The Weaver's Source

Chapter 58

The Dog growled savagely as blood coloured saliva dribbled from its jaws and a strange sound gurgled in its throat. Grigore stood firm, his muscles taut and his shoulders squared, readying himself. Despite the uncertainty I felt swirling in him, his whole body was still with calm confidence and easy strength. It comforted me a little.

"Source." It said with difficulty. "Mine."

"You're mistaken, dog." Grigore said sharply as his fingers whirled about his thigh and weaved a tiny ward of magic. I felt something hum about him, strong and defensive. "Neither of them are yours."

Its jaws parted and its hot breath was like steam curling out from it long muzzle. "Mine. Eat." It gurgled.

Grigore raised Ursus and let the ward join the others already spinning on the dark surface. "They're both mine." He said simply, hoping to anger the creature.

The dog was agitated now. It paws dug at the earth and it snarled and whined at the same time. Then in one gigantic leap, it hurled its body at Grigore with its mouth agape and strangled snarl thundering from its chest. Before the beast hit it, Grigore's hand was aglow with another pattern of magic. A flash of light flickered from his open palm and only a thick black cloud swept over him. I stiffened with fear. My magic was a mess. It was screaming and wailing, telling me the dog was everywhere, that Grigore needed me and I needed to run. It was disorientating.

A large withered hand tightened around my own, taking my wild gaze from my Weaver as he stood away from me, glancing at all shadows with a firm scowl. I looked up at Lillith. Oil still slithered down her wrinkled face. She looked so weak, so fragile. Suddenly I felt the need to get her out of here. We needed to go back to the hut where she would be safe and her safety was the task Grigore had given me. I wouldn't fail it. When Lillith felt me move though, she tugged me back into place.

"You'll not go anywhere." Lillith said sternly.

I had to admit, her expression and tone frightened me. It was so angry. "You need to go back to the hut where you'll be safe."

"I will go if I feel I need to." Lillith said. "But you are going nowhere."

My gaze slipped to Grigore with worry. He had shouted for the dog but it remained in the darkness, formless like a shadow. I felt it prowling though. I felt its hate and rage. It wanted to kill Grigore and eat him. It was fed up with him and the magic that had caused it so many problems and wanted him gone. As I felt this, my heart stuttered with fear. It made me doubt Grigore and his abilities to kill it. How could he against such hunger and instinctive hate?

"You need to stay for him." Lillith said. "Without you near, he won't slay this monster."

"What do you mean? I'm not good at archery." I stammered.

"He needs you. Right now he is at his most vulnerable. If you don't keep him strong, he'll fall." She replied. "Magic only lasts for so long and, unless he kills it fast, he won't have enough. He may need you to give him some more."

"But my magic is low. I don't have much left." I said with a little panic.

"Then your presence will keep him focused. By his scars, he's a Weaver who hasn't much care for the wounds he gets. He needs to care in this fight. He needs to care about himself if he wants to keep you safe." She murmured. "Do whatever you can to help him. Think."

I thought rapidly, trying to think of something, then shrunk away anxiously, stumbling back as the dog appeared in a whirl of black fury. Great jaws snapped at Grigore's torso but he had slipped sharply away. As the dog's mad eyes sought him, he flung himself at the beast's shoulder. Holding the hilt with both hands, he shoved Ursus hard, pushing it in deep with all his strength as the wards whined and crackled loudly, battling to damage the beast. The blade sunk deep and the dog screeched in pain as the scent of burning flesh filled the frozen air and black blood squirted from its shoulder. Before Grigore could react, the Dog acted blindingly fast. Its head snapped round and its teeth grasped his leg. With one smooth motion, the Dog flung its head back, tearing Grigore's hands away from his sword, and tossed him hard at the mill wall like a ragdoll. The old stone stood no chance. It caved in against the speed and strength of the throw and Grigore vanished from sight. The old mill needed no more than that. Its foundations snapped and crackled then, quite rapidly, fell in on itself.