"I was unlucky enough to be squatting here when the brigands came. They threw me in here and forgot to kill me, I guess. Or perhaps they meant to let me starve. It's been two days and no food. There's a trickle of water comes down that wall-it's probably all we'll get." The voice was quiet. "Caught a glimpse of you when they threw you in here. From the way they worked you over, I'm guessing you're a bit more important than a squatter." "Just a soldier in the wrong place at the wrong time." I wasn't important before I knew their plan. Now, they can't afford to let me go. Donelan's spy in Margolan is a traitor. Kiara's in grave danger. Curane's behind it all. And I'm the only one who knows.
DAY 2
Chapter Eight
"I'm not certain I understand you, Lord Vahanian." The village elder stood. "We have lived in peace with our vayash moru neighbors for generations. Why should we fear now?" Jonmarc took a deep breath. "There's a small group of vayash moru-led by Malesh of Tremont, one of Lord Uri's brood-who have broken the Truce. They want to provoke a war. They've already destroyed Westormere and Crombey. Our best guess is that your village is next."
"How can we stand against vayash moru?" The speaker was a man a dozen years or so older than Jonmarc, a merchant by his clothing.
"The other two villages weren't prepared. They had no idea they'd be attacked. I have a force of vayash moru and vyrkin who want to defeat the rogues and preserve the Truce. They can't move until sundown-and neither can Malesh. We'll just need to defend ourselves until Lord Gabriel and the Dark Haven guard can arrive." "How is that possible?"
Laisren was right. This is crazy. I'm supposed to be the defender of vayash moru, not showing mortals how to destroy them. What choice is there? I'm also sworn to defend Dark Haven's mortals.
"You don't have to fight them. All we have to do is hold them off. At most, it will be a matter of minutes before Lord Gabriel and my guard can get here. But in those minutes, Malesh's brood could wipe out a village the size of yours-if you aren't prepared." Jonmarc paced as the council deliberated. Mead's Ferry was a tiny village, notable as a target only because it was the closest grouping of more than a few families. They were herders and farmers, with a few merchants who scratched out a living selling to the traders and travelers who passed by on the road. The sun was already low in the sky. There was barely enough time to prepare, even if the council ruled in his favor. Gabriel told me I was wasting my time. I should have slept longer, saved my strength for the battle tonight. But I had to try.
"Lord Vahanian." The village elder walked toward him. "We've reached a decision. We'll prepare as you advise."
"We don't have much time. Let's get started."
Jonmarc knew too well what kind of weapons the villagers might have. Mead's Ferry was
much like the village where he had grown up. Knives and slings, handy for hunting game, were plentiful, but of limited use against this enemy. Few men owned swords, and none were trained to use them. Bows, torches and bonfires were the only weapons sure to keep Malesh and his brood at bay, but fire posed as great a threat to the villagers as it offered protection.
The villagers set a ring of bonfires around the green in the center of the town. Inside the ring, Jonmarc and the villagers stacked as many torches and arrows as they could find. Women and children tipped the arrows with cloth or soaked new reed torches in oil. Jonmarc kept an eye on the sun. He carried a crossbow, and had a full quiver of quarrels on his back. On his left arm was a single arrow in a hand-made launcher, his close-range, last- chance weapon. "Light the fires," he ordered.
The winter evening quickly became warm as summer as the bonfires caught and blazed into light. The bonfires formed a burning fence around the perimeter of the green, quickly melting the snow. "That should keep Malesh's crew from getting in on the ground," Jonmarc said. He signaled the archers. "Watch the sky. We can't make the flames high enough to keep out the vayash moru without roasting ourselves."
From the woods came a distant cry, more chilling than a wolf and wilder than a loon. Outside the bonfires, shadows began to move. Every villager old enough to hold a bow was armed, arrows drawn, ready to shoot. In the center of the green, the children clustered, whimpering with fear. Clouds moved across the moon, but fleeting dark shapes moved more quickly, and Jonmarc brought down his arm to signal the archers. "Fire!"
Bows twanged as arrows flew. Most disappeared into the night, but one of the shadows fell, plummeting into the fire. A blazing figure stood among the flames, screaming. Flames burned away flesh and clothing like paper, and the rest seemed to melt as if made from wax. "Again!"
Another hail of arrows launched skyward. One of the shadows fell in the darkness beyond the ring of bonfires.
"C'mon Gabriel. Where are you?" Jonmarc muttered as he readied his crossbow. "What's that?" a woman screamed from the back of the green. Barely visible beyond the fires, the night seemed to have grown darker. Shadows blurred, and a wind rose, heaping snow onto the bonfires that sputtered and hissed. In the moment the archers were distracted, dark shapes dove from overhead, swooping into the crowd and snatching half a dozen villagers into the sky.
"Hold your ground!" Jonmarc shouted above the chaos. Just beyond arrows' range, the shadows hovered, holding aloft their terrified prisoners. The sky became a stage, lit by the wind-whipped flames. The shadowed shapes held their screaming captives aloft, dropping and catching them to heighten the terror and gain the attention of the crowd below. Swiftly, the dark shapes drew their victims to them, and the cries halted abruptly. As the captives jerked and grew still, the attackers twisted the bodies in their grasp, ripping off limbs and severing heads, spattering the screaming villagers below with gore before letting the mangled bodies fall to ground.
A crash from behind them made Jonmarc turn, crossbow leveled. Three wagons, hurled with inhuman strength, barreled through the waning bonfires, scattering people and burning brands across the trampled green. "Look out!"
Jonmarc dove out of the way of the careening wagons, but not fast enough. One of the wagons rolled straight for him, taking him off his feet. He rolled across it, falling hard, bleeding from gashes along his left arm and leg. He scrambled up, weapon ready. "Weapons out! Charge!" Jonmarc shouted, anger silencing his fear. Half of the villagers surged forward with him, armed with torches, sickles and bows. The others fled in terror as the dark shapes dove and dodged through the crowd.
Abruptly, the attackers drew back. Jonmarc leapt across the scattered remains of the bonfire, and glimpsed Gabriel and Laisren across the broad village street, each battling two of the rogue vayash moru. His crossbow found its mark, picking off one of Laisren's opponents before Jonmarc had to dive beneath a wagon to avoid one of the black-clad attackers.
In the moonlight, Jonmarc made out a single figure near the edge of the fray. Malesh. Jonmarc scrambled from cover and ran toward his quarry, crossbow ready. Malesh disappeared from sight down a narrow path between two daub and wattle homes. Jonmarc ran after him, dodging the washtubs and laundry lines that littered the alleyway. Even in the cold, the dank passage smelled of chamber pots and spoiled meat. Jonmarc caught a glimpse of Malesh in the distance and doubled his speed, although the bitter cold made his lungs ache. He burst from the alley with his crossbow notched, only to find himself alone in a brick courtyard. By the smell, the building in front of him was a tannery. That explains why I haven't seen any rats, Jonmarc thought, forcing down the urge to retch. Three fetid clay pits sat beneath a slanted roof, filled with the tanners' vile liquid. He blinked, and Malesh stood in the shadows behind the pits, holding a small child in front of him.
Malesh sauntered forward. The child, a dark-haired young girl, whimpered in his grip. "Parley?"
Jonmarc kept his crossbow leveled. "Let the girl go."
Malesh smiled. "And lose my shield? I don't doubt that you're good with that bow. No, I think I'll keep her here where she can be useful." "I didn't come to talk." "I have an offer for you." "Your head on a stake?"
Malesh gave an exaggerat
ed sigh. "Nothing quite so dramatic. But you can end the slaughter."
"How?"
"Your fighting skills are every bit as good as Uri said-better. Imagine what they'd be enhanced by the Dark Gift. I can give you that," Malesh said, meeting Jonmarc's eyes. "Speed. Agility. No more pain, no getting old. Forever strong, young, invincible. Let me bring you across and I'll end the attacks on the villages. You're a lord now-you could be a god." Would you be a slave again? Jonmarc remembered Gabriel's words when he had asked his friend to bring him across to join Carina.
"Your slave, until I grew strong enough to destroy you," Jonmarc countered.
"You'd be with your lady. That's why I brought her across-to offer you an, incentive. to join me."
Jonmarc's finger tightened on the trigger. The girl squirmed in Malesh's hold, and the vayash moru tightened his grip until she cried out. "Careful. By the time your arrow cuts through her, I'll be gone." "Carina can't be brought across. She's a healer."
"What was I thinking?" Malesh said, feigning surprise. "Oh yes. The incentive. Destroy me, and you destroy her. We have a bond, you know. Make me suffer, and so does she." "I'm not planning on taking my time."
"Gabriel won't offer you immortality. I will. There are ways to destroy the healing gift. Old books tell of it. Blood charms. Rule with me, with your lady beside you. We're both predators. You
mastered the Games in Nargi. You killed to survive, for their sport. Once we're established, the killing can stop. You've as much blood on your hands as I do. Why not rule like a god while you can? Eventually, the Crone comes for us all." "Because I'm not you."
Malesh shifted, just slightly, enough for Jonmarc to take his shot. The arrow struck Malesh in the chest, piercing through his waistcoat and emerging from the back. There was a blur of movement. Malesh threw the child aside and shot upward, dripping black ichor as he soared into the night. Jonmarc raced toward the girl, who lay in a heap on the snow. Her skin was cold to his touch, and two bloody punctures in her throat confirmed his fears. He gathered the girl into his arms. Her breathing was shallow and ragged. "Hold on," he whispered. "I'll find a healer for you." She stiffened and gasped, then fell silent. Jonmarc bowed his head.
How many people have to die because of me? When does it end? "Jonmarc!"
Jonmarc turned, still holding the girl's body. Gabriel and Laisren emerged from the alley. Judging from their torn and stained clothing, Jonmarc was sure the fighting had been vicious.
"What were you thinking, going after Malesh by yourself?" Laisren looked more angry than Jonmarc had ever seen him.
"We saw you, but we couldn't get free from the fight to follow." Gabriel looked from Jonmarc to the girl. "You confronted him?"
Jonmarc nodded. "He was waiting for me. He used the girl as a shield. I didn't know she was nearly dead." Laisren moved to take the body from him, but Jonmarc refused. "I got off a clean shot-it hit him in the chest. Then he flew away."
"If he could fly, he's not destroyed." Gabriel looked up into the empty night sky. "He's too young in the Gift. But a near miss ought to make him think twice." "How bad is it-out there?" Jonmarc asked with a nod toward the center of the village. "Malesh's brood didn't stay long once we showed up, although from the looks of it, he's recruited more vayash moru to his side. I don't think they meant to fight us tonight-they intended to destroy the village and provoke their war." Laisren's voice was tight. "As it is, about of a third of the villagers are dead, and the fire's spread to a few of the buildings. Your strategy to hold off Malesh was sound-not bad considering what you had to work with." "What now?" "We'll patrol here for the rest of the night, although I don't think Malesh would dare return. Laisren and I will make sure you get back to Wolvenskorn."
"How do we make sure Malesh doesn't come back tomorrow night and finish the job?" Jonmarc looked down at the dead girl in his arms. He rose and led them out of the tanner's courtyard, back through the winding alley to the center of the village. One of the townsmen spotted them and cried out, running to meet them. He took the girl's body from Jonmarc and looked darkly at the two vayash moru before hurrying off toward a group of women who huddled together down the street. When he reached them, the women keened in mourning. "I can offer to move the villagers to another town but there's no way to be sure where Malesh will strike." Gabriel's expression was grim.
"I'm not so sure." Jonmarc looked from Laisren to Gabriel. "Malesh kept talking about ruling 'as gods.' Isn't there a legend about the Lady taking her consorts on a certain day of the year?"
"Candles Night," Gabriel replied. "On the cross-quarters, between the solstice and the equinox. That's only a few days from now."
"The old stories say that the Lady's suitors wooed her with blood offerings to show their prowess," Laisren said. "It might be possible to see the villages Malesh has destroyed as an offering."
"Can we regroup, meet him at the temple with everything we've got? Would the vyrkin join us? Send a messenger to Rafe and Astasia-they have to see the danger." "Uri is missing." Gabriel shrugged at Jonmarc's surprise. "No one's seen him in two nights. He was due to make his report-he swore to us he'd bring Malesh to heel." "Obviously he didn't."
"Uri wasn't among the ones who fought tonight. If Malesh is using blood magic to shield his thoughts, he may be bold enough to try to free himself of Uri's control altogether." "Could he survive destroying Uri?"
"Malesh is at least a century old in the Dark Gift. Uri's not the strongest of the Council. Perhaps. He may have found other ways to defy Uri. Time will tell." Jonmarc glanced up at the sky. The night was passing quickly. "I know this isn't going to be a popular suggestion, but do you have any idea where Malesh might be going to ground? We're not close enough for him to get back to Scothnaran quickly, and if Uri really is opposing Malesh, Malesh might not be welcome there."
"You mean to go after Malesh by daylight?" Laisren asked.
Jonmarc spread his hands to indicate the ruined village around them. He knew that even in the light of the waning fires, Laisren and Gabriel could see his tattered cloak and fresh battle wounds. "By night, I'm at a disadvantage. I wouldn't have to go alone-I'm sure the men of the village would go with me. It might help to release their anger-against an appropriate target."
"The Lord of Dark Haven, leading mortals to a day crypt. Do I have to tell you what I think of it?" Laisren's expression made his distaste clear.
"I would willingly do the same if the killers were mortal. Does that make me a traitor to my kind?" Jonmarc snapped. "I'm tired of the killing. The sooner we end it, the more likely it is that we can stop this war of Malesh's from happening. Look around. We can't keep what happened tonight quiet. We've got to bring Malesh down."
Gabriel met Jonmarc's eyes, and in that gaze, Jonmarc knew that Gabriel understood completely what the suggestion cost him. "You, of all mortals, would do that?" Jonmarc swallowed hard. Even now, eleven years later, the fires of Chauvrenne still haunted his dreams. "What choice is there? If we don't stop Malesh, these villagers won't be the only ones who want vengeance. And when that starts, they won't be choosy about who burns."
Laisren nodded reluctantly. "I'm sorry. I think I know where some of Malesh's brood have taken shelter. We don't usually share day crypts, so whoever's there belongs to him. But be careful-unless you can flood the room with daylight, you're at a disadvantage. You can't win in the dark."
By the time Laisren and Gabriel had given Jonmarc all they knew about Malesh's day crypts, funeral drums had begun a somber beat. "We'd best be on our way-dawn's not far off."
"I'm going to stay," Jonmarc said, following the funeral procession with his gaze. "I'll organize a hunting party-we'll go out when the sun is high. After what's happened here tonight, these men aren't going to frighten easily."
"Do what you must," Gabriel replied. "When you're finished, come by day to Wolvenskorn. My servants will watch for you. Laisren and I will organize the vayash moru and the vyrkin, and see if there's help to be had from Rafe and Astasia. If you ar
en't successful in finding Malesh, I think your hunch about the temple of the Lady may be correct. It would be nice to put Malesh on the defensive. And if you're there-odds are, he'll come." "That's exactly what I'm counting on," Jonmarc replied.
"I didn't expect to find you in here." Lisette's voice was mildly reproving. Carina stirred from where she slept, stretched across Jonmarc's bed. Dimly, she recalled returning from the chapel and letting herself into Jonmarc's room rather than her own. His swords and armor were missing, along with the collection of weapons he stored above the mantle. Carina took comfort in the lingering scent of leather and brandy that clung to the room. Hungry for any semblance of his touch, Carina had curled up on his bed until exhaustion won out over grief and she slept.
Her dreams had been dark. Images flashed in her mind of flame and blood. Distantly, she could hear the screaming of children and the battle shouts of men. She searched for Jonmarc, but did not find him. Sounds of fighting closed in around her against a night lit by bonfires. Shadows flitted along the edge of the fires, cold as the night itself. The images shifted. Darkness gave way to coruscating light. The light was distant, dim, as if seen from a long way off. A moment before, she had felt the dread of shadows. Now, she feared the light that searched for her. She recognized it from its place deep beneath Dark Haven, and even at a distance, she could feel its pain. It enveloped her as she ran from it, and a torrent of thoughts pressed into her mind. These images were far from Dark Haven, on a windswept plain. Most flashed by too quickly to grasp, but she saw the snap of teeth in the maw of a gray-skinned magicked beast and lumbering corpses dragging their mangled bodies across blood-tinged snow. The light took on the same red tint, bucking and writhing like a thing in pain. It made its entreaty without words, but Carina knew, as the light faded, that it sought her for a reason, for the healing magic that denied her sanctuary in the Dark Gift.
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