Dark Currents (17 page)

With dinner done, the men settled in. Maldynado talked Basilard into a Strat-Tiles game, proclaiming his interest in educating him in the ways of Turgonian military strategy. And perhaps he would like to wager a few coins as well? Basilard proceeded to beat Maldynado three times.

Once everyone was asleep, either in the tent or the back of the lorry, Amaranthe grew more aware of the night pressing in around her. The mist thickened, obscuring the surface of the pond, though occasional plops and splashes reminded her the water lay behind her. Now and then leaves rustled and branches rattled. Small creatures darting through the area, she assumed.

The forest seemed busy for night, but she did not have enough experience to know what was normal. The coyotes’ agitated wails continued to assault her ears, but she found a calm detachment after a while. A distinct eeriness pervaded the area, but nothing had bothered them yet. No need to worry.

A soft crunch came from her left, then another. Not like the passing of the earlier creatures, more like the soft malevolent step of something stalking closer.

Now
there was a reason to worry.

Her grip tightened on the crossbow. She could shoot five rounds before reloading, plenty to handle a predator. She hoped.

Amaranthe cocked an ear, listening for a repeat of the noise. Though her vision had adjusted to the darkness, deep shadows turned bushes into indistinct blobs and trees into barriers that could hide a coyote—or ten.

Two green glowing spots appeared. Her breath caught. Eyes?

She blinked, thinking her own straining eyes were playing tricks. The glowing points disappeared.

“My imagination,” she breathed.

Heartbeats thumped past, and the lights did not reappear. She realized she had been gaping in the same direction for a long time and quickly scanned the rest of the area. Lastly, she craned her neck to peer around her tree backrest.

Across the pond, luminous green eyes stared at her.

Amaranthe forced her breathing to remain steady and calm, though sweat dampened her palms. This time, when the eyes disappeared, they tilted before winking out, like a head ducking sideways.

She fingered the trigger of her crossbow. Should she wake Sicarius? If this was some trick of her imagination, she would appear foolish in front of him. It shouldn’t, but his favorable opinion mattered more than most. Perhaps because he offered it to so few.

She decided to find out what lurked out there before waking anyone. It was not as if she had no combat skills to call upon if the moment required it.

Amaranthe strode to the lorry. The fire burned low with only scattered flames guttering amongst the red and gray coals. While keeping an eye toward the surrounding forest, she dug a few fire-starters out of the footlocker. Akstyr snoozed, so she took his lantern. The soft light showed no sign of the cuts and bruises he should have sported after Maldynado’s pummeling. Huh.

A low growl emanated from the underbrush on the other side of the road. Amaranthe hooked the lantern over her forearm, so she could hold the crossbow in one hand and a fire-starter in the other. She lit the incendiary ball and lobbed it onto the road. It burned heartily, illuminating the wet concrete for several feet around. Nothing waited within the light’s influence.

Trusting the fire-starter to burn for a few minutes, Amaranthe headed back to her spot by the tree. Another growl rumbled through the night. Ahead of her, green eyes glowed.

She lit another fire-starter and lofted it. The eyes flashed away before her projectile hit the ground, but not before she glimpsed gray fur and four legs.

“A wolf?” she whispered, thinking it too large for a coyote. Though it did not remind her of the killer soul construct she had faced in the city, she did not relax as the tiny bundle of flames smoldered on the wet leaf litter. What kind of wolf had glowing eyes? It had to be something magical, or—

“What are you doing?” Sicarius’s voice floated from his tree perch.

“The usual night-watch activities.” She tried to keep her tone light. Neither the creepy forest nor the creepy wolves were going to make her nervous, thank you very much. “Staying awake, counting trees, throwing fire at wolves with glowing eyes.”

“Glowing what?”

The ferns behind the smoking fire-starter shook. A wolf leaped across the burning ball and charged Amaranthe.

She fired the crossbow, scarcely taking time to aim.

The quarrel slammed into one of the beast’s eyes.

Relieved by the accuracy of her reflexes, Amaranthe started to lower the weapon. But the wolf did not slow down. It sprinted at her, quarrel protruding from its eye.

She dropped the lantern to pull the lever and chamber another bolt, but the beast moved too quickly. It leaped, fanged maw stretching open.

Amaranthe hurled the crossbow at the wolf and dodged behind the tree. She tore her sword free.

The beast landed, whirled, and sprang at her again. She whipped her blade across, slashing into its jugular.

She ducked as the wolf’s momentum carried it toward her. It clipped her shoulder, tumbled across her back, and crashed into the tree. She lunged away and whirled to face it again, blade raised.

Sicarius halted at her side, his black dagger poised, as if he had been about to jump into the fray. The wolf lay still, though, its legs akimbo. Amaranthe lowered her sword, pleased she had handled it without his help. Though a simple forest predator should not have taken two killing blows to die.

Sicarius put his back to the tree and scanned the surrounding darkness. “Wolves don’t have glowing eyes.”

“Yes, I’m a tad new to mountain life, but I thought not.” Amaranthe retrieved her crossbow. “I think there’s more than one. I’m going to wake…”

Across the camp, near the back of the lorry, a pair of green eyes watched her. Three more sets appeared on the road, milling. Claws clacked softly on the concrete. A twig snapped on the other side of the pond.

“Go.” A throwing knife appeared in Sicarius’s hand. “Wake them.”

He hurled the weapon toward the lorry. It landed with a fleshy thump. The glowing orbs slumped downward, then winked out.

“Wake up, gentlemen!” Amaranthe ran to camp, crossbow in her right hand, short sword in her left. “Mutant wolves are attacking.”

Basilard lunged out of the tent, rifle in hand. Books stumbled out after.

“Build up the fire,” Amaranthe told them as she ran by to wake the others.

Snores emanated from the back of the lorry where Maldynado had joined Akstyr. She raised her sword to thump on the metal side. A figure blurred out of the darkness, sailing toward the lorry bed.

“Look out!” Amaranthe fired the crossbow one-handed.

The quarrel took the wolf in the lung, but she dared not trust it to die promptly. She tossed the crossbow into the bed and scrambled after, sword still in hand.

“What the—” Maldynado leaped over the other side, hitting the ground in a roll.

The injured wolf landed an inch from Akstyr, claws screeching on metal. It spun toward Amaranthe. She stabbed at its eyes with the short sword, but it whipped its head to the side, and her blade only clipped its snout. The wolf leaped back, hurdling Akstyr.

He lay so still, she feared him under some spell—or worse.

The wolf wheezed and gurgled. That lung shot ought to have killed it. Its lips rippled as it snarled, and blood dripped from its fangs.

Before Amaranthe could decide if she wanted to attack over Akstyr, the wolf lunged for her. A paw landed on Akstyr’s gut, and he sat up with a grunt. The motion distracted her, and snapping jaws almost clamped onto her arm.

She sidestepped and drove the short sword into the wolf’s ribcage with all her strength. Bone crunched and gave. Her blade sunk so deep, the falling body pulled the weapon out of her hand.

Akstyr was scrambling to his feet, but the wolf slumped against him. He staggered back under its weight, then heaved the dying beast over the side.

“Akstyr,” Amaranthe groaned.

“What?”

“My sword was in that body.”

A rifle cracked nearby, drowning his reply and reminding her they still had work to do. Three wolves snapped at Books and Basilard, who stood back-to-back in the center of camp. No one had had a chance to build up the fire. Beside the lorry, Maldynado clubbed another wolf with the butt of a rifle. She did not see Sicarius. Shapes darted through the shadows all around the camp.

“Help Maldynado.” Amaranthe picked up her crossbow.

She launched her remaining three quarrels at the wolves harrying Books and Basilard. Each thunked home. Again, the wolves seemed not to notice. She had to trust the poison on the tips would slow the beasts somewhat.

She started to repeat her order to Akstyr, who was still in the lorry, but he had his eyes closed, hands lifted. He clenched them, and the campfire roared to life. Orange light threw back shadows, improving the illumination all around.

“Thanks,” Amaranthe said. She spotted Maldynado’s sword lying next to his blanket and handed it to Akstyr after he dug his own blade out. “He’ll need this.”

Amaranthe hopped down, leaving her crossbow to retrieve her sword. She planted a foot on the dead wolf to yank the weapon free.

The improved lighting showed Sicarius battling with the three wolves on the road. Though he had a dagger for each hand, he was out of throwing knives. The wolves attacked together, trying to surround him and bring him down like a wounded elk. He moved as quickly as they did, darting and dodging to stay on the outside where he only had to fight one at a time. Dagger blurring, he eviscerated one wolf as it leaped for him. Two remained.

She hesitated, wondering if she should join him. With his style of fighting, she might get in his way. More wolves lurked on the outskirts of the camp, though, and she would rather have him at her back than risk being surrounded herself.

One wolf slipped around Sicarius. It and the other timed a strike, leaping at him simultaneously.

Amaranthe sprinted for the road, thinking he might need help after all. He angled past the one jumping at his throat and opened its jugular with a dagger. It crashed into the second wolf, midair. Sicarius sprang back, blade slashing again. The second creature fell.

She lurched to a stop at the edge of the road, her sword raised. He lifted his eyebrows.

“I thought you might need a footstool to throw at them,” she said sheepishly, lowering her weapon.

He grunted and headed off to retrieve his throwing knives.

Dead wolves littered the road and the camp. None remained standing, nor were any slinking away. If all they had wanted was a meal, they never would have fought to the death; they would have fled as soon as the odds turned against them.

“Is everyone all right?” Amaranthe called. “Any wounds?” She peered up and down the road as she cleaned her blade, half-expecting some shamanic beast-master to be lurking along the wayside. If such a person existed, he was not considerate enough to show himself.

“Books jabbed me in the ribs with an elbow,” Maldynado said.

“I thought you were a wolf,” Books said.

“Then I guess I’m lucky you don’t know the pointy thing is supposed to go into the enemy.” Maldynado waved at Books’s sword.

Akstyr laughed and Basilard grinned.

“They’re all right.” Amaranthe smiled to herself.

Sicarius returned to her side. She tucked loose strands of hair behind her ears and waited, expecting a chastisement for being so slow to wake everyone. Nobody should have been caught sleeping when the attack came. If she hadn’t been worried about losing face…

“Good fighting,” Sicarius said.

“Huh?” she blurted before something more intelligent could form in her thoughts.

“Your accuracy with the crossbow was pinpoint, your sword skills adequate.”

“Oh. Thanks.” From him, “adequate” was high praise, and she’d never heard him use the word pinpoint to describe any of her maneuvers. He must not have seen her get her sword stuck between that wolf’s ribs.

He prodded the nearest corpse with a muddy boot. “These were more difficult to kill than wolves should be.”

“Wolves don’t generally attack people either.” Maldynado strolled up. “Also, in case it wasn’t mentioned, that glowing-eye effect was a mite odd.”

“Magic?” Amaranthe assumed.

Akstyr knelt beside one of the wolves. “Not that I can tell.”

“Er,” Amaranthe said. “What else could it be?”

“I suppose it’s possible something has been done to them,” Akstyr said, “but the wolves
themselves
don’t feel crafted by a Maker. Not like the soul construct from this winter.”

“Bas?” Amaranthe asked. “Your people live up north in these mountains. Any ideas what we’re dealing with?”

Basilard shook his head.

“They appear to be simple eastern timber wolves,” Books said, “native to these mountains, but hunted nearly to extinction in the last century by farmers and shepherds concerned for their stock animals. Though carnivorous by nature, these creatures are a smaller, less aggressive offshoot of the giant frontier wolves. Attacks upon humans are rare. Most incidents have involved individuals, not groups, and the wolves were starved from a harsh winter.”

Maldynado made a show of yawning. “It’s bad enough I had to get up in the middle of the night; I didn’t think lectures would be involved.”

Books opened his mouth to respond.

“What could explain this behavior?” Amaranthe blurted, hoping to head off a verbal sparring match.

“Maybe the professor can dissect one and let us know,” Maldynado said. “What do you think, Booksie?”

“I was a history professor, you simian twit. Not a biologist.”

“So…no dissections?” Maldynado asked.

Amaranthe lifted a hand to end the discussion. “Let’s…” She considered the carnage, crinkling her nose at the butcher-house scent. Even if they moved the bodies out of camp, the blood would attract scavengers that would keep her team up the rest of the night. “Pack and get back on the road.”

“Who has to drive and stoke the firebox, and who gets to sleep?” Maldynado asked, eyes narrowed.

Books, Akstyr, and Basilard stepped back. That left Maldynado in the front.