It was also something that had been absent until just very recently.
A day or so after he’d killed Corom, that was when he first sensed it. It was faint, and hidden almost as quickly as it had flared to life. If he wasn’t so close, he never would have sensed it before they had concealed it.
From everything he understood about witches, they used their gifts the same ways others used their eyes or their ears. It was as natural as breathing. So why hadn’t he felt it before now?
He’d certainly been close enough.
At night, he could even see the faint light from the campfires within the base’s walls.
So it wasn’t a matter of distance, or anything else . . . They simply hadn’t been using their magic.
He wondered why, but it wasn’t a puzzle he could dwell on, at least not right now.
There were soldiers moving in his direction, and more than just a few. They weren’t on foot, either, so they were moving rather fast. They rode big animals—Laithe couldn’t remember their term for the four-legged creatures, but the things were big, fast and rather effective guards, as well.
Laithe gathered what little gear he had and wiped away all signs of his presence with the ease born of habit. It took only moments and then he was melting into the trees, withdrawing until he could no longer hear the soldiers, no longer catch their scent on the wind, no longer feel the burn of magic humming in the air.
He was closer—getting closer.
It had taken him close to a week. Another long, frustrating week, but Morne was finally closing in on Dais. Just that morning, he’d found where Dais had made a quick camp for the night. He’d left early, well before dawn, almost as if he knew he couldn’t afford to not keep moving.
He’d finally circled back around, though, moving out of the more demon-dense parts of the forest. For that, Morne was glad. Not just because he could relax a bit over his own safety, but because now he had less need to worry that a demon might get Dais before he had a chance.
That would be a serious disappointment.
Morne studied the path before him, brushing his fingers against the earth. With his eyes, he couldn’t see any sign of Dais. But when he looked using his connection to the earth, he could feel the very path Dais had taken. The disturbance in the ground. Where he’d brushed against leaf, branch or rock.
Then he sensed another disturbance.
Violent rage.
Anger.
The lust for blood and deep, deep hunger, the kind that turned the belly into knots.
Demons. Moving about in the damn day again, like they no longer cared about the sun burning in the sky.
Damn it.
There was more, though. They were still too far away from him to see, or even hear. Curling his fingers into the earth, he reached farther, expanding his senses until they were stretched paper-thin.
There . . . Syn. He recognized the feel of her magic. Lo . . . Warlord.
Recognition flickered in his brain and he swore, shoving upright and glaring into the distance.
The rebels were moving in this direction and somewhere in between lay monsters.
He didn’t hesitate. Reaching out, he established a link with the commander of the rebel army.
“Commander, you have a problem. You have a team out in the forest, and they are about to become demon fodder.”
Morne’s mind buzzed as Kalen reached out, projecting his voice. “Location?”
He projected a rough guess as he started to run through the trees. He dodged and swerved to avoid the branches that reached out as though to grab him, anything to slow him down.
People were going to die. He didn’t even know how he knew, but he did. People were going to die, and if Kalen didn’t get men there quick . . .
“Bloody hell. It’s the supply run.”
“It’s about to become a massacre,” Morne bit off. “Unless your get men there quick.”
“Bron’s already on the move with backup.” There was a brief pause, and then, “There will be wounded. Will you help?”
Out loud, Morne muttered, “You already know the answer to that. I’ll be there as quick as I can, but I’m not close and I’m on foot.”
“You realize that doing that could be construed as making sexual advances toward your commander, right?” Syn barely managed to keep her moan behind her teeth as he stroked a hand down her back and rested it on her hip.
It was past midday and they stopped for a quick break and to let the baerns drink their fill from the nearby stream. She leaned against one of the trees, staring out at her unit and trying not to blush as Xan stood behind her.
Through their clothes, she could feel the warmth of his body. The scent of him flooded her head. She wanted to turn around and bury her face against his chest, rub herself against him—lose herself in him.
Not an option, she reminded herself.
This was the only time they’d stopped during the day. Tonight, they’d make camp—the location Syn had selected as a fortified area, one of the many shelters the rebels had built over the years. It was in an easily defensible place. Once they got there, maybe she’d breathe easier.
In the morning, they’d hit the trail at first light, and if they were lucky, they’d reach the outer limits of their territory before noon.
From there, they’d be safer. Until they were safe, she wasn’t indulging in anything that included Xan’s body and hers.
Voices rose and fell around them. With a sigh, she made herself step away.
Xan chuckled and moved to stand beside her.
“If that could be construed as a sexual advance, what would your good little soldiers think if they’d seen us last night?” he asked, his voice so low only she could hear it.
Memories of last night rushed through her, and to her horror, she felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. She was a captain in the Roinan rebellion—she’d faced down demons, Warlords and testosterone-laden soldiers who were convinced no female could possibly lead them as well as a male.
But this man managed to make her blush like a schoolgirl.
Syn narrowed her eyes at him. “You are one of my good little soldiers, remember?”
“One of the good ones? I want to be the best.” His lips curled in a slow smile.
She wanted to lean in, kiss him until that smile faded. Kiss him until they both forgot everything but each other.
But duty wouldn’t let her. More, neither would her gut. She was nervous as hell, but she was always nervous when a supply run went out. Even when she wasn’t in charge, she was nervous.
This was more than nerves, though, and that was enough to have her resting a hand on the butt of her pulsar in readiness. She trusted her instincts. Even when she didn’t trust much of anything else, she trusted her instincts.
It had been a quiet morning and already they were miles from the camp. Traveling by baern wasn’t as quick as using more modern methods of transportation, but it was the safest.
Safest, because it didn’t attract the wyrms. Wyrms—yet another blight brought into their world by Anqar—are giant feeding machines that lived in the ground, growing to sizes untold. The big behemoths were drawn to anything engine-powered—the roar of an engine was the equivalent of a dinner bell for them. Gliders weren’t loud enough to attract them, but the things moved too damn slow and just weren’t effective for anything of this nature.
So they rode the baerns, and they were making good time.
Once they reached the outer limits, they wouldn’t have to worry about the wyrms, period. The land there was rigged to blow at the presence of a wyrm. The line stretched for miles, all along the base of the Roinan Mountains. It was one thing their world’s formal military factions had finally gotten right.
There would be sol-fueled caribins waiting, wicked fast two-seated transports. From there, they could ride the rest of the way to the military base where they collected supplies from grudging hands. They’d be in relative safety—for a time.
If
they made it to the outer limits.
If . . .
Syn’s heart beat slow and hard against her rib cage. Beating out a warning.
The hair on her arms, on the back of her neck, stood on end. Get ready . . .
She sank her senses deeper into the tumultuous energy. Through the earth’s energy, she felt her link to Elina strengthen and solidify, steadying her. Lee’s presence was also there. The two women gave Syn the one thing she needed to tap into the energy again.
An anchor.
In the privacy of her mind, she reached out and demanded, “Show me.”
The response was sluggish. Slow.
“Syn?”
Although Xan stood at her side, his voice seemed to come from over a long distance, faint and thready. Focusing her eyes on him, she said grimly, “Do a circuit. Something’s wrong.”
Immediately, the concern left his face, and he went from lover to warrior in seconds. He stepped back and reached for the pulsar at his side, drawing it. Syn didn’t bother stopping him.
“What is it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I just . . .” Her words trailed off and she just shook her head again. “Just do the circuit for me, okay?”
He nodded and melted into the trees.
Once more, she focused on her link, stretching farther, farther. Come on, she thought impatiently. What is it? Where?
She couldn’t really feel anything yet. Yet . . .
Stop it. You’re going to bring the bad on just by thinking about it overmuch. Negative energy loves negative energy.
Sweat trickled down her neck, between her breasts. The cavinir garments she wore were flexible and breathable, but cavinir was designed to be armor. The ultimate in hot-weather wear, they were not. And it was hot—damn hot. If only there was a breeze, the heat might have been tolerable.
As it was, the heat only added to the tension mounting inside.
In the back of her mind, she could hear her men, talking quietly among themselves. The two medic-trained fighters who’d accompanied them were traveling near the middle.
None of the others seemed ill at ease. Just her. She kept her pulsar at the ready, focusing on the forest instead of the people behind her.
Finally, she felt a little click as her tedious search yielded results.
Demons. Moving on them—fast.
The air was heavy. Dark with death. She could feel it. Taste it.
Did they try to make the run back to camp? Yes. They had no other choice. They were only twelve and if they stayed here, they’d all end up dead. At least if they made a run for it, the baerns had a chance at outrunning the demons.
From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the beasts throw his head, skittish. He’d scented the things, too. Damn. Damn. Damn.
She’d led them into death.
She battled back a shudder as that knowledge rolled through her. A sure, eerie knowledge she couldn’t hope to explain. Taking a deep breath, she distanced herself from her link to the earth and focused on her soldiers.
Quietly, she called, “Lo.”
“Captain?”
“Problems,” she said softly. Then she raised her voice to address the rest of the rebels. “Mount up, my friends. Ride like hell back to camp, but stay together. Trouble is coming.”
She mounted her baern. She called him Kerr and he’d been her companion on treks like this many times. Stroking a hand down the big stallion’s neck, she murmured to him. The little nubs of his ears flicked back at the sound of her voice, and he leaned into her hand, as though he sensed her fear and wanted to soothe it. “We’ll get through this, won’t we, Kerr?”
Syn tilted her head back and drew in a slow breath, trying to pick up something other than the scents of the forest and the people around her, and the warm, musky scent of the baerns. She smelled moss, pine, oak and wildflowers. She smelled the herbal soaps a lot of the people in the camp used. She smelled the stink of tobacco and sweat.
Under all of that, she caught the faint trace of demon. How close?
She reached out with her mind, focusing on Kalen. He responded but with a faintly distracted manner—she recognized it. He was talking mind to mind with another. “Commander, we might need reinforcements.”
“I’m aware. Give me one minute, Captain, and you had better be hauling ass back to the base camp.”
“As we speak.” As she waited, she reached for her link to the earth. It welcomed her, wrapped her in its strength and whispered knowledge to her. It offered its energy. Only days before, she would have shied away. But this time, she let it flood her. The energy and relief swamped her. Control—she was in control.
And damn, she was going to need it. Opening her eyes, she stared into the woods.
Her men, all mounted now, started back down the trail, two by two, sticking close together.
“I’ve got Bron putting together a team. Where are you and how close are they?” Kalen barked, his mind voice harsh and abrupt—others might not recognize it as such, but Syn knew it was a sure sign that he was worried. It didn’t help her state of mind.
Syn projected an image of their surroundings to him, all the while scanning the forest.
“I’m not sure how close the demons are, just yet, but there are quite a few,” she said, trying for a deeper connection, wishing she could give a more concrete answer. “Raviners, for sure, though. I can feel them trying to block me.”
Raviners were power thieves. While Jorniaks fed off flesh, Raviners fed off of power, and they were able to hide themselves, to some extent, from the witches.
“Haul ass,” Kalen said again and then he broke the connection.
Seconds ticked away into minutes, and nothing happened. She could feel the edgy looks from her men, felt the skittishness of the baerns, how the big beasts tugged against their reins and tried to run rather than trot. Not good ground for running, though. Couldn’t risk it.
But soon, the terrain smoothed out and the trail widened just enough. “Pick up the pace, men,” she said, tapping her baern’s sides with her heels. Obediently, he settled into a quicker pace.
They’d made it halfway to the camp when the Jorniaks came boiling out of the woods. Big, strong and stupid, they were base predators, nothing more. They were vaguely humanoid—as in walking upright on two legs, with two arms and a head with all the expected features one would expect on a humanoid. Mouth, eyes, ears, nose . . . teeth. Very big, very sharp, ugly teeth that protruded from a mouth designed to rip and tear.
Their skin was a leathery, putrid shade of gray, their bodies hairless and often covered with a variety of bulges and bumps that made them look even more grotesquely disfigured. They were big, as well, nearly half as big as the average male warrior in the rebellion.
Big . . . and dumb. Syn counted six of them—they could handle six Jorniaks. They could do that without her needing the magic, even.
The low hum of pulsars filled the air and then a nauseating stench filled the air. A dead Jorniak stank like nothing else—cut them open and it was guaranteed to leave you fighting the urge to puke.
Kalen’s voice hit her mind just as she cut one of the demons down. “Report.”
“Busy,” she snarled out loud, knowing he’d hear it anyway.
“Backup is en route. Hold the line, Caar. I’ve got men on the way. Elina’s with them.”
“Elina—”
He’d only send Elina for one reason. Adrenaline buzzed as she watched three of the monsters go down in a heap before they even cleared the woods.
Syn took down a fourth and as she swung to take aim on a fifth, she caught sight of the demons she’d sensed.
The Raviners.
Raviners and Jorniaks. Again. Working together . . . and in broad daylight. Jorniaks might be too stupid to recognize their lesser strength under the sun, but Raviners? Not again. Not fucking again.
“This is no damned coincidence,” she muttered, changing her aim to one of the higher demons. Somehow, the Raviners had f
igured out how to control the Jorniaks. Or at least point them in the right direction.
With her heart racing in fear, she called out an order. Hold the line, Kalen had said. She’d hold the line, damn it. She just hoped the magic would hold, too.
“Left flank,” she called out.
As one, a third of her fighters turned to guard against the Raviners. The demons appeared from the shadowy forest, their robes hanging on gaunt, skeletal bodies. They were flanked by more Jorniaks. A dozen, easy. Through her shields, Syn could feel the confusion from her fighters, the dread . . . and something else. Something hungry. Something that knew what she was and wanted her. She flinched as she sensed it reaching for her.
Slamming tighter shields into place, she let her gut lead her and she aimed for one of the Raviners. Nothing about him marked him as leader—not the cut of his robe, no physical adornments, nothing. But he was the leader, and he was the one casting out a psychic net and hoping to find the vulnerable mind of some talented soul.
Syn was talented, but her mind was anything but vulnerable. Still, just the feel of him was enough to turn her heart to ice. She sighted on him and fired—his head disintegrated under the blast.
But he wasn’t the only one.
There were more. Too many.
She heard the death scream of one of the baerns and swore, seeing from the corner of her eye as the beast went down. It was followed by another. The big creatures were being hampered by the close press of the demons—they couldn’t get the room they needed to fight, leaving them vulnerable.
Through the melee, she could see Xan, a pulsar in one hand, a wicked long blade in the other. He was no longer mounted—she didn’t know if he’d lost his baern or just preferred to fight on foot. He used the pulsar to take down anything he could get a bead on and the blade was reserved for anything stupid enough to cross his path.
The man was death personified.
Stay alive, she thought desperately. For all of them. For herself. For Xan. For her men and the medics who wouldn’t stand much chance against the demons.
Veil of Shadows Page 16
