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The mark was also a constant reminder of the monster he really was—the monster Kahlan had wanted collared and sent away.
Richard swished a hand at a bug buzzing around his face. He looked down. They were buzzing around the dead woman, too. He went cold with a jolt of fright even before he felt the sting of a bite on his neck.
Blood flies.
He drew his sword in a rush as the huge, dark shape lunged from behind the rock. The ringing sound of steel was drowned out by a roar. Wings spread wide, the gar dove for him. For an instant, he thought he saw a second, hunched in the shadows behind the first, but his attention was immediately seized by the immense thing descending on him, by the fierce, glowing, green eyes locked on him.
It was too big to be a long-tailed gar, and by the way it anticipated and avoided his first stab, too smart. It would have to be a short-tailed gar, he cursed silently. It was thinner than short-tailed gars he had seen before, probably the result of poor hunting in this desolate land, but thin or not, it was still huge, towering half again as tall as he.
Richard stumbled and fell over the dead woman as he lurched back to escape the swipe of a massive claw. He came up swinging the sword in fury, letting the anger of the sword's magic surge through him. The tip of the sword sliced a gash across the smooth, taut, pink stomach. The gar howled in rage as it rushed him again, unexpectedly batting him to the ground with a leathery wing.
Richard rolled to his feet, whirling the sword as he came up. The blade flashed in the moonlight, taking off a wingtip in a spray of blood. That only enraged the gar into lunging toward him. Long, wet fangs ripped at the night air. Its eyes were ablaze with a furious green glow. The howling roar hurt his ears. Claws swept in to each side of him.
Heedless of the danger, the magic pounded through him, demanding blood. Instead of dodging the advance, Richard ducked. He sprang up, driving the sword through the chest of the great, fur covered beast. He yanked the blade back with a twisting cut to the sound of a scream of mortal pain.
Richard pulled the sword behind, prepared to take the hideous head off with a powerful stroke, but the gar didn't come at him. Claws clutched to the gushing wound at its chest, it teetered a moment, and then toppled heavily onto its back, bones in its wings snapping as it fell on them.
A keening wail came from the shadows. Richard retreated a few paces. A small, dark form darted across the ground, to the vanquished monster, falling on top of it. Little wings wrapped around the heaving chest.
Richard stared in disbelief. It was a baby gar.
The wounded beast lifted a shaking claw to clutch weakly at the whimpering form. It drew a gurgling breath that lifted the little gar sprawled atop its chest. The arm dropped to the side. Faintly glowing green eyes drank in its little one, and then looked up at Richard with pleading pain. A froth of blood bubbled as it expelled its last, rattling breath. The glow in its eyes waned, and then it was still. With plaintive cries, the little creature seized small fistfuls of fur.
Little or not, Richard thought, it is still a gar. He stepped close. He had to kill it. The rage pounded through him. He lifted the sword over his head.
The little gar drew a trembling wing over its head as it shrank back. As frightened as it was, it would not leave its mother. It whimpered in anguish and fear.
A terrified little face peered over the trembling wing. Wide, wet, green eyes blinked up at him. Tears ran down the deep creases in its cheeks as it sobbed in distress with a purling wail.
"Dear spirits," Richard whispered, as he stood paralyzed, "I can't do this."
The little gar quavered as it watched the sword's point sink to the ground. Richard turned his back and closed his eyes. He felt sick, both from the sword's magic which inflicted upon him the pain of his vanquished foe, and from the dreadful prospect of what he had been ready to do.
As he replaced the sword, he drew a deep breath to steady himself, then lifted the dead woman over his shoulder and started off. He could hear the choking sobs of the little gar as it clung to its still mother. He couldn't kill it. He just couldn't. Besides, he told himself, the sword wouldn't allow it. The magic only worked against threat. It wouldn't allow him to kill the little gar. He knew it wouldn't.
Of course, it would work if he turned the blade white, but he couldn't bear that pain. He would not subject himself to that agony, not for no more purpose than to kill a defenseless pup.
He carried the dead woman toward the next rise as he listened to the whimpers grow faint. Laying the body down again, he sat to catch his breath. He could just see the great beast in the moonlight, a dark blotch against the light colored rock, and the small form atop it. He could hear the slow sounds of anguish and confusion. Richard sat a long time, watching, listening.
"Dear spirits, what have I done?"
The spirits, as usual, had nothing to say.
From the corner of his eye, movement caught his attention. Two distant silhouettes passed in front of the big, bright moon. They banked into a slow turn, and began to descend. Two gars.
Richard came to his feet. Maybe they would see the baby and help it. He found himself cheering them on, and then realized how absurd it was to hope a gar would live. But he was beginning to feel an odd sympathy for monsters.
Richard ducked down. The two gars overhead came close to him as they swept in a wide circle around the scene on the next hill. Their spiral tightened.
The little gar fell silent.
The dark shapes dove down, landing a ways apart with a flutter of wings. They moved cautiously around the dead gar and its offspring. Wings held open, they suddenly leapt toward the silent baby gar. It broke its silence with a scream. There was a flurry of wings, vicious roars, and frightened shrieks.
Richard stood. Many animals ate the young of another of its own kind. Especially males, and especially if food was scarce. They weren't going to save it; they intended to eat it.
Before he even realized what he was doing, Richard was racing down the hill. He ran heedless of the foolishness he intended. He pulled the sword free as he charged up the hill to the little gar. Its terrified wails urged him on. The savage snarls of its attackers ignited the wrath of the sword's magic.
Steel first, he rushed into the fur and claws and wings. The two gars were bigger than the one he had killed, confirming his suspicion that they were males. His blade caught only air as they leapt back, but one of them dropped the little gar. It skittered across the ground and clutched to its mother's fur. The other two circled him, charging and darting and swiping claws. Richard swung and stabbed the sword. One of them snatched at the baby. Richard scooped it away with his free arm and quickly retreated a dozen paces.
They fell on the dead gar. With a cry, the baby stretched its arms toward its mother, its wings flapping against his face in an effort to free itself. In a frenzy, the two gars tore at the carcass.
Richard made a calculated decision. As long as the dead gar was there, the pup wouldn't leave it; the pup would have a better chance at survival if it had nothing to hold it to this place. It squirmed mightily in his arm. Though fully half his size, it was at least lighter than he would have thought.
He feigned a charge to hurry the two along. They snapped at him, too hungry to be frightened off without a meal. They fought each ot
her. Claws slashed and pulled. The body ripped asunder. Richard charged again as the little gar tore free, running ahead of him with a shriek. The two leapt into the air, each with half a prize. In a moment they were gone.
The little gar stood where its mother had been, keening as it watched the two disappear into the dark sky.
Panting and weary, Richard returned his sword to its scabbard and then slumped down on a short ledge, trying to catch his breath. His head sunk into his hands as tears welled up. He must be losing his mind. What in the world was he doing? He was risking his life for nothing. No, not for nothing.
He raised his head. The little gar was standing in the blood where its mother had been, its trembling wings held out limply, its shoulders slumped, and its tufted ears wilted. Big green eyes watched him. They stared at each other for a long moment.
"I'm sorry, little one," he whispered.
It took a tentative step toward him. Tears ran down the gars face. Tears ran down his. It took another small, shaky step.
Richard held his arms out. It watched, and then with a miserable wail, fell into them.
It clutched its long, skinny arms to him. Warm wings wrapped around his shoulders. Richard hugged it tightly to himself.
Gently stroking its coarse fur, he hushed it with comforting whispers. Richard had rarely seen a creature in such misery, a creature so in need of comfort that it would even accept it from the one who had caused its pain. Maybe, he thought, it was only recognizing him as the one who had saved it from being eaten by two huge monsters. Maybe, given the terrible choice, it chose to see him as a savior. Maybe the last impression, of saving it from being eaten, was simply the strongest.
The little gar felt like nothing more than a furry sack of bones. It was half starved. He could hear its stomach grumbling. Its faint musky odor, while not pleasant, was not repulsive either. He cooed succor as the thing's whimpering slowed.
