Apologies for pulling the eye-shadow trick with the tiger, but it really did need to look more evil.

Also green sky. Creepy.

Well intended critiques on story or picture are very welcome, and thank you for reading :)

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The Foxwood Chronicles – Chapter 22
Chill



A freezing wind blew outwards as Tallow pushed open the tall doorway to the ancient library, ruffling her hair and biting into her skin. She heard Cassanya exclaim next to her, the big leonin raising an arm to shield her feline eyes from that chilling breath.

“Sorry,” Tallow whispered as the window abated. “I should have expected that. I think the whole darkness and cold is just a deterrent to intruders, makes sense that it would be stronger inside the buildings, especially here.”

“You think?” Cassanya raised an eyebrow.

“Well I don’t know what else it would be for...”

Cassanya didn’t seem to feel much better after this statement, but apparently couldn’t find an answer. Tallow could tell she was annoyed, but there really wasn’t anything more she could say. The apprentice didn’t know why the magefort had been abandoned, she didn’t know why there was a spell upon it, and, she privately admitted, she didn’t know how far that spell was likely to extend or what its limits were.

“We need a torch,” Cassanya said, looking ahead into a blackness so complete that Tallow doubted even feline sight could make any sense of the shadows.

“No, wait, I don’t want to risk a flame,” Tallow shook her head before the leonin could move. Now, where was that little... ah, left pocket, there it was. She moved into the doorway, pausing for a moment while recalling the spell before speaking several soft words, a small object clasped between her hands. A flare of light welled from between her slender fingers, softening into a dim pinkish glow.

“Never be without a good piece of rose quartz,” Tallow smiled as Cassanya looked curiously over her shoulder. She kept her body between the doorway and the light until the leonin had closed them in. “Goodness it is cold,” she added, shivering, her breath fogging in front of her face, slowly rising pink steam.

Before them loomed a vast hallway, its floor of smooth, white marble, its ceiling and far end invisible in the minimal illumination of Tallow’s magic. As they moved forwards, the warm glow twinkled in the dancing specks of dust kicked up by their passage. Every footfall echoed the length of the hall and back, giving a constant sense of someone behind them in the shadows.

On one side of the wide hallway, almost lost in the gloom, they could see doorways leading off into darkened rooms. On the other side, windows rose nearly the entire height of the wall, intricate patterns of stained glass that threw back the light in shimmering colours, but admitted none whatsoever.

“We are going to get the light back?” Cassanya asked, looking at the glittering dark glass.

“I think so,” Tallow said, eyeing the dark windowpane. It was eerie, knowing that there was at least some light outside, but that it wasn’t making it inside... “There’s obviously a warding spell here, but it should become inactive when we leave.”

“I hope that’s the only spell on the place...” Cassanya said, her fingers brushing the window pane, tracing the icy cold metal edges of the pattern. A thin layer of frost scraped off on her fingertips, and Tallow pulled her cloak tighter about her.

They continued down the great hallway. To left and right, dark doorways lead to what seemed to be study chambers, containing chairs, desks, and even ink – frozen solid – and parchment so brittle that it cracked when touched, collapsing into dust against the tabletop. It was obvious they weren’t going to find anything useful on this level.

Ahead of them, at the centre of the library, the hall met with three others, the whole building being laid out in a cross formation. Where the hallways crossed there stood a statue of the same white marble as the building itself, its feet planted firm upon a dais of obsidian. In one hand the statue held a book, the other rested upon the top of a stone tablet that reached to its waist.

Looking up at the statue, at the calm and composed face, Tallow felt somewhat humbled. How many of the ancient magi had studied here? Hundreds at least, likely thousands, and many of their names probably appeared in the historical texts at Sanctuary. And here was she, a mere fourth level apprentice, coming to trespass on their library now that the old masters were dead and gone. Overall, she decided, a small chill running down her spine, it was dangerously close to grave robbing.

“The knowledge of these halls is yours to learn,” she translated the words upon the tablet for Cassanya, seeking an end to her chain of thought. “With knowledge comes power. With power comes responsibility. Use our knowledge to fuel your power. Use our knowledge wisely.”

The leonin reached out a hand, her fingertips sliding across a thin, clear layer of ice that encased the statue’s stone robes.

“How come it’s so cold?”

“I really don’t know,” Tallow said, shaking her head.

“All right,” the tall leonin sighed. “Then where do we go from here?”

Instead of answering, the apprentice looked around, scrutinising their surroundings, the four dark hallways. Raising her eyebrows, she walked over to the wall, reaching out and rubbing vigorously at an engraved plaque, clearing away some of the accumulated dust and dirt. Yes, that had been preserved very nicely, she thought. How handy.

“East wing floors one to three, science and reference,” she read aloud. “West wing basic to intermediate incantations and charms. South wing advanced and senior level spells. North wing, spell component storage. Fourth floor, all wings restricted, do not enter without permission, penalties severe. That’s the one I imagine,” she finished, looking around.

“How severe?” Cassanya wondered aloud, her breath steaming in front of her, drifting lazily toward the cold ceiling.

“Well, if its anything like the library at Sanctuary, unauthorised access to restricted information could carry anything from a month of mucking out the stables, to a decade's imprisonment, to execution,” Tallow informed her without any particular emphasis, turning towards what looked like the entrance to a stair well at the near end of the closet corridor.

“Execution?” Apparently Cassanya was not to be soothed by the casual tone, and her eyebrows drew together.

“Unf,” walking straight into an immovably solid leonin arm, Tallow looked up, affronted and frowning. “These are not children’s entertainment spells we’re talking about, Cass. These aren’t pretty things designed to make people go ‘ooo, isn’t that sparkly,’” she waved her hands for emphasis. “These are spells designed to do serious things – to heal deathly sickness, to raise buildings from bedrock, to turn a river to a new course, to control the wind and rain, to influence people's perceptions and thoughts, to hide, to move swiftly, to communicate over distance... and sometimes to fight wars, and sometimes to hurt people. You know that the magi don’t take sides, and that we keep all the knowledge that comes to us, no matter what it pertains to, but the penalties are there to ensure that people don’t go looking for the knowledge in those books before they’re ready to know how to handle it. The punishment has to be severe when the knowledge is so dangerous.”

“And you’re still sure this is a good idea?” Cassanya narrowed her eyes as Tallow looked up at her unflinchingly.

“Yes,” Tallow insisted, sidestepping the leonin’s outstretched arm. She paused, looking over her shoulder at her taller friend. “I know it’s a risk, Cass,” she said more softly. “I really do, and I’m not getting stupid because I think there’s something exciting up there – I think there may be something vital up there. We don’t have any information about dragons at Sanctuary. Nothing. Every study of weakness, every method of combat, was, by agreement, destroyed after the end of the war – they didn’t want any chance that someone would think of starting it again. Nobody knows how to deal with them any more. The people who studied here did, and some of them will have fought in that war. If they left any traces of how they did it, then there’s a lot of people need us to find them. I really need your help, Cass...” Holding out her hand, she gave a timid half smile.

Sighing, Cassanya nodded and took the proffered hand, giving Tallow’s fingers a supportive squeeze. “Great Persica, you’re cold!” she exclaimed, feeling her friend’s cool digits through her thin cotton gloves.

“Believe me I know,” Tallow nodded ruefully. “I don’t have a natural fur coat, remember?”

“Then you should have said. I have some proper gloves in my pack, wait a moment...”

Tallow couldn’t help laughing – the gloves were of course far too large, the wrist straps coming about three inches up her forearms, and the ends of the fingers flopping around comically.

“Better than nothing,” Cassanya smiled, holding her friends hands tightly between her own, rubbing some warmth into the slender fingers under the oversized gloves. “Better?” Tallow nodded. “Good. Tee?” the tall leonin added as they started towards the staircase, the feline keeping firm hold of the apprentice's left hand as they went.

“Hmm?”

“Do try not to end up a smear on the wall because you tripped a ward spell or something while you were looking, hmm?”

Tallow nodded vigorously.

The fourth floor was, if anything, both darker and colder than the hallway below. The walls bore a sheen of frost, the ceiling glittering with hanging icicles. Somehow, Tallow felt, it didn't seem entirely a physical cold. This chill went right through to the bone, seeming to emanate as much from inside her as it did from the air around. By the time the stairs lead out onto a small landing area she was shivering, and her toes were starting to lose feeling.

“Kinda wish I’d grown my hair longer,” she muttered, stamping her feet in an attempt to get her blood flowing. “Least it would have kept my neck warm.”

“You should,” Cassanya nodded as she looked around them. “It would suit you.”

A couple of marble benches flanked them, and underneath the window, what looked like the remains of a long dead potted plant. Looking out, Tallow realised that it looked out into the upper spaces of the great hallway. To the side, a great, arching doorway loomed over them, the ancient oak doors still solidly closed against intruders, a warning engraved onto the surface of each.

Pushing the doors open, Cassanya was immediately hit full in the face by a wave of heat and smoke.

The library was on fire.

Floor to ceiling, flames roared up the sides of the shelves, the wood darkening and charring in the fierce heat. The painted roof blistered, scorched flakes dropping down onto the burning carpet, the whole room lit a bright, hellish red by the flames. Heat beat upon them as the sound of the flames roared in their ears.

“How...” Cassanya choked on the smoke, her eyes watering. “How can...?” she couldn’t continue, backing away from the fierce heat.

Tallow looked at the doorway in shock, then her expression set firm, brushing off Cassanya’s hand as the leonin tried to pull her back.

“You can’t...” she started, but the apprentice glared at her so determinedly that Cassanya fell back, shocked into silence.

Tucking the glowing quartz up her sleeve, Tallow pulled off one glove, tossing it aside. Reaching into a pocket, withdrawing a small flask, pouring a little of the contents into the palm of her hand, she threw it through the door, shouting three words in a commanding tone.

The hot glow of the fire vanished, leaving them in darkness. The smoke, too, appeared to have dissipated.

“What happened?” Cassanya asked, somewhat confused to find herself mid-cough without any obvious cause.

“Another warding spell,” Tallow said, locating their light source again. “I should have checked for one – that one has likely been here as long as the library’s been standing, something to scare nine bells out of unwary apprentices and send them running back to bed. Sorry.” She leaned her gloved hand against the wall, panting a little, her breath forming drifting puffs of steam in front of her.

“No problem,” standing behind her friend, returning her discarded glove, Cassanya looked through the doorway as Tallow held the light up.

Dark, silent, and dusty. No fire, no smoke, no heat. Ahead of them, rows of dark shelves stretched off into the shadows.

“What now?” Cassanya asked quietly.

“I guess we search...” Tallow moved forwards into the darkness, her little light highlighting the shelves that rose high around her, casting shadows against the ceiling. It looked like the shelves ran all the way to the far end of the wing.

“Just how much restricted material did they have?” Cassanya asked, almost awed as they walked along between rows of books.

“You’d be surprised,” Tallow said darkly as they proceeded. “It’s not all bad though, some of it – most in fact – is just plain dangerous. Healing spells that involve the mage’s own life force, things like that. Get it wrong, and you’ll kill yourself as well as the person you’re trying to save. There's probably more ways to screw up with magic than to do something helpful.”

At the end of the row of shelves, they turned right, watching the letters engraved on the ends of the rows as they passed, looking for the right section. On their left, a black window looked out, apparently into nothing, but technically out into the shadowy canyon outside. It occurred to Tallow that they were probably above the main entrance way about now.

“Go back...”

Tallow shivered. “Quit it, Cass,” she said, glancing up at the leonin beside her. “It’s too creepy for jokes.”

“Quit what?” Cassanya looked confused, and Tallow eyed her with suspicion, but let it pass.

“’D,’ here we go,” she said. “’Da’ through ‘De,’ no...” Next row of shelves. “’Do’ through ‘Dm,’ no...”

“There’s a word starting with ‘dm’?” Cassanya raised an eyebrow.

“Depends on the language – remember that some of these books come from all over the world. That looks interesting...”

“Do not touch it...”

“Why?” Tallow asked, hesitating, her hand outstretched.

“Why what?”

“Why shouldn’t I touch it?”

“I never said you shouldn’t,” Cassanya said, an expression of innocent confusion on her feline face.

Tallow glared at the leonin and grabbed hold of the red leather spine that she had been aiming for. As her fingers brushed it, there issued a sudden blast of intensely cold air from further along the row of shelves, chill enough to make her gasp and look up. The sight thus beheld instantly filled her stomach with ice water.

The figure was clad in black, tattered robes. Its face was hidden in the shadows of its ragged hood, and its breath came in wheezes that seemed to coincide with the waves of chilling air that came crawling down the aisle. It advanced upon Tallow, the darkness around it so intense that it seemed to push back the light.

One arm was raised, the hand reaching towards her. The hand! It was the hand of nothing living. The flesh appeared to have been burnt away, the fingers a mass of caked blood upon blackened bone.

“Get back!” Cassanya shouted, gripping Tallow by the back of her coat and pulling at her, but the apprentice remained completely immobile, frozen in place by the dread apparition.

“You have intruded without permission,” the words were hissed from the shadows of the black hood as waves of icy cold beat upon them. Cassanya’s weapons were in her hands as Tallow’s light wavered, pushed back by the advancing darkness. What a fool, Tallow realised, to have brought such a feeble magic with her, how arrogant to assume it was sufficient against a guardian of the highest level knowledge.

“Run!” Cassanya hissed, her voice hoarse.

But they couldn’t run. The cold was so intense that it tore the strength from their limbs, fingers stiffening until they couldn’t grasp. The leonin’s weapons fell from her hands, landing on the frosty carpet with a soft thud. A moment later, Tallow’s quartz joined it, the light vanishing.

In the blackness that followed, the figure was even more terrible than in the light. Its outline was now lit by a pallid glow, the eyes inside the hood shining with cold, green flame.

“You must leave, or perish.” The fleshless hand pointed at them, outlined in a pale, green fire that tore the heat from the surrounding air.

“No,” Tallow groaned, feeling icy fear contract her heart. “No, we have to... have to get...” but she couldn’t even see the book any more, it was too dark.

“You must not read that book,” the voice whispered, an icy caress as the eyes moved nearer. “The knowledge contained is too dangerous. One war was started by it, and thousands perished in vain. Another cannot be allowed. You will not be warned to leave again.”

Tallow felt Cassanya tugging at her arm. They could run, the freezing grip of the air had loosened just enough to let them move. It was their chance to flee the library, back to the warmth and light outside... but then they still wouldn’t have the book, and many people might die.

“Another war...” Tallow’s teeth were chattering in the cold so that she had to force the words out. “Has already started,” she gasped. Those freezing, pallid eyes were directly before her now, illuminating her pale face, scrutinising her. She could feel Cassanya behind her, but the leonin no longer seemed able to move.

“Impossible...” The ethereal whisper brushed her skin with frost, the intensity of the cold so violent that she had to lean on the bookshelves for support else be driven to her knees.

“It has happened,” Tallow insisted, fighting the words through near frozen lips. “The dragons... are back. They're being used... We must have the knowledge to fight them, to end the war... please... many people will be hurt...” She could feel the terrible cold trying to rob her of consciousness and fought it, trying to bring the a fire spell to mind, but those had always been a problem for her. Earth and water magics she could understand, feel the flow and solidity of the energies but fire... It wasn't her thing. Too chaotic, too energetic, too fierce.

“Show me.” The chill eyes regarded her.

Trembling, shivering, Tallow struggled to regain her feet, dragging herself up on the bookshelf, feeling its icy surface freeze to her skin, tearing at her as she pulled away.

For a moment, those shining eyes peered deep into her own, their light shining on her white face, and then they surged forwards. For a moment, that death black figure stood, around her, within her, the terrible chill of the grave surging along her bones, and then it stepped away, leaving Cassanya, to watch in horror as her friend’s body slumped to the floor.



Feral felt himself pushed back as Balthor and Archer both drew their weapons, the sciurel and lupari interposing themselves between the half-race and the dozen black cloaked strangers emerging from the shadows.

“No, don’t kill them,” a voice drawled from behind the black ranks, its owner walking forwards into the light as a torch flared on either side of the semicircle. “Not yet, anyway,” the vulpani smiled unkindly as he strolled forwards, apparently at his ease. In one hand, he held a chain, the other end of which...

Feral’s eyes widened as the creature followed its master into the light. Not a dog, this time, it was far too large, even compared to the ones they had encountered. Nor was it malformed, its sleek, striped flanks smooth furred and muscular. It paced past the vulpani as he halted, growling as it moved forward to the limit of its chain. Along its back and across its broad head was strapped spiked armour plating that gleamed in the torchlight.

“Tiger,” Archer whispered. “Heard of them. Very dangerous.”

“Worse...” Feral murmured. “It's like those dogs. Look at its eyes!”

From under that bestial steel helm gazed jet black orbs that showed neither spark nor shine.

“Patience, Natalia, patience,” the vulpani said soothingly as the tiger growled, pulling at its chain. “You may have them soon, but first I want to speak with them.”

“Oh shut up, Redclaw,” another voice sounded behind the sneering vulpani. “Just get on with it, you’ve taken quite enough time over this whole affair,” the leonin growled as she stepped into the light. Her red cloak fluttered in the icy breeze, a bloody backdrop to her night blue leather armour as green eyes flashed in the torchlight that glinted on the steel mace at her side.

Redclaw looked about to make an angry reply, but was cut short as the leonin spoke again. “Don’t I know you?” she said, staring hard at Feral, her eyebrows creasing into a frown as her gaze flickered across his face. “I'm sure I do, I remember those ears... Ooh... yes, of course.”

Archer glanced up, about to ask what was going on, but found Feral rigid as a statue, the only sign of life the tightening of his jaw muscles as he stared fixedly at the leonin.

“I was sure you'd be dead,” she added conversationally.

Hatred beyond anything Feral had ever felt battered against the inside of his head, maddening, blinding anger. It was her, the woman responsible for everyone’s deaths, the one who had killed his mother, taken his sister, and he was going to make her pay for that right now! It wasn’t until Balthor’s hand on his collar jerked him back that Feral realised he was running at her.

“Katrina, you amaze me,” Redclaw drawled, watching as the lupari wrestled the half-race to a standstill. “Is there nobody in this green and pleasant land who doesn't hate you?”

“Unfriendly little fellow, isn’t he?” Katrina looked at Balthor as Feral tried to fight his way free of the lupari’s restraint. He was going to kill her, he was! Feral gave a wordless shout of anger as he was lifted clean off his feet, fingers clawing the air.

Drawing back his bowstring, Archer took aim at Katrina.

“Do it and die, tree rat,” she said, sounding slightly bored. “Fire that arrow and it'll be your last shot in this life.”

The sciurel hesitated as Feral continued to fight with Balthor, blunt fingernails clawing the lupari’s forearms in a bid to escape his grip.

“Gods’ sakes, stop it, you’ll get yourself killed!” Balthor hissed urgently into his ear.

“You should listen to your dog,” Katrina suggested. “He’s smarter than he looks. Not that that would be difficult.”

“Are you going to explain what’s going on, or shall I just assume this is just one more person you once met?” Redclaw looked at her, and the leonin shrugged.

“What’s to explain,” she shrugged carelessly. “I guess he’s still holding a grudge. Although I am curious,” she went on, pacing forwards, casually tossing a small object up, catching it, then throwing it again as she moved. “What exactly are you doing in this dark pit of a ruin, of all places? I mean, you could have gone anywhere, and I'm quite sure you aren't actually tracking me... which rather suggests...” she paused, watching Feral's face as he went suddenly limp in the big lupari's grasp, his eyes tracking the object in her hand. Up, down, catch, throw, up, down...

“You know what this is, don't you, boy?” she asked as the lupari cautiously set Feral on his feet.

Shaking with rage, Feral met her gaze as she looked imperiously down at him, trying not to let his eyes stray to the glittering stone in her hand, to not notice the way the light ran and pooled along its edges, or how faint traces of lettering seemed to dance deep below the surface. Feral knew enough of this woman to know that the more he wanted something, the more she would guard it from him. Perhaps, just perhaps, if she could be distracted, lulled into believing he knew nothing about, she might get careless.

Assuming she didn't just kill all three of them outright.

“Now why...” Katrina mused thoughtfully. “Would you know that?”

“Give me back my sister,” Feral said quietly, knowing full well that the chances of Shara being in this place were slim to none – but he had to ask. And it wasn't a question about the object in the leonin's hand.

The tall leonin laughed. “Sister? Boy, of all the things you could worry about, that little scrap of a girl has your thoughts? I don't even know where she is, the holding house I imagine. Haven't seen her since I threw her in there, if she hasn't starved that's where she'll still be. You...” she jabbed him in the chest, then hesitated, jabbing her finger forwards again and locating the same solid bump under his tunic. “Have something interesting on that chain round your neck, don't you boy? I – ouch!” Recoiling, Katrina wrung her hand, fingers numbed and tingling as the short, skinny boy in front of her brandished the rod of glimmering silvery metal with which he had just slapped her arm aside. “I see...”

Feral's friends squared up to the leonin as she stepped back several paces, sensing that the brief calm was about to end. Despite the earlier warning, Archer raised his bow once more, even as Balthor slid his sword from its sheath.

“Got yourself a toy, and a piece of the staff have you? Well, I think this calls for a little experiment. Would you like to see what my lord Prince Tiernach Irontooth has been working on, boy?”

“What staff?” Feral asked, and she eyed him with suspicion, her gaze flickering between his face and the shining silver shortstaff in his hand. “Why would I want a piece of it.”

Katrina had reached the circle of black robed men, their ranks parting as she slid back behind them. She sniffed derisively, resting her elbow on Redclaw's shoulder for a moment before he angrily ducked out from under her. “I'm bored with them now, Redclaw. You go ahead and do as you like – just remember to search the bodies.” She turned away.

For a moment, the vulpani, sputtering with rage at her casual insolence against not only their captives but himself, looked like he was about to argue, but then the tiger growled at the end of its chain.

“Hush, Natalia...” he murmured soothingly, gently tugging on the chain and bringing the huge beast padding towards him. “You can have your hunt now. Here, see,” he unclipped the chain from the animal's armour. “Off you go. Show us just how good our prince is at his job.”

The tiger regarded him for several seconds, black eyes giving no hint of shine nor life, before turning, growling, pacing into the circle of black robed men.

“They won't be letting us out I think...” Balthor said quietly, and Feral nodded. Every man in the circle was standing casually, but cloaks had been folded back to display weapons. The message was quite clear; stand and fight on their terms, or be cut down trying to run out.

So, Feral thought, that meant that he, Balthor, and Archer, were going to have to defeat the large, armoured, and possibly intelligent predator that was currently stalking around the inner edge of the circle as if eyeing them for weaknesses.

“Ideas?” Archer hesitated, unwilling to loose an arrow lest it simply bounce off the beast's heavy armour and provoke it.

“Uh...” Feral suggested. The tiger charged.

Without thinking about it, Feral swung his arm round in what was surely a futile attempt to block – but he had forgotten the Dragon's Ward held tight in his hand. A shimmering curtain of liquid silver snapped outwards, three lance-like projections erupting from the main mass, thudding into the earth at his feet. But it was stretched thin, Feral thought, surely it wouldn't hold against...

Woomph!

The barricade shook with the impact as the tiger's armoured body slammed against it, thick iron plates impacting hard on the slender silver shield. The silvery metal shimmered, a ripple running around it, but it didn't bend an inch.

“Nice...” Archer nodded approvingly. “You keep that up, mate!”

“How?” Feral asked, peering around the shining metal to find the tiger pacing around again. The silver ground spikes retracted, leaving him holding a shining kite shield as he turned to keep it between the tiger and his friends.

“You'll work it out,” the sciurel told him, and shot his arrow right into the tiger's front left leg. It was a moral victory, but little else. The beast roared its anger and charged, and again the Dragon's Ward lived up to its name, anchoring itself firmly in the unmoving earth as the animal spent its rage upon the shield.

Balthor took his chance as the tiger staggered again, darting from behind the shimmering shield to thrust his sword at the beast, but the strike was deflected by the sturdy iron plates across the animal's back. It struck out at Balthor with one massive forepaw and he dodged, but fast as lightning it turned on the spot, pivoting on its forepaws, slamming its armoured flank into the lupari's midriff and knocked him away.

Needs more than a shield, Feral decided. Not defence – offence. The silvery metal shield gave a small quiver. He hoped that meant it had got the message and would react to his needs the way it had the first time he had fought with it in his hands.

The tiger seemed to lose interest in Balthor as he rolled over on the ground, groaning dully, instead fixing its gaze on Feral once more. It crouched.

Now, Feral thought.

The silvery lance that erupted from his hands caught the beast in mid leap, the shaft digging into the ground behind Feral, the point stabbing at the armour plates on the animal's flank. One plate tore loose, falling to the ground with a solid thud. The blow had been partially deflected, but it was a serious wound. A long, deep gash showed in the sleek fur as the tiger snarled.

But it didn't seem to stop it.

Redclaw's laugh rang out. “Don't you get it boy? They don't bleed!”

The vulpani was right, Feral realised with shock. Despite the gaping tear in its flesh, but a few drops of blood had fallen. Just how much damage could this creature take? Think – the dogs had gone down, how?

“Head or heart,” Archer said, lining up another bow shot, apparently following Feral's line of thought.

Feral nodded. “Right. How?”

“No idea. Let's see what happens...” he lined up another shot, and was surprised when the creature cringed back. Maybe it could take the damage, but it was looking like it didn't want another taste of either arrows, or the silver lance in Feral's hand.

“That's mine when he's dead, you know,” Feral heard Katrina say to the vulpani, who snorted.

“Only if the staff pieces are mine.”

“Deal.”

Feral remembered what the leonin had been holding. He risked a glance at her, standing a pace behind the circle of black robed men. Yes, she still had it. He felt a ripple in his hand as the silvery metal shifted, bent, twisted. Rope? A coil of rope?

Rope when he needed to reach out and...

Feral understood.

“Archer... trust me?” Feral whispered, eyeing the armoured beast as it resumed prowling around the circle.

“Sure.” It said something about the sciurel that he didn't even ask for more.

“Break left, shoot.”

“Got it.” Without hesitation, Archer did as asked. The arrow pinged off the tiger's iron plating, and Feral grabbed the fallen piece of armour from the dirt and threw it for all he was worth at Katrina.

His aim was off, and he didn't have nearly the strength to make the distance, but if anything that was more effective. Instead of ducking like he'd imagined she would have to, the leonin woman simply watched the iron plate spinning off to the side. As Feral extended his other hand as if to throw the Dragon's Ward he felt it shift and flow, one end wrapped firmly around his wrist, the rest streaming out in front of him, thin as twine, strong as an oak, and perfectly on target. Katrina didn't even have time to flinch as the silvery cord wrapped around the staff fragment in her hand and whipped it out of her reach.

Redclaw burst out laughing as she screamed her anger.

Feral almost grinned, but a yelp from behind him reminded him of where he was. He turned to find that Archer had just managed a leap over the tiger's back as it charged him, but it was turning quickly, ready to try again. Feral wasn't sure that even sciurel agility was good for many more jumps like that. Think, got to do something! Head or heart, Archer had said, but both were protected by solid iron, only the underside, joints, and neck were in any way vulnerable.

So how had they killed the dogs back in the forest, Feral wondered. One had had its skull crushed by Cassanya mace, that was out. The other... had been completely decapitated.

And here he was holding a semi autonomous piece of rope that could shapeshift into anything he needed.

This was going to be very stupid, he decided, but worth a shot.

As the tiger took another run at Archer, Feral took a run at the tiger, trying to form an image in his mind what he wanted the Dragon's Ward to do.

It reacted exactly as he had hoped, a noose of silvery wire shooting towards the creature at lightning speed, looping around and under its neck. It wasn't until the far end came back to his hand that Feral quite realised the next part.

The iron plates on the tiger's back were every bit as solid as they looked, he found out, as the silvery rope wrapped around his hands and jerked him forward, somehow landing him between the spikes. Knowing he wouldn't have more than seconds to act, the tiger already twisting to throw him off, Feral grabbed the edge of one armour plate, and screwed his eyes tight shut.

A wet crunch told him the silvery metal wrapped around his hands had understood his plan perfectly. He felt the tiger's body under him go suddenly limp, toppling to the side, and he just managed to kick himself away before several hundred pounds of armoured animal crashed down, narrowly missing his leg as it landed on the hard, cold earth.

Balthor must have finally shaken off the stunning blow the tiger had inflicted because he was at Feral's side, pulling him to his feet. Archer converged on them, standing back to back. Great, Feral thought. One down... twelve left. Funny how the odds seemed to get worse with victory.

“Natalia...” Redclaw looked in stunned horror at the tiger's head lying on the ground, several feet from its body. “You...” he pointed at Feral. “You! I will–” Katrina bashed him on the head with cool detachment, dumping him onto the ground with no thought beyond shutting him up.

“Don't stand there, you slackjawed fools! Finish them off, now!” Katrina evidently was not suffering the same level of shock at the tiger's defeat.

Hesitantly, the circle of black robed men tightened. Backed up against his two friends, Feral studied them. One big male leonin, grizzled, but smiling as he drew his heavy sword, as if murder was some sort of treat. One contrastingly tiny muscai, the same Feral had seen earlier that day, his cloak still dragging the ground, and a pair of nasty looking daggers in his hands. Two human men, frowning and with several days worth of stubble adorning their faces, one armed with a hand axe, one with a shortsword. One vulpani, looking nowhere near as friendly as others of his kind had been. Perhaps that was too much to ask, after all.

Hooded as the circle was, and with the darkness pressing down around them, Feral couldn't make out any more details – and there probably wasn't time even if he had been able to see clearly.

They were however, he noticed, hanging back a little now that they'd closed most of the gap, apparently unwilling to approach the last few paces. He lifted the silver sword that had formed in his hands, and several of the black robed men actually halted halted, one looking nervously at Feral's hands, evidently trying to read his next move.

“We-we will fight!” Feral called out as loudly as he could.

“You won't take us cheaply!” Balthor roared beside him.

“Get in there!” Katrina shrieked, shoving the black cloaked vulpani in the back. He tumbled forwards, then yelped as Archer's arrow pinned his foot to the ground.

Cursing, the leonin woman strode forward. “Fine, I'll do it myself!”

She just might, Feral thought, seeing the murderous gleam in her eye. She was tall, strong, agile, and either extremely stupid or very, very confident in her fighting ability. Feral didn't think she was stupid.

Balthor managed to parry the first strike of her mace, deflecting it away from Feral's face with a clang. Backpedalling as he tried to fit another arrow to his bow, Archer found himself gripped by two of the black robed men behind him. Apparently the sciurel was more to their liking than a tall and strong lupari, or the mysterious weapon in Feral's grasp.

They needed another option, Feral thought. Soon!

As Katrina whirled to bring her mace around for another strike, he noticed the vulpani, Redclaw, picking himself off the ground behind her. That might work...

As Katrina swung, Feral darted under her arm, feeling the rush of air across the top of his head and for once grateful that he wasn't any taller. Sprinting five paces he was on the vulpani, grasping him by the back of his night black tunic, a shining silver noose wrapped around his throat.

Katrina paused, looking over her shoulder as she pressed her mace down onto Batlhor's blade.

“Wait!”

Redclaw, it seemed, had equal authority over the rank and file because they actually stopped. Over the vulpani's shoulder, Feral could see Archer held firm between three of them, but they were motionless.

Katrina snorted. “Kill him if you like!”

“I-I will!” Feral threatened, his voice sounding thin and reedy even in his own ears. He dug his free fist into the vulpani's back for emphasis, making Redclaw squirm uncomfortably. Feral turned him to face the body of his dead tiger for emphasis.

“If you let me die here,” the vulpani rasped, pointing accusingly at Katrina. “You know full well the First will throw you out!”

The leonin looked unconvinced.

“Loyalty to the Brotherhood, first and foremost! Unless you plan to kill all the witnesses too?”

Sensing all around looking at her, Katrina sighed, relaxing her stance and stepping back. Balthor did not lower his sword. Fortunately nor did he attack, although Feral could see in his face that he was tempted.

“Fine. You still want your sister, boy?” she asked.

Feral felt suddenly cold. A chill breeze stirred the blackness around them. Ancient trees creaked and groaned as the wind stirred them to motion, but not a soul spoke.

“I asked if you wanted your sister.”

Feral narrowed his eyes at her, tightening his grip on Redclaw just a bit. Don't kill him, don't kill him! Feral thought frantically, hoping that the Dragon's Ward would pick up the instruction in whatever mysterious way it had seemed to do so before. He really didn't need another death on his conscience. But Katrina didn't need to know that. But make it look good, he amended mentally. The vulpani wheezed satisfyingly, clawing at the silvery noose, but didn't seem likely to drop dead just yet.

“Simple deal,” Katrina continued, arrogantly twirling her mace in one hand, as if completely unconcerned about whether Redclaw did in fact suffocate. ”All the pieces of the staff you have, and your toy there,” she gestured with her free hand to the silver noose around Redclaw's throat. “Straight swap.”

“Don't trust her...” Archer managed before one of the men holding him jammed a hand over his muzzle.

I know! Feral thought. Of course he couldn't trust her, but... Shara. This leonin woman was the only person who had the faintest clue where to even start looking.

“Where have you got her?” he demanded. “Tell me where she is!”

“You can have her back for all I care,” Katrina shrugged, evading the question. “She's one girl, I have dozens more. Hand me the trinkets, quietly, and we'll talk. I'll even give you my word that I won't kill you, nor take you prisoner. You get what you want, I get what I want, we both walk away happy.”

Was there any chance, Feral wondered. Any chance... that she wasn't lying? Was there any faint possibility at all that she would honour her words?

“Why are you here, anyway?” the leonin went on. “This can't be your fight, this isn't your duty. You're just some dumb boy from a fishing village got his hands on something too dangerous for him. It's out of your league, boy. Let it go. Let it go, and I'll see you get your precious sister back. That's my offer, and my word on it.”

“I...” Feral started. Was she right? Was this even his fight? All he wanted was Shara. Surely there were better people to do the rest than him? Would these two little pieces of the staff even make a difference? He didn't know how many there were, but surely Katrina didn't have them all. Not yet. The magi, the Freelands army, someone, surely was better equipped for this than he was?

“I...” as he hesitated, fighting to form a coherent thought, a wordless shout rang out from one side of the circle. Feral turned on instinct, as did Katrina and all those around them.

Blackness.

Like ink through water, a wave of darkness swept towards them, a black fog borne on an icy wind that sent cloaks flapping wildly, biting through clothing.

Then it was upon them, and Feral couldn’t see his own hands against Redclaw's neck, nor hear his own shout of horror.

A dozen paces away, Katrina was similarly blinded and deafened as the freezing cold darkness buffeted against her, driving her to her knees, sinking her into icy mud. The chill was so intense she couldn’t breathe, covering her mouth and nose with her arm, gritting her teeth, she shut eyes tight against the freezing onslaught.

Silence.

Katrina opened her eyes. The blackness had lifted, though the persistent gloom of the magefort still remained. Around her, the lower brothers were picking themselves up, groaning and swearing.

The boy! Where was he? Where was that cursed little half-race with her treasures?

“No!” the leonin’s scream of anger caused heads to turn in her direction.

The half-race and his friends were gone, and so had Katrina’s fragment of the Dragon Staff.