Chapter 11
Eleven
Mina and the sorcerer had not made it to higher ground before an army of corpse-eaters closed in on them. Not by leagues.
Whenever smaller bands of them advanced, she and Silt had battled them back, then run headlong. As night bled into night, a cycle of survival emerged: battling then running. The two of them weakened without food or rest. And all the while, the number grew behind them.
“Sorcerer, we’re almost there!” At last the terrain changed, growing less mucky. They’d be able to gain more of a lead.
Fatigue marked his face as he nodded. “Push hard, vampire.”
Using the last of her reserves, she did. Only adrenaline fueled her now. As she scrabbled over rocks, her legs felt boneless, and her injured arm ached.
A trail between boulders appeared not a second too soon. “This leads to a cave entrance. We can defend it.”
He grabbed her elbow, helping her along. “It’ll give us a shot.”
Throughout these nights, the rhythm she’d experienced with him during their first skirmish had only deepened. After learning each other’s moves, they each knew when to duck, when to assist, and when to get out of the way.
And he’d always ensured she was in a prime fighting position, taking the soggier ground, protecting his bait.
Reluctantly she’d noted the set of his masculine jaw as he concentrated and his slight grins after particularly gruesome kills. She’d noted the way he seemed to trust her own expertise whenever she’d suggested a charge or a defense.
The thought had struck her: For a female like me who is fascinated by combat, he is . . . attractive. She’d had to remain on guard against wendigos, against him, and against that peculiar attraction—a multifront war that had exhausted her.
Howls sounded, even closer. “How are they gaining so quickly?” She darted a glance over her shoulder, shocked by their proximity. Was something spurring them? They dogged Mina and Silt’s heels.
“Go, go!” Silt shoved her forward just as one vaulted for him.
Its knifelike claws sliced through the sorcerer’s coat!
“Fight!” He and Mina whirled around yet again, weapons flashing out. Flying heads should have deterred the others, but they never did. Dodging strikes and dropping bodies, she and Silt backed toward the cave.
Yet then the wendigos abruptly stopped. They swiped those dagger claws but wouldn’t advance up the trail.
She murmured, “It’s like there’s an imaginary line they won’t cross. You may not understand that concept.”
“Heh. They fear something behind us. Something in that mountain.” Yet he continued in that direction.
“We’re going in? If they fear something, perhaps we should be cautious.” That was why the creatures had sped up—they’d known their capture window was shrinking.
“We can’t stay here,” he said. “Sooner or later, the sight of us will spur their hunger beyond their fear.”
“Heading into a murky cave with a devious sorcerer to face yet another threat? Why not? I suppose you might be the lesser of many evils.” She wiped her sword clean on the sole of her boot. “ Lesser fits.”
His gaze narrowed. “You think you’re so elevated, princess. I should have left you behind a hundred times.”
“Yes, you should have.” They entered the cave, their steps echoing. “My commitment to killing you has only strengthened.”
He waved that away. “What can you see, maneater?” He’d continued to rely on her senses.
The sounds of dripping water pinged in different directions from miles within. “This isn’t just a shallow cave. It’s an ongoing cavern system with a multitude of branches.” She cocked her head back in the direction of the wendigos. “The pack remains outside.”
“Do you detect any danger ahead?”
She raised her face and inhaled. “I’m picking up a scent: the remnants of some sort of creature. But I’ve never encountered it before.”
“Can you hear a heartbeat?”
“No, and I can usually pick that up from far away. I hear no movement whatsoever.” She shrugged, then winced at the growing pain in her arm. Her normal regeneration hadn’t had any effect on those slashes.
Nights of fighting rabid creatures brought her own transformation into sharp relief. How long did she have before she lost herself?
The sorcerer continued in, and she joined him. Meandering deeper, they found a collection of decaying logs, littered with bones.
He shuffled the bones with his boot. “Looks like an old nest of a basilisk, a dragon. That must be what spooked the wendigos. But I wager it’s long dead.”
She’d read about basilisks, had seen sketches of majestic dragons with golden eyes and iridescent scales. “You’re probably right. I don’t detect any fresh kills.” She glanced up sharply. “The only blood I smell is yours.” He must have sweated out all those pollutants—because his blood was sublime . Then she recalled that wendigo slicing his coat. “Sorcerer, were you scratched?”