My hooves skid on the soft ground as I instantly do what she says.
“Look, over there.” Her arm comes past my torso, one finger pointing off to the right. “We have to help.”
I follow where she is gesturing and see, mired in mud, something flailing, tiny and pale in colour. It is stuck fast and will no doubt die here.
“Please, Warden. We can’t leave it.” My lady slides from my back as the thing makes a long, low moaning sound.
“This is the Underhill.” I grab at her arm. “It will be a trick.”
“I don’t care. What am I if I don’t even try to help?” She shakes me off. “And what are you?” She gives me a baleful look before turning back in the direction of the creature and picking her way towards it.
I shift back into my human form and follow her with a sigh.
This female will be the death of me. Regardless of whether I can die or not.
HAZEL
The Night Lands are a dangerous place, and chances are the Underhill is as bad. Especially if Long Meg and her daughters are something to avoid. But I won’t ride past a creature struggling, whatever it may be.
Although as I get closer and I see the thing, all pale and covered in some sort of slime, I will say I have my doubts. But as I made Warden stop, I’m not giving up.
“What is it?” I ask as I look around for something we can use to throw out to the creature. Its head and neck are protruding from the bog, along with a tail which is around 3 feet long. The head is snake-like, with red eyes, and all around it is a sheen almost like oil, which must be the slime coming off its body.
“It’s a Wyrm,” Warden growls. “We should leave it alone. Wyrms are not to be trusted.”
“Help me,” the Wyrm says.
Warden instantly transforms into his centaur form, stamping his feet and rearing. I watch him for a while and turn back to the Wyrm.
“I’m going to throw you my belt. Can you pull yourself out?” I ask, because the thing looks quite tired.
“I’ll try,” it says.
I stick my dagger in the second sheath at the back of my neck and unwind my belt. Warden stops making a fuss, but I ignore him anyway, flinging out one end of my belt to the snake creature. It falls next to it, and with a painful movement, the Wyrm takes hold of the leather with its mouth.
I pull, but despite the grip the thing has, it doesn’t move.
“Here, female,” Warden says. “Stand aside.”
As much as I bristle at the termfemale, if Mr. Big Brag is going to offer assistance by throwing his not inconsiderable weight around, I’m not going to say no, so I hand him the belt, and he gives it one almighty pull.
With a slurping sound, the Wyrm is freed, but the force Warden has put into his pull means it flies through the air, and before he can do anything, it’s wrapped around him, and the pair of them tumble to the ground in a tangle of mud, scales, and legs.
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” the Wyrm says, sliding free of Warden and over to me, shedding most of the mud in the process.
Warden spits and wipes off his face, mud streaking his chest and slime everywhere.
“We weren’t going to leave you,” I say to the Wyrm. It’s probably just over five feet in length, and it has four little feet and a pair of wings, like a little dragon. It also has long, dark eyelashes which I wouldn’t have expected on a reptile.
“The Brag would.”
“Yeah, probably best to ignore him. I do,” I say in a conspiratorial whisper. “I am Lady Ryle and the Brag is Warden.”
There is a whirl in front of me, and the Wyrm has transformed into a small, dainty woman, dressed in pink and white, crystals glittering on her dress. Her eyes remain blood red.
“I am the Laidly Wyrm,” she says. “But my friends call me Peggy.”
“Wyrms.” Warden snorts. “Nothing but trouble.”
