“Blast it,” said Niya. “He could have ridden south, or he could have gone north, back to Ammon.”
“We could divide ourselves,” said Weath. “Let me take the boys back towards Ammon, while the rest of you ride south. If you find him that way, you will need more strength than we, if we should find him returned to Ammon and in the midst of our brothers.”
“How can he have gone so far in so short a time?” said Niya, who did not appear to have heard her.
“We search by moonslight,” said Shiun, shaking her head. “No doubt I could see him if the sun were still up.”
Loren thought quickly. In her cloak she had a packet of brown cloth, and upon her back she had her dagger …
She jerked in her saddle, looking back towards the forest. “A moment. I dropped the letter.”
Without waiting for an answer, she turned and galloped Midnight back into the trees. Gem clung to her back at the sudden movement. Once he had righted himself, he leaned forwards to peer at her.
“Why did you lie to them? I can hear the crinkle of the letter in your cloak pocket.”
“Because there is something else in my cloak pocket, and I would rather they not see it,” said Loren. “Gem, you have proclaimed many times that you are my man, and loyal to me. You must prove it now—for you can never tell anyone what you are about to see. Promise me, quickly.”
“I—I promise,” he said, though he looked even more confused.
She steeled herself, and then reached into her cloak to draw forth the brown cloth packet. From it she drew a shard of magestone—a remnant of a piece she had already broken in half—and quickly put it between her lips. It melted upon her tongue, utterly tasteless, and slid down her throat with ease.
Gem’s eyes shot wide. “I … Loren.”
“Shush,” she said. “You promised.”
Her boots dug into Midnight’s ribs, and they came riding back to the others. Niya looked at her with a scowl.
“That has wasted even more time,” growled the Mystic. “I have decided that Weath’s plan is best, and that we should—”
Loren let Niya’s voice fade to the back of her mind. She reached within her cloak, placing a hand upon the hilt of the dagger on the back of her belt.
The night grew bright as day, and the moons glowed as though each were a smaller version of the sun. She saw all the landscape around them in brilliant, vivid color. Even the darkness between the trees was illuminated, as though each leaf was a small lantern casting a silver glow on the ground far below. She scanned the horizon in all directions, and her eyes caught upon a movement. There he was—Hewal, riding upon the road, making his way south, away from Ammon. He rode at an easy pace, a light trot his horse could maintain for leagues at a time.
“There!” she cried, shooting up straight and pointing. “I see him!”
Niya stopped talking abruptly and frowned. She looked in the direction of Loren’s outthrust finger. “What? I see nothing.”
Neither did Loren, for she had loosed the grip on her dagger. But she feigned surprise. “What? He is just there. A good distance away, and small, but it is him. I am sure of it. Come!”
She set off without waiting for an answer, sending Midnight into a headlong gallop upon the road. The others had little choice but to follow her, and so follow her they did, and soon the lot of them were riding hard down the road. Loren could almost sense the shock that went through the others when they, too, spotted Hewal at last.
When they had closed the distance to half a league, Hewal heard them at last and pulled his horse to a stop. In a few moments they had reached him, and they fanned out to create a semicircle facing him. Hewal did not seem particularly alarmed, but only bemused. After surveying the rest of them, he focused upon Loren.
“Nightblade,” he said, inclining his head. She had not heard him speak before. His voice was smooth and bright, fresh with youth but heavy with the weight of duty. “Has Kal sent you? Is there some news concerning my errand?”
“No one sent us,” said Loren. “Though, I wonder what masters have sent you upon your ride this night, Hewal. I do not think it was Kal of the Mystics.”
She reached into her cloak to draw out the letter, and held it up so that it fell unfolded in the moonslight. The symbol of the Shades was plain to see, even from the few paces that separated them.
Hewal stared at it for a moment as though he did not comprehend what she had said. Then, brow furrowed, he climbed down from his horse. He took a step forward.
“Stay where you are,” said Niya, drawing her knife and holding it out towards him. Shiun drew an arrow and nocked it. Hewal stopped in his tracks. “You will return with us to Ammon, and if you make no trouble, you may even survive the journey.”
Hewal raised his hands, and a small smile crossed his lips. “I do not think any friendly reception awaits me at Ammon. Therefore I do not think I shall come with you.”
An image flashed into Loren’s mind—Hewal in her dream, when his eyes had glowed white and he had transformed into a crow. “Wait!” she cried. “He is a—”
She was too late. Hewal’s eyes filled with light, and his body erupted into a mass of flesh, muscle and fur. In a moment a black bear stood where he had been a moment before, and around its feet pooled the shredded scraps that had been his clothing. Hewal roared at them in fury and swiped with a massive claw. It took Weath’s horse in the side, and the beast screamed as it died. Weath was flung from the saddle and rolled away from the road.
“Back away!” cried Loren, wheeling Midnight around and dancing a few paces off. “Shiun!”
The Mystic had already sprung into action, drawing and firing an arrow. The shaft pierced the Hewal’s side, and his bestial roar took on a note of pain. But he lunged towards her, and Shiun had to spur her horse away before she could fire another arrow.
Loren leapt from Midnight’s saddle and threw the reins into Gem’s hands. He caught them on instinct and opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Loren cried, “Get to Ammon!” and slapped Midnight’s flank hard. With her nostrils filled with the scent of bear, the horse brayed in fear and rode north for the fortress, with Gem desperately clinging to her back. She thought of reaching for the dagger at her back, but what good would it do her? Its short blade would not save her from the claws or teeth of a bear. It was proof against magic, yes, but that only meant a firemage could not catch her in flame. Loren had never tested herself against a weremage, and she did not think now was the best time to do so.
Shiun was dancing back and forth, giving Hewal no clear way to charge. Niya stood beside her, brandishing her knife, but it seemed as impotent as Loren’s dagger. Chet had leapt from his horse and stood beside her. His face was grim. Loren took his shoulders. “It is a bear. How do you hunt a bear?”
“Go into its cave with spears,” said Chet.
“We do not have a cave, or spears,” said Loren. “And we are not dealing with a beast. Hewal has a human’s wit.”
Chet shrugged helplessly. “What do you wish for me to say? I have never hunted a weremage before.”
Loren gave a frustrated growl—but then the ground shook beneath their feet, and she heard Niya shout. She leapt to the side, seizing Chet’s cloak and dragging him after her. Hewal barreled past them in a flash of black fur, roaring his anger as his terrible claws passed through the air where they had just stood.
Niya and Shiun seized them and pulled them to their feet. Shiun had another arrow nocked, but she did not draw. Weath stumbled over to them, shaking her head dizzily.
“Shoot him!” said Niya, looking to Shiun.
“I am not a good enough shot to strike the eye, and nothing else will be a worthwhile strike,” said Shiun. Loren saw that Hewal had turned back towards them, and was edging to the right, presenting only his front. “The skull is too thick, and the shoulders are useless.”
“Not if we can drive a knife into them,” said Weath. “But that is a dangerous job, to be sure.”
“I will do it. Onl
y I will need a distraction.”
“If I had a spear …” Weath shook her head, and then reached to her belt and drew a knife. “I will do my best.”
“And I,” said Loren. “But I have no blade. Does anyone have a knife to spare?”
Niya knelt and took one from her boot. “Here.”
Loren followed Weath, who approached the bear slowly at a half-crouch. Behind her, Loren heard Chet mutter, “No one offers me a knife.” There was a snikt from Shiun, and soon he crept up behind Loren and Weath with a blade in his own hand. The three of them moved low, and slowly, while Shiun stepped to their right to flank Hewal.
Hewal let out a low growl, that rumbled from his chest and thrummed in Loren’s boots. It quickened her pulse and made her take a deep breath to steady herself. “I doubt he will charge again—he has seen we can evade him too easily. Likely he will stand his ground and swing at us. He does not need to press forward into our midst, for he knows he can wait for us to step within reach.”
“What should we do, then?” muttered Chet, speaking from the corner of his mouth. “We need to get his attention.”
“Feint at him,” said Weath. “I will do it.”
“You have been hurt already,” said Loren. “Let me.”
She did not wait for an answer, but took two quick steps forwards. She slashed at the empty air, three paces from where Hewal stood. He lurched backwards and swiped at her, growling. But quickly he turned his focus to Shiun, for she had raised her bow and begun to draw. Loren took another half-step towards him—but he lunged suddenly, forcing her to dance back.
Just then, she saw movement over his shoulder. There was Niya, creeping forward through the grass, little more than a shadow in a red cloak. She lifted one hand, her dagger held reversed within it, ready to bring down in a stab. Hewal paused. He raised his muzzle into the air.
With a wordless cry, Loren leapt forward and slashed at him. He jerked away, just as an arrow from Shiun flew forth and lodged in his foreleg. Chet, Loren and Weath pressed forwards, brandishing their knives. Hewal bellowed and reared up on his hind legs, and then Niya struck.
Leaping forward, she wrapped one thick arm around Hewal’s neck and plunged the knife into his shoulder. He cried out anew—but this time the sound was pure fear.
Loren’s elation lasted only a moment, for whether by accident or intent, the weremage toppled backwards. Niya had to throw herself clear and roll away, taking the knife with her. Hewal rounded on her, swiping at the air, but Niya rolled away from him. But no sooner had she risen to her knees than she flipped the knife into her fingertips and threw it. Hewal only just raised a paw in time, and instead of driving into his head, the dagger buried itself up to the hilt in his leg just above the paw. A low whine issued from the bear’s throat, and white light came from its eyes once again. Slowly Hewal shrank, his thick coat of fur sinking back into his body. In the shrinking of his frame, Niya’s knife slid free. It fell to land in the dirt, coated in thick blood. At last Hewal stood before them, naked and panting in the moonlight.
For a moment, all was still. Then, though nothing had been said, Hewal began to laugh.
“Oh, you are a clever one indeed,” he said. “I do not know how you learned the truth about me, but once again you have shown me your worth as a foe.”
His familiar tone made her pause. “What do you mean? I have never seen you before, and you know nothing of me.”
“You are the Nightblade. Everyone knows of you,” said Hewal, and now his smile turned cruel. “Rogan and his undying brutes. My brothers. And sweet Damaris of the family Yerrin. She, in particular, sends her regards. And she looks forward to her reunion with you—which, now that I am exposed, will certainly be soon in coming.”
“What reunion?” said Loren. “Tell us what the family Yerrin is planning, and you may yet escape with your life.”
“Do you think I believe that?” he snarled. “I have played at being a Mystic for years. I have seen those they put to the question. No, such a fate is not for me.”
His eyes began to glow. Beside Loren, Niya straightened with a start, and then lunged. “He is healing himself!”
Hewal leapt up from the ground—and in the air, he grew a beak, and black feathers sprouted from his skin. The crow’s wings flapped desperately, as Shiun’s hastily-loosed arrow pierced the air three feet below him, only a few inches from Niya’s grasping fingers. He flew into the air and off through the sky, giving a raucous, braying caw.
The sight of the beak erupting from his face, indeed his whole transformation, left Loren feeling entirely undone. At once she was back in her dream, and she saw Chet’s opened throat—but then she turned to see him standing beside her, alive and whole, and her mind could not reconcile the two. Her knees gave out, and she sank to the ground.
“Loren!” cried Chet. He knelt beside her. “Are you all right? What is wrong?”
“I—it is nothing,” she said, shaking off the vision. “A moment’s dizziness, that is all.”
He frowned at her. “Did he hurt you? I did not see him land a blow …”
She shook her head quickly. “He did not touch me. I am all right.” With his help, she fought her way back to her feet. Niya, Weath, and Shiun all stood there, looking at her. “I am all right. Except that he has escaped, and we have nothing.”
“We have enough,” said Chet. “You have the letter. That is proof enough of his guilt.”
“And what use is guilt?” snapped Niya. “He could lead us to those who commanded him, and now we have not the faintest clue where to find them. Who cares if we know the dog misbehaved? I wish to find the masters who told him to bark.”
“Well, we have not done that,” said Chet. “Scowl about it if you wish.”
Niya opened her mouth to reply, but Loren cut her off. “You said he healed himself? What did you mean?”
The Mystic glared. “Weremages. They transform their own bodies, and therefore many are able to close their own wounds and stop themselves from bleeding to death.”
“That is a useful talent,” said Loren.
She had not meant it as a joke, but Niya gave a grim smile anyway. “Mayhap—but it is almost as painful as suffering the wound again. I take some small comfort from that, at least.”
Loren sighed. “I find little to give me comfort just now. Come, let us mount our horses. We have a long ride back to Ammon, and we do not bear good news.”
eighteen
THEY RODE TO AMMON QUICKLY enough, but Loren did not press the horses too hard. There seemed little need for haste, since it would not change what they would find at the end of their ride, and there seemed little reason to think Hewal might return to Ammon and wreak havoc, since he had flown the opposite direction from the stronghold.
As they rode up the ramp to the front gate, Loren stole a glance at the Mystics beside her. She had not thought of it until just now, but if there were any consequences to face for their actions that night, the Mystics would likely suffer worse than she would. She was the Nightblade, and it was not entirely clear to her whether Kal was meant to be her master or not. She doubted Kal was entirely positive on the matter, either. But these were Kal’s soldiers, and they had ridden off in Loren’s company without orders. Kal did not seem the sort to take such things lightly.
“It might be best if we do not mention your involvement tonight,” said Loren. Niya looked up at her. “In coming with me, I mean. I can tell them that it was only Chet and I, and eschew any mention of you at all.”
Weath pointed up ahead. “Though I appreciate your selflessness, I doubt that that would work.”
Loren looked up. There, at the top of the ramp, the drawbridge had already been lowered. Standing just inside of Ammon’s gate were a party of Mystics on horseback. At their head was Kal, and beside him was Gem, who still rode Midnight. Loren felt her stomach do a turn. They reached the top of the ramp and stopped.
“Nightblade,” growled Kal.
“Chancellor,” said Loren.
“I had meant to ride out to your rescue, for I gathered that it was necessary. It seems that is no longer the case. I imagine you have some tidings for me.”
“I do, though I fear they are ill news.”
“What other kind is there these days? Very well. Come.”
He turned and led her—not quickly, but at a walk even slower than if they were on foot—all the way back up through Ammon’s three levels. In the space of a few heartbeats it became monotonous, and then tedious, leaving Loren’s mind free to wonder the tongue-lashing he no doubt had in store for her. As she considered it, she realized that that was likely the point—this long, slow, plodding pace was likely meant to give her as much time as possible to contemplate her impending fate.
When they reached the stronghold’s keep, Kal dismounted and handed his horse off to a stableboy. Loren quietly asked Gem to see to Midnight, and then followed Kal into the fortress. As they approached his council chamber, they found Annis waiting in the hallway. The girl paced back and forth, hands twisting together anxiously in front of her, as though she awaited news of some close relative lying upon their deathbed. When she saw Loren approaching, she jerked to a halt, and then came running up to her.
“Are you all right? Gem said—”
“I am all right,” said Loren. “I must speak with the chancellor.”
“Indeed,” said Kal. “But the girl comes, too. The rest of you, however, may leave us—I have no wish to move the entire Yearsend feast into my own quarters.”
Chet looked to Loren—and she was surprised to see that Niya did, too. She steeled herself. “In fact, it is necessary that Chet and Niya be present. Shiun and Weath should come as well. The tale we have to tell is … unusual, to say the least, and I would rather that you did not hear only what I had to say about it.”
Kal glared, but he did not argue with her, and the whole party followed Loren into the room. But they all stepped back towards the room’s edges, away from Kal and the council table—all except Niya, who stood just beside Loren, but a half-step back, the way a soldier stood by their commanding officer. But Loren pushed that comparison out of her mind at once, and began to tell her story. She left nothing out, save only for the moment she had eaten magestones, and soon had come to the end of her tale.
Weremage: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 5) Page 11
