Wraith King

by Argyle, Amber

  “When the sun sets,” Denan asked, his voice hoarse, “the shadows will begin their attack on the Alamant?”

  Ramass gave a slow, sad nod. “The Alamant and the Idelmarch both.”

  “Those who make it inside the magic panes will survive,” Hagath said. “At least for a little while.”

  So many people were going to die tonight. What if Mama, her sister, or the babies were among them? What about Aaryn and Mytin? Alorica?

  “We’ll give you as much time as we can.” Ramass shot the others a meaningful look. They gave grim nods in return and ran toward the carriage.

  Denan took hold of Larkin’s hand. “Be careful, my little bird.”

  Wincing as the shadows clawed their way up her ankles, she pressed her forehead to his. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Larkin,” Hagath called sharply.

  Blinking back hot tears, she kissed his cheek, then turned, her hands slipping from his, and ran after the Valynthians. She caught up to them standing at the edge of the tree near the carriage and looked down, down, down. Below them was a patch of deep water ringed by the soggy grass.

  Hagath’s words echoed in her head. It’ll just hurt so much you might lose your mind for the next decade or so.

  Hagath was shaking. Ture was pale. Ramass’s hands were clenched. In the distance, the sun was halved on the horizon.

  Light. This is going to hurt. Fear made Larkin’s palms damp and her heart race. Unable to resist, she turned to look back at her husband. Trying to memorize the planes and ridges of his face. The way the light turned his skin golden. The way his hair stuck up on one side from his sleep.

  Light, I love that man.

  Her breaths heaved in and out of her throat, her vision turning dark around the edges. The shadows climbed up her chest, reaching for her shoulders.

  “Now!” Ramass cried.

  For Denan and Mama and Nesha and Brenna and Soren and Kyden. She stepped off. Clenching his eyes shut, Denan turned away. Faster and faster she fell, until the wind tore at her hair and clothes, the vibrations against her body painful. The thorns dug deeper, clawed their way up her shoulders. Her neck. The back of her skull and cheeks.

  The water rose, the details of each little wave growing clearer. Until she could make out the scales of the darting gilgad beneath her. She opened her mouth to scream.

  And then she hit.

  Her legs broke first, the sharp ends of her thigh bones pushing through her hips, which shattered on impact. Her spine exploded. Her ribs broke into sharp shards that pierced her every organ.

  She did not pass out.

  The shadows couldn’t touch the water. They had to settle for waiting for her broken body to brush up against the tree. She screamed as they latched onto the back of her head, dragged her out of the water, and deposited her on a root beside the broken bodies of her comrades.

  She had just enough wherewithal to see that the sun had set. Their plan to buy more time was working. It was then that the healing began and the shadows tore down her throat.

  She became pain.

  Pain that exploded every time one of her bones wrenched back into place or her skin knit back together or her shredded organs healed. The healing came in waves, each one bringing a fresh burst of agony—agony compounded by each swell of water.

  Memories melded with her own. Memories of a woman in her garden, who hummed as she pulled weeds and tossed snails in a pail. There was a small white house and lots of trees. On the far side of the river—so far away Larkin could cover them with an outstretched hand—two men worked a plow. Children’s laughter sounded from somewhere out of sight.

  The woman sat up for a moment and stretched her back, revealing her mounded belly. She turned in the direction of the bright laughter. “Five more minutes, and then it’s time for supper.”

  They were her children. By the sounds of it, at least three. And she was pregnant with another. The woman gathered up the pail and opened the garden gate. She swung the pail as she headed toward the river. She didn’t notice the older man lying in wait for her in the forest.

  Larkin didn’t know how she knew that the woman was a Valynthian. Only that she was. And the man was an Alamantian.

  He unhooked a gem-studded reed pipe from his belt. The man played a song of a lover’s gentle arms in the quiet hush of a summer morning. An enchantment so lovely that it brought a sigh of contentment from the woman’s lips.

  She didn’t notice the discordant note. The undercurrent of lies. The bucket slipped from her fingers, rolling down the little path until it came to rest with a clang against a rock. Her expression dreamy, she followed the man deep into the forest.

  So deep that no one heard her screams.

  Next came a baby, beaten to death by his own mother because he wouldn’t stop crying. A man enchanted to kill himself by his wife because she wanted his money and his brother.

  The Black Tree was right. As long as men and women existed, they would do terrible, awful things to each other. She became a wraith. Without form or substance, she traveled the shadows.

  Nearly an hour after sunset, she came into being in the middling boughs of the Black Tree. Below, four wraiths fought five Alamantians. Eiryss stood inside a dome, guarding Sela. A dozen paces from Larkin, Garrot sighted down his bow and released an arrow into the chaos beneath them.

  Garrot, who had turned her sister against her. Garrot, who had driven her into the forest. Garrot, who had killed Bane. He deserved to die.

  She charged the druid, who swung around and loosed an arrow at her. She flared her shield and ducked behind it. Garrot retreated even as he drew another arrow and released all in the same smooth, practiced movement, striking her in the thigh. Pain blazed. Pain she welcomed gladly.

  She wrenched it out without slowing. Her shadows flickered. His expression shifting to shock, Garrot dropped the bow and arrow to draw his sword and shield. Their swords clanked. Slash, parry, stab, parry. She drove Garrot until another step would drop him to the platform, a fall which would certainly break a few bones.

  Garrot braced behind his shield and shoved her with all his strength, nearly knocking her over. He pressed the advantage, ducking down to swipe at her legs. She jumped. Garrot lunged, his sword flashing as it thrust into her ribs.

  One more hit, and she was done for. She roared in frustration and drove him another step back. His heel slipped, and he managed to brace his shield against a branch.

  He gritted his teeth. “Larkin, you can beat him! You’ve done it before.”

  Beat the Black Tree? Beating him would leave her as just Larkin, and Larkin would never kill Garrot. “You killed Bane.”

  She drew in her magic for a pulse that would send him to his death. With a shout, he lunged, wrapping his arms around her. They fell to the branch. Garrot’s flesh steamed where it touched her. He cried out as his skin blistered.

  You fool! Larkin thought. Don’t you know not to touch me?

  But of course he didn’t. He’d never fought a wraith before. She rolled, coming up on top of Garrot, her sword cocked back.

  And hesitated.

  Because she’d been in this exact position before. Only she’d been the one with an enemy straddling her, a blade about to come down. And the fear in Garrot’s eyes . . . it was the same fear she’d felt.

  Garrot punched her jaw, rocked his hips, and shoved hard. She fell to her side and rolled to her feet. He faced her with his knife—the only weapon he had left. Her shadows faded. If he hit her again, she was through. But what chance did he have with a single dagger against a sword and shield?

  Larkin charged. With a shout of desperation and rage, so did Garrot. She swung. He managed to block with his dagger and shove up. He kicked out, his heel connecting with her crotch in a hit that would have dropped a man.

  She was not a man.

  She swung her shield, hitting Garrot hard in the temple. He crumpled, blood gushing from a crescent wound around the top of his ear. He tried to push up, but his body f
ailed him. His eyes weren’t quite able to focus on her.

  “Nesha and Soren . . . tell them I love them.” Then he passed out completely.

  She raised her sword above his head. And hesitated a second time.

  Garrot loved her sister. Loved another man’s child as his own. He’d allowed his grief to turn him into a zealot. Had been tricked by the Black Tree, like so many others. But he’d never been evil. He had saved her life only yesterday. And she’d forgiven him. Felt the peace of that forgiveness.

  I don’t want to do this.

  The Black Tree turned his full attention on her. Again, the senseless deaths of the woman, baby, and man flashed in her memory.

  Mankind isn’t worth saving. The thought echoed in her head.

  You’re wrong, Larkin thought. My father was worth being saved. As were Talox and Venna. Even Garrot deserves a second chance.

  The Black Tree attacked, trying to wrest control of her body. She flared her sigils and pulsed, forcing him back. Forcing the dead back. The shadows split open and peeled apart. She emerged and dragged in a free breath, stepping from the shadows like a cast-off garment.

  And somehow, she knew that she’d thrown off the Black Tree forever. Thrown off the wraith.

  Weakness hit her a moment later, as if fighting off the Black Tree had taken all her strength. She dropped to her knees. She waited a beat for the healing to set in. Nothing happened. She was no longer a wraith, and that meant she could no longer heal.

  Before her, Garrot wasn’t moving. Light, please don’t let me have killed him. She crawled to his side and turned his head toward her. He was still bleeding, which meant his heart still beat.

  “Garrot?”

  He moaned.

  She breathed out in relief. Movement out of the corner of her vision. She spun. Hagath charged up the branch toward her. Larkin reached for her magic. Tried to stand. Her legs refused to take her weight. Hagath drew back her sword for a thrust. Larkin flared her shield, but she hadn’t braced herself. Hagath kicked the shield aside.

  Larkin landed on her hip. She put both hands on the shield and held it before her. Hagath kicked it to the side again and ground her heel into Larkin’s arm. She cried out in pain.

  Hagath bent over her and said in the Black Tree’s voice, “You should not have defied me, woman.”

  The Black Tree drew her arm back, the shadow-wreathed sword spitting smoke. A blade that would kill her for good.

  At a shout, Hagath’s head jerked up. Screaming, Garrot charged. He didn’t even have a weapon. Hagath didn’t bother moving into a defensive stance. Simply shoved her sword into Garrot’s guts.

  Without pause, he wrapped his arms around the wraith and drove toward the edge of the bough. The wraith fought him, managing to grab a branch just before they toppled. His flesh smoking and his face blistering, Garrot met Larkin’s gaze. He gave her a single nod and wrenched his body, taking the wraith with him off the side.

  “No!” Larkin gasped. She crawled to the edge of the branch and watched them fall. Watched Garrot hit, water exploding around him. Hagath bounced off, slamming into the side of the tree with enough force to break every bone in her body. Again.

  Face down, Garrot’s broken body bobbed to the surface. He didn’t move.

  He’d died to save her.

  The Dead

  A sound like shadows ripping in half. Larkin knew that sound. The sound of a wraith returning. Far below, the dead spit Hagath out on the tree’s roots. At least, Larkin thought it was Hagath. Her limbs didn’t look like limbs, but wet, bent noodles. As if every bone in her body had been pulverized. A hundred yards to the right, Garrot’s body rode the gentle waves.

  Horror tried to overcome Larkin. To paralyze her. She shoved it down. She couldn’t save Garrot. No one could. Nor could she spare Hagath her pain. But she could help the others.

  She crawled down the branch. Her body gained strength by the moment, until she was able to stand. Then jog. Then run. She reached the main platform. Caelia and Talox fought Ture in front of her. On her right, Eiryss struggled to keep ahead of Vicil. Tam crawled for the dome. On the far side, near the font, Ramass hammered Denan with his shield. Denan blocked the blow but dropped to a knee.

  Her husband needed her most.

  Larkin dodged Caelia and Talox and sprinted for her husband when Vicil knocked Eiryss flat. He straddled her. She pulsed, sending him sailing in front of Larkin. She caught the edge of the blast, which sent her staggering, though she managed to keep her feet.

  Vicil lay sprawled a step to her left, not two steps from where Tam dragged himself. Vicil’s gaze fixed on Tam. Larkin had a split second to decide. Trusting Denan’s skill to hold out for a moment longer, she sidestepped and sliced through Vicil’s chest. He imploded.

  Leaving him for Eiryss to tie up, Larkin rushed to Denan’s aid. Ramass swung from the left. Denan moved to block. It was a feint. Ramass’s blade flicked out. Blood bloomed on Denan’s side. With a cry, he stumbled and went down.

  Ramass drew back for the killing blow. Larkin pulsed, throwing him back. She leaped over Denan. Ramass stumbled to his feet. Before he could fully recover, she bashed his shield to the side and thrust into his chest. She let her sword fade and form again in an instant. Then she thrust again.

  He imploded.

  She rushed to Denan. He lay on his back. His right hand held his left ribs, blood gushing through his fingers. His head was thrown back, his jaw clenched against the pain. Larkin snapped the straps of his armor with her blade and tore open his tunic. The cut was long, from just under his armpit to the top of his stomach. His ribs were visible, the white shocking against the blood and meat.

  She should have come to his side instead of ending Vicil. She’d known he was flagging. Known he needed help. In her hubris, she’d thought she could save Tam and Denan both.

  Larkin sprinted to Hagath’s shack, grabbed a cup and bandages, and then ran to the font. Her sister’s body was still shaking, the roots still digging deeper. Beating back the horror, Larkin took the sap first to Tam and then hustled to kneel back beside Denan. “Here.”

  He took the cup from her. “Go help the others.”

  That would leave him vulnerable.

  As if guessing her thoughts, he glared at her. “Go!”

  She pivoted, but Talox and Caelia had already defeated Ture. Two claps of thunder, one right on top of another. Vicil was already coming back to life and fighting against Eiryss. Tam staggered to his feet and hobbled to them. He stabbed Vicil through the chest, leaving his blade embedded.

  “That ought to pin him—” Before Tam could finish, his sword was already being forced out. “Ah!” He stabbed Vicil repeatedly. “What does it take to kill you, you cursed cockroach!”

  “He’s the same way with spiders,” Denan panted.

  “Light’s sake.” Ture glared at him, his body slowly being put back together. “Just tie him up.”

  Caelia came to help Eiryss do just that.

  Tam fell back hard on his backside. Talox picked him up and carried him to the dome around the font, where he patted Sela on the head, cupped his hand, and drank deep. Ramass and Ture lay still, their wounds slowly closing.

  Larkin turned back to Denan. Light, there is so much blood.

  Hagath suddenly pushed her out of the way. “Let me do it.” She smeared a strong-smelling salve onto bandages and bound Denan’s ribs. “No point in stitching it until the fighting is over—he’ll just tear them.”

  Denan tightened up but then seemed to relax. The sap was working.

  Tam giggled. He bent down and slurped more sap from the font. “Remember that time at the academy?”

  Denan grinned. “You shot out of bed in the middle of the night, dancing about as if the floor was on fire.”

  Talox stood over them. “Stripped down to nothing and used his shirt to beat at the floor.”

  Tam grinned. “Our house mother came in to see what all the fuss was about. She blushed every time I winked at her af
ter that.”

  Talox laughed so hard he held his ribs.

  Hands shaking, Larkin gaped at him. “How can you laugh at a time like this?”

  Tam threw his hands in the air. “Because we won! Against all odds, we won!”

  “But our people are dying,” Larkin cried.

  “The sap is making them giddy,” Hagath said.

  Larkin wiped a tear tracing down her cheek.

  Tam sobered. “He’ll survive, Larkin. He’s had far worse.”

  A sob escaped Larkin’s throat. She swallowed the next one down and refused to let another surface. “Garrot didn’t. He died saving me.”

  Silence sliced through the Valynthians and Alamantians both. None of them had even considered the druid. He deserved better than that. Better than any of them had given him.

  “Sorry,” Tam mumbled.

  Denan reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Go check on your sister.”

  He must have known she was moments from a full breakdown and needed a distraction. She kissed the back of his hand and hurried to the dais.

  Eiryss stood between Tam and the font. “You’ve had enough.”

  “Aw, come now, you old goat.” Tam wiped his lips.

  Eiryss’s face whitened with anger.

  Larkin smacked Tam upside the head. “We haven’t won yet! Go lie down!”

  “Just like my wife,” he muttered, but he lay down and was asleep a moment later.

  “Sorry,” Larkin said to Eiryss.

  She shrugged. “At this point, that’s the best place for him.”

  Larkin peered into the font. Sela was pale, her strawberry curls fanned around her head in a perfect halo. The plan was going perfectly so far. The wraiths were defeated. Sela was tunneling into the tree. And Eiryss was still at full strength for her orb.

  They had more than half the night to take the tree down. “Sela? Can you hear me?”

  Her eyes flashed open. “Gather the others inside the dome.”

  Larkin didn’t understand. “But we defeated the wraiths. The danger is—”