At these words, a cheer went up from the townsfolk in the square, and they redoubled their efforts. As Kandler sprinted toward the action, he saw a pale, black-cloaked figure coalesce from a cloud of reddish mist hanging over Rislinto’s broad shoulders. The justicar shouted a warning, but he knew it was too late. The blacksmith was too far away to hear him, and Kandler knew he’d never reach his old friend in time.
Kandler and Burch had scouted out this crater with Rislinto and Mardak back when the two sons of Cyre had first come up with the idea of establishing a settlement on the edge of the Mournland. The four had founded the town together, and now it was all falling apart. All Kandler could do was watch his friend die.
The telltale clack of Burch’s crossbow sounded out, and the vampire behind Rislinto fell over with a wooden bolt in its heart. Kandler looked about for the shifter on the nearby rooftops as he sprinted toward the square, but Burch had already moved on.
As Kandler neared the square, he angled to the right, his eyes hunting for other black-clad creatures and for Esprë’s shimmering golden hair. On the other side of the bonfire, he saw the flaming swords of the Knights of the Silver Flame swinging in the darkness, the light reflecting off their polished armor.
Right before the justicar, Priscinta and Pradak—mother and son—fought back to back, the Karrn zombies closing in on all sides. For a moment, Kandler wondered where Mardak might be, but he pushed the thought aside. It didn’t matter. The important thing was that Priscinta and Pradak were outnumbered two to one. They would be dead in moments without help.
The justicar cursed. He needed to find Esprë before the changeling woke up, but he could not bring himself to abandon others so clearly in need. He charged into the relentless creatures from the rear, slashing all about with his sword.
Kandler’s blade clanged ineffectively off the Karrn armor, but it just as often bit into rotted flesh and dried bone. The justicar hacked back and forth, spinning wildly as he went. He had to kill these creatures quickly, or Esprë would be doomed.
As Kandler cursed the vampires, the zombies, and the knights who he guessed might have brought them there, he glanced over and saw Pradak stumble before one of the undead Karrn warriors.
Pradak had been but a boy during the last days of the war, just four years past. Although he bore the promise of his father’s legendary skill with a longsword, he lacked the hard-won experience earned only on the field of battle. Having laid one zombie low, he had stepped forward to press his advantage and slipped on his victim’s corpse.
Kandler had seen many a young warrior make this same mistake. Few of them had lived to repeat it. War had no mercy, no matter how young the warrior.
The zombie standing over Pradak rasped a horrible laugh and raised its jagged blade high in both hands, its tip pointed toward the young man’s chest. As the creature jammed the blade down to impale Pradak on its steely length, Priscinta dove at the zombie, bowling it backward. The two rolled away in a ball of thrashing arms and slashing steel.
Kandler ran over to Pradak and hauled the young man to his feet with his free hand. “You’re a lucky boy,” he said.
Pradak hefted his sword once again and began to offer his thanks. Before he could speak, the zombie battling Priscinta ran her through. The woman’s gurgling cry ended with a snap as the Karrn bashed her with its free hand, and she fell to the ground.
Kandler reached out to try to stop Pradak from throwing himself into a suicidal attack to avenge his mother, but it was already too late. Mad with grief, Pradak launched himself toward his mother’s killer.
What Pradak lacked in skill he made up for in rage. The youth lunged at the zombie standing over Priscinta, still gloating over its victory. Kandler watched as Pradak leveled a two-handed slash at the creature’s neck, and an instant later its head spiraled away. Before the young man could enjoy his victory, another of the undead warriors laid into him.
Kandler stepped up beside the youth and lent his sword to his efforts. “Deothen!” he shouted. “We need a healer here!”
The senior knight did not respond. Kandler glanced over, and he saw one of the black-robed creatures turn to dust before Deothen’s righteous wrath. The wind caught the dust and blew it into the fire where it formed an ascending spiral of glowing embers reaching into the night sky.
Deothen spat a single word at Sallah, who was standing next to him as the vampire vanished. While the senior knight directed the efforts of the others against the Karrn, she turned and ran over to Kandler. “Are you hurt?” she called as she ran, panting with the work of battle.
Kandler parried a blow from one of the undead Karrns and wrenched open its breastplate with his sword. The zombie screeched in surprise, but the justicar cut that short with a slash across the creature’s exposed lungs. Two more quick moves, and the creature lay in a heap of bones and old, rotten meat at Kandler’s feet, just as Sallah reached his side.
“Not us.” Kandler pointed to the body lying at Pradak’s feet. The boy stood staring wide-eyed out into the darkness, waiting for something else to come careening out at them. For the moment, the Karrns were elsewhere, but Kandler could hear the telltale sound of the shuffling gait of the undead circling out in the darkness.
“Priscinta,” Sallah said.
The justicar scanned the darkness with one eye. With the other, he watched as the red-haired knight knelt beside Priscinta and checked her for signs of life.
“May the Silver Flame shine brightly on your final journey,” Sallah said softly as she closed Priscinta’s eyes. Pradak bent his head over her and wept.
Kandler bowed his head for a moment to fight back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. There would be time for grieving later. Right now, he had to find Esprë.
Where are the vampires?” Kandler asked Sallah.
Sallah looked up at the justicar blankly and shook her head. “When your friend Burch and I arrived, we saw a handful of them massacring the townsfolk who dared to stand against them. We set to them and drove them off. Burch brought down two with his crossbow.” The lady knight hesitated for a moment. “Your daughter …?”
Kandler could tell by her tone that she feared the worst. He shook his head. “I thought she might be here.”
Sir Deothen and the three other knights arrived as Kandler spoke. “When we arrived, the vampires withdrew,” the senior knight said. “They were content to let their undead underlings soften us up first, but such creatures could not stand long against the power of the Silver Flame.”
Kandler looked around. The battle was over. The zombies either lay still or had fled. The survivors of Mardakine crept from the shadows to unite around the light of the pyre. In the distance, a pair of voices—human voices—shouted in agony.
Pradak knelt on the ground, cradling his mother’s body as he shook with tears. Kandler wanted to lend the boy some comfort, but he had his own tragedy to prevent yet.
“Have you seen Esprë?” Kandler asked the knights. “My daughter?”
Deothen shook his head gravely. “Find the wounded and tend to them,” Deothen told the other knights. “I must discuss with the justicar what will happen next.”
The knights nodded and padded off to execute their orders. Kandler saw Sallah stop near the weeping Pradak for a moment, but she continued on. There were others who needed her help more.
Kandler ignored Deothen for the moment. If the knight didn’t know where Esprë was, Kandler didn’t care to talk with him. He knew he didn’t have much time. He shaded his eyes from the firelight and peered into the darkness. “Burch!” he shouted.
The shifter appeared from behind a window set in a roof across the square. “Here, boss!” He waved his crossbow at the justicar.
Kandler’s heart leaped. If anyone could have seen Esprë here, it would have been the sharp-eyed shifter. “Did you see Esprë?”
Burch shook his head. “Not a wink. Thought you’d find her at home.”
Kandler felt ill. Perhaps he’d made a
horrible mistake leaving the changeling alive. Maybe she’d lied to him about the telepathic link. He didn’t know what to think. “Rislinto?” he called. “Are you still out there?”
“Aye.” The blacksmith staggered around from the other side of the fire. He pressed his massive hand against his left leg, which bled through his fingers.
“Allow me,” Deothen said to Rislinto. The blacksmith nodded his permission and removed his hand. The gash oozed blood.
“Where’s Esprë?” Kandler asked as Deothen ministered to Rislinto’s leg. The knight lay his hands on the wound and muttered a quick but heartfelt prayer. The skin and flesh knit back together under the soft glow that emanated between Deothen’s fingers.
“Dunno,” Rislinto said. “Haven’t seen her.”
“Not the whole time?” Kandler asked. “A changeling I met told me a vampire was holding her hostage here.”
Rislinto’s deep, humorless laugh rumbled through the square. “You trusted something a changeling told you?”
Ice water ran through Kandler’s gut. “Damn, damn, damn!” He turned and raced back to his house.
“It’s all right, dear,” Te’oma said as she stepped into Kandler’s bedroom. “You can come out now.” The changeling was bruised from head to toe, but appearances meant nothing to one as her. She used her shapeshifting powers to cover them up. To those who saw her, she would look as good as new, except she would look nothing like herself.
“Are you all right?” Esprë said as emerged from Kandler’s wardrobe. The girl’s blonde hair shimmered in the light streaming from the main room into the bedchamber. Her face was red as if she’d been crying—or at least trying not to. “I heard fighting.”
“More of those creatures,” Te’oma said. “Your father took care of them, but we have to leave now.”
“Kandler? He’s not my real father, you know.”
Te’oma nodded as she escorted the girl into the main room. In the light, Esprë saw the same beautiful, dark-haired elf who had shoved her into the wardrobe when they’d heard someone prowling around outside.
“I know. Your father was a fine elf. We all miss him.”
Esprë frowned. “I don’t remember him. He died before I was born.”
“I’m sure he’d be as proud of you as I am.” Te’oma gave the girl a hug, even though the effort sent blazing pain through her cracked ribs. She guided Esprë through the main room and out onto the front porch. As she went, she kept her body between the girl and the body lying against the main room’s rear wall. Once outside, she relaxed, but it didn’t last long.
“Aunt Arnaya?” Esprë asked. “Where’s Norra?” Te’oma heard fear creeping into the girl’s voice. She had to act quickly or the girl would begin to panic.
The changeling-elf sat the girl down on the porch next to her and wrapped her arm around her. A breeze carried a chill through the air, ruffling their hair like dark and light flags behind them. The girl shivered and snuggled closer to the changeling.
“We must leave soon,” the changeling said.
“How soon?”
“Tonight. Horrible things are happening in town, and we have little time to waste.” Te’oma wished that the vampires would hurry up and come back. She knew the justicar wouldn’t be fooled by her little lie for long.
Esprë thought about that for a while. “Is Valenar a long way?”
“It’s a safe ways away. You’ll love it there. You’ll be with family again.” Te’oma looked down at the girl as she spoke. The elf child’s naïve nature was charming, and for a moment the changeling wondered how her life might have been different if she’d decided to pursue motherhood instead of … this. The thought unsettled her, but it evaporated when she hugged the child closer.
“What about Kandler?” Esprë looked up at Te’oma. “Isn’t he coming with us?”
The changeling frowned at the thought of the justicar. “His place is here. His job is here.”
Esprë smiled for a moment, then frowned again. “But won’t Kandler at least say good-bye?”
“Not tonight, dear,” Te’oma said. Lies came easily to her. As a changeling, most of her life was a series of lies as she changed herself about to look like something she really wasn’t. Any pangs of conscience she might have felt over this had been buried by the lies long ago. “He asked me to start out with you right away. He said he’d catch up for good-byes soon. He wants to make sure you’re safe and happy in your new home. But he has work here tonight. We must leave him to it.”
Esprë smiled and hugged the changeling, who winced at the pain but kept silent. “I’m so happy you finally came, Aunt Arnaya.”
“I am too.” Te’oma stroked Esprë’s long blonde hair.
“You have her? Excellent.”
At the sound of the voice, Esprë jumped into Te’oma’s lap, and the changeling yelped in pain.
A man stood nearby, surrounded in mist. He was tall and thin with high, wide cheekbones set in a gaunt, sculpted face. His skin was the color of the crater floor, and something dark dribbled from his chin. He wore his long, shiny black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. His eyes glowed like dying coals.
Esprë screamed. She clutched at the changeling like a drowning dwarf.
“Look at me,” the figure said. “Look at me!”
Esprë buried her head in the changeling’s arms and continued to scream. As she wailed, she kept her eyes closed tight and kicked out with her feet.
Te’oma winced in pain as the child held on to her with all her might. She tried to pull herself free from the girl, but it proved impossible. She shot the man an angry look but kept her tongue.
The man snatched Esprë’s legs with one hand and grabbed her head with the other. He pulled her away from Te’oma and held her up before him like a prize fish just pulled from the sea. She struggled against his iron grip, but he forced her face around to point at him. “Look at me,” he said quietly.
Esprë closed her eyes tight and screamed again. “Aunt Arnaya! Help me!”
The impulse to leap to the child’s aid surprised Te’oma as it awakened in her heart. She shoved it aside, suspecting it was just a side effect of throwing herself so completely into her role as the girl’s aunt. Even if she wanted to do something for the girl, it was out of her hands now.
The man spit in the girl’s face, and she opened her eyes in rage. Her voice caught in her throat, and Te’oma followed her gaze. Two other pale-skinned figures stood behind the first. Each wore a long, black cloak embroidered with a red mouth filled with teeth as pointed as their own. They glared at the girl.
“Look at me,” the man holding Esprë said. Once the girl’s eyes locked with the monster’s, Te’oma felt Esprë’s will slough off like an old snakeskin. She no longer felt the urge to scream, to fight, to flee. She awaited his orders, nothing more.
“Sleep,” the man said, and Esprë did.
Te’oma caught the girl before she slipped to the ground. “Tan Du!” she said. “I had things well in hand.”
“Would the justicar agree with you?”
“He interrupted me.”
“We do not have the time to toy with our prey, no matter how pretty,” Tan Du said. He took Esprë from Te’oma’s arms and caressed her soft cheek.
“Where are the others?” Te’oma asked. “What happened to the foot soldiers?”
Tan Du grinned. “They were expendable.”
“You lost two score of the finest Karrn zombies? And of the seven of your kind we started out with we now have only you three? You call that a success?”
“We have what we came for,” said Tan Du. “That is all that should concern you.”
Te’oma steamed at the vampire for a moment, then turned away. She couldn’t bear to look at him.
Tan Du gazed down at the young elf in his arms. “Is your horse nearby?” he asked.
Te’oma looked back over her shoulder and nodded.
“Excellent. The others will lead you through the darkness.”
<
br /> As Te’oma watched, one of the vampires transformed into a massive, slavering wolf with glowing red eyes. The other morphed into a monstrous bat and flapped high up into the air on its leathery wings. No matter how many times Te’oma saw this, it always disturbed her. The changes weren’t natural like hers. It was as if the vampires forced their new forms upon the world—as painfully as possible.
“They will cover the ground and the air,” Tan Du said. “All you need do is follow them from here.”
“What about you?”
Tan Du smiled. “I have business.” He nodded for Te’oma to lead the way, and he followed. He carried Esprë in his arms as if she were as stuffed with feathers. When they reached Te’oma’s horse, Tan Du and the other creatures stopped several yards away. The horse whickered at them. This brought a private smile to Te’oma, who felt pleased to be truly alive at the moment.
Te’oma continued on ahead. When she got to the horse, a massive black-coated gelding, she stroked his sides and face and whispered kind words to him. Once the horse was calm, Te’oma rummaged around in his saddlebags and pulled out a wax-sealed vial. She uncorked it with her teeth, which she altered to make as wicked as Tan Du’s, and swallowed the pungent liquid in a single gulp.
The potion burned down her throat like homemade liquor and formed a lump in her stomach. She waited for a moment until she felt the warmth spread through her veins. In an instant, she recovered from the beating she’d taken at Kandler’s hands, and she was ready to travel.
“Better?” Tan Du said as Te’oma walked back to him and took Esprë from his arms.
“I feel as good as I look,” the changeling-elf said.
Tan Du smiled. “Good enough to eat.”
Te’oma turned her back on the vampire and strode back to her horse. She pushed Esprë up onto the beast’s back and then hoisted herself up behind the girl. She steadied Esprë in front of her and then looked down at Tan Du grinning at her. Te’oma wanted to wipe that self-satisfied look from his face, but she reminded herself that now was not the time.
Marked for Death: The Lost Mark, Book 1 Page 9