“No,” Dari shouted at her back. “Leave it! Breen, watch Breen! Bind his hands and—”
Ally spun toward the nobleman, made a long swipe, and the next Daric knew, Breen’s head was rolling across the dirt floor. Mairi screamed. Daric looked about for Nana’s sister, but the woman was already out the door, running after the basti.
Daric sighed heavily. Knee screaming, he leaned against Mairi. Breen’s headless body slowly slid to the side. Ally had cut off a few fingers at the same time as cutting off his head, and they were lying about the cellar floor, one right by Daric’s foot. Breen’s head had rolled to the middle of the cellar, his dark eyes staring into nothing. Absently, Daric wondered at the cleanness of the cut; Ally’s sword must have been incredibly sharp.
“Can you stand?” Mairi eventually asked.
“I can hop,” Daric said. “I have a feeling that other door leads up to the shed. It shouldn’t be too hard to get out here.”
“And then what?” Mairi said. “We are still in Breen’s compound. What about his men?”
Daric shrugged. “They are mercenaries. Breen is dead. If I know mercenaries, they won’t risk their lives once their paymaster is dead. And besides, if Nasif has done his job, the dragons should be on their way.”
“I hope so,” Mairi said. “I’ve had enough of this place, I want to go home.”
Daric smiled at that. It was barely noon, they should be back in Bailryn before sundown.
“Help me up,” he said. “Let’s go find Ally before she gets herself into trouble. I promised her sister I would—”
Daric froze, eyes staring.
“What is it?” Mairi said, her voice shallow, scared. She followed Daric’s gaze, then gasped. “The head? Where did it go?”
Daric heard the demon before he saw it. The black shape in the corner coalesced into a man of at least eight feet, it’s head bent under the cellar ceiling. It was holding Breen’s head in one long-taloned hand. Its own head was that of a lizard, a crown of short, sharp horns across its brow. Its eyes glowed in the dim shadows, its mouth full of sharp teeth.
The creature was looking down at Breen’s head, turning it around in its thin hand. “Fool humans,” it said in a voice as rough as quarry stone. “He finally had me beat, and your friends cut his head off. Remind me to thank her for that before I kill her.”
“Get out of here,” Daric whispered to Mairi. “Now. Run!”
She looked at him, eyes pleading.
Daric shook his head. He knew what she was thinking, that she would never leave him. “Please,” he whispered. “For me. For Gialyn. Run.”
Mairi swallowed hard. Tears in her eyes, she nodded.
Before she had stood all the way, Daric pushed her toward the door. She had a finger on the handle when the demon grabbed her shoulder.
“Not so fast, Mairi. I’m not finished with you yet.”
The black demon, his hand now completely encircling Mairi’s neck, flicked a finger across her cheek. Daric cried in fear and anger as a large gash tore at the skin from her jaw to the corner of her eye. Mairi screamed. The wound was smoking, as if burnt. She fell to her knees, hardly daring to touch her ruined face.
The black demon grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. “I believe Breen was going to cut your throat,” he said in a matter of fact tone. “Far be it from me to go against my previous host's wishes. Oh, wait, that was my idea, was it not? These possessions, they are so confusing.”
Daric fought against the searing pain as he tried to stand. He made it up as far as kneeling, then tipped forward, landing face down in the dirt.
The black demon laughed. “Pitiable human,” he said. “It’s almost not worth the effort of killing you. Now I think on it, it is a shame Kasini is not here, I would enjoy having you as a puppet.”
Daric fumbled for Breen’s dagger, but even with his heart full of rage, he could not reach it.
That is not the blade you need, the lattice said. You know what to do, Daric, use the stone.
That was the first time the lattice had used his name.
Rysa? He Sent. Is that you?
The stone, Daric. Hurry, while it’s focused on your wife.
Daric fumbled at the lining of his cloak. With an effort, he tore the seam, and, with two fingers, he reached into the secret pocket for the tiner stone. Once free, he spun the stone around, using his thumb to twist the two ends against themselves, and slammed it down on the dirt floor. Almost immediately, the tiny portal opened. Still lying on his front, and hiding the portal with his body, Daric reached inside. A huge hand grabbed his wrist, and Daric felt Gyna force the hilt of the Tandrian blade into his palm.
Daric rolled onto his side. Without a clear view, he lashed out at the demon’s ankle. The creature, who was still holding Mairi by her hair, danced back. An outraged roar filled the cellar. Daric pulled his good leg under him. Still unable to see clearly, he flung himself forward, arm outstretched, stabbing at the area of darker shadow. His knife met with resistance, and he stabbed again, harder this time.
Mairi let out a scream. Blinking to clear his vision, Daric saw her fall on her side. She was not moving. Rage flared in his chest. Using one elbow as a pivot, he pushed off with his good leg, swiping down at the shadow.
Something grabbed his cloak at the back of his neck. Then pain rushed through his back as he was flung against the wall. Dizzy now, he felt a long hand grab at his throat. Instinctively, he thrust the knife up into the demon’s arm. It let go. Once again, Daric fell onto his bad knee. With a mighty effort, he ignored the pain. He reached out with his free hand and wrapped an arm around the creature’s leg. Its skin was rough, yet oily. Daric pulled himself closer, the demon’s hand still clasped about his neck. Dimly, he sensed the creature bending down, likely preparing a killing blow. Daric twisted against the demon’s grip and pushed the blade up. The Tandrian blade met the meat of the demon’s chest. With his good leg under him, Daric pushed up. There was a pop. Something like boiling hot soup flooded along Daric’s forearm. He pushed again. The creature let out an unearthly wail. Daric felt a fist smash down on his back. He readied himself for a final stab, but the blade was gone – it had just vanished right out of his hand. Another thump on the back, then something smashed against the side of his head. Daric had just enough time for one last look at Mairi’s limp body, and a view of the demon falling back against the wall, then the darkness filled his vision. A sensation of falling washed over him, then nothing.
* * *
There was something soft under Daric back. He was warm and comfortable, but for the itching. He scratched his right hand and forearm. It itched like he had spent a month wearing a rough woollen shirt over a bad sunburn.
“Don’t do that,” a woman’s voice said.
He felt a small hand on his shoulder. When he opened his eyes, he saw Nana looking down at him.
“It’s where the demon’s blood touched you. Don’t scratch it, you’ll open the wound.”
“Demon blood?” Daric whispered. He remembered something flowing down his arm. It was hot and thick. Could that have been the demon’s blood? Apparently so. Still, it itched like something was crawling under his skin. Absently, he remembered his mother saying something about a wound was getting better once it started itching. If that were true, then whatever was wrong with his arm must be almost healed.
He pulled his sleeve down, trying to ignore the sharp heat as his skin touched the linen of his shirt.
“That’s it. Just ignore it,” Nana said. “The healer said to leave it uncovered, let the air get to it, but if you want, I can put another bandage on.”
Daric looked down. His hand was black, shiny, as if it were made of iron.
“I thought you said it was getting better?”
“It is,” Nana said. “It just, well, it was demon blood, it might take some time for the colour to fade, and you might…. What did he say? You might have… visions, especially if some of the blood got under your skin.”
&
nbsp; “Visions? What sort of… ? Never mind that. I thought you were in Illeas’den. What are you doing here?”
“I was,” Nana said. “A week ago. You’ve been sleeping.”
“For a week?” Daric said. His voice cracked; his throat felt like he had not had a drink for a month.
“Closer to two,” Nana said. “It is a week since I arrived. We were all so worried. Sarai said I should stay in the village for another week, but I couldn’t stay away. I like the wolves, but lying in that small room all day was so boring. She said I could go for a walk, but it’s so cold in that valley. Not much better here, to tell you the truth, but at least I’m not cut off from all the news.” She gestured toward a tall window.
It was then Daric noticed the bed he was lying in. A big four-poster with curtains and a white canopy. Sunlight was flooding in from the window, reflecting off brightly painted walls. There were pictures of country scenes hanging on the walls and a large chandelier on the ceiling.
“Where am I? Is this the palace?”
He did not think so, there was no salt smell to the air, and although grand, the room he was in was not up to Bailryn Palace standard, it was too… rustic, especially the old bed.
“The Breen estate,” Nana said. “You are in His Lordship’s bed. Or should I say, your bed.”
“My bed? What are you talking about?”
Nana smiled. “The Breen estate is now the Re’adh estate,” she said, a grin so wide Daric could see all her white teeth. “Given that Breen had no children, the king decided, as a reward for your service, he would transfer the deeds over to you. It’s all yours. The manor, the grounds, the farms, the forest, all of it.” Again, she smiled. “Not bad for an old farm boy, eh, Daric. Or should I call you, Lord Re’adh?”
“Lord? Me? Why?”
Nana shrugged. She sat on the end of the bed. Picking idly at her fingernails, she said. “You did save Whitecliff, Daric, it was the least he could do. Or so he said, when he pardoned the mercenaries.”
“He did what? Why would he do that?”
“What? Pardon the mercenaries, or give you the estate?”
“Both,” Daric said. “But start with the mercenaries.”
“Aleria told him about Fa’rann and the basti. When you killed the demon, all his men… Well, they woke up. Most were confused, some were angry, all wanted to know what they were doing there. Seven thousand men all told, and maybe two thousand women. Apparently, Whitecliff was all but empty. Anyway, they’ve all gone home, pardoned. Seems none of them remembered what they had been doing these past few months. Although, if you ask me, I don’t think they were all under the demon’s spell. In fact, Mairi is sure Calleon was here for the money, and Yacob said most of the senior officers knew what they were—”
“Mairi! Where is she? Is she all right?”
Nana looked down at her hands. Daric remember the demon, and how he had run his claw along Mairi’s cheek, and how he had held her hair and gripped her neck. His heart thumped in his chest as he once again heard Mairi’s scream. Had she succumbed to her injuries? Was she gone? A hot tear stung his eye and he gazed up at the canopy.
“Tell me, Nana. What happened to her?”
“She’s fine,” Nana said. “A little weak. She has a scar on her cheek, but otherwise, she is fine.”
“Then where is she? Why isn’t she here?”
Nana let out a slow breath. “She is with Aleria, gone to see Gialyn.”
“Gone to see…? Why? What has happened?”
“It’s Elspeth. She is lost.”
Daric let out a sigh of relief. “Is that all. Gods, Nana, that girl is always getting herself lost.”
When he saw the look on Nana’s face, a wave of cold dread rushed through his veins. That look spoke volumes. Closing his eyes, Daric leaned back into the pillow. Elspeth was not just lost, she was gone. She was dead.
CHAPTER 35
The Last Chapter
Once the moon vanished behind a cloud, all faded to nothing, and yet Gialyn could still see.
They were back at the drying shed. Setuni had left him over by the pyramid, then disappeared into the woods. Sek, angry that he had not had a chance to speak with the Fe-roc, had kept Gialyn back for an hour, but all he could say to the black dragon was that the Fe’roc wanted to hunt the Karakin, and if the black dragon wanted their help, he would have to let Gialyn go with them.
Obviously, Sek the Black had been somewhat unhappy at that. He had wanted to command an army of dragons, lead them to a historic victory over Diobael, destroy the Voice of Uld, and crush the Karakin – although not necessarily in that order. The revelation that the Fe’roc would fight alone, insisting only Gialyn would go with them, had vexed him to the point of near outrage.
Gialyn had not helped matters when he reminded Sek that his dragons could not fight the Karakin; the spirit wolves would evade their attacks by hiding in places a normal dragon could not go. Knowing the Cat Dragons – as Toban had begun to call them – would likely prove most effective against the Karakin had only rubbed salt in the black dragon’s wounded pride.
“And who is to lead them?” Sek had asked.
“I don’t think they require leadership,” Gialyn had told him. “From what Setuni has told me, I’m guessing they don’t follow orders. They just hunt, and in this case, the Karakin are their prey.”
“Well, that’s no good. What if we have to coordinate an attack?”
“They won’t share the hunt,” Gialyn told him. “In fact, they only agreed to take me along as a link to the Oracles, and that I can help them Travel.”
“Why do they care about the Oracles?”
Gialyn could only shrug at that. He had no idea why the Fe’roc were interested in the Oracles: they did not appear to need – or want – anyone’s help. Indeed, it was a wonder they had agreed to come to the pyramid at all. They spent no time with the other dragons, and seemed to think Sek was some kind of slave master. They would not share their meals, they did their best to avoid Gialyn’s group, and would not even acknowledge the drin who had tried to bring them food. In short, they behaved like your typical cat, Gialyn thought.
Gialyn had some sympathy for Sek’s bad mood. He had wanted to learn from the dragon, spend his time mastering the Voice and his new-found abilities, but if he was interpreting Setuni’s thoughts correctly, she wanted him to leave with the Fe’roc by the following evening. Given that it was already gone midnight, that meant he had less than a day to decide.
“I say you go with them,” Shiroku said. “The cats, I mean. And not just because of what they promised to do to the Karakin. If you stay here, you will end up doing what Sek wants.”
Hmm, do what Sek wants? Gialyn thought.
Was that not the point of coming to Atria in the first place? What was it his future-self had said? “Save the dragons, my young friend. Save Tor and listen to Se…”
King Gialyn’s voice had faded away before he finished the sentence. Could he have meant Setuni when he said, “listen to Se…”? All this time, Gialyn had assumed future Gialyn was talking about the black dragon, but what if he was supposed to listen to the Fe’roc, do what they wanted?
You are being too careful again, he told himself. Good old careful Gialyn. Just go with Setuni.
Joining the Fe’roc did appear to make more sense. He had already told Sek their priority should be the Karakin, and that they should leave the Godstone and the Voice of Uld problem to Arfael; and as for destroying the Karakin, the Fe’roc would make for a much more formidable tool.
There you go, now you’re talking like Sek. They are not tools.
“Are you listening?” Shiroku said. “What do you think? Stay or go?”
Gialyn sighed. Poking the fire with a stick, he said, “I haven’t made up my mind yet. I think maybe I should sleep on it. I have too many thoughts rolling around in my head.”
There was a rumbling sound in the woods to the west of the drying shed. When Gialyn looked, Sek was pushing his way
into the clearing.
Even with the drying racks put away inside the shed, there was barely enough room for the big dragon to move. The drying shed was at the centre of a small clearing, the lake on one side and the forest making a half-circle of the rest. Sek eased along the treeline, crushing a line of wildberry bushes, until he could lay down with his huge head facing the fire.
“If you’ve come for supper,” Shiroku said, “we only have soup.”
Gialyn laughed at that. He had to wonder at the scene. The fire made a circle of orange light in the clearing. At one side, Toban and Shiroku sat; at another, Mersius leaned against the shed, Pyta the raven on his shoulder; opposite, was the face of a giant black dragon. Gialyn shook his head at the sight of it all and wondered at how far he had come. He wondered more at how such an incredible sight had become just another moment in what had become his curious life.
“I have not come for food,” Sek said. “I have come to apologise for my outburst.”
“Oh, don’t mention it,” Shiroku said. “We all have our bad days. Only last week, I cursed at Gialyn for burning the bacon. I mean, burning the bacon! How could he do such a thing? But I forgave him.”
Sek ignored the comment. Looking at Gialyn, he said, “I have come to ask you to stay. We have not spoken of Bar’deth. We must put an end to his plans.”
“What plans?” Shiroku said. “We don’t know what he’s up to.”
“I have spoken with Kirin’thar, the Cren Elder. Bar’deth has returned to Aleras, the Cren believes he is Bailryn. He has three Godstone shards with him.”
“I thought he was working for you?” Gialyn said.
“He was. Now he isn’t. I do not know what he is planning, but I would guess it has something to do with the Legend of the Nine.”
“You think he is after the Godstone?” Gialyn said. “I told you, that is Arfael’s job, he will—”
“The Cinné’arth cannot be everywhere at once,” Sek interrupted, more than a touch of frustration in his booming voice. “And as it was I who set Bar’deth on this path, I feel he is my responsibility. I would ask for your help, Gialyn Re’adh.”
The Ship of Tears: (The Legend of the Nine: Part One) (The Eastern Kingdom Chronicles Book 8) Page 41