He cursed silently. Since re-entering the real world, he’d begun jumping at every sound. Demons of every shape and size had made his nervousness warranted.
Bannor scanned the shadows. Still no sign of what had moved. It might have been an animal, but he doubted it. The smell of echis and other spawn drove natural creatures away.
Picking the location of his next vantage, a jumble of fallen trees, he stepped lightly toward them. Every tiny crinkle of the vegetation underfoot and the suck of mud at his boots sounded loud.
At the treefall, he looked for Sarai and Wren and found neither. Both of them blended in perfectly, Wren from her skills as a guilder and Sarai from her elven heritage. Even Laramis showed an excellent woodsman’s sense, moving with relative quiet even in his heavy armor. Without their combined stealth skills, they never would have made it through the enemy lines. Some enemy commanders would be losing their heads for having allowed them to escape.
He sniffed the air again. The corrupt odor of the echis seemed stronger. He detected something else at the edges, what he could only identify as decay. Bannor found it difficult to make out with the pungency of the needleleaf and scalebark disguising the scents.
Peering around the tangle he saw that the ground ahead sloped into a ravine. The white shimmerleaf trees were visible on the far side. Unlike the needle trees, the shimmerleaf grew only in softer soil. After last night’s rain the footing on that bank would be treacherous.
Something intelligent lay in wait out there. Bannor went by more than a scent in the air. Much as he tried to suppress his Nola, sensations still crept through. Hecate’s creations were perversions of nature, threads of reality woven wrong. When they came near, their patterns sent a tingling through him. He glanced back the way he’d come. The path looked clear except for his boot prints.
A high-pitched shriek drew his attention skyward. The rust-colored wings of a talonhunter glinted as it spiraled higher on the mountain wind. It continued to squawk as though agitated. Bannor neither saw nor heard any other birds. Was something threatening its nest?
Leaving his cover, Bannor wove through the forest, skirting the edge of the ravine. He’d avoid the poor footing on the other side. Any creature on the higher ground could use it to advantage. If he must fight, he’d do it on his terms.
Bannor? Wren’s voice exploded in his ear. The volume made him reel and catch hold of a tree. After a moment, he realized there’d been no actual vocalization. Wren used mindspeak so rarely he’d forgotten they could do it. Helloooo, Bannor? It ‘sounded’ softer this time. Now paying attention, he visualized Wren crouched by a log. He felt Sarai at her side.
Bannor concentrated on forming a reply. He found it difficult to keep moving and do this at the same time. He mouthed the words as he visualized them spelled out in his mind. Damn, you scared me!
Oh? The word expressed surprise, but Bannor also sensed amusement. Beneath those surface emotions was the hard thrum of tension. The situation has me scared. Something’s wrong. Know what I mean?
Bannor stopped by another large needleleaf and glanced up at the fresh scratches high on the bole. He stared at the deep impressions left by a broadpaw in the mud at the tree’s base. Both his boots together left a smaller track.
Bannor imagined the grimace that went with her tone.
He gritted his teeth. He glanced around struggling to keep focused on his environment. The mindspeak tended to catch him up and turn off the sensations coming in from the outside world.
Wren paused before responding. Through their connection, it felt as if she probed the forest. Words were shared with Sarai, then an answer.
He sighed.
Wren chuckled in his mind.
He checked around again. Distantly, the upset talonhunter continued to shriek.
It’s a plan. He sensed her smile as she added.
I’ll try, he answered, trying to put a flat sound in his telepathic ‘voice’.
He continued along the ravine, noticing that the tracks of the broadpaw did the same. He didn’t want to have to kill the animal. If it attacked, it would be because they violated its territory.
The terrain grew more rocky as he climbed the mountainside, and the tracks of the huge animal became indistinguishable on the hard pack. It only increased his unease. That broadpaw might lunge out of nowhere. The animals could charge with impressive speed. The thick fur and skin deflected all but the most direct of sword and axe blows. He must stay alert.
Bannor pushed through the brush, unable to escape the feeling that some intelligence concealed itself right out of sight. The tingling wrongness of something unnatural still picked at the back of his mind. The lack of visible spore bothered him; echis left tracks. This new thing left an odor, but no other evidence. How could that be possible?
He stopped at another scored needleleaf. The broadpaw must be near. Bannor peered up into the rocks half expecting the hairy creature to be descending on him. No sign of it or Laramis. Why had the paladin separated? They agreed to stay within a few instants run of each other.
The hair on the back of Bannor’s neck stiffened. He peered around. The presence felt closer than ever. The sulfur smell wafting on the breeze burned his nose now.
He stepped through the rocks with caution, making sure to come around the blind sides of boulders ready to evade. The climb grew harder as he neared the ridge top. The walls of the ravine approached vertical as it cut into mountain face. Tenacious needleleaf trees clung to the scarp, looking like green bristles in a badly misused brush.
Bannor found a faint animal path and followed it as it zigzagged up the incline. He guessed the area’s blackhorns made it as they went back and forth to the valley to graze and drink at the stream. The bracken grew head high on either side and he had to push the foliage away to see. Twice more, he found trees deeply etched by scratch marks.
Strange, broadpaws don’t normally mark so many trees.
No sign of Laramis or his tracks. Where had the paladin gone?
At the summit, the terrain leveled off onto a rugged plateau crisscrossed with gullies and moraines of broken purplish rock. Gusts hushed across the landscape kicking up spirals of dust. The Jhared massif still lay a few leagues off swathed in clouds, greenery and snow.
This region was sometimes called the bones of the world. The wise men and wizards said that the rocks of this place were the most ancient on Titaan, carved eons ago by glaciers from the deep bedrock.
He looked back down the trail. Why hadn’t Wren and Sarai caught up?
His unease grew worse. First, no Laramis, now no Wren or Sarai. He hated this. He hated not knowing.
He concentrated on forming the word in his mind. Wren!?
Ahhh! What? What? What? There was a pause. He imagined Wren gripping her temples and getting her heart back under control. Bannor? What’s the matter?
He felt relief that nothing was wrong, but a twinge of irritation about being separated. He wanted Sarai’s hand in his. Where are you?
Base of the ascent. Sarai found some weird looking spore. We’re trying to figure out what it is. Thing walks on two feet but has an opposing claw on the heel.
Bannor frowned. Like a bird’s foot?
A lot like that.
You’re lucky to have found a track; I haven’t seen anything but broadpaw spore. I’m going to the west end of the ravine and see if I can find Laramis. Meet me there as soon as possible. You and Sarai be careful.
We will. The connection faded.
He checked his surroundings again. He knew that spawn must be nearby, the broadpaw, too. Keeping one side guarded by trees and watching the other directions he moved to where the ravine narrowed, became a gully and finally terminated.
Along the way, he found marks on three more trees. Stopping in a clump of boulders, he searched around; nothing, no Laramis, no broadpaw, and no creature.
He put his back to a rock. Something nagged at him about the scratches, something wrong. This new monster somehow moved ar
ound and managed only to leave one track? Maybe it could fly. What did it want? Could it be spying on them to report back to the avatars?
Something crunched in the foliage off to one side. Bannor stiffened and readied his weapons.
“Laramis?” he called. No answer. It couldn’t be Wren and Sarai; not from that direction. “Laramis?”
His heart picked up speed. The crunching came again, closer now. The smell of sulfur grew strong and unmistakable. He brought his axes to the guard position.
He kept focused on the sound, ready to dodge. A prickling that started at the base of his spine and worked its way up to his neck. Eyes on him. A presence. Not to the front—
Behind.
Bannor spun. He only saw the glowing eyes of the translucent creature as it leaped out of the tree toward him. His axe struck sparks from an armored shell and the monster’s weight bore him to the ground.
His breath burst from his lungs as his back smacked the rock and they fell to the dirt. The creature hissed and Bannor smelled the fetid odor of decay. Dots danced in his vision. The creature’s silhouette wavered as if the thing were a puddle of shimmering water.
“My prize,” the words sounded as if coming from down a tunnel. “My S-savant.”
Bannor struggled to move but the thing pinned his arms. A mountain pressed down on his chest.
“S-sleep,” it hissed. “Over s-soon.”
He tried to wedge a foot between him and it to kick it away. He felt so weak. Nothing would move.
The crunching nearby became a crashing. Something let out a guttural roar. A giant brown paw swiped in front of Bannor’s face. The weight on his chest vanished. The monster shrieked. A body exploded into a tree and went silent.
Lying on the ground, Bannor saw a mountain of fur and claws rise up on its hind legs. It growled and snuffled, then settled again to all fours.
* * *
A huge black muzzle then came sniffing in Bannor’s direction.
The gray death is one of the better venoms of my creation.
Not only is it slow, painful, and cruel—I just love the name…
—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’
Chapter Forty-Two
« ^ »
A gale of animal breath gusted hot and fetid against Bannor’s face. Fangs the length of his finger clicked open then shut as the huge broadpaw smacked its lips and sniffed. Puffs of air blew Bannor’s hair as the giant animal grunted and snuffled through its examination. A fist-sized nose, cold and wet, left a slick trail down Bannor’s cheek and neck.
Bannor’s view of the pale sky, the mountains and forest dwindled to the sight of that huge brown muzzle filled with sharp yellowing teeth.
Clenching his hands, he tried not to move. His heart beat so fast it seemed to hum in his chest. A wave of dizziness rushed through him. He felt a gigantic urge to relieve himself. The demon had scared him less than this natural monster. Those jaws could yawn and clamp shut, crushing his head.
He shut his eyes as the broadpaw nuzzled his shoulder. It snorted. A flurry of hot breath shot underneath his tunic making his skin prickle.
Nearing panic, Bannor reached out his mind to Wren again. Wrennnnnn! Where in Hades are you!
The savant’s answer was quick and filled with concern. Bannor? What’s the matter? Is it the demon?
DemonBroadpawBiiiigbroadpaw. Ontheground, can’tmove. Demon busted something. Get here fast, end of the ravine. For Odin’s sake, don’t make it mad.
The savant didn’t respond for what seemed like an eternity.
Wren!
Coming, Bannor, fast as we can.
He shivered. Why did this thing scare him? Nystruul in all his supernatural horror hadn’t made him quiver like this. The broadpaw sniffed its way down each rib to his ration pouch. It engulfed the entire bag in its jaws and jerked it loose. It munched the entire mess, the leather pouch, wooden utensils, and the last of his wayfood, making wet slurping and gnashing sounds.
Bannor thought about rolling away while it was distracted, but he couldn’t move his legs. His arms didn’t have any strength.
Odin, I don’t want to die this way. Hades, what if this thing does kill me? He shuddered, thinking about the devastation his death throes might unleash as the Garmtur’s reality bending power came unfettered. He couldn’t afford to let this animal kill him; no one could.
Move. He willed his arm up. The limb trembled, crept a finger width and stopped. Could the demon have paralyzed him with a poison? He kept his eyes on the broadpaw. It continued to masticate the tough leather pouch. The creature would do the same thing to his bones if he didn’t get out of here.
He hit the rock when the echis tackled him. The thought made a wave of nausea spread through Bannor. He’d met men who’d hit their backs in similar fashion.
They never walked again.
Bannor you okay!? came Wren’s anxious thought.
Where are you? he asked. Sweat beaded on his brow and ran down his face.
Close. Close enough to hear it tearing something apart; obviously not you. What’s it doing?
Eating my rations.
Okay, we’ll distract it. When it goes for us—run.
Bannor swallowed. I don’t think that will work.
Why not?
I’m broken inside. Nothing’s working. I can’t even crawl. His own thoughts sent a surge of hot emotion rushing through him. His chest tightened and he felt the fear mounting toward panic.
Wren didn’t respond, the silence only added to his concern. Wren!
I’m here. It’s difficult to do three things at once. We’ll come at it from the North and South. If need be, I’ll just split the old boy and be done with it.
No! Even though the creature threatened him, it had also killed the demon. He owed the hairy monster. He wouldn’t repay its rescue, however inadvertent, by letting it get killed.
Bannor, he heard the dismay in Wren’s thoughts. The Garmtur is more important than one old broadpaw!
He forced down the fear, watching as the animal finished its leather pouch snack. It turned and started licking the sweat and blood stained axes he’d been carrying. Still time left. It seemed in no hurry to make a meal of him. The creatures were so unpredictable, though. Bannor kept his resolve. I said ‘no’. It’s only an animal. I’d think it was beautiful if I were simply a bit farther away.
You’re crazy, Bannor.
He gritted his teeth as he heard the crunch of teeth on the wooden haft of his axe. No doubt.
The undergrowth crackled. The movement sounded too loud to be Wren or Sarai.
The broadpaw stopped chewing and raised its ursine head. Round ears swiveled in the direction of the sound. It sniffed the air for evidence of the intruder. Its mottled brown fur stiffened and it rose on hind legs, towering high over Bannor as it spied around.
The creature let out a bellow of challenge that made Bannor’s skull vibrate. It dropped to all fours and moved down the trail a few paces. Using every iota of his will, Bannor tried to force his arms and legs to move.
His muscles quivered at his urging, but that was all. It didn’t seem like he’d hit his back that hard.
The broadpaw roared again; the sound of an animal warning intruders away from its kill.
A rustling came from the undergrowth, this time from the other end of the trail. Sarai appeared at Bannor’s side. The broadpaw whirled, snarled, and started to charge. It yelped and spun again. Bannor saw Wren, a trickle of blood coloring the end of her sword.
Sarai grabbed him under the arms and dragged him down the trail. With her elemental strength she easily could have hefted him, but he was too big to hold in her arms or throw over her shoulder without him dragging on the ground.
Wren taunted the broadpaw and kept its attention as Sarai yanked Bannor away. His legs ached as his feet bumped along the rough terrain. Low lying brush and weeds whipped around him as Sarai towed him clear.
Pushing aside thick foliage, she pulled Bannor into
a circle of boulders and examined him. In the distance, the unhappy broadpaw continued to spar with Wren. The savant’s ability to turn a creature’s power back against itself would protect her from the monster’s purely physical attacks.
Sarai leaned close and kissed him on the cheek, and took one of his hands in hers. “What’s wrong, my One?”
“Don’t know,” he responded. Even talking took effort and his voice sounded slurred as if he were drunk. “Demon jumped on me, I hit my back and everything stopped working.”
Sarai clucked in empathy. She undid the ties on his tunic and probed his chest and arms. Her fingers ran feathery light across his skin.
Odd that he could still feel. From what he remembered of those who lost the use of a limb, they felt nothing in the paralyzed parts of their body.
“Does anything hurt?” When he shook his head, she pinched his leg. “Can you feel that?”
“Yes, but it tingles like its asleep.”
She frowned. “Let me check your back. I’m going to roll you over.” He nodded and Sarai pushed him onto his side. “There’s some bruising along the spine here,” she reported, “but it doesn’t look like the bones have shifted.” She rolled him back and examined his other wounds. Her brow furrowed. “I see the marks where the demon scratched you.” She bit her lip and pushed away her hair to study the areas more closely. “There’s no swelling or coloring of the skin though.”
The brush parted and Wren stepped into the cluster of rocks. Sweat covered her brow and her hair looked mussed. The enameling on her leather hauberk bore the unmistakable slash marks of claws. She let out a breath before speaking. “How is he?”
Sarai shook her head. “I can’t find anything that would paralyze him like this. He still has feeling, so I don’t think his back is broken.”
Wren rubbed her chin. She knelt by Bannor and squeezed his shoulder. Honest concern shone in her deep blue eyes when she smiled at him. “We’ll get you out of this.” Her fingers moved to one of his deeper wounds. “Tender?”
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