Cael’s hands latched onto the limb and he swung his legs up behind him. He felt the muscles in his injured shoulder tear the moment his full weight was in the air. He had no chance to hold back his pain.
His scream filled the air, burying the growls of the wolves beneath it. He felt his left hand go numb and slip. His other shoulder, suddenly bearing the entire burden creaked in its socket, but his hand held strong.
His legs, already moving with the momentum of his jump, continued forward. Feeling his fingers beginning to slip, he swung his legs with desperation and wrapped one around the limb just as the wolves leapt at his exposed back.
He felt the grazing sting of teeth and pulled hard to move clear, his weakening arm straining against even his slight mass. With the last of his energy dwindling, his reserves long ago spent, he wriggled his leg around the groaning limb and managed to climb on top of the branch. He heard a rubbery creak as the branch wobbled underneath him. Clutched near the center of it, he dangled more than five feet from the safety of its thickest part.
The wolves leapt at him, howling furious, but their flashing fangs fell short by several inches. Fearing the limb would break and drop him to his doom, Cael inched forward. His left arm hung lifeless and he could feel the hard, cold metal of the relic grinding into his hip as he dragged himself along the branch. Every movement threatened to break his tentative grip and cast him down amongst the wolves.
Minutes dragged by in an agonizing blur until he reached the relative safety of the tree trunk. The wolves, having given up their attempts at dragging Cael down, now circled below. They growled their fury, wanton hunger visible in their glowing red eyes.
Cael felt his body tremble as he hugged the tree. His left arm was on fire and he didn’t dare loosen his grip to try to pull the relic out to heal it. With it wedged between his stomach and the limb, it was an uncomfortable reminder of how close he was to the means of being healed, yet so horribly far, all at the same time.
He pressed his cheek against the rough bark of the trunk and tried to get comfortable. The only thing he could think to do was to wait the creatures out until morning. He didn’t know how long he’d slept before being woken up, but he felt certain it was a long way from dawn. Even then, he had no way of knowing if daylight would chase the wolves away. Little more than fresh meat dangling helpless in a tree, they might camp out until his strength gave out and he fell. Both he and the wolves knew it was only a matter of time.
The throb of his arm brought tears to his eyes. He watched the skeletal wolves through blurry eyes as they paced below, settling in for the long wait. He bit back a sob as the weight of the day fell over him. Death had reaped more than its fair share this day and he couldn’t help but believe it was not yet done. He didn’t want to die.
“Ree damn you!” he screamed at the wolves, riling their fury. Angry howls rose from skeletal throats.
A sudden stirring the bushes cut the wolves’ howls short as their collective eyes whipped as one toward the noise. A silvery shape leapt from the foliage and landed beside one of the wolves without a sound. The wolf let loose a tiny whimper as it was yanked into the air by its head. Its bright eyes illuminated the surprise on its skeletal face.
A sharp crack echoed through the darkness as its head was spun free of its body, its spine splintering like brittle driftwood. The silver shape, now recognizable to Cael as the concealing fabric of a cloak, an unknown figure hidden inside, flung the wolf’s head away as its body dropped limp to the ground.
The remaining wolves bared their fangs as the cloaked figure lashed out so fast as to be almost invisible. One of the wolves was kicked in the snout and was catapulted backward to slam into the trunk of the tree Cael clung to. He felt the impact as it vibrated the branch beneath him, a hollow snap sounding below as the creature crumbled into a heap at the base of the tree.
A silvery arc streaked through the air before the figure and the last of the wolves stumbled, its torso severed in half.
The wolf loosed a piercing howl as its two halves tore apart with a wet rip and it crashed to the ground. Its teeth gnashed in impotent rage as its front paws dug at the moist humus that layered the forest floor. Its back paws kicked and kicked, spinning its lower segment in a maddened circle.
The figure ended the wolf’s suffering, thrusting its blade through the creature’s eye and into its skull. The wolf twitched once and then its upper body went still, the lower half winding down a moment later. The woods went silent in commiseration.
Cael shuddered as the figure withdrew his sword from the wolf’s oozing eye socket and turned to look at him.
“You’re safe now. You may come down.” The figure’s voice, a man’s, was smooth and melodic. He shook the blood from his narrow blade with a flick of his wrist before sliding it into the sheath at his waist.
Cael hesitated and did nothing as the man pushed his hood back. Not sure what he expected, Cael gasped when he saw the man’s face.
Large oval eyes that were set diagonally across his yellow-green face stared at him, their soft pink disturbing. Only a tiny stub of a nose was visible between them. Similar to his own ears, a trait of his Velen heritage, the man had only the slightest trace of external cartilage, small bumps the only visible sign the man had ears at all.
“Do not be afraid, young one. We mean you no harm,” the man spoke from his narrow, lipless mouth.
Cael’s eyes widened at the word ‘ we’. He looked about and spied a second figure in a silver cloak similar to the first. This one stood a few yards back, in the trees, with its hood pulled away as well. Its features were decidedly more feminine. The sharp lines of her face were more distinct, more defined, lacking the slight roundness of the first. Beneath the cloak, she wore a tunic of black material that protruded somewhat at her chest and seemed to shimmer even in the darkness. A silver-hilted sword hung at her belt, its sheath leathered in black.
The man took a slow step forward with his hands spread, as Cael clung to his branch. “I am called Uthul.” He gestured to the woman. “My companion is Zalee. Come. We will not hurt you.” He waved Cael down with a thin, black gloved hand.
Never having seen anyone like the pair before, Cael reasoned if they had meant him harm they would have simply left him for the wolves. They could kill him in the tree, for that matter. He hung but ten feet from the ground. While just out of range of the wolves, he was well within reach of the man’s long blade.
Cael’s resistance crumbled, but he knew he couldn’t make it down without assistance. “I could use some help…please.”
An awkward smile bent Uthul’s mouth as he placed himself below the limb where Cael dangled. Zalee went to the end of the branch and waited.
“Tell me when you are ready,” Uthul told him.
Cael drew in a breath and nodded. Zalee jumped easily into the air and grabbed ahold of the far end of the branch. Her weight pulled it down and Cael felt gravity return with a sickening twist in his guts. He slipped to the side and squeezed his eyes tight in expectation of hitting the ground.
Instead, he felt Uthul’s arms beneath him, slowing his momentum and easing his fall with smooth resistance. He opened his eyes as he was set gently on his feet. The motion sent spikes of pain through Cael’s shoulder. He winced, but pushed it away. He went to thank Uthul, but was cut off.
“You are hurt. Let me help.” Uthul reached out to touch his wounded shoulder.
“It’s okay. I just have to-”
Before his sluggish mind awoke to caution him, Cael pulled the bag from his waistband. Realizing what he’d done, he raced to cover his action, but his shaking hands betrayed him. He fumbled the bag and it slipped from his fingers. It fell to the ground with a heavy crunch, spilling its contents.
Uthul leapt back, his large eyes narrowing into glowing pink slits that were focused on the golden rod. Zalee too stepped away, her cloak brushed to the side, her hand on the hilt of her blade.
Cael saw the hostility in their stances and raised his good arm in hopes of calming them. “No, no, it’s not a weapon. It’s okay.” He reached to pick up the rod so he could show it to them.
“Leave it where it lay,” Zalee demanded as she drew her sword and edged closer, her tone as sharp as the silvered edge of her blade.
The rasp of steel stopped Cael in his tracks. He straightened slow, moving his hand away from the relic, his eyes locked on Zalee.
Uthul glanced to his companion and raised a hand before looking back to Cael. “Where did you find this?” He pointed to the rod, but kept his distance from it.
“It’s my father’s,” Cael started, his eyes tearing up at the thought of his dad. “Was my father’s,” he
