Alastair spoke to Akarra in Eth and she drew back, still snarling. Akarra opened her mouth and arched her neck, ready to flame. “You’re going to regret that, Mauntell,” he said.
“Burn the trees, dragon, and it is you who will regret it,” the man said.
The shadows between the trees moved, cloaking the Mauntells around us in an unnatural night. Only the bowman remained visible, his smile shining white as bone in the gloom.
Every instinct within me cried a warning as Alastair raised his axe. No one could grin like that in the face of an angry dragon. Not without good reason. I caught Alastair’s arm. “Don’t do it!” I hissed. He fixed me with a furious look, but I held on. “Can’t you see he knows something?” I said in his ear.
Alastair looked again at the grinning bowman, looked at me, and lowered his axe.
“Tell us what you want, Master Mauntell,” I said, “or let us pass.”
“Even we have heard whispers of the great dragonriders of Arle, my lady.” He pointed to Alastair with the tip of his bow. “Your family’s battle prowess is said to be unmatched, Alastair Daired. I should like to put that to the test.”
“A duel?” he said.
“Aye. Formal and proper, according to the ancient customs. You alone and I alone and none to interfere.” He cast a scornful glance at Akarra. “Human or dragon.”
Alastair narrowed his eyes. “To the death?”
“Alastair, no!” I whispered, but he drew his arm out from under my hand. The bowman gave a little snorting laugh.
“Your companion fears for you! Perhaps tales of your battle prowess have been exaggerated?”
“When I kill you, Mauntell, your people will lead us to the southern edge of the Wood,” Alastair said. “Those are my terms.”
“If you slay me, then yes. My family will escort you to the border of the Wood with every honor we can bestow. I swear it.”
I felt the dreadful tension in Alastair’s touch, sensed the furious reeling back and forth as he felt his way forward against the unknown. “And if I refuse?”
“Then you shall wish you took your chances in the blizzard.”
I leaned close. “Don’t you dare.”
“I agree with Aliza,” Akarra murmured. Sparks poured from her mouth with each word. “Khela, don’t risk it.”
The bowman smiled again, showing canines filed long and sharp. “Do not think dragonfire will end your worries, dragon. You may bring down a score of us in one breath, but we are threescore, and one breath is all we need. You can’t catch every arrow.”
A faint creaking made me turn again. A dozen Mauntells stepped out from the eaves of the forest behind us, bows drawn and arrows on the string. My stomach dropped. There was no way all of them would miss.
“I shall make it easy for you, Alastair Daired,” the man said. He set his bow down and drew a short knife from his belt. “I won’t fight to the death. Kill me if you can, but I’ll do no more than maim.”
“I accept.” Alastair was on the ground before I could stop him. The bowman opened his arms wide with a manic grin.
“Good! Come on then, Fireborn. Show your mett—”
Alastair ducked. In one smooth sweep of his axe, he cleaved the bowman open from hip to armpit.
A gasp rose from the other Mauntells as their leader fell to his knees, mouth wide in a silent scream as he tried in vain to hold his entrails inside. Alastair stepped away, wiping the axe blade on his sleeve as the bowman collapsed face first into the leaf litter, groping blindly at the trunk of the nearest tree.
“Our bargain?” Alastair cried, looking around to the woad-streaked faces around us. “Lead us out of the Wood and you’ll never see us again. You have our word.”
The only answer was growls from among the Mauntells.
“He swore it!” Alastair said, and pointed to the dead man.
Only he wasn’t dead. Akarra hissed as the bowman lifted his head from the leaf litter. I swallowed my scream. Something was happening to the tree where he touched it. Beneath his fingers, dark tendrils like snakes flowed from the bark and into the man’s body, weaving in and around the gash, seaming it in shadow and drawing the flesh closed. Just like a ghastradi. I clutched at the saddle, desperate for an anchor in a world once more turned inside out.
The bowman rose unsteadily, brushing leaf litter from his side. “I said kill me, dragonrider, not inconvenience me. Our duel isn’t over yet.”
Alastair raised his axe, but Akarra threw out one wing to hold him back, dragonfire dancing around her bared teeth. As one of the Mauntells raised their bow.
“So much for oaths and honor, eh, Daired?” the bowman said. “You heard the terms! Tell your dragon to step aside.”
“A corpse has no honor,” Akarra growled. “We do not bargain with the ghast-ridden!”
“Then it is fortunate we are not ghastradi.”
A new voice rang out through the woods, and the smile fell from the bowman’s face as an old woman emerged from the trees, her silver hair bright against the shadows that flowed like living ink between the trees. She wore a direwolf pelt and held a greatsword almost as tall as she was. Bone-white bows dipped all around her as the Mauntells hurried to look anything other than threatening. She surveyed the scene before turning to the bowman with a raised eyebrow.
“Grandson, what is this?”
He shifted his weight and did not meet her eye. “Intruders, Grandmother.”
She examined the smeared pattern of woad across his chest, the sole remnant of the wound that should have killed him, and clucked her tongue. “You are a reckless, foolish boy, Goryn, and I’m ashamed of you. This is not how we treat guests.”
“They’re not guests!”
“That is not for you to decide.” The old woman turned to us. “Even so, I do not blame you for your interest. Well, Daireds? Explain yourselves.”
Alastair swung up onto Akarra’s back, axe still in hand. His voice was calm, but I could feel him trembling. I was too. “I am Alastair Daired. This is my wife, Aliza, and my dragon, Akarra. We have no quarrel with you and your people. We only wish to pass through your woods in safety.”
“No quarrel? Then I suppose it was out of kindness that you struck down my grandson?”
“He challenged—” Akarra began, but the old woman waved a hand.
“The boy is a hopeless show-off. I do not hold you responsible.” She sheathed her sword and motioned for her family members to do the same. They obeyed with varying degrees of embarrassment, and none of them looked at us as they did. “I am Frega Mauntell and I offer you the guest-right. You will stay with us tonight.”
Alastair glanced over his shoulder. Ghastradi or not, the thought of sleeping within a league of the Mauntells and their ghastly trees made me more eager to face the Barrens. I shook my head.
“We just want to pass through,” he said again.
Frega Mauntell shook her head. “It is late and the shadows are long. The storm still rages beyond the Wood. You had much better come rest and refresh yourselves. Tell us your story and we shall tell you ours, and when the storm has passed, we will escort you to the border of the forest with all due honor. You’ll not receive such an offer from the snow.”