Chương 63: Chapter 39: The Nest- Part II

The first Rask barrels uphill with surprising speed, lowering its shoulder as though sheer momentum alone will carry it through whatever waits at the top. The other two follow so closely that their weapons nearly overlap, leaving scarcely enough room for each to swing without striking the other. Confidence has replaced caution. They no longer search for the hunter. They intend to overwhelm him. I tighten my grip upon the staff and wait. Distance has always mattered more than strength. Five strides, four, three.

The lead Rask roars and lunges. I meet the charge head-on. The staff crashes against its spear, knocking the point harmlessly aside before the opposite end slams into its throat. The creature stumbles backward, clutching instinctively at its neck as the two behind it collide with its shoulders. Exactly the opening I wanted. I step forward before they can separate. The staff turns once between my hands, its familiar weight guiding the movement almost without thought.

A sharp strike catches the second Rask across the temple while the returning blow smashes into the first one's ribs before it has fully regained its footing. Both lose their balance together, one crashing sideways into a fallen trunk while the other slides several feet down the loose hillside. The third reacts faster than the others. It abandons its spear altogether and closes the remaining distance with surprising agility, thick black nails reaching for my face instead of the sword at my hip.

I release the staff with my left hand. The sword clears its scabbard in a single smooth motion and steel meets claw. The Rask jerks backward with an enraged howl as three fingers tumble onto the forest floor. Pain overwhelms whatever plan it had formed. It swings wildly with its remaining hand, every movement driven by anger rather than purpose. Anger rarely survives discipline. I pivot around the clumsy attack and bring the pommel hard against the side of its skull.

The blow staggers it just long enough for the staff to find my hand once more. I take a step and swing. The shaft strikes beneath its jaw with a crack that echoes between the trees. The creature collapses without another sound. The remaining two recover almost together. One retrieves its spear. The other reaches for the stone axe lying where it had been dropped during the climb. They spread apart instinctively, attempting to force me into fighting both at once. Smart. I expected no less. I retreat a single pace.

Leading them exactly where I know what lies beneath the pine needles behind them. The finest roots hidden beneath the hillside answer the quiet thread of mana flowing through the ground. I do not command them. I simply ask, hold them, only for a moment. The earth stirs almost imperceptibly. Thin roots push gently through the loose soil while creeping vines tighten around exposed stones. Neither Rask notices the change until they lunge together. The axe bearer plants its foot and the ground answers.

Its boot slips sideways as the hidden roots shift beneath it, turning a confident charge into a desperate stumble. At the same instant, the spearman finds his leading leg caught by a vine no thicker than a thumb. It tears free almost immediately, but not before stealing the single thing every fighter value most. Balance. I need nothing more. I rise my staff in a strike. Wood meets bone with a dull, satisfying crack. The axe slips from numb fingers before its owner follows it to the ground.

The spearman tears himself free of the vine and rushes forward with a furious whistle that echoes through the forest, too late. My sword is already moving. The thrust slips cleanly beneath his raised arm and into his chest. His momentum carries him another half-step before he sags against me, surprise lingering in pale yellow eyes that no longer understand what has happened. I ease the body to the forest floor and withdraw the blade. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve.

Read this novel on Royal Road. Silence returns, briefly. Then, somewhere below the ridge, another whistle answers the one the dying Rask had managed to sound. This one is different. Longer and sharper, a warning. The whistle tears through the forest. Every sound inside the hollow dies. The juveniles stop running. Rask carrying bundles of wood let them fall where they stand. Hunters turn instinctively toward the northern ridge while the females abandon the cooking fires without hesitation.

For the briefest heartbeat the entire colony seems to hold its breath. Then the scarred leader roars. The sound rolls across the hollow with enough force to send birds exploding from the canopy overhead. It raises one thick arm toward the ridge, toward me and the nest erupts into motion. Whistles answer one another from every direction as Rask pour from the burrows already clutching spears, axes and heavy clubs carved from knotted roots. They do not charge blindly.

Small hunting parties form almost instinctively before disappearing beneath the trees, each following a different trail leading away from the hollow. Good. They've stopped looking for missing hunters. Now they're looking for me. I step away from the ridge before the first searching party reaches the crest. There is nothing left for me there. The position has served its purpose. Now the forest becomes my battlefield. The whistles spread steadily through the trees behind me.

Some drift farther apart while others begin converging again as the search expands outward from the nest. They are trying to surround me. A sensible plan. Against most prey. The first Rask appears almost exactly where I expect it to. It bursts through a stand of young pines with its spear already lowered, yellow eyes darting constantly between the trees as it searches for movement. It catches sight of me at almost the same moment I step into the open. The spear comes immediately.

Quick, direct and better than the others. I meet the thrust with the middle of my staff before turning my wrists. The spear glances harmlessly past my shoulder. I do not push it away. I follow it. One step carries me inside its reach. The staff crashes upward beneath its jaw and bone cracks. Its head snaps backward. Before it can fall, another whistle sounds somewhere behind me, closer. Too close this time.

I abandon the first Rask where it staggers and pivot toward the second just as it emerges between two fallen trunks swinging a crude stone axe with surprising speed. The blade whistles toward my ribs. I retreat half a step. The axe bites deep into the trunk beside me instead and wood splinters. The Rask pulls desperately at the haft, trying to free it before I can close the distance, slow. The staff turns once through my hands before driving hard into its chest.

The impact lifts the creature off its feet, carrying it backward into the roots behind it. It lands badly. I hear the air leave its lungs. My sword clears its sheath and the rask falls in one thrust. A growl erupts somewhere uphill. The first Rask has recovered. Faster than I expected. It throws itself at me without retrieving its spear, thick black claws reaching instead for my throat. I catch the leading wrist with the staff, turning my body with the impact rather than resisting it outright.

Its own momentum carries it past me. I help it along. The staff hooks behind one knee. A sharp twist and the Rask crashes face-first onto the exposed roots. Before it can push itself upright, I bring the end down across the back of its skull and the rask collapses. Many whistles begin again. The forest answers with echoes until I can no longer tell which direction they come from. They're adapting. The searching parties are no longer wandering independently. They are communicating.

Closing the gaps between one another. The leader has understood what is happening. I place one hand briefly against the nearest pine. The bark feels rough beneath my palm, cool and steady. Mana answers almost immediately, with recognition. The roots beneath the forest floor stir gently around the slope while thin vines creep unseen beneath the blanket of fallen needles. I ask for no great miracle, only opportunity. The forest has always understood the difference. Another whistle echoes near me and another answer.

Footsteps follow the whistles, many this time. A hunting party breaks through the undergrowth scarcely thirty paces away, followed almost immediately by another moving to cut off my retreat from the east. They've stopped hunting alone. The colony has begun hunting together. I tighten my grip upon the staff and slowly draw a breath. The fight I wanted to avoid has finally arrived.