“Do you regret your decision to leave the safety of the palace?”
“Nay.” Landon patted his horse’s side. “The gods know I need to go out into the world and prove that I can protect my kingdom. And going into the town will do us well not to worry about nightflies biting.”
Gillespie nodded. The black biting flies came out at night and were nearly impossible to stop once they tasted your blood. They didn’t kill, but their bites stung for days. Mounted, the men rode their horses to the distant village.
• • •
Landon’s pulse quickened as the sun dipped below the line of ash trees. He sensed the presence of the unknown woman slipping from him. He did not even know this woman’s name, and yet she haunted him. Perhaps she was a mystery or figment of Gillespie’s imagination? How else did one explain how they had not managed to find her on horseback while she ran afoot? None of the people in the villages they had passed knew this woman either—or if they did, they refused to tell the truth. But for what purpose? Maybe she hid from the Warloc? If the Warloc knew what she was doing, surely he would use his magic to stop her.
Or perhaps she had other secrets?
They slowed their horses to a trot, following the woman's path until it vanished. They dismounted, searching for her footprints or some sign of her passage. Landon wasn’t an expert tracker, but he knew some of the signs from when he hunted.
“Here.” Landon caught a snagged branch of a bush between his fingers. The bush stood taller than him, and held a long black hair between two of its thorns.
Gillespie slapped his back. “This is making you a better tracker, having to do it yourself instead of depending on dogs and others. I’ll let the horses drink from the stream before we go.” Gillespie called over his shoulder.
Suddenly, Landon heard a growl. Something stalked them through the woods.
A rustle through the leaves sent his heart racing. Then a snap of a twig and he caught a glimpse of it through the bushes. A deadwalker. He had never seen one up close and still moving. It had an eerie gait, like a puppet on loose strings.
It smiled and the sight of its rotting skin was pulled tight, giving it the impression of a cadaverous monster.
His breathing sped up, and he gripped his sword until the hilt bit into his hand.
The creature sniffed the air as if he could smell Landon’s blood. It snarled, and Landon backed up a step.
He could do this. Cut off its head. Just avoid the teeth and nails.
It lunged at Landon and he sidestepped. Its fingers tore a gash in his silk tunic, but did not break his skin.
He rushed forward with his sword raised. With one movement, his blade sliced through its skin. He thought of calling out to Gillespie on his victory. As he turned back to the creature, it knocked him down.
His sword had sliced the creature’s neck and cut off a shoulder, but its head remained attached. Its teeth gnashed at Landon's flesh.
He dropped his sword as the strength of this deadwalker surprised him. It took both of his hands to keep its mouth away from him.
He could not move a hand to grasp his weapon. This close, it smelled like graveyard miasma and rotting meat.
Was this to be his end? Bitten and dead within a week of leaving the palace?
Landon refused to give in. Finding resolve deep within himself, he used his legs to kick it off. Without hesitation, he grasped his sword and struck again, severing the neck. The head rolled into a pine tree. Relief washed through him. He had done it. He had killed a deadwalker.
Then he wondered how many more of these creatures would they find on this tenuous journey? What if this nearby village was taken over and they walked right into a den? He and Gillespie would scour these woods to ensure no more undead roamed here to prey on the unsuspecting. A shiver trailed down his spine at the thought of what would have happened had he not had his sword with him.
His sanity was straining at the endless possibilities of contamination in his homeland.
He had to find this woman. She held the key to prevailing over the deadwalkers and securing a safer future—for his people and himself.
• • •
After several hours, they reached Vicsburg, where they found an inn with a separate library for the better-paying guests. Landon stretched back against a comfortable chair placed before the hearth. Despite his foreboding, he told himself that there were no more dead roaming the forest. After he and Gillespie had burned the one who pounced on him, they had searched for signs of any others and found none.
“Thought you wanted to be more like a commoner.” Gillespie leaned back in an armchair of his own.
“I did—I do.” Landon smiled. Still, getting cleaned up and having a nice place to rest felt a like heaven after facing the deadwalker in that dark forest. “Just wanted to enjoy a little luxury while the horses rested.”
“We could get others to join us on our journey.”
Instead of answering, Landon shrugged. Being in a real town comforted him. For hours while they searched the woods, fearing they’d be prey for deadwalkers, a seeping dread had crept closer to him. He’d felt little peace on this journey until now.
The innkeeper came in balancing two plates piled with roasted lamb and pig. Days of flatbread and jerky made the food more appealing than he would normally believe possible.
The metal plates were set on the table between them.
“Thank you.” Landon nodded. “Tell me do you know a woman of emerald eyes who li—”
Gillespie interrupted him: “A woman of lively singing.”
Rocking back on his heels, the innkeeper narrowed his eyes, even though his tone was friendly. “Last one had a baby—we don’t have many women in this town that ain’t already spoken for.” He rubbed grease on his chin. “I could send word to Miss Margaret. She may have a gal for you.”
“Nay, I—I was simply thinking of a little music with supper.” Landon felt his skin heat.
“Let me know if you change your mind and want one.” The innkeeper smirked as he strolled out of the room.
“A woman of lively singing?” he hissed at his friend once the man was out of sight.
“Look.” Gillespie snatched up one of the plates. “We don’t know this town. I thought it would be better if we didn’t get thrown out.” He tossed a piece of lamb into his mouth. “At least not until my lord has had his meal, bath, and a bed.”
• • •
Clean from the bath, Landon let the air from the open window dry his hair. Dressed only in trousers, he leaned against the windowsill.
He thought he smelled the hint of roses and heat on the breeze. Movement from the street below caught his eye. He leaned out, squinting into the night.
Torches lined the cobbled street corners. A cloaked figure waited. Then the innkeeper rushed outside. His hands flew in gestures as the figure nodded.
Then he pointed to the window where Landon watched. At the same instant, the cloaked figure followed his finger’s path to Landon. Green eyes that seemed to glow met his.
Landon jumped up and cursed when his head hit the bottom of the window. When he looked back, both figures were gone.
Thinking the innkeeper would send guards, he waited with his sword in hand and his stare riveted on the door. No one came. He must be getting paranoid, thinking there was a ghost or enemy around every corner. His eyelids grew heavy as he waited for a fight that failed to materialize. Finally, he rolled his shoulders back to ease out the tension.
Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about those piercing emerald eyes. They’d belonged to a woman; he could tell. There was intelligence and cunning in them. Her stare felt as though she saw through the façade he often wore as prince and to please others, and into his kajh.
A woman who was not afraid, but used to being feared. It unnerved him, yet excited him. His pulse quickened and his loins tightened at the thought of those eyes filled with passion for him.
Better get some sleep before the night was gone.
Tomorrow, he’d tell Gillespie about what he saw. He doubted he could explain those captivating green eyes that continued to haunt him even now.
Chapter Five
The sun perched at the top of the sky as Mirhana hid behind the thick foliage of a magnolia bush. Ahead of her, the creature moved, his cape flapped behind him. His black hair hung past his shoulders in contrast to his victim’s golden hair as she strolled beside him. His strides were smooth as though he glided over the land.
Years of hunting helped Mirhana spot an undead at a glimpse. She eased a poisoned-tipped arrow from her quiver. Each tip coated in Nightshade, Lyko, and Silvervine. The toxins only slowed the undead long enough for her to behead them.
With her thoughts locked on her target, she stepped out of her hiding place. No use aiming among leaves and branches. Her finger notched the arrow, and then drew the bowstring back.
He led a horse. Odd. Undead did not bother with horses except to fell their rider. The woman did not run or hide. In fact, as Mirhana watched them, the woman turned slightly and smiled back at him.
Perhaps he was a vampyre and had lured the woman with his mind? Nay. She shook her head. Vampyres were not strong enough in daylight for mind control. They preferred to hunt at night.
Or mayhap he was a Liche, a necromancer? Now she wished her cat, Melwyn was here. She had sent him to spy on the strangers in town. One she recognized as the man she saved less than a week ago, and now she cursed that she did not leave him to his fate.
Obviously he had seen her, for the innkeeper told her they asked questions.
The other, when she saw him, made her skin heat from the inside out. She remembered his stance at the window. Powerful. He leaned forward as if he heard their whispers. His light hair was damp. Even his muscled chest made her want to touch his skin: it looked like velvet in the moonlight. She shook her head; it had been too long since she bedded someone, that was all.
When she heard the ring of the creature’s sword being drawn, she ducked behind a willow. Damn her mind’s distractions. Surprise was vital in killing the undead. Especially a vampyre.
Surveying the area, she saw him turn back to the woman, but he did not sheath his sword.
Mirhana whispered a prayer of thanks to the gods that he did not see her. Crouched, she crept behind them. Her vision shifted back to the woman with the undead.
Sunlight sparkled across her hair. Why was she with this creature? Her breath caught. What if this woman was the Sorceress who spoke through the undead about this Landon days ago?
To protect his mistress, the creature would fight until it was dead. No matter how many arrows she used, he would not be subdued with his mistress near.
Calming her mind, she whispered the spell. Make my arrow true and silent, more potent than a thousand poisoned arrows. She drew the bowstring taut and rose.
Then her fingers snapped open and the arrow twanged into the air. She watched him spin as if he heard the sound. Before he countered, the arrow pierced his shoulder.
Her spell enhancing the poisons worked quickly, for he fell to his knees.
The golden haired woman spun around. Instantly, a dagger appeared in her hand. Instead of sending her creature to fight, she raised the blade into the air.
Lightning splayed forth. Mirhana plunged to the ground as streaks of magic coursed through to where she had stood.
“Celeste.” She heard the man speak, but his voice sounded tired. Not garbled like the sound of the undead. “The arrow must be poisoned. I can feel it coursing through me.”
Without another word, the magic stopped. The woman knelt beside the undead. She kissed his lips as if waking a lover, then jerked the arrow out.
His yell came out in a hiss.
Light pulsed from her hands as she covered his bleeding wound. Mirhana’s stomach shuddered. Neither the undead nor vampyres bled.
“Sorry—I’m sorry.” She rushed over to the couple, ignoring her pledge that none should see her. From the blood, she knew this man was an innocent, one of those she was sworn to protect.
“Why did you attack us?” the woman asked through clenched teeth as her magic closed up the wound.
Mirhana realized this was not the Sorceress, for even though the woman was distressed, her voice had a melodic quality, unlike the Sorceress, whose words were clipped.
Sweat beaded on the man’s face.
Mirhana’s eyes grew wide at his pointed ears, like Nivel’s. Before long, the magic feeding the poisons would rage through his system.
“Stop.” She hitched her bow over her shoulder. “Any more magic and the poisons will feed on your power to kill him.”
“What did you use?”
“Trust me, only those in Vicsburg can save him now.”
“If he dies … ”
“He will not. I hope.” She heard the threat in the other woman’s tone.
“Do not touch his skin. Use your cloak to ensure it or you will die.”
Mirhana didn’t understand, but didn’t argue with her. Each grabbed the man underneath one of his arms. Grunting, they dragged his weight to the horse. At the woman’s whisper, he mounted, but leaned forward resting against the horse's neck.
Celeste—she remembered the man had called the woman by that name—climbed up behind him.
“I don’t think we’ll make it to the village in time if we don’t gallop … but there’s not enough room for you.” Celeste righted her body behind the saddle.
“No need," Mirhana said, "it’s less than a mile.” Surely if this woman was with an Elvin, she would know their speed. “I’ll run. Try to keep up.”
She tore through the forest going the least obstructed way she knew.
They would reach the village soon. They had to. The last living witch in this village, Breena, would be able to help. Otherwise, the poison would drive him mad before it killed him.
• • •
Inside Breena’s cottage, the injured man lay on a pallet. Herbs simmered in a cauldron over the fire.
“Why did you shoot a living?” Breena, bent over with age, stirred the liquid.
“He moved like one of the undead. I thought he was a wraithe or vampyre.” Mirhana plopped down on the stool. “How was I to know?”
“I’ve seen Elvin before, as have you.” The old woman chided her. “Should’ve waited, despite how he moved.”
She bit her bottom lip. What if this was the one Nivel told her would come? Her brother?
He'd already had a flask of Breena’s remedy, but his condition did not improve. His skin was sallow and dark circles underlined his closed eyes.
“How much longer?” Celeste held one of his hands, as though comforting herself because she could do little else. The fingers of her free hand traced the grooves of his sword hilt.
“Not sure.” Breena frowned. “Any human or Elvin should be well by now. His body acts like he is neither.”
Celeste released his hand and stood. “Brock has been cursed from a vampyre bite. He is the Vaer. It’s a complicated story, but believe me that the fate of our lives and this world depends upon his being alive.”
“Vaer?” Breena leaned forward and asked Mirhana. “You remember the stories? From grandmamma?”
Chills raced down Mirhana’s flesh. Aye, since she had the blessings of Elvin in her blood, she remembered Breena’s feisty grandmamma; she raised her. Since Mirhana had lived for over half a millennia, she had raised countless generations of Breena’s and other witches' descendants.
“The Bringer of Death.” Mirhana toppled the stool as she leapt off.
“We don’t have time for this.” Celeste pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “Does Brock being the Vaer change the antidote?”
Breena put an arm around her. “Aye, but the one ingredient we need is impossible to find.”
For the hundredth time today, Mirhana wished she could undo her actions. The word 'Vaer' was Elvin for The Bringer of Death. His arrival showed up as a split in the prophecies. Some sai
d it was the end of the world. Others said he was one of the four who could save them all.
“What is it you need?” Celeste ran a hand down her face. “I will get it.”
“I wish it were that simple, but we need a piece from a dragon. A claw, scale, doesn’t matter what.”
“A dragon’s tooth?” Celeste smiled, her face brightening.
“Aye. If you can produce one … it might work.”
Celeste rushed outside and Mirhana followed her. She watched Celeste dig into one of the packs. “I know I saw him pick them up when we fought Liana.” Finally, she opened a coin purse. “Found them, all five.”
“If I could change what I did,” Mirhana placed a hand on her shoulder, “I would.”
Celeste gave a brief nod then ran back into the cottage. Mirhana went in after her. When Celeste placed a large tooth in Breena’s hand, the old woman gaped. “Pray to the gods for a miracle.” She tossed the tooth into the cauldron.
“How will we know if it works?” Mirhana peeked into the pot.
“The liquid will turn gold.”
They watched the murky liquid boil, but no golden color sprang forth. Then a bubble burst, leaving a golden ring.
Breena stirred the liquid as the gold color spread. “Praise the gods.”
After the antidote cooled, Celeste helped Brock drink from a flask. His lips were pale and cracked. At first, he choked on the liquid.
“He must drink it all," Breena said. "You will need to wash your hands off with lye when done. Dragon magic is powerful and can kill a human.”
They saw no change after he drank. Celeste rushed outside to the spring to wash.
Mirhana stared down at her boots.
“I cast the runes this morning,” Breena said.
“And?” Mirhana glanced up at the old woman. True, she was older than her human companion by over five hundred and sixty years, but every day she felt like Breena was the elder.
Brock stirred. It was the first movement he had made since he passed out from the poison.
“Soon you must leave. Your mandate of not being seen by any will be useless in this war.” She held up her hand when Mirhana opened her mouth to protest. “Of the line of witches who raised you, I am the last. The stones show that you must continue your path; the one you were born to.”
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