A Dance of Fang and Claw: The Ranger Archives Volume 3, page 31
“With this and this,” Asher replied, gesturing to the bestiary poking out of Russell’s pack and the pick-axe resting at his feet, “you can earn good coin. Complete enough contracts and you can turn that dream into your future. But,” the ranger intoned, “you have to hold on to that. If you give in to the wolf, if you let it convince you you’re nothing but an animal, that dream goes away.”
Russell met his eyes, perhaps hearing the threat woven between Asher’s words, a threat that would always hang over him. “You really believe I could achieve something like that? Hells, I’m not even a ranger yet and I’m dreaming of another life.”
That wasn’t how Asher saw it. “You encountered a once in a generation Werewolf and lived,” he said. “You then met a ranger who should have cleaved your head there and then. You’ve since survived Vorska, three bone-breaking transformations, and a Dathrak. Not to mention Doran,” he added dryly. “I’d say you’re very good at defying the odds. Keep at it and that tavern might be in your future.”
Russell was nodding absently, his thoughts lost to possibility. Asher could only hope he was turning a page. It wouldn’t matter if he turned out to be the best ranger who ever lived if the problem couldn’t be resolved. If he couldn’t be around people without hurting them or worse, then he couldn’t be allowed to carry on. And that would come down to Asher.
“Oi!” Doran cried. “It’s left the tower!”
Asher’s mind reconfigured just as Russell’s body did under the full moon. Gone was the man who might relate to another. Now he was the hunter. Peering round the chimney, he caught sight of the beast gliding away from the white stone and hanging gardens. The distance between them gave the Dathrak the appearance of a vulture with the wings of a bat.
“Get ready,” he instructed, cajoling Russell to heft his pick-axe. “Get its attention, Heavybelly!”
“What do ye think I’ve been bloody doin’? I’m not slathered in fish guts for the fun o’ it, laddy!”
“Move your arms about!” Asher urged. “You have to look in distress!”
“I am in distress!” the dwarf pronounced. “I’ll be smellin’ fish for the rest o’ me days!”
Asher pulled hard on the rope he had lashed around the chimney, checking one last time that the knot was strong enough to take the dwarf’s weight, for once he leapt over the edge there would be nothing to save him if the rope tied around his waist failed.
The ranger turned to Maybury. “As soon as he’s past us—”
“I jump out,” Russell finished, confirming his part in the plan.
“Swing hard and aim for its head,” Asher told him for the second or third time. “Our presence might spook it and we can’t risk it flying away again.”
“It’s comin’!” Doran warned.
Asher peered out again. The Dathrak was spearing down, its wings folded in. The ranger glanced about the surrounding rooftops, making certain Lord Constable Thwaite upheld his part in the plan and kept his archers at bay, lest the three companions end up in the crossfire.
“Get ready, fellas!” Doran shouted, his voice suggesting he was running towards them.
Asher returned his attention to the son of Dorain. He maintained an impressive speed considering the armour he wore. Faster still was the Dathrak, which had caught the vile scent of fish guts and was now gliding at speed over the rooftops.
“Not yet,” Asher uttered, his broadsword coming free of its scabbard. “Not yet…”
Doran ran past them and jumped over the edge of the building, the rope between him and the chimney pulling taut in an instant. The dwarf grunted and yelled out as his fall was cut short and he was brought back into the wall at force—the rope had done its job.
Now Russell had to do his.
The big man dashed out from cover and swung his pick-axe with enough strength to dent stone. It was impossible to say what such a blow might have looked like against the scales of a Dathrak, for the weapon never landed. Instead, Maybury was swept away in a dark blur and a gust of wind. Taken clean from his feet, both he and the monster crashed into the roof of the adjacent building.
Asher swore.
He quickly sheathed his sword and put some distance between him and the lip of the roof. Then he bolted. His toes felt the edge as he leapt with all his strength, arms extended, and hands ready to grip the other side.
“Where are ye goin’?” Doran called from below, his body hanging limply.
The ranger’s chest hit the wall, robbing him of precious breath. As his hands scraped over the lip, his fingers found purchase and held him fast. Beyond his sight, he could hear Russell clashing with the Dathrak. The man grunted and yelled at the beast as his pick-axe chopped through the air. The monster’s wings could be heard to beat the air, its claws scratching at the rooftop and its razored beak snapping at its defiant prey.
“What’s goin’ on?” Doran hollered.
Asher ignored the dwarf and ascended with all the upper-body strength he could muster. At last, he could see the battle playing out across the roof. The Dathrak’s long neck extended as its rounded head shot towards Russell. Its beak, more than capable of fitting Maybury’s head inside, opened wide only to be forced shut when the tip of his pick-axe was buried into the side of that wicked mouth.
The creature shrieked and swiped its wing, forcing Russell into a roll that nearly saw him pitched from the roof altogether. Disorientated by his own manoeuvre, he was at the mercy of a taloned foot. He cried out in pain as one stabbed him in the thigh, preventing him from fully rising from his roll. Again, that beak came in for the kill only to find a pick-axe in its way, the iron head keeping the top and bottom of the beak apart. It thrashed until the weapon was shaken loose and Maybury with it, his body cast sideways.
That might have spelled his end had Asher not found his feet and drawn his broadsword. As the Dathrak moved in to tower over the man, the ranger entered the fray with steel swinging in both hands. The edge of the sword caught the monster above the eye and turned its head away. The blade was left with a single streak of blood where it had hacked between the scales, but that single streak was urging him to press the attack, to draw more blood.
The ranger’s second swing was aimed at the creature’s throat, where the tip scraped across the scales and achieved naught but a nick. It was enough, however, to send the Dathrak back a step and grant Asher more room to manoeuvre his weapon. His intended thrust was batted away when the beast brought forth its left wing, shoving Asher away with the bony ridge.
As he fell, Russell was rising to renew his charge. The pick-axe tore cleanly through the membrane of that same wing, eliciting a sharp roar from the Dathrak. Be it pain or simple reaction, the beast swept the injured wing out and put Maybury on his back again.
Bulging black eyes shifted between the two men as its beak stretched wide and let loose an ear-piercing wail. Both Asher and Russell attempted to get up at the same time but the Dathrak was quicker, its advance predetermined. Its wings flapped just the once, giving it some height, before each taloned claw reached out and ensnared the companions mid-rise. Its grip was crushing, forcing both the wind from Asher’s lungs and the sword from his grip.
Within seconds they were above Palios, the fall guaranteed to kill them on impact. It seemed, however, that such a notion hadn’t reached Russell, who was twisting his pick-axe round in one hand and preparing a devastating swing.
“Don’t!” Asher managed, forcing the word out. It was enough to delay the big man and turn his attention on the ranger. “The fall will kill us both!” he warned.
Maybury looked down for the first time since leaving the rooftop. The people of Palios were no more than dots scattering in the streets, their cries of distress never to reach such dizzying heights. The pick-axe was stayed.
“What do we do now?” he shouted over the buffeting winds.
“There’s nothing we can do!” Asher called back. “We have to wait until it puts us down!”
“Puts us down?”
The ranger turned his head, guiding Russell’s attention to The All-Tower. Maybury’s jaw remained ajar as he took it in, for there were none who had seen the tower from the sky. The Dathrak cleared the lip of the flat top by mere feet, where it unceremoniously deposited its prey. By the time they had stopped rolling and tumbling across the roof, the creature had stretched its wings and come to a halt.
Picking himself up, Asher kept his focus on the Dathrak while Russell’s attention had been spell-bound by the vista. It seemed all of Verda lay before them, the lines on its map wiped clean as the sun blanketed the realm in burnt orange and hues of pink. The edges of the world were fogged by pure distance, but it was a scale of land the man from Snowfell had never seen nor, perhaps, even imagined. Indeed, Asher might have been mesmerised by the view had his instinct to survive not been so overwhelming.
“Russell!” he snapped, one hand following his waist round to the dagger at the base of his back.
Maybury’s head flicked back to the rooftop, an area of stone that might have housed half a street. On the other side, the Dathrak had made its nest of branches, bones, and even a broken cart. Carcasses and partial skeletons lay strewn about it, picked clean of meat, between piles of the creature’s filth.
Quite deftly, Russell twisted his pick-axe round between his fingers and brought it up into a two-handed hold. “Is that all you have?” he asked, spotting Asher’s dagger.
“No,” the ranger replied, his eyes locked to the hilt of his silvyr blade, now visible protruding from the Dathrak’s side.
“Oh,” Russell replied, the sound laced with disbelief. “How do you plan on getting that back before it’s dead?”
Asher slowly stepped sideways, his movement forming a circle with the Dathrak’s. Maybury’s question reminded him of the red cloth knotted around his belt. The urge to blind himself with it began to mount. In darkness he might find a solution, see a path that led to victory. But what could Russell learn from that? He couldn’t replicate the Nightseye elixir in his veins just as the ranger couldn’t replicate the wolf’s strength or stamina. Then there was the explanation he would demand.
“You’re going to get it back for me,” Asher asserted, leaving the blindfold where it was.
The Dathrak squawked threateningly, the setting sun at its back. It advanced cautiously using its wings like front legs. That rounded head and razored beak shifted from man to man on its snaking neck. It knew it had them at a disadvantage, but it also knew this particular prey could hurt it.
“What does that mean?” Russell was keeping step with him, his shoulders hunched.
Asher came to a stop when the sun was at his back and in the monster’s eyes. “Tell me how you’re going to kill it.”
Maybury dared to peel his eyes from the monster and look at the ranger. “Are you serious, man? Now?”
“We’re here for you to train,” Asher reminded him. “Well here’s your test. You’ve got no poisons, no traps, and your only companion is without an appropriate weapon. How are you going to bring it down?” This was not the position he had hoped for Russell to be in, but the pressure was a test in itself.
“I don’t know!” Maybury spat, his attention fully returned to the approaching beast.
“Think,” the ranger bade.
“Damn it, man, I’m not a ranger! I was born a miner’s son!” Russell sighed, though the high winds stole the sound of it.
“Rangers aren’t born,” Asher told him, the dagger turning endlessly in his grip. “They’re forged.” In a bold move, the ranger turned his back on the Dathrak to face Maybury. “What are you going to do?”
Russell regarded him for a moment before the creature demanded his focus once again. “Its eyes,” he breathed. “Its eyes!” he exclaimed with confidence now. “There’s no certainty we can pierce its hide before it kills us,” the man explained. “So we blind it. The damned thing has massive eyes—should be easy enough.”
“Never underestimate your enemy,” Asher advised, pivoting on his heel. At the same time, his hand came up with the dagger in his grip. From somewhere between skill and muscle memory, he aimed and released the weapon. The blade made short work of the gap between them and plunged into the corner of the Dathrak’s left eye.
The shriek that followed could have drowned out thunder.
“That’s the only help I’m giving you,” Asher reported. “Use its blind side to your advantage.” He stepped aside, clearing the path for Russell, though the man was still staring at the staggering monster in amazement.
“How did you do that?” he shouted over the wind.
“Your window is closing,” the ranger informed, his green cloak billowing to the west.
Russell clenched his jaw, his knuckles white against the haft of his pick-axe. There was no trace of the miner from Snowfell. His expression had hardened to iron and his eyes… His eyes were amber now. The Dathrak had met its match.
Explosive was his movement, taking him from Asher’s side to the winged beast in seconds. While the monster fretted over its wounded eye, Russell was leaping through the air, his pick-axe wielded in one hand as he swung it round in a wide arc. The tip dug through the creature’s scales and flesh, just behind the beak on its blind side. The infliction of more pain sent the Dathrak’s body into an unpredictable spasm, bowling Maybury over. He was nearly squashed by its sheer bulk, but the man had the sense and the reflexes to roll aside and save himself.
Displaying his impressive stamina all the more, he skidded and skipped across the ground, crossing under the Dathrak’s shaking head, where he reached up and yanked his pick-axe free. Again, the creature shrieked and thrashed, its talons searching for the man beneath it. Catching sight of him, it arched its neck and brought its head down to snap at him. A deflection with his weapon saved his life but he failed to move and suffered a knock from the monster’s thick skull.
“Keep moving!” Asher yelled. “Stick to your plan!”
Too slow in his recovery, one of those talons finally discovered him and scored a line across his chest, dragging a sharp yelp from the man. The beast pressed its attack, beak snapping until one of its wings clipped the ranger-in-training, sending him flipping through the air.
“Blind it!” Asher shouted.
Maybury rose from the floor as if he had never been put down. Keeping his movements balletic, he darted in and out. While openings presented themselves, he never struck. Asher was on the verge of directing him again when he realised Russell was waiting for a very specific opening.
When at last he took it, he was inside the Dathrak’s personal space, between its shoulder joint and head, where its neck couldn’t coil enough to reach him and its wing couldn’t touch him. His jump appeared effortless, bringing him up and level with the beast’s head. One bash using the bottom of the haft caved in the remaining eye.
This time, Russell had the sense to dive and roll when he touched down, avoiding the monster’s violent reaction. Its wings stretched in spasms and its talons scarred the roof while its long tail of spikes whipped about with wild abandon. Its squawks and shrieks came in short bursts as it staggered in all directions, blood oozing from both sides of its head.
Having fully turned away from Maybury, that deadly tail was his new foe. It lashed at him, though whether the creature had intended to or not remained to be seen. Either way, the fight wasn’t over yet. Russell ducked and weaved to evade the spikes, any one of them capable of spearing his heart or brain. Again, Asher had advice on the end of his tongue but Russell’s actions kept his mouth shut.
As the tail came arcing in at speed, Maybury angled his pick-axe down and rolled under the sweeping attack. Coming out of the manoeuvre, his free hand snatched at one of the longer spikes and yanked the end of the tail, positioning it to take his hammering blow. The pick-axe ran through the scales and meat and pinned the Dathrak to the stone.
Asher barely noted the creature’s roar for his attention was entirely captured by Russell who, in a single bound, was upon the Dathrak’s scaly back. For all its thrashing it could not shake the man as he made his way to its neck. One last jump had his arms and legs wrapped around the beast’s throat. The ranger thought the move folly, for even Russell did not possess the strength to snap the monster’s neck with his bare hands.
It was not strength he employed, however. It was a feat of pure aggression.
Maybury pulled free the dagger lodged in the creature’s left eye and pushed it deliberately between the scales of his enemy’s throat, burying it to the hilt. The Dathrak’s shriek was quickly garbled, its tongue bathed in blood. Ensuring death, Russell began to saw from one side to the other, spilling a copious amount of blood on the white stone. The creature’s legs soon faltered and it succumbed to its own weight with its killer still atop.
Asher remained where he stood, giving the man his moment of victory.
He eventually walked over, his stony expression concealing his deep satisfaction. “Good job,” he said gruffly. “You could have ended it a lot sooner though if you had stayed on the move and kept your attacks to its blind side.”
Russell didn’t seem to notice the ranger or his words. He stayed seated astride the dead beast a while longer, somewhat bewildered by the look of him. “I did it,” he finally said, looking up at Asher.
Deciding his previous remark had been a touch harsh, the ranger simply echoed his companion’s words. “You did it.” Leaving Maybury to stare at the monster he had brought down, Asher retrieved his silvyr blade from its side. “Here,” he announced, interrupting the man’s thoughts as he offered him the weapon.
“What’s this for?”
“You need proof of the kill,” Asher informed him, gesturing at the beast’s ravaged head. “You’ll be here all night with a pick-axe.”
Russell accepted the blade and sighed. “This wasn’t the end I imagined,” he admitted.
“Did you think there would be a parade?” Asher quipped. “There’s a ladder over here that’ll get us inside the tower,” he reported, “but there’s still thousands of steps ahead of us and I can’t imagine we’re going to be a welcome sight; so take the head and be quick about it.”
