War of the Werelords by Curtis Jobling Read Free Book Online Page B

caught in his throat. “Kholka be phibian.”
    His long fingers remained clutching her biceps on either side, holding Gretchen in her place as he looked her up and down. The Fox was still there upon the surface, a thin coat of fur covering her skin, teeth and claws still on show, but she had no more fight in her. She was helpless. His grip was firm, head bobbing to one side and the other as he studied her. Suddenly he loomed in close, causing her to flinch with fright. She could better see his face now, his pasty complexion mottled and discolored. He shared the woman’s features, large eyes unblinking as he assessed the bound girl. His wide lips were thin and stretched, downturned at their edge, granting him a sad, perplexed expression. He shook his sad face gently from side to side.
    â€œKholka phibian,” he said again. “Hate Wylderman. You behave good, so?”
    Gretchen assumed it was a question, judging by the rising intonation of his pidgin common tongue. She nodded frantically. The man raised a long finger and stroked the loose skin below his chin in theatrical fashion. He truly was the oddest- looking fellow she’d ever seen, and she felt a fool for mistaking him and his companions for wild men.
    â€œKholka take net. Make girl free. Girl behave?”
    Again she nodded eagerly. Hesitantly his fingers set to work, slackening the ropes and weighted shots where they had enveloped and entangled her. As he worried the cords apart, Gretchen allowed the Fox to recede. She could feel the bonds loosening now, falling free as the man shook the net from her. Gretchen struggled with the last of it, ripping it loose before scrambling clumsily away from where the man crouched. He bundled up the net and placed it gingerly onto the ground before him.
    â€œGirl leg,” said Kholka. “Happy?”
    She looked down at her calf, the mud caking the scarred flesh.
    â€œYou did this? It was you who took care of my wounds?”
    The strange man didn’t answer but instead blinked, the movement of his eyelids slow and ponderous. Gretchen glanced toward the woman and baby who hid in the doorway of the hut.
    â€œYour wife and child?”
    Once more he blinked.
    â€œThank you . . . Kholka,” she said, managing to smile, the Fox now all but gone as she turned to the woman. “And you, my lady. I’m sorry for startling you.”
    â€œGirl no bother,” said the man. “Kholka wife no speak. Girl speak to tree. Tree speak more.”
    Gretchen struggled to rise, slipping and wincing as her injured leg caught the brunt of her weight. Kholka hopped forward, wide feet slapping in the mud as he snatched her arm and steadied her. Like his wife he wore skins, his legs naked from the thighs down. She could see the powerful muscles there now, bulging beneath his mottled skin. They truly were the most peculiar people she had ever seen.
    â€œWhere am I?” she asked, greeted instantly by a confused cocked head from Kholka. She pointed at the ground then twirled her finger in the air. “Here? Where?”
    Kholka scooped her into his arms suddenly and stepped up to the hut. Bracing himself, he jumped fully eight feet from a standing start, landing onto the broad, sloping roof. He dropped to one knee, keeping her perched on his leg like an infant, the girl staring at him with surprise. He pointed out over the reeds, his long finger extending as it made a sweeping arc across the marshes. In the distance she could see the faint, blue-tinged outline of the Dyrewood, instantly recognizable by its vast size. It filled the horizon.
    â€œYou live here alone?” she said. “Kholka family alone?”
    The man shook his head, pointing out other spots beyond the bulrushes where the rickety roofs of other huts could be seen. They were all around them. Her eyes came back to the reeds, and now she saw more of the strange faces, camouflaged by the long grasses, watching on