing to be afraid of, right?”

  Renn and Emmie weren’t sure they agreed. After a few more miles of Alixa roving back and forth, trying to make sense of what they were seeing, Emmie waved them both over to the side of the road to what appeared to be a manicured flower garden. Renn padded his toes into fresh loamy mulch.

  “Creepy enough for you?” Emmie asked.

  “Who’s calling my garden creepy?” a high, nasally voice asked.

  Emmie and Renn grasped onto each other. Alixa whirled, muscles coiled for action. Her sword tip stopped mere feet away from a shriveled little man who had appeared behind them.

  “Oh!” Obliviously unfazed, a gap-toothed smile gaped open on his weather-beaten face. “No need for that, missy. However, I would appreciate if you, young man, removed your toes from my flowerbed. And, you.” He pointed a gnarled walking stick at Emmie. “Nothing creepy about an old man’s garden.”

  They stared, perplexed and speechless.

  “Oooo. . .” His eyes moved appreciatively along the blade of Alixa’s sword. Emmie and Renn’s attention followed, right back to the snow-white cougar. “You, young lady, have the most stunning blade I’ve ever seen.”

  “You’ve, uh, seen a lot of them?” Alixa licked her lips, keeping her sword steady and outstretched.

  “I’ve seen much.” His voice dropped. “Ask Ebner the Wise, they used to say. Puh. I’d still be answering if they ever listened.”

  Alixa’s sword dipped. “Not the Ebner who lived in Bersteg Basin some years back?”

  Renn and Emmie looked to each other, dumbfounded, and found yet another reason to be thankful for Alixa’s presence.

  “So nice to be remembered!” His face lit into a wrinkly glow. “Goodness, where’s my manners? I’ll put on some tea and quadruple the fixings for stew!”

  He tottered down a side path none of them could quite believe they hadn’t noticed before. Maybe it hadn’t been there to notice. They weren’t sure.

  “Lixa, we good here?” Emmie whispered, tugging on Alixa’s sleeve.

  “If he is who he says he is. . . yeah.”

  “And if not?” Emmie asked.

  Alixa sheathed her sword. “One step at a time, Sheep.”

  “I vote for hot stew and a roof over our heads,” Renn said.

  “A warm meal sounds wonderful, thank you,” Alixa called after the man, then under her breath. “You follow my lead, got it?”

  Once inside the man’s mossy earthen home, they eased into hand-carved armchairs circled around a massive stone fireplace. Ancient artifacts covered the high walls, floor to ceiling. Emmie laughed a contented sigh as she settled into the downy pillows heaped atop the chair.

  “Dinner’s on. Already had it boiling.” The little man tottered from the kitchen, carrying four steaming tea mugs. “I thought you were those pesky coons rustling in my garden again. Delighted it was you good folk. I so rarely get visitors. Now. . . where were we?”

  “Well, she’s—” Emmie began brightly, pointing to Alixa.

  “Your name is Ebner.” Alixa said loudly. She threw Emmie a sharp glance. The gregarious Emmie clamped her mouth shut. “That’s as far as we’d gotten.”

  “So I am. So I am. And you young folks. . . oh, a fascinating crew.” Ebner rubbed his hands together gleefully. He pointed at Renn, who sat upright. “Longarvale. Shepherd, maybe? No. . . I reckon goatherder.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You smell, boy.”

  Renn drooped back down. Emmie giggled despite herself.

  “Not only the smell. . . ‘tis not that bad anyway. Your dress, walk, tone. To one who knows and understands, everything
speaks.” His bones creaked as he turned in his chair. “And you young ladies. . . obviously both of fine Bandu heritage. Yet not from the Bandu.”

  He turned his appraising eyes on Emmie.

  “You, my dear, excepting of course your hair and eyes, I’d wager a boatload of kippers you’re a Khuulie fishing girl.”

  “Yes, sir—to the very core.” Emmie beamed.

  “Yet with a bit of Vale, no? Not the same as our goat-boy; nothing wrong with a goatherder, mind you. A girl could do far worse.” He winked at Emmie, who found the hem of her cloak suddenly required her undivided attention. “Which leads us to you,” he spoke deferentially to Alixa. “Well, my Bersteg Basin friend, I’ve heard tales of a certain exceptional young woman who calls the Bersteg home. Alixa, no?”

  Alixa leapt to her feet, hand on her sword.

  “No, no, no,” Ebner chided, shaking his head in a grandfatherly manner. “Always with the sword. You’ve so much more than that, girl!”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “You knew my name. I say it’s only fair. Not many folk go back to my time in the Bersteg—your young self included. I believe we have a mutual friend, though, Baerdron? A young woman as unique as yourself cannot escape notice.”

  Alixa bristled. As much of her life had centered around avoiding notice, what was intended as a compliment was not received as such.

  “I wonder if old Baerd might’ve sent you my way?”

  Hand still on sword hilt, Alixa lowered herself back into her chair. But she was done with this conversation. She fingered the clasp of her cloak and tunic and looked away.

  “It was not my intent to alarm you, dear.”

  “I’m no ‘dear’,” Alixa growled. “Can we talk about something else?”

  Emmie smiled nervously and took a sip of her tea. No one else budged. A wall full of relics gazed down on the silent quartet.