Page 7 of Cursed Shadows

Cambion forces me back into the tavern, even though I’m nervous to leave Dragan’s side. While I know there’s nothing I can do to help him, I’m worried for him all the same. If something happens to Dragan, I don’t know what will happen to me. He’s truly my only ally and protector; the only person who cares what happens to me. And we have a connection. I don’t understand it and I don’t think he understands it, either. But there’s something between us, and it’s something strong.

Cambion and I stand at the entrance of the tavern and watch as Baron, Thoradin, and Dragan face down a manticore. I’m so frightened for Dragan, I can barely handle the feeling. My heart is pounding and I feel light-headed, like I’m going to pass out any second.

Apparently, Cambion senses this because he wraps his arm around me and helps me stand. I glance up at him in surprise, but he just smiles down at me as if to say he knows I’m scared. Truth is, I’m beyond scared.

This town is the embodiment of darkness. There’s no humanity here, no goodness. From the moment we arrived, a tight web of anxiety wrapped its way around my chest, squeezing until my breath felt labored. The longer we stay, the worse that feeling grows. Regardless of the trust I feel for Dragan—and even Cambion, to an extent—I know nothing can guarantee our safety in a place like this.

***

DRAGAN

The alley has all but cleared. I swallow audibly, hoping with diminishing confidence that I possess enough power to kill this fucker. I’m questioning Baron’s logic. A troll is a difficult creature to defeat, no doubt, but a manticore is much more dangerous. If Baron’s aim was to save us, there were several other avenues he could have taken that would have made a lot more sense.

The addict unleashes horrible, curdled screams as the creature clamps its jaws around his mid-section and starts to violently shake him back and forth. It’s a wonder he isn’t dead yet.

“Whatever you do, don’t turn your back to it,” yells Baron over the addict’s screams. “Stand your ground, no matter what.”

I steady myself, readying whatever Arcane Magic I’ll need to harness. Thoradin is right beside me.

The manticore continues to growl and roar as it whips its master back and forth. He yells in protest, but it’s not long before the cries are silenced by the sound of the creature gorging itself on his flesh. I watch the man’s hand open and the thing he was fumbling for moments before comes loose. It drops, small and silver, from his hand, rolling to the wall with a smallplinksound. It’s a whistle. Baron is after it so quickly, he appears as a mere blur.

But the beast senses or sees him all the same. It tosses the addict’s lifeless body aside and searches for Baron. Not able to place him, it turns its attention to Thoradin and me. Its face is scarred and bloodied from where the troll bludgeoned its head, but the wound appears to have done little to slow the creature down.

The manticore is truly massive. The pupil of its remaining eye is so narrowed, it’s hard to see the line of black against the emerald green of its iris. Its mouth, coated in blood, is raised in a fierce snarl. Beside the beast drags its broken tail. The venom of a manticore’s tail could kill a hundred men. What’s more, the limp tail could be nothing more than an act. Manticores are extremely intelligent creatures, often feigning injury to gain the element of surprise over their prey.

It begins to pace back and forth, coming closer. I follow Baron’s advice and fight the instinct to flee. Keeping my body squared toward the creature, I begin to back up until I feel the stone wall behind me, never taking my eyes away from the beast. It continues to approach, its tail trailing behind it. Little by little, it’s trapping me against the wall and once that happens, it will go in for the kill. Extending my wings, I push off the ground. I flap them as hard as I can and shoot into the air. Just as I do, a massive paw reaches after me and sinks its claws into my thigh, yanking me back down before releasing me.

The pain is quick and searing. A manticore’s claws are laced with venom. While the venom won’t kill me, it will slow me down and it stings like a son of a bitch. I land hard, the wind vacating my lungs. I can see Baron to my left, holding the whistle. I face forward again and see the creature coming for me. My only defense left to me now is to take my stone form. I close my eyes and call my shadows forth, feeling them swirl around and through me.

Take True Form, I think the incantation to myself and instantly feel my shadows grow cold as the warmth of my flesh and blood gives way to stone. Even though I’m immobile in my gargoyle form, my senses still operate properly. If the manticore attacks me now, I won’t sustain any damage to my live form.

I watch as Baron raises the metal to his lips just as the monster crouches forward, its face low and hind legs high.

Then, it’s coming for me, a ferocious growl escaping from beyond the cage of its massive teeth. Just before it reaches me, Baron blows hard. A single note, high and shrill, rises above the tall stone walls of the alley—stopping the creature in its tracks. Baron blows the whistle again, the shrill note filling the chasm between us. The manticore’s ears flatten against its head. It growls murderously, a violent hiss seeming to rip its chest in two. Mercifully, even amid its terrifying warnings, it begins retreating.

Baron takes a confident step forward and blows the whistle again. The creature swipes at him, but it’s out of range. Another low moan followed by a guttural growl, but the manticore retreats further. Laying into the whistle, Baron continues moving toward the monster. Its tail twitches beside him, but it doesn’t seem as though it intends to attack.

Finally, after a fourth extended blow of the whistle, the beast turns and runs down the now empty alley, its tail dragging behind it and obscuring its body in clouds of dust. I wonder where it will go and how many other creatures will become its victims. I don’t ponder the thought for long, though, as I have more important subjects to think about.

Rescind stone, I think the words and feel the stone of my skin begin cracking. Once I move, the stone falls away entirely.

“Baron, what the hell was tha—” I begin.

His eyebrows rise at the sound of his name, but he stops me before I can finish my question. “We need to move,” he instructs. “Get the angel and go.”

I don’t question how he knows what she is; Baron has always been more perceptive than most. I’m not usually one to take orders, but a few brave Grimreap dwellers are beginning to poke their heads out from behind their doorways. He’s right. We need to get out of here.

Baron shuffles through the dusty alley with both of us on his tail, heading for the tavern. I’m limping, owing to the wound on my thigh. Taking my stone form doesn’t affect flesh and blood ailments. The venom is spreading through me, slowing me down.

For the first time since passing through the gates of the city, we’re no longer surrounded by people. The manticore and troll have completely cleared this section of town, and the fight hangs in the air, electric with energy and fear. Ferchad, the troll, and the addict, lie in pools of their own blood. Now they’re someone else’s problem.

We extract our party from the tavern (half of the patrons didn’t even seem to register the commotion outside). News is traveling quickly, though. I usher Thoradin, Cambion, and Eilish away from the door to the sounds of excited voices.

“… An escaped manticore…”

“… Ferchad torn in half…”

Baron barely waits for us to collect ourselves before he turns and sets off at a clipped pace down the rapidly filling alley. It’s difficult to keep sight of him in the crowd. His head bobs as he weaves between the masses, and the shadows seem to swirl in and around him, obscuring him completely at times. It’s not surprising since he’s a vampire and, thus, basically one with shadow.

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