Seana, Eganene

That evening the trader, Hayden, bought him a pint of ale and they sat together by the fire. The Inn was too crowded and noisy for either of them. He was in his fifties, with intelligent eyes and a stomach that had expanded as rapidly as his fortune.

“I always wished I had skill at arms,” Hayden said, looking into the fire. “But I’m as clumsy with a sword as I’m skilled with a pen.”

Ian leaned back into a crate, thinking that the night air felt more like winter than spring. He took a long pull from the mug, tipping his head to the trader.

The man waved him away, “No, no, its my fault. If the Hunter said you were skilled, I should have taken his word for it.” Glancing at Ian, he continued, “It’s just that you don’t look much like the other Hunters. I don’t mean anything by it, but your definitely on the lean side.”

Ian patted his emaciated stomach, “I had some troubles recently, food was scarce.”

“Well, as fast as you are, you’ll have plenty to eat on the way to Orlenia. And all’s the better for that. I tell you, son, its been bad before, but not this bad. Damn, godsless xia jumping out from every boulder between here and Laindon.”

Ian let the man talk, his eyes on the camp and his mind on the forest. He was still worried about Morder. The animal had been his only companion for weeks, and it was strange to sit beside a warm fire in the company of other people with a full belly and drink in his hand.

There might be other grandpathers in the area, and he realized it was a possibility that the cat had found his own kind. It wasn’t a pleasant idea. Sharing his thoughts with the cat had been a unique experience. Communicating with people, he thought, was much more difficult.

“I asked,” Hayden was saying, pitching his voice louder, “if you have had any trouble from where you are from?”

Ian nodded, “The usual, I guess.”

If someone had asked him a month ago, he wouldn’t have known what they were talking about. Now, images of Family, a burnt forge and smoking home flashed through his mind. He could hear the pounding footsteps and the gunshots, could see his brother’s unhappy face as he closed and locked the workshop door. Ian blinked the images away, his face contorting in disgust. He didn’t want to think about it.

Hayden didn’t notice, his eyes on the crackling fire. “What town, son? It is always good to know where the trouble is.”

Ian tugged at shirt, the clean cloth felt strange against his skin. “North, near Delphi. Where did this caravan originate?”

It was late in the evening and many of the people were crawling into their wagons for the night. Several girls were struggling with loads of clothing, trying to lift the unwieldy bundles up the narrow stairs. They were captives, and he felt a pang of sorrow. He had lost the people he loved, but at least he was free.

“Cenica, actually,” Hayden replied, following his gaze. “Wonderful hunting. The beasts are fierce and strange. In the morning, I’ll show you some of the pelts. You’ve seen nothing like them I promise you.”

“Really?” Ian asked, watching the smallest of the girls pushing a bundle. Her black hair was pleated into tight rows and her skin as white as the helstorm’s snows.

“I will be well and truly rich after the spring market,” Hayden grinned. “We bought the hides of unicorns and merwins, pelts of craz and lions. I even brought back trophies. I got the heads of trolls, szabors, and Creelings.”

“Ah,” Ian exhaled. “A Creeling. And a grandpanther too, I suppose.”

“Why, yes!” Hayden exclaimed. “I tell you, the creatures in Cenica must be plentiful indeed. Kassam gave me your trophies to bring along. Where did you buy yours?”

“They are Kassam’s.”

Loud laughter and music spilled from the Inn, its lights bright in the darkness. There were several fires burning around the makeshift camp, the guards hunkered beneath their cloaks, wishing they were rich enough or lucky enough to be inside.

“The Hunter, yes,” Hayden said. “He took off in a hurry this afternoon.”

“Off to take a Bounty,” Ian said, answering the unspoken question. “He said he would meet up with us in Orlenia.”

“I figured as much. We couldn’t find escorts in the last town we were at either. We are lucky to have you. It seems like all the Hunters in Eganene are chasing those two. Can’t say I blame them. I haven’t seen a reward like that before.”

“Who issued the contract?” Ian asked, his eyes hooded in the moonless night.

“Family, of course. Can’t think of anyone else who would pay that much for a man and a girl.

Ian grunted, wishing Kassam hadn’t left. It was possible the Hunter didn’t know there was a girl involved.

“You look cold,” Hayden ventured after a bit. “I’m going to turn in, but let me get you a fur. I can’t give it to you for free, but if you’re going to be sleeping outside for the next week or so, I think you might want to buy it.”

Ian nodded, it was a good idea. Hayden seemed kind enough for a trader. He might not rob him blind.

The wagons were clustered together, the traders sleeping beneath them in fur-lined seal skin, worth hundreds. He was glad there were other eyes on the caravan, he didn’t like being responsible for so many.

“It’s a good one,” Hayden said, returning with his arms full of fur. “I’ll give it to you for half your take. I know that might sound like a lot, but trust me, you’ll thank me in Orlenia. You won’t find fur this warm and soft anywhere else. And at that price, I will be taking a loss.”

“Good and thanks.” He had no desire to haggle.

Hayden looked disappointed that he wasn’t going to play the game, but Ian wasn’t concerned. He never had much of a stomach for quibbling. Simon had been the one who enjoyed the art of negotiation. Right now, he just cared about where he was getting his next meal and securing a safe place to sleep. Once he found Jamie and Agatha he could make amends and be done with the whole business.

In the end, he wasn’t being robbed badly. The fur was as thick and as soft as Hayden had said. And it was black as night, which suited his mood and purpose. Of course, he could have slept in the fur that he and Kassam brought, but the idea of sleeping in Morder’s mother’s pelt made him sick.

He thought the sounds of life, the low voices, rustling blankets and clacking pans would keep him awake, but he was wrong. Recovering from his time trapped in Agatha’s spell, his body took no time to fall asleep.

Shrieking.

His eyes popped open, searching for the source of the noise. It was coming from the man beneath the closest cart.

Ian jumped up, throwing his new fur to the ground and drawing his sword. Already, the heavy clash of metal could be heard, shouts and yells echoing through the woods. The Inn was in flames, the yellow-orange tongues licking upward into the sky as smoke billowed into the black clouds.

A man stumbled out from behind one of the carts, his body clumsy. Ian readied himself as his father had taught him. He took a light stance and pulled his sword up.

“Ian,” the figure said, collapsing at his feet, “help me.”

It was Hayden. Ian quickly knelt beside him, pulling back his cloak, looking for a sword wound.

“My back,” the man sobbed, writhing on the ground.

Ian lifted him into a sitting position and began to strip his coat. He didn’t look down, but searched the smoke-filled air for signs of an attack. The man whimpered but Ian didn’t notice. Screams echoed from all around them, drowning the trader’s cries.

Smoke hung on the air, limiting his vision to only a few yards in any direction. Without the screaming, Ian might have believed they were the only two people left alive.

“Gods be damned!” he swore, finally looking down.

Four long claw marks raked across the man’s back, not only cutting through his fur, jacket, sweater and shirt, but digging an inch into the flesh of his shoulder.

“Is it bad?” the man cried, his fingers driving their own furrows into the forest floor. “Will I die?”

“I don’t know,” Ian replied, crouching. His sword was heavy in his hand, the blade sinking towards the dirt.

“Son, look at me,” the trader moaned at his feet. “Is it bad? Will I die?”

Ian shoved the man’s coat against the wound, stamping down with his foot to keep the pressure.

Hayden shouted, but Ian’s eyes were on the smoke. His sight had adjusted and he could see people dashing through the grey, hear them calling to one another. Some ran blindly, hollering as they went, while others stalked patiently through the grayness. The latter had swords. Ian knew he should follow them.

“Hold still,” he said, searching the darkness. “This will stop the bleeding.”

Grabbing his new fur, he used his sword to slice its silky inside into strips.

“We need to bind the wound,” Ian said, helping Hayden to his feet. “Tell me what what happened.”

While he worked, the trader said, “Nothing. I saw nothing at all. I was sleeping when it hit me. Thought it damn well took my shoulder off. And then everyone was screaming. It felt like someone had cut me in two.”

Hayden’s face was sickly white as Ian helped him up. The Inn’s flames had spread to some of the closer wagons, the orange glow garishly bright in the blackness. Screams still resounded about the camp, but he heard no more sounds of battle. Thankfully, their cart was far enough away from the Inn to not be in danger from the fire.

“Climb up here,” Ian said, helping the man onto one of the carts. “Cover yourself with the furs and hide. I need to see what has happened.”

He left Hayden and pushed his way through the smoke, ignoring his watering eyes and holding his sword ready. He realized he wasn’t frightened, only curious about what had attacked the camp.

It wasn’t long before he found others. Ten women, a few boys and some men were huddled together beside one of the larger camp fires. He was spotted by a stocky man with a heavy axe.

“Who are you?” the man yelled, stepping into Ian’s path. The women shrunk away, pressing closer together, their eyes wide and frightened. Most of them wore plain blue dresses.

“Ian, Master,” he said, bowing formally, his sword to the ground.

The man’s relief was obvious. “Nineteen circles of hell, boy. Tell me you know how to use that sword! There’s a party forming to chase down the beast. I need someone to guard the women.”

Before Ian could respond, the man hurried to close the distance between them. “I’ll make it worth your while. Fifteen, when the caravan reaches Orlenia. Not a nos less, I swear it!”

The man thrust out his hand, “On my honor. I swear you this oath. I am Martin, and this is my wagon. We have a good business. I will get you the money!”

Ian took a small step back to preserve the space between them. The man’s eyes were feverish and his expression beyond grim.

“Who did it take?” Ian asked carefully.

Martin shuddered and wiped the moisture from his forehead. His body was sweating despite the cold. “My wife,” he said raggedly. “I can’t find her anywhere and the boys said they saw it drag her...”

“They saw it?” Ian interrupted sharply.

“Come here Jaks,” Martin commanded, gesturing sharply to a boy from inside the huddle. While the kid disentangled himself, Ian’s eyes found the black-haired girl. She was the one who had struggled so desperately with the laundry. He was happy she lived, although her haunted eyes left the impression she had not escaped the experience unscathed.

“Tell the man what you saw, Jaks,” Martin said. “And leave nothing out.”

“A creature, sir, its skin all black and shiny. It tore the head off the horse and then jumped for my Mistress. Took her by the shirt and drug her off into the woods. I could hear her screaming, shouting for help.”

The kid was bigger than he seemed at the fire, and Ian was surprised to realize that they were probably of an age with each other. “Where did it go?”

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He pointed into the woods, “That way.” Meeting Ian’s eyes, he finished quickly, “I think it had wings.”

Images of the Creeling’s attack ran through Ian’s mind. He might not be afraid of death, but he certainly wasn’t going to go out and find it. Martin was watching him carefully, and the man knew his decision before Ian spoke it.

“I can’t thank you enough, sir,” he said, belatedly returning Ian’s bow. “I’ll be back by morning or I’ll send word. Kat and Franc know the ropes well enough to be trusted. Just keep and eye on them, and I swear it, when we have sold the lot, I’ll pay you handsomely. My girls will stay in the wagon.”

Ian nodded and shook the outstretched hand, “A deal then. I’ll await you in the morning.”

Several blasts of a horn sounded in the night as Martin mounted his horse and left. It probably should have felt odd to Ian to be left with so much responsibility, but it seemed like he was getting used to it. In any case, it was better than stumbling about the woods at night looking for Creeling.

He sent the boy, Jaks, to get Hayden and called for the girl Kat. She was an odd one, with skin black as night with yellow eyes that seemed almost to glow. Ian told her to find him a skin of wine. When she returned, he took a long pull, closing his eyes and savoring the taste. “Have the boys build the fire higher,” he said to no one in particular, and the task was done.

“Thank the gods you sent for me,” the trader whimpered as Jaks led him close. “I thought for sure the beast would finish me.”

Ian handed him the skin and froze. His mind replayed what he had seen in the dark woods, the flash of color and what might have been the reflection of orange on black fur.

“Into the wagon,” he hissed, drawing his sword. “All of you.”

The captives stumbled over themselves to comply, their dresses fluttering in the wind as though they were a dozen confused spirits lost in the gloom. Ian searched the brush around the edge of the forest, letting his eyes trail slowly, almost unfocused, as his father had taught him.

The burning Inn confused the light, sent it shifting. The shadows wheeled through the black leaves. He saw the Creeling’s flapping wings in each tree limb shaking above him.

Nothing. There was no sign of his prey. He laughed then, knowing it was wrong in the quietness of the forest. All the sound was behind him, the whimpering and crying of the survivors of the caravan.

His prey, he pondered at the audacity of his thought. As though a Creeling could be anyone’s prey.

“What is it?” Hayden called from the wagon. He had the door cracked just far enough that Ian could see his pale face.

“Just stay inside and bar the door,” he called back, grabbing a branch from the fire. His sword he let rest against the leather of his shirt. “I’m going to take a look around the camp. Don’t let anyone out until I’m back.”

The cabin door slammed shut while the captives squealed in the darkness. Ian strode into the woods, his burning branch fitful and weak. Few others were foolish enough to leave the shelter of their wagons, but he saw the Innkeeper and his wife weeping into one another’s shoulders as they watched their livelihood burn to ash.

The building was beautiful as it blazed, swirls of fire thrown into the sky as each felled beam crashed to the ground. Ian couldn’t help but think of his home and forge as they burned. The funeral pyre had been his family’s only death rites.

Gods above, he thought. Blessed be my family that they are in the heavens together.

Your family? a voice asked in his head. Where is your family?

Ian stumbled backward, spinning drunkenly. His light fell to the ground and guttered out in the dirt.

“Morder!” he called uncertainly, “is that you?”

Seconds passed as he righted himself.

Ian pulled his sword up, squinting into the darkness. “Morder!” he called, pitching his voice to carry into the forest darkness.

“Answer me! Please!” He could hear loud weeping from the wagon and the hiss and whoosh of flames. Carefully he moved forward, his footsteps thunderous despite the thick coating of ash on the leaves.

Damn it, he thought, answer me, Morder. It was a Creeling!

Ah, replied the voice in his head. You are there. I knew I smelled you.

Morder! Where are you? And then he saw him, the cat even larger than he remembered.

He slunk out from the brush beside him, now the size of a small pony. His lean body rippled with muscles beneath a coat as dark as hell itself. The cat’s eyes met Ian’s, sharp yellow eyes that flickered to his sword, the pink of his tongue visible inside a mouth of teeth.

“It is you!” he shouted, letting the sword fall from his fingers.

Why do you speak this way? the cat asked, pushing its weight into Ian’s legs and nearly toppling him.

It is how humans speak. We make words with our mouths, Ian said in his mind.

He could here the cat laughing inside of his skull. It sat on his haunches, and Ian was astonished to realize that it was as tall as he was.

I know the creature is here, the cat thought. I’ve tracked it for the past two days. There are three, maybe four, a small pack. They took their prey back to the cave.

Ian sat down against the tree and drug his sword beside him. You were following the Creelings? he asked Morder. Why?

The cat dropped its massive head into Ian’s lap, closing its eyes as Ian stroked the velvety smooth skin above its eyes. I did not follow the Creeling. I followed you.

The beasts have been hunting these woods for these few weeks. My mother killed one of them. The others, I will kill.

Ian’s hand froze. Morder, I’m sorry about your mother. I wish...

The cat growled deep in its throat, the sound reverberating into its chest. Ian’s hand rested against its body, trembling with the movement. He breathed deeply, the musty smell of the cat familiar and soothing. The warmth against his leg was a comfort. As he thought this, Morder’s growls subsided.

My mother died bravely, human. Do not wish her another death.

Ian glanced back at the camp, but the trees hid them nicely. He could still see the flames of the Inn, the smoke billowing against the tree line. Sobs and cries still echoed unpleasantly and he wished he had some talent at healing.

Morder nudged his hand with his head. Why must you do all this wishing? Always wanting something you can not have? I do not wish for food, I hunt it. I do not wish to kill the black winged beasts, I find them and kill them. What is wishing that you do it? What will it gain you?

To that, Ian didn’t have any response. Instead, he stood up and sheathed his sword. There were many hours still in the night.

Yes, Morder purred. Yes. Let us find the beasts.

You said there are caves? Where are they?

Hand resting gently on the cat’s back, he heard, I’m glad you do not speak like humans speak. It is strange.

Did all the Creelings return to the cave? Ian asked, glancing at the fire behind him. He didn’t want to leave the children unprotected.

Perhaps, Morder replied, his long tail lashing back in forth in agitation. Don’t worry for your young. There are other men there to protect them. Let us hunt, human. I wish to taste their blood.

Ian walked alongside the cat, thinking. How will we take them all?

The beasts will be fat and sleepy.

Ian tried not to think about that. There are others who hunt the Creelings, too.

Morder snarled softly, winding in and out of the trees, as smoothly as a snake curved through the grass. He was leading Ian further and further north. Yes, they are clumsy. But many.

Then they can help?

Morder didn’t reply, continuing to pad softly through the darkening night. The light from the burning Inn was a soft orange glow on the horizon. Ian stroked the thick fur behind the cat’s massive head as they walked.

The beasts can hear us talking, right?

Yes.

Can they speak as well?

Not as we do, human. You are the only human that can hear me, or that I have ever heard. Perhaps because we sheltered together in the helstrom.

Ian tried listening for the Creeling’s thoughts. Sticks snapped beneath his feet and the wind moaned in the trees. That was all. Closing his eyes, he let the giant cat lead him. Blackness and silence lay over him like the layers and layers of snow which had covered them.

Eventually, night gave way to dawn, light from the sun replacing the soft glow of the burning Inn. I’ll be back in a moment, Morder said, loping off. Ian made a crude fire and sat warming his hands over it until the grandpanther returned, a rabbit dangling from its jaws.

You are hungry, Morder observed.

Yes, but I can’t eat that, he said, turning away.

Why?

I don’t know. I’ve been like this since I could move again. Searching in his pockets he was rewarded with the muffin that he had saved from breakfast.

You still are hungry, the cat said lying beside him, his whiskers brushing against his hand.

I can eat later. How much further to the caves?

On the other side of the mountain. The other humans are close, they probably have seen your fire. We will reach the beasts by midday. The creatures will be sleeping.

Ian suppressed a shiver and lifted his sword a few inches from the scabbard. If we wait until the men attack, we will lose the element of surprise, but the Creelings will be distracted.

Morder purred, Yes. We will get there first. The humans can have anything that still breathes.

The climb was hard on Ian, his muscles had not recovered from the weeks of sitting along the Black Road. His legs throbbed, but he refused to slow down. Instead, he pushed on, using the limbs of trees to pull himself forward. His breathing became shallow, the thin walls of his chest straining against his ribs.

Finally, Morder sat down in front of him. Ride. We need to move faster.

What?

Ride, Speaker. We don’t have much time.

Ian glanced at the sky, noticing that the sun was almost to its zenith. You called me Speaker, he said.

The cat rumbled.

Carefully, Ian pulled himself onto Morder’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck, his knees grasping the cat’s sides as though he were a pony. The grandpanther seemed to hardly notice his weight, loping easily up the embankment.

You named me, was the cat’s eventual reply.

Exhilarated, Ian watched the pine trees fly by, hundreds of thousands of needles blurring into a slide of green, the cat picking up pace as he grew used to Ian’s weight. Strong muscles flexed beneath his legs, and the fur was soft beneath his hands. When they reached the top of the mountain and started down the other side, Ian had to close his eyes.

I will not fall, the cat tried reassuring him. We must be quiet now. We are almost there.

Above a rocky ledge, the cat stopped. Ian gingerly lowered himself to the ground, feeling stronger and rested. Actually, he felt stronger than he had in a long time. His muscles were no longer shaky or weak, like he had spent the last week eating and resting at the Inn. He wanted to ask Morder about it, but the cat’s admonition to remain quiet held his thoughts.

Down below, Ian could see birds taking flight along the forest floor. The men from the caravan were probably only an a few hours behind. Beneath his feet, a coating of moss and loose rocks peppered the ground. Ian crept to the edge and peered over. The opening wasn’t large, a few feet in height. Dark liquid coated the left side, the rocks and debris disturbed.

He pulled his sword, masking the noise against his hand. The black cat watched him, his golden eyes curious. Lowering himself over the side, Ian held his breath. If he stopped to think now, he might never go through with it. Letting go of the ledge, he slipped the last few inches to the cave.

Nothing moved. The wind pulled at his hair, whipping it into his eyes, but there was nothing to see. A hole of blackness welcomed him as the cat silently dropped to his side. Morder’s teeth gleamed in the light, his mouth open, tasting the air. Softly, he began padding forward. Ian followed at his side, trying to be as quiet as possible. Years of stalking the woods must have honed his ability as the cat swung his head to check his progress.

Down they went, carefully, silently. Soon, only streams of light filtered in from the thinner wall on the left. Stalactites and stalagmites stabbed from above and below. Ian strained his ears, the sounds of scrabbling and scraping echoing along the corridor. The cat’s eyes glowed unnaturally in the darkness.

Suddenly, Morder stopped, the animal’s side rumbling soundlessly against Ian’s hand. He could hear soft moans and cries from below. Grasping his sword, his fingers tight against the leather pommel, he moved downward.

The Creelings had brought their prey into a large cavern. The three survivors were huddled against the far wall, one lying on the ground, immobile. Two of the beasts were curled together in the center, wings against their sides. The ground was dark and wet, and Ian’s mind shied away from thinking about why. Peering into the grey, he searched for the third beast, but was unable to find it.

Feeling his hand shake, he studied the beasts. They were smaller than the creature Morder’s mother had killed, each the size of Morder. Ian knew their bellies were soft, but the Creeling’s razor sharp claws would be a deterrent for getting in close. He might have tried to sneak closer, but not knowing where the third creature slept bothered him. He didn’t want the damn thing to swoop down on him.

Creeping along the western wall, Morder slipped away, padding silently, his eyes focused on the creatures in the center. Ian watched the cat, hoping that he was as quiet as he thought he was. Closing his eyes, he listened for the last Creeling. If he could find it, they might actually have a chance.

Vulnerable, he let his hands fall to his sides, his sword hand hardy holding the blade. The humans were the first creatures he blocked out. They didn’t belong in this space and were easy to remove. Their moans, so loud and pitiful one moment, all but disappeared the next. Morder, too, was easy to block out, Ian having accessed his mind before.

Ian squeezed his eyes more firmly. He could feel the two Creelings on the ground. Their thoughts were a steady pulse of contentment and satiation. It turned Ian’s stomach, his gorge rising as he felt the satisfaction of their last meal. One of the beasts turned its head to the side, nipping at the air as if it felt Ian’s displeasure.

Small consciences tittered at the edge of his senses, not demanding his attention, but confusing his concentration. Mice and moles burrowed into the cavern, some of them as blind as he, others aware of him and scared. They fled the cavern in droves, their tiny feet making a hundred little sounds. Remotely, he felt Morder move closer to the Creelings, the cat anxious and unsure of what Ian was doing.

Almost without warning, the black shape dropped from the ceiling of the cavern. It came from behind the cat, its claws reaching for Morder’s unprotected back. Ian felt its wings stretch outward, the tight skin catching the air, slowing its dive. He felt its stomach muscles seize as it swung its back legs into position to shred the giant cat’s flesh.

His own hands grasped the sword with a manic energy, lifting it over his head. He screamed into the cavern and it echoed off the walls, the sound unbelievably loud. His inner voice screamed, too, and he felt Morder slam a wall between them. No time to be stunned, he saw the cat leap for the Creelings.

No longer sleeping, the monsters’ bloated bodies turned slowly towards the enormous midnight shape, the cat’s white fangs glimmering in the dark light.

Morder still had not seen the third beast. Ian dove towards his friend, his blade extended upward. As the cat raked four inch claws through the wings of the startled beasts, Ian’s own sword bit into the underbelly of the last monster. The creature’s weight drove it home, the beast screaming out loud and into Ian’s mind.

Like fireworks exploding, Ian felt stinging flashes of agony, but had no time to react. The pain was numbing, as if parts of his brain were shutting down to avoid injury.The beast drove him into the ground, his sword punching through the monster’s chest, separating its spinal column and killing it instantly.

The cat’s battle lasted longer.

Trapped beneath the Creeling’s bleeding corpse, Ian struggled. Finally, a man pulled him from underneath, his hands shaking with fear. Ian was covered with blood. Shivering, he searched for his friend.

“Where’s the cat?” Ian asked, breathless. The female captive was holding the unconscious man. Three steaming black bodies littered the cavern floor, and Ian fought back the urge to puke.

“Where is the cat?” he asked again, his blood covered fingers gripping the man with unnatural strength.

“I...don’t know,” the man stammered, disentangling himself and backing up hurriedly. His feet slid in the muck and blood and he went down. Ian grimaced and turned his back, making his way up the dirt ramp to the mountaintop above.

The woman called out, “Sir...” but Ian had no desire to return to that pit. Quickly, he climbed, his senses searching. There was nothing.

He pulled himself gingerly over the edge of the cliff face, feeling each bruise and wound drag along the earthen ledge. The men from camp were almost to him and Ian sat down and waited.

It was less than an hour before they poured up the cliff. Startled by his gory visage, they approached carefully. When he didn’t respond to their questions, they built and lit a fire, wrapping him in their cloaks.

The two survivors were helped out in due time. The other man was dead, but that wasn’t a surprise. How anyone could live through a Creeling attack was a matter of much speculation. Once the party had confirmed that the creatures were indeed dead, they made camp on the mountain top. Ian still hadn’t uttered a word, but the captives did a good job of explaining his heroics. Meat and mead were offered and Ian drank a bit, ate some hard biscuits, and then pretended to sleep.

There was no way to bathe and the smell of the Creeling’s blood made him nauseous. Morder hadn’t died in the cave, but Ian was worried. Why had the cat left without helping him? Why had he left Ian trapped? Was he injured?

Unable to sleep, Ian gazed into the flames, feeling the blood caking against his face. He rubbed at it methodically, until his face and hands were raw. As soon as he could, as soon as he had the strength, he would find the cat. He couldn’t lose him, again.