“Can we pass the rest of the night in the tavern?” Alistair called to Lukasz. “We’re already on our way to the village.”
Lukasz laughed. “Perhaps you’ve earned a drink.”
“I’ve earned ten drinks,” Alistair said.
Ember should have felt relieved, but the hair on her neck was still standing up. Alistair had propped the lantern pole against the ground and was lounging against it, a tired smile fixed on his face. He’d been very brave, and his courage made Ember wonder if she hadn’t judged him too harshly. Beneath his bravado lay strength and dedication.
In the darkness behind Alistair and the lantern light, something moved.
She could barely make it out in the shadows, but something was there. It crawled down the tree trunk headfirst, claws digging into the bark, its wings folded like a cloak over its back.
Another striga.
“Something is wrong.” Ember turned at Lukasz’s alarmed voice.
To her left and right rustling sounds passed through the high branches, followed by an unnatural breeze. Wind born of enormous flapping wings.
Behind her Barrow whispered, “This isn’t possible.”
The noise grew. Gentle rustles transformed into buffeting winds bearing the promise of a gale.
Sorcha peered into the treetops. “No. It can’t be. Lukasz?”
“It wasn’t alone.” Lukasz spewed curses before shouting, “Make ready your weapons!”
“Do not leave my side,” Barrow said. And though she heard his command, she had no thought but for Alistair and the striga no one else had seen. It slithered down the tree and flattened itself to the trunk, camouflaged against the bark.
Alistair had straightened, but apart from the lantern pole he was unarmed. The striga behind him lifted its head, gazing at his unprotected back.
Ember shouted Alistair’s name as the creature launched itself toward him. Alistair gazed at Ember in confusion when she threw herself at him. Her body crashed into his, taking them both to the ground. But Ember landed atop Alistair and it was her flesh that the striga found.
She gasped as its talons ripped into her heavy wool cloak. As she wriggled on the ground, desperate to crawl out of the striga’s reach, the cloak tore away. The beast had no intention of letting its prey escape, and immediately it struck again. This time its talons sank deep into her shoulders. Ember shrieked as the skin and muscle of her back split apart.
Around her, shouts of confusion and panic rose from her companions.
Lukasz cried, “To me! Don’t give them your backs. Form a circle here!”
In her peripheral vision she caught snatches of other striga dropping from the trees, falling on the knights. Two, three, four, five . . . the shadows of the forest had come to life, hurling themselves at her friends.
A triumphant screech made her ears ring. Ember braced herself for another blow from the striga that held her, but instead it buried its claws deeper into her and began to flap its wings. Ember groaned in pain as the striga lifted her from the ground by the long talons of its feet. Alistair shouted, jumping up and trying to reach her. But the beast had already risen to the treetops.
“Don’t let it flee!” Sorcha called. “Kael, where are your daggers? Take it down!”
Ember heard something come whistling through the night air, but the striga zigzagged in its flight path, avoiding the attack. She twisted her head around. Already the glow of the lantern was fading as the tips of pines closed in on the rest of the Guard.
Barrow’s voice chased after her: “Fight this beast, Ember! Free yourself and I’ll find you!”
Ember’s vision blurred and she struggled against unconsciousness as pain threatened to overwhelm her. The striga was bearing her away from the others, turning south as it flew faster and faster. She didn’t understand why, but whether the creature wanted to feast on her without distraction or if it thought her easy prey while her companions were more likely to put up a fight, Ember knew she had to free herself—however impossible that seemed.
Her weapons still hung at her sides. She clenched her teeth, wrapping her fingers around the handles though she couldn’t know for certain if she’d be able to lift her arms or if she might do even more, possibly irreparable, damage if she forced them to move. What she did know was that she would have only one opportunity to strike.
Taking a deep breath, Ember mustered all her strength and forced her arms to swing upward in a swift arc. She cried out as her arms crossed in front of her face and the blades hit their mark. Her scream one of agony as much as a battle cry, Ember felt her muscles tearing in the striga’s grip.
The striga screeched and then groaned as its belly opened up. Viscera spilled out, raining gore on Ember’s head and shoulders before slipping over her body and falling to the forest floor. The beast plunged out of the sky. Its grip on Ember slackened and was gone.
The creature, bereft of its life, was silent as it fell. But Ember screamed as the ground rushed up to meet her.
NINETEEN
THE COLD BROUGHT Ember back into the world. Her body shook and pain racked her shoulders, arms, and back. She pushed herself onto her hands and knees. The striga lay beside her, its split belly yawning toward the night sky. Ember began to retch, the cramps in her stomach nearly as painful as the wounds on her back. Though moving was agony, she crawled away from the dead striga, dragging herself along the forest floor. Her hands met the leather handle of one of her wheels. She felt in the dark until she found its partner, forcing back rising bile, unable to keep from imagining how easily she could have landed on top of the blades, spilling her own entrails only moments after she’d eviscerated the striga.
Having no idea where she was, she didn’t know where she intended to go, only that she couldn’t bear to be near the striga’s corpse. Its presence was repulsive and some still rational part of her mind warned that rotting flesh might attract predators . . . or the other striga. She crawled until she could no longer bear the pain, then dropped to the ground, shivering and exhausted. Her cloak was gone, her tabard and kirtle shredded, leaving her bare skin exposed to the frigid air.
Where had the beast taken her? How far? And why had it carried her away from the others?
She knew she should try to stand up and find some way to identify her location or at least make it identifiable to anyone searching for her. If anyone was.
The forest offered no clues—only eerie silence. She couldn’t hear sounds of her companions or of battle. How many creatures had fallen on them? Ember thought she’d seen six or seven. Enough to overwhelm the warriors. What if they were all dead? What if the remaining striga came in pursuit of the one that had taken her?