Cyrion Page 4

  Saul’s turned to Jon. “What’re you saying?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Anya bent her head at Saul, frowning. “They all have to die.”

  “How’re we going to do that?” Saul’s face shone with absolute faith.

  “I may have an idea or two,” Jon said with his trademark optimism.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LAYING THE GROUNDWORK

  Logan shuffled his feet, the chains clanking along the forest floor. Faking a fall, he collapsed into the leaves lining the ground. As he took his time getting back on his feet, he contemplated the likelihood he was losing his mind. While Jon would be distraught, Arti would probably do what she always did—somehow find a way to adapt and thrive.

  This morning, before dawn and when the light was trickiest, he thought he saw an albino wolf pad toward the camp in perfect silence from the shadows of the forest, a hill mynah riding on its head.

  A mynah with a set of blank, silvered eyes.

  The sight of the bird brought him back to his days at the Watcher Academy, in the tropical Achillean Archipelago. Mynahs are tropical birds. These forests are anything but tropical. And I was still half-asleep. Also, what self-respecting wolf would give a bird, especially one as puny, annoying, and famously incontinent as a mynah, a ride on its head? I must’ve been dreaming.

  Lost in thought, Logan paused for a moment, earning himself a poke in the back from one of the goblin guards. He bowed his head in apparent submission and continued walking.

  Unless it’s a…cyrion? No, can’t be….

  That morning, before dawn, a bird told him to slow the goblins down.

  In his dream—a dream, nothing but a dream—the bird hopped off the wolf’s head onto his shoulders, and spoke in Jon’s voice.

  “Slow them down, Dad. We’re coming, but we need more time. Hope this helps.”

  The wolf dropped the small dagger from its jaws into Logan’s lap. The mynah hopped back onto the wolf’s head, and rode off into the forest, slipping in silence through the trees, before disappearing altogether.

  If not for the inconveniently real dagger, Logan would have dismissed it as a dream without any hesitation—just one of the many results of a highly stressful last few days. However, the dagger was real. Geoff forged and enchanted the Squirrel Slayer for Jon. He’d recognize the weapon anywhere. Logan glanced at his Watcher’s mark, a tattooed compass rose on the webbed area between his middle and ring finger. The tattoo would change color if Jon was seriously hurt, but worked only if Jon was close enough to wield the Slayer.

  I told Jon to keep the Squirrel Slayer close. And we told him to stay put.

  Logan’s pride in his son’s courage battled with his frustration at Jon’s disobedience. But if the dagger was real, so were the talking bird and all the rest. Which meant he wasn’t following the orders of a completely imaginary bird.

  I’m following the advice of a real bird…which spoke in Jon’s voice…and which only I can see or hear.

  No matter which way he rearranged the words in his head, Logan kept coming to the conclusion that he’d lost his marbles.

  There is one last alternative… The impossible alternative.

  A cyrion.

  But I thought we’d killed every last one of them.

  Fourteen years ago, he and Geoff oversaw the squads of Watchers who searched the forests surrounding the proposed site. Logan made certain they eliminated anything unusually dangerous to the babies. There was no way they could’ve missed a cyrion. They requested this posting precisely because they needed a safe place to raise the children. Like Arti said, the Outpost was located where two goat tracks intersected at the back end of nowhere. He had to admit neither he nor Geoff conducted similar searches recently. The job became harder as both boys grew older. Over the years, the children had gotten into all kinds of trouble. He spent more time than he ever anticipated keeping up with them.

  Logan pretended to stumble, misjudged the distance and his knee landed on an exposed tree root. A startled small, furry creature darted into the bushes. Logan hissed with pain.

  No. That can’t be a cyrion. Between the four of us, there was no way we could’ve missed a creature as dangerous as that. So I’m back to the first two options.

  “Are you all right?” Arti’s delicate brows furrowed with concern.

  Should I tell her? Would she think I’m crazy? He decided to keep quiet. I don’t want to worry her. Bad enough I might actually be crazy.

  Logan nodded, and gave her a reassuring smile.

  As he got back on his feet, Logan resumed contemplating the likelihood he was losing his mind.

  * * * *

  “Thank you,” Jon said as Anya emerged from behind some bushes, back in her human form. She nodded with an absent smile. “And thanks for the eggs, too.” He patted his pack, filled with assorted rotten birds’ eggs, well wrapped in dried leaves.

  “Why did you want them?” Saul asked.

  “Remember how smelly the exploded eggs were? Well, I bet these’d smell much worse. How would you react if I was to smash one of these on you?”

  Saul’s face lit up with equal parts understanding and mischievous delight.

  Anya clapped her hands. “And goblins have a better sense of smell than even wolves. So if one of those lands right on their faces, they might get hurt.” Her grin widened. “Really hurt.”

  “That would be great,” Jon said. “I’d be happy if they’re stunned for a moment, long enough for us to…do more serious damage.” He bit his lip and looked away.

  Saul studied Jon’s face, a frown on his own. “Jon, do you think we can do this? I mean, really do this?”

  Jon kept silent, focusing on the forest floor. A lone black ant was bravely attempting to lift a crumb, a remnant of their meal, many times larger than itself. Feeling a strange sense of kinship to that ant, Jon nudged the crumb onto the ant’s head and thorax. The ant made its wobbly way back to the scraggly line of other black ants that, he presumed, were returning to their nest somewhere else in the forest.

  There’s my good deed for the day. I only wish someone else would give us a similar nudge.

  “Jon?” Saul said with growing concern.

  Jon looked up to Saul, and noticed an uncharacteristic gravity and concern in his friend’s blue-grey eyes.

  Saul shrugged. “I mean, we’ve hunted rabbits and ducks, sure. But the biggest thing we’ve ever killed was that goat. And these goblins…” he paused, as if searching for the right words. “They walk on two legs, like we do. They speak the Common Tongue, like we do. They probably have friends and family, like we do.”

  “No, no parents,” Anya said. “The books I read in Mother’s library said that goblins are ‘neither born nor hatched’”.

  “Well, some kind of family, or friends or something. Anyway, my point is…” Saul threw up his arms in frustration, unable to find the words.

  Jon bent his head again, this time studying his boots. His father bought the animal skin from a hunter passing through the Outpost. He taught Jon how to scrape clean and cure the skin, to turn it into leather. For once, his mother did not complain about the unavoidable stink of the tanning process. Logan then taught Jon to turn the newly cured leather into the boots he now wore. It occurred to Jon his father knew a surprising number of things for someone whose professed occupation was the tavern keeper of a small pub, attached to an even smaller inn, located at the back end of nowhere.

  He missed his grumps.

  “I can’t think of another way,” came Jon’s mumbled reply. “I’ve thought and thought, and I don’t…I just can’t see how…”

  Jon lifted his eyes, grasped his friends’ shoulders, and looked into their eyes. “It has to be us, don’t you understand? There is no one else. We have no time to ask for help. And who could we ask, when everyone we know are the very people we need to help? Whatever the consequences, however we feel when the time comes, we’ll just have to deal with later. Because if we don’t act now, there w
ill be no later. Do you understand?”

  Jon pulled away from them and hunkered down, his back hunched. He folded his arms around his knees and hung his head low, as though trying to shield himself from the inevitable. “There never was a question of whether we could do this. The question was always when. Because we have no choice. We have to try.”

  From the corner of his eye, Jon saw his friends exchange worried glances.

  Anya bent and rested her hand on Jon’s tense shoulders. “Why don’t we just rest for now? I think we’re all over-tired, and it’s going to be a long night,” she said, her voice like a soothing balm. She laid down and wrapped her cloak more securely around herself to prepare for a nap.

  “Should we set a watch, just in case?” Saul asked as he also settled into a more comfortable position.

  “No need. My friends will keep watch.”

  Despite the silence that followed, not one of them was able to sleep.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE COUNTDOWN BEGINS

  In the hour before dawn, Saul finally grasped that he was truly on his own. Anya was counting down in the forest, while Jon was getting into position. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his arms alternately flexing and relaxing, as though he was physically fighting the hollow sickness at the pit of his stomach.

  I can’t be scared. I can’t fail. I’ll show Dad I can do a man’s job. I’m not only a stupid little kid. No, I’m not scared at all. Not even a teeny, tiny, little bit. I’m not going to fail.

  The pair of wolves Anya left with him made reassuring rumbles. They could sense his fraying nerves. He tried to pull himself together, lowering his axe and relaxing his arms. No sense tiring myself out for no reason.

  Soon. Very soon now.

  From a distance came a loud ghruugh, followed by screams and the thunderous sounds of crashing as over three thousand pounds of bovine muscle stampeded, snapping the trunks of unfortunate saplings, and trampling the undergrowth into the ground. Saul realized he could see almost nothing. Would he have time to jump out of the way or would oxen hooves snap his spine like just another sapling?

  Why didn’t Jon think of this?

  He found one of the wolves and positioned himself behind it. Well, if the oxen were headed this way, the wolf would surely know and would run out of the way. So there’d be time to jump out of their path. Makes sense. Also, there is no time to think of another plan.

  The sounds of snapping saplings came closer and closer, and then a pair of oxen crashed through the blackberry bushes. Saul let his instincts take over and leapt to the side. Before he knew it, he found himself halfway up the nearest tree. The wolves looked up at him in what he’d swear was utter bewilderment.

  Hoping the darkness would cover his embarrassment, Saul scrambled down the tree trunk, ripping part of his leggings in the process, and raced towards the barred wagon. Oddly enough, the oxen, nostrils still flaring and their eyes wild, stood quiet. Saul raised his axe to the padlocked door.

  “Stand back,” he said.

  The pale-faced children, eyeing his axe, stood as far away from the door as possible, their backs pressed against the bars. Saul swung his axe against the padlock, and missed. Cussing in frustration, he tried again.

  He barely made a dent.

  He was taking too long. Much too long.

  What if they ran into serious trouble at the goblin camp? Saul started to panic. His breathing shortened, his chest felt tight. Like a steel vise was squeezing his lungs. One of the wolves made another reassuring rumble.

  I can’t fail. I won’t fail. They need me. They all do.

  He took a deep breath and tried again, and again, and again.

  Hold on guys. Hold on. I’m coming.

  * * * *

  After he left Anya near a gnarled old oak tree, Jon made his way towards the goblins camp. He licked his thumb and held it up to check the check the direction of prevailing air currents. Jon took special care to stay downwind from where the goblin troopers lay asleep, given what Anya said about their sense of smell. Trying to stay in pools of shadow, he headed toward where his father and the other men were chained.

  Anya took down the goblin sentries a few minutes ago, and gave him the daggers she “liberated” from “those who no longer need them.” She refused to elaborate further. The blades clinked together in his arms and Jon wondered if the sound would give him away. He tried to remember if Anya mentioned whether goblins have excellent or poor hearing.

  Too late now.

  “Dad,” Jon said to his dozing father.

  Logan jerked awake.

  “Jon! Oh, thank God you’re all right. It is you, isn’t it? Am I dreaming?”

  “It’s really me. I’m sorry, Dad, I thought we’d get you the keys, but—”

  “These puny things?” Logan snorted with derision at his shackles. He raised up his arms and the chains fell clinking to the ground.

  Jon widened his eyes in surprise.

  “Remind me to explain the other ways you can use the Slayer. I’ve freed the other men too.”

  “Speaking of daggers.” Jon handed the weapons he had to his father.

  “Thank you, lad. Here, take yours back.” Logan returned the Slayer to her rightful owner. “And don’t you dare let it out of your sight. You’re to have this with you at all times, is that understood?” He passed out the blades to the rest of the men.

  Jon watched Logan give the last of the weapons away. “What about you, Dad?”

  “I always was a better brawler. Not much use with daggers. Your mother though, a whole other story.” He winked, smiling with evident pride. “So what’s the plan?”

  “Just be ready to attack when the time comes.” Jon scanned the camp, his anxiety level rising.

  “Is there a signal?”

  “Not exactly. But you’ll know.” Jon searched for a target while he reached into his pack. His sweaty fingers curled around the topmost egg, safely nestled in its cocoon of dried leaves. He found what he was looking for—the goblin standing guard over the sleeping women. That would be his first target.

  Come on Anya. All up to you now. Come on, before it gets too light…

  * * * *

  Anya began to slowly count to five hundred under her breath after the boys left, wishing she had the comfort and reassurance of her lupine pack. But we all have our tasks to perform. She was more nervous and exhausted than she let on, but saw no sense in worrying her new human friends. Not when there was nothing they could do to help.

  Besides, they already had enough on their plates.

  She did not tell them she never tried to reach more than two or three animals already bonded to her in friendship at any one time. Reaching the un-bonded adders two days in a row tired her more than she expected. Soon she would have to reach into two un-bonded oxen and convince them to bolt to where Saul was, hopefully, in place. Then she would have to reach simultaneously into all of her lupine friends. Two to guide the children, and the rest to help with the main fight at the goblin camp. She would need to continue her reaching for as long as they need to win the fight.

  Four hundred and ninety-eight. Four hundred and ninety-nine. Five hundred.

  Anya straightened her back, made sure she was as well hidden as possible, and then concentrated on slowing her breathing.

  It had begun.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE FIRST RESCUE

  Pandemonium.

  The oxen bellowed, bolted, and broke free from their tethers. Heads lowered, they snorted and charged across the goblin camp. They ran through the campfire, towing the wagon of screaming children behind them. Glowing, red-gold embers that scattered around the campsite left their mark in form of small smoky fires when they scorched the dried summer grass and the goblins’ light woolen cloaks. Bones crunched and ragged bodies flew as the oxen gored, trampled, or ran over any trooper too slow to get out of their way. The pre-dawn air was thick with the screams of dying goblins and the scent of spilled blood, singed
wool and burned grass.

  “Now, Dad!” Jon hurled the egg.

  The men leapt, blades flashing, and slashed the throats of goblins wounded by the pair of stampeding oxen. Jon’s egg smashed against another goblin’s front tusks. The trooper dropped his dagger, gagging, before falling to his knees, clawing at his face and throat. Logan ran up to him, gripped his head, and then twisted.

  CRACK.

  It worked! He threw his remaining eggs in quick succession.

  Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Arti dashed to the gagging goblins bent on the ground, snatched two of their daggers and stabbed them, one after another.

  Jon unslung his bow, nocked his arrow, and took aim.

  No good. The light was chancy, and everyone was moving too fast.

  Geoff swung his manacles over his head, turning them into a makeshift flail. The improvised weapon made a sickening thud as it caved in a skull. The goblin dropped like a felled tree.

  Teeth bared in a feral grin and a dagger in each hand, Arti circled a lone goblin, moonlight glinting off the edge of her blades. She darted and feinted in a deadly duel.

  Jon dropped his bow onto the trampled grass as two goblins approached, trying to flank him. Without warning, a snarling flash of silver leapt from the forest. Minari. She landed on the back of one of the goblins, knocking him to the ground, her teeth at his neck. Jon heard a wet crunch. The goblin lay limp. Minari jumped off the carcass and lunged at another goblin approaching Geoff. Her chops dripped orange with goblin blood.

  “Logan! Wolves!” Geoff shouted as he turned, his makeshift flail making an ominous whir.

  “No! They’re with us!” Jon said, distracted for a moment. He was afraid for the pack as it swarmed the campsite, snapping and lunging at every goblin in reach. As the words left his lips, the other goblin rushed at him. Jon hurled the Slayer. The goblin dodged. The Slayer thudded harmlessly on the trampled summer grass.

  Jon froze, watching the goblin raise his blade for a killing stroke, his mind a complete blank when the goblin stopped in his tracks, an expression of shock on its bestial face. He swayed, and then fell face-forward. A dagger hilt jutted from the back of his neck. Jon looked up, open-mouthed, at his mother.