Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind [212]
All at once, it came for him. Richard didn’t have a chance to swing the sword. He tripped on a root, falling backward, sprawling across the ground. He couldn’t get his breath. Instinctively, he brought the sword up to impale the thing, expecting it to fall on him.
Sharp, wet teeth reached over the sword, snapping viciously at his face. He drove the sword up, but the beast stayed clear. Furious red eyes glared at the sword. It backed away and looked toward the woods to its right. Its ears laid back as it snarled at something.
It picked up a rock twice the size of Richard’s head, put its blunt snout high in the air, took a deep breath, and with a roar squeezed the rock in its claw. Corded muscles tightened. The rock split with a loud crack that reverberated through the forest. Dust and flakes of rock filled the air. The beast looked about, turned, and swiftly slipped into the trees.
Richard lay on his back, panting, watching the woods with wide eyes, expecting the beast to reappear. He called out Kahlan’s name. She didn’t answer.
Before he could scramble fully to his feet, something ashen, with long arms, leapt on him, knocking him to his back again. It screamed with rage. Powerful gnarled hands gripped his, trying to pry the sword from his grip. One of the arms backhanded him across the jaw, nearly slamming him senseless. Bloodless white lips curled back, exposing sharp teeth, as it howled. Bulging yellow eyes snatched glances back at him. It tried desperately to kick his face. Richard held on to the sword with all his strength, trying to twist away from the painful grip of the long fingers.
“My sword,” it snarled. “Gimme. Gimme my sword.”
Locked desperately together, the two of them rolled across the ground, leaves and sticks flying. One of the powerful hands reached back, grabbing Richard by the hair, whacking his head on the ground, aiming for a rock. With a grunt, suddenly it reached again for the hilt, pulling one of Richard’s sweating hands from the sword, slapping its own hand to the hilt with Richard’s other. Its shrill screams split the forest quiet. Sinewy fingers started clawing his left hand off the hilt; sharp nails dug into his flesh.
Richard knew he was losing. The wiry little creature, despite its size, was stronger than he was. He had to do something or he would soon lose the sword.
“Gimme,” it hissed, in a flash turning its pallid head back to his, snapping, trying to bite his face. Spaces between its teeth were packed with spongy, gray debris. Its heavy breath reeked of rot. The hairless, waxy head had dark splotches.
The next time they rolled across the ground, Richard desperately reached to his belt and pulled his knife. In a rush he had it to the folds of the thing’s neck.
“Please!” it howled. “No kill! No kill!”
“Then let go of the sword! Now!”
The thing slowly, reluctantly, released its grip. Richard was on his back, the putrid-smelling creature on his chest. It went limp against him.
“Please, no kill me,” it repeated in a whimper.
Richard untangled himself from the disgusting creature, laying it on its back. He put the point of the sword hard against its chest. Its yellow eyes went wide.
The anger from the sword, which had somehow seemed confused and lost, at last charged into him.
“If I even think you’re about to do something I don’t like”—Richard jabbed— “I’ll push. Understand?” It nodded vigorously. Richard leaned closer. “Where did your friend go?”
“Friend?”
“That big thing that almost had me before you did!”
“The Calthrop. Not friend,” it whined. “Lucky man. Calthrop kills at night. Was waiting till night. To kill you. It has power in the night. Lucky man.”
“I don’t believe you! You were with it.”
“No,” it winced. “I only followed. Till it kills you.”
“Why?”
Bulging eyes went to the sword. “My sword. Gimme. Please?”
“No!”
Richard looked around for Kahlan. Her pack lay on the ground a short distance behind him, but he didn’t see her. Suddenly Richard was cold with