by Adrian Cross
The creature scuttled toward the hole in the wall.
Bern swung. Her axe chunked into a root. Its momentum nearly tore the weapon from her fingers. The blade scraped loose, and the tree vanished through a veil of dust, through the stable wall. She staggered after it.
Something whiffed past her ear. Clay had shot another icicle, with no more sign of success.
The creature had already gained ground, moving faster. It was six feet away, ten. Bern broke into an unsteady run, but the gap widened.
Rage flashed through her. This couldn’t be happening.
“Get back here!”
The tree thing swept around a corner. When she reached the same spot, it was gone. She bent over, gripping her knees and panting. Anger swirled with low sick dread. How could she catch it? She’d lost her charge after less than an hour. Her Tempering couldn’t end this way!
The horses. She spun and collided with Clay. His eyes were wide, his cheek striped with blood.
“Not again,” he whispered.
She pushed past him. “The horses. We can catch them. Come on!”
But someone blocked her way. A young man stood in front of the stable, sword in hand. The blue stone in its pommel caught the Wall’s light the same way Karen’s pendant had. Watery blue plate covered a thick chest, and a purple bruise decorated the side of an outthrust jaw. Blue eyes blazed.
“What have you done with her, devils?”
Clay stood beside Bern. “Are you … Jonathan?” he asked slowly.
Jonathan? Oh yes, Karen’s bodyguard.
Jonathan growled. “You are the one described, the warrior with the scaled coat. What have you done with her?”
His attention was entirely focused on Clay. Bern eased into the shadow of the wall. I am small, unimportant. Don’t look at me.
“I am not your enemy,” Clay said. “Get out of the way.”
“Where is she? I will kill you if I have to!” Jonathan’s sword trembled. Whatever was going on, he wasn’t stable.
Bern slipped the Dragon knuckle over her hand. Another few steps and she’d be able to step out behind the bodyguard, able to clip him from behind. He hadn’t even noticed she was gone.
“We’re on the same side,” Clay insisted. “A walking tree stole Karen. From your world, I assume. Do you know where to find her?”
“Sweet Resh.” Jonathan groaned. His sword dipped. “Horan will kill her.”
“I don’t know who Horan is, but we’re running out of time. Will you join us?”
Shock rolled through Bern. “You can’t be serious,” she said. “He wants to chop you into sheep feed!”
She had been standing just behind Jonathan. He jerked around to face her. She stepped out of reach.
“If the bandits are behind this,” Clay said grimly, “which is the only thing I can think of right now, Jonathan knows where they’re going. We’ve lost too much time. We won’t catch it before it reaches the Wall. If it’s headed to that clearing, Jonathan knows where it’ll be. It could save hours of tracking.”
Bern scowled but couldn’t deny the argument.
“I have no horse,” protested Jonathan.
“You do now.” Terina appeared from the dust, leading a saddled Barrel and a dark roan mare. “Get that woman back.” Her tone held a dangerous edge. “Make whoever broke my wall pay.”
Clay looked at Jonathan. “Well, what do you say?”
“If you’re lying,” the bodyguard snarled, “I’ll gut you.”
“It seems to be a common feeling.” Clay swung onto Barrel and then held out a hand to Bern. “Coming?”
The horse loomed as big as a Blood Bear and about as friendly. Her stomach knotted, and she exhaled. This was her Tempering. She managed a smile.
“Of course.”
4
Through the Wall
As Barrel pounded down the cobblestone street, Clay’s ears buzzed, and he felt oddly disconnected, nothing around him feeling quite real. Not Barrel’s hoof beats echoing from the buildings on either side, or the horse’s muscles rolling under Clay’s legs, or even the warmth of Bern’s grip as she hugged him from behind. The pressure of her body suggested she wasn’t nearly as shapeless as her outfit had suggested, but none of those things could penetrate the bubble of ice around Clay, the knot of fear that made it hard to breathe.
He’d promised to protect Karen. And failed.
It was easy to make excuses. He’d been lulled by the belief that the Wall would keep out Karen’s bandits, that they’d be out of their league if they made it through. This was StoneDragon. He’d never expected an animated stump to smash through Terina’s wall, careless of what was on the other side.
He squeezed the reins until his forearms ached. He would find Karen. Whatever it took. This time it wouldn’t be too late.
People scattered out of Barrel’s way. Jonathan’s roan clattered behind them.
Surely the tree would have reached the Wall by this point. So Clay would have to find it on the other side. The only good thing was it hadn’t killed Karen when it had a chance. Clay guessed it had been sent to collect her. So they had a chance to find her, before the bandits changed their mind. And Clay had one advantage: Jonathan. Karen’s bodyguard knew where they’d run into the bandits. He knew this world.
One point nagged Clay. Jonathan’s reaction to the mention of the tree had not been one of surprise, but of fear. His reaction suggested more understanding and familiarity with the situation than Karen’s story had suggested. Clay had a feeling his client had lied to him.
The Wall loomed over them. It looked like a curtain of red fire swirling in the air, a liquid surface through which unsettling shapes swam, like formless souls trying to escape or sharks sliding under blood-slicked water, leaving eddies behind. Where it touched the road and buildings, stone and brick had twisted and torn, as if a great blade had sheared their edges away.
Barrel slowed. Horses didn’t like the Wall. Even Barrel. The skin between the big horse’s shoulders twitched, as if he tried to unseat a fly.
Clay slid off, leaving Bern perched on top. He patted Barrel’s neck. “Shhhhh.”
Jonathan’s horse skittered to a stop behind them. “Yah.” He yanked at the reins angrily, kicking her sides. She danced sideways, her hooves clattering on the stones, head pulling away from the Wall. She wanted nothing to do with it.
“There’s a cloth in the saddle pouch,” Clay said. “If you put it over her eyes—”
“I don’t need your help, devil,” Jonathan snapped. He drew his heels out and kicked the mare’s sides. She reared, nearly unseating him, but then plunged into the flame.
“Devil,” Bern repeated. “He thinks he’s in some sliver of hell.”
Clay shrugged. “Some days in StoneDragon, I’m not sure he’s wrong. Come on. We can’t lose him.”
Bern straightened in the saddle and nodded stiffly. Clay led Barrel to the Wall’s edge, pausing for the briefest second.
“Five steps. No problem.”
He stepped in. Heatless flame enveloped him.
One.
Clay could feel the reins in his hand. But Barrel and Bern had disappeared to his vision. All he saw was a swirling red translucence, as if he walked through an ocean of fire. An ocean that wasn’t empty, as sleek shapes slipped through the fire, like flaming sharks.
Two.
Most sensation was muted in the Wall: sound, feeling, even the sense of time. But something else was there, too: a familiar thread of sound at the edge of hearing, music vibrating through his bones. Clay’s heart sped up, even though he knew what to expect. He kept his gaze forward and took another stride.
His boot swung in slow motion, as if the Wall resisted, but he persevered. To his knowledge, no one who had changed direction had ever come out the other side. It was strong incentive to stay focused. The slow swing of his foot reminded him of another walk, however, a decade before, with the sun beating down on his bare head. He jerked his thoughts away from that memo
ry.
Three.
He wondered how Bern was doing. Probably better than most. She was green, but she had spirit. She’d charged the tree thing without hesitation. And gotten on Barrel even though every inch of her body had been taut with misgivings. Naive but spirited.
He hoped the Wall was the worst thing she would face this trip.
Four.
His thoughts hadn’t been able to stay away. He caught a flash of Sarah’s smiling face and then more painful images. The smell of burnt flesh. The agony as he staggered away from the ashes and into the desert, grief tearing his mind apart. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would block the memory from his soul.
He had to find Karen. He couldn’t…
Five.
…bear it again.
Light and sound and touch rushed back again, painfully intense. The stink of muddy earth and rotted leaves. Rough leather against his palm, scratching. The wet suck of mud around his boot.
Clay stumbled. The reins in his hand jerked as Barrel balked. Clay slipped, knees squelching down into coolness.
He knelt in a wide stretch of mud, dappled by the Wall’s light. Above, faint stars burned. Something creaked, like a wooden bridge under great weight, and a shadow loomed to his left. An enormous shadow, almost as high as the Wall, maybe fifty feet away. Bark and limbs creaked as the thing dragged a massive root up from the soil and set it back down. Clay could feel the shudder of its weight even through the mud.
Dread pushed down on him. The thing from the stable had a big brother. A very big brother. It looked like it had been circling the city, churning a twenty-foot-wide strip of mud, which sucked at Clay’s legs.
He tried to stand.
Something heavy hit him from the side, jolting him through the coat. He was thrown forward on his palms. Jonathan’s mare bolted past, spray stinging Clay’s face. Something splashed. He turned to see Jonathan lying on his back in the mud.
For a second, despite the circumstances, Clay smiled. The young swordsman had been asking for it.
Frightened by the creature and wanting to bolt with the mare, Barrel bucked and twisted. The mud-slick reins slid a couple of inches in Clay’s fingers before he tightened his grip, and he was dragged sideways in the muck.
If he lost Barrel, as well as the mare, their hope of outrunning the tree thing would disappear. They’d have to run for the Wall. And Karen would stay lost.
No. Clay tightened his grip.
The ground shuddered again. The tree was close. Its trunk was as wide as Barrel, with thick roots that heaved under it like tentacles and great branches that tossed aside the trunk of a lesser maple with brutal disregard. Knots in the bark opened, revealing flaming eyes, as if an unholy fire burned in its trunk. Its roots carried it a long step closer.
Leather creaked. Clay looked up to see Jonathan on top of Barrel. The bodyguard’s sword shimmered in the half light, blue stone in its pommel blazing. The bodyguard stared down at Clay, blade bared.
Clay was suddenly conscious of his position, one of his hands wrapped with Barrel’s reins, the other wrist deep in mud, his weight on it. Fear spiked in him. If Jonathan wanted to kill Clay, there would be no better time.
A muscle twitched in the bodyguard’s cheek.
Bern’s axe blade gently touched the bodyguard’s thigh, just over the artery. “Easy now. Come on, Clay, get up here.”
Relief washed through Clay. He staggered up.
Jonathan sheathed his sword, face flat as if nothing had happened. “Hurry.”
Clay threw himself up behind Bern. It was tight. He let his hand drop to his hip. The pistol was still there, and it should have formed three new icicles by that point. Clay made a few quick calculations—after the last shot, the chemicals needed a few seconds to solidify, and after twenty-one shots, the cartridge needed to be replaced with one of the extras on his belt. He had no intention of going down without a fight, no matter how big the enemy.
Barrel jumped forward. Carrying three riders was a huge task for any horse, and even he couldn’t maintain that weight for long, but Barrel was as motivated as any of them. The tree thing swept after them, roots churning around its base.
After a couple of scrambling steps, Barrel reached the tree line. He hopped up and through it, damp branches slapping Clay as they broke through.
Behind them, wood splintered as the tree creature smashed through the net of trunks and branches. It moaned.
Barrel drove forward, driving them deeper into dappled shadow.
Behind them, the sound of the monster faded. Strong as the creature might be, it couldn’t move as quickly in the heavy trees.
But Barrel didn’t slow. He continued to pound through the darkness. Clay tried to stay on, his legs clamped over Barrel’s hipbones and his arms around Bern, tight as she’d held him. Barrel was beyond reason, his sides heaving as he flashed through gaps barely big enough to fit them. Branches jerked at Clay’s coat, and when Barrel launched himself over a fallen trunk, Bern would have fallen off if Clay hadn’t hauled her back.
“Slow down!” he shouted at Jonathan.
The blond bodyguard sawed at Barrel’s reins, leaning hard into it. It took a while, but Barrel finally slowed. He stood with his head hanging, flanks heaving and wisps of steam rising from his skin. The moon was bright through a break in the trees, but the crimson glow of the Wall wasn’t visible. The forest was silent.
“What was that?” Bern asked finally.
“We’re almost there,” Jonathan said, not looking back. “To the clearing. We need to keep moving. It might not be too late.”
A wavering note rose into the air. It sounded like a wolf. A gigantic, hungry wolf.
Unease slid down Clay’s spine. “What the hell was that?”
Jonathan clapped his heels, and Barrel lurched forward again. Clay did his best to hold on, glancing back.
Behind them, something dark and sleek swept through the shrubs and shadows. More than one thing. The first shape was joined by another, then another. For a moment, moonlight caught one of them leaping over a log. The light glinted off sharp red eyes, powerful muscles sliding under inky fur, and a muzzle filled with long white teeth.
It looked like a hound. Swollen in size and closing the gap on the horse quickly.
“We need somewhere to fight!” Clay shouted. If they didn’t get off the horse soon, the huge dogs were going to harry Barrel from the sides, pushing him until he foundered or crashed into something. And Clay wasn’t going to be able to shoot while hanging on for dear life. They needed to make a stand.
Jonathan didn’t answer. He clapped his boots into Barrel’s side, spurring the horse to go faster.
“What—” Clay’s words cut off as Barrel lifted into the air, crashing through a screen of leaves and branches. Then the trees were suddenly gone. They were in an empty clearing, dark rock about twenty feet before them, the sky bare above them, the moon dagger silver, and the clouds tinted red.
A shape bounded toward them from the center of the clearing. A hound had been waiting in ambush. It launched into the air, directly at them.
Barrel tried to turn, but he was moving too fast. His body twisted, and Clay lost contact with the horse’s back, flying into the air.
The world spun around him and then came crashing back. He slammed down, dark ash shooting up all around him. Pain flared in his shoulder. He tumbled and came to a stop. Ash filled his mouth, his teeth, his lashes.
He struggled up. His hand slapped an empty holster.
Bern. Barrel.
He rubbed his eyes, blinking furiously. Tears washed away the grit.
He saw a dark shape on the ground to his right. Barrel kicked and struggled to his feet. Thank God his legs seemed sound, although a line of blood marked his neck.
Where was the hound?
Clay searched the ash around him and noticed a smudge of disturbed ash and a glint of red. He snatched the pistol.
To his left, a shadow moved. Bern, a long glint of m
etal in her hands. Beyond her, a larger shape, rumbling a growl. The hound.
Its skin was black and rough as coal, its powerful frame packed with muscle. It looked like a Doberman. Its head was nearly as high as Barrel’s withers. Its red tongue rolled in and out of black lips as it glared at Bern, unblinking.
Clay took a step.
The hound leaped forward.
Bern spun sideways, axe sweeping in a gleaming half-circle. A red gash opened along the hound’s shoulder.
The hound twisted as Bern ducked sideways, teeth snapping an inch from her cheek. She rolled away, coming up to her feet again.
The hound spun.
Clay pulled the trigger. But the beast was dropping its head, so the icicle aimed at its eye opened another red line along its temple instead. It howled and spun to face Clay.
Bern dashed forward. She hopped onto its back, legs clamping around it. Her axes flashed up and then down, then again. Blood sprayed.
The hound collapsed, its head plowing into ash. Its body rolled to one side.
Bern pulled her legs out. The front of her shirt was red with its blood. Her blades had cut through almost to the hound’s spine.
She rose slowly.
Clay turned, pistol ready to face the other hounds, but there was only stillness.
His boot sank almost an inch into ash. Fire had made the clearing, the grass and soil burnt into black ash. Behind them, encircling half of the clearing, was a tall cliff face, too steep to climb, with an opening near its center, framed by split and blackened beams. Not far away was a handful of fire-ravaged buildings, their wood and stone frames charred and broken. This place might once have been a mining outpost, before it was gutted by fire.
The remaining three hounds stood at the forest’s edge, watching.
“Why aren’t they moving?” Bern moved beside Clay, axes in hand. Her voice was quiet, but Clay could see the tendons stand out from her wrists. “They chased us all this way,” she said. “Why not attack?”
“They’re waiting,” Jonathan answered, from behind them. He had climbed up on Barrel. His face was grim.
