A Royal Guide to Monster Slaying

by Kelley Armstrong

  Gaze fixed on the beast, Jannah sheaths her sword and hunkers down. Then she runs and vaults onto its back, grabbing its mane in both hands.

  The manticore’s head jerks back, and I get my first look at the face that has made many a monster hunter stop in her tracks. Stop and wonder if she’s seeing a beast at all. The face looks…well, it looks human.

  It’s flat and round with widespread eyes. In our lessons, Jannah would say it looked ape-like. Seeing it up close, I agree. It has a furred face with a wide, flat nose and flaring nostrils. I only get a glimpse of those strange features before the beast bucks.

  It twists and rears like a wild unicorn desperate to throw off its rider. Jannah holds tight as she lies across the manticore’s back. Malric and the two hunters draw nearer, out of range of the beast’s flying claws but ready to attack if Jannah falls.

  Jannah does not fall.

  She rides the manticore until the beast stops bucking and rearing. It’s tiring and the creature on its back seems to pose no threat, so it slows its struggles. When it pauses, she strikes.

  The killing blow is not a magnificent and heroic stroke of swordsmanship. That isn’t how a royal monster hunter does her job. The hunting part is exciting—the planning, the tracking, the capturing. But if we can’t spare the life of a monster then, like putting down a rabid dog, it is duty. Regrettable duty.

  It’s also quick. Jannah didn’t hop on the beast’s back for fun. The position just lets her sink in her dagger in exactly the right spot. One hard thrust and the manticore stiffens. Then before it has time to feel more than a flash of pain, it slumps to the ground.

  Jannah makes sure the manticore has drawn its last breath before she waves Rhydd and me over for a rare chance to study this incredible creature.

  See the claws, how they don’t retract like a cat’s? They aren’t as sharp as a cat’s either, for that very reason. See the thickness of the hide? A light blade blow won’t penetrate it. Observe the tail, with its spines. They aren’t venomous, but see how thin the tail is? The manticore wields it like a whip, driving those spines into an attacker.

  Next, she opens the beast up. This is where Rhydd crouches, getting a closer look, asking questions. I know this is important—notice the size of the heart, the placement of the internal organs, should we ever need to fight one again. I’m always fascinated by science. But I keep seeing the manticore as a whole. A beautiful and fascinating beast, lifeless on the floor.

  When Jannah catches my expression, she nods in understanding. Then she points to the dead sheep.

  “A manticore belongs in the mountains,” she says. “Not in a farmer’s pasture or barn.”

  “I know.”

  She hunkers down and runs a hand through the thick mane. “It’s not the beast’s fault. It spends its life hunting for game, and then it finds an overflowing banquet. Most predators can control themselves. A manticore can’t. It is consumed by bloodlust.”

  “I know.”

  “If you catch it quickly enough, you can try driving it back to the mountains. The trick is timing and force. If it has only just ventured down and you give it enough of a scare—and a few scars—you can drive it back. But this one had been here too long. It would never be satisfied with the mountains again.”

  “I know,” I say again, and I do, despite my regret at what we had to do.

  She rises to squeeze my shoulder. “As future queen, you should go tell the farmer that we saved the rest of his flock. Your mother will reimburse him for the loss of the others. While you do that, I’ll take the manticore’s hide.”

  I look about the barn. “Do I need to speak to the farmer right away? Or can I tend to the injured animals first?”

  She smiles. “You may absolutely tend to them first, Rowan.”

  “I’ll help her,” Rhydd says.

  We leave Jannah to skin the manticore. We don’t need the hide or the meat, but we’ll take them to put to some use, so they don’t go to waste on a barn floor. Or, worse, be sold as a trophy in the local market.

  A couple of the hunters help us survey the injured animals. Two others go out to reassure the farmer and his gathered neighbors. The remaining two hunters open the main doors to release the uninjured livestock.

  There are four wounded sheep and one calf. Two of the sheep must be put down, and the hunters insist on handling that. Rhydd and I assess the rest. The sheep have minor wounds. The calf, though, has a gash that requires immediate attention.

  I’m on my knees reassuring the calf when a crash sounds, like a thunderclap right overhead. The very timbers shake, wood falling all around me. I fall back as a flash of light pierces the gloomy barn before the sun goes dark.

  An inhuman shriek rips through the shocked silence. A shadow flashes above me—the shadow of the beast that is blocking the sun. The beast that smashed through the roof.

  I catch a whiff of something I’ve never smelled before. It’s musky but oddly sweet, too, like honey. Then yellow talons dive, each as big as my forearm.

  The talons seize me. I’m trying to scramble up, trying to understand what I’m seeing, before I can even draw breath, the talons lift me and swing me into the air.

  CHAPTER SIX

  elow me, Rhydd bellows in pure rage. He pulls his sword, ebony and silver flashing. The beast holding me strikes at him. Blood flies. The beast lets out another ear-piercing shriek and slams me into the barn floor, talons pinning me there.

  A beak appears, a flash of yellow grabbing at my brother. I scream, and I punch, and I writhe, but the beast doesn’t even seem to notice. Jannah and the others shout as their boots pound across the barn floor.

  The beak seizes Rhydd and flips him into the air, then lets go. As he falls, the beak grabs him again, this time by one leg. There’s a sickening crunch, and I lash out with everything I have, scream at the top of my lungs. My brother is under attack…and I’m powerless to help him.

  I am supposed to protect him.

  I came here to protect him.

  Now this beast is attacking Rhydd as he tries to protect me.

  I manage to get my sword out. I can’t swing it, though. I’m face down on the barn floor, pinned by huge talons. I manage to jab upward, and my sword hits something solid. I pull it back, and I stab with all my might. The beast drops my brother’s leg. Rhydd falls to the floor. Jannah is there with her hunters, running at the beast, their swords out.

  Then I’m not on the floor anymore. I’m rising, my aunt and the others sailing past below. I see Jannah’s upturned face, the horror on it, her lips forming my name.

  She’s shouting my name. I know she is, but I can’t hear it. All I hear is thunder.

  The thunder of wings.

  I’m flying upward, and in a heartbeat, I’m through the roof and then I’m…

  I don’t know where I am. I’m lurching and rolling, my stomach heaving, the world a blur below me.

  I don’t have my sword. That’s the first thing I realize.

  I have dropped my sword, and I don’t know when or how it happened, but when and how don’t matter. What matters is that I have done the unthinkable. I am a warrior in battle…and I let go of my weapon.

  I have no sword, yet I’m in the grip of…

  Deep in my gut, I know what has me. Without even twisting to look up, I know.

  I still crane my neck. I see feathers. Black feathers tipped with white. And a mane. A thick golden mane.

  A gryphon.

  I can’t even see the whole beast. I only see its chest—an endless expanse of feather and fur.

  I am dead.

  It doesn’t matter if I’m still breathing. I might as well be dead. I’m in the talons of a gryphon, a beast with legs longer than my entire body. It has me in its grip, and it is in flight, and I have no weapon, and I am going to die.

  Like my father, I am going to die.

  Something whizzes past my face. An arrow buries into the underside of the beast. Then another and another. The beast swoops and scre
ams, more in annoyance than pain. An arrow slices the fabric of my trousers, and I let out a cry. When the gryphon dives, my stomach dives with it.

  More arrows strike. One slams into my shoulder. I bite back a yowl and look. My thick leather tunic stopped the arrow from impaling me, but the arrowhead still penetrated, embedding itself in my flesh.

  Pain throbs through me. Then the gryphon turns and I am smacked sideways, which drives the arrow in even deeper. I grit my teeth and wrench it free. Then I stare at the sharp arrowhead, dripping blood. I grab the shaft close to the head and stab the gryphon in the leg. The beast doesn’t even seem to notice.

  Below, Jannah is shouting. I can’t make out words, only the sound of her voice. I yank out the arrow and stab again.

  “No!” Jannah shouts. “Too high!”

  She’s telling me not to attack the gryphon when it’s flying so high. If it drops me from here, I won’t survive the fall.

  I don’t care. I’d rather die dashed against the ground than ripped apart by a gryphon’s beak. I stab again. The gryphon plunges toward the earth, and I stab harder.

  Jannah’s shouting, but I can’t hear her. Blood pounds in my ears, and my vision blacks out every time the gryphon dives or swoops. My mind is blacking out, too. I struggle to focus, to think, and I can’t. I want to scream. Just scream for someone to save me.

  No one can save me. Not up here. I can’t save myself either. An arrow will never bring down a gryphon. It isn’t a sword. It can’t stab deep enough or slash—

  Slash.

  A thought flits through my brain, and I try to grab it, but everything’s spinning. The world spins below me, and my mind spins with it.

  Slash.

  Focus on that. I was thinking about arrows and slashing…

  Yes! The tendon. Slash the gryphon’s tendon.

  I act without thinking. Instinct tells me where to strike. I grip the arrow close to the head, and I slash the foreleg as hard as I can.

  The talons open.

  They don’t open far enough. The gryphon screams, but it keeps its hold on me.

  As it starts climbing, I slash again. The beast gives a terrible shriek. Then I’m dropping. Dropping like a stone, my limbs flailing to break my fall.

  Jannah’s running for me. I see a blur of her below. Then the sun disappears again. The thunder of wings rips through the sky. A strangled cry rings out.

  I hit the ground. Pain slams through me and then…

  Darkness.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  wake as if slapped. My head snaps up, and I’m gasping for breath. I can’t find it. I’m suffocating. There’s nothing over my mouth or nose, but I’m suffocating. I can’t—

  I inhale. A long, ragged gasp scorches my lungs.

  I see light, but my mind stays dark. Blank. Where…?

  I blink and try to lift my head as I struggle to breathe. There’s hay. I’m lying on a stack of hay in a farmer’s field. Why…?

  Shouts. Running feet. A snarl of rage. A shriek that splits the air. Wind drumming against my back. The ground shaking. Thunder rolls, the wind picking up and—

  “Rowan!”

  A massive shadow crosses me, and I twist to look up. I see a head. A huge eagle’s head with the mane and ears of a great cat.

  My muddled brain says, “Is that a…?”

  And then I remember…just as the gryphon dives at me, talons out.

  I roll to the side as fast as I can. Pain slices through me. I tumble right off the haystack and hit the ground with a thud. The gryphon lands, the ground shaking. It rears onto its hind legs, and I’m scrambling out of the way, but my body isn’t responding. Pain blinds me. Agonizing pain.

  I’m not moving fast enough. I can’t move fast enough. I’m going to—

  A figure runs from nowhere. She leaps. Her sword slashes at the beast’s rear flank. An ebony sword. Jannah.

  The gryphon wheels on her. Its beak swings her way. I scream, but she dodges it. With my scream, though, the beast remembers me. It rears again, talons extended. I crawl to the haystack and push my way into it. Jannah shouts. Malric snarls. There’s a scuffle, and the gryphon screams in pain.

  I need to help Jannah.

  I don’t know where the other hunters are. Everyone scattered after the manticore, and this has all happened so fast. I know they’re coming, but they aren’t here yet, and I am.

  I need to help her.

  But I hurt. I hurt so much.

  Too bad. I must help Jannah. If Rhydd is safe, then my priority is my—

  Footsteps vibrate through the earth beneath me. The pound of them underscores the grunts and growls of the fight. I push through the haystack to be sure it’s the hunters coming to Jannah’s aid.

  It is not.

  I do see the hunters. Two stand poised on the remains of the barn roof, firing arrows. Two more run from another direction. But the person coming straight at the gryphon is Rhydd.

  My brother is not running. One leg drags as he staggers toward the fight, sword gripped tight in hand. Sweat shines on his face. He’s gritting his teeth in pain, and blood drenches his trousers. He is injured. Badly injured. And yet he is coming, ready to fight, ready to help our aunt.

  I love my brother more than anyone in the world. I admire him, too, for all the things he is that I am not, all the things I’ll never be. And I’m proud of him, for his bravery and his kindness and his pure heart. But when I see him, dragging his leg across that field, clutching his sword, face set in grim determination, that love and admiration and pride surge stronger than ever.

  I feel shame, too, for hiding in this haystack. Yes, I’m only here to catch my breath, to force past the pain of my fall, but I’m still here. I am injured and hiding. He is injured and returning to the fight.

  I clench my teeth against the pain slamming through me. Then I push my way out of that haystack. I don’t exit on Jannah’s side, though. She is fighting, and Malric is helping, and the hunters are coming, and the archers are covering her. She is not my concern. My concern is here: my wonderful, brave, stubborn brother, who is heading—bloodied and wounded—into a gryphon fight.

  I love him. I admire him. I am so proud of him.

  And I need to stop him.

  I stagger toward Rhydd. Every muscle aches, but my legs work, my arms work. I need to keep moving. Get to him. Tell him he’s amazing, and he’s courageous. Then tell him he’s crazy if he thinks I’m going to let him fight a gryphon in his condition.

  He sees me, alive, and he pauses. Relief washes over his face. He wobbles, as if when he stops, he can’t quite get going again. He has to grit his teeth to take another lurching step and—

  The gryphon shrieks. Its wings beat the air, the currents of it ruffling my hair. I spin, ready to run to Jannah’s aid. But she’s fine. She’s lunging at the gryphon as it takes flight.

  It lifts into the air…and turns our way.

  I stand there as the gryphon hovers, its massive wings keeping it just above the ground. Jannah screams, jabbing her sword uselessly, the gryphon out of reach.

  The beast looks right at me, those eyes fixed on me. In a blink, I am a child again, telling my father this is what I want. To stand in front of a gryphon, gaze into these amber eyes and say hello.

  What a fool I was. What a silly fool.

  I square my shoulders, and I raise my chin, and I meet those eyes. Except they aren’t looking at me after all. They’re fixed behind me. The gryphon lifts its beak, and I see those nostril holes.

  The gryphon smells blood.

  I spin on my brother, still dragging his injured leg as he heads my way. Blood soaks his trousers. Completely soaks them.

  The gryphon shrieks…and I run. I ignore the agonizing pain in my chest. I ignore the fact I can barely draw breath. I run straight at my brother. The shadow of the gryphon covers me. The wind of its wings batters me as the creature swoops. I run into Rhydd. I knock him flying, and I drop on him, flattening myself over him. Behind us, the gryphon shrieks a
s its dive comes up empty, prey gone. It pulls back for another try. I grab Rhydd’s sword from his hand and leap to my feet.

  The gryphon starts another dive. Two hunters charge, swords raised, and the gryphon pulls up short. More hunters appear. The gryphon swings around, following Jannah’s shouts. It swerves back toward her, the hunters following, one shouting, “Stay here,” to me.

  Rhydd sits on the ground, catching his breath. When he tries to rise, I hold him down. Then I hear a sound behind me. A snarl of rage and pain. A human snarl.

  I jump up and spin to see Jannah on the ground, her sword still in hand. The gryphon is diving at her. Malric leaps right at the beast’s head as Jannah jumps to her feet. She swings her sword, but the gryphon’s beak closes around her sword arm. Malric hangs off the gryphon’s neck. It doesn’t seem to care. Doesn’t seem to notice. That powerful beak closes with the same sickening crunch I heard when it seized Rhydd. Then it throws Jannah.

  Before Jannah hits the ground, it grabs her again, this time by the leg, just like it did with Rhydd.

  I’m already running. I don’t even realize I am until that moment. I’m watching this, feeling as if I’m frozen in terror, but I’m not. I’m barreling toward the gryphon, Rhydd’s sword raised.

  The gryphon has Jannah by the leg. It lashes back and swings her…

  Swings her at a rock.

  I see the rock. I see her body, upside down, her skull heading straight for that rock, and I scream. I scream with everything I have as I run full out.

  We all run. We all scream.

  It doesn’t matter.

  Jannah’s head hits that rock. There is a crunch. A horrible crunch, ten times worse than the beast’s beak cracking down. I’m still screaming, my throat raw. Malric is on the ground, racing to Jannah. He throws himself over her prone body.

  The hunters attack the gryphon. They’ve lunged past me and they face the beast, their swords swinging as it backs away.

  I race straight to Jannah. She’s on the ground, blood streaming from her arm and her leg and her scalp.

  My chest seizes, and my eyes flood with tears, and I have to stumble, blind, to her. I drop at her side. Malric gives way, and I lean over her.