Finally, it comes.
From the noise, it was large, aiming straight at them. His bow and small arrows would not be enough. He snatched the spear that Jace had left beside the stream. “Get back,” he warned them all.
He shifted to the front, trying to judge the direction of the attack. He planted the butt of his spear in the dirt and braced it with a foot, leaning the sharpened end toward the forest.
He barely got it fixed before a giant boar burst into view, easily taller than Kanthe. It barreled toward them, tusks running low to the ground, froth flying from its lips. It charged at their group.
Kanthe put all of his weight into holding the spear, hoping he could impale it and leap to the side in time. He braced for the impact—only to have the boar veer away at the last moment. Kanthe cringed from its path as it crashed past them. The beast dove through the sweep of willow branches and leaped headlong into the river.
Kanthe straightened as it surfaced and kicked frantically for the far shore. Kanthe’s heart still pounded in his throat. He turned back to the forest. Something had frightened that boar, bad enough for it not to bother with their group.
As if confirming this, a low chuffing growl flowed from the misty forest.
Kanthe’s bollocks tightened in his loins.
No …
He knew that noise. Bre’bran had imitated that sound long ago. He warned Kanthe that if he ever heard such a call that death would follow.
The others gasped behind him. He turned, but they were all facing the river. A braying bellow rose from out in the water. The boar thrashed midriver, caught in a churn of whitewater. A closer inspection revealed flashes of silvery fins within the roil. In a breath, the waters turned crimson. The beast’s bulk rolled, exposing legs gnawed to bone, with scores of creatures leaping and snapping at muscle and tendon. The boar sank away, dragged alive into the frothing depths.
Kanthe knew what feasted in those waters. Bre’bran had warned of this danger, too. He watched the abandoned waterskin turning in the stream. Something leaped atop it. It looked like an oilskinned black frog with glowing purple stripes on its flanks. It was twice the size of Kanthe’s fists and appeared to be all legs at the rear, except for a long, finned tail that draped into the water behind it. Large bulbous eyes stared back at them, as if challenging them.
“Away from the water!” Kanthe yelled.
He grabbed Nyx and pulled her back, which drew Jace and Frell.
The creature jumped to the bank and landed heavily. Its mouth gaped open, revealing a maw of sharp, pointed teeth, green with poison.
“What is it?” Nyx asked.
“A pyrantha.” Kanthe nodded to the churn of bloody water. “Flesh-eaters. With venom in their bite.”
Nyx and the others backed away—not that it would do any good. Pyrantha were not limited to the river. From the water’s edge, more of the beasts surged to shore, clambering, hopping, and writhing toward them. They massed along the bank, piling over and atop one another.
Frell looked at Kanthe.
Behind him, the chuffing sounded again.
Kanthe winced with sudden knowledge. Bre’bran had warned about the predatory nature of this hunter in the woods, how its cleverness should never be misjudged, how it transformed the very forest into its jaws.
Kanthe turned to the misty glade, recognizing the truth now.
It herded us here, trapping us against this deadly river.
From the forest’s depths, a pair of eyes finally revealed themselves, fiery and savage. The sight brought back the final warning from Bre’bran.
If you see the eyes of a Reach tyger, you are already dead.
36
NYX STOOD AT Kanthe’s shoulder as the beast stalked toward them. The prince’s ebonwood complexion had gone darker, his lips set in a harder line. He tightened his hands on the spear. She sensed the anger wafting off of him, but it seemed directed more at himself than what stalked through the woods toward them. They were trapped here and had no choice but to hold their ground.
Others were not as brave. Splashes sounded behind her, a growing chorus as the pyranthas fled back into the safety of the river.
Kanthe didn’t have to name the beast in the forest’s shadows. He had cautioned them enough on the first day of such tygers. But even his warning failed to capture the sheer ferocity closing on them.
The tyger padded into view. Though slunk low, it would still dwarf the largest bullock. Its white paws, split by dark yellow claws, spread as wide as Nyx’s chest. Pointed ears, topped by feathery tufts, stood tall toward them, looking like furry horns. Eyes of dark amber shone at them. Its pelt was cloudy white, striped in shades of gold, darker along its back and lighter down below. Each step stirred those markings and shimmered its snowy fur, making it look more like a mirage of muscle and savageness, as if it were the heart of this ancient forest given form.
They all backed toward the river. It slowed, stalking slightly back and forth, revealing powerful haunches and a short thick tail. It lowered its head and stared at them.
Kanthe lifted his spear.
The tyger’s eyes narrowed at the threat. It flattened its ears and rippled black lips to reveal fangs as long as Nyx’s forearm. Its haunches bunched under it, tremoring with hard muscles. Its maw hissed open, building toward a scream.
Nyx winced—not at the attack to come, but at an underlying frisson in its escalating hiss, a crimson thread beneath the sound. It sang of fury and blood, of hunger and lust. It reverberated through her until she could no longer stand it. Somewhere inside her, she fought against it. She whined aloud and struggled to find the contrary notes to its savage chorus, but it was like someone deaf trying to write a masterpiece of strings, horns, and drums. She could not find even the crudest first rhythms.
It was beyond her.
But not others.
Behind her, a lone voice rose in song, heard half with the ear, half with the heart. Another joined the first, then another, until a score of throats built those layers she had sought. They became a force at her back, even pushing her a step toward the tyger.
Kanthe stopped her, glancing back to the river.
The tyger also felt that wind of song and power. It leaned away from it, hissing back at it. Its short tail swished. Its ears flattened so hard to its skull that they vanished into its mane. Its visage became one of fury and hate.
Still, the song pressed it back as the voices rose higher.
Finally, it gave a shake of its head, spat a yowl of frustrated fury, and leaped around. It bounded back into the forest, nearly soundlessly, chased by the final notes of that chorus.
Nyx turned as the song ended.
On the far bank of the river, a line of a dozen shadows, half-hidden in the willows, shifted closer, barely shivering the draping branches. They were all half-naked, wearing only loose hide or fur wraps at their waists. The women had additional thin strips banded over their breasts—though the latter appeared less about modesty than practicality, an aid to help them run through the forests with less hindrance.
They all carried bows or bone-tipped spears.
“The Kethra’kai,” Frell whispered.
Nyx knew these must be the tribesmen who haunted these greenwoods from before any written history. Their skin was pale and white. Their long hair—which the men had braided, and the women tied back—ran through all the shades of gold, from a fiery bronze to a rosy blond.