It wasn’t a nice plan. Tali’s mother would have been appalled; she would have forbidden it. But gentle Iusia was dead, and Mia, and so many others, and Tali was going to survive, whatever it took.
The plan had many obstacles, and even if she could overcome them all, she would have to use a concealment or confusion spell to get past the watch post, and again at the top of the shaft. Her gift had been close a few minutes ago, but it had retreated again. Who could help her to find it?
Trust no one.
Nurse Bet had taught Tali healing charms, but did she know real, darker spell work? Waitie had tutored Tali in the history of Hightspall and the Two Hundred and Fifty Year War, though she blanched every time Tali had even hinted at magery. Then there was Little Nan, who had read Tali the classics, however Nan’s mind was going and she was prone to blurting out confidences.
Bet was Tali’s only hope, though she had been acting strangely lately, laughing hysterically one minute, weeping the next. She must have discovered how the heatstone mine was killing her only child, and without Sidon she would have nothing to live for. Did that mean Bet could be trusted? There was no choice.
‘Guard my dinner,’ she said, trying not to think about the acidulatory. ‘I’ll get you the Pixies.’
Tali looked down at the glorious piece of baked poulter, a perfectly cooked, crisp-skinned thigh. She craved meat as only a forced vegetarian could but, since the day that masked woman had stood on her mother, snapping her ribs like wishbones, Tali had not been able to choke down a morsel of poulter.
She swallowed her saliva and rose. Besides, she thought as she went out to the composter, I won’t be doing Lifka much harm, and she was happy to see Tinyhead attack me. And if I don’t do it the killers are going to cut my head open.
Just like Mama, and Grandmama, and her mama and grandmama.
CHAPTER 13
Let it die.
Rix’s heavy arrow struck the caitsthe between the eyes with such force that it was tumbled across the snow to the edge of the vine thicket. It sprawled there, the fletching sticking out of its forehead, the arrowhead and half the shaft protruding from the back of its skull, its whiptail raising snow flurries as it tied itself in knots. A single thread of blood, luminous in the dull light and thicker than human blood, oozed down the yellow fletching to bead at its lower end.
Please, please let it die. It was a prayer, not a hope.
The caitsthe’s back arched, its rear legs kicked three times and the green-gold eyes blinked, then took on a vacant stare, though Rix wasn’t fool enough to think he’d killed it.
As Tobry scrambled for his sword, the beast howled. Glands at groin, armpits and belly squirted stinking brown fluids that fogged the air around it and shrivelled moss on nearby pebbles. Then, half concealed by vapour, it began to shift, as Rix had known it would — any attack endangering its life must force it to change. Now he had no choice but to fight, for unlike other shifters the caitsthe was a more ferocious predator in its human form.
‘Can’t stop it,’ Tobry panted. ‘Shapeshifters heal by partial shifting. Caitsthes — fastest of all. Only way to kill one — ’ He gasped a breath, ‘- tear out its twin livers — ’
‘And burn them on a fire fuelled with powdered lead — which we don’t have. But it can still feel pain. It must still breathe.’
Rix nocked a club-head arrow. It could not kill the caitsthe either, though hitting a vital area might stop the beast for a minute or two. Could he cut out its livers in that time? Impossible! Caitsthes were terrifyingly strong and, even if it could be knocked down, it might take six men to hold it while another hacked open its belly and heaved out armloads of steaming intestines to reach the livers beneath.
The howl rose to an elongated shriek as the red and black fur began to withdraw through the skin. The tufted whiptail unknotted, the limbs lengthened, then shifted to a more human form so quickly that they blurred. Rix’s skin crawled. The shrieks were shredding his eardrums and a wisp of the brown vapour burned up his nose. He doubled over the saddle horn, gagging — the beast was ranker than a bull warthog.
‘Got to try,’ he said, slipping from the saddle.
‘Stay back!’ roared Tobry.
The air thickened in Rix’s throat until he could hardly draw breath. This was his fault. He had known that coming up here was worse than reckless, and Tobry had warned him, but Rix had come anyway.
‘I forced it to shift, Tobe. It’s up to me to stop it.’
It would not revert to cat form until it had slaked its blood-hunger, which might take the young maidens and undernourished children of half a village. And caitsthes’ victims did not die easily. The beasts liked to play with their food.
The skull lengthened, the small ears glided to the sides and the bent arrow fell away, its metal tip clacking on a pebble. The only sign of injury was a red spot on the creature’s forehead and a stroke-like stiffness to the left side of its face, probably temporary.
The caitsthe stood up and Rix choked. He was well over six feet but in human form it was seven feet tall and all lean, corded muscle. Man-shaped but lightly furred, it retained the retractable claws, bone-shearing jaws and whiptail of its cat form. To his artist’s eye it was beautiful — a statue in repose, a silky, sensuous machine when it moved. Beautiful but vicious.
It bounded backwards, faster than any human could have, snatched up his spear and hurled it underhand as Rix fired. His club-head arrow took it in the throat, the impact knocking it off its feet, and the spear went wide.
‘Now!’ he roared, dropping his bow to draw the wire-handled sword.
Was its enchantment strong enough to hold back such an uncanny foe? It had better be. The caitsthe was mewling as it gasped for breath, its windpipe mashed, but they only had moments before it shifted the tissues and began to recover.
Tobry attacked from the left, swinging at its head. Rix went for the belly, planning to open it from chest to groin in one furious hack and tear out its livers bare-handed. Surely that would weaken the creature enough that they could escape to burn the livers elsewhere.
Before he reached the caitsthe it came to its knees and backhanded Tobry out of the way, lifting his feet a yard off the ground and spraying spit from his mouth. Rix struck at it but it swayed backwards then sprang at him, slashing with its left hand, then the right.
Though the creature wasn’t fully recovered, it was faster than he was. Its left-handed blow tore the sleeve from his coat and opened a gash along his left forearm. The right ripped through coat and shirt, baring him from chest to belly the way he had planned to attack it and carving long gashes with its two middle claws. Pain sang in their tracks; an inch deeper and it would have torn his guts out. A few inches lower and Lady Ricinus’s plans for an heir would have been lost.
Rix slashed across the left side of its furred chest. The shallow cut sealed over without shedding blood. The damn sword was supposed to protect him but it lay in his hand like any ordinary weapon. Well, Rix was a master with any blade. He thrust at the caitsthe’s throat, only pinking the right shoulder when it wove aside.
Tearing off the rags of his coat, he hurled them at the creature, hoping to entangle it, but it ducked. He lunged, making another attempt to open its belly. It sidestepped and sprang high.
The caitsthe was going for his throat and Rix had no hope of getting his sword into position in time. He dropped into a crouch, then sprang upwards as it passed above him, trying to head-butt it in the groin.