“I'll eat while we fly,” she said.
Instantly mental images of Zollin popped into her head and she knew the dragons were asking about him.
“He isn't coming,” she said. “I'm going south to find Bartoom. Zollin is staying here to help the dwarves.”
Ferno growled anxiously, but Brianna ignored the larger dragon. She didn't have to go into details that the dragons wouldn't understand anyway. They were genderless, and only understood pack relationships. Humans, with their affections and romances, were a complete mystery to the dragons.
She pushed away the pang of guilt she felt and slung the large saddle bags onto Sorva's back. Then she climbed up, still eating the venison and settled herself onto the dragon. Ferno's roar was almost a moan of agony and into Brianna's mind popped an image of Ferno resting in the clearing as Zollin climbed out of the crevasse.
“Fine,” Brianna said, “but we aren't waiting. Zollin doesn't need to help me. Just stay with him, Ferno. Keep him safe.”
This time the green dragon roared so loudly the ground shook. Brianna threw back her head and laughed, just as Sorva reared on powerful hind legs and launched into the air. It was still dark, the air cold, the stars overhead bright pinpricks in a dark purple sky. Brianna felt her anxiety melting away. She was leaving behind a life of security and predictability. Most people would never have the courage to step out from under such a blanket of protection, but Brianna needed to embrace the unknown. She needed to challenge herself, to find what all her life could be and experience things for herself. She had been slowly dying in Brighton's Gate, and at last she felt alive again.
The forest sped by beneath her, and Brianna let a layer of blue flame cover her body. She could feel Sorva's powerful muscles propelling them on, and Brianna wanted to fly forever. They passed over the edge of the forest and onto the hill country just as dawn broke. Had they turned to the west they would have flown over Tranugh Shire, her birthplace. Todrick, her poor husband of only one night was buried there, but her family was now in Orrock, and she hadn't really known Todrick. Their marriage had been arranged, and he was so drunk by the time they retired to their newly built cottage, that he passed out on the bed before their vows were consummated. The next morning the wizards from the Torr arrived in the village, demanding to take Zollin away, and Brianna knew then that her life was entwined with his.
When Zollin refused to go with the wizards from the Torr, their mercenaries had attacked the village. In the chaos Brianna had followed Zollin to the small house he and Quinn lived in on the outskirts of the village. There, Todrick was cut down by the vicious mercenaries, but Brianna had not felt fear or sadness at his passing, only the need to escape the dull, predictable life he offered her. She should have known that she wouldn't be happy in Brighton's Gate, but it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. And she had never imagined that Zollin would settle so completely into the dull routines of a solitary life. She wanted more than that. She needed to be free, to spend her nights under starry skies and her days chasing new adventures.
They landed in a small valley between two large hills and rested for a while. Neither of them had slept the night before, but the dragons needed only a few hours of sleep and could stay awake for days. Brianna had been too worked up to sleep, first after being attacked by the Dryads and then from the confrontation with Zollin. But in the warm morning sunlight, she lay down in a nook between Sorva’s long, supple tail and thick body. She felt safe, happy, and most of all free, and she fell asleep almost instantly.
Chapter 16
Quinn sprinted around the corner, his chest heaving and a sharp, stabbing pain in his side, just in time to see one of the white-furred wolverine creatures drag a woman from her home. The thatched cottage was little more than a wooden frame. Heavy posts supported the roof, but the walls were hung with canvas that had been ripped apart by the wolverine's massive claws.
Quinn wanted to rush forward and save the woman. He had seen her before, but didn't know her name. Unfortunately, two more of the massive creatures moved in on either side of the first beast. They were the same long-haired, heavily built creatures that resembled wolverines, only several times too big and with pure white fur, and Quinn knew there was nothing he could do for the unfortunate woman.
“Good god!” said one of the men from the hunting party who was gasping for breath beside Quinn. “They've come back.”
“This is a different bunch,” Quinn said.
“And how the hell can you tell that?” said Kurchek in an accusatory tone.
“Because they aren't covered in blood,” Quinn said, whirling on him as the creatures slunk out of sight into the darkness. “The creatures we tracked down slaughtered my horse, and their white fur was tinged with blood.”
“Quinn,” Mansel said, leaning down from his saddle and pointing.
Three more of the creatures were emerging from between two houses further down the dirt street. One had a human arm in its long, narrow muzzle.
“How many are there?” asked one man.
“At least nine,” Quinn said. “Another one was wounded. We'll have to see if it comes back.”
“It looks like they're all coming back,” said another of the townsfolk. “It’s like they're picking us off one by one.”
“They're intelligent,” Quinn said. “We aren't dealing with wild animals here. We need to get the entire town together and make a stand.”
“The inn's the only place big enough for everyone,” said one of the hunters.
“I suggest you get your families there, and fast,” Quinn said. “It's going to take all of us to hold these creatures off, and we can't do that if they're killing your wives and children.”
The men of the hunting party looked terrified and exhausted, but they rushed off. Quinn hoped he was right, hoped that getting everyone in one place would mean they might keep them safe. At least three people were dead already, and probably more. The trap the first group of animals had set hadn't been to ambush the hunting party, it had been to draw the fighters away from their wives and children so the rest of the pack would have easy pickings in the town.
“Quinn, I'm going for Nycol,” Mansel said.
“Go, it'll be dawn soon. Get her, and get back to the Inn as soon as you can. We're going to need you.”
Mansel nodded then rode quickly away. Quinn turned back to the men who didn't have families, most of whom were still staring into the darkness after the beasts that had taken the woman.
“Let's get back to the inn. We have a lot of work to do,” Quinn said.
When they got to the wide street just in front of the inn they were met by a frantic Ollie. She was worried and looking for Buck. Quinn didn't have to ask if she'd heard the screams. She and her daughter were both pale and looking around at the crowd of hunters anxiously.
“He's with Vickry,” Quinn said. “They're okay, but I've told everyone to gather here. We need a place that we can fortify.”
“Are we under attack?” Ollie asked.
“In a sense. The animals that took Vickry's daughter are smart. They're attacking people, and we need to stay together. Can we use the inn?”
“Of course,” she said, stepping aside, but still looking nervously for Buck.
Quinn turned to the hunters, some of whom had bows and quivers of arrows.
“You hunters with bows,” Quinn shouted. “Find a way onto the roof. Stay high and make every shot count.”
The men nodded and hurried to the rear of the inn where there were barrels and crates that could be stacked so the men could climb onto the roof of the inn. It was only a one-story building, but the roof was peaked, and along the top they would have good lines of sight around the entire building. The other hunters looked nervous. Quinn wanted to reassure them, but he wasn't sure what to say. Kurchek was among them and he looked suspicious, but Quinn decided he couldn't worry about the disgruntled miner at that moment. What they needed were better weapons. Most of the men only had farm tools—hoes, pick axes, and sickles for harvesting wheat. They could be deadly in a close fight, but a lot of people would die in the fighting if those animals got close enough to be in danger of the farmers' tools.
“We need spears,” Quinn said. “Sharpened sticks. Anything that will let us fight the creatures off without getting us hurt in the process.”
“Allsford had a pile of fence posts,” said one of the men. “It might take some time, but we could sharpen them up.”
“Go!” Quinn ordered. “Bring as many as you can.”
Half of the men hurried off to get the poles. Quinn looked at the men who were left. Some looked eager to have something useful they could do; others looked tired and frightened.
“Let's make sure the windows and doors of the inn are secure,” Quinn said.
He was letting the others file in through the common room door when Kurchek laid a thick hand on Quinn's shoulder. He pulled Quinn to the side and pressed him against the wall.
“I'm watching you, old man,” he snarled.
“With your one good eye?” Quinn said.
Kurchek raised a hand to punch him, but Quinn slipped under the miner's arm and darted into the inn. He was too busy to put the one-eyed ruffian in his place, but the time would come soon. And Quinn was looking forward to it.
* * *
Mansel rode home as fast as his horse would take him. Fear was seeping into his consciousness like water into a leaky boat. Nycol hadn't wanted to be too close to town, and while she appreciated Zollin and Brianna, she'd wanted her own space. So Mansel had built them a house on the opposite side of Brighton's Gate. It only took a few minutes to ride to his home, but the house and stable were dark. He had to get close to the small cabin to see that the door was broken in.
“Nycol!” he screamed, as he leaped off his horse. “Nycol!”
There was no answer. He ran into the house, expecting the worst. He couldn't see anything but shadows in the gloom, but in his mind he saw Nycol's body ripped apart the way he'd seen the animals tearing Quinn's horse to pieces. When he'd fired the first arrow, he'd been expecting the attack, and his shot was true. But then he'd had time to really see the creatures as they tore into Quinn's horse. Mansel had seen many horrible things in his life, but he'd never seen anything with such a ferocious appetite for carnage. It had caused him to pause for a long moment before coming back to his senses and taking aim at another of the creatures. Now, with fear making his heart race almost uncontrollably, he wished he had killed all the of the vicious animals.
Nycol wasn’t in the house, so Mansel sprinted out to the stable. The little barn was a small structure, just big enough for three stalls and a storage space to keep hay in the winter months. Nycol had taken to caring for the horses and often spent the majority of her day exercising each one and cleaning out the stable. Quinn’s horse had been killed by the creatures they were hunting, and Mansel was still riding his own mount. That left Nycol’s horse, which should have been in the little structure. Mansel had never gone into the stable when the horses didn’t have their heads out of the stalls looking around. This time there was no sign of any life within the stable. Mansel checked each stall to be certain, but there was nothing. No horse, and thankfully no bloody corpse.
Mansel’s fear took a strange turn. Nycol was almost certainly in trouble—the missing door on their cabin proved that without a doubt—but she had fled their home, and tracking her in the dark would be impossible. He needed light, but going away from the village, highlighted by the fire from a torch or even a lantern, all alone, would make him a perfect target. He wouldn’t be able to see the creatures until they were right on him, and yet he couldn’t wait. He couldn’t even stand the thought of waiting another second to find her. He’d been scared before, but he’d never experienced fear for someone he loved so much. It felt like he was exposed, weak, and unprepared. And the worst part was he had no idea where Nycol would go. She didn’t like crowds and had no friends in the village. She liked the river, but they had no boat, and she couldn’t have taken the horse in one if they did. Most likely she had simply fled for her life and the only hope she had was that she had outrun the creatures.
Mansel knew Quinn needed him in town. But he couldn’t go without Nycol, and he wouldn’t rest until he knew she was safe. He went back into the cabin and knelt by the fireplace, which was filled with half burned wood and sticks. No embers remained. The fire, left untended, had burned completely out. He cursed his luck, knowing he would have to start a fire just to get a torch burning. He fumbled in the dark until he found the flint and then drew his dagger to drag against the rock. They kept straw and wood shavings in a basket near the hearth. Mansel grabbed some of each and then struck his steel blade against the flint, sending sparks bouncing into the pile of tinder.
His hands were shaking and he was so focused on the task at hand that he didn’t notice the large, white-furred creature creeping in the open doorway of the cabin. He kept dragging the blade across the flint, setting sparks shooting into the kindling he'd gathered and was just starting to blow on the tinder as a tiny ribbon of smoke wafted up. Then the beast pounced. Mansel saw a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye and managed to roll onto his back just as the beast came crashing down on him. The animal’s jaws snapped shut. If he hadn’t moved, it would have ripped his throat out.
His free hand came up quickly. His fingers found the thickly muscled neck of the animal and shoved its head away from him. At the same time his other hand came up with his dagger and the blade bit deeply into the creature’s side. The animal’s claws scrabbled at his chest, but his thick, leather vest was almost as strong as armor against the beast’s desperate attack. He stabbed again and again, hot blood pouring onto him, his blade striking thick organs and smashing through bones. The wolverine’s muzzle snapped over and over, and it tried to jerk free of Mansel’s death grip on its throat, but the young warrior was in a frenzy. A berserker rage had taken hold of him and all his worry about Nycol came out in a torrent of violence and bellow as savage as any animal.