Extraordinary Zoology (10 page)

Kinik stopped in place.

Edrea stepped behind Pendrake and Horgash and aimed her rifle between them, at the fog drake only she could see. “It’s big, Professor. Too big. Coming from that way, underwater, swimming with its wings.”

“Hah!” Pendrake exclaimed. “Lynus, I told you that was what those were for! Too small for flight on any specimen we’ve examined.”

Much too small on this one
, Edrea thought.

Lynus arrived at her side, great sword out and wavering, far too large for his grip.

“Where do you need me?” he asked.

“Behind Horgash,” Edrea said. The trollkin would be more effective leading a charge.

“Last time the boy fought behind me he shot me,” Horgash grumbled.

Edrea made a mental note to be very careful not to shoot Horgash. She’d only get one shot, anyway. Had to wait until the beast slowed down a bit . . . 

“It’s speeding up. I think it means to lunge out at us.”

Then the drake changed course again, and Edrea realized that by putting Kinik out of accidental cleaver-reach, she’d staked out much closer bait than the horses.

“Kinik! It’s coming for you, just a little to your right.” As she shouted, Horgash started to move. “Blade up, butt down, you might be able to—”

The fog drake burst out of the water, wings flat against its side. It was easily three times the size of Horgash’s bison, thirty feet long, and all thirty of those feet were airborne.

Horgash was already running toward Kinik, shouting. It was a horrific sound, like he was screaming through a slit throat, the Molgur-Trul words from his tongue distorted.

The drake turned its head to Horgash and twisted in the air, presenting its throat and flank to Kinik, who took a half step back and planted the butt of her war cleaver in the mud.

The blade, however, pointed at empty air. Even at this range, Kinik couldn’t see what was coming. She probably couldn’t see the end of her weapon.

Ogrun, fog drake, and trollkin all collided in the same screeching, screaming instant.

“Fish anatomy, not lizard!” shouted Lynus, starting forward with his sword in front of him. “No jugular in front!”

“Take my left, lad!” Pendrake shouted and charged toward the din.

Lynus ran behind and to the left of Pendrake, both hands gripping the haft of his sword over his head, the trailing blade readied for a wicked chop.

“Biggest vessels run along the spine! Hard to get to!” Lynus yelled.

Kinik was pinned in the mud beneath one of the drake’s three-clawed feet, the center claw resting in a dent in her breastplate. She had one hand just above the butt of her polearm, but even with one hand and no leverage she was able to swing the massive blade around and swat the drake’s hind flank in a failed attempt to get it to lift its foreleg.

Edrea looked for a good target, and found none.

Horgash struck thrice at the drake’s head, leaving only shallow wounds against the heavy scales. The creature snapped at him, clearly hoping to brush him off so it could focus on turning Kinik into a proper meal.

Pendrake ran to Horgash’s right and lunged at the snapping drake. It saw him coming before he had a target and drew its head back.

Pendrake’s sword flashed through empty air.

Horgash lunged as the creature began another strike, his counter perfectly timed and aimed straight for sensitive sinus cavities until Lynus’ blade arrived. His overhead swing came down hard on Horgash’s sword, deflecting it, and both blades went point-first into the mud. The drake’s enormous head slammed into Horgash and Lynus simultaneously, knocking them apart and five paces back.

Edrea had a clear shot.

She squeezed the trigger, her rifle thundered, and the drake’s left eye exploded. The monster bellowed in rage and swung its head, fixing its remaining eye on Edrea.

Then it charged.

Fog drakes, Edrea recalled, were swift aquatic predators but seemed lazy on land. The advantage their fog glands provided them meant they could usually waddle up to their next meal while it grazed stupidly on swamp heather.

But this charge was no waddle. The fog drake was wounded and angry.

No time to reload, no time to draw her sword. There were spells, but . . . Edrea reversed her grip on the stock and swung the rifle like a club.

The drake was leading with an open maw, a behavior ingrained, perhaps, by eating prey that couldn’t see. Edrea’s swing connected with a tooth and broke it.

She used the momentum of her swing to throw herself out of the way. The drake barreled past her, a clawed foot just missing as it ran. It redoubled its howling. It was certainly disoriented, running away from the safety of the lake.

Terrified whinnying pierced the air, closely followed by a horrific crunch.

Not running away. Running toward the easiest meal.

Edrea rolled to look. The drake had taken Codex to the ground and was now curled atop and around him, tearing off chunks as the poor animal shuddered. The horse’s amber outline vanished, like an extinguished candle.

Aeshnyrr and Oathammer had broken their leads and were galloping pell-mell up the rise and out of the hollow. Greta was snorting and stamping, as if preparing to charge.

“The horses!” shouted Pendrake.

“Over here!” Edrea called back. She pulled a round from her belt and chambered it. She snapped the breach closed and aimed again at the fog drake, stepping to where she could see its remaining eye.

Of course
, she thought, a half-second too late,
that also means its remaining eye can see me
.

The drake lashed out with its tail, slamming hard into Edrea and sending her sprawling. She lost hold of her rifle but retained the spinning band of runes about her wrist, her arcane vision still sharp. The rifle did not, she noted with relief, land muzzle-first in the mud. It would be a shame to survive this only to get dressed down like Lynus had.

“To me!” Pendrake shouted. Kinik, Horgash, and Lynus were up and running after him.

But Pendrake was charging Greta, whose snorting was louder than the drake’s.

“Bear left!” Edrea yelled. “And watch out for that tail!”

Pendrake stopped to reorient himself. Kinik and Horgash were now closer to the drake than he was, with Kinik in the lead. The ogrun seemed perfectly on target this time. Edrea guessed that the mist thinned farther from the lake.

Kinik delivered a powerful, crouching sweep with her cleaver and took the fog drake’s right hind leg out from under it. The blade stuck deep in the shank.

Horgash ran straight up the drake’s back, reversed both sword-grips as he ran, and plunged them down toward its spine.

Both swords hit scale and bone, skipping out to the sides.

The drake twisted and bucked, turning to face the others, and Horgash flew off its neck into the mud. Kinik wrenched her blade free but dropped to one knee with the effort.

Pendrake ran up behind Kinik as she crouched. “Kinik! Brace!” She froze, then grunted in surprise as the professor planted a running step squarely in the center of her back and leaped onto the drake’s neck.

He too reversed his grip, one hand on the hilt of his ancient, unnatural sword and one hand on the pommel. He thrust the blade deep into the base of the fog drake’s long neck, piercing scale like it was paper. The drake screamed in agony, arching its back. Pendrake clung tightly to the sword, twisting viciously. The drake continued to thrash.

Kinik stood and swept again with her polearm, roaring with exertion. Her bellow almost drowned out the meaty crunch her war cleaver made when she buried it in the bone of the drake’s left foreleg.

The drake toppled, and Pendrake rode it over, continuing to savage the beast with the embedded blade.

Horgash came stumbling out of the mud, swords at the ready, but by the time he reached the drake’s head the beast was still, its amber outline gone from Edrea’s sight.

“Is everybody okay?” Lynus called into the mist.

“I feel ten years younger,” Horgash said with a broad smile.

“I feel two feet shorter,” said Kinik with a grin.

“I feel like a moment of silence,” Pendrake said, staring down at the remains of Codex. He shook his head sadly. “Morrow, but he was a fine animal.” He pointed up the rise. “But unless we all feel like walking, we ought to give quick chase.”

Aeshnyrr and Oathammer hadn’t run far—just up and out of the fog—and Horgash’s bison, Greta, hadn’t gone anywhere. Their bolting had resulted in a few scrapes, but nothing serious.

Unfortunately, the trail Edrea had been following was destroyed. As the mist began to fade—much of it had been the fog drake’s work—no further tracks were visible.

“The Tharn have gotten away from us,” Edrea announced, examining yet another horse-trampled bramble. “That clear, clumsy trail is gone now.”

“No,” said Horgash. “It ended here.”

Pendrake nodded. “He’s right.”

“I’d have been right if I said something. As soon as we crossed that ridge into the mist, I thought to myself, ‘This would be a great spot for an ambush,’ but somebody,” he pounded his fist against his breastplate for emphasis, “
somebody
has spent too many years trading instead of leading the marching warriors.”

“I knew it!” said Lynus. He waved a tiny book up at Horgash. “You weren’t just a warrior. You led them! And not just as a warband leader or kithkar. You’ve got Bragg’s blood in you.”

Edrea chided herself for not figuring it out sooner. Horgash was a fell caller, one of the warrior singers of the trollkin whose ballads could turn the tides of battle, and whose shouts could rend flesh.

At least, he used to be, until something ruined his voice.

Horgash scowled at Lynus with a furrowed brow. Edrea thought for just a moment he might strike the young man. Then the trollkin’s expression softened.

“What gave me away?” he asked.

“When you jumped at that fog drake,” Lynus said, “you shouted something, and I thought it sounded like poetry. I’ve never met anybody who yelled poems at the enemy.”

“Lots of soldiers are poets,” Pendrake said.

Horgash rolled his eyes and turned back to Lynus. “Go on. How’d you figure it out?”

“Well, one of the books I packed was Cole’s
Guide to the Verse of Immoren’s Trollkin
. The very first section is devoted to the famous battle calls of Bragg, and speculation regarding their impact.”

“No impact anymore. Not unless you count ragged breathing and a sore throat.”

“Well, the bit you shouted was
iron sinew, proven blade
from ‘Ballad of the Hero.’” Lynus held the book open and pointed at the page for emphasis. “Commonly shouted as battle is joined, Cole says.” He closed the book and looked up at Horgash with something approaching awe. “The way you tore into that drake, I thought maybe you were using trollkin magic.”

“No magic, boy. Years of practice, and ten seconds of desperation. I’ve got Bragg’s blood, yes, but his gift is gone.” Horgash lowered his head and shook it. “I haven’t been able to call for years, but sometimes, in the heat of a fight I still try.”