A Royal Guide to Monster Slaying Page 12

  I can’t force Malric to like me. I know that. Twice I’ve thrown myself on him to protect him, but that doesn’t mean he owes me his dinner. Or that he owes me kindness.

  I didn’t steal Jacko away from his den. He chose to follow. He chooses to stay.

  That’s how it must be, just like it would be with a human companion. I can’t force Malric to hunt for me. I can’t force Jacko to stay with me. I can’t force Dain to help train me. All this, I understand. As I should have with the pegasus filly.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  She just keeps heaving, struggling to breathe as she fights to stay awake. I reach out carefully and touch her neck, and she seems to relax a little. I stroke her, and she falls into a half sleep, drowsing. Then I move to pet her legs, worried that one might have broken in her fall. They all seem fine.

  I rise and locate the needle so she doesn’t jab herself with it later. I lead Malric and Jacko from the meadow. Both are quiet. I don’t leave yet, though. I ask the beasts to wait for me while I gather new ferns and shoots and take them back to the filly. Then I wait at the edge of the forest with Jacko and Malric.

  The filly wakes. She seems to rise easily, uninjured, but I need to be sure. So I keep waiting. Soon she’s prancing around the meadow as I watch from the forest. When she finds the pile of shoots and ferns, she whinnies and dives in.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. And then I leave.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  head to Wilmot’s cabin. I take a direct route now, and I’m there before nightfall. As I approach through the forest, I see Dain and Wilmot on the porch. Dain’s changing Wilmot’s bandage while the older man eats.

  I intended to plead my case with Dain again, but now, as I watch them, I know that’s wrong. Dain needs to care for Wilmot, and part of that is making sure no one takes advantage of the old hunter while he’s hurt and not thinking straight. Tricking Wilmot into training me is as bad as capturing the pegasus filly. I’ll return in a couple of months, when Wilmot might be well enough to agree to train me. So I slip away before either of them sees me.

  I walk until the sun drops. I head straight east, out of the forest, so I won’t be traipsing through it at twilight. As soon as I reach the edge I stop to rest. It’s too close to the Dunnian Woods for sleep. I should keep going, but I’m so tired and so hungry. My pack seems to weigh a hundred pounds, making my steps drag. I’m still upset at what I did to the pegasus and feeling sick at the thought of going home and telling the council I failed.

  I know my mother hopes to find another way to save her throne—one that doesn’t involve me facing a gryphon—but even if she manages that, it’ll only be a temporary fix. I will need to fight a gryphon or perform some other spectacular feat to prove myself, and to do that, I’ll need the best training. Without Jannah or Wilmot to provide that…

  I could lose the kingdom. If Heward seizes power, he’ll be such a terrible ruler that the other clans will revolt in civil war. I’ve read about such things. I know how horrible they are. That could happen to Tamarel, and it would be all my fault.

  I need to rest and clear my head and come up with a new plan. Just close my eyes for a few minutes, until I can get farther from the forest.

  When Malric takes off to get his dinner, I try very hard not to think about how hungry I am. I might be a hunter but I don’t have a bow or snares. While I did manage to fashion traps to catch the squirrel and grouse, it’s too dark to do that now. I’ll try in the morning and, if I can’t, I’ll be out of the forest soon, where I can buy food.

  I’m dozing when something drops onto my leg. It’s wet, and it’s wriggling, and I jump with a yelp. Jacko bounds straight up in the air. He lands on my head, I fall flat on my back and, somewhere over my shoulder, Malric sighs.

  A fish flops on the ground beside me. I squint up into the sky. Malric sighs again.

  “Oh,” I say as I blink. “You brought this?”

  He rolls his eyes as if to say, Well, it didn’t drop from the moon.

  I rub my eyes. “I’m half asleep, okay? I was completely asleep when someone dropped a live fish on me.”

  Jacko chatters, as if seconding this. He hisses at Malric. Then he pounces on the fish. I grab him off before he rips it to inedible shreds.

  The fish has gasped its last and lies still on the grass. It’s a big trout, as long as my arm.

  “Did you want me to kill it for you?” I ask Malric. “It’s dead now. You can take it.”

  He walks to my pack, picks it up and brings it to me.

  “You want me to carry your fish?” I say.

  He gives me a look. Then he noses inside the pack and knocks out the tiny box containing my sulfur sticks and striking stone. Apparently, Malric would like his dinner cooked. I could grumble about that, but I might be able to take the leftovers. So I start a fire, then clean and cook the fish. When I try to give the pieces to Malric, though, he lies down, muzzle on his forepaws.

  “Is it…for me?” I ask.

  I lift a piece to my mouth, watching for him to growl. He only grunts. I eat my fill, sharing with Jacko. There’s plenty left, more than half the fish, but when I give it to Malric, he only accepts one piece. I wrap the rest, and I thank him, and then I pack up and we head out again into the night.

  * * *

  I walk until morning, only stopping when I find places to safely rest for a bit. I stay close to the forest. I have the fish, and I found a huge berry patch, so I can avoid villages. Even if I hide my sword, I’m still the royal princess, traveling without an escort. Better to avoid people if I can.

  It’s early morning, and I’m tramping along a narrow dirt road. It’s empty, being too close to the Dunnian Woods for most travelers. Malric has loped off into the forest to hunt. He’ll catch up. Jacko sleeps nestled on my head, snoring softly.

  When I hear voices ahead, my gaze darts to the trees, and I’m ready to hide there when the distant voices turn to cries of panic, and then desperate shouts for help.

  My hand drops to my sword, but I hesitate. I don’t want to wave around my silver-and-ebony sword if I don’t need to. I pull out my dagger instead. Then I take Jacko off and set him on the ground with a murmured apology. He only squeaks and hops beside me as we continue on.

  I soon see the problem. There’s a hill in the road, and a small tree has fallen at its base. A wagon came roaring over the rise…and its driver failed to see the fallen tree below. The wagon lies on its side. A woman shouts for help while a man tries frantically to pull apart the broken vehicle.

  I duck off the road and shove my sheathed sword into a tangle of undergrowth. Then I jog toward the travelers. The woman sees me and comes stumbling my way, tripping over her long skirts.

  “Help us, please!” she shouts. “My little girl is trapped inside!”

  I break into a run. The woman doesn’t seem to notice Jacko. The moment I start running, she flies back to help her husband. When I draw near, I see the wreckage of the wagon. Already old and rickety, it couldn’t handle the crash and collapsed in on itself.

  From deep within the wreckage comes the whimper of a child. The man tries valiantly to free her, but he can’t break through the wood.

  “You need an axe,” I say as I arrive beside him. “Do you have one?”

  “And risk hitting our baby?” The woman’s voice rises.

  The man backs up and wipes his brow, smearing dirt through the sweat. He eyes me.

  “You’re a tiny thing,” he says.

  I straighten. “Maybe, but I’m strong. I can help.”

  “No, I mean it’s good that you’re tiny. You can get inside.”

  He waves for me to come around the side. There’s a gap in the wreckage, one too narrow for the man or his wife.

  I peer in and see a flicker of white. “Can’t she crawl out?”

  “She’s a baby,” the woman snaps. Then she rubs her face. “I’m sorry, child. I was afraid no one would come, and she’s our only child. Please. Just get her out
. We don’t have much, but I’ll give you everything.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I say.

  I study the hole. It’s underneath the wagon, and I’ll need to crawl into it. I lower myself to the ground. Jacko chatters behind me, and the woman lets out a cry. The man grabs a piece of broken wood, wielding it against Jacko.

  “No!” I say, leaping up. “He’s mine.”

  “That…that’s a jackalope,” the woman says, staring.

  I laugh. “No, it’s a joke. He’s just a regular rabbit, but my friend glued tiny horns to his head, and I can’t get them off.”

  She hesitates, but then the baby wails, and she forgets Jacko and drops to her knees beside the broken cart.

  “We’re coming,” she says. “Just hold on. Mommy is coming.”

  I get on my stomach again and begin wriggling into the hole. As soon as my head disappears, Jacko starts his alert cries.

  “I’m fine!” I call back.

  He keeps squealing. I ignore him. He’ll be fine once he can see me again.

  Ahead, I hear the baby whimpering. I wriggle in farther. It’s dark, and it stinks in here. Did the baby soil herself? Probably, but I can’t worry about getting dirty. That’ll wash off.

  I squirm in a little more, until I can lift my head. I see that white again, the swaddling clothes of the baby. I reach out for her, saying, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

  “No,” a voice says. “I’ve got you.”

  A hand grabs my hair. My fist punches right through the rotting boards. I see a face. It’s a young man, hunched up. A young man wearing a white tunic and a bandana over his mouth and nose, hiding half his face.

  He wrenches me by the hair. I try to swing at his face, but there isn’t enough room. I yank out my dagger and slice his arm instead. He snarls. I slash the blade as I back out.

  Someone grabs my leg. Hands grapple at me from the wagon wreck. I twist to see the “father.” Behind him, the “mother” holds Jacko upside down by his rear legs. Scratches cover her bare arms.

  I kick at the man gripping my feet. I try to slash him, too, but he jerks my leg and I can’t get close. Then someone plucks the dagger from my hand. It’s the young man. Still holding my hair, he yanks me away from the older man.

  “Looks like we have a fine prize here,” he says.

  The ground shakes. Running feet. No, running paws. I twist to see Malric tearing up the road, and I have never been so relieved to see his scowling warg face.

  These are three villagers, armed only with my dagger. All Malric needs to do is help me get free, and we’ll defeat them. Better yet, if they have a speck of common sense, they’ll let me go, seeing him bearing down on them.

  “That’s a warg,” I say. “My warg. He’s battle trained and he—”

  The young man whistles. Men rush from the forest. Men armed with axes and knives and staves. They run toward Malric. The warg skids to a stop as the men surround him.

  “No!” I say. “Please, no. Don’t hurt him. I’ll tell him to go away. I can make him—”

  The young man shoves a sack over my head. I scream under it. Scream and kick and punch. As he hauls me away, my feet tangle, and I fall. He keeps dragging me, the sack cutting into my throat. I hook my hands in it as I struggle to breathe.

  The last thing I hear is the roar of the men as they charge Malric.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  wake in darkness. When I try to spring up, my head smashes against something firm.

  “Careful, your highness.” It’s a girl’s voice, and I twist toward it.

  “Who are you?” I snap. “What have you done with—”

  “Shhh,” she says. “If they hear you, they’ll come. I can’t help you if they come.”

  I blink. My eyes adjust to the dim light, and I see that I’m in a tent, the hide flapping in the night breeze. A moonbeam shines through the smoke hole.

  That roof isn’t what I hit when I stood, though. I reach up and run my hand over solid wood slats. I follow one board to the end, where more rise vertically to join it.

  I’m in a cage.

  I feel around. There isn’t room to lie down, to stand, to do anything except sit with my knees drawn up.

  At a noise beside me, I remember the girl. I look over to see a shape crouched a few paces from me. I move to that side of my cage and press my face to the slats. She’s in another cage. A fellow captive.

  “What are we—” I stop. “You called me ‘your highness.’ ”

  She nods, and as she moves, the moonbeam washes her hair in light. I recognize the clip fastening it back. It’s mine. My hand flies to my braid, but even as it does, I know it didn’t come from there. The clip in her hair is my favorite, and I’d never wear that on a trip into the forest.

  My brain’s all fuzzy, and I blink hard, trying to think. An image flashes. Me, pulling that clip from my hair and handing it to…

  The girl raises her face, and the moonlight glints off her blue eyes. Eyes that match the clip’s sapphires, which is exactly what I thought when I first gave it to her.

  “You’re the flower girl,” I say. “From the morning the hunting party rode to find the gryphon.”

  “Yes, and we need to get out of here. They know who you are, your highness. They know who we both are.”

  “How—? Wait, they know who you are?”

  “It’s a long story. I’m not as valuable as a princess, but I’m not a flower girl, either. They captured me three days ago. I’ve been trying to get free ever since. When they brought you in, I managed to sneak this from one of their pockets.” She holds out a thin metal rod. “I can use it to spring the lock.”

  “You know how to open locks?”

  “It’s not difficult, your highness. Most girls can do it. At least those who are not raised in castles.”

  It seems an extremely specific skill. One they don’t teach princesses or flower girls or anyone who doesn’t make their living in a very illegal way.

  “Who’s captured us?” I ask.

  “I have no idea. Does it matter? They aren’t planning to escort us to the queen’s ball.”

  “The woman took my jackalope. And they attacked…” I suck in breath, my heart stopping at the memory. “They attacked my warg. Armed men attacked him, and I think they…”

  I can’t breathe. Malric. He came to my rescue, and they—

  “I heard howling,” she says as she works on her cage lock. “After they brought you. Don’t worry, your highness. They wouldn’t harm him. A tame warg is valuable.”

  I wouldn’t exactly call Malric “tame,” but I don’t say that. I hope whoever captured us thinks he is.

  “And my jackalope?” I ask.

  “I’m sure he’s fine. They’ll keep him to sell.”

  “But you haven’t actually seen my beasts?”

  “I’m in a cage, your highness. I haven’t seen the sun in three days. I’m sure both your beasts are fine. Now please let me concentrate on opening this lock.”

  For someone who’s supposed to know what she’s doing, she spends a great deal of effort trying to find the hole. I can see it easily, but she pokes the rod around the edges and grunts with exertion.

  I’m about to tell her to turn the lock sideways so it’ll catch the light. Then I look from the rod to her hair.

  “Why didn’t you use the clip?” I ask.

  “What?” She shoves stray hair from her eyes.

  “The clip I gave you. It has a metal prong just like that…What is that rod?”

  “How should I know? It was in a man’s pocket. I don’t understand man things. I’m a girl.”

  “Well, you don’t understand girl things very well either if you didn’t realize you could use the clip.”

  “Are you hoping to wake the guards with your chattering?”

  No, but I do have a lot of questions. Including why a very valuable clip is still in her hair when she’s been taken captive. I don’t ask, though. I just think. I think very hard about
this whole situation.

  I ease back to watch. She doesn’t hesitate now. The rod goes in and with an expert flick of her wrist, the lock opens. Then she rests on her haunches and exhales as if requiring rest after the effort.

  “I need my dagger,” I say as she opens her door.

  “You don’t need anything, your highness. You’re escaping captivity, not checking out of an inn.”

  “I’d like my dagger and my jackalope and my warg.”

  “And I’d like a unicorn with a golden horn.”

  “No, actually you wouldn’t. Not unless you want gold-dusted holes in your body.”

  She waves me to silence and works on my lock. When it’s done, she swings open the door.

  I don’t budge. “Dagger. Jackalope. Warg. I’m not leaving without them.”

  Now, at this point, she should throw up her hands and say, Fine, then apparently you’re not leaving. Instead she only studies me, her eyes narrowing. Then she says, “I might have seen them put your belongings over there. To sell later.”

  She directs me to the spot, where I find my dagger, along with my cloak and travel pack. As I go through the pack, she comes up behind me.

  “Are you really taking inventory?” she whispers. “If anything’s missing, I’d suggest you don’t rush out there, demanding it back.”

  Which isn’t what I’m doing at all. I’m just curious. So many things about this situation are curious. Like the fact that no one took my very valuable dagger into safekeeping. Or that they didn’t remove the sedative needles from my pack. Or that they left the entire pack just outside my cage.

  By now, I have a very good idea of what’s going on here. That’s why I’m in no hurry to escape.

  “I still need my jackalope and warg,” I say as I shoulder my travel pack.

  “You really are a princess, aren’t you? You have absolutely no concept of the word danger. Or hurry. Or fleeing life as a slave.”

  “But we don’t have slavery in Tamarel. They’d need to take us over the mountains, which is extremely treacherous.” I pause. “Unless they’re Clan Bellamy. That’s it. They must be part of Clan—”