Fryda nodded in assent while Velmit untied her hands. She massaged her wrists. The skin was broken and red.
"Those wards on your face, they'll need to come off." Velmit handed her a hollowed-out rock of water. The rock had been crudely fashioned into a bowl, and the water inside it was brown and murky. "Sorry, we don't drink water anymore, so that's the best I can do."
Fryda took the bowl from Velmit. She looked into the dark water and thought about the risk she was taking. It was only an hour before nightfall, maybe less. Bradir still hadn't returned. Without the wards, she would be unprotected. It would likely take a significant amount of scrubbing to remove them, and she wasn't even sure they could be removed at all, because they were still empowered.
This was her chance. She could escape from Velmit now and come find Alfric later. At least she knew whom she was with. It would be foolish to speak with him when it was so close to nightfall, anyway. If he changed with her around, he could kill her. She'd fought skinwalkers before, but that had been with Jaruman and Peoh. She'd never fought them alone. Being here, alone in a foreign place with a skinwalker right next to her, brought on a sense of dread unlike anything she'd felt before. Swallowing back her fear, she conjured a plan.
"The wards are on more than just my face." Fryda looked down, as though hiding her embarrassment.
Velmit smiled from the corner of his mouth and raised a single eyebrow.
"You'll need to untie my ankles," she said.
"I can do that, but I'll not be turning around. Modesty is not for the pack."
Fryda scowled but lifted a foot. Velmit bent down to untie her bonds. His filthy fingers stroked her ankles as he slowly began to untie the ropes. When his fingers lingered too long, her pity for him dissolved.
With the bowl in hand, Fryda slammed it down onto Velmit's head. The bowl broke and Velmit cried out. She had been hoping that she would knock him unconscious, but all the assault seemed to have done was infuriate him.
In a moment, he was on top of her. His arms pinned her wrists above her head. His weight pressed down upon her body, preventing her from getting away. "You little bitch!"
Fryda struggled against his weight. She'd feared that one little slight might cause a man like Velmit to enrage, and she'd gone and broken a bowl over his head. His eyes sparked as he held her down. He opened his mouth, and his fangs seemed to lengthen, his golden eyes becoming pools of black. A wet tongue slid out from his mouth and dragged across her neck.
With everything she had, she pulled against his hold and drove her knee into his groin. He rolled aside and bellowed. Fryda wasted no time. She tore the last of the rope from her ankles and fled. She heard Velmit cry out, a garbled retching mess, and continued running until the sounds of his fury grew faint.
She ran some more, knowing that if she stopped, he would surely find her. The wetness on her neck where he'd licked her seemed to itch beneath her skin. She clawed at it while she ran. Before she knew it, tears streamed down her face. The way he had pinned her down and the thoughts she could see beneath his enraged eyes had made her feel so helpless, so vulnerable.
As she ran through the increasingly thick forest, she stumbled upon a large river at least a hundred paces wide. At that size, it could only be the Edin River. Taking it north would lead to the Makil Mountains, and south would take her back to Indham. She decided to travel south along the river, although she wouldn't go all the way to Indham—just far enough away to evade Velmit.
When she could run no longer, she realized that she had to find somewhere to hide. With the wards, she would be safe at night, as long as the skinwalkers didn't find her. At the forest’s edge, a dozen paces through the grass, sat a small cave.
Tree stumps surrounded the entrance. Discarded tools and other things lay scattered, as though whoever had owned them had simply cast them aside. They'd long since rusted. Fryda supposed the cave was an abandoned mine. She'd heard of mines with noxious gases that forced the workers to flee, and others with tribes of trolls living deep beneath the surface.
She had nowhere else to go, but it would be foolish to hide within the cave. It would mean facing whatever had made people abandon the mine. Not only that, but she would be trapped should Velmit find her.
Something glimmered in the sunlight just outside the cave's entrance, drawing her attention. The closer she got to it, the more radiant its glow became. She reached down and picked up a smooth bone-white stone. As she considered the peculiar object, she realized she'd seen such a stone before, only days ago. Edoma had held one in her hand while she harvested blood from the dragon Saega had brought back from the enclosure.
Fryda's heart stopped. Could this place be the dragon enclosure? It would explain the abandoned tools. The warriors had fled the enclosure after a group of dragons escaped. But there had to be dozens, if not hundreds, of caves in the area. None of them were good places to hide should Velmit find her.
What if he doesn't follow me to the cave? A few minutes from the entrance could be the perfect place to stay overnight. There's shelter, and it's out of sight from anyone who might seek to harm me, skinwalkers and humans included.
Two days ago, she would have readily faced the night alone with Peoh's wards to protect her. That boldness had fled after she'd been captured by skinwalkers.
She glanced over her shoulder and listened. There was no sound that suggested Velmit was near, only the steady trickle of water from the Edin. How long would she be able to run? And if she fled, she would abandon the very person she'd ventured out from Indham to find—Alfric.
Even if this were the dragon enclosure, with this suppression stone in her hand, she'd be able to command a dragon. It was a disgusting thing to do, to force a creature to bend to her will, but what other choice did she have? She needed to protect Alfric from the other pack members and find a way to rid the wraith's hold on him.
Either way, she needed to quickly make a decision. Velmit could be only a few minutes away.
She ran back into the forest until she came to where the Edin ran into a ravine. She tore off some of her tunic and fixed the material to an outstretched branch hanging over the falls. Maybe it would be enough to throw Velmit off the trail. Maybe it wouldn't, but it was all she had. She hoped he might think she'd decided to flee all the way back to Indham, and instead became victim to the rapids and had fallen to her death.
Leaving the false trail behind, she entered the cave. She waited, watching the entrance with baited breath.
After an hour or so, I'll stop being nervous. Until then, I'll—
Velmit walked into the cave. As he stood in the light from outside, his shadow reached all the way to where Fryda hid.
"I can smell your fear," he said.
How had he found her? She wasted no time thinking of the answer. She ran into the darkness while Velmit's dreaded voice rang out behind her. "I will find you. And when I do, you better hope the night hasn't come. Otherwise, it will be a monster who gets you."
Either way, if she was caught now or later, a monster would get her. Heart pounding, Fryda sprinted further into the cave.
13
Jaruman
Jaruman approached the cellar door and locked it. If the warriors on the other side wanted to enter, they'd have to break down the door.
Peoh glanced at Jaruman. "I can deal with them, but that'll mean leaving right away." He turned to Hiroc. "Have you gathered everything I asked for?"
"Yes," Hiroc said, tapping his tunic pocket.
Peoh clapped his hands together. When he whispered something the tattoos encircling his arms brightened, and his eyes shimmered along with them.
"Killing these men isn't right," Jaruman said. Thirty years ago, he'd have had no qualms with it. But he'd taken the path of the leaf. The path of the spear had become a distant memory, only relived from afar each time he had brought Fryda to this cellar to train. Killing the skinwalkers inside the spire was different. As he'd told Fryda, they weren't human.
Peoh
appraised Jaruman with an intrigued expression. His tattoos dulled. "You think we can talk ourselves out of this? If whoever is out there thinks that I killed their Guardian, they'll not listen to reason."
"Jaruman!" someone called from beyond the door. That familiar voice set Jaruman's teeth on edge. It belonged to Bertram.
Jaruman clenched his teeth with hatred for the man. The memory of his lustful eyes roaming over Fryda's body drew Jaruman's lips back in a snarl. Then Bertram had tried to kill her when they'd been in the spire's dungeons. Jaruman had to hold back a growl. "I'll kill him," he said, feeling the old comfort of the Madukai flowing through his veins.
The Madukai had taught Jaruman much about how to use the lifesoul within one's body to enhance the senses. It was a secret only those initiated into the sacred society within Madukgarrd knew. The power made him swifter than other men, better able to act and react. He did not, however, have a weapon. A small problem. Hatred would be his weapon today. "You can have the other men's deaths on your conscience," Jaruman said to Peoh. "I'm sure you'll have no trouble dealing with a dozen armed warriors."
Peoh smiled and bowed his head. "Stop or you'll make me blush."
Hiroc stood beside them. "Let's do it."
Jaruman shook his head. "Not you. You're no fighter." His skin tightened around muscles.
"You'll be surprised to find young Hiroc is Talented."
Jaruman studied Hiroc and the way he held himself. That something that had changed in him must have been the presence of a Guardian's power. But which one? That question would be answered shortly, as a fist pounded on the other side of the door.
"We know you're in there," Saega's voice came. "You've got the mage, too."
It would only require a small amount of Sulith's fortification magic to make Saega strong enough to break the door.
Peoh whispered, "This could go badly."
"No," Hiroc said, "it won't." He closed his eyes, and the air around them seemed to suck toward him. "Enlil, hear me.”
"That's it, lad," Peoh said, as though this was something he had been teaching Hiroc. "Now take it all in."
Hiroc's jaw muscles tightened, and he groaned with effort. He clamped his hands together like he was trying to contain something.
"When I say," Peoh said, "unbolt the door."
Jaruman stepped closer to the door and placed both hands on the iron bar. He would have to leave killing Bertram to Hiroc.
"You'll pay for killing Aern," Saega yelled. Even through the door, Jaruman could smell the taint of magic. In a moment, Saega would reduce the door to splinters.
The air shifted and shimmered around Hiroc. The dust along the cellar floor floated up to meet him, swirling like a tempest around him. Soon, a light pulsed around his intertwined fingers, blue like the hot point of a fire. That light then became blue fire.
"Now!" Peoh cried.
In a flash, Jaruman considered whether he was doing the right thing. If Saega hadn't killed Aern and Peoh was responsible, then opening this door would sentence an innocent man to death. Even so, Saega and the warriors would consider Jaruman complicit just being in the cellar.
Deciding on a gamble, Jaruman heaved the iron bar up.
The warriors came rushing in. Jaruman dived aside as a roaring column of blue fire surged toward them. The heat seared Jaruman's flesh before disappearing completely. He coughed and fought for breath. Smoke drifted from the burned corpses, and the smell of charred meat, sweet and sickly, filled the room.
Bertram's corpse was indistinguishable from the other charred piles. A necessary end to a life poorly lived. Jaruman only regretted not being the one to take Bertram's life.
One of the intruders had survived—the only one with magic to withstand the fire. A single eye bulged, the one part of Saega's body not black as charcoal. In his hand was Agnerod's Touch, the staff he had brought back from the Scorched Lands.
"He's still alive," Peoh said. "Better we finish this now."
"No," Jaruman said, grabbing Peoh by the arm.
"It will be a mercy."
"You haven't sure proof that Saega was the one who killed Aern."
"He will come back from this. Even now, the fortification repairs his body. Do you really wish to spare the man who spelled Aernheim's doom? I changed my ways in the Scorched Lands, but you've lost much of what made you Jaruman the Madukai."
"If we had killed you when you were a skinwalker, you wouldn't be here now. We thought you couldn't come back from that, but you did. If he truly was the one who killed Aern, while he lives, there is still redemption."
"Even for a god-killer?"
"Aye," Jaruman said. New flesh around Saega's face started stitching together.
"You made sure the message was sent?" Peoh said to Hiroc.
"She'll receive it this evening. I also prepared the horses. And the gates will be opened. Thank Enlil that there are folk who thought Idmaer innocent."
Jaruman was surprised to hear an acolyte of the Holy Order praise Enlil. But then, he was also surprised that such an acolyte would also be called by Enlil.
"Good," Peoh said. "Let's leave this place." He reached down and picked up Agnerod's Touch.
Jaruman grumbled to himself but didn't tell Peoh not to take the staff. He stepped over the charred corpses. Before he ascended the stairs, he took one last look at Saega, hoping that he wouldn't regret the decision to spare him.
14
Edoma
Edoma could smell the stench of burning flesh as she walked down the steps to The Flaming Monkey's cellar.
The warriors' bodies were unrecognizable. She heard a noise from one and ran over to him.
This burned body wasn't a warrior. It was Saega.
She hadn't known how he had managed to heal himself of his sickness, but now that was all for naught. His cloak had melted, sealing itself to black flesh. She couldn't look at his face as his lipless mouth murmured, "The pool. Inside the spire's catacombs."
Edoma ordered the warriors to take him. She followed them out from the tavern and climbed inside the carriage. It traveled through the streets and up the hill to the spire. She knelt before Saega, using his blood to ward him. He was as close to death as anyone could be. Sulith's power had protected him where the others had been burned to cinders.
The spire’s white stones made it shine brilliantly. Edoma sent four groups of warriors to search the catacombs for this pool.
She remained in the carriage with Saega, continuing to utter healing wards. His lifesoul was near spent, so she cut her arm with her belt knife. She used her blood to ward him. She wouldn't be able to do anything except keep the flame of his life burning, but it would soon peter out.
An hour later, a warrior came and told her that they'd found the pool.
When they got there, Edoma gaped. The green waters glowed with arcane power.
"Take him into the waters," she said.
Two warriors grabbed Saega. He groaned as they dropped him into the pool. The waters bubbled until foam covered his head. Fearing that he might drown, she called out to the warriors. They picked him up, and the foam fell from his face. Where there had been black flesh was now bright pink. Not yet healed completely and open to the elements.
"Keep his head above the water," she said.
The warriors dropped him again, holding him beneath the arms so he wouldn't drown.
Now she knew how he'd healed himself and grown twenty years younger overnight. This pool was the object of mythologies all over the known world. The First Priest's Elixir. He had been one of the only humans to live for over a thousand years, and this was his means of doing so. Edoma had never expected the waters capable of granting immortality to be a pool, let alone one hidden within the spire's subcutaneous tunnels.
The only reason she could think of as to why Idmaer had never used it was because he hadn't known of its existence. The thought of Idmaer sent her mind whirling. She was grateful when Saega coughed, coming to consciousness.
"Find w
here Peoh has gone," Saega struggled to say. "He must be stopped."
Edoma sat on the floor of her room in Enlil's Temple, the scrying crystal in front of her. She cut her hand and grabbed the crystal. Infusing spiritsoul into the action, she ventured into the other-realm.
She followed the trail of honey from Indham's gates, across the Edin River, and further east. The border between Aernheim and Wostreheim shimmered, an indication of the magic contained within Wostre's orb, the power that protected the land against the wraiths. The reminder that Aern's orb was no longer within the altar angered her as she continued following the trail.
The anger was welcome. In her fury, the other-realm's call to remain was little more than a whisper. She came upon the trail's end. There was Peoh, a fire writhing within his body—the wraith. Somehow it still existed inside him, yet it wasn't in control. Seeing him after all these years, even in this manner of shadows afforded by the other-realm, set off a whirlwind of emotions. Anger. Relief. Betrayal.
Unable to bear the confusion, she examined his companions. Hiroc was with him, and also Jaruman. Was it possible that Jaruman had been involved with Peoh in shattering Aern's orb?
At least she knew what direction they were headed. But why east? What was their destination?
As she traveled back to Indham, she sighted a group of Indham's warriors along the road. They pursued Peoh and the others. They wouldn't stand a chance if Peoh still wielded his old magic. Jaruman, also, commanded the power of a Madukai, though he had sworn away the martial way of life. But if he was in league with Peoh as he appeared to be, then that could have been a lie all along. And what of Hiroc? It had been Enlil's fire that had killed the warriors beneath The Flaming Monkey, and almost killed Saega, too.
The Dragon Soul (Vagrant Souls Book 2) Page 9
