The clatter of broken stones jerked him from sleep. Gripping his sword hilt, he peered through the chink in the wall. The wicker basket was where he’d left it, its avian cargo asleep.
He heard another small avalanche of disturbed masonry. Someone was moving in the ruins. A low, breathy growl penetrated his hiding place, then a voice, hoarse with age, pitched slightly high.
“What is it, Talon? Intruders?”
The voice was behind him, to the left of the villa’s front door, in the ruined garden. With all the stealth imparted by heritage and training, Hytanthas rose up from his crouch and peeked over the low wall. There was Faeterus, not ten yards away. He was standing in profile, hooded, heavy robe draped over his hunched shoulders. One long-fingered hand held a thin, glittering leash. At the other end of the leash was a walking nightmare.
The monster stood on four feet, like a lion, and its body was covered by thick, tawny hair. It had a long neck coated in sleek, bronze-colored scales. Atop this, surrounded by a stiff red mane, its head was an awful parody of an elven or human face, with a flat nose and a mouth many times larger than a person’s. Row upon row of silver metallic teeth filled the creature’s fearsome smile. Its tail switched back and forth, like a cat’s.
“This is what happens when I take down my wards to receive new birds; someone takes advantage,” Faeterus said. “Very well, Talon. Find the intruder.” He released the thin leash.
Hytanthas ducked down. He heard the monster’s paws dig into loose rubble as it sprang away from its master.
“Whoever you are, you’d better run. When the manticore finds you, the meeting won’t be pleasant.”
Hytanthas gathered himself, took a deep breath, and leaped over the wall. He landed with feet wide apart and presented his blade to the robed mage. He looked around nervously. The manticore was not in sight.
“In the name of the Speaker of the Sun and Stars, surrender!”
Faeterus looked surprised, but only for an instant. “Ah, I see. An elf hiding in a human shell. That explains Talon’s confusion. What’s your name, Hermit Crab?”
Hytanthas told him, just as the manticore came bounding back down the path. Hytanthas rushed forward, laying the edge of his sword alongside Faeterus’s neck.
“Keep that thing away, or I’ll have your head!”
Faeterus snapped his fingers. The monster halted at once, as if arrested by an invisible tether. Dropping on its haunches, it stared at them with round, cold blue eyes, grinning with its insanely large mouth. Hot breath, stinking of carrion, washed over Hytanthas’s face.
“I’m taking you to the Speaker to be judged for your crimes,” he said.
“I don’t think so.” Hytanthas tapped him with the flat of his blade. Faeterus chuckled lightly, adding, “Yes, a good blade, and I’m sure you know how to use it. But it’s not yet time for me to meet Gilthas Pathfinder.”
With that, he simply went away. How or where, Hytanthas could not begin to guess, but one instant he was gripping the mage’s bulky robe; in the next blink of an eye, his hand was empty. His sword, now resting on nothing, dropped to the dirt.
The manticore leaped.
Hytanthas got his blade up in time to ward off the monster. His point raked across the bright scales but did not pierce them. He backed rapidly, keeping his weapon pointed at the beast. Huffing, the manticore advanced slowly.
Hytanthas spotted Faeterus. The mage now stood on a veranda high on the side of the ruined villa. The basket of pigeons sat beside him. His face showed no excitement, merely calm curiosity. Apparently he wanted to see how his monstrous pet dealt with an armed and agile intruder.
Hytanthas cut at the manticore’s eyes. The creature stood its ground, batting the tip away with one paw. Hytanthas reversed his motion and thrust at the paw. His keen point pierced it from furred top to padded sole. Dark blood flowed. The beast howled, opening its mouth so wide the elf feared its head would break at the hinge and fall off. Its voice was high and piping.
The manticore attacked again. Hytanthas pirouetted aside, but the beast’s claws caught his Khurish robe. He was dragged down, landing on his back atop broken masonry, and the sword flew from his hand. The monster’s claws slashed across his chest. The mail shirt he wore beneath his robe saved him from being gutted like a fish, but the blow still knocked the wind from his chest.
Furious at its failure to draw blood, the manticore swatted the elf like a housecat toying with a mouse. The blow sent Hytanthas rolling across the weedy ground until he fetched up against a sizable date palm. Shedding sun hat and shredded robe, the elf hefted several fist-sized stones and hurled them at the creature. They thumped against its chest, eliciting grunts, but barely slowed the manticore. Hytanthas turned and ran, Khurish sandals flapping.
He vaulted nimbly over ruined fences and broken walls, but was forced to detour around larger obstacles. His adversary simply bulled straight through everything in its path, thereby gaining steadily on him. As he leapt for the top of a stout pile of stone masonry, the creature was so close behind he felt the rush of air as it swiped at his legs. He hauled himself up and over the pile.
The manticore crashed into the pile, but the masonry was too thick for it to break through. With a human-sounding scream of frustration, the monster reared up, rested its paws atop the pile, and looked over. Frustration turned to unholy triumph, and it grinned. Its quarry was trapped!
Hytanthas stood with his back against the estate’s outer wall, designed to enclose the villa like a miniature fortress. Whole sections had been toppled, but it was his misfortune that this portion, a good twenty yards long, was intact. Fifteen feet high, its surface was smoothly plastered, allowing for no handholds, even for a nimble and highly motivated elf.
With evident relish and terrifying slowness, the manticore scaled the masonry pile. Its pale blue eyes never left Hytanthas’s face, and the elf stared back, afraid if he looked away it would pounce.
Suddenly, the manticore froze, right foreleg in the air. Hytanthas hadn’t heard or felt anything, but the creature obviously had. It waited several long seconds, tail twitching, gaze flickering upward, then resumed its advance.
On the veranda, Faeterus felt something, too. He released the pigeon he’d been stroking, moved to the edge of the gallery, and stared out into the night.
A deep vibration suddenly shook ground and air. Gradually Hytanthas discerned a new sound: heavy footfalls, and the noise of something weighty being dragged. It was coming from his right, a part of the estate he hadn’t explored.
As he tried to make sense of the noises, the manticore began behaving oddly. Attention fixed in the direction of the approaching footsteps, it shrank down, belly against the rubble pile, as if trying to make itself small. Its thin lips parted and it hissed like a frightened cat. The hair along its back stood up.
The heavy footfalls and dragging sound drew nearer, bringing with them the metallic reek of blood. The warm wind carried the stench of putrefaction, as of a large wound gone black with gangrene. The manticore howled loudly then rushed away, keeping itself close to the ground.
Cautiously, Hytanthas followed. He’d spotted his sword, glittering faintly in the rubble. It was a long way away and the manticore, departing or not, was between the weapon and him.
He was sizing up his chance of reaching it when something loomed up out of the darkness. At first he thought it was the manticore, but the sheer bulk of the thing was too great, at least three times the size of Faeterus’s deadly pet. He made out a pair of green eyes, each at least ten inches across, with large vertical black pupils, and a huge face ringed by horns. Hytanthas screamed.