Chapter 10 The Hellion #2
She couldn’t lose herself to her fear. She needed her wits about her.
The thieves followed the tumbling stream for a little while. Moonlight sparkled off the dark water, and Celise saw clusters of glowbells hidden between the rocks along the banks. She tried to calm down and recover some control over her body.
Finally, the men stopped running.
“This is the place,” Corwin said, dropping his heavy bag of swords on the ground. “We’re supposed to meet the Dread Jackal here.”
Who is the Dread Jackal? Celise wondered.
She found herself dropped ungraciously to the ground. She wasn’t expecting the sudden fall. She landed clumsily on her side, the wind knocked out of her.
When she looked up, she saw Farvi standing over her in his stained brown coat with his tweed flat cap pulled low over his head. She recognized the big scar on his square cheek and his mean, beady eyes.
As she blinked and squinted through the darkness, more and more of her surroundings came into focus.
They had arrived at a stone quarry that lay deep in the midnight woods, illuminated by the light of the twin moons.
Surrounding the quarry, a forest of towering pine trees swayed in the wind, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers, casting eerie shadows that danced in the moonlight.
The quarry itself was a vast, open wound in the earth, its walls a patchwork of moss-covered stones and crumbling ledges.
A stagnant pool of water at the bottom of the pit reflected the starlit sky above like a mirror.
It was a haunting place, full of shadows and strange echoes.
Celise sensed the movement of small rodents between the rocks.
An owl hooted nearby, and farther off, a disparaging cry that might have been a griffin.
She didn’t want to encounter one of those giant beasts.
Beyond Farvi, about a dozen other thieves milled about the quarry, resting on large rocks or pacing over dead leaves.
One by one, they piled the shined ghost swords on the ground next to the pond.
Metal clinked against metal as they examined their prizes.
The hilts and pommels glinted ominously in the moonlight.
“This looks like a good haul. Did we get the whole list?” one of the bandits asked.
“I checked off every last blade,” Corwin said with a touch of pride. “Had to drag that bag halfway across the castle! Thought my arms would fall off.”
“What about the soldier who found us?” another man asked. “Do you think he’ll follow us out here?”
“I think we lost him,” Corwin said.
One of the men, no more than a lumbering black shadow, pointed in Celise’s direction. “Then what are we going to do about her?”
“Who says we have to do anything?” Corwin hedged, a touch of reluctance in his tone. It surprised her. She wasn’t expecting any mercy from this group of thieves.
“She’s seen us. She’s a witness. I say we slit her throat,” Farvi growled.
A beat of silence. The men seemed to consider this suggestion seriously.
Celise wondered if it was a good time to make a run for it.
Then, suddenly, she felt a vibration through the earth.
Was she imagining it?
Her fingers sank into the soft dirt. She felt the thunder of hooves through the ground. A few rocks rattled at the edge of the quarry. A pebble fell down, shaken loose from a pile of gravel and shale.
The Hellion!
A black warhorse burst through the trees. It charged down the rocky hill in two leaps, practically flying to the bottom of the quarry. The thieves whirled about.
“He followed us!”
“That damned horse!”
“Grab the ghost swords!”
The Hellion charged down the group of men, trampling them with its sharp hooves. The fearless beast reared up on its hind legs and whinnied into the night. It resembled a lion’s roar more than a sound a horse should make.
The thieves scattered.
“Not so fast!” the soldier yelled from atop his giant horse. He reached into his saddlebag and flung a net through the air. The rope shimmered with mana. It entangled several of the thieves, who fell to the ground as though trapped under a giant rock.
“I can’t breathe!” one of the men screamed.
Another one tried to cut his way free of the net with a knife, but the blade was useless against the silver strands. Celise saw the net sparkle under the moonlight, as though the cloth were interwoven with metal. Skydust—or shined wires of some kind?
“We call that ‘daemon thread,’” the soldier said as he leapt from the saddle and approached the thieves. “You’ll have a hard time breaking it. Not even a crimson cleaver can untangle itself from that.”
He secured the net, binding the men fast together.
The rest of the bandits hung back along the fringe of the forest, warily watching the soldier and his aggressive horse.
The air was thick with tension. Celise felt as though she were surrounded by hungry wolves.
How the soldier could act so cool and collected under such an immediate threat astounded her.
Then Farvi reached under his coat and drew a pistol from his belt.
“Rally, boys!” Farvi bellowed. “The Dread Jackal is counting on us! Just think of all the goldlarks waiting for you. We’ve come this far. Get those swords!”
He raised his pistol at the soldier.
“Watch out!” Celise screamed. She acted without thinking. Shocking herself, she tackled Farvi from the side. She wasn’t very large or heavy, but with a grunt, the man’s arm jerked up. The gun misfired. Crack!
The bullet went wild. It missed the soldier’s head by a few inches and grazed the flank of the Hellion. The black horse reared up on its hind legs, screamed in pain, and took off into the woods at a mad gallop.
“You lightless little whore!” Farvi yowled and flung her down to the ground.
Celise yipped as she hit the dirt.
Before Farvi could raise his gun again, the soldier threw his ghost sword with a powerful arm.
The blade’s purple light flickered out like a candle the moment it left his grasp.
The shined rod flew through the air, straight and true.
With a loud, fleshy thud, the rod’s tip skewered the man’s arm and pinned him to a tree trunk.
Farvi screamed.
The bloodcurdling sound made Celise’s hair stand on end.
Emboldened, the rest of the bandits charged at the soldier, eager to pummel him into the ground and retrieve their stolen goods.
Celise sat in the dirt, her shift pushed up around her knees, her hair a mess, and her heart hammering in her throat.
She wanted to help the soldier, but she wasn’t a fighter. What could she do?
The horse.
Her heart twisted.
She wasn’t skilled enough to aid the soldier in combat—but she could find his lost stallion. A large beast like a Hellion could trip and break a leg in the darkness. A lame horse was a dead horse. She couldn’t let that happen.
And, although she hated to admit it, she felt a lot better running away from the battle than towards it.
On shaking legs, Celise climbed to her feet.
Then she ran after the rabid horse. The Hellion’s trail led her up the side of the quarry and through the dense woods.
Its chaotic path was easy to see in the light of the twin moons.
A corridor of broken branches, trampled lichen, and upturned earth led her through the wilderness.
She could read the Hellion’s power in the damage it wrought upon the forest. The warhorse was not a delicate animal—yet a bullet to the buttock would spook the heartiest steed.
Celise followed the Hellion’s trail with dogged determination at a full sprint, her breath laboring in her lungs and sweat pouring from her brow.
Then, with little warning, she emerged from the trees.
A cliff.
“Oh!” she yelped. Her feet found purchase on a bed of thick moss and densely woven roots. She stopped herself from barreling over the edge of the precipice.
The beast was pacing the edge of a cliff. The sudden drop ended at a river far below. The roar of rushing water hinted at a deep, swift current. Celise saw long trenches in the ground leading up to the edge of the cliff, where the Hellion had skidded to a halt with its sharp hooves.
When the angry horse saw Celise, it reared up on its hind legs, screaming its fury into the night.
Celise took a moment to catch her breath. Somewhere in her exhausted gasps was a sigh of relief.
“Here, boy,” she whispered, and clicked under her tongue to the horse. “Easy now. Come here. Don’t go . . . a step farther . . . .”
The stallion was still rearing up on its hind legs at the edge of the cliff, not quite finished with its tantrum.
With a burst of strength, Celise caught the horse’s reins with one hand and dragged the Hellion’s head around.
She yanked down hard on the horse’s head and stared into its fierce black eyes.
The beast’s neck was powerful enough to drag her through the air. It could have easily thrown her off—but it calmed the moment their eyes locked.
Celise had always had this ability with horses.
She didn’t question it.
Keeping one hand firm on the reins, she ran her other hand down the horse’s velveteen nose. The beast whuffed at her reproachfully, and she hushed it.
“Easy,” she repeated. “There you go. Quiet, now. I’m not so bad, hm?”
Standing at the edge of the cliff, Celise’s heart pounded in her chest as she stroked the nose of the black Hellion.
The magnificent beast trembled beneath her touch, its eyes wide with fear and pain.
Blood matted its sleek coat where the bullet had torn across its flanks, and the stallion's breath came in short grunts.
She whispered soothing words, her voice steady and calm, as she tried to keep the wary animal from bolting over the precipice.
The wind gusted around them. For a moment, the night was peaceful.
Then a commotion echoed through the trees.