The creature advanced, twirling the vines faster and faster, still smiling his feral grin. So far, the others seemed content to watch.
The creature leaped forward and one vine shot out in a vertical swipe. Kadrigul danced to the side, the vine missing him by a foot or more, but the other was already coming across at his midsection.
He hit it with his scabbard, and the vine whipped around it, cutting through Kadrigul's coat, shredding it but missing the skin beneath. With the vine tangled around his scabbard, Kadrigul struck the length of it with his sword, hoping to sever it.
His blade, which he sharpened to a razor's edge every night, nicked a long strip of bark off the vine, then bounced away.
The creature yanked on the vine, trying to pull the scabbard from Kadrigul's hand, but he used the added force to his own advantage, stepping in to the pull, within striking range, and bringing his sword around in a long swipe aimed for the creature's throat.
The creature dropped so quickly that the tassel of his cap flew up and Kadrigul's sword sliced it off. The creature snarled and backed away out of reach of the blade. His vine was still tangled around Kadrigul's scabbard, but he let out enough slack to pull away. Kadrigul twirled the scabbard in an attempt to dislodge the vine, but the thorns held their grip.
The onlookers hissed, whether in delight or consternation Kadrigul could not tell. They slapped the great shards with bare feet and hands, all in unison, and began a whispering chant. The wind picked up, howling through the structure and setting a mournful tune to counter the creatures' song.
Kadrigul's opponent brought his arm back in a swift yank, hoping to dislodge the scabbard from Kadrigul's grip. Kadrigul let him take it, but he directed the pull, throwing the scabbard at the creature's head, using his own momentum against him. It struck the creature full in the face, causing him to stumble back.
Kadrigul was on him, forsaking good form for brute strength, aiming the point of his sword for the creature's midsection.
But the creature twisted away from the blade, the edge of Kadrigul's sword scraping his side, and brought the other vine around in a diagonal strike. Kadrigul had to fall into a crouch and roll to keep from being caught, but the thorns still raked along the back of one shoulder, tearing through clothes and skin as they passed.
He came back to his feet, bloodied. The creature had a wicked cut along his side, and the thorns from his own weapon had pulled a great deal of skin off the left side of his face where the vine-covered scabbard had hit him. Kadrigul could feel blood soaking his side, and his left shoulder burned as if a thousand ants were biting their way through his veins. Poison.
"Niista! Niista!" The onlookers chanted.
Kadrigul shot a quick glance over his shoulder. The creature behind him held his spear ready, but so far he was still guarding the way, not joining in the fight.
He had to end this quick.
With one vine still tangled around Kadrigul's scabbard, the creature let it go and set his remaining weapon twirling over his head. He advanced, not charging, but step by careful step, a dance in time with the onlookers' chant. He struck diagonally, three quick swipes, spraying snow. Kadrigul backpedaled, taking him near the spearman.
The onlookers were standing now, perched on the great shards and stamping their feet. More had come. At least twice as many as had been there before. Perhaps more.
The vine came across in a horizontal swipe, Kadrigul dropped beneath, but this time rather than rolling to the side, he rolled back, under the spear, and brought his sword around in a backhand strike. It struck the spearman's knee, cutting all the way through one leg and halfway through the next. The spearman hit the snow and let out a long, keening wail.
Kadrigul came up, buried the point of his sword in the spearman's midsection, and snatched the haft of his weapon with the other. The onlookers screamed, and the creature with the vines charged. Kadrigul stood and threw the spear at the creature with the vine. The little hunter jumped to the side, his charge spoiled, and the spear flew past him.
Kadrigul took up a guard position, holding his sword in both hands, as the creature charged again.
Strike and swipe and thrust. Again and again the two combatants struck at each other, drawing more blood, ripping more skin and clothes, but doing no permanent damage.
The creature backed into the spear and seemed to stumble. Kadrigul struck, but it was a feint. The creature righted himself, hissed through bared teeth, and brought his weapon around, swift as an adder, aiming for Kadrigul's head.
Kadrigul had to give up his attack and bring the blade up to block the vine. It whipped around the blade, and the creature pulled, yanking the sword from Kadrigul's grip. Vine and sword flew away into the snow.
Kadrigul stood before him, blood leaking from a dozen cuts.
The creature reached behind his back, and his hand emerged holding what looked like an antler, one long spike sharpened to a glistening point.
"Niista! Niista!" the onlookers called.
Kadrigul kept his gaze fixed on the antler.
That was his mistake.
The creature leaped into the air-surprisingly high for one so small-and kicked Kadrigul in the chest. He'd been hit much harder before, but it caught him off guard, and he fell back in the snow. The creature landed on top of him, straddling Kadrigul's stomach, his weapon held high.
"Niista!"
The creature over Kadrigul screamed, tensed the arm holding his weapon Kadrigul pushed up, easily dislodging the creature's light weight. He seized the creature's head in both hands, gripped like a falling man grasping that last ledge, and twisted. The creature's head went around with a sharp snap! of breaking bone and torn muscle.
The onlookers went silent at once. The only sound was that of the howling wind.
Kadrigul threw off the dead weight, jumped for his sword, grabbed it, and ran, the sound of dozens of pursuers right behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Someone else has claim to her.
Time to grow up, Hweilan inle Merah. The blood runs thin in you, perhaps, but it runs true. Time to hunt.
— Jagun Ghen A dozen voices vied for Hweilan's attention. A hundred. Some she knew. Many she did not. Some were altogether strange, more beast than human. Others spoke in tongues she had never heard, but she felt a kinship to these. Like a wolf pup raised by hounds, who hears howling in the distance, she longed to reach out to them.
But others-many others-filled her with a cold terror, awakening in her every instinct to flee.
Death comes from that way. Be sure of it.
You're something else, too. Something… more.
Time to choose.
— Jagun Ghen-
None shouted. None needed to. Hweilan couldn't move, couldn't reply, couldn't shout for them to quiet. Couldn't even cover her ears to block out the voices.
You do listen, then. But do you understand?
Someone else has claim…
… something else…
— Jagun Ghen-
… if you survive.
Someone else…
… consumer…
— Jagun Ghen-
… despoiler…
I require one who is of this world.
Time to choose.
… the Hand of the Hunter.
She saw the great waterfall again. The animals fleeing an approaching darkness. The black wolf. Heard and felt the cackling malice in the dark. The pool, deep and dark, comforting like sleep. The woman covered in living blood.
Something getting closer. She couldn't see it or hear it. But she could sense it, like a blind man can feel the heat of fire.