24. Chapter Twenty-Three #2
A small group of Hollows cannibals at the base of our hill finally turned their attention to us, partially in an attempt to escape the horde hacking them to pieces.
My kisteral snorted in fear and tried to rear its front two legs, pawing at the air with its massive cloven feet.
We were stable enough balanced on its other two sets of legs, but I still gripped the reins tighter and attempted to turn its head to the side and back in control to keep Behar from getting kicked.
The unit to my left—fifty men strong—immediately shifted as one to form a wall three rows deep to block the oncoming savages.
My kisteral shot off to the right and raced along the top of the hill and down the southern side of it straight into the valley.
Colorful curses flowed freely from my lips and I struggled to loosen my feet from the saddle to jump if I needed.
Behar easily kept abreast of the terrified beast, nipping at its front legs in an attempt to herd it.
The kisteral snorted and threw its head again, but slowed down slightly from a full sprint.
Unfortunately, my mount had veered too close to the fighting.
A rogue arrow flew, silent and true, and buried itself just behind the front left shoulder, where the kisteral’s heart would be.
Behar barely leapt out of the way as she bellowed and fell to the ground, skidding along it with my leg pinned between its heavy body and the ground.
Armor covering the tops of my thighs and calves took the brunt of it, but my hip screamed from the strain put on my leg beneath the heavy, still body laying on top of it.
Immediately Behar took a defensive position with his hackles raised and teeth bared, standing between me and whoever was stupid enough to come within reach of an angry rinhound half their size.
No one else was close enough to help pull me up.
“Gods damn it!” The gods were definitely turning their eyes my way, with how much I was damning in their names. I knew what I had to do. I had to become the monster I bargained for.
Behar knew it, too. Keeping his body angled to pounce at the first enemy, he slowly crept back until his back haunches were within reach.
I could usually tap into beastwalker magic on my own, but contact with the bonded animal made it much easier and faster to accomplish.
With all the chaos of battle, even the best spellcaster would struggle to maintain focus enough to cast. Which made the fact Haron—or whoever was out there—was controlling a whole battlefield of undead and fighting on her own even more impressive.
I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes, trusting Behar to guard me long enough to make the bestial transformation.
Just placing my palm on his hunched back grounded me immediately, sharpening my mind to the acute focus of a predator stalking its prey.
The world fell away, taking the disconcerting screams and wails of the dying away with it.
The change took over quickly. Muscles in my biceps, shoulders, and chest expanded, straining against the leather straps of my armor painfully before snapping under the pressure.
The cotton gambeson and leather pants beneath it fell away even faster as it was shredded apart, and black fur sprouted from every inch of skin.
Bones shifted and cracked, the sound ricocheting in my skull when an elongated snout grew out.
Long fangs pushed my human teeth from their gums and littered the ground along with droplets of blood that followed them.
If I had taken more time to let the transformation settle, it wouldn’t have been as excruciating as it was now, hunching my back under the agony of twisting my body into this unnatural shape.
The last of the spell stretched my hands and fingers, growing out black claws to replace the soft, useless nails.
My mind was still my own, but an instinctive howl ripped from my chest as I shifted entirely to my beastwalker form.
Ears atop my own head swiveled to take in all the sounds, and I angrily shoved off the kisteral’s corpse to free myself.
Behar joined in with his own howl, a duet of battle cries weaving through the clanging and pained screams. The weather here was miserable even on the eve of the Chill, but with the pumping heat my transformed body created a light cloud of steam now hovering around me.
Toes tipped with wicked sharp claws flexed and spread on newly formed paws the size of dinner plates, digging into the hardened earth with every heavy step.
It took a few moments to orient myself in this form—it felt unnatural walking on two legs in this form, but doable—and I lifted my nose to the wind to sniff for Gennel.
It was already difficult enough with my limited exposure to any discerning scent, but at this point my sense of smell was the most reliable.
There was no way to tell what form he, or she, took otherwise.
At least, not that I knew of. Obviously Haron had her own way of hunting down that skittering pest.
“Prince Irin!” Beolf called from behind. He grunted heavily and shoved the body of a tribesman off his sword with the strong kick of a boot from atop his mount. “We will cover you. Go!”
The twenty or so men around us—staying as close as they dared after witnessing my beastly transition—formed a loose half-circle that came between Behar, myself, and the fighting.
I didn’t bother concerning myself with their pace as I lowered onto all fours.
It had been a while since I had run full speed in this form—the moment of exhilaration made my insides feel as if they sloshed around when I shot off.
Bodies that should have been blurs remained in crisp focus with my heightened sight.
The shocked faces of the Hollows warriors interspersed with the empty expressions of the dead passed us by as we wove around the edge of the battlefield.
It would be foolish to cut straight through, but too much of a waste of time to avoid the valley altogether in favor of climbing up and down the other two hills on the perimeter.
One warrior was brave enough to swing his crudely sharpened dagger at my head, a terrified cry on his lips.
I snapped out to latch onto his arm and give a violent shake.
It was a joke how easily his forearm separated from the elbow.
My teeth crushed the bone as easily as chewing on a jelly-filled roll.
I tossed the arm aside, blood spattering along my muzzle as I did, and kept running toward the other hill.
The rabid look seemed to be a boon, scaring off the more rational fighters.
Even then, I wasn’t fast enough to avoid a small group of men who broke from the perimeter to try to intercept me, their clubs and axes raised over their heads as they screamed war cries and sprinted toward me.
It would be admirable that they took on a beast walker twice their sizes, but I was far too angry to do more than swipe at their bare chests with wickedly long claws.
Two of them fell instantly, completely gutted, while another two barely dodged, receiving deep slashes across their chests and arms where they had tried to block the heavy blow.
One more tried to circle behind and leap onto my back, only to receive a vicious bite from Behar on the leg that dropped him to a knee.
I swung around with another powerful strike, catching the back of the man’s neck and sending his head rolling in a fantastic spray of blood.
Behar’s mouth was bloody as he moved to stand closer to my side, crouched defensively while a continuous growl rumbled from his chest.
The other two warriors, already weakened and bleeding, were being easily dispatched by a revenant swinging its javelin in a well-executed series of spins.
How the dead could be this coordinated and skilled in their weapons was a testament to the level of control held over them.
I had to shake my momentary fascination off and continue my path along the battle’s edge.
Behar was stuck to my left side between me and the chaos of the battlefield, panting heavily as he ran.
Bodies of the chieftain’s warriors who guarded him were already scattered along the side of the hill by the time we climbed to the top.
Very briefly, I wondered where the chieftain they were supposed to be guarding was, half expecting him to spring at me from above.
More revenants hovered around the base, and did an excellent job keeping anyone else from getting close None of them moved to attack or even acknowledge us passing by on our way up, something else that seemed very…
odd. Above the din of violent noises from the battlefield, two feminine voices screamed at each other between the metallic blows of swords.
“Gods, why won’t you just fucking die ?”
The other cackled, the voice husky and derisive. “I’m sure you would like that, demon spawn! Your bloodline scurries around like roaches who refuse to die!”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you!” The first one screeched again, and more strikes rang out. “You’re the one who won’t stay dead, Morrette!”
Morrette?