It was just as he reached the crest of a high ridge that he heard it: a lowclick click click.
Rolan stilled, pressing himself against a narrow tree, his dulled senses suddenly sharpening again.
Click click click.
The sound came from above—and was chillingly similar to the sound the Cryptic had made in the station cell, just before it had attacked.
As he’d done then, Rolan stayed quiet and motionless. He breathed softly, trying to calm his heartbeat. How did Cryptics hunt? By sight or sound? By smell? This suddenly seemed to be the most vital bit of information in all the world, and he inwardly cursed Luc for having never told him. What kind of miserable excuse for a teacher was—
Eyes.
Rolan blinked rapidly, thinking he’d been seeing things. But there they were, glowing blue, the same color as the box of Cryptic parts in the Arcanist’s house.
He held his breath.
Two eyes, misty blue, stared straight at him from the shadows. Slowly, they grew bigger. Moving closer. Swaying back and forth.
Rolan felt as if his skin were melting with fear, as if he might liquify then and there.
Click click click,went the Cryptic.
Thud thud thud,went Rolan’s heart.
He pressed himself against the tree, a whimper escaping his lips as the eyes drew within inches of his face. The ice-blue light of them bored into him. Hypnotic. Beautiful, in a horrible way.
This close, he could make out the silhouette of the thing’s body. To his surprise, it wasn’t very large. Not much bigger than theCryptic he’d seen a few weeks ago. This one didn’t even have half as many eyes, and it seemed to stand on just two legs, like a very tall bird. It stood no higher than Rolan.
“H-hello,” he breathed. “You’re not so bad, are you? Maybe you’re a nice Cryptic? Huh? Wanna be friends?”
He slowly, slowly slid the knife from his belt. To his astonishment, the blade was glowing softly blue, just like the creature’s eyes. He remembered the Arcanist stabbing the talon, and his blade absorbing the light that leaked from it. This was a different knife, a smaller one, but maybe it was also infused with Cryptic power. It had the same double spiral etched in the metal as he’d seen on Luc’s. Maybe tonight, this little stolen blade would save Rolan’s life.
He attacked first, whipping up the knife and plunging it toward the Cryptic’s left eye.
The monster movedfast, shooting upward into the air, easily dodging Rolan’s clumsy strike. For a moment he thought it might have taken flight. Could Cryptics fly? There was a chilling prospect. Hehadseen feathers in Luc’s chest of so-called secrets.
Maybe he’d scared the thing off.
But then, all around Rolan, the forest began tomove. Tall dark stalks he’d taken for saplings lifted and crooked on knobbled knees. He realized, with a horror that rooted him to the spot, they werelegs.
A shadow rolled over him—a long, scaled belly. All those legs were attached to one body, the body of the Cryptic he’d foolishly mistaken for being little. In truth, it was like a gigantic, nightmarish version of the grandfather longlegs spiders that liked to gather in the basements of Crisanth, the ones that always gave him jitters.
Rolan screamed.
The Crypticroared, smoky blue mist seeping from its gaping maw.
Bursting into motion, Rolan sprinted over the slippery forest floor, tripping over roots. He went sprawling only to leap up again and make it a few more steps. Finally, something whacked him across the chest—a branch or a Cryptic leg, he couldn’t tell. He went flying, smacking the ground hard and rolling before coming to a breathless, pained stop.
He’d lost his dagger. He’d lost a boot. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, gasping for breath as the Cryptic rushed toward him. In a slant of moonlight, he saw the entire thing at last—as big as the Arcanist’s horse, poised over him like a spider. It roared again, and he felt something hot and wet splash on his cheek. Drool? Venom?
“Please,” Rolan whispered, and he didn’t know whether he was talking to the Cryptic, to the goddess Alethine, or to the spirit of the long-dead mother whose face he couldn’t even remember. All he knew was that he was done for unless—
Unless the Arcanist came thundering out of the dark, a blade in both hands and a war cry on his lips.
- CHAPTER 13 -THREE RULES
Rolan lay on the ground, stunned as the Arcanist leaped off his horse and landed between him and the Cryptic. With horror, he noted that the man’s eyes were glowing blue, just like the monster’s. With barely a glance at the boy, Luc bounded into action, spinning and planting a blade into one of the Cryptic’s legs. The creature howled and stabbed at Luc with another leg, but the man was ready. He rolled clear, swiping and missing, swiping again and finding his mark. His steel flashed and blurred in the moonlight, streaming with the eerie blue light that matched his eyes and the Cryptic’s.
The monster’s screams pierced the forest. Rolan thought they surely must hear it all the way in Crisanth. People would be sitting up in their beds, eyes wide, gripping their blankets.
