Dragonsbane (Book 3) (7 page)

Kael was too relieved to argue. “Yes.”

“Very well, then. I’ll do a bit of barding.” Baird’s weathered fingers gripped the knobs of his knees. He was quiet for such a long moment that Kael thought he might’ve fallen asleep. Then quite suddenly, he began:

“Long ago, in an age when the earth was young and the first grains of time had only just slipped through the glass, two lands were born to Fate. The first rose from the sea in the shadow of the setting sun, and so she called them the Westlands. It was a dark place, a quiet place. Fate cast her die and the symbols for power, greed, and war landed upon its shores. Kings fought against Kings. Mages rent the land with their spells. Men cried out to Fate, and she answered. There was always much to cast for in the Westlands.”

Kael had gone back to his reading at the first mention of Fate, but the story slowly drew him in. The words came alive on Baird’s tongue. He closed his eyes and images passed before him — blooming out of the dark in bursts of color and sound.

The battered shores of the Westlands rose in his mind. Blood burned his face as he joined the Kings in battle; he could hear the mighty roar of the earth as it crumbled beneath the mages’ spells. All around him the gaunt faces of men turned skyward. He listened to the thunder as it split the clouds — no, not thunder. It was the sound of Fate’s die rolling across her great table.

His heart slowed its beating and his lungs held their breath. His ears tuned to each bounce and roll. Sweat drenched his brow as he begged for the die to land in his favor …

It’s only a story
.

Kael’s eyes snapped open. He ground his palms against his head and tried to focus on the wall in front of him. It was only a story. He wasn’t going to let himself get pulled back in …

His eyes shut in the middle of this thought and Baird’s voice drowned his ears: “The second land born to Fate was as fair as his brother was fierce. Strength, wisdom, and order fell here — a strange cast of the die. They made the land grow thick and gave life to the trees. White rivers burst from the rocks, their waters swift and chilled. Great storms rose from the depths of the northern seas and lashed the earth with their fury. There were no wars, no mages or Kings. The greatest danger was the land, itself. And so Fate called them the Wildlands.

“For all their beauty, the Wildlands stood empty. So Fate fashioned creatures to live within them. She gave them hooves and wings, teeth and claws — they were sure-footed and strong. There were creatures that could reach the highest peak and the lowest depths of the sea. They would never conquer the land, but live
with
it. Of this, Fate was determined.

“But the wars in the Westlands grew more fierce. Powerful mages drove mankind away and kept them pressed against the desolate shores. The Kings began to try to cross the seas, looking for a new land to settle — and Fate knew it would be only a matter of time before the die landed in their favor. So she traveled deep into her brother’s realm in search of guardians to defend the Wildlands.

“Death, who loves to bargain, gave her fourteen souls in exchange for this: once each year, Fate must turn her face from the Wildlands and allow Death to rule. It’s a bargain they’ve kept to this very day.”

“Who were the fourteen souls?” Kael said. He knew full well which day Fate turned her face from the earth, but he hadn’t heard anything about the souls. And he didn’t want Baird to skip over it.

Baird’s head rose from his chest slowly, as if he woke from a deep sleep. “I’m getting to that. Be patient, young man.”

Kael shut his mouth.

“They were the souls of seven men and seven mages — heroes who’d proven themselves worthy during their lives in the Westlands, but had perished before their time. To the seven men, Fate gave great strength and long lives. They would clear the land of monsters so that their offspring might grow in peace. They would protect the people of the Wildlands. And so the seven men became known as
knights
.

“To the seven mages, Fate revealed all the secrets of the earth. The mages forgot their language of spells and instead learned the groaning tongue of the wilds. They were to be intercessors, voices that would speak for the land and protect its secrets from the children of the knights — who might unwittingly destroy them. The seven mages each received a token from Fate, a token of dark and terrible power: they would forsake their human souls and become like animals. So they were called
barbarians
—”

“Shapechangers.” Kael didn’t remember standing up. He was vaguely aware of how his fists were clenched. His nails dug into his palms, but the fire that filled his head numbed the pain. “They’re shapechangers — not barbarians.”

Baird’s head lifted again, his bandaged face tilted in Kael’s direction. “No, they’re … friends of yours?”

When he didn’t reply, Baird smiled triumphantly.

“Your words came from somewhere very deep — bursting as if they rode the last wind of a long journey. But still potent, despite their climb. Such a powerful stand against one small word could only mean friendship.” He leaned against the wall as if he’d uncovered a great secret.

But Kael had uncovered a secret as well. He smiled back and said simply: “You’re a whisperer.”

Chapter 7

The Huntsman

Baird’s mouth went slack. “I … how did you know?”

“I have my ways,” Kael replied.

It was the only explanation. Even Roland with his growling voice had never told a story that sounded so alive. If a whisperer could command others by the power of his words, then surely he could entrance them.

“You’re a craftsman.”

Baird slumped against the walls. “Oh Fate, I’ve failed you! He’s going to turn me over to the King. Now I shall never reach the mountains —!”

“I’m not going to turn you over to anybody,” Kael said quickly, before he could work himself into wails. “I just thought …”

He caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. A shadow stood outside their shelter, hanging near the edge of the trees. Kael was still trying to figure out what it was when the shadow slipped away.

“Wait here.”

He grabbed his bow and slung the quiver across his shoulder. The rain had stopped, but the air was still damp. His boots pressed carefully into the soggy earth as he inched towards the tree line. His eyes swept across the brambles; his thumb traced the fletching of a nocked arrow. He was prepared to draw back at the first sign of danger.

A long moment passed and the shadow never reappeared. Kael wondered if he’d only been imagining it. He was about to turn back for the shelter when the snap of a twig drew his gaze to the left.

Two glowing eyes watched him from the brambles, and Kael recognized their haughty light immediately. “Silas?”

The halfcat didn’t reply.

“How did you find us? When did you …?” Then he remembered how the door had slammed open the night they left Frome’s Refuge, and how rations kept disappearing from the merchant’s vessel. He suddenly figured it out. “You stowed away and followed us to the Grandforest. Why didn’t you just —?”

A low, rumbling growl came from Silas’s hairy throat and the glow of his eyes dimmed as he slunk half a pace back into the shadows.

“You want me to follow you?” Kael guessed.

Silas blinked.

“Why? Is something wr —?”

“Kael? Oh, Kaaael?”

He turned — and was alarmed to see Baird stumbling from the shelter, nearly bent double under the weight of their packs.

“Kael?”

“Over here, Baird!” He grabbed the bard by his knobby wrist and latched him onto the hem of his tunic.

Silas growled again. His full furry head stuck out from the brambles, now. And Kael knew by the way his whiskers bunched up around his nose that he was getting impatient. “All right, we’re coming.”

“Coming where?” Baird said from behind him.

“Going, I mean,” Kael said quickly. “We’re moving on.”

“Why?”

Kael wasn’t sure. “Just march, will you?”

Silas moved effortlessly through the trees, and Kael had to walk quickly in order to keep the flicking end of his tail in sight — a task made more difficult by the fact that he had Baird dragging down on his tunic.

They’d gone several yards when Silas came to a halt. He turned back, facing the direction they’d come, and crouched.

Kael mirrored him. Orange light from their fire glowed faintly through the hairline cracks in the rotted shelter. Now that evening had darkened it, he thought the monstrous tree looked a bit like a log glowing in a hearth.

Just when he was about to ask Silas what they were waiting for, a large shadow passed above the shelter. It floated across the toppled tree, its blackened skin eclipsing the fiery cracks.

For a long moment it did nothing but circle. Kael lost track of how many times the shadow went around. Then without warning, it disappeared … and something far more troublesome took its place.

He heard their heavy footsteps before he saw them: three monstrous, hunched creatures — three devils of the night. They lumbered up to the shelter, dragging themselves forward on their front claws while their backs followed at a hop. One by one, they slipped inside. Kael could see their shadows moving around as they searched.

Baird must’ve been able to sense that something was wrong. He spoke at hardly a whisper. “What is it?”

Kael’s tongue stuck to the back of his throat. “Monsters,” he choked.

“What sort? Trolls? Goblins?”

“Worse.” Kael watched in horror as one of the monsters trotted out with Baird’s sopping cloak gripped in its jaws. It swung the garment about violently. He could hear the faint ripping of thread at it broke across the seams.

Somehow, Kael forced himself to turn. “We should …”

But the space beside him was empty. Silas was gone.

The other two monsters loped from the shelter and joined their companion. They growled to one another as they tore at the cloak. He could hear their sharp breaths as they dragged their noses across the wool. Then all at once, they stopped.

The monsters’ heads swiveled behind them and they took off at a gallop, panting loudly as they vanished into the shadows cast by the trees.

It was only after they’d gone that Kael realized just how tightly he’d been clenching his fists. He knew they had to get moving. They needed to find Kyleigh. Where in Kingdom’s name had she run off to?

When he turned, he saw Baird’s mouth parted slightly beneath his beard, as if he’d been about to say something. “What is it?”

“I … that is …” He licked his lips. “Do you ever get the feeling someone is … watching you?”

Baird spoke as if there was a hand clamped around his throat. His face went pale beneath his beard. His limbs stiffened with a dead man’s chill. Kael’s heart thudded in his throat as he leaned to peer over Baird’s shoulder.

Two glittering eyes peered back.

A monster crept out of the darkness. It looked exactly like the wolf monsters in Bartholomew’s Pass — except this creature was a mix between a man and a hound. The monster’s fingers were swollen around a set of short, dark claws. A saddle of black fur sprouted in uneven patches down its twisted back. The tattered remains of a tunic and chainmail hung across its chest. The links of the armor had melded into its skin, clinging like scales to its torso and shoulders.

Kael stood, frozen, as the hound raised its head in their direction. Waves of loose skin fell over its eyes. The flesh bulged and swelled as if its face had been badly burned. A man’s nose, stretched so widely that it had split down the middle, flared as the hound sucked in the night air.

Thick folds of skin hung off its cheeks and sagged on either side of its mouth. Monstrous teeth smacked together, their sharp white tips dripping as the swollen nostrils breathed in. Then it arched its neck and let out a blood-chilling howl.

Kael knew what was coming next. There wasn’t time for anything else: he kicked Baird aside and sent an arrow straight into hound’s drooping mouth.

Its gangly limbs convulsed as the arrow’s head erupted out the back of its skull and drops of blood sprayed in and arc behind it. A breath later the monster landed — dead — at Kael’s boots.

“What in Kingdom’s …?”

His ears cringed against a familiar sound: a howl drifted through woods, rising and falling over the trees. More howls joined the first. They filled the damp air with a song of wails.

Baird moaned and clutched his beard. “It’s the Huntsman. His hounds bay for blood!”

Kael didn’t have time to argue. He grabbed Baird around the arm and hauled him into the trees.

Howls filled the woods at their backs — a song of wails that rose and fell in a constant stream. Soon they became like the breath of a steady wind, the growl of a storm growing closer. They shrilled until the forest fell silent. The cry of owls, the fluttering of the leaves, even the crickets’ song went hushed. It was as if every tree held its breath, as if they knew they were about to witness a slaughtering.

Meanwhile, the hounds pierced the air in a chorus of desperate yelps.
No more!
They seemed to wail.
Please — no more!

Every bump that rose across Kael’s skin trembled against the baying. They bunched together so closely that it made his hide go taut over his bones. He stumbled forward as the joints of his knees struggled to bend, fighting against the strangling grip of his skin. 

His heart thudded in his ears; the tips of his fingers went cold as he ripped through the thorns. His breath slid out between a dagger’s edge of space. Then quite suddenly, the howling stopped.

“What is it? What’s happened?”
Baird hissed.

“I’m not sure.”

Kael glanced back over his shoulder, but couldn’t see a blasted thing. The moon cast a weak light around them — hardly illuminating anything beyond a few feet. With the baying stopped, their steps sounded impossibly loud. He grit his teeth and charged on. If they wanted to live, they had to keep moving.

Kael wasn’t sure how long they ran. He dragged Baird by his elbow and fought madly through the tangled mane of the forest. A thick wall of brush rose in front of him, stretching far to either side. He dropped his shoulder and charged through with all of his strength.

Vines grasped at him. Wiry branches whipped him across the face. He grimaced as he felt himself lose one of his curls. When he finally burst from the wall’s grasp, he was off balance. He stumbled into a dark clearing and heard Baird crash behind him with a yelp.

“Baird?” Kael hissed.

The leaves were woven so tightly above them that not even the moonlight could filter through. He couldn’t see his fingers well enough to count them. He stepped around and swung his hands before him, hoping he’d stumble upon the beggar-bard. He thought he’d found him, once — but it was only his rucksack.

He called again, but Baird didn’t answer. So Kael had no choice. He dug through his pack until his hands found a lantern and flint. He struck the flint against his dagger and was relieved when the sparks finally caught onto the oil-soaked wick.

Gnarled roots stretched out in every direction. Their tangled shadows fled from the lantern’s pale flame and seemed to wriggle like snakes. He found Baird lying behind him, his body crumpled beneath his filthy rucksack.

The beggar-bard groaned and his scraggly head lolled as Kael shook him. “Are you hurt?”

Baird clutched piteously at his face. “Oh, I’m wounded! Oh, it aches!”

There was an impressive amount of foliage lodged in his mane and a few hairline bramble scratches cut from his beard. There might’ve been one, perhaps
two
drops of blood weeping from the largest scrape, but that was it. “I think you’ll live,” Kael muttered. “Come on, we’d better get moving.”

But Baird wasn’t listening. He grimaced as his knobby fingers edged down to his wound. “What’s this? It’s sticky, and it smells like …” He brought a stained hand to his nose and the skin beneath his layer of filth went white. “Blood!
Blood
!”

As if Kael’s heart hadn’t been pounding hard enough already, the wails that tore from Baird’s throat nearly made it stop. “
Shhh
! Shut it!”

Baird clamped both hands over his mouth and moaned between his fingers. “What will we do? What can be done …? You must leave me, young man!” he said suddenly. “Go, flee into the woods and may Fate protect you. Take this with you.” He thrust out his filthy rucksack. “Guard it well!”

“I’m not leaving you,” Kael said. He’d dealt with Crevan’s monsters before, and he doubted very seriously that they were interested in the blood of a beggar-bard. “We haven’t heard anything in a long while. They’ve probably given u —”

A roar, and Baird was gone — flung several feet away by the monstrous, fleshy mass that slammed into him. A cry tore from Kael’s throat as he sent an arrow into the hound’s back.

The monster yelped and arched away from Baird. It twisted around and the pits beneath its drooping brow locked onto Kael. Then it charged.

No sooner did he get an arrow nocked than he heard thundering steps behind him. He threw himself to the ground just as a second hound burst from the woods.

Twin yelps pierced his ears as the hounds collided. Bright red blood leaked across the first hound’s back. He could see it glistening at the base of the arrow buried in its shoulder. The second hound wrapped its jaws around the wounded hound’s throat and tore — showering the root floor with a spray of blood.

There was no time to be horrified, no time to panic. Kael tried to block the sounds from his ears and charged for Baird.

He clung tightly to the filthy rucksack as Kael dragged him to his feet. His bandaged head turned back as they ran; his mouth hung open beneath his shaggy beard. “I hear the crackling of sinew and the shriek of muscle torn from bone. Are they … eating each other? What madness could drive a dog to eat his brother?”

“They aren’t dogs,” Kael gasped. “Keep m —”

The breath left his lungs and his feet left the ground. He managed to catch a tree on the shoulder — the only thing that saved him from splitting his head. The tree whipped him around and drove him belly-first into the knotted floor. The world was still spinning when he forced himself to stand.