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Monsters
Verve’s boots pounded over the boardwalk. Her options were dismal. Mages were most easily vanquished when taken by surprise, but that tactic was out. Now her main objective was to keep them away from Lotis’s inhabitants.
She rounded a corner and came upon the scene. As Klaret and Berel had reported, two particle mages faced off against three shape-changers: a spotted panther, a lycanthra—a huge wolf from the northern country of Cander—and another massive predator called an urslan, which was basically the most terrifying parts of a bear and a lion combined.
Sodding mages. Why couldn’t any of the shiftlings turn into something cute and cuddly? At least most of them could only change into one other form.
None of the mages noticed Verve right away. They were all too far up each other’s asses to spare attention to a pathetic non-mage dullblood like her. Well. They’d sure as hell take notice once they smelled the hematite she wore. But for now, they circled each other in a patch of solid ground they’d tamped down. Fire licked up one mage’s arms while the other particle mage flexed her fingers, her calculating gaze darting to the wooden boardwalk the panther was about to step upon. No doubt this mage was planning to splinter this boardwalk like she’d done to the storage shed. The urslan already bore a nasty bit of singed fur along its side, and both mages had their share of scrapes and scratches.
Verve’s fingers itched for her crossbow, but of course, thanks to Alem’s annoying pacifist ways, that wasn’t an option at the moment. Fine. She could improvise.
The particle mages were objectively the most dangerous to Lotis, given their ranged abilities. Given how they stood back-to-back as the shape-changers circled, they were probably prepared to defend each other to the death.
Verve gripped her hematite daggers, quickened her pace, and all but flew between the shape-changers, heading for the particle mages. She side-stepped to avoid a swipe of the panther’s claws, whirled, and struck the fire mage’s heart before either particle mage realized what was happening. The fellow cried out in agony—hematite blades hurt mages more than steel—and collapsed to his knees, blood pouring from his wound. The other particle mage shrieked and lifted her hands, and Verve ducked and rolled as a spray of splinters from a nearby tree pummeled into her like a thousand tiny spears.
The hematite in her gear kept the worst of the splinters at bay, but a few struck through to her skin. Pain needled Verve’s cheeks, arms, and upper back, but she fought the feeling away. Pain was a weakness she could ill-afford. She sprang upright, a dagger in hand, and lobbed it toward the other particle mage. But her aim was sloppier than it should’ve been; the blade only skimmed the mage’s arm, making her stumble but not fall.
Meanwhile, the shape-changers circled, confusion clear in their movements. They could definitely smell the hematite she wore, and so understood Verve was not an ally come to aid them, but regardless, they seized the opportunity she presented. The urslan fell upon the second particle mage. Even injured by mage-fire, the urslan was formidable; it only took a single bite at the mage’s throat before she fell to the ground, unmoving. The panther made short, similar work of the male fire mage, finishing the job Verve’s dagger had started.
But the lycanthra stared at Verve with the unnerving, brilliant green eyes of most shape-changers: a gift from their ancestor, the first shiftling, Eris Echina. Now that the particle mages were down and Lotis was safe for at least the next thirty seconds, Verve could concentrate on keeping herself alive. She and the giant wolf circled each other. By the One, this creature was massive; each paw was bigger than Verve’s splayed hand. The panther and the limping urslan joined the enormous wolf in facing down Verve. Blood speckled the creatures’ faces, and each one studied her with eyes that held too much caution for mere beasts.
But mages were monsters, in whatever form they took. It was people like Verve, people who fought back against their magic and their chaos, who deserved to survive. Verve steeled her nerves, adjusted her grip on her daggers, and pressed forward.
“Verve!”
Alem’s voice made her heart plummet. She spared a glance in the sound’s direction: a clump of thick marsh grasses. “Get out of here,” she cried.
In response, a familiar case rolled out of the grasses, bounced over the torn ground, and came to a halt at Verve’s feet. By the One, her crossbow!
The shape-changers paused, faces tilting in confusion in a manner too reminiscent of real animals. Verve almost laughed. She kicked the case away from the shiftlings and launched herself after it. She’d practiced withdrawing and loading her weapon in almost any scenario, so within seconds she had a bolt ready to go, with more clutched in her hand. But the shape-changers’ confusion was short-lived. No sooner did Verve load a hematite-tipped bolt than the urslan charged forward, the others close on its heels. Verve scrambled backward, aimed, and fired. The bolt landed with a satisfying thunk in the urslan’s shoulder.
The creature’s gait faltered as it rumbled in alarm; hopefully the shoulder wound and the mage-fire burn would slow the urslan enough for Verve to get away with only losing a little blood. But of course, the urslan continued its assault. Some shiftlings were tougher than others. Verve ignored her spike of fear and tried to lead them through the marsh, toward the murky swamp — anything to get them farther away from Lotis. Moving through the soggy marsh ground was like slogging through pudding, but at least the terrible footing meant she and the shape-changers were on more even ground. But nothing lasted, so she scanned the nearest scraggly trees, searching for a suitable perch.
The shiftlings followed, snarling, jaws wide and teeth gleaming in the fading light of the late afternoon. Sweat pricked between Verve’s shoulder blades as she loaded another bolt and fired. This one struck the panther’s chest. The creature howled in pain and the others looked over at their fellow mage. Verve seized the opportunity and scrambled up a young pine tree: the best and closest option. The damn thing rocked and swayed beneath her grip, for it was too skinny to support her weight for long, but she needed some distance between herself and those pointy bits. A second after her boots had left the ground, the lycanthra snapped at the space she’d once stood.
Legs aching with the strain of the fight, not to mention balancing on the swaying tree, Verve fired again — the panther’s death scream echoed through the trees. The lycanthra circled the pine, occasionally leaping up at Verve with a ferocious roar that sent chills through her heart. She fired and fired and fired, until she ran out of bolts. The panther was dead; the lycanthra wounded but still walking. But not for long, given how it couldn’t put weight on the leg she’d pin-pricked with bolts.
Her arm burned; one of the shiftlings, she thought the urslan, had given her a nasty cut, but it wasn’t fatal. She’d see to it later. They were well away from Lotis now and Verve’s pulse sang with victory.
A low growl made Verve look back to see the urslan at her eye-level. The monster towered on its hind legs, teeth covered in bloody foam as it screamed its fury. That’s what she got for celebrating too soon. She drew her daggers again, pushed off of the tree, and leaped upon the urslan. The creature roared, but the combination of wounds from Verve’s assault and the loss of its allies had depleted the shape-changer’s strength. That was the only good thing about shiftlings: they wore animal form, but they could be demoralized like any human. Fights with shiftlings were best won by breaking their human spirits.
Verve slashed the urslan’s side, then leaped away, but her injury made her too slow and the beast got in another swipe at her leg. She’d feel that one later, too. Palms slick with sweat, she shoved her daggers in their sheaths and grabbed her crossbow, pausing only to tug a bolt free from one of the dead mages. She danced away from another swipe of the urslan’s claws, aimed, and fired. The bolt struck true, piercing the urslan’s eye. Even the strongest shiftling couldn’t survive a shot to the skull. The monster cried out, staggered backward, bloody and beaten, and collapsed. As the urslan shifted back to its human form—a ragged-looking woman—Verve punctured her throat.
No more time to waste. She snatched her smallest dagger free from her boot and lunged for the lycanthra, who had given up the fight to collapse beside its panther ally. In death, the panther had turned back into its human form; the lycanthra now lay beside a slender man with a mop of sandy hair. At Verve’s approach, the giant wolf snarled at her, but didn’t have the strength to stop her from completing this kill, too. The wolf melted away, leaving another young man in its place. His features echoed those of the former panther.
Breathing hard, she stood over the dead mages, ensuring that none rose again. Magic was not to be trusted and she’d seen mages come back to life from the shores of the river of death.
Movement out of the corner of her eye made her glance over to see Alem watching from the reeds. His face was gray and his wide eyes were fixed on the mages. Verve glanced back at the fallen magic-users — was one still alive? But she saw only the bodies. And blood. A lot of blood. Not just on the mages, either, but all over her. By the One, she was painted in gore.
The sound of retching made her look back at Alem as he ducked into the reeds. Verve said nothing to him, only pulled her bolts free of their targets and collected the rest of her weapons. That fight wasn’t her best work, but it wasn’t her worst either. She hadn’t even needed to use her bracelet this time.
“You all right?” she called when she couldn’t hear Alem’s heaves any longer.
He emerged from the reeds, mouth twisted in disgust. He didn’t look at her, but knelt by the dead mages. Verve’s stomach flopped. “The villagers?”
“They’re fine,” he said in a hoarse voice. “They’re safe.”
Verve glanced at the bloody mages, trying to understand his revulsion. “Surely you’ve seen worse, being a healer and all?”
