“I would know,” Caleb snapped. Shaking from the effort, he gave a tug, and was rewarded by the stretcher sliding up the hillside a few, almost imperceptible inches.
You fight a battle already lost, the voice said. There is no wisdom in what you do, no intelligence. The woman will die, is dying even now. Leave her and save yourself. If you can.
Caleb shook his head, tears of effort and exhaustion gliding down his face and mingling with the rain so that one could not be told from the other. “No,” he said. “I won’t. Go…a…way.”
Truth, young one, cannot be so easily banished. Your choice is a simple one. Let her go and live, or continue your doomed quest and die.
“Then I’ll die!” Caleb hissed, his voice a harsh whisper, and he gave another mighty pull, his anger and desperation giving him strength, and the stretcher slid up over a foot, coming even with him, close enough so that he could grab it with his other arm. He breathed a ragged sigh of relief, as he held it there for a moment, bracing against the tree to give his weary muscles a rest.
Then he rose, concentrating on keeping his grip on the poles, slick now with rain and mud. His shoulders felt numb, loose in their sockets, and he didn’t dare try to drag the stretcher behind him as he had before. Instead, he began backing up the hill, pulling the litter after him. He moved slowly methodically, all too aware that it would take no more than a badly-placed stone or root to trip him up and prove the mysterious voice right.
After minutes or hours—in his exhausted, tortured state he couldn’t tell for sure—the ground slowly began to level out, and soon he crested the ridge, leaving the incline behind. He paused, gasping for breath, and wiping an arm uselessly at the rain and tears intermingled on his face.
He looked down the ridge, and the breath caught in his throat as he saw the campfires in the distance, hundreds, maybe thousands of them, their flames flickering in the darkness reassuringly, as if all of those fires had been lit for him and him alone, to guide him to sanctuary. A great sense of relief overcame him then, and he fell to his knees. They were close now, so close. He jerked his gaze up again to the flames, suddenly afraid they would somehow vanish should he look away, and it was then that he saw figures moving in the darkness.
At first, he took them to be no more than shadows, thought it his fevered mind playing tricks on him. But then he saw it: a huge, hulking shadow, far away still, but standing between him and the sanctuary the flames promised. It seemed as large as a mountain to his weary mind. And when it moved toward the distant flames, he almost fancied he could hear the earth shake beneath its feet. And now that he had noticed it, Caleb saw two more of the hulking figures, each seemingly bigger than the last, and around their feet, scurrying like ants, what might have been as many as fifty, even a hundred of what he was sure were Kevlane’s faster creatures.
He stared at the sight of what amounted to a small army marching in the direction of those fires and, for a time, was at a loss for what to do. His first instinct was to wait them out, to let whatever was going to happen occur and then follow after, but he dismissed the idea nearly as quickly as it had come. For one, just because so many of the creatures were ahead of him didn’t mean there weren’t any behind and, if there were, they were undoubtedly heading in this direction even now, making it all too likely they would stumble upon him and the woman. But even aside from that, he didn’t think that Tianya could survive anymore time in the cold air and the rain than she already had. Glancing at her, he saw that her breath was fluttering and weak, her face sunken and sallow. He couldn’t go back, he couldn’t wait here. The only choice—bad choice though it was—was forward.
As for the creatures, he would worry about that when he came to it. For now, the steep downward slope that lay ahead was of more immediate concern. As hard as going up the hill had been, going down would be even more difficult.
Groaning, he lifted the stretcher again and started down the hill. Despite his own misgivings, he made it to the foot of the hill without losing hold of the litter, though he was covered in sweat and panting for air. His weary muscles begged him to slow down, to stop and rest, but Caleb pushed on, not knowing for certain that his legs would be able to take another step until they did.
He knew that, had he the time, the smart thing would be to skirt the creatures altogether minimizing, at least, the risk that one of them would hear him or the scraping of the litter as it dragged across the forest floor. The problem, of course, was that time was one of the many things he didn’t have. If he was going to have any hope of saving the woman, any hope of saving himself, then the only way forward was forward, and that as quickly as he could manage it.
So he pressed on into the darkness, his eyes scanning the shadowed trees around him, listening for any sound of the creatures’ presence
Careful now, Caleb, the Virtue said, you must be so very careful.
And even if I am? Caleb demanded, his fear and exhaustion making him temperamental. There’s next to no chance we’ll make it to the army either way.
Perhaps not, the Virtue agreed, but when there are no good choices, no intelligent ones, a man must make the best one he can and where intelligence fails, where planning fails, still hope is there to take its place.
Hope, Caleb thought bitterly. He’d learned long ago that hoping was a fool’s game. He’d hoped for his mother to love him, had spent much of his life doing what he could to please her in the hopes that she would thank him, would pull him close and tell him she loved him. But his childish fancies had done nothing to replace the loathing she felt for him.
I’m cold, Palendesh. Outside and inside too. I’ve never been so cold. And, what’s more, he wasn’t just cold. He was sleepy. Even as he stood gazing out into the night, his eyes tried to drift closed of their own accord. He shook his head in an effort to dispel the fog gathering over his thoughts. It would be such an easy thing, to lie down. He had tried, after all, hadn’t he? The voice had been right about that much, at least. He had tried, had done his best, and would it be any real surprise if he failed? After all, he was only a thirteen-year-old boy, little more than a child, in truth. What chance did he have against the cold and the rain, and the creatures that shared the darkness with him? He could stop now, could rest. But it would be more than rest; he was not so foolish as to think otherwise. To lie down now, to give in to the exhaustion that pulled at him like weights, would mean his death, and not just his, but the woman’s as well.
Grunting, Caleb started forward again, the litter in tow. He set off at an angle from where he’d seen the creatures walking, reasoning that, if his past experiences with the creatures were any indication, they would think nothing of strategy or flanking tactics, but would only drive forward into the army, killing as many as they could. It would delay his arrival at the camp, but to follow directly in the creature’s footsteps wouldn’t be to risk death but to guarantee it. Still, all too aware of the woman who was slowly dying, her life leaching out of her with each moment, he pushed his weary body on as fast as he could.
He walked for what felt like days, his mind ragged from constant stress and fear, his thoughts muddy and unfocused. And despite his efforts, it seemed as if the fires never got any closer. Perhaps, they never would get any closer. Perhaps, he would spend the rest of his life walking through this cold, dark forest, until finally one of the shadows he passed separated itself from the others and finished what the cold and the wet had started.
And if no creature did come? If the campfires were just a hallucination or, perhaps, some sick joke, yet another way to torment him? To bring him low and make of his efforts a parody, a farce? Then he would walk on anyway, until his feet were nubs of bone and bloody flesh beneath him, until the tremors wracking his body became so great that his bones began to snap from the force of them. And eventually he would fall, a twisted, misshapen thing born of pain and sorrow, not so unlike those creatures which hunted him.
He wanted to check on the woman, to assure himself that she was still
alive, but even so simple an action as that was beyond him now, and he knew that should he stop to examine her, he would never be able to start again. So he walked, just another shadow in a world of them.
He wasn’t sure when things first started to change, his exhausted thoughts focused completely on his forward motion, but eventually they did change. The vague glow of the flames in the darkness slowly became more distinct. Not campfires as he’d thought but torches. Has it all been for nothing then? Were these torches not the army at all, but instead carried by those creatures he had tried so hard to avoid?
He wanted to ask Palendesh his thoughts on the matter, but the Virtue had been silent for the last several hours, as if, in his exhaustion, Caleb had lost some vital part of himself, the part that allowed him to access the power of the bond and communicate with the Virtue. And his thoughts then—such as they were—were not the clever, informed musings of the most intelligent person in the world, but only the scared, vulnerable thoughts of a child lost and alone in the darkness.
No. Not the creatures. He had seen them on several occasions, and none yet had carried torches or any other source of light, their unnatural senses apparently making such things unnecessary. Still, there was something about the sources that struck him as odd and, at first, he couldn’t place what it was.
Finally, he realized what was bothering him and felt a vague sense of relief. The flames of the torches were low to the ground, no more than four feet up, their flames not nearly as high as they would be had a man—or creature—held them aloft. Perimeter torches. They have to be. At another time, he might have been overcome with joy at the realization that, finally, he had reached the army, that his journey was almost at an end, but even that was beyond him now.
Another thought followed on the end of that: if he had reached the army, then it was certain the creatures he’d seen were coming too. Which meant that his chances of being detected were greater now than ever they had been. But he walked on—he could do little else. Either the creatures would find him , or they would not. Either way, his journey would end. Soon. And so he walked.
As he drew closer, he began to make out the vague outlines of the poles on which the torches sat and was just beginning to believe he would make it, after all. It was then that several shadows separated themselves from the trees, gliding out from behind the large trunks like phantoms to stand in front of him, blocking his way. At first, they were only vague shapes, but soon he could make out the too-long arms, the skinny frames, and distorted features of Kevlane’s creatures.
There was a sound behind him, the snap of a twig underfoot, and he knew that, had he the energy, the will to look, he would see yet more standing there, surrounding him. Caleb did not look, could not, but his plodding steps grew slower, then slower still, until he was less than ten feet away from those in front. Then, finally, he stopped.
He wanted to rail at his plight, to scream and shout and rave that he had come so close, that he had suffered so much only to be cut down minutes away from sanctuary, but that thought was a distant thing, its voice buried under piles of exhaustion. And so he stood silently, waiting for what would come. The creatures studied him silently, their heads cocked in their strange, alien way, as if trying to determine what manner of thing he was, and how best to kill him. Then there was a flash of silver in the darkness as each of them drew their blades.
“Palendesh?” Caleb asked, his voice breaking with the tremors that even now wracked his small frame.
The Virtue, however, did not answer, and Caleb felt a vague sadness at that. He would have liked to have spoken to the Virtue once more, to have heard a friendly voice, before the end. He watched the creatures move closer, wanting to look away but unable to do so.
The creatures were only a few feet away when he heard a sound even over the driving rain. Snick. One of the figures approaching him stumbled, as if it had tripped, and Caleb blinked at a thin wooden shaft sticking out of its neck. What? How—There were shouts from off to his right and suddenly a dozen soldiers erupted from the shadows, rushing toward the creatures, several of them carrying torches that seemed to blaze impossibly bright in the darkness.
And running at their front was Aaron Envelar, his sword lashing out with a speed and surety that was hard to follow, cutting the nearest creature down. Its companions turned to face the new threat, but Caleb barely noticed. He was busy watching the sellsword with something like disbelief. The man’s face looked haggard, but his strikes were purposeful and graceful, like a master artist at his work, never missing a stroke, and where his sword quested, creatures fell dead or wounded around him. The soldiers followed him, guarding his flanks, a few pausing to finish off those left alive in the sellsword’s wake.
Caleb’s grip on time slipped then, and the next thing he knew, the sellsword was standing in front of him, his form blurry and wavering, as if he was rocking from side to side. “Caleb?” he asked, his gaze taking in the youth and the litter behind him.
Caleb wanted to ask him how the woman was, if she was still alive, but the words would not come and, in another moment, his hold on time didn’t just slip, but fell away altogether, and then he was falling, falling into the darkness through which he had traveled for so long.
***
Aaron stared down at the youth in disbelief. The boy’s small, naked chest bore dozens of scratches and small abrasions. He was pale, too pale, and when the sellsword reached down to lift him, his skin was hot to the touch. Aaron looked up, saw the soldiers standing around him, staring at the youth with wide eyes. “What of the woman?” he asked.
One of the men looked up from where he knelt beside the litter. “She’s breathing,” he said, “but barely. Sir, I’m not sure if…”
“Never mind that,” Aaron said, struggling against the emotions—a mixture of rage and grief—roaring inside him. “They’ve made it this far, somehow. We’ll carry them the rest of the way. Grab her and let’s go.”
As they did as he’d ordered, Aaron stared down at the youth in his arms, at his face, his features slack with unconsciousness, yet on them he thought he saw a hint of the ordeal the boy had gone through. Whatever had happened back at the Akalian barracks, it was clear the youth had been traveling through the forest for some time. How he’d made it this far while carrying Tianya, Aaron couldn’t imagine.
“You did good, Caleb,” he said, his voice little more than a choked whisper. “Now rest. We’ll finish this.”
The soldiers were waiting on his order, two of them holding either end of the stretcher on which the woman rested. He glanced around at the half dozen creatures scattered dead on the ground, as well as a soldier who also lay unmoving among them, the blade that had taken his life still impaling him. There was no time to bury him, no time to put his body to rest.
He gave a grim nod, and then they were running again. After all, the night’s work had only just begun, and there would be more blood before the thing was through.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
With a shout that was more a scream than a battle cry, Leomin gripped his sword in both hands and swung it with all the strength he possessed. His intended target had three arrows protruding from its chest and could barely stand—which was just as well as, of the many names and titles Leomin had been called by over the years, “swordsman” was not among them. Still, the blade did its work well enough, chopping deeply into the creature’s neck. Blood fountained out in a spray, and the creature collapsed to the ground, dead.
Give me jealous husbands and angry fathers any day, he thought, panting for breath.
All around him, soldiers and the mage’s creatures fought a desperate, bloody struggle. Leomin and those with him would have been overwhelmed nearly as soon as the fight began, if not for Gryle and Seline. The chamberlain was even now facing off against one of the giant creatures, while Seline flew through the enemy ranks, reaping a bloody harvest, her Virtue-enhanced speed proving greater than the dark sorcery that had twisted her opponen
ts. Yet for all his strength, Gryle could not hold an entire army on his shoulders, and for all her speed, Seline couldn’t be everywhere at once. The creatures, however, seemed to be in every direction Leomin looked, moving with that unnatural swiftness they possessed, their faces eerily vacant as they fought and killed and died.
Leomin stood in a cluster of twenty soldiers who would have long since been reduced to a pile of corpses, had they not been steadily reinforced by others rushing forward from the camp to join the fray. He’d thought, some time ago—it could have been minutes or hours—that he had seen Sergeant Wendell, but he couldn’t be sure, and it was impossible to pick the man out among the hundreds of soldiers spread in a ragged line, fighting for their lives. Another creature appeared out of the chaotic melee taking place to one side of them, coming directly toward Leomin, but its sprint turned to a halting stumble as several crossbow bolts appeared in its chest as if by magic. Yet still it came forward. The soldiers surged to meet it, and despite its wounds, the creature killed two of their number before finally being cut down.
Gods, what am I doing here? Leomin thought.
Ah, but how many wives, how many daughters have woken to see you lying in bed beside them and asked themselves the same question, I wonder? Aliandra asked into his mind. For all the flippancy of her words, Leomin could hear the fear in the Virtue’s voice, and for some reason he didn’t understand, the sound of it made him feel courage.
None, he answered, drawing himself upright and walking to the front of the line. You know as well as I that I depart far before the day breaks—nighttime lovers should be that and that alone.
What I know, Leomin, is that anyone who says the phrase “nighttime lovers” has no business on a battlefield.
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