out a long breath, but an instant later a massive paw—a thick-fingered hand, really—clawed up over the edge of the hole. Aspar scooted back against a tree and used his bow to lever himself up.
The other hand came up, followed by the head. He saw even more of a family resemblance to the utin he once had fought, but if it could speak, it didn’t. It strained, blood blowing from its nostrils, and began to crawl from the pit.
“Leshya!” Aspar snapped.
“Here,” he heard her say. He felt the wind as another massive log came swinging down, this one aimed to skim along just above the trap. It hit the beast in the horn, crushing it back into its skull, and it vanished into the hole again.
Aspar turned at Leshya’s soft approach. Her violet eyes peered at him from beneath her broad-brimmed hat.
“You’re all right?” she lilted.
“No worse than I was this morning,” he replied. “Aside from the indignity of being bait.”
She shrugged. “Should have thought of that before you went and got your leg broken.”
She walked over to the pit, and Aspar limped after her to see.
It didn’t know it was dead yet. Its flanks were still heaving, and the hind legs twitching. But the head was cracked like an egg, and Aspar didn’t imagine it would breathe much longer.
“What in Grim’s name do we call that?” he grunted.
“I remember stories about something like this,” she said. “I think it was called a
mhertyesvher.
”
“That the Skaslos name for it?”
“I couldn’t pronounce the Skaslos name for it,” she replied.
“Notwithstandin’ that you are one,” he said.
“I was born in this shape, with this tongue,” she said. “I’ve never heard the language of the Skasloi. I’ve told you that.”
“Yah,” Aspar assented. “You’ve told me.” He looked back at the dying beast and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Well,” he mused, “I think it’s a manticore.”
“As good a name as any,” she said. “Now, why don’t we go rest.”
“I’m not tired,” Aspar lied.
“Well, there’s no reason to stay here. It’ll be days before the poison clears out, even if it rains.”
“Yah,” Aspar agreed.
“Come on, then.”
He slung the bow on his back and looked around for his crutch, only to find Leshya holding it out for him. He took it silently, and they began walking back through the trees. It got harder when the slope turned upward, and they followed a little switchback trail up an ever-steepening way. At last it opened onto a rocky ridge that gave a good view of the scatters of forest and meadow below. A deep ravine fell from the other side of the crest, and across that, white-capped mountains rose against the turquoise sky. The western horizon was also bounded in peaks. With their back to the chasm and a view for leagues in every other direction, it was here they usually spotted the monsters when they came; that was why Leshya had picked the spot to build the shelter. It had started as a lean-to made of branches, but now it was a comfortable little four-post house with birch-bark roof.
Aspar didn’t remember the building of it; he’d been deep in the land of Black Mary, in and out of a fever that jumbled three months into a haze of images and pain. When it was finally gone, it left him so weak that even without a broken leg he couldn’t have walked. Leshya had tended him, built traps, fought the monsters that appeared more and more frequently.
The climb left him winded, and he sat on a log, looking out over the valley below.
“It’s time to go,” he said.
“You aren’t ready to travel,” Leshya said, poking the banking of the morning’s fire, looking for embers.
“I’m ready,” he said.
“I don’t think so.”
“You came after me with your stitching still wet,” Aspar said. “I’m in better shape than that.”
“You’re wheezing from a little walk,” the Sefry pointed out. “That ever been the case before?”
“I’ve never been flat on my back
The other hand came up, followed by the head. He saw even more of a family resemblance to the utin he once had fought, but if it could speak, it didn’t. It strained, blood blowing from its nostrils, and began to crawl from the pit.
“Leshya!” Aspar snapped.
“Here,” he heard her say. He felt the wind as another massive log came swinging down, this one aimed to skim along just above the trap. It hit the beast in the horn, crushing it back into its skull, and it vanished into the hole again.
Aspar turned at Leshya’s soft approach. Her violet eyes peered at him from beneath her broad-brimmed hat.
“You’re all right?” she lilted.
“No worse than I was this morning,” he replied. “Aside from the indignity of being bait.”
She shrugged. “Should have thought of that before you went and got your leg broken.”
She walked over to the pit, and Aspar limped after her to see.
It didn’t know it was dead yet. Its flanks were still heaving, and the hind legs twitching. But the head was cracked like an egg, and Aspar didn’t imagine it would breathe much longer.
“What in Grim’s name do we call that?” he grunted.
“I remember stories about something like this,” she said. “I think it was called a
mhertyesvher.
”
“That the Skaslos name for it?”
“I couldn’t pronounce the Skaslos name for it,” she replied.
“Notwithstandin’ that you are one,” he said.
“I was born in this shape, with this tongue,” she said. “I’ve never heard the language of the Skasloi. I’ve told you that.”
“Yah,” Aspar assented. “You’ve told me.” He looked back at the dying beast and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Well,” he mused, “I think it’s a manticore.”
“As good a name as any,” she said. “Now, why don’t we go rest.”
“I’m not tired,” Aspar lied.
“Well, there’s no reason to stay here. It’ll be days before the poison clears out, even if it rains.”
“Yah,” Aspar agreed.
“Come on, then.”
He slung the bow on his back and looked around for his crutch, only to find Leshya holding it out for him. He took it silently, and they began walking back through the trees. It got harder when the slope turned upward, and they followed a little switchback trail up an ever-steepening way. At last it opened onto a rocky ridge that gave a good view of the scatters of forest and meadow below. A deep ravine fell from the other side of the crest, and across that, white-capped mountains rose against the turquoise sky. The western horizon was also bounded in peaks. With their back to the chasm and a view for leagues in every other direction, it was here they usually spotted the monsters when they came; that was why Leshya had picked the spot to build the shelter. It had started as a lean-to made of branches, but now it was a comfortable little four-post house with birch-bark roof.
Aspar didn’t remember the building of it; he’d been deep in the land of Black Mary, in and out of a fever that jumbled three months into a haze of images and pain. When it was finally gone, it left him so weak that even without a broken leg he couldn’t have walked. Leshya had tended him, built traps, fought the monsters that appeared more and more frequently.
The climb left him winded, and he sat on a log, looking out over the valley below.
“It’s time to go,” he said.
“You aren’t ready to travel,” Leshya said, poking the banking of the morning’s fire, looking for embers.
“I’m ready,” he said.
“I don’t think so.”
“You came after me with your stitching still wet,” Aspar said. “I’m in better shape than that.”
“You’re wheezing from a little walk,” the Sefry pointed out. “That ever been the case before?”
“I’ve never been flat on my back
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