“Wake up!” Makeo rumbled.
Makeo? Oh right, on the road. “Is it my watch?” Aza tried to rub the images that stained the backs of her eyelids. The horses shifted and whickered nervously on the edge of camp, but the moon still glowed high in the sky. They couldn’t have been sleeping more than an hour.
“No,” Makeo whispered, his voice like distant thunder. “But the smell of death draws near.”
Aza pulled a dagger and sprang to her feet, her head swiveling around their camp. The fire was low but still burning. Witt snored away in blissful ignorance, but Shad perked up beside him.
Aza tapped the flat of her blade against her thigh. “The Lost? How close?”
One of Makeo’s ears flicked to the side. “I don’t know…”
“But we should leave before we have to find out.” Shad crossed to where Witt lay and batted him on the cheek with his sharp claws
“Ow,” Witt whined, raising a hand to his face. Sitting up, he glanced around through slitted eyes, his voice still slurred with sleep. “S’happenin’?”
“Deminen, the riverport, isn’t far from here,” Shad continued. “We’ll be safer on the water.”
The hair on the back of Aza’s neck came alive. Her eyes scanned the darkness that glued the trees together into an impenetrable web of shadow around their camp. She spun her dagger around her wrist, adrenaline already shooting through her.
“We should stay and fight,” she countered sharply. “If the Lost trail us, we’ll be leading them straight to Deminen.”
“We’re vulnerable—” Shad didn’t finish his sentence before steel flashed behind him.
“Get down!” Aza lunged toward Shad, swinging her blade up to meet the glinting edge arcing down on him. As she moved, the whistling air of a near miss tickled the back of her neck. Shad darted to the side to avoid the clash. The clang of metal on metal echoed through the still night as Aza deflected the blow. The face of her towering attacker looked on her with the black-filled eyes of her nightmares.
The Lost.
Makeo bellowed a beastly roar from behind her, and out of the corner of her eye, assailants rushed their campsite from all sides. Their shaved heads, powerful bodies, and scarred faces flickered in the fire, and a coil of cold dread wound in Aza’s belly. Rastgol. Or at least they used to be not long ago. Their bodies seemed oddly… fresh.
“It’s an ambush!” Makeo roared, parrying the blade of one, and throwing a massive paw to backhand another.
Aza took a step back as her attacker lunged forward. His heavy blows jarred her arms as she parried them. Another man charged Aza from her right. She rolled toward him and came to her feet inches before his boots, bringing her blade across his face. Bone cracked as his jaw broke away from his skull, but the man hardly even slowed. Aza dodged his ax handle, whirling in time to parry a cut from the first brute.
What were these things? The Rastgol were almost as tall as Makeo with white scars crawling up their shaved heads and down their heavily muscled arms. But even in death, they didn’t fight like the Lost. And they were dead, weren’t they?
“We need to get out of here!” Witt dodged behind a tree trunk before an ax blade sank into it.
“Get to the horses!” Shad shouted as he weaved between the feet of the attackers.
At Shad’s call, one of the ambushers grabbed a burning brand from the fire and whipped the mounts with it. The poor beasts screamed and reared, pulling free of their loose ties. Witt’s horse fled immediately, Oakhoof looked ready to fly, and Makeo’s Dalteek aimed his sharp hooves at the attacker’s head.
“Windtorn!” Makeo barked. With another buck, the stag crossed the fire to answer Makeo’s call. Makeo leapt over the stag’s flanks and into the saddle while the stag was still moving. “Shadmundar!”
Darting away from a flash of steel, Shad bolted from the fire. He only made it two leaps before another of the brutes blocked his path. Shad tried to dodge the club hurtling toward him, but the weapon caught the middle of his body, and he hit the ground like a downed bird. Aza rushed toward Shad while the Rastgol turned to swing his club at Windtorn, leaving his back unprotected.
Aza buried her dagger in the man’s neck again and again, until his nearly decapitated head slumped onto his shoulder. Wrenching her dagger free, she scooped up Shad’s limp body in one hand. Makeo reached down from Windtorn and grabbed the unconscious cat from her arms.
“Ride to Deminen!” she shouted.
Holding onto Shad with one hand and slashing at an attacker with the other, Makeo growled and locked eyes with Aza. “Not without you.”
Aza ran her dagger across the throat of the Rastgol assailant. “We’ll be right behind you.” With that, she slapped Windtorn’s flanks with the flat of her blade, and the stag sprang toward the road into the darkness.
Shad and Makeo safely away, Aza faced the three remaining Lost. She mustered her reserves of energy and dredged up the shadows. Oakhoof’s excited whinny shattered her concentration as Witt ran the mare into the clearing.
“Aza!” Witt reached out as Oakhoof cantered by her.
With two quick steps, Aza grabbed his hand and swung up onto Oakhoof behind Witt. She could practically feel their pursuer’s breath on her neck.
Witt spurred Oakhoof toward the road. “Ya!”
Oakhoof leapt through the underbrush and hit the road at a gallop. Aza clutched Witt’s skinny ribcage, his heart thrumming like a rabbit’s under her fingers. She craned her neck to watch the shadows in the night fade from view as the winding road turned sharply around the hilly landscape. Her eyes strained in the moonlit night as the distant thunder of hooves caught her ears.
“How many are there?” Witt yelled.
“I can’t tell.” Aza stared down the sinuous road behind them. “With the road winding like this, they’ll be on our heels before we see them.”
The beating of the hooves grew louder and louder until Aza was sure the horses would be nipping at Oakhoof’s flanks any second. The twisting road finally straightened, and Aza caught sight of the riders in the dark. There were at least six of them, great hulking brutes on draft horses that devoured the road like starved demons.
Aza shifted on Oakhoof’s slick flanks. “They’ll be on us in a moment.”
Witt’s head whipped around to catch a glimpse of their pursuers, and Aza smacked him on the shoulder. “Turn around, you idiot! Oakhoof will run off a ledge in this dark if you’re not looking.”
“How are we going to lose them?”
“Don’t be stupid. It’s dark and we don’t even know where we’re going.” Aza took inventory of her weapons. She had four knives, two daggers, and a sword and bow on her saddle. With Witt on the horse, she wouldn’t have enough room to draw the bow. Her mind raced through the options. “Don’t move!” Aza commanded as she shifted her grip around Witt’s middle and hooked her right leg around his waist.
“What are you—”
“Just hold on!” She swung herself around Witt until she was in his lap, their noses only inches apart.
“Aza!” Witt spluttered, his voice thick with embarrassment.
“Watch the road!” Aza reached for one of the throwing knives, and focusing on the frothing horse’s rider only two lengths behind, she lifted the blade. “Lean right.”
“W-what?”
Aza pushed him aside with her free hand and let the knife fly. The blade buried itself into the rider’s shoulder, but nothing happened. The rider flinched slightly, but he didn’t slow or even cry out.
“Bleeding skies.” Aza grabbed another knife.
She shoved Witt aside once again and heaved the short blade as hard as she could. This time the knife found its mark in the man’s throat, an obvious death blow. The rider’s head whipped back, and his horse stumbled, slowing. Blood oozed from the wound, but the man slapped the horse’s flanks, and the beast lunged forward once again.
Aza’s eyes narrowed. Only fire or decapitation would kill the Lost, but her blows were
n’t even slowing these things down. She growled in frustration. This was her brother’s strong suit.
Poor Oakhoof was blowing now as she strained to keep up the breakneck speed. Aza swung back behind Witt to ease the load on Oakhoof’s neck.
Witt turned Oakhoof sharply around another steep bend as they crested the hill. “Did you hit one?”
For a moment, Aza had no words. “These aren’t the Lost…” But the rushing wind stole away her whisper.
“Earth below,” Witt swore.
“What now?” Aza looked over Witt’s shoulder. “Odriel’s teeth.”
Orange flames, screams, and smoke twisted together and rose from the river town below them. Townsfolk ran aimlessly about in the streets, and globs of people fled up the hill toward them.
Deminen was on fire. They didn’t have to worry about leading these things to town. They’d already been there.
“We can’t ride into that!” Witt shifted his grip on the reins to slow Oakhoof.
She slapped him on the shoulder again. “Keep riding! We have to find Makeo and Shad.”
Oakhoof charged down the hill, weaving between the refugees scattered before her. The riders following them didn’t bother to avoid anyone, running down any unfortunate soul in their path. As they entered the city, the smoke and heat from the burning buildings assaulted Aza’s senses. Packs of the hulking Rastgol went from door to door, cutting down anyone or anything that stood before them. They’d been chased by the bees straight into the hive.
Witt had started to shake in Aza’s arms. “They’re everywhere!”
Aza’s eyes watered from the smoke as they flicked from shadow to menacing shadow, and the shrill screams of the townsfolk pierced the air. A mesmerizing howl rose above it all. The voice emanating from the river was not human but sounded eerily familiar.
“Makeo’s on the river, Witt! Keep on toward the water!”
Two of the riders had pulled up alongside them now, the spitting conflagration of the burning town reflecting off the naked steel of their blades. Aza drew her own sword just in time to block a slash to Witt’s head. With her free hand, she drew one of her daggers from the holster on her thigh and parried a thrust from their right. Rasping out a hoarse scream, she brought her blade down on one of the riders.
Witt ducked low. “There they are!”
Out of the haze, Aza could make out Makeo’s form on a small keelboat already drifting away from the dock. He lifted his snout and howled again.
Witt choked on the smoke. “They’re leaving without us!”
Aza blocked another blow from the rider on her right. “Take Oakhoof to the bank; she’ll swim it.” Hopefully.
Witt yelped as Oakhoof leapt from the bank into the river. The punch of the icy mountain water knocked the air from Aza’s lungs. The riders charged into the river behind them, but Oakhoof stopped when the water came up to her chest.
“She won’t go any farther!” Witt cried.
“Then swim, you idiot!” Aza pushed off from Oakhoof toward the center of the river. The icy snowmelt water stiffened her limbs as she swam furiously toward the boat. She looked over her shoulder to see Witt flailing around, just keeping his head above water. Oakhoof had already swum back to shore, but the dark-eyed horses were running in too, and the river boat was passing swiftly with the current.
Indecision tore at Aza. Did she have time to save him? Could she risk it? The thump of a wet, heavy weight saved her from the choice. A rope! She threw the end to the sinking Witt. “Grab hold!”
Witt clutched the lifeline desperately, his arms still frantically splashing. Aza waved to the keelboat and the rope tightened under her fingers, pulling them through the water and away from their pursuers.
When they reached the boat, Makeo lifted them over the side and deposited them unceremoniously on the deck before unfurling the small, ragged sail. As Aza trembled on the rough wood, she glanced back toward the burning town. Amidst the swirl and chaos of the killers and their victims, she could just make out one figure standing rigid among the carnage. His hood fell back, and two hateful eyes met her stare from a slumped, rotting face still grinning 28 years after his death—his decomposition slowed by the dark yanaa coursing through him, the green haze of it curling around his limbs.
Mogens.
The Heir killer.
He slowly lifted a hand to his face, and then snapped his gloved fingers with a crack that cut through the chaos. The Rastgol froze in place, turning to face Aza as one, their eyes all glowing with that same flickering jade.
At last catching the wind, the keelboat charged away from the swimming horses, their unnatural riders, and the destruction they wrought. But the screams echoed down the river for miles.
Chapter Seven
Aquilond
Makeo grabbed an old blanket wadded in the corner of the deck and draped it over Aza’s shoulders. “Are you all right?”
Aza dried her face and tossed the blanket to Witt trembling next to her—from shock or cold, she wasn’t sure. “I’m fine, I just…” She wrung out her sopping hair with shaking fingers, adrenaline still singing through her. “What were those things?”
Adjusting the tiller, Makeo guided their narrow vessel to the center of the stream. “Were they not the Lost?”
“The Lost I’ve seen were never that strong. They’re clumsy and not very intelligent. Usually, they’re only really dangerous if there are a lot of them.” She wrapped her arms around herself as if to try to hold on to what little warmth she had left. “These seemed almost… alive.”
Makeo nodded, his thick fur gleaming in the moonlight. “These were Hunters.”
“A living body would be stronger than a dead one if it could be controlled,” Shad muttered weakly from where he lay curled against the mast. “Why didn’t you use your gift?”
Aza grimaced. “I’m still drained from entering the Shadow Plane.”
“You need to rest and restore your energy,” Makeo rumbled, concern reflecting in his large emerald eyes.
A sudden thought flashed through Aza, and her gut sank like a stone. “Where’s Windtorn?”
“Don’t worry for Windtorn,” Makeo reassured her. “I sent him back to my kin in Carceroc. Without a rider, nothing will catch him. Not even those creatures.”
Aza wished she could say the same for Oakhoof. Hopefully those creatures hadn’t… She shuddered and tried to rub the chill from her arms. “Do you think those Lost could have been the same that burned Direfent?”
“The stories match. But Direfent is weeks away.” Shad’s ears flicked with a wince. “How could they be here already?”
For a moment, she was still, an odd certainty coming over her. “Idriel’s Children.”
Witt sat up, the blanket swaddled around him. “Whose children?”
“Idriel is the true name of Nifras, the demon necromancer my parents defeated all those years ago.” Aza licked her lips. “Before he died, he told my mother his children would avenge him.”
Witt frowned. “The demon necromancer has children?”
“No.” Aza got to her feet, trying to stamp warmth back into them. “We don’t know what he meant, but much of his dead army disappeared, and I could’ve sworn I saw Mogens back there… pulling their strings.”
Makeo stiffened, his eyes meeting hers. “Yes. That was the scent. I knew I recognized it.”
Witt looked from one to the other. “Mogens?”
“The Heir killer. He murdered Aza’s grandfather and the generation of Heirs before him,” Shad muttered, his eye half-closed. “Among many others.”
“He’s survived the dragon rage twice now.” Aza ran a finger down the scar in her cheek. “Some even say he’s unkillable.”
She didn’t have to ask to know it was Mogens’ face that haunted her mother’s dreams. He was the reason Aza’s grandfather had tried to hide her mother away, the same reason the Time Heirs had gone into hiding, and the reason her parents had trained them so intensely. Like the Heirs’ pers
onal demon, forever haunting them.
Witt swallowed. “Well, that’s reassuring.”
Aza nodded absently. If Mogens was hunting them with these creatures, what did that mean for her brother and parents? Her heart stuttered. Surely they would be safe. Her parents’ skill in battle was unmatched, and her brother had trained his whole life for this. She squeezed her hands together. If she could survive these things, then so could they. She had to believe it.
“Mogens is connected. Just like everything else. I need Dorinar to help me put it together.” Aza rolled her neck with a crack. “There are many ships that sail from Aquilond to Austerden. I just have to convince one to make a stop in Tazgar.”
“You mean we need to convince them,” Makeo said with a chuckle.
Aza shrugged. Or I could stow away on one.
“I know someone who can get us a clipper to Tazgar,” Shad said, blinking slowly.
Aza picked up the long river pole from the deck and dug it into the dark waters. “Good. We’ll need to move fast with those things following us.”
Aza bit the inside of her cheek. Part of her wanted to turn around and hunt down Mogens right then, but she shoved the thought away. That could come later. He was just another symptom of the disease that threatened Okarria. A distraction. She had to speak to Dorinar first.
Witt pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “But the Lost can’t swim, right? They won’t be able to reach us on the boat.”
Aza dug the pole into the river bottom, a slippery, cold feeling sliding around in her gut.
“Perhaps,” Makeo rumbled. “But these aren’t the Lost.”
✽✽✽
At dawn, Witt awoke, and Aza surrendered her pole to him to let herself doze. She rose at midday with yanaa once again swimming through her veins and found the small tributary had merged into the wider Koth river. By dusk, the Koth widened into the rocky bay that was Aquilond. Soaring pillars of natural stone rose out of the bay with roads and houses spiraling around them. Rope bridges swung between some of the spires, and people bustled from tower to tower without one glance toward the long drop to the calm water below.
Idriel's Children (Odriel's Heirs Book 2) Page 6