Page 35 of Fate Promised
“Where are we going?” she asked as they jogged along. A rabbit sized, reddish-brown creature with two large black eyes that filled its triangular face, raced past them.
Juri slowed, cocking his head. “Towards those cries. I can hear a man cursing, and there’s a faint hint of magic. I want to check it out.”
“What about the harpy?” They resumed jogging.
Juri chuffed. “This is what I do, Triska. I take care of spawn from the underworld. Or, in this case, immortals that have left Peklo and are dangerous to humans.”
The path curled around a dense patch of pine trees, these only a foot or two taller than Juri and populated with spiky fronds wrapped in thick moss. The wooden path widened as they rounded the bend, and the forest ended, revealing a wide meadow filled with waist-high grass and purple lupine.
Claws extended, two harpies circled above the head of a man standing in the center of the clearing firing violet-tinged magic at them. He had long black hair and wore a tunic and trousers, a deep blue cloak was clasped at his neck and billowed behind him. According to Chessa, cloaks went out of style ages ago.
The dragon yowled and waddled faster to join the man, flattening the grass in its wake.
“Well, it’s not Hoyt,” Juri said.
Fergal huffed. “Of course not. That’s sorcerer level magic he’s casting. Well, he’s attempting to cast it.”
A purple blast whizzed past one harpy without hitting her, and the harpy dove, the man dodging in the nick of time.
Juri grunted. “As far as I’m concerned, magic is magic. I guess I should go help before he gets himself killed. Stay back here under the trees with Fergal. Harpies use their venom to turn women into one of them.” He pointed at the forest. “They fight by air. If one gets by me, run into the thickest part of the forest. They won’t pursue.”
She nodded, her heart galloping in her chest.
“Don’t worry, though, I won’t let them come near you.” Juri turned to Fergal. “If a harpy gets past me, Triska better not have to run. You have magic. Take care of it.” He turned and stalked toward the fight, his claws lengthening.
The harpies let out a terrible screech. They had scraggly whitish hair framing vulture-like heads, and unnaturally large hands, each finger tipped in a long, deadly claw. They moved higher in the air, tilting their heads as they surveyed Juri and the cloaked man.
Juri spoke to the other man, and he answered, but she couldn’t hear what they said. “Is Juri safe? Are you sure that man isn’t a necromancer? What if he blasts Juri?”
Fergal stepped farther into the meadow. “No, he isn’t a necromancer. At the rate that sorcerer’s going, he might hit Juri by accident, but for sorcerer magic, it’s weak and pitiful, and Juri’s a vulk. Magic doesn’t bother him. Don’t worry.”
Triska twisted her fingers together. Last night, the necromancer had hit Juri in the chest with magic, and it had affected him. Hoyt had even mentioned it aloud, saying he didn’t understand why his magic sometimes worked against the vulk. Was it all magic, or just the magic the necromancer had used?
One harpy dove at Juri, claws slashing. Juri remained in place, only twisting at the last moment. The harpy’s claws lashed past his face without making contact. He leaped, so swift he was only a blur, far higher than a man could ever go, and hit the harpy in her side. His claws dug deep, and black blood flew.
Triska flinched as Juri slammed the harpy to the ground. The grass swallowed the harpy’s last throes, her screech dying in the air.
Juri’s attack was smooth and perfectly timed. That of a powerful immortal. She placed a hand on her chest, her heart pounding. He was magnificent.
The man in the cloak had less luck. He blasted the harpy above him, but she shook off his magic, her claws getting closer and closer. The dragon wound around the man and roared at the harpy.
“A flightless dragon,” the harpy screeched. The harpy’s shrill piercing cries clawed at her eardrums, and Triska clapped her hands over her ears.
Fergal shook his head and tsked. “That’s atrocious. He’s using air magic against an air immortal. I’d like to know who trained him.”
Triska wasn’t interested in hearing about magic. Her heart still pounded. It felt wrong to stand here and watch Juri; she wanted to help. But even if her magic was active during the day, she wasn’t sure what she could do against an immortal harpy.
Out of Juri’s reach, the harpy circled high overhead, easily dodging any magic tossed her way. Triska turned to Fergal. “Shouldn’t you help?”
Fergal cackled. “Help a vulk? Of course not, this is what he does. I’d get in Juri’s way.”
A small pang squeezed her chest. “This is what he does,” she murmured. The Juri she remembered had wanted to live a grand adventure. As a vulk, was he doing that? She really hoped so.
The harpy dove for the cloaked man, her beak elongating as she hissed. His magic bouncing off her, he dove to the ground, rolling out of sight in the grass. The sea dragon thwacked its tail into the air, narrowly missing the harpy. It did, however, hit Juri in the chest, tossing him back a few feet.
The harpy whirled and followed the cloaked man to the ground, screeching. Triska stood on her tiptoes, but the tall grass hid the figure on the ground from view.
The cloaked man yelled, and Juri bounded to his feet. With lightning speed he sprinted and vaulted into the air, tackling the harpy. He dragged her down and they rolled in the furiously waving grass.