thirty-four
“WE HAVE LITTLE TIME!” ALBERN shouted over the thundering hooves. “They will not allow us to escape so easily, and will soon recover their steeds. Ride as hard as you can, and stop for nothing!”
The stronghold had already vanished behind them, but still Loren could feel its presence, like a malevolent evil seeing without sight, its ill thought bent upon them. Perhaps it was only her imagination, or mayhap some dark magic of Trisken’s, but either way she urged Midnight on to greater and greater speed.
Loren caught a glimpse of Annis’s face as they rode, wide-eyed and frightened. Xain rode silently, his eyes filled with quiet intensity as the wizard gripped his reins. He must be in great pain, Loren realized, for likely he was still weak from the sickness.
Despite Loren’s sense of a watchful presence behind them, they saw no sign of pursuit. The road from the stronghold delved straight into a crack in the mountains, where a peak appeared as if it had been cloven in two by a giant’s axe. The cleft made a passageway that had been flattened by craftsmen long ago — wide enough for them all to ride abreast with room on either side. The passageway ended after a time, and Loren was surprised to see another gate looming ahead. This one had long fallen to disrepair, and remained unoccupied by Shades, or anyone else. The stone bridge between the towers had fallen to rubble, and the towers themselves looked ready to collapse with a strong enough whisper of wind. No soul observed them as they passed, slowing to a trot so the horses would not lose their footing upon the stones.
“I am glad to see this place empty,” said Albern with obvious relief.
“You knew it was here?” said Loren.
“It was here when last I came this way. I guessed that the Shades had not yet claimed it, for as you can see it is in far worse repair than the stronghold.”
Annis was obviously angry. “And what if you had been wrong, and we found soldiers waiting to stop us?”
Albern shrugged. “Then we should have devised another plan. It hardly seemed likely that we would get this far.”
Beyond the gate lay another narrow pass snaking through the mountains. They seemed to be heading gently downward, and Loren thought this must be the descent that Albern had told them led out of the mountains. The horses stepped with more vigor, almost as if they could sense the promise of freedom ahead. But still Loren felt darkness haunting their steps, and could not shake the feeling.
As they crested a rise and prepared to climb down the other side, they heard a terrible screeching. Instinct had them ducking even as their horses reared beneath them.
“Harpies!” cried Albern, as the creatures swooped down to attack. “Now we know they are minions of Trisken — or mayhap his master. I thought our escape seemed too easy.”
Albern had his bow in hand, and had stolen many arrows from the stronghold. Shafts flew to strike the diving creatures, and they fell in piles before him. The rest swooped up and away, regrouping, screaming down at the party in fury.
After a moment they dove again, and Loren brought her own bow to bear against them. They dodged and wove in tight curves of descent, but she could not find her mark — only Albern’s arrows sped true.
Loren saw a familiar glow beside her. Glancing over, she saw light blooming from the wizard’s eyes. His hand twisted into a claw as he whispered words in a foreign tongue. Her breath caught as he raised his hand skyward and aimed flames at the harpies. A weak, sputtering fire, far more meager than many she had seen from the wizard before, curved in the air and struck one of the beasts, singeing its feathers. Again the harpies broke off their attack, screeching in hatred.
Xain slumped forward over his saddle, holding the horn tightly as if to keep himself from falling. With a nudge from her heels, Loren brought Midnight beside him and gripped his shoulder.
“Are you all right?”
“I have not the strength,” he gasped. “Not yet. I am sorry.”
“Do not blame yourself,” said Albern. “We are too exposed. Come! Let us ride.”
Their horses flew down the mountainside, needing no urging from their riders, nostrils filled with the harpies’ stench. As their prey fled, the harpies swooped low, filling the air with their screeching.
Albern took them off the path and into the thin, scrubby trees lining either side, where the harpies could no longer see them.
“This will not last,” he said. “But mayhap we can stay under cover until we think of a plan, or until those creatures give up.”
“They will not give up,” said Loren. “And if we wait too long, no doubt the soldiers will be upon us.”
“What is your counsel, then?” Albern asked. “Ride back out into the open?”
Before Loren could answer, a braying erupted from the mountains around him. They wheeled their horses about, an arrow flying to the string of Albern’s bow. Satyrs spilled from the crags, clutching weapons and vaulting down on their hairy hind legs. They were many, more numerous than they had seen before the Shade stronghold, with every face twisted in rage.
“More minions of the Shades!” said Albern. “Ride!”
They had no choice but to find the open path. Their horses galloped along it in panic. The path twisted and turned, satyrs able to leap any mountainside the road might turn to avoid. They swiftly gained ground, harpies coming ever closer, until Loren could feel the wind of their wings upon passing.
“They will be upon us in moments!” said Loren. “We must find a place to hide.”
Albern’s face was grim as he brought his horse to a halt, looking at Loren from across the road. “There are none. No places where they will not find us. Yet mayhap there is somewhere to make our last stand.”
Loren’s throat went dry. She understood his words: a last stand, some place where they could fight until they were overwhelmed. A cruel way to die, here on the road so far from home. Would anyone find her bones, or would they be fodder for the satyrs?
Albern took them off the road again, to a small hollow that lay close by. The mountainside curved up and over, offering cover from the harpies. Many boulders lay strewn across the opening to offer cover from arrows. Albern led them at a gallop, and when they came to a stop they dismounted.
At once Albern went to the hollow’s mouth, his bow half-drawn. The satyrs pulled up short, out of bowshot, beating their spears against each other and bleating. The harpies circled above, screaming with their eyes fixed on the travelers. The hollow ended some twenty feet in. There was no exit, except through their enemies.
“The satyrs will strike first,” said Albern, matter-of-fact, as if giving them directions to the nearest tavern. “Likely they are waiting for some champion to come forth and drive them onward. There are many more on this side of the Greatrocks. Likely that is to discourage anyone from Northwood ascending into the mountains, for the Shade stronghold is close.”
“What do we do?” Annis gripped Loren’s arm. “How do we escape?”
Albern turned to her and said, “We do not. We fight until we are killed. If you wish to die holding a weapon, I shall give you one. If you wish to use it upon me before our enemy strikes, I will not blame you.”
Loren ignored them both, pulled her arm from the girl’s clutches, and went instead to Xain. The wizard leaned on a boulder near the entrance, eyes closed, drawing deep, urgent breaths as though he had finished running a mile.
“Xain, how deeply can we trust you?”
The wizard opened his eyes to stare at Loren in confusion. “With your lives, though I do not blame you for doubting me. Yet I can be of little help now. You saw my flames upon the road. I could not defeat Gem with my magic, much less this army of evil beasts.”
“If you had such power, would you use it to help us?”
“Of course, I—” Xain froze. His eyes found hers, and in his face she saw a curious light. But it dampened in an instant, and he turned, mayhap ashamed.
Loren went to Midnight’s saddle and withdrew her black cloak. From its pockets she produced
a brown cloth packet. Annis gasped. Loren returned to Xain and held the packet out to him.
“Here is all the strength you need. Prove that your words are not an empty boast. Use your power to help us.”
“You are mad,” said Xain, along with Annis. They traded stares, then the wizard continued. “You saw what they did to me — when I used them, and after. I would not wish that pain on my mortal enemy.”
“He is right, Loren,” said Albern. “This course seems unwise. I have seen my share of magestone sickness, tis not something I wish to see again.”
“Yet with their power, you vanquished Vivien upon the Dragon’s Tail,” said Loren, “even half-starved. You staved off the Dorsean invasion of Wellmont. You sank their fleet upon the river west of the city.”
“And nearly killed you all,” he snapped. “Loren, I tried to kill you. I desperately wanted to. You do not know the whispers that magestones plant in the mind. You cannot imagine how hard I had to struggle just to keep you all—”
“Enough!” said Loren, growing angry. “You claim you are sorry for what you did. You say you wish to atone for your wrongs. Prove it now, or we all die here. You say the magestones whisper to you, and that it is a struggle to resist them. Then struggle, and win. Was it torturous to suffer the sickness? Then suffer that torture again. Do it to save us, and our friends, to prove you are worth the trust we have placed in you.”
Xain stared at the ground and for a while he did not answer. Outside the hollow, satyrs brayed louder, drawing nearer. He looked over his shoulder, out into the open air toward the waiting beasts.
Then, in one sudden motion, Xain snatched the packet from Loren and ripped it open. With thin and wasted fingers, he plucked one of the magestones from the packet and shoved it between his lips. His teeth crunched down, and he swallowed in a gulp.
Xain bent his head, shoulders shuddering. He seemed to … grow. As she watched in fascination, the skin of his hands and hollow cheeks filled out, and where his hair had been patchy and thin, it grew full and thick, glinting in the grey sunlight filtering down through the clouds. From behind his closed eyelids Loren saw white light spill forth, like fire behind a shut door. Slowly, white light turned black. He opened his eyes, and Loren saw bottomless pools of ebony, staring with no emotion. She had to keep herself from stepping back.
“Xain?” she said tentatively.
“I am here. I am myself.”
He turned and walked out between the boulders, into the open air. Albern reached to grab the wizard’s arm, but Loren stopped him. Satyrs had been edging slowly forward. When they saw Xain emerge, they fell back bleating. But when they saw him standing unarmed and alone, they cried out in rage and swept forward to attack.
He bellowed an unfamiliar word and swept his arm in a wide arc. A wall of fire erupted from the ground, casting earth high into the air with a tumultuous explosion. Fire swept forward, and though the satyrs turned to flee, they could not run fast enough.
Flames covered and consumed them. They fell to the ground in piles, their bodies guttering with flame.
The harpies, seeing the satyrs’ fate, wheeled in the air to flee. But the wizard put forth his power, and a gale of wind swept down from the sky. Rainclouds turned into a storm, terrible and black. Lightning crashed from on high and struck with horrible fury, turning great circles of earth into molten rock.
More bolts struck the harpies down as they flew. Then in moments the skies were clear, and as Xain’s magic subsided, the world fell silent.
Loren stood beside Albern, the two of them frozen in awe. Annis hid behind them, clutching Loren’s sleeve, as if she could protect her from the wizard if he chose to harm them.
Xain turned back, and the black glow faded from his eyes. His expression was grim, but curling the corner of his mouth was the same smirk he had worn the day Loren met him. She swallowed hard, hoping she had not made a terrible mistake.
“Come,” he said. “Fetch the horses. Now we ride for the fort.”
thirty-five
LOREN SWUNG ONTO MIDNIGHT WHILE Albern mounted his bay. She snatched the reins of Jordel’s charger, which the wizard had ridden from the Shade stronghold, then saw Annis climbing atop her own horse and turned around.
“You should stay here,” Loren said. “We are in for a fight, and even if Xain can defeat our enemies, it will not be safe.”
“I am coming. My mother waits, and I have spent too long running from her. She will never surrender the hunt until I make her.”
“She will not give up even then. She knows you do not wish to return. Telling her will not change her mind.”
“I did not say I would tell her to leave me alone, I will make her,” said Annis, shaking with rage. “She meant to bargain with those Shades in order to find me — killers, serving a dark and secret Lord. I will never be free unless I stop her.”
“What will you do?” said Loren. “Kill her yourself? How will you be better than her?”
“I … ” Annis stopped, reins trembling in her fists. “I do not know. But let her see me riding at your side. Let her see that I myself have chosen where I stand. Still she thinks of me only as her daughter. Let her see me across a battle line, as her enemy. Then mayhap she will think twice before trying to bring me back.”
Loren looked at Albern helplessly, but the bowyer shrugged. “I would be unwise to give you counsel. You know far more of this tale than I do.”
“The longer we wait, the greater the danger to Jordel and Gem,” said Xain. “Let her come, if she wishes it. Unless you want to tie her up and leave her helpless, where she might be found by some passing wolf, or mayhap more satyrs lying in wait.”
“Very well,” said Loren, kicking her heels into Midnight’s flanks. “But if you get yourself killed, I will find you in another life and box your ears for your stupidity.”
They led their horses back to the road, then spurred them to a gallop back up and into the mountains, toward the stronghold. Thundering hooves warred with the howl of wind and rain, amid the whistle of air rushing by her ears. Often Loren looked over at Xain, still not entirely sure her choice had been wise. But at least he rode alongside them now. If the wizard could save Jordel and Gem, even if he used his magic to escape afterward, then it would be worth it.
They passed the crumbled outer gate at the entrance to the mountain’s peaks, but soon afterward pulled their horses to a halt. Dark light blazed in Xain’s eyes. Albern nocked an arrow.
An army blocked the road before them. Yerrin men, bedecked in green, every man wearing a helmet and a shirt of chain. They bore spears and swords and marched in formation. Seeing the riders draw up across the road, they raised their shields. Men on horseback filled the rear. Loren saw Damaris there, with Gregor on a great steed beside her. The merchant saw Annis, and her eyes widened in relief before turning to Loren with fury burning.
“So, thief,” said Damaris. “You return to my open arms. Have you come to fling yourself at my feet and beg for mercy? You have a convincing tongue. Mayhap you will earn it.”
“I have never needed your mercy, nor will I ask for it now. Order your men to stand aside. Our quarrel is not with you.”
“You and I will always have quarrel. So many times I could have ended your life, but always stayed my hand. I saw the seed of something useful in you, and hoped I could shape you into someone wise, and skilled. But I was a fool, and should have slit your throat in that cell, you Mystic puppet.”
“I am no one’s puppet. I stand for myself, and for my friends. Mayhap you could have killed me, once upon a time, but that chance is long gone. Stand aside — I will not ask you again.”
Damaris ignored her, turning to Annis. “Daughter. Come back to me. You ride with fools. They stand against foes they cannot hope to understand, not at least until they are ground to dust under their enemy’s boots. Save yourself from that fate.”
“And resign myself to a worse one? No, mother. I will not come back to you now. I have longed to escape since
I was a little girl.”
“You are still a little girl.” The merchant’s eyes darkened. “Your every action proves it, over and over, like a bard who knows but one song. Tell me, Annis, how rich has your life been since joining Loren’s company? How flea-ridden the beds, how meager your meals? I see scars upon you that were not there before, and you dress in the rags of a pauper. Oh, but you are wise to choose such a path. Any child in the nine lands would kill their siblings for the wealth and plenty I gave you.”
“Because they would not know the cost,” said Annis, shaking. Though tears leaked from her eyes to mingle with rain on her cheeks, still she sat tall and proud in her saddle, staring at her mother with barely-held rage. “When I was barely old enough to walk you made me give a man a goblet of poisoned wine, then watch as it choked the life from his throat. You sat me down to watch as your dungeon keepers flayed their victims, all for a morsel of information that would let you earn another hundred gold weights.”
“How terrible for you,” said Damaris, face turning in mock pity. “To see and do so many terrible things — then turn around and enjoy all the coin they gave us.”
“We never lacked for coin, and one day I came to see the truth. Of all your evils, none were for wealth. You enjoy it. You love to cause pain, and grief, and misery. You drink it in and cannot stop, like a woman who is always searching for another wineskin. And you hoped to make me like you, because then you would not be so alone in your misery. For you are miserable, mother, a wretched woman who finds but a pale shade of joy in the hurting of others. You are alone, for I will never be like you.”
Damaris’s hands tightened on her reins, paling her dark knuckles. “Take her, and the girl. Kill the others.”
Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm Page 23