Elena crouched lower, almost crawling, as Fardale padded silently away. With the heavy ax cradled on her shoulder, she tried her best to keep up with Fardale, but the wolf’s paws floated across the trampled grass and mud, and a gap quickly grew between her and the wolf. Biting her lower lip, she struggled with her back bent after the fading black shadow. Ahead, Fardale vanished beyond the corner of the last tent.
She hurried after him, but when she reached this last tent, she paused. Beyond the corner lay only open meadow with nowhere to conceal oneself. Holding her breath, she peeked around the edge of the deer-hide tent. What she saw there almost caused her to lose control of her tightly held magicks.
Five poles were staked into the ground with her friends lashed to them. A creature of sick dreams climbed away from one of the posts. It was all wing, black scale, and jointed legs. And before them all, watching with intensity, stood a slender, naked woman draped in long black hair, a single lock etched a milky white. The woman seemed to sense Elena’s eyes upon her and turned in her direction. The woman’s face was as white as her moonlit lock and as cold as a sunless cave. Elena darted back behind the tent before the woman’s eyes spotted her.
She shivered, not from the sight of the woman or the creature, but from what else she had seen for that brief moment. It could not be! Yet Elena knew it was true. Though what stood lashed to the last pole was just loose skin and brittle bone, she recognized the honey blond hair and the green shift that adorned the desiccated figure. It was Nee’lahn.
Elena could not stop the tears. She huddled behind the tent and held her bloody fist before her mouth, trying to keep her sobs from being heard. She had come too late! Nee’lahn was dead.
A cold voice rose from beyond the tent. Elena knew it came from the strange woman. “Now, Er’ril, where is the wit’ch?”
“I’ll tell you nothing, Vira’ni. You can kill us all.”
“Oh, Er’ril, you never did understand me. I didn’t kill the little blond woman to threaten you. These others truly mean nothing to me. They’re just food for my baby. My master has given me a tool to extract the information from you, with or without your consent—but the method is so messy.”
“I’ll not betray the child.”
“But, Er’ril, you’re so good at abandoning children. Even your own.”
“The wit’ch is beyond your reach, Vira’ni. I hid her well. She is beyond even the reach of the Gul’gothal lord.”
Elena trembled where she hid. Er’ril was lying. But why? As soon as she wondered this, the answer came to her. Er’ril must know about her flight atop Rorshaf and thought her halfway to the plains by now. With his deceptive wrangling, he hoped to extend her lead. He was willing to sacrifice himself and the others just to buy her extra time.
She could not let him make this sacrifice, especially since it was a useless gesture. She was not racing across the plains in flight. She was here. Their deaths would do no good.
The woman continued speaking. “Maybe you tell the truth, Er’ril, but I will still find where you sent her. But first, my baby is still so hungry. Isn’t that so like children? They eat until they’re full, and moments later they’re crying for more.”
Elena heard a keening mewl rise from the meadows that made her flesh crawl. It sounded like the plaintive wail of a lamb she had once found ravaged by a bandicat, a cry full of blood, pain, and the certainty of death.
“My baby must grow strong to take wing and hunt down your wit’ch.”
Elena pulled to a crouch and wiped the tears for Nee’lahn from her eyes. No more would be sacrificed this night. Blood from her fingers stung her eyes as she wiped her cheeks clear—and with her blood’s touch, the world changed around her. She saw with new eyes. The magick in her blood had cast some minor spell upon her vision. She could now see inside the flesh of her hand and view the blaze of azure light trapped within, opening her eyes to the flows of magick inside her.
The woman’s icy voice cut through Elena’s moment of wonder. “Now go feed, my sweet. Why don’t you try that big man over there? He looks strong and will feed you well.”
Elena lowered her blazing hand and stood. She must stop this slaughter. Now was not the time for stealth and shadows, but something bolder . . . something riskier. It was now time to make a stand.
“So, once again, where is this wit’ch of yours, Er’ril?”
“I told you—”
Hefting the ax over a shoulder, Elena stepped from behind the tent. “Here I am,” she answered calmly. Her quiet words rang clear in the hushed and deadly night. “You want a wit’ch? I’m here.”
ER’RIL WATCHED THE girl step forward, shock and horror squeezing the breath from his chest. Elena had Kral’s ax over her left shoulder, and blue crackles of power sparked about her right fist. The child obviously did not know what she faced. Neither weapon she bore was strong enough to vanquish the twin threats here. Between Vira’ni’s twisted spirit and the spider beast, Elena had no chance to win this night, and with the others bound tight, none could come to her aid.
As Elena approached, Er’ril saw that the child’s cheeks were bloody, and a strange azure glow shone from her eyes. What new magick was this?
“Why, look! Er’ril, your little lost sheep has wandered home,” Vira’ni commented casually. “My master taught me much about her wit’chery and magick. And I can tell you this—from the hue of her hand, she’s rather weak right now. At least the deaths of my children in the forest weren’t a total waste.”
Er’ril could not contest Vira’ni’s words. “Get back, Elena!” he called. “It’s a trap!”
Kral and Meric echoed his words. Only Mogweed stayed silent, cowering and trembling.
Elena ignored them all, not even looking in their direction. She concentrated on Vira’ni. “Get your monster away from Kral,” Elena said with fire in her voice.
The spider beast had frozen at the sudden appearance of the girl. An arm’s length from Kral’s boots, the creature crouched unmoving. The large red poison sacs on either side of its head pulsed like foul hearts.
“My baby?” Vira’ni answered. “But the sweet thing’s not finished growing yet and needs more nourishment.” She waved a hand, and the spider beast’s legs again began to move in Kral’s direction.
“Then you leave me no choice.” Elena lifted the ax in both hands and threw the heavy blade with the strength of both shoulders. It arced toward the spider beast. Er’ril was amazed that the ax flew as fast and as sure as it did. He suspected some of the girl’s magick must be behind the power of the throw. Still, as Er’ril had judged, neither was a match for the evil in this meadow. The spider beast darted to the side, and the ax missed, landing between Er’ril’s and Kral’s stakes, burying its blade deep in the mud.
Vira’ni’s eyes had followed the ax’s path with a momentary wince; then she laughed loudly when it landed harmlessly. She spoke to the ax. “Goodness, she is a feisty one, isn’t she?”
With Vira’ni’s attention diverted, Er’ril noticed Elena stare intensely at him for the first time, obviously wanting something of him. Once she had caught his eye, the girl slipped an object from her breast pocket and hurriedly rolled it toward his stake. Glinting in the moonlight, it bounced and tumbled across the grass to land near his toes. He studied the muddy object, his eyes wide. How did . . . ?
Unfortunately, Elena’s secretive movements did not completely escape Vira’ni’s attention. “Now what are you up to?” Keeping her eyes on Elena, she backed toward Er’ril’s stake. “What’s this little love note she’s passing to you?”
As Vira’ni glanced closer to the object, bending slightly away from Elena, the child pointed toward the ax. Er’ril suddenly understood. But could he make it work again? From the corner of his eye, Er’ril saw Kral struggle with the spider beast as it reached his legs and climbed upon him. With what little movement Kral could manage with his ropes, the mountain man kept jabbing his knees at the creature’s belly to keep it unsettled, but thi
s battle would not last long. Er’ril concentrated on the object at his toes. He must make it work.
“How cute!” Vira’ni said, leaving the muddy object untouched. “It’s a tiny iron sculpture. I thought it was a rose at first, but now I see it’s just a small fist.” She faced Elena again. “Not very romantic, my dear.”
Elena backed a few steps away, raising her red fist high in the air. Crackles of power blazed in the night.
Vira’ni followed. “Very pretty. Now see what I can do.” With a long, sharp fingernail, she sliced a deep cut in her forearm. Blood welled quickly, but Vira’ni smeared it over her chest and face before it could drip to the mud. Instead of staining her skin red, the blood seemed to draw shadows to her flesh. About Vira’ni’s form, inky pieces of night coalesced around her, drawn to her naked skin and clinging to her like a lover’s caress. She now wore the darkness like a shield.
“I will give you one last chance to free my friends,” Elena said, seemingly unfazed by the demonstration of Vira’ni’s power.
“Or what?” By now, shadows trailed and roiled around Vira’ni like serpents. As they grew in strength, the meadow dimmed, the shadows sucking hungrily at the fire and moonlight. The shadows themselves soon crackled with black flames. “You think you can douse the darkfire that the Black Heart has granted me?”
“Let’s find out,” Elena answered. She backed farther away, leading Vira’ni with her.
“It’s too late to run, my dear.”
Struggling to shut out the women’s warring words, Er’ril closed his eyes. He knew the girl was just trying to buy him time, keeping Vira’ni distracted. He must not lose this chance. Elena needed his help. With his heart pounding in his throat, he recalled his battle with the rock’goblins. How had he made the ward work? He remembered the boy’s name, the one whose fist lay carved in iron before him, the one he had slain long ago. I need you, he whispered in his mind. He formed the boy’s name on his lips: I need you, De’nal.
With the silent utterance, his shoulder stump suddenly bloomed with a searing fire. He gasped as he hung in the ropes, his legs weak with the flare of pain. Then just as quickly the agony vanished. Yet all was not as it had been. Er’ril now sensed the presence of a phantom arm attached to his shoulder, like a distant memory of his old limb of flesh and bone. He opened his eyes and saw the iron fist floating in the air before him. It was again his own fist, attached at the end of his phantom arm. He stretched and flexed his hand and watched the sculpted ward obey, iron fingers opening and closing to his command. He clenched the hand back to a fist. He had done it!
Lowering the iron hand, he saw that Elena had managed to draw Vira’ni out of sight behind the tents. He could hear their voices raised in challenge. He must not waste the slim chance the girl had won.
A groan to his right drew Er’ril’s attention. Kral was losing his battle with the spider beast. The creature now straddled the man’s large chest, scrabbling to secure its position, its legs digging into Kral’s flesh. With his phantom arm and iron fingers, Er’ril reached and grabbed the hickory handle of the ax. Pulling with a force stronger than his real limb, he hauled the blade up from the mud and lashed out at the beast.
He only managed to smack it with the flat of the blade, but it proved enough. Caught by surprise, the beast was knocked clear of Kral. In a flurry of wings and tangled legs, it landed on its back.
“Swing around,” Er’ril hissed at Kral. “Your ropes!”
Kral twisted his body around the pole to expose the cords that bound his arms and shoulders. “Hurry!” he spat back at Er’ril. Nearby, the creature was already righting itself, shaking out its disturbed wings. From its two jaws, a scream of fury pierced the night.
Sweat beaded his brow as Er’ril swiftly swung the ax. With two swipes, Kral stood in a tangle of severed ropes.
The spider beast leapt at Kral’s throat, but the mountain man drove a fist the size of a small boulder into the creature’s face, knocking it away from him. “Begone, you foul-faced dunghill,” he shouted. The beast rolled into the higher meadow grass.
Er’ril freed the mountain man’s legs. “Take the ax,” he called, giving up any pretense of subterfuge. “Get me out of these ropes.”
Kral obeyed, accepting the ax from Er’ril’s iron fist. The mountain man moved with grace and speed, using his huge ax like an extension of his arm.
Er’ril shook off his ropes.
“Get me out of here, too!” Mogweed whined loudly.
Er’ril pointed at the shape-shifter. “Free Mogweed and Meric—but the three of you keep that beast here! I’m going after Vira’ni and the girl.”
“Wait,” Kral warned. His eyes were on the edge of the grass line. “Here it comes again.”
The beast leapt from the meadow’s edge. Its stalked eyes were aglow with red rage; green poison dripped and sizzled from its slathering jaws. But it seemed shaky on its legs, teetering as if blown by strong winds. Its body shuddered, and its swollen belly convulsed. It screeched—not with rage but with pain.
“Something’s wrong,” Kral mumbled.
“Get me out of here!” Mogweed cried again, spittle shining on his lips.
Meric spoke for the first time, his words directed at Mogweed. “Fool, keep your tongue still.”
The beast seemed attracted by their voices and took a scatter of steps toward them, then suddenly stopped as if unsure. Its eyestalks waved erratically, and it began to wobble on its legs. It tried to take another step but instead toppled to the ground. It scrabbled at the mud, and its wings fluttered weakly for several heartbeats. Then, after a final, violent shudder, it lay limp. The glow faded and died in its eyes.
“It’s dead,” Mogweed said, his words both a question and a statement of relief.
“But what killed it?” Kral asked.
Er’ril ignored the question and the mystery. Elena was more important. He waved Kral toward the two men still roped to the poles as he turned to leave. “Free them, but don’t be so sure the beast is dead. Watch it closely.”
Er’ril turned to leave, but before he could step away, Mogweed’s voice quaked. “L-l-look!”
Er’ril glanced back. The beast lay quiet, its eyestalks limp and dead, but now its wings had begun to dry and curl like sun-seared leaves, and its eight legs withdrew into its black body. With these transformations, its belly section swelled, and something inside its poisonous heart began to thrash and squirm.
“Get me out of these ropes!” Mogweed squealed.
Kral was already there, slicing the shape-shifter’s bindings. “What’s happening?” Kral asked as he moved to free the elv’in from his ropes.
Er’ril stood frozen in indecision. “It’s molting,” he said. “Shedding into its new form.” Er’ril knew he should leave this matter to Kral. But Mogweed would be of no aid to the mountain man, and Meric was still too weak from his daylong manipulation of the winds to be of any real help. Er’ril paused. He feared pursuing Elena without first seeing what manner of monster was at his back.
He did not have long to wait.
The skin and scale of the spider beast’s belly split open, and from its heart, an oily green mist blew into the night, glowing like some sick fungus on moldering wood. Er’ril sensed that one whiff of that oily fog would kill instantly. All four men backed farther away from the carcass.
What squirmed free from its dead shell plopped, steaming, onto the mud of the meadow. Pale skinned, like the belly of a dead snake, it lay curled, a moist bundle on the mud. Here it was at its most vulnerable, but the fog of poisonous mist hung around it like a protective barrier.
The men could only watch as it began to uncurl, arms stretching out, knees bending free. It rolled to face them, swiftly gaining its bearing and strength. What crouched before them was no weak babe, fresh from a womb. Instead, cunning already shone in its eyes. It swung its feet under itself and stood on its two bare legs to face them.
“Sweet Mother,” Kral swore near Er’ril’s shoulder, ama
zement thick in his voice. He lowered the ax he had been about to hurl.
Before them rose a wonder. Long black hair framed a face of soft skin and full lips, breasts the size of ripe apples, and a slim waist above long, shapely legs. Her simple beauty shone forth like a beacon from all the horror of her birth. Not only did she share her mother’s beauty, she was her mother’s twin.
It was Vira’ni, born again.
“Sweet Mother!” Kral swore again, backing now in horror, his ax clutched tight.
From behind this beauty’s shoulders, membranous wings spread forth, all bone and leather. Black blood could be seen coursing through the thick vessels in her wings. A feral smile spread the she-demon’s lips to reveal rows of sharpened teeth. A red tongue, longer than an arm, slithered from between pointed fangs, curling about her face like an angry viper. She hissed at them and raised hands that sprouted razored claws, a sick green oil sheening their tips. What stood before them was a creature of pure poison.
Er’ril groaned. “I thought her mad . . . deluded . . .”
“What? What is that thing?” Kral asked as they backed another step, raising his ax protectively.
“The Dark Lord . . . He . . . he finally succeeded in mating a human with a skal’tum, mixing human blood with the lineage of the dreadlords. This creature . . . this monster truly is Vira’ni’s child.”
The cursed beast crouched lower on its legs, arms and wings raised high.
“Watch out!” Meric called from behind their shoulders.
They all retreated in a bunch.
It called after them, its voice a hissing cackle. “Now why are you all running away?” It leapt toward them. “Come give usss a little kissss.”
ELENA CONTINUED TO back farther into the heart of the camp. Once again she was among the litter of bloated and blackened corpses and had to be careful where she placed each foot as she retreated from the demoness. The air stank of smoke, blood, and excrement.
Had she bought the others enough time? Elena could not know for sure, so she continued her slow retreat, drawing Vira’ni with her.
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