A Turn of Light (106 page)

~ Perhaps ~ it temporized hastily ~ because you are a man in shape, elder brother. ~

This useless body had betrayed him.

No longer.

Wyll sent breezes surging through the valley. ~ AWAKE! ~ he commanded.

One rolled Tir from his bed into the gatepost. As the man awoke with a curse, another breeze startled the livestock awake, the old pony leading a short-lived stampede. A baby cried and roses snapped and voices began to shout.

Though sorely tempted, Wyll merely shook the tinkers’ tent.

He’d done what he could here. Now to see what he could do there.

Ignoring Tir’s shout, the dragon went through the gate, splintering the cedar rails. He drove himself into the river, falling forward, struggling up with a snarl and spit.

Then was lifted!

Efflet!

Claws gripped him everywhere and they flew with all the urgent speed their small bodies could manage. ~ Brave little cousins! ~ he praised as they carried him along. ~ Find her! ~

Before it was too late.

TWENTY-FOUR

M
ICE.

But like no mice Jenn had ever seen. Their gray naked shapes came out of the shadows, dropped from branches, mewling and whining and whimpering in their eagerness to attack. The size of yearling pigs, they rose on their haunches between slow steps toward her and flexed their claws, red eyes hot with hate.

Nyphrit. That’s what Wyll called them.

Whatever they were, they hadn’t attacked yet. There was nothing for it but keep on, so she did, twisting and swerving to avoid them. The path fought her too, the ground slimy and uneven. Whatever magic helped her get this far abandoned her now.

Jenn started to run.

The nyphrit crowded close, catching at her skirt, scratching her legs, but couldn’t keep up. She turned the first bend in triumph.

And stopped, her heart in her throat.

The creatures filled the passage ahead. She threw a panicked look behind. They’d left a narrow path open.

A trap or an offer to let her leave?

One began to move toward her, drool dripping from its open jaws. Others followed. Closer and closer.

Magic. She had magic, but what good was it if she didn’t know what to do? Create a storm? She could be that afraid, if she let herself, but then what? A storm great enough to kill them could bring the trees down on her too, let alone what might happen to Marrowdell.

A trick or lure. If she could think what they’d want more than her and wish it, but they drooled as if starving and looked to her for their meal—

Then the first leapt! Jenn threw herself to the side, but it wouldn’t be enough. She was going to fail, right here, because she’d—

With a grunt the creature convulsed and dropped, an arrow bristling from its side. Squealing in fury, the others backed away, but didn’t leave.

Uncle Horst stepped into the open and notched another arrow. “This way!” he ordered. “I’ll hold them.”

He’d stayed to guard her. She’d wonder how he could be awake later. Her relief to see him mixed with her fear until she put a stop to both. “I can’t go back.” Jenn got to her feet. “I have to reach the top.” Before he could object, she gave him the truth. “It’s what my mother promised.”

“Where’s Scourge?” Bannan demanded, dressing as he half ran.

Tir had made the choice to find him. Whether that was the right choice remained to be seen, he thought grimly. Using her magic, Jenn could already be at the top. Alone.

“Haven’t seen his bloody majesty since he and the ladies took off again last night. But Wyll’s gone after her.”

For all the good a toothless, crippled, dragon-turned-man could do. Bannan took the axes Tir proffered and thrust them into his belt. Wyll would do what he could, he knew, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with magic. They all would.

Why, Jenn?

He should have guessed. Should have known. She’d such courage. She’d never risk anyone else.

The first person to fool him, the truthseer told himself bitterly, and she’d done it with the truth.

Their hasty passage through the village was noticed. Kydd came to them still doing up his shirt; as others emerged from their homes, their sleepy curiosity quickly become concern, then alarm. Before any more could follow, Bannan stopped and put out his hand. “Keep them here.”

“Where’s Jenn?” the beekeeper demanded. “The eclipse’s started.”

Bannan shot a look to where the sun hung just over the crags. He couldn’t see any change, but took the man’s word. “She’s gone ahead. We’ve no time to waste. Explain what you must, but—” he grabbed a fistful of the other’s shirt and stared into his eyes, “—everyone stays here. Swear it.”

Kydd nodded grimly, understanding, the truthseer knew, far more than he’d said. “Go.”

Releasing his hold, Bannan clung to one thought. Jenn Nalynn. He pounded down the village road, Tir at his side, vaulting the gate in one smooth motion. He heard what sounded like cheering from the direction of the caravan, but didn’t bother to look.

Mistress Sand stood outside the turn-born’s tent. “Save my Sweetling!” she shouted.

The far gate was next, lying in ruins. Bannan looked a question at Tir.

“Dragon.” His friend tossed his mask aside and drew his axes with a wicked twist to his gaping mouth. “Let’s not be outdone.”

Splashing across the river, their feet hit the other side as one. Wishing for his sword and pistol, though Ancestor’s Witness, as well wish for his entire troop, Bannan drew his axes and focused on nothing but speed.

It wasn’t far to the cursed path, but before they reached it, there came a splintering crash and groan, as though half the forest fell at once. Bannan grabbed Tir and pulled him back as leaves and branches rained down on the road.

It took a heartbeat. When the air cleared, they looked at one another in dismay. The opening was now blocked by a twisted mass of wood.

“Find another way,” a calm voice informed them.

Bannan and Tir turned around. “Wainn?”

He stood as if he’d been waiting for them, his pole with its dangling lamp in one hand. “Those old trees aren’t like the rest,” he confided. “Wen says they’ve gone mad, being part of the Wound. They want to stop you.”

“Where do we go then?” Time was wasting. Bannan could feel it. “Is there another path? I can’t let her cross alone!”

Wainn tipped his pole at the forest. “Go up.”

Climb that jagged slope, through the wild growth of old trees. Mad trees.

Tir followed his appraising look and paled. “Sir. You can’t, sir. We’ll cut a way through.” Going to the jumble of wood, he attacked the nearest branch with his treasured axes.

Had they every ax in the village at work, it would take days to clear.

Having one hope left, Bannan brought his fingers to his lips and gave a soundless whistle.

Scourge had always heard it, had always come. It had been the one surety in his life, that whistle and his oldest friend’s answer.

And, just when Bannan was about to despair, there came the thunder of hooves.

“I’ve two arrows left,” Uncle Horst said quietly. “And this.” He patted the short sword at his side.

The arrows spent had brought them to the next bend. His aim was unerring and, with each new death in their midst, the cowardly creatures had given way. But not far and not for long.

The Great Turn was coming. Jenn felt it crawling through her flesh. “I have to do this, Uncle.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “You don’t. Please—”

He shook his head, as she feared he would. As she’d known he would. “When I let fly this time, start running. Don’t look back, Dearest Heart.”

Jenn swallowed and nodded back. Standing on her toes, she kissed his grizzled cheek, then gave him room.

The old soldier moved ahead, notched his bow, and let fly. “Run!”

Her feet obeyed before she could be afraid. A nyphrit fell, bowled back into the others by the arrow’s force. As she ran into that gap, another arrow whistled through her hair, grazing her cheek, to plunge full in the throat of the next creature lunging for her.

“For Melusine!” There was a flash of light beside her. A sword dipped and came away bloody.

As the nyphrit converged, snarling and howling, on this new threat, Jenn ran through. Two strides, three.

Heart pounding, arms pumping, she dodged and ran and did her best, not thinking of what happened behind her.

Suddenly a pair dropped from an overhanging branch to block her way. Heads lowered, claws flexing, the dreadful things closed in. She had to back away.

A wind came from nowhere and everywhere, knocking the nyphrit to the ground.

“Wyll!” She spun around.

Only to see Uncle Horst go down beneath a writhing mass of claws and teeth.

Scourge pranced in place, his shoulders lashed with sweat, his nostrils wide and red. “Why are you here? Why are we here? What is this?” With dark surmise. “It’s that dragon’s doing, isn’t it?”

“Take me up the hill,” Bannan pleaded. “That’s all I ask.”

“Up there?” The breeze turned numbing cold. “No! Up there is death. Today I cross and petition to return home. Today I may lead my people once more. Why—” as if they tried some trick, “—would I want to die? Why do you?”

The sound of ax to wood stopped and Tir turned to give the kruar a disgusted look. “The dragon’s the brave one, then.”

Scourge half-reared. “He’s an old fool!”

“You’re right,” Bannan said heavily.

“I am? I am! He’s a fool.”

Shaking his head, the truthseer went up to the great beast and laid his hand on the hot sweating neck, then reached up to scratch that one spot Scourge could never quite reach. “You’ve saved my life countless times, old friend. Time I thought of yours. Go. I shouldn’t have asked this. I’ll find my own way. My thanks for all you’ve done, for myself and my forebears. It’s more than enough.”

The huge head twisted to bring an eye to bear. “‘Done?’” the breeze said dubiously. “‘Enough?’”

“He means it’s time you retired, you old bag of bones,” Tir said acidly. “Go tell stories to your foals.”

“Hush, Tir. You’ve been my comrade and companion, Scourge. I wish you well.” With a final pat, Bannan turned away to search for the easiest entry into the forest.

For any. Roots writhed and overlapped, waiting to snag an ankle. Branches with cruel thorn-like twigs laced overhead. He tried his deeper sight, only to flinch as he saw the miasma flowing where there had been ground and what sucked at the life of the trees.

Nothing mattered. Blinking free, he made to step over the first root.

A familiar nudge in his back sent him staggering into a tree. “Bloody Beast!” he snapped, whirling around. “If you won’t help, leave be! I have to save her!”

“Then don’t waste time,” the bloody beast replied smoothly, a fire in his eye.

He didn’t wait to ask or doubt. Securing his axes, Bannan stepped on a root, took hold of Scourge’s excuse for a mane, and leapt astride. The kruar spun on two legs to snort an unmistakable comment at Tir; continuing to spin, he reared with a roar and launched himself at the impenetrable forest.

Heart pounding with renewed hope, Bannan laid himself along that massive neck and held on with all his might.

As the efflet dropped him, Wyll saw the old soldier fall but had no time to mourn. Nyphrit in appalling numbers whined and scurried through the neyet, gathering to attack in greater numbers. Those he’d pushed from the girl had regained their feet.