Against the Wind

12.2 || Corvin

As the wild shimmer of dust emerged cupped in one mage's palm, Corvin scrabbled sideways and kicked off Meag's back, landing in an unsteady heap that clouded sand into the air. He blinked the sting from his eyes and rolled. By the time he pushed to his feet, Meag was already moving, her guttural cry nearly drowned out by the pounding rhythm of her paws.

She rammed headfirst into the first mage, then swung her head to sweep the legs from the second. The males scrambled to attack. The whistle of Meag's outrage pierced the air as one landed a hit. Guilt twisted a knot of thorns that kneaded Corvin's gut, sour in the back of his throat, but he couldn't hesitate. Meag was strong and trustworthy, and he had to use the opportunity she provided to achieve what they'd come to do. Tearing his gaze from the chaos, he dashed to the other beast's side.

The creature's marginally smaller shape and thicker tail marked them as male. His tail whipped a frenzy as Corvin approached, accompanied by a thrumming moan. The beast's eyes were alight with pain's haze and were clearly blind to Corvin's heritage; he only calmed when Corvin began to murmur in the beast tongue, shushing it, whispering in fluid sentences that blended into one another that everything would be okay. The words felt like feathers in his mouth, hardly real and thick with lies. Sprinkles of scarlet matted the beast's otherwise silvery fur. It bled from a scattering of small wounds, none enough to be near fatal but enough to pin him within agony's claws, though the ropes were what truly seized Corvin's heart. They ensnared the beast's thick limbs and coiled so numerously tight that his fur pushed out in wild, flowering tufts in the sparse gaps it could find. A trap.

His snout was bound shut, too. His gaze softened to wet, hopeful pleading, and Corvin was quick to oblige. He yanked at the ropes, wishing he had Kyril's claws or Vipra's slender fangs. The clash of weapons and magic and Meag's cries coalesced into a storm of noise that licked at his back like an inferno. The beast beside him moaned weakly, and in desperation, he bent his head, antlers wriggling into the mess to saw at the binds.

It was a successful endeavour. He was twisting to cut through the final rope, back arching and pain in his muscles dimmed by adrenaline, when one sound splashed from the storm and crawled over his bones as ice.

Meag had never screamed that loudly before.

Corvin's head snapped up, the rope's two halves falling limply between his splayed hands. His heart seized. Meag faced one of the mages. Her teeth were bared, her head bowed so that her mane spilled a dusty curtain above one eye, her forelegs bent awkwardly and trembling. The mage's hand was outstretched. A bloody mirage trailed from her fingertips, her silhouette a shadow in the murky monochrome of the night. Her eyes sparked with eerie delight.

Corvin could scarcely hear anything other than his own laboured breathing and the pound of blood in his ears. He shoved the ropes aside into a haphazard heap and latched his arms underneath the beast's neck, hauling upright. It was a challenge to keep his voice soft and even. "Come. Stand up for me. Please, stand."

Much to his relief, the beast obliged, growing lighter in his grip until, with a rattling shudder, he pushed onto all fours. Corvin forced himself to hesitate, hand sliding to rest on the beast's snout and gaze locking with his. His heart raced, but he waited. He had to, until the beast gave him the permission he needed—a snort of hot air, the slightest shift of his jaw—and he allowed the nervous energy to spring him onto the beast's back.

His knee nudged his new mount's flank. "Charge!"

With a resonant cry, the beast lumbered forward. Doubt and regret hissed a chorus; Corvin could feel the shaky dip and rise as the beast's legs nearly buckled at the movement, snapped at by weakness. He couldn't hold back now, though. Together, they barged past the mage, knocking her spellcasting arm aside as she was flung to the ground. Shrieking, she clawed at the sand to roll herself out of the stampeding beast's path, yellow cloak whipped in a wild circle. When she raised her head again, inky hair tossed into a frenzy, the powerful light in her gaze had winked out.

Meag backpaced, huffing and stomping, and relief gusted through Corvin. It was a thin wind, though, leaving the hollows of his chest dry once it had blown through. The beast he sat atop wasn't stopping. He patted frantically at his mount's side, ruffled his mane, urging him to retreat, but he didn't have Meag's easy obedience nor did they share a rapport strong enough for Corvin to read the huff and blow of his breathing. His shakes grew more violent. Unsteadiness clacked in the bones shifting beneath Corvin; he had to flatten himself to the beast's back, arms sinking into fur and bristle as they wrapped his neck, to keep from being flung off as they picked up speed.

The scene spiralled into a dizzying blur. Heavy feet thundered. Sand flew in swirling arcs, wrapping the dark figures that clustered around them like a fog. Weapons scraped and sang, soon drowned out by a series of yelps. The beast's head whipped every which way and took Corvin with it. In the haze of noise and movement, his sharp senses whimpered. Bile stung the back of his throat and his grip began to slide.

With an almighty braying growl, the beast swerved abruptly to the side, and they finally lost contact. A series of panicked shouts, tied together by a gurgling scream, flew past Corvin like arrows as he tumbled through the air, landing hard on one shoulder. The impact juddered through him and scraped lightning through the wounds on his back that jolted every inch of his spine. Jaw clenched tight to hold in a whine, he curled his legs close to him, ears folding in on themselves. If not for the fear pounding through him, he'd have stayed that way, waiting in desperate pain for the world to quiet. Instead he clung to an armful of sand in a shallow attempt to ground himself and forced his head to lift.

The outlines of sky and people and beasts bounced and spun, hardly discernible until his vision began to settle. Only then did he see the motionless form draped hardly more than an arm's length away from him.

A chill colder than any desert night cut through him. In the wavering moonlight, the blank, lifeless eyes staring back at him were ghostly white.

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