A while later, as Elysia crawled up the steep slope behind Frey's carefree back, she had noticed the stealthy movements of silhouettes advancing at the same speed as them, slipping from tree to tree on either side of the path. He had tried to see them more clearly, but the shadows of the pines defied even eyesight as keen as his own, and all he could get was the impression that they were tentacled figures careful to stay out of his way. Visual field.
Her nerves were starting to get raw and she felt like charging under the branches of the trees in search of enemies. But what if she lost her way? What if there were more than one or two of them? The vague suspicion kept him inactive; he pushed his fears aside and continued his ascent.
The situation had become almost unbearable when he heard the sound of a horn far to his right, which was answered by a similar call from across the path. At that moment, he knew that the damned were surrounding them, that they were gathering for the feast, and he felt the temptation to stand up to them and resist, to end this once and for all... But an impulse made him continue forward, towards the area of snow.
What kept him going, she told herself, was the urge to keep trying, not to give up in the face of certain death, although she was honest enough with herself to know that only fear drove her. She didn't want to meet the mutants; she wanted to postpone this inevitable end as long as possible.
They were on a ledge near the snowfield, and glancing back down the trail she knew they were finished. Here, in this cold, barren, windswept place, her life would end with the day, and there would be no revenge against Wolf, no epic novel based on Frey's adventures.
She glanced at Frey who was standing near her carelessly picking up the sword, and watched the mutants approaching her. Elysia counted ten of them; She saw that the one who was in the lead was the well-known fat giant, and her heart sank at her feet. She had conceived the possibility that perhaps she could beg for mercy or offer them the possibility of a ransom, anything that might prolong her life.
However, the obese giant would undoubtedly want revenge for the carnage of the previous day.
"Wait..." What plant was the one at his feet? Small yellow flowers grew in shallow patches of land, nestled in the shelter of the ledge, and as the sun began to dip over the horizon she realized they were the ones she had come looking for. It seemed like a long shot, but she… She hurriedly plucked some flowers and gave them to Frey.
"Eat them," she ordered.
Frey looked at her as if she was truly crazy, and a scowling expression passed over her face.
"I don't want to eat flowers," she replied with a dazed air.
"You eat them!" Elysia roared at him, and Frey, like an embarrassed child, put them into his mouth and started chewing on them.
The cat girl watched her companion carefully. She was hoping to see signs of some change in him, a sudden, miraculous return of her former ferocity, stimulated by the supposedly magical qualities of the flowers; but nothing happened. "Well, it was a long shot anyway." She told herself.
The mutants were already close to her and she could see that they were indeed the survivors of the gang that had attacked them the previous time. Frey spit out a yellow ball after chewing it and stood behind Elysia.
The cat girl decided that it would be better to meet her death with a sword in her hand, since then she could at least take a mutant or two to hell. As she drew the weapon, the fading sunlight reflected off the blade and made the runes gleam, and she looked at them as if she were seeing them for the first time. The proximity of death had sharpened all her senses. Thanks to the universal translation ring that she had equipped, she gave him the meaning of the runes.
"Dragon Slayer" whispered what was written in the runes.
The mutants had stopped less than fifty paces away, and the massive leader was watching Elysia with myopic eyes. After a pause, he punched the moose-headed mutant in the ear, and advanced.
The catgirl wondered if she should charge at this disgusting being; if he killed him, he might undermine the morale of his accomplices. Facing a stone club with a sword was a battle she was sure to win, as long as others didn't intervene; With that thought, she regained a bit of her bravery. She still had some hope, and a wild smile broke out on her face, for her fear had left her and she was almost beginning to enjoy the situation.
The leader, a huge lump of swaying fat girdled by studded leather and many weapons, stopped ten paces from Elysia. Waves of fat cascaded from her chin like melted tallow from a candle, and her huge bald head was like a ball of meat with tiny holes punched through the eyes, nose, and mouth. To the catgirl's surprise, the creature seemed quite nervous.
"I'm not stupid, you know?" said the mutant at last, and his voice sounded like the tolling of a great bell that pealed within his enormous chest.
He was so close that Elysia could hear his wheezing, phlegm-laden breath.
"What?" the cat girl asked, puzzled. Was it a trick?
"That I can see what your plan is. You try to lure us into the range of your friend's sword, and then kill us."
"But..." The injustice of that accusation mortified Elysia. There she was, bravely awaiting her death, and her loathsome enemy claimed that things were the other way around.
"You must think we're fucking idiots. Well, the mutations didn't destroy our brains along with our bodies. Do you think we're that stupid? Your friend pretends to be afraid of us, but we have admitted it. He's the one who killed Hans, Peter, and Gretchen, and all the others. We know him and we know his sword, and you have no means of enticing us to come within range of him."
"But..." Having steeled herself to put up a valiant final stand, Elysia felt disappointed and wanted to ask them to attack at once.
"I already told Gorm Elkhead that he thought it was you, but he didn't believe me. Well, I was right and he was wrong, and I didn't get the clan together just so you and your terrible friend could pick up some loot of mutant heads."
"But..." Slowly, the catgirl was beginning to understand what was happening. Her death sentence had been deferred, and she forced herself to keep her mouth shut before putting herself out there.
"Nope! You may think you are very smart, but you are not smart enough. This is a trap we are not going to fall into. We are too smart for that; I just wanted you to know."
Saying that, the mutant leader slowly backed away and cautiously walked away. Elysia watched the repulsive band melt into the darkness, and only then did she let out the breath she had held. For a moment, she was mesmerized, for the twilight on the nearby peaks was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life. She even rejoiced at the icy cold and throbbing pain in her hand, for they were signs that she was alive.
"Thank you, Gods, thank you!" she cried out, unable to contain her glee.
"What are you yelling at?" asked Frey, elated.
Elysia resisted the sudden blinding urge to run the sword through him, and instead she patted Frey on the back of her. Angering for a moment, she realized that they would be immobilized on the mountain until morning, but even that thought of hers was bearable.
"Quick, we have to pick flowers" said the cat girl. "The sun hasn't set yet!"
♦ ♦ ♦
"Who?" Luthor Kryptan asked warily from inside as Elysia pounded on the door. "What do you want?"
It was late afternoon, and the catgirl was surprised by the elaborate precautions with which the alchemist received them.
"It's me, Elysia, the cat girl. I'm back. Opens!"
Was it his imagination, or did Kryptan's voice sound more nervous than usual? Elysia turned to look down the street. Through the cracks in the window shutters, light filtered outside, and from afar came the sound of horses' hooves moving at a walk and the metal-clad wheels of a carriage on the cobbles, which was heading to the taverns in the town square. 'A rich man who goes out to play.' She guessed.
"Wait! Wait! I go."
The catgirl stopped banging on the door and coughed. Very typical of her luck, that of having cooled down on the pestilent summit of that mountain. She wiped the sweat from the fever from her forehead, and she wrapped the crimson cloak tighter against the icy mist. She glared at Frey, who was standing stupidly at the top of the stairs leading to the basement dwelling; he held the flowers they had picked in one hand. As always, Frey did not show any signs of illness.