Poison. Part 5

"Okay." She came out from behind the rock. "I need to get my pig down, and you seem to be the only one who can reach it. Would you please get it down for me now?"

Fred smiled when he saw her. "Hey, Kitty." He greeted her like they were at a church social or something. "I would be more than happy to get your pig down for you. What's her name?" He reached down to rub a hand over his dog's head.

"My pig doesn't have a name, Fred," she said. "I'd appreciate it if you just got it down, and we'll be on our way."

He moved over to the pig. "This will just take a minute." Putting one hand firmly on the pig's rump, he held his other hand over its snout. The pig began sniffing, its face buried in the cup of his palm. "You look kind of like a Sasha to me," he said. From one of the big flap pockets of his rough green jacket, he pulled out a small dog biscuit. "Or a Rosie. Oh, Rosie's perfect."

"You CANNOT name my pig." Kyra shook her head.

"Everyone should have a name," Fred said. "h.e.l.lo, little Rosie." He rubbed the pig's head as it munched contentedly on the biscuit. "You are a fine little thing. Even carry your own basket."

Kyra started as he touched the scent basket that was supposed to lead her to the princess. Miraculously, the sc.r.a.p of fabric was still pinned within it. She only hoped it still worked after the dunking.

Fred stroked the pig's chin and continued to coo over her. She seemed completely oblivious to the dog sitting not ten feet away. "I'm introducing them to each other's scent," he said over his shoulder. "They'll be friends in no time."

Kyra blinked hard. She had to get out of here. "They don't need to be friends."

Fred loped over to his dog and rubbed the animal's ears, his back to her. "It never hurts to have friends," he said, petting his dog with one hand, the other hand cupped around the dog's nose. He winked.

Kyra pulled the stick from her bun, and the sloppy knot of her hair came apart. She ran her thumb over the slightly thicker end of the stick, feeling the secret b.u.t.ton that popped a tiny blade out of the other side. It was treated with a paralyzing poison. Two fast slices above a combatant's wrist would make him drop his weapon, and then a kick to the head would take him down. A few nicks...

No. Kyra spun away from Fred.

Across the river was the drooping willow she'd sat under earlier, back when her life had been simple. She almost laughed out loud at that-the simple life of hiding from the kingdom's soldiers and her business partners, and trying to kill her best friend.

She watched the water rush by, once again as beautiful as it had been before she'd taken an unexpected dip in it.

And then, right before Kyra's eyes, the water roiled and turned red-a deep dark red, the color of blood. The b.l.o.o.d.y river filled her vision, and the rest of the world faded away. The river stank of death.

Then she blinked and her vision was gone.

The river looked completely normal, just as it had moments before.

She hugged her black-sleeved arms around herself.

Behind her, she heard Fred talking to the animals.

"See, Rosie? Langley's a nice dog. He just wants to be friends. I know he's big and looks scary, but he's just a puppy at heart. And, Langley, you're going to have to be gentle with Rosie, okay?"

What had Fred said? He was a traveler? No job, no people to worry about, just living for the moment. What would it be like to have such an easy life?

"Here we go," he said. "Let's just set you on the ground here."

Kyra turned to find Rosie and Langley sniffing one another. They began nuzzling noses. "Hey!" Kyra shouted.

Before she could stop it, her pig was trotting off with the wolf-dog.

"You're welcome, Kitty."

Kyra caught up to the animals just as they reached what must have been Fred's camp. A small tent was set up among the trees, and a campfire was at a low smolder with a simmering pot suspended above it. She reached for the pig's leash, but it dodged away.

Fred sauntered up and pulled out another biscuit. "Here you go, Rosie."

The pig devoured the treat with relish.

"You can lunch with us if you'd like." Fred stirred the embers with a long stick, not looking at Kyra. "It's the least we can do after nearly drowning you. It's nice to have some company sometimes."

"We don't need lunch." Kyra's stomach tightened at the refusal. The campsite smelled deliciously of spices and wood smoke. Kind of like Fred himself. "We need to get going."

Fred looked up, his eyes catching Kyra's. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Kitty."

He took her hand. She pulled back, startled. "Parting gift," he said.

Kyra looked down and found a dog biscuit in her palm.

ROSIE.

She couldn't believe he'd named her pig. Her worker pig. Who didn't need a name.

Kyra bit off a hunk of stale bread as she stomped through the sun-bright forest. They were on a wide birch-lined path, but Kyra saw with relief that the forest grew denser farther ahead. One problem with following a Katzenheim pig-it went down the most direct path, but it wasn't always the best route for someone who didn't want to be seen.

Fred better not have ruined Rosie's nose with all of his food and getting-the-animals-used-to-each-other business.

And the name had stuck. That's what was so infuriating. She couldn't look at the pig without thinking Rosie.

Fred was the most annoying kind of guy-beautiful and full of himself. He'd found the whole incident SO amusing. Kyra blushed at the memory of herself sopping wet and half naked in his arms.

Rosie kept looking up at her hopefully, as though she might have another dog biscuit in her pocket.

Kyra dropped a piece of bread for her. She ate it, but Kyra could have sworn Rosie gave her a reproachful look.

There was nothing wrong with old bread. Kyra loved bread. She'd pretty much been living off of it these past few months. Why did Fred have to go and tempt her with hot food and a warm fire?

What could it have been? It smelled kind of like stew, but there was a strong spicy scent of herb. It reminded her of the Gypsy food stalls at the Sat.u.r.day market-sort of ethereal and woodsy, yet at the same time earthy and filling. Scrumptious. But her favorite by far was the cheese stand. They made this potato dish that was all mashed up with long strings of melty cheese whipped through it. Garlicky, b.u.t.tery deliciousness.

A branch snapped behind her.

Grabbing Rosie, Kyra dove into the bushes, scratching herself on a clump of p.r.i.c.kers. The sound had been distant but closer than it should have been. Daydreaming about food had brought her guard down.

Rosie didn't seem to mind the rough treatment. Instead of struggling, she snuggled in under Kyra's arm for a nap.

As the sound of footsteps grew closer, Kyra reached into her velvet potions bag and pulled out her cloaking charm. She spritzed herself and Rosie, and she and the pig took on the patterns of the leaves around them until their individual outlines disappeared completely.

The footsteps stopped suddenly right beside her hiding place.

Through the small s.p.a.ces between the leaves, Kyra could see heavy black boots with oversized shiny silver buckles bearing the Kingdom of Mohr insignia. A king's soldier. Glancing up, all she saw was black, black, black all the way to collar height. This wasn't just any soldier; he was part of the king's special regiment. Only elite-force soldiers wore all black.

Their weapons weren't to keep the peace or disarm an opponent; they were meant to kill. Kyra knew because she had enhanced most of those weapons herself.

He thrust the tip of his sword into the hedge and leaned forward to look inside. She had to stop herself from gasping as she recognized the man's chin-length black hair framing a drooping mustache. Dartagn.

Of all the soldiers to be after her.

He had trained her.

Dartagn crouched down and peered deeper into the bushes. The tip of his sword, glowing green with poison, was inches away.

Behind him came the fffeeet, fffeeet, fffeeet of a small animal scurrying toward them. Dartagn paused to listen.

The animal stopped a few feet away. A squirrel.

Kyra held her breath.

Please leave, please leave, please leave.

She felt Dartagn hesitate.

Kyra palmed a small rock and flicked it to land a scant inch from the squirrel's tail. The animal took off, shooting out from beneath the p.r.i.c.ker bush onto the path in front of Dartagn.

He swore to himself and stood up. His black boots moved away.

Kyra slowly let out a deep breath, but stayed where she was. Once she was sure there was absolutely no chance that Dartagn was still in the area, she stood. She shook the invisible pig in her arms and heard her wake with a loud yawn.

Kyra held tight to her end of the leash as she deposited Rosie on the ground. "So glad you got a nice nap in."

Kyra spent the rest of the day following Rosie and alternately jumping at every sound that might be Dartagn or another elite-force soldier.

And obsessing about food.

The memory of that spicy stew of Fred's haunted her. How could someone so annoying make something that smelled so good?

The sun was sinking into the horizon when Kyra heard noises behind her that could only be footsteps.

She dove into the bushes with Rosie for the second time that day and waited for whoever it was to pa.s.s by.

Just as the footsteps drew near, Kyra looked again at the pig and realized that she was as solid and pink as could be. The cloaking charm had faded. How had she let that happen?

The footsteps and shuffling noises grew closer.

And closer.

She didn't want to risk the noise of her cloaking mister.

The next thing Kyra knew, a wet nose was thrust into her face.

And a tongue licked her.

A dog's tongue.

"Come on, Langley," Fred's voice called, already walking away. "There's nothing in there."

What was he doing here?

Kyra held her breath.

Langley pulled his head out of the bushes, and Kyra heard him shuffling off after Fred.

A few moments later she heard a loud shout, followed by a scream.

KYRA RAN DOWN THE path and came to the top of a rise just in time to see a goblin smash Fred in the head with a club.

Fred fell to the ground.

Langley growled low in his throat and placed himself between the goblin and Fred.

There were six goblins in all-vicious, gray-skinned creatures with oversized globelike eyes, sharp teeth, and knotted muscles. They were shorter than an average man-just about Kyra's size. The one with the club circled around the big dog as another goblin with a long wicked knife advanced head-on, one eye on Langley, one eye on Fred's pack. The others crowded around and snickered.

Goblins were the worst. It wouldn't be enough to steal the unconscious man's bag. They'd slit his throat, and Langley's, too-and then probably make a meal of them both before leaving.

She had to do something. But what? Goblins didn't react to potions the same way that humans did. There was something different in their body chemistry that skewed the effects of potions, often with surprising and horrible results.

She was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.

"Stay here," she whispered to Rosie. She grabbed a couple of egg-sized rocks.

Kyra whipped one of the rocks at the goblin on the far left. It hit his skull with a loud crack, and he collapsed, stunned. She nailed a second with another rock, dropping him too.

Now there were only four.

With an enormous leap, Kyra landed beside Fred and the growling dog. Right in front of the goblin with the knife.

She slammed the side of her hand against his wrist, and his weapon flew to the ground. A quick jab to his throat and a sweep of her leg, and he was down just in time for her to jam her elbow into the solar plexus of a goblin who'd come at her from behind.

Another swiped at her with one long-nailed hand.

In the quick, measured moves she'd been taught by Dartagn, she locked the goblin's arm, kicked him in the stomach, and sent him sprawling. She turned on the goblin with the club just as a shadow fell on them both.

A dark, winged creature flew up above the fray.

A greck.

It came at Kyra, a foul-smelling leathery wing brushing her face as it alighted on her head. Pinpoint claws scrabbled against her scalp, reaching for her eyes. Grecks, she knew, blinded their prey and then used their long pointed beaks to crack open their victim's skull.

As she reached up to tear the greck from her head, the goblin with the club ran at her, and the greck's talons sank in just above her eyebrows.

Kyra rolled to the side and kicked her leg straight up, smacking the goblin in the jaw. He fell back, and she grabbed the club, swinging it up at her own head. It connected with the greck with a satisfying squelch. The thing shrilled and loosened its grip.

It took two more swings until the greck released her and slid off her head.