Tamora Pierce - The Realms of the Gods

Watching the man eat, Daine realized he didn’t kneel just from reverence to his monarch – grey with exhaustion, he was too weak to stand. It seemed that all he could manage was to chew his food.

‘“Unsettling”? I don’t like the sound of that,’ Numair remarked.

‘The village headman writes that five things came out of the Coastal Hills near Greenhall the day before yesterday. They kill what they touch—’

‘Skin ’em, with magic,’ Ulmer interrupted. ‘Can’t shoot ’em.’ He refilled his tankard with trembling hands. ‘I mean, y’ can, but it does them no hurt. Swords, axes—’ He shook his head. Realizing that he’d interrupted the king, he ducked his head. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sire.’

‘It’s all right, Ulmer.’ To Numair and Daine, Jonathan added, ‘Sir Hallec of Fief Nenan went to fight them at sunset yesterday. They killed him.’ He grimly rolled up the parchment. ‘Fortunately, the Skinners don’t move after dark, and are slow to start in the morning – they seem to need to warm up. The people of Greenhall have fled, but … there are rich fields in this part of the realm, as you know. We will need those crops this winter.’ He looked at Numair, then at Daine. ‘I’m sorry. I know you’re exhausted, but—’

‘You need your other mages to deal with the enemy fleet, and the siege,’ Numair said. ‘This is why you’ve kept me in reserve, Your Majesty.’

‘The wyverns—’ the runner who had brought them said. He blushed when the others looked at him.

Daine understood his worry. The giant, winged, legless dragons breathed a yellow fog that gave humans a dry, long-lasting cough and made the eyes burn and blur. The crew of one of the great catapults, breathless and half blind, had dumped a boulder among their own soldiers. Legann’s only insurance against another wyvern attack was Kitten. Wyverns might resist, but they had to obey an order from one of their dragon cousins.

‘Kit stays,’ the girl said firmly, looking at the king. ‘Tkaa knows more about helping her than I do, anyway.’

‘She won’t protest?’ Jonathan asked. He knew the young dragon well.

Daine shook her head. ‘She doesn’t like us being apart for long, but she’s got used to it since the war began. Sometimes we’re more useful when we’re apart.’

‘I’ll guide you to – home.’ Ulmer tried to get up, and failed.

‘There’s no need,’ said Numair gently. ‘If you do not object, I’ll take the knowledge of the route to your village from your mind. You’re in no condition to ride.’

‘I’ll pack for us both, and give the word to Tkaa,’ Daine said. ‘Meet you at the stables soonest.’ She turned to go. A hand grabbed her sleeve. Puzzled, she looked at the king. ‘Be careful,’ he said, giving her the parchment letter. ‘These Skinners sound like nothing that anyone has encountered before.’

Daine smiled at this man whom she had served with love and respect for the last three years. ‘Numair will set them to rights, Majesty,’ she said. ‘Just make sure you’re still here when we come back.’

‘I think I can manage that much,’ the king replied, and released Daine’s sleeve. ‘Unless they get reinforcements, we can hold them all summer if we must.’ He and Daine tapped their own skulls with closed fists, their version of knocking on wood. ‘Look at the bright side. It’s Midsummer’s Day – maybe the gods will throw some luck at us!’

‘Midsummer – do you know, I’d fair forgotten?’ Daine smiled wryly. ‘Maybe I’ll look in a pond along the way and find out who my true love will be.’

Jonathan laughed. Daine grinned, bowed, and trotted off, waiting until she knew he could no longer see her before she let her smile fade. With Numair’s magical Gift to hide their presence, there would be no problem in leaving the city – it was how they’d entered it in the first place. Her concern was for the king – and for the queen, commanding at the embattled capital; for Alanna the Lioness, the King’s Champion, in the Far North since the spring; for the many friends she had made all over Tortall.

We need Midsummer luck for the fair, she thought, returning to their rooms. All along, the enemy’s known what we’re about before we do it. We need luck to counter him, and luck to find his spies. I don’t know where it’s to come from, but we need it soon.

They left Port Legann separately. Numair rode his patient gelding, Spots, carrying his pack and Daine’s. While two of the three roads that led into the city were still open, they were unsafe; he cloaked himself and Spots magically, as he’d done on the way into Legann. Daine herself flew out in the shape of a golden eagle to see if she could find the Skinners and get an idea of what she and Numair were up against.

She soared on columns of warm air that rose from the land. From the upper reaches, the walled city and its surroundings looked much like a wonderfully detailed map. The enemy’s main camp lay a few miles off the north road. On the road itself, a mixed band of enemy soldiers and immortals was camped. On the eastern and southern roads, soldiers in Tortallan colours had dug in to keep the way open for help and supplies. From aloft, she also saw the motley fleet that waited outside Legann, thwarted from entering the harbour by the great chains stretched across its mouth.

In her years in Tortall she had lived among warriors and mages, and could read a battle situation like a book. What she read now gave Daine hope. The enemy army was about equal to Legann’s; if they had any magical surprises, they would have used them before. With armies that were matched, and neither side having the advantage in magic or weapons, the battle on land and at sea was a stalemate. The king was right: Legann might hold all summer, particularly if they could keep at least one road open.

She wheeled, turning her eyes east. Twenty miles from the city, a wide swathe of pale brown, black, and grey, naked of greenery, straddled the east road. Trees stripped of leaf and bark thrust into the air like toothpicks. As she approached, she saw, and smelled, corpses – most of them animals – bloated and stinking in the heat. They came in all sizes, from the smallest mice to cows and sheep. The closer Daine came to that dead zone, the fewer animal voices she heard. Most of the Beast-People who could do so had fled.

Gliding over the last bank of living trees, she found the Skinners. There were five in all: wet, flesh-coloured, two-legger things. They had no eyes, ears, noses, or mouths, but they didn’t seem to require such niceties. They forged ahead blindly, touching anything that lived. When they did, plants became dull instead of glossy. Tree bark vanished. Within seconds, vegetation went dark, brittle, dead. As the creatures touched things, parts of their own flesh changed colour – brown, green, reddish, like bark or leaves in texture. Those patches would grow, shrink, and vanish rapidly.

She had come upon the Skinners as they worked their way through a village. They ignored small obstacles, like tossed-aside buckets or sacks of food that had been left in the street. If the object was big – a well, or an abandoned wagon – they split up, walked around, and rejoined to walk abreast once more.

High overhead, Daine reached into the copper fire of her wild magic. Gripping it, she cast it out like a net, letting her power fall gently onto the Skinners. She didn’t expect it to stop them. Wild magic only helped her shape-shift and talk to the People. Still, if wild magic was something she had in common with these things, perhaps they could talk. Perhaps she could get them to break off their mindless, deadly ramble.

Her net touched something – and suddenly a hole yawned in the centre of her magic. She felt the closeness of things she couldn’t name; they shifted and rolled just at the corner of her mind’s eye. Creatures that should not exist wailed in voices that made her ears bleed; dreadful scents reached her nose and tore at the delicate tissues inside. She lost control over her eagle body and dropped.