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“Here, you two, stop it! This isn’t the time—”
“What’s wrong?” The breeze was strong enough that Numair was forced to shout. He was more than forty yards distant, a third of the way across the bridge.
“I don’t know!” she yelled. “It’s the darkings! Enough!” she told her passengers. Clutching the left handhold with fingers still wrapped around her bow, she released the right-hand rope and grabbed the top darking. She pulled it away from the one on her belt and stuffed it down the back of her shirt. Seizing the belt darking, she held it up.
Examining the darking, she gasped and nearly dropped it. Its center was filled by Ozorne’s face. He grinned and waved, then vanished. The darking was solid shadow once more. Daine stuffed it into her belt purse and tied the pouch shut with one hand. As she seized the right handhold again, her magical senses prickled. Wind made the bridge jump. Clinging to the rails, the girl looked for the disturbance. Far overhead, the sky rippled.
“Uh-oh,” she whispered. Like the tauros, something, or someone, was crossing from one realm to the other.
Winged shapes came into view, as if they flew through a waterfall or beaded curtain. Please let them be friendly, Daine thought, shaping her own eyes to those of an eagle. Now she saw the new arrivals clearly: horse-shaped, with powerful, batlike wings and a predator’s talons and fangs. They were not at all friendly.
“Hurroks!” she yelled to Numair, pointing. “Eleven of them!”
The immortals drew their wings in and dropped, coming for the bridge like plummeting falcons.
Numair planted his feet and raised his staff, holding the rail with his right hand.
The girl couldn’t afford a handhold. Kneeling, spreading her legs to balance herself, she grabbed two arrows. One she put to the string; the other she held in her teeth. She refused to think about the rocking bridge, or the gaps on either side.
Five hurroks formed the first attacking wave. Carefully Daine selected a target. Black fire shot from the crystal on Numair’s staff even as the girl loosed; the hurrok struck by the mage burst into flame and dropped. Another screamed in rage: Daine’s arrow had grazed its chest and punctured a wing. With her second arrow Daine shot the next hurrok coming in. It shrieked and fell, her shaft through one eye.
She yanked two more arrows from her quiver, putting one between her teeth, one to the string. Sharp pain dragged across her scalp: A hurrok had come from behind to rake her with his claws. As momentum carried him far below, into the gorge, the impact of his strike knocked Daine forward. The arrow in her bow fell as something ink-colored hit the board in front of her. Daine flinched.
It was a darking. Keening, it clamped onto the board, locking itself down with a half dozen tentacles. She couldn’t believe it might attack—something in its shrill cries told her it was too busy keeping itself from dropping into the gorge to do her an injury.
Rolling, hampered by her pack and trying not to crush her quiver, she put her second arrow to the string. Carefully, she turned over, tracking the hurrok with her blood on his talons; correcting for wind, she loosed. The arrow soared across the air below to plunge into the hurrok’s belly. Shrilling, he tried to claw the missile from his flesh as he dropped. Two more attackers plummeted, one set ablaze by Numair, another fighting silver fog wrapped around its muzzle. The animal gods had joined the fight.
Daine sat up, holding the bow at an angle to keep it from tangling in rope or boards, and groped for her quiver. Two arrows met her fingers. Glancing back, she saw that the darking she’d put into her shirt was spread over the quiver’s top. It had saved her arrows from the chasm; now it handed them to her. “Thank you,” she whispered, getting to her knees again. She touched the back of her skull: Wetness trickled through her curls. “Hope you don’t mind getting bled on.”
Other hurroks, including the one that she had first wounded, spiraled down to the attack. Daine shot and killed the injured hurrok. A sparkling black net enveloped a pair of the immortals and exploded, leaving nothing. Two more hurroks, one nearby, one higher up, dodged frantically, trying to evade the badger’s deadly silver fireballs.
Coldly, Daine drew the bowstring back to her ear. Silver fire overtook the hurrok farthest from her. It turned black and charred, dissolving as it fell. The last hurrok, screaming its rage, plunged toward Daine, claws outstretched. The girl shot.
The arrow flew as neatly as if she were in the practice yards of the palace. It slammed into the hurrok’s throat, cutting off its scream. The immortal beat its wings to stop, and flew right into sparkling fire. Instantly transformed into a charred skeleton, it broke up, raining into the canyon.
Carefully Daine put down her bow. “I want to go home,” she whispered. “I’ve had enough excitement for a while.”
A darking head peered over her shoulder.
“You have some explaining to do,” she told it. “The one in my pouch was spying on us, wasn’t it?”
The darking squeaked and hung its head.
Daine pointed to the darking that clutched the plank. “What about this one? Is it coming with us?”
The darking on her back squeaked at the newcomer. It trembled like jelly, and finally shrilled a reply. Her passenger nodded to Daine.
“Is it a spy, too?”
The small, inky head shook emphatically. The newcomer was no spy.
“Well, it’s certainly a deserter from Ozorne’s army, at the very least.” Carefully the girl reached forward to peel the newcomer off the board. Quivering, it pooled in her hand. “Why did you come over to my side, hm?”
“Daine,” called the mage, “may we move on?”
“Sorry,” she yelled. “Just a moment.” To the darkings, she said, “You’d better come up with some answers that make sense, and soon.” She dropped the newest of the blots inside her shirt. The darking on her shoulder stuck its head under her collar. Their soft, peeping conversation was drowned out by the creaking of the bridge as Daine carefully got to her feet. Gripping the rope handholds, she caught up to Numair.
“You’re hurt,” he said, touching the back of her head, when she reached him. The girl winced. “I’ll tend it later, though. Let’s get off this thing!”
“I don’t know,” she remarked, following. “It seems like a nice little bridge.” He looked back at her, eyebrows raised. “It never dumped us, now, did it? And it could’ve.”
“Yours is a happy nature,” the mage answered, wry. “I confess, this is too much like excitement for me.”
“It could be worse,” Daine said, and giggled. ?
?It could be raining.”
Numair shook his head, then returned his attention to crossing the bridge. “I wonder if that hurrok struck your head a little too hard.”
“Nonsense,” the girl retorted. “I couldn’t have shot straight if it had.”
When they stepped off the bridge, Numair swept her into a tight hug, and examined her scalp as he held her. Daine rested gratefully against him. He’d sounded calm on the bridge, but his heart pounded; his shirt was sweat-soaked.
“We should clean this,” he remarked over her head. “Didn’t Sarra give you ointment for injuries?”
“Mm-hm.” Daine rubbed her nose in the patch of chest hair that peeked through the V of his shirt collar.
He drew back. “Stop it,” he said sharply. “I can’t think when you do that.”
“You think too much,” she retorted, but she stopped anyway.
“I smell water,” said Broad Foot. “Fish, and frogs, too.”
“Let’s find it,” the badger ordered. “Before something else happens.”
They found their way down into a valley. It was cut in two by a lively stream that flowed out of a deep pool. Broad Foot plunged in. Seconds later, Daine saw him on the bottom, riffling through sand and rocks with his bill.
On Numair’s orders, Daine washed out her cuts. The darking that had deserted the hurrok remained inside her shirt, clinging to her waist, enduring without complaint the cold water that dripped onto it. The darking that had protected her arrows helped the man to gather firewood. The third darking remained in Daine’s belt purse. She ignored its bumping as she dipped water and poured it over her aching head. The badger hunted for his supper among the ground-squirrel, snake, and mice gods nearby.
By the time he returned, the fire was burning well, and a pot of tea water was heating. Daine submitted patiently as Numair examined her scalp wounds, made sure they were clean of grit, and rubbed ointment into them. Neither he nor the girl were much surprised when the cuts healed as the ointment was applied.
