In the Shadow of the Rook

3. Eyes in the Dark

After he'd left the broken tower, Vodrun resting cold and still at its pinnacle, Erik had drifted through the dark streets of Zauhn, little more corporeal than a phantom. Two weeks absent, everyone would no doubt think him dead even if they saw him. They'd be right. There was only one way men came back from the grave.

He shuffled to his door, knowing he had to collect his things and leave town, but he hesitated at the threshold. On the second story of the house next door was a diamond-paned window lit with a single candle. Even that little flame made the glass glitter like the sun on a pond's surface, and despite his urgency, despite his need to be away, Erik stood and watched that light flicker back and forth, back and forth. He expected a shadow to move before it and blot it out as the man inside looked out over night-cloaked Zauhn. He hoped the man would wonder where his son had disappeared to, and if he might come back, hope still flickering in his heart like the candle.

But Erik knew he couldn't hope for that now. Not after what Vodrun had said. Not after what Erik had long suspected, but never dared voice to himself. Never dared face.

Erik tore his gaze away from his father's window and stepped inside his own house.

* * *

Though he couldn't see beyond its eyes, Erik knew how the mooneyes—or nightstalker, as it was sometimes called—should look: lion-like in shape, longer and thicker than a man, with a mane that flared out like shadowy flames. Its claws were dangerous enough, and its bite worse, but the worst was its cunning. Mooneyes weren't seen often, but when they came out to kill, there was no hope in escaping.

It growled and howled like a hound, then advanced, and Erik stumbled away. He was helpless even with his knife in hand. The killing only went one way with mooneyes.

The nightstalker came on barking, jumping forward by margins, though a mooneyes shouldn't bark. But Erik still backed away fast, yelling and swinging his knife before him. The creature snapped and growled and yelped, its fury seeming to grow by the second.

His heel caught. He was weightless for one terror-filled moment, then he crashed to the ground, and the beast was on him, snarling, its breath smelling of death and decay. Erik tried to lash at it, but his arm was pinned beneath him and the creature, and he couldn't get it unstuck.

The mooneyes snarled and dove for his other arm, teeth sinking in.

"Ach!" Erik flailed at the nightstalker as it bit hard, tearing through cloth and into the skin. He lashed out, panic rising in his chest, knife still stuck under his side. Blood ran down his sleeve. The beast's claws pressed against his chest, weight bearing down. Erik hissed through his teeth at the pain and pushed at it harder, but the beast just clamped down tighter.

"Hey! Off him!" The voice came from behind. Erik punched the nightstalker's head, and its grip loosened, but it didn't back off. It lunged for his neck this time, and Erik just managed to twist his leg around to push at its flank. It came again, snapping viciously, then suddenly stopped. Erik scrambled to his feet and away, turning back when he'd gone a few paces, panting and clutching his arm. He finally managed to get the knife up, but the animal bowed away, bright eyes watching warily.

"Get the hell away from him, yah damn mutt!" the voice said. It was Wil, Erik saw, the big man running back up the road. "Get back to your master!"

"What are you doing?" Erik croaked. Bending down, he pinned his torn arm to his chest, trying to stem the blood. "It'll kill you!"

But it didn't. The beast just whimpered like a scolded dog. Mutt, Wil had called it, and Erik suddenly realized why. It was a dog—a nautded dog.