by Shae Ford
The other monsters stumbled like drunkards as the darkness left their eyes. They blinked around them, their faces bent in shock. The shamans watched unblinkingly from the four corners of the courtyard. With all of the soldiers either dead or scattered, the battlefield seemed frozen in time.
Graymange stared the wolf monster down. His furry head tilted at the noise of its whines and his ears pricked tall. Then all at once, his chest swelled — and a sky-rending howl burst from his lungs.
It was so sharp and terrible a sound that Kael expected the battle to start all over again. But it didn’t. Instead, wolf monsters came pouring from every direction to cluster around him, adding their own voices to Graymange’s song. The dogs barked and leapt around the monsters, tails beating furiously against the air.
One by one, the shamans called out — and the monsters answered: the bears bellowed, the lions roared. Foxes yipped and sprung from the crowd, their bright red tails bristled with excitement. When the hawk shaman took to her wings, the screech she let out drew all of her birds in a swarm around her.
She took off towards the swamp — and as she went, crow and hawk monsters drifted from every corner of the sky to follow.
There were so many strange creatures gathered together that Kael could hardly take it in. But the strangest among them wasn’t a creature at all: it was a man. He lumbered out from between the keep’s shattered doors, his heavy steps thumping against the earth. Though his face was badly mangled with bruises and scars, it was difficult not to notice the upward tilt of his crooked mouth …
Or the gleam in his one good eye.
The wolf monsters howled again at the sight of the scarred man. They leapt around him and threw their great bodies against his ravaged chest. Deep growls split their twisted throats as he scratched their ears.
Graymange bared his teeth as he reached up in welcome. His hand hardly came to the small of the scarred man’s back. It was only when the wolf shaman turned to Kael that he realized all eyes had fallen upon his.
The hawk shaman was already gone, having winged off into the swamps with her strange flock in tow. Kael stared at the courtyard around him — empty, save for the shapechangers and the mass of gold-tinged bodies. The fact that all the darkness was gone from the monsters’ stares could’ve only meant that the curse was broken.
He saw no need to keep them in the fortress a moment longer. “Go,” he said, fighting against a smile. “Your debt is more than settled.”
Graymange touched his chest. “We will be forever grateful, Marked One.”
Though he’d done nothing to deserve it, the thunder of their thanks broke his smile free. He was grinning by the time the last fox slipped out the of the gates into the field beyond — and perhaps it was because he was so focused on their march that he didn’t notice the growing shadow above him until it’d already struck.
The wind screamed past his ears as he fell from the ramparts, but the warrior in him steeled its legs. He caught himself in a roll and flopped onto his back — just in time to bear the weight of a familiar iron grip.
“Kyleigh!”
She sat on top of him, eyes blazing beneath her scowl. Sweat covered her face and ran down her neck in molten lines. Her arms trembled as her hands scraped up his chest … and curled tightly around his throat.
Her grip shortened his breath. She was pushing down upon him, strangling him. “Kael,” she growled as her fingers tightened.
Red crossed her skin in a furious rush, and that was when he noticed the collar around her throat. Though the monsters’ collars had melted away, Kyleigh’s still burned brightly. She bared her teeth against its growing light; her fingers tightened again.
“Kael.”
He worked quickly, peeling the spell away and tearing the iron collar into two. Only once it’d fallen did she collapse upon his chest.
“Kael …” she breathed as her hands slipped away. “Blazes. For a moment there, I thought Ulric was actually going to make me kill you.”
He wrapped his arms around her middle and crushed her in against him, holding on as tightly as he could. Relief filled his limbs in a rush of cool, filled his heart to its brim. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t kill me.”
She laughed as she kissed him. “Me too. I hate to admit it, but I’ve grown rather fond of you.”
His reply was swept away, drowned out by a familiar, earth-trembling roar. Kyleigh twisted to glare at the monstrous black shadow that rose above Midlan’s onyx towers.
A flash of gold shone on Dorcha’s spiny back. His great neck twisted and with a heave, he managed to knock a tiny figure off his spines. She caught herself on the jagged ledge of a tower and held on with one hand as Dorcha tore past her — waving a golden axe at his tail with the other.
“Gwen,” Kael said, when he recognized her curses. “What’s she —?”
“They’re all here. Everybody. They stormed the western wall and broke Midlan to pieces. I’ve taken care of Crevan, but Ulric’s still alive. And he’s got a hold on Devin.” Kyleigh sprang to her feet and pulled Kael up beside her. “I’ll keep him busy —”
“No, I don’t want you anywhere near that monster. He’ll kill you!”
She grabbed him around the face, and her eyes blazed as she growled: “He’s not a monster. Devin is a decent creature, but he’ll be dangerous for as long as he’s cursed. That’s why I need you to go into the fortress. Find Ulric. Kill him. Put a stop to this madness. I’m depending on you, Kael,” she added at a whisper. “Please — trust me one more time. I promise I’ll fly safely.”
She took off before he had a second to protest, tearing into the skies with a roar and a burst of grit. Her body was little more than a white bolt as she shot past Dorcha. His mad, blackened eyes traced her flight — and his enormous body twisted to follow.
Kael knew there was only one way to stop him. So he drew Daybreak and charged into the keep, his mind set on what had to be done.
*******
“Are you sure we’re headed the right way?” Declan grunted as he squeezed through another narrow portal. His head thumped hard against a low jut of stone, but he hardly felt it: the pirates’ grog had numbed him to the point that he hardly felt anything.
“I do not know what the right way is. But I know we are going north. Keep up, giant,” Nadine said, reaching back to prod him with her spear. “And watch your great stone head.”
They were deep inside the tunnels of Midlan. Declan hadn’t even known that Midlan had tunnels. They’d slipped through the gates not long after the wildmen had busted them open, and planned to hide out inside one of the towers until the rest of the army went on.
But no sooner did Declan turn his back than one of the little mots found a passage hidden behind a stack of crates — and off they’d gone.
“Leave it to the wee sandbeaters to find the cracks in everything. You probably live under rocks and swim in puddles,” he grunted.
Nadine frowned at him from over her shoulder. The torch she carried brightened her eyes and brought a warm glow to her skin. It set such a fire in Declan’s chest that he had to smile to keep from roasting.
“You are a fool,” Nadine muttered — but not before she’d smiled back.
They lagged at the rear of the mots’ line. All of the little desert people flitted through the tunnels ahead: they’d pop in and out of chambers, torches spitting behind them — chattering to each other in their strange, musical tongue. Every once in a while, they’d give Nadine some sort of direction, and she’d turn them down a different path.
“How can they keep up with it, eh? How do they know where we’re headed?” Declan wondered. The way the grog had his head spinning, it was a struggle to keep track of his feet — let alone which paths they’d already taken. They might very well be going around in circles.
When he said as much, Nadine prodded him again. “Do not worry yourself over it, giant. This is a mot’s business.”
He was thinking of a retort when one of the mot
s called to Nadine. He spoke in a rush and, after a moment of listening, she sent the others after him with a wave of her spear.
“What is it?” Declan said as they peeled away.
“There is a strange voice coming from up ahead — a voice that says he is in trouble.”
She rushed off, and Declan thumped after her. “Well, just be careful about it. You never know what you’re going to find in these dark, twisty sorts of places.”
A few steps more, and he heard the voice for himself. It was coming from the other side of the wall, muffled by several inches of mortar and stone:
“Hello? Is someone there? Oh, you have to help me! The King’s got me locked away, and I can’t work the latch. Come quickly — ah, unless you’re one of those foul mages, in which case I’d rather just be left alone to rot.”
There was a thick wooden panel set inside one of the walls. The mots swarmed around it, running their fingers across its edges. They traced as high as their hands could reach, then they searched with their eyes.
“Ah, there!” one of them called.
There was a short coil of rope hanging from the ceiling. The mots had no hope of reaching it, but Declan could. He gave it a sharp tug, and the panel swung open with a thwap.
Nadine slapped him across the arm. “Shhh!”
“Well, how was I to know it’d open like that?” Declan grunted.
He had to duck to follow her through the doorway. They stood inside some sort of clutter room. There were bits of things scattered everywhere — so coated in dust that it made Declan’s eyes water just to look at it.
The mots spread out across the chamber, poking their spears through the mess. Though they called out, the voice didn’t answer them back.
“Stay close to me,” Nadine said, waving Declan forward.
He didn’t have to be told twice. Perhaps it was just the grog getting the better of him — but he swore as he watched her move around the dusty chamber that she’d never looked so … beautiful. The way she smiled, the way she fought — the way her people followed her lead. She was a wonder.
And Declan knew he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t give it one last try.
When she stepped inside a broom closet, he blocked the doorway.
“What are you —?”
“Why won’t you marry me? And don’t say I wouldn’t understand, because you haven’t even tried to tell me. I might understand it,” Declan said roughly. Though the liquor steeled his nerves, he had to press his fists against the doorframe to keep from toppling over.
But even as the closet spun, he could see the surprise on Nadine’s face. Her dark eyes flicked beneath his arm. “No, not here.”
“Yeh, exactly here. Right now, before you have a chance to run off again.”
“But everybody is watching!”
“I don’t care! They can watch all they want to. Tell me why you won’t have me, Nadine. Is it because I’m not one of your kind?”
“No —”
“Is it because I haven’t got much to give you? I know my house is small, but —”
“No! It is nothing to do with you. It is all my doing.” She looked away and said with a glare: “I am barren. I cannot have your children, and so it would not be right to let you tie yourself to me. You would only be disappointed.”
Declan stared at her for nearly a full minute, sifting through the shock, before he was finally able to work out exactly how he felt. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Haven’t we got enough of them? What could we possibly need another child for? We’ve got so many little mice running around the fields that I’ve got to look twice before I put my feet down!”
Her glare shone fiercely in the torchlight. “You have been very kind to take us in. I will never be able to repay your kindness. But one day, you will want your own family — what are you doing?”
Declan didn’t trust himself to grab her around the arms. His balance was bad enough that he thought he might accidentally crush her, if he tried. So instead, he fell to his knees.
From this angle, he had to look up at her. It was more than a little frightening — it would hurt badly, if she stomped him while he sat like this. But he swallowed his fear and forced himself to say it:
“Is that what you think of me? Do you think I’m just putting a roof over your head while I wait around for a family? You are my family,” he grunted, his chest tightening against the words. He hadn’t expected them to come out so strongly. They practically burst him, pushing through. “We’re a strange lot, I’ll give you that. But I love those little mountain mice. I don’t care that they aren’t giants. I don’t care that they don’t look like me. They’re mine in every way that counts. If you ever took them away … it’d break my heart.”
The mots were crowded in tightly behind Declan, watching. He could feel their little shadows across his back. But he didn’t care: he kept his eyes on Nadine.
For a moment, she didn’t budge. Then all at once, something twisted across her face. She dropped her spear and, as it clattered to the floor, pressed a hand against her eyes.
Declan pulled it away. “If you don’t want me, I’ll understand it. And I’ll never ask again. But if this is all it is … well, that’s not good enough. You’ll have to try harder than that to —”
“Yes,” Nadine said suddenly. She pulled her hand from his and dashed the wet from her eyes, smiling as she said again: “Yes, you foolish giant.”
Declan was about to smile back when a thought struck him. “Wait — yes, you’ll have me? Or yes you don’t —?”
She kissed him firmly, leaving absolutely no doubt.
The floor shook as the mots cheered and thumped their spears hard against the planks. All of the pounding knocked something loose in the broom closet — a hefty chunk of wood that’d been leaning against its side.
The wood thumped hard into Declan, and he nearly leapt out of his skin when he felt a blast of hot breath against his shoulder: “Sorry about that. I was going to be polite for once and wait till you’d all finished talking, but the floor had other ideas,” a voice mumbled into Declan’s shoulder.
He shoved the chunk of wood back into the depths of the closet, his heart pounding in shock. There was a knot in the wood about halfway up. He groaned when a lopsided face appeared inside its center.
“Clodded pirate grog,” he swore.
But Nadine gasped beside him. “No, I see him as well! It is magic.”
“It’s Knotter, actually,” the wood replied. “And I’d very much like to go home.”
CHAPTER 55
The Edge of Villainy
“Are we out yet? Are we free?” Knotter hissed.
“Can’t you see we’re still in a tunnel, you clodded thing?” Declan grunted.
As he was the only one strong enough to carry Knotter, he’d been given the task of toting the door across his back. Now the tunnels were much tighter than they’d been before, he was sweating through his tunic — and Knotter’s moaning showed no signs of ending.
“I don’t know — all I see are miles and miles of dank, moldy rock.”
“Yeh, and it matches well with your breath.”
“I spent almost a week fully sunk inside a vat of water, a stone sitting atop my middle,” Knotter said evenly. “Yes, I contracted a nasty rash of mold, and I’m afraid being locked inside that closet didn’t help things. But once I spend a few days in the sun, it ought to dry up nicely … if we ever get out of here, that is.”
Declan couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. From what he could remember through the cloud of grog, Knotter said that he used to be a part of the front gate at the Wright’s castle. When the castle burned, the King’s mages found him out. They’d ripped him from his frame and taken him to Midlan — where he’d been tortured for weeks.
“They tried magic, but of course that didn’t work. No spell can touch me. The termites weren’t at all interested. So after that, the mages had no choice but to try and drown me.�
� Knotter’s laugh bounced off the passageway suddenly, causing several of the mots ahead of them to jump. “But no matter what they did, I wouldn’t give them so much as a murmur of what I knew. A gate must be loyal to everybody inside his walls — even if they threaten to burn him alive nearly every other day. Such is my burden and my solemn oath.”
“Yeh, well, when you start to smell fresh air, you’ll know we’re almost out. I can’t give you anymore a clue than that,” Declan said.
Ahead of them, Nadine spun around. “Can you smell?”
“Yes, I can smell. I can hear and I can taste … and just recently, I’ve learned to love, as well.”
“Plains Mother,” Declan grumbled.
Knotter didn’t seem to hear him. “Yes, it’s true — though I didn’t realize that I loved her until after we’d already been torn apart. She’s always been there for me, always by my side. She is, without a doubt, my other half.”
“Nadine!” One of the mots stuck her head from a passage and swung her spear in a wild, frantic arc. “Come quickly — I hear another voice!”
“Please don’t let it be someone else who needs saving,” Declan muttered as he followed them. “I’ve got my hands full enough, as it is.”
The mots crowded around a small wooden door. Several of them had their ears pressed against it. As Nadine listened to the muffled voice on the other side, her mouth parted slightly — and her brows dropped low.
She only got that look when she was troubled about something. Declan sat Knotter face-first against a wall and eased his way to her side. “What is it, wee thing?”
“They are strange words … the words of a spellweaver.”
Declan pressed an ear against the door above her. “Is it Jake?”
“I do not think so.”
“That’s Ulric,” Knotter called. With his lopsided face crammed so tightly against the wall, his words sounded as if they came out of his nose. “Yes, that’s definitely Ulric. I’d know that sniveling, whistle-breathing spell-flinger anywhere.”
Even through the power of the grog, Declan felt a twinge of fury. No sooner had he reached for the door’s latch than Nadine grabbed him around the wrist.
