She slumped to her knees, panting, her mind racing. There was no way she could defeat it.
But she did know where its lair lay. She could lead an army there.
No. That would do nothing. It couldn’t be killed. Not by dreadmen, not by Skir Masters, not by whirlwinds. And then she thought of the remaining hag’s teeth. The Skir Master hadn’t been able to use them. Did they still lie below?
She turned and looked back downhill. The bodies of men lay scattered in the grass and scrub. The Crab smoldered in the coals of the fire, sending up a smoke that thinned in the breeze. Across the meadow the morning winds stirred the tree-tops. She spotted the Skir Master lying at the edge by a cluster of massive elms.
Something moved below. Talen was on his knees in the scrub.
“Hoy!” she called out.
Talen grabbed something then stood. He held his ribs on one side as if he’d injured them. Then he spotted her, and raised something high into the air, something silver that flashed in the morning light.
It was the case that contained the hag’s teeth. Maybe, she thought, they could stab the monster with one of those.
“I’m coming, brother,” she said. “I’m coming.”
At that moment, one Fir-Noy who had not fled with the others slowly rose from his hiding place. He gave Talen a glance, but turned away. As Sugar raced back down the hill, the Fir-Noy ran to a horse that still stood in the meadow. It was saddled, its reins tied to a bush. The Fir-Noy untied it, mounted, and then kicked it into a gallop heading away from her.
When Sugar reached Talen, he said, “I see you put the fear of Regret into at least one Fir-Noy.”
It was a hollow jest, but she responded in kind. “It’s a start,” she said.
He held the case up to her, showing its contents. Originally, there had been three spikes. Two remained. The spikes were almost the length of a span, their tips sharp as needles. She quickly scanned the ground around her, fearful of where the third one might be. The sight of it working its way out of the Crab’s temple still sickened her.
“We’re going after the others,” Sugar said.
“Of course we are,” said Talen.
She pointed, but didn’t dare let her finger get close. “What do you think the etching on the sides indicates?”
“Who knows?” asked Talen. “But I’m sure some of that makes them easier to hold.” He shook his head. “After seeing the Crab, I wouldn’t want one of these to accidentally slip out of my grasp.” He closed the case. “We’ll finish the job. But I suspect we need the gauntlets to handle them.”
Sugar laughed. She wondered how that was possible.
“What?” asked Talen.
“It sounds so preposterous, the two of us finishing what a Skir Master and a host of men could not.”
He smiled a tired smile. “Perhaps it is. I doubt the Creek Widow thought we’d face these kinds of ‘limitations,’ but we will do the best we can.”
“You were holding your side, are you okay?”
Talen tried to move his arm and winced. “It’s nothing, probably only a minor shoulder break from the monster’s love tap. It will heal wrong, and I’ll be deformed for the rest of my life, but such is the life of a fearsome Sleth like myself.”
“Not if we rescue your sister. The lore can heal as well, remember?”
“Sure,” he said.
“Hand the teeth to me,” she said. “You’re in no condition to slash and throw. It looks like I’m going to be the one that will have to tangle with the monster. Do you think it will scare at my presence as easily as that last Fir-Noy did?”
“Not quite,” he said and handed her the case. “You may be the one to deliver the blow, but you’ll not tangle with it alone. Nor will we make it back to the cave looking like two Koramite youths, especially not with the Fir-Noy who fled the field alerting the whole countryside. I’m bigger than you are. Not as big as the dread-man, but big enough to wear one’s armor and fool people from a distance.”
She nodded. Two horses stood at the edge of the meadow. She might be able to catch one, but they had no saddles. They would have to ride doubled up. “You go see if the Tailor is still in the cave.” She motioned at the big dreadman. “I’ll strip him.”
The big man was hard to roll, but she finally got him on his side and out of his shining cuirass. She gathered up his helm, his black sword, and its scabbard.
Talen walked out of the cave leading the Tailor and holding the leather sack from which the Skir Master had withdrawn the hag’s teeth and gauntlets. He held the horse’s reins as Sugar buckled the dreadman’s armor on Talen and then attached the bright yellow cloak of the Lions of Mokad. When it was time to mount the Tailor, Talen tried to use his left hand to grasp the saddle, but he obviously wasn’t used to using that hand.
“Come on,” she said. “I’ll give you a leg up.”
“I don’t think that will work,” he said. “Because once I’m on, how am I going to pull you up? We need a rock to stand on.”
They found a rock. When Talen was firmly mounted in the saddle and she behind him on the horse blanket, she asked, “Where do you want me to hold on?”
“The hips,” he said. “I don’t think anything is broken there.”
They rode over to the Skir Master. He lay on his side as if asleep. She dismounted and knelt next to him and noticed that his limbs lay in odd positions. A few flies already buzzed about his face. Sugar picked up his hand to untie the sleeves of the white, gold-studded gauntlet and found the arm bent like a reed. It was shattered. Gelatinous. She removed the first gauntlet then began to work on the other. When both were tucked firmly in her belt, Talen urged the horse to another rock and she mounted up again. She tried to be careful, but Talen grunted slightly from the pain when she grabbed his shoulder to balance herself.
“We’ll need torches,” she said.
“I know a place not too far out of the way.”
He covered her hand that held his right hip. He patted it. “We’ll get him back,” Talen said. “We’ll get them all back. We have more weapons than just the teeth and the gauntlets.”
It was a brave sentiment. She just wished that it were true.
“We have the victor’s crown. That, the Widow’s codex, and a few other things that were in the Skir Master’s sack.”
“Then let’s hope,” she said, “that we find the others before we find the monster.”
Sugar knew there was no sense trying to gallop the whole way. No horse, not even one that was multiplied, could do it. So they trotted, but that gait proved too painful for Talen. In the end, they stole a small wagon and Sugar drove it while Talen held his side and grunted at every jolt.
They had to cross through three villages, clusters of less than a dozen homes. It was at these times that Sugar gave the Tailor a flick of the reins and urged him into a gallop. They fooled nobody, but she could see from their faces that she and Talen perplexed them. And it was enough to keep them from raising a hue and cry.
When they rode up to the old Koramite chandler and Sugar saw toddlers digging in the dirt in the yard, she had second thoughts. But Talen called out before she could say anything.
“We’ve heard news,” the chandler said.
Talen waited.
“I trust your da,” the chandler finally said. He had only three torches, but he agreed to make more and set his daughter to warming the resin and his skinny wife to cutting lengths of rope while the grandchildren looked on in silence.
When they’d finished another three, Sugar said, “We need to go.”
“These won’t last long,” said the chandler. “It takes a good day or two for the resin or tallow to properly saturate the rope. These will burn too quickly.”
“We can’t wait for more,” said Sugar.
“But what if the cave is a mile long?” asked Talen.