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“Mages?” Ivet asked.
“Just one,” Verve said. “But she’s a nasty piece of work.”
Ivet clutched her shoulder. “Be safe, vidahem.”
“You, too.” Verve gripped Ivet’s arm in reply. “I’ll do my best.”
Ivet’s eyes widened, but she nodded and hurried for the alarm set up outside the tavern. The gong rang out, echoing through the village, and as Verve rushed to her room, she noted the faces hurrying past her. All accounted for, thank the One. And only a few carried non-essential items. She darted up to the loft, gathered her weapons, and raced to the outskirts of Lotis, following the swell of Ellory’s emotions.
She found the ummaroc lying in one of the marsh pools, perhaps half a mile from Lotis. Upon seeing Verve—or more likely, smelling her—the sickle-drake snarled in warning, but the sound was weak — more of a gurgle. The scent of blood filled the air, but not as strong as Ellory’s fury.
Verve drew up within crossbow range. A huge gash sliced down the side of the ummaroc’s leg, the wound dark and ugly. Another shiftling had probably done this, or maybe even Legion. Heart racing, Verve tried to find a trace of Legion soldiers nearby, but there was nothing. Ellory’s green eyes never left Verve, and her lip curled with her growl.
Verve’s grip tightened on her loaded crossbow. It would be an easy kill. Too easy. Like many of her kills had been.
Ellory snarled again, but the sound faded into a whine as the ummaroc tried and failed to scramble for more solid ground. Her claws clutched uselessly at the dirt and grass, sending up sprays of each with her efforts.
Crossbow in hand, silently cursing her stupid, soft heart, Verve approached the shiftling. Closer now, she could see the whites of Ellory’s eyes and the network of scars that traversed her body. The door of Ellory’s mind was flung open with terror and fury, so it was a simple matter to peer within.
There, Verve found a history so close to her own, she may as well have been examining her own mind. Ellory’s life had been a constant struggle, a horrible parade of loss and death that had left more than physical scars. Desperation, loneliness, fear… They were all Ellory had left of anyone she loved.
What sort of person would Ellory be if her story had been like Alem’s? Instead of being orphaned and left to fend for herself, what if she’d been taken in by those who showed her love and compassion?
What if that had happened to me?
Verve could not kill Ellory. At least, not like this. She lowered her crossbow. “Change into your human form so we can talk, and I’ll make you a deal.”
The ummaroc gave another snarl that merged with a whine and continued to claw at the bank.
Verve exhaled. “You don’t have a lot of options, Ellory.” She made a show of looking around, while still checking for traces of Legion or anyone else set on murdering the shiftling. There: several leagues from here she found a tumult of anger mixed with a growing sense of satisfaction, like the sweetest wine on her tongue. Not Legion soldiers, Verve thought, but other mages. And they were heading this way.
She debated. If these other mages came looking for Ellory, they’d be too close to Lotis. If Verve let Ellory die—or killed her—the other mages would hopefully abandon their search and move on.
But then Verve would be back where she started.
Muttering a curse under her breath, Verve shouldered her crossbow and stepped closer to the struggling ummaroc, who grunted and clawed harder at the bank with each of Verve’s steps. Fear soiled the air around Ellory: fear and desperation, like unwashed bedclothes. And within Verve’s heart, that same fear echoed.
If she tried to change, she might fail again. But she still had to try.
“It’s all right,” she said in her most soothing voice. “I mean you no harm. We’ll get you patched up, and—”
A piercing scream cut off her words as Ellory, still in her sickle-drake form, grabbed hold of a steady bit of land and pulled herself upright. She wobbled a bit, but her aggressive pose was clear, and Verve stared at the rows of dagger-like teeth and the blood shining on the drake’s snout.
The sodding shiftling could slice her open with a kick. And here she was, staring down the monster, basically unarmed, considering how fast these creatures could move. Even Verve’s garrote bracelet would be no help here.
Ellory’s fear still stank up the air, but Verve knew enough of wild animals to understand that a terrified, cornered beast was at its most dangerous.
Which was all very sensible, but she couldn’t help her sudden surge of anger. “You stupid, overgrown chicken, I’m trying to help you,” she growled. “I swear to the One god, you sodding mages are more trouble than you’re worth. I should just leave you to the others — who’re not far off, by the way, and will eventually find their way to you.”
The ummaroc snarled again, but Verve was done. “Forget I said anything,” Verve said, shaking her head. “I hope your next life goes better.”
The ummaroc stilled. Verve turned away—which in hindsight wasn’t the smartest move—but right now she didn’t give two shits. As she sloshed away, a human groan sounded from Ellory’s position. Verve turned to find the mage, back in her human form, crouched on the marsh bank, clutching her wounded leg.
Blood gleamed in her short black hair and her eyes were wide and wet as she croaked, “Please…”
Verve ground her jaw. “Please, what?”
Maybe don’t antagonize the bitey mage, her better sense whispered, but it was too late.
