by Shea, K. M.
“The only ones of your kind I have seen are always solemn and serious,” Quinn said.
“The elders are prone to stuffiness. As are those with royal blood. It can get suffocating...” Emerys trailed off, and for the first time since meeting him, Quinn did not think it was because of the curse. She watched him for a moment as he groomed his beak through the feathers of his right wing.
“It would be better if we could hold this conversation in a safe location,” Quinn finally said. “For now, we need to focus on our mission.”
“If you wish it. So I fly overhead?”
“You fly overhead,” Quinn confirmed.
“In that case, let's hope nothing happens.” Emerys shrugged his wings, then jumped from Quinn's shoulder and glided off.
Quinn remained crouched behind the tree, though she twisted so she could watch Emerys’ flyover. She pressed her lips together and held her breath as he flew directly above the goblins and cawed.
The goblins ignored him and continued fighting among themselves. Emerys circled, and Quinn dared to hope. Maybe yesterday, it was just a coincidence…
Her hopes were dashed when one goblin—a particularly gross specimen who was digging wax out of his bat-shaped ears and eating it—peered up at Emerys. A few moments passed as he squinted up, then he abruptly leaped to attention and started growling and shouting.
Nope…they know. Quinn nocked an arrow and eased into a standing position.
Emerys cawed again, then flew off—gliding low to avoid tree branches.
All twelve goblins shot to their feet. They grabbed their weapons, then chased after Emerys, shouting as they crashed through the underbrush.
Quinn sucked air in between her clenched teeth. Three of them have bows—I’ll have to get rid of them first. When all but four of the goblins made it out of their encampment, Quinn took the risk and shot one of the archers.
Two of the goblins paid no notice to their fallen comrade, but the last remaining creature turned in a slow circle, giving Quinn ample time to nock a new arrow and take careful aim. She released her shot and he fell, downed without ever seeing her.
Holding her bow close to her body, Quinn slunk through the forest and listened to Emerys—who had given up all sense of tact and was now verbally berating the goblins.
“Are you really trying to shoot me? I don’t think you could hit a tree trunk with your aim,” the elf cawed, his voice muffled by the woods but not overly distant.
She shook her head, both regretting his comments and finding them amusing. He really is…unique. And likeable.
Quinn selected a sturdy but young pine tree that did not stretch as tall as the other pines in the forest and shimmied up its trunk. She carefully positioned herself in the branches, lightly nocked another arrow, then cawed.
Emerys’ voice grew louder as he altered his course. “You are a gross lot—by the by. And you, the ugly one in the front: don’t think I didn’t see you licking your blood-encrusted dagger. You’re gonna get diseases for sure.”
Quinn cawed again, and a few moments later, Emerys flew into view. He seemed to have gotten the hang of controlling his avian body, for he banked and dove almost as well as a real bird as he avoided the ten goblins who trailed him.
Quinn narrowed her eyes and spotted the two remaining archers. One stumbled near the center of the pack, while the other lagged mercifully in the back as he had to stop running whenever he needed to nock a new arrow.
She anchored herself in the tree, leaning into the rough bark of the branches in which she was secured, and released her shot, taking out the lagging archer. She next cut down a rather rotund goblin who seemed to bounce everywhere instead of run but was unfortunately the best shot with a number of hand axes; he’d nearly sliced the tip of Emerys’ tail feathers.
She frowned thoughtfully at the goblins, who stumbled over their fallen comrades as they chased Emerys. It seems odd that they are so fixated on him. They must know there’s an archer in the trees protecting him…yet they haven’t tried looking for me at all.
Shrugging, Quinn switched her focus to Emerys. With all but one of the goblin archers taken out, she had assumed he would fly on. Instead he lingered, circling the area while calling out insults to the goblins.
He must mean for me to take out the last bowman. Quinn nocked another arrow, her bow creaking slightly as she aimed at the last goblin that possessed a bow. It was going to be a tough shot, as the other goblins kept crowding him and blocking her sight.
Quinn licked her lips and began to move her fingers to release the arrow when Emerys abruptly shot up the length of her tree, obscuring her sight for a moment.
“Bird-brain!” Quinn hissed at him, not caring if the goblins could hear her. “I almost shot you!”
Emerys ignored her and performed another dive, pecking a goblin’s shiny bald head before he banked and flapped his wings to regain altitude.
Quinn shook her head. Perhaps he had a human nursemaid and was dropped on his head. Numerous times. Silently mouthing angry words at the oblivious elf, she narrowed in on the archer again. Her arms burned with the exertion it took to keep the bowstring pulled back, but she was rewarded when a goblin tripped and fell, completely exposing the archer.
She nailed him with a precise hit, making him topple over, dead. She glanced expectantly at Emerys.
The elf-turned-crow landed on a low tree branch. “Honestly. It’s a bit of an insult that I have goblins tracking me. Just how poor of a fighter do they think I am?”
The goblins gathered underneath him. One of them threw a dagger at Emerys. He scooted down the branch, narrowly avoiding it when it pierced the bark and got stuck. Another goblin stood directly under him and tried to throw a rock straight up at him. Emerys hopped to the side to avoid it, and the rock dropped and smashed the goblin that had thrown it in the face.
Though Emery’s taunts were fun, they made Quinn nervous. I don’t think he’s taking this seriously enough. The only reason we’re having less trouble with the goblins is because Emerys can fly, and I’m hidden in a tree. If we took the pack on at ground level, we would have been skewered by now.
Quinn gave Emerys a withering glare, which he didn’t see as he turned around and waggled his behind at the goblins. “See. You can’t even—gah!” He abruptly launched into flight when Quinn shot an arrow at him, narrowly avoiding his tail feathers.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Emerys grumbled as he flew off through the woods, the goblins chasing after him.
Quinn waited several more moments, then slid down the pine’s trunk. She brushed needles from her clothes and jogged in the opposite direction from Emerys. I’ll need to find the right kind of tree that will give me plenty of protected shooting positions. It will be necessary if the goblins tree us.
She wasn’t too worried about leaving Emerys behind—she could still hear him taunting the goblins—but she slowed down when the light in the forest seemed to dim.
Was the sun just covered by clouds? She froze when she heard a rattling sigh—like the gasp of a dying man. She slipped into the shadows of a tree and scanned the area, her heart briefly faltering when a wraith drifted out of the gloom.
A wraith, here? We must have gotten farther away from Navia than I thought. If I’m lucky, it hasn’t noticed me. Quinn, using every bit of stealth she possessed, took several silent steps backwards.
The wraith—its body pointed in her direction—glided an equal amount forward.
Nope. It has definitely marked me as prey.
Quinn turned on her heels and ran, purposely following a small deer trail that edged between large bushes and under low-hanging branches that the tall creature would have trouble following.
She briefly checked over her shoulder, confirming that the wraith still followed her. She shook her head in grim determination and picked up her pace, zipping into a small meadow. Unfortunately, Emerys flew into the same meadow from a different direction.
“I’m really hoping you have a
valid excuse for leaving me with these horribly smelling goblins, or I might have to question our friendship,” Emerys grumbled as the seven remaining goblins joined them in the clearing.
Quinn yanked three arrows from her belt quiver and held them in her hands. “I do: a wraith.”
“A what?”
“Fly true. We’re in for a rough ride.” Quinn jumped a fallen log and nocked an arrow mid-leap, releasing it at the lead goblin. As she wasn’t even pretending to mask her existence any more, she quickly reloaded her bow and shot two more times, taking out two other goblins.
The four remaining goblins from the pack of twelve stopped chasing Emerys and turned their unpleasant gazes to Quinn.
Four goblins—that’s not too bad while grounded.
Quinn plucked an arrow from her belt quiver and shot it off. The goblin she aimed at veered out of the way at the last moment, though the arrow pierced the tip of his ear, making him wail.
Quinn reached for another arrow but hesitated. I only have four arrows left, and I might need them all for the wra—
“Mother of my bowmaster,” Emerys shouted.
Ahh, the wraith must have arrived.
Quinn pulled one of her throwing daggers out of her wrist guards and flung it at the already maimed goblin. It missed vital organs, but it did nail him in the shoulder so he flopped on the ground with high-pitched shrieks of pain.
Dark whispers pulled at Quinn, and she twisted around, her mind skittering as she faced the wraith.
I’ll have to use a flaming arrow to end him—I did bring a vial of liquid fire I can use on an arrow, but dosing it, lighting it, and safely shooting it while avoiding the goblins will be…difficult.
Maneuvering so her back wasn’t to the goblins or the wraith, Quinn slowly backed up, her fingers feeling for the fleece-lined pouch attached to her belt that contained the vial and strips of cotton. She found it and popped it open, pulling out the vial and a cotton strip.
She glanced up—first at the wraith, then the goblins—and pulled the cork off the vial. The wraith was closest, though it was moving in slowly, releasing ghostly laughter when Quinn shivered.
Moving efficiently, Quinn doused the cotton strip with liquid fire and tied it around the arrow head.
While she worked, one of the goblins veered off from Emerys and moved towards the wraith, hefting a mace over its head. Goblins will attack anything that moves. If I’m lucky, perhaps they’ll kill each other. The goblin quickly closed in on the wraith and tried to take a swipe at it. The wraith turned and extended a shadowy hand, brushing the goblin’s knuckles.
The goblin squealed—hurt by the ghostly touch—and fled, returning to its comrades.
So much for luck, Quinn thought sourly.
Spit lodged in her throat as she capped the vial and tossed it back in her pouch, then hurriedly grabbed a flint and dagger. Hurry, hurry, hurry! She wedged the arrow and the block of flint between her fingers, then struck the flint with the knife so it sparked. Quinn smiled briefly when the soaked cotton strip lit immediately.
“Quinn—watch out!”
Quinn ducked on instinct, moving barely in time to avoid a throwing axe tossed by one of the four goblins. The other two were busy chasing Emerys—who flapped dangerously low as he tried to pull them away from her—and the last was still rolling around on the ground.
The axe-thrower—who looked like someone had taken a shovel to his face at some point in his life—ignored Emerys and stalked towards Quinn.
Quinn glanced between him and the wraith—which was drawing close enough that Quinn could feel the coldness it radiated—and kept backing up. The wraith is the priority target, but the goblin…
Cawing, Emerys smacked straight into the goblin’s already flattened face, jarring its attention from Quinn. It snarled as it joined in the chase after Emerys, giving Quinn the breathing room she needed.
Quinn whipped her arrow into place, nocked it, and loosed it just as the wraith extended its hand towards her. The arrow pierced the creature in its chest, and flames from the cotton strip jumped to its robe, quickly catching fire.
The wraith snarled—a sound as deep as an ancient tree falling—and lunged at her with such speed Quinn could barely track it.
Quinn leaped backwards, and its hand passed so close to her face the dark cold it radiated made her skin ache.
The wraith struck again before she could back up farther, this time reaching for her throat.
Quinn whipped her bow up, blocking the attack. Unfortunately, the wraith wrapped its shadowy hand around her bow and ripped it from her grip. It then held it aloft and squeezed it, shattering the bow into splinters.
Flames crackled as they spread across the wraith’s body, slowly incinerating it, but Quinn feared the monster would injure her before the fire finally consumed it.
Once again the wraith lunged for her. This time, Quinn threw herself into an awkward sideways roll. As she popped to her feet, she slid a dagger free from her belt. When the wraith turned to face her—an eerie figure engulfed in flames—she threw the dagger into the darkness of its hood. The dagger cut through the hood, opening a hole at the back.
The wraith uttered a deep, guttural wail, then the cloak fell to the ground, little more than a pile of sooty rags.
Quinn tried to pry her dry tongue from the roof of her mouth and panted for air. That was close. She moved to retrieve her dagger when a sharp stinging ache bit into her left shoulder.
Growling in pain, Quinn reached back and plucked a throwing dagger—her throwing dagger—from her shoulder. Pain tore through her muscles, but she ignored the sensation as she whirled around.
The goblin she had previously maimed was still on the ground, but it giggled madly—its yellow eyes almost glowing in glee.
Quinn sucked in a breath of air, then threw her dagger, this time nailing the goblin in the throat so it toppled over, mortally wounded.
She grimaced when she tried to flex and felt the wound ooze blood down her back and soak into the fabric of her shirt. I’ll have to end this fast, or I’ll pass out from blood loss.
Grateful she carried a short sword and not a two-handed sword—for her shoulder wound stretched whenever she moved her arm—Quinn slid her sword from its sheath and stalked in Emerys’ direction.
The elf/crow was still making the goblins run circles, though a few black feathers littered the meadow, and Quinn could tell from his faltering flight paths he was near exhaustion.
Quinn stalked up to the nearest goblin—the axe thrower, which fortunately had its back to her—and lunged forward in a lethal stab. The goblin screamed as it collapsed.
Unfortunately, its cries alerted the other two goblins, who turned away from Emerys and peered in her direction.
Quinn’s arm trembled, but she forced a cold smile to her lips.
The goblins scrambled for her—the first wielding a sword that was barely more than a butcher’s knife, while the other whirled a mace over its head.
The mace with its brute force is the bigger threat… Quinn wiped sweat from her forehead with her injured arm, intensifying the pain from her wound. When the goblins reached her, she ducked to the side and kneed the mace wielder in the stomach. He folded over his front. Quinn would have liked to deliver a killing blow, but the butcher-knife goblin darted forward, taking a swipe at her open left side.
She twirled her sword to block, then slid her blade down the length of the goblin’s knife. Since it lacked a guard, her sword bit into the goblin’s fingers, making it drop its weapon with a shriek. A quickly calculated lunge, and it was down.
Quinn’s breath came in pained puffs as she turned her attention to the last goblin.
Emerys hovered above it, his beak clamped around the creature’s ear. He pulled mightily, making the goblin shout and swat at him.
Hurry, hurry, hurry! Releasing all pretenses of finesse, Quinn dropped her sword—which was heavy and energy consuming and therefore a poor choice given that her knees were startin
g to shake—and whipped out a dagger.
The goblin yelped when it noticed her. It ignored Emerys’ pulling and instead scrabbled to grab its mace.
Quinn set her booted foot on the mace and leaned her weight into it, pinning the crude weapon to the ground, then sliced the goblin’s throat with her dagger, ending its struggle.
She breathed a sigh of relief and retrieved her abandoned sword before letting herself collapse to her knees.
Chapter 7
Sideralis
“Quinn. Quinn!” Emerys sounded panicked as he landed on the ground and hopped his way to her.
The earth rolled, and Quinn shut her eyes to block out the sight while she simultaneously pasted on a smile. “I'm fine.”
“For the last time. Stop smiling when you don’t mean it!” Emerys sounded surprisingly fierce for a bird.
Surprised, she opened her eyes and watched him hop around her in dismay. “Why do you find my smiles so offensive?”
“Your fake smiles are like a mask,” Emerys said impatiently. “I can’t stand masks. Insult me to my face if you like, but just be you—none of this fake nonsense!”
Quinn paused, not sure how to take his order. In other words…he doesn’t want me to cover up my feelings? But even my band mates prefer my good humor…
“Now,” Emerys continued. “Are you stupid? How can you be fine—you're bleeding so heavily, the back of your shirt is going to be completely red!”
Quinn would have rolled her eyes if the motion didn’t make her ill. “You're exaggerating. The shirt doesn't feel that wet.”
Emerys fidgeted, unfolding and folding his wings several times. “If you don't do anything, it won't be an exaggeration. You need help.”
Quinn sifted through several pouches attached to her belt. “I have emergency field dressings that will work for now, but you’re right. Would your people be willing to help me if we go to Sideralis?”
Emerys snorted—an extra breathy sound given his bird beak. “Of course! But can you make it that far?” He hopped fretfully around her as Quinn found what she was looking for—a pricey paste that would staunch the blood flow from her wound. Though it wouldn't help her heal or fight off infection, it was worth its weight in gold. Far out in the middle the woods, with no one except a transformed, weakened elf to help her, blood loss was a serious threat.