Page 6 of Cursed Shadows

Ferchad laughs. “It appears your knight’s abandoned you. Shame. I was lookin’ forward to seein’ that son of a bitch finally dead.”

I can’t dwell on Baron’s disappearance for long. Instead, I turn to face Thoradin. It’s two half-strength gargoyles against an armored troll, a blood elf, and whatever the fuck Hendor is. I steady myself for the attack and watch as the troll raises the club high above its head.

“And what of Revenant’s threats?” I ask, trying to keep Ferchad talking if only to figure out a plan. I look around myself for a weapon—something I can use to defend us.

Ferchad laughs, shaking his head. “He’s obviously a coward. His threats mean nothin’.”

Hendor laughs alongside him, a thunderous, belly-deep rumbling sound that is cut off by a violent screech so loud, it sounds like it’s tearing the air between us in two.

My wings extended, I grab hold of Eilish just in time to dodge out of the path of an adult manticore. I haven’t seen one in years. They’re pure beasts of shadow, with the face and body of a tiger and the large, arching tail of a scorpion. But this one is nearly hairless. Its skin drapes loosely on its skinny frame, festering with sores from mange. Its scorpion tail hangs limp and broken at its side, rather than poised and deadlyabove it. Still, even without that fatal tail, the manticore is an intimidating enemy.

And an enemy it is: it thirsts for death and shows no preferential treatment toward those it chooses to devour. Its fangs are more than six inches long, and its back talons carve deep rivets into the earth as it lunges toward our attacker. Ferchad looks shaken and he yells an order at his troll. While trolls are enormous and powerful, they’re also unbelievably stupid.

The troll is too slow, and before it can bring the club down on the manticore, the manticore is already at Ferchad’s throat. The troll’s club hits bare ground and dust circles around it, temporarily obscuring everything. When the dust begins to settle, I see the manticore taking Ferchad’s head between its massive jaws and ripping it clear off his shoulders.

Eilish makes a little, scared whimper and I thrust her behind me. She wraps her arms around my waist, as if she’s afraid to be separated from me. I continue to retreat, pushing the group back against the stone wall. The manticore won’t be satisfied with Ferchad—it will be eagerly searching for its next target, and four bone-weary travelers will make a perfect snack.

“Curse Baron back to his fucking grave for running away like a coward!” Cambion shouts, and I have to agree with him.

But just then, as if in response to Cambion’s statement, Baron returns. And he’s not alone. He’s gripping anAtacomiteaddict around the arm and dragging the man against his will.

Baron doesn’t look at us, or his captive. Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed on the fast, lunging motions of the manticore as it chews Ferchad’s head into a bloody pulp.

The troll lifts its club once again and finally makes contact, bludgeoning the manticore over the head. The beast lets out a scream so wretched, its echo fills the dark sky. It stumbles, its single, still-functioning eye bloodied.

The greasy addict, whom Baron still clutches around the arm, turns to face him. “You promised,” he says.

“Give it to me.”

“First the powder,” the man insists.

Inexplicably, Baron releases him and then tosses something—a small pouch—to him.

“Now, hand it over,” orders Baron, his words urgent and angry.

But the man doesn’t make a move to comply. Instead, he stares at the pouch with wide eyes, his hands shaking with excitement. In his haste to open the pouch, the man doesn’t acknowledge Baron’s demands.

Baron, meanwhile, stares impatiently between the manticore—which is still thrashing against the ground, trying to right itself—and the addict.

“Do not fuck me over,” Baron nearly whispers to the man, and his words are as cold as ice. But the addict doesn’t notice; he’s too busy trying to open the pouch Baron gave him.

He licks his finger and hurriedly dips its wetted end into the bag. When he removes the finger, it’s coated in a fine layer of white and yellow powder. He smears the substance along his gums as his feet wobble from the relief of getting his fix.

Finally, the manticore rears up as the troll approaches it, eager to hit it with the club again but the beast has other plans. It dodges the blow and attacks the troll, who begins screaming in a horrible, deep voice. Once the manticore incapacitates the troll, it begins searching for a new target. Turning to face what I can only assume is its former master, it crouches low into a stalking position and creeps toward the man who’s still distracted by theAtacomite. When he finally does look up, it’s too late.

The manticore is nearly on him. His eyes grow wide in horror and he drops the remainingAtacomiteto the ground, his hands jumping to the pocket in his shirt. He frantically grabs foran object inside (something I can’t see, just a glint of light as he brings the object to his mouth). Before he can complete his task, however, the beast lunges. Its fierce claws slice through the man’s rancid flesh like a knife through butter.

I turn to Thoradin, knowing we’re next, then quickly glance over at Cambion and Eilish. “Take them back inside the tavern. Keep them safe,” I order.

“I can get her back to the tavern myself,” Cambion announces.

“You can’t leave her there alone,” I tell him.

“I’m aware,” Cambion replies. Then he turns around with Eilish, who looks over her shoulder at me, clearly worried.

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EILISH

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