Page 30 of Artemysia

“They’re tall, and their tails swish like the panthers of Serpent’s Moon Mountain as they close in.”- Delphine

W e’ve leapt off our elk, but big effin’ surprise, Riev refuses to follow suit. The Syf do not harm the elk, but somehow communicate with them tobuck us off or run the other way. I tether mine to Throg’s and set them loose.They’re trained to return when called.

I instinctively edge toward Throg. We’ve done this a thousand times before, and we have each other’s backs.

My strengths are in outmaneuvering the enemy, predicting their strategy with my quick movements and thinking.

Throg has endurance, brute force, and a long reach from under which I can assess the incoming Syf to call out our tactics.

Eight tall, lithe Syf approach wordlessly, one with a spear and the rest with broadswords.

I’ve never heard them speak and it’s unknown whether they understand our language, or if they have one of their own.

Their kaleidoscopic wings drape behind them like soft capes, but like humans, their skin color varies from pale to dark.

I draw my long sword.

Ivy faces three Syf closing in on her with spears or axes in one hand, old broadswords in the other.

There is no organization, no leadership, no formation among the Syf.

It’s chaos, but that’s to our advantage.

I need to coordinate the four of us, but when I scan the blur of forest around me, my heart takes a sharp dive.

Riev is bucked off and vanishes from my sight into a circle of Syf.

When Ivy whistles, his elk runs to us. The poor animal is spooked.

Against my better judgment and out of desperation to save Riev, I grasp the reins of his elk, slip my foot into a stirrup, and swing aboard.

I charge the Syf surrounding him. His elk seems to have resisted Syf influence the longest, so I take my chances on her.

Even my own elk bucked and tried to run off when the Syf first came charging, but Riev’s elk remained under his control, until now.

I charge past where Riev lies unconscious and slice into the neck of a Syf female. The others rage and come after me, and I fight them off. I need to draw them away from him.

“Get up, Riev. Wake up!”

His eyelids flicker.

The Syf scatter away from him and six of them come after me. They’re tall, and their tails swish like the panthers of Serpent’s Moon Mountain as they close in around me. After all this time, it still unsettles me how human their faces look, but their tails always throw me off.

Riev’s elk bucks beneath me and retreats the other way, kicking out. I steady her with my legs, centering her attention on me. The Syf pull back to avoid being trampled.

Every time I charge the Syf blocking my way to Riev, Riev’s elk rears away at the last minute, and I struggle to stay on.

On the third charge, I’m thrown off but land on my feet. I knock away one Syf and slash at another.

Throg and Ivy yell that I’m wasting my time, but I get back on Riev’s elk and try one last time. She rears, though I’m prepared for it and I’m able to wrestle control of her, reminding her I am in charge with sturdy leg cues and rein work .

I employ a soft but firm voice and a calm, low whistle that has always worked on frightened elk on my father’s farm.

Her ears finally swing back to focus on me, and she seems to follow through on my commands now as we gallop back to Riev without bucking.

On such a large elk, I overwhelm the next few Syf with speed and power, decapitating two of the enemy in one swoop and returning with another pass to take down one more.

I make it to Riev.

His head is bleeding, and he wobbles as he stands, but at least he’s conscious and on his feet again.

Throg and Ivy work together and kill three more, but more Syf filter through the trees like swarming wasps. Some must have been slow to leave their meal, wandering in as if they weren’t told to fight. I’m confused. How do they organize their attacks, if they have no apparent strategy?

Strategy. What weakness can we exploit? How are we going to get through this?

I wipe the sweat beading at my temples and ready myself for the next onslaught of Syf charging at me with rusted swords.

Strategy.

I notice an odd detail that will change the fight for us.

Their swords. I recognize them for their blue-cord wrapped handles, the deep blue of the King of the South. The ones the Academy provides now have an improved, brown-leather-wrapped handle.

“This band of Syf carries swords we had five years ago! But they have a defect and were confiscated. There’s a weakness in the tang that causes breakage with a hard hit.” The smith rushed the cooling process, and the metal was not hardened properly.

This was an issue in battle. When weapons failed, soldiers died.

I tell everyone they need to strike that spot on the tang over and over.

Another Syf charges at me, screaming. A proper hit on the defective sword she carries shatters the tang, and the blade breaks off. The Syf launches the handle at me in apparent frustration, but it’s an easy dodge.

Why are they using our old swords? Where did they get them? Did someone supply them, or…how else would they have co me by them?

Riev is now fully conscious. A furious expression washes over him as he blinks rapidly and assesses the situation around him.

“Riev, their swords!”

He doesn’t listen to me.

Instead of going for the weakness in their weaponry, he plunges into an inhuman frenzy of speed and rage. He strikes with lethal efficiency at those we have disarmed, that soon Syf after Syf collapses around him.

His gray eyes glow with a turbulent fury. Vicious and brutal.

I’m shocked at the sudden change, though I saw it at Limingfrost. In the war room, the colonels called him a death machine, and I am reminded why he is met with both fright and reverence.

He chases and cuts down any who try to escape.

His blade must be dulled by now, but he carries on as if he will never tire.

We’ve already taken down about two dozen, but Riev eliminates the rest. Incredibly, the rest of the Syf heads roll at his hand. He collapses on the forest floor again, slumping to his side. Ivy races to him.

“He’s breathing, but his head injury needs tending,” she says.

“Throg, can you get him on his elk?” I step over the headless corpses around me.

So much death. I’m sick from fright and adrenaline, sick from the coppery scent of spilled blood running like small rivers around us.

Throg hauls Riev onto his elk, and we hurry through the woods in silence, fear and disbelief seizing our voices. Only the sounds of the evening forest breach our ears. Crickets, owls, tree frogs.

It’s unbelievable that we made it out of that fight alive. With a shaky breath, I lead the others using Riev’s bloodied map, hoping his directions are accurate. I aim for the caves, our last chance for shelter tonight.