“So we’ve seen.” John slashed at the shrubs around him. He always was more set on clearing his trail than Erik, but then, he was human and wounds hurt him more. “You seem ready enough to tell me these matters.”
Erik laughed, though he tried to make it come out kindly. “All who could use such knowledge already have it. On both sides.”
“And will you be a soldier, of a sudden?” Sence asked. “Even if we do get free of this rock and return before any war meets its end?”
“Doubtful,” said John. “But I’ve a wife and sons to think of, and friends enough who’d fight for my king, whether by will or by levy.”
That was always the way of it in war. That was one of the reasons Artair had sent Erik away, and one of the reasons he’d welcomed the mission. He had no good reply to John, so he looked ahead—and saw a flicker of movement, something huge and dark in the brush.
He held up a hand. All three of them went still, and in the silence came the sound of creatures moving toward them: yet a goodly distance away, but large beasts by the way branches snapped beneath their weight. Erik sniffed the air, but the wind was against them, and the presence of men so close muddled his senses.
“String bows,” he whispered. They’d seen no signs of wolves or bears, nor yet great cats; the largest beast they’d encountered had been Franz’s elk. “This could be a threat or a meal.”
Death or dinner came through the forest fast. The trees blocked Erik’s view for a long while. He saw dark shapes, easily taller than a man, and he thought there were three of them, though the lines of head and body were yet indistinct. More elk, he thought. With luck, the men would shoot true and they’d have more food stores.
“We’ll take the one on the right,” Sence whispered behind him. “Likely the others will run when it dies, but best be sure of the kill.”
He was right: chasing wounded prey through the forest would be a hardship, and worse when that prey was large and capable of kicking through wood. Erik sighted to the right, an arrow ready, and hoped the smell of him didn’t scare the elk off.
They came through from the northeast, knocking small trees down ahead of them, and instantly he realized thatnothingwould scare them off, and eating them would be a horrible idea.
Once they, or their ancestors, had likely been elk, though they had no antlers. They’d changed.
Taller than him at the shoulder, they ran on spindly legs below grotesquely bloated bodies, in which one part often seemed to separate from the next, only to merge back together moments later. White bone stood out in jagged spikes from their backs and sides, and their teeth had outgrown their mouths, protruding through their cheeks.
All of the men loosed arrows at once, acting as much from horrified instinct as prior plan. All three took the rightmost elk-thing in the chest. It staggered backward and roared, a sound that had in it the slap of rotten meat against earth, but it didn’t fall, and the others showed no fear, nor even comprehension.
“Get behind me,” said Erik. “Keep shooting.”
The change was slower than he would’ve liked, the trees getting in the way, and as he shook his wings out, one of the creatures slammed into his side. Only a third his size, it nonetheless had weight behind its charge, weight that Erik felt cracking his ribs, and it reared up its head to sink teeth into his wing.
He swiveled his neck backward and returned the favor, closing his jaws around the elk-thing’s neck. It was cold in his mouth, not merely as a dead thing might have been but as the depths of the ocean. The taste of it blended rot and a cold, unfamiliar acridness—and the elk was heavy, even heavier than he would have expected from a thing its size. At first he couldn’t even pry it away from his body. Yet it wasn’t quite there either. His teeth slid through it in places, as though it were air, only to encounter icy meat and jagged bone a short distance away.
When he clawed at the creature, his talons met the same mixture of flesh and nothingness, mingled in no pattern that he could recognize. Meanwhile it kicked sideways at him, far too nimbly, and its sharp hooves sliced through scales and skin alike.
Arrows sang through the air around him. The elk bellowed as the arrows hit, halted, shook themselves, and came forward again. Erik snapped his tail around and whipped the legs out from under one, flung its brother away with a painful flex of neck and claws, and braced himself just as a third hit him in the chest. It reared up on its hind legs; as Erik whipped his head forward, he looked into its face and saw the same pale eyes that had stared at him from the dead in his dream.
He was glad not to be in man’s shape then. The dragon form cared less about such things, knew mostly the fight and the present moment. Inside it, Erik, son of Lamorak, marked what he saw and shivered.
There was little time. He slashed out at the creature in front of him, knocking aside seeking, malformed teeth—they looked sharp, but uneven, broken that way rather than the product of any natural growth—and nearly severing its head. It slumped before him, but the wound began almost at once to knit together. Another ran at him again. His mouth tasted of his own blood, which was better than that of the monsters but didn’t bode well.
A shape dashed by him, light flashing on drawn steel and copper hair alike. Toinette hit the ground, rolled on one shoulder, and lunged, slicing through the legs of the elk that was coming up on Erik. As it fell, she leapt aside, clumsy on the uneven ground but quick enough to make it back to Erik’s side. “Fire,” she yelled up at him.
He was already inhaling, using the space and time Toinette had bought him to kindle the force within his chest. Low, he reminded himself. He would have to be low and controlled, with the trees all about him. A forest fire could be as deadly as the creatures they faced.
The last whole elk was charging Erik when he opened his mouth. The thin strand of flame hit it directly in the face. Rather than catching right away, it smoldered, glowing sullenly while the creature roared and shook and Erik didn’t let himself pause to pray. Then the fur caught. Yellow-white light blazed up, and the elk crumbled beneath it, while Erik turned the flame on its temporarily fallen companions.
Those two went down more easily, or advance knowledge kept Erik from drawing the time out with worry. He strode forward as soon as the bodies had stopped moving and stomped on the fire, grinding it out beneath his claws. He felt the sparks and the faintly licking flames as he would have felt scratchy wool in man’s form, a mild annoyance but nothing to occupy his mind greatly.
When he turned, the fire out, Sence and John were staring at him. Both were silent. Sence’s jaw was clenched.
Toinette was standing, panting, with her hands on her hips and her sword dangling at her side. Strands of hair clung to her sweaty face and neck; soot smudged skin and clothes alike. She didn’t look at all hurt, for which Erik gave silent thanks, but she looked alternately at him and the men with concern.
Changing back, Erik missed the exchange between them, but John and Toinette were both at his side when his eyes focused again, and Sence had strung another arrow, aiming off at the woods behind them. The elk had trampled a broad trail there.
“We heal fast,” said Toinette, “and he’s likely had worse. Yes?” she asked Erik, frowning in a way that could be either impatience or concern.
He nodded. He could feel his ribs already beginning to knit together. “I’ll bleed for a bit,” he said. “And I’ll likely not have the use of that wing for weeks. They were magic enough, after their fashion. Such wounds linger.”
