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The wolf’s breath stank of the rotting flesh that was lodged between its teeth. The eyes were nearly as golden as the Goyl’s. Jacob had heard of the wolves in these parts. Supposedly, they took their victims even from their beds and parlours. Not important – Jacob knew this was going to be messy. Maybe drowning wouldn’t have been such a bad death after all.
There were now five wolves circling him. He tried to free one hand to get to his knife, but the choke vine dug its thorns into his flesh so relentlessly that the pain drew out a suppressed cry.
Scream, Jacob. Why not? Maybe Fox will hear you. No. She was probably already in Gargantua, waiting. What would she do if he didn’t turn up? Search for him, as the Goyl had said? But surely not for the rest of her life. The vixen would find out quickly enough what had happened to him. The thought was consoling in a way.
One of the wolves dragged its tongue over Jacob’s face, getting a taste. Jacob tried to free at least one leg so he could kick at it, but the thorns clawed even deeper into his flesh. Damn, Jacob, think of something.
They stopped.
The largest one licked its mouth.
The end of the prelude.
Jacob threw himself to one side. He heard teeth snap at empty air. The next one bit into the vines, but they weren’t going to protect him for long. Jacob desperately tried to remember what he knew about choke vines. He’d used them himself to slow down pursuers, though never to capture them. One of the wolves bit into the vines around his chest; another was pulling at the ones around his legs.
Choke vines, Jacob. How could you forget! What do they like most?
He threw himself around again, no matter how much it hurt, and he rolled around on the forest floor. The wolves let go with angry barks while the thorns tore through his skin.
Blood – the taste choke vines relished above all else. Of course, it also made the wolves even more frenzied. The next bite was so determined that the teeth actually found his flesh. Jacob howled as the teeth dug into his side. But the vines had also tasted the blood, and they began to grow even faster.
Fresh vines shot out towards the wolves, hardening as they grew. They clawed at their fur and enveloped Jacob in an ever-thicker cocoon. He found it hard to breathe, and his clothes were sticky with his own blood, but at least the wolves couldn’t reach him any more. They howled with rage and dug their teeth again and again into the thorny branches, even though the vines were now also growing around them. Jacob fought for air. His fingers found the hilt of his knife, but he couldn’t move his hands enough to get hold of it.
The lead wolf paused. It panted with lust for the flesh that smelled so deliciously of blood and the cold sweat of fear.
Then it snapped at the vines that had grown around Jacob’s throat. Jacob tried to turn away, but the vines that protected him also held him like fly in a spider’s web. After one more bite, the wolf’s breath brushed over naked skin. Jacob could already feel the teeth on his throat, and then . . .
Nothing.
No crunching cartilage. No choking on his own blood. Instead, a shrill whine. And the sharp voice of a man.
Through the vines, Jacob could see boots and the blade of a rapier. One wolf dropped with a slashed throat. Another freed itself from the vines and attacked, but the blade killed it in mid-air. The others drew back. Finally, one of them let out a disappointed bark and they all ran, their fur peppered with thorns.
His rescuer turned around. He was hardly older than Jacob. His rapier cut through the vines like a letter opener through paper. There weren’t many blades that could make such short work of choke vines. Jacob clambered out from the chopped-up vines while the stranger picked the thorns from his gloves. His clothes were as fine as his blade. The lapels of his jacket were lined with the fur of a black fox. In Lotharaine, only the highest nobility were allowed to hunt these animals.
The fairy-tale prince. And he even looked the part.
Great. Just be grateful he wasn’t busy saving Snow-White. The last time Jacob had felt so stupid was in the schoolyard, when a teacher had to free him from the chokehold of a girl.
‘Choke vines are quite rare in these parts.’ His saviour helped him to his feet. ‘Did the wolves bite you?’
Thank him, Jacob. Go on.
‘It’s not that bad.’ He touched the wound in his side. ‘How did you drive them off so fast?’ Stop it. You sound as if it was he who set the wolves on you. Pride was so tedious. But his rescuer just shrugged.
‘My lands are near Champlitte. There we used to have trouble with beasts that were much bigger than these.’ He offered his hand to Jacob. ‘Guy de Troisclerq.’
Jacob wiped the blood off his hands. ‘Jacob Reckless.’ Treasure hunter and certifiable idiot. He could barely stand upright.
Troisclerq pointed at Jacob’s torn clothes. ‘You’ll have to bathe in bark suds, or else the wounds will get infected. Those thorns can be nasty.’
‘I know!’ Jacob!
He forced his mouth into a smile. ‘It appears you saved my life.’
Troisclerq threw the chopped-up vines into the centre of the clearing. ‘I was in the right place at the right time – that’s all.’
And noble as well. Stop it, Jacob! How is it his fault you stumbled into the Goyl’s trap like an amateur?
