The Touch of Astoroth

Chapter Seven

"What?" Coyra leaped away from him, knifes flashing in her hands, "I'm not going anywhere with you! I've got to get back to the academy and get Fyn and Lemric, and we've got to leave. So we can stop – stop killing people."

Slay shook his head, holding up his hands again to indicate defenselessness, "Listen, I'm not dragging you anywhere, Coyra. And you should definitely go back and get your friends. I can probably even help you with escaping. But you've got to come with me first; if Tilga finds out that I found that charm and didn't bring it back to her, well, things won't be so great for me."

"Charm?" Coyra looked up at Slay, and the pieces began falling into place: it hadn't been a mere hair ornament that she had taken from Sarahfim Nakumnay. So Izmeel hadn't taken the luck charm after all.

Slay was watching her intently, "So will you come with me? If we ride fast, we'll be there by morning."

"I thought wendelyn were a myth," Coyra told him, "also, how do I know this Tilga of yours isn't going to try and take the luck charm for her own ends?"

Fear flashed across his face again, "She might, but I doubt she'll be upfront about it. If she likes you, then you've got nothing to worry about."

"Fine then. I'll come."

Coyra told herself that she was doing it for Izmeel, gathering information on the luck charm, and the wendel woman, maybe she'd even be able to recruit the magic wielder for the Izmeelan army; but she knew that she really just didn't want to go back to the academy yet. She didn't want to face the masters, and least of all Fyn and Lem. What if they refused to come with her? What if they stayed on as assassins? No! It wouldn't happen, and for now, she wouldn't think about it.

"Lead the way," she said, and followed Slay into the dark.

When they reached the road, Slay stopped and whistled loud enough to make Coyra wince and look away, sure that everyone within a mile must have heard him. No answering search trumpets rang out though, and a moment later, a riderless horse cantered onto the road. It was bigger than the ponies, dappled gray with a long, rather tangled mane and tail. The horse stopped beside Slay and allowed him to stroke his head and neck.

Slay scanned the sky, as though searching for shooting stars, then turned back to Coyra, "This is Ggine, Tilga's horse. Do you have one?"

"I have a pony," Coyra growled, trying to inject as much ferocity as she could into that sentence, "and he'll do just fine, thank you."

A trace of amusement crossed Slay's face, but he nodded.

Coyra went and retrieved Jeggin from where she had left him, saddling him quickly and bringing him back to where Slay waited with Ggine.

Slay swung himself up onto his horse's back, and Coyra mounted Jeggin, scowling; she didn't like how much higher up he was.

Slay motioned, and together, they rode into the night, towards the shadowy hills in the distance.

By the time they reached the wendel woman's cottage, it was just past daybreak, and Coyra was exhausted. The house was on a hill, nestled in trees, and impossible to see unless you knew it was there. They turned Jeggin and Ggine loose, then set off towards the front door.

Fifty paces away from it, Slay held up a hand to stop her, and said softly, "You've got a knife on you right?"

"Yes," Coyra answered, ready to tell him that she would point blank not enter the house without a weapon, but Slay only nodded once.

"Good."

This was even more ominous than telling her she couldn't bring a knife, and Coyra opened her mouth to ask why, but Slay squared his shoulders and walked towards the house, so she had no choice but to follow.