“When the time comes,” gasped Bartun, through clenched teeth, “you must use me as a distraction. I am... useless for anything else and will only slow you.”
“Nonsense, old friend.” The seriousness of his expression belied Aristomus’ light tone. “Once healed, you will move as well as the rest of us. And we need you.”
“Aye,” agreed Rosner. “We should all rest now. If we are to have any chance of escape, we will need our strength.”
SOMETIME LATER, THE Dread roused the mages, forcing them back onto their horses. Once again, the Dread bound their hands, but at least the monster allowed them to ride upright this time. They had no chance at escape. The Unsouled hedged the horses in on all sides and the mounts shied and whinnied whenever one of the creatures came too close.
Though uncomfortable, riding upright gave Alecia a better vantage. She didn’t see the staffs but believed she now knew their location. Both Dread passed by periodically to check on the captives and reaffirm their control over the Unsouled. One Dread carried a long, wrapped bundle slung over its back. Certain it held their staffs, she now only needed to find a way...
Alecia shivered, lips tinged a faint blue. Though not ideal, all four of the mages forced themselves to eat some snow earlier. It took the edge off their terrible thirst, but made them colder than ever. And now the first pangs of hunger had set in.
The horses moved in single file. A gap of several yards between them kept the mages from speaking without drawing attention from the Dread. Alecia rode behind Bartun, followed by Aristomus with Rosner bringing up the rear. The big mage swayed in his saddle, his wounded leg swollen and discolored. Alecia could see drops of dark blood pooled on the snow as she passed. Without healing, she didn’t believe Bartun would last much longer. Alecia glanced back at her father. Aristomus returned a grim nod. He, too, saw the bloody marks.
They continued on this way for hours. By late afternoon, the Dark Mountains came into view. Mount Dismay remained out of sight, but a thick plume of smoke from the mountain’s fiery heart marked its location like an ebony finger.
Bartun gave a loud groan and fell from his saddle.
“Bartun!” shouted Alecia. She kicked her mount to rush to his aid, but a Dread seized the bridle and jerked it with enough force to nearly snap the horse’s neck. Alecia clung to her saddle.
The Dread stared at her for a moment as though daring her to react. Then it shifted the wrapped bundle on its shoulder and moved over to the fallen mage. It pulled back one of its clawed feet and kicked Bartun in the side, hard.
“No!” she shouted. But Bartun didn’t move. Whether dead or unconscious, she couldn’t tell. The Unsouled wandered toward the Dread, attracted by the commotion. The beast made to kick the helpless mage again. “Damn you,” she snarled. “Can you not see he is injured?”
The Dread looked back at her, lips pulled back in one of its terrifying smiles. Then it kicked Bartun again, this time in his injured leg. Roused by the agonizing pain, Bartun screamed in anguish. He rolled away between his horse’s legs, desperate to escape his tormenter. Terrified, the animal reared and struck the Dread full in the chest with both hooves.
The impact staggered the beast and the cloth strap across its chest snapped. With a wooden clatter, the bundle fell to the ground. The Dread roared in anger and swiped at the horse. Its knife-like claws whistled through the air, not slowing as they sliced through the panic-stricken animal’s neck, decapitating it. Hot blood fountained from its severed neck, splattering both the Dread and the nearby Unsouled. Crazed by the smell of blood, the undead creatures tore into the still twitching carcass.
Distracted, the Dread tried to reestablish control over its blood-maddened charges. Seizing her chance, Alecia slipped to the ground. On hands and knees, she crawled toward the bundle of staffs. Aristomus joined her while Rosner tried to reach Bartun. Both mages fended off the Unsouled with bound hands, pushing them toward the downed horse. The smell of fresh blood drew the creatures like moths to a flame and they paid little heed to the half-frozen mages.
With a soft gasp of triumph, Alecia snatched her staff from the wrappings. She tossed the other staffs toward their owners and seized the Power, snapping her bonds. The second Dread arrived, and the two reasserted control over the Unsouled. The undead creatures turned as one and attacked.
Alecia formed a long, razor-sharp blade of ice from the tip of her staff and swept it, scythe-like, through the nearest pack of Unsouled. Caustic blood splattered everywhere as the blade sliced several of the creatures in half.
Lightning crackled as Aristomus joined the fray. “Alecia! The horses!”
Alecia fought her way toward the terror-stricken mounts. Their eyes rolled in panic as they tried to scatter, but they remained trapped by the milling bodies of the Unsouled and could not escape. She used her staff as a club to hack at those close by while firing ice spikes at the creatures farther away. Alecia forced her way to the horses, somehow slipping past undead fingers ripping and tearing at her cloak. She jumped into the saddle and snagged the reins of the other mounts.
From her vantage point, Alecia saw her father facing off against both Dread in a battle he couldn’t hope to win. She flinched as the monsters combined their powers to cast black acid. Aristomus threw himself to the ground at the last second and the blast somehow missed, instead exploding into a pack of Unsouled reaching for him from behind.
Rosner knelt beside Bartun. In desperation, he tried to lift the big man to his feet but didn’t have the strength. The nearby Unsouled were losing interest in the horse and would soon notice the two mages.
Torn, Alecia needed to aid her father, but could not bear to abandon Bartun and Rosner. While she hesitated, the Unsouled fell on the two mages like an avalanche. Crying in frustration, she dug in her heels and sent the horse hurdling toward the last place she saw the two Council members. Her horse knocked the Unsouled aside, trampling them beneath its hooves. The ground around her fast transformed into a stinking quagmire of blood, snow and mud.
“Rosner!” Alecia shouted. She squeezed her mount with both knees, bringing it to a sliding halt. The crawling morass of undead bodies hid the mages from view. “Where are you?”
The writhing mound of Unsouled erupted in a silent concussion, bodies flung in all directions. Rosner, his robe torn and bloody, knelt at the bottom of the pile. Beside him lay Bartun, unmoving. Rosner’s staff spun with blasts of silent, invisible power as he fought to regain his feet.
Alecia forced her horse forward, casting icy shards at the Unsouled behind Rosner’s unprotected back. When she reached him at last, she jumped from her mount. “We must get Bartun away from here!”
Rosner wheezed with the effort of channeling so much of the Power. “It is... too late! H-he is... gone!” The mage scrambled atop a horse, his strength waning. “Your father,” he gasped. “We must... aid him!”
Alecia wheeled her mount to see Aristomus driven to one knee under the combined might of the two Dread. Staff extended in both hands, he strove with all his strength against his enemies. As Alecia and Rosner spurred their horses forward, Aristomus’ staff burst with an ear-shattering explosion.
The titanic blast hurled both Dread to the ground. None of the Unsouled remained standing. Only their distance from the detonation allowed Alecia and Rosner to remain mounted and still their horses staggered from the concussion. Aristomus lay in a crumpled heap, wispy tendrils of smoke rising from his tattered robe.
“Father! No!” Alecia rode to Aristomus’ side and threw herself from the saddle. Sinking to the ground, she gathered his head in her lap. Blackened skin peeled and flaked, in some places revealing the white of bone. Crisped strands of hair broke where her hands stroked his head. Alecia closed her eyes and wept, the pain more than she could bear.
“Alecia! By the Power! Alecia!” Someone shook her.
No! she thought, turning away. Can I not even mourn in peace?
The shaking grew harder. “He is still alive!”
Alecia’s eyes snapped open. Rosner! He held her by both shoulders, eyes wide and desperate.
“Help me!” he pleaded. “I am too spent, and he is too weak. We must heal him together, Alecia!”
She looked down at her father’s ravaged face. The tiniest wisp of breath rose from between cracked lips in the frigid air. Thoughts flashed through her frantic mind. How could someone survive such injuries? And yet he still lived!
Alecia reached for the staff she’d let fall in her desperation to reach her father. Rosner scrambled over the now muddy ground to retrieve it. As he placed it in her hands, Rosner held her eyes. “We must hurry! Even now the Dread and Unsouled recover.”
In her grief, Alecia had forgotten the battle. Now she looked around and saw the Unsouled stirring. Some few had regained their feet though they appeared dazed and confused. The Dread, too, showed signs of movement. She had little time left.
Placing the tip of her staff on Aristomus’ chest, Alecia cleared her mind and concentrated. The cool flow of power tingled as she probed his body. So weak! The slightest misstep might snap the fraying strings of his spirit.
Alecia reached out and took Rosner’s hand. Linked, she drew power from the mage and combined it with her own. Oh, so carefully, Alecia sent the finest trickle of the Power through her staff and into her father’s body. With death so close, the mage showed no reaction at all to the Power’s icy potency. Displaying consummate skill, Alecia held together the sinews of his life and nursed him back from the edge.
As his body strengthened, Aristomus drank in healing like a man dying of thirst. He gasped aloud, his back arching. Burned flesh regained its color, stretching to cover bone. Torn muscles mended, becoming firm and flexible once more. Lacerated organs rejoined, becoming whole again.
“Alecia,” Rosner gasped, face white with strain. “I cannot...”
Alecia released his hand and the Power’s flow lessened. She felt the profound drain on her own life-force as she poured herself out like a cracked urn. Alecia’s vision grew dark, and she felt faint with the strain. But still she did not stop... would not stop.
A weak hand reached out and grasped her arm. “It is enough, daughter.”
Alecia released the Power and nearly swooned. Hands caught and held her upright. After blinking several times, her vision cleared. Whole once again, Aristomus held her, his gray face pale as the surrounding snow. Tears flowed anew. “Father, you are alive!”
“Aye, Alecia,” he responded, his voice weak. “Though should I remain so, you and I must have a serious discussion. You almost killed yourself!”
“Not now!” rasped Rosner. “We must go. There is no time!”
The three mages struggled to their feet. One of the Dread climbed to a knee and most of the Unsouled thrashed and kicked as they recovered. They had moments only. Aristomus and Rosner helped Alecia onto her horse and then mounted their own. They turned and struggled through the Unsouled, dodging the weakened hands grabbing at them. They’d neared the outer ring of Unsouled when the Dread put forth their dark power again.
Under control once more, the Unsouled attacked. Weak and spent, the mages couldn’t summon the Power. Instead, they used their staffs as clubs, frantic to beat a path through the clutching creatures. Aristomus aimed weak kicks at the clutching undead. Despite the odds, he and Alecia somehow made it through the final cordon of Unsouled.
But the undead had cut Rosner off. Aristomus looked back to see the frantic mage wheeling his mount to keep the creatures at bay. Their eyes met for just a moment. Rosner shook his head. Drawing back his arm, he threw the staff with everything he had left. Aristomus caught it as the Unsouled pulled the slender mage from his saddle. He disappeared under a pile of writhing bodies.
“No!” Aristomus shouted. He moved to ride back, but stopped when he felt Alecia’s weak hand on his arm.
“There is nothing we can do, father!” she cried. “We must go!”
Nodding in resignation, Aristomus turned his horse and followed Alecia as she fled to the southeast.
Chapter 19, Ambush
Henslow pulled Raven to a halt and dismounted. Kneeling, he inspected the signs, fingers trailing over snow now ground into mud and refreezing. Loren, his best tracker, joined him.
“These tracks are still soft,” she murmured. “They cannot be more than one, maybe two hours ahead.”
“Agreed,” replied Henslow. “We will need to be careful. The terrain is becoming more rugged as we near the Dark Mountains. Ambush is a danger should they realize we follow.”
Loren nodded her approval as they mounted up. She and Stevin moved off to scout ahead while Danyll slowed to provide a rearguard. Henslow rode alone, his thoughts drifting back to the last time he’d approached Mount Dismay.
Jaspher’s death remained an unhealed wound, the scabs thin and threatening to break open anew at the slightest touch. He’d buried his grief deep inside, but the passing months did little to relieve the burden. Constant and unrelenting pressure gnawed at Henslow, like boiling steam searching and probing for cracks in his resolve.
In his mind’s eye, he relived the attack again—the raid by the Unsouled, Jaspher leading his men to assail the creatures, the Dread’s appearance, and his son’s subsequent capture. He remembered the difficult decision to wait for daylight before beginning the pursuit; his responsibility for his men had battled with his fierce need to save Jaspher.
He had no other choice. Not even for the life of his own son could he risk the lives of dozens in such single-minded pursuit. The soldiers under his command were sons and daughters, too. If he led them into an ambush, would their parents’ grief be any less than his own? He shook his head. That decision he refused to doubt.
No, the other decisions he’d made would be enough to haunt him to his grave. Perhaps they should not have paused for food or to rest their exhausted mounts. Maybe they should have taken a straighter path to Mount Dismay; hurried rather than follow the meandering tracks of the Unsouled. Might they have reached Jaspher in time? No matter how hard he tried, that question he’d never be able to answer.
And so, when at last they arrived, he confronted the result of all his decisions in the ghastly white face and dead eyes of his only son. When he drew his sword, all the other Unsouled remained still, refusing to attack. The Dark Mage denied him even the pretense of defending himself.
And when he swung the sword, did he see a flicker of recognition, of recrimination, in those soulless red eyes? Did the Dark Mage leave a spark, some tiny remnant of Jaspher behind to torment him all the more? When he fell to his knees to hold Jaspher’s headless body, those questions and more raced through his head. And he came no closer to an answer now than on that fateful day months ago.
Gall burned in Henslow’s belly. Rage seemed the only outlet he had for his grief. But anger made him reckless, a danger to those around him. Henslow fought an unrelenting battle for control. Should more die because of his obsession with revenge, madness might prove his only escape from guilt.
Taking several deep breaths, he tried to purge himself of the pain and focus on the present. The enemies they tracked were near now. But coming this close to Mount Dismay put them all in danger. The possibility of running into more of the Dark Mage’s forces grew with every passing moment. Soon they would have to turn back. Only his promise to Adam kept Henslow moving northward.
A low whistle caught his attention. Stevin returned at a gallop.
“Captain!” the scout called, his voice pitched low so as not to carry. “We have found them!”
Henslow hurried forward to meet the scout. “Where?” he asked. “What are their numbers? Are the mages...?”
“Half a league at most, Captain,” Stevin reported. “Numbers are difficult to tell, but it is a small group. And we saw but one horse. Loren remained behind to continue the pursuit.”
“Excellent work,” he replied. “I will go ahead. You gather Danyll and catch up. But stay quiet. We cannot lose the element of surprise.�
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Stevin snapped a quick salute and turned south to find Danyll. Henslow spurred his horse ahead to find a narrow opening between two rocky peaks. He dismounted and led Raven into the dark fissure. It soon widened into a long, shadowy canyon curving out of sight between rugged cliffs. A low whistle helped him find Loren hiding behind a jagged ridge overlooking the canyon. He dismounted, giving Raven a stern command to remain in place while he climbed up to his scout’s perch.
“Report,” he whispered, fighting to control his breath from the exertion of the climb.
“They are in the canyon, Captain,” she murmured. “The group numbers six, but one is a Dread. There is one horse with a body strapped to its back. It looks to be a mage, but gender is difficult to discern. And...” she paused. “I cannot tell if the mage is alive or dead.”
Henslow thought a moment before replying. “I see no reason to carry a dead mage,” he reasoned, “so we must consider whoever it is to be alive. And I will leave no one to the tender mercies of the Dark Mage. We must be very careful though. Facing a Dread without the help of a mage is not something I relish.”
He climbed the rocky outcrop to check the situation for himself. The small group of marauders made its way, unhurried, across the canyon floor. Good. Such slow movement meant they remained unaware of their hunters. Still, he fumed, if the marauders made it to the far side, they might have no choice but to turn back. If only they could get ahead of them somehow; prepare an ambush. He studied the rocky terrain, looking for a way... There! Along the top of the ridge he saw a narrow path. It circled the canyon and seemed to reach the far end. They would need to leave the horses behind, but if they traveled fast and met no obstacles, they might get there first.
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