***
Raahi had gone forward with the Elite Guard. Robert and Dorthea stayed behind with the remaining carriage, waiting. Robert wondered what chance the four of them could possibly have over a group of what, in his mind at least, were horrible monsters five times their size. Dorthea said little, though she sat near to him on the ground beside the carriage. The horses, all in a group, nervously stamped the ground but were otherwise quiet. Everyone sensed the danger.
The explosion jarred Robert to his feet.
“It’s starting,” he said.
“Now you stay low,” Dorthea chided him. “No tellin’ what’s going to come over those mountains. We may have to ride out of here at any moment.”
They waited, tense, until Raahi’s flute slowly leaked into the air around them. The tune was unlovely—angular and strange. The instrument seemed not to be meant for such combinations of sound.
“Do you think it will work?” Robert asked.
“No way to know. Not even Raahi knew. Seems he is sort of improvising.”
Screams came from the conflict and finally the sound of blades clashing. The fighting had begun.
Dorthea rose. “Looks like they didn’t all fall asleep. Get Yaris up. We’re going to saddle the horses.”
“But we don’t know who’s winning,” Robert said.
“We’ll find out sooner or later, but things are goin’ sideways Robert. Get Yaris up.”
Robert ran over to the carriage to shake the sleeping princess. But when he swung wide the wooden door, he found the carriage empty.
“She’s gone!” he called out.
“What!” Dorthea screamed and ran over to the carriage, saddle in hand. “Oh well, isn’t that just…”
“What do we do?” Robert asked.
Dorthea shut the door and stepped around the carriage to scan up the mountain. Yaris wasn’t in sight.
“Well, doesn’t matter now, I suppose. Her people are following us anyway. She probably headed toward them. They’ll pick her up and maybe the army will turn back.”
Dorthea took Robert over to the horses, two already saddled, and helped him get on.
“You know, we could ride together,” he said, unsteadily holding the reigns.
“Faster on separate horses if it comes to it.” Dorthea looked him in the eye. “Can you ride?”
Robert paused, thinking. “I can.”
“Alright now, if they come for us, we have to run straight south along the mountain till we get to the river where…”
One of the Crawlers burst out of the mountain pass half-covered in flame. Its multiple legs flailing in all directions, the body of the Crawler reeled drunkenly around the corner and headed toward Robert and Dorthea. It took several steps toward them, shuddered and fell over onto its side, black smoke pouring off of its body into the air, staining the sky.
“Move!” Dorthea yelled, turning her horse.
Robert attempted to follow her, pulling the reigns, but somehow got all wrong and tangled. The horse became hopelessly confused and, already spooked by the flames, reared up and shook Robert loose. He fell through the air, landed, and rolled onto his side. A white-hot flash lit his field of vision.
He looked over at the horse; it was fine. Dorthea, already fifty or so feet up the mountain, wheeled around and started back. Robert looked the other way and saw a figure emerge from the hulking, flaming form. It was one of the Phoon, tall with strange eyes that seemed, even from a distance, shot with a hateful light.
He scrambled to his feet, went to try and remount the horse, but stopped when he noticed the Phoon was carrying something. It was Esmeralda. The creature held her as if she weighed nothing as it charged toward Robert and the waiting horses. Robert ran over, grabbed the bo staff from the ground and stepped forward into the path of the monster.
He closed his eyes for a moment and felt the wood in his hands, remembering how to space his grip, thinking about his stance. Behind him, Dorthea was screaming; it didn’t matter. Esmeralda was in trouble. He opened his eyes. The Phoon was before him, mouth wide, full of sharp teeth. At this distance, Robert could see that blood was running down both sides of the creature’s face. Its ears were missing.
Robert knew that he should be afraid. But it was as if he didn’t have time to be. He would be afraid, he almost promised himself, but later. He could always be afraid some other time. Now he had to set his feet, remember his breath, make his arms and legs as strong and as loose as he could. He had to be ready to flow and to crash.
The creature drew a knife as it rushed on. Robert, with feet firm, dipped low, set the staff just right, felt the hard impact of the Phoon’s heavy frame and threw as hard as he could. Everything tumbled and spun; Robert, Esmeralda, and the Phoon all ended up in different places on the ground. The staff lay splintered in Robert’s hand, and he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder but didn’t think about it.
“Esmeralda!” he screamed, quickly crawling to where she lay.
She was gagged and struggling against her bonds. The Phoon rose to his feet, incredible frustration painted on his face. He drew another long knife and came forward, screaming wordless rage.
Robert held the splintered staff bravely, having no idea what to do now. Behind the Phoon, he saw Dorthea riding hard. She circled around the enraged beast, blocking Esmeralda and Robert with the horse’s wide frame. Given the momentary freedom, Robert took the gag out of Esmeralda’s mouth and went to work cutting her bonds with the sharp point of the broken staff. He worked the wood back and forth across the tightly woven rope. It was proving difficult.
“Robert, hurry up!” Esmeralda screamed.
“I’m trying!”
Dorthea, atop the horse, was dangerously attempting to block the Phoon’s path and avoid being skewered by his knife. After a few moments of the game, he became intensely frustrated, sheathed his knife, screamed and ran full-throttle into the side of the horse, pressing his shoulder into the animal’s ribcage. The inhuman force generated by the charge knocked the horse completely on its side and sent Dorthea rolling across the ground. The Phoon leaped over the disoriented horse and ran with all possible speed at Esmeralda and Robert.
“Run, Robert!” Esmeralda screamed. “You can’t free me in time!”
“I am not leaving you to him,” Robert said, matter-of-fact.
He stood up, held the little length of wood and stared, eyes open, at the coming onslaught. The Phoon, all resemblance to a human being gone from its face, leaped at Robert, knife poised to excise his heart. Robert set his feet, resolute, raised the splinter of wood above his head and felt a burst of air whiz between his arms. Momentarily distracted, he looked back at the Phoon and saw him holding an arrow, newly lodged in his chest. The creature staggered and dropped. His head lay about a foot from Robert’s snowboots.
From behind, Ngare ran toward them, face tense with worry. It was his arrow that had stopped the Phoon beast. The other Elite Guard followed. They all seemed unhurt.
Ngare came forward and gently took Robert’s arm. “You’re injured,” he said.
“Oh.” Robert regarded his shoulder for the first time. The cut was rather superficial. “I guess so. I hadn’t really had time to notice.”
“Strong warrior.” Ngare grinned.
Dorthea ran over to Esmeralda and carefully cut her bonds. “Did they hurt you?”
“No,” Esmeralda answered. “I’m fine.”
“You’re all okay!” Robert exclaimed at the sight of the surrounding soldiers.
“Indeed.” Ngare grinned. “Raahi’s song only worked partly. The Phoon beasts were not really asleep, but they could hardly lift their weapons. They were stumbling around like drunkards.”
“So you won!” Robert exclaimed.
Ngare’s smile broadened. “Convincingly.”
“They’re all dead?” Esmeralda asked.
Ngare looked at her. “As dead as this one.” He indicated Acheron, whose eyes were now empty of fearful light.
“In a war, there is death,” Ngare said. “Where there is evil, there is death. I am happy you are safe.”
Esmeralda looked at the body of Acheron, her captor and tormentor, a thing in the world that, as far as she knew, had no human feeling or sympathies of any kind. But could that really be true? She looked and looked, and she said nothing.
Across the Largo Page 17