The bull orcs were charging through the field of corpses, resplendent in great swaths of green paint daubed across their gray skin. Racing ahead of them were their hyenas, four barrel-chested beasts with slavering mouths, baying for blood with every leap across the ground.
“You’ll only have one shot,” Rotter shouted, “so make it count. Wait for it…”
Arcturus glanced over to see Edmund and Alice with their own crossbows pointed, their only other weapons the cleaver and spear.
“Now!”
He barely had a chance to aim before his shot was whistling through the air, and the nearest hyena was tumbling as the shaft hit it. But even as Arcturus whooped in triumph, it was back up and running, the bloody bolt dangling and bouncing from its shoulder as it ran on and on.
“Hellfire,” Arcturus cursed, kneeling to pull out his dirk. From the corner of his eye, he saw another hyena writhing in its death throes on the ground, while another limped and the third raced toward the others. Then his vision was filled with the piebald body of the creature ahead of him, leaping for his throat.
He fell back, only to hear Sacharissa’s deep roar as she met the hyena in midair above him, slamming into it and falling to the ground in a maelstrom of claws and snapping teeth. She was smaller than the hyena, and injured, but Arcturus had no time to worry for her, rolling away from them and to his feet, blade clutched in his hand.
Because beyond, another orc was charging directly at him.
It was almost on instinct that his hand flew up. Swirling the air with the tip of his finger, blade clutched in the remainder, Arcturus sketched the spiral of the telekinesis spell. Over and over his finger circled, while his mind tried desperately to pulse mana through his body.
He could hear the wet slap of the orc’s feet on the muddy field, see its red-rimmed eyes boring into him. His mind was suffused with terror, even as he felt the mana roil in his veins, pulsing alongside Sacharissa’s consciousnesses with jolts of pain, anger and fear.
Still he stood firm, gasping as his finger took on a blue glow. The symbol hung in the air as he traced its outline, then he felt a shudder through his hand as it fixed in place, following the motion of his arm as he pointed it at the orc, now so close he could smell its musk.
His mind twisted as he tried to push the energy through his fingertip, struggling for the briefest of moments, until it suddenly jetted through in a shimmering ball of swirling, translucent energy. He let it gather, even as the orc bellowed, lifting a long, stone-studded club high above its head.
Yelling through the sheer terror of it all, Arcturus unleashed the spell, sending the churning ball of energy directly into the orc’s midriff. To his surprise, the giant orc was hurled back, lifted off the ground as if a huge fist had struck it in the chest. Then the ball imploded, and the giant was thrown head over heels in the air, the force of the blast rippling across its body like a rock thrown into a lake.
Arcturus didn’t stay to watch it fall to the ground, instead running to the still-fighting beasts, following the bloodstains on the grass to where Sacharissa tussled with the hyena. A dozen paces beyond them, Alice’s Vulpid, Reynard, had the throat of its own hyena clutched between his jaws.
Before he had a chance to intervene, he saw Sacharissa had the upper hand, the claws of her back legs scratching the lower half of her opponent to ribbons as their jaws snapped at each other on the ground. Their rolling bodies were moving too fast for him to get a clear blow—all he could do was watch and wait for an opening.
But before one presented itself, there was a scream. Arcturus looked up, and his heart froze. An orc, its shoulder and chest a blackened mess of burns from the battle, clutched Edmund by his throat, lifting him high above the ground as if he were no more than a piece of fruit plucked from a tree. Alice lay some distance away, dragging herself toward them, her face bloodied, eyes dizzy, a cleaver clutched in her hand. Behind them, Rotter and a third orc battled back and forth across the ground, the bold soldier leaping and thrusting, oblivious to what was about to happen.
Arcturus lifted his finger, but the spell had faded, and the mana no longer flowed through his veins. Not enough time. His crossbow lay a dozen feet away, forgotten. Instead, he ran.
The grass snatched at his heels and in those panicked moments it was as if he were wading through molasses. All the while, Edmund struggled and kicked, and the orc laughed throatily as it swung back its club, ready to bring it down on the writhing boy’s head.
Time seemed to slow. Back the arm went, and Arcturus knew he wasn’t going to make it. Instead, he hurled the blade in his hand with all his might, and his heart sank as the dirk tumbled pitifully through the air.
Still, even as the orc began to swing down, the weapon slapped across its face, slicing open its cheek and thudding across an eye with its hilt. The orc flinched, just for a moment. Enough time for Arcturus to tackle its legs, slamming his shoulder against its knee with all the strength he could muster.
It was like running into a stone pillar. He barely shifted the orc an inch before it kicked him, throwing him head over heels into the long grass. He gaped and gasped like a beached fish, barely able to take a breath, his midriff a band of red-hot pain searing across his stomach and deep into his insides.
The orc laughed again, raising its club once more. Arcturus could see Alice, her finger tracing in the air, the fire symbol spluttering and fizzling as her concentration wavered. He raised his own hand, knowing he would never make it in time.
Then it happened.
A great silver beast hurtled out of the jungle, sailing through the air and landing on the orc’s back. Blood sprayed as it ripped at the orc’s neck with its teeth, and the club fell from nerveless fingers. Edmund followed moments later, crumpling to the ground.
The orc spun and twisted for a half-dozen seconds, flailing its arms as the slavering creature savaged its head, the fangs sinking deep into its prey’s skull. Then it fell, lifeless, as the demon took a deep, savage bite out of its neck.
Gelert. Covered in mud and grime, his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, legs trembling as he pulled himself toward Edmund’s inert body.
There was a garbled bellow of pain, cut short as Rotter skewered his own orc through the throat, withdrew and sliced the tusked head from the giant’s shoulders. Behind him, Sacharissa licked her wounds beside the corpse of the hyena, where a deep bite on her haunch seemed to be the worst of the damage.
Seeing the pair were now safe, Arcturus headed to Edmund first, where Alice had finally reached him. Tears cut runnels in the blood that smeared her face, the source of which Arcturus saw was a split lip and a copious nosebleed.
She was frantically sketching a heart shape in the air, the healing symbol fizzling as she struggled to keep it in place. Her breathing was thick and fast.
“Slowly.” Arcturus knelt beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Show me how to do it.”
The girl gulped and nodded. Slower now, her finger carved through the air, leaving a glowing blue line in its place. Beneath, Edmund wheezed through his wounded throat, his eyes closed, body near-motionless. The only other sound was Gelert’s whining as he nuzzled his master’s boots.
The heart symbol pulsed once as it fixed to Alice’s finger, then Alice and Edmund gave a mutual sigh of relief as healing white light streamed through the symbol and flowed around his wounded neck. Slowly, the red bands of swollen flesh shrank and paled until it looked good as new, and Edmund breathed easy once more, though his eyes remained closed.
A scream broke into the moment. Arcturus spun round, only to see the orc he had blasted barreling toward him, its body hunched over in pain, a muddied tree branch clutched in its giant fist.
Arcturus fell back, his hand grasping for the dirk, meeting nothing but wet grass. Sacharissa was limping toward them, with Reynard hard on her heels, but they were too far away. Rotter could do nothing but yell.
Gelert struggled to his feet and staggered in front of them, his chest st
ill heaving with the exertion. He wouldn’t last long. Arcturus pulled on his mana reserve, his finger twisting in the air once more. The orc was but a dozen paces away.
Gelert leaped, only to be slammed away by the tree branch, yelping in pain as he tumbled into the long grass. The orc roared in triumph, spewing blood from its lips—Arcturus’s spell must have damaged its insides. Yet it charged on, even as Arcturus’s spell flickered and died.
The orc’s head jerked sideways. It fell and rolled along the ground, sliding the last few paces to press up against Arcturus’s feet. Its glazed eyes stared up at him, and it was only then that he saw the bloody bolt that had pierced its skull from temple to temple. And beyond, Elaine, a crossbow in her arms.
CHAPTER
36
EDMUND REMAINED UNCONSCIOUS EVEN when they splashed water in his face. Despite this, and their injuries, they only allowed themselves a few minutes to regroup before they decided to move on. Rotter knew more orcs would follow soon enough.
Still, before they left, Rotter sent Alice and Arcturus among the bodies to salvage what they could. Arcturus found himself wandering among the many corpses, trying to avoid their dead stares while searching the ground for anything useful.
Though they were leaving orc territory, there was no telling if there were more rebels hunting them. Hell, for all they knew the kingdom had been overthrown and the rebels had taken power. They needed to defend themselves … and clothe themselves for that matter. Now that they had left the warm confines of the jungle, it would become colder as they moved north, back toward Corcillum.
As he stumbled through the corpses, Arcturus tried to read the battlefield, the same way that Rotter had. At first, it seemed random, bodies scattered like seeds across a tilled pasture. But his eyes were soon drawn to the orc bodies, for their skin was stark against the black soil of the jungle’s edge.
There were as many as four of them in a group, lying together in the shadow of a dead tree split down the middle where lightning had struck long ago. Now that he looked closer, there was a cluster of human bodies there too, fallen in a rough semicircle.
Arcturus stopped on his way, removing an undershirt from a rebel boy roughly his height—the cloth miraculously unsullied by blood from the owner’s head wound. He pulled it on and found it to be a good fit.
As he approached the tree, Arcturus saw a man better dressed than the rest among the bodies. The leader of the group, Arcturus thought. He crouched beside the body, examining it.
The man was of a solid build, with a bushy beard that obscured the bloody throat wound that had taken his life. He wore a black cloak of fine wool that fell to his knees, complete with a deep hood to keep the wearer warm—a guardsman’s cloak by Arcturus’s guess, proofed against the rain and wind. Arcturus pulled it from the corpse’s shoulders and threw it around his own. Instantly, he warmed, and it was a blessed relief from the cool wind that chilled his flesh.
“We’re leaving soon,” Rotter called. “Grab what you can and get away from there.”
Arcturus looked up to see the soldier tugging on a bloodied black cassock from a body on the border of the grasslands. Beside him, Alice and Elaine had found dark overcoats of their own, and were in the process of constructing a hasty stretcher from scavenged clothing and two spear hafts.
Arcturus turned back to the bodies, searching for a new weapon. His dirk was sharp, but short and useless for parrying. He needed something with more stopping power.
“Now, Arcturus,” Rotter called again.
There were no swords among the rebels’ weapons—the orcs had looted the best of them. Most seemed to be farming implements or kitchen utensils—scythes, billhooks, skewers and knives. In fact, there was not one true weapon among them—even the leader appeared to be armed with little more than a makeshift spear, similar to the one they had picked up earlier.
Arcturus sighed and moved to pick up the spear … only to see a wooden handle sticking out beneath one of the orc bodies. Curious, Arcturus tugged at it, struggling as the other end was pried loose from the orc’s flesh. It came free in a spatter of blood, and Arcturus grinned as he held it up to the light.
It was an axe of some kind, perhaps once used as a felling axe. The handle was made from a dark, solid wood, with a leather grip wrapped around the bottom. The head itself was a gleaming single-edged blade, perfect for splitting logs … or an orc’s rib cage, as the case may be.
Arcturus hefted it to feel the weight, letting it rest on his shoulder. It felt familiar, and so it should—he had known axes for as long as he could remember. Splitting firewood for the tavern’s hearth had been one of his most onerous chores, along with his stable boy duties. It had given him a wiry strength to his arms, and he reckoned he could wield this one as well as any warrior.
He removed his quiver and slid the axe handle through a leather loop on the back. It fitted well beside where the crossbow slotted in, and though the wooden butt occasionally knocked against his lower spine as he walked, it seemed as good a place for it as any.
Smiling, Arcturus hurried back to the others, where they were busy lifting Edmund onto the stretcher. Arcturus’s weapon choice earned him an approving nod from Rotter.
Arcturus looked down into Edmund’s face. The boy looked almost peaceful, and someone had covered his body with a blood-stained fur coat.
“Bad business, this,” Rotter said, looking down at the unconscious noble. “He’ll slow us down, sure enough. We may be at Hominum’s border, but orc raiders roam far and wide here.”
“Not to mention there might be other rebels around,” Arcturus said. “We can’t be certain that this lot were the ones chasing us.”
“Do you think Prince Harold made it?” Elaine piped up. “If these rebels were the ones chasing them, then they might be ahead of us.”
“Let’s hope so,” Arcturus said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
“I think my arm is fractured. Are you able to help carry him, Arcturus?” Alice asked, wiping at the blood on her face. “Perhaps the demons can pull him along, like a sled.”
“I’ve got no broken bones, but those two do,” Arcturus said, looking at where Gelert and Sacharissa were curled up together. “I think they’d struggle to keep up with us, let alone pull a sled.”
Both demons had almost definitely suffered broken ribs, and he could feel a constant dull ache of pain in his consciousness. He had only dared to heal Sacharissa’s back leg, performing his first healing spell moments after the battle.
“Bugger it, grab that end,” Rotter said, picking up the front of the stretcher and turning around. “If we were going to drag him we’d have built a sled, not a stretcher. Careful with the spear points.”
Arcturus did as he was bid, wincing slightly under the weight.
“Elaine,” he called, half turning his head to catch a glimpse of the younger girl, who had armed herself with a spear. “Thank you for saving us. We’d all be dead if it wasn’t for you.”
“Anytime,” Elaine said, and Arcturus couldn’t help but mirror the grin that spread across her face.
Then they walked on, into the rolling hillocks. Back to civilization.
CHAPTER
37
THERE WAS A BITING chill to the air as they trekked across the open countryside. It was a strange world, so close to the jungle’s edge yet immeasurably different from the tropics it bordered. What had once been a land populated by orchards, farms and homesteads had long been abandoned, leaving dense hedgerows, copses of fruit trees and ruined cottages.
They searched each ruin they came across, only to find little of use, the insides already looted by orc and bandit alike. Their only real find was a cart, the wheels loose and rusty, but still serviceable, giving Edmund a bumpier ride but providing a welcome relief for Arcturus’s and Rotter’s blistered hands as they travailed the overgrown cobblestone roads that crisscrossed toward the horizon. Soon Reynard was hitched to its front and the Vulpid pulled it faster than any cart horse would
.
It was difficult to keep track of their direction, since they were forced to follow the various winding roads. Elaine was pleased to send Valens ahead to scout their course, borrowing Alice’s scrying crystal and calling out directions as the trails split and split again.
Though Sacharissa could be infused, Gelert could not, and his broken ribs hindered him. This forced them to stop for rest regularly, while Rotter climbed nearby trees and even the steeple of a nearby crumbling church to scout for pursuers—Valens was too far ahead to see behind them. It was at the first of these stops that Arcturus infused Sacharissa, saving her strength for whatever new dangers they might encounter.
They slept that first night within the church Rotter had climbed, for its stone roof was intact, unlike the other rotted ruins they had come across. Exhausted, they cleared aside broken glass and piled the pews against the door, shivering as the wind gusted through the gaping windows. A paltry meal of underripe apples was their only sustenance, and the small fruits were sour and unappetizing.
Arcturus was used to hunger, but the others could not continue on without a proper meal the following morning. Fortunately, there were still vestiges of crops, now growing wild and untamed beyond the parcels of land they had been seeded upon. Though much of the land was filled with thick clumps of wheatgrass that Arcturus’s friends had neither the time nor inclination to grind into flour, they were fortunate enough to see a cornfield in the distance. Soon enough they were burning their lips on blackened ears, cooked hastily over a small fire.
Rotter estimated that they would reach Vocans at midnight, though they had yet to decide upon their approach. Valens might have gone ahead to spy, but it was possible the Mite would be recognized, and they needed him to scout the paths just ahead of them. It was during this discussion that Arcturus felt the most guilty.
He wanted to tell them about Crawley—how the servant had asked him to choose a side, but he knew they would resent him for not telling them sooner. So he kept silent and hoped that Crawley was away making trouble in Corcillum and that the teachers and other students would already have secured Vocans. Then the others would never have to know.…