Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

The sound of snapping branches startled him, and he looked up from the face of his struggling daughter to see the tall grasses across the glade gently, slowly part. Then a large, bulky form emerged from the woods. Wigg froze, and a shiver went down his spine. He heard a soft, menacing growl.

A large, sandy creature, walking on all fours, gracefully stepped from the edge of the clearing, not far from the swarming honeybees. It glared at Wigg with yellow eyes as he tried to quiet his stricken daughter. Lifting its head, the beast flared its nostrils, testing the air; then it leveled its deadly gaze once more at Wigg and Celeste and snarled again, this time more loudly.

It was a saber-toothed bear.

The vicious creatures had roamed Eutracia for centuries. They resembled an odd cross between a bear and a lion. Two long, upper fangs ran well down below the lower jaw. A bearlike face, snout, ears, and intense, yellow eyes made up the head. The leonine body had padded feet with long, pointed claws. The long, slim tail ended in a small ball of fur. The mottled tan-and-black hide had long been prized by Eutracian hunters-provided they lived to tell the tale. Few did.

Unlike many other creatures of these woods, many of the saber-tooths were man-eaters-an acquired, not natural, taste. Once one had devoured the meat of a human being-usually out of desperation-it rarely, if ever, returned to its previous feeding habits. Its heightened sense of smell and unusually keen eyesight were legendary. This one was clearly a male, by far the heavier but not necessarily the deadlier of the two sexes.

It seemed clear that this saber-tooth had already feasted upon humans at least once, and wished to do so again.

And then, quite unexpectedly, the saber-tooth's mate quietly, smoothly appeared at the opposite side of the glade. She padded silently to a spot just inside the circle, and crouched in the grass, her long muscles clenched. Her hungry, yellow eyes missed nothing.

Wigg held his breath, trying to remain as still as possible with the struggling Celeste in his lap. He had heard tales of unarmed woodsmen who had come upon these beasts, only to remain stock-still and have them blessedly saunter away. But now, with the female squarely at the opposite end of the clearing, Wigg knew that his luck had run out. He had heard enough about them to know that first the male would attack, grasping his victim in his jaws. Then the female would rush in from the opposite direction to deliver the deathblow-either with a powerful swipe of her claws, or by impaling the prey on her curved, white fangs. After that, their prize secure, the leisurely feasting would go on for a long time.

Then the sudden realization hit him: It was the honey that had brought them! What an idiot he had been to break open the comb!

If they were to have any chance of surviving this, he must act immediately. It was highly unlikely he could kill both animals, even using the craft. He wouldn't have the time.

Standing and sliding Celeste down to the grass behind him, he cautiously raised his right hand toward the male.

The saber-tooth charged.

Bounding across the field, its teeth exposed in a vicious snarl, the monster leapt into the air.

Wigg loosed an azure bolt from his hand. It struck the creature squarely in the forehead. With a loud crack the saber-tooth's skull parted. Dead, he crashed to the earth just feet from where the wizard stood.

Wigg whirled around, robes flying, and raised his arm again. But the female was already on the move. He was too late.

Suddenly several azure bolts came soaring out of nowhere, crashing into the female saber-tooth. They were the most brilliant, powerful beams Wigg had ever seen. Striking the beast almost simultaneously, they literally ripped her apart. Her head exploded, her legs were severed from her body, and then her torso blew apart, blood and innards flying across the field. What was left of the creature skidded sloppily to a stop less than a meter from his boots. Whirling around again, Wigg looked to see who had commanded such awesome power. His jaw dropped.

It was Celeste.

She stood before him, swaying, with a strange, determined look on her face. Her sapphire eyes had rolled up into their sockets. Her skin was pale, her body shaking. The fingertips of her right hand were scorched and black. Smoke was rising from them, drifting away on the morning breeze. She took a single, weak step forward.

"Father…"

And then she collapsed.

Wigg scooped her up in his arms and began running back into the forest as fast as he could, in search of the one person he hoped might be able to help.

Nine

B y the time Tristan had hidden the dead demonslavers in the alley behind the apothecary shop and the three travelers were ready to go on, the streets seemed even more deserted. The few people who did venture out glared and pointed at the prince and his sister, as if the two of them had no right to be any part of the city's population.

Faegan searched out a clothing shop and, leaving Tristan and Shailiha waiting in the shadows of a nearby alley, went in alone to purchase two hooded robes to cover the bodies and heads of the Chosen Ones. Not perfect disguises, but the best he could do without the aid of the craft. Tristan worried that the robe covered his weapons, making it nearly impossible for him to grasp them quickly, but he kept his concerns to himself. There seemed little other choice.

They then proceeded to a stable, where Faegan was forced to pay the suspicious stablemaster handsomely for three run-down horses, a dilapidated cart, and extra tack. Tristan harnessed one of the mounts to the cart and hoisted Faegan atop its seat, and at last the three of them made their way to the harbor area of Farpoint.

Although the sun was beginning to set, the docks were alive with people. A large crowd had gathered here, and it was clear they were eagerly waiting for something to happen. The air was full of the smells of salty sea air and freshly caught fish.

Tristan slid off the swaybacked roan mare, and as Shailiha dismounted her aged gelding, he went around to the back of the cart and got out Faegan's chair. Shailiha held the chair while Tristan lifted Faegan from the buckboard seat and got him settled.

Then he turned to study the inn where Faegan had directed them to stop. Many of its shutters were broken and peeling from the constant exposure to the strong, salty winds. Some of the windows were cracked, and the steps to the lobby were in disrepair. The place had clearly seen better days.

"Why are we stopping here?" Shailiha asked. She was eager to get to the oceanfront. "The carriage driver said we needed to get to the docks. Can't we just quietly wend our way through the crowd?"

"No," Faegan answered adamantly as he looked around. "This inn is perfect for what I have in mind-the kind of place where few questions will be asked. Besides, Krassus may be near, not to mention more of the demonslavers. Tristan, I want you to go around back and tell me what you find. In particular, I want to know whether there is any way up to the roof, and a secure place where we might tie the horses."

Tristan nodded. After a smile to his sister, he was gone.

The alley behind the inn was inconspicuous enough, with the usual iron rings embedded in the building's rear wall to secure bridle reins. Several mounts were already tied there, telling the prince that the shopworn inn had at least a few customers. An iron fire ladder reached from the ground all the way to the roof, with platforms at each of the inn's four levels. Backing farther into the shadows, Tristan observed the inn quietly, branding the scene into his memory. Finally satisfied, he returned to the street.

"Bridle rings and a ladder," he said quietly to the wizard.