style.”
Moonslayer ruffled his nose at her but said nothing. Pacing, he waited until the wolf-man with her bow returned. The creature dumped it unceremoniously before her, scattering arrows out of the quiver. When she held the bow she saw the string had been cut. Shaking her head in annoyance, she reached for the quiver, earning herself a growl from those gathered around her.
“The string,” she said, trying to explain. “It’s broken, but I have a spare.”
With that she continued what she was doing, removing the old drawstring and then pulling out a new one from a long pouch on the side of the quiver. Looping the bottom on, she stood, braced it with her legs, and then hooked the other side. That done, she stared Moonslayer in the eyes.
“The arrows will have the glow,” she said. Moonslayer flattened his ears and nodded, urging her on.
Jessilynn bent down and picked up an arrow. This was it, she thought. She could fire an arrow into the air, the glow alerting Dieredon to her presence. Perhaps he could assault the crowd before they realized what was going on. The idea vanished as quickly as it came. There was no way Dieredon had somehow lost track of her. If he was nearby, then he already knew. That was just how he was. On the other hand, if he wasn’t near…
She looked to Moonslayer, who watched her closely. Moonslayer and Manfeaster were the two responsible for the entire army, the fearsome leaders that kept the rest in check. It was fear that prevented total anarchy and breakdown, fear that would not last if the wolf-men squabbled over leadership. How much might she disrupt their plans if she took him down? She’d be forfeiting her life, but how many lives might she save in doing so? This was what she’d sworn to do, to give her life so others may go on.
The arrow touched the string. Moonslayer was to her left, and before her were two wolf-men, who stepped aside to give her an empty space to shoot through. Her heart hammered in her chest. She refused to look at Moonslayer, to even let him guess at her thinking. Up went her bow, and she tightened her grip. When she pulled back the string, the arrowhead lit up, the metal pulsing softly with a blue glow that was far fainter than she preferred. The wolf-men around her saw it, and several let out soft growls.
Now, she thought. Now was the time. Turn and fire, send the wolf-man leader to his grave. Save hundreds, maybe thousands.
She released the arrow.
It sailed through the gap, slicing through the night before striking ground. With a loud crack it hit, shattering rock. Jessilynn let out the breath she’d been holding, the weight of her inaction bringing her to tears.
No, she couldn’t do it. She was a coward. If Jerico saw her then, she could only imagine the disappointment in his eyes.
“It is not the same as the stories,” Moonslayer said as he took the bow from Jessilynn’s hands.
“It is enough,” Silver-Ear insisted. “Let them all see it. She is still a champion of mankind, no matter how weak she appears.”
Moonslayer stood, studying her with those intelligent eyes of his.
“Very well,” he said. “I will find Manfeaster. If you want a demonstration, shaman, then you shall have one.”
He handed the bow and quiver off to another, then lifted Jessilynn into the air, draping her over his shoulders. One giant paw held her feet, the other arms. The position jammed her armor into her stomach, but she kept the discomfort to herself. For some reason she knew if she mentioned it, the wolf-man would only make it worse. She felt like a child as he carried her, racing along the ground with his tongue hanging out one side of his mouth. The rest of the wolf-men followed, leaving Silver-Ear to lag behind.
After an hour of running, Jessilynn felt she could take no more. She’d had nothing to eat in the past twelve hours, so when she vomited it was just air and bile. Whenever she gagged, Moonslayer pulled her further past his neck so she would not stain his fur. On and on they ran into the west, each jostling step bringing pain to her spine.
At last they came upon the new encampment of the creatures. It was spread out along the flatlands, each race gathered separate from the others. In the center of the army they left a gap, just like they had in the ravine. It was there Moonslayer ran, dropping her on the ground and assigning two of his wolf-men to guard her. Jessilynn remained still, eyes closed, and it was not long before she drifted away into sleep.
Consciousness returned with a claw stabbing into the side of her arm. She cried out, and when she opened her eyes she found Moonslayer standing over her.
“The tribes are gathered,” he said. “On your feet.”
She slowly stood, her head pounding furiously. All around the creatures massed, come to watch whatever demonstration Moonslayer had planned. From what she could tell, she’d slept for at least an hour, maybe two. It wouldn’t be long before the sun began to rise. The giant wolf-man paced before them all, letting them see him, letting them witness his size and power. And then he began his speech.
“I told you this human is a warrior of her kind, the best they might raise against us,” Moonslayer yelled. “Yet I hear you speak when my back is turned. You call me a liar. You say she is no paladin. You say you have fought humans bigger, stronger, more dangerous than this little whelp. Then let me show you how wrong you are.”
Her guess at Manfeaster’s location had been wrong after all. From the west he came running at full speed, as if his return just happened to coincide with his brother’s speech. Instead of running on all fours, he ran on two, for carried on his back was a human child. Jessilynn choked down a cry seeing him. The child looked hardly more than seven years old, his clothes torn and his body splashed with blood. Along with Manfeaster came several more wolf-men, and they too carried men and women on their shoulders. Most appeared dead but for two, the child Manfeaster carried and a middle-aged man.
The bodies were dumped just outside the ring, but the two living were set down not far from Jessilynn. The boy looked around with white-shocked eyes, too frightened to cry. The man fell to his knees and grabbed the boy, holding him against his chest as he kept his head down and his eyes closed. His father, thought Jessilynn, seeing their hair was the same color. Who were the rest of the bodies? Were they his family, his friends?
“We have crossed the river!” Manfeaster roared. “We have tasted the flesh of humans. No boats stop us. No armies meet us to fight. They are weak, and we are strong.”
Moonslayer walked over and handed Jessilynn her bow.
“Show them,” he said to her. “Let them see what you are.”
With a dawning horror she realized what he wanted. The father and child? That would be how she proved her abilities as a paladin of Ashhur?
“No,” she said. “No, I can’t. I can’t do this.”
“You will,” Moonslayer growled.
The rest of the vile creatures hooted and howled, driven wild by the scent of fresh human blood. The wolf- men stood guard over the bodies, the feast not yet ready to begin. It was to be entertainment first. Caught in a nightmare, Jessilynn drew an arrow. She nocked it, then stared at the father and son. They were both terrified and crying. She didn’t blame them. All around were monsters.
“I can’t,” she whispered, suddenly loosening her grip. To murder one of them, just to spare her own life? Had she lost her mind?
“Is that so?” Moonslayer asked. He shot a look to Manfeaster, who nodded, understanding the unspoken message.
In a single smooth motion, Manfeaster took the boy from the father’s arms, flipped him into the air, and then smashed him headfirst into the rocky ground.
“No!” cried Jessilynn, her scream echoing along with that of the father.
Two of the creatures beat down the man when he tried to rush Manfeaster, their claws ripping into his flesh until he crumpled to his knees. Moonslayer leaned closer, his words rumbling in Jessilynn’s ears.
“Show them,” he whispered. “Show them, or we eat the next alive.”
It was all too much. Legs shaking, she looked upon the grieving father. His body was covered with gashes, and blood mixed with his tears and snot. Only the wolf-men holding him kept him away from the body of his son. Jessilynn thought of him lying on his back, screaming while the wolves and the birds tore into his flesh, feasting. Her arms shook, and a shudder convulsed through her.
As the vile creatures howled, she pulled back her arrow. What she did…was it murder? No matter what she chose, the man would suffer, the man would die. This was compassion, wasn’t it? Was it mercy? Or was it cowardice, a way to escape the guilt of watching such a horrific sight? Her eyes flicked to the boy’s corpse. Already
