Banlor couldn’t have said whether the creature felt the loss of the limb, as no sound but the clacking and rasping of its forest of limbs escaped it. Where the creature itself seemed made of chaos, its response to the old soldier was unmistakably intentional. Perhaps a full third of the limbs joined together into a single twined mass, reared back, and swatted the old man away from the woman who was groaning weakly in pain.
Moving with an otherworldly fluidity, the arms untwisted and descended once more on Clarissa’s frail and weakly moving form. Several thorny spikes punched into her flesh, causing her to cry out again, but more faintly. The noblewoman was dragged like a fish on a line back to the creature, which remained above the tendril that gloried in the pool of her lifeblood.
The sword Dammer had been clutching fell from his grasp as he took flight. The man himself landed in a rolling heap on the forest floor almost ten feet away. Banlor would have thought Dammer was done, but in an amazing display of resilience, the old soldier planted his feet and began to rise, fury and shock painting his face. Dammer made it to his feet and began to lean forward, intent on retrieving his fallen weapon, when the second horror swept from the blackness between the trees and snatched him into the air. Laran attempted to strike the creature, shouting as it flew past, but the stave bounced off of its hide to no effect.
Nails raked at Banlor’s shoulder, distracting him from the scene as Walina scrambled on top of him. “Get us out of here!” she shouted, panic thick in her voice.
He winced in pain and reared back with an elbow. He felt the crunch of bone and cartilage as her nose broke. Crying out and clutching at her shattered nose, Walina fell away from him. “You stupid little whore!” He bared his teeth. “Do you think I would waste time saving you, even if I could?”
She screamed in fear and rage. Her hands shot out and clawed his face.
He reeled from the attack. “Filthy bitch!” Banlor curled a fist to strike the foolish tart but found himself tumbling from her as something powerful swatted him aside. Searing pain entered his mind as he rolled.
Remain still! His mistress’ voice boomed in his head. Or my minions will devour you by mistake!
The agony transfixed him and he froze in place, one hand twitching and twisting in the dirt. He lay prone, unable to see what was playing out around him. Dammer’s screams could be heard from a distance but were quickly subsumed. Not far from him, Walina’s desperate cries died in a flurry of hissing, clicking, and tearing. Rashalon’s desperate crying over his leg had turned to wordless screaming accompanied by the wet sounds of ripping flesh.
Laran’s voice carried across the clearing, “You brought us here, Banlor. I’ll see you die!”
How close Laran came to fulfilling his promise, Banlor never knew. His own screams joined those of the others, and he knew nothing else.
The pain did stop, eventually. Banlor felt it fade, and other sensations began to make themselves known. His nails were full of dirt, and his fingertips bled where they had dragged across stones. The smell of blood, once almost all-consuming, was gone, replaced by the natural smells of the forest, and... something else. Something like snow or ice. Something cold.
The wind still rustled the winewoods around him, but the screams of his companions had ended. No sound other than the movement of the woods could be heard.
Blinking his eyes to clear them from the dirt that covered his face, he cautiously lifted his head.
Five glistening, bone-like chrysalises were his only company. No bodies or gore were visible, not even Clarissa’s river of blood.
He pulled his legs shakily under himself and rose to his feet to investigate the pods. Each was utterly smooth to the touch and cool, like fine marble. The material was the color of bone and totally opaque.
As he stroked the shell of the chrysalis that marked the last place Walina had lain, the surface cracked, developing a fine network of veins across it. Banlor leaped away, snatching his hand back protectively, lest the casing sprout new limbs and attack him as it had the others.
The surface of the pod flexed and heaved from the pressure of something within and then exploded, casting fragments forth about the glade. Banlor threw up an arm and turned his head protectively from the eruption. Cautiously, he looked back to see what new horror awaited him.
Walina stood amongst shells that, even now, were beginning to dissipate into curling tendrils of grey smoke. Not a scratch, bruise, or fleck of blood marred her silky skin. Even her once-shattered nose was restored. She looked just as she had the first night he had taken her to his bed. Banlor stood amazed and watched as the last of the shell fragments dissolved from the pile at the young woman’s fine feet. She stretched and patted her nude form, seeming to check each portion as if it had been picked from a shelf and was wholly unfamiliar, rather than the product of a lifetime. Whatever fault she searched for, it appeared not to exist, for a smile graced the soft features of her face. With the smile, the veil was lifted. Her eyes blinked to become the same solid black, for just an instant, as that of the lifeless orbs of the creature that had absorbed her flesh.
Yes, my pet. Selen’s voice echoed in his mind, causing fresh shivers. Now you see. Laughter sounded in Banlor’s mind and seemed to come from the trees and everywhere around him. As Selen laughed, the other chrysalises opened and rendered forth their occupants.
Banlor echoed the laughter of his mistress and cared not that he shared her madness.
A velvety blackness covered the world under heavy clouds. Even the animals seemed to sense the weight; the usual vibrancy of the forest at night was replaced by an occasional soft rustle. If not for Erik’s eyes and skill, the group would never have been able to find the old Keep. Not until the daylight hours, at least. Kinsey, Erik, and Kesh surveyed the ruin from across one of the many rivers that flowed through this region. The torches on the aged walls shone as beacons against the black sky.
Kinsey was the first to break the silence since Erik had led them to this viewpoint—a rock that reared out above the water from the nearby forest floor and into the lowest limbs of a handy winewood’s canopy. “Ordair’s Keep,” he said. “Not a bad place to hide. How long has it been since it was abandoned?”
Erik’s body was a shadow on his right. One hand rose before him in an equivocating gesture that Kinsey knew well. “Two hundred years, at least—”
“Two hundred and twenty-three, to be precise,” interrupted Kesh, who sat beside them, incessantly brushing at the dirt on his clothing. The man had been fairly quiet during their trek to the abductor’s hideout. He had generally only spoken in moments such as this one, when he could insert a trivial detail to showcase his knowledge. Overall, Kesh had been much less of a bother than Kinsey had expected.
Their captive, on the other hand, was another matter. Kinsey had been forced to blindfold and gag the rogue after his second attempt to escape. He could just see a dark lump huddled at the base of their lookout, which he knew to be the man’s bound form.
Ignoring the chancellor’s comment, Kinsey turned his attention back to Erik. “Do you think you can get in there?”
Erik rubbed his smooth chin. “If there was a distraction, yes. I believe so.”
Kinsey looked back to the Keep. Erik had already scouted the structure and spotted several warg sentries patrolling the exterior walls. He had also discovered a disturbingly large number of men camped within the compound itself. There were perhaps as many as a hundred within the walls.
That great of a force was troublesome indeed, but it spoke of a larger problem beyond just retrieving the princess. A substantial amount of financial backing would be necessary to hire and maintain such a force. This was not a casual grab for ransom, if Kinsey were any judge. Someone was directing the operation, and it was unlikely they would allow the effort to be wasted in a half-failed attempt. A thinning of the clouds allowed Kinsey to see stress lines creasing his stepfather’s face in the moonlight, and he knew his thoughts were shared. If... no, when they recove
red Sacha, it was likely they would discover their troubles had just begun. That fishing trip keeps getting further away, he thought sourly.
“There is a place on the far side of the wall,” Erik said, pointing toward the Keep, “that has a tree leaning very close. I will be able to get in easily by that route, and possibly get out as well.”
“Let’s hope so.” Kinsey motioned downstream to the opposite side of the Keep from where Erik intended to climb. “I will start a fire farther that way. Chancellor, you will need to keep the horses ready and watch the prisoner until I get back. We’ll wait to move until an hour before sunrise.”
Kesh frowned and looked at the bound man on the ground below them. “I suppose that will work.”
No argument? Kinsey hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Good. Erik, we will meet you upstream.” He pointed back toward the direction from which they had initially come. “Be ready to ride hard, Chancellor. This will not be easy.”
Kesh raised his chin. “I am more than prepared to handle any situation that may present itself. You two just do your parts correctly and I may consider not having you both hanged when we return to Waterfall Citadel.”
Kinsey rolled his eyes, although he was oddly comforted by the chancellor’s haughty response. “Right, then, let’s rest. We will need it.”
As the light of dawn approached, Chancellor Tomelen watched Erik slip into the river and begin to cross with a side stroke, holding his bow over his head. The current wasn’t particularly strong at this spot in the river, but there was enough force that when the elf touched ground on the other side, he was more than twenty yards downstream from where he had started.
The instant Erik pulled himself from the water, Kinsey stood. “All right, I’m off.” The brute trudged into the darkness with a flask of oil in one hand and his axe in the other, leaving Kesh on his own with the prisoner.
Once the chancellor could no longer hear Kinsey’s boots crunching through the woods, he drew his dagger and made his way over to the bound man. He pulled off the blind. “Do you know who I am, who it is I work for?”
The rogue narrowed his eyes and shook his head.
“That’s too bad.” Kesh rammed his dagger into the man’s throat.
Muffled cries slipped past the gag and the bound man’s legs kicked furiously as Kesh pushed the blade deeper, feeling the point grate on bone. After a moment, the struggle subsided.
“Recognition might have saved your life.” Kesh pulled his dagger free and wiped it on the dead man’s sleeve. He checked the horses to make certain they were secured, then walked into the fading darkness after Kinsey.
Erik shivered and flexed his fingers as he waited for his moment to come. He was perched on a branch of the winewood that leaned over the dilapidated wall, and the height of his position brought him into the winds, which were beginning to pick up as dawn approached. The icy waters of the Tanglevine had robbed him of most of his warmth, and the merciless touch of the breeze drew off the rest of it.
He studied the terrain before him to distract himself from the cold. Below him, a limb from the tree he perched on stretched above the wall, leaving perhaps twenty feet between itself and the top of the crumbling stone. Smaller branches that projected from the limb should allow him to halve that distance. From there, small outbuildings were spaced regularly between the wall and the main body of the Keep where he assumed the princess and the magistrate would be held. The ground around them was littered with stones and cracked earth. He looked to the West and could just distinguish the purple color of the fading night. If you’re going to do this, Kinsey, it needs to be now, he thought.
A small flame in the distance caught his eye and quickly grew. A moment later, the howling of wargs echoed from the dark woods, and Erik smiled grimly. The guards along the wall moved toward the sound of the baying creatures.
Erik sprang into motion, working his way swiftly down the tree trunk. He scrambled out nimbly, then hooked his knees over the limb to swing upside down and stretch for a lower branch that pointed down to the top of the wall. The rustling sounded horribly loud in his ears, but calls and howls covered for him. When he dropped silently through the remaining few feet to the remnants of the wall walk below, no alarm was raised.
The guards below, drawn by the commotion, had moved to a giant gap in the wall. Kinsey’s distraction had worked well and a path had been cleared for Erik to reach the largest building unseen.
He ran along the wall until he reached the closest building and leapt into the air. Wind roared in his ears as he fell through the night. He stretched his toes out to meet the rapidly approaching roof and allowed his body to fold into a roll across the flat top. He sprang lightly to his feet and sprinted for the far edge. Erik did not slow as he planted his right foot on the parapet and hurled himself forward once more. His arms windmilled and his legs kicked as he flew through the air. His body slammed into the wall below the second-story balcony, the impact sending shocks of tingling numbness throughout his chest and limbs. His fingers felt thick as they scrabbled for purchase on the ledge. Catching hold of a ridge in the stonework, he hung there, attempting to silently gasp for breath, the side of his face pressed into the weathered limestone. Eos! That hurts. Cursing softly, Erik pulled himself onto the balcony.
There was a set of double doors in front of him that looked as if they might fall open by themselves. He moved to the ruined doors and slowly pried one open to peer inside.
Darkness met his questing eye and he slipped inside, out of the half-light of dawn. A line of light pulsed softly along the edge of what Erik assumed to be a door across the room. As he padded through the room, avoiding remnants of furniture that threatened his feet, Erik rubbed the last tingling pains from his arms and chest.
The line of light did prove to be a door that was slightly ajar. Erik slipped a dagger from its sheath and knelt, listening intently and peering through the crack. He found a hallway stretching away from either side of the doorway, lit sporadically by candles jammed between the stones of the floor. One of these was directly across from his vantage point and responsible for the light that danced on his face.
Staying low, he stepped softly into the corridor and found only a lonely accent table and a torn rug that covered half of the stone floor. Distant conversation floated down the hall from his left.
Warmth began to suffuse his body, now that he was protected from the night breeze, and the exertion of his sprint and scramble stoked the fires of his body. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he wiped it away with the back of the hand that was not burdened with the knife. I’m probably going to walk out of this unscathed, then catch my death of a cold, Erik thought sourly. Kinsey would likely laugh himself sick. He gently pushed the door back to the same position he had found it in, then crept forward on cat’s paws, heading for the sound of conversation. Erik turned his back to the wall and sidled forward to peek around the corner.
A cracked and pitted mirror hung askew on the wall just across from him. In it, he had a spectacular view of three armored men sitting at a table, dicing their earnings away. The motley group took up the entire hallway and blocked a set of stairs leading up to the next level.
Erik eased back before the men could spot him in the same way. Checking behind him once more, he unsheathed another dagger and regretfully thought of his bow, hidden outside. He was going to have to throw his knives, or one of them, at least. Throwing blades was not his best skill, and he had never made time to improve. Too late now. He took a deep breath to settle his nerves and then sprinted back toward the intersection. He rounded the corner at a full run.
The guards didn’t notice his presence until a dagger flew in between two of them to strike the third in the throat. Handle first.
Erik cursed the terrible throw and pulled another dagger as he careened toward the two men at top speed.
One of the guards stared, open-mouthed, at his friend, who had reared away from the table and staggered to his feet, clutching at his throat with bot
h hands. The other spun in Erik’s direction.
He drove one blade into the throat of the guard that came toward him and buried his other blade into the back of the neck of the second man. He cartwheeled over the table to land beside the coughing man he had struck with his dagger.
Erik lashed out with both hands, grabbing the hair and jaw of his adversary, then twisted the man’s head sharply.
A crisp pop signaled the end of the guard and he fell to the floor in a twitching heap. The other two gurgled out their death throes in relative silence.
Erik knelt to retrieve his daggers and listened intently for sounds of alarm. Hearing none, he rose, making a mental note to practice with the knives at the next opportunity.
He moved to the stairs and listened. No sounds came to him, and he made his way up the steep steps. A broken window permitted slight illumination to reach the landing at the top of the stairs. He edged around the light and looked down the long hallway.
Five candles lit the passage that stretched the entire width of the Keep. Well, that’s not fair, he thought with a grunt. Every door on both sides of the corridor remained in its frame and was closed. Checking each room would cost precious time he did not have to spare.
He started creeping to the closest door, then stopped cold.
The window beside him had begun to vibrate in its frame as a deep howling floated up from the woods beyond the Keep. The sound steadily built in strength to a horrible wailing that resonated through the stone walls. The hairs on the back of Erik’s neck stood on end, while the eerie cry carried on for what seemed an eternity. He remained motionless, until finally, the dreadful sound faded away. Shouts of alarm began to drift up from the courtyard below as guards called to one another, and then screams began to drift on the wind.
Something was wrong. Even without the screams, Erik could feel it at the core of his being. Something had gone horribly wrong. He stood and looked out the window.
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 28
