“You blame the fox for running ahead of the hounds,” Sallah said. The light from the silver flames of her sword flickered across her implacable face.
“The hunt is over now,” the vampire said. “We’re leaving. If you follow us, the girl dies.”
Burch’s crossbow twanged as Tan Du finished his sentence. The bolt shot straight for the vampire’s heart, but it ricocheted off the creature’s chest.
Tan Du knocked against his sternum with his knuckles, eliciting the same tinny response as the bolt. The armor plating he wore had held, but he knew that the shifter wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. “That was your last chance,” he said to the people below. “Leave us alone, or I’ll wear that sweet little girl’s heart on a necklace.”
Before Kandler could respond, the vampire faded to mist and floated away.
Chapter
16
The lights in Mardakine’s town hall blazed over the people assembled there. To one side of the long wooden table in the center of the large, open room stood Kandler, Burch, Pradak, and Rislinto. Deothen and the other knights faced off against them from the other side. The senior knight’s white staff lay between them, its magical silver flame lending an unreal air to the scene.
Outside, Kandler could hear others dashing through the town, lending aid to the wounded and preparing the dead for burning. At the moment, he was more concerned with the living. He glanced at Pradak and saw the grief chiseled on the young man’s face.
Kandler hadn’t wanted to come back to the town. He was all for scouring the crater for tracks and heading out after the vampires right away. Burch was the best tracker in town, though, and he’d pointed out that following a flying vampire through the dark would be impossible even for him.
The justicar needed help, and he knew it. Even if he could catch up with the vampires, he still had to get Esprë from them, and that would probably mean a fight. Since he didn’t know how many they had on their side, he was ready to ask for all the help he could get.
“Your troubles are not ours,” Deothen said as he leaned over the table, his gauntlets scratching the finish as he did. “I am sorry for both you and your daughter, but we cannot compromise our mission.”
“You’re responsible for this,” Kandler said, struggling to master his temper. “Look at us! Half the town slain and most of the place in ruins.”
Deothen grimaced. “Surely you can’t lay the blame for that at our feet. You cannot hold us responsible for the actions of those who would impede our efforts.”
“You’re damned right I do. You brought this little war of yours to our doorstep. It followed in your wake. It’s your duty to make it right.” Kandler hoped that the knights would accede to his reasoning, but he knew it wouldn’t be easy.
Deothen started to respond and then stopped. He sighed and grimaced. “I understand how you feel.”
“No, you don’t,” Kandler said, his temper rising. “How many children did you lose today?”
“Today?” Deothen snarled. “We risked the lives of every one of my knights to lend your people a hand.”
“To defend us against a threat you dropped on our doorstep.”
The senior knight threw up a hand. “I’m not finished.” Deothen waited for Kandler to acknowledge his right to speak before he continued. “In the Last War, I lost many a knight—including two of my own sons. I do sympathize with you.”
The thought of Deothen as a father put Kandler a step back, but he wasn’t ready to give in yet. “Those were grown men who rode off with you to battle. I’m talking about an innocent girl.”
“My sons sold their lives for the sake of such innocents! I put my life on the line for such innocents every day! How dare you question—”
“Hold!” Rislinto slammed his fist into the center of the table. Everyone in the room—Kandler, Burch, the knights, and Pradak—jumped. “Arguing like this doesn’t get us anywhere.”
“Agreed,” said Kandler, “and with every word those bloodsucking ticks get farther away with my daughter.”
“There’s no following them tonight,” Sallah said. She kept her tone even and reasonable. “None of us can see in the dark like they can. They’d tear us apart.”
“Your swords are torches,” Burch said.
Sallah nodded at the shifter. “True enough, but they can be as much a curse as a blessing. If we were to ride out into the darkness with those, every creature within miles would be drawn to us like moths.”
“Then we leave at first light,” Kandler said. “There’s not a better tracker than Burch within a hundred leagues.”
“And what would you do?” Deothen asked. “Charge off to certain death? Fight how many vampires? They might even have a platoon of those Karrn zombies in reserve.”
“Can you seriously tell me they held back last night?” said Kandler. He shook his finger at Deothen. That wasn’t an argument he cared to have. “Don’t answer that. I don’t care. I don’t care if there are a thousand vampires out there waiting for me. I’m going after my daughter.”
“My son,” Deothen said with the gravity of a man who’d seen too much death in his life, “think clearly. Your people need you here. Don’t throw away your life.”
Kandler screwed up his face. “This girl is the only family I have left in the world. I’ll be damned if I let her be taken from me.”
Deothen flushed with anger, but he mastered it. “Kandler, listen to me. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you must. I’ll tell you what your heart knows as true.”
Kandler stepped back from the table’s edge. “What’s that?”
“Your daughter is surely dead.”
Kandler had been about to rage back at the knight, but he stopped cold. “First, don’t call me ‘son’.” He stabbed a finger at Deothen to punctuate each word. “Second, you can rot in Khyber you ice-hearted bastard.”
Burch reached over and clapped Kandler on the back. “I’m with you, boss,” he said, “either way.”
Kandler stopped flat and turned on Burch. “What are you saying? That’s Esprë’s dead?” He heard his voice rising as he spoke, but he couldn’t seem to bring it under control.
Burch shook his head. “No. She’s alive.”
Kandler narrowed his eyes. “Why are you so sure?”
“If they’d wanted to kill her, she’d’ve been dead before they left. They went to a lot of trouble to get her out alive, then hang back to warn us not to follow. Why? I got no idea. But she’s alive.”
“What if they killed her after they left town?”
Burch shrugged. “Why take her at all then?”
“But what if they did?”
“Either way, we hunt them down and kill them. Rescue or revenge.”
Kandler smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Burch, my friend, I like the way you think.”
“Still, we should wait for dawn,” Burch said.
“Every second Esprë is out there, her life is in danger.” Kandler could feel himself getting heated up again.
Burch raised his claw-tipped hands to placate the justicar. “We go out there in the dark, we die, and we’re no good to Esprë dead. Vampires have to rest during the day.” Burch made a stabbing motion with his finger. “Find them then and pop them in the heart.”
Kandler sighed. He lowered his head and buried his face in his hands. He hadn’t wept since Esprina had died, but he was sorely tempted now.
The justicar had been holding something back since the knights had arrived. From the very moment they mentioned the Mark of Death, he’d had his suspicions, and it had finally come time to voice them. They almost sounded insane, even to him, as they danced in his head, but he needed help now, so it was time.
Kandler raised his head and looked Deothen in the eyes, then he scanned the faces of the others—Sallah, Gweir, Brendis, and Levritt. Each of them met his gaze with grim determination, even young Levritt. The justicar knew they wouldn’t follow him any other way. Only the truth—the full truth
—would do.
“She has the mark,” Kandler said. He meant to say the words clear and strong, but they came out barely a whisper.
Deothen leaned across the table and stared deep into Kandler’s eyes. “What mark?” the knight said with terrible calmness. “Who?”
Kandler glanced over at Burch. The shifter’s yellow eyes stared back at him wider than ever. The justicar hadn’t shared his suspicions with anyone, not even his best friend. The thoughts had been too horrible to contemplate, but now it was time to drag them out into the light for all to see.
“The Mark of Death,” Kandler said. As he spoke, he heard Rislinto gasp. Everyone else was dead silent, even Pradak, who had stopped weeping. “I think Esprë has it.”
“It’s a lie,” Sallah said softly as she stared at Kandler. “It can’t be.”
Deothen shook his head. “I can see how a father might try such a desperate ploy, but we can pierce such attempts with the help of the Silver Flame.”
Kandler smiled mirthlessly. “Be my guest,” he said.
Deothen hefted his staff from the center of the table and passed his hand through the flame three times as he bowed his head and muttered a prayer to the Silver Flame. “May the tongue of the Silver Flame burn bright enough to put the lie to those whose tongues speak falsely,” he said. As he did, the light from the staff ran down his hand and up his arm until it encompassed his head. When Deothen looked back up at Kandler, the Silver Flame burned in his eyes.
“So,” Deothen said in the tone as serious as a dying man making his final request, “what makes you think your daughter bears the Mark of Death?”
“I’ve seen it,” Kandler said. He ran a hand over his face before he continued. “I don’t even think she knows she has it. It’s very small. On her back. I saw it one morning when she came out of her room for breakfast.”
Burch nodded, realization dawning on his face. As he spoke, his smile revealed his pointed teeth. “That was when you made her give up her favorite shirts for those fuller ones.”
Pradak piped up at that. “We—I mean, me and the other boys… well…” He blushed as he spoke. “We figured it was because she was hitting… um, womanhood. We thought you were just being overprotective of her.”
Rislinto smiled. “My wife was thrilled about that. You bought a whole week’s worth of clothing from her that day.”
Deothen looked at the other knights. “They speak the truth,” he said in a hushed tone, then he turned back to Kandler. “How do you know this is the Mark of Death?”
“I don’t. Not for sure. I hoped it wasn’t, but after what you said…” Kandler ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know much about Esprë’s heritage. Her mother didn’t talk about it, and I never met her father.”
• “She is a full-blooded elf?” Deothen asked.
Kandler shrugged. “As far as I know. She doesn’t seem to have a drop of human blood in her. From what I know about dragon marks, elves these days only ever manifest one kind.”
“The Mark of Shadow,” Deothen said. “The bloodline of the Mark of Death died out centuries ago.”
Kandler’s spine filled with ice. He turned away from the table and walked over to a black-cloaked pile of ash near the door, a mound of dust that had once been a vampire. “What was the name of the house that once held the mark?”
Deothen hesitated for a moment before he spoke. “The House of Vol,” he said. “They were said to experiment with the abomination of breeding elves and dragons together for the purposes of furthering their power. The other elves and the dragons banded together to destroy them all long ago.”
Kandler reached down and picked up the black cloak at his feet. Holding it at arm’s length, he shook the dust from it. When it was done, he turned the cloak about to expose the crimson insignia embroidered on its left breast.
“This is the symbol of the Blood of Vol,” Kandler said, “a religion devoted to blood and death.” He looked straight into Deothen’s silver-flamed eyes now. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
The senior knight nodded gravely. “The bearer of the Mark of Death can only be a direct descendant of the House of Vol. There were always rumors of at least one survivor, and the followers of the Blood of Vol always pursue them vigorously. But no one in Flamekeep believed them… until the prophecy that brought us here.”
Kandler shook his head. “I can’t swear that Esprë doesn’t have the Mark of Shadow. I’m a fighter, not a scholar. I couldn’t tell one mark from the other, I’m sure. It seems the bloodsuckers who followed you here are confident she bears the Mark of Death, though. Can you bet on them being wrong?”
The light flickering in Deothen’s eyes faded and went out. “No,” he said. “The light of the Silver Flame brought us here, but I was too blind to see it.”
Chapter
17
The overcast sky above the house was barely a shade lighter than the pitch black of night, but Kandler had charitably decided to call it dawn. The others—Burch and the five knights—hadn’t disagreed, so they all found themselves standing in Kandler’s yard, their horses each packed and ready for a long, tortuous trip. The knights were dressed in their full, gleaming suits of armor and their crimson tabards, their swords and shields buckled in various places, ready to be put to use at an instant’s notice. Kandler and Burch wore less armor than the knights, but they moved more surely for it—a compromise between protection and speed Kandler was always willing to make.
“What do you say, Burch?” Kandler stood over the shifter as Burch examined the ground.
Kandler could barely see even his own footprints on the ground, but the shifter sauntered around the place as if the noontime sun had burned through the clouds and exposed the secrets on every inch of ground.
“They came this way,” the shifter said. He knelt down and ran his hand over the thin, gray, weedy grass that made up Kandler’s lawn. “Two people—both in boots—and a big dog.”
“Vampires often take the form of wolves,” Deothen as he climbed astride his white stallion. Each of the knights followed his example.
“Fits,” Burch said.
“The one we saw turned to mist,” Kandler said. “I hear they can fly as bats too.”
“All true,” Deothen said.
“Then there’s no way to tell how many of them there are,” Levritt said.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Kandler. “We’ll kill them all.”
The shifter followed the tracks for a while on foot, his russet-coated mount—a shorter, shaggy-coated horse known as a lupallo—close on his heels. The others trailed after him in single file—first Kandler, then Deothen, Sallah, Levritt, Brendis, and Gweir, each of the knights on their snow-colored horses.
After a short while, Burch raised his hand to call a halt. The others spread out behind him as he studied the ground before him. “A horse waited here. The two pairs of boots lead right to it. The wolf and the horse went off that way.” He pointed eastward.
“Were the two people Esprë and the changeling?” Kandler asked.
Burch rubbed his chin. “Maybe the changeling, but the other one wasn’t Esprë. Both sets of footprints are too big for her. The changeling was hurt bad too, but better now.”
“How could you know that?” Gweir asked.
Burch reach down and picked up a small, metal vial. He raised it to his nose and sniffed. He wrinkled his nose and then tossed the vial to Deothen, who plucked it out of the air. “Healing potion,” Burch said. “Powerful stuff.”
“It might have been the vampire,” Levritt said.
“Healing magics harm the undead, my son,” said Deothen. “That would have been like poison to one of their ilk.”
“The horse’s trail is clear as a road,” Burch said. “Let’s ride.”
The shifter mounted his lupallo and spurred it to a trot, heading to the northeast. The others fell into line behind the squat, powerful steed.
The hunters rode without speaking, the rhythm of
the horses’ hooves the only sound they made. Soon, the edge of the crater reared up before them. Burch picked out an aggressive switchback path that worked its way up the curve of the crater wall, winding its way through the scrub. As the riders rose along the ever-steeper wall, they grew closer and closer to the swirling gray mists that obscured the crater’s edge. The air grew close and oppressive.
“Is it always like this?” Brendis asked.
“Ever since the Day of Mourning,” Kandler said, relieved to have something to think about other than Esprë. “This wall of fog rolled out to the edges of what was once Cyre, and no one’s seen a ray of sunshine in the Mournland since, even four years on.”
“I thought we were already in the Mournland,” said Sallah.
Deothen chuckled at that but allowed Kandler to explain.
“Mardakine is on the edge of the Mournland. We’re low enough that the mists rarely reach the crater floor, and we’re close enough to the border that we sometimes see the sun. If the wind blows in the right direction, we can get full days during which you’d think we were in Breland’s green and fertile fields.”
“They say little can live in the Mournland,” said Sallah. “You have a solid people here, but I wondered how even they could manage in such a place.”
“That’s life on the edge,” Kandler said. “If it wasn’t for the crater being right where it is, I don’t think we could make it this close to this place.”
“Then why are you here?” asked Deothen. “This seems an inhospitable place for a town.”
“Everyone in Mardakine except for Burch and me hailed from Cyre—even Temmah. After the Day of Mourning, the people had nowhere else to go.”
“Other refugees fled the place,” Deothen said. “Your people could have joined the others in New Cyre or Sham.”
“That’s deep in Breland, not Gyre.”
“But your King Boranel granted them the land for New Cyre, and the town is run by none other than Prince Oargev. How much more Cyran could it be?”
[Lost Mark 01] - Marked for Death Page 10
