by Nalini Singh
When she spoke again, her voice was no longer as light and as amused as it had been. “Is he a demon, young warrior?”
“Only a man,” Kavik said. “Though a demon who was freed by the Destroyer also plagues our land. If the goddess has power, she will know what to do.”
“If?” the priestess echoed. He could feel her studying him through the veil. Finally she said, “Vela has no quest for you.”
No quest? How could she refuse? His fists clenched. “My people need help. Too many have died. More still suffer.”
“That is true everywhere, young warrior.”
“Why is it true? You say to me ‘if.’” He spat the word back at her. “If your goddess truly had power, she would have stopped the Destroyer. She would have stopped Barin. So many need not have died.”
“You blame her for what they do?”
“I blame her if she had enough strength to destroy them and didn’t.” Sudden desperation joined frustration. What would persuade her? Gods and priests wanted worshipers. Kavik would crawl on his knees if it would help. “You can prove she has that power. Send me on this quest. When I hold Barin’s bloodied head in my hand, I’ll believe in her.”
Her laugh was light and amused again. Turning away from him, she said, “Vela does not seek the belief of one angry boy and she does not give quests to those with no real faith. Your only task is to leave this place in peace.”
Jaw clenched, Kavik stared at her retreating back, then retrieved his coin from the offering bowl. He would need the gold for his army. Better to leave an offering suited to charlatans who promised help and sat on their asses, instead.
Swaying, he pushed down the front of his brocs and took his cock in hand. The ache intensified, then released in a liquid rush onto the silver plate.
In the center of the chamber, the priestess froze mid-step. Slowly her veiled head turned.
Kavik stared back at her defiantly. This was victory. Now he felt like a god, because he had no power to stop this even if he’d wanted to.
The black veil fluttered as her whisper floated through. “Vela. Look upon this.”
A pale glow at the woman’s side drew Kavik’s gaze. The priestess’s hand. Though her skin was as dark as his, light shone through it as if viewing the moon through finely woven cloth.
All at once, a blast of icy air tightened his flesh. His breath billowed in a steaming cloud. His balls shriveled, and the seemingly endless stream of piss reduced to drips. Pulling up the waist of his brocs, he spun toward the door.
The priestess stood in front of him. Her hand shot up and gripped his throat.
As if he weighed no more than a boy, she lifted him off his feet. The glow through the veil almost blinded him, yet he could see her clearly, the shining skin and the eyes filled with cold moonlight.
“You little beast,” the priestess said, but now her voice was as clear and as cold as the ring of steel against stone. Each word echoed in his bones. “Even a dog knows better than to do that within his mistress’s home.”
Wheezing, Kavik tried to pry her frigid fingers away from his neck. They might as well have been made of iron. Terror splintered through his racing heart.
He could not die now. He hadn’t yet killed Barin.
“Heed this, Kavik of Blackmoor.” Her grip tightened, cutting off his air. “You have suffered, but you have suffered no more than any other that the Destroyer has touched, and many have suffered worse. I help those I can, and who ask it of me, but you will know what it means to have no help at all. Leave this temple. Buy your army. Do all that you can to save your people. And at the moment when you have lost everything, I will come to you again to twist the knife. Wait for the woman in red. When she arrives, you will know that the end is near, and that you will soon be on your knees again.”
She released him and flicked her finger against his armored chest. The blow hit him like a charging tusker, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying through the temple doors. He landed hard in the stone courtyard, back slamming into the ground, and he lay there, ears ringing, his lungs caught in an agonizing vise.
Pain still circled his throat, as if her cold hand was still upon it. Like a collar.
He rolled onto his side and retched. His eyes closed, but he could still see hers. He was suddenly certain he would dream of those cold eyes forever.
But when he finally fell into restless sleep that night, Kavik of Blackmoor dreamed of another woman, instead.
CHAPTER 1
Aragged cloth hung between the tall stone pillars at the head of the bridge. The frayed edges flapped in the spring wind, the snap almost drowned by the rush of the swollen river below. Whatever message that had once been written across its fluttering length was lost; the ink—or blood, more likely—had long since faded. Only a trace of the runes remained.
It mattered not. Mala could guess what the sign had said. She only had to look beyond the bridge and the message was clear. Turn around, fool. Death lies in Blackmoor. Or perhaps, Beware the beast!
Bones littered the roadside beyond the river. Rags still clung to rib cages, the limbs rived from their torsos and scattered by animals. Wagons lay in splintered ruins—but only on that side of the bridge, as if the travelers had been attacked as soon as they’d crossed over . . . or, if they’d started out from Blackmoor, attacked before they could escape the cursed land.
But if the beast that Mala had been sent here to tame had slaughtered these people, it hadn’t been recently. No flesh remained on the bones. The splintered wood from the wagons was pale and weathered. Surely the beast didn’t wait on the other side—and surely Mala’s quest wouldn’t end so quickly. Of all goddesses, Vela was the most generous, but she wasn’t the most kind. Those who completed their sacred quests and received Vela’s gifts usually endured far more pain than Mala had on her journey thus far.
So that pain still awaited her. When Mala crossed the river, it would soon find her.
She was ready to meet it.
Her companion didn’t seem as eager. Stamping the ground with one massive hoof, Shim tossed his head and snorted, the sound heavy with discontent—obviously unhappy with their destination now that he’d seen it. The bones wouldn’t disturb him. The big Hanani stallion had killed more than a few men during their travels, and he cared little for humans in general. More likely, the stallion’s disgruntlement sprouted from his stomach. Lush spring grass blanketed the valley behind them. A barren waste lay ahead.
Mala rolled her weight back in the saddle and loosened her posture, so that if Shim decided to buck her off and be done with her, she wouldn’t hit the ground so hard. “If you don’t like the look of it, you can stay here while I press forward.”
She couldn’t mistake the derision in his snorted response, as if his opinion of her brains had plummeted when she’d uttered the suggestion. Grinning, she patted his muscular neck. Her fingers came away covered in coarse hairs. His heavy winter coat had been sloughing off in patches since they’d trekked out of the mountains, leaving reddish brown clumps along their trail. He needed a thorough grooming, she needed a flagon of dark ale, and neither of them would get what they needed while tarrying here.
As if Shim had come to the same conclusion, he started forward. On the bridge, Mala kept a wary eye on the river and her right hand on the pommel of her sword. Even if the beast she sought didn’t lurk in the rushing water, many other creatures made their lairs beneath the surfaces of rivers and lakes. She bore scars from encounters with several.
If any beasts with stinging tentacles or poisoned jaws waited here now, however, they weren’t hungry. Nothing stirred as the clap of Shim’s hooves crossed the stone bridge and became a rhythmic thud against the hardened ground. Safely across. Still, Mala kept her sword arm ready.
A more somber land she’d never seen. If the valley behind them had been scooped out by a loving hand and seeded by a gentle breath of wind, the terrain ahead had been clawed out between sullen hills and stamped flat beneath an angr
y boot. Leaden clouds piled overhead. A chill breeze scraped across slabs of protruding stones and skimmed the back of her neck. With a shiver, Mala drew the hood of her heavy red cloak forward. Only this morning she’d considered shedding her winter leggings, but this land seemed to shun the sun. She would be wearing her furs a while longer.
The silent road stretched south through the barren flats. By midday a drizzle began to fall, and she hadn’t seen another living being aside from a crow and the biting gnats that plagued bare skin.
At least the rain chased away the gnats. Pushing back her hood, she asked Shim to stop. Better to eat now than before the drizzle worsened.
The jawbones hanging from her belt rattled when she dismounted. Chewing a strip of dried venison, she studied their route while Shim devoured a sack of grain. Ahead, the shadowed hills to the east and west converged, their faces abruptly changing from shrouded swells to bleak cliffs. The road led to a deep crevice between them, the entrance to Vela’s Labyrinth—a maze of canyons dug out by the goddess’s fingernails as she’d writhed in the agony of labor and gave birth to the twins, Justice and Law. This gaunt landscape had been their first cradle. It seemed better suited to a grave.
The labyrinth would not be Mala’s grave. She scratched Shim’s withers. The Hanani stallion could follow a scent as well as a wolf. Any travelers who had passed through the maze might have left markings to indicate the route, but even if they hadn’t, Shim should be able to guide her through.
She poured watered mead into her cupped hand and let him quench his thirst before taking her own swig from the wineskin. Despite the rain, this land was as dry as it was gray. Since leaving the river, not even a stream had trickled across their path.
But there would be plenty to drink when they reached the city beyond the maze, which still lay five sprints distant. She swung up into her saddle again, but before Shim had taken a step, his body tensed beneath her.
A rider on a gray horse emerged from the crevice ahead. An oxen-drawn wagon followed, then several more. A caravan—obviously headed for the bridge and the lush valley behind them, because unless they planned to settle on this barren waste, there was nowhere else to go.
Eyes narrowed, Mala studied the train. The law of the road demanded courtesy between travelers. Most of the people she’d encountered followed that code. The eyeteeth of those who hadn’t decorated her belt like pointed beads.
She probably wouldn’t be adding more today. The arrangement of the wagons suggested that they were driven by families who had banded together for safety. Almost all of the horses were pulling wagons and carts. Packs burdened both humans and animals. A few dozen people walked behind on foot, some of them children.
And perhaps one hired soldier. A mercenary, maybe, or a roaming warrior who earned his coin as he traveled. A dark figure mounted on a gray horse, he halted on the side of the road, as if studying her as Mala studied him. He would see no more detail across the distance than she did—Mala would be a red-cloaked figure atop a brown horse—but the color of her cloak would tell him enough. Only those who quested for Vela wore such garments.
For good or ill, the cloak always drew notice. The goddess favored and protected those who served her, and seeing Mala inspired in some strangers the hope that the terrors wrought by Anumith the Destroyer were coming to an end. But Mala had also encountered those who had challenged Vela’s protection, most of them determined to prove that the goddess was weaker than the demons and demigods they worshiped.
Mala wore those challengers’ teeth, too. She hadn’t even needed to call upon the goddess to defeat them. When she’d faced groups of more than three or four, Shim had come to her aid, instead.
Now she told him, “Be easy, friend.”
The appearance of these strangers was an unexpected boon. Shim would have a fresh trail to follow through the maze, and if they weren’t averse to talking, Mala could learn more about the beast she’d come to find.
As the stallion started forward again, Mala’s attention returned to the mounted warrior. He’d ridden to the tail of the caravan, waiting near the crevice as the last of the travelers emerged. Mala frowned. Instead of walking at a steady pace, now they rushed ahead. The caravan had stopped, the train breaking apart as wagons and carts drove off the sides of the road and clustered into a group.
Circling, she realized. Creating a defensive wall. Against what?
The warrior’s gray horse pranced uneasily. Steel glinted at its side. His rider had drawn a sword, and he backed his mount away from the crevice.
Shim suddenly pitched to a halt, ears laid flat against his head and nostrils flaring. Mala’s thighs gripped his sides, her body swaying with the abrupt motion. Furtive movement drew her gaze to the cliffs surrounding the maze’s entrance. Shadows crept across the bleak stone face.
Dread filled her stomach. Revenants.
The creatures would rip the humans apart.
“Shim!” she cried, crouching low over his neck and gripping his thick mane in her left hand.
The stallion surged forward. The beat of his hooves quickened, each powerful stride cleaving the distance. The wind and rain blasted Mala’s cheeks and whipped tears from her eyes, but she kept her gaze on the slinking shadows. While unmoving, they had only appeared as crags on the rock face, but their hunt betrayed their positions. Almost three dozen of the creatures. Once, they might have been goats or dogs or ponies. Befouled by demons, revenants only faintly resembled the animals they’d once been—and most animals couldn’t have traversed that sheer cliff face, yet they slithered across it like sinuous spiders.
Still four sprints away. Each sprint measured the distance that a good horse could race without flagging, yet Shim was still gaining speed. Few mounts could have matched his swiftness or endurance.
But they wouldn’t be swift enough. The revenants were gathering high above the warrior’s head, beyond the reach of his sword or spear. If they charged him one at a time, he might stand a chance. But that wasn’t how revenants fought. They would strike all at once to overwhelm the strongest foe, then individually pick off the weaker prey. Only when the slaughter was finished would they return to devour their kill.
Hold them off, warrior. Unslinging her bow, Mala didn’t tear her gaze from the man who faced his oncoming death with his sword held firm. Stay alive as long as you can. I am coming.
The warrior continued backing his mount farther from the cliff, gaining more distance and more time to prepare for the creatures’ inevitable attack. Behind him, other men and women abandoned their attempts to corral panicking livestock behind the safety of the wagons. It didn’t matter. Whether running free or tied to a cart, the animals would find no protection after the humans fell, and their barricade would not stop the revenants.
Perhaps the travelers’ arrows would. Three figures had clambered atop the wagons with bows in hand. Others stood with pitchforks and scythes. The mounted warrior raised his sword high in the air. The archers aimed at the squirming mass of gathered revenants and drew back their strings.
The warrior swept his blade forward. The archers loosed their arrows.
Like pus from a lanced boil, the revenants burst away from the cliff and poured down its stone face in a dark flood of teeth and claws.
Mala’s heart bolted against her ribs. “By Temra’s fist, Shim—faster!”
Flying couldn’t be faster, yet Shim’s huge body surged ever harder as the wave of demon-fouled creatures swamped the warrior. The gray horse reared, forelegs striking. For an instant, its rider was raised above the swarming mass. His sword flashed in powerful strokes.
He was still swinging his blade when the revenants overwhelmed his horse and pulled him under.
Teeth clenched, Mala held back her shout of rage. Silver-fingered Rani would soon carry that man into Temra’s arms—and the revenants’ blood would soon spill in a river over Mala’s feet.
Only two sprints remaining. Still too far for her arrows.
A revenant slipped
from the writhing pile atop the fallen warrior and streaked toward the wagons. Another followed. Another.
Screams pierced the distance. Terrified women, men, children. The revenants’ skin-crawling shrieks and howls joined in. As if to escape the horrifying cacophony, a frenzied ox fought against its harness, whipping its hooked horns from side to side. The wagon behind it jolted forward. Suddenly unbalanced, an archer standing on the driver’s bench toppled to the ground and scrambled underneath a nearby cart. A revenant followed him. More of the creatures climbed over the sides of the barricade and slipped beneath the wagons.
Pulse pounding in her ears, Mala counted the beats as Shim’s swift strides carried them nearer to her arrows’ range. Only a few more breaths.
A revenant bounded from the left side of the barricade, dragging a small child by the arm. A screaming woman ran after him, her shoulder stained with blood. The boy was still moving, toes and knees digging at the ground as if trying to find purchase on the rain-slicked earth.
Swiftly, Mala sat up. Her wet bowstring released with a taut flict, spitting rainwater over her wrist. The arrow fell short of the revenant—and the next would only fall shorter as the foul thing raced toward the cliff.
She crouched over Shim’s neck again. “Carry me to the caravan!” she shouted into the wind. “Then save the child if you can!”
At a full gallop he approached the wagons. Arrow notched, Mala searched for a target, but the barricade blocked her view of the people and revenants within the circle, and she dared not loose her arrows on the creatures fighting the humans atop the wagons. While riding at this speed, her aim was not so true, and she might hit the travelers, instead.
Her blade would not miss. Slinging her bow, she reached for her sword and fixed her gaze on the nearest wagon. “That one!” she cried.
Without slowing, Shim struck a course that would take her past it. A yellow-haired youth crouched atop the sacks of grain stacked high on the wagon’s bed. With a small knife, he slashed wildly in the direction of a revenant stalking him from a nearby cart, as if to keep it at bay. At his back, another revenant scaled the side of the wagon in a single leap. Once, it might have been a long-toothed snow cat. Now nothing remained of its thick white fur, and its blood-blackened hide hung loosely over emaciated flesh. Jute sacks ripped open beneath the creature’s talons as it clawed its way closer to the boy. Alerted by the noise, the youth spun to confront it, his eyes wide and his mouth a pink rictus of terror. His blade was shorter than the revenant’s canine teeth.