I clear my throat and brace myself for that strange squeezing sensation and the deafeningwhooshas I’m transported through the air. But it doesn’t come.
I click my tongue impatiently. ‘Any time today.’
Sheen frowns. ‘I … can’t do it.’
‘What’re you talking about?’ I ask, a note of alarm creeping into my voice.
‘My magic,’ he says. ‘It’s not working. Something’s … blocking it.’
‘What? What could be …’ My brows knit together as the realization hits me.
Those blasted nymphs.
I slip my hand out of Sheen’s and glance at the trees as a phantom breeze whispers through the leaves. ‘Well played.’
I gasp in astonishment as the will-o’-the-wisps flare even brighter than before, turning purple, then blue, then back to green. Sheen’s cold mask is beginning to crack, his forehead creasing. Fear tugs at my edges, but I push it away. I nock an arrow, take aim at a gnarled old oak and let it fly. It lodges deep in the trunk, dead centre.
‘You’ve had your fun,’ I snap. ‘Now let us be.’
Somewhere high in the canopy above, I hear the faint ghost of a giggle.
They’ll try to trick you, lure you in so deep you’ll never find your way out again.
I swallow hard as the Greenwood presses in from all sides, dark and ominous and swarming with troublesome spirits.
Just my luck.
36
Blaze
The fighting pit is built from stone and lined with flaming torches. A few rusted spearheads lie littered across the sawdust-strewn ground, which unnervingly appears stained with dried blood from previous brawls. At opposite ends are two steel portcullises. My eyes dart between them, my insides twisting themselves in knots.
I stand at the edge of a wooden platform raised several feet above the pit, wrists bound in front of me with a length of rope. I can feel the Eye of the Past tucked safely inside my pocket, while Silverclaw is stuffed down the side of my boot. Behind me is the Baron’s brutish henchman, Garrick. In the centre of the pedestal, lounging on a plush gold-silk divan, is the Baron himself, his left eye freakishly enlarged by his monocle, which he keeps polishing impatiently on his cravat, eager for the fight to begin. Perched on a stool beside him is his wife – a silent, waifish girl who looks no older than me.
The crisp night air is filled with excited chatter as the crowd of spectators continues to grow in both sizeand exuberance. A host of loud, insistent voices rises above the din as a queue of punters clamour to place their bets.
Abear –that’s what the Baron said Fox would be fighting.
Cold dread sits heavy in my stomach. There’s no denying that Fox is a skilled fighter. Strong, quick and handy with a weapon. But bears have size on their side. I read somewhere that they have the strength of five men, not to mention claws designed to rip their prey from limb to limb. Can Fox really hope to defeat such a creature without magic? And what’s more, would he even want to? He doesn’t believe in killing animals – he said it himself only last night. But would he really sacrifice his life, his future, his quest for revenge, just to uphold his principles? It’s certainly possible, I suppose. After all, the only reason we’re in this mess in the first place is because he insisted on saving that wolf.
I think of Fox’s peculiar affinity with animals, as mesmerizing as it is bewildering. What if he could use that gift now? Forge whatever kind of strange connection that might allow him to convince the bear not to attack?
I take several deep breaths, trying to remain calm. But this proves rather difficult, given the knife currently pressed to my throat.
‘What’s the matter, sweetness?’ Garrick murmurs in my ear, his breath hot and sour. ‘Worried your boy doesn’t have what it takes?’
‘No,’ I say, with far more confidence than I feel. ‘In fact, quite the opposite. If I were the Baron, I’d be worried for my bear.’
Garrick sneers. He pulls a deerskin hipflask from his pocket and takes a swig, and I comfort myself by imagining turning the liquor in his bloodstream to ice.
A sudden hush falls over the crowd. I turn my head a fraction to see the Baron on his feet, his hand raised for silence.
‘As some of you may know, this morning my hunters returned with a highly coveted new contender for my fighting pit.’
There are several gasps among the spectators.
‘However, no sooner had it arrived than my wolf was stolen from me, set free by a young man intent on spoiling our fun.’
