Blood Requiem

by Christopher Husberg

  “You just got knocked around by a little girl,” one of the men laughed. “I can’t wait to tell everyone what happened to…”

  The man’s voice trailed off as Astrid’s glamour faded. Fingers formed into claws, teeth into fangs, and her eyes began to glow the eerie bright green color Knot had grown so used to.

  “I tried to give you a chance,” Astrid said, “but you had to be greedy.”

  She leapt onto the man who’d just spoken, her claws tearing into his chest. A bright spurt of blood arced through the night.

  She moved, a band of green light against the darkness, and slammed into the man she’d slapped, crushing him into a large tree. Bone snapped, wood cracked, and Astrid, now covered in blood, turned on the third man. He looked at her, eyes wide, his entire body trembling.

  “Please—”

  Astrid ripped the man’s arm off with a scream so horrific Knot could not tell whether it was Astrid’s, the man’s, or a combination of both. She did not stop there, but proceeded to tear the man limb from limb until he lay in pieces on the blood-soaked ground.

  Only Hedro, the serious man, remained, his face white as he stared at Astrid in the darkness.

  “Where are they?” Astrid asked again.

  Hedro swallowed, hands raised. “I’ll get them,” he said, retreating slowly into the forest.

  Looking up, Knot realized why everything seemed so dark here. The tree trunks and leaves were all dark grays, browns, and blacks. Blackbarks. This must be the dark forest, Takk Dusia. Above, the leaves and branches were so thick they almost seemed to weave together, creating an unbroken canopy above. Not even starlight streamed through.

  Hedro emerged, chains clanking behind him. Four children, all more or less Astrid’s age—or the age she looked, anyway—trudged behind him. Gaunt faces looked up at Astrid with horror.

  “Can’t imagine they’ll make much of a meal,” Hedro said.

  Knot’s stomach churned. This could not be what it seemed.

  “They aren’t for me,” Astrid replied. She walked around the chained children. Was she… inspecting them? The children cringed away from Astrid as she approached. Knot didn’t blame them; between her glowing green eyes, claws, and the fact that she was covered in blood, Astrid was a fearsome sight.

  “They’re for my employer.”

  Knot wondered who that could be. Cabral? Another vampire Astrid had served as thrall? He did not know when this took place.

  “We aren’t for anybody,” one of the children, a little boy with black hair and black eyes, said defiantly.

  “That’s Jidri,” Hedro muttered. “The other three’ll do as you ask, but he’ll give you some trouble.”

  “He won’t give me trouble,” Astrid said, glaring at the little boy. The boy, cowed, stepped back in line.

  Hedro shivered visibly, and then tossed the chain toward Astrid.

  “I don’t need payment—”

  Astrid threw him the coin purse. It landed at his feet.

  “There’s more where that came from, if you can find more where these came from,” Astrid said, nodding at the children. “Now leave, before I change my mind.”

  Without another word, Hedro scooped up the purse and sprinted away from Astrid like a deer that had just spotted a hunter.

  “Follow me,” she said, grabbing the chain. The children, eyes wide and shaking, had no choice but to obey.

  * * *

  As the image faded into blackness, Knot detached his tendron from the voidstone. He was back in his tent, in the Odenite camp, alone.

  Knot’s stomach still squirmed at the violence he had just witnessed. The men might have been trafficking children, but Knot wouldn’t wish their fate on anyone. And the children… Astrid had been leading them somewhere. To someone, and it hadn’t sounded good. Knot didn’t think he’d wish the fate of those children on anyone, either.

  A scream in the distance, loud enough to be in the camp, interrupted his thoughts. He swore, slipping the voidstone into the most secure place he could think of—a small hidden pocket sewn into the inside of his trousers—and rushed outside to see what had happened.

  21

  Undritch Mountains

  IT WAS MIDMORNING AS Winter and the Rangers traversed the foothills of the Undritch Mountains. She was with the Third and Fourth Ranger companies—the same two companies that had been serving as the vanguard for the greater Druid host—all of whom had stood with her in the battle outside Cineste.

  Rorie—the chief of the Black Hills clan—and a few dozen of her riders accompanied them, too. Rorie had pledged herself to Winter, and had promised to take her—and all of the Druids—over the Undritch Mountains and on to Adimora. Winter rode with Rorie, Urstadt, and Selldor.

  “I never thought I’d see mountains taller than the Sorensans,” Urstadt said quietly.

  Winter followed Urstadt’s gaze upward.

  “On clear summer days in Pranna,” she said, “my father would show me the King’s Crown.”

  Urstadt looked at Winter quizzically.

  “One of the Undritch Mountains,” Winter said. “He told me it was the tallest peak in the Sfaera. Seeing its snowy outline on a clear summer day all the way from Pranna made that claim difficult to dispute.” And seeing the mountains stretched before her now, each one seemingly taller than the last, only increased her awe.

  “Which one is the King’s Crown?” Urstadt asked. “They are all so tall, I can hardly tell them apart.”

  “Not the King’s Crown,” Rorie said. “That’s the human name for the peak. To tiellans here, it’s Eritravistaya. The King of Now and All.” She pointed at a distant group of peaks that stood even taller than the others. “There,” she said. “Lucky it’s a clear day; usually he’s draped in cloud cover.”

  “If these are the tallest mountains in the Sfaera,” Selldor said, “how are we supposed to cross them?”

  “Ain’t gonna cross,” Rorie said. “We’re gonna go through.”

  Winter and Urstadt exchanged a glance. The idea of “going through” was news to her, but if it meant they didn’t have to traverse a mountain pass, she was all for it. She and Ghian had already discussed the possibility of leaving some of the Druids in a camp on this side of the mountains if the trail became too difficult. She wanted to avoid that option at all costs.

  Winter turned to Rorie. “You’ve seen who travels with us. Women, children, older folk. Could they go through as well?”

  “Aye, Commander,” Rorie said. “They’ll make it through just fine. We’ll go through close by; won’t even go near Eritravistaya. The northernmost mountains ain’t as tall as the rest, and the weather’s more agreeable here than it is by the tallest peaks. If we move now, the majority of your group can make it through to the other side before nightfall.”

  Slowly, Winter reached an acumenic tendron into Rorie’s mind. She’d done this before, but wanted to try again just to be sure. Winter welcomed Rorie’s devotion, but she had her suspicions. But as Winter explored the woman’s mind, she found no hint of deceit. Rorie intended to lead them safely through the mountains.

  “Very well,” Winter said. “Lead the way.”

  * * *

  Winter and her Rangers followed Rorie through the Black Hills—the foothills were Rorie’s home, from whence her clan claimed its name—and eventually down towards the mouth of a small cave.

  “This is it?” Winter asked, eyeing the grotto entrance. Hardly more than a crack in the mountainside, it reached up about twice Winter’s standing height, and was roughly three rods wide at its base.

  “It’ll be something of a bottleneck for your people,” Rorie said, “but once we’re through the entrance, the cave opens up. There’s plenty of room in the Underway, Commander.”

  “The Underway? No tiellan name?”

  “Not all things are about us, Commander.” Rorie winked. “Most, but not all.”

  Winter dismounted. It would be easier to lead her horse through the entrance than ride. “
Do many people know of the Underway?”

  “Only the tiellan clans, Commander, and a few human nomads.” Rorie glanced at Urstadt.

  “But surely other humans have discovered it,” Winter said.

  Rorie shrugged. “Of course they have. But they pay it no mind. Humans, so far, have no interest in the plains east of the Undritch Mountains. They are too busy with their stone cities in the west.”

  Winter handed her horse’s reins to Selldor, and walked slowly toward the cave. “We’ll need torches,” she said. “Lots of them.”

  “You won’t have to worry about torches,” Rorie said.

  Winter looked back to see Rorie with a crooked smile on her face.

  “See for yourself, Commander.”

  “Winter, I do not think you should go in alone,” Urstadt said.

  Winter turned back around to face the cave entrance. “It’s all right, Urstadt,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

  She walked through the rift, her eyes widening as they adjusted to the sudden darkness. When she had her bearings, Winter found herself in a small, craggy corridor. Bright yellow daylight lit the cave from behind her, but Winter was surprised to see that was not the only source of light in the cave. Ahead of her the chamber angled to the left, and bright blue light emanated from wherever the passage led.

  Hesitantly, Winter walked towards the blue light. She followed the tilt of the chamber, moving around a corner, and then stopped in shock.

  A tunnel extended before her, straight as an arrow shaft and carved almost perfectly in the shape of a semi-circle, with the floor forming the flat side and the walls and ceiling arching high above.

  The thing was massive. Fifty people could easily fit comfortably, side by side, across the width of the tunnel, and the ceiling arched many times Winter’s own height. She doubted she would even be able to make out the ceiling, if it weren’t for the most striking aspect of the tunnel, and the source of the blue light: hundreds, maybe thousands, of carved, glowing blue runes. The tunnel reminded Winter of some kind of reverse rihnemin; instead of a great stone structure, this was a hole carved out of stone; but the runes seemed the same.

  Winter heard footsteps and voices, and turned to see Urstadt and Rorie entering the huge tunnel behind her. Urstadt stopped short, staring at the glowing blue runes all around them, while Rorie simply smiled her crooked smile.

  “This… this is incredible,” Winter whispered. The tunnel extended into the depths of the mountain, farther than she could see. “When… How…” She was utterly lost for words.

  “It’s said the Druids of ancient times carved it,” Rorie said. “No one knows exactly how long it’s been around. The blue lights, though, are recent. You used to have to carry torches through this tunnel, as you said, but less than a year ago the runes began to emit their own blue light. It’s remained like this ever since.”

  Less than a year ago. Winter wondered what could have triggered it. The events in Roden—Azael’s presence and the reappearance of the Nine Daemons—stood at the top of her list.

  “It is beautiful,” Urstadt said, her voice reverent.

  Winter, eyes wide, could still only take it in. She felt a pang of sadness that her father, Lian, Knot—and even Galce, though he at least was still alive—were not here to see it with her. Such beauty deserved to be shared.

  At least she could share it with the rest of her people.

  “Get the other tiellans moving through here,” Winter said, coughing to clear her throat. “We still have a fair journey ahead of us.”

  Rorie’s smile grew wider. “Aye, Commander. I’ll send word, and we’ll get moving through the Underway immediately.”

  Winter nodded, already looking back at the glowing blue runes.

  She was entering a different world, indeed.

  * * *

  Rorie was right; the tiellans made it through the mystical tunnel in good time, and just over a week later were approaching Adimora.

  “We are close.” Rorie of the Black Hills clan looked out at the twilight-immersed plains.

  “How close?” Winter asked. She saw nothing before her but more grassland. The plains on this side of the Undritch Mountains were the same as the ones to the west, as far as Winter could tell.

  “You are a few dozen steps away, at most.”

  Winter spurred her horse forward. It was a strong mare, mottled gray and black, that reminded her very much of another mare that had briefly been hers, Nynessa. She looked back at Rorie, but her face was indiscernible in the darkness beneath her araif.

  “Just over that rise.”

  Winter pushed her mare forward, cautiously. She had thought about naming the animal, but decided against it. Nynessa had died quickly, defending Winter against an ambush on the lonely road between Brynne and Navone. She did not want to get attached again.

  As she crested the small hill, she saw three things. The first was a rihnemin, larger than any Winter had ever seen, jutting upwards from the ground. Rihnemin were large standing stones, usually only slightly taller than a person. This one was the size of a cathedral. Even from this distance, Winter could discern runes carved into the stone, just like the ones she had seen in the Underway. These, however, did not glow. Rihnemin dated back to the Age of Marvels, and stood as monuments to the tiellan culture and power from that time.

  The second thing that caught Winter’s eye was the city of Adimora—and city was, indeed, a poor term for it. In almost a perfect circle surrounding the rihnemin, the grass was clear, but outside of a certain distance ramshackle houses and other buildings surrounded the stone. A few dozen, certainly no more than one hundred. No walls or towers or defensive structures whatsoever. Winter had to admit, the city—the town, really— disappointed her.

  What did not disappoint was the third thing Winter saw: a dark crack in the land that separated Winter from Adimora, splitting the grass and the plain and plunging into darkness.

  “What is that?”

  “The Ravine of Adimora,” Rorie responded. A few other tiellans had crested the hill behind them, and Winter heard gasps of surprise. The ravine was truly a shocking sight—like a crack of black lightning that split the very Sfaera in two.

  “And this,” Winter said, indicating the disorganized town below her, “is Adimora?”

  Rorie laughed. “Yes and no. I will show you the rest of the city once you and your people have settled in.”

  Winter looked back at the houses sprawling away from the rihnemin. “How do we cross the ravine?”

  “The ravine does not extend forever. We will show your people the best way to cross.” Rorie signaled back at a few of her followers, who rode off to do as asked.

  “You want us to camp around the houses already there?”

  “Undoubtedly some of your force will have to do so,” Rorie said, “but many of you should be able to find shelter in those homes.”

  Winter blinked. “You mean what we see here isn’t even full? How can you call this a city? I’d eat a dragon eel if there were more than two hundred people down there.”

  “Above ground, there’re far fewer than that, usually,” Rorie said.

  “And… below ground?”

  Rorie smiled. “Many more.”

  “So you’re telling me the city of Adimora is…” Winter dismounted, and walked closer to the ravine. The closer she moved, the blacker the inside of the thing looked.

  She turned back to face Rorie. “You’re telling me it’s down there.”

  “Of course. Get your people settled, Commander. I’ll head below and get the lay of things. Once that’s taken care of, I’ll come for you. Any luck, you’ll challenge the Cracked Spear this very night.”

  Winter stopped. “The what?”

  “The Cracked Spear. That’s why you’re here, ain’t it?”

  Winter knew nothing about a cracked spear. “I seek the aid of the tiellan clans. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Right,” Rorie said, nodding. “So you’ll be challengin’
the Cracked Spear, then.”

  Clearly this all made sense to Rorie.

  Winter had come all this way; she would not balk now. If she could bring the tiellan clans to their cause, they would be one step closer to uniting all tiellans.

  She was not whole. She did not belong. But if she could make that happen for someone else—for all tiellans—she would do it.

  “Very well,” Winter said. “Send for me when you are ready.”

  * * *

  Later that day, the rest of the Druid caravan arrived at Adimora. Winter accompanied Darrin, Eranda, and their children to secure them one of the huts that encircled the rihnemin. The structures here were certainly no worse than the humble tiellan huts of Pranna, and when they found a suitable residence— Darrin and Eranda would have been content with the first hut they came across, but Winter insisted they find one closer to the rihnemin—it was actually larger than any home the family had ever had. This one had two separate bedrooms, as well as a living space, and even some rudimentary furniture.

  “Thanks to you, Winter,” Eranda said. Darrin had taken the children to the other room, putting them to bed early after a long day of traveling. Winter could hear him singing a soft lullaby through the thin walls. “I can’t believe all you’ve done for us. Your return is truly a gift.”

  Winter looked at Eranda, unsure what she meant. “I’ve hardly done anything for you, Eranda. I… I’ve done what I can, but—”

  “Apologies, I did not mean for me, or my family specifically. I meant for the Druids, and for us as tiellans.”

  “I only do what Ghian and the other Druids ask me to do.”

  “Might be you doing the asking, one day.”

  The evening was warm and still light, and the sun shone through an open window as it set, bathing the room in rustic light. “What do you mean?” Winter asked.

  “The Druids didn’t really accomplish much ’til you arrived, Winter. They helped the tiellans, yes, but at a snail’s pace.”

  “You didn’t seem this grateful after I killed the humans at the Druid meeting,” Winter said. She could still remember the fear with which Eranda and Gord had looked at her after that.