Now keeping a safe distance from old Scar, she headed in the appropriate direction. Rubbing her smarting ant bites, she halted to catch her breath twenty paces beyond the clump of tree-ferns.
Unfortunately, seemingly as strong and indefatigable as ever, it only took the longstrider a few moments to shove his way nearly to the edge of the denser growth. She drove another arrow into his scaly breast—why not?—and then dashed onward.
As before, she ran as fast as she could and zigzagged periodically. Old Scar pounded after her.
A shimmering sheet of spider web stretched between two tree trunks. Sure Old Scar would catch her if she swung around it, she simply plunged on through. Swiping sticky strands off her face, she hoped that neither of the fist-sized spiders she'd seen lurking in the web was now crawling on her the way the ants had.
She rounded a tree-fern and found herself running straight at several bear-sized, four-footed reptiles with fin-like crests rising from their backs. Fortunately, they scuttled out of the way, no doubt leery not of her but of the huge beast bounding along at her back.
She veered left and then sensed something was wrong. Instantly, she flung herself back to the right, and Old Scar's fangs clashed shut in yet another near miss.
The longstrider had anticipated when and which way she was going to veer and adjusted his own course accordingly. He kept on learning her moves and tricks.
That was bad, but at least she didn't have much farther to go. Realizing she must have unwittingly fallen into a pattern of evasions, she tried to deviate from it for the final leg of her race and make herself unpredictable once more.
Apparently, that worked, for at last she drew near a stand of slender young tree-ferns—saplings, give or take—crowned with a few dark buds of the plant that gave the Black Jungle its name. The flowers must be coming into bloom. She told herself she was going to live to see it, and Old Scar wasn't.
Not slowing down, she plunged on through the wall of saplings and out the other side. Abruptly, there was empty space before and below her, a place where the ground fell sharply away. Twisting, she grabbed hold of one of the young tree-ferns. The sudden stop jolted her arm, and she hung with her right foot barely planted on the edge of the drop-off, the left one dangling.
Before she could haul herself to a safer position, Old Scar crashed through what was, to him, no obstruction at all. It likely wouldn't have hampered his vision, either, if he'd bothered to look over it, but he'd been too intent on his quarry.
He roared, and as he toppled, the tip of his tail whipped at Kagur's head with enough force to smash her skull or snap her neck. She wrenched her upper body out of the way, and the extremity missed her, although it arced by close enough to fan her face.
Old Scar slammed down on the bottom of the depression in the earth with a thud that shook dirt pattering down from the rim.
Got you! thought Kagur, grinning. Got you!
Vom had told her that if a longstrider fell while running, it often suffered a grievous injury. And she'd done better than that. She made Old Scar run and plummet down a hole as deep as he was tall.
She heaved herself back onto solid ground. Then she peered down into the depression.
For a moment, Old Scar lay as still as she'd expected. Then one of his hind legs jerked.
She insisted to herself that meant nothing. She'd seen how the great reptiles of the Vault sometimes shivered and twitched for a while after they expired.
But Old Scar's flanks pumped in and out, demonstrating that he hadn't expired. He was still breathing. But surely he was on the brink of death.
The longstrider lifted his head, then tried to struggle to his feet. Kagur took hold of her next-to-last arrow, let it fly, and drove it into his back. He floundered up anyway.
Old Scar stood favoring one leg and roared up at her, a deafening thunder that seemed to shake the entire jungle. Then he peered about, oriented on a side of the depression that was just a slope, not vertical like the one she'd tricked him into tumbling over, and hobbled in that direction.
Kagur pulled the last arrow from her quiver. The point was gone. Maybe the snake had broken the shaft when it was squeezing her, or maybe she'd snapped it short herself when rolling on the ground.
In any case, it was useless, and maybe that meant the only sane thing to do was flee. At least Old Scar was limping. Maybe, weary as she was, she could still keep ahead of him.
But even if so, what would be the point? She needed the orcs' canoes, and there was only one way to get them.
She set down her bow, drew her father's sword, and walked to meet the longstrider.
As she did, she swung wide, out of the saplings and toward a tree with branches that started growing fairly low on the trunk, spread wide, and had more black buds sprinkled along their lengths. She hadn't quite reached her goal when Old Scar finished clambering out of the hole. He looked about, spotted her, and hesitated like he was surprised to find her standing her ground at last.
"Come on," she rasped. "I hurt my leg, too. It'll be a fair fight."
The longstrider charged.
Even limping, he was fast. Kagur scurried under the spreading branches. Old Scar caught in them. She rushed him and slashed at the injured leg.
But she only had time for one cut. The mesh of branches was even less able to withstand Old Scar's strength than the dense stand of tree-ferns had been. As soon as he thrashed, broken pieces of limb came showering down, and his jaws hurtled down along with them.
Kagur leaped back, and the bite missed. She struck and scored, gashing her foe above the nostrils. He was clumsier than before.
But not all that much. He lunged again, and though she dodged, his fangs snapped shut on her sword midway down the blade. Fortunately, she was able to yank it free—the weapon sliced the longstrider's gum as it slid out—and found it unbroken and unbent. Maybe Old Scar hadn't caught it squarely between the hammer of one tooth and the anvil of another, or perhaps its enchantments had protected it.
The longstrider pivoted to strike at her yet again. She ducked behind the tree. Circling after her, he tangled for an instant in more low-hanging boughs. It gave her another opportunity to dart in and cut at his foot.
The trick worked for a little while longer. But Old Scar's hops and lunges soon ripped all the lower branches down, and after that, they hampered Kagur, not the longstrider. The litter of sticks and scraps kept threatening to trip her while her huge foe simply crushed it underfoot.
Under bloody foot. By any sensible estimation, she'd cut up Old Scar's extremities pretty badly. But he was still upright, and so long as that remained so, she wouldn't be able to even reach his vitals.
She ducked behind the tree trunk for what felt like the hundredth time. She faked left, scurried right, and gaping jaws shot down at her. Old Scar had guessed which way she actually intended to go.
She sprang, and the longstrider's teeth clashed shut behind her. She scrambled on forward, longsword poised to cut, and then, even though it meant putting all of his weight on his bad foot, her adversary lifted the good one to stamp on her.
Instead of rushing on, out from underneath the threat, she halted. As the foot plunged down, she thrust upward.
It was a risky move. Her point might fail to pierce the target. Or, even if it did penetrate, the impaled extremity, impelled by Old Scar's determination or sheer momentum, might finish its attack and squash her anyway.
But in fact, Jorn Blacklion's sword stabbed deep into the sole of Old Scar's three-toed foot. The longstrider jerked it back up and away from the source of the sudden, unexpected pain.
The reflexive action cost him his balance and toppled him. His fall jolted the ground as he slammed down on his side.
Kagur bellowed, "Blacklion!" and sprinted at his chest. When she got within range, she thrust repeatedly. Thrusts were more likely than cuts to slip between ribs and damage something vital.
Old Scar writhed, and the hitching motion knocked her staggering. It also broug
ht her closer to her foe's forelimbs.
When she'd been looking up at the longstrider's immensity from the ground, those two-clawed limbs had looked puny and useless, but not anymore. They were as long as her legs and corded with muscle, and, scrabbling, the left one grabbed hold of her sword arm.
The pressure hurt, and the talons cut into her leather armor. Old Scar bowed his neck and lifted her toward his jaws. His breath smelled of his own blood, but she would have sworn by the Lord in Iron and Holg's nameless spirits that she saw triumph and gloating cruelty in the blazing yellow eyes.
She shifted her sword into her left hand. Then, swinging her dangling body, twisting her immobilized arm and making it throb, she drove the blade into Old Scar's throat.
The longstrider faltered for an instant, and then his huge body started bucking in spasms. It was almost like he was vomiting, and the gore that gushed from his jaws reinforced the impression. In reality, though, it was likely coming from a torn blood vessel in his neck, not his stomach.
The longstrider tried again to bring her within reach of his gnashing, red-stained fangs, but apparently the action was now beyond him. When he failed to complete it, he raked at her with the right forelimb.
His talons snagged in the reinforced leather of her armor and tore a sheet of it away. A repetition of the action would surely shred much of her torso. But Old Scar gave a shudder that rattled her bones, and the forelimb and all the rest of him stopped moving.
At first, dazed, Kagur found it difficult even to comprehend the longstrider's death. Then, feeling more numb than anything else, she wondered what had actually contributed to his destruction. Had all the arrows accomplished anything? Had he injured not just his leg but his insides plummeting down the hole? Had she nicked the heart or pierced a lung stabbing into his chest? Or had it really all been that final desperate sword stroke?
She had no way of knowing and decided it wasn't important. What mattered was that now the orcs would give her boats and warriors to paddle them, and that in turn would put Eovath in reach of her sword.
Chapter Twenty-Six
On the Water
Old Scar's carcass stank and had attracted a cloud of buzzing flies and other vermin. Despite that, and the fact that a number of Dragonflies and Skulltakers had already visited the site to verify the creature's death, Kagur had assembled the two tribes here. Warriors might feel more inclined to follow her when the proof of her prowess—or at least her luck—was in plain view. And besides, the Black Jungle was neutral ground, avoided by every tribe for as long as the longstrider held sway.
Surveying the assembly, sun-bronzed humans to her left and green-skinned orcs on the right, she could mostly already tell who meant to accompany her, though it wasn't that those warriors bore more weapons. No warrior of the crags descended into any forest or swamp for any reason without arming herself to the best of her ability. It was the resolve, and in some cases, the eagerness on their faces.
Even knowing it shouldn't take long, the prospect of addressing the assembled warriors made her feel an unaccustomed twinge of awkwardness. She'd inherited her father's talent for fighting and hunting, but little of his knack for facile speech. And it didn't help that she felt strange in her new garment, a crudely stitched sleeveless tunic of reptile hide.
She took a breath. "Well, then. You wanted Old Scar dead, and there he lies. Now, who's going to help me kill the blue giant?"
"I am," said Holg, "but you knew that already."
"I'll go," said Vom.
"So will I," said Ikolch. She gave Kagur and Holg a leer. "I've always wondered what the xulgaths get up to in their sacred place."
"They kill and eat orcs," Yunal said with a scowl.
Fortunately, as far as Kagur could tell, the Skulltaker shaman's words didn't discourage anyone who wasn't dubious already. More orcs and humans volunteered, until she had over a dozen. Based on the meager information she and Holg had gleaned about the island pyramid, that might be about the right number. Many more would increase the risk of detection.
She was just about to declare she had all she needed when Rho and Nesteruk stepped forward together. From expressions on the faces of the adult Dragonflies and Skulltakers, Kagur gathered they were as surprised as she was.
Even though Kagur had persuaded the two tribes to unite against a common threat, they made it clear through scowls, muttered insults, and spitting on the ground that their longstanding blood feud was merely in abeyance. Still, at some point over the course of the last few days, the two youths must have struck up, if not a friendship, at least an acquaintance.
"We'll go, too," said Nesteruk, his voice breaking.
Ikolch scowled. "No, you won't."
"Kagur and Holg saved my life," the orc boy said.
Kagur felt a pang of surprise, and maybe even a tiny hint of guilt. Perhaps she'd done Nesteruk an injustice. Perhaps some orcs were capable of gratitude.
If anything, his words made his mother glare even more venomously, but to Kagur's surprise, she seemed at a loss for a verbal retort. Maybe, according to Skulltaker tradition, Nesteruk now owed a debt that rendered all other considerations unimportant.
"Kagur saved my life, too," said Rho.
"I didn't do it alone," Kagur said, "or to get you killed a few days later."
"We heard you talk about the plan," said Rho. "It's all about looking like slaves. You'll look less like a war party if you have a couple boys mixed in with the grownups."
"He has a point," Holg murmured. "The xulgaths certainly wouldn't expect us to bring anyone that young to the ziggurat. To a degree, it would disguise us."
"I thought that was why we were bringing a blind old man."
Holg smiled. "I suspect I actually hinder us in that regard. Any xulgath that gets a good look at me is apt to wonder why a thrall so seemingly useless wasn't eaten before he got old and stringy. We'll hope it doesn't come to that."
Frowning, Kagur pondered. Then, addressing the entire gathering, she said, "The boys' futures are at stake, too. It's a reason to bring them if they want to go. But only if their elders agree."
Dalk with his broken nose and missing tooth was one of the Dragonflies who'd volunteered to go on the raid, and now he raised his javelin to draw attention to himself. Kagur, who was still learning all the ties of kinship within the tribe, realized he must be Rho's father or a guardian of some sort.
"Rho's been initiated," he said. "He's a man in the eyes of those who came before. I won't shame him by forbidding him to go ...unless Vom, who's been teaching him, tells me I should."
The big man's mouth tightened inside its shaggy border of mustache and beard. Plainly, he felt as reluctant to risk being responsible for Rho's death as Kagur did. But after a moment, he said, "We'll need to sneak. Rho did that well when we hunted for feathers."
"Fine!" Ikolch snapped. "If even a useless human child is coming, Nesteruk is, too. No one will say only a Skulltaker was deemed unfit. Now, let's move out. I want to make it partway down the river before dark."
The members of the war party shouldered the bundles necessary for the expedition, and humans bade one another farewell while orcs sneered at what they seemingly considered contemptible displays of softness. Then Kagur and her companions set forth.
Hiking through jungle was more comfortable without the weight of her armor, but when she spotted a spearbeak soaring overhead or the spoor of some dangerous beast on the ground, she missed the protection anyway. Unfortunately, she was far from adept at leatherworking, and even a crude repair was beyond her. She was lucky Denda and his young helpers had managed to make her some more arrows.
Maybe she would have enjoyed the cool comfort of her unencumbered condition more if the stain on her bare arms and legs hadn't to some degree counterbalanced it. A diluted version of the same pigment the Dragonflies used to daub pictures on cave walls, the stuff felt itchy and unpleasant on her skin. But she was willing to put up with the coloring in the hope that it, an additional layer of ru
bbed-on dirt, and darkness would hide the pallor of her limbs.
It wasn't long before Nesteruk and Rho advanced up the column to walk along with her and Holg. She discouraged them with a glower, and they fell back again.
"Are you sorry we let them come?" Holg asked.
She shrugged.
"I don't know if it was the right decision, either," the old man said. "But I believe we all felt something moving in the moment. A pattern either advancing itself or breaking apart to form a new one."
She sighed, irritated, yet, she realized, resigned to his cryptic utterances as well. Perhaps weeks or months of them had finally worn her down.
In time, the raiding party reached the river. Reflecting the blue sky and the trees and tree-ferns that made green walls along its banks, the watercourse was considerably wider and clearer than the brown channels Kagur had seen in the swamp. She suspected it flowed faster, too, although nowhere near as fast the frigid streams that hissed down from the Tusks and the Crown of the World. An insect as long as her forearm swooped, skimmed across the surface, and climbed back skyward clutching a little squirming fish.
The Skulltakers kept three canoes hidden under a pile of fallen branches and fronds. Hollowed and carved from sections of log, the boats were long and narrow and had paddles, spears with barbed points of wood and bone, and old fish scales and stains in the bottoms.
As Kagur and her fellow humans soon discovered, one first pushed a canoe into the shallows and then hopped inside while trying not to tip it over. The orcs laughed and jeered at their companions' lack of facility.
Kagur had still only learned a few words of the speech of the highlands, and Holg's most recent spell of translation had run its course. So she failed to grasp the substance of most of the taunts. But the orcs' tone didn't seem quite as nasty as she might have expected, while the humans tolerated the chaffing reasonably well. No one was raising a hatchet or clenching a fist.
Maybe the simple act of traveling together while contemplating the perilous exploit to come was at least slightly blunting the warriors' traditional hostility. Kagur hoped so. Before the raid was over, they might need any hint of camaraderie and mutual trust they could muster.
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