Marked for Death: The Lost Mark, Book 1

by Forbeck, Matt

“Get up,” Tan Du said. “I have something to show you.” He turned to Esprë and spoke. “As for you, behave yourself and stay with the changeling. You seem to be able to count on her to keep you safe.”

  “What is it?” Te’oma asked as she struggled to her feet. Her arm hung loosely at her side. What little feeling she had in it was only pain.

  “Something unbelievable.” Tan Du looked at Te’oma’s useless arm. “It’s a pity you used your last healing potion.”

  The changeling used her good arm to pull her injured limb and stuff its hand across her body and into her belt. “Don’t worry about me.”

  The vampire grinned. “Do you think it’s in my nature?”

  He turned and walked off to the left of the chasm.

  Te’oma grabbed her horse’s reins with her good hand and led the animal after Tan Du, following the edge of the chasm. Esprë scrambled up onto the horse’s saddle where she rode in silence.

  “What is it?” Te’oma asked again when they caught up with the vampire, who stood waiting for them.

  “As always, changeling,” Tan Du gestured toward the nearby chasm, “you manage to find the obstacles that lay in our path, while I”—the vampire stepped aside and bowed, revealing the end of a lowered drawbridge behind him—“I find the solutions.”

  “After you,” Te’oma said.

  Tan Du strode out onto the ironbound oak planks of the bridge. Te’oma led the horse after him, the girl still silent in the saddle.

  The changeling stayed in the center of the drawbridge. She looked back to see Esprë leaning out from the saddle and peering into the abyss below. The changeling’s eyes followed the girl’s, but the mist obscured everything. The chasm could have been a dozen feet deep or a hundred. It was impossible to tell.

  The wall of the tower seemed to grow out of the mist as the travelers approached. It stabbed high into the swirling grayness, or so it seemed. Te’oma could not even see the top of the arch that stood at the drawbridge’s base.

  The trio passed beneath the arch and found themselves in an open courtyard. Tan Du led them forward until they came to large, wooden door, in which was set an ornate, iron knocker cast in the shape of a gargoyle’s head with a large, thick ring in its mouth. He presented the door to Te’oma and said, “Here you are. I believe this sort of thing is your specialty.”

  “Why don’t you just turn to mist?” Esprë asked from atop the horse. Her voice sounded distant.

  The vampire looked up at the girl with a bloodless smile. “I have to be invited,” he said. He looked at Te’oma. “But I think we can arrange that.”

  Te’oma handed Tan Du the reins to her horse and stepped forward. The vampire tied the animal to a hitching post near the door and pulled Esprë down from the saddle. They stood back and watched as the changeling examined the door.

  Te’oma ran her eyes across the door’s surface first, scanning for any traps—in the Mournland one couldn’t be too careful—then ran her good hand in the same pattern. Nothing happened. She reached out for the knocker with one eye open. Her hand touched it. The metal felt cool, if a bit moist from the mists.

  The changeling pulled on the knocker, then pushed, and nothing happened. The door did not give an inch. Te’oma tried twisting the knocker, but it wouldn’t budge. In frustration, she pulled the ring up and then slammed it down.

  The door swung open, creaking on its rusty hinges.

  Te’oma looked back at Tan Du, who motioned for the changeling to enter. She pushed the door open and peered inside.

  The swirling mists stopped outside the door. Te’oma could see all the way across the large, brick-walled room.

  Shelves of books and scrolls stacked floor to ceiling lined the walls. Papers spilled out of some of them and on to the floor. The clutter almost obscured the sumptuous red rug that covered all but the few feet on the edges of the polished wood floor. Ink spots were splattered all about the place, many of which trailed from a pot sitting on the corner of the massive desk in the center of the room.

  Te’oma slipped into the room and padded to the desk. She could not read the writing on the pages there, but she recognized the strange notations of a wizard’s instructions for spells. She reached out and ran her finger along the edge of the desk. It came back covered with dust. She noticed, though, that the pages atop the desk’s dark, mahogany surface were clean.

  Windows lined the walls. They were wide and unglazed but the mist outside stopped just before their edges anyhow, almost as if each wisp feared to be sucked into the building. No light shone through them.

  A long set of wooden stairs snaked back and forth along the rear wall and disappeared through a hole in the ceiling. There was no telling how far up it might continue or how many other floors lay above.

  An iron chandelier hung from a long chain in the center of the ceiling. The tips of the bars glowed with a magical light that hurt to look at. Te’oma shaded her eyes with her hand and squinted at the structure long enough to see that it was wrought as a symbol of a god.

  Te’oma turned back to see Tan Du and Esprë peering through the doorway at her. “We may not be welcome here,” she said.

  “There is no one here,” the vampire said. “The place is empty.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  The vampire bared a wicked smile. “If it’s not empty now, it soon will be. Invite me in.”

  For a moment, Te’oma considered defying the vampire. If she did, she would be safe, at least until she had to leave. The girl, though, would still be in his grasp. “Come in,” she said.

  Tan Du strode across the threshold, pulling Esprë along behind him. Once inside, he let her go.

  Esprë wandered about the place without a word, her wide blue eyes taking in everything. She looked up at the chandelier and said pointed. “That’s the symbol of Aureon, the god of magic.” She bowed her head. “My mother wore a medallion of it around her neck.”

  “Then your mother must have been a good and powerful wizard,” a voice said from the top of the stairs.

  Tan Du, Te’oma, and Esprë looked up to see an emaciated elf coming down the steps. She was dressed in fine robes of green- and blue-patterned silk that draped over her pointed shoulders and gave the illusion that there might be some volume to her under them. Her sunken eyes, cutlike mouth, and knife-sharp cheekbones under paper-thin skin belied that impression. She moved with purpose and economy, as if every gesture caused her a pain she refused to express.

  “She was a sorcerer,” Esprë said.

  The elf favored the girl with a half smile. “I do not receive many visitors,” she said. “The mists keep them away.”

  “We came seeking shelter,” Te’oma started.

  “From the sun,” the elf said. “I know. Who do you think opened the skies?”

  “You forced us here?” Tan Du glared at the elf.

  The gaunt wizard nodded. “I predicted your arrival. I know who you are, I know what you are, and I know what you are about.”

  Tan Du frowned. “Then you should know better than to interfere.”

  The elf coughed up a dry laugh as she descended the final stairs and stood before the trio of intruders. “I do not fear your lich-goddess. True power comes from the light, not the dark. She is but a shadow of what she could have been.”

  Tan Du’s frown deepened to a scowl. “You blaspheme. Apologize, or I will tear your heart from your chest.”

  Te’oma reached out and took Esprë’s hand. The girl did not pull away. Without taking her eyes from the wizard, Te’oma began to creep backward, a step at a time, bringing the girl with her.

  The elf squinted at Tan Du. “You are a pawn and a fool. Do you not realize what you are in the presence of?”

  “A dead elf,” the vampire sneered. He lashed out, and his hand closed around the wizard’s bare, thin throat.

  The elf’s eyes narrowed in delight. Her smile showed all her teeth like a corpse’s rictus.

  The flesh on Tan Du’s hand burned
. Te’oma heard the sharp hiss of burning skin and saw smoke rising about the elf’s face.

  The vampire’s eyes flung wide in terror. “What—?” he said.

  He drew his hand back and stared at it, stunned. It was red and blistered as if he’d pressed it on a hot stove.

  Te’oma hustled Esprë behind the wizard’s desk. She didn’t know what might happen next, but she hoped the wizard would be reluctant to attack someone hiding behind her spellbook. She held the girl to her chest, keeping Esprë from watching the pair near the stairs, but she found herself unable to avert her own eyes from the scene.

  The elf chanted a few quick words and presented a pearl between her fingers. It burst forth with the heat and light of the sun.

  Tan Du cowered before the light and screamed. “No!” he said. “I cannot fail! You cannot—!”

  The vampire stopped protesting and turned to run. The elf followed him with the light still blazing from her hand. He stumbled into the side of the wizard’s desk opposite Te’oma and bounced off it toward the door. Esprë let out a little scream and clung to the changeling tighter. Te’oma ran a hand through her hair and shushed her gently as she craned her neck around the desk to watch the vampire flee.

  As Tan Du moved, smoke curled from his bare flesh and from under his clothes. The vampire reached for the door, but it slammed shut as he did. Bellowing in frustration, he hauled at it with all his supernatural might, but it refused to give.

  The vampire turned to face the elf, his body burning now, flames licking up all around him. His hair caught like a torch, and his skin blackened and began to peel away. He let loose a final agonized scream before he collapsed. Moments later, all that was left of him was a smoldering pile of ashes spilling out of his scorched clothes.

  The light in the elf’s hand went out, and she turned to smile again at Te’oma and Esprë. “Now,” she said, “shall we get to know each other a bit better?”

  We have to go in,” Kandler said, staring up at the mound of mist that sat in the center of the valley. From this close, it looked more like the wall of a tomb. “I’m through wasting time.”

  “You can’t see a thing in there,” Deothen said. “It’s suicide.”

  Kandler turned on the old knight. “You have a better plan?”

  The knight nodded. “We set up positions around the place and wait for them to come out.”

  Kandler goggled at Deothen. “My daughter is in there!”

  “It is a sound plan.”

  Frustrated, Kandler pointed at the rest of the hunters. “Do you see how many of us there are left?” The others stared at him. “There’s you, me, Burch, and three knights so green they have grass growing out of their armor.”

  Sallah opened her mouth to protest, but Kandler kept talking. He stared at Deothen. “What makes you think the six of us can surround this place? And if they come out of there, how are we going to catch them? How long are we going to wait? When night falls, we won’t be able to see a thing.” Kandler pointed up at the hole in the cloud cover. “And what about that? As soon as that goes away, which could happen any second, they can just ride away again.”

  Deothen raised his hands to calm the justicar. The gesture just made Kandler even more angry. “I understand why you are upset,” Deothen said. “but you must think about this clearly.”

  “I’m not going to think about it like a coward.” Kandler turned to speak to the others. “I’m going in. Now.” He looked each of the knights in the eye. “Who’s with me?”

  Burch raised his hand, and Kandler cracked a quick smile. “Thanks, Burch,” he said. Then he glared at the others. “Who else?”

  Deothen sat on his mount in stony silence. Levritt looked to the senior knight for guidance and avoided Kandler’s stare. Brendis started to speak but then shut his mouth. He frowned at the justicar and sagged in his saddle.

  “I’ll go,” Sallah said.

  Surprised, Kandler nodded his thanks. “All right.”

  “No, daughter,” Deothen said. “I cannot permit it.” Kandler started to respond, but Deothen cut him off. “I am your commander. I am responsible for your life and that of every other knight that rides with me.”

  “Nice going so far,” Burch said. “One dead and one nearly killed.”

  “You will speak to Sir Deothen with a civil tongue!” said Sallah.

  Deothen ignored Burch and spoke to Kandler. “I will not permit one of my charges to risk her life needlessly.”

  “But, Sir Deothen,” Sallah said, “the girl—”

  “Is trapped in there with her kidnappers. They are going nowhere. We should wait for them to come to us.”

  “Are we not charged with the protection of innocents?” Kandler could hear a trace of desperation creeping into Sallah’s voice.

  “You are, as am I, but there are larger issues at stake here. They want the girl alive.”

  “How can you be so sure of that?”

  “If her life was so cheap to them, they would have killed her already. You know that, justicar.”

  Kandler shook his head in frustration. “You can sit out here and argue about it all you like. I’m going in.” He nodded at the shifter and brought his horse around. “Come on, Burch.”

  “Sir Deothen,” Sallah said, “should we not lend them aid? They will defy your wisdom no matter what, but can we not take advantage of that? Let me accompany them. They may need my prayers if not my sword.”

  Kandler and Burch hesitated for a moment to hear what the senior knight would say. The old man’s face fell. “Very well,” he said, looking deep into Sallah’s green eyes. “Do as you will, daughter. And may the Silver Flame guide your way.”

  Sallah brought her horse around to face toward the wall of mist. She snapped a quick salute to Deothen and the other knights then gave Kandler a sharp nod. Without another word, they plunged into the unknown.

  The gray mist curled around Kandler like a blanket. He could barely see his horse’s ears much less Burch or Sallah, but unlike the mists that bordered the Mournland, which were chill and stifling, this was simply … mist. Cool and damp, yes, but just mist.

  His steed tried to pull up short, but he goaded the stallion on.

  “Should we tie our horses together again?” Sallah said. Her voice came from somewhere over Kandler’s shoulder.

  “Burch and I did that already,” Kandler said. “Did we miss you?”

  “You know you did,” Sallah said, irritation tinged with fear creeping into her voice. “Throw me a—ow!”

  “Sorry,” Burch said, in a voice untainted with regret. “Got the rope?”

  “I do now,” Sallah snarled.

  The trio started forward again. Burch led the way with Kandler and Sallah riding behind, their horses each tied to the shifter’s stocky, sure-footed lupallo.

  Sallah held up her sword and set it ablaze with a short prayer to the Silver Flame. In here, the blade seemed brighter than it had since entering the Mournland. Still not quite a pure flame, it nonetheless burned with an eager light. The mists seemed to part before the fire, and soon Kandler could see both her and Burch.

  Burch looked back and nodded his approval. “Keep that burning,” he said.

  “Can you follow their trail?” Kandler asked.

  The shifter got off his horse and scanned the ground. “The ground here is nothing but rock. No trail to follow.”

  “Can you sniff them out?”

  “Maybe.” Burch huffed and flexed for a moment as he drew upon the powers of his werebeast ancestors. He crouched low to the ground like an animal and rumbled out a low snarl. He put his nose in the air and sniffed, then scampered about for a moment until he found the direction. He pulled his horse along behind him, leading the others by the rope that bound them together.

  “Got it,” the shifter said as he padded ahead. “Sweaty horse, and … that muddy scent is the changeling. And I can smell … rose petals.”

  “Rose petals?” Sallah asked.

  Kandler’s
throat tightened, but he managed to speak. “We traded for them two months ago. Esprë sleeps with them in her pillow.”

  “There’s something else,” Burch continued. “Something … foul. Like a dank tomb.”

  “The vampire?” asked Sallah.

  “Yeah. Probably.”

  The trio walked in silence for a moment. The only sounds were that of their horses’ hooves and Burch sniffing the air.

  “Whoa!” the shifter shouted as he skidded to a stop. The lupallo halted behind him. Kandler and Sallah reined in their horses.

  “What is it?” Kandler asked.

  “Come here,” Burch said. “But get off the horses.”

  Kandler and Sallah dismounted and walked toward Burch. As they moved closer, Sallah’s sword melted away more of the mist, and Kandler saw that the shifter stood on the edge of a vast chasm. Both the bottom and the other side were invisible in the mist.

  “Did they …?” Sallah said. She gulped as she went to one knee and peered over the edge. “Did they fall?”

  “Smells like …” Burch stopped and sniffed the gray air. “Stinks like fear.” He looked at Sallah and smiled. “And not just from you. Stay here.”

  Kandler looked at Sallah. “Are you blushing?” He hadn’t thought such a strong-willed woman could ever be embarrassed.

  “It’s natural to be afraid here,” the lady knight said. “This is a fearsome place.”

  “No doubt about that,” Kandler said as he peered through the thin swirls of fog at Burch.

  The shifter stepped back from the edge of the chasm and walked back and forth along it, sniffing as he went. As he went to the left, he sniffed harder and faster. “Here,” he finally said. “This way.”

  Kandler and Sallah followed Burch, each of them leading their own horses on foot. “Could some of them have fallen?” Kandler asked.

  Burch shook his head and sniffed again. “They went this way. And the horse. Esprë was with them.” Soon the trio came upon the drawbridge. “They crossed here.”

  Kandler nodded at the shifter, and the three led their mounts across the bridge. The hooves and footsteps rang out on the oak planks.

  “That’s the horse,” Kandler said as they entered the mist-shrouded courtyard. The animal stood tied to the hitching post outside the cream-colored tower’s closed door. He and Burch drew their swords as all three of them eased their way up to the door.