The Magehound

It was the worst thing it could have done, and the one thing Matteo hoped it would do. He braced the sword, holding it firm as the creature's startled reaction tore the flesh within.

The force of the laraken's movement ripped the sword from Matteo's hand, but not before the damage was done.

Matteo rolled clear and came up with his daggers in hand, determined to keep the creature away from both of his friends.

Tzigone saw her own determination mirrored in Matteo's dark eyes. She pounded the tree limb with frustration, but she kept singing. If she had her way, she would summon two dark and terrible creatures this day.

* * * * *

In a tower room in a village on the edge of the swamp, Kiva leaned over her scrying bowl and watched as the battle played out. When Matteo struck a near-fatal blow, she gasped as if her own flesh had been pierced.

She lifted anguished eyes to her wemic companion. "They might actually do it, Mbatu. They might kill the laraken."

"That might be for the best," the wemic said.

The elf shook her head. Her painted lips finned in determination. "Give me the portal," she said, extending her hand.

Mbatu placed the folded silk in her hands, but his leonine face twisted with concern. "Is it safe for you to go so soon?"

She rose and stroked his mane. "What place is not safe if you are with me?"

The flattery was obvious, but still the wemic looked displeased. But he stayed at her side as she flung the silk into the air and let it envelop them both.

The air was suddenly thick and hot, heavy with the scent of battle and death. Impatiently Kiva flung aside the silk portal and reached for the spell she had so carefully prepared, a powerful casting that would close the portal and free the laraken to ravage the land and leave the treasures of Akhlaur for her to reclaim.

An anguished roar sent her spinning toward the battle, a scream that carried magic as the wind carried seeds. The fighters had learned from Matteo's bold move, and they focused their attacks on the soft tissue beneath the creature's arms, inside its thighs, under its tail. The laraken was weaving on its feet, bristling with arrows and spears and looking like an enormous, hideous hedgehog. But it still lived, and it slashed out wildly with its clawed hands.

Instinctively Kiva's hand went to her leg. The creature had slashed her with those claws, tiny at the time of its birth but still sharp enough to tear down to the bone. She bore the scars still, as well as other, deeper wounds to her body and her spirit.

But it wasn't a mother's instinct that lured her to the laraken's side. All Kiva knew was that the laraken was near death and that all that she had worked for was at risk.

With a terrible keening scream, the magehound summoned her magic and prepared to destroy her own army.

Chapter Twenty-One

Tzigone heard Kiva's cry and knew with certainty that the magehound intended yet another betrayal.

Her gaze skimmed the battlefield. Over half the fighters had fallen, but the survivors were wearing the laraken down at last. It continued to press toward her tree, compelled by the magic of her song, and each pace took it farther from the source of its power.

A shimmer of silvery motes appeared over the bubbling spring, spreading and smoothing out into a large silver form. A bucket, Tzigone realized, and she had little doubt what the magehound intended to do.

Kiva snatched the bucket from the air and dipped it into the magic-rich water. She hurried forward, ready to hurl it at the weakening laraken.

Tzigone broke off her song at last, for it was impossible to sing and curse at the same time. She squared her shoulders as she muttered a few arcane words and then flung out one hand, throwing one of the few wizard spells she knew.

A huge fireball streaked toward the elf woman, arching over the laraken's head and trailing light like a comet. As Tzigone expected, much of the fireball's power was siphoned off by the magic-draining monster. It fell toward Kiva, fading and shrinking dramatically until it was no larger or brighter than an orange.

But it was large enough for Tzigone's purpose. The diminished fireball splashed into the bucket with a searing hiss. Steam rose, and water bubbled over the rim.

The elf woman shrieked and dropped the bucket, shaking her scalded hands. She whirled toward Tzigone's tree, her wild eyes searching for her attacker. The wemic came to her side, standing ready for whatever command she gave.

Tzigone began to sing again, calling the swamp creatures to her aid. A score or so of stirges answered her call and dived at the elf woman, humming in their droning voices, a grim harmony to Tzigone's song.