The Witch's Reward (16 page)

Chapter 18

Larra’s only hope for staying in the saddle was to lie flat against her horse’s neck. Branches whipped past, scratching her cheeks and arms, and tearing off bits of her tunic. Griffen’s horse was running before her in jagged lines and leaps, jumping over old logs and around heavy trees. She could hear Christoff behind her, his own horse’s laboring breath barely audible against the loud snapping and tearing of the dense foliage.

Her heart was in her throat. Her grandmother had never scared her with bedtime stories about the bloodthirsty creatures known as carnies, but she had heard enough snatches of conversation from others to know to be afraid. 

She knew that they were as big as humans, unlike the fairies, which were as small as a person’s fist. No one really knew where carnies came from, only that they lived in hidden camps at the edge of the Bavarri Desert. The desert, which lay to the east of Aggadorn and extended for an eternity, was said to be the largest expanse of uninhabitable land in the world. It was rumored that carnies were once human and had tried to cross the desert, but had gone insane in the attempt. But rumors aside, there were three facts everyone knew for certain about carnies: they were afraid of water, they survived by drinking the blood and eating the flesh of their victims, and they could control the movement of their victims with magic.

Larra almost forgot a fourth fact: the victims were always human.

Neither her arrest nor her experiences with Smithen could compare with the sudden and intense terror that filled her mind. She could feel it pressing behind her eyes, pushing all thought from her head and leaving behind an empty cavern, void of reason. All that remained was the instinct to stay alive. 

The horses pounded ahead, galloping helter-skelter at breakneck speed until, finally, the glint of the Cypress River showed through the trees. Just as the three were about to reach the water, the loud sound of a forest being rendered in two came toward them on their left, from the direction of the battle. No sooner had Larra heard the loud crashing and turned her head to look, keeping a firm grasp on her horse’s mane, than a large, white, equine-like beast burst through the trees and slammed into Larra’s gelding. 

Larra had a brief glimpse of blue sky between the branches of the trees before she felt herself hit something hard and unyielding. The fear-induced adrenaline that pumped through her forced her to jump to her feet immediately, despite being disoriented and the ache in her side and hip. She faintly registered that she had been thrown against the base of a trunk before a nearby thrashing sound had her staring at a tangle of hooves and legs. 

The beast that had run into her gelding had been another horse, but one badly scarred and beaten, with patches of puckered, hairless skin marring its body so that it resembled a monster. The abused animal was struggling to rise to its feet, but couldn’t manage the task with its legs caught up in the branches of a fallen tree. It was making sharp, shrill shrieks of pain and distress. Her own gelding stood still and silent except for the heavy breathing that came from its nostrils. Its head and neck hung low, and its brown coat was soaked with sweat and white flecks of lather from its hard run. It stood favoring its left hind leg, the injury having occurred as a result of the impact with the other horse.

Above the distressed thrashing of the scarred horse, Larra heard the sound of metal upon metal and the deep grunts and groans of men engaged in armed battle, a sound she was now familiar with. She turned toward the conflict and saw Christoff and Griffen defending themselves against a single, wild-looking man.

Their attacker was almost naked, his darkly tanned skin covered only at the loins by a tattered garment that appeared to be several long strips of skin roughly sewn together and wrapped around the hips to hang in long flaps about his thighs. He was tall and very muscular, but he had a wild look to his face and his long, dark hair hung in dreadlocks. All over his body were tattoos of foreign shapes and writings that Larra couldn’t discern from her distance several feet away. His eyes held madness; there was no fear of death at the hands of two fierce knights, despite the fact that he was fighting with only two short daggers against their long swords.

Tied around his neck and wrists were several strands of what looked like the bones of fingers and toes. They clacked together like chimes in the wind, giving an almost musical beat to his crazed movements. His ears had been mutilated, with splinters of bones pushed through the cartilage in every direction. There was dried blood staining his skin from his fingers all the way to his forearms, running in splatters down his legs, and painted over his mouth, chin, and neck. He was an ugly, muscular, vicious madman, intent on destroying those before him.

The three men fought in a frenzy of rapid movements. Arms, legs, and bodies swooped and leaned, jabbed and retracted as though participating in some animalistic dance. Just as Larra thought her defenders were beginning to advance on the attacker, she suddenly saw the wild man disarm Griffen with one lethal blade and raise the other to block and hold Christoff’s descending sword. Larra thought that Griffen would step back and retrieve his sword while Christoff kept the wild man occupied, but Griffen was not moving. Another glance showed that the wild man seemed to have entranced Griffen into immobility. With a single palm held upward toward Griffen’s body, the man had complete control. He kept his palm out, holding Griffen motionless even he used his free hand to combat Christoff’s sword. 

Desperate to save the two knights, Larra thought quickly for a solution to what was looking like a lost fight. Ignoring the pain in her hip, she stumbled around the white, scarred horse and grasped the flask of water hanging from her gelding’s saddle. The tired animal didn’t move a muscle when she jerked the flask from its ties and ran back to the men.

She had to save Christoff and Griffen. The two had come to mean so much to her, the one because of her attraction to him, the other because he had become the closest thing she had ever had to a father. If this wild man was a carnie, there was only one thing she could think of to do that would help.

Ignoring the danger she was putting herself in, she opened the flask and stepped up to the fight. Without pausing to consider if it would work, she drew back her arm and, grasping the opening of the flask, launched water onto the back of the carnie.

The hiss and sputter that erupted from the carnie’s skin where it had been splattered by water was similar to the sounds made when water was poured over an open fire. The carnie arched his back, trying to avoid being burned by the liquid, and threw back his head in a piercing yell of pain. 

In the same moment that the carnie’s head was thrown back in agony, his eyes tightly shut, Christoff lunged forward and drove his sword through the wild man’s heart. Tanned, tattooed arms reached up to feebly pluck at the weapon penetrating his body, but to no avail. He fell backwards, Larra just barely jumping out of the way of his heavy body.

“Turn away, Larra. You don’t want to see this,” Christoff ordered roughly, ripping off his helmet. His breathing was heavy and sweat dripped from his dark hair down his temples. 

She didn’t listen. Blood had never bothered her, and she watched, fascinated, as he slid the blade of his sword along the creature’s chest, slicing it through the skin. She didn’t look away, even when he pulled out its heart and buried it in the ground—a safeguard, she’d heard once, against the carnie coming back to life. When he was done, he flipped the body over, and used a moss-covered log to wipe his sword clean of the blood.

“They’re just men,” she stated quietly, her eyes never leaving the dead body.  And really, they were. She didn’t know what she had been expecting. Horns? Extra legs and arms? Wings? A living and breathing person had never crossed her mind. What had happened to them to turn them into carnies, creatures that fed on human flesh and terrorized innocent people? What had caused them to become living nightmares?

“Not anymore,” he sheathed his sword and came to stand beside her.

He was right. Whatever had happened to this dead man had changed him from human to wild animal.  She remembered the crazed look in his eyes and the way he’d fought Griffen and Christoff, as if death didn’t matter.

“Griffen!” she exclaimed suddenly, whirling away from the corpse as she recalled the older knight. He was still kneeling on the ground in the same spot as before, still frozen from the carnie’s power. She ran to him, Christoff following on her heels.

“Griffen,” she called, kneeling beside the older man. He was breathing heavily, his eyes glazed over. He didn’t seem to recognize them.

“What happened to him?” she asked Christoff, who knelt beside her and brought his arm comfortingly around her shoulders. He rubbed the side of her arm with gentle strokes.

“He’s stunned. But don’t worry; he’ll come out of it in just a moment. Carnie magic controls blood. They can move any living thing with blood running through it, including people; which is what happened to Sir Griffen. If it had only been Griffen fighting the carnie, he would have easily been killed. Luckily for us, a carnie can’t control more than one body at a time, so I was able to continue fighting him until you came and saved us both. That was quick thinking on your part.”

He leaned down, the arm around her pulling her close as his lips lowered to hers. The kiss was quick and rough, one of relief and overwhelming emotion. He knew how close to death they had all been.

A throat cleared and both Christoff and Larra jerked back, ending the connection. As one, they turned their heads and saw Griffen, freed from his daze, struggling to contain a grin. Larra felt her face bloom red in embarrassment and she glanced away, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Christoff’s arm remained around her as he returned Griffen’s stare without a speck of chagrin.

“What are you staring at, old man?” he asked.

“Who, me?” Griffen played innocent. “I didn’t see anything. Nothing at all.”

“Are you all right?” asked Larra. “You weren’t moving, and I was worried. But Christoff, I mean, the captain, said you would come out of it.”

Griffen’s eyes twinkled.  “I’m fine, thanks. We’ve fought these carnies before, and the effects don’t last long.” His demeanor changed and he asked Christoff if he’d taken care of the carnie’s heart.

“Yes.”

“Are there more?” she asked.

“As far as I know, this was the only one that got away. But many of the men were injured in the attack and they’ll be waiting for us by the river,” his voice was grim. “We were lucky there were only a handful of the creatures, else we wouldn’t be alive to talk about it. As it is, we will have to make camp early and use the rest of the daylight to tend to wounds.”

“I could help with the wounded,” offered Larra.

“Thank you. Your help will be appreciated.”

Christoff and Griffen’s horses were standing to the side, both still breathing hard from their runs. Griffen collected the animals while Christoff led Larra to her gelding. As they passed the white, scarred horse, which had given up fighting against the heavy branches that held it immobile, Larra felt an overwhelming surge of pity. It must have endured such pain living with carnies. The scars and marks on its body alone testified of its suffering.

“What will happen to it?” she asked.

“We’ll get you and your gelding taken care of and then I’ll put it out of its misery.”

Larra’s eyes filled with tears. She could tell the horse was gravely injured and the killing would be merciful, but she couldn’t help but feel for the poor animal. It was as if the beast cried out to her, begging her to help it. It’s black, defeated eyes seemed to look straight into hers and she felt the beating of the magic within her, yearning to act. The animal’s wounds were beyond even her experienced healing, and she knew that only magic could help it now. If Christoff really trusted her, as he now seemed to, he might let her help this poor, broken horse. At the very least, she had to try.

“I can heal it,” she took Christoff’s hand in both of hers and pulled him to a stop. “I have the power. I can make it better, give it another chance to live,” she pleaded, her heart in her throat.

She watched as he struggled with an answer, his jaw tight. When he finally spoke, it was with resolve. “I can’t let you do that,” he said. “I can’t let you use your magic, or I will be forced to carry out the consequences for your actions. Do you understand?”

His answer stunned her. It was not what she’d expected.

The man who answered her was not the same man who had held her tightly by the river, who had kissed her, slept beside her, showed her that he cared for her. In his place was the man she’d met that first day in the cottage—distant, determined to do his job.

She knew what he meant. He meant that regardless of their relationship—whatever it was—he would have to execute her if she used her magic. That upset her because she could easily heal the horse without anyone the wiser. Sir Griffen was far enough away with the other animals that he wouldn’t see, leaving Christoff the only one who could speak of the incident to the king.

Which meant he didn’t really trust her, after all.

It made her angry. It made her suspect that he was playing games with her heart, one moment telling her he trusted her and the next telling her he didn’t. She wondered if he’d ever really meant those words he’d told her yesterday by the river, or if he had just been taking advantage of the opportunity to kiss a pretty girl. Maybe he was amusing himself with her on this lengthy journey. It was certainly something to consider, that his motives weren’t as honest as she’d assumed.