Free The Gift by Alison Croggon Page B

Cadvan.
    Then one of them landed before her, and to her dismay she saw its outlines blur and soften. At first she thought it a trick of her eyes, but then to her disbelief it began to transform into a man, startlingly white in the darkness. She cried out and thrust a brand in his face. He fell back, but then came for her, his wings melting into his back, his face blank and murderous, a black broadsword in his clawed hand. Maerad ducked the swing of his sword and with all her strength brought the burning branch back as hard as she could against his body. The flames burst into life and licked up his neck, setting his hair on fire. He screamed horribly and fell writhing to the ground, trying to beat out the flames, but they stuck to him like a deadly glue, spreading until he was wholly alight, a screaming torch.
    Maerad watched in horror, almost forgetting her danger for a second, but another creature landed and rose on its hind feet and her horror burst again into rage. This time she swiped it with the brand before it could begin to transform. It fell stunned to the ground, which was now slimed and smoking with blood. She stepped forward to bash it again when Cadvan reached past her and slashed off its head. And suddenly the room was still.
    They stood together, panting. Maerad sent out her mind to hear if any more wings were coming, but she heard only the night. The room was piled with dead creatures. She gasped, feeling suddenly sick.
    Cadvan put more wood on the fire, and then started dragging the corpses out of the door. Maerad stood back, swaying with nausea. The stench of death was overpowering, and she was beginning to tremble. She realized that the branch she was holding was about to burn her hand. She dropped it back on the fire and then, fighting down her desire to vomit, helped Cadvan clear the room of the creatures, casting them out of the doorway and down the hill, although she couldn’t bring herself to touch the one who had burned, the one who was still half a man. At last the room was empty, although it stank of burning flesh and hair and blood. Neither Cadvan nor Maerad felt like sitting down.
    “What were they?” she asked at last.
    “Wormfilth,” said Cadvan. “Wers can take whatever shape they desire. But they are all evil shapes, mockeries.” He looked at her, smiling grimly. “You did well, although you nearly got me once. A doughty fighter, but somewhat undisciplined.”
    Maerad tried to smile back. “Do you think there are more?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I counted nineteen, and I heard about twenty. Maybe one didn’t chance the fire. And it’s not long till dawn now.”
    They moved outside and sat down by the doorway, still watchful but too exhausted to speak. Cadvan did not relinquish his vigilance, and Maerad, despite her weariness, watched with him. They heard nothing else that night, and at last the eastern horizon began to lighten and the sun, with unbearable slowness, lifted its rim over the edge of the earth, sending level rays over the forest before them. Maerad thought she had never been so glad to see a new day. She turned to Cadvan and almost laughed. They were not a prepossessing sight: both were smeared and spattered with the foul blood of the wers, and their faces were black with ash.
    “Well,” said Cadvan heavily. “We made it.”

THEY did not stop to wash or rest, nor even to eat. Maerad averted her eyes from the pile of corpses at the bottom of the hill. “We should burn them,” said Cadvan. “But we haven’t time. Our only chance is to keep moving.”
    Maerad had never felt so tired. The only thing stronger than her exhaustion was her desire to get as far away as possible from that deathly place. They walked steadily on, and she tried to ignore her aching head, smarting from the wound the wer had dealt her, and to concentrate just on keeping moving. She had no idea of a destination. She was beginning to think that Cadvan was made of wire; he betrayed