Page 27 of A Skirl of Sorcery
I moved forward another inch and the branch swayed alarmingly. I moved back an inch: I’d have to jump from where I was. My eyes pierced the darkness, scanning as much of thegrove as I could; it looked safe enough and my time was running out. I had to make my move.
I stopped prevaricating and focused on a spot at least a foot away from where I thought I could reach, bunched up my muscles and went for it.
Leaping through the air in a feline’s body is vastly different to jumping in human form. As a cat, I had five hundred muscles, all of which engaged when I leapt – it was closer to a bird’s flight than a human’s jump. In mid-air, I could make micro-adjustments and switch direction so that I landed where I wanted, and I would hit the ground like a coiled spring rather than a lump of concrete. If I were a full-time feline, I’d jump all the time. It was brilliant.
I landed exactly six inches from the spot I’d aimed for, straightened up and waited to see if my landing had activated an alarm. There were no shouts and no vibrations of running feet: my entry had gone unnoticed. Pleased with myself, I licked my paws clean of loose dirt and cast around for an alder tree.
The nearest trees were willows, which had their uses both magically and medicinally but weren’t what I was looking for. My whiskers twitched as I swivelled to my left and looked for anything that was alder sized. There appeared to be at least twenty of them only about thirty metres away to the east of the willows. I moved towards them.
I estimated I had five minutes until the stroke of midnight; if I was wrong, it would only be by about ten seconds or so and I reckoned that fell comfortably within the margin of error. I had about a minute to strip the bark I needed. It would be more than enough.
As soon as I passed the last of the willows, I knew that my cat eyes hadn’t failed me. I was so taken aback at the ease with which I’d located the alders that I hesitated and double-checkedthat I wasn’t padding into a strange dryad trap. No: it appeared that sometimes things really were straightforward.
I battened down my concerns and approached the trees. Now all I had to do was find one that would let me strip a section of its bark with my teeth.
The first alders were young so their healthy, supple bark would have to be harvested by a sharp knife. The next line looked easier to work with, but I passed them by and headed for the innermost trees. They were the oldest so their bark would be gnarlier and easier to pull off. With about a minute to spare, I found the perfect specimen.
Somebody had already carefully stripped several sections of bark away from its trunk, doubtless a dryad harvesting produce for the markets or witchery stores, so I felt easier about taking some for myself. The tree could clearly withstand the assault. Even so, I paused in front of it with my head bowed respectfully for several seconds, thanking it for its sacrifice. It was what a dryad would have done, and I hoped it was also what Keres would want me to do.
The clouds shifted, temporarily obscuring the moon, and I heard the distant howls of more of the Coldstream werewolves. I ignored them. It was time: I had to harvest the alder bark now or never.
I tipped my head forward, snagged a loose section with my feline fangs, and pulled. Thanks to some dryad’s earlier efforts, it came away easily. I didn’t need a lot; as long as I had enough to make the concoction for Keres, I’d be happy. I yanked hard and peeled away a good four inches. I twitched in satisfaction then, holding it carefully in my jaws, I set off back. I wouldn’t celebrate until I was home safe and sound but, thus far, I was smugly pleased with my progress.
I returned to the spot where I’d entered the grove. There were no overhanging branches to clamber up so I had no choicebut to use the fence. Yes, it might set off any in-built magical defences but I was leaving now, not arriving. I had a plan. Unless the situation were truly dire, I always had a plan.
I tensed my muscles and sprang upwards, scrabbling up the final foot. As I passed over the top, I felt the ripple of barrier magic: I’d been right that the dryads had other security measures in place.
I darted to the same oak tree as before, dropped the alder bark and miaowed at He Who Roams Wide. His ears twitched in response. He scampered up the fence then stopped on top of the nearest post and planted his cute furry arse in place while I pressed myself against the trunk of the oak tree.
Three seconds later, four dryad guards came sprinting over from the front gate of the grove.
They might have been dryads but they were highly trained dryads: their gaze was focused and they didn’t waste time chatting. The one at the front was the older dryad who’d confronted the werewolves. I’d already seen that he knew what he was doing.
He ran to the fence, craned his neck upwards and immediately spotted He Who Roams Wide. He gestured to a tall woman beside him who fixed my sleek black cat with a long look and murmured several words under her breath. A breeze rippled He Who Roams Wide’s fur before it receded again.
‘A cat,’ she said.
‘Just a cat?’
‘Definitely just a cat.’
If it had been me on that post, they’d have sensed something else. They might not have thought cat sith but they’d have known I was dangerous. It was a good job I’d planned ahead.
‘Shoo!’ The male dryad waved his hands. When He Who Roams Wide blinked lazily down at him, he gently shook the fence. ‘It’s not a good idea for you to stay up there, Kitcat – infact, you shouldn’t be out tonight. It’s dangerous.’ He jiggled the fence again.
He Who Roams Wide took pity on him and jumped down. He wove around the dryad’s ankles and purred loudly.
‘Maybe we should grab him and keep him until dawn,’ one of the others said. ‘He might get eaten.’
As the older dryad nodded and reached down, He Who Roams Wide darted away, running for the dubious safety of the city streets.
‘So much for that idea. It looks like that kitty can look after himself.’ The dryad’s head jerked up and his nostrils flared. ‘Another alert has been triggered on the north side.’ He nodded at his companions and all four of them sprinted away.
Chapter
Thirteen
Ifound He Who Roams Wide eyeing an open drain in the narrow street that led away from the grove. With our business concluded for the night, he doubtless considered it his right to spend the next hour or so hunting rodents. I wouldn’t stop him; he’d served me well and his inner demon deserved satisfaction.
