by Jeff Wheeler
Paedrin slashed and turned, spraying blood from another monster as he impaled it with the Sword. He was starting to tire. There was a constant rush of new beasts, each one hungrier to drink his blood than the one before it. He fought off his weariness, wondering how the others were doing but not daring to see. Yelps of pain came as fire engulfed some of the hounds in wave blooms of heat.
There was nothing but rage and determination inside Paedrin’s veins. He would not back down. He did not want Tyrus to summon them to flee. He was determined to slay every last creature that came at him.
Just as fast as the charge had started, the hounds suddenly turned and loped back off into the woods. He was sucking in air to feed his lungs as quickly as he could, becoming aware every moment of the shards of razor pain along his arms and legs. He did not sway one bit, but stood poised in a stance, solid and firm as a mountain. He could feel the others behind him, sensing them through his blind vision and quickly tallying their number.
Smoldering leaves licked with flames from the plumes of fire that had been summoned to stave off the attack. The corpses of the doglike monsters were thick around them, bleeding black blood into the ground.
Paedrin glanced movement to his left, in the direction the Vecses had fled.
There.
There was a man in the woods.
He had no face.
Annon remembered defending Neodesha’s tree from the Boeotian attackers. He had faced insurmountable odds at that time and had used the pain of Reeder’s death to summon courage. The fireblood sang in his veins as he used it to shatter the creatures trying to rip out his throat. Nizeera was a fury of claws and muzzle, shrieking with rage at the monsters attacking them and launching herself into their midst with reckless courage. One had managed to snag Annon’s boot in its jaws and tug him down, but fortunately the leather cuff had protected the Druidecht from the fangs. Another beast came at his head and Annon had to grab the animal by the throat and blast it apart with the fireblood. He kicked the other one loose from his ankle and rolled up to a kneeling position, launching fire two ways at once, sending streamers of flame into a massive arc to hold the others back. He felt the stirrings of giddiness inside him, warning him that he was drawing too deeply from the cup of magic.
Annon saw two of the beasts hit Nizeera at once, saw her fur glisten with blood as one snapped at her middle. He charged forward, screaming with fury himself, and launched himself on the upper hound, clutching its maw with his fingers and blasting it full in the face with flames. A heavy beast slammed into his shoulder, knocking him down, and he felt the fangs rip into his shoulder. He could not feel the pain through the flood of desperate emotions and rolled over and sent fire into the belly of the creature, causing it to explode in a plume of ash.
He saw Nizeera sink her teeth into one of the dog creature’s necks and slash viciously with her claws down the length of its hide. Sweat streaked down Annon’s face as the monsters suddenly yipped and began to escape back into the woods. He was so startled by the sudden change in action that he nearly stumbled as he turned around.
Baylen extracted one of his broadswords from the hide of one of the creatures, and Annon saw a literal harvest of dead around the bulky Cruithne. He didn’t even look winded. Hettie shot several arrows after the fleeing hounds, dropping each one she aimed at. A slash of blood trickled down from a wound on her forehead.
“There!” Paedrin shouted, drawing their attention.
Annon looked where his friend was pointing but saw nothing.
“What is it?” Tyrus asked.
“There was a man. Now he’s gone.”
“A man?” Kiranrao demanded.
“Yes, I swear it. He had . . . there was no face in the cowl.”
A shiver of dread went through Annon’s bones. He felt a whisper of wind against his cheek, his stomach aching with fear.
“I saw nothing,” Prince Aransetis said.
“It’s the Shade of Aunwynn,” Tyrus said, going pale. “He can’t be killed. He leads the packs. We had to run when we faced him.”
“There!” Khiara shouted, pointing in another direction.
Annon turned and caught a glimpse of a gaunt man in tattered clothes. There was a pale nothingness inside the cowl that turned Annon’s blood to ice. Then he was gone.
“The fireblood?” Annon asked.
“Doesn’t harm him,” Tyrus replied. “We must go. The hounds will try to keep us here. We must break through their line and flee.”
“No,” Kiranrao snapped. “You could not kill him because you lacked the weapon that could. I have it.”
“You don’t understand his powers,” Tyrus said. “When he breathes on you, your body will wither like dead leaves. Weapons do not hurt him.”
“This one will,” Kiranrao said, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust.
“There!” Phae shrieked.
They all saw him now. At the edge of the dead corpses stood the gaunt Shade. He was thin as a rail, a bony hand clutching the end of a barbed whip. The hounds began to bay again, their shrill sound grating through Annon’s heart. Even Nizeera sensed the awesome, ageless power emanating from the Shade and limped near Annon, her throat gurgling with terror.
“Come to me,” Kiranrao said, striding forward. Some of his clothes were torn and shredded from the melee with the beasts. “I will take him.”
“As you wish,” Paedrin said deprecatingly.
The Romani strode forward menacingly, not feinting or seeking to deceive. “Are you the lord of this land? I defy you, Shade.”
The gaunt man faced the Romani. His bony hand suddenly jerked and the whip sailed out, wrapping around Kiranrao’s throat.
“Terror is only justice: prompt, severe, and inflexible.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XVI
Phae’s heart raced with the suddenness of the Shade’s attack. She staggered backward, her bones cold from the presence of such a malevolent being. Kiranrao’s face twisted with pain, the barbs in the whip digging into his neck. He jerked at the cords fastened around his throat with one hand and brought up the dagger to sever the length, but the Shade of Aunwynn yanked on the handle and pulled Kiranrao off his feet with inhuman strength, sending him flying into an oak tree. Kiranrao blurred, his body becoming shadow just before the impact, and the cord went loose. The Romani emerged from behind the tree, face contorted with hatred. The blade gleamed in his hand.
Blood trickled from the barb wounds on Kiranrao’s neck, but he stalked forward.
Then the Shade was gone.
Kiranrao stopped, hesitating. He craned his neck to listen.
The whip lashed out again and the end snapped on open air as the Romani dove forward and rolled, avoiding it. He sprang up at once, and Phae saw the Shade had reappeared elsewhere, his bony frame and tattered cloak on the other side of the glen. The howling of the hounds picked up, their incessant baying making Phae cower with fear. Shion was near her, tracking the Shade with his eyes, keeping her just behind him.
Kiranrao launched himself at the Shade, his movement so fast she couldn’t follow. As his dagger plunged down, the Shade vanished again, only to rematerialize right next to Kiranrao. She watched in horror as a dripping maw opened up in the blank, sack-like face. It wasn’t a mouth. It was too stringy, like pulling through melted cheese. The void opened up where a mouth should be and a horde of black moths, tiny and quick like jiggering gnats, engulfed Kiranrao in a cloudy pestilence. There was a shriek of pain and the Romani staggered away, flapping his arms to ward off the cloud.
He stumbled backward, going down, and Phae saw with blooming sickness that his skin was shriveling like parchment just as her father predicted, the muscles of his arms desiccated and frail. The Romani tried to scramble, but his limbs were suddenly grotesquely thin.
“Khiara, save him,” Tyrus ordered. “
Shion, Baylen—help cover her.”
Khiara’s staff whirled and struck the Shade of Aunwynn from a distance, sounding like the clatter of wood against wood. She spun the end around and jammed it into his middle, trying to knock him away from Kiranrao so she could heal him. The cowl turned and faced her and then it vanished again.
“Tyrus,” Annon pleaded, “we cannot kill this creature!”
Khiara looked swiftly and then rushed to Kiranrao’s side, dropping low and placing her palm on his chest, her head bowed in determination. Her hand glowed orange and then bright, like a sudden glimpse of sunlight peeking through the clouds. Kiranrao’s mummified skin was restored again, flesh and muscle filling out. His eyes, though wild with pain a moment before, calmed as her powers swept through him.
Then the Shade was back, appearing nearby. The whip lashed out, wrapping around Khiara’s neck, and he yanked her toward himself. She was choking, her eyes wide with fear, and she dug her boots against the exposed roots of the oak trees, trying to find a foothold. But his strength overmatched hers easily, and he drew her inexorably closer. The maw opened again.
Shion rushed forward, faster than a snake, Baylen just behind him. Phae felt instantly exposed, her protector gone to save the Shaliah girl. She wanted to scream, but she also wanted him to save Khiara. Would the Shade’s magic affect him? Would he also fall to another immortal’s power?
Shion reached Khiara, grabbed the taut whip with one hand, not heeding the barbs, and slashed against it with his dagger. The whip severed and Khiara tumbled backward, still choking for breath.
The dripping maw opened again and the Shade flung one of his arms wide, belching out another cloud of moths that surged into Shion and swarmed him. Phae stared, unable to tear her eyes from him. Shion pulled himself closer, wrapping the whip around his hand and wrist, binding himself to the length, pulling at the immobile Shade. The gnats vanished and Phae gasped with relief when she saw that their disease had not altered Shion at all.
Aunwynn pulled back on the whip and jerked Shion off his feet like he was nothing more than a small bag of flour. Shion did not sail loose like Kiranrao had because he had wound the whip end around his wrist and forearm. Instead he crashed into the forest floor with jarring impact.
Shion rolled to his feet and hurtled his knife at the Shade’s body. It whistled sharply in the air and was deflected away harmlessly, clattering into the brush nearby.
The Shade heaved again on the whip and Shion flew up and over in a dizzying arc, landing with a bone-rattling fall onto the mess of roots and packed dirt.
“Go!” Shion said, wincing. Phae wasn’t sure if he was hurt or not. “I’ll catch up!”
The two were connected now. Phae realized that by holding on to the end of the whip, the Shade wasn’t able to disappear and reappear again. Maybe his magic would not allow him to bring someone else when he vanished. Without letting go of the whip himself, the Shade was fixed to that location.
From the radius of the woods, the hounds attacked again, rending the air with their shrill barks, coming to the aid of their master. Tyrus shouted in warning and Phae summoned the words to tame the fireblood in her mind. Shion had kept her safe during the last battle and she realized she was unprotected. The dogs had no eyes and so her Dryad powers were completely useless.
Her fingertips glowed blue and she saw the ravening pack charge into them again, collapsing on all sides, howling and shrieking.
“The Tay al-Ard!” someone shrieked.
Not without Shion! Phae wanted to scream back.
The woods were teeming with the pack. How many were there? Another hundred? More than that? She unleashed the magic in her blood and sent it blasting into the front ranks as they rushed her savagely, barking and snarling. The flames scythed through them, turning their coal-black hide into ash.
Her father stood by her side, his arms raised, his fingers like hooked talons as he sent wave after wave of flame into the midst of the attacking creatures. Phae glanced over and saw that Shion had found his feet again and struck at the Shade with his free hand. He kicked and punched. Nothing swayed Aunwynn. With colossal strength Shion was thrown down, each time harder and harder, as if he were an unripe walnut refusing to be split open. Phae grimaced at the look on Shion’s face. She saw not pain but determination.
And then she witnessed Kiranrao rising up behind the Shade, plunging the blade Iddawc into its back. A sound ripped through the forest—the squealing sound of metal rending wood. It was a haunting sound, a keening rip that made Phae cover her ears as her knees buckled. The Shade arched its back in agony, its jangled limbs contorting into odd angles. The maw on its face opened wide enough to fill the entire cowl and millions of black flecks jetted forth, spraying skyward and disintegrating.
In the end, Kiranrao was left gripping an empty, ragged cloak. Nothing else remained. He tossed the cloak aside.
The hounds turned and bolted, scattering like the moths, like windblown leaves, like the dew frost before a blazing sun.
Shion carefully lifted his head; he was covered in dirt and dried oak leaves. The whip was still lashed around his wrist and body. The handle rested nearby.
Kiranrao tossed the tattered cloak aside, his expression haughty.
“I could have killed it sooner, but I didn’t want to stab you by mistake,” the Romani said. He reached down and helped Shion rise. Slowly, her protector unwound himself from the deadly implement.
“I’m glad you didn’t miss,” Shion said sternly.
Kiranrao smirked. “I respect you, Kishion. You saved the Shaliah. We all need her to survive this place.” He gave her a look of intense interest and gracefully bowed to her. “I am in your debt, Khiara. I look forward with interest to repaying it in the future.”
Khiara’s own neck was lacerated by the barbs of the lash, trickles of blood she tried to stanch. “I gave it freely. There is no debt.”
Kiranrao shook his head. “A promise is a debt. I will repay.” Then he turned to Tyrus, his face full of mocking. “Is that the worst these Scourgelands can send at us?”
“No,” Tyrus said flatly. “We’ve only just begun.”
While Khiara tended to heal the others from injuries, Phae crept up on Shion and brushed some crushed leaves from his arm. “Are you hurt?” she asked him quietly.
He looked at her in surprise, then shook his head no.
She sighed with relief, and he seemed amused by her concern.
“The Shade was stronger than me, clearly. I had a wolf by the tail and dared not let go. He could not hurt me, nor I him. And while I would not die from it, the thought of being gnawed on for eternity by those hounds isn’t pleasant.”
He wandered over to the brush where his knife had landed and retrieved it, sheathing it back in the scabbard on his belt.
“If only you had Kiranrao’s blade,” she suggested. “That would have worked.”
Shion shook his head, revulsion replacing his calm expression. “I don’t want it. There is something malignant about that blade. Every time I am near it, I feel . . . whispers . . . in my heart.”
“You feel whispers? You don’t hear them?”
“No, that’s not it. It’s not voices in my head. They’re in my heart.” He tapped his chest with a finger. “They’re familiar to me.” He glanced around at the trees, a dazed look appearing in his eyes. “This place is familiar. I’ve been here before.”
She reached for his hand and then patted it, nodding without understanding. In a strange way, it was the same for her. The presence of ancient Dryads was all around her, making her feel tiny and insignificant. Yet at the same time, their magic was familiar to her, a need . . . a longing inside her chest. It was a strange emotion.
“Come,” Tyrus snapped. “We cannot stop for long. Other dangers will face us if we stay put.” He started off into the trees and the rest gathered to join him.
Shion shrugged and said nothing in reply. He took Phae by the arm and pulled her with him to join her father. The dead hounds were everywhere, marking the ground of the group’s first victory. But instead of feeling joyful, Phae was sickened by the carnage. Would the Vecses hounds return with their master destroyed?
They walked for an interminable distance, craning low at times to pass beneath the huge, swollen limbs of the trees. Phae had a sense when one was occupied by a Dryad and warned her father to steer away from it. She could almost feel them brushing against her mind, trying to coax her to communicate. She shut them away from her thoughts, not wanting to heed them.
Tyrus paused frequently along the way, studying the land as if memorizing a trail or trying to remember if he had passed that way before. Sometimes he looked troubled, as if the memories were too awful. A series of strange clicking noises began to echo through the trees, as if defiantly chastising them for entering the forbidden domain. Some of the party members conversed in hushed tones. They paused after several hours for a quick meal from their packs and a drink of musty water.
As they paused to rest and eat, a sound came from far away—the call of some wild, catlike animal. Tyrus stiffened immediately, tilting his head and listening closely.
“A Weir,” he said sullenly. “Not hunting. It’s alerting its kind to where it is.” He swore softly under his breath. “They are more vicious than the hounds.”
