Parasite Soul Read Free

the huntsmaster was borne down by
the charging behemoth, dragged beneath it, and emerged as a limp bundle of
bleeding limbs which slipped into the stream and disappeared.
    “Kill it!” roared King Minus, wrenching a spear from a makeshift
rack. Other men had the same idea, snatching up polearms and warily
circling the creature. They jabbed at it so that it danced and roared and
whirled in tight circles, uncertain where to launch its next attack. Less
bold hunters launched arrows from afar, though furtively, afraid of striking
their fellows, or worse, the king.
    Blood began to stream down the jaggermund’s flanks from a dozen
wounds, matting its fur. Again, that horrible, shivering howl filled the
air, tinged this time with anxiety. The creature clearly hadn’t
anticipated that its soft-looking prey would mount much of a resistance.
It began to snap wildly at the nearest hunters with its crocodile jaws; the men
leapt back, stabbing at it repeatedly like a swarm of fleshy wasps. With
grim determination, they harried the beast to the brink of collapse. The
snow turned to pink slush beneath its trampling feet. Tiera could tell
that only raw animal fury kept the jaggermund upright; disbelief that it had
been bested. She released a pent-up breath and dared to relax a little.
    The next few moments imprinted themselves on Tiera’s memory with the
force of a battering ram. She later recalled them as though she were some
unearthly spectator, surveying the scene from far above. Impossible
though it was, she could even recall her own expression of disbelief and
desolation. It was as if Vanyon Afterlord himself had provided her a view
from a god’s own vantage. Years of relentless nightmares kept the
sequence crisp and clear in her mind’s eye.
    Shouting like a berserker, Merequio charged the jaggermund, waving
his sword. His golden locks flying in a cloud about his face, he shoved
his way past the ring of astonished hunters and plunged his blade between two
of the great beast’s ribs.
    Anyone should have known not to risk attacking such a formidable
creature at close quarters. Grievously wounded as it was, the jaggermund
was desperate and dangerous. Merequio, however, had always been reckless;
no doubt his anger at his father informed his actions. Or perhaps he just
wanted the glory of the kill. Whatever the case, the attack proved
catastrophic.
    Roaring, the jaggermund lashed out. Raking claws caught
Merequio across the forehead. Skin split as he reeled backward.
Tiera yelled his name, as did their father. Blood flowed freely into his
eyes as he clutched his face, dazed and blinded. Purest luck allowed him
to duck the beast’s next blow; unable to judge his position with accuracy, he
dodged out of its line of sight but not away. The world seemed to
freeze. Tiera could have counted every flying chunk of snow as the beast
whipped about, its powerful bone-tipped tail catching her brother in the side
of the head. A sharp and horrible crack seemed to split the sky, freezing
the world. Merequio spun off limply with his head dangling at a crazy angle.
Tiera stuffed both her mittens into her mouth and screamed.
    Memory, she would reflect in later years, was a funny thing.
She could recall with utmost clarity her brother’s expression as he died – his
eyes, crimson-filmed and wide with shock, brushing her own one last time but
unable to see her. His hair a blood-spattered halo. How he landed
with his left leg twisted beneath him; it broke, but that no longer
mattered. She remembered all this but she couldn’t even recall how the
jaggermund had eventually been slain or whom had killed it. Perhaps her
brother’s final blow had been fatal; she’d never asked. She had only the
vaguest recollection of the camp being packed up or the journey back to
Seveston. At the moment of her brother’s death, the world simply seemed
to stop turning.
    Merequio’s funeral had been a blur. Tiera recalled a sea of
interchangeable noble faces