When Ravens Call: The Fourth Book in the Small Gods Epic Fantasy Series (The Books of the Small Gods by Bruce Blake (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) 📕

he intended to report what he saw to the king and queen. Then they'd take care of the master swordsman's fate. Might anything be more satisfying to Dansil than his death?

Death and disgrace.

XXXVIII  Horace – The Mother

After havin' seen how fast they moved, Horace realized weren't no point in tryin' to run away.

He couldn't understand how the things might see, given they didn't appear to have eyes no more'n they did mouths, but the one what heard the woman make her peep stared right at him. If the pale feller possessed a real mouth, it'd likely have flicked its tongue out and licked its lips while lookin' at him. The way it leaned toward them, the white flesh on its forehead wrinklin' as it took another step, suggested it preferred the taste o' humans o'er the furry beast.

The ol' sailor stared back at the abomination. Where did a thing like that come from? Its smooth head and featureless face, and how expressions appeared to form even without eyes and mouth mesmerized him. It moved one slow pace at a time, as though sneakin' up on him, tryin' not to scare him in spite o' the fact he gawked right at it. And he might've kept on starin' until it walked up and slit his throat with them sharp talons if the woman hadn't scuffled in the brush.

The faceless thing turned its head, directin' its sightless gaze toward her and remindin' Horace o' her presence. His stomach did a flip. He needed to do everything in his power to protect her, to keep her safe.

Why?

The answer came to him as though he'd asked it out loud to a group o' academics.

She's the Barren Mother what Ivy talked about.

He pried his attention from the colorless thing and darted toward the woman, hopin' his movement didn't prompt their stalker to hurry.

She did her best to scramble away from him, heels diggin' at the ground, pushin' and pushin' to escape, but the brush surroundin' her held her back. He understood it were him she wanted to evade, because she couldn't know the other things what threatened them. Maybe lucky for her bein' blind.

Horace bent and got his arms around her, fightin' through her thrashin' and protestin'. He grasped her, speakin' in a whisper as close to her ear as possible without her scratchin' his face or punchin' him in the jaw.

"Be calm," he urged, despite himself experiencin' anythin' but calmness. "I'm not the one what's gonna hurt ya."

Her fight stopped as though he'd picked just the right words. Her eyes found his, but he recognized they didn't see him. She did what he took to be a nod and reached up to encircle his neck. Her doin' so caught him off guard, but he recovered quick, his own arms slippin' around her, fingers lockin' together behind her. He lifted her up, thankful for her ability to help. Had he needed to pick her up by himself, her weight would've caused him to tumble and given the faceless thing the choice which o' them it wanted to eat first.

When she got her feet beneath her and found her balance, he pivoted back toward their stalker.

It'd moved three more paces, closin' the space between them, movin' slow like it thought they didn't realize its presence. Not close enough to touch them, but Horace estimated two good leaps for it to get there.

The woman shivered against him, her one arm around his waist as she used him for support and guidance. Not too far gone, he needed Ivy's help to stand and move. Now he found himself the helper. But how long before his poor body refused to keep goin'?

He recalled how Ivy came to his rescue the last time he'd encountered these creatures—or others like them. If she were there, she'd find a way to protect them.

Where is the little gray girl?

Horace wanted to turn his head, scan the surroundin' forest in search o' his friend Thorn's sister, but didn't dare tear his gaze away from the horror creepin' up on them. He stared at the red smeared across its chin, noticed the skin on its cheeks tighten like it pulled back non-existent lips into an unseen snarl. He didn't have much experience with creatures found upon the land, but he thought that kinda expression suggested somethin' gettin' ready to attack.

"What is it?" the woman asked, voice quivering.

"Best you don't know," he said, surprised to find his response didn't share the same scared soundin' quake.

He tightened his hold around her shoulders and pulled her with him, the two o' them draggin' their feet along the ground as they inched away. But the pale abomination followed, takin' another step, then another. It moved faster than them, closin' the space a bit at a time. Horace wanted to run but feared doin' so because it'd give the thing their backs. And if they tried hurryin' backward, they risked gettin' tangled in creepers and branches, fallin' and makin' themselves easier prey. With no other choice, he set his jaw and continued easin' them back.

As if the creature sensed the sailor's indecision, it stopped, coiled itself, ropey muscles collectin' beneath the shiny skin. In the instant before it sprang, Horace's whole life flashed through his head. To his disillusionment, it didn't take long, and all he recognized were regret—for spendin' so many turns o' the seasons doin' what he hated, for desertin' his family to do so, for failin' Thorn, and now for not bein' able to save the woman. Remorse, disappointment, failure. What kinda life did he live?

The thing sprang at them. Horace pulled her hard against him and pivoted away from the blood-smeared horror, puttin' his body between her and it and gettin' ready to die.

XXXIX  Rilum – Now

An odor found its way through the sweet bouquet of