The Golden Apple (20 page)

The creature gave a sniff, then gingerly extended its arm. The cut was deep, and Rane reached out his hand, took the arm gently.

The creature flinched at his touch.

“It’s all right. I won’t hurt you.” He applied the salve to skin that was soft and crinkled under his fingertips. He wrapped the bandage tight.

He was so close to the creature, he smelled the dried meat it had taken from his pack on its breath, and the wet stone smell of the river. “What is your name?”

It twisted its arm this way and that, admiring the bandage. Then it smiled, and Rane had to force himself not to jerk back. Its teeth were sharp, the canines long, like a wolf’s. “Shh.” It lifted a long finger to its lips, then pointed down the valley. “Nasty, there.”

“A nasty man? A nasty place?” Rane raised a hand to block the glare of midday sun, but he could see nothing.

“Hidden.” It nodded. “Nasty man, nasty place.”

“I have to go there.” Rane pulled his boots towards him and tugged them on. His clothes had already started to dry in the heat, but in places they clung to him, damp and cool. He shivered as a light breeze blew down the valley.

“No, no, no, no, no.” It clicked its tongue. “Nasty.”

“I know it’s nasty. Believe me, I know.” Rane picked up his pack, delving around for another stick of dried meat. He held it out. “I still have to go. Will you show me?”

The thing shook its head, lifted a leg and pointed to a deep scar running from thigh to knee. “Nasty.” It bared its teeth.

“I understand.” Rane kept holding out the meat, and eventually, tentatively, it took the gift. “Sorry I cut you.” He took out a spare bandage and the ointment, held them out as well.

The thing took them with delight, chortling and cradling them to its body.

Its face fell as Rane began walking in the direction it had pointed. “No. No.”

Rane turned. “I have to.”

It took a step towards him, then halted. “Bye, bye.” It waved, its voice forlorn.

Rane returned the wave, then headed towards the open space where Eric’s castle must be.

When he looked over his shoulder, it was still there, its hand raised in a salute. Whatever it was, it knew this place, knew Eric, even better than he did. And it did not think he would be coming back.

Chapter Twenty-seven

T
here was something at the far end of the valley. Rane moved his head one way, then the other, trying to pin it down. Elusive as a shadow, it seems to always be on the move.

He came at it at an angle, circled it, rather than approaching it straight on, and it disappeared completely. Then, as he tightened the circle, slanted in, he felt the first cool touches of a mist on his face, and suddenly he was in a white fog, moisture beading his clothes and his face, clinging to his hair.

The quiet meadow sounds faded, the rush of the river, the rustle of grass. Silence took hold, squeezing everything else out, rendering him deaf and blind.

He stumbled, disoriented, and caught movement—fast, dark, furtive. Something ran across his path.

He crouched, lowering his bags quietly to the ground, his knife already out, his thumb just over the dragon.

He moved sideways, still low to the ground, deeper into the mist. Something came at him again, the fog swirling and eddying around it as it ran straight for where he had been.

He heard a grunt of anger, then a growl, and every hair on the back of his neck lifted.

Whatever hunted him, it was not human.

He was so close to it, he could smell it, the cold, black smell of dark lakes far below ground.

Eric had dug deep to find this guard dog.

It went very still, the moment stretching out. He could feel it listening, and then it sniffed the air.

Rane tensed, waiting for it to come to him. Felt the moment it turned his way, nostrils flared. He rose from his crouch, knees still bent, ready.

It sprang, silent, and as it leapt, Rane brought his thumb down on the dragon. The blade lengthened to sword-length and the creature screamed, howled, as the tip slid into its flesh. It thrashed against the pain, and Rane’s arms were wrenched as it fought the knife.

He hauled back, pulling the knife out and up. He swung it across where he thought the throat was, and with a gurgle, the beast fell.

Rane stepped closer, crouched beside it, and the fog cleared a little. It was a grindylow. It lay dead, its shaggy green hair matted, its mouth drawn back in a rigid snarl.

He’d only seen one once, when he was twelve, by a stream. The grindylow had risen from the dark, weed-clogged water, hands tipped with sharp nails, clawing for him. He’d leapt back, run from it, and it had not pursued him.

But this was no woodland stream grindylow. This one had a dark, almost black-green pelt, and it was huge.

But more surprising, it was far from any stream. The river was behind Rane. The grindylow had approached from the front. What water source had it come from?

From the smell of it, someplace stagnant and deep.

Rane rose, knife held out, thumb just off the dragon. Every step he took was careful.

Something loomed in the mist, and he went down on his haunches, edging forward slowly.

It was a well.

A sound, the slither and scrape of claws on stone, came from the right. He stayed very still, eyes straining in the swirling white. For just one moment, the fog parted and he saw a second grindylow crouched beside another well. Its focus was ahead, and it moved off, quiet and lethal.

There was a change in the light in front of him, and Rane caught a brief glimpse of blue sky between the two wells.

They were the pillars of a gateway.

His heart beat faster as the realization came to him.

Eric was almost in his reach.

* * *

Sooty waited for them, tail flicking impatiently. She’d run after a hare, its scream short and sharp, and now it lay discarded, a bloody mess beside her on the path. She was panting in the heat.

Kayla watched her with heavy, burning eyes, and tried to infuse her own step with a little of the bounding joy of her cat.

Soren trudged behind her, silent and withdrawn. He still didn’t trust her and he hated the wild magic that followed them.

He’d taken to counting it, muttering the number under his breath, as if each new sphere was another mark against her, but he’d tired of the game. Or there were no new spheres to count. Perhaps they had all the spheres in the forest with them.

Kayla looked around and thought it might be possible. There were certainly a hundred or more. An army of them.

She knew he thought he was dealing with the enemy. That he was consorting with the one thing he and Rane had fought against, betraying both himself and his brother.

She reached Sooty, found herself unable to resist sitting down. She leant against a tree and watched Soren as he walked towards her.

He said nothing, but sank down against a tree of his own.

“We both need sleep. We can’t go on without rest.” She’d known it. Soren had known it. And still, they had not stopped to rest since they left the clearing, walking through the night, and as the dawn broke, and as the morning sun began to heat the air.

They had followed the trail Rane had made, the way easy to see because he’d had to fight his way along the overgrown path, and there were signs of his passage everywhere.

Kayla wondered where he was going. To Eric’s castle? Eric would not have waited in Gaynor for their return. He would want to be on his own territory, behind his own walls. He’d want no one to know about or understand his advantage, would want privacy when they brought him the gem.

It seemed to her, though, that they must be much slower than Rane, compelled by the enchantment and fit as he was. And she was desperate to get to him before he approached Eric.

Time was running out.

She slid down to the soft forest floor, curled up, and heard Sooty shuffle until she was pressed up against Kayla’s back.

Kayla opened an eye, saw Soren leaning against his tree, eyes closed.

They were right on the path, dangerously exposed, but they had Sooty to watch them, and they could go no further.

She lay, half-awake, half dreaming, and sunk slowly into the blissful black of sleep.

She would have sworn she was only under for a few minutes at most, but when the shout woke her, the first thing she noticed was the long afternoon shadows. Her mouth was dry, and a headache pounded her skull.

Sooty had not left her side, and she sat, alert, ears pointed forward.

The shout came again, and with a start, Kayla realized it was Soren.

As she stood, he started screaming.

She ran towards the sound, Sooty beside her. Something moved, quick and sly, to the side of her, and heart pounding, Kayla turned her head to look.

It was a sphere of wild magic.

Her fear eased, and she ignored it, concentrating on running without tripping as she kept pace with Sooty along the narrow track. It was off the main path, and Kayla wondered why Soren had come down here.

His screams cut off abruptly and she was at last able to hear the hiss of a river. Her throat convulsed at the thought of cool, fresh water, and she understood why he had taken this path.

She burst out of the trees onto the bank of a wide stream, and stopped just short of a mud-slicked battleground. The smell of fresh clay and water hung in the air.

A tall, lithe woman was sitting straddled over Soren’s chest. Her body was covered in scratches and mud, her thin white dress torn, exposing a perfect breast.

Soren hadn’t been easily subdued.

As Kayla watched, the woman pressed a long, sharpened stick into the joint between his arm and shoulder. A thin, weak sound came from his throat and Soren pushed at her with ineffectual hands.

The woman pulled back and Kayla noticed webbing between her fingers. Her feet had splayed, webbed toes.

“Stop!”

The woman jerked, turned an astonishingly beautiful face to Kayla.

Beside Kayla, Sooty hissed, arching her back.

The woman rose to her feet, quick and graceful as a bird, her eyes on Sooty. She stepped over Soren, closer to the water. Soren rolled away from her, towards Kayla.

“He is yours?” The woman’s voice was not a voice, but the sound of water gurgling and bubbling, strung together to make words.

Kayla shook her head. “He is the brother of the one who is mine.”

“Then give him back to me.”

Kayla shook his head again. “You were hurting him.”

The woman laughed, a twisted, babbling brook of a laugh. “Yes. I was hurting him.” She lunged, suddenly, at Soren, her long, slender arms reaching for him, and Kayla’s hands flashed.

The woman leapt back, crying out, her right hand cradled in her left.

Kayla was unsure what she had done. Burnt her? Stung her? She did not even know how she had managed to react so quickly.

Something touched Kayla from behind, and she risked a quick look. Saw the wild magic sphere that had followed her was right behind her, nudging her. It rose up, just behind and a little above her head.

When she turned back, the woman was gone.

“Can you walk?” Kayla crouched beside Soren. He’d dragged himself to her, and she wondered what was wrong with his legs.

“Can’t feel my legs.” He was gasping for air, as if his ribs were broken, and his lips didn’t move as he spoke. “Can’t feel anywhere she touched. It’s all cold.” His body shook.

Kayla cursed for the hundredth time that they did not have the apple. She put a hand on his leg. Pictured the cold seeping out of it. Her hand glowed.

Soren raised his gaze to hers. “That worked.”

She did the other leg, his chest, his arms. “Where else?”

He touched his face, and she placed a hand flat against each cheek. She could not look at him, it seemed…too intimate, so she closed her eyes as she wished him warm again.

He drew his first deep, normal, breath, and she opened her eyes again. Was caught in a gaze so like Rane’s her heart thundered.

“Thank you.” He pushed away from her, and stood.

She stood with him and they both looked towards the stream.

“She’s still there. I can feel her.” Soren’s fists clenched.

“What is she?”

He looked at her strangely. “She’s an asrai. A water spirit.”

Kayla blinked. He spoke as if it were common knowledge. Well, not in the royal household of Gaynor. “I’ve never heard of them.”

“If I walk towards the edge, she’ll leap out to get me. When she does, will you do something to her? So she cannot get anyone else?”

Kayla did not look at him, keeping her eyes on the water. “You like giving yourself up for sacrifice, don’t you? Burning Nuen’s tower, wanting to go back for the apple. Now this.”

He shrugged. “Will you?”