Morwen distracted herself from the growing sense of doom and the aches and pains by pretending she cared about nature. The trees’ misshapen trunks and branches, at first surreal and sinister, began to lose their novelty. The meandering river with its haunting shadows and mountain melts was no longer a welcome companion but a dreary, depressing flow of stone-grey water in the stark light of day. Not a single flower, edible mushroom or colourful toadstool grew under the trees. The forest floor was a battlefield littered with dead, decaying leaves.
Morwen joined Szat’s game of searching for Goron’s corpse in the river, but Caroc ruined it by pointing out the body would drift downstream not up. As a last resort, she turned her attention to the ranger. He’d definitely changed. She could see it in his features which were set in stone, grim and determined. “What did the toadoks do to you?” she blurted out.
Caroc stopped and leant against a tree. He squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them, they swam with tears. His mask was made of fine porcelain.
Intrigued, Morwen rubbed his shoulder. “I heard a Sister of Murdus say it helps to talk about it.”
“It’s not just what they did to me but to someone I love, I…I can’t stop thinking about.” He let out an anguished cry. “I should have listened to her and all would have been well.”
Morwen increased the tempo of her comforting rubs and made soothing, shushing sounds.
“We were the last two rangers, Nessa and me…”
“Why are we doing this?” Nessa said turning to look at Caroc. A sliver of sunlight caught her auburn hair, leafing it with gold and making her sea-green eyes glint like emeralds.
Caroc inhaled the vision. Of all the men left in Wichsault, she’d chosen him. “If we don’t keep the toadoks in check, they’ll raid the farmland.”
Nessa’s eyes narrowed, and she sighed in exasperation. “You know what I mean, Wichsault doesn’t care about us. The justiciar wants to save his skin, so he can enjoy his wine cellar for as long as he can.” She moved closer. Featherlight fingers ran down the tanned skin of his forearm. “We’re the last two rangers, Caroc. It ends with us.”
Nessa was right. All his brothers and sisters were dead. His packmaster and mentor, Logres, fell on a patrol like this, too. They all died searching the forests and sniffing out the toadok warbands before they swooped on Wichsault’s few remaining farms.
Nessa’s arms encircled Caroc’s waist and pulled him in. He could feel the heat of her body pressed against him and smell her odour of sweat and oiled leather. She tried to disguise it by smearing lemongrass over her skin, but to Caroc, the scent was better than any castle woman’s fancy perfume.
“Why don’t we keep moving, find somewhere to settle down?” She glanced over Caroc’s shoulder at the distant mountains. “We could see what’s on the other side of those ranges as we’ve always talked about and start a family.” At the suggestion he began to stiffen against her, and she laughed and bit at his earlobe. “Lots of little rangers, a pack of our own.”
Escape, and he could have a lifetime of happiness with this beautiful woman and a family, or he could stay and die. He’d been so proud to take the oath, his dream since childhood. How could he betray that dream and his oath? How could he renege on his duty to protect Wichsault to save his own skin? “Wichsault won’t last much longer and when the grand old lady does fall, we can slip away and start work on that family.” He smiled to soften the rejection.
Nessa wasn’t having it and pushed him away. “You’re going to get us both killed, you and your stupid oath. Logres doesn’t care if you keep it. He’s worm food. They all are.”
She walked in silence, obviously seething with resentment that Caroc could not understand her point of view. He was a ranger until death. He hoped she would forgive him before nightfall. Nights in the forest were cold and long.
A slight movement caught Caroc’s attention, a subtle shift in shadow. Nessa had seen it too and went into a low crouch while she pulled back her bow string.
Caroc picked up a scent on the breeze, fishy and familiar. A cold chill ran down his back. They’d walked into an ambush.
The air buzzed as if alive with insects.
Caroc and Nessa flattened themselves on the leafy ground.
Blow darts peppered the ground around them. Some hit their targets.
An army crashed through the undergrowth. Caroc strained to rise, but it felt as if he’d been pinned by an avalanche of rock. He was hauled to his feet and found himself looking into the reptilian faces of several toadoks. Upended, he was crammed into a giant rubbery mouth and swallowed in a single gulp. Still paralysed, he sloshed around in a stomach full of fish puree and stomach acid as the toadok dragged his distended belly back to his village.
Caroc was regurgitated in a puddle of goo at the feet of the fattest toadok he’d ever seen. He was the size of a cow with runny, watery eyes like half-poached eggs. Perched on his head was a headdress made from unimpressive mottled, grey feathers. Caroc was in a tent with a dozen other toadoks crammed into its confines. Nessa had endured the same treatment as he and was lying beside him.
The chief, as Caroc supposed him to be, regarded his two captives with his runny-egg eyes. Pleased, he smacked his lips and dragged his purple, bloated tongue over his rubbery lips. “Boil the female and serve her with a parsley sauce, save the male for the feast.”
“You’re on a diet, Thok,” a gigantic female, with two
