Kallisti tried to take a step away before her knees gave up on her, but Garen’s grip around her was tighter than ever. Her visions vanished – replaced by something much worse. The shadow had absorbed each image, surrounding it and draining every bit of light, and when her eyes cleared she could see that the shadow remained. It was here, in this room, it was everywhere the light wasn’t – and it was hungry.
Kallisti’s throat dried and her chest tightened. She couldn’t even speak Garen’s name as she tried to push him away with muscles turned to water with fear. His chanting grew louder, more intense, more insistent. Kallisti could hear something else, a low whimper … she realized it was herself making the sound, but she couldn’t seem to stop it.
At the peak of the unintelligible monologue, Garen took a step backwards and Kallisti saw his face clearly illuminated for the first time. The twisted skin reflecting in the candlelight tugged his face into a grotesque mask. The glint in his eye was dangerous, as hungry as the deep shadow surrounding them. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound never came.
Garen slid the knife through her throat even as he chanted the final words of the spell he had worked so carefully, exactly at the moment he had been planning since he first crafted the masterful letters that brought her to him.
The Lich King was very particular about who he spoke to, and Garen had spent days working out exactly the right petition. He had prepared the room set aside for him here in Porthold, kept it secure despite the fool Duke’s good intentions that kept him knocking at all hours. He had written the petition in the language Semaj had used in all of his journals, and even for Garen, those were not easy to come by.
Sealing the spell with the blood of an innocent was the mark of true commitment that would get the attention of the long-dead mage, and Garen knew it. Sealing it with Kallisti’s blood was personal— she had betrayed him, and he had not gained his position with forgiveness and mercy. Her blood soaked through his clothes, and with a disturbing grin made lopsided by his scarred face, he bent to her neck and drank.
He let Kallisti’s body slide to the floor with a dull thud. One last plea in the language of the Lich King, spoken with her blood still hot on his lips, and a chill wind gusted through the closed room, extinguishing the single candle.
Now the bargaining could begin.
19
Brody Douglas swung down off the smoke colored mare that had carried him so far, and rubbed the soreness from his aching hip. His deep gray eyes surveyed the scene as he limped closer to what used to be a town, or a city. The horse nickered softly and followed close behind as he ventured into the obviously abandoned place, her breath ruffling the too-long hair at the back of Brody’s neck. He stroked the horse’s shoulder affectionately, and pulled his worn map from the pouch slung across her saddle.
“Well, now. What do ye make of this, girl?” He pushed a lock of sandy blonde hair out of his eye, to get a better look at the ruins that his map insisted were the city of Foley, but the hair stubbornly fell back into place as soon as he moved his hand. “What could have done something like this, do ye suppose?”
The horse huffed indifferently, and turned her attention to the patch of sweet clover growing on the edge of the destruction. Brody let her graze. The horse had stuck with him this far, he guessed she’d stick around a while longer. Besides, there might be adventure here, or at least something to see— hopefully something less unsettling than they’d seen the night before last.
Brody never did care much for spiders. Too many legs, for one thing, but it was walking into the webs that really gave him the shivers. Now, his mama - may her soul rest peaceful - she was fine with spiders. She said they were a help to keep other bugs away, they were small, they didn’t bother anyone up in the corners where they stayed. She’d laid more than a few spiderwebs over his scraped elbows or knees to keep the blood in, so maybe they weren’t so bad. The small ones.
The spiders he’d seen the other night, though… Well, any spider you could see walking from a distance, highlighted against the horizon by the setting sun - that was a spider that was too damned big. Three of them, though? Brody Douglas shuddered, down to his bones. He was no coward, but there was no shame in his relief that those things were walking somewhere he wasn’t headed. That they existed at all was bad enough, and he didn’t want to try to think about why.
He stretched once more, trying to loosen the complaining muscles of his wounded hip. Learned his lesson about climbing Storm Falls, he had, but oh, it pained him sometimes. Brody limped into what had once been the streets of the city, now a thin carpet of sparse grass sprouting around rocks strewn haphazardly across the ground. He looked up, and back down – he wasn’t the smartest man in the world, but he’d be willing to lay money that the rocks down here were once walls up there.
Some voice in the back of Brody’s head told him that she had been here, the girl he dreamed of every night, the girl with the long black hair and shining red-gold eyes. He was looking for her, he knew, though he’d only ever admitted it to himself and to the horse. When a man dreamed of a woman every night for a whole moon cycle, she was meant for him. That was what his mother - may her soul rest peaceful - had told him, and that’s what Brody Douglas believed.
The voice in his head also told him she was long since gone. His girl was heading East, towards the river. But she had been here, yes indeed, he could practically smell her - in spite of the lingering odor of long-dead things.
Brody tossed the hair out of his eye and checked back over his shoulder, but the mare was still investigating the patch of clover, so he walked farther in. Once he had been moving for a few minutes the soreness in his hip eased, and his limp was barely noticeable. He had little trouble climbing over the remains of a stone building and walking to what had once been the town square.
Here, Brody Douglas paused, and had to sit down for a moment on one of the fallen stones. The ground at his feet was split and cracked, he could see where it had started and he could follow it out with his eyes to where it ended as unexpectedly as it had begun. He felt an ache in his chest, and realized it had been her.
The woman of his dream, the woman he sought only to protect and cherish— it was she who had broken the earth, but Brody Douglas was neither shocked nor afraid. No, he knew her, and he knew that it wasn’t just the ground that had broken, but her heart as well. His eyes stung a bit. He was not a man who cried easily, but he didn’t like to think of her in any pain, that was all. There was no shame in that, was there?
It was the pain that had put the wisdom in her eyes, he thought. He’d seen it in his dreams, it was almost as captivating as her smile. Besides, Brody Douglas knew pain, yes he did, why his own mother - may her soul rest peaceful - had been killed when he was just a boy. He hadn’t even been there to pray for her soul. He could only hope that the dark-haired woman would one day read his eyes as well, and know that she was not alone in her pain.
Brody pressed on. He had a gift for tracking, his pa had said, even their boar-hound couldn’t pick up a trail as fast as he did, or keep it as long. His mama - may her soul rest peaceful - used to say he was good at following tracks because he was so bad at following directions. He wasn’t sure what she had meant, but he didn’t much mind. He just did what he did without asking too many questions about how, and he always managed to find what he was looking for.
Following where he instinctively knew her feet had walked, Brody went down into the basement where she had rested and wept. She found children alive here, he realized, two of them, and his heart swelled with pride to see that she had taken them with her. Even broken, her heart was good. She did not abandon them.
He nodded to himself, and followed their tracks up into the streets of the ruined city, and saw where she had left, heading for another pile of stones on the hill. Brody Douglas whistled for the mare, who responded immediately to his summons.
He did not want to ride, but his beloved’s time in the ruined city had come to a close
. So then, would his. He would walk where she had walked, and see where she had run, and when he found her at last she would not need to explain what she had endured, for he would already know. He tracked her and the children to what must have been the Keep of Foley’s Earl— here was something else, though, something following her - following them.
Brody guided the amiable mare into the woods, following the few remaining signs as best as he could.
Lothaedus.
Brody Douglas’ brow wrinkled in concern as he looked down at the body lying in the leaves at the mare’s feet, and the small voice in the back of his head seemed to frown in irritation at the strange word that flashed in his mind unbidden. He returned his thoughts to his love, wondering what could have happened in these woods, and if she was all right. He swung down from the mare’s saddle for a better look.
It was a man, or used to be, but there was no blood from any wounds. Another body lay a short distance away—
Lothaedus.
The Hunter Captain growled low in his throat, and forced his way forward into the body he’d given to Brody Douglas, answering the unexpected summons with a tone that left no trace of his displeasure disguised.
“I am here,” he hissed quietly, and his voice held none of the easy, lilting accent that it once had. The horse laid her ears back suspiciously, and took a step away.
Brody Douglas frowned unhappily, the mare was very sensitive to change— but he found himself unable to reach out to offer her any comfort.
Lothaedus felt Brody’s confusion, and cursed under his breath. Damn this interruption!
You would do well to watch your tone, old friend. Have you found the girl?
“Chancellor Garen?” Lothaedus knew the Chancellor had magical abilities, but telepathy was not one of them. The voice and the impatience, though, were unmistakably Garen’s.
Have you found her?
The power thrumming behind the words Lothaedus hadn’t heard was unexpected— but surprise was weakness. Honesty was life.
“I am several weeks behind her, my Lord.”
The mare neighed uncomfortably again, and Lothaedus had to grip the reins more tightly to keep her from moving farther away.
Find the witch-child with all speed. Then kill her.
“No!” Brody Douglas felt his heart drop in his chest, and he gasped the word aloud. He could no more kill her than he could let someone else hurt her, and that was the truth. She had already suffered so much—
With a grimace, Lothaedus brought the body back under his control, and assured Garen of his understanding. “As you command, my Lord, but Garen – as your friend – may I ask what has changed?”
Lothaedus clenched his fists as if he could physically tighten his self-control; Brody Douglas was beside himself at the thought of harming his only true love, the woman of his dreams. He was practically thrashing. This was not going to be easy.
I now serve a much more formidable power than the fool Duke, old friend. He wants her dead. You will do this for me?
Lothaedus ignored Brody’s silent, tortured howls ringing in his head.
“Of course, my Lord. She will be dead by the next full moon.”
The mare jerked at the reins, her eyes wild as she tried to discern where her calm, easy human had gone, how the scent of him could now be attached to this cold, hard-voiced man.
Lothaedus felt Garen’s magical presence retreat from his mind, and shook his head to clear it. He silenced Brody Douglas for a moment longer as he thought of his next move.
Disobeying Garen was not an option, however Brody Douglas may feel about the matter. Lothaedus’ loyalty had never been in question, and it would not be so now. To reach the girl quickly, however, he needed the horse. The horse wanted nothing to do with the Hunter Captain, which meant Lothaedus would have to surrender the body to Douglas if he wanted any sort of cooperation. The longer Douglas was in control, the harder it would be to reclaim the body when it was time to kill the girl. Damn this complication!
Lothaedus brought the body to lie on the thick mat of leaves, and slipped back into Brody’s thoughts, neatly overlapping them with his own until the situation was under control.
Brody Douglas rubbed his head, finding himself on the ground beside the long-dead body of a one-armed man. He recoiled in surprise, scrambling away on his hands and knees. He must have passed out, he realized.
The fear that these … creatures - they were not men, they couldn’t be - had followed her, could have killed her, it was simply too much for him to bear. The not-men here, the enormous spiders he had seen the other night— he had to move quickly, he realized, limp or no limp. She was in terrible danger and though he was no warrior, he meant to protect her. It was the right thing to do, he thought. If there was anything more worth doing than the right thing, then Brody Douglas didn’t know what that was.
“Come on, girl, we’ve got to get a move on,” he said to the mare, who regarded him with a wide, curious eye. She must have been frightened when he lost consciousness, the poor thing.
“No need to be scared, girl, I’m here, I’m all right. Easy, now, I’m not so spry as I once was, remember.” He swung up into the saddle, and felt the smoky mare relax beneath his calm, confident touch. “Good girl. Now, let me take a look.”
Brody Douglas turned the comforted mare in a slow circle, letting the dirt and leaves tell him their story. A man had been here. He had fought the creatures - but not killed them? - and left again, back towards Foley. His beloved had headed towards the river, taking the children with her.
He clucked his tongue, tapping the mare into action. “All right, girl. Let’s catch up to her.”
20
“I’m just saying that Ving lived in Foley, Ving had a magic sword, and you found a sword that happens to kill things that shouldn’t even be walking - in Foley. It’s got to be his, Steel. It would have been the tournament prize, I know it.” Derek turned to his friends, the men who had joined them in Riverchill several days back. “I would have won it, no question.”
Steel raised one eyebrow. “You thinking of testing that claim?”
The rest of the men laughed. Derek was a full head and a half shorter than Steel, though he talked bigger than he was.
“You may be my brother, man, but I’d bet on Steel if you two fought.” Elias slapped Derek’s back affectionately. “Don’t take it personally.”
“I haven’t known either of you long enough to say, but I know I wouldn’t fight him for it.” Jonn was a horse-master from Strom that the group had met in Riverchill, who had lost his brother to Korith’s anti-magic policies the year before. It was Jonn who had told them that the Duke and his entourage had passed him on the road, heading into Porthold.
Steel had wanted to head for Porthold immediately, of course, but the others had reminded him that six men - eleven, counting Derek’s friends - were no match for the force Korith had brought with him, let alone the entire Porthold army.
Tyren, a Strom merchant who had overheard their conversation at the Inn, suggested they find more men in his hometown. There were plenty who disagreed with Korith’s policies, Tyren told them, himself among them. His son had died a few months back, wasting from fever with no healer or herbalist to help or even offer the boy comfort.
The group was close to fifteen strong by the time they crossed the bridge over the Moon River into the Lows - more swamp than forest, nestled as it was between the river and her sister that fed Lake Strom. The wind at their backs was chill as the sun began to set, and while none of them wanted to set up camp on the soggy ground, there was no way they’d be clear of the area before they needed to sleep.
They were searching for the flattest patch of dirt to spread out on when the men appeared in the trees.
“Krem?” Tyren squinted, trying to make out the face of the man silently approaching them. “Krem, is that you?”
Krem, if the stranger was the man Tyren recognized, said nothing. None of the newcomers did, they just kept wal
king at the same steady pace, stepping over the uneven ground directly towards the group.
It was Steel who first saw the dim red lights where the eyes of the man next to Krem should be. “That’s not Krem anymore,” he said, drawing his sword. Alarmed, the others followed suit.
“Stay away from red-eyes,” Steel called. “Don’t let him grab you. Rhodoban—“
A small ball of fire burst against Krem’s chest, igniting his shirt and beard. He kept walking even as the flames crawled up his face.
“On it,” the mage replied, grimly tossing another fireball towards the not-men that simply kept coming.
Arrows flew as Reed and Howe took aim, and soon the approaching night was full of the sounds of swords and flesh. Steel did what he could, knowing his sword was the fastest way to put the dead things down for good, but as before, the creature with the claws and the red eyelights had no interest in anyone but him.
“Behind!” cried Nathen, the panic in his voice betraying the danger that approached.
Steel stole a quick glance over his shoulder, still trying to lead the thing away from the others - and paused for a split second. Not one, but two spiders were picking their way through the trees behind them, the dim light of the fading day glimmering in their impossibly large eyes. “Behind!” he confirmed, noting also the goat-sized rats charging in under the spiders.
In his momentary distraction, the creature pursuing him had dodged to one side and made a grab for Steel’s wrist, but Derek’s sword was there to stop it.
“Get the bugs,” Steel said, putting himself between his friend and the not-man. He had no intention of losing another man to this thing’s claws, no matter how fast they were. He pressed his attack, taking advantage of the fact that the creature wouldn’t actually fight him - it only wanted to grab him. When it lay dead at his feet, sword in its chest, Steel scanned the rest of the scene.
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