“If it’s all the same to you,” Ollie said. “The crossroads isn’t far from here. And I’d rather sleep there than spend the night freezing to death out here.”
“We’re near the crossroads already?” Ash said, his heart leaping into his throat.
Ollie nodded. “Been this way enough times to recognize the way.”
Ash leaned forward and peered into the darkness of the road ahead. He didn’t know what he hoped to see; the Faceless stronghold perhaps, but only trees and road met his gaze.
Ollie rummaged in the wagon behind him and pulled out a lantern. He lit it and the flickering light cast an orange circle around the wagon. He hung it on a stick above their heads and resumed his hold on the reins, humming a small tune.
“Ever been this far north, boy?”
Ash shook his head.
“What are you hoping to find up here? Going to make your fortune at Balecliff? Or maybe you’re hoping to glimpse a real Skordkin clan?”
Ash didn’t respond.
Ollie sighed. “You seem like a good lad, despite your silence. Be careful up here, boy, it’s not like other places.”
Ash nodded, not looking at Ollie, and they continued in silence. The trader was nice, but that didn’t mean he could be trusted.
“There she is!” Ollie said a short time later.
Ash squinted into the darkness in front of them. A dim flicker of orange light glowed between the trees. The light grew and resolved itself into four separate lanterns, one at the head of each road leading to a central crossroad, the Crossroad. A two-story inn stood at the junction of all four roads.
“The finest inn you’ll find this far north,” Ollie said.
By the time they came to a stop in the bright circle of light, a boy had come out of the inn to greet them. He took hold of the horse as Ollie and Ash climbed down from the wagon.
“Take care of her, lad.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy led the horse and wagon around the back of the building, out of sight.
Ollie led the way to the broad doors. A wall of heat, pouring out of the central fire, greeted them. Tables and chairs spiraled away from the flames. A staircase against one wall led up to the second floor and the other wall housed the bar and kitchens.
“Ollie! It’s been too long!” A woman in a white apron descended on them from the kitchen and wrapped Ollie in her large arms. “And who have your brought with you?”
“Just a passenger, Martha,” Ollie said. “In fact, we’re parting ways here.”
Martha studied Ash. “Off to find glory and Skordkin are you, boy?”
Ash shrugged and clenched his teeth, thoroughly sick of being called ‘boy’.
“Food and drink please, Martha,” Ollie said.
“Of course,” she said, beaming up at him and disappearing back into the kitchens.
Ollie sat at a table near the fire and held his hands up toward the flames. “You never know how frozen you are until you’re warm again, do you?”
Ash nodded and sat beside him, making a pretense of holding out his hands. “Thank you for taking me.”
Ollie shrugged. “More money in my pocket and I was going this way anyway. Now eat some of Martha’s stew; it’s the best you’ll ever find and it’s my treat to say thanks.”
Ash ate, and despite the nausea twisting his stomach, he had to admit it was some of the best stew he’d ever had. He scraped his bowl clean and chased it down with a mug of light cider. Not long after, he made his excuses, knowing he had an early morning ahead of him, possibly his last.
60
Ash crept through the tall pine trees, his boots crunching in the pristine, white snow that blanketed every inch of the forest. It created an eerie quiet, broken only by Ash and the occasional slough of clumps of snow falling from branches above.
He’d worried that he wouldn’t be able to find the stronghold, but as soon as he entered the forest, thoughts of Rae flooded to him like a siren song calling him through the woods. He followed, like a wraith, creeping between the trees with every muscle tensed and waiting. The warm stone in his pocket couldn’t keep the freezing chill at bay. Snow soaked into his boots and he’d lost feeling in his toes hours ago; still, he went on.
Around mid-afternoon he stopped, ears straining. A mutter of voices and movement broke the otherwise silent air. He pressed his back against the closest tree. Snow sifted down from above and a flake landed on his nose, but he remained still. The voices grew louder, accompanied by the groaning wheels of a wagon.
Ash peered around the side of the tree. Black figures moved in a ragged line, arranged around an old wagon. The tall sides of the wagon had narrow windows with bars across them.
He frowned. They didn’t look like Faceless Monks. Ash used the noise of the wagon as cover and darted between the trees until he had a good view of the passing caravan.
Men in scraps of leather armor passed a flask amongst each other as they swaggered between the trees. They made a rough circle around the wagon which was pulled by two gray horses. Red sores leaked down the horses’ legs between clumps of missing fur.
Ash squinted, something had moved inside the wagon. He dashed forward to the next line of trees.
People.
People shifted inside the wagon. Filthy fingers gripped the barred windows and occasionally snaked out as if looking for freedom.
Ash had no doubt where the prisoners were being taken. His stomach turned as he imagined Rae, shoved inside just such a wagon and dragged into the freezing emptiness. He considered attacking the caravan, but the only source of energy he had was the heat stone and he doubted it would provide enough. He drew back and followed the caravan from a distance, sure to keep out of sight of the vagrant guards.
Sometime later, the caravan trundled to a halt. Ash crept to within earshot but stayed hidden behind a line of trees.
“This bit always makes my balls clench,” said a rough voice.
“That’s assuming you’ve got any.”
The sounds of a minor tussle broke the quiet.
“Shut up! They’ll be here soon.”
“Speak of the devils.”
Ash looked around his tree.
The guards stood with their backs to the wagon and fidgeted with their weapons, though they didn’t draw.
Ash had to lean farther around the tree to see what they were looking at. White shapes came toward them through the snow, almost as tall as the horses, but they moved with a loping gate that set them apart. Ash froze.
Wolves.
Giant wolves with teeth longer than fingers, and red eyes; luckily he was downwind, but if the wind changed…
The guard at the front swallowed and shuffled forward.
Five wolves emerged from the trees and surrounded the caravan. The biggest wolf snarled.
“Whoa,” the guard said. “We came just like you said. Got a delivery for your masters.”
The wolf yipped and turned, taking up position at the front of the caravan. The other wolves fell into place around it. The head guard flicked the reins on the horses’ bridles and forced the beasts forward. They shied away from the wolves, eyes rolling in their heads.
“Bloody animals,” the guard said, following the wolf.
The caravan continued on its way, although now the guards walked in solemn silence and the flask from before had disappeared.
It was almost nightfall and long shadows filled the forest by the time the Faceless stronghold came into view. The solid stone building towered over the trees. Black stones, as big as a person, made up its tall walls and high above, silhouetted people in long cloaks patrolled. Orange lights glowed from towers and walkways, just visible beyond the battlements.
A sense of dread and foreboding emanated from the stronghold and infiltrated the forest. Nothing grew close to the wall and the first line of trees leaned away, as if they’d been blown back by a heavy gale.
Ash stopped well before the gates; he hadn’t come all this way only to be captured. He coul
d feel Rae, like a physical presence standing next to him, and he wanted to run to her. She was inside the stronghold, he had no doubt, and all he had to do was get inside. But reason won out and he waited.
The wooden door into the stronghold swung outward and three Faceless Monks emerged. They glided across the snow to the caravan. The wolves padded over to them and stood at their sides like faithful hounds. The lead guard stepped forward and nodded to the Faceless.
“Same as usual,” he said, voice husky.
The front-most Faceless held out a small bag and dropped it into the guard’s waiting hand. It chinked. The guard nodded and backed away. Two guards unhitched the mangy horses from the wagon and dragged them away from the stronghold.
The first Faceless Monk flicked his hand and the wagon started forward of its own accord.
Thick tendrils of brown kinetic energy snaked from the Monk’s hands and wrapped around the wagon. They were brighter and bigger than anything Ash had managed, and yet the Monk looked like he barely noticed the flow of energy. Ash swallowed; how much power did the Monks control if that massive feat didn’t even faze one of them?
The Monks turned and glided back for the stronghold, the wolves and the wagon followed after them and disappeared inside. The door thudded shut behind them, leaving the guards shivering in a grim circle outside.
“Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it,” one guard said.
“Good thing it pays bloody well,” said another.
They muttered agreement and turned away from the stronghold, shuffling back the way they’d come through the trees.
Ash leaned back on his heels. The Monks were powerful. If he tried to attack the stronghold directly, they’d kill him in seconds. He had to use his wits. He had to sneak in and find Rae and get them both out without being seen. He flexed his frozen fingers. Despite his urgency, he had to wait, observe the stronghold, and find a weakness.
He withdrew deeper into the trees in search of something to eat.
61
Ash chewed on a stringy piece of bark as he studied the new lot of prisoners being dragged toward the stronghold. These shuffled in a line, each tied to the one in front with thick rope that dragged on the snowy ground and caught in fallen branches. The guards shoved them to move faster and cast uneasy gazes at the surrounding forest.
They were the fifth band of prisoners that Ash had seen, and the third to be led on foot rather than in a wagon.
Not far up the road from Ash’s position, the guards hauled the prisoners to a stop and waited as giant wolves emerged from the trees. A stone with a red circle on it signaled the spot and every group of prisoners stopped there to be met by the pack of wolves. As far as Ash could tell, it was the same wolves every time; he’d come to recognize them by the scars and marks on their fur.
Scar, the biggest, sported a jagged line down the side of his face. Ash had named the others Spot, Grey, Claw, and Runt and as far as he could tell, they’d be the biggest obstacle to him sneaking into the Stronghold.
As with all the previous groups of prisoners, the wolves formed up around them and led them onward to the fortress.
Ash slunk back into the trees. He didn’t need to see the exchange again; he knew how it worked. He peeled another piece of bark from the wad in his pocket and put it in his mouth. It didn’t taste like much, but it kept his strength up, and if there was one thing he was sure he’d need, it was energy.
He hadn’t risked a fire in the five days he’d been in the forest. A tiny puff of smoke would be all it took to alert the Faceless, so instead he spent his time huddled in the cradling roots of a huge tree, hugging Rae’s heat stone to his chest. Even with the stone, his fingers and toes remained numb. If he stayed in the cold much longer, he’d be sure to lose them.
The only people he’d seen entering the fortress were the prisoners. He had no idea what the Faceless needed so many prisoners for but at least it gave him a way in.
He hunkered down into the circle of roots, his back pressed against hard bark and stared out across the snowy landscape, deep in thought over Rae and how he could get her out. Cold wind bit his face and made his eyes sting.
A blur of movement to his right.
A heavy weight slammed into him and his back scraped across the tree bark. His spine slammed onto a root, twisted, and pain shot through his nerves.
He scrambled back but his wrist caught in a tangle of roots.
The white blur darted between the trees and leapt at him like an angry spirit. Teeth snapped inches from his face and electric blue eyes filled his vision. A jagged wound ran down one side of the rabid face. Scar.
Scar landed on Ash’s chest and crushed his body against the roots. Ash gasped for breath and threw his arm up.
He shoved against Scar’s heaving chest and held him back.
Scar’s jaws snapped, spraying spittle and the foul scent of rotting meat across Ash’s face.
Ash grunted and heaved but the wolf was too heavy. Stars spun at the edges of Ash’s vision as he strained to breathe against the weight on his chest.
Scar snarled and swiped Ash’s arm away with a lazy bat of his paw.
Claws slashed open Ash’s arm and spattered blood across white snow.
Ash snatched his injured arm to his chest then used the other to seize his knife from its sheath and stab it into Scar’s side. Thick fur turned the knife aside.
Scar growled and his shoulders tensed.
Ash drew a deep breath and thrust again with all his strength. This time his knife plummeted into Scar’s abdomen. Ash tried to pull it out but it stayed lodged in the animal’s side.
Scar drew back and lunged at Ash’s throat, teeth glinting.
Ash threw his hands up and Scar’s jaws locked on his left wrist. Long fangs punctured through to the bone. Ash screamed, his voice echoing back to him through the trees.
Blood poured out of the wounds and coated Scar’s mouth and teeth in red.
Scar tore pieces of Ash’s flesh loose. Saliva mixed with blood ran down Scar’s mouth and stained his white fur.
Ash scrambled for any kind of weapon with his uninjured hand. Hard roots and snow met his searching fingers.
Scar tensed.
Ash threw his weight forward and caught Scar around the neck with his good arm. He buried his hand deep in Scar’s fur, hoping to somehow choke the life from the wolf.
Scar snarled and whipped his head to the side. Ash lost his grip and hurtled through the air to land with a gasp on hard-packed snow three feet away.
A clump of flesh and fur rested in Ash’s palm, like a red and white ball, and yet it wasn’t bleeding. It was as if he’d torn a hunk off an undercooked piece of meat.
He swallowed and hurled the flesh away.
Scar stalked toward him, shoulders low. Ash’s knife protruded from his stomach. A red patch glistened near his neck where Ash had torn away flesh.
Ash scooted backward, injured hand still clasped to his chest, until his back smacked against an unforgiving tree.
He scanned the forest but no help was coming. He had to think of something. If he died now there would be no one to save Rae. He had to find a way out, for her sake.
Scar crouched and lunged, covering the distance between them in a single leap.
Ash took a deep breath and buried his good hand into the fur over Scar’s chest. Time slowed. Ash brought all of his focus in until he could feel Scar’s heartbeat thrumming. He concentrated on the steady beat until it vibrated in his very being, then he drew on it.
He drew on Scar’s energy, just as he’d done so many times with Rae’s heat stone. Tendrils of blue light snaked out of Scar’s chest, wrapped around Ash’s good arm, and then flowed into his injured hand where the skin knitted together.
Scar whined and drew back. New strength filled Ash’s body and he stood, keeping his fingers locked in the wolf’s fur.
More blue energy poured out. It soaked into Ash’s arms and legs, and chased away the cold and hunger. He grinne
d, high on more power than he’d felt before.
He met Scar’s eyes, fear shone in them and the wolf whimpered. Ash’s lip curled and he clenched his fist tighter in Scar’s fur. The light in Scar’s eyes dimmed, taking some of the electric-blue color away.
Energy burned in Ash’s fingertips and sweat trickled down his face as heat encased his body.
He drew a deep breath and then threw the energy back at Scar in the form of heat. A wave of it hurtled out of Ash’s palm and hit Scar. It burned away Scar’s fur and flakes of skin turned black and peeled away.
Scar whined. The flesh on its legs fell away, and it slumped into the snow, dead.
Ash let out a rasping breath and stared at his hands. His blood pulsed with power and any sign of injury was gone. He felt unstoppable, immortal, even though he’d hurled so much energy at Scar; a part of him wanted to storm the Faceless Stronghold because nothing could stop him now.
He cackled and his mad voice echoed in the forest. He laughed until his chest and stomach hurt but at some point laughter turned to sobs. He collapsed to the ground beside Scar and bent double over his aching stomach as hot tears ran down his cheeks.
What had he done?
He laid a hand on Scar’s burnt remains. He’d killed the wolf, sucked the very life out of it and then used it to burn away the creature’s flesh. He’d broken the most vital rule of channeling; he’d taken energy from another living thing. Of course it wasn’t the first time… his thoughts went back to Falconwall and waking up surrounded by the corpses of dead mice and bugs; but then he’d been unconscious, unknowing. This time…
Scar’s body was cold, as if he’d been lying in the snow dead for days.
The rest of the forest remained silent, with no sign that the other wolves were nearby or had heard the struggle.
Ash scrambled away from the corpse and curled into a ball on the forest floor, twisted with conflicting emotions. He had power, more power than he’d ever hoped to hold, and yet it made him feel sick, dirty.
He slammed his hand against the nearest tree and without thinking he poured out every spare speck of energy he had. It flowed into the tree like a blue tide. The bark glowed and green shoots sprouted, growing and thickening until they became solid branches with full leaves. All around the tree, green grass pushed up through the snow and created a ring of vibrant life that surrounded Ash’s shuddering body.
Shadow of a Slave (The Blood Mage Chronicles Book 1) Page 33