Chapter 149

  Just a Doom Puppy

  Femira had been too late.

  She could have blamed it on a hundred different reasons. She toiled for too long in Port Novic looking for a smuggler. She spent too long hiding at Wailing Rocks from those Reldoni warships. She’d wasted too much time meeting with Lydia’s contacts in Nordock, hoping for a useful lead on Daegan Tredain. Or that the damn horse she’d bought had been too slow and stubborn, and not up to the task of getting her to Bluewater Wall fast enough.

  But none of it mattered.

  Excuses changed nothing.

  The simple truth was she hadn’t been there when it counted. She was too damn late. And now thousands of people were dying because of it. A part of her screamed that this wasn’t her fault. How could she have known about the draega army? How could she have foreseen an alpha that shattered Bluewater Wall? And even if she had known, why should it have been her burden to stop it? She wasn’t responsible for these people. She wasn’t their saviour.

  And yet… she was the only person she knew who’d fought and killed an alpha draega before. The only one with the skill. The knowledge. The strength. Did that mean every draega attack in the world was her responsibility? No.

  But that thought didn’t stop her chest from tightening with guilt so thick it felt like a giant kragling pincer crushing her.

  She’d met the ragged caravans of Bluewater refugees heading south a week before. Near a hundred of them, all headed for the safety of Nordock. She’d learned from them what was happening at Bluewater Wall.

  More caravans came in the days that followed. Farmers, villagers, mothers with babes clinging to their backs—all fleeing the north with what little they could carry. It hadn’t taken long for the truth to settle in her bones: Bluewater Wall had fallen. The Reldoni army had retreated, the surviving Bluewater soldiers with them, regrouping at Harriston. Whether Daegan Tredain was among them, no one seemed to know, or care either way.

  Concerned mothers and men who thought a young woman should listen to them all begged Femira to turn back. Pleaded with her not to go further north. They told her the roads ahead led only to death. She hadn’t listened. She pushed on, her path now marked by burned villages and charred remains. Some had no bodies, and she prayed it meant the villagers had escaped. Though a darker voice in her mind reminded her of the kragling draega along the Tidewall that devoured the bodies of the villages that had been destroyed.

  She’d been grateful, at least, that Lydia hadn’t come with her. The woman had insisted—along with Sleek and Cowbell—but Femira had refused. Speed was her ally now, and dragging others along would have only slowed her. They were safe back in Nordock.

  For now, Femira rode alone. Her horse clattered through the wreckage of a smouldering village, burnt timbers still spitting smoke into the crisp winter air. The scene was silent, hollow, save for the occasional crackle and spit of burning wood. The villagers were gone—she hoped they’d fled.

  She guided her horse up a rise on the village’s edge, seeking a better vantage point. The countryside stretched out before her, rolling hills to the north, the shadow of mountains to the west. The woods still clung to the last traces of winter snow.

  She could navigate a city without a second thought. Cities made sense, streets had a flow to them, even when they were a tangled web, they still all followed a pattern. Femira was not used to navigating the countryside. Especially not when all the people were gone.

  She traced the lines on her map, cursing under her breath. Too far west. She should have been at Harriston by now.

  She’d hoped to find people she could ask.

  Movement caught her eye.

  In a field north of the village, something large and black moved along the frost-covered grass. A bear? She squinted. She’d never seen a wild one before. Just ones in performing caravans.

  Two smaller shapes moved alongside the creature. They looked like people. But Femira guessed they must be those other kind of people. The rakmen. Mahel’s kin.

  He’d warned her there were others like him. Others who would give his kind a bad name. The draega with them—if that’s what the massive black beast was—only confirmed it. That’s what all the Bluewater refugees had said. Rakmen and draega. How they’d learned to control such monsters was beyond her, but Femira knew she couldn’t let them move unchecked.

  She could see a trail cutting through the field, winding from the charred village to an old wooden barn. The rakmen had to be the ones who’d left the village in ruins, their tracks fresh.

  There could be survivors hiding in there.

  Femira tightened her grip on the reins. There was no chance she’d let those monsters unleash their draega on anyone else. With a sharp kick to her horse’s flank, she charged her horse forward.

  For all the times she’d cursed the horse for being slow, she had to admit the beast had carried her tirelessly for miles each day, its sturdy legs eating up the ground beneath them. And now, it thundered forward at her command.

  “You’re not too bad,” she muttered under her breath, a sly grin tugging at her lips.

  Frost and dirt kicked up as the horse charged down the path. The cold wind bit at her face, her hair and dark riding cloak whipping behind her, but she kept her focus locked on the figures ahead.

  One of the rakmen had spotted her. Was pointing and now mounting up onto the draega.

  He’s going to ride it?!

  Now that she was getting closer, Femira realised the draega looked more like a massive wolf than a bear—not that it made it any less horrifying. Parts of its body were an awful mix of exposed bone and black sinew, as if its skeleton had decided to wear itself on the outside, just to be extra creepy. A thick, ridged tail lashed behind it, snapping like a whip and carving grooves into the ground.

  Ugh, that thing is ugly as hell.

  Its head was the worst of all—a grotesque, elongated maw lined with teeth too large and too jagged for its skull. win horns curved upward from its head, sharp and gnarled like ancient roots.

  You ever see something like that before Nyth?

  Nyth sent her the image of a dog. Just a regular street dog, mangy and unremarkable, sitting in an alley, its tongue lolling out.

  That’s helpful, she thought dryly.

  The image then shifted and changed, as Nyth sent her flashing images of the Kragal at Temple Beach. A flash of it flinging boulders across sand, then of Femira herself sinking it into a pit. Then Landryn, sprawled on his back and Nyth still locked in his armour form. Femira slamming her hand down and taking command of Nyth’s form into a spear for the first time.

  You remember that?

  Nyth responded with an image of sunlight breaking through clouds—its way of nodding. Agreement.

  So Nyth knew that this was a draega too. So… the street dog. Nyth, did… did you just make a joke?!

  The image of the sunlight shone brighter through the clouds.

  “Unbelievable,” she said aloud, and couldn’t stop the surprised grin tugging at her lips. “A literal monster ahead of us, and you decide now of all times to start cracking jokes?”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Nyth pulsed in her mind again, this time sending her an image of herself standing triumphant over the draega, its grotesque head pinned under Nyth in a helix spear form. A bit presumptuous, but she didn’t argue.

  The draega was now charging towards her, the rak on its back. She remembered the refugees of Bluewater calling these draega something. Hellhounds? The term was pretty accurate. Although she might’ve gone with something a little less ominous.

  Maybe a Doom Puppy?

  The Doom Puppy let out a bone curdling roar as it charged. Her chest tightened with an involuntary jolt of fear.

  It was big. Really big. Gods, it was so much bigger than she’d thought. Bigger than a fucking wagon. Not a Doom Puppy then. Definitely a hellhound.

  She saw people running out from the barn now. She glanced at them but didn’t see if they were running to help her or flee. She hoped it was the latter.

  She tightened her grip on the reins with one hand, raising the other high. Nyth responded immediately, bursting from her like a shower of black and silver stars, shards of living metal arcing after her in a trail. They gathered and spun, forming into the long, sleek spear she’d come to know so well, its twin blades curling together in the elegant double helix that was Nyth’s signature.

  Sorry, not this time, Nyth.

  She sent the thought firmly, along with an image of a blunt, flat tip like a tourney lance. She felt a ripple of confusion from Nyth—a kind of hesitant question in return. But she insisted, pushing the image harder until the metal shifted, reforming to her will.

  The horse grunted and snorted but otherwise didn’t back down from the charge. Good horse. She had definitely been wrong about it.

  She pushed out a blast of her edir, launching Nyth forward. The lance shot through the air like a streak of dark lightning, faster than any crossbow bolt. It smashed into the rak riding the hellhound, the sheer force flinging him off and sending him tumbling into the grass.

  Femira yanked the reins hard to the right, her horse veering sharply as the draega pivoted to follow her. Its clawed feet tore up chunks of the ground as it gave chase. She didn’t look back, focusing instead on reaching out with her edir. She could still feel Nyth’s presence and pulled it back toward her with a sharp mental tug.

  The lance flew back into her waiting hand, reshaping as it came. This time, she allowed it take the shape of the sleek black blade twisted and spiraled into its deadly double helix tip. Sharp enough to pierce through bone and beast flesh alike.

  Femira sprang to her feet in a fluid motion, balancing on the saddle for a heartbeat before leaping off. She hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact, then sprang up, her fingers brushing the frostbitten dirt. She turned back to the hellhound and with a sharp pull of her edir, the earth in the draega’s path shifted and caved, forming a gaping pit.

  The hellhound leapt effortlessly, clearing the pit like it was nothing. Its massive claws hit the ground with a thud, and it wheeled toward her.

  “Alright, skull-face,” Femira muttered, launching Nyth forward. The black spear streaked through the air, striking the beast’s shoulder and burying itself deep. The hellhound let out a guttural bellow, shaking itself violently. But to her shock, it didn’t stagger—it barely even slowed.

  “Shit,” she breathed, already pouring out the earth she’d absorbed. She thrust her arms forward, shaping the earth into a massive shield wall between her and the charging creature. Without hesitating, she dove to the side as the hellhound smashed through her wall like it was nothing more than a parchment screen. Chunks of dirt and rock exploding outward.

  Scrambling back, Femira called on every stone within reach. Daggers formed in the air around her, sharp and jagged as broken glass. With a flick of her hand, they flew at the draega in rapid succession, a storm of razor-edged shards tearing into its hide. She counted them as they landed—five, six, seven, all the way to a full dozen.

  The monster didn’t even flinch.

  “Oh, come on!” she snapped, frustration bubbling into her voice as the draega surged toward her again, unrelenting.

  She needed to try something different. She recalled how she’d finally defeated the Kragal at Temple Beach. I’d brought a whole cliff down on it. But before that she’d shot Nyth right through it’s maw, tearing it’s way through the inside.

  This draega didn’t have a big gaping mouth though. It snapped and tried to bite at her like a monstrous wolf. An idea came to her.

  It wasn’t something she’d ever tried before but she couldn’t think of anything else at the moment. She dropped to her knee, grabbing and picking up an ordinary rock. Then burst it apart with her edir, absorbing it into her, reforming it back more or less in the exact same shape. But she’d reformed it. For reasons she’d never understood, when she formed something, there was a stronger connection to the object, her will kept hold of it until she let it go.

  Her fingers gripped the stone in her hand. The stone began to vibrate slightly. As if it knew already what she planned to do.

  Here goes.

  She waited in position as the hellhound, charged her again. The draega lunged, and Femira moved. She spun on her heel, hurling the stone straight into the beast’s open mouth as it snapped at her. She threw herself out of the way just in time and the draega’s jaw shut with a sharp crack.

  She could still feel the connection to the stone with her edir. Femira usually controlled her edir with bursts from herself. But this time she focused her edir on bursting from that stone.

  And then the stone detonated in a violent burst of force.

  The hellhound staggered, choking on the explosion, and Femira seized the opening. She surged forward, Nyth returning to her hand with a thought. She drove the spear upward, burying it beneath the creature’s ribcage. She twisted the weapon hard, her muscles straining as she pushed it deeper, where she hoped its heart was.

  The draega howled—a sound so loud and violent it made her bones rattle—but it wasn’t finished. It reared back, claws swiping wildly. One caught her shoulder, ripping through her jacket and sending her sprawling across the dirt.

  Pain flared hot, but she bit down on the scream rising in her throat.

  The draega stumbled, its massive frame swaying as black ichor poured from the wound.

  Why won’t you just die already?!

  Femira scrambled to her feet, blood dripping from her arm, and raised Nyth once more.

  “Stay down,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

  The draega lowered its head, its breath steaming in the cold air, and charged again, slower this time but no less deadly.

  She didn’t flinch. Instead, she planted her feet, drawing power from the ground beneath her. Jagged spikes of stone rose around her. They formed a defensive semi-circle circle, each one angled like the teeth of a predator.

  The draega slammed into the barrier, impaled on the spikes. It let out a final, guttural roar as its body sagged.

  Femira stood there for a moment, her chest heaving as the adrenaline drained from her. She leaned on Nyth, the spear’s dark metal slick with ichor, and let out a shaky breath.

  “Well,” she said to Nyth, wiping blood from her lip. “That was unpleasant.”

  Femira turned then, catching sight of the pair of rakmen retreating,

  Shouts rang out from the barn’s occupants rushing towards the scene. One of them—a bowman—paused to notch an arrow. The arrow cut through the air with a sharp hiss before finding its mark. One of the rakmen crumpled mid-stride, sprawling lifeless into the dirt. Femira’s stomach tightened at the sight. Funny that, she could fight a draega without a thought, but the sight of that rak being killed made her queasy. Her body could be very irritating like that.

  The other rak didn’t stop. It bolted for the treeline, then disappearing into the thicket. A few of the men gave chase. Their urgency told her enough—these weren’t simple farmers. These were soldiers. She could see that they carried swords and spears.

  The bowman and another man in Reldoni dragonhide approached her however. She had been hoping to avoid any Reldoni soldiers but she guessed there was probably bigger things on this soldiers priority list than looking for Annali Jahar.

  Two of them broke off from the group, striding purposefully toward her. One carried the bow, his face weathered and lined. Beside him was another, taller and broader man clad in dark dragonhide.

  Femira’s stomach tightened. He was clearly a Reldoni soldier.

  She kept her expression neutral. With a thought, Nyth dissolved into a swirling cloud of black dust, the fragments curling back into her like ink drawn into water. She let her hand fall to her side, feigning an ease she didn’t feel.

  She had been hoping to avoid any Reldoni soldiers. Still, she doubted a deserter like Annali Jahar would mean much to him, not with draega corpses and fleeing rakmen to deal with. Hopefully, he had bigger problems than her.

  The Reldoni soldier broke the silence first. “Impressive work,” he said, his voice rough but not unkind. “Name’s Lars. I’m no Captain or nothin’ but, well… I guess I’m leading this bunch.” He gestured vaguely toward the barn, where more soldiers and villagers peeked cautiously from the shadows. “We owe you our lives. I doubted we’d see nightfall with that hellhound approaching.”

  “It was coming for me anyway,” she gave a small nod. “Guess you got lucky.”

  The bowman chuckled, the sound dry and weathered, like a leaf crushed underfoot. “Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he said, stepping forward. “Name’s Darik, scout out of Bluewater. And let me just say, miss, I’ve seen a lot in my time, but I didn’t think I’d ever see a woman take down a draega like that.”

  “First time for everything,” she replied.

  “You’re bleeding,” Lars brow furrowed, looking at the gash on Femira’s arm now turning her sleeve dark with blood.

  Oh, right. That. In the rush of adrenaline, she’d almost forgotten. It wasn’t the worst she’d had, but it was deep enough to matter.

  She drew in some stone near her and focused that area of her arm into stoneskin. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t pretty, and it wouldn’t heal her, but she’d learned the trick well enough—it stopped the bleeding and bought her time to get bandaged up.

  “I’m fine,” Femira said, brushing it off.

  “We’ve got a healer in the barn,” Lars offered. “Come with us.”