“Mahliki?” Amaranthe asked from farther inside. “Are you…?”
“I’m here, yes.” A pained sigh came from the back. “I’m not sure there’s room, but you’ll have to come in.”
“Good to see you too,” Amaranthe said.
“There’s plenty of room,” Maldynado said. One of those huge claws stabbed through the entrance, swiping for him again. He scooted farther inside, bumping into Ashara. “Maybe not plenty.”
“I have a trap up there,” Mahliki said. She sounded tired and frustrated. “If you stay there, tons of rock will drop on your head when I trigger it.”
“That probably won’t feel good.”
“It’s not designed to, no.”
Ashara crawled back, banging her knee on the lumpy ground and scraping her elbows on the jagged sides of the crevice. “We’ll be safe back here?”
Mahliki did not answer. Rock cracked, and Ashara glanced over her shoulder in time to see the makarovi sheer away a head-sized chunk from the entrance. Already, the opening was tall enough for the creature to enter; all it needed to do was widen it.
“Mahliki?” Amaranthe asked. “I’d like to know the answer to that question too.”
“Me too. Because I’m not seeing a back door here.” Maldynado bumped against Ashara in his effort to put more space between himself and the entrance. The makarovi kept sweeping in with its arm, trying to snag someone.
Mahliki sighed again. “There’s not a back door. I didn’t have much of the explosive mixture I made, so I could only apply it to the rocks in the ceiling over the entrance. Also, someone’s standing on my fuse. If that thing makes its way in here, I have to be able to light that and hope I’ve listened to enough of my brother’s engineering lectures to have made my trap correctly.”
“And hope it crushes the makarovi without crushing us?” Amaranthe asked.
“That’s the goal, yes.”
“Are the odds of that good?”
Mahliki’s hesitation did not fill Ashara with hope. “You shouldn’t have come for me. Not so soon, anyway. I wasn’t expecting anyone else when I designed this. I thought maybe I would be able to hide in the back and survive the crash… and that someone would figure out what happened and be able to dig me out before I ran out of air.”
Ashara leaned her head against the cool rock beside her, trying not to think about the way the makarovi kept chiseling away at the entrance and trying not to think about how there would now be four people inhaling that limited air. If they survived the dropping of however many tons of rock into the tiny cave. Ashara did not like their odds.
• • • • •
“Over here,” Sicarius said from behind Basilard and to the left of the tracks they were following.
Basilard paused. He had been leading the way, following the makarovi prints that were trampling all over Mahliki’s prints, with Jomrik and most of the Mangdorians trailing behind. Now and then, some of the hunters had jogged off to the side, often to identify another fallen Kendorian soldier. They had never gone far. They kept wiping their palms and watching the woods uneasily. Hykur’s face remained graver than a lost harvest, but he had yet to share whatever thoughts were swirling through his mind.
The makarovi went this way. Basilard pointed along the route he had been following, trying to direct Sicarius back toward it. As did Mahliki.
“A fight happened over here.” Sicarius pointed at mangled bunchberry plants and disturbed dirt. “I believe these are the shaman’s prints, heading in that direction.” He nodded toward a stand of evergreens.
It’s more important to find Mahliki. Besides, how would you know which moccasins belong to the shaman?
“He runs with a strange lope, almost as if he’s emulating a wolf.” Sicarius strode farther from the trail.
Basilard was tempted to sign that he would continue on and Sicarius could catch up to him, but Hykur, frowning deeply, jogged off the path too.
“Someone’s out there,” he said. “Alive. I think…” He bit his lip, looking young as he turned uncertain eyes toward the trees around them.
Even though Basilard wanted to continue, the rest of the group was following Sicarius. Reluctantly, Basilard followed too. If whoever was alive out there was close enough for Hykur to sense, they should not have to travel far to find him.
After only a few more steps, Sicarius stepped around an ancient cedar and stared at something near the base. It only took Basilard a few seconds to reach him, but Sicarius had already taken out his black dagger. He strode toward what turned out to be a man lying on the ground, his long gray hair spread on the earth, his eyes closed.
“It’s the shaman,” Hykur said. “He’s alive.”
Wait, Basilard signed and lunged for Sicarius.
Had Sicarius already decided on killing the man, Basilard never would have caught him in time, but he was able to grip Sicarius’s forearm. Sicarius did not react. His gaze was darting about, as if he sought traps in the undergrowth. Basilard immediately did the same. Finding the shaman unconscious and defenseless was too easy. It had to be a trap.
“Mahliki was here.” Sicarius pointed at a faint print in the dirt and pine needles near the shaman, then knelt, touching his finger to a grayish powder.
Did she do something to him? Basilard asked.
“Perhaps.” Sicarius vigorously shook the powder off his finger as soon as he’d had a sniff.
He stepped away from Basilard and bent over the shaman, the blade in his hand, his intent clear.
To let the man wake up would be foolish, but Basilard winced at the idea of killing someone in cold blood, even an enemy. Wait, we should question him.
“About what?”
Where Mahliki went and—
Sicarius’s gaze jerked to the side.
Before Basilard could look in that direction, Sicarius ducked and bowled into him. They both tumbled to the ground, but Sicarius had already leaped to his feet by the time Basilard’s back hit the earth. A flash of tawny fur flew past above him, and he understood the reason for the knockdown.
Pulling out a dagger of his own, Basilard rose to a crouch, waiting to see what Sicarius attacked. If the shaman’s malaise had been a ruse and he was controlling the cat, killing the Kendorian made the most sense. Sicarius must have thought so, too, because he lunged for the reposing man, not interested in waiting further or questioning him. But his dagger struck an invisible shield several inches from his target’s chest.
The shaman’s eyes sprang open.
“Look out,” one of the hunters barked, loosing an arrow. Several other bows twanged, and arrows sped toward the cougar.
The great cat had missed Basilard, thanks to Sicarius’s quick actions, but it had turned and was charging toward Sicarius now. Two arrows stuck out of the cougar’s side, but it did not slow down. Basilard braced himself, poised to slash at the cat as it came in. As he prepared, he caught sight of more animals among the trees. Two more great cats, a pack of wolves, and a grizzly bear were converging on the shaman. To protect him.
Another hunter’s arrow thudded into the cougar’s shoulder. Without pausing, the powerful predator leaped into the air, claws raking toward Sicarius. His back was to the cat, but he knew it was there, for he rolled to the side. Basilard slashed at the cougar as it flew past, and his blade cut into its flank. It wasn’t as tough to wound as the grimbals, but with all of the predators in the area racing in to attack, Basilard did not know if that mattered. Especially since the shaman was getting to his feet.
Protect us from the animals, Basilard signed, hoping some of the hunters would see him. He and Sicarius needed to focus on the shaman, to figure out a way through his shield.
Ignoring the cougar, Sicarius slashed at the shaman again, aiming for his face. Trying to break his concentration so he would lower his barrier? It was not a bad idea, since most practitioners could only maintain their defenses if they maintained their concentration, but this shaman must have seen hundreds of battles in his life
time. His experience showed on his calm face. Sicarius’s blade only glanced off his invisible barrier.
The cougar turned and charged toward him again. It favored the limb with the pierced shoulder, but it clearly was not ready to flee. Two more arrows thudded into its side, but then a hunter ordered everyone to focus on the bear crashing through the undergrowth. That would be even harder to bring down.
Leaving the shaman to Sicarius for the moment, Basilard jumped around him to head off the cougar. Though limping and bleeding from several arrows, it sprang, claws raking for his face. He ducked low and lunged forward, coming up beneath it as it soared overhead. Those claws sliced through the air only an inch above him, but he avoided them in time. His new position gave him access to the beast’s belly, and he thrust his blade in even as the cat’s momentum carried it past him.
He whirled in time to see the cougar land and to see Sicarius flung backward, not by beast but by man. Basilard ran in, stabbing for the shaman’s side with the bloody dagger. But the barrier deflected it, sending a jarring jolt up his arm. Everything he had heard claimed that practitioners could not attack and defend themselves at the same time; this one must have some Made device tucked in a pocket, something that generated a shield. If that was true, how were they supposed to get through it to kill him?
“Stand side by side,” a hunter called. “Make a ring around them. Don’t let the animals through.”
“We’re running low on arrows.”
“Just keep shooting. Hykur, can you do anything to help? Turn the animals away?”
“I tried. He’s too powerful. I can’t countermand him. I—” Hykur was cut off amid the snarl of wolves.
Basilard maneuvered around to the back of the shaman, stabbing again, hoping he might break the man’s concentration but hoping more that he would find a way through the shield. Maybe he would spot what was generating it. For now, he had the freedom to look, since the cougar had finally collapsed and the shaman was focused on Sicarius, a hand raised, his eyes intent.
After being flung to the ground, Sicarius had risen to one knee, but he appeared stuck in the pose. His face was a mask of stone, but his body was tense as he fought some mental attack.
Basilard slashed with frustration, knowing that all he had to do to stop all of this and give his comrades respite was slay this man. But the invisible barrier did not fall. He backed away, searching for another option. He glimpsed all of the predators surrounding them, many with arrows sticking out of their sides, but many more unwounded. He didn’t have much time to come up with something. His people were running out of arrows, and few of them had other weapons more powerful than knives.
“Leyelchek,” Hykur panted, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. “What can I do? I turned one away, but there are too many. He’s too strong.”
I don’t know. I’m thinking, Basilard signed, then ducked into a deep squat as a new cougar leaped out of the trees. The animals seemed to focus on whoever was closest to the shaman. Basilard thought about scooting away, but then Sicarius would be the target, and he was locked in a mental battle. He might not see another attack coming. Can you try distracting him with a mental attack?
Hykur’s eyes widened. “I’ve never tried to hurt a person through his mind. Or any other way.”
Think of him as an animal—a rabid animal about to ravage your village. No, wait. Basilard had spotted a leaf-shaped pin fastened to the shoulder of the shaman’s shirt. It wasn’t glowing or flashing or doing anything else to proclaim that it might be magical, but the rest of the man’s decorations were beaded and embroidered into his clothing. Does that pin feel Made to you? Can you tell? He looked hopefully at Hykur. He remembered that Akstyr had been able to tell if items were magical from a distance.
“Look out,” someone behind Basilard barked.
He spun as he dropped, raising his dagger, expecting a wolf or cat sailing toward his head. It was the bear, and it plowed straight toward Sicarius.
Sicarius had managed to rise to his feet and take a step toward the shaman, but he was still locked in a staring contest with the man. The arrows bristling from the bear’s hide did not slow it at all.
Basilard gripped the hilt of his dagger in his teeth and leaped at it. His fingers sank into the thick fur, and he pulled himself up to straddle the creature. The bear paused inches from Sicarius and reared up. It shook itself like a dog, trying to fling Basilard from its back.
He managed to grab his dagger, but he could barely hang on. His legs threatened to fly free. He tried to find an angle that would let him cut the bear’s throat, but its neck was much thicker than a human’s, and it was bucking like a snake having a seizure. On his first attempt, his blade glanced off the animal’s shoulder. It reared up again, swatting behind its head. Basilard ducked massive paws while struggling to keep his grip and not lose his knife.
Though he was busy with his own troubles, he wanted to make sure the bear wasn’t in a position to maul Sicarius, so he risked checking over its shoulder. He almost took a paw in the face, but he glimpsed Sicarius still standing, his black dagger raised but unmoving. The shaman was also unmoving. Sweat dripped from the Kendorian’s chin, but that was the only sign that he was working hard, straining. How many animals could he control? Was this taxing him to the point that he might break? As the bear spun around, flailing at its unwelcome rider, Basilard saw one more thing: the leaf-shaped pin. It was glowing red, as if a hot iron had been applied to it.
Basilard ducked a slashing paw and gripped the fur on the back of the bear’s head. This time, he managed to get his blade around its neck, slicing through tender flesh. The animal roared and hurled itself to the ground. Surprised, Basilard barely managed to leap free before he was crushed by its thousand-pound bulk. Though his instincts told him to get back, grab a bow, and shoot at it from a distance, he didn’t have a range weapon. While it was rolling back to its feet, he jumped in again. This time, he landed higher on its back so he could reach its throat more easily. He sank his blade through flesh and muscle.
The bear reared up again, momentarily giving Basilard a view of the shaman. Their enemy cried out, tearing at the leaf-shaped pin. He spun with fury in his eyes and flung a hand toward Hykur.
The air crackled with lightning, and energy wrapped all around the young priest. His skin charred and burned in the second it took for Sicarius, freed from the shaman’s grip, to leap forward and slice a dagger across his throat. Basilard was not sure who screamed, but it filled his ears as the bear spun, trying to buck him off again. He plunged his own weapon into the creature’s neck, this time to the hilt. Blood gushed over his hand, and he knew he had finally struck an artery. The bear reared up as if it, too, had been struck by lightning, its body stiffening. With only one hand wrapped in its fur, Basilard lost his grip and was flung several feet.
He tried to turn the fall into a roll to absorb the energy, but his back slammed into a log. It halted his momentum with bone-crunching finality. He gasped, but for several seconds, his stunned lungs couldn’t draw in air. By the time he could breathe, the forest had grown silent. Only a few rustlings sounded as the remaining animals ran away from the men they had been attacking.
“Hykur?” someone asked softly, warily.
Basilard closed his eyes. Even though he had only glimpsed the shaman’s attack, he feared it had been deadly. Hykur had been busy doing as Basilard asked, rather than defending himself. Had he known such a simple action might result in his death? He must have. And he had done it anyway.
Basilard could only hope that his death meant something, that they had won some victory here today. With the shaman gone and so many soldiers and supplies washed down that canyon, maybe the Kendorians would give up, at least for now.
Sicarius approached, stopping by the log. Basilard’s back hurt—everything hurt—and he had not gotten up yet. Lying on his back and staring up at the branches seemed less painful.
“Your reflexes are slower than they used to be,” Sicarius
said, looking down. “You have been neglecting combat and exercise since becoming a diplomat. You should resume your training at once.”
Basilard gaped up at him. I stopped that bear and probably saved your life, and you’re complaining about my reflexes?
Sicarius tilted his head. “I am offering to assist with training that would help remediate a deficiency.”
Is that what you do with Amaranthe when you should be thanking her for helping you?
“I often offer her assistance.” Sicarius lowered a hand, helping him up.
She’s a very understanding woman, Basilard signed.
“Yes.”
Chapter 21
“It’s almost time,” Mahliki whispered.
As if they didn’t know. As if they weren’t all staring at the makarovi’s flashing claws, at the way chunks and shards and boulders tumbled away from the crevice, allowing in more light. Soon, the creature would be allowed in too. Already, its fetid breath washed over them, mixing with its musky scent and making Ashara’s stomach roil. She wished she could back up more, but she was already pressed against the lumpy rock wall.
Someone must have tried to shift farther from the entrance, because Mahliki grunted in pain. She had not divulged the extent of her injuries, and the poor lighting made it impossible to see, but Ashara had brushed against her earlier and felt the dampness of blood seeping through her shirt.
“So cozy in here,” Maldynado said over the relentless scraping of claws. “It will be even more fun when the ceiling caves in.”
“Your elbow is jammed in my apple basket,” Mahliki said.
“My elbow? That can’t be the right body part.” Maldynado shifted away from her, not that there was much room for shifting far.
Diplomats and Fugitives Page 38