by Odom, Mel
She turned and found the druid behind her. Blood covered his face, and more ran down his arm, which dangled at his side and looked barely strong enough to hold his sword.
“Come on,” the druid said again. “Fall back to the second position with the others.”
Druz followed him. She stumbled wearily up the incline leading down to the docks, following Haarn as they leaned on each other.
At least they were still faster than the zombies, but that blessing would be short-lived if the way her legs felt was any indication. The zombies never fatigued, and they never got weak from blood loss or hunger.
She glanced around at the warriors and druids retreating from the harbor. All of them wore horror-filled faces and bore wounds. The knowledge that the dead would rise up again at Borran Klosk’s hand chilled her to the bone.
She gazed at Haarn, watching the scratches heal on his face under the layer of blood. His wounded shoulder knitted itself, rebinding muscle and tissue until only pink skin remained.
Haarn shook his head and spoke in a voice that sounded stronger than the hoarse one he’d addressed her with earlier.
“It’s not my doing.” He looked around at the crowd of warriors and druids running with them. “It’s a druid. A mass healing.”
The warriors and druids retreated into the alleys fronting Dockside, the street that ran roughly parallel to the harbor. The zombies came after them, and when they did, crews posted on the rooftops on either side of the alleys poured oil over them.
“Fire!” a watch officer yelled.
Flaming arrows sped from archers’ bows and lit the oil. The twisting flames sucked at what flesh the zombies had left to them, drawing the cartilage tight as the moisture burned from their bodies.
Still, more zombies came on. There was no doubt that the second line of defense wouldn’t hold either.
“Over there!” Haarn shouted, pushing Druz to the left as they cleared the alley.
Druz stared through the running figures and spotted Ettrian. The elf was retreating with a group of other men, helping load wounded onto wagons that had been commandeered to evacuate warriors too wounded to fend for themselves. The wagons were nearly full and still they kept piling wounded on while the horses stamped nervously.
“Father!” Haarn yelled, urging Druz to greater speed.
Ettrian looked up at his son. The elf was covered in blood and gore, and the left side of his face held blistered burns.
“You’re still alive,” the elf said. “Thank Silvanus, but I’d almost given up hope for you.”
“And I you,” Haarn said, hugging his father.
Ettrian shook his head. “We’re not going to be able to hold the city. The Elder Circle has decided, along with the Alaghôn Watch, to abandon this place.”
“What of Borran Klosk?” Haarn asked.
“No one has seen him since the ships crashed into the harbor.”
Haarn’s face hardened. “Borran Klosk wasn’t destroyed.”
“No one thinks that,” Ettrian agreed, “but we can’t fight him here.”
“There’s more to it,” Haarn said.
Druz knew he was right. “Borran Klosk wouldn’t have just disappeared during this fight,” she said. “He has another agenda. Otherwise he’d be visible here, leading his damned zombies.”
“What about the skeleton with the jewel?” Haarn asked.
“It’s never been seen.”
Haarn looked up, scenting the air like an animal. The wind swooping in off the harbor ruffled his hair, making it look feathery.
“I can track the skeleton. I have its scent.” He glanced back at his father and added, “It will go to Borran Klosk. If I can follow it, I can find him.”
Ettrian hesitated. “Haarn, I shifted earlier to avoid an attack. I can’t shift again. Not this soon.”
“Then I’ll find a way to guide you there,” Haarn promised. His form compressed and shifted, becoming that of an owl in the blink of an eye. The predatory bird beat his wings and flew into the sky, climbing over the rooftops and heading south.
“Ettrian!” Druz shouted over the confusion of the wounded and those trying to help them onto the wagons. “You can’t let Haarn go alone. It’s too dangerous.”
The elf’s face grew stern and he said, “He’s my son, woman, and I won’t suffer him to be lost without a fight.”
He turned and called out names. Three nearby druids shifted into avian shapes—another owl, a hawk, and a falcon—and flung themselves into the sky. All of them winged after Haarn, who was already growing small in the dark sky, gone before Druz had time to realize it.
“One of them will come back,” Ettrian said when he finished ordering another contingent of men to come to him. “If there’s something that can be done then, we’ll do it.”
“If?” Druz screamed. “Damn it! There’s no if! Haarn is already out there looking for Borran Klosk!”
“We have to marshal our forces, woman!” Ettrian shouted back. “This is no longer just a battle; this is a war, and a war needs careful—”
Broadfoot’s growl broke Druz’s attention, drawing her eyes to the bear loping through the crowd. She didn’t bother to stay and hear the rest of Ettrian’s speech.
She knew the elf was right, but after everything she’d been through with Haarn, and with the feelings he had so unknowingly stirred within her, she knew that her place—if she could find a way—was with him.
Druz went racing through the crowd in the bear’s wake. Broadfoot had a connection to Haarn and they always seemed to know where the other was. She hoped it was still true. Pushing herself, she drew even with the bear as people scattered before them, then she knotted a fist in Broadfoot’s pelt, leaped, and pulled herself aboard the animal.
Broadfoot growled and turned back to face her.
Druz thought the bear was going to try to bite her face off, but Broadfoot turned and continued forward, moving into a run when the street cleared ahead.
Druz leaned over the bear, holding on tight, locking her legs around his barrel chest. His fur scraped her skin and the wind pushed into her face.
Glancing up, she thought she got a glimpse of the owl that was Haarn, but it was gone so quickly she couldn’t be sure. She clung to the bear, feeling the huge muscles bunch beneath her.
Please, Tymora, she prayed silently. Please let me arrive in time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Haarn flapped his owl wings and stayed in a low glide above the tops of the buildings lining Alaghôn’s southern section. The scent of the skeleton kept fading in and out, and he had to fly above some areas three times to pick up the trail again. His sense of smell wasn’t as keen in owl form, but better vision offset that loss. The city spread out below him came through in sharp focus and he could see through most shadows.
The fire was still spreading along the harbor, and as Haarn glided across the rooftops he saw one of the warehouses collapse in on itself and smash to the ground. It was so far away and there was so much noise from the battle that it didn’t seem to make a sound. Flames roiled up from the tumbling mass, chased by fiery embers that climbed into the sky like a meteor shower in reverse.
Farther out in the harbor, a fishing boat burned down to the waterline, the masts wreathed with fire and still stabbing into the dark, smoke-filled sky. The black sea sloshed over the boat’s side and the harbor drank it down. The last things that disappeared were the flaming masts, looking like burning tapers until the water finally extinguished them.
The skeleton’s scent drew Haarn’s attention again. He stared down, gauging the wind, surprised to find that he could sort out the scent at all with the amount of smoke in the air. He banked in the air, dropping lower over the rooftops.
Motion caught Haarn’s eye. Flying closer, below the level of the rooftops, Haarn saw a one-armed skeleton with a block of wood tied in place of a missing foot.
Light from the burning harbor reached the jewel the skeleton carried in its hand. The gem glowe
d red like fresh-spilled blood.
Hypnotized by his find, aware of the skeleton’s odor deep in his nostrils, Haarn flew closer. He held his wings steady, knowing his approach was soundless as long as he didn’t flap.
Something warned the skeleton, though, some inexplicable primitive instinct reserved for those who hunted and yet were hunted. The foul creature turned, keeping the jewel wrapped tightly against its broken rib cage. It lunged with its jaws. The gruesome mouth slammed shut less than an inch from Haarn’s face.
Unable to stop, Haarn flapped his wings to gain speed and altitude. The cityscape, filled with unaccustomed hazards, threw him off. He crashed against a window with bruising force. Grateful that he hadn’t broken a wing, he just managed to keep himself from smashing into the ground. Flapping again, Haarn drove himself up. As he came around, he spotted three other birds in the air. He girded himself for battle.
“Haarn,” the falcon called. “Ettrian sent us to help you find Borran Klosk.”
“The creature we seek is down there,” Haarn said.
He banked again, turning all the way over this time, then swooped back toward the skeleton, marked by the jewel’s distinctive red glow. He bore down on the creature, ready to shift back to his normal form and fight.
A ruby ray shot from the jewel.
Haarn twisted and maintained the owl form. The hot ruby beam shot past him and struck the owl that had come with the falcon and the hawk.
When the ruby beam touched the owl, it exploded into a puff of feathers. Misshapen chunks of burned meat, neither owl nor man, hit the cobblestone street below.
Haarn led the other two birds away from the skeleton, planning to get a safe distance away and resume his form. He banked and came around, preparing to undo the spell. One of the other two birds became an elf female by the time she touched the cobblestones.
Thin and dark-haired, looking like little more than a waif, the elf gazed back at the skeleton and threw her hands out. Her voice rolled the words of a spell in a sharp, clear voice.
A pale green fire shimmered into being around the skeleton. The druid’s spell highlighted the skeleton, making it stand out from the shadows that filled the street, and prevented any possible attempt to hide and make its escape using the cover of night.
The skeleton stood for a moment as if confused.
Holding his owl shape for the time, Haarn flew toward the skeleton.
The creature’s head turned toward him, and the single hand remained like an eagle’s claw gripping the red jewel as it pulsed with unholy light.
Anticipating the strike but not knowing if he could dodge the magic, Haarn dropped a wingtip to the right and dropped and banked. Light strobed from the jewel, but it struck the corner of a building instead of him. Brick and mortar blasted loose in a deafening explosion. Haarn felt several small pieces batter his feathers and strike his body hard enough to bruise.
He banked again, reclaiming control of his headlong flight. Glancing back at the skeleton, he saw it holding up the jewel, either by way of taunting him or to use its terrible powers, Haarn wasn’t sure. He flapped his wings again, gaining altitude and skimming over a rooftop just as another beam flew from the jewel.
The beam smashed into the edge of the rooftop, blowing out a cloud of debris and smoke that took shape just behind Haarn. Counting on the amount of time it took for the jewel to ready itself for another blast, he flew over the edge of the building again and aimed himself at the skeleton.
The skeleton turned, bringing the jewel up in one hand.
As unflinching as an arrow driven from a bow, Haarn stayed on course. Silvanus willing, the jewel would not be ready to discharge again just long enough—
Haarn shifted, regaining his original form and weight, slamming into the skeleton feet first like a catapult load. He heard bone crack, saw the red jewel go spinning away, bouncing across the cobblestones, then he and the skeleton hit the street with blinding force.
Breath driven from him, aching all over, Haarn commanded himself to get up. Mud that had seeped between the cobblestones stained his face, tasted grainy inside his mouth, and salty. He’d split his lip when he hit the street. Raising his head, he searched for the skeleton.
The undead creature lay stretched out a few feet away. The red jewel, still pulsing with power, lay still farther away.
Haarn stood on trembling legs, his lungs burning, but the burn eased and his head cleared with every rapid breath.
The hawk dropped to the street, wings outspread and becoming human by the time he touched down. The druid was an older warrior, shaggy headed and bearded and human. He took a sickle from his side and advanced on the fallen skeleton.
“You’ve done your duty, lad,” the druid said. “Lay there and leave off for a time. I’ll finish the foul thing, then we’ll see about doing for Borran Klosk as well.”
Haarn gasped and stood on his weak knees. The druid maid remained on the other side of the street, a quarterstaff in her hands. A look of fear filled her face when she stared at the skeleton.
The human druid drew his hand back and swung the sickle. The keen blade rasped against the skeleton’s spine but didn’t quite cut through. Before the man could deliver another blow, the skeleton pulled one of its broken ribs free, rolled to its foot and wooden block, and brought the jagged bone in its fist around in a hard, tight arc that ended up under the druid’s chin.
Pained surprise showed on the druid’s face as he died with the bone shard driven deep up through his throat and curving into his brain.
“No!” Haarn shouted, moving toward the skeleton, but he knew he was too late to save the man.
The skeleton held the dead man at the end of its arm, then cast the corpse away and pulled another broken bone from its rib cage. It turned to face Haarn.
Haarn whipped his scimitar forward, slapping the skeleton’s hand away and kicking the foul thing in the side of the head. Bound by the narrow spinal column and whatever magic had brought it to life, the skull rocked precariously but didn’t snap off.
A new and eerie purple light filled the skeleton’s eye hollows, warring with the green fire the druid maid had ensorcelled him with. Its mouth opened, dropping broken teeth out, and it spoke in a dry, hoarse voice.
“Don’t fight. Run.”
At first, Haarn thought that it was talking to him, trying to scare him, then he realized that the voice was someone else’s. Someone else had entered the skeleton’s skull through a magical link, and the instructions were for the undead thing.
The skeleton turned and ran away from Haarn, streaking for the jewel lying a short distance away on the cobblestones.
Body protesting, pain screaming in every joint, Haarn pursued the skeleton, overtaking it in five long strides even as it reached down for the jewel.
Haarn smashed into the skeleton with his shoulder, knocking it from its foot and wooden block. Landing on the ground, it seemed to bounce then turned over and flailed at him with its fist. The cracked knucklebones skidded across Haarn’s face, opening cuts that stung like he’d brushed up against fireweed. Face aflame with pain, Haarn drew back his scimitar and brought it down, crushing the skeleton’s skull and extinguishing the purple light in its eye hollows.
Gasping for breath and wary, struggling for control, Haarn crossed to the jewel.
“Be careful,” the druid maid called from her position across the street.
Senses alive for the slightest danger, praying to Silvanus to guide his hands, Haarn dropped the scimitar and fell to his knees. Anxiety filling him, he cupped the jewel in his hands, finding to his surprise that it was cool to the touch for something that blazed so hot.
Concentrating on the task before him, he prayed to Silvanus and invoked a spell designed to seal the magic inside the jewel. With Silvanus’s blessing, his own meager magical seal would hold the jewel dormant until he was able to turn it over to Ashenford Torinbow or one of the other members of the Elder Circle. Perhaps there was even a wizard in Alaghô
n who could more properly deal with the device.
“Do you know what it is that you’re holding, boy?” a harsh voice demanded.
Haarn looked up, and his blood ran cold.
Borran Klosk stood on the other side of the street. Naked to the world except for a sash and pouch girding his bony hips, the mohrg held the young druid maid against him like a shield. One of the skeletal hands was cupped under the girl’s chin and the other pressed against the side of her head.
Four skeletons stood at Borran Klosk’s side, flanking him. One of them held a large ruby jewel that looked like the piece Haarn held, but was four times as large.
Holding the jewel in one hand, Haarn reached for his scimitar with the other.
“No,” Borran Klosk growled. He shook the young druid maid, making her yelp in pain.
“I’m sorry,” the young druid said. “I didn’t hear him. I should have been watching.”
Haarn stayed his hand, his mind wrapping around all the possibilities left open to him. They were precious few. If he’d been in a forest or even a marsh, he would have had more options. The city was dead to him. Nothing lived that he could touch and use, and nothing lent itself to him for cover.
Moving with slow precision, Haarn stood, not wanting to face the foul undead thing before him on his knees. How many druids had died at Borran Klosk’s hands this day alone? How many more would die if he surrendered the jewel?
Haarn said, “We’re at an impasse.”
“No,” the mohrg replied. He moved his hands again, making the girl cry out. “If you make the wrong decision, half-breed, she dies.” The creature set his teeth like he was grinning. “You hold her life, like that jewel, in your hands.”
Haarn said nothing. The four skeletons at Borran Klosk’s flank stepped forward. Matching them, giving no doubt as to what he would do, Haarn took a step back toward the only alley open to him. The alley led back to the harbor, but he was prepared to take his chances there.
“Wrong,” Haarn said, “you hold her life in your hands.” He raised the jewel in one hand. “While I am certain I hold the lives of several others in mine.”
