‘No time. You’ll have to do.’ Jac hoisted her by the waist into the nearest saddle. In the yards beside the stables, Theus let out an indignant whinny and trotted along the fence with his nostrils flared. There was no time to saddle him or even explain why she was atop some other horse.
A boom shook the length of the wall. The gates, free of their ropes and the burden of a counterweight, swung open and pounded into the walls to either side. The smack Jac gave her horse would’ve woken the creature from death, let alone encouraged it to move, and the steed launched into a full tilt gallop. Before she had her hands correctly on the reins, they were out the gate and flying across the valley.
Chapter Nineteen
Tolak Range, the South Lands
The dark smudge of the trees at the base of the foothills stood a mile or so from the wall, along with the stumbling man Lidan saw through the looking glass. Their horses vaulted a stream flowing towards the creek and charged across the open space beyond, Lidan following as close to Jac as she could safely manage. She didn’t want to lose him if he pushed on into the bush.
An awful, acrid stench hit the inside of Lidan’s nose and burned the skin with caustic ferocity, worsening the closer they came to the trees. Her stomach rolled and the back of her throat recoiled, gagging at the smell. Try as it might, her body couldn’t expel the odour once it settled in her nostrils. It was utterly foul, like the stink of a thousand rotting carcasses. The wretched miasma of an untended midden came a close second; even the Crone’s armpits emitted a more pleasant aroma.
Jac’s tall bay horse baulked and wheeled away, offended and spooked by the reek. It pulled at the bit, eager to take off in the opposite direction. Lidan’s horse reared and angrily tossed its head, whipping the coarse hair of its mane across her face.
The gateman gagged and coughed, and soothed his horse before swinging down. He collected his weapons and Lidan eyed them in silence, unsure what he planned to do with the flint hand-axe and long bronze dagger. He let the bay trot off to a distance it preferred and hurried towards the bush and the source of the odour, waving at Lidan to follow.
With the strap of the attendee box slung across her chest, she ran through the grass, stumbling over clumps and unseen piles of loose stones. Blades of grass clung to her under-trousers and skirt, forcing her to wade as if she were in fast flowing water, seeds sticking desperately to the fabric and hoping to hitch a ride to unfertilised ground.
‘Over here!’ Jac shouted and ran on.
Lidan scanned the grass but failed to recognise what he’d seen. She didn’t have a gateman’s sharp eye. When Jac fell to his knees in the shadow of the hills a few feet from the trees, she knew he’d found the motionless man. She hurried to him, slipping the box strap over her head and holding it out for him to take.
The gateman didn’t turn; his attention fixed on the filthy figure slumped in the grass. He grasped the man’s shoulders and flipped him to his back, exposing a face pale as ice and splattered with old, dark blood.
‘By the ancestors, it’s Loge! Hand me the wake tonic,’ Jac ordered without looking up. He began examining the man’s arms, revealing deep gashes to the underside of each, black blood crusted on the sleeves of his coat. His tunic and lightweight chest armour were equally slashed and bloodied, wounds hidden beneath a thick layer of accumulated dirt and tattered clothing. Bloody spray seemed to paint him from head to toe, but it was hard to tell if it belonged to him or some other poor soul. ‘Lidan!’
‘Oh,’ she started and stared at Jac. He waved an extended hand, palm up, waiting for the wake tonic from the box. ‘Yes, wake tonic… wake, wake…’
The lid eased back and her fingers rifled through a compartment lined with soft wool and packed with clay urns, each stoppered with a little tanned animal skin and a carved cork of wood. Painted symbols on the bottles revealed what each contained; pictures of the ingredients so one could distinguish wake from halestrom. The required bottle appeared and she tossed it at Jac, who shook it and yanked the stopper free. He held the skin from the stopper, soaked with liquid, under the fallen man’s nose and waited.
Nothing.
Wake tonic was powerful, especially in this concentration. It should have stirred the younger man from his stupor faster than a horn rouses rangers to battle. Jac swore again and handed the urn, stopper and all, back to Lidan and leaned to press his ear against the man’s chest.
‘Come on, Loge…’ he murmured. ‘Come on, mate… Where are you?’ His hand squeezed and patted the length of Loge’s pallid neck then stopped. ‘You’re still there, mate. I can feel it. Chuck me the burner tonic and a dressing.’
Lidan obliged in silence, terrified and enthralled. Was the man dead? She hadn’t recognised him under all that grime and gore but Loge Baker was the eldest son of Wiull, the man who ground the clan’s grain into flour. At about seventeen years of age, Loge was almost a fully-fledged ranger—quite an achievement for the son of a tradesman. If he passed his training and lived to tell of it, he’d rank among the highest men in the clan. Exactly what happened since he left with his ranging masters looking for the hunt attackers was a mystery. They’d gone and failed to return for weeks.
The burner tonic rubbed on Loge’s neck suddenly took effect, the pain was enough to rattle him awake, and he lurched up from the grass, gasping and wheezing. Jac hurried to pour a bladder of water across the young man’s skin and dilute the tonic’s sting.
‘All right, Loge—you’re back now. It’s all right—’
Loge seized the lapels of Jac’s coat with bloodied hands and fixed wild eyes on the gateman. Jac froze, as did Lidan, staring at the frantic young man shivering on the ground. His cracked lips parted and he drew a ragged, laboured breath.
‘Fucking run!’
‘Wait on—’ Jac tried to prise Loge’s grip from his coat, but the ranger held tight.
‘No, no, no. No waiting. Run. Just fucking run!’
A deep throaty snarl rolled from the shadows amongst the trees and Lidan gaped at Loge, her mouth dry and chest heaving with quick breaths. The ranger’s wide eyes, half hidden behind a ragged mess of dark, wavy hair, held her entranced and horrified all in one moment. Light brown, almost gold, they flashed with panic. She tightened her grip on a flint knife in the depths of the attendee box, but Loge shook his head slowly as she drew it out. She dropped it back amongst the dressings and bandages and cold terror crawled up the back of her neck.
‘There’s no weapon to defend against what’s in there…’ He didn’t blink. Not once.
Lidan let the box strap fall from her fingers, the urns clinking in protest where it landed.
The snarl came again.
‘What is it, Ranger?’ Jac kept his eyes on the trees and stood carefully, drawing Loge to his feet and angling the wounded man so he stood behind him. One of Jac’s thick arms held Loge upright, the other hand weighing the small axe.
‘There’s no name for what stalks in there…’
‘Make one up then!’ The gateman demanded through clenched teeth. ‘I’d like to know what’s gonna fucking eat me before it gets a chance!’
Loge’s eyes never left the trees. ‘Remember those stories… about the boys who wandered too far from their clan and ne’er came back?’
‘I remember,’ whispered Jac.
‘This is worse. Worse than the pankars, worse than the namorras who suck your soul from your neck bones. It’s hunting, stalking, wandering from one kill to another.’
The hidden creature howled and the bush trembled as it darted left then right through the shadows, crashing through the undergrowth. The stink was as thick as steam and just as difficult to breathe through. It clogged every available orifice. Jac motioned for Lidan to stand and she slowly came to her feet, fingers shaking no matter how tight she balled them into fists, her heart thumping faster with each chilling growl.
It snarled again and crashed closer, almost to the very edge of the trees. The trunks shook, dry leaves raining down in
a curtain of pale green and gold. Lidan’s empty hands ached for a weapon—a knife, a stick, a rock, anything! Without her bow she stood as defenceless as the day she was born, naked and vulnerable in the sight of the creature lurking behind the trees.
‘Liddy, get your horse,’ murmured Jac, gesturing with his axe.
She took a step back and stopped dead. A pair of glowering eyes in a hollow among the ghost-bark trees told her there was no point. There was not a horse alive that could outrun it.
A guttural growl rumbled from beneath eyes glimmering with reflected morning light. The creature’s top lip curled back to reveal a row of broken, decaying teeth with only the ancestors-knew-what wedged between them, rotting there since its last meal. Lidan glanced at Loge, tracing the gashes across his torso and the shredded clothes sagging from his frame like torn flags.
She’d seen those wounds before, etched in the flesh of Tolak rangers. They weren’t the stuff of arrows or stone axes. Even a blade wrought in bronze couldn’t cut so clean or so deep. They were the marks left by an iron edge.
‘What is it, Loge?’ Lidan squeaked through her tightening throat. ‘What does it want?’
‘Us…’
‘The horse, Lidan; now, damn it!’
She stepped back, one foot at a time, through the clinging grass and felt around blindly in the vain hope of catching the reins without taking her eyes off the monster in the shadows. The soft breath of a horse blew against her palm, the mount too well trained to abandon its rider, and for a moment she dared to hope they might escape alive. The leather of the reins rubbed a sense of reassurance into her skin, but it couldn’t dispel her terror.
The creature roared and the bush shook for a hundred feet in all directions, birds and small wildlife scrambling to escape in a whir of frantic activity.
Jac seized his chance in the distraction and spun away, dragging Loge towards the horse as Lidan led it forwards to meet them half way. The gateman heaved the injured ranger into the saddle and turned back for Lidan as the creature lurched from the darkness into the sunlight. The horse shied and pranced away with Jac jogging after it, clutching at the reins.
The creature, now exposed to the day, was something that might once have been a man, but had since lost the essence that distinguishes humanity from beasts. There was recognition in its glare, but only that of a predator sizing up its prey. The man who might have lived behind those eyes and dreamed within that head was long dead. By the look of the body, it wasn’t long for this world either. Great sheets of puckered skin peeled back to reveal bone and black, festering bands of muscle, with no sign of fresh red blood. The creature was hunched and malformed in the back, the disfigurement affecting the way it moved. It prowled, more than walked, low to the ground, with its large arms hanging and fingers welded around the hilts of two long knives—filthy, but sharp. It eased its weight from side to side, couched over thickly muscled legs and bare feet. If a man, a wolf and a bear ever birthed some unnatural offspring, this thing was it.
It sniffed the air and drooled frothing saliva from pale lips. It lifted its chin and shuddered with primeval pleasure, as if the scent of their fear sent its blood rushing and made it hard for the hunt. Men boasted of how the hunt made them feel, how it thickened their loins as they charged down their quarry and Lidan hadn’t understood what they truly meant until now. She hadn’t thought anyone could get such a rush from something so banal, so everyday, but now the salivating beast stood across the waving grass, staring with hungry, hollow eyes, she knew. There was a need there, a raw desperation that had to be slaked. It was going to take them down and enjoy every bloody moment.
‘Liddy…’
‘Jac…’ she murmured; chin quivering.
‘Come towards us.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You can, girl. ‘Course you can. One step, then another.’ The gateman’s reassurance was almost enough to convince her that she could, in fact, outrun the beast across open ground. But those eyes… ‘Come on, girl.’
‘Hey, fuck-face!’ Loge jeered and threw something at the creature to break its concentration.
That seemed to be enough and Lidan ran, while heavy, bounding steps thundered up behind her.
Fast—too fast.
A roar, a flash of shadow, and the horrid stink, and all she could do was scream.
Chapter Twenty
Tolak Range, the South Lands
She tripped and hit the dirt and grass, sliding to a stop, ripping the soft skin of her shoulder and arm on the hard ground. A wet hiss leaked from the creature, so close its spit hit the back of her neck. Lidan squeezed her eyes shut and sent a desperate prayer to anyone who might be listening.
She didn’t want to die. Not yet. Not like this.
Her fingers dug into the dirt, determined to hold on to the earth for all she was worth, and her hand curled around the unseen length of a branch. She allowed her eyes to open a crack and glanced down. It was less than a foot long, dry and brittle, but sharp at both ends. Red splinters jutted from beneath mottled grey bark, knots and the buds of broken twigs biting her palm with more reassurance than Jac could ever offer. Jac was too far away to offer any help, and she could use this.
The thing snarled and grunted as it leapt forwards for the kill.
Barely hearing Jac’s howl, Lidan rolled and held the branch in front of her face with both hands. The creature hit with its full weight thrust forward, knives scraping past her shoulders, jaws wide.
It struggled and gagged, its bulk pressing down on her slight frame.
Lidan pushed against the branch, the muscles in her arms shivering with effort. She thrust the branch forwards, a grisly, wet crunch echoing in her ears as she drove her only weapon into the creature’s mouth and down its throat.
It coughed and heaved and tried to pull back.
The skin on her palms tore and her voice rose to a guttural scream. With the last of her fading strength, she rammed the branch through the back of the creature’s neck, and its body shuddered violently.
Lidan expected blood, but there was nothing but a strange, oozy blue-black pus. With its jaw wedged open, the beast’s saliva dripped from its teeth across her face. She gagged and shivered, her body descending into panic, her mind swirling and her lungs screaming for air. It wheezed and shuddered again, then slumped dead across her body like a sack of grain.
‘Get off her, ya slug!’ Jac hauled the body of the beast away mere moments before Lidan ran out of breath under the solid weight.
‘She all right, Jac?’
‘You right, Liddy? Got all your parts in the right place?’ Jac dragged her to her feet and held her at arms’ length.
She nodded but words didn’t pass her lips.
Her legs failed and she stumbled into Jac, relying on his large, weathered hands to carry her to the waiting horse. Her hands shook and her chin refused to stop quivering even when she bit her lip so hard it bled. The pus and drool smeared thick across her shirt stank something awful, but it was only half the reason tears slipped from her eyes.
‘What’re you doing, mate?’ Loge called to Jac, but Lidan didn’t look up to see where he’d gone. She sat atop the horse and kept her eyes on the middle ground, the empty space between earth and sky, trying to scour the image of the creature from her mind. In her head, it still hunched in the grass, its yawning maw inches from her face.
‘Taking it back with us.’
She turned sharply at that. ‘You’re what?’
Jac straightened and wiped sweat and blue slime from his brow. ‘You want to explain this without evidence?’
He was right, damn it. Who in their right mind would believe a word of what happened unless they saw the beast for themselves?
*
Nearly thirty rangers blocked the gateway to Hummel, their spears and arrowheads trained on the horses walking slowly up from the creek. A hastily erected barricade spanned the opening in the wall, the gates standing where Jac left them. The creature’s body bu
mped gently behind on a towrope, feet bound and the head wrapped in a length of bandage. The branch Lidan wedged in its mouth remained in place, the oozy pus still leaking from the corpse but losing its stink. Either she’d grown used to it, or in death the thing ceased emitting the foul odour she’d smelled on it before. In either case, she was thankful it wasn’t nearly as nasty as it had been.
‘What’s happened, Jac?’ Siman frowned over the barricade, questioning Jac but not shifting his gaze from Loge.
‘Saw young Loge stagger out of the bush, then this thing attacked us.’ He nodded his head to indicate the creature lying motionless behind the horses.
‘Is it dead?’ Siman tightened his grip on his spear.
‘It’s dead. I’ll swear on it,’ said Loge. ‘The daari needs to see this, sir.’
‘And where are the others from your party, apprentice?’ asked Siman. ‘I’ve a mind to keep you out here with that thing. How am I to know what’ll happen if we let you in?’
‘Ranger!’ Daari Erlon shouted from inside the gate and the guards moved aside until he appeared behind the barricade. ‘Is that my daughter? By the ancestors, what is she doing out there?’
‘Helped me save Loge, sir!’ Jac called and drew Erlon’s attention from Siman. The daari’s sharp eyes found Lidan and if she could have shrunk further into the saddle, she’d gladly have done so. ‘She killed this beastie…’
They all stared at her then. Some visibly gaped, others sneered or frowned. Erlon didn’t move a muscle in his broad body, his eyes locked on Lidan with stern intensity. There was a question in them that she couldn’t read. It was hidden under all of his confusion, shock, horror, anger and concern. He looked fit to fly into a rage and send her crying to her room for behaving so recklessly, but instead he hesitated and bit his tongue. She saw the muscles jump in his neck and knew it took all his strength not to snarl.
‘Let them in,’ he ordered, still carefully watching Lidan.
‘But sir—’ Siman started, and swallowed his protest when Erlon turned his cool gaze around and stepped towards him.
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