The Wolf snarled and spun around, craning his neck at the tree, where Grimalkin peered at us from a branch safely out of reach. “I’ve grown tired of your insults, cait sith,” he challenged, eyes blazing with pure hatred. “Come down here and say that. I’ll rip that arrogant tongue right out of your head. I’ll crush your skull in my teeth, tear the hide off your useless feline skeleton and eat your heart.” His voice was getting louder with each threat. I put a hand on his huge shoulder and shoved, hard. “Quiet!” I warned as he turned with a snarl. “You’ll alert the camp. There’s no time for this now.”
“A wise statement,” Grimalkin replied, giving the Wolf a lazy, half-lidded stare. “And the prince is correct, much as I would enjoy watching 121/387
you chase your tail and bark at the moon.” The Wolf growled again, but the cat ignored him, looking at me. “Goodfel ow and the seer are being held in one of the inner huts, still unconscious, I believe. The hobyah shaman is keeping them in a drugged sleep—so much easier to put them in the kettle when the time comes. They have been waiting for it to get hot enough, but I believe it is very nearly ready.”
“Then we need to move fast.” Crouching, I looked over the camp again but spoke to the Wolf. “I’m going to sneak around the back. Do you think you can create a big enough diversion for me to find the others and get out of there?”
The Wolf bared his teeth in a savage grin. “I think I can come up with something.”
“Wait for my signal, then. Grimalkin—” I looked to the cait sith, who blinked calmly “—show me where they are.” We crept around the outskirts of the camp, moving soundlessly through the trees and marshy undergrowth, until Grimalkin stopped at the edge of the basin and sat down.
“There,” he said, nodding to the left side of the camp. “The shaman’s hut is the second one from the rotting tree. The one with the torches and the chicken feet strung across the entrance.”
“All right,” I murmured, staring at the hut. “I’ll take it from here. You should hide—” But Grimalkin was already gone.
I closed my eyes and drew my glamour to me, creating a cloak of shadows that the light would shy away from. As long as I didn’t make any noise or draw attention to myself, glances would slide past me and torchlight would not penetrate my fabricated darkness.
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With the glamour cloak in place, I walked down the slope into the swampy basin.
The smells here were foul and potent; rancid water, putrid carcasses, rotting fish and the oily, reptilian stench of the hobyahs themselves.
They hissed and snarled at each other in their garbled, burbled language, punctuated by one recognizable word: hobyah. Probably how they got their name. Moving from shadow to shadow, being careful not to slosh the warm swamp water that soaked my legs, I made my way to the shaman’s hut.
Chanting sounds and a thick, pungent smoke drifted past the veil of chicken feet at the doorway. Silently drawing my sword, I eased inside.
The interior of the tiny shack reeked of a foul incense, stinging my eyes and scratching the back of my throat. A squat, potbel ied hobyah sat beside one wall on a pile of animal skins, chanting and waving a burning stick over a pair of limp figures. Puck and Ariel a, sprawled out on the dirty hut f loor, their faces pale and slack, hands and feet bound with yellow vines. The shaman jerked his head up as I came in, and hissed in alarm.
Quick as lightning, he lunged for his staff, standing in the corner, but I was faster. Just as his claw closed on the gnarled wood, an icicle shard hit him from behind. It should have killed him, but he turned and shrieked something at me, rattling the bones atop his staff. I felt a ripple of some dark glamour go through the air, and lunged forward, slashing with my blade. The shaman’s mouth opened, and he spit something at me, an acidic yellow substance that burned my skin where it hit, right before the blade struck home. He screamed a death cry and dissolved into a pile of squirming snakes and frogs. One down, but the other hobyahs would not be far behind.
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My skin tingled and was starting to go numb where the shaman’s spittle had landed, but I couldn’t focus on that now. Kneeling beside Ariel a, I cut her bonds and drew her into my arms.
“Ari,” I whispered urgently, tapping her cheek. Her skin was cold to the touch, and even though that was normal for Winter fey, my stomach twisted.
“Ari, wake up. Come on, look at me.” I pressed two fingers to the pulse at her throat, but at that moment she stirred and her eyelids f luttered. Relief shot through me like an arrow, and I resisted the urge to hug her close. Opening her eyes, she jerked when she saw me, and I pressed my finger to her lips. “Just me,” I whispered, as her eyes widened. “We have to get out of here. Quietly.” A shriek came from the entrance of the hut. A hobyah stood there, red eyes wide as he stared at us. I hurled an ice dagger at him, but he darted away, hissing, and f led into the camp. Cries of alarm and rage echoed beyond the door, and then came the sound of many bodies rushing toward us through the water.