Whistles from afar sang an eerie tune that stopped Montague. All around them, shadows danced from tree to tree, slowly closing in on the escape party.
Montague stopped and took Olivia’s arm. “Go back, now,” he urged. “Walk the opposite way through the crowd, my darling. Keep calm and stay low.”
A band of women with rotten teeth and matted skin emerged, coughing and hissing. They spoke in an incomprehensible tongue to one another and carried weapons of sharpened bones or antlers. Some wore bracelets of animal teeth and claws.
The horde of exiles took a long look at Montague and Gretchen, whom everyone else was standing behind. Their dirty faces all sniffed hard, taking in the scent through snorting nostrils. But the leader had her eyes set on Montague, the apparent alpha of the escape party who was at the front of the line. The mage’s pungent body odor became unbearable as she neared. Then Montague realized that she wasn’t staring at him, but beyond him. Her black eyes were set on the princess, Olivia Volpi, peeking between the arms of the people she hid behind.
The left side of the mage’s smile extended high. Her matted hair flopped down to her waist like tendrils of an octopus feeling for its next meal. “That pretty girl was with you as well. Think we weren’t watching?” A black cloak grabbed the princess by the wrist and pulled her out into the open. “How could one miss a dress so elegant,” the mage intoned. “So explain yourselves. What is this?”
“The lucky ones who escaped the sack of Illyrium!” another one answered. They all laughed in high pitched squeals.
“Pardon our grimness. Who must you all be and how did you escape?” The big nosed leader had a large sore on the left side of her nostril. Her front tooth was chipped and scraped against the bottom of her lip when she smiled.
Montague didn’t answer.
“Maybe this will lubricate their mouths!” one with a spinning glass eye said impatiently. She grabbed Olivia and squeezed her cheeks to expose her tongue, resting the knife on the princess’s wet flesh. “Now, you’ll have to prove that you have use for your tongues or I’ll take them all out. Now speak!”
Olivia trembled.
“Don’t! Wait!” Montague yelled. “Don’t hurt her. We are just peasants. I’m a local farmer, and this my wife and daughter. She knitted the dress herself out of linen given to us as a gift. When we saw your people closing in on the city we left before we were ever seen. Please, I beg you. Let us be.”
“Shiver me bones, but who are you?” the ugly face asked. “I want a name. And if you lie by this, I shall know.” She finished, waving her hand as tiny fluorescent sparks fell across Montague’s face.
He tried to avoid the glittering particles, but as Montague inhaled, he felt a rush of energy—the spell she had casually set upon him. It was an incantation that could see right through his intentions. An internal interrogation made it all the more difficult to control his heartbeat.
But suddenly there was the sound of a soft thud that sounded like sharp metal puncturing fresh meat. Montague held his breath. Someone was struck. The scraggly arms that gripped Olivia became limp and the mage holding her collapsed to the ground, an arrow in her spine. From the tree line, Demitri Von Cobb came running towards them with a bow in his hand.
The haze over Montague’s mind began to clear. “Princess!” Montague yelled impulsively. He immediately regretted calling her by royal title. How could he be so stupid? Now the pack knew who Olivia was.
“Organize!” the mage with the leaky sore hollered. The pack dispersed, seemingly to increase their efforts, now knowing that a Volpi was in the mix, and vulnerable.
Montague, along with others in the escape party, both men and young men, unsheathed their blades. One mage grabbed Gretchen, the princess’ handmaid, and attempted to gag her with a piece of cloth she had torn from the bottom of her robe, but Gretchen fought, catching her by the wrist. Without hesitating, the farmer swung furiously at the warty one, impaling her through the torso.
Gretchen was unhurt, but obviously shaken from the close call. “Monte!” she shouted.
With his feet off balance from the strike, another black cloak lunged toward him, only to be pierced by a flying dagger that skimmed right past Montague’s face. When he looked back, he saw that Demitri had launched the blade from behind him.
With most of the attackers slain, a remaining few careened off, cackling like a pack of hyenas.
Everyone took a moment to catch their breaths, settle nerves, and gather courage. But Montague knew that they had to keep moving. It was only a matter of time before the enemy regrouped.
“Where is Burton?” Montague asked, turning to Demitri.
“I don’t know. I’m having a hard time remembering what happened. I thought he would have been with you.” His fine aim aside, Demitri seemed bleary.
After a brief rest, Demitri suggested that they had to move along. “Shadows of the dark ones are still lurking and searching the lands,” he said, lifting several of their bags. “I can hear footsteps, branches cracking in the distance.” He took a portion of the princess’ travel
