by Jeff Wheeler
A blast of blue fire exploded from behind her and she heard the Fear Liath snort with derision and knock Tyrus aside. She could hear the sound of it savaging him, the shred of fabric, the grunt of pain from a man, not a beast.
Help us! Phae begged, running as fast as she could, sensing a Dryad tree just through the mist ahead. She didn’t know why she pleaded for help, or to whom she pleaded. It was instinctive, born of desperation and terror.
And then she heard the Fear Liath snuffling after her into the mist.
Paedrin was blind, but he could see the massive shape of the Fear Liath in the shadow world of his second sight. It was an inky black blur, a being that sucked in life and light from all around. It was the incarnation of death, a predator to both man and beast. He remembered the fear of facing one outside of Drosta’s Lair. This time, there was no Druidecht summoning them to a hollow trunk. He realized that if he had faced the beast that night, with a broken arm, he would have died almost instantly.
He whipped the Sword of Winds around, severing a Cockatrice in half. They were all around him, drawn to his presence as a challenge. Khiara had also risen, using her long staff to bat them away and scatter the rush. She was closing her eyes and so could not be effective, but there were enough that it was not difficult to hit one with almost every swing.
Paedrin swooped down, stabbing another from behind before flinging its carcass aside. The Fear Liath had left Tyrus in a heap and was turning again after Phae, who fled into the woods. Shion bounded after her, already trying to intercept it, fleet-footed and sprinting, but there was no way he could catch up in time. The monster was huge yet quick.
Snarling with frustration, Paedrin dived after Phae, surging through the trees to provide another obstacle. Suddenly Baylen struck the beast’s pelt with one of his twin broadswords. It was like watching a blade slice at ooze. The mass quivered, but the edge could not penetrate the hide. Tossing aside the weapons, Baylen grappled the Fear Liath with both hands, using his own mammoth strength to forestall it.
The Fear Liath snarled and twisted, slashing Baylen across the back with its claws. The Cruithne shrugged the blow, dropping low, and tried to heave the monster aside. The two were a tangle of mass, full of muscle and bone and savage sinews. Baylen kept away from its slavering jaws, gripping the pelt and shifting his stance to try to undermine its energy. He was using the Uddhava, changing his attack constantly, cuffing its snout when it tried to bite him again.
Paedrin soared right at it, aiming the Sword of Winds at its neck. The blade slipped harmlessly off its pelt.
“Help me!” Baylen roared. “Aran! Kiranrao! All of us!”
The Cruithne was bathed in sweat, his face twisted with determination. Suddenly the Fear Liath snarled and heaved its bulk on top of the Cruithne, bearing him to the ground with a crushing weight. Paedrin heard the sickening sound of snapping bones. A groan of agony came next and Paedrin blanched with horror. The Fear Liath’s jaws snapped at the Cruithne’s head, digging into the hair and bone.
Paedrin’s heart screamed in defiance. He hacked at the monster from above, trying to draw it away, but every slash was useless against its slippery hide.
The Fear Liath rose suddenly, slashing Paedrin across the middle. He felt the claws go through his skin, but he was beyond pain at that moment, too shocked to comprehend the damage that was possibly done.
He felt his life begin to leech out.
Phae gripped the object in her hand, not wanting to lose it, but also not wanting to squeeze it too tightly to activate its magic. She glanced down at her palm, saw the slender, carved stone with sigils carved into it.
“Phae!”
It was Shion’s voice.
She looked back, but only saw the mist. The sound of pain and dying came from the billowing folds. She could no longer see the Fear Liath, but she could hear its coughing bark and sensed it coming.
To my tree, Sister! Flee to the tree!
The lure of the Dryad was clear in her mind. The monster would not be stopped by Dryad magic; she knew that. But if she could climb into the branches a bit, perhaps that would save her from the Fear Liath. She wanted to break down into terrified sobs, but she couldn’t. Each step brought her closer to the tree.
The crooked branches appeared out of the mist ahead of her, a trunk large and gnarled, as if its entire frame were wracked with indescribable agony. There were no leaves, only thick clumps of mistletoe. The lower branches sagged to the forest floor. One had broken off, leaving a jagged wound in the trunk.
“Phae!” Shion called again.
She surged forward, closing the distance to the tree. After stuffing the stone into her pocket, she jumped over one of the low-hanging branches. Mist and sweat caused beads of moisture to trickle down her cheeks. Frosty breath came from her mouth as she gasped, feeling the cold even more pronounced.
This is its lair.
Phae swallowed with horror, seeing a darkened cave through the shroud of the mist.
Bond with my tree and I will save you from the Fear Liath. Release me, Sister, and you will escape.
Phae tried to close her mind to the insidious thoughts. She was not to bond with just any tree in the Scourgelands. How was she to know the right one?
She gazed up at the twisted limbs and quickly decided which ones to start on. She climbed and tried to keep steady as she approached the knotted trunk. Phae heard crunching in the leaves, the snuffling sound of the monster’s breathing. She heard the clicking noise again in its throat, and she shuddered.
The next rung of a bough was higher up, very wide, and she could tell it would be difficult to climb. She started up the trunk and her boots slid, scraping against the bark. She winced with frustration and fear, knowing she did not have long before it reached her. She grabbed the next limb and began pulling herself up.
A black muzzle appeared around the side of the tree, its fetid breath grunting with the exertion of moving something of its size.
Phae screamed and jumped at the branch, pulling herself higher. She made it to the second branch, but the Fear Liath rose to its full height, easily as tall as where she was. Her body jerked convulsively with fear and she leapt away from it to another branch, landing on her stomach with a painful gasp. She felt herself slipping and grasped the limb’s edge, her legs dangling. With her elbows she tried to pull herself up, but the tug of the ground beat her efforts.
She felt something grip her feet and it began pushing her up. Looking down, she saw Shion just below her, arms stretching up to catch her boots.
“Climb!”
He won’t save you, Sister. He murders Dryads. You are not safe with him. No one is safe with him. Be grateful his memories are stolen or he’d kill you now.
The pressure at her feet made it easier to find purchase with her arms. She swung her knee up and around the limb and began scooting toward the trunk.
“Higher!” Shion shouted.
A blur of gray-black fur engulfed him. She listened to the sound as the thing’s claws shredded Shion’s shirt. The roar came again, deafening her with fear. Shion struck back, without weapons, grabbing the beast’s tough hide, striking it from all sides ineffectually. He could not be killed by the Fear Liath, and neither could it kill him. But Shion was hopelessly insufficient to counter its brute strength. The Fear Liath sank its teeth into Shion’s side, making Phae shudder as she watched him thrown aside.
You will die, Sister. Let me save you. Bond with my tree!
Are you the Mother Tree of this land? Phae demanded. Where is the source?
You will never make it that far, child. You will die here, amidst my roots, unless you bond with my tree. I will show you how. Take the burden from me. Please!
Phae tried to rise but felt a sudden rush of vertigo and nearly fell. She pushed herself closer to the trunk.
Can you take me to Mirrowen? Can you bring me to
the Seneschal? Phae asked.
There is no Mirrowen. The gate closed long ago. The Fear Liath will kill you. It was made to kill you. Give me your promise and I will shield you from it. Quickly, Sister!
Phae brought up one leg, trying to steady herself, and reached for the next branch higher up. She saw Shion charge at the Fear Liath again, jumping at its head while pummeling its muzzle with his clenched fist. His look was wild with desperation. The Fear Liath snapped at him, snarling, wrenching him away with claws and throwing him away again. Phae balanced on her feet and coiled to jump for the next branch.
The Fear Liath shifted its weight and snuffled toward her, the clicking sound right near her feet. Phae heard a cracking sound. She tried to jump but suddenly was falling as the branch broke off and crashed to the ground with jarring force. She landed on her stomach, dazed, a sharp pain in the side of her head. Her ears were ringing with the impact and she felt dizzy.
The Fear Liath snarled, sniffing toward her amidst the debris of the shattered branch. It would be on her in moments. Phae reached into her pocket and squeezed the stone hard.
Annon sent another blast of the fireblood into the attacking Cockatrice, shielding Khiara as she tried to heal Tyrus. He could see Paedrin lying on the forest floor, his entire front soaked in blood. Hettie was trying to stanch the bleeding, her expression desperate. Paedrin was dying. Annon could not see the Cruithne’s chest rising at all. He was probably already dead. He intensified the fireblood against the Cockatrice, spreading it wider and burning to ash all that swept down on them.
This was nothing like the test in Drosta’s Lair. This was nothing like what they had faced previously. The Arch-Rike’s defenses inside the Scourgelands were beyond anything he could have imagined, even with Tyrus’s multiple warnings. The Fear Liath would hunt them down, one by one. Its only weakness was sunlight, but there was no sunlight in this place, only the frigid mist. His own wounds bled and itched, but he knew the others were a priority, that Khiara was the only one who could heal them.
Kiranrao appeared suddenly, emerging from the smokelike magic imbued in his cloak. “Is Tyrus dead?”
Khiara did not look at him, her head bowed in concentration.
“Leave him alone,” Annon warned, his fingers burning blue with the fireblood.
Kiranrao snorted. “I don’t need to kill him, Druidecht. This place will do that by itself. We should flee while we still can. Khiara, you are important. I will make you very rich if you come with Hettie and me. You can come too, Druidecht. I have no bones with you. The Fear Liath will keep hunting, I assure you. Best to flee now while it’s distracted with the others. Come, Khiara. You’re wasting your energy trying to save them. They’re dead men.”
Tyrus began to choke and cough, his head lifting. “I’m well enough. Save another.”
Khiara nodded and rushed over to Paedrin, where Hettie was crouching, using her fireblood to join with Annon in keeping the Cockatrice away. The birdlike creatures scattered back to the treetops, cooing and rustling and escaping the devastating flames.
Hettie, panting, lowered her hands, though her fingers were smoking.
Kiranrao’s eyes burned into Tyrus’s. “You brought us here to die.”
Tyrus sat up, his face still showing a chalky complexion. “I never lied about that, Kiranrao. You came willingly.”
The Romani snorted. “I could kill you so easily. Your Prince fled into the mist to save your daughter, but what can he do? You’ve failed again, Tyrus.”
Annon watched Tyrus wince as he rose to his feet.
“Give me the Tay al-Ard,” Kiranrao demanded.
“You can’t kill me with the blade,” Tyrus said hotly. “I already warned you.”
“I can kill you just as easily with my bare hands.”
Annon straightened, facing the Romani, glowering at him.
Kiranrao smirked. “Boy, don’t even think of unleashing the fire on me.”
Annon knew that he was facing his own death. Deep down, he did not even care. Khiara was trying to heal Paedrin. It was as if they had walked into the deepest part of the Arch-Rike’s trap deliberately. If only Erasmus had survived Basilides. He was the smartest man Annon knew. He would have probably solved the problem already.
Because the solution is so obvious, sheep-brains.
Annon blinked, his stomach lurching. Erasmus’s voice was clear in his mind. The Fear Liath was invulnerable to blades. It was faster and stronger than a human . . . than all of them combined. But its weakness was sunlight. When he had encountered one in the Alkire, it had made its lair behind a waterfall so that there would be a perpetual mist. There was no waterfall here. So what was causing the mist?
Annon.
The voice in his mind came like a whisper, only it made his heart burn and tingle. It was a woman’s voice. A Dryad? It sounded . . . was it Neodesha?
Annon turned the direction he had heard the voice. Through the mist in the shadow of a burly oak tree, he saw a small cave made from the exposed roots of the tree. Inside that cave, he saw two burning eyes carved into stone. Eyes carved into stone? He remembered Basilides, having seen larger monuments placed there to warn away intruders, also with glowing eyes.
Tyrus gripped Annon’s arm. “Do you see her?”
Annon turned to look at him. “What?”
“What are you staring at?” Tyrus asked, his face awash with conflicting emotions. “Do you see her? The woman by the tree?”
Annon looked back at the tree, only seeing the glowing eyes.
Annon.
“Fools learn from experience. I prefer to learn from the experience of others.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXI
The pain in Paedrin’s middle was excruciating. Hettie had stuffed her cloak against the wound, but it was crimson and blood oozed from her fingers. He was so lightheaded that he collapsed in a swoon.
“No!” Hettie shrieked. “Paedrin, wake up. Wake up!”
He heard her voice and roused himself, opening his eyes. He felt Khiara’s fingers pressing into his shoulder.
“I’m awake,” he moaned through clenched teeth. “Hettie . . . I’m fading.” He felt he was out of breath. Each gasp was painful. His vision swam with colors, but the edges were fringed in black and seemed to close in. His body convulsed.
“No,” she said tremulously. “Stay with me. You can’t leave me here. Khiara, hurry!”
Another set of flapping wings came from above, claws slashing at Hettie’s shoulders and hair. She screamed in pain and rage and unleashed the fireblood like a shield above them, blasting the creatures to ash, keeping a steady stream of flame from her hands.
Paedrin’s heart shuddered with pain. He wanted to speak to her, to soothe her. He blinked, trying to gaze at her one last time. There were tears running down her cheeks. Her expression was fierce and full of wrath as she sent flames at the Cockatrice.
Khiara rocked back and forth, trying to remain conscious as she attempted to heal his mortal wound. She murmured a Vaettir prayer, singing to his soul as it began to slip away from his body. Her words were coaxing, pleading him to stay.
“Hettie . . .” he whispered, feeling his last breath slip away from his body, feeling the weight of his flesh sinking into the earth like a mother’s embrace.
She turned to gaze down on him, her eyes widening with shock. The flames sputtered in her hands and died. “No,” she moaned, shaking her head with disbelief. “No!”
Paedrin closed his eyes, unable to bear the look of her grief.
“I see no one,” Annon murmured. “But there is a stone at the base of the tree. It causes the mist.”
“Ah,” Tyrus said. “A spirit trapped there. Free it, and the mist will depart and the beast will be vulnerable. Go, Annon. Quickly!”
“Give me the Tay al-Ard, Tyrus,” Kiranrao
said in a threatening tone.
“You cannot have it,” Tyrus answered vehemently.
The Druidecht glanced at the Romani, his face screwed up with fury and rage. There was a look bordering on madness in Kiranrao’s eyes. Annon backed away from him swiftly and then ran to the tree. He saw the stone, carved into a human face with a look of sorrow. The eyes glowed white against the rock, not brightly—he would not have even noticed it if the whispers hadn’t drawn his gaze that way.
Annon hunkered down next to the roots and reached into the small cave. The stone was heavy, the size of a bread loaf but weighing enough that he struggled to lift it out. As soon as his hands touched it, he heard the Fear Liath’s roar. The stone was suddenly cold in his hands, so cold it burned. He nearly dropped it and hissed in pain. His skin was turning gray before his eyes. Instantly, he summoned the fireblood and sent the flames pulsing into the stone, filling it with fire and heat. He struggled against its weight and the biting coldness. His hands were scorching with the cold, mixed with fire. Smoke rose from the stone and livid flecks began to seethe inside the rock. He channeled magic into the rock, trying to free the spirit trapped inside.
There was the sound of wild crashing in the woods. The Fear Liath was charging at him, undoubtedly aware that its defense was failing. Panic strained at Annon’s nerves. He wanted to hurl the stone and run for his life, but he battled down his fear and increased the heat and pressure. Slits began to form. Orange flames engulfed the rock, surrounding it like a living orb, but the flame was not hot enough yet. Annon drew deeper into his power, feeling the urge and craving for it grow with wildness inside his heart.
Cockatrice suddenly plummeted around him, landing on his back and shoulders, slashing him with their hooked claws. He felt their beaks stabbing at his head, and he knew the pain and the itching would drive him insane if the fireblood didn’t madden him first. He screamed in torment, sinking to his knees while clutching the rock to his stomach and filling it with fire.