the shadows that lay across Paul were of antlers.
Paul heard an amused snuffle above him, and risked a glance upwards. The antlered creaturewas still there, but it had moved closer to the dead Gwarulch, and was pulling out the spear. It came out easily enough, surprising Paul—the spear had almost gone through the other side, and he knew no normal man could have removed it. But then normal men didn’t have antlers.
The creature twirled the spear, then approached Paul, driving the butt of the spear into the ground near the boy’s feet. Paul looked up—straight at that antlered head, meeting the creature’s eyes: deep yellow eyes, the color of daisies, with thin, bar-like pupils of darkest green. They held power, those eyes, and violence lay beneath the placid daisy-yellow.
“I am Ornware,” said the eyes to Paul, communicating a sense of power, like the overhanging branches of a huge oak. “I am Ornware of Ornware’s Wood, as the trees are Ornware, the earth, the birds, the animals. All are Ornware.”
“Aleyne called you,” said Paul, his voice quavering, eyes still locked into Ornware’s—lost in those deep yellow pools.
Then a few hundred meters away, a Gwarulch howled—their tracking sound. Paul flinched and blinked, breaking his gaze away from Ornware’s.
Ornware’s antlered head turned to face the direction of the howling, and he twirled the spear again, bringing the bloodied point close to his mouth. Paul watched, horrified, as a wide, crimson-red tongue lashed out, cleansing the point with one swift motion. Then Ornware was gone, leapinginto the trees like a stag, towards the approaching Gwarulch.
“The Gwarulch will bother us no more today,” said a cracked voice behind Paul. Aleyne was sitting up, fingering his head. His unruly hair was caked in drying blood. “But I am glad Ornware has other foe to hunt, else he might have turned against us.”
“But I thought you called him?” asked Paul, going over to help Aleyne up.
“You may call him,” replied Aleyne, looking back down the path. “But only in dire need. Ornware is the walking dream of the forest, only woken at its need, or by a call such as mine. But he is a dream of the forest’s fear and anger, and knows little more than blood. Worse, being a creature of raw passions, he likes nothing but the hunt and the kill. He is like a summer storm that saves you by dousing a fire, only to strike with lightning moments later.”
A howl farther in the distance punctuated Aleyne’s words, and he answered Paul’s unspoken question with a finger drawn across his throat. Obviously the rune-carved spear had found another Gwarulch heart.
“Come on,” said Aleyne, leaning on Paul. “There should be a stream on the other side of this hill, where I can wash these cuts, and try to get us halfway clean for Rhysamarn and its Wise Men. With such an early start, we should be there by mid-afternoon.”
The Gwarulch had not been idle in reaching as far south as Ornware’s Forest so soon after the Ragwitch’s ordering of Her War. While the settled folk to the south were unaware of it, the Gwarulch had long lived near, or even within, the northern border, and the Meepers had been quick to fly to isolated bands with orders to waylay travellers and other isolated folk.
Julia had not been idle either. When the Ragwitch was busy, she found it was possible to wrench her mind away. When she did this, she only ended up back “inside” the Ragwitch, near the globe, but at least she got her own body back—despite the Ragwitch’s past assurances that Julia would never feel her own body again. The Ragwitch even seemed amused by her efforts to escape, and never punished the girl—apart from forcing her mind back to attach itself to the Ragwitch’s senses.
“What lies between us and the Old Border, Oroch?” asked the Ragwitch, as Her lieutenant alighted from the back of a large, leather-winged Meeper. She had taken up residence (if you could call
Paul heard an amused snuffle above him, and risked a glance upwards. The antlered creaturewas still there, but it had moved closer to the dead Gwarulch, and was pulling out the spear. It came out easily enough, surprising Paul—the spear had almost gone through the other side, and he knew no normal man could have removed it. But then normal men didn’t have antlers.
The creature twirled the spear, then approached Paul, driving the butt of the spear into the ground near the boy’s feet. Paul looked up—straight at that antlered head, meeting the creature’s eyes: deep yellow eyes, the color of daisies, with thin, bar-like pupils of darkest green. They held power, those eyes, and violence lay beneath the placid daisy-yellow.
“I am Ornware,” said the eyes to Paul, communicating a sense of power, like the overhanging branches of a huge oak. “I am Ornware of Ornware’s Wood, as the trees are Ornware, the earth, the birds, the animals. All are Ornware.”
“Aleyne called you,” said Paul, his voice quavering, eyes still locked into Ornware’s—lost in those deep yellow pools.
Then a few hundred meters away, a Gwarulch howled—their tracking sound. Paul flinched and blinked, breaking his gaze away from Ornware’s.
Ornware’s antlered head turned to face the direction of the howling, and he twirled the spear again, bringing the bloodied point close to his mouth. Paul watched, horrified, as a wide, crimson-red tongue lashed out, cleansing the point with one swift motion. Then Ornware was gone, leapinginto the trees like a stag, towards the approaching Gwarulch.
“The Gwarulch will bother us no more today,” said a cracked voice behind Paul. Aleyne was sitting up, fingering his head. His unruly hair was caked in drying blood. “But I am glad Ornware has other foe to hunt, else he might have turned against us.”
“But I thought you called him?” asked Paul, going over to help Aleyne up.
“You may call him,” replied Aleyne, looking back down the path. “But only in dire need. Ornware is the walking dream of the forest, only woken at its need, or by a call such as mine. But he is a dream of the forest’s fear and anger, and knows little more than blood. Worse, being a creature of raw passions, he likes nothing but the hunt and the kill. He is like a summer storm that saves you by dousing a fire, only to strike with lightning moments later.”
A howl farther in the distance punctuated Aleyne’s words, and he answered Paul’s unspoken question with a finger drawn across his throat. Obviously the rune-carved spear had found another Gwarulch heart.
“Come on,” said Aleyne, leaning on Paul. “There should be a stream on the other side of this hill, where I can wash these cuts, and try to get us halfway clean for Rhysamarn and its Wise Men. With such an early start, we should be there by mid-afternoon.”
The Gwarulch had not been idle in reaching as far south as Ornware’s Forest so soon after the Ragwitch’s ordering of Her War. While the settled folk to the south were unaware of it, the Gwarulch had long lived near, or even within, the northern border, and the Meepers had been quick to fly to isolated bands with orders to waylay travellers and other isolated folk.
Julia had not been idle either. When the Ragwitch was busy, she found it was possible to wrench her mind away. When she did this, she only ended up back “inside” the Ragwitch, near the globe, but at least she got her own body back—despite the Ragwitch’s past assurances that Julia would never feel her own body again. The Ragwitch even seemed amused by her efforts to escape, and never punished the girl—apart from forcing her mind back to attach itself to the Ragwitch’s senses.
“What lies between us and the Old Border, Oroch?” asked the Ragwitch, as Her lieutenant alighted from the back of a large, leather-winged Meeper. She had taken up residence (if you could call
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