Soul Fire (16 page)

The next morning it was still drizzling, though the
thunder and lightning had subsided somewhere around
midnight. Again we met for breakfast, though Petre was
absent. In fact, we were almost ready to leave when he
finally staggered down the stairs.

No one was going to vilify him. If he’d slept, then we
were glad. Yasmin swooped on him with two hot steam
buns wrapped in a handkerchief, and though he took them
with a forced smile, he ate very little of them on the ride
there.

“Father apologizes for not accompanying us today,” he
said as we hitched our horses again. “He has matters of the
city to deal with.”

We had already gathered that Lord Hugh was an
important man in the eyes of the city. I’d almost rather be
out here hunting Du’rangors than dealing with paper
work and angry townsfolk.

We set off into the marshes again. I’d made sure to
bring my charm pin with me, as well as renewing the
enchantments on my swords, including the one that I
hoped would preserve them against the Du’rangor’s
venom.

When we reached the trees, I ducked low to avoid the
branches and who knows what insects. The mud was
worse than ever, thanks to the downpour of the previous
day and night.

“I think I’ll split off,” I announced after two hours of
fruitless searching. I was met with blank stares.
“Why?” was all Dena could manage.
“When we were on the Paw Islands, the Du’rangor
didn’t attack me until I was by myself. What if it’s been
watching us this whole time, but won’t attack us until one
of us goes off on our own?”
Silence followed my words, broken only by the insects
and frogs in the marsh water.
“Why don’t we use you as bait?” Theresa suggested.
“We’ll all hide and then-“
“Then what, leap out at it?” I didn’t mean to make her
suggestion sound ridiculous. “The Du’rangor is intelligent.
It’ll know what we’re doing.”
“You’re not going off on your own, Sky,” Dena said
exasperatedly. Behind her, Petre stood immobile. “It’s too
dangerous.”
“I have to,” I pleaded. “We agreed to do this,” I met
Petre’s eyes as he glanced up. “Whatever it takes.”
He nodded once, as though thanking me.
“I’m not saying you guys have to go off on your own,
but I want to try this tactic.”
The others didn’t say anything, so I began to head off in
a different direction. They didn’t follow me, and I was half
glad, half terrified.
The marsh lands seemed to stretch for ages. Whenever
I felt sure that I
had
to be nearing the edge of them, they
just continued, like they were testing how far I’d walk.
I was about to change direction when I noticed prints
in the mud. They were deep depressions, still filling with
water. I crouched, and then looked up ahead.
The Du’rangor was just up ahead. I was trailing
it
I followed the tracks carefully, silently. As they went
on, the frown between my eyebrows deepened in thought.
The Du’rangor wasn’t wandering aimlessly like it had
been when we found its tracks yesterday. It seemed to be
hunting something.
Could it be hunting one of the others? No, surely I’d
come too far for them to have circled around out here.
I put the thought out of my mind. Hopefully it was
stalking a deer or something, and I’d be able to sneak up
on it with relative success. I touched a finger to my ear,
making sure I still had my ear plugs.
I followed the tracks so low to the ground that I
resorted to my hands and knees, not caring that slimy mud
immediately covered my hands and arms. I crawled under
a particularly low tree, peering out from between the
sparse branches silently.
The Du’rangor was before me, in a small clearing
formed by an island of dry land. It had its back to me and
its nose close to the ground. It was tracking, searching. I
swallowed, trying to ease my dry throat. This Du’rangor
was even larger than the one I’d fought on the Paw
Islands.
I began to creep backwards; maybe I could find one of
the others to help, the Du’rangor was moving slowly
enough that I’d be able to find him again with ease.
Just as I began to draw back through the branches, my
eye caught something in the branches of a low slung tree.
A small boot poked out from the flaky bark.
What was a boot doing in a tree? - was my first mad
thought. But then my eyes travelled along the boot, which
was attached to a small leg, which belonged to...
Sammy
. I couldn’t believe my eyes. But there he was,
tucked into the tree branches, stiff with terror, his eyes
huge. His eyes met mine, and from where I was I could see
his tear stained cheeks. He had been able to see me, had
seen me almost leave him behind, but he couldn’t call out
to me without the Du’rangor noticing him.
And that, I realised in another moment, was the most
pressing issue of the moment.
Sammy hadn’t been able to climb high enough; the
trees were just too small. If the Du’rangor noticed him, if
he made just one sound, it would realise where he was,
and either howl its fatal hunting call or, if it was annoyed
enough, claw him so that the poison in its talons would
kill the small boy.
As I was stilling mulling my next move over, the
Du’rangor decided to force my hand. It turned its head,
apparently catching a scent. It was going to see the little
boy above him.
I burst out of the trees without a second thought. I had
only one planted in my mind.
Get Sammy back toPetre.
“Hey, death-breath,” I called, drawing my swords.
“Over here.”
The Du’rangor started, and I felt a small, savage
satisfaction; at least I’d had the element of surprise.
In the very few seconds that I still had that advantage, I
tore the charm from my hairpin, tossing it to Sammy,
who, to his credit, caught it deftly at the same time it
activated. A large bubble erupted from the silver, encasing
him in it completely. If the Du’rangor didn’t like magic, it
would hate that enchantment. Plus, I was pretty sure it
would protect him from the howl, unless I could silence it
first.
“Oh yeah, here I am, meals on wheels, well, legs,” I
wasn’t so good at the banter, but I wanted to keep it
distracted. “I’m a much tastier meal than a little boy. I’ve
got a bit of meat on my bones, because you see,” I lowered
my voice to a pretend whisper. “I’m naughty; I don’t stick
to my diet.”
The Du’rangor paused, confused by my lack of fear. Out
of the corner of my eye, I was rewarded with a grin from
Sammy, who was still clutching the charm in his fingers.
I spun my swords in a circle, just once to get my
muscles loose. The Du’rangor, beginning to regain its
footing, snarled at me, the sound coming up from its belly
like thunder. It clawed the ground underfoot, fixing me
with its luminous eyes. I met its gaze, and then threaded
magic along the length of the blades.
Fire erupted along their lengths, green flames that
flickered and danced, lighting up the clearing around us.
The Du’rangor jerked back, startled.
“I heard you had a thing for magic, so I brought you a
little gift,” I’d realised that when I spoke, it stopped as
though to listen. I lifted one of the swords in front of me,
and the Du’rangor flinched.
“I didn’t think you’d like this,” I murmured, almost to
myself.
The Du’rangor snarled again; I was working it up. It
opened its mouth, baring its three inch fangs at me.
Despite my efforts to look cool and unflustered, my heart
was racing at a million miles an hour. From down here on
the ground, it looked a lot taller. As it began to pace,
uneasy, I spotted a wound on its right flank; white scar
tissue had already knitted over, but it still looked fresh.
If only I’d had skill as an archer. I’d be able to sink a
nice sharp arrow into the wound, maybe distract it a little.
I sheathed one sword and felt for the dagger on my hip,
the one that Jett had given me after my old one
disintegrated. I may not be an archer, but my knifethrowing skills weren’t the worst. I weighted it in my
hand, and then flipped it around so I was carefully
grasping the blade. As the Du’rangor turned to pace again,
still wondering if I was going to be worth eating, I leant
back and then stepped forwards, flinging the knife easily.
It flipped through the air, hilt over blade, finally sinking
point first into the new scar on its hide.
The Du’rangor roared in pain, turning on me with new
fire burning in its eyes. I held both swords at the ready,
but the Du’rangor was done being afraid of the magical
fire that burned along their lengths. It was angry, and now
it was hurt. It didn’t matter anymore if I was going to be a
tasty snack; I was certainly going to be a dead one.
It coiled like a taipan and then sprung at me. At the last
second I dived out of the way, trying to gash its
underbelly with one of the swords. As I hit the mud and
rolled, I was dismayed to see that its underside was, too,
armoured and scaled. I smacked it with a sword anyway,
sparks flying as the sword connected with a solid
chink.
I
scrambled to my feet again as the Du’rangor came back. I
could’ve sworn that it was smiling. It knew now that I did
not have the upper hand, that it, the powerful predator,
the mage killer, had an easy fight on its hands.
I backed away, which was my first big mistake if I
wasn’t counting getting into this fight in the first place.
The Du’rangor was now assured of its victory, and as my
foot slid in the mud and I almost lost my footing, I was
almost certain of it as well.
It sprang again, and I ducked out of the way. It had
been expecting it though, and I was dismayed to see its
paw with claws extended come at me. I moved to the side
again, though I’d been lacking momentum. The claws
instead caught my shirt, gashing it open. I wasted a
precious second checking my exposed stomach, making
sure it hadn’t nicked me.
My skin was unmarked, though now I felt hideously
exposed. The Du’rangor shook the fabric of my shirt from
its paws, irritated. I was frustrating it. The cat was too big,
the mouse too agile.
It began to work up to its howl. I braced myself, hoping
that Petre’s earplugs would do what they were supposed
to, that the charm bubble around Sammy would indeed
hold any sound back.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sammy stuff his
fingers in his ears and was tempted to do the same.
Instead, as the Du’rangor opened its maw to howl at the
sky, I held both swords in one hand and with the other,
conjured a fireball and sent it barrelling down its throat.
The Du’rangor broke off mid howl, choking on the
magic. I thought that might have been the end of it, but it
just came back angrier than ever. I ducked and weaved as
it tried to bite me, tried to claw me, anything that would
make me die, would rid itself of the annoyance so that it
could go back to hunting the small boy, the one it had lost
a week or so ago and was desperately trying to find.
As I dodged another outstretched claw, I saw the hilt of
the knife that I’d hurled into its flank fall onto the ground,
the blade disintegrated from the venom that flowed
through the large cat. I was tiring fast, and I could only
hope that Petre and the others had heard its half howl and
were on their way.
I stepped backwards to avoid it again, swiping at it with
my swords. One connected, and the cat yanked its paw
back as brackish blood began to flow onto the ground. I
allowed myself a small smile, thinking I might have gained
an advantage.
Any ground I might have gained was lost, quite
literally, as I took another step and fell. I’d backed up too
far and had reached the end of the dry land. My foot had
slipped in the mud, and now I was floundering in the
marsh water as the large cat advanced on me. I saw
Sammy in the tree behind it, his eyes huge. My swords
were still alight, but I could hardly see anything to aim at.
Muddy water was in my eyes, the mud on the bottom of
the pool pulling me down, bogging me in its filth.
As the cat lunged at me, mouth open so as to bite me if
its claws failed, I took one last chance and plunged the
sword in my right hand upwards, just at the Du’rangor
filled my vision, its stinking breath worse than the marsh.
My flaming sword entered the roof of its mouth and
kept going until it emerged from the top of its head. The
cat died immediately, slumping on top of me and almost
drowning me in the marsh water. I wriggled out from
underneath it, dislodging my sword from its maw. I
checked my right arm, half expecting to see a large fang
embedded in it somewhere. I wouldn’t have felt it; I was
too high on adrenaline.
I was unmarked though, and I let myself breathe a huge
sigh of relief. I was alive and so was Sammy.
I extinguished the swords, sheathing them in the
scabbards that had somehow managed to remain on my
back, though they’d filled with marsh water when I’d
fallen, the same water that filled my boots and plastered
my clothes to my body. My hair had come loose from its
bun at some point, and was stuck all over my face and
neck. I stank like the marsh. At this point, I wouldn’t have
minded some rain to wash off in.
I approached Sammy, lifting him out of the tree and
through the charm bubble, which popped into
nothingness as my arms reached through it. He was
younger than I’d thought, about four or five, and thin
from spending a week in the marshes.
“Are you alright?” I asked anxiously.
“Yes,” he said nodding. He was trembling from the
cold, as was I. “That was exciting.”
I grinned, setting him on the ground so I could examine
him.
“Maybe if you were the one in the tree.”
He seemed to be fine, apart from being malnourished. I
twisted my fingers so a small flame popped into my palm
and began to dry him off with the same charm that Jett
had used on me after the river.
“My name is Sky,” I said. “I’m a friend of Petre’s. He’s
here looking for you. Let’s go find him, shall we?”
I lifted him easily onto my hip, stooping to pick up the
hilt of the disintegrated knife, tucking it back into the
sheath on my hip. We crossed the marshes faster than I’d
tracked the Du’rangor, though I couldn’t avoid all of the
pockets of the slimy marsh water.
We reached the other side of the marsh just as it began
to rain again. Through the thinning branches, I could see
that the others had regrouped at the horses. I allowed
myself one small smile before ducking through the cover
and out onto the plains.