Sacrifice

by Vicky Walklate

  Dax cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Lord Rhetahn. I would caution you against traveling in dragon form beyond this point. I was not exaggerating. Demons and harpies are joining forces to bring down your soldiers, there are corpses across these mountains to prove it. And the demon patrols are increasing. Although your messengers and sentries must risk flying, I would urge you to travel on foot with the girl. Even underground in places.”

  “A ludicrous notion,” Brand growled.

  “No, it makes sense,” Rhetahn mused. “The demons will seek me in the sky. They won’t anticipate me traveling on foot, much less underground.”

  “Are you strong enough for this, Lord?” Gharrick wrinkled his brow. “Whichever route or method of travel you choose, the injury you suffered was brutal. Healing will take time and your magic is depleted.”

  The god’s response held a touch of huffiness. “My magic will return, Lieutenant, and with it my physical strength. My power isn’t entirely bound to my amulet, although it does increase it. But after what happened to Mhaljett when he refastened his, I can’t risk putting it back on or reattempting the ritual. I must question the high sorcerer first.”

  Dax bent one knee. “Lord, I offer my services as your escort and guard. I can take you to my contacts near Amity Canyon, which leads to Scabarus.”

  “I accept. You have my thanks, ground shifter, both for your offer and your assistance earlier.”

  “You should go soon, Lord,” one of Dax’s men said. “The demons recognized you and the survivor will undoubtedly spread the word.”

  “Lord, risking your life this way is insanity,” Brand burst out. “If we’re under attack, the safest place for you is behind the castle walls­—”

  “It’s because we’re under attack I’m doing this. I have no choice. With Mhaljett incapacitated and Storren gone, I must regain my power as soon as possible. I need a viable human sacrifice. I cannot twiddle my thumbs at Trivium while my soldiers risk their lives searching for the council. If I go myself, I can question the high sorcerer straight away.”

  “You’re mad,” Libby muttered. “If I owned a nice, safe castle, I’d be there in a heartbeat.”

  His cold stare narrowed. “Unless you want to be gagged in addition to bound, keep your opinions to yourself.”

  Dax coughed to get Rhetahn’s attention. “There’s a dwarf mountain entrance not far from here. We can rest there and decide on the most suitable route to Pikeport.”

  “Pikeport?” Gharrick’s eyes narrowed. “You said you’d take them to Amity Canyon.”

  “The fastest way there is by boat, and I have an acquaintance in Pikeport who can help us. Few are better on water than him.”

  “I suspect I know who you’re referring to.” Brand frowned. “Are you sure he’s reliable? Jahda and I have found him...trying...in the past.”

  “Although he can be vexatious, I trust him, Captain.” At Brand’s begrudging nod, the ground shifter continued. “My men will divert the demons’ attention by leading them on a chase through the peaks.” He turned to the god. “You and the girl will find it difficult to travel in your current attire.”

  Rhetahn grunted and glanced at Gharrick, who left Jahda and headed to the supplies strewn around the broken shelves.

  Libby studied the comatose woman. She’d been unconscious for a while and needed urgent a healer. She was about to suggest the men carry her to a cot, when the god caught her attention.

  “I put you in chains to demonstrate how uncomfortable I can make this journey,” he said in a low voice, “and now I give you a choice. Will you act with reason, or should I restrain you for the entirety?”

  Her bound hands made it impossible to ball her fists. She had to comply. She didn’t know how to get home and held scant chance of surviving future demon encounters. Yet the men had unwittingly given her some useful knowledge: they were heading for Amity Canyon, which led to Scabarus Gorge. That, in turn, led to Flat Peak. Beyond Flat Peak, was her home. Never had she missed it more desperately.

  “You can take them off. I’ll toe the line.”

  “Good girl.”

  She glowered. “I am not a child.”

  His gaze dropped to her body, barely hidden under the bloodstained silk. “I can see that.”

  The tiniest hint of a growl in his voice sent warmth flushing through her veins. Acutely aware of her vulnerability, trapped and helpless against him, the odd moment vanished as quickly as it came. He waved his hand above hers, dissolving the thin tendrils and turning away as if she was of no more interest.

  Rubbing her wrists in relief, she averted her gaze as the god, unconcerned with modesty, removed his blood-soaked pants to change into a sentry uniform.

  “Here.” Gharrick tossed some clothing and a pair of boots at her feet. “Get dressed.”

  She crossed her arms.

  “Do as you are bid, human!”

  “Turn around first.”

  Gharrick and the other men peered at her in puzzlement, like she’d grown another head. Exasperated, she fixed on Rhetahn who appeared as confused as the others.

  “I request a moment of privacy to change my clothes,” she said stiffly.

  Understanding crossed his face, followed by a brief grin. She braced herself for a refusal. Instead, he turned his back, gesturing for the others to do the same.

  Hiding her surprise at his acquiescence, she stripped off the ruined gown, sighing with relief when she took off the shoes. Glancing down her body, she winced at the injuries she’d collected since the day began. If she ever got home, she’d have some impressive scars to go with her even more impressive stories.

  As the black pants were far too long, she tucked them inside two pairs of thick, military socks and poked an extra hole in the leather belt to tighten them on her waist. The sentry uniform’s upper half consisted of a thin-strapped bandeau underneath a blue scoop-neck shirt with three buttons. Hardy ankle boots completed the outfit. They were a tad too big yet comfortable enough, with the double socks.

  “Ready?”

  She jumped. At some point, the god had turned back ’round to look at her. Was it her imagination, or was had his gaze grown darker and more intense? She nodded mutely, resisting the urge to fidget.

  “Good. Let us begin.”

  As Rhetahn and Brand discussed plans for Trivium’s defense and Mhaljett’s incarceration, Dax shrugged off his brown overcoat and handed it to her. “It’ll be cold underground. Put this on.”

  She took it, a lump forming in her throat at the unexpected kindness. “What about you?”

  “I’ll be fine.” He gave her a warm smile. “Shifters run hotter than humans.”

  “Let’s get moving,” Rhetahn barked.

  Giving her a gentle pat on the shoulder, the ground shifter led the way from the cave.

  Attaching a scabbard to his belt, Rhetahn nudged her with his elbow. “Follow him. Do not even consider making a run for it.”

  Furnishing the god with one more glare, she skittered from the cave as Gharrick shifted into his dragon form. Hurrying to Dax’s side next to the campfire remains, she donned the jacket as chilliness closed in.

  “Stay close.” The ground shifter studied the pitch-black mountainside like it was lit by torchlight. “This ridge is treacherous in the dark.”

  Gharrick swooped above her head, Jahda prone in his talons. The massive form of Brand followed him, the two dead sentries gripped in his claws. Wind billowed her hair when the dragons’ swept upward, their wings beating with graceful power. She glanced at Rhetahn as his warriors vanished into the obsidian sky. Sadness and worry clung to him like a dark cloud. Another pang of sympathy hit her. She brushed it away as Dax shifted into leopard form and led them across the ridge. To survive this insane situation, she needed to be as cold and ruthless as the god behind her. And perhaps, as the high sorcerer they sought.

  She agreed with Rhetahn on one thing. Thassa had questions to answer.

  Chapter Fourteen

  R
hetahn

  The pain in his chest was relentless, throbbing with every step. Gritting his teeth, Rhetahn followed the leopard and the girl closely across the escarpment. Thick clouds blocked the moon, their sole source of light as torches were too conspicuous on the mountainside. They descended in a diagonal line, the big cat remaining close enough for Rhetahn to smell its musky odor. Dax’s night vision helped them avoid tumbling down the slope as he picked out the safest paths and kept the pace slow, so they stayed together.

  The sentry outpost was a mile behind them, lost among the twisted shadows. An owl screeched above their heads and the distant, eerie scream of a mountain lion echoed around the rocks. The steep ridge was a mixture of huge, craggy boulders and smaller stones.

  The leopard padded across the rocks, tail low to the ground, ears pricked and alert. Lissabet trotted to keep up, no easy feat in the heavy boots she was wearing. Rhetahn was close enough to see the wind whipping her golden hair into tangles. She kept brushing it away from her face irritably.

  A damp patch on his shirt indicated his wound was bleeding again, soaking through the bandages. He swore under his breath. The last thing he needed was to faint from blood loss on the exposed slope, surrounded by demons and predators, with just a ground shifter and a human to aid him.

  He wished he could see into the gulley below. A river bubbled at the bottom and trees rustled in the breeze, but there were no sounds of pursuit. Had the surviving demon made it away? Was it informing other patrols of his presence on the mountain? A weak, vulnerable god ripe for the taking. He wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Despite his confident words in the sentry cave, the risks of this journey were immense. Nevertheless, there was no going back now. His loyal soldiers were gone, ready to defend his home and try to subdue Mhaljett if his brother succumbed to madness again. Rhetahn’s priority was to reach the high sorcerer and demand answers. He must restore his magic. He must protect his people, his lands.

  A loose rock sent him to his knees. Sharp pain ricocheted through his body and he cursed.

  “Are you all right?” Lissabet hesitated in front of him in the darkness.

  He couldn’t see them, but he knew that two of the three amulets nestled in her cleavage. Craving hit him, an intense, physical ache. Even in his weakened form it would be easy to snatch his talisman from her, to stab a blade into her heart and finish what he’d started on the Zenith. His magic would return, his strength, his power...yet could he be sure, after what happened to Mhaljett?

  “I’m fine.” He forced himself to his feet. “Keep going.”

  “I was only asking. No need to bite my head off.” Stomping off, she headed toward the leopard, who was waiting on a boulder, his tail flicking with impatience.

  Despite his aching limbs, Rhetahn couldn’t suppress his smile. For all her infuriating ways, the girl possessed pluck. People barely even looked him in the eye these days, let alone took him to task as if he was an irritating schoolboy. Other than his brothers, of course.

  Grief washed away his amusement. His mind flashed back to Mhaljett plunging his dagger into Storren’s heart; the sight of his beloved youngest brother slumping to his knees. The bloodstained knife looming toward him; the devastating realization he couldn’t avoid it...and the pain.

  He shuddered at the agony he’d suffered at his brother’s hand, falling into unconsciousness as the battle raged, powerless to prevent the carnage. Not since demons ruled the land, terrorizing and subjugating his people, had he felt helplessness of such magnitude.

  What had Mhaljett been thinking? Reattaching his amulet must have been the catalyst. That was when his single-minded rampage began.

  His gaze narrowed on Libby as she slid on her backside down a tricky section of their path. She was no ordinary human. He’d suspected it from the moment she’d wielded magic, but had assumed the amulets, partly recharged by her blood, were releasing sporadic bursts of energy via her body in the high-tension situation. When she’d calmed the magic before the demon attack, and thrown a bolt with such success, he’d grasped that they were channeling what she herself was summoning. Although the talismans held a touch of their own power, they were stronger as conduits, channels for individuals to control the realm’s magic.

  This girl held magical ability. A substantial amount, judging by the fact she could summon magic without speaking. From her terrified reaction, she didn’t even realize it. She was a sorceress, or perhaps the descendent of one. He wouldn’t know until he questioned the high sorcerer. Although, even if his suspicions were correct, it didn’t explain Mhaljett’s violent reaction to her during the ritual. He wasn’t taking her near his brother or his home again, until Thassa supplied some answers. And if he must demand a new sacrifice and start from scratch, so be it.

  He was so busy musing about Libby, it took him a moment to notice that the leopard had vanished. In the next moment, his heart skipped a beat as the girl did the same.

  He stumbled forward. Rounding a boulder, he beheld a narrow opening in the face of the mountain slope. The top was level with his waist. Fuzzy lichen bordered the jagged edges and a clump of sky flowers sheltered at its base, their buds closed against the night’s chill. He crouched, frowning at the rustle of his companions beyond the entrance. Like most of his kind, he disliked underground spaces. He was a creature of the open skies, with no love for the subterranean world. Nevertheless, he couldn’t lose face. Based on his earlier words, the ground shifter held a poor opinion of dragons, at least the high-ranking ones.

  Crawling into the fissure, he bit his tongue against his shaking muscles and the throb of his stab wound. His scabbard jutted out, his sword hilt dug into his hip, and the acute blackness made his breath come in shallow pants. The tunnel smelled dry and sour, the rock against his hands cold and unyielding. The top of his head touched solid stone and his broad shoulders prevented any chance of retreat. He scrabbled on toward the muffled sounds of movement, unable to discern anything in the darkness.

  Unfamiliar vulnerability flickered along his nerves. Immortal didn’t mean invincible, with his magic depleted and a serious injury slowing him down. Time would aid him, his strength and some of his magic would return, although a hard slog across rough, hostile terrain would not expedite things.

  A gleam of light materialized. He crawled toward it, so keen to find the source he nearly fell into the chamber beyond. Catching himself, he coiled out instead, trying to appear unruffled. The small grotto held a tiny wooden table, a few flat rocks for chairs, an empty weapon rack, and several candles making shadows dance on the cavern walls. Another dark tunnel entrance stood opposite, presumably leading deeper under the mountain.

  It must be an abandoned dwarf outpost. Although the ceiling was closer than he liked, he could at least stand, albeit with a cricked neck. Dax, transformed back into human form, stooped too, as he rummaged in his rucksack on the table.

  The girl plonked herself on a rock seat and peeked over the ground shifter’s arm. Weariness tinged her movements, but she didn’t seem fearful. Rhetahn eased himself on to a rock opposite her. Had the amulets given her misplaced courage, or was she working off the excitement from the battle? He suspected both.

  The ground shifter produced two pouches, handing one to the girl and offering the other to him with a respectful half-bow. “Water, Lord.”

  He shook his head. “You first.”

  The young man kept his arm extended. “I’m not the one wounded.”

  Rhetahn scowled.

  Dax sighed. “Captain Brand will skin the flesh from my bones if I let anything happen to you, including you collapsing from dehydration. Indulge me, please?”

  With a disapproving sniff, Rhetahn accepted the flask and took a big swig. Libby too, gulped the water with gratitude then handed the pouch back to Dax. He gave them a generous portion of dried meat in return. Rhetahn sniffed it, recognizing the piquant aroma of cured goat. As he and the girl ate with gusto, the ground shifter rose, hoisting his bag on to his shoulde
r.

  “I’ll refill the flasks and mark the entrance,” he said. “I won’t be long. Half an hour at most. Stay here.”

  He shifted into leopard form, his yellow-green eyes glowing and tail flicking from side to side. Rhetahn couldn’t help being impressed. Only the strongest among the shifter races could switch between human and animal forms in rapid succession. Carrying corporeal items, such as bags and weapons, was even more notable.

  An awkward silence fell when the big cat disappeared into the tunnel. Rhetahn glanced at the girl, who was studying him from under her lashes like she had in the throne room at Trivium. After spotting the glimmer in her hazel eyes when she’d been brought to the throne room, he’d been forced to conceal an inappropriate flash of lust. He had a weakness for blondes, and this one possessed full pink lips and luscious curves practically begging for his touch. It had taken every ounce of his control to act bored and regal as she’d prostrated herself in front of him and his brothers. It wasn’t until she’d attempted the outlandish escape, he’d come to his senses. Even then, he’d found her temerity...endearing.

  He continued to chew the goat meat, staring at the candles and watching her fidget out of the corner of his eye.

  “Are you in much pain?” The question was timid yet genuine.

  Her gaze wandered across his body when he didn’t answer, and she studied the crimson patch on his shirt in apparent concern. A bolt of desire hit him, and he fought the urge to drag her close for a kiss. Sacrifices were off-limits to The Three, not to be considered real or tangible in any way. The fact he knew her name was unacceptable. Mhaljett would disapprove. Even the laid-back Storren would have been surprised.

  “I’m fine.” His response came out harsher than intended. “Although the trek was arduous, some rest should set me right.”

  “Is your wound bleeding again?”

  “It was. It’s stopped now.”

  “Why not sleep? Dax will be back soon, I’m sure.”