Authors Note: Character portrait of Cenric is up! storyteller4271/art/Cenric-811869998
Also consider listening to Lullaby of Woe and The Skellige Battle Theme, they were used for inspiration while writing! Enjoy!
Though the foul weather seemed to have finally broken for good, days of trekking through the ice-encrusted forest hunting for straggling warriors had left Cenric drained but alert, irritation glazing his mind.
They'd had no luck in finding any.
All of the trails they'd come across were old, winding towards Ramiel's looming bulk in the distance.
They'd been further behind than either he or Valka had expected and had spent the previous days racing for the peak, making up for lost time. They only had one day remaining to make it to Ramiel and ascend it. The Rite would end at sundown.
Fortunately, they were only a few miles from the sacred peak, with plenty of time to reach the mountain's base and begin the climb.
Not that it had ever been Cenric's true goal.
The thought of not slaughtering the remaining warriors on his list left him sour. Perhaps he'd have a stroke of luck and could find them before they climbed Ramiel, he still had hours of daylight, fresh rays of the newly risen sun gilding the treetops.
A sudden, sharp pain shot through his shoulder, forcing him to grit his teeth against the agony. He clenched his fist in the sling, tightening the muscle, willing it to cease its complaining. The bloodbane had not left his system entirely and he suspected shards of ash still remained in the immobile joint.
Valka had insisted on placing it in a makeshift sling, telling him if she didn't he'd regret it years down the road when the joint was knotted with scar tissue and he'd been left like a limp doll with limited motion.
He'd snarled at the insinuation, even though truth rang in her words.
His arguments that the idea was preposterous had abruptly stopped when the Valka had punched him solidly in his stitched wound and nearly sent him tumbling, black spotting his vision.
He'd begrudgingly worn the sling after, cursing the foul little female for all her worth.
She'd only smiled at him in that infuriating way that made his blood boil before trotting off ahead and telling him to stay close.
As though he needed protection.
Still, he kept near her, watching as she expertly trekked through the forest, surprisingly fast considering her petite frame. He'd had to jog a few times just to keep up with her.
He kept his focus on the back of her head, watching it bob as she nimbly hopped over forest debris, her motions entirely fluid. There was no doubt she'd been trained by Nesta's deadly hand.
It was better than acknowledging the near silent but ever-present flutter of wings above, the white-tailed hawk that wove in the whipping winds, appearing and disappearing on the horizon every few hours.
Cenric ground his teeth in irritation.
At least Valka seemed none the wiser to their escort; she hadn't acknowledged the bird's presence in the days it had followed them. Hadn't so much as glanced its way.
He'd asked her about the "forest spirit" she'd encountered that night he'd been injured, just to ensure his mother hadn't foolishly given herself away. She'd merely smiled at him and told him a little winged sprite had visited her and offered her riches if she only obeyed its wishes and helped him.
She claimed it had led her directly to where he'd been herded by the Ironwood clan and helped her in obtaining shelter and supplies.
Cenric had snorted at the absurdity of it. He didn't believe her tale for a moment and told her as much.
She'd only smiled again and told him that was the truth and that she swore on her mother's life concerning its authenticity.
He'd dropped the discussion about it, relenting. He knew he'd get no further with her, knew she'd only spin a deeper, more ridiculous tale to spiral him away from the truth.
He could only hope his mother had been careful in her assistance, had hidden herself well enough that the female before him hadn't witnessed her intervention firsthand.
Not that it would undo the already gaping wound she'd dealt to his mission in following, the direct dismissal of what she'd sworn to him she wouldn't do.
He slammed down on the icy rage.
They would have words later, when the Rite was completed and the last of the traitorous filth had been eradicated.
"Hey, pretty boy," Valka called from her position ahead of him, poised on the top of a small ravine overlooking the last deep meadow before the jagged rock-fall at base of Ramiel, "come here. I believe I've found something that will pull you out of your sulking."
He bristled, but climbed up beside her.
"There," she said, pointing to an array of large boot prints, deep and fresh, no more than a few hours old, "looks like we've found the trail of the friend you made at the beginning of the Rite. With any luck we can catch the bastard before he makes the top of the mountain. What do you say?"
Indeed, the scent of the bastard he'd squared off with in the great tent wafted to his nose, a fresh trail that wove blatantly through the trees.
Cenric pulled his arm free from the sling, rotating and testing the joint. It still stung, but he could move it, and to finish the arrogant prick who'd instigated the additional worry of his mother-
"Lead the way."
I soared high above, watching my son as he and Valka wove through the barren landscape, covering miles and miles of harsh terrain rapidly.
They'd been efficient, racing across the expanse like two wraiths of shadow, leaving no trail to follow.
Nesta had done her work well training the grey-eyed female. Her skill was exceptional.
Somehow, I'd found peace in knowing she traveled by my son's side.
I'd have to thank Nesta later.
Cenric was just as capable, mindfully planting false trails as they moved, keenly aware of his surroundings as he marked his position and watched, no doubt looking for other warriors.
He'd been pale but whole when he'd exited the cave the morning after his injury, his cobalt eyes sharp as he'd taken in his surroundings and followed after Valka into the billowing snows. Such knee-wobbling relief had flooded me that I'd nearly sobbed before following after him, feeling Azriel's presence not far behind as he kept to the shadows.
My confrontation with the shadowsinger still made me cringe, the memory of the cold filling me as I was suddenly informed of just how unaware I'd been.
Even after over a hundred years of companionship, Azriel's tendency to materialize out of nowhere still scared the shit out of me.
I nearly jumped from my skin as I turned away from my sister's lieutenant and caught the gleaming eyes of our Court's shadowsinger, his wings pulled close against the slashing winds as he stood in the shadows of the copse of trees, his sharp features wreathed in darkness.
Here at the behest of my panicked mate no doubt. I struggled to hide the shame that I could feel spilling over my features.
He was more than my spy-my friend, my brother.
I had been rash in my decision to come here, careless.
I flinched at the thought.
Even though that decision might very well prove to be the only thing that saved my son's life.
No, I would face him with no remorse, without shame and without explanation.
Eyeing the shadowsinger warily, Valka ducked her head and quickly made herself scarce, slipping through the shadows of the trees and disappearing into the frozen night with no more than a whisper of snow.
Squaring my shoulders, I turned to face Azriel fully.
We stared at one another for a time, a battle of wills clashing as we both held our grounds, his gaze heavier than the greatest stone. Unsurprisingly, I broke the silence.
"I made the right decision." My voice had hardened, the voice of not only a High Lady but of a mother, sure and certain of her actions. "I will not apologize for it. I will explain everything to Rhys later, after this has ended."
"I'm not here because of Rhysand," Azriel's voice was inky, nearly as cold as the winds blowing about us, "I'm here at Cenric's request."
Surprise flitted through me and must have shown on my face because the shadowsinger continued.
"He wants them completely eradicated," the winds increased to a wail, the cold making me shiver. "He asked me to follow, to track and observe. To see which clans' grudges run deepest."
His gloved palm rested on Truth-Teller, knuckles pressing taut against the fabric.
Something sour twisted inside of me with that knowledge, that Azriel had been following Cenric, had planned with him to help hunt the bastards down in secret. In knowing he hadn't intervened when they'd brought ash arrows and had herded him like a lamb for slaughter.
Had anyone even considered telling me this? To not leave me in a pit of depthless fear?
My voice was not my own as I said, "You thought not to intervene?"
"I was ordered not to."
The stark, honest words fell upon me like a ton of bricks, heavy and suffocating.
Azriel only watched with that indifferent stare, unnervingly still as he stood before me.
Silence.
Always silence with him.
I gritted my teeth, the winds around us suddenly ceasing, bending beneath the will of my magic as I stalked closer.
"You mean to tell me," the words came out in a bitter stream, fury building beneath my skin, "that you were following him and allowed them to herd him, to nearly kill him because you were ordered to just observe?"
Fire sparked in that gaze as he adjusted his feet shoulder-width apart, his lips only down turning the slightest. I'd struck a raw nerve in that accusation. I couldn't bring myself to even bother to care.
He was my son, my life to protect if no one else would bother-
"Of course," a broken bitter laugh, from the creature I'd become after losing my youngest, "what is the life of my last child? I've already lost the first why not the second?" Delirious, I was becoming delirious with grief—
"Feyre." A warning.
He could see the plummet, the fine line I toed as I stepped closer and closer to the edge, to the plummet I'd taken when I'd found her shredded wings.
He would have allowed my son's death, all on my son's reckless, stupid order—
Azriel had been there the whole time, watching.
I threw a hand out, bracing myself on the nearest tree. Such raw, terrible grief tore through me, ripping me asunder, dragging me down into the depths of that bottomless pit, to that hole of loathing and hatred.
They hadn't told me, had left me out . . .
Who had plotted and planned?
The image of Nesta's lieutenant rose in my mind, the flickering of Azriel's shadows-
Who else?
Who else had deemed me unfit to have the knowledge that was laid before me—
A kick from the mating bond reverberated through me, Rhys's panic palpable as though my encroaching sense of doom had leaked down the mating bond.
No, Azriel was not here on his order.
Powerless. I was becoming powerless again—
"What happened to 'we will serve and protect'?" Hot tears streamed down my face, slipping free to trickle one by one. "You swore it to me, Azriel, swore to my mate, to our family—"
They'd hidden it from me, omitted me—a century-old feeling gripped me, that exclusion, that feeling of unknowing. My grip on reality was slipping, the sorrow rearing up to devour me whole like it had all those years ago, swarming, swallowing—
Violet eyes, freckles, raven locks.
Gone, she was gone, just like my son would soon be-
"-to Celeste . . . you swore you'd protect her," I snarled, pouring a decade's worth of venom into words I did not mean, into a wound I knew I'd later regret inflicting. The pain had to go somewhere, find some release. "Some vow that was. Where is she now, Azriel?" I felt completely hollow, empty. "With her wings buried in icy soil, alone atop that mountain, all because they slipped through your net, and now my son because you 'swore' to him- "
"Enough."
It was the tone, the hint of sorrow and fury that coated that otherwise flat tone that slammed me back to reality. Reeling, I lifted my gaze back to Azriel, to my brother who stood before me, wreathed so thickly in shadows I couldn't discern his features.
"Azriel-"
He was gone, dissolved into darkness.
Azriel had not appeared to me since, but had made his presence known as we'd tailed after my son, even as he kept a healthy distance.
It hadn't been his fault in any capacity, it hadn't been any of our faults. The only ones to blame were the bastards who kept dividing our family, breaking us and wounding us in ways that cut deeply beneath the surface.
I owed him an apology, many. One I would give once this Rite had ended, along with the numerous others I owed.
Once this ended.
I'd finally let Rhys through, had soothed his panic with apologies, with explanations and images of the terror-filled day and night I had faced.
I felt him slump in relief as I spoke to him through the bond, his anger non-existent. Instead it was worry that gnawed at him, even as his grip on the walls of my mind loosened, turned reverent.
He'd almost said to hell with it and followed me into the Steppes. I was glad he hadn't.
A mess, this had already turned out to be such a mess—
Wearily, I had shown him the conversation that had unfolded with Azriel, the poorly-controlled emotions I'd thrown at him so carelessly.
I'd felt him cringe clear through the bond.
He knows you don't mean it, Rhys had tried to comfort me, He'll come around.
I could only hope my mate was right.
For the time being I needed to focus on our son's completion of the Rite, on getting him up that mountain with no more incidents.
He and Valka had turned from their perch atop the ravine overlooking the valley and taken off down a deer trail, following deep indentions in the soil toward a copse of trees at the base of Ramiel.
Rallying the wind beneath my wings, I swiftly followed after.
Cenric and Valka followed the warrior's trail down the winding deer trail and across the still snow-covered valley to the foothills of Ramiel where a thick copse of aspen trees rustled, their branches bone-white and bare in the chill breeze. Here, the male's scent diverged down two paths, twisting out of sight beneath heavy shadows where the aspens gave way to looming firs and underbrush.
The thick foliage had blocked nearly all the snow from reaching the ground here, but still no leaf litter or gravel sat upon the path, its surface unusually smooth with no tracks as though it had been swept clean, the dark soil seemingly absorbing all light.
Strange, Cenric thought, that he would choose such a spot to ambush stray warriors.
A stagnant wind danced passed them, saturated with the stench of forest decay and something . . . sweeter. No birds sang in the copse, no rustle of small creatures-
"He must be this way," Valka murmured, slipping one of her makeshift daggers from her belt and peering deep into the shadowed path. "Thinks he's clever laying two different trails." A snort. "Amateur."
Did she not sense it?
Something sat uneasy with Cenric as he gazed down the trail, a voice whispering for him to turn away. They should leave-
"Getting spooked, city boy?" Valka inquired, cutting him a look of amusement that had any of his reluctance evaporating. "You can stay here if you want, so you don't have to face," she made claws with her fingers and wiggled them, "the Beastie. Better known as a prick with a little dick complex."
"Lead the way," he grumbled, the voice that had whispered to him now silenced, "You take the right fork and I'll take the left. We'll corner him at the end."
"That's better," Valka grinned, throwing her head back before slinking off into the shadows, her footfalls silent. "Where are you, sweet face? Come play."
Bracing himself, Cenric rolled his injured shoulder before venturing down the left path.
"Ooh, how scary," Valka muttered to herself, looking about the path, watching for any sign of the arrogant bastard she'd faced down in the tent. "Look at me, the brave Illyrian warrior hiding in a little forest path, trying to bait stragglers for glory."
She moved steadily down the narrow path, watching as the sun high above was slowly filtered away to shadow by the thick branches of the overhead trees.
A clever place to hide and ambush, if one were wise enough to cover his scent. Both he and the High Lady could use a lesson or two in subtlety.
She was beginning to wonder how far the prick had wandered into the overgrowth when movement flashed in the corner of her eye.
Finally.
Brandishing her blade, she made to launch herself and strike when, instead of a face brutalized by scars, a set of familiar features materialized from the shadows. She froze, all thoughts draining from her.
The figure let out a small, deep chuckle as he stepped from the dense shadows, the bits of remaining light highlighting his high broad cheekbones and vibrant emerald eyes. He was exactly the same as the last time she'd seen him, only without the blood of the High Lord soaking his clothes.
Valka's dagger went clattering to the dirt path beneath her.
"Miss me, sister?"
Full lips pulled up in a small half smile, his wings held proudly behind him above his broad shoulders.
Valka was breathless, tears welling at the corners of her eyes, as she disbelievingly whispered, "Silbah."
-
A sense of otherworldliness permeated the area, causing the hair on Cenric's arms to fleck up, his instincts willing him to flee as he continued deeper down the path.
It felt ancient.
He knew Ramiel was sacred, but this power-
Another draft of wind set the trees rustling, a feeling of wrongness saturating it, that sickeningly sweet smell becoming more pronounced the further he went. Maybe this was the power his father had described feeling from the stone at the mountain's peak, perhaps it just saturated the area around Ramiel and with his sensitivity to magic—
Somehow, he knew that wasn't the case.
After minutes of unnervingly silent walking Cenric found a series of tracks beneath him, deep boot marks that careened off towards the left, gouged deep into the earth as though whomever they'd belonged to had struggled.
Slipping one of his rough blades free, he inched forward, following the boot prints as they gave way from steps to deep, continuous paths, as though the victim had finally succumbed and had been dragged the rest of the way.
Some warrior that the bastard had likely lured and killed before dragging off into the underbrush to loot and hide him—
But there was no blood.
Strange, also, that no other scent other than that of the warrior he was tracking was present.
He tentatively stepped away from the path and began moving through the underbrush, looking for where the tracks ended. That sweet smell was overwhelming now, saturating the air so thickly that Cenric coughed, nearly gagging.
Pressing through a patch of small trees, he tried to discern any shapes in the darkness. He only found piles of conifer needles, as though they'd been scraped away from the path and scattered beyond it. A few broken branches and rocks, both large and small—
Water dripped down onto Cenric's ear and slid down his neck, racing for his collar. Reaching up, he wiped at the water, surprised to find snow melting in the frigid temperatures-
The sweet smell was now unbearable.
Where was it coming from?
Pulling his fingers from his neck he found that it hadn't been water that had dripped on him but a dark, slightly oily liquid, no doubt the source of that sweet smell. Wrong, this was wrong. The muscles in his back bunched as he shot his attention upwards.
There above him, hanging like a loose canvas was a blanket of skin, pulled taut between the branches. Not a skin that had been cut and pulled free but one that had been deflated, drained, as though the tissue and bones inside had been melted and sucked away. And there, draped across the branches above the skin like a sheet of leather . . . wings.
With horror, Cenric realized the face belonged to the warrior who had faced him at the beginning of the Rite, the skin of his long nose and chin drooping towards the forest floor, dripping that dark substance.
Another drop fell onto Cenric's face, splattering his cheek. He staggered back, gagging.
This was a trophy, a marker of territory.
This wasn't an Illyrian ambush, not by a long shot.
No, this was something far deadlier, something that was preying on the fresh game abundant in the Steppes. Something that wasn't supposed to be in these mountains.
There had only even been stories, legends of such creatures. They'd been extinct for millennia, now no more than whispers told over campfires in the dark cold of the Illyrian nights, meant to frighten children to bed.
Cenric swallowed hard as he looked gazed up at the other trees, limp corpses hung like banners. All of them other warriors who'd had their insides sucked out and had been hung as a canopy for the monster's home.
He'd found the nest, the place where it fed, which meant the path that Valka had followed-
She was its next victim.
He burst back onto the path and rushed through band of trees that separated the paths, pushing his legs into a full sprint. He had to find her and then they needed to run, fast.
This was no manner of creature they could face, and without his magic. . . their only option would be to flee. He had to find her.
"You . . . you're here," Valka swallowed past the tears as she took a step forward, reaching tentatively for her brother who watched her carefully. He'd come back for her . . . "You actually came."
"Did you think I would forget you?" His voice was the same deep whisper she remembered, the same broad hand reaching for her, beckoning her forward, that hand that had reared her, that had crafted every bit of the person she was.
How many years had it been?
How long ago had been that'd he'd left in the night with one order, only one.
Home, he was home-
"I did what you told me," she affirmed, wiping futilely at her eyes as she inched forward, "everything you told me."
He looked at her with such pride, his beautiful features nearly glowing as he took her in.
The only one who she'd ever been loyal to.
To her final dying breath.
The only one she would bleed herself dry to serve, to protect.
"I know," he assured her, and his soft smile appeared, so different from the monster that they'd painted him to be-never with her, never that monster with her- "Valka, I know. But we must go, time is running short, they'll be here soon. I need you."
It was over, this game she'd been playing was over. Crumbling into dust beneath her. She could taste her freedom.
Stepping forward, she reached out a tentative hand to take his—
An arm suddenly clamped like a vice around her waist, faster than even she could detect, pulling her up and away from her brother, stumbling as it maneuvered her away.
"Valka!"
The scent, the voice . . . it was Cenric.
Horror washed through her, no, Cenric had seen him—he would ruin everything, give his presence away, uproot all that she'd ever cared about.
She had to explain, to get Silbah away, quickly, to keep him hidden-
"It's a trap," Cenric snarled as he pulled her back, reeling away from Silbah and keeping her pinned tight to him. Her brother only watched with cool calm, tilting his head towards the side, observing as he always did, "keep away from it—"
"Cenric," Valka was grappling for purchase, trying to push out of his grip, "it's not what it seems, please, let me explain—"
"You're damn right it's not," Cenric hissed, lowering into a defensive stance but keeping Valka tight in his good arm as he took another step back, "it's a leshka, luring warriors into its den to feed on."
"What the fuck are you spouting about?!" Valka screamed, irrational fury filling her, "Leshka don't exist anymore, they're a fable! Can't you see it's my—"
Silbah's face twisted, morphing only slightly, as though his skin had pulled too tight, his eyes going misty white.
"Valka . . ." His voice was now many, screeching and wispy as he stepped forward and reached for her. "Sister, we have to leave."
"What are you—" Her eyes widened in horror as she reeled away from that hand, now pressing harder to Cenric as he pulled her further back down the path. Terror washed through her, shame for her foolishness beginning to flood her. "You piece of shit," she hissed, lips peeling back from her teeth, "you piece of shit!"
The creature was smiling as the illusion it held began to shift, giving away to the monstrous form beneath, sharp bone spikes running up the length of its spine as it lowered itself onto all fours, the skin peeling away from the rotting flesh beneath, a jaw of bone forming between its shoulder blades, filled with rows of jagged teeth.
It was just like the horror stories, the bedtime tales she'd been told as a child to scare her into behaving. But somehow so much worse.
Cenric hadn't released his hold on her, keeping her pressed close as though he feared she'd fly off toward the creature again. Protecting her, he was trying to protect her.
Hot, angry tears fell down her face as she bore witness to the creature's shift.
Rotten, infected claws appeared on the front legs, scratching the ground beneath it erratically, while the back shifted to hooves, pale bone replacing long fingers. Atop the jaw Silbah's face expanded and distorted, growing a limp, almost humanoid, deflated body laid down the length of the jaw, creating the head, its feet curving upward into a twisted mockery of antlers. And the face . . . it rose up with ungazing milky eyes and smiled a toothless smile, as it reached out a stump of a hand, calling Valka's name again and again.
Valka felt herself nearly go flying as Cenric threw her to the side, turning her and grabbing her shoulder, propelling her forward. "RUN!"
Needing no further incentive, she surged forward, racing down the path as the creature shot after them like lightning, screaming Valka's name.
Cenric flew down the path, his breath a rasp in his throat as he and Valka struggled to stay ahead of the creature. Its high-pitched screaming grew closer and closer as it raced after them, that putrid sweet smell filling the air once again.
He didn't have to look over to see that Valka kept in step with him, the smell of the salt of her tears still stinging his nose.
He did not know what she had seen but what the creature had shown him . . . he could not blame her for them.
Leshka preyed on the guilt and desire of living beings, warping their image to fit whatever haunted their prey the most, to lure them in with those they wished most to see.
Another unearthly screech echoed close behind them, eliciting a curse as Cenric pushed himself harder, willing his body faster, faster, faster.
Screw the Rite, if leshka were back in the area . . . something was incredibly, incredibly wrong.
He needed his magic back, would have been able to at least keep it at bay if he'd been equipped with more than just a useless wooden dagger.
Not that it would have done him any good, leshka were nearly impossible to kill, the methods of doing so lost long ago with the stories that had given way to their legend.
Your only chances of survival were to get out of its territory, but even then, those in the tales who had faced them . . . none had survived a close encounter.
To see a leshka meant certain death.
Nearing the end of the path, Cenric threw a hand out and dragged Valka out of the copse with him, directing her toward the rocky base of Ramiel several hundred meters ahead. He snarled at her to move as he shoved her ahead of him.
She surged forward, her short legs swallowing up the distance with remarkable speed. Not enough, however, Cenric realized as he heard the leshka tear around the corner behind them, crashing into trees, that grotesque head screaming.
It would catch up to them soon, they had only minutes.
Scrambling, he dug through his memory, looking for any solution.
Leshka were bound to the territory that they selected, unable to venture outside of the edges they marked with the remains of their victims.
He looked toward the rocky base of the sacred mountain, spiraling dizzyingly upwards into the clouds above.
If they could get up the rocks . . .
Maybe they could out-climb it.
It was the only shot they had. Reaching the base of the mountain Cenric gave Valka no chance to speak before he picked up her and practically threw up the small cliff before them, his shoulder roaring in agony. She landed with a thud before rolling, gripping the surface for purchase.
Backing up a few feet, Cenric ignored the crippling pain as took a sprinting start and practically ran up the cliff face, reaching up and pulling himself upwards, digging his toes into the stone.
Valka had made it an overhang and had turned to look back, her face wan as she looked behind them, no doubt seeing the creature close on their heels.
"Keep climbing!" He barked at her, breaking her trance. As though realizing her own hesitation she reached down a hand and pulled him over the edge, cursing his weight as she hauled him towards her. Reaching for the next rock, Cenric heard a high-pitched wail and a thud, like a body rolling.
Turning, he saw the horrific creature sprawled on its side screaming as though some force had knocked it askew from the side. He watched as it tried to right itself, its attention diverting to its interceptor.
Standing before it with his wings spread wide was Azriel, Truth-Teller heavy in his hand one hand and an Illyrian blade in the other, Siphons gleaming as he took a defensive position against the creature. Shadows swirled around him as he took a step to the right, circling around the monster, taking its attention away from the mountain and toward the valley instead.
Away from them.
Cenric's breath caught in his throat.
As though sensing his attention Azriel snapped his gaze up to him before pointing toward the top of Ramiel.
An order.
A cold sweat broke out across Cenric as he watched the creature right itself and lower its twisted horns at Azriel, ready to charge as it fixed its milky eyes on him.
He'd asked Azriel to be here, to follow. He'd put him in this situation.
Where was his mother?
He should go down there and help, he couldn't leave Azriel alone against the creature—
"We have to move," Valka panted, digging her hand into his good shoulder, "the shadowsinger is only going to be able to buy us so much time."
He turned back to Valka, his eyes hard.
"He can winnow once we're out of the way, Cenric," She pointed at the shadowsinger, who was now racing away from the creature, leading it back toward its den. "He just saved our asses," she hissed, "you really think I'm going to say shit about it?! Climb!" She shoved him upward, at the narrow path up the mountain.
Snarling, Cenric turned from the shadowsinger and the beast he battled, gripping the stone as he began the steep ascent, his shoulder barking in protest.