The Outcast (Summoner #4)(59)

Arcturus flushed with relief, though he felt a twinge of guilt as he nodded in agreement. Edmund had lost both his demons, with Gelert still hunting for them in the jungle and Athena diligently screeching every few minutes in the hope of rescue.

Alice was taking a big risk with Reynard, and he was grateful that Sacharissa would not need to go down there.

“Elaine, can you fly Valens to the east side of the village?” Rotter asked. “We need to scout Reynard’s path.”

Silence.

Arcturus looked up from the crystal, searching for Elaine.

But Elaine wasn’t there. She was gone … and the baby with her.





CHAPTER

33

ARCTURUS WAS RUNNING BEFORE he had a chance to think, pacing through the undergrowth with Sacharissa racing beside him. He could smell Elaine’s path ahead, meandering through the bushes in the direction of the village.

“Arcturus, wait!” Alice called, and he saw a flash of white light behind him as Reynard was summoned into existence.

He ignored her—every minute counted. Every second. Elaine didn’t know that there was a shaman down there.

This time, Arcturus slowed as he neared the edge of the village, hunkering down at its edge and catching his breath. He took a deep sniff, and could smell the animal scent of the Phantaur thick in the air.

“Where is she, girl?” Arcturus said, tilting his head to listen for any telltale sounds. When he concentrated, he could hear and smell better, though not nearly as well as when he looked into Sacharissa’s eyes.

But now he needed his own eyes for scanning the surroundings, so he relied on Sacharissa as she snuffled her way around to the east side of the village. Arcturus followed, careful to place his feet in the soft soil, away from crackling leaves and brittle twigs. The Phantaur’s ears were enormous, and he did not doubt that it could hear every sound in the jungle.

As he made his way around the edge, he could see the shaman and his demon. The painted orc had been lifted onto the beast’s shoulders, and he was shouting orders to the villagers around him. One handed him up a woven basket of fruit, while another scurried into a hut and emerged with a fly-ridden haunch of meat.

“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.