Total pages in book: 201
Estimated words: 191006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 955(@200wpm)___ 764(@250wpm)___ 637(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 955(@200wpm)___ 764(@250wpm)___ 637(@300wpm)
Elisaf’s brow furrows. “What do you think it means?”
“I do not know. We’ll get a better look tomorrow.” Perhaps with Gesine, if we can pry her from the library.
Horik stops abruptly twenty paces from the wagon. “Do you smell that?”
“Piss and vomit?” Abarrane trails behind him. “For days now.”
“No.” He inhales deeply. “Rotten flesh.”
His description rings an alarm bell in my head as Abarrane reaches him and inhales. “Fates, that is offensive.”
My nostrils catch the stench a moment later and grim memories flood my mind, of a night long ago when Elisaf and I fought for our lives. “That is a hag.”
Their agile bodies shift into a defensive stance, searching the surrounding darkness.
“It’s likely in the wagon already, devouring its prey. Assume we’ve lost our source of information.” We should have expected as much. These beasts from the Nulling still linger in the depths of these mountains, close to the rift. Normally they stay hidden, but with two powerful casters to draw them out—even tucked into Ulysede—it seems they can’t resist the pull. That or this thing couldn’t resist an easy meal, and we basically left it bait.
Horik curses. “How did we not see it?”
“Because they are small and fast and intelligent enough to lie in the shadows until their best opportunity to strike.” Unlike the grif that strolled up to us during the battle against the saplings. “Their scent is usually their only warning.”
“I have waited my entire life to fight one of these.” Abarrane draws another sword, excitement in her voice.
“And here I was, planning on living my entire life without fighting another,” Elisaf mutters. “The last nearly bested us.”
“It was not facing me.” She prowls forward.
“Your arrogance is about to kill you. It is not hiding, it is waiting for you,” I warn. “Move back now.”
They heed my warning, their eyes never leaving the wagon.
“This is not the time to tempt a Nulling beast, especially one with claws that can slice you in half. Let us be finished with this one swiftly.” Elisaf and I each draw a second blade, and I holler, “Loth! Flame!”
Seconds later, a fiery arrow is sailing in an arc across the sky, embedding into the wagon’s evergreen canvas. It’s all my affinity needs. The entire canopy erupts in a ball of fire, the blast of heat touching my skin.
With a shrill cry that resembles a daaknar’s and echoes across the mountain range, the hag tears through the burning wall with swipes of its blade-like claws and launches itself toward us, its ragged cloak ablaze. At first glance, someone might mistake it for any one of us—walking on hind legs, arms at its side. But the moment it lifts its cloaked head, reveals its ghastly gray skin and black eyes, and opens its mouth to show off the four rows of jagged teeth ready to rip apart flesh, there’s no mistaking this for anything other than the stuff of nightmares.
“It is small!” Abarrane declares with glee.
“We do not want to fight this thing!” I holler, cursing. “Move out of the way.”
But it’s too late. The hag wastes no time, launching itself at Horik, its body contorting unnaturally to avoid his first swinging blade, then his second, the cloth swirling with its movements, disguising its gangling limbs as they swipe through the air.
Horik grunts as its claws rake across his torso, dropping him to his knees.
With a battle cry to challenge any Nulling beast’s, Abarrane leaps at its back, carving her blade through its spindly shoulder before spinning out of its reach.
The hag pivots, searching for its attacker, its teeth snapping at the air in anticipation. It can’t seem to decide which of us to lunge at first.
Without warning, it decides I’m its next target. I move out of range at the last moment, but its claw catches my arm above my gauntlet, biting into my flesh.
I answer with a swift blade strike that slices into its side before it falls back.
Abarrane scowls. “Why doesn’t it make a sound when wounded?”
“I do not think it feels pain like we do.” My fists grip the pommels of my blades. “Draw it away from us.”
Abarrane whistles to catch its attention. She sways from foot to foot, dangling her swords in a taunting manner as she steps backward, enticing it to follow.
It works, the fetid thing creeping forward.
I reach for my affinity, preparing to raze the hag and be done with this deadly charade.
“So it will not feel this?” With a deft tumble and powerful swing of her blades, Abarrane launches another offensive attack.
“Fates!” I yell, frustrated with her bullish nature.
But her blade’s strike lands true, severing the hag’s right leg. It topples to the ground. Tar-black blood sprays through the air as it drags itself away.
Finally … “Stay back, Abarrane!” I launch my affinity at it, engulfing it in flame. A thick plume of smoke rises as its ear-piercing scream ricochets through the otherwise silent night, and the air grows pungent with the smell of decayed flesh alight. Only when its screams die down do I release my hold on the flame.