He started pacing. “If I was a dejected, depressing, and very annoying tree that had taken it upon my self-righteous self to change into a human shape, where would I hide my dejected, depressing, and very annoying self?” He started to rub his eye, realized that it was the swollen one, and thought better of it.
Wick might have gone home, but Archer doubted he would have. After his comment about being a thing that didn't look like anything, he didn't think Wick would go back to a place where he didn't look like he belonged. If he wanted to fit in, he would have gone to stay with the humans for a while, but he didn't have any friends there that he had bothered to tell Archer about. He hadn't seemed to know anyone there, actually, and besides, Archer hadn't seen any sign of him during the week he had spent in human territory beating up his enemies.
So Wick wasn't in human territory, and he probably wasn't in leshy territory, either.
Archer cocked his head as a connection started forming in his mind. He spun around to face the direction the manghar had gone when they took off. They had been headed southwest, which yes, was the way back down to the coast, where the nixies were. But from human territory, the centaurs were also southwest. It was the same basic direction to get to both.
While Archer was hoping that those three manghar were trying to track Wick from where they had last seen him and didn't already know where he was, they might have had the right idea.
Wick felt safe with the centaurs. Or at least that was the impression Archer had received from him. Besides that, if Wick was so desperate to save his precious reputation, he would want to explain himself to the centaurs and ask them for help.
Archer would bet that if Wick wasn't still sitting on that beach feeling sorry for himself, he had gone to the centaurs.
And Archer knew a secret emergency tunnel that the centaurs had dug under one of the mountains that would shave some precious time off his journey.
Shaking out his tight muscles, he started off at a run again, headed for centaur territory.
Archer hardly stopped for breath. He had to cross the longest portion of human territory to get to the valley where the centaurs lived. A lake lay between him and the valley as well; he would lose time going around it if he couldn't get someone with a boat to take him across.
And the manghar already had a head start on him.
It was such a long way. He ran until the sun crawled across the peak of the sky and started down the other side. When his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth because of his thirst, he stopped for a quick drink from a stream and started running again. His bare feet, though hardened from years of wandering the wilderness without shoes, began causing him pain with every step. It started with a dull throbbing pain, just enough to cause a bit of distraction at the back of his mind, but soon it grew to a vengeful stab every time he took another leap forward.
But slowing down was not an option. Stopping was out of the question. This mattered. As much as Archer wanted to think that he wouldn't care less if the tree was horribly murdered, as much as he wanted to say it would serve Wick right, he would never scrub it off his conscience if he let Wick die.
The lake came into view before sundown. The sunlight shimmered across the moving water, reminding him again how wide it was. Whether he chose to swim across or go around, getting to the other side would be tedious and would consume time that he didn't have.
As Archer sprinted up to the water's edge, he glanced up toward the mountains. He still had to get to the other side of the mountains to get into centaur territory. And to even do that, he would have to reach the mountains.
It was so far.
As he reached the edge of the lake, a nixie surfaced near the shore. For a moment, Archer halted, afraid that the nixies had sent out their own mercenaries to find him and kill him. The nixies and the manghar were allies; maybe they had an agreement where one of them got to kill Archer and the other got to kill Wick. But when she didn't immediately try to tear his throat out, he realized: this nixie seemed to be a little cut off from the others. At any rate, she didn't seem to recognize him, so Archer took the opportunity and shamelessly made a deal to get himself across the lake. She had a ferry boat the size of a washtub to take people across, and in exchange for a ride across the lake she wanted–
“Just a feather,” she said, eyeing Archer's wings. “They're so pretty.”
Frankly, the deal made Archer a little uncomfortable. Giving someone a feather felt a little personal. But feathers were cheap. He could grow another one, and he had nothing else to trade with.
“Deal.”
He climbed aboard the little ferry boat, which looked to be little more than a hunk of wood with a tiny rim to keep the water out. “How fast can you take me across?”
The nixie girl looped the harness around her arms and gave a great tug. Archer nearly tipped off the back of the boat as they took off across the lake at an incredible speed.
Archer clung to the tiny rim of the boat as it bounced across the ripples and waves on the lake. The nixie girl was going too fast, but he needed to go fast, so he didn't dare ask her to slow down. If the ferry boat stayed intact all the way across, everything would be all right.
The boat lurched to a stop near the opposite shore, and the nixie girl stood up in the water, hair dripping, holding out her hand. “Feather.”
“Getting there.” Archer climbed out of the boat into the knee-deep water and extended his good wing out far enough to reach the primary feathers closer to his body. Not that he could fly or anything, but he wanted his wings to look at least close to symmetrical. Yanking out one of the longer feathers, one with a good portion of grey in addition to the general white, he handed it to her. “Here.”
The nixie girl took the feather gently and stroked it with a pale white finger. “It's beautiful.”
“Yeah. Thanks. Bye.” Archer sloshed out of the water and took off running again before she could ask for five more. The mountains were in front of him. He only had to make it all the way across the mountain range to the other side. And if Wick wasn't right in the middle of the valley, he would have to cross the whole valley and find him on the other side.
He tripped over a rock and fell flat on his face. Before he had time to register if he had broken any part of his face, he was already up and running again. He couldn't afford to lose any time. Oh, but it all hurt. The many injuries he had gotten from his various fights made him regret every feint he had fallen for and every time he had taken a punch so that he could get his own blow in. His feet didn't take kindly to starting the quick pace again, either. Every step stabbed. And now his wing stung from where he had ripped out a feather.
But he'd live. It was Wick he was worried about.
Archer crested another hill, and the mountains were suddenly right in front of him. The rocks and trees stretched up and up a seemingly never-ending slant into the sky.
The tunnel going under it had to be right in front of him. He raced toward the base of the mountain and jumped down into a small ravine at the base of the closest mountain, just at the crease before it sloped up to the sky.
Sure enough, there it was. The dark arch of the tunnel's entrance stood waiting in the shadows.
Archer stuck a foot into the dark first, just to make sure there wasn't anything hiding in the shadows or any sludge that had found its way into the bottom of the tunnel. Nothing felt disgusting, and nothing tried to eat him, so he went for it.
He started running again. He didn't go long before all the light that had been coming from the entrance behind him faded out into pitch darkness.
Running in the dark wasn't exactly how he had wanted to spend the evening. Archer cursed Wick's name as he ran.
Normally he would have brought a torch with him, as he had every time he had gone through this tunnel in the past, but right now he didn't have the time to spare, and if he ran while holding a torch he was bound to burn himself somehow or another. He would just have to run in the dark.
Then he ran face-first into a huge spiderweb that went straight into his mouth and caught in his hair. The shock of it made him lose his footing and he fell flat on his back. Archer flailed at the sticky threads for a long moment, trying to at least get them all off his face, then finally got them off all at once with a double-handed swipe. Then he got up and started running again. There was no time to lose.
He splashed through puddles, headed toward the pinprick of light he could see on the other side. He was reminded once again just how much he hated small spaces, and just how broad mountains were. Running the full length of this one was taking far too long.
The pinprick of light grew by minuscule amounts until he could see pale light on the rocky path ahead of him. The promise of some small relief was just what his muscles needed to threaten giving out. Every step was slower than the last. His limbs weighed as much as trees. Archer lowered his head and tried to run faster, reminding himself that he had to make it to wherever Wick was before the manghar found him. It was more important than how much the muscles in his legs were burning and how tight his lungs felt and how much, how much his feet hurt.
He kept running.
The sunlight pouring through the hole on the other side of the tunnel was blinding, but he didn't even slow down. He squinted his eyes until they were almost shut and raced out of the other side of the tunnel.
The sun was starting to slide down the western side of the sky. In just a few short hours, it would be dark, too dark to keep running.
Hopefully, he could find Wick before the sun went down.
He reached the top of another hill and finally had to stop to take a quick look around. He needed to get his bearings. The vast lake in the middle of the centaurs' territory stretched out in front of him, and on the other side more mountains rose like sentinels. In between Archer and the opposite mountains, structures were scattered across the valley like birdseed, ranging from elegant dining pavilions made of wood and fabric to huge and grand living spaces built directly into the slopes of the mountains. Some of them even appeared on the side of the mountain that stood above and behind him. Milling around the area were many diverse kinds of centaurs, fair folk, and visiting peoples from all over Aro.
This was what the centaurs' territory looked like.
Archer couldn't imagine living in such a hell.
He spotted a seraph boy with a messenger's bag, only a few dozen yards away. Picking up his feet, Archer raced over and grabbed the boy by the shoulders, hoping that the kid wasn't anyone who knew him. “You!”
The boy's brown eyes were huge. “Can. . . I help you?”
“You're a messenger. Have you seen Wick here?”
“Wick? No.”
“Or a strange-looking human? Have you seen either of those?”
“No.”
“Fine.” He was no use. Archer pushed the messenger away and took off again. A few dozen yards later, he grabbed someone else and demanded the same thing. The human woman looked confused and a little annoyed, but she gave the same answer. So did the next person Archer asked. He tried describing Wick's appearance and demonstrating his height, but still, the answer was no.
Wick wasn't here.
Fine. He would cross the valley and check the other side.
Gathering his strength, Archer raced across the centaurs' valley, shoving anyone aside who got in his way and never apologizing once. None of them would care tomorrow anyway, but he, if he failed, he would never forget it. He raced doggedly along the shore of the lake, watching the sky for the familiar black wings of the manghar. But for the moment, there didn't seem to be any manghar in the centaurs' valley.
He just kept running. By the time he reached the other side, he still hadn't seen anyone that resembled Wick, and he didn't think he would, either. He tore around on the other side of the valley for a moment, questioning everyone he met if they had seen a strange-looking human with yellow eyes, but no one had.
Wick wasn't in the centaurs' valley.
Archer stood stock still and circled in place, his eyes sweeping across the hundreds of milling people. There were so many people here. But Wick wasn't one of them. None of them had even seen Wick. His breath caught as he finally had to admit that he had wasted his own time coming here. He should never have let the manghar fly away. He should have raced to keep up with them, even if it meant running faster than physically possible, running until his bones broke. But he hadn't.
He had taken a gamble, and he had guessed wrong.
Wick had never been here. He must have gone somewhere else after they separated. But where else could he have gone?
His eyes locked onto the top of the nearest mountain. It was a bit of a stretch, but surely, he could at least hope that Wick was dumb enough to start a fire of some kind. If he had, and he was at least near here, Archer would be able to see the smoke from the mountain.
He spotted a dirt path sloping up the side of the mountain and took off toward it. Up, up, up. Keep going. Keep going. The slope, granted, was a little steeper than it had looked from afar, but he had to keep going. This mountain didn't have a convenient flat place that made it easier to run on. He would just have to keep going the way he was.
The sun kept slipping down in the sky, shining sunlight directly in his eyes and making long shadows stretch out ahead of him. Archer kept climbing, furiously trying to reach the summit. His lungs felt ready to rupture.
At last, he reached the highest point of the patch and he scrambled up a tree, trying to get the highest viewpoint he could. Even as he climbed, he knew it was useless. He wasn't going to find Wick. The manghar would find him first. And Archer was a fool.
A leathery snap passed over his head, and he jumped and ducked at the same time. Three manghar soared over his head and hovered for a moment before flying down toward a tiny thread of wood smoke coming from the woods on the outer side of the mountains.
Of course.
Archer swung back and jumped down to the next tree. From there he shimmied to the ground and took off again, headed in the direction where he had seen the wood smoke. The manghar might have had the advantage of flight over him, but he could run much faster going downhill.
He jumped off a rock, leaping over three bushes and landing hard on one ankle on the other side. A quick hiss of pain and he was up and running again. He could see the little white thread of the smoke through the trees. He couldn't see who was with the fire. Maybe it was Wick, maybe it wasn't. But Archer could hear the flap of wings. The manghar were getting closer, and faster.
The fire was just through the trees now. A hunched figure sat by the flames. Archer risked a glance up to see how near the manghar were. The three manghar took a small circle above the figure at the fire, preparing to dive, and he saw the light glinting off their weapons. It didn't matter now that he couldn't tell who was by the fire. The manghar had seen something, and they were going in for the kill.
They began the plunge.
Archer growled. He was too close now to give in to something as stupid as time. But his dying muscles could take no more. Against his will, he was slowing down.
Keep going!
With a screaming battle cry, Archer took a few great leaps up onto a sloping rock and threw himself off. The nearest manghar was passing right in front of him. His jump was too short.
Archer spread his wings and for a heartbeat, they caught the air. The extra lift supplied just enough length to his leap to carry him barreling into the side of the manghar.
The pair of them collided with the ground. The manghar took the brunt of the impact and didn't get up. Running into the first manghar had caused him to collide with the others, and now all three manghar were down. This was the opening Archer needed. One of them had lost their grip on the knives he carried, and they both tumbled to the grass with a clink, just ou
tside Archer's immediate reach.
Scrambling forward, Archer grabbed both knives in tight fists and stood, planting his aching feet into a defensive stance. One of the manghar struggled upright, discombobulated.
Archer was at a physical disadvantage. If even one of the manghar attacked, it would all be over.
Without another thought, Archer wound back and threw the knife. It buried itself in the manghar's chest, just beside his armpit. The manghar screeched and curled forward, clutching the knife.
As the third stood, Archer threatened him with the knife.
“I'll cut you too, don't you think I won't!” Archer shouted, still puffing from running for so long.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Wick scrambling backward from his little cooking fire.
The third manghar didn't move, but Archer could see the doubt in his eyes. “All of you, get out of here, before I slice the lot of you!”
A stirring sound came from behind him, and Archer whirled around. The second manghar, the one that had been stabbed, was inspecting the first, who hadn't moved since he had fallen. The manghar shot a heavy glance at Archer. “He's dying.”
Blood trickled from the spearhead sticking out of the first manghar's gut. He must have fallen on his own blade when Archer landed on top of him.
Archer fought the urge to gape. He couldn't show weakness. For the moment at least, they were afraid of him. He had to use this momentum.
He backed up until he was where he could see both remaining manghar and hardened his expression. “That's unfortunate, isn't it? Now you've got a choice. You can let him die and get me, or you can get him to a doctor before he bleeds out. Which is it gonna be?”
All uncertainty now left the eyes of the other two manghar. Together they hoisted the body of their injured friend onto their shoulders, and the two bat men heaved their wings, taking off above the trees again.
Archer shook his last knife at the retreating assassins. “Maybe you'll think first next time!”
Once they were out of sight, he collapsed into a sitting position, still clutching the remaining knife in his clenched fist.
Robbing Centaurs and Other Bad Ideas Page 18