breath, while its claws raked the air.
Fallion tested his ankle, stepping on it gingerly. He felt like a fool. Taking a fall like that could leave him with broken bones that would take weeks to heal.
The first strengi-saat had raced off into the woods, and now was roaring.
I left it wounded, he thought. And now it is more dangerous.
But the roars of pain became keening cries, and Fallion knew that the monster would bleed out in time.
I need to be more careful, he thought as he limped toward the hidden keep ahead.
Fallion’s head was down, watching the path, when the sea ape lunged from the shadows of a tree.
Instinctively, Fallion leapt aside, clearing the trail. The ape bolted past, teeth bared, knuckles digging into the dirt.
Only years of training had saved Fallion.
The ape whirled and peered at him in surprise.
She rose up on her hind feet and waved an enormous club overhead, white spikes bristling from it.
Shark’s teeth, Fallion realized, gazing up at the triangular teeth in the club.
The sea ape swung it down in a great arc, seeking to smash Fallion.
He rolled aside.
The impact shattered the club; the sea ape peered at it in astonishment.
Fallion had no desire to hurt the beast. He knew little about them, and knew that this ape was not acting on its own. It stupidly served its master.
“Leave,” Fallion said slowly, “and I will let you and your master go in peace.”
To his surprise, the ape’s eyes widened in understanding, and it stared hard at him.
In a vague dream, Rhianna peered at Fallion. The ape’s heart pounded with bloodlust. He was not food, she knew. He was not flesh to eat. But he posed a threat. He had come to slay Abravael. She could not allow that.
Rhianna felt torn and powerless, even as the ape watched for openings in Fallion’s defenses.
The sea ape Oohtooroo growled and thumped her chest with her left fist-once, twice, a third time.
“You go!” the ape cried. “Go now or die.”
Fallion’s mouth fell open; he stood, unsure what to do or say.
Oohtooroo watched intently as Abravael stepped out from the shadows and crept up behind Fallion.
For his part, Fallion merely studied Oohtooroo, blade in hand, and spoke softly. “There is no need for this. I wish you no harm.”
Fallion heard the scuff of a footfall and whirled.
A man lunged toward him, scimitar in hand. He was fast, and even as Fallion stepped aside, the man twisted his blade, nearly slipping beneath Fallion’s guard.
He has endowments of metabolism, Fallion realized.
Years of training took control of Fallion’s blade. He struck with his long knife, pulling the blade up quickly and reversing its edge, in order to strike the young man’s wrist.
Fallion slashed a deep wound, drawing blood. The wound jarred the man’s wrist, striking ganglia, causing the attacker to drop his sword.
Fallion pushed the attack, slamming his fist into the man’s face, then laying his blade to the man’s throat. Fallion called, “Surrender!”
The huge ape roared and charged, bounding toward Fallion, and he had no choice.
He shoved his captive forward and the ape clumsily tried to step aside, hoping to avoid hitting her master.
As she did, Fallion stepped forward and slashed her across the belly. Red blood flowed over white fur, and the ape roared in pain. She whirled toward him, now standing between Fallion and the wounded man.
Fallion stared. The young man was handsome by any standard, with dark hair and a face like his mother’s. He pressed his badly bleeding wrist against his chest, peering at Fallion maliciously.
“Truce!” the young man called. “I surrender!”
The huge ape began wheezing, and Fallion cringed to see the damage that he’d done. Her rib cage had opened up, and he could see the pale purple of intestines and the pink tip of one lung. The ape panted, stood in shock, still keeping itself between Fallion and its beloved master.
The young man was holding his wrist as if Fallion had chopped off his arm. He was worried about a minor wound while his faithful servant died.
“Go,” Fallion whispered. “Get out of here.” He stepped aside, giving the huge ape leeway. It just peered at him, breathing heavily, unsure what to do.
“Come, my pet,” Abravael whispered. “We’re outmatched. Mother will be so unhappy.”
The way that he said it, Fallion almost imagined that the young man wanted his mother’s Dedicates to die.
No, Fallion realized, he does want them to die. It’s not my imagination. How he must hate her.
Taking the sea ape by one hand, Abravael led the beast along the path. It glared back at Fallion, hurt and bewildered, dying, but it did not attack.
Fallion had an uncanny sense that the battle was not over, that Abravael still had some trap for him.
But the young man merely retreated to the shadow of a rock, then sat down, his huge sea ape beside him. Abravael smiled and nodded at Fallion, as if daring him to enter the Dedicates’ Keep.
There are more guards inside, Fallion realized, suddenly worried. Perhaps these guards are even powerful Runelords.
He licked his lips. His legs suddenly felt too weak to carry him farther into battle.
My body is a tool, Fallion told himself, repeating an old mantra of the Gwardeen. It must obey.
He stalked into the Dedicates’ Keep.
“Run!” Jaz shouted, warning the children in the cave. “Shadoath is coming.”
The children clamored to escape. Some grabbed weapons or sought to pick up coats, but most just rushed toward the graakerie, some of the bigger ones knocking the little ones aside.
Jaz had no time to help.
Grabbing Fallion’s forcibles, he raced to the rookery and freed a graak, a big male. It was tied with a rope, and Jaz fumbled as he tried to undo the knots. Finally, in a fit of panic, he drew his knife and slit the rope.
Then, realizing that he had time to help some of the younger children out, he raced to a second reptile and cut it free, and another and another.
The older children were quickly preparing their mounts, heaving huge saddles upon their backs, tying them down, fitting bridles.
Jaz raced to a corner where his own tack had been laid, then bridled and saddled the nearest great reptile. After he did, he helped a young girl onto the graak, then slapped its rump. The huge reptile lunged toward the ledge and soared into the air.
Jaz felt sick with fear and hunger, as if he would topple at any moment.
He stood on the ledge, gasping for breath.
Jaz looked down into the valley. Shadoath’s mount came up behind Nix’s. The girl wasn’t even aware of the danger.
Suddenly Shadoath hurled a dagger. Bright steel flashed as it blurred toward its mark. Nix got struck full in the back and went hurtling headlong from her graak.
The mount veered away and roared in fear, heading down into the forest.
Shadoath kept flying toward the hideout.
Two minutes, Jaz told himself. She can’t be more than two minutes away.
For half a second he wondered. Could Fallion have found Shadoath’s Dedicates by now? If so, had he killed them yet? And if he had, what did that mean?
Shadoath could be as weak as any commoner. Jaz wasn’t half the warrior that Fallion had become, but Jaz had been practicing with the blade for years.
Dare I fight her? he wondered. If she is a commoner, she might underestimate me. I might be able to strike a killing blow.
But Jaz was no warrior. He never had been.
A young boy was struggling to throw a heavy saddle over a huge graak, using all of his strength.
