by Shae Ford
They were sharp, scaly talons. A face came down to his — a man’s face, but horribly twisted. His nose stretched into a point, dragging his upper lip out with it. Human teeth hung from the nose’s bottom. They were yellowed and wet with drool. The jaw jutted nearly as far as the nose, forming something that looked like a beak.
No, it was a beak. Kael saw the talisman hanging around the monster’s chest and knew immediately who this creature was — who it had to be:
Blackbeak.
Two beady eyes stared down at him. They shone every bit as clearly as glass — he could see the shocked white of his own face reflected in their pupils. A long gray tongue smacked between the pointed nose and jutting jaw as Blackbeak screeched: “Kill you! I’m going to kill you!”
Kael tried to move his arms, but the talons cinched down tighter. They dug against his bones and kept his hands pinned to the ground. His eyes were bleary with pain. He could hardly see by the time Blackbeak’s head snapped down —
“Away! Be gone with you!” Baird cried.
His first blind swing missed fantastically, but the second struck true. Kael heard a thunk and gasped as the talons pulled free. Baird swung his rucksack into the crow shaman’s head again, littering the ground with a shower of glossy feathers. Blackbeak screeched and hopped away, holding one of his massive wings up like a shield.
With Baird swinging blindly all around him, Kael saw his chance. He pulled himself to his feet and retrieved his bow. The gashes in his shoulder weren’t as deep as he’d feared. They pierced his skin to bleeding, but hadn’t gone much deeper. He still had the strength to draw his bow.
“Run, young man!” Baird cried, swinging his rucksack in a wild arc. “Run! I’ll hold him back!”
Blackbeak dodged his next swing and jumped, lashing out with both feet. His talons caught Baird in the gut and sent him tumbling backwards.
Kael fired with a cry, but Blackbeak dodged. His feathered head jerked out of the arrow’s path and his beady eyes locked onto Kael. He’d spread his wings and arched his neck for the kill when a roar startled him away.
A black bear lumbered out of the woods, shaking the leaves with its throaty bellow. The bear threw itself on the remaining soldiers. It swatted their bodies aside with its claws and crushed their limbs between its teeth.
A reddish hawk fell from the sky and raked across Blackbeak’s face. It dug in with its talons and tore clumps of his feathers out with its beak.
A wolf’s howl pierced their ears. Blackbeak screeched at the sound and took off. He shot into the sky with a blast of his feathery wings. His talons kicked beneath him as he tried to gain speed. The hawk followed in wide, dipping arcs — ripping out clawfuls of his feathers with every pass.
Kyleigh leapt down from the cart, her eyes on Kael. “Are you all r —?”
“Look out!”
A soldier lunged from behind the cart and swung for her middle — and for half a moment, the world stopped turning. Kael’s horror became disbelief as he watched the soldier’s sword break across her armor: the blade shattered like glass and the hilt jolted from his hand.
Kyleigh hardly glanced at the soldier as she ran him through. “Dragonscales, remember?” she said, thumping a hand against her chest.
Kael was still trying to force his heart back down his throat. “Well, I didn’t know they would do that.”
She raised a brow. “What did you think they did?” Her fingers hovered above his wounds, but she didn’t touch them. “Can you heal this?”
He nodded. “It’s not as deep as it looks.”
They heard a muffled grunt as the bear crushed the final soldier beneath its claws. A scruffy gray wolf had his nose pressed against the ground where Blackbeak had stood. His pointed ears twitched as the hawk returned to circle overhead, crying softly in greeting.
“I can’t believe you, I really can’t — I told you we wanted nothing to do with this!” Kyleigh shouted at the wolf.
His lip peeled back over his fangs in what could’ve only been a sheepish grin, and Kael suddenly understood: Graymange had told them to return to the road knowing full well that the Earl’s men were marching through. He’d used them to take care of the soldiers so that the shamans could have a clear shot at Blackbeak.
Kael wasn’t sorry for it. He would’ve killed those soldiers, anyways. “You’re just cross because he outsmarted you.”
Kyleigh’s eyes blazed as they locked onto his. “Am I? You have no idea what you’ve done.”
He thought she might’ve been overreacting a bit. So what if they’d killed a load of the Earl’s men? They already had at least two rulers chasing after them. What was one more?
He spotted Baird lying a few yards away. He was curled upon the ground, his arms wrapped tightly about his middle. Kael jogged over to him. “It’s all right,” he said as he turned the beggar-bard over. “The monster’s gone and all the soldiers are dead. There’s no reason to …”
“Baird!” Kyleigh fell on her knees beside him and pulled his hands away. Her face fell when she saw the dark red mass that stained his middle.
Blackbeak’s talons had left a deep gash in Baird’s stomach. His flesh was cut as raggedly as his bandages, now — peeled away from his middle in angry strips, their edges soaked scarlet.
“It seems … it seems my time has come. My yarn is at its end,” Baird said with a smile that made his lips shake. “All is as Fate wills it. Ah! Just promise me,” his bloodied fingers wrapped tightly around Kael’s arm, “promise you’ll take good care of my possessions. It’s time. Yes — it’s time.” Then he laid back and shut his eyes.
Kael knew he wouldn’t pass immediately. Gut wounds were a slow, painful way to die. Some of Amos’s patients had suffered for hours before they finally let go. He’d given them what they needed to sleep, but insisted he could do no more.
“Busted limbs are one thing. But a deep wound is quite another,” Amos had always said. “When a man takes a fatal wound, he knows it. He expects to die. And if I bring him back from the dead, he’ll know what I am.” He’d glared as he added: “We live in a hard time, boy. Letting one man die might mean I’ll live to save a hundred others.”
Now, as Kael stared down at Baird, he heard those words again. He knew it would be safer to do what Amos had done — to let Baird pass on and keep his secret to himself. It would be the easier thing, the wiser thing.
But he wasn’t certain it would be the right thing.
He grabbed onto Baird’s knobby wrist and let the smooth calm of sleep flow through his memories. He focused on the feeling of peace, the warm embrace of the darkness and the easy passing of dreams. Slowly, Baird’s lips stopped their trembling and the harsh lines around his face went smooth as he fell asleep.
“He was wise, this human,” Graymange said from behind them. He crouched, his eyes on Baird. “All is as Fate wills it. May he pass on peacefully — his death was meant to be.”
Meant to be.
Those words ground with such force against Kael’s ears that he knew he could never do what Amos had done. He could never sit with his hands twined in his lap and let Fate have her way — not when he had the power to stop her.
Baird might’ve been a strange man. He might’ve been a little crazed. He might very well have been a spy or an agent of the Countess, for all Kael knew. But against everything — against all sense and every ounce of his reason — he … liked Baird.
Now that the beggar-bard’s voice had gone silent, he realized what a relief his prattling had been. What would Kael do if he didn’t have to turn around every five steps and tell Baird to quit whistling at the birds? What would he worry over if he no longer had to worry that Baird would trip over a rock, or run headlong into a tree?
He knew exactly the sort of things his mind would dwell on. He knew the darkness that would fill his days. And as completely mad as it sounded, he needed Baird … in fact, he wasn’t sure if he could make it up the mountains without him.
“Your powers
are great, Marked One,” Graymange growled as Kael placed his hands on Baird’s wounds. “But you should never change the will of Fate just because you can. One day you will have to answer for your meddling.”
Kael wasn’t afraid. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to concentrate. “I don’t care what Fate wills. Baird will live today because I mean him to.”
After that, the world slipped back.
Everything he’d read on anatomy came rushing to the front of his mind. He worked on the slippery surface of organs first. Then his fingers wrestled with sinewy cords of muscle: binding them and pulling them tightly until they hung in place. If he ever got stuck, he would wait — and the image or passage he needed would appear before his eyes.
As he pinched the last bit of skin together, he came out of his trance. The words and images still hovered like reflections across his eyes. He had to blink several times to clear them. But when they finally passed, he saw Baird was mended. The patch of skin that showed through his rags was stained red, but healed.
“Well done,” Kyleigh said. She sat cross-legged before him, staring blankly at Baird’s gut.
Kael winced as his trance faded and the ache of his wounds crept in. “Is Graymange angry with me?”
“Probably,” Kyleigh said with a shrug.
“Where’d he go?”
She nodded behind her. “To deal with the newborns. Now that we’ve taken care of those soldiers, they’ll have no problem getting rid of them.”
He didn’t like the edge in her voice, and he liked the look on her face even less. He turned where she glared and saw three people had gathered around the cart.
Graymange stood in the middle, flanked by a man on one side and a woman on the other. The man was thick-limbed and had long, black hairs growing out of his back. The talisman around his neck bore the image of a charging bear.
The woman on Graymange’s other side wore nothing more than two strips of hide: one around her waist, and the other around her chest. Kael couldn’t see what was on her talisman, but judging by the red feathers that hung off the hooks in her ears, he assumed she must’ve been the hawk shaman.
The three shamans stared at the people inside the cages. Some cowered away from their gazes while others reached out, begging to be set free.
“Now you see what Blackbeak has done to our world, brothers. You see how he’s spat upon our order. His evil must be laid to rest.” Graymange lifted the talisman from his chest, and the other shamans mirrored him. “Let us purge this Abomination.”
Light blossomed from their talismans, and Kael knew what was about to happen. “Wait — stop!” He leapt to his feet and charged blindly for the cart, throwing an arm over his face to shield his eyes from the light. He didn’t stop running until he’d smacked into the cart’s side.
A few of the caged people grasped his shirt, pleading with him. A young woman sobbed in his ear. They moaned as if they spoke with their last breaths:
“Please …”
“Don’t hurt us —”
“Mercy!”
All he could hear were the cries of the Tinnarkians. He’d tried so desperately to bury that horrible night away that his memories were badly faded. Darkness covered many of the images. But though he could no longer see the flames, he could still hear the screams.
They were burned to the walls of his ears — a single plea from the Earl’s captives would’ve been enough to stir them to life. Now so many cries raked against the walls that the memories had been stoked to a roar. His shoulders stiffened as he turned to face the shamans; his fists clenched tight.
Kael hadn’t been able to save his village, but he could save the caged people. “I won’t let you kill them.”
“You’ve done enough, Marked One,” the bear shaman thundered. Though they stood only a few paces apart, he spoke at a yell. “These creatures are our responsibility. We must purge the land of their Abominable spirits.”
Kael pointed to the golden collars around the people’s necks. “They didn’t mean for this to happen, they didn’t ask for it. They’re being held captive by a spell.”
The hawk shaman’s pupils sharpened to points. “These Abominations were never meant to exist. They weren’t born of Fate. They were created by men — born to destroy.”
“If we let them go, they would belong nowhere,” Graymange said. “They would have no pack to guide them, no alpha to rein them in. You’ve seen for yourself what happens when Abomination takes hold. You’ve seen how they devour all in their path. They’d terrorize the realms of both beast and men.”
Kael tried to keep his voice even. “This is different. The curse hasn’t taken these people yet — they still have a chance. I know men who’ve been trapped under this spell. I’ve seen how it twists them … but I’ve also seen what they become once they’re set free. You could be sentencing good men to death.”
“They’re Abominations!” the bear shaman thundered.
“They deserve a chance!” Kael said back.
The hawk shaman glared. “It’s not your place to decide. Fate has set her rules. And we must follow them.”
The shamans weren’t going to budge. They watched calmly while Kael’s fists trembled at his sides. He knew what he had to do. A small voice in the back of his head moaned that he was charging straight to his death, but he didn’t listen.
When he spoke again, his words were white-hot: “I was born on the day of the first snow — the day when Fate turns her face from the Kingdom and allows Death to rule. Fate couldn’t see me the day I was born, and she can’t see me now. I was never meant to exist. According to your rules, I am an Abomination. So if you’re going to kill them,” he pounded a fist into his chest, “then you’re going to have to kill me as well.”
The shamans didn’t move. They stared at Kael for a long, inscrutable moment, and he stared back.
At last, Graymange spoke: “One of Fate’s forsaken … and yet, you bear her mark. What a strange child you are, Kael of the mountains — both chosen and forgotten, deserving of both life and death. How will the shamans answer you?”
Kael didn’t know how they would answer. As far as he could tell, none of their faces so much as twitched. He was beginning to get worried when Graymange sighed.
“Very well, the shamans are in agreement. You will be spared — and these creatures will be given a chance.”
Kael was so surprised that it took a moment for the words to sink it. “You’re going to let me free them?”
Graymange nodded. “And we’re going to help you. We’ve been given a rare gift today — a chance to step off the path. If Fate can’t see you,” he added with a growl, “it means she can’t see us, either.”
Chapter 11
A Greater Prize
Titus sat alone in his throne room. Wind howled across the narrow windows above him. They drew the gusts in through their slits and strained them — made them gasp and plea. They rose to a high-pitched wail before quieting, fading like the screams of a man hurled from a cliff.
The throne Titus sat upon was carved from a solid piece of stone. Even with the thick furs draped across it, he could still feel the cold. But that was of little concern to him. His mind was on more important things.
He touched the golden collar wrapped around his throat, watching as visions of lands and beasts flashed behind his eyes. When he’d found those savages hiding at the mountain’s top, he’d hardly been able to grasp it. He thought the dragonslayers of old were a myth. But the moment he saw their golden weapons, he knew he’d stumbled upon an ancient treasure:
Dragonsbane.
The golden metal was an eternal spell, capable of being melted down and re-forged to serve any purpose. It was magic the common man could wield. But most importantly, it gave Titus complete control over his army of beasts.
Crevan was forced to rely on his mages. He had to trust someone else to keep watch over his monsters. But with the dragonsbane around his neck, Titus could join them. He could walk among
them. He could watch through their eyes. The things they saw moved behind his lids when he closed them. He could hear their voices murmuring in the depths of his head.
At first, it’d startled him. It was strange to be able to see through so many eyes, to hear so many different voices speaking all at once. But the power he’d gained had made it worth the visions, and worth the many sleepless nights he’d spent sifting through them. Never before had he been able to command his army with a thought, an utterance. Now they were truly pieces on a board — unspoiled by cowardice, not limited to their own feeble wit. They were his pawns.
And Titus moved them at will.
Four of his hounds had perished in the night. When Titus woke, it was only to find that their windows had vanished. One of his beasts circled the smoldering remains of the camp he’d sent into the Grandforest — the camp that’d been responsible for supplying his army with firebombs.
His stores had been burned up … and his soldiers devoured in the flames. It was an act too clever for the bandits, a message wrought too furiously to have been a coincidence. Titus had known from the moment he saw their blackened corpses that he was being offered a warning.
Now as he watched through the eyes of his newest collection of beasts, he saw a gathering of half-naked barbarians standing before him. Their arms were crossed and their eyes locked onto the slim body of a boy.
Titus watched the scene as if he looked through a many-faced jewel: he saw the same picture presented in dozens of different angles. A pair of enormous hands appeared in one of the windows, and he focused on it.
I hope you know what you’re doing, a thunderous voice bellowed.
The world spun and a young man’s face filled his vision. He had reddish brown hair and wore the rough clothes of peasants. His mouth sat in a firm line; his features were sharp and distinct, as if they’d been chiseled from the mountainside. But it was the brows that caught Titus’s attention.
The way they bent down over those eyes — eyes with an edge every bit as sharp as his face …
