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Chapter 39 - Prey

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Eyes opening slowly, the world around Tayne spun before coming into a sideways focus.

It took him a minute to work out what the silvery material dominating his vision was. His cloak, he remembered. He’d pulled it over his head to protect his face from the Naclictite. He squeezed his eyes shut against his aching head and frowned. Why would he...

Everything hit him at once. The Citadel, the cave in, the Hunter -- oh deities, where were the others?

Tayne clawed the cloak away from his face, desperate to see if the rest of his group were okay. Shards of shattered Naclictite fell from the fabric in his haste. The damned things got everywhere. While most fell to the ground, hitting it with an eerie tinkling noise, the tiniest of pieces fell into his protective cocoon.

Cursing his foolishness, he flung it away quickly. It sailed into the darkness of the corridor and disappeared from sight. His fingers tingled where he’d held it, though he wasn’t whether it was the effect of the Naclictite or if he was imagining it.

He shook his head. It’s gone now and I can still move.

Tayne propped himself up on his elbow, twisting his head around trying to spot one of the three he’d entered with. With dismay, he realised his legs were buried under large chunks of ceiling. He kicked out, testing if they were loose but they failed to budge. Pulling didn’t work either. While his right inched out, it became caught between a larger stone and his left leg which he was unable to move at all.

He gave his surroundings a final glance before accepting there was nothing but carved blackness in the corridor with him. The only other hint of colour was his sword, just out of reach on his left.

Wherever the others were, it wasn’t here. Deities, why had they come here?

Skye’s shared memory of the Commander hovering over her, stalking her from the shadows of the interrogation room around the edges of the table in Darni came to the front of Tayne’s mind. He felt the paralysing fear that had gripped her as if it were his own after the soul-splitting knife appeared in the Commander’s hand. He remembered her prayer to the deity for strength, and that determined core that refused to break.

Was the Master now in possession of that knife? Would her newfound magic defend her against its effects? How long would it take for the Master to realise that Skye would sacrifice herself for the sake of others and torture the knights instead? The image of Wrain and Jesse, suspended mid-air with magic while tainted clawed at their bodies flashed across his mind.

Tayne slammed his fist on the Naclictite floor.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and think logically. The three were together. They stood a better chance of resisting an attack than some other useless Silverborn who was currently pinned from the waist down and alone, too busy worrying about other people than to help himself.

Get out now. Find them later. You’re useless if you stay here except as a hostage.

Tayne pushed himself up, wincing as pain lanced up his shoulder. His leap for safety hadn’t been free, but it had almost certainly saved him from being crushed. The pain was good, he told himself. He could focus on that and ignore the panic building at his body being numb from the waist down.

A lightheaded feeling threatened his upright position. He put a hand back on the ground, recovering from the exertion. It was like he’d lost too much blood, but there was none to indicate so. The next likely scenario was that his leggings had torn and the Naclictite made contact through that.

If the Naclictite was sapping his strength, he needed to get it away as soon as possible. He’d wasted enough time being useless already.

He leant forward, gathering the cloak around his hands intent on pushing the stones away to free his legs when nausea gripped him. He lurched forward, his entire upper body supported purely on his shaking arms.

Deities, why do I feel so strange? Have I been out that long?

It took him a long, frustrating moment to find the strength to hold himself up again. The thundering Naclictite hail rested quietly on the floor in dangerously sharp chunks, glinting at him like they knew something he didn’t.

He shook his head. Stop imagining things for once and think.

His eye caught sight of his sword, and inspiration struck. If he couldn’t move the rocks by hand, he’d use the blade as leverage. It seemed resistant to the Naclictite somewhat, still retaining its silvery sheen. He stretched out, pinching the blade’s hilt between his fingers and dragging it slowly across the ground.

Another wave of dizziness rocked his vision. Something was definitely wrong. It took every bit of willpower to not give into the blackness edging his vision and go limp. His body wanted nothing more than to collapse on the floor and it fought desperately with his mind for the right.

The cave in hadn’t been accidental. He realised that. Skye, Wrain and Jesse were gone but that didn’t mean they were dead. The Master wanted Skye alive too much to let her be crushed, and she wouldn’t have let the two Silverborn go without a fight. Jesse had Nathaniel’s sword and deities be damned if Tayne couldn’t find out why.

It was those thoughts that kept him reaching and resisting the blackness. He tunnelled his sight on the outline of his sword and slammed his palm on to the hilt, closing his fingers around the metal.

The sword’s enchantment took effect immediately, flooding his body with energy and restoring feeling to his lower body. It dimmed the ache of his shoulder and strengthened his resolve.

The blackness edging his vision vanished and was replaced with a silvery glow, which Tayne was grateful for. Wrain’s warning about staying in this state for too long bounced around his skull, but right now there was no other option. He was alone in the citadel and vulnerable if the Master decided to use him as leverage against Skye.  

The sword's sheen disappeared, and he knew it’d need a while to recharge fully unless he could place it under a full moon, but that was unlikely. He couldn’t waste this energy, energy that was already being leeched once more. He studied his hidden lower half. There had to be contact somewhere he couldn’t see.

Tayne didn’t waste another second. He wedged the blade between the Naclictite chunks and pushed for all he was worth. One by one, they rolled away, and the pressure lifted from his legs. They prickled uncomfortably as the blood flow came back, but he relished the feeling. Anything was better than them being numb.

His right leg came free first. He ran his hands over it, checking for tears. When he found none, he started on the left. It was buried under larger stones that were harder to move, but he pressed on. With every chunk he removed, the problem became increasingly clear.

A slender splinter of Naclictite was imbedded the fleshy part of his calf. The only reason its point wasn’t visible on the other side was the floor, having stopped its rampage through his leg. Tayne pushed the last boulder off, confused as to why he hadn’t been able to feel such an injury.

He pulled his knee towards him, relaxing the muscle. Hands wrapped in the material of his cloak, he prepared to pull it out but hesitated. Blood leaked from the wound, but instead of falling to pool on the ground, the droplet was absorbed into the Naclictite.

He watched in horror as a second crimson bead decorated his skin before once again feeding the Naclictite. The wound was still numb, probably a secondary effect of the Naclictite.

“Does the sight of your own blood abhor you?” asked a deep, gravelly voice.

Tayne’s hand flew to his sword, blade searching the darkness for an enemy. It was dark -- he hadn’t realised how much they’d been relying on Skye’s natural glow to see when they’d entered.

When nothing was apparent, he reluctantly called out, “who’s there?”

Against a wall, a shadow moved. A large, hulking shadow with spines jutting out from its limbs and tail, which was nearly twice the length of its body. A shadow that confirmed Tayne’s second-worst fear.

The Hunter sat back on its haunches, apparently satisfied that Tayne now knew of its presence. “You are strong for one who has not been turned. Many do not wake from the Naclictite slumber. I can understand why he wants you.”

Unsure of what to make of its banter, Tayne felt for the shard still embedded in his leg. If he pulled it out quick enough, he could roll out of the way and hope his leg supported him. Sword pointed at the Hunter, he wrapped his protected hand around the shard and tried to wrench it out.  

It didn’t come easily. The Naclictite didn’t want to let go. He’d had to ease it out and hope the Hunter didn’t come after him.

He looked back at the massive tainted. It watched him intently, completely still. Did it mean to wait? Was it hurt? He didn’t understand the minds of these things. Why wasn’t it attacking?

“Why didn’t you kill me while I was unconscious? Or does your Master want me alive?” said Tayne, willing the pain to stay out of his voice. Weakness was death with demons, even if this one was acting strangely.

The massive tainted growled. “I do not take my prey while they sleep, Silverborn. It is not a hunt if they cannot fight back.”

That answered both of Tayne’s questions. The shard was almost out. “You’ve attacked villages and towns before while people slept. You attacked Naisha.”

The Hunter’s features twisted into a sneer. “Only at my Master’s orders. He required souls for the binding.”

Its tongue flicked out and ran along the jagged edges of its teeth as if cleansing the words from its mouth. “I have waited long enough. Stand so I may end my agony with the scent of your blood filling my nostrils, Silverborn. It has been too long since this hunt began.”

When the Hunter didn’t move, Tayne glanced away and gave the shard a final tug.  It released its hold with a sickening squelch. He threw it after the first shard, casting it into the darkness. This time, his covered hand didn’t tingle.

“When did your hunt begin?” asked Tayne, eyeing the Hunter warily. Why was it bothering to challenge him now, to speak to him almost civilly?  From everything he knew about the tainted, the Hunter especially, is that it was a beast that lived for the murder of things it deemed prey. Reason argued that this situation wasn’t possible.

“You ask a lot of questions, whelp.” It flicked its tail in annoyance. Tayne held its gaze. “But I will honour your strength. I hunted you in the forest, Silverborn. You, the Sentinel and the half-blood. You escaped, but no longer.”

It twitched; a rumble building in the back of its throat. “He ordered me to return when the Sentinel’s power awoke and the half-blood knew of our plans but that is not how a hunt is played. A hunt is played in a certain way, and it angers me when the ritual is broken...”

Blood trickled from Tayne’s open wound cut its sentence short. The Hunter’s eyes lit up and the demon shifted its weight forward, eagerly eyeing the liquid. Tayne recognised the bloodlust. Its limbs quivered beneath it, the tips of the sharpened spines shivering in anticipation.

The demon wouldn’t wait much longer.

“That is the scent. The blood needed to complete the hunt. The poison to quench the agony that burns on my rune-mark. Stand, Silverborn and we will end this.”

The Hunter paced in the corridor. Its gaze never broke. Tayne looked around in desperation for something that could give him an advantage. His sword remained the only thing of use. Naclictite shards and walls, no shield, and a massive demon that wanted him bound and bloodied.

He tried to put weight on the injured leg. The muscle trembled beneath his skin and gave way with a blinding flash of agony.

I can’t fight with it like this.

The exertion increased the blood flow. It trailed down his leg and dripped to the floor. The Naclictite absorbed the spatter instantly.

The tainted’s eyes flicked up. Nostrils flared, its tail lashed impatiently, indenting the walls it crashed into. The eerie tinkling of falling Naclictite followed the loud, thumping impact. The Vercton marking on its forehead pulsed with energy.

He was out of time. Tayne made a grab for his cloak and tried to tear the fabric.

I have to bind my leg before--

The Hunter’s furious roar interrupted his thought. “I said stand Silverblood! Stand now or die where you are!”

Tayne’s head jerked up. The Hunter flexed his claws and charged.

Tayne pushed off his good leg and catapulted to the far wall, gripping his sword for all he was worth. The Hunter rushed past, already digging his talons into the floor and creating a screeching noise so horrible Tayne had to cover his ears. The Hunter wasn’t affected in the least, once more turning for a second charge.

“You are swift, Silverblood, but my prey never escapes for long.” It gave him a twisted smile, baring its teeth.

Tayne’s only good leg was starting to burn from supporting the entirety of his weight. That was a bad sign. He studied the huge demon, not daring to blink. Ideas ran through his mind at a million a minute, yet none of them seemed even slightly plausible.

The Hunter picked up speed. Tayne tightened his grip on the sword.

Run away and it’ll catch me. Get on its back, impaled by spines. Get behind it and risk the tail. There’s no way I can jump on its head; it’s too big, nowhere to drop from. All the advantages are in his favour.

The Hunter was almost at him, but Tayne pre-empted its last second sprint and was already moving. The bulk of the Hunter’s body made it hard for the demon to change course hastily and the Silverborn slipped from its reach.

It slammed into the wall with all its gathered momentum, causing a secondary rain of rubble as its horned head became snared in a self-created hole. It pulled its head back, but the horns were unyielding against the black stone.

Nearly every inch of its body is impenetrable... how do you kill something like that?

Tayne’s breath was coming fast. He glanced around while the demon recovered; looking for something -- anything that could help him. He was too far from it to attempt a charge and hope it didn’t break free quick enough to react.

With it strengthened by the Naclictite and blinded by its bloodlust, the only chance he had was to out-think it. He pushed the section door behind him that wasn’t hidden behind Naclictite rubble, but it remained firmly closed.

He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes scanning the metal for weakness.

What do I do?

“You’re in trouuuuuble,” said a voice from above his head.

Tayne looked up. “Ebony?”

The girl was suspended mid air, kept afloat by the ragged wings beating furiously behind her back. She shimmered in and out of existence, and a cheeky grin lit her face. She was young, he realised. Was she here to help capture him? Was the Hunter taking too long?

“Who else looks this good in purple?” she said, giving him a wink.

The Hunter growled -- a deep, gravelly sound that grated Tayne’s nerves. Tayne tensed, preparing for some kind evasive manoeuvre that relied on his right leg. The sound seemed to echo through the Naclictite stone, vibrating under his feet. The Hunter swiped at the stone entrapping his head, sending large chunks flying.

Ebony’s voice rose above the Hunter’s growling. “If I were going to help you, I think I’d start by telling you there’s a crack in the wall to the right of the door, then say that the Hunters tail has been known to shatter solid stone...” She pursed her lips in thought as the Hunter righted its muscular mass. The girl shrugged nonchalantly. “Buuuut I’m not allowed to interfere with the hunt, so I can’t. Oh damn the cursed deities for my enforced silence!”

And like that, she vanished.

The Hunter wasn’t so blinded that it couldn’t learn. Having freed itself, it approached slower and with a certain amount of caution. It dropped down on all fours and stalked towards Tayne with a locked gaze, its tail sweeping across the ground behind it. Rubble skittered across the ground.

Tayne turned left, then right as if searching for a way to escape. Why would she help him? In his peripheral vision, there certainly seemed to be a crack in the Naclictite wall. Could he trust her word? Was he willing to take that risk?

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

I don’t have another choice.

“You accept your fate, Silverblood?” Tayne opened his eyes, finding the Hunter mere metres away. This could work in his favour. But he’d have to be fast.  “I thought you to prove a more resilient opponent. I am disappointed.”

“You haven't won anything yet,” said Tayne. “I won't be a prisoner so easily.”

The Hunter lurked another pace closer, a sadistic grin splitting his head into an abstract image of a human face. “Who said anything about prisoners, Silverblood? This is a hunt, and a hunt ends with a kill.”

The Hunter's unexpected words made Tayne's stomach drop to the floor. The consequences for losing were suddenly a lot higher and his chances of out-thinking the beast rapidly declining.

Tayne thought fast. He leant down, grasping his injured leg and squeezed. It was enough for the delicately scabbed blood to crack and leak anew. Tayne gave the demon a meaningful look and shook his head. "And you still can't catch me, Hunter."

Bloodlust renewed in the Hunter’s eyes as they followed the trail of blood down to soak his boot. The demon's head shot up. The glint of intelligence was gone from its gaze. A growl reverberated in the back of its throat.

Tayne didn’t wait. He threw himself left and on to the slanted pile of ceiling shards as the Hunter’s tail crashed into the door where he’d been standing. He scrabbled as if trying to climb through the newly made hole when something hard and unyielding wrapped around his waist and slammed him to the ground, just in front of the door.

“You will not escape me, whelp. I am the Hunter, and this hunt is finished!”

Tayne’s vision spun. He wasn’t in the right spot. “The hunt isn’t over until I’m dead!” he said, crawling a few pathetic paces to the right in a last-ditch attempt at flight.

It was surprisingly easy to let terror take over. The adrenaline pounding through his system kept him moving. His knuckles scraped along the ground, tingling along with the rest of his palm but it was nothing compared to the agony his leg created. Bright flashes of pain danced at the edge of his vision.

No. No, no, no! Tayne blinked furiously, trying to dissolve the warm, inviting darkness that lured him in, slowly fading his vision.

“I only hope the rest of the Silverblood are not as pathetic as you,” sneered the Hunter. The demon hit Tayne in the back, knocking him flat on his stomach and winding him. “I wish for a challenge before I drink their scent a final time. You were strong, Silverblood, if only for my amusement. But this hunt is over.”

The pressure on his back lifted, only to be replaced by sharp talon-points around his neck. 

Ice ran down Tayne’s body. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind, the first thing that served his purpose if completely irrational and insane.

“If I am worthy, you’ll look me in the eyes when you kill me,” he said, forcing the words out. “You will honour me with that final request!”

This has to work, he thought. Then, that was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

The talons disappeared from his neck. Relief flooded Tayne, only to be replaced by sharp pinpricks of heart-stopping fear as they wrapped around his lower body and lifted him up like a rag doll with a spine.

The Hunter brought him close. Bits of raw, bloody flesh clung to the demon’s teeth. Tayne clenched his hands tighter, refusing to relinquish his grip despite the rancid breath that made him want to gag. He suppressed a shudder and clenched his hands tighter.

“A brave man you are to face death in such a way.” The Hunter’s second hand rose, heading for Tayne’s neck. “I will honour you, Silverbl--“

Now.

Its words were cut short with a roar of agony as Tayne, with all the energy he could muster leant forward and jammed the two thin, uneven Naclictite shards he’d found in the pile of rubble straight into the Hunter’s bloodshot eyes.

The beast dropped Tayne to the ground to clutch its damaged face. Tayne landed hard, thrown off balance as pain shot up his leg and split through his body. His head felt like it was about to shatter from the grating noise and beckoning pain, but he resisted the pull of unconsciousness. The others were still out there.

Skye, he told himself. Skye. Focus on Skye. Skye needs you, Jesse needs you, Wrain needs you -- they all need you to not die. Focus. Just focus.

He got to his feet. Blind and enraged, the Hunter thrashed with a vengeance. Its tail lashed out in every direction, recklessly crashing into anything that got in its way.

Including the wall.

The Hunter’s spines stood attentive on its back. Its claws dug into the solid floor beneath its feet, leaving deep ruts in the ground. “Silverblood! Death will be your wish when I catch you!”

Tayne stood in from of the crack. He swallowed hard. “Ha! A blind hunter! I wonder how long it’ll take before--“

The powerful tail came rushing towards him in a blur of movement. Tayne ducked, a shower of Naclictite splinters raining down over his head. He no longer cared if they were in contact with him or not. He hadn’t thought this plan through, but it was too late to back out now.

Deities be damned if this works.

“You missed! If only the other tainted could--“

Crash. More splinters. Tayne shielded his eyes and glanced at the hole. One more. He needed one more thing, one more dance with death before he could escape. He rose to a stand again, trying to make it seem as if he were edging right. Was that light he could see?

He gathered his will and yelled, "whelp!”

Tayne let his legs give way and dove flat to the floor. The tail collided a third time with the weakened section of wall centimetres above his head. When it came away, an irregular shaped hole remained, one large enough for him to crawl through.

Tayne pushed the surge of hope down and concentrated. There was something--

 Scent. It can still smell my blood.

Tayne drew Jesse’s sword as quickly as he could, any sound masked by the Hunter’s own fury. The Whisper bounced around inside his skull, further distracting him.

Hunter is coming the Hunter is coming the Hunter is coming--

Get the leader get the Sentinel get the halfblood get the leader get the Sentinel get the halfblood--

He pressed his palm against the blade and squeezed, the well-kept razor edge slicing easily through his hand. The blade now bloodied, he held it high above his head, keeping his bleeding hand pressed to his thigh in the hopes of suppressing its smell.

The Hunter’s head whipped around. Tayne held his nerve. It was blind. It could smell the blood. It shouldn’t know the difference, wouldn’t know that it was being tricked.

Then he saw what he’d been waiting for -- the Hunter’s nostrils to flare, drink in the scent of the blood and hopefully affix its attention to the source. Tayne gave a quick prayer to whatever deity happened to be watching his ordeal before throwing the sword as far as he could into the corridor and away from the hole.

The Hunter’s unseeing gaze followed the decoy. “I smell you, Silverblood!”

Tayne didn’t wait to see if it fell for the bait. It could realise any moment. He quickly threw his own sword into the hole before following with the rest of his body, the jagged Naclictite edges scraping unpleasantly against his armour as he dragged himself through with nothing left but sheer determination.

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