I order the others to stay away until I’m certain the dragon hasn’t spotted Sunniva’s white coat. Once she moves on, we gather and listen to the dragon’s screams. When I lean against Sunniva to comfort her as she shakes, Alianor nods and says, “Good idea,” and stands beside me, our bodies blocking her white form. Dain does the same while Wilmot slips into a more open area to watch the sky.
The dragon’s circles grow wider as we stand there. They don’t come our way again, though. Then the roars stop, and those thunderous wingbeats cease.
“She’s done,” I whisper, exhaling.
From a nearby clearing, Wilmot glances over and shakes his head, motioning for us to listen. Then it comes. A babble of voices. Panic and running footsteps and a scream. A very human scream, and the ground vibrates beneath our feet. The scream continues, along with cries for help. Then silence. Sudden and sickening silence.
“She’s found them,” Alianor whispers with a shudder. “She’s found the poachers.”
More shouts. Anger and panic mingled. Another scream, cut short, and I try so hard not to imagine what’s happening.
The shouts taper off, and the dragon roars in frustrated rage.
“They’ve escaped,” Alianor says. “She got two of them, but the rest made it into the forest.”
Dain grumbles that we don’t need the commentary, but it’s a very quiet grumble, acknowledging that Alianor is as spooked as us, and this is how she deals with it.
Wilmot’s head jerks up. His gaze swings in the direction from which we’d heard the dragon. She’s still roaring, and it takes a moment to realize she’s getting louder. Malric’s gaze is fixed on the forest. He listens for another moment, and then he twists, lunging my way, striking my legs and telling me to move.
“They’re coming,” I say. “Geraint’s men must be running this way.”
“Split up,” Wilmot says as he strides toward us. “Dain, take your dropbear. Alianor, take Doscach. I’ll take Sunniva. If any of the beasts try to flee on their own, let them. Do not follow.”
I open my mouth to argue. Split up? But there’s a dragon coming. We need to stick together…
No. Sticking together increases our chances of being seen or heard. If by some chance the dragon manages to get into the forest, then it doesn’t matter how many of us there are—we cannot fight her.
Wilmot didn’t specify who would go with me, because that is obvious: Jacko and Malric. While I’m confident Dez will cling to Dain—literally—I’m less certain about the equine monsters, and I ask them to go with their respective humans, but it’s quickly apparent that Doscach isn’t letting Sunniva out of his sight while a dragon is circling. Sunniva doesn’t want to leave my side either, but I can convince her to stay with Doscach, leaving Wilmot with Alianor. Then each group goes its own way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I creep through the forest with Malric at my rear and Jacko at my feet. The sound of the others fades behind me. The dragon has stopped roaring her thwarted fury and settled for silent circling. Twice she passes close enough for me to hear the whoosh of her wings, though I don’t see her.
Another twenty paces, and I stop. I shouldn’t get too far from the others, and this seems a good place to lie low. Any sound of the fleeing poachers has disappeared, suggesting they’ve found their own hiding spots.
As soon as I think that, the bushes rustle, feet pounding the earth. I dive to the ground and flatten myself in the thick undergrowth. Malric hunkers down beside me, Jacko between us. I reach for my sword, reconsider, and take out my dagger instead.
Just let the poachers run past. I’ll fight if I have to, but with any luck, they’ll keep going. Even if they spot us, there’s no reason to stop.
The footfalls and the crackling undergrowth grow louder and louder. I close my eyes and track their trajectory. They’re heading just to the right of us, on course to miss us entirely. Stay still. Stay perfectly—
A squeal. A snort. The footfalls veer and head straight for us.
I leap up, expecting to see running poachers. Instead, it’s two four-legged brown forms.
I quickly sheathe my dagger and pull my sword. The creatures smell Malric. One rears back, squealing, rising enough above the undergrowth for me to see it.
At first, I don’t know what I’m seeing. It’s a rabbit head, twice the size of Jacko’s, with shell-shaped ears. The beast rears, hissing, showing a long body. The front quarters look like a badger’s, the rear like a bear’s—if both animals hadn’t eaten in weeks.
It’s a rompo.
With their skeletal frames and humanoid ears and tiny teeth, rompos are very creepy. They are not, however, dangerous. Unless you’re already dead.
Rompos are scavengers. There’s another name for them that adds to the creep factor. Corpse-eaters. It’s said that they have a taste for humans and dig up graves. I shiver with revulsion as they hiss at me. But they aren’t going to hurt me. I’m surprised they haven’t already run away. The dragon has them spooked, making them braver than usual. Still, it’s only two of them. Even Jacko isn’t concerned as he hisses and waves his antlers.
“Malric?” I say.
He’s beside me, growling, clearly watching them. As soon as I charge—
A noise sounds to my left. It’s almost a humming sound, strangely musical. A bird, I presume…until I remember that rompos are said to sing. Yet the sound comes from my left. Then it comes from my right, too, and the two in front of me join in.
All right, so there are four of them.
At least four.
I’ll charge the two in front, and Malric can handle any others—
A bellow from the forest. My head snaps up, imagining the dragon swooping. It’s a human cry, though.
The two rompos in front swing their gazes that way, and the others stop singing. Someone
