Page 82 of Blood Fist

“You’re a harpy.”

Golden eyes flicked back open. “Or I’m just a fucked up bird.”

Ridan might have believed that if it hadn’t been for the wings. Wider than Ridan was tall, their color difficult to distinguish, but they appeared mottled in dark and light. At some point, they were probably beautiful. But now they were horrific to look at. Atrophied with bald patches where the feathers had either fallen out or been plucked.

His sternum was prominent under his ragged shirt, ribs sticking out underneath, chest caving under the weight of the wings with no muscle to support them. His skin was pallid, glowing near as white as the bones piled beside him. Closer to him, Ridan could see that it wasn’t tangles that his hair fell in, but feathers interspersed with human hair, draping down his back.

Ridan knew little about harpies. They were creatures of magic and as such had left the land when Sinestrus poisoned it millennia ago. By all the legends, they had never returned.

So how was it in the span of one afternoon, Ridan had run into not one, but two magical creatures?

Buzzard was trembling, his hands held close as he used his remaining strength to stand upright. He still had the feather clutched in one hand.

If asked, Ridan would say it was the shock of the day. Not that he felt any sort of empathy for the chained man.

“Schok is fine,” he started, then stopped. “He’s alive.”

Buzzard jerked his head up to look at Ridan, stopping mid chew. Ridan rolled his eyes, encouraging himto keep eating. “He’s with his brother at my clan. He…he’s being cared for.”

Something that looked suspiciously like relief washed across Buzzard’s face. “The little brother? That’s good. He always spoke of him fondly.”

Buzzard knew Schok before he became a thrall. And they were close enough that they spoke of family. That was interesting. Ridan wasn’t sure what to do with that information just yet. Filing it away, he moved to help Brune.

Getting the collar off Buzzard proved to be impossible with the tools they had. They would have to settle for hacking at the chain as close to his neck as possible. Buzzard laid flat on the floor—looking understandably dubious—while Ridan fished around the cavern for some kind of chisel. Eventually, he found a rusty dagger in the pile of bones. Without thinking about where it came from, he settled it between the big links of the chain.

Widening his stance, Brune lifted his hammer high and brought it down on the old dagger. The thing snapped, but so did the chain. Ridan picked up the chain and glanced down at the poor welds. Derry would have a fit if he saw such shoddy metal smithing.

Between the two of them, they were able to get Buzzard up. He tried not to lean on them, but it was obvious his legs were too weak to support him. Buzzard wasn’t heavy. He was frail and shorter than Ridan.

When they got to the opening of the cave, Ridan was surprised to see it was later than they thought. Dusk was rapidly approaching and climbing down was going to be difficult, but especially without light. And none of them were eager to spend the night in the cave.

It was decided to use Brune’s and Ridan’s belts tofasten Buzzard to Ridan’s back. He was the best climber, and Brune had his shield.

Ridan was grateful no one from his clan was there to see him. It was the most ungainly, pathetic show of climbing he’d ever had. But he got them on solid ground, followed shortly by Brune.

After that, it was easy to half carry Buzzard back to the horses. Peppercorn and Boulder were still grazing at the short, wispy grass growing from the cracks in the rock. Buzzard looked like he was about to pass out, his eyes barely half lidded, but they couldn’t make camp here. Shoving him onto Boulder’s broad back, they led the horses out of the rock field and back onto the plain.

They wouldn’t make it back to their campsite from the night before, but they found a suitable place. No shade, but there was plenty of grass for the horses to graze on and a small stream with fresh water.

Brune dropped beside him while he was trying to start a fire. “He needs a good meal. I’m going to head out and see if I can catch anything.”

Ridan grumbled his assent, uncomfortable with the idea of Brune going out but recognizing that even if they did have plenty of rations, Buzzard needed something more substantial.

The harpy was sitting beside the small creek, cupping his hands in the water, and bringing them to his face to scrub away at the filth. His movements were slow, and once Ridan got the fire going, he rummaged through his pack to hand some soap to the birdman.

Buzzard blinked down at the soap with his strange eyes. Eventually, Ridan sighed and settled in to help the harpy bathe.

First Brune with laundry and now this.

With the shirt off, Buzzard was unbearable to look at. He was covered in bruises. Not to mention his smell.Most of it was coming from his hair. It became apparent that Buzzard couldn’t reach his hair without straining his wings, his face contorting in pain when he tried. Ridan swatted his hands away and couched on the bank to do it for him.

Once his hair was wet and soapy, he began picking through the knots, slicking his fingers through the feathers. Buzzard sighed, letting his head fall back so he could look up at the darkening sky.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw the sky.”

“Been in that cave long?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Ridan didn’t push, but Buzzard seemed to feel chattier now that he was in the open air. “Know much about Gollums?”