“That’s more than the rest of us can say,” the scout replied grimly, wheezing and coughing. “Can you get out here and help me? If I let go of this rag around my leg, I’m going to bleed myself out.”
Drake swore, scrambled for the medical kit in the darkness, and pushed through the ruined tent wall. Skan followed slowly.
When the lantern had been relit so that Drake could see to treat wounds, and everyone had been accounted for, they discovered that Regin and Filix had been killed by more of the things. They had probably died instantly, or nearly so. Amberdrake reached for the bodies, and could only locate so many pieces. At the very least, they got the mercy of a quick death. There wasn’t much left of them. Blood was spattered everywhere, and it was difficult to tell what part belonged to whom.
He left the tent quickly, reminded all too forcefully of some of Hadanelith’s victims.
And of Ma’ar’s.
I’m supposed to be hardened to this sort of thing, but maybe I’ve just seen too much death, too much suffering. Maybe I am not as tough as I thought I was, or wish I could be, even after all this time. It was one thing to think about cutting losses — another thing to lose people like this. We were caught unprepared, despite my hoped-for lessons of experience.
Amberdrake remained for a few moments longer, and when he came out, he surprised Skan by the thoughtful look of concentration he wore. Finally, as the other men bundled the two bodies hastily in the remains of the tent, he drew Skan aside.
“Are these things animals, or not?” he asked.
Skan blinked. “They certainly fought like it,” he replied cautiously. “Extremely efficient predators. They didn’t have weapons, just talons and teeth, and . . . and speed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything that fast since the last makaar died. Fierce predators; no wonder we haven’t seen much game, and all of it small. They must have emptied out the forest around here, of ground-based game at least.” He shook his head. “We should have figured that out, and assumed they’d attack us for food. They must be half-mad with hunger by now; they can’t live long on rabbits, snakes and bugs, not as big as they are.”
Drake nodded, as if he had expected Skan to say that. “In that case, tell me this; why didn’t they drag their prey off with them to eat? Why didn’t they try and kill more of us?”
Skan opened his beak to reply, and shut it with a click.
Why didn’t they, if they’re just big hunters with an incidental ability to eat mage-energy?
“Maybe we don’t taste good?” he suggested lamely.
“Maybe. But that hasn’t stopped lions from becoming maneaters when they’re famished. Shalaman showed us that, remember.” Amberdrake chewed on his lower lip a moment. “I have a feeling . . . that these things are planning something. And that they don’t intend to let us get away. Skan, they’re a lot worse than they seem.”
“They seem bad enough already to me,” Skan grumbled, “But I see your point.”
He didn’t have time to think much more about it, however, for Bern, as acting leader, decreed that there would be no more rest that night.
They spent the rest of the dark hours in the open, sitting in a circle with their backs together, facing the forest with weapons in hand.
It was a long, cold, and terrifying night. Every time a drop of water fell from a leaf, someone started. Every time a shadow seemed to move, they all got ready to defend their lives. Skan had never spent a night as frightening as this one, not even during the war, and he prayed no one else would ever have to, either. Stelvi Pass had been a summer day compared to this unending, wet, cold waiting. He didn’t know how Amberdrake was managing to bear up; it was bad enough to endure this knowing that he could, if there was no other choice, escape by flying into the treetops. Even in a fight, he could defend himself against fairly stiff odds. But Drake couldn’t escape and he wasn’t a fighter, and in his place, Skan knew he’d have been babbling with fear.
As soon as there was any light at all beneath the trees, Bern ordered them to move out, down to the river that they had heard all night long. The flood-swollen river, which roared at their feet, with nothing on the other side but a rocky cliff-face and a scrap of path.
“You two aren’t fighters, so you get across the river and hold it for us so we can cross,” he ordered Drake and Skan. Skan took one look at the swollen, raging waters, and seriously considered mutiny.
But Amberdrake just picked up a coil of rope from the wreckage of the camp, and gestured to him to follow down to the rocks at the edge. There he rigged a harness of rope for himself, while Bern and the rest stood nervously with their backs to the water, facing the forest, bows and swords ready. Soon enough, the fog would rise, and when the shadow-creatures came back, the besieged rescuers wouldn’t be able to see them until it was far too late.
Drake, the expert in ropes and knots, moved far more quickly than Skan would have thought possible under the circumstances. His fingers fairly flew as he put together a harness it would be impossible to get out of without undoing at least half of the knots. It must have seemed to the four injured fighters that he was taking a ridiculous amount of time, however. He was even making sure that it would fit over his pack—the precious pack that had what was left of their medical kit, and the oil and oil lamp.
“Hurry up!” Bern shouted, his voice pitched higher with strain and nerves.
Drake ignored them, and turned to Skan. “You can’t carry me over, but you can tow me through the water,” he pointed out. “There’s no way I’m going to slip out of this.”
He fastened the loose end of the rope to a tree at the water’s edge, without elaborating anything, but his plan was obvious to Skan. The harness was rigged so that Drake could swim freely, but could also be towed along easily, which is what he meant Skan to do, flying above the river. Once he got Drake to the other side, the kestra’chern could fasten his rope to a boulder or spike of rock, and the others could plunge in and drag themselves across.
Providing, of course, there weren’t more of those things on the other side, waiting somewhere.
If that last thought occurred to Amberdrake, he didn’t hesitate for a second; once he had the end of the rope tied off, he plunged immediately into the river, almost before Skan had hold of the end fastened to his harness. Caught off-balance for a moment, Skan held on against the tug of the current, then launched himself into the air.
Amberdrake sputtered and submerged once, then steadied. He called out, “It’s drier in here than in the forest!”
Once there, he was utterly grateful that Drake was a good swimmer, and he allowed himself a brief, tension-relieving smile at Amberdrake’s quip. His friend was able to keep his own head above water, so that Skan’s only task was to pull him onward.
Only! This is like playing tug-of-war against five teams of draft horses!
It was obvious within a few moments that this was going to be a great deal more difficult than it looked. They weren’t even a single length from the shore, and Skan wanted to quit.
The gryphon’s wings beat laboriously, the muscles in his back and chest burning with pain, as he pulled against the current and the weight of Drake’s body. Below him, Amberdrake labored against the current trying to pull him under, and occasionally lost the battle. But he had honed his swimming ability in the powerful surf below White Gryphon; between his own strength and Skan’s, his head always popped back above the surface again, long enough for him to get another lungful of air. Ten heartbeats later, they were out of time.