Saala stepped calmly forward, waiting on the beast’s reckless charge.
Three paces from him, it leaped, streaking straight at the blademaster, its maw opened wide, flashing teeth prepared to sink into his neck, tear his flesh free, and consume his lifeblood. Thick, powerful muscles bunched beneath its smooth skin as it flew into the air. Claws flexed, as long and sharp as her belt dagger.
The blademaster shifted gracefully to the side and knelt, letting the demon’s momentum carry it past him. He swept his falchion up, attempting to cleave it from beneath, spilling the thing’s guts, but at the last moment, the demon twisted in the air, a clawed limb swiping down at Saala’s falchion. The blade bit into its foreleg, carving a bloody laceration, catching on the creature’s sturdy bone.
And then it was past, landing on the earth with a heavy thump, tumbling over its wounded leg. It sprang back up and scrambled to turn, clawed feet digging great clots of dirt as it spun to face them again.
“Damn,” muttered Saala, standing, his blade held steadily in front of him. “It’s faster than I expected.”
“Do you need assistance?” asked Lady Towaal, raising her hands.
“I’ve got it,” grumbled Saala.
He stepped forward again as the demon charged back at him. This time, the blademaster didn’t risk missing. Instead of leaping out of the path of the beast, he attacked, running directly at it.
The demon, wounded, purple blood leaking from where Saala’s first strike had cut it deeply, stumbled. It clearly hadn’t expected its prey to attack.
Saala, moving in a blur, feinted a blow at the creature’s face, freezing it in place, and then thrust into its chest, seeking its heart.
The demon roared at him, twitching its arms in spasmodic rage, but it was powerless to stop the length of razor-sharp steel skewering its body. Its voice warbled, and then it fell, sliding off the weapon to crash heavily onto the ground. Echoes of its cry bounced from tree to tree, and when they faded, the forest was silent again.
Saala wiped the creature’s blood from his falchion, sheathed the weapon, and drew his dagger. He stooped beside the demon and worked the sharp steel of the blade into its scalp, sawing free the demon’s two horns. He cleaned the dagger and then deposited the horns into a pouch he hung on his belt.
“I’ve never seen a demon that large,” remarked Saala.
Lady Towaal grunted.
“Have you?” he pressed her.
Finally, she shook her head. “Perhaps it has been here longer than the villagers realized. From the size of it, it looks to have been feeding for at least three months. It is only because this place is so isolated that no one has been forced to deal with it.”
“They would have lost a lot of men facing this creature,” mentioned the blademaster, nudging the dead body with his boot. “If it gave me trouble . . .”
“One of them stood up to the thing,” she retorted, looking away from the demon’s body. “A boy. He fought back against it and dragged another man to safety. All they need is a little courage. They would have prevailed.”
“Maybe,” replied Saala doubtfully. “Maybe they would have; maybe an awfully lot of those people back in the village would have died. I find it difficult to believe an untrained boy survived an encounter with this demon. He must be possessed with a unique courage. I’d like to meet him if we get the chance.”
“We don’t have time to go searching all over the village,” said Lady Towaal. “We have a schedule to keep, remember?”
“I remember,” he said. “Back to the village, then?”
She nodded curtly. “To the village. Hopefully this satisfies Amelie, and we can get back to our original mission. Our conversation tonight serves as ample reminder of what we’ve ignored by coming here.”
“Tell her of the import,” suggested Saala as they trekked back through the forest, the way through the darkening wood lit by a glowing orb suspended above the mage’s open palm. “Amelie is not a stupid girl. If she understands the political concerns, the reason it is so important we move quickly, then you will hear no argument from her.”
“You think I should tell her that her father and mother sent her to the Sanctuary in fear that Issen will fall in the war between the Alliance and the Coalition?” snapped Lady Towaal. “I have not known her long, but I’ve known the girl long enough to realize what she’ll do when she hears that. She’ll slip from us and go running directly back to her parents and her people. She dragged us to this little village over a single demon, did she not? She’d stop at nothing to be there in the face of a war. Someday, she will realize why she was sent to the Sanctuary, but before then, I hope we can impart some wisdom and skill to the girl. You are right, the world will be a dangerous place for her, however it goes. There is much she will need to learn if she is to survive.”
Saala grunted.
“The longer we take to reach the Sanctuary,” warned Lady Towaal, “the more opportunities for harm to befall Amelie. Tonight, we faced a single demon, but there are many dangers in this world. Help me, Saala. Help me get Amelie to the City and behind the walls of the Sanctuary.”
“I understand,” conceded the man. He looked away into the darkness. “I understand.”
Lady Towaal crossed her arms, her sharp glance darting between the young woman and her father. The man, Alistair Pinewood, was what passed for leadership in this small village. He was wailing like a little boy who’d been told they’d eaten all the pie. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks, and he sobbed dramatically, occasionally reaching out as if to clutch his daughter and hold her there.
“You cannot take her!” he shouted. “I’ll call a magistrate. I’ll have you arrested!”
“There are no magistrates anywhere within days of here,” mentioned Lady Towaal, shaking her head at the man’s antics. “And besides, this girl is a woman grown. She’s capable of making her own choices, and she’s agreed to accompany us. I will see to her safety, and if you do not believe me, go view your son. Without my help, the boy would have died from the infection the demon gave him.”
“Her safety!” crowed the council member. “Her safety! You mean to take her into that den of witches!”
“I mean to turn her into one of those witches,” snapped Lady Towaal, leaning toward the man, opening her eyes wide.
He cowered under her glare.
She shot a glance at the girl, Megan, hoping she hadn’t frightened the poor thing. The girl showed signs of incredible potential, and the moment she realized that Lady Towaal had the power to heal her brother from the ravages of demon infection, she’d been eager to learn more. The girl’s heart beat with the pattern of a born nurturer, and coupled with her bright burning will, she would make an excellent asset for the Sanctuary. It was a simple matter to negotiate her journey to the City in exchange for the healing.
The Sanctuary could always use more able bodies to supplement their ranks, particularly with war on the horizon. The moment Lady Towaal had seen the girl hunched over her feverish brother, seen the determination behind her eyes, she had known she would recruit the girl if she was able. That strength of will, tempered by deference to her betters and a willingness to listen, it made for a good combination in a young mage.
It was always difficult, though, to separate the new initiates from their families. The training to become a mage took several decades, and few parents were willing to accept that. It was best, Lady Towaal had found, when the departure came with a certain level of emotion. It made the break easier to bear for the initiates when their last recollection of their parents was a screaming face, red from tears and embarrassed impotence. The stoicism and strength of the Sanctuary’s mages was more impressive after such theatrics.