The leaves caught, but the tharuks kept snoozing. Shards, she didn’t want the whole forest to go up in flames while they had their beauty sleep. Marlies dropped some leaves on the tharuks’ faces. No response, except a giant snore from Broken Tusk. The leaf pile was blazing now.
Desperate, Marlies peeled long strips of loose bark from the gum branch and dropped them onto Broken Tusk’s snout.
Broken Tusk spluttered, jumping to its feet. “Fire! Hey, lazy. Get up!” It booted Runty, and they both snatched up their water skins, rushing toward the flames.
It was in their best interests to put out the fire before the entire forest burned. Her work done, Marlies jumped into a neighboring tree and made her way northeast toward the Flatlands.
§
476 shoved the weakling toward the fire, bellowing, “Use your water first!”
“B-but I d-don’t—”
“Now!”
The weakling threw water at the flames, a fly spitting against the wind—too little force and not enough fluid. Soon runt’s skin was empty.
“Smother the flames with the skin,” 476 roared, shoving the weakling closer, using it as a shield against the heat. The pathetic runt whimpered as it got close to the flames, shielding its face with the waterskin.
“Smother it. Too scared to use the skin? Use rocks, then.” 476 picked up a rock, tossing it at the burning leaves. Soon the fire would be out of control and they’d have to flee, like beaten dogs. If they survived, Zens would murder them for losing their quarry. 476 cast around for something bigger to smother the fire with.
The weakling tossed a rock or two.
“Bigger. Get that boulder,” 476 ordered.
The weakling tried uselessly to prize the enormous boulder from the ground with its claws.
Now, there was something that would smother the fire perfectly. 476 brought a rock crashing down onto the runt’s skull, smashing its head against the boulder and killing it instantly. Then 476 lifted the weakling’s body, almost hooking it on its broken tusk, and carried it to the burning leaves. It threw the body onto the flames, rolling it back and forth until the worst of the fire had died. The rest, it doused with its own waterskin.
By the time 476 was done, its paws were singed, its tongue was thick with smoke, and its eyes were stinging. The cloying stench of burnt gum clung to its nostrils, making it impossible to track anything. 476 hacked the burnt hand off its dead underling. It snarled, snatching up the waterskin and limping toward a river, so it could clear its senses, and track down whatever had started that fire—it must have been the prey they were seeking.
Captive
Two days in this rotting cell and still no chance of escape. Hans paced along the back wall: four steps north, four steps south, four steps north again …
Bill’s constant melody of retching and ranting was wearying, but it least it was better than when Bill trembled on his thin mattress, howling. No one who ever witnessed that would want to take swayweed. But then again, no one ever took it voluntarily the first time—and once they tasted it, deep-seated cravings drove them mad. That sharding Zens was sly. He milked plants to subjugate everyone to his will. Thousands of Death Valley slaves under the control of numlock were testament to that.
His boots ground grit into the floor. He and Marlies had buried their pasts for too long. He was ready to fight Zens and his beasts, to reclaim everything Zens had stolen. To avenge those whose families and loved ones Zens had destroyed.
Hans slammed his bandaged knuckles against the bars. He’d tried reason. He’d tried the fear of tharuk attack, and now he’d had enough. “I demand to see Klaus. I demand a right to a fair trial,” he shouted. He had to do something. Those monsters would sweep through Western Settlement and across Lush Valley, laying waste to everything.
The guard paced down the corridor, sword in hand, glowering.
“Please, listen to me,” Hans pleaded. “Tharuks are coming. I have to help the township prepare.”
The guard cocked his head, scratching his bristly beard. At last, he was listening.
“What a load of horse manure,” Bill bellowed. “Dragon lover! Klaus wants you in here to stop you rabble rousing. Said as much. No one here respects a man who fed his own daughter to a fiery beast!”
The guard’s teeth were a slash of white against his dark beard. He smacked his sword hilt against Hans’ knuckles. “Oops, that slipped.” He flashed a malicious grin.
Ignoring his throbbing hand, Hans threw himself away from the bars to jog off his fury along the length of his cell. After a while, he lay on his lumpy mattress and did stomach crunches until his face beaded with sweat. Then he lunged, using the air as his sword.
It was no use. He was stuck here. His heart was good, yet Ernst would never be able to train everyone before tharuks arrived.
The guard was speaking to someone. “I’ll let Klaus know that you’re consorting with the dragon lover again,” he sneered.
Ernst came along the corridor. “Good day, Hans.” He slipped a few rounds of flatbread and some cheese through the bars. “From Ana.” He wrinkled his nose at the bitter stench of Bill’s latest bout of retching. “Although you may choose to eat it later.”
As if the biting stench would lift
