Though there were hours yet before sunset, the sunlight only broke through the thick canopy in scattered patches. Those sparse pillars of radiance stood out starkly against the relative gloom.
Leyloni paused for a few moments in one of those beams of light, basking in the warm, golden glow. She was anxious to reach the Snow Tree tribe, but she was in no hurry for this time with Serek and Arysteon to end.
They had been together for a little over a week now, and she caught herself sometimes wishing for it to remain just the three of them. It was a selfish desire, one she couldn’t seem to shake, but she would not pursue it. Serek needed a tribe. He needed other children, other women, needed the safety and support provided by numbers. Leyloni had no doubts about Arysteon’s ability to protect them, but Serek needed more than that.
He needed more than what Leyloni and Arysteon alone could provide.
As she continued onward, she became aware of the sound of flowing water ahead. She kept her focus on her footing. The last thing she needed was a twisted ankle—in no small part because she knew Arysteon would insist on carrying her despite her protests.
Not that being carried by him would be bad…and it would extend our time together, our time alone out here…
Leyloni shoved those thoughts away as she reached the crest of a low, rocky rise. The fresh, cool, mist-kissed air flowing along with the river struck her just as she angled her head down to look upon the water.
Reflected sunlight sparkled on the surface in the few places where the water wasn’t turned white and foamy by the rocks it was crashing against or the little declines over which it flowed. Vegetation grew right up to the water’s edge along much of the riverbank, interspersed with rocks of all shapes and sizes, many of which were blanketed with fuzzy moss and pale lichen.
Leyloni picked her way down the slope slowly despite her building excitement; she’d washed as regularly as she’d been able to over their four days of travel, but this was the first time she had a chance to immerse herself in the cool water.
When she reached the bank, she knelt, opened her waterskin, and dipped it into the fast-moving water. Once it was filled and recorked, she set it aside and undressed, piling her boots and clothing beside the waterskin. The final thing to come off was the makeshift under cloth she’d fashioned during her bleeding. Anticipation thrummed through her as she untied the cloth, lowered it from between her legs, and looked down.
There was no blood staining the soft moss she’d packed in the cloth.
Her bleeding had come to an end.
Arysteon’s words came back to her, filling her with excitement.
The scent of your bleeding has faded, and there is much you are owed.
He had known! It was no wonder he had looked upon her with such open lust, no wonder he had teased her with those words.
Sensual images swirled in her head, making her core grow warm and slick. Impatient to return to him, she wadded up the under cloth, tossed it aside, and stepped into the waist-high water.
Leyloni hissed. The shock of cold was enough to make her teeth briefly chatter and her body shudder. Crushing the soapberries between her hands, she made quick work of washing her body and hair.
She was shivering by the time she pulled herself back onto the grassy bank. After shaking some excess water from her limbs, she bent down to retrieve her clothes. She pulled on her skirt and was tying its lacings when a branch snapping nearby shattered the forest’s peaceful ambience.
Leyloni’s heart skipped a beat, and her breath caught in her throat, amplifying the icy fear slithering up her spine. Her attention darted toward the source of the sound—a thicket near the riverbank, within a dozen or so paces of her. Apart from the slight swaying of leaves in the breeze, she saw no signs of movement. That comforted her little. The undergrowth was too thick for her to see very far into the thicket, and there were many forest creatures—including some large ones—adept at hiding themselves while on the prowl.
Like massive dragons, apparently.
The little hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood up, and an uncomfortable, itchy heat coursed over her skin. Something was watching her, and her instincts said that her watcher was no friend. She scanned her surroundings slowly, seeking even the slightest hint of anything amiss.
And damn my hands, I did not bring my knife.
This was not the sort of mistake she would have made before meeting Arysteon. Even before her people had been attacked, she had always carried her knife at the very least, though she’d preferred the heft of a spear most of the time.
But there’d be time later to berate herself for being so careless.
Moments passed, marked by the rapid thumping of her heart. She heard no other sounds of movement beyond the river’s ceaseless burbling and the rustling of leaves overhead.
Leyloni kept her eyes in motion as she hurriedly unfolded her top, barely sparing it a glance. Though she’d seen no signs of danger, her unease had not faded.
No, no, no. Mother Eurynome, please. Do not allow our peace to end so soon.
She pulled on her top, haphazardly tying its laces as she stepped into her boots. Arysteon was close. She needed only to get back to him, and his presence would scare away whatever creature was stalking her now.
Pain flared on her lower back, and Leyloni jolted forward, a startled breath escaping her lips. It felt like the unexpected sting of an insect, concentrated in one tiny point and far more agonizing than anything so small had right to be. But the pulses of heat and cold radiating outward from that point were unlike anything she’d ever experienced, whether from bite or sting.
She twisted to look behind her, expecting to find some insect buzzing angrily in the air, perhaps ready to sting her again. But there was nothing there—neither in the air nor on the ground. Her brow furrowed. This was wrong, she knew it, but she could not think around the pain or the pulsating hot-cold sensation.
The skin immediately around the sting tingled as though losing feeling. Leyloni’s brows knitted further, and alarm broke through the haze that had been settling over her mind. Swallowing thickly, she contorted her arm to reach behind her, feeling blindly, desperately, until her fingers finally struck a small, solid object protruding from her lower back.
Her blood turned to ice as she took hold of the object and tugged it out. The pain of its removal was muted, like an echo that had faded over a great distance. She barely kept her arm from trembling as she brought her hand around to inspect the object.
The small, wooden dart was no longer than her pointer finger, carved of pale wood that was stained dark at the tip. Small, downy feathers were attached at the other end like fletching, and they were also stained—these a rusty red brown.
The color of long-dried blood.
Leyloni knew exactly what she was looking at, but she did not understand how it was possible. After days of rain, how had they found her trail?
She spun toward camp and yelled, “Arysteon, run!”
The nearby underbrush shook in several places. Leyloni stepped back, eyes wide and heart racing, as figures from her nightmares emerged from the greenery and stepped down onto the riverbank.
She counted four, all female, all equipped for the hunt—or for war. Two wore masks fashioned from human skulls, another a helm made from an antlered stag skull. Their leathers and furs were worn and dingy, adorned with braids of human hair and sun-bleached bones—knuckles, ribs, broken jaws, teeth. What she could see of their faces were smeared with black paint.
Did any of those bones belong to Leyloni’s sisters? Her father? Was any of that leather made from human flesh?
With spears and clubs in hand, the Bone Wraiths advanced on Leyloni.
Unarmed and outnumbered, Leyloni knew she was doomed, knew the fear in her heart was warranted. She could not win this fight alone. But she could do as her father had done and give Arysteon time to escape with Serek.
Anger, hotter and brighter than the flames that had consumed her v
illage, roared to life in her chest, cocooning her heart and eliminating the chill of her fear. These Bone Wraiths had taken everyone from her. They would take no one else.
“Our sisters have already surrounded your camp,” said the Bone Wraith with the deer skull. “Your males will strengthen our bloodline, and your flesh will sustain us. You cannot stop us, little lamb.”
Leyloni gritted her teeth against the tingling that was spreading across her back and the lightheadedness accompanying it. “Your blood will feed this river before any of that will come to pass.”
Deer Skull stared at Leyloni unwaveringly, her eyes as cold, gray, and hard as any of the river stones underfoot. She and her companions were within a few paces now—too far for Leyloni to close the distance before they could lift their spears and clubs in defense—and seemed in no hurry to draw closer.
They were content to let their poisoned dart do the work, the cowards.
Leyloni refused to let them claim so easy a victory.
She took a step forward and gave in to her growing unsteadiness, allowing her legs to buckle. She fell hard onto hands and knees, scraping her skin and jolting her whole body, but the pain was distant—due as much to her fury as the poison’s effects.
Mother Eurynome, please see Serek and Arysteon to safety.
The Bone Wraiths snickered.
Leyloni watched through her tangled curls as two of the Bone Wraiths—the ones with human skull masks—approached her, the smooth river stones shifting under their boots. She thrust aside conscious thought, focusing all her willpower on her rage and grief—on her love. Her limbs trembled with fresh strength, which fought back that tingling sensation. She knew that strength would not last long.
“Another weak little lamb,” said one of the two Bone Wraiths as she neared. “Hopefully her meat is tender.”
One of the approaching women stopped directly in front of Leyloni, and the other positioned herself on Leyloni’s left.
A shrill, undulating whistle echoed from deeper within the forest, the sound somehow human and inhuman at once.
“Our sisters are having trouble catching their quarry,” said Deer Skull. “Ready the lamb to travel.”
Leyloni closed her fingers around a fist-sized stone, growled through her teeth, and slammed the stone down on the foot of the woman before her. It struck with a dull thump—and a crunch that Leyloni felt more than heard.
The wounded Wraith cried out in pain and startlement, staggering backward a step.
Leyloni was already shoving her torso upright, lashing out with her free hand to catch the shaft of the injured Bone Wraith’s spear. She tugged on the weapon with all her might, twisting it toward the woman on her left.
Already thrown off balance, the hobbled Bone Wraith was unable to offer much resistance. The head of her spear struck her companion’s thigh, punching through the hide skirt and burying itself deep in the flesh beneath. The stabbed woman screamed in anguish.
Leyloni screamed, too, but hers was filled with fury and grief. She would allow these monsters nothing more than what they’d already taken—that had been far too much.
The hobbled Bone Wraith tackled Leyloni to the ground, initiating a fierce, chaotic struggle fraught with thrashing limbs, swinging fists, and grabbing hands. Leyloni hardly felt any of it; that numbness had spread across much of her skin. Her limbs were growing heavier by the moment, requiring more and more strength to move, but she kept them in motion.
For the memory of her people, for her love for Serek and Arysteon, she kept moving.
She could barely see through the fiery mess of her hair, but she knew by feel when her hands clamped around her enemy’s throat. Growling fiercely enough to have made her males proud, Leyloni squeezed as hard as she could and rolled, forcing the Bone Wraith onto her back, and straddled her foe. She leaned all her weight down on her hands. The woman clawed at Leyloni’s arms and bucked beneath her.
If the Bone Wraith’s nails tore flesh, Leyloni didn’t feel the wounds. Even with all her strength and weight thrown into her hands, Leyloni felt her grip weakening, and her head was quickly becoming too heavy for her neck to support.
But if she could just take down this one Bone Wraith, that would mean something, wouldn’t it? That had to mean something.
A hard object struck the side of Leyloni’s head with a thunderous thud that made her vision go white as though she’d been blinded by a flash of lightning. A brief stab of pain at her temple accompanied the impact, and she was vaguely aware that she was falling, falling, falling—falling an impossible distance until finally she hit the ground.
Leyloni struggled to get her hands beneath herself, to push up off the ground, but her arms would barely move. The river’s flow seemed more like the roar of a raging beast to her ears now, far too close and terribly hungry.
Another of those whistles sounded, this one closer and subtly different from the last.
“Where are your menfolk?” Deer Skull demanded. “Where would they run?”
“We should kill her now,” another female growled, “and hurl her pieces into the river.”
“Cowards,” Leyloni spat through numb lips. “Mother Eurynome will see you rot, alone and forgotten.”
Something struck her side hard enough to roll her onto her back—likely a booted foot. She grunted and stared skyward, her wavering vision a jumbled blur of blue, green, and black. But her pain did not matter.
Please, Mother Eurynome, whatever I must suffer…let my males be safe.
14
Arysteon’s spark roiled at his core, brimming with the fury of a thousand lightning storms. His chest burned, each frantic beat of his heart intensifying the heat, strengthening the electric hum beneath his scales. His mind was racing even faster than his pulse, but his thoughts were few.
My mate is hurt.
My mate is in danger.
I must protect Serek.
I must save Leyloni.
His muscles strained against his warring instincts as he crept back toward the river, having run well past Leyloni’s position before doubling around. A silent approach would afford him the greatest advantage, would keep Serek safest. A hasty approach would bring him to Leyloni soonest, would spare her more potential pain—could be the difference between her living and dying.
His spark flared anew, and he gritted his teeth. The pressure building in him, the power, was too great. He knew this body would not be able to contain it, but he could not guess what that would mean.
So long as it resulted in Leyloni and Serek being safe, he didn’t care what meant.
He extended his tongue to taste the air, picking up a hint of the river’s cool, fresh mist. There was still no trace of the humans who’d come upon the camp just as Leyloni had shouted her warning—Arysteon, run!—but they were downwind of him, and must have been using something to mask their smells regardless.
A growl rumbled low in his chest. Everything had happened so quickly. He’d sensed Leyloni’s unease through the invisible tether linking them together, had felt it quite suddenly become outright fear—and molten rage. He’d heard movement in the foliage near camp just as Leyloni shouted, had seen the first human, her clothing adorned with bone, emerge from the undergrowth.
Instinct had demanded he fight—but it had also demanded he keep his clan, keep little Serek, safe.
He’d snatched up the baby and darted into the woods, running as fast as he could move in this shape. Small projectiles had struck his back, but they had not penetrated his scales, and he’d afforded them little of his attention.
He glanced at Serek. Fortunately, the baby had kept his hold on the wedge of sunfruit he’d been eating before the ambush and was gnawing upon it presently. Sticky juice ran down Serek’s chin, over his hands, and dripped on Arysteon’s shoulder.
The innocent, oblivious baby had been unbothered by Arysteon’s headlong flight from the camp. Arysteon was thankful Serek was yet too young to be scarred by the events he’d been forced to endure
.
Keeping low, Arysteon increased his pace. Echoes of Leyloni’s pain, fear, and anger pulsed within his spark, making it stronger, hotter, and more volatile. Leyloni needed him. He refused to acknowledge what she’d meant for him to do.
Leyloni was his. He would not move on without her.
Another of those whistles pierced the sky, a cold, malicious mockery of the bird songs that usually added soft beauty to the forest’s ambient sounds. What were the humans communicating with those whistles?
What did they intend for his mate?
Those mortals will pay for what they have done to her.
Somehow, the thought only further amplified his spark. Lightning coursed beneath his scales, making his body thrum, and charged the air around him.
Serek cooed softly, calling Arysteon’s attention. The baby’s dark hair was standing up in all directions like the quills of an agitated porcupine.
Arysteon clenched his jaw, forcing back the power churning within him. He could not allow himself to be a danger to Serek. He could not carry a human baby into battle.
Voices drifted to him from downriver—human voices, female voices, none of them Leyloni’s. Their words grew more distinct as he neared.
“…now. She deserves no less!”
“Enough! She is of no use to us dead until we have the menfolk.”
“I will spill her entrails on this very ground, as is my right,” the first female growled. “It is the vengeance Onu deserves.”
“I am not yet dead, Tekal,” said a third female, her weakened voice barely audible over the river’s flow.
“Save your strength, Onu,” the second female said gently. “You will not yet walk the Bone Wastes.”
Only the baby in his arms stopped Arysteon from charging at those females blindly and releasing all his fury in the form of merciless lightning. Muscles stiff with that unspent energy, he pushed forward a little farther, stopping at the low rise that led down to the river. He peered through the vegetation.
He counted four of the bone-clad females just downriver—one sitting on the ground, her back against a boulder and a blood-soaked cloth around her thigh, another seated atop the same boulder with one leg stretched out and her face battered and bloodied, and two more standing over a fifth human who was lying on the ground.
To Love A Dragon; Venys Needs Men Page 13