“What a brilliant observation.”
He ignored her sarcasm; he was nervous, too. “Face it as squarely as you can.”
“Fear my dagger wheel!” she shouted. “Rawr.”
“Funny girl.” But he nearly laughed. “Wait for it.”
“Oh, I am,” she assured him. “I cannot wait to see this. Especially as it will be my last sight before I’m mercilessly slaughtered.”
“Cheer up,” he said. “Maybe they’ll only slaughter me while you’ll be taken captive and dragged off to a life of miserable bondage as a free-range familiar to House Sammael. Sucked dry by any wizard who cares to sip. Or, if you’re really lucky, maybe slimy Sergio himself will bond you for life!”
“Happy thoughts indeed!” she replied with considerable perkiness, and now he did chuckle.
“Love that optimistic outlook,” he murmured. He didn’t need to be quiet—the hunters were yipping as they galloped up the hill, creating an unsettling din—but his mouth was near the delicate shell of her ear as he focused his gaze through the dagger wheel toward the point where the hunters would appear. Despite the need to concentrate on making his invention work, he was tempted to kiss her there, just to see if she tasted as good as she smelled, like silvery cool rain, fresh and potent. “Steady.”
“As a rock. Would love to know how this will work.”
“Oh, me too.”
“Not a rousing endorsement.”
“What’s life without some uncertainty?”
“Certain.”
“Boring.” Impossible that she amused him so, especially under such dire circumstances. The first hunter loped into view around the curve between the tall trees. It was a foul thing, standing out in horrific contrast to the spring sunshine dappling through the leaves. Probably a conglomeration of weasel and jackal—and dark arts knew what else had occurred to the House Ariel wizards to throw into the stew of that ill-advised incantation—it boasted a protruding snout and rows of long fangs suitable for rending and slavering and not much else.
Jadren had reason to know, as one of the things had rent and slavered all over him until Gabriel Phel rescued him, to Jadren’s intense chagrin. The things also had claws on all four paws that impressively tore up the dirt road and they slunk-galloped at high speed.
“Jadren.” Selly had tensed even more, her voice strained.
“Not yet.”
More hunters followed, a boilingly ugly stamped of them. “They’re coming,” Selly said tightly.
“So I see.” The vicious glee rose in him, amplified by Selly’s luminously bright magic as he drew upon it. It was like being drunk without the downsides of dulled senses. Indeed, he felt sharper than he had in years, possibly decades.
The lead hunters raced toward them, only a few horse lengths away, more of the horde filling the road behind them. Selly trembled under his hand. She took a sharp breath, shrinking back enough to make contact with his chest. “Jadren.”
That throaty semi-scream of his name shouldn’t send a flare of desire through him, but it did—eliciting an immediate fantasy of burying himself inside her slim body while she gasped his name exactly that way. “Selly,” he murmured, then indulged himself and kissed her ear with a flick of his tongue, just in case he died without a taste of her. Like rain after drought. “Now.”
He activated the spell, the dagger wheel whirring to life, Selly bracing herself against the sudden momentum. Tossing a handful of arrow bits into the maelstrom, he pulled on her magic, fueling the barrage of missiles that flew into the tightly packed onslaught of hunters.
Like a fire doused by a bucket of water, the surge of loping hunters melted, turning into a slag of jutting bone fragments in a stew of rotting flesh. Selly let out an animal ululation of victory, turning back and forth to spray the still advancing hunters with the bits he tossed into the propulsion of the dagger wheel. The next wave melted, also, adding to the bog of rotting flesh on the once-pretty forest trail.
But nothing stopped the hunters. Whatever vile spell propelled them, it didn’t allow for initiative on their part, or even justifiable caution. More hunters galloped toward them, clambering over and, in some places, wading through the disgusting remains of their comrades. Shelly shrieked with the fury of a true warrior, spraying the advancing hunters with excellent aim.
Until he ran out of ammunition.
“Tapped out,” he told her, yanking the dagger wheel from her hands and thrusting the bow at her, along with her quiver of pitifully few arrows. “Cover me!” Seizing his machete, he raced bravely forward to slay the remaining hunters.
~ 2 ~
The man was a blithering idiot. Selly stared after Jadren as he flung himself wildly through the rotting morass of creatures, swinging his blade with amateurish enthusiasm and stunning lack of skill. Her dumbfounded shock wasn’t due only to Jadren’s ill-considered charge. Though the others had told her of the hunters and warned her of their appearance and rapacious nature, nothing had prepared her for the reality. These things were not of nature. The wild cats of the western marshes were deadly predators, and the venomous snakes and biting insects there presented dangers she treated with appropriate caution, but none of them frightened her like these mishmash monsters that shouldn’t exist.
And nothing had sent chilling fear straight to her bones like the hapless wizard currently attacking those monsters with a machete in one hand and a dagger in the other. “Cover me,” she echoed in dismay and disgust. She was no warrior and even she knew better how covering someone worked. The inexperienced sod was going to get himself killed and she wouldn’t be sorry. She would be alone, however, and that prospect that chilled her with a rime of unreasonable terror. She could catch up with the others quickly enough, she consoled herself. She wouldn’t be alone for long, as she’d been for far too much of her life, wandering those formless mists, not knowing if she was alive or dead, awake or asleep, sane or trapped in quivering madness.
“Get a grip on yourself,” she said aloud, drawing an arrow from her quiver. Jadren had slain one hunter, but three more had jumped him, hampering his ability to swing either machete or dagger. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a clear shot, what with him flailing about, trying to extract himself from the formidable teeth and claws of the hunters. She only needed to nick the things, though, not get a clean kill shot. During her time fending for herself in the marshes she’d gotten proficient at skewering the small rats cleanly enough to retrieve her arrow for her precious arsenal. If she could do that, she could at least graze a hunter.
