“Elaine, where are you?” Arcturus mouthed, not even allowing himself to whisper.
Then he saw her. Crouched beside the village edge, the white orc infant clutched to her bosom. Her eyes were wide with terror, staring at the Phantaur. She appeared frozen to the spot, and now Arcturus could see Valens buzzing around her face, tugging at her hair with his mandibles in a bid to make her move.
Arcturus crept toward her on his hands and knees, moving as quickly as he dared. Any minute now, an orc would see her. She was crouched in plain view, just within the village border.
He was just a stone’s throw away from her when it happened. It was a toothless orc elder that saw her, and time seemed to slow down as he raised a trembling finger and cried out hoarsely at the sight.
In that moment, Arcturus hurled himself out of the bushes and sprinted toward her. He took her shoulders and pulled her away. For the briefest of seconds he tried to tug the baby from her hands, but she would not let go—it was all he could do to get Elaine to stand up and walk. It was only when an earth-shattering trumpet of noise blasted from behind him that she snapped to attention, but by then it was too late; they were already deep in the trees.
They ran, ripping through the snarled bushes and shrubs in their path, blinded by the beams of sunlight that filtered down through the canopy. There was no time to find their way back to the others. Arcturus could hear the thunder of great footsteps behind him, the noise reverberating through his chest as if the very ground were shaking.
“This way,” Arcturus gasped, gripping her undershirt and pulling her off to the left. They ran on, deeper into the jungle, but the footsteps only seemed to get louder. The shaman was gaining on them.
There was only one chance. A mad idea, drifting across his consciousness as he saw an enormous fallen trunk, its insides hollowed out by years of rot, one half-buried beneath a pile of fallen branches and creeping vines. Its fall had created a clearing of sorts—enough to see its open end.
“In!” he gasped, shoving Elaine after Sacharissa as the demon ran full tilt into the hollow tube of desiccated bark. He followed moments later, crawling for a few panicked moments until he bumped into the young noble, then pressed his knees tight against his chest as he turned himself into a sitting fetal position. He turned his head, and looked down into the circle of green-yellow light at the end, the dark tunnel broken only by hairline cracks in the wood above, leaving filtered shafts of light along its length.
“Quiet,” he said, trying to slow his breaths, a combination of exertion and terror pounding his heart so hard he felt like he could hear its echoes within the log itself.
So they sat there in the cloying darkness, staring at the opening a half-dozen feet from where they hid. All was silent.
Until they heard it. Another thud.
It was slower now, as if the Phantaur had stopped lumbering after them, instead taking its time as it swept the area.
“I’m sorry,” Elaine whispered.
“Shhh,” Arcturus replied, rubbing her shoulder to keep her calm.
Immediately, the footsteps stopped. Arcturus cursed inwardly. Had it heard them?
Still … nothing. Silence, but for the soft rattle of branches in the afternoon breeze.
A shadow, falling across the circle. Then, the crackle of wood. As if a giant had slowly set its foot down on a forest trail.
The world flipped sideways. One moment they were staring in silence, the next they were screaming as the tree trunk was lifted high. Blue green, flashing as the trunk’s end faced the canopy.
Next a stomach-churning drop, and a bone-juddering crash that spun Arcturus on his side. The bark held—but more cracks appeared along its length.
There was no time for planning. Arcturus had barely a moment to draw his dirk before a snake of leathery gray flesh wriggled its way through the opening. The Phantaur’s trunk darted at him, two powerful fingers closing like a snapping mouth, grasping for its prey. The world darkened as the demon placed its face against the opening to push its trunk farther still, and suddenly it was within inches of Arcturus’s face. He stabbed at it, barely making a scratch in the thick skin. The fingers closed on his hair, jerking him a foot toward it before his scalp burned and a tuft of hair ripped free.
He rolled as the trunk slammed down, splitting the wood farther so that he felt wet soil against his bare back. He stabbed again, directly at the trunk’s tip. This time he was rewarded by an earsplitting squeal of pain, and the trunk withdrew a few feet. He stabbed it again, drawing blood. He felt the blast of air as the beast trumpeted in agony. The tip was sensitive.
Mere seconds of respite followed.
“Valens,” Elaine called desperately. “Valens!”
But if the little Mite was attacking the demon, Arcturus could not see it. They were on their own. He could hear Sacharissa whining, desperately trying to push past Elaine’s body to fight, but the space was too tight.
Crash!
Splinters of wood sprayed, throwing sawdust and a spattering of soil into the air. A great pillar of gray flesh and bone had slammed down on the end of their tree trunk, crushing the end, bringing the circle of light ever closer.
Crash!
Again, the Phantaur’s foot slammed down, crushing the end of the trunk.
Crash!
Arcturus closed his eyes, wishing he had had time to learn a spell, any spell that might save them. But all he could do was flash wyrdlight. Useless.
Crash!
The foot was but an arm’s length away now, working its way up the tree trunk. He would be first. One more stomp before it was over. Arcturus brandished his dirk, ready to stab it when it came. He would go down fighting.
He could almost feel the shift of weight as the Phantaur raised its foot. In that moment, Arcturus jammed the hilt of his dirk into the crack in the wood ahead of him, pulling his hand away in the nick of time. The foot slammed down, impaling itself on the slim blade.
For a second there was silence. Then, a scream of agony unlike anything Arcturus had heard before, so loud and high pitched his ears sung with pain at the noise.
“Now,” Arcturus cried out, grasping the leg as it withdrew. “Run!”
He was pulled through the splintered hole, holding on for dear life as the Phantaur lifted its leg in the air, the delicate pad of its elephantine foot pierced deep by his dirk. He felt himself slipping and let go, landing among the fragmented wood as Elaine and Sacharissa rushed past. Above, the foot hovered in the air, a pillar of gray with the hilt at the bottom.
Growling, Arcturus took the handle and twisted it with all his might, and the resultant scream of agony nearly deafened him as he pulled his blade free in a spray of crimson.
Then he was running, sprinting toward a gap in the foliage, where Sacharissa’s tail swished as she flew into the undergrowth. He snatched a glance as he ran, saw the shaman on the demon’s shoulders, hands in the air, sketching a symbol in blinding blue light.
He ran on, leaping for the undergrowth … only to slam into an opaque barrier. He fell, near-stunned. Upside down in his vision, he saw the beast approaching in a limp that shook the ground with every stomp. On its back, the shaman howled murderously, its staff pointed directly at his face.
Arcturus struggled to his feet and clashed his dirk against the barrier, but its tip slipped along the surface as if it were wet ice. He could not penetrate it.
Then Sacharissa was sailing through the air, and the shield dissolved as she passed through it, her demonic essence ripping through the mana like rice paper. But even as she leaped for the Phantaur’s leg, the demon’s trunk whipped out, hurling her body in a tumble of limbs into a nearby tree.