the wooden sword from the air and battered back the bloody talons. Flinn stepped back from the beast. The monster lunged forward, but Flinn cautiously backed into the rocky streambed. The abelaat paused, then lunged again. Flinn pulled back once more, his eyes shifting from Jo to the sword she was searching for in the streambed.
“Hurry, Jo,” he muttered under his breath. The abelaat leaped onto the slippery rocks, its sickle-shaped claws scraping across Flinn’s breastplate. He spun, knocking the claws away, and brought the blade smashing down upon the beast’s arm. The creature pulled back, though its arm showed no injury. So much for ironwood, thought Flinn.
The abelaat roared, hurtling itself at Flinn. Tightening his grip upon the hilt, Flinn leaned into the attack, swinging the blade in wide swipes before him. The wooden edge struck the beast’s talons, and a line of blood started down its arms. Still it pushed forward, its claws slashing the side of Flinn’s head. The warrior staggered back, blood running warm down his neck. Apparently smelling the blood, the beast leaped onto the warrior and seized Flinn by the shoulders. The claws sunk in and Flinn shouted in pain. The bony arms lifted him from the ground. Flinn wedged his sword in the creature’s gut and thrust upon it, but it bit shallowly.
Suddenly the creature dropped Flinn, who fell, splashing into the streambed. The abelaat arched its spine and hissed, its claws scraping at its back. Flinn struggled to his feet in time to hear the twang of an arrow. The abelaat fell to one knee. The warrior leaped toward Jo, catching a glimpse of two arrows in the abelaat-one in its shoulder, the other in its thigh.
“Good girl!” he managed to call out as he caught the other sword she threw. He dropped her wooden blade and whirled to meet the abelaat. His arm and the side of his face had gone numb. For the first time, he felt fear. The creature was back on its feet and rushing toward him. Was it unstoppable? Flinn gritted his teeth and raised the steel blade before him.
The warrior met the abelaat’s charge with a flashing flurry of sword strokes, his blade clashing fiercely with the creature’s wicked claws. Flinn drove forward, seeking firmer ground. He entrenched his feet in the rocky streambed, blood dripping into the water around him. The creature swiped at his chest, its claws leaving deep marks in the breastplate. Flinn held his footing, then continued to press forward.
He lunged with a pointed thrust to the abelaat’s chest, which he knew the creature would brush aside. He followed up with an overhead arcing swing, trying to beat past the bony arm and hit the vulnerable neck area. The abelaat deflected the stroke, flinging the blade to its side. Flinn allowed the heavy sword to continue on its new course, and the momentum swung him around. He spun into a crouch and then extended his arm. The stroke arced back, slicing deep into the abelaat’s knobbed knees.
The monster roared in pain as Flinn drew back his blade. The fetid stench coming from the creature’s mouth nearly overcame Flinn, but he stood his ground. Clutching its bloodied legs, the creature snarled, its tiny eyes glinting. Rusty spittle fell from its mouth, dropping into the running water beneath. As Flinn drew back slowly, the creature lunged. Flinn leaped sideways and ducked. An arrow flew at the abelaat, sinking with a solid thud into its bony back.
The creature roared, then advanced on Flinn, its claws whirling within inches of the warrior’s face. Flinn reluctantly backed into deeper water. His feet were numb from the icy water, and now the stream engulfed his calves as well. But he could feel his second wind coming, and his breath came in sure measures. The warrior laughed aloud-a deep, grim laugh that chilled the girl loading her bow with her last arrow. Flinn once again tried to press the attack; with two hands on his sword, he began a series of taxing, brutal blows.
The blade’s bite was keen, and the snow-capped rocks ran red. Yet the monster was drawing blood, too. It caught hold of Flinn’s breastplate and tore it loose. The claws raked across his bare chest, and Flinn’s blood commingled with the abelaat’s. The cold water, the loss of blood, and the fatigue of battle began to take their toll. Bit by bit Flinn felt his strength waning, his reflexes failing. The abelaat, though bloodied, didn’t appear weakened. They circled each other. “Keep the arrows coming, Jo,” Flinn murmured as a shaft narrowly missed the beast.
The words had hardly left Flinn’s mouth when the creature lunged again. With a surge of reckless abandon, Flinn leaped onward to meet it. His sword tip found the beast’s belly and cut through the papery skin. Flinn drove forward, into the creature’s vicious embrace. He thrust his sword through the abelaat’s stomach and up into its chest. Hot blood poured out over his hand. The abelaat released a gurgling roar, its claws raking furrows in Flinn’s back. Flinn gritted his teeth. He twisted the blade, seeking the creature’s heart. The monster’s arms locked about Flinn and pulled him tight.
Blood sprayed between them, gushing into Flinn’s face. Blinking, Flinn saw Jo on the creature’s back. Her short knife shone in her hand as she dragged it across the creature’s neck. Shuddering violently, the creature tottered and staggered deeper into the stream. Its limbs spasmed with convulsions, and it toppled into the shallow water, taking Jo and Flinn with it. Gasping from loss of breath and the icy cold, Flinn and Jo struggled to untangle themselves from the feebly moving monster. Blood filled the water, streaming like crimson banners from the creature’s body. Its eyes grew glassy, and the jittering paroxysms of its limbs stilled.
Jo and Flinn stood and looked down at it, Flinn’s breath coming in great, ragged gulps. In death the beast seemed to have shrunk, and the cruel contortions of its face had eased. The cold water masked the beast’s foul odor and cast a sheen over its mottled skin. The maw lay open, and water circulated gently among the eight fangs.
Flinn knelt by the body. Taking his knife, he used it to maneuver the abelaat’s jaw so that he could see the canines more clearly. As he had suspected, each fang had a hollow tip. The creature’s poison came through tiny tubes in the teeth and mixed with saliva inside the creature’s mouth. It was likely the monster only produced the poison when it was preparing to bite.
Only then did Flinn notice the wind whistling into the valley. Both the warrior and the girl shuddered in their wet clothes. “We’ve got to get back to the cabin,” Flinn said. He moved away slowly, picking his way through the rocky streambed. Jo did not follow, her eyes fixed on the beast.
Flinn turned, approaching Jo from behind. He placed his hands on her shoulders, compassion running through him. “Is this the first time you’ve seen something die?”
“No,” she replied, “but it’s the first time I’ve ever really killed anything. The wharf rats were always dead by the time I collected them. The traps killed them-not me.” She rubbed the beaded handle to her blink dog’s tail nervously. “I ran out of arrows and had to use my knife.”
“You did well, Jo,” he replied, smiling grimly. “Not an arrow left, eh?”
She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the dead abelaat. “Sorry about that. I think I can retrieve some of them- not all of them broke on the rocks I hit.”
Flinn pointed to the tail at her waist. “Good thing you had that, by the way. Proved useful. Y our father gave that to you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did.” The girl’s eyes didn’t waver. “A mage made it for my father. I don’t know why he made it, or else I’ve forgotten. The magic’s beginning to fade though; I can’t blink nearly as far as I used to.” With another shudder, she turned to Flinn. He was glad to see that she had recovered her nerves. “Are you hurt bad?” she asked. “Did it bite you?”
“No, I don’t think so anyway. I can wait until we get back to the cabin.” He wiped at the blood on his face and neck. “Much of this is from the abelaat.”
“If its teeth didn’t pierce you, maybe you didn’t get any of its spittle. It was drooling quite a bit, though,” she added matter-of-factly.
Flinn turned, his eyes scanning the ground. “Perhaps some of the abelaat’s saliva mixed with the blood and formed more crystals.” He began backtracking the fight’s route, following the tracks of blood in the snow. He also picked up the undamaged arrows he came across.
“Flinn?” the girl asked, concern in her voice. “Why don’t we just leave? I’m cold.” She, too, began retrieving arrows.
“It was about here,” he mumbled under his breath. He searched several more steps, bending low and coursing back and forth. A few moments later, he stopped. “Ahhh,” the warrior murmured and knelt in the trampled snow and mud. His fingers brushed aside slush and debris, and he picked up six crystalline rocks.
Flinn said slowly, his eyes never leaving the stones in the palm of his hand, “These are like the eight crystals I withdrew from your wounds, only not so dark.” He studied the newly formed rocks for a moment, then looked up at the girl.
Her eyes met his, their expression intense. “What’re they for? If there were eight in me, why are there only
