“Let’s go,” Frell said, tugging Kanthe around. “If we make good time, we could be at Heilsa by midday tomorrow. Then Havensfayre by the last bell of Eventoll.”

  They set off again, following the sliver of lodestone in the alchymist’s wayglass, and headed north.

  Kanthe trailed at the back, bow in hand, an arrow already notched. He had heard many tales from Bre’bran—the Reach hunter who had instructed him two years ago—about the dangers hidden within the beauty of this ancient forest. Bre’bran had warned how Cloudreach lulled the unwary into lowering their guard—with the sweet piping of birdsong, the dabble of its silver brooks, the breath of wind through leaves. Even the unbroken layer of clouds stirred languidly above, casting a mesmerizing spyll, enhanced by wisps of mists drifting like the dreams of those below.

  More so, the forest itself drew the eye with its beauty. It refused to be ignored. In all directions spread a march of huge alder trunks, each as wide as a full-grown ox. These eternal mist-giants were the white pillars of the forest. They held up the sky and vanished into the clouds. From their many layers of branches, golden-green leaves flickered with each breeze, whispering at them in the unknown language of the ancient forest.

  Under that ghostly canopy, a patchwork of dark green copses marked stands of spruce and pine. Lower still, the forest floor was blanketed in leaf and needle, with stretches of pink fireweed poking through. Every rock and boulder was scribed with lichen in bright patterns of scarlet, crimson, emerald, and sapphire. The bushes were a mix of juniper, chokeberry, buckbrush, even scrabbly winterroses.

  He watched a burst of a dozen ruby wings rush through high branches, long tails flicking black, then silver, as if signaling the forest ahead of their approach. Then, as if drawn in the flock’s wake, smaller birds, plumed in copper and gold, arrowed after the others, piping down at the trespassers, scolding them.

  Rustling to Kanthe’s right drew his attention.

  He looked down in time to spot a bevy of spotted pluck-quails race across the leaf litter, tiny dobbins bobbing atop their heads. He swung his bow up, hoping to spear one, maybe two. But they vanished into the underbrush before he could set his aim.

  He began to lower his bow—then his heart pounded with recognition.

  All the birds had been aiming in the same direction. Ahead of us. He glanced over his shoulder. The forest stared back, as blank-faced as ever. Had something roused them, panicked them into flight, more than the tread of their footfalls?

  He turned to the group.

  Nyx …

  Her clothing was still damp with blood.

  He breathed harder, his ears straining for any soft padding of paws or grumble of threat. He heard nothing but was not fooled. Whatever boon had kept the forest’s predators away had ended, broken by the allure of fresh blood in the air. Something had picked up that scent and trailed them.

  He rushed forward to the others. They sensed his distress and turned.

  “We’re being hunted,” he warned.

  Jace searched all around, clutching his spear to his chest.

  Frell frowned back at their trail. “Are you sure? By what?”

  Kanthe had no answer to either question, only a certainty in his bones. He had been a hunter for too long to ignore this instinct.

  Nyx stared at him, seeming to accept his word. “What do we do?”

  He winced and pointed at her. “You need to shed your bloody garb.”

  She stared down at herself.

  “Everything,” he stressed. “Anything with even a drop.”

  She didn’t balk. She stripped her soiled cloak and loosened the cords on her tunic and yanked it over her head. She stood in her breeches, soft boots, and a sleeveless undertunic. The last was speckled with blood that had seeped down to it. With a huff, she reached to pull it over her head.

  Jace dropped his spear, unfurled his own cloak, and hid her nakedness behind it. He kept his head turned away.

  Kanthe nabbed what she had already discarded and ran to either side of their path and tossed one piece in each direction. He returned to catch her undertunic as she tossed it to him.

  He lifted it to his mouth and clamped it between his teeth. The scent of her sweat and skin filled his nostrils.

  Jace frowned at him. “What are you—?”

  He brusquely waved the question away, turned to the nearest alder, and scaled its lower branches. He climbed as high as he could, then tacked the garment to the trunk with one of his arrows. He prayed that what stalked them might be deceived into believing its prey was hiding up the tree, at least long enough for them to get away.

  He dropped back down and snapped a branch from a spruce. He handed it to Nyx, who now wore Jace’s cloak. “Smear your hands with the sap, to mask any blood still lingering there.”

  As she did, Kanthe herded them all forward. “Swiftly now. I don’t know how much freedom this will buy us.”

  They hurried off, with Kanthe hanging back, still watching the quiet forest. He held his breath for long stretches, straining for any sign of pursuit. He stopped with his bow up when he heard a faint snap of a branch far in the forest.

  He listened harder but heard nothing else.

  You’re still out there, aren’t you.

  Scowling, he headed after the others, who had fled a ways. By the time he closed on them, he heard whispers of distress, along with a low burble of water. The others had reached a small river, running along stony banks and lined by yellow willows on both sides.

  He arrived in time to see Jace down on one knee, filling a waterskin.

  Frell’s eyes widened as Kanthe joined them. “Anything?”

  “Not that I could spot. The bastard’s a sly one, I’ll give him that.” He pointed across the river. “Maybe once we’re across, we can—”

  Jace bellowed and fell backward from the river’s edge, landing on his backside. The waterskin he had been filling drifted away from the bank, floating atop the current.

  Nyx stepped toward him. “What happened?”

  “Stay back,” Jace warned. “Something leaped at me, tried to bite my hand, but latched on to the hide instead and pulled it away.”

  He pointed at the bobbing waterskin, which jerked and turned in the current, as if attacked from below.

  Something’s clearly in the water.

  Kanthe tried to peer through the river’s mirror into its depths. As he leaned, a heavy crashing of brush burst behind him.

  He spun around.

  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.

  Like the tyger, they seemed to be part of this forest, blending so well into it.

  Nyx glanced back to the forest behind her, remembering the chorus. Bridle-song, she realized. She had only heard such singing a few times. In the Mýr, few ever demonstrated this ability, to use their voices to sway duller creatures to the singer’s will. Clearly the tyger was no such dull beast, but the combined chorus had been powerful enough to drive it away.

  She touched her own throat, remembering how she had felt, what she had heard when the tyger had hissed. It still echoed there, as did her weak attempt to respond to it. She recalled the intimacy she had shared with Bashaliia. Had the reunion with her brother woken something more in her heart, something always there?

  Frell shifted closer to Kanthe. “Can you speak with them? We don’t want to be here if that tyger should return.”

  The prince shrugged. “I can try. Bre’bran taught me a few words and phrases.” He crossed over to the riverbank and lifted an arm. “Ha’hassan,” he called over. He pressed his palms together and lowered his brow to his joined fingers, then faced the others. “Tall’yn hai.”

  Nyx guessed he was thanking them, but a few of the Kethra’kai leaned closer to one another, silently whispering. Others tightened lips in plain disapproval.

  Kanthe must have noticed. “It’s been a while,” he said to Frell. “I wager I’m not inflecting properly. Their language is more cadence than words.”

  “We need to get across the river,” Frell pressed him. “Maybe they know a spot along its course where we could safely ford it.”

  The prince nodded, took a deep breath, and shouted again, “Meer pay … um … pyranta krell nay?” He gestured to the placid river and the danger lurking under its reflection of the forest. “Nee wahl nay?”

  The line of men and women merely looked stoically back at them. A few retreated into the willows, vanishing immediately.

  Kanthe cast their group an apologetic wince. “From the looks of it, I may have just told them I liked to sniff my own arse.”

  “Wait,” Jace said, and pointed. “Look.”

  The few who had vanished returned with bows already nocked with arrows. But rather than tipped in bone or iron, taut melon-sized pouches were fixed to the arrows’ ends. The Kethra’kai arched their spines, bent their bows, and shot high. The arrows dropped, one after the other, in a neat row from this bank to the other. The bags exploded upon impact with the water, wafting out a fine yellow powder across the river’s surface.

  One of the archers waved to them, motioning them over. “Krell nay,” he ordered.

  Jace frowned. “Do they want us to swim over? Through those waters?”

  Nyx pictured the thrashing boar.

  Kanthe cocked an eye at the swirling yellow dust that was already sinking away. “Maybe they’re seasoning the river. Making sure the pyrantha have a properly flavored meal.”

  “Krell nay!” the archer repeated with a scowl.

  As their group weighed whether or not to brave those waters, another figure appeared among the Kethra’kai. An old woman leaned on a tall white cane, sculpted out of a wood that nearly glowed. Her hair was snowy, cleansed long ago of the others’ golden hues. The wrinkles of her skin suggested a century of time in these woods.

  The tribesmen parted before her. They offered small bows of their heads as she crossed through them to reach the riverbank.

  She called across, her voice as pure and strong as the river at her feet. “The currents be safe. But only briefly. You must cross now.”

  As proof of her words, a lone pyrantha bobbed to the surface, belly up and unmoving. Then another. But that was all. Nyx knew there were hundreds more still below.

  “Hurry,” she urged, “before the spyll of addlemiff wanes.”

  Frell glanced at them. “We must trust her.”

  “Like we have any choice,” Kanthe countered, looking back at the woods behind them.

  They quickly waded into the river and swam across. Nyx kicked and paddled with her breath held. Jace’s cloak billowed around her naked chest, trying to drag her back. The touch of cold water shivered her skin. Something bumped her leg. She flinched, picturing herself swimming through a mass of numbed purple bodies. Fueled by dread, she swam faster.