Wild Born
Page 42
Abeke could hardly believe her eyes. This man, her enemy, had saved her life, only to be rewarded by treachery. A stab in the back. The lowest blow one could deliver. As Abeke drew nearer to her rescuer, Zerif ran to Shane, picking him up. The tall Greencloak got tangled up with an Amayan fighter. The woman’s viper struck at him from behind, but the Greencloak’s otter bit it just below the head. Though the snake thrashed, the otter refused to let go. A moment later, the tall man clubbed his opponent with the hilt of his sword, knocking her unconscious.
Zerif and the others fled up the rock-strewn slope. He carried Shane over his shoulder, with Shane’s saber in his hand. Zerif looked back at Abeke, his eyes frantic. “Hurry! This way!”
Abeke shook her head with a strangely calm certainty. “We’re over! I’m not on your side, Zerif!”
At first Zerif looked stunned. Then his eyes became cold and furious. His jackal was with him, uninjured, but Shane’s wolverine was limping. Some other survivors had joined them, but they were battered and beaten. All but one lacked their animals. Zerif was out of allies.
Abeke set an arrow to the string of her bow. “Go, or arrows start flying.”
After one last withering glare, Zerif turned and started up the mountainside at inhuman speed.
The tall Greencloak turned to Abeke.
“You have the talisman?” he asked.
She took her arrow from the string and fingered the Granite Ram. “Yes.”
“And you’re with us now?”
“If you want me.”
The Greencloak gave a curt nod. “We want you. And we need you. I’m Tarik.”
Tarik moved to the side of the fallen bearded man. The Zhongese girl knelt next to him, as did a smaller, balding man with a raccoon. Jhi sniffed the wound where the sword protruded.
“Heal him!” the girl insisted to her panda. “That’s what you do, right? Or help me heal him. What should I do?”
“Not all wounds can be healed,” the bearded man gasped. “That ram got Jools, but not before my bear gave me one last burst of strength. I’ve never lifted half so much weight.”
Jhi licked the girl, who wept openly. “Save him,” she repeated in soft sobs.
The bearded man held the hand of the balding one. “You were the best company a man could ask for, Monte,” he said, his voice falling to little more than a whisper. “A real friend.” He took a jagged breath. “Don’t forget to tell folks I threw a Great Beast off a cliff.”
“There will be stories and songs,” Monte promised.
“Sorry to leave you early.”
“I’ll be along by and by,” the balding man said, tears falling down his cheeks.
The bearded man looked up at Tarik. As he wheezed, blood dribbled from his lips into his beard. “If it can be managed, dispose of me in a green cloak.”
“Nothing would be more fitting,” Tarik said.
The bearded man tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Monte leaned close, whispering to him. The bearded man’s chest kept hitching in gurgling spasms, then stopped.
“I can’t believe he killed a Great Beast,” the boy with the wolf said numbly.
“Arax is not dead,” Tarik said. “It would take more than a fall, even such a high one. The Great Beasts have too much life in them. Still, if we hurry, we might get away.” Though his tone was practical, Abeke thought the man looked very tired. And very sad.
Monte raised his head. “Barlow’s gone. I’d rather not leave him here.”
“The trick will be getting him to the horses,” Tarik said. “We’ll manage it.”
Uraza snarled in agreement.
“What if they try to ambush us?” the boy with the wolf asked.
Tarik’s expression darkened, and he stroked the hilt of his sword. “I honestly hope they do.”
18 THE FALLEN
CONOR LEANED AGAINST THE HIGHEST PARAPET ON SUNSET Tower, looking west, a light breeze ruffling his hair. The tower provided a lofty vantage point, but the mountains where they had confronted Arax were too far away to see. Briggan sat beside him, nuzzling his hand.
They had made it back to Sunset Tower yesterday afternoon. The group had traveled quickly, chased by the constant worry that Arax might catch up with them or that Zerif might stage an ambush. But nobody had troubled them.
Barlow now rested below the surface of a lovely meadow, wrapped in Tarik’s cloak. Monte had traveled with them back to Sunset Tower, determined to renew his vows. He hadn’t spoken nearly as much on the way back as he had on the way out.
Conor tried not to dwell on certain thoughts. He tried not to picture Barlow or Jools. He tried not to imagine how he would feel if something happened to Briggan. He tried not to guess at all the danger awaiting them, and the other friends he might lose along the way.
Conor stroked the thick fur on the back of Briggan’s neck. “I can’t believe we’re back here. It hasn’t been that long, really, but it feels like a lifetime.”
The wolf licked his palm. Briggan had only started licking him like that since the battle on the cliff. Conor knelt down and stroked his wolf with both hands.
“Be patient with me,” Conor said. “I’ll practice with that ax. I stayed alive, and I distracted some of our enemies, but I can do better. Next time you won’t have to come rescue me so much.”
Briggan nuzzled Conor’s forearm.
“That tickles.”
The wolf nudged him with his nose.
“What are you doing, boy?”
Briggan stared at him intently.
“Oh,” Conor realized. “What do I do?” He had seen the others hold out their arms, so he tried that.
With a flash, Briggan became a tattoo on the back of his forearm. The image burned for a moment, as if his arm had brushed against something scalding. But the searing pain faded quickly.
“I saw that,” said a voice from behind him.
Conor turned to find Rollan coming through the door to the top of the tower, his bandaged arm hanging in a sling. Meilin and Abeke were with him, wearing their green cloaks.
“How long have you been doing that?” Rollan asked. “Were you hiding it to spare my feelings? I don’t need pity.”
“First time,” Conor said, showing him the mark. “Really.”
“Good job,” Meilin said.
“Thanks,” Conor replied, feeling shy. Direct conversation with Meilin tended to fluster him. She was just so . . . incredible. And hard to figure out. “I don’t think Briggan wanted to become dormant while we were out in the open. My guess is he feels safer here.”
Zerif and the others fled up the rock-strewn slope. He carried Shane over his shoulder, with Shane’s saber in his hand. Zerif looked back at Abeke, his eyes frantic. “Hurry! This way!”
Abeke shook her head with a strangely calm certainty. “We’re over! I’m not on your side, Zerif!”
At first Zerif looked stunned. Then his eyes became cold and furious. His jackal was with him, uninjured, but Shane’s wolverine was limping. Some other survivors had joined them, but they were battered and beaten. All but one lacked their animals. Zerif was out of allies.
Abeke set an arrow to the string of her bow. “Go, or arrows start flying.”
After one last withering glare, Zerif turned and started up the mountainside at inhuman speed.
The tall Greencloak turned to Abeke.
“You have the talisman?” he asked.
She took her arrow from the string and fingered the Granite Ram. “Yes.”
“And you’re with us now?”
“If you want me.”
The Greencloak gave a curt nod. “We want you. And we need you. I’m Tarik.”
Tarik moved to the side of the fallen bearded man. The Zhongese girl knelt next to him, as did a smaller, balding man with a raccoon. Jhi sniffed the wound where the sword protruded.
“Heal him!” the girl insisted to her panda. “That’s what you do, right? Or help me heal him. What should I do?”
“Not all wounds can be healed,” the bearded man gasped. “That ram got Jools, but not before my bear gave me one last burst of strength. I’ve never lifted half so much weight.”
Jhi licked the girl, who wept openly. “Save him,” she repeated in soft sobs.
The bearded man held the hand of the balding one. “You were the best company a man could ask for, Monte,” he said, his voice falling to little more than a whisper. “A real friend.” He took a jagged breath. “Don’t forget to tell folks I threw a Great Beast off a cliff.”
“There will be stories and songs,” Monte promised.
“Sorry to leave you early.”
“I’ll be along by and by,” the balding man said, tears falling down his cheeks.
The bearded man looked up at Tarik. As he wheezed, blood dribbled from his lips into his beard. “If it can be managed, dispose of me in a green cloak.”
“Nothing would be more fitting,” Tarik said.
The bearded man tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Monte leaned close, whispering to him. The bearded man’s chest kept hitching in gurgling spasms, then stopped.
“I can’t believe he killed a Great Beast,” the boy with the wolf said numbly.
“Arax is not dead,” Tarik said. “It would take more than a fall, even such a high one. The Great Beasts have too much life in them. Still, if we hurry, we might get away.” Though his tone was practical, Abeke thought the man looked very tired. And very sad.
Monte raised his head. “Barlow’s gone. I’d rather not leave him here.”
“The trick will be getting him to the horses,” Tarik said. “We’ll manage it.”
Uraza snarled in agreement.
“What if they try to ambush us?” the boy with the wolf asked.
Tarik’s expression darkened, and he stroked the hilt of his sword. “I honestly hope they do.”
18 THE FALLEN
CONOR LEANED AGAINST THE HIGHEST PARAPET ON SUNSET Tower, looking west, a light breeze ruffling his hair. The tower provided a lofty vantage point, but the mountains where they had confronted Arax were too far away to see. Briggan sat beside him, nuzzling his hand.
They had made it back to Sunset Tower yesterday afternoon. The group had traveled quickly, chased by the constant worry that Arax might catch up with them or that Zerif might stage an ambush. But nobody had troubled them.
Barlow now rested below the surface of a lovely meadow, wrapped in Tarik’s cloak. Monte had traveled with them back to Sunset Tower, determined to renew his vows. He hadn’t spoken nearly as much on the way back as he had on the way out.
Conor tried not to dwell on certain thoughts. He tried not to picture Barlow or Jools. He tried not to imagine how he would feel if something happened to Briggan. He tried not to guess at all the danger awaiting them, and the other friends he might lose along the way.
Conor stroked the thick fur on the back of Briggan’s neck. “I can’t believe we’re back here. It hasn’t been that long, really, but it feels like a lifetime.”
The wolf licked his palm. Briggan had only started licking him like that since the battle on the cliff. Conor knelt down and stroked his wolf with both hands.
“Be patient with me,” Conor said. “I’ll practice with that ax. I stayed alive, and I distracted some of our enemies, but I can do better. Next time you won’t have to come rescue me so much.”
Briggan nuzzled Conor’s forearm.
“That tickles.”
The wolf nudged him with his nose.
“What are you doing, boy?”
Briggan stared at him intently.
“Oh,” Conor realized. “What do I do?” He had seen the others hold out their arms, so he tried that.
With a flash, Briggan became a tattoo on the back of his forearm. The image burned for a moment, as if his arm had brushed against something scalding. But the searing pain faded quickly.
“I saw that,” said a voice from behind him.
Conor turned to find Rollan coming through the door to the top of the tower, his bandaged arm hanging in a sling. Meilin and Abeke were with him, wearing their green cloaks.
“How long have you been doing that?” Rollan asked. “Were you hiding it to spare my feelings? I don’t need pity.”
“First time,” Conor said, showing him the mark. “Really.”
“Good job,” Meilin said.
“Thanks,” Conor replied, feeling shy. Direct conversation with Meilin tended to fluster him. She was just so . . . incredible. And hard to figure out. “I don’t think Briggan wanted to become dormant while we were out in the open. My guess is he feels safer here.”
