The Outcast (Summoner #4)(61)

Arcturus choked breathlessly, desperate to pull some air into his lungs. He could feel himself letting go, his chest burning, the corners of his vision darkening.

He was going to die.

“Stop!”

The relief was almost immediate, the trunk loosening just enough to allow him one ragged breath. The orc cackled and Arcturus spun dizzily as the Phantaur turned his body to face the speaker. His heart dropped when he saw her.

Elaine. She had made her way back.

In one hand she held his crossbow, fallen from his back in the mad scramble within the tree trunk. Its tip wavered in the air, for her other hand still clutched the baby orc to her chest.

The Phantaur’s grip continued to loosen, and suddenly he was falling. He collapsed to the ground and groaned, gasping much-needed breaths through his swollen throat.

He rolled onto his back and saw the shaman staring at Elaine. His skull-painted visage was a picture of surprise, as if the sight of her was the biggest shock of his life.

Arcturus didn’t care. All he could focus on was dragging breath after gulping breath into his lungs, and he pushed out with his heels, trying to get away from the demon.

The orc’s staff fell, landing beside him in a spatter of soil. Above, the orc had spread his hands wide, palms open. And strangest of all, he looked afraid. Terrified even.

Arcturus managed to struggle to his knees, twisting his body and crawling toward his erstwhile savior. When he reached her, he took the crossbow from her hand and fell onto his back once more, aiming the bolt directly at the orc’s face.

Now the orc had the same opaque barrier hovering in front of his body in a concave oval. Cursing, Arcturus turned his sights onto the Phantaur’s face instead, aiming at the small watery eyes on either side of the demon’s trunk.

“Sacha, get into the trees,” Arcturus yelled. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the injured Canid still dragging herself toward him. She ignored him and continued on, whining through the pain.

“Arcturus, are you all right?” a voice shouted from behind him.

It was Alice. Arcturus breathed a sigh of thanks—the others had arrived. The odds of winning the battle were still very much stacked against them, but it was no longer suicide.

“I’m fine,” he wheezed, not daring to look back and break his aim. “Just get Sacharissa to safety.”

There was the patter of paws along the ground, and Arcturus caught a flash of white at the edge of his vision, dragging Sacharissa into the bushes. The pain of it made his vision swim, but he kept his weapon steady, the tip hovering just above the Phantaur’s eyes.

But the orc seemed to hardly notice. Stranger still, he was not looking at Arcturus or his crossbow. The shaman’s eyes were firmly fixed on Elaine, and his hands were still held high in the air.

He spoke. Not in any language Arcturus could understand, but it seemed like a question. Almost as if the orc was beseeching them. Begging them.

“What’s it saying?” Edmund’s voice came from the bushes behind.

“Hell if I know,” Rotter growled. “Just back away slowly and then we can run like the clappers.”

Arcturus slowly got to his feet. The orc repeated himself, more insistently this time. What did he want? Arcturus didn’t care, he just wanted to get to Sacharissa. He could feel her pain, a dull ache that flared every few seconds.

He took a slow step back. Now he could see Elaine, shaking as the orc yelled at her again.

“Elaine, move into the trees,” Arcturus hissed. “More orcs could arrive any minute.”

With a trembling foot, she took a step back. Immediately, the orc broke into a tirade of guttural ululations, and now his finger, glowing with blue light, was pointed at her. She whimpered with fear and stood still once more.

“Wait,” Arcturus said. He took another step back. Then another. The orc did nothing.

The orc pointed at her again, jabbing at her chest with his finger. The baby. He wanted the baby. Of course.

“Elaine … I want you to very, very slowly leave the baby on the ground,” Arcturus whispered. “Then I’m going to take your hand and we’re going to walk into the jungle. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Elaine whispered in a small voice.

“Okay. Easy does it,” Arcturus replied, watching as Elaine lowered herself into a crouch. She laid the baby in among the leaves. It gurgled its annoyance at being left on the cold, wet ground, its little face screwing up to cry.

“All right,” Arcturus said, hurrying forward and taking Elaine’s hand. It was clammy, and she trembled as he pulled her back with him.

The orc ignored them completely, his only acknowledgment of their existence being the shield that floated in front of his face. Instead, his Phantaur knelt in the dirt, and the orc stepped down from its shoulders and into the grass, absorbing the shield into his finger as he did so.

For a moment Arcturus felt the urge to fire—but thought better of it as the orc fell to his knees and prostrated himself on the ground, his arms extended palms down in supplication. Then Arcturus’s view was obscured by the vegetation.

And they ran.





CHAPTER

34

IT WAS ONLY AN hour later, when light had almost faded, that they allowed themselves to stop running, collapsing together in unanimous exhaustion in the shadow of a moss-laden boulder.

For a few sickening minutes they panted, gasped and gulped water from their flasks, catching their breaths. Arcturus had never felt so tired, or so hungry. His stomach cramped and gurgled as he lay there, and even the water he drank did little to assuage its ravening.