The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [44]
“Hold right there!” Durge roared, and in a swift motion he drew his greatsword, holding it before him.
Laughter rose from the strange beings, a sound like falling water. The boy threw his head back as peals of mirth escaped him. Durge frowned, then his expression turned to shock. His sword writhed back and forth in his hands. With a cry he dropped the blade, and Grace saw it wasn't a sword at all, but rather a great silvery snake. It slithered away across the snow and vanished into the forest.
Durge stared at his empty hands, then clenched them into fists. “Stay back,” he said, standing before Grace. “You cannot harm her.”
“You're right about that, mortal, I can't.” He gazed past Durge at Grace. “The light of the forest is in your eyes. It's faint, but even your mundane blood cannot sully it. You shall be spared.” His gaze moved back to Durge. “But this beast is mortal through and through. Since we have been denied our true quarry for today, we will make sport of this one instead and hunt him like the animal he is.”
“No!” Grace said, her voice rising in panic. “It wasn't his fault. It was I—I was the one who lied to you!”
It was no use. The hunters were already moving. The queer beings shoved Grace aside and swarmed around Durge. He swatted several of the things away, but they kept coming. A root tripped Grace—or was it the limb of some creature?—and she fell to her knees. She heard Durge let out a roar, but the sound was drowned out by laughter. She crawled until she found a tree, then used it to gain her feet.
There were too many of the beings for Durge to fend off. They had pinned his arms and legs, and though cords of effort stood out on his neck, he could not break away. The creatures tore at his clothes with twisted hands, leaving him standing naked in the cold. A pair of antlers was placed on his brow and fastened in place with ropes woven of vines.
“Durge!” Grace cried out.
He could not turn his head, but he met her gaze with wide eyes. “My lady, you must flee this place! Take the path back the way we came. Go now!”
No, she couldn't leave him. If she had told them the truth about the stag, this wouldn't be happening. She gathered what remained of her will and hurried to the boy.
“Let him go,” she commanded.
“That I will,” the boy said. “It would make for poor sport if he didn't have a head start.”
He gave a flick of his hand, and the creatures moved away from Durge. The knight staggered and caught his balance. He was hairy in his nakedness, and with the antlers he looked not unlike one of the goat-men. A queer expression crossed his face—not pain exactly. Rather, it was the face one would make if something precious were being torn away.
“My lady,” he said, but the words were oddly slurred.
A spasm passed through him, and Durge hunched over. When he looked up again, his eyes were dull and wild, and his lips pulled back from his teeth. The rope that had tied the antlers to his head were gone. Instead, the things sprang from his brow, curving and growing longer even as Grace watched.
She stared at the boy. “What have you done to him?”
“Nothing so very great,” the boy said with a smirk. “A man is but an animal at heart. All we've done is to help him remember that fact.”
Durge let out a snarl, crouching and spinning around, the whites of his eyes showing. The fey beings laughed and raised their weapons.
A wave of terror crested in Grace. “Run, Durge!” she screamed. Could he even still understand her words? “Run!”
For a moment it seemed dim recognition shone in his eyes, then with a roar Durge sprang forward, running across the snow on bare feet, and vanished into the trees.
“You said you'd give him a head start,” Grace said, turning toward the red-haired boy. “How long?”
The boy laughed. “I'd say he's already had more than long enough.” He lifted the trumpet and blew a shrill note. “Let the hunt begin!”
12.
Grace ducked as a hail of arrows hissed through the air. They stuck