Ian Irvine - Vengeance

‘Now!’ he roared, dropping his bow to draw the wire-handled sword.

Was its enchantment strong enough to hold back such an uncanny foe? It had better be. The caitsthe was mewling as it gasped for breath, its windpipe mashed, but they only had moments before it shifted the tissues and began to recover.

Tobry attacked from the left, swinging at its head. Rix went for the belly, planning to open it from chest to groin in one furious hack and tear out its livers bare-handed. Surely that would weaken the creature enough that they could escape to burn the livers elsewhere.

Before he reached the caitsthe it came to its knees and backhanded Tobry out of the way, lifting his feet a yard off the ground and spraying spit from his mouth. Rix struck at it but it swayed backwards then sprang at him, slashing with its left hand, then the right.

Though the creature wasn’t fully recovered, it was faster than he was. Its left-handed blow tore the sleeve from his coat and opened a gash along his left forearm. The right ripped through coat and shirt, baring him from chest to belly the way he had planned to attack it and carving long gashes with its two middle claws. Pain sang in their tracks; an inch deeper and it would have torn his guts out. A few inches lower and Lady Ricinus’s plans for an heir would have been lost.

Rix slashed across the left side of its furred chest. The shallow cut sealed over without shedding blood. The damn sword was supposed to protect him but it lay in his hand like any ordinary weapon. Well, Rix was a master with any blade. He thrust at the caitsthe’s throat, only pinking the right shoulder when it wove aside.

Tearing off the rags of his coat, he hurled them at the creature, hoping to entangle it, but it ducked. He lunged, making another attempt to open its belly. It sidestepped and sprang high.

The caitsthe was going for his throat and Rix had no hope of getting his sword into position in time. He dropped into a crouch, then sprang upwards as it passed above him, trying to head-butt it in the groin.

Its overpowering reek made him gag. Its foot-long, leathery organ struck his right cheek like a belaying pin, then he felt its furry cods split between his skull and its pelvis. His neck bones creaked as he forced with all the strength in his legs, driving the lower half of the creature straight up.

The caitsthe screamed, cat-like and shrill, turned an involuntary somersault and landed on its back, kicking wildly and clutching its groin. It doubled up, licked itself and, with a strangled howl, hobbled into the vine thicket on all fours. Rix heard it crashing away towards the Crag.

He swayed and had to hang onto a tree. The strength had gone from his legs and the top of his head, where he’d butted the caitsthe, throbbed as if he’d walked into a Stinging Tree. A hand-sized bruise was rising there, the sickening reek of the creature was all through his hair and his cheekbone burned as if he’d been whipped. The gashes along his arm and chest were just deep scratches … though there was always the risk of infection, blood poisoning, pox or plague.

‘Why did it run?’ he said, shaking his head. The attack had passed so quickly that he could not remember how it had gone. ‘I don’t understand.’

Tobry was staring at him, open-mouthed.

‘What?’ said Rix.

‘You hurt it in a way it’s never been hurt before.’

‘They can feel pain, then? I never thought shifters could.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Tobry. ‘They feel it more keenly than we do.’

How did he know that?

Tobry was holding his bloodstained shoulder with one hand, his battered ribs with the other, but he was grinning broadly. ‘That’s something I’ve never seen before. You’re a treat, you really are.’ The grin faded and he wavered towards Rix, wobbly legged. ‘I’ve doubted many things about you — most things, actually — but never your courage …’

‘Thanks!’

‘But taking on a caitsthe to save my worthless life — that I will never forget.’

‘Where did it get to?’ said Rix. Each throb was a nail hammered through his skull. He swayed and hastily sat down. ‘Can you see it?’

‘It’s gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘You’ve discovered a way to stop the beasts,’ said Tobry. ‘Perhaps the only way.’

But for how long? And how vengeful would it be when it healed itself? ‘It’s a wonder no one else has done it.’

‘Only you would have the balls, if you don’t mind the expression, to head-butt a caitsthe there,’ said Tobry, checking over his shoulder.

‘Feels like I’ve been whacked with an iron bar.’ Rix pressed his fingers to his cheek and winced. The welt was exquisitely painful.

‘You took a direct hit from a whang the size of a burglar’s cosh.’ Tobry chuckled. ‘You’re going to become a legend. They’ll have to amend the bar sinister on your family crest to a bent todger.’ He snorted.

Rix imagined what Lady Ricinus would say about that. She was entirely lacking in a sense of humour. ‘How’s your shoulder?’

‘Not as sore as my ribs.’

‘Are they broken?’

Tobry probed them gingerly. ‘Might be cracked, but nothing can be done if they are.’ He took the case of potions and bandages from his saddlebags, one-handed.

Rix cleaned Tobry’s shoulder wound, smeared on a lime-scented unguent and bandaged up the shoulder. Tobry did the same for Rix’s forearm and the chest and belly gashes.

‘I’d better attend your cheek as well,’ said Tobry.

‘It didn’t break the skin.’

‘You don’t know where the caitsthe’s been, or what its — ’

‘Proclivities are?’

‘Quite. You wouldn’t want to end up with pox or grandgaw.’

Rix wondered about a caitsthe’s proclivities while Tobry tended the welt across his cheek. No, that was a detail he would prefer to remain ignorant of.

‘Now what?’ said Tobry, checking behind him again. And again.

Rix avoided his eyes. Tobry had not blamed him, but he should have. In bringing him up here, Rix had traded on their friendship, risked Tobry’s life, forced him to face his greatest fear, and for what?

The urge to cleanse himself in a life-or-death struggle had vanished. Exhausted, cold and aching everywhere, Rix wanted no more than his large, empty bed … but that reminded him why he had left in the first place.

‘Let’s go home,’ said Tobry.

‘How can I? An injured caitsthe will be twice as vicious when it recovers.’

‘Seneschal Parby can send fifty men to hunt it down.’

Rix could not return to the nightmares, nor the voice ordering him to do terrible things. He worked his thigh muscles. His legs still felt shaky.

‘It could kill a dozen people before our soldiers get here.’

Tobry’s eyes darted towards the thicket, swept the boulders, checked the trees. ‘There’s no one else up here.’

‘In a few hours it could be down in the lowlands, hunting women and children.’ Rix eyed the low passage the beast had taken. ‘It’ll be in there somewhere, licking its wounds — ’

‘Not an image I care to dwell on.’ Tobry managed a feeble grin.

He took only friends and pleasure seriously, but Rix felt the overwhelming burden of responsibility. ‘Sorry, Tobe. I don’t have any choice, I’ve got to deal with it. What do you know about the beasts?’

‘Not much. They’re uncanny creatures — ’

‘You mean enchanted?’ Rix’s voice rose — a block of wood had more magery than he did. His hand slipped to the hilt of his sword, hovered, then gripped it tightly and he felt better. At least its power was on his side.

‘I mean they’re not native to Hightspall. No shifters are.’

‘But — I thought they’d always been here?’