“Fucking trees!” Immanuel said somewhere in the distance, and the group immediately relaxed.
“He’s going to regret the whisky come tomorrow,” Nesto said, with only the barest hint of glee. “He’s on dragon duty first thing.”
Another scream pierced the night, and the group fell silent again, waiting to hear what trouble Immanuel had stumbled upon this time. But his cries didn’t cut off immediately, instead rising in pitch.
Then they did. The forest went quiet. The only sound was the drone of the army behind them. No one else had noticed the commotion, their fire on the farthest edge of the camp.
Nesto moved first, picking up the sword leaning against the log he sat on. The rest of the group jumped up as one, scrambling for their weapons. Any bit of whisky Fox drank seemed to evaporate from his body. He seized a stick from the fire, moving to take the lead since no one else had thought to grab a light. Nesto gave him a look of thanks as they pressed ahead.
Immanuel’s path was easy enough to follow. He’d left behind a swath of broken branches and footprints.
“Oh, kings,” Fox said, pulling up short as he came into the small clearing Immanuel had chosen to piss in.
The young soldier lay on the ground motionless, an entire chunk of his shoulder gone, but somehow blood barely leaked from the wound. A snarl broke the quiet somewhere above him, making his hair stand on end.
Fox turned, holding the torch high above his head. Eyes flashed in the light—a large creature half the size of a human watched frombetween the branches some yards above, blood dripping from fanged teeth. A blood monkey.
“Shit,” Nesto said, seeing Immanuel’s body. “We should?—”
Fox swung his arm out, stopping Nesto from moving past him.
“He’s dead. I wouldn’t get near the blood.”
“What the hell is going on, Ocon? Let us through.” Jordi didn’t wait for permission, pushing him. “Afraid of the forest now, are you?”
A sharp intake of breath told Fox that Jordi had seen Immanuel’s body at last.
“What the fuck did this?” He swung around, his sword raised above him. Fox’s eyes remained fixed on the blood monkey crouched in the shadows. It looked down at Jordi, its tongue tracing along its bloody teeth, eyes hungry.
“Jordi, you moron,” Fox said, keeping his voice low. “Get back here. Slowly.”
“What the fuck is your problem, Ocon?”
Nesto’s eyes widened, and Fox saw him register the creature just as it let out another snarl. Jordi turned back to the forest, his sword already swinging, but by the time he faced the branch, the monkey was gone.
“What was that?” Nesto asked, eyes still scanning the trees.
“A blood monkey,” Fox said, using the torch to sweep across the branches, but it truly seemed to have disappeared, perhaps not interested in fighting so many at once.
“A blood?—”
“A faerytale? Truly, Ocon?” Jordi had gone back to staring down at the body of his friend. “First you speak poetically of dragons, and now you want us to believe a faerytale creature attacked Immanuel? Did you do this? Attack him?”
“We were all at the fire when he screamed,” Nico said.
“It was clearly a jaguar or a wolf,” Fini said, his knuckles white as he gripped his sword.
“It was in the tree,” Nesto said.
“So, you saw a monkey. It’s the king-damned rainforest,” Jordi said. “But this ain’t the work of a king-damned monkey. They couldn’t do this.”
“A blood monkey could,” Nico said, and Fox couldn’t miss the hint of humor in his voice. He didn’t believe Fox any more than the others.
“Call it what you want,” Fox said. “This isn’t something to be trifled with.”
Fox stared at Immanuel’s body—the gaping wound and complete lack of blood. He didn’t have a doubt about what he’d seen. But what haddrawnthe blood monkey?
Immanuel’s sleeve along his left arm was torn open, long gashes on his bicep. He’d cut himself on the tree when he’d stumbled drunk into the forest. Just enough blood to draw the creature who’d probably been nearby.