Deadhouse Landing

Kellanved came alongside, winded and sweating. He shaded his gaze. ‘Very possibly. There is something there. I sense…’ He trailed off as above the dark shape of their guide was now stooping towards them, its thin wings flapping furiously.

As it passed overhead it squawked: ‘Run!’

Dancer caught his companion’s eye. Shit.

They both ran.

Dancer, however, soon pulled ahead of the limping, huffing mage and so he halted, kicking up dust and stones, cursing. He drew his heaviest blades, searched the hillsides behind for signs of movement.

Quiet this time. Getting smarter.

‘Hurry,’ he snapped at Kellanved, who’d halted with him.

‘If I’d known we’d be tramping all over I’d have worn different shoes, I assure you.’

‘Just run,’ Dancer snapped, impatient.

But the mage merely shook his head, gesturing ahead, panting.

Reluctant, dreading what he knew he’d see, Dancer slowly turned about. Ahead, two shapes fully as large as colts had risen from among the rocks, each shaking sand from its back. One bore savage scars across its black muzzle, while the other’s mismatched eyes blazed yellow and blue.

Hunting as a pack. Should’ve known.

He raised his twinned heavy parrying gauches while turning full circle. From each direction a hound now closed. He counted five. Driven? Can we have been driven like rabbits into this ambush?

‘Get us out of here,’ he mouthed to Kellanved.

Overhead, their erstwhile guide had taken off, flying like an arrow for the dark line far off on the horizon. And Dancer wondered … could they have been following it? How smart were these things?

‘How many are there of these beasts, do you imagine?’ Kellanved asked.

‘Just move us!’

‘Yes, yes. No need to be snippy.’

Dancer turned another full circle to see that, indeed, the creatures were closing upon them from all sides. They were not of one singular hue, being tawny, or earthen brown, or mottled grey and black. Yet they were certainly alike in their titanic size, and the strange lustre, or luminosity, of their eyes. They stalked forward now, low on their forepaws, ears down, lips pulled back from canines the length of his fingers. Their low hunting growl shook the ground beneath his feet and vibrated in his chest.

‘Now would be good,’ he murmured to his companion.

But Kellanved did not have to respond. Tatters of darkness flitted across Dancer’s vision, deepening and thickening like sifting shadows until he could see only dense murk, like a midnight underwater vision of the world.

A blasting howl of lustful frustration made him flinch, and then he hit the ground hard and rolled in dust.

He came up with weapons raised, circling, but they were alone. Kellanved sat hunched in the dust nearby; he appeared to be examining his feet. A forest’s edge rose some leagues distant – their destination, Dancer assumed.

‘Run,’ he said.

The mage gestured to the flapping leather remnants of his shoes. ‘I really do have a complaint for that cobbler.’

‘Ignore them – just run!’

‘I can’t!’

A hound’s deep rich baying sounded from the distance, closing.

Dancer yanked him to his feet and they ran, awkwardly, Kellanved hopping as he pulled at the tattered strips tied about his feet.

Dancer searched the edge for some path or route into the thick woods, but none was visible, so he headed straight for the nearest verge and ploughed in, pushing aside dry black branches, his feet sinking into a deep loose layer of rotting leaves and bracken. Only after pushing onward for some time, yanking Kellanved firmly along, did he pause, listening. He could hear the beast’s howling still, but it sounded strangely distant, muted somehow.

A rustling in the branches above caused him to snatch up his throwing daggers. It was the black bat-like thing, hopping among the higher boughs. ‘You see!’ it croaked, triumphant.

‘They are not following,’ Kellanved observed, and he frowned in distaste at his bare feet. ‘Why are they not following?’

The bat-thing cocked its head. Its black pebble eyes peered about. ‘Well, uh … they are forbidden! Yes! They are forbidden from entering the forest.’

‘Why?’

Koro hopped from foot to foot in frustration. ‘Because they are! Because of the House – yes! The House is near!’

Dancer peered into the tangled depths of the woods. ‘How near?’

‘Near!’ The creature flapped into the air, calling, ‘This way!’

Kellanved was gingerly testing his feet on the cluttered ground. ‘Perhaps you could—’

‘No, I couldn’t,’ Dancer cut in, heading off to follow the beast.

‘Just for a short while…’

‘No.’

‘Until we reach the House.’

‘No.’

‘You’re not being cooperative at all,’ the mage grumbled.

‘I did not buy cheap shoes.’

Kellanved harrumphed. ‘They were not cheap, I tell you that.’

‘All the more reason—’

‘Could you two possibly shut up!’ came a call from above. Both Dancer and Kellanved peered upwards, blinking. Koro was above, bobbing its sharp, knife-like head. ‘I’m trying to listen!’