Dagger's Point (Shadow series) (12 page)

The water was cold still, but it ran over rocks and sand and so was clean and sweet. Despite the chill of the water, it was wonderful to scrub off the dirt and sweat and horse-smell of the last few days. Bathing in the cold stream in the moonlight reminded Jael poignantly of her summers in the Heartwood with Mist, and for the first time she felt something like homesickness. She pulled handfuls of wild mint from the plants growing thickly on both banks; she’d tie the sprigs into a cloth and roll them up with her soiled clothes so her packs wouldn’t become smelly.

A slight rustling sound in the bushes sent Jael diving for her sword; when it proved to be only Durgan, however, who stepped into view, Jael slowly lowered the point of her blade.

“Oh, pardon me,” Durgan said quickly, averting his eyes. “When Elster told me you’d left camp, I lectured him sternly for letting you go off alone. It’s just not safe. I had no idea you were—well, already undressed.”

“That’s all right,” Jael said, slowly relaxing. “I just wanted to scrub off some of the grime. You startled me, that’s all.”

Durgan still did not look directly at her, but he smiled.

“I’ve never been to Allanmere, and I don’t know your people’s customs,” he said. “But if I stand guard while you finish your bath, would you do me the courtesy of returning the favor?”

“All right,” Jael said after a moment’s thought. The slightest cry would bring the other guards, after all. She almost wanted to laugh at Durgan’s care in averting his eyes—what a fuss people make over seeing a little skin! “Let me rinse off and then I’ll take watch.”

Durgan took a perch atop a tall, mossy boulder on the bank of the stream where he’d have a clear view of the area around them. Jael sat down in the cold water to rinse the last of the soap out of her hair. She had no clean cloth left to use as a towel, but the night was a little too cool for sitting in the moonlight naked to dry, so she pulled her clothes on over her wet skin.

As soon as Durgan abandoned his perch, Jael scrambled up with some difficulty onto the high rock where Durgan had sat, her sword across her knees. In deference to human custom, Jael looked politely away, but she sneaked a glance over her shoulder when the amount of splashing indicated that Durgan probably wouldn’t notice. Durgan was tall and well-muscled, with an absolutely amazing quantity of black hair curling over his skin. Jael smiled to herself, wondering if under other circumstances the very sight of such a fellow bare in the moonlight would stir her loins and make her act as silly as Tanis was acting. At the moment she could admire Durgan in the same way she might admire a sleek wolf—as one of nature’s more marvelous and handsome creatures. Jael quickly turned away again before Durgan saw her looking and became embarrassed, or worse, misinterpreted her interest. Only a moment later, however, Durgan’s voice startled her.

“Lady Acorn, might I beg some of the soap I see you brought?”

“Oh, of course,” Jael said. She hurriedly pulled the pot back out of the bundle of her soiled clothes; no sense offending Durgan with the smell of
those,
even if his nose wasn’t as keen as hers.

Durgan stepped around the rock to take the pot Jael held out. As his hand brushed hers, Jael again felt the same warm tingling she’d experienced when he’d touched her in Westenvale, and Jael was hard put to conceal her surprise. Why, whatever spell he’d had cast, it was on
him,
not his clothing! Suddenly Jael was uneasy; what spell would a man like Durgan have on him? A glamour-spell to charm ladies? He’d made no effort to court
her
attention, nor that of any of the other women in the caravan, not that Jael had seen. Some kind of a protection spell, perhaps? But why hadn’t the spell been dissolved when Jael had touched him the first time? True, sometimes magic survived Jael’s touch, but
twice?

Jael thought fast, turning slightly on the rock so she could see Durgan out of the corner of her eye without appearing to gaze directly at him. Even if Durgan had some kind of magic on him, there was no reason to assume a malevolent purpose. But a spell of such a type that Jael’s magic-warping effect did not break it— gods,
was
there such a spell? The best mages in Allanmere had failed to find it. That alone was cause for suspicion.

Well, simple enough to test.

“This rock’s a little high,” Jael said embarrassedly when Durgan had dressed. “Could you give me a hand down?”

“Of course,” Durgan said, smiling. “Hand me your bundle, and then you can slide down and I’ll catch you.”

That made sense; rather reluctantly, Jael handed Durgan her soiled clothes and her sword, wishing she’d belted her scabbard back on before she’d spoken. Now she had no polite excuse to do so. Quickly Jael slid down the rock, Durgan’s hands clasping her firmly under the ribs.

This time Jael could not keep the surprise from her face at the strength of the tingling wave that swept through her at Durgan’s touch. No, this was no ordinary spell to be broken by Jael’s touch; it was more as if Durgan himself
was
magical, and Jael had heard stories of magical creatures in human form—

Durgan must have seen the involuntary expression of surprise on Jael’s face, for his eyes widened slightly. Jael had no more warning than that; before she could act, his right hand clamped firmly over her mouth, his left hand pinioning her right wrist and his body holding her against the rock.

“My regrets, Lady Acorn,” he murmured, his voice growing hoarse and strange as he spoke. His hand seemed to flow over her mouth, covering her nose as well. “My sister was to have provided our meal, not me. But you’ve forced me to change the plan.”

Even as Jael watched, his face was melting like the wax of a candle, re-forming into new and alien contours. Jael froze with terror. Skinshifter! Gods, she’d heard tales enough about the cursed folk who came out of the wild lands and attacked the unwary to feast on human—or elven—flesh and blood. Even if their victim somehow survived to escape, the merest bite or scratch could carry the dreaded shifter curse. Her mother had been forced to kill her own brother when he’d become infected.

Even as these thoughts raced through Jael’s mind, she was clawing with her free left hand at his fingers—now a solid band of flesh—covering her nose and mouth, but to no effect. Durgan watched her struggle with amusement in his eyes, although his nose and mouth were still re-forming, his teeth growing long and sharp in preparation for his feast.

Quickly Jael jammed her fingers into those eyes as hard as she could. Noxious black fluid spurted from the sockets, and Dur-gan’s head rocked back; although he did not cry out—even such a strike wouldn’t seriously harm a shifter—his grip over her nose and mouth loosened slightly, and he was blinded until he could form new eyes. Jael was suffocating, though; she’d had no time to draw a quick breath in preparation, and her vision was already dimming.

Desperately Jael twisted her body sideways, using the rock for leverage as she forced her knees up between them. With all her strength she thrust outward with her feet, simultaneously wrenching at Durgan’s hand over her face with her own ichor-slimed fingers.

Her small weight and inferior strength were not enough for her to rip loose from Durgan’s grip entirely, but she did manage to free her nose and mouth, although Durgan maintained his grip on her right wrist. Some niggling thought at the back of her mind kept Jael from crying out, but in any wise, she was too busy gasping in great sweet lungfuls of air even as her free hand scrabbled across her body for her dagger, pulling it free.

Already new eyes were forming in the black ruin of Durgan’s sockets, but there was no more amusement in them. His sharp-toothed mouth opened wide, his neck elongating, and his head snaked forward.

Sheer panic surged through Jael. She ripped her Kresh dagger up between them, opening Durgan’s body in a diagonal line from hip to shoulder, then with all her strength thrust upward with the tip. It was an awkward angle and she had little leverage, but the amazing sharpness of the Kresh dagger did not fail her; the tip sheared upward through Durgan’s chin into his skull, pinning his mouth closed. Entrails gushed out of his belly and blood trickled from the corners of his mouth, and Durgan released her, stumbling backward, but still he did not die—gods, how
did
one kill a shifter?—and his hands clawed blindly at the hilt of Jael’s dagger, trying to pull it loose. He stumbled over his own dangling entrails, but even in those moments, the wound in his belly was drawing closed.

Still, Jael was free now, and she quickly found her sword,

pulling the light Kresh blade free of its scabbard. Even as she armed herself, however, Durgan pulled the stained dagger free, and, still horribly silent, leaped at her with it.

The sight of her dagger in his hand suddenly struck Jael like a splash of cold water on a sweltering day, washing her fear away as if it had never been and leaving cold anger in its wake. Upstart beast, to hold a blade of her people’s making as if he’d earned the right to wield it! She’d show him what a woman of Kresh blood could do with such a blade, and what no pathetic skinshifter ever could—

The silver-white blade caught the moonlight and sliced it into a thousand sparks as Jael gave her anger free rein, the sword moving on its own, pulling her around so she easily sidestepped Durgan’s rush, the blade flashing downward in the moonlight to bite solidly through Durgan’s spine. Durgan collapsed to the ground, his body all but severed at the waist, although his limbs still twitched and spasmed.

Jael breathed hard, fighting down her anger as she quickly pried her dagger loose from his grip. Was he dead in truth? Well, surely he could not live, or at least attack, without his head! Taking a deep breath, Jael brought the stained blade down on Durgan’s neck; there was scarcely a sensation of impact as the head rolled free.

Seizing the head by the hair—no profit in taking chances with skinshifters!—Jael raced back to the camp as quietly as she could, now realizing why she’d kept her silence. If Durgan was a skinshifter, likely so was Cesanne, and if Cesanne had any warning, she’d be close enough to Tanis to attack before anyone could stop her.

When Jael stopped just outside the guard perimeter, however, there was no sign of Cesanne and Tanis by the fire where they’d been when she left. Quickly Jael thrust Durgan’s head under a bush, located the nearest guard, and whistled, beckoning him to her.

“Lady Acorn!” The guard stared at her gory appearance. “Are you harmed? Captain Durgan himself went to—”

“Durgan’s a skinshifter,” Jael whispered urgently, waving her hand to silence the guard when he would have exclaimed. “He’s dead now—I think. His head’s under that bush. But where’s Cesanne and—uh—Caden?”

“They only just went to get a blanket. I think they’re going into the woods.” The guard’s eyes narrowed. “But how do I know you’re telling the truth?” He nocked an arrow, drawing his bow on Jael as he spoke.

“If I’m a skinshifter, that won’t do you much good,” Jael said practically. “Look at that head for your proof. The rest of the body’s down by the stream. We’d best burn it to be sure. But first we need to get Caden away from Cesanne before she realizes she’s discovered. Hurry, won’t you?”

His eyes never leaving Jael, the guard toed the head out from under the bush. He glanced down, then gasped, his bow lowering slowly. The half-formed face was barely recognizable as Durgan’s, but apparently it was proof enough.

“I’ll send two guards to fetch back the body for burning, and bring two more with me, if you can track your friend in the dark,” the guard told her. “Give me but half a moment.”

It took longer than that to convince the other guards, suppress their panic, and organize them, so long that Jael was ready to leave without them, even if that meant taking on Cesanne alone. But at last the three guards were ready, having exchanged their bows for more practical swords, and Jael easily picked up Cesanne and Tanis’s trail at the edge of the camp. They’d made no effort to hide their tracks—why would they?—and Tanis’s poor night vision had made him stumble several times.

They had gone farther from the camp than Jael had, however, likely to avoid any possibility that Jael or the guards might hear them at their sport, and Jael fumed at the noisy, slow pace of the human guards as they did their best to keep up with her. Gods, maybe she’d best leave them to follow—it couldn’t be much farther—

Tanis’s horrified scream interrupted Jael’s thought, and she launched herself as fast as she could toward it; never mind the trail now, or the guards. It was only a few dozen paces more, however, before Jael found the small clearing where Tanis had spread his blanket.

Tanis was there, naked, armed with nothing but a dead branch he’d apparently snatched up, stark terror on his face. He couldn’t have gotten to his sword—between him and the bundle of their clothing and weapons squatted Cesanne, or what had been Cesanne.

Gone was the lovely, exotic face and streaming hair. This was a creature from nightmare, its eyes glowing red pits, nose and mouth elongated into a muzzle filled with sharp white teeth. Its ears swept up and back like those of a bat, and the once-lithe body was now bent and gnarled, the limbs re-forming even as they watched.

The sight of the head Jael had produced had somewhat prepared the guards for what they saw, and apparently folk hereabouts were more accustomed to dealing with shifters; they did not freeze in fear as Jael had done, but attacked immediately, surrounding the creature with swords flashing. Jael was desperately glad to leave Cesanne to their attentions and turn to Tanis, who still cowered numbly on the blanket.

“She was—I mean, we were—and she just started changing,” Tanis whispered, his eyes glazed. “I threw her away from me— Baaros have mercy, I don’t know how I ever did—and I couldn’t even scream—I couldn’t scream—”

“You did scream,” Jael said gently. “Good and loud and long. And you threw her a goodly distance, too, from the looks of it.” She folded her arms around him, holding his head on her shoulder so he wouldn’t hear Cesanne’s last gurgling scream or see the guards finishing their gory work, hacking her head from her body.