Page 108 of Swordheart
Halla scowled, but had to admit he had a point. “Do you think it would have done something bad?”
“I think when a pile of flying slime lands on you and tries to crawl inside your mouth, it probably doesn’t have your best interests at heart.”
Brindle’s fur stood up in spikes. “Better not touch an ox,” he muttered.
“Let’s hope the fire keeps it away.”
CHAPTER 35
Either the fire kept it away, or the slimy creature warned off its fellows. They heard no more alarm calls from the squirrel-beasts, and they were on their way at dawn, not even bothering with breakfast.
A little before noon, they saw what Sarkis had narrowly avoided.
A gaunt deer came out of the trees onto the roadway. It didn’t seem to see them. It moved slowly, not so much limping as picking each leg up like a bag of stones and dropping it again.
“Whoa,” said Brindle, but the ox had already stopped.
A clear coat of jelly-like slime clung to its back and head, over an inch thick. The deer’s eyes, wide and rolling, stared out from under the glaze. Ribs heaved under the coating as it breathed.
“Oh sweet Rat,” breathed Zale. “It’s got one of those things on it.”
They watched the deer stumble across the road. If it was even aware of them, it gave no sign.
Brindle reached under the wagon seat and took out the crossbow. The sound of the string being cranked back was very loud, but the deer’s ears were glued flat against its neck. The ox blew nervously.
The gnole sighted down the crossbow. The three humans sat in utter silence, watching. No one moved to stop him. Halla’s only thought, through the blind, screaming horror of it all, was that the poor beast should be put out of its misery as fast as possible, and she was glad that Brindle knew how to do it.
The bolt took the deer in the side, just behind the shoulder. The deer staggered sideways, fell, and did not rise again.
They waited.
The slime shuddered and pulled away from the damp hide. A long moment passed, then the oily sky-swimmer rose off the deer’s body and flew ponderously to the trees. It draped itself over a branch, almost like a wet towel put out to dry.
And then it hung there, swaying slightly in the breeze, doing nothing.
“Do we keep going?” asked Sarkis.
“Got to get a deer off the roadway, sword-man.”
Sarkis nodded and jumped down from the wagon. He went to the back of the wagon and came back a moment later carrying a sheet.
“The last of my sheets,” said Zale, a bit sadly.
“I’m not touching that thing bare-handed.”
“No, nor do I begrudge it to you. This journey has simply been very hard on bedding.”
Sarkis dragged the deer’s carcass off the road, grimacing. He looked at the sheet in his hands, then tossed it over the dead animal like a burial shroud.
“It wasn’t going to live much longer anyway,” he said, swinging back up onto the wagon. “It had sores all over its belly. Very odd sores.”
“Odd how?” asked Zale.
Sarkis gave them a level look. “Have you ever seen a lamprey?”
“I was afraid you’d say something like that.”
“There was really no chance that it wouldn’t be horrible, priest.”
