Ayrion’s breath caught in his throat as Tameel cut the horses hard to the right, and the wagon started to tip as it veered back onto the road. Tameel never let up with his whip, and the wagon eventually righted itself once more.
Ayrion’s legs were giving out, his strength nearly depleted. “Run!” he screamed, his coat billowing behind him as he sprinted ahead. He focused on his breathing. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest, and his legs were on fire.
Behind him, Argon tore through the last of his white-skinned horde. The creature’s strides far outmatched Ayrion’s. With every step, he was gaining ground.
“Run, boy! Run!” Tameel shouted from the front as he struggled to keep the wagon on the road.
Bek stood and raised Tameel’s crossbow. He released a bolt, and it flew past Ayrion’s head.
Argon screamed. Ayrion glanced over his shoulder and noticed the arrow jutting out of Argon’s chest, but he didn’t slow.
Almost there. Ayrion reached the road just ahead of the horses and leaped. But instead of grabbing for the wagon’s rail, he dove to the side and rolled into the ditch.
A stone the size of a man’s head smashed into the side of the wagon, splitting the wood and tipping it onto two wheels. There was nothing he could do but watch as the wagon finally righted itself and flew past. “Get out of here!” he yelled at them.
Ayrion wasn’t sure if Tameel had heard or not, but the wagon never slowed. Another crack of the whip echoed through the surrounding trees, and the wagon and his friends disappeared from view.
“Your friends have abandoned you,” Argon said with a smile as he slowed, knowing Ayrion had nowhere to go.
Ayrion crawled out of the ditch and up onto the road, taking a moment to brush the dirt from his coat, gloves, and pants.
“I’m going to enjoy watching you die,” the vulraak said.
Ayrion stopped in the center of the road and waited, nothing but moonlight between them. He felt a small sense of relief. If this was to be his end, he couldn’t have asked for a more fitting one than protecting those he cared for. He almost chuckled. He was a Guardian Protector after all.
Argon swung for Ayrion’s legs, and Ayrion leaped over the blade, barely high enough to clear it. He fought from one side of the road to the other, blocking, dodging, lunging, deflecting, never getting the upper hand. His breath trailed behind him as he flitted across the dirt and rock, each strike of his blades sending sparks floating into the air around him.
The rest of the vulraaks watched from the sides of the road, not willing to interfere.
Ayrion’s left arm gave way, and he missed his parry, barely managing to get out of the way of the blade as it struck beside him. He wasn’t going to last much longer. He could hardly breathe. His opponent was bigger and stronger and hadn’t spent the last few hours fighting for his life. But Ayrion had his gifts—if only he knew how to use them. If his memories had been intact, maybe he could have found a way out of this.
Stumbling backward, Ayrion narrowly escaped losing his right leg. He swung for Argon’s chest, forcing the vulraak to retreat, but only slightly. Ayrion raised his swords. His knees were wavering, and his arms could barely keep the blades high enough to block. One more hit and he was done for.
He gritted his teeth and waited.
Argon smiled. He could see it too. Ayrion didn’t have anything left. Raising his huge wedge of steel, he started forward.
Ayrion attempted to lift his swords one last time.
Something flew out of the forest to his left and slammed into the monstrous vulraak, catching Argon off balance and throwing him into the ditch on the opposite side of the road.
Ayrion nearly shouted as the black warhorse pulled alongside and whinnied. He sheathed one of his swords and grabbed a handful of mane. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he pulled himself up onto its back, and the stallion took off.
“No!”
Ayrion turned. Argon was back on his feet and running. Who knew what kind of magic the ancient creature possessed? Maybe he never tired. Suddenly, as if reading Ayrion’s thoughts, his horse picked up speed.
Argon was falling behind. Five yards. Ten. Fifteen. At the last moment, the vulraak leaned back and threw his enormous weapon straight at them.
Ayrion raised his sword, and the wedge of iron hit, the impact nearly ripping his sword from his hand, and flew off into the woods on the left side of the road.
Ayrion couldn’t believe his luck. Clutching his sword to his chest, he laid his head against his mount’s neck and stroked his mane. “I guess a good deed never goes unnoticed. Does it, my friend?”
The horse snorted.
Once he was reasonably sure he’d lost the vulraak, Ayrion slowed the stallion to a stable trot. The road behind him was empty. The stars were still out but not quite as bright, meaning the creatures would have to seek shelter soon. He doubted they had time to chase after him with dawn approaching.
At the crossroads, Ayrion turned his horse back toward the rover camp. How had the ancient creature been able to transform an entire city into a mindless horde of bloodthirsty savages? According to Bek, it hadn’t taken all that long. What was to stop Argon from simply taking more cities, or entire kingdoms for that matter? Even more troubling was the fact that someone had to have released him in the first place.
Chapter 31 | Valtor
VALTOR STOOD AGAINST the strength of the wind like one of the foreboding statues sculpted into the White Tower’s ramparts and watched as the main gates opened below.
A single rider entered.
Valtor headed back inside, his crimson robes billowing out behind him. He glided down the steps to meet his guest. Both rider and mount were awaiting him in the main lobby by the time he reached the second-floor balcony. Normally, a rider’s mount would be stabled with the rest of the animals, but in this instance, that would have proven detrimental to the horses and the handlers.
The guards worked to close the two massive doors, and the hollow echo of the impact filled the hall.
“My dear Mangora, I hope you have good news for me,” he said, leaning over the railing as the old witch and her eight-legged pet crossed the dark marble floors below. “But since I don’t see the boy, I take it you don’t.” He turned before she could reply and swept down the long corridor to the assembly room and his personal chambers.
The guards at the end of the hall opened the doors and bowed as he approached. With a wave of his hand, the enormous hearth on the left wall burst to life, sending shadows scurrying about the room for cover. The only other light came from the moon pouring in long windows on the opposite wall. The pale blue light contrasted sharply with the amber of the roaring fire.
Valtor moved around to the front of the long stone table and sat in the seat closest to the flame. It was larger than the other twelve, a benefit of his station. He leaned his wolf-head staff against the arm and waited.
He could hear the clicking of the arachnobe’s feet against the cold stone as Mangora made her way down the long corridor. He hated spiders. Having to share a room with one large enough to saddle made his skin crawl.
Mangora rode through the entrance, taking a moment to look around the room. “It’s been a while.”
“Sixteen years,” he said.
“Can’t say I miss the place.” She slid from the creature’s back, and it followed her in. The two guards at the door kept their distance. They looked relieved when Valtor gave them a nod to leave and shut the doors.
He waited for the witch to find a seat, but she chose instead to hobble over and stand in front of the hearth, aiming her bony backside at the flames. A satisfied whimper escaped her lips as she closed her eyes and drank in the warmth. “Hmm, it’s the little things.”
“What happened to the boy?”
Mangora kept her eyes closed and hiked her dress up to her waist. “He escaped.”
Valtor gripped the arm of his chair. “You mean you let him escape.”
> “I didn’t let him do anything,” she said, opening her eyes. “He had help.”
“From who, the local pig farmer?”
Mangora’s eyes flared. “No. From the Sidaran overlord himself. Barl and his guards were at the boy’s house when we arrived. They must have already been aware of his value.”
Valtor considered the implications. He hadn’t expected the leader of Sidara to be involved with the ven’ae. Barl had never publicly denounced wielders, but he had never been a sympathizer, either. He was somewhat of a conundrum. But clearly, if he’d been riding the fence up until this point, he was certain to have picked a side now.
“This could be a problem,” he said, drumming his fingers on the table. “He’ll recall the Sidaran Lancers, if he hasn’t already.” That was something Valtor had been hoping to prevent.
“How will this be a problem?” Mangora asked as she hobbled over to take a seat in one of the vacant chairs. “The overlord is only one man. Leaders can be replaced, as we’ve already seen.”
“Yes, but it took years of careful planning and strategic maneuvering from the inside to do it, not an open attack.”
“You managed it quite nicely with Cylmar,” she said with a smirk. “I heard Overlord Saryn quite lost his head in the process. So, why not Sidara?”
“Why not Keldor and Briston while we’re at it?” He pressed his thumbs against his temples. “We were able to usurp Cylmar because Overlord Saryn was a greedy son of a faerie and practically gave us the means by which to do it. Barl, on the other hand, is not a fool. If it became known that we were openly working to seek his downfall, we would have every other kingdom in Aldor uniting against us. Hence my statement: this could be a problem.”
“Let them unite,” Mangora said, striking the table with her fist. “We will squash them like we did Cylmar.”
“Maybe . . . maybe not. If we were to go to war with the other kingdoms, we could lose. Worse, it could spark a revolution within our own. Dakaran would lose the throne, and the Tower would lose the means by which to keep Elondria in line.
“Our best option is to pull back, build our defenses, and maneuver our pieces around the political board. Patience is our ally. You don’t bring drastic change overnight unless you want the people to rebel.” He leaned back in his seat. “Why fight for what you want right now when it’s so much easier to have them hand it to you later?”
Mangora smiled.
“Still,” Valtor said, looking directly at her, “I find it hard to believe that someone as capable as you, when given the chance to kill the overlord, would have found one man and his guards to be more than you and your insects could handle.”
The large arachnobe shifted from its place in the corner and looked his way, firelight reflecting off its three eyes.
“There were more than just the guards to contend with. They had help from Easthaven’s Wielder Council. Unlike the other councils we’ve dealt with in the past, this one was quite . . . resourceful. Not to mention organized. They defeated three of our bulradoer and dispatched an entire squad of Black Watch. The single surviving bulradoer tells me they have a Night Walker helping them.”
Valtor’s head lifted. “A Night Walker? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
Valtor gazed at the long windows on the far wall in thought. The thin curtains draping either side of each window swayed gently as if being rustled by a soft breeze that didn’t exist. He had always wondered why they did that and had concluded that they had been spelled that way at some point in the distant past. “What would a Night Walker be doing in Aldor? Their kind hasn’t been seen since they abandoned their duty a thousand years ago.” He traced a vein in the table’s white stone. “This can’t be mere coincidence.”
“One more thing,” she said. “The faeling has come into his power.”
Valtor leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Yes, well, we knew he would.”
“It appears, though, that he’s been reluctant to use it. He’s not aware of how powerful he could become.”
“Where is he now?”
“With Nyalis.”
Valtor ground his teeth. “That wizard is like a bad rash. Always popping up where you least expect.”
“You would know better than anyone,” she said. He didn’t miss the accusation in her tone.
Valtor didn’t like being reminded of his past. The tutelage he had received from Nyalis as a young man had been the best years of his life—until Nyalis left, halting Valtor’s education. He had even refused to take him to Aero’set for proper training.
Nyalis had said there was too much darkness in his heart, that his desire for vengeance was too strong. The old fool hadn’t faced the things Valtor had as a child. Magic wasn’t banned when Nyalis was growing up. What did he know?
“Yes, if anyone would know, it would be me, which is why I told you not to underestimate him. He might be as old as the Khezrian Wall, but he is far from an invalid. The man’s been around for centuries, hiding himself away in that sanctuary of his, studying, planning, scheming.”
“What do you think he’ll do next?”
“He will begin training the boy.” Valtor balled his fists at the thought of the faeling being taken to the very place he’d been denied. “Did you at least manage to set your affairs in order before your embarrassing defeat?”
Mangora winced at the jab. “I left our little faeling a gift, one he will find most captivating.”
“And how is he supposed to find this . . . gift?”
She smiled, revealing that half of her front teeth were missing. “It will find him.”
Chapter 32 | Ty
DAWN SEEMED TO COME earlier that day as Ty stumbled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen to see what his mother had on the stove. It wasn’t until he rounded the corner and found Adarra standing over the pot, stirring the oats, that the realization caught up with him, and all the anger, guilt, and sorrow he’d buried the previous night surfaced all over again.
“Good morning,” she said when she saw him. “Get any sleep?”
“Not much,” he mumbled as he grabbed a couple of bowls from the cabinet and set four places around the table.
The breakfast table was quiet, everyone staring at their bowls. Occasionally, someone would lift a spoon to their mouth and slurp. Ty noted the lack of fresh bread. Of all the things to think about, he couldn’t pull himself away from the fact that there wasn’t a hot loaf on the table. His mother always made bread to dip in the oats. His eyes burned. Dropping his spoon, he left the table and walked outside to saddle Waddle.
By the time the rest had finished eating, Ty had all four horses saddled and ready to go. Swinging into the saddle, he followed his family down the path to the main road. From there they headed east.
“Are you riding straight over to see Lyessa?” his father asked them. “Or will you be stopping in town first?” Overlord Barl had asked Ty’s father to attend the Sidaran Assembly that afternoon.
“We’ll go straight over,” Breen said, no doubt hoping to catch Fraya. Adarra had mentioned that Fraya was spending a good deal of time at the overlord’s home, nursing Aiden. Neither Fraya, Lyessa, nor Overlord Barl had been out to the cottage since Ty and Breen’s return, so Breen thought it a good idea to let them know they were safe.
Ty was actually looking forward to seeing Lyessa, surprising as that was. He knew the battle with Mangora had altered their relationship, but he wasn’t sure by how much.
Crossing Wood Lane, they parted ways with their father as he headed toward the Sidaran Assembly Hall, and the three siblings continued up River Street. Ty spared a passing glance at the alleyway where he’d first met the witch, Mangora. The very thought of her had him twisting the reins in his hands. One day, they were going to meet again, and it wasn’t going to end well for her.
Orlyn was sweeping the front of his shop when they passed. Ty pulled himself from his musings long enough to wave. Orlyn acknowledged him with a bright smile a
nd a wave of his own.
A good half hour later, the three reined in at the foot of a large stone staircase leading up to the overlord’s grand estate. Lancer sentries in their green-and-gold livery took their horses and escorted them up to the entrance. Lord Barl’s home seemed to be crawling with soldiers. They lined the front lawn around the garden, and others were positioned near the outbuildings. Ty spotted a few patrolling near the tree line. The overlord clearly didn’t believe they were out of danger and was taking every precaution.
The day was cold. Even with the sun breaking above the tops of the trees, Ty couldn’t help but shiver. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders as an icy gust of wind swept across the front of the house.
He felt sorry for his sister. He knew she had to be freezing, even though she fought not to show it. She had decided to wear one of her most becoming outfits. One that revealed more than she was normally comfortable with. And the thin cloak over it was hardly enough to cut the chill.
He wasn’t used to seeing Adarra like this. She had always been the reserved one, never into fancy dresses and silk lace. Not that what she was wearing would have been considered fancy by any of the girls in town.
Ty shook his head. Aiden didn’t deserve her attention.
The manor’s doors were opened for them, revealing a well-lit entryway. They were greeted by a tall man in a green-and-gold uniform complete with a feathered hat and white gloves. “Master Breen, Master Ty, is that really you?” Piel, the overlord’s chamberlain, beamed.
Breen smiled. “It’s good to see you again. I heard you took care of our family while we were away. I would like to offer you my gratitude.”
“It was my pleasure, Master Breen,” Piel said with a short bow before ushering them inside the foyer. “It was a breath of fresh air to have them here while they recovered. Overlord Barl, Creator bless him, is a wonderful man, but he can be quite fussy at times.” He tapped the side of his angular nose and winked. The brothers chuckled.
Plague of Shadows Page 23
