In turn, she had to tell them the tale of what had happened with Auntie. They listened in shock, and when they learned that Niya had been the weremage all along, they shook their heads in disbelief. Then, looking at each other in silent agreement, they set off into the jungle towards the path that Loren had described. When they returned from burying her, the dark look in their eyes spoke volumes of how shaken they were. They had not buried their companion and captain, a Mystic, but an utter stranger, and only Loren’s word told them that she had once been their sister in arms.
“We should ride south when we can,” said Shiun, after they had eaten a silent meal together around a small fire. “I can follow Damaris easily enough now, but the trail may grow cold, and it certainly will once she reaches Dorsea.”
Loren thought for a moment. “We will spend one more night here,” she said at last. “One more night of rest, for the toll has been great. On all of us.”
She looked across the camp. Chet still had not emerged from his tent.
The next morning dawned grey and cold, and a light rain began to fall. Loren went a little ways off from the camp and sat on a fallen tree, face turned upwards, letting the water wash away the sweat and dirt and the horror of the last few days. She sensed that the rest of them feared to disturb her, just as she herself feared to disturb Chet. But eventually, Annis came out to her and waited, hands clasped in front of her, until Loren met her gaze.
“Shiun says we must go. The rain makes it ever more urgent that we begin the hunt, lest we lose Damaris’ trail.”
“Of course,” said Loren quietly. “I will rouse Chet.”
“He is awake, and readying himself to leave,” said Annis.
Loren shot to her feet, and then pushed past Annis to run for the camp. She came to a halt where the horses were tied up. Chet stood there, securing his pack to the saddle. He looked at her without smiling and nodded.
“We are riding south,” she said, not sure what else to tell him. “Damaris has gone—”
“Towards Dorsea. I know,” he said. “Annis explained. Let us get on with it.”
He turned away and resumed readying himself for the journey. Loren ducked her head, and after a moment walked past him to take down Niya’s tent—her tent now, she supposed.
Soon they had mounted, and Shiun led them through the jungle towards the main road. Once there, they increased their pace to a steady trot, and made their plodding way south. The jungle stayed thick on both sides of them as they passed the town of Sarafu, and long after, so that for many hours they could see nothing but the tree on either side of them.
Then the trees fell away, and they came to a lip in the land, from which it spilled down a long, long way towards a great basin. The western rim was the Greatrock Mountains, and a great river formed the eastern side. They themselves stood on the northern lip, and where it ended in the south, the jungle gave way to a sparsely wooded land of light brown dirt.
“That is the border of Dorsea,” said Shiun, nodding her head towards it. “Damaris rides south, no doubt hoping to evade us, and Kal’s host that still marches west.”
“She will not,” said Loren quietly. “We will capture her. I swear it.” There was no longer any question of whether they should continue to pursue the merchant, or return to Kal. She knew without asking that every one of them would not have turned back, not for all the gold in all the nine kingdoms.
Still they did not ride on, but only sat upon their horses, looking down at the lush land as the falling rain soaked it. The day was winding on, and Loren knew they should be pressing on as quickly as they could, for Damaris would not slow for anything, not until she believed herself to be safe. But still she hesitated. And after a time, she glanced over at Chet.
“Ride on,” she murmured. “We will be with you in a moment.”
The party obeyed without comment, and soon she and Chet were alone on the road. But he did not look at her, not even when he broke his silence at last.
“I do not care if you understand why I did it or not,” he said.
“Yet I do understand,” she said quietly.
He snorted. “Do you? I was not so forgiving when you showed Xain leniency in Dorsea.”
“It is as you said. That was different, and I was wrong to gainsay you when it came to Auntie.”
Chet turned his face away from her. “You may say it, you know. You may tell me I am a hypocrite. I scorned you, though it was not even your hand that held the knife.”
“It has been a long journey, but I am not ready to take that step,” said Loren. “Yet I no longer look with disdain on those who do. I still think justice should come from the law, and from the King’s servants who deal in it. But there is not always time. And you did serve the law, Chet. I know that.”
She reached across the space between them and put a hand on his shoulder, but he shied away from her touch.
“I cannot,” he whispered. “Please. I still see—I see her. I am sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” she told him, feeling tears brim in her eyes. She blinked them away. “Never. Not to me.”
A moment longer she waited, until he turned his face forwards again and nodded. Then she spurred Midnight into a walk, and Chet followed just behind. The sun neared the horizon, heralding the approach of night, as she led him down the long road into the lowlands.
KEEP READING
You’ve finished Weremage, the fifth book of the Nightblade Epic. The sixth book, Yerrin, is coming soon.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Garrett Robinson was born and raised in Los Angeles. The son of an author/painter father and a violinist/singer mother, no one was surprised when he grew up to be an artist.
After blooding himself in the independent film industry, he self-published his first book in 2012 and swiftly followed it with a stream of others, publishing more than two million words by 2014. Within months he topped numerous Amazon bestseller lists. Now he spends his time writing books and directing films.
A passionate fantasy author, his most popular series is the Nightblade Epic. However, he has delved into many other genres. Some works are for adult audiences only, such as Non Zombie and Hit Girls, but he has also published popular books for younger readers, including the Realm Keepers series and The Ninjabread Man, both co-authored with Z.C. Bolger.
Garrett lives in Los Angeles with his wife Meghan, his children Dawn, Luke, and Desmond, and his dog Chewbacca.
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epilogue
A light snow had only just begun to fall, and it dusted the tents of the Yerrin party. Damaris’ tent was fine, more than fine enough to keep her head warm and dry. But she had eschewed that shelter to drink in the frozen air. She drank it in with deep breaths, standing to the north of the camp, only vaguely aware of the guards who stood close to hand. Her gaze lingered on the Dorsean landscape they had been riding for the last several days.
Do you pursue me, Nightblade? she thought. That is good. Follow me. Follow me and never stop. Let me draw you to your doom.
A shout came from behind her, and she tensed. She whirled on the spot, and her guards drew near her and drew their swords.
Damaris’ heart skipped a beat as a figure emerged from the camp. Its form was in silhouette, rimmed by the firelight, but she knew him—not only from his size, but from the way he moved, every little quirk of motion that had accompanied her on all the long roads o
f her life since they were both children.
“Gregor,” she sighed.
He fell to one knee at her feet, bowing his head. “My lady,” he said. His voice was thick with emotion, and he hid his face from her, as well as the guards to either side.
Damaris glanced at them. “Leave us,” she said. They obeyed at once, marching back towards the camp.
“Rise, my friend,” she said, taking his shoulders and lifting him up. “Sky above, I have missed you more than I can say.” She drew him into an embrace for a moment only, but it was enough that she could feel him shaking.
“I should never have left you,” he said. “If anything had happened at Yewamba, I would have taken my own life, the moment I had avenged you upon the vermin who had harmed you.”
“Left me?” said Damaris wryly. She did not smile, but she let her eyes crinkle with amusement. “If you will recall, I ordered you to remain upon the Seat.”
“And I failed you there, as well,” he said. “I could not secure the support you require, and then a boy—”
She raised a hand, and he fell silent at once. “I know,” she said smoothly. “I have heard all the tale of it already. And I do not blame you, Gregor. We are stretched thin, you and I, and we will not win every battle. All that matters is that we win more of them than we lose.”
“We will, my lady,” said Gregor, bowing his head once more. “I swear it.”
“I believe you,” said Damaris. “And the next confrontation swiftly approaches. Something happened at the Battle of Wellmont.”
“A rumor only,” said Gregor.
She fixed him with a look. “It is not a rumor.”
His eyes did not widen, nor did his brows shift by so much as a hair. Yet she could feel his whole body tense, turning his already rigid body even more so. “Then … are we to make our way east?”
“Not yet,” said Damaris, sighing. “At least not while hounds nip at our heels. I am being followed. A party of hunters tracks me across the land.”
“I have heard.” Gregor’s voice rumbled with fury. His fists, each almost as large as her head, coiled by his sides. “The girl.”
“The Nightblade of the High King, you mean,” said Damaris, letting her mockery emerge plain in her tone.
“I will take a party. We will come upon them in the night and destroy them.”
“No, no, that will not do at all. Loren herself played no small role in the Battle of Wellmont, though she cannot possibly have learned what has occurred because of it. But we will ensure she comes to regret it.”
Damaris eyes narrowed as she remembered the storeroom in Yewamba, where Loren had dumped her like a sack of flour with her wrists bound together. And she remembered the boy, the boy Loren’s age who had been there with her. Damaris had seen the look in her eyes when Loren beheld him. It sent a lance of vicious joy through her, and her breath quickened.
“And when we are sure she is well-acquainted with the deepest pits of sorrow—then, Gregor, you may do what I should have ordered the moment we first laid eyes upon her. Then, you may kill her.”
Weremage: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 5) Page 29
