When Geraint offers to take one man and peek over the cliff, I want to refuse. Wilmot accepts before I can.
“It’s our job to clear the nests,” Wilmot whispers after they go. “Do not take on more than necessary. If his men are attacked, we must be here to save them.”
The two creep toward the cliff. Then Geraint’s companion stretches out on the ground and peers over the edge. A moment later, they jog back to us.
“All clear,” Geraint says.
I instruct the villagers to stay ten feet from the cliff’s edge. Their job is to watch for the returning harpies.
Once they’re in place, Wilmot, Dain, Kaylein and I start forward. Malric follows, but I position him at the edge, where he can keep watch. I ask Jacko to stay with the warg. To my surprise, he doesn’t argue. He just keeps glancing toward the villagers, clearly unsure of what to make of this new arrangement. Malric seems to feel the same, as he keeps one eye on the sky and the other on the men.
“I don’t think Malric trusts them,” I whisper as we head out.
“Because he’s smart,” Dain mutters. “Smarter than some prin—” He cuts himself short. “Less trusting than some princesses.”
“I wouldn’t trust them with my valuables,” I say. “But I don’t see a problem with this. Do you, Wilmot?”
“If I did, we wouldn’t be here.” Wilmot glances at Malric and frowns. Then he shakes his head. “He’s being cautious. As should we. Trust Malric to keep an eye on them. Jacko, too. We need to pay more attention to your jackalope.”
“I already made the mistake of underestimating him,” I say.
“You misinterpreted.” Wilmot waves us on. “Now let’s get this done. I’d rather not sleep in the village if we can be on our way tonight.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Three nests. Eight juveniles. They’re younger than I expected, which worries me. With the harpies migrating, they must have laid their eggs late. I’d rather deal with older monsters, where I don’t need to worry as much about hurting them. On the other hand, with these ones being too young to fly, the job should be easy enough.
The problem is positioning. The harpies have wisely built their nests under a sheltering overhang. That means we can’t get a clear shot to sedate them with darts. I suppose that’s a good thing, or the villagers might have tried this themselves. What we need to do is scale down the cliffside and inject the young monsters by hand.
I don’t like it. I really don’t. Each nest contains at least two juveniles, and I don’t see how to inject them fast enough to avoid alerting the others. Once alerted, they could panic and fall to their deaths. Or their alarm cries could bring their parents.
When I glance over to tell Wilmot, he’s watching me. He already sees the problems. He’s waiting for me to see them, too.
“We can’t sedate the fledglings fast enough,” Dain says. “There are too many of them, too close together.”
For one heartbeat, I’m annoyed that he “stole” my answer. But that isn’t fair. He’s a monster hunter in training, just like me. He needs to be able to figure these things out for himself, and he wasn’t trying to show off.
“Thoughts?” Wilmot says.
“We need to find another way to sedate them.” Dain glances down toward the nests. “Maybe get on a ledge and shoot darts?”
“Have you perfected your dart skills yet?”
“He hasn’t had time,” I say. “We could ask one of the villagers, but I don’t want to endanger them that way.” I consider. “Do you think the babies would accept food from someone other than the adults? We could dangle sedative-soaked food over the edge.”
“That’s a good idea,” Wilmot says. “But I believe they’re young enough to be even more trusting than that. Particularly if the food is given to them by…” He glances my way.
“A monster magnet?” Dain says.
Wilmot’s blue eyes warm in a near-smile. “It does have its advantages. Kaylein, if you can help them prepare the meat, I’ll figure out a safe way to get Rowan and Dain down there.”
Fresh meat will be best for this, so we send one villager back for some while I ask Malric if he can catch anything. He brings me a rabbit long before the villager returns, and Jacko adds a mouse. We prepare strips of meat and dab them with sedative. As Dain, Kaylein and I do this, Wilmot and one of the villagers scout for the best spot. By the time we’re ready, they are.
Wilmot has decided that the best way down is up. Get to the bottom of the canyon and climb. The walls are about fifty feet high, with the nests in the middle. It’s also a matter of safety. Climbing down, I could tumble fifty feet. Climbing up, I’d fall no more than half of that. Of course, I have no intention of falling.
We use a path to get down. Malric and Jacko stay at the top with two of the villagers. The others join us.
Going up is easy. This is where, as I can’t resist pointing out to Dain, my tree-climbing skills come in handy. He ignores me and settles for grumbling and cursing as he makes his way up to the nests.
Wilmot is below, arrow notched as he watches the skies. Kaylein is poised beside him. When I looked down from the cliff top earlier, some of the fledglings had been sleeping, but others peep as we climb, and I squint up to see a tiny simian face watching me as it leans from the nest.
I slow to study the small face. It’s calm, eyes bright and intent. Curious, as with
