by Sarah Hawke
“We can’t reach Tor’s Crossing by nightfall,” Sehris said, hours later, when they came to a halt atop a cliff looming over the frozen farmlands that stretched south and east as far as they could see. “We’ll have to set up camp somewhere.”
“Some of the farmsteads are probably still abandoned,” Delaryn said. “We could look around.”
Rohen pressed his tongue hard into the back of his teeth and shaded his eyes from the glare of the waning sun. A shimmering crimson smear had already started spreading across the snow; they probably had another hour of daylight left at most. Though frankly, even if Tor’s Crossing had only been a few miles away, he wasn’t convinced they would make it. None of them had slept at all last night, obviously, and both girls looked like they were about to collapse from exhaustion.
He wasn’t much better off himself. Templar were trained to fight Chol and demons, but not both on the same bloody day without sleep. His brigandine felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, and he hadn’t been able to feel his toes inside his boots for hours.
“The farmlands here are more populated than the ones in the north,” Rohen said. “They weren’t devastated by the war, so most folks stuck around even through the worst of the fighting. I can’t imagine anyone would recognize you, but…”
“They’ll be terrified of me either way,” Sehris whispered, pulling the furs he’d given her more tightly over her cloak.
Rohen nodded soberly. “If we press on for a bit longer, we can set up a camp in the foothills here and get a few hours of sleep. We might be able to reach town by tomorrow afternoon.”
He expected at least a token protest, given how adamantly both women hated the idea of traveling to the Galespire, but instead they both nodded. Apparently, fatigue was currently winning the battle over fear. He understood all too well.
An hour later, they set up camp atop a small, defensible plateau overlooking the distant farmlands. With the supplies they had taken from the fort, Rohen had no trouble starting a fire and boiling some soup in a cooking pot. Neither the bread nor the vegetables were particularly fresh, but at least the meal was reasonably nourishing.
Supper was quiet and somber. None of them wanted to talk about anything that had happened, and Rohen was grateful for the silence. The implications of the slaughter at Sundermount were so harrowing he wasn’t even sure he could put them into words. Chol traveling through the Pale and leaving demons in their wake…
This wasn’t just the stuff of nightmares—it sounded like the end of the fucking world.
Sehris insisted on taking first watch for the night. Rohen was too exhausted to protest, especially since it made perfect sense: she could see farther than either of them in the dark, and full-blooded elves could function better without sleep than half-bloods or humans. He curled up next to Delaryn inside the bedroll, and he held her tightly against him as she wept softly into his chest. He tried and failed to hold back his own tears as the dam of rage he had built to wall off his sorrow finally burst.
By morning, however, he had mostly patched up the cracks again. Every thought of Zin prompted a fresh surge of anger, and every time he saw a tear in Sehris’s violet eyes, he promised himself that the Lord Protector would pay for his treachery. Vengeance was still a far more palatable companion than despair.
After eating a quick, cold breakfast of salted fish and bread, the group pushed almost directly east. A surprisingly warm front of air greeted them when they finally left the shadow of mountains and moved into the farmlands, almost as if they were literally escaping the aura of death hanging over the north. All three of them seemed to catch a second wind at the same instant, and Rohen swore that chasing the sun was somehow more energizing than sleeping last night.
The border town of Tor’s Crossing appeared on the horizon just before dusk, and it wasn’t long before they spotted the stream of merchant caravans and travelers flowing out the main gate to the bridge over the Winding Tear. From a distance, everything seemed a lot more hectic than when Rohen had rode through here a few days earlier.
“Either this is an unusually busy day,” Rohen said as they finally approached the road leading into town, “or the word is spreading about what happened in Whitefeather Hold. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the wealthier merchants have already headed south.”
“If not, they will once they hear about the fate of the Pact Army,” Delaryn whispered from behind her hood.
“Which we’re not going to tell them,” Rohen said. “Not yet, anyway.”
“I rode through here with Thedric just a few weeks ago,” Delaryn reminded him. “And he actually let me out of the carriage a few times while we were meeting with the local tharns. Someone could definitely recognize me here.”
Rohen pursed his lips. “We won’t go anywhere near town hall or the riverside estates. There’s an inn on the eastern side of town I’ve stayed at before…it’s low-key enough we should be able to stay here for a night without too much trouble. Just keep your hoods drawn and your heads down as we move through town.”
“Perhaps you should cover your brigandine,” Sehris suggested. “If the people have heard about Whitefeather Hold, a Templar will draw a lot of attention.”
“You’re probably right,” he said, grabbing the bundle of furs from his back and covering his cloak and armor as best he could. His wraithblade was a bigger liability, but as long as he kept it inside its scabbard and beneath the furs, he doubted anyone would notice.
A few minutes later, they approached the main gate. The guards allowed them inside without a fuss, mostly because they were so occupied by the people trying to leave town, not enter it. Rohen wouldn’t have described it as a mass exodus exactly, but an aura of fear hung in the air. The news of Thedric’s death had them almost as unsettled as the Chol—the townsfolk feared another civil war almost as much as another Culling.
Once he and the girls were through the gate, Rohen led them east through the winding, rough cobblestone streets. Tor’s Crossing may have been one of the most important trading hubs in all of Darenthi, but it was also an unholy amalgamation of so many architectural styles that the whole settlement looked like the gods had chosen a dozen different villages at random and smashed them all together. The sprawling mass of brown huts and half-rotting piers along the shore looked like refuse washed up by the river, yet it stood alongside a district of neat, well-appointed homes owned by wealthy tharns and traders. The outer wall was so crooked and meandering it could have been designed by a drunkard, and the streets were so uneven that they were harder to traverse than if they had been dirt trails in the woods. But at least the town would have somewhere warm to sleep and bathe, and tonight was all Rohen cared about.
“Are you certain this establishment is safe?” Delaryn asked when he pointed out their destination across the street. The three-story building had definitely seen better days: the “Deadly Duchess” sign out front was so old it was barely legible, and the roof and many of the windows needed to be replaced. But Rohen saw past the dilapidated façade, and he trusted the owner to be discreet.
“Safer than any of the merchant inns along the river,” he told her. “And the inside is quite a bit nicer, I promise.”
What he didn’t tell her was how he knew about this place. About a year and a half ago, back when he had still been an aspirant, he and two fully trained Templar had been dispatched to the fringes of the Sundered Spine to deal with a small group of marauding Chol. While the others had rested comfortably in their rooms, Rohen had spent the night in bed with a Sanctori Inquisitrix.
Gods, I hope Jess isn’t caught up in her father’s insanity.
Rohen winced at the thought. He hadn’t seen Jessara Kraythe, the Lord Protector’s daughter, for almost six months now. She was, without a doubt, the most fanatically religious person he had ever met, which was truly saying something for the Tel Bator and the Sanctori in particular. She also happened to be the first woman he had ever slept with, and their entire relationship—if he could
even call it that—defied belief in a hundred different ways.
He didn’t love her. He didn’t even particularly like her, honestly, but she had always been bizarrely obsessed with him. For a long time, he had been terrified that her father would learn about their secret dalliances, but now…
Well, now he mostly just hoped she wasn’t involved in her father’s insane scheme to murder the king and unleash the Chol. Perhaps there was some way he could contact her and inform the Sanctori what was really going on here.
Assuming the Lady Seeker isn’t involved. For all I know, the other Lords of the Tel Bator could be supporting this madness.
“Is something wrong?” Delaryn asked.
Rohen shook his head when he realized he had stopped on the stone step in front of the door. “No,” he said, clearing his throat. “Just thinking about the last time I was here.”
“If it was that bad, why are we—”
“It wasn’t bad, it was just…” Rohen paused and cleared his throat. He would have to tell them about Jess eventually, but not now. “Never mind. Come on.”
He pushed open the door and headed inside. The tavern on the bottom floor was almost empty at this hour, though he suspected that would change soon. The owner, a scrawny, middle-aged woman named Brela, turned toward him as he stepped up to the bar.
“Good evening,” he said, forcing a smile. “I was hoping we could—”
“You’re late, Templar,” she interrupted without lifting her eyes from the counter she was wiping down.
Rohen blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You missed your commander. He left early yesterday morning.”
“I…right,” he muttered, his throat suddenly dry—and not just because Kraythe had already been here. He also couldn’t believe that she had recognized him after two years. Jess had told him that Brela was a Whisperer, one of the many Tel Bator operatives embedded among the populace, which was why the Duchess was such a common stopover for Sanctori agents. Still, he had only spent one bloody night here…this woman’s memory was impressive. Or creepy.
“He promised the tharns he’d lead an army of Templar back this way soon,” Brela said, shaking her thick red-white mane. “I bet they’re going to be disappointed, aren’t they?”
Rohen opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He genuinely had no idea what to say to this woman. Perhaps coming here had been a mistake…
“You look like shit,” she said when she finally glanced up at him. “How many Chol did you have to kill to get here?”
“Too many,” Rohen managed.
Brela’s eyes flicked past him to the girls. “Well, you better get them back to the Spire quick. If the townsfolk realize there are channelers here, they’ll riot. Half of them are already convinced the horde is on its way.”
“What are you talking about?” Rohen asked, trying to swallow the sudden dread rising in his throat. “They aren’t—”
“Uh-huh,” Brela said, waving her washcloth. “Look, head up to the suite on the third floor. I’ll get one of my girls to draw you a pair of baths. Just keep the dark elf out of sight until morning, would you? This place will be filling up any minute, and I don’t want to cause a panic.”
She reached back to a shelf behind the bar and then dropped an iron key in his palm.
“Go on, get moving,” Brela said. “I’ll send up some food in a little while.”
Rohen still wasn’t sure whether to argue or panic, so he decided to simply nod and do as the woman said. Whatever she did or didn’t know about what was going on, making a scene seemed like a bad idea for everyone involved.
“What was that about?” Delaryn asked once they started up the stairs.
“She must be a Whisperer,” Sehris reasoned. “Is this a Tel Bator safehouse?”
“Of sorts,” Rohen murmured, glancing down at the key. “I figured it was the best place for us to stay, but I didn’t expect her to recognize me…or you.”
“We did pass through town a few days ago,” Sehris reminded him. “The locals were probably chatting about the dark elf sorceress being escorted north. Whisperers are paid to hear such things.”
“I suppose,” he said. “Either way, at least we know Kraythe was here and when he left. There’s a good chance he’s still at the Galespire.”
“That also means he will have had several days to convince the Lord Vigilant to begin the Purges…assuming they weren’t working together already.” Sehris placed her hand on his wrist once they reached the third floor. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? We could still head south to Griffonwing or…”
“Or what?” he snapped. “We’ve been over this. Kraythe is at the Galespire, so that’s where I’m going.”
Both women wore the same weary but frightened look on their faces, and Rohen sighed and rubbed a hand over his mouth.
“Sorry,” he said. “Come on, let’s clean up and get something to eat. We can argue about this later.”
***
After four nights and three days of trudging through the snow, battling the Chol, and fleeing for their lives, Delaryn would have been grateful for a basin of cold water and a stiff brush. When she found out that the water was steaming and the brushes were newly bristled, she practically melted into the large copper washtub. For a few precious minutes, she almost felt as if she were back in the palace in Silver Falls.
She almost felt like a queen.
“Gods, I wish I knew a spell to keep it warm forever,” she said as she popped up from beneath the water and pulled back her soaked platinum hair. The tub was so long and deep that she could almost completely stretch out while submerged. “Weren’t you taught any useful tricks like that?”
“Elemental magic is forbidden,” Sehris said as she finally stripped off her underclothes and added them to the pile of washables. “I doubt anyone in the Spire has heated their bathwater with the Aether since the days of the Seven.”
Delaryn shook her head and leaned against the back of the tub. “It seems like there’s a big difference between unleashing a fireball and heating up some water.”
“Both channeling techniques use the same principle. One day the sorcerers are heating up their lunch, the next they are setting fire to the library. Or so the wisdom goes...”
Sehris stepped over to the tub and gently dipped her foot into the water. Her sleek elven frame was every bit as elegant as Delaryn remembered, and her smooth, slender legs seemed to go on forever. Bathing together like this brought back a hundred pleasant memories from their days in Silver Falls before Thedric’s uprising.
“Oh, gods, this is wonderful,” Sehris breathed as she sank into the tub and closed her eyes. “Maiden’s mercy…”
Delaryn smiled and took in her friend’s dark beauty, undeniable even in the candlelight. The tiny beads of water on her gray breasts glimmered like jewels, and the alluringly mysterious black spider tattoo encircling her navel almost glowed beneath the rippling surface. If Sehris hadn’t been liberated from the Underworld as a toddler, she probably would have risen far in drow society. Between her sorcerous gifts and her holy markings, her family must have been important.
“Maybe there’s another option,” Delaryn said. “Can you create a barrier to hold in the heat?”
Sehris’s violet eyes fluttered back open. “Maybe…”
Stretching out her long fingers, the dark elf conjured a shimmering dome of Aetheric energy around the tub. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she continued sculpting the dome into a bubble around them, and Delaryn seized the opportunity to lean forward and tickle Sehris’s flat stomach.
“Hey!” she protested.
“You’re a Spire sorceress trained in the arts of war,” Delaryn said, splashing water over the other woman’s chest. “Surely you can handle a little distraction.”
The dark elf scowled playfully and splashed Delaryn right back. Within seconds, they were both giggling like little girls, and soon they were trying to grab each other’s wrists and stop th
e watery onslaught. Sehris won, like usual, and her prize was a long, slow kiss as she pinned her human friend back against the opposite side of the tub.
Delaryn moaned blissfully at the familiar heat and taste of the dark elf’s tongue. Their bodies locked together as one beneath the surface of the water, and for a few minutes, at least, the horrors of the world couldn’t hope to pierce the shimmering bubble surrounding them.
If only it could last forever…
Sehris finally leaned away, a giddy smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes. “It’s been so long,” she whispered. “How did you get even more beautiful?”
Delaryn smiled back. “I missed you so much,” she breathed, running her fingers through Sehris’s soaked dark locks. “For a while there, I honestly didn’t think I would ever see you again.”
“I didn’t think anyone would let you see me again,” Sehris replied. “They wouldn’t want a dark elf sorceress anywhere within ten miles of the queen.”
Delaryn’s smile slowly faded even as she cupped the other woman’s face in her hands. Feeling her like this, their breasts together, their legs entwined, seemed like something out of a bittersweet dream. The truth was, she probably wouldn’t have ever seen Sehris again if not for the slaughter in her family’s castle, as bleak as that was to contemplate.
“I suppose the real question is whether or not you taste the same, too,” Sehris purred. “Let’s find out.”
Sliding back in the tub, she lifted Delaryn’s calves up and out of the water, then gently folded her in half until her knees were almost touching her own shoulders. The dark elf kissed and licked her way down the back of the human’s thighs until her lips and tongue dipped beneath the water and found Delaryn’s waiting quim.
“Oh…” Delaryn breathed, her eyes fluttering in ecstasy. Sehris had always known exactly what she was doing: every nibble, every lick, every plunge of her slender fingers…within moments Delaryn’s toes were curling in midair, and it was all she could do to keep her head from sinking beneath the waterline as heat started building in her core.