Eternity's Mark

by Maeve Greyson

His forehead wrinkled between his horns as William held on to the bag and pulled it out of Hannah’s hands. “I don’t think Taggart would want ye to do that. That doesn’t sound safe at all.”

  With her hand held out, Hannah snapped her fingers. “Give me the bag, William. Taggart isn’t here and I know what I’m doing. I’m going to end this once and for all.”

  Shaking his head, William held the bag out of her reach. “Why do you no’ wait until we reach Taggart and ask him. I would feel much better if we could ask Taggart.”

  William might feel better if he could ask Taggart, but Hannah knew exactly what would happen. Adopting her sternest, most motherly tone, Hannah snapped her fingers again. “William, have I ever led you astray?”

  “Well—” William paused, the worried crease deepening between his twitching horns. “No, not really.”

  “Then give me the bag. Once I’ve left, if it will make you feel better, why don’t you find Taggart’s tents? Take to the sky, William. I’ve no idea which direction they took, but once you’re aloft, I’m sure you’ll be able to find them.”

  William looked at the bag, looked at Hannah’s outstretched hand, then turned and scanned the horizon. Gnawing on his thick lower lip with one of his fangs, he finally edged the bag over into Hannah’s grasp. “I hope I’m not messing up again.”

  “It’s going to be fine, William. I promise.” Hannah smiled as she hugged the bag to her chest. “Now turn your back while I get changed. We’ve got some work to do.”

  The stench burned her eyes and made them water. Hannah blinked hard and tightened the black scarf hanging around the lower half of her face. Clamping her lips shut, she took shallow breaths as she belly-crawled through the darkness to the rear of Sloan’s tent. His tent abutted a grassy rolling hillside. What an arrogant bastard. Sloan just dared his enemies to challenge his authority. The undulating hillocks adjoining the open hillside made perfect channels for hiding Hannah’s midnight run.

  The moonless sky assisted her journey; the cloak of its shadow proved to be her friend. Hannah glanced up at the roiling storm clouds blocking the stars and relaxed even more. Karma seemed to be on her side. She’d end this misery tonight.

  She paused as she reached the flat stretch of ground making up the last few yards to the back of Sloan’s tent. The campsite appeared as silent as a graveyard. There wasn’t any movement around any of the other tents. Her heart hammered against the walls of her chest drowning out any other possible sound.

  Squinting, Hannah spotted dazzling crystal obelisks mounted beside the stakes of the tents. As she watched them, the obelisks periodically fired into the darkness without revealing any obvious source of power. Their brightness fluctuated with a steady rhythm of a slowly beating heart.

  A movement near the tent caught Hannah’s attention. She held her breath as a lizard the size of a small dog slithered out of a nearby stand of grass. The unsuspecting reptile meandered into the barrier between the obelisks. The firing rhythm of the stones synced and a blinding line of white light reduced the lizard to nothing more than a puff of smoke. Hannah flinched in time with the zap. Poor lizard. If only he’d had better timing, he might’ve made it.

  No wonder there wasn’t any movement outside of the tents; the crystal sensors worked better than any guards. Now what was she going to do? She couldn’t stay here forever. Propping her chin in her hand, she released a frustrated groan while she watched the obelisks fire a beam of light around the tent. She hated technology. Then the laser disappeared just as quickly as it had connected the sentries into a glowing arc. Hannah sighed and settled more comfortably into the hillock and observed the sensor’s process three more times. If she timed her entry just right, she could be under the tent flap before the beam detected her.

  Hannah edged closer to the tent, waited a few seconds, allowed the sentries to fire again, then rolled under the edge of the canvas right into Corter’s hairy leg.

  “Well, looky here at the little piggy that just rolled into me feet! Looks like I’ll be gettin’ to gut ye after all!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “I made it, Taggart.” William edged his way through the tent flap and stopped just inside the door.

  Taggart’s head snapped up. “And Hannah? Where is your mother, William?” He didn’t like the way the young one avoided looking him in the eye. What had Hannah talked poor William into doing now?

  William stared at his feet and chewed on his lip as he worried the end of one of his wings.

  “William.” Taggart gripped the edges of the table until his knuckles cramped. “I’m going to ask ye one more time. Where is Hannah?”

  “We spied on Sloan’s tents on our way here.” William dropped his head lower and dug a hole in the dirt with his biggest toe.

  “And?” Taggart prompted. The Draecna had best spill the rest of his story soon or Taggart was going to strangle him.

  “When she saw what he did to Gearlach, she decided to sneak up on him tonight and kill him herself.” William pressed his lips together and folded his claws tightly across his belly.

  “She’s decided what?” Taggart threw the table out of his way as he lunged for William’s shoulders.

  William scrambled just out of Taggart’s reach, his eyes widening as Taggart morphed into his Draecna form when he lunged across the room. “She told me she was going to visit Sloan. But I know what she’s truly planning. She thinks I’m just a baby and that I can’t figure things out. She said it would be okay and that I should just come and get you.”

  “The woman is going to drive me insane!” Taggart roared, destroying the side of the tent with a furious swipe of his claws. Turning back to William, he shook his clenched fist. “Did I no’ tell ye to watch her, boy? Did I no’ tell ye to keep her out of trouble?”

  “She doesn’t bear watching easily, Taggart. Have ye ever tried doing it?” William unstrapped the bags Hannah had forced upon him, threw them to the floor, and shot Taggart a bullish glare.

  “Sounds like someone is finally growing up,” Septamus observed from his seat in the corner.

  Narrowing his eyes into venomous slits, Taggart whirled to snarl at them both. “It’s well past midnight. I’ve no time for your snide observations. I fly to Sloan’s tent on the winds of the storm. Follow me if ye dare.” Spreading his wings, he launched himself into the sky through the gaping hole in the tent. Fueled by his fury, he faced into the bitter wind, praying he’d reach Hannah in time.

  “I truly appreciate your making it so easy for us.” Sloan shot a sadistic smile over his shoulder as he poured a glass of wine. “Now I won’t have to hunt ye down to crucify ye in front of Tiersa Deun.”

  Hannah tested the ropes binding her wrists behind her back before she answered. Not that tight, and they hadn’t found her dagger hidden against the small of her back. Good. Her possibilities still abounded. “Glad I could help you out, Sloan. You seemed to need it.”

  Corter kicked her to her knees. “Mind your tongue, bitch! Show some respect to yer betters.”

  “Now, Corter.” Sloan clucked his tongue as he sauntered across the length of the tent. “We mustn’t be cruel. Not just yet. Help her over to the settee. Undo her hands so she might join us in a glass of wine.”

  Corter yanked her to her feet. He sliced through the ropes with a short stubby knife drawn from his belt, then shoved her closer to Sloan. With a glance at the blade, Hannah darted a look around the room and noticed no other weapons. Good. Corter’s paring knife was no match for her Draecna dagger. Adrenaline fueled her quickening heart rate as her plan unfolded in front of her.

  Watching Sloan and Corter, Hannah eased one hand behind her back and slipped her dagger into her palm as Sloan poured her wine. It melted into her hand and snuggled against her wrist as though the blade understood exactly what she wanted. Rubbing her wrists as though they ached from the bite of the ropes, Hannah shrugged as both men glanced at her from across the room.

  “Ye do like wine?” Sloan asked, holding
up a bloodred crystal decanter.

  “Oh, absolutely,” Hannah replied. She wouldn’t miss this glass of wine for the world. Her heart raced as Sloan filled the glass. Her stomach churned like a restless sea. She focused on Sloan’s chest as he meandered toward her. She ignored the victorious leer on his face as he prowled closer. She’d aim for the soft spot just below his breastbone. Her hand flexed tighter around the bejeweled handle of her dagger as she imagined the lunge of the killing thrust.

  “Your wine, beloved Guardian,” Sloan sneered as he extended the glass.

  “Your death,” Hannah hissed as she buried the dagger to the hilt. With a grunt, she twisted it farther under his rib cage. She held his eyes locked in her gaze as she rotated the blade even deeper.

  Sloan spewed a series of short, surprised gasps. His mouth opened and closed and his head bobbed down as he stared at Hannah’s hand. The wineglass slowly slipped out of his grasp and tumbled to the floor. With a shudder, he coughed out a spray of bloody droplets. His hands clutched toward her throat as Hannah twisted the knife again. The jewels in the handle of the dagger hummed and radiated a visible energy field as Sloan crumbled to the floor.

  “Sloan!” Corter barreled from behind the wine cabinet and pulled his short blade from his belt. “Ye bitch, I canna believe ye’ve killed him. But I’ll tell ye right now, I’m no’ as soft as him.”

  Hannah yanked the dagger free of Sloan’s body and whipped it around toward Corter’s face. “Come on, Corter. I’d love to carve you up too.”

  The front section of the tent exploded into flames. Sloan’s gaudy oil paintings hanging from their golden cords along the tent poles burst into blazing squares of art. Wine bottles exploded and metalwork melted into dripping, orange molten curls as the heat intensified into an uncontrollable inferno. The white-hot blaze incinerated all it touched.

  “I’m gonna kill ye,” Corter swore as he lunged toward Hannah’s face.

  Hannah twisted to the side, slashing as she did and opened a long gash down the side of the man’s grotesque, mottled body. Corter rounded, slapped his hand against his bleeding side, and rushed at Hannah again. Just as Corter bore down upon her, Hannah dove straight at his short, stubby legs.

  Corter stumbled over her, his misshapen limbs churning as he lost his balance. His bleeding, obese form lurched to the side and landed in the burning wall of canvas. Corter screamed as the material burned into his flesh, entrapping him in a blanket of flames. Hannah cringed and turned away.

  “Sorry, Corter, you know what they say about payback.”

  “Hannah!” Taggart’s roar echoed beyond the raging inferno eating the sides of the canvas. He burst through the wall of flames, his wings outspread like an avenging angel from Hell. He gathered Hannah against his chest, gently touching her face as though he feared she wasn’t real. The longer he gazed into her eyes, the fiercer his scowl became. “Woman, when I get ye back to my tent I am going to turn ye across my knee and fair beat ye until ye learn to do as ye’re told!”

  Hannah couldn’t resist a mischievous grin up into his eyes as she pressed deeper into the sheltering curve of Taggart’s outspread wing. “Promise?”

  With his wings outspread, Taggart slowed their descent and touched down in the center of the dusty encampment. Hannah’s heart fell at the sight of the barren ground beaten to a pulp by constant marches of the Draecna guards. They’d be lucky if anything ever grew here again. She wrinkled her nose at the overpowering smell of Draecna scat. Then smiled when she remembered she’d first discovered that scent at the shores of Taroc Na Mor.

  Even though the night had traveled well past the twin moon’s zenith, all the Draecna had gathered in the middle of the village of tents to stand vigil until Taggart returned. She grinned. Apparently, word had traveled fast of her midnight raid and Taggart coming to her rescue.

  “It is over,” Taggart announced as he eased Hannah’s feet to the ground. “Sloan lies dead. His tent city smolders, fully burnt to the ground. Sloan and Corter’s bodies lay cremated within it.”

  Isla stepped forward. “Are ye certain? Truly certain? Your brother and his executioner are both finally dead?”

  “Hannah?” Taggart smiled and pulled her forward into the circle of the firelight.

  With a weary nod, Hannah held up her dagger. The blood on the blade reflected a purple-red haze in the flickering light of the fire. “Sloan is truly dead and so is Corter. Both of them tasted my blade.”

  The Draecna raised their snouts and shot flames high into the ebony darkness of the sky as Taggart hugged Hannah to his side. “Erastaed is free. We can start to rebuild and now the people can live their lives without fear.”

  A pushing and scuffling deep in the group worked its way to the front of the clearing. Several of the younger Draecna soldiers nearest Taggart parted, smiling and nudging each other as Dasim shoved them aside.

  “Can I see the blade?” he asked, his eyes darting from side to side as he held out a shaking claw.

  “Of course, Dasim.” Hannah smiled. Isla had explained that Dasim was somewhat special.

  Turning the knife over and over between both his claws, Dasim’s brow wrinkled between his horns as he shook his head. “This is Sloan’s blood on this knife?” he asked as he tapped on the blade with a shaking claw.

  “Yes, Dasim. Sloan is finally dead.” Taggart spoke quietly to the Draecna peering at the knife.

  “Then I must mix it with yours.” Dasim lunged and buried the blade deep in the center of Taggart’s chest and twisted.

  “NO!” Hannah screamed and jumped on Dasim’s back. She pounded and beat him across the head while he whipped his neck to shake her free. “What the hell have you done?”

  The other Draecna clustered and pulled him off Taggart, while Septamus caught Taggart by the shoulders and lowered him to the ground. The gemstones encrusted on the dagger’s hilt vibrated and glowed in the dark just as they had when Sloan’s life force had left. Hannah crouched over Taggart’s body as the knife hummed and whirred in his chest. She watched the handle, terror clenching at her heart as she recognized the killing magic at work. No! It couldn’t be happening, not now, not when their future had looked so bright.

  “What do I do? You promised me you couldn’t die. Tell me what I can do to save you.” Hannah cradled Taggart’s head into her lap as his glazed eyes fluttered open and closed.

  A weak smile played across his shaking lips as Taggart struggled to speak. “Only another Draecna could take my life, sweet love. The odds of that happening seemed verra slim indeed. It seems now my time has ended after all. I’m so verra sorry, Hannah. But I canna stay with ye as long as I once thought I could.”

  “You can’t leave me, Taggart. You promised me you would never leave me!” Hannah sobbed against the cooling flesh of his throat. This couldn’t be happening; his body already felt so cold. “I need you, Taggart. Please don’t leave me. You can’t expect me to live forever without you.”

  “I am so sorry, my Hannah.” Taggart shuddered with a gasping cough. “Please forgive me, my love. Ye know I will be forever ... yours.”

  A keening sob tore from Hannah’s throat as she tightened her arms about Taggart’s limp form and pulled him to her chest. An explosion of flames burst in the clearing in front of them, followed by a piercing howl. William had finally found his first blaze and ignited Dasim’s body.

  The builders paused, lowered their tools, and bowed their heads in her direction. Hannah tightened her lips in a strained smile of approval at the elaborate funeral pyre. They had erected the structure inside the largest cavern of the Goddess Isla’s stronghold. The cavern would protect the ashes from the slightest gust of wind during Taggart’s ceremony. She traced her fingers across Taggart’s urn, a gift from the artisans of Erastaed. They had intricately carved an ivory bone box telling the story of how Taggart had given his life to save them from Sloan’s evil rule.

  She released a shuddering sigh as she hugged the box to her chest. She’d run out of t
ears days ago. She’d forgotten exactly when. All that remained inside her was an empty ache that never hoped to heal.

  “Mother?” William’s voice interrupted her tortured musings.

  “What is it, William?” Hannah whispered, not bothering to take her eyes from the uppermost level of the pyramid.

  “What are your plans after the ceremony?”

  Hannah pressed the ivory urn to her chest so tight the inlaid lid dug into her breasts. She welcomed the pain. It took her mind off the deeper ache breaking her heart into a thousand pieces. “Why, William? What does it really matter?”

  “The people need to know.”

  Hannah closed her eyes. Hadn’t the people taken enough from her? “Septamus and Isla are handling everything, William. It doesn’t really matter what I’m doing. I’m sure it will be just fine.”

  “I am not a child anymore, Mother. Please don’t speak to me as if I am.” William moved in front of her and blocked her path so she couldn’t walk around him.

  Hannah looked up and saw her sorrow mirrored in the depths of William’s great dark eyes. “I’m sorry, William. You are absolutely right and I’ll try to remember that in the future.” Turning back to face the nearly finished pyramid, Hannah gave a weary shrug. “After the services, I haven’t decided what I’m going to do. There is one option I’m considering, but if I do that it would be pretty major. So I haven’t really settled on anything just yet.”

  “Septamus wondered if you were going to go back.” William encouraged with a nudge of his wing.

  “Are you talking about me behind my back?” Hannah nudged him back with her elbow.

  “I’m not.” William rewarded her with a toothy grin. “As the Erastaed’s new council, Septamus and Isla met to discuss what they thought you might do.”

  “If I go back,” Hannah began, “Isla can only send me back alone and she can never bring me back to Erastaed again. You realize what that means?” She wanted William to understand he might have to go on without her. She loved her Draecna son with all her heart, but Jasper Mills would be hard-pressed to accept him as one of their own. Of course, she could always make her home at Taroc Na Mor. William would always fit in at his birthplace if the gateway ever became usable once again.