“This isn’t magic, it’s faith,” I said, steering the horse back onto the path. “A traveler’s tradition.”
“I don’t understand.”
For someone who appeared to be well educated, she didn’t understand much of anything.
I kicked my horse on and let the sorceress catch up.
Dead blossoms rained from the canopy, their delicate petals curled and cracked with age.
“Tell me what the stones mean.” She settled her horse into an easy stride beside mine.
“Don’t you have faith where you come from?”
Blossoms settled in her dark hair. She brushed a petal from her shoulder, then another from her thigh, but the third she picked up and lifted close to her eyes. “No.”
“You don’t believe in anything besides magic?”
“I believe in many things. I believe in what I see.” She continued to examine the petal, turning it over and tilting her head side to side. “The truth of my senses. Touch, taste, smell. I know, for example, that you fear me. Your body tells me as much.”
I huffed a laugh. “I fear many things. Especially things that can kill me without flinching.”
If she caught my reference to the cool way she’d dispatched of the mage, she didn’t show it; she just cupped the petal in her hand and poked at it with a fingernail. I was beginning to think she truly didn’t care about anything besides her precious cup.
“I believed in my queen,” she said, closing her hand into a fist around the petal. Then she tossed it into the air. The wind caught the blossom and tore it away from us. “I suppose you might call that faith. Despite not witnessing her feats myself, I believed in her.”
I knew of no queen. The last of King Jacobie’s wives had died in childbirth. Perhaps Shaianna’s queen was overseas? Cultural differences might explain her oddness, but not how smoothly she spoke the Ellenglaze language.
“This queen of yours, does she have magic too?”
She speared me with her gaze as though I’d said something hurtful, and then, just as quickly, she lifted her chin and kicked her horse into a trot. I watched her go with no intention of chasing her. The bond would ensure she didn’t get far.
I should stop asking questions. I didn’t need to know her, especially when the thought of stealing the Dragon’s Eye was becoming more and more appealing. A jewel with a history like that one would be worth a lord’s fortune. I already had several buyers in mind. With the proceeds from such a treasure, I could board a ship and leave Brea, the land of Ellenglaze, and my past behind for good.
A cool breeze whipped the tree blossoms into a frenzy, sweeping them down the trail and whirling them about me. My horse shied, stamped its hooves, and danced on the spot.
“Steady …” Hunkering down, I attempted to reel the animal back in. She reared, bucked, and twisted, and in the next violent jerk, she threw me from the saddle. I landed hard on my back, slamming my teeth together, and air whooshed from my lungs. Pain jarred through bones I didn’t even know I had. I had never been very good with animals.
The sounds of hammering hooves thundered away. The breeze hissed and the trees groaned, or that may have been me. Great. I was never going to hear the end of it. I could imagine Shaianna’s dry look once she discovered I had lost my ride.
I rolled onto my side and shielded my eyes from the wind-tossed grit. Shaianna was there, way ahead, her horse turned side-on. Her cloak and hair flailed in the wind. I couldn’t see if she was smiling or frowning, but I could guess which. She geed her horse on and trotted out of sight, over the brow of a hill. Looked like I was walking the rest of the way.
A growl rumbled nearby. I almost missed it, such was the howl of the wind, and might have missed the beast’s glare altogether had I not glimpsed its yellow eyes burning bright among the windswept undergrowth. Groping the jeweled free dagger from my belt, I scrambled to my feet. The chaotic wind whipped my hair about my face and tugged on my clothes. I staggered against its push and lost sight of the beast’s eyes.
Wolves. Or worse. Wargs—trained attack dogs set loose in the Draynes by highwaymen. They shouldn’t be this deep into the forest, or this close to Brea.
Shit. I whirled, checking the tree line. A glance down the track confirmed Shaianna wasn’t coming to my rescue anytime soon. Dagger gripped, I pushed forward on foot, squinting into the squall.
Easily half the height of a grown man, the warg emerged from the bushes ahead, close enough to take me in one leap. Sharp, man-made steel spikes glittered inside the dark fur of its back. Its lips pulled back over teeth crowding a jaw the size of my forearm. I had only seen wargs once before. Two pups had been brought into the workhouse. I’d watched from the laundry room window as the guards bet gems on the ensuing match. Those pups had torn into each other, giving no mercy and showing no weakness. The gory onslaught hadn’t lasted more than a few minutes. Both pups had died. This warg was easily five times the size of those pups. It looked at me as though it could see what I had seen, and it would tear out my throat the first chance it got.
Where were Shaianna’s whispers now? Where was her so-called magic when I needed it?
I lifted the dagger and tried to swallow around the bitter fear burning my throat. If I broke eye contact with the warg to search for Shaianna, it would strike. But it would strike any second anyway.
A gust of wind drove into me from behind and brought with it the smell of wet meat, right before a second beast slammed into my shoulder. I hit the ground before I knew I’d been hunted. My cheek struck stone and split open. Fiery pain surged up my shoulder. I slashed behind me—or tried to. The warg’s teeth sank through my coat and dug deep into my arm, crushing skin and muscle. Panic and heat washed through me. The warg shook its head, tearing deeper into my flesh. Its growl rumbled from deep inside. I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t shake it off. Another beast stalked closer, lips rippling and silvery drool spilling from its black tongue.
“Back. Get back …” a man barked.
A figure loomed in my blurred vision, but before I could open my mouth to ask for help, the boot came down, silencing everything.
Chapter Six
I woke heaving around the filthy rag shoved in my mouth. Blazing pain lapped at my body, everywhere at once. I had been beaten before—once to within moments of my last breaths. After a while, a cool numbness had taken over, but not this time. This time my battered body throbbed all over, but my shoulder beat with the heat of sickening agony. The metallic stench of stale blood, wet leather, and disturbed earth burned my nose, while the taste of the rag, and whatever filth it had been used to clean, burned my tongue, spilling tears into my eyes. I almost didn’t care that my hands were tied behind me. Couldn’t care much about anything beyond the pain.
“He’s not dead then,” a deep voice grumbled, the Calwyton drawl slow and thick to the ear.
“With that bite, he will be soon.”
A well-aimed kick to my kidneys sparked a new array of pain. My sore gut heaved. Had I eaten, I would have choked on my vomit. Thank the restless gods for the inn’s unappetizing food. Although, with my hands tied and my body broken, my chances of getting out of this alive weren’t looking favorable.
A man with dirt-caked boots stepped over me and sauntered toward a low-burning fire, where a second man—his hair a matted rat’s nest—was sitting, hunched over, admiring the dagger I’d stolen from Shaianna. They both wore patched-up rags and mismatched animal pelts, the perfect camouflage for the Draynes valley. Caught between civilized Brea and the wild Thorn mountains, certain folk who had no place to go found themselves wandering the Draynes: highwaymen. Living out here did things to the mind. The wargs, the land of the restless gods, mists that didn’t lift for weeks—it was enough to drive men insane.
Ratsnest—as I’d named him— turned the curved blade in his hand. Firelight licked off the gems and slid down the tempered edge.
“His sticker will feed us well.” Dirty Boots grumbled, toeing some half-burned logs clos
er to the fire. “I ain’t never seen nuffin’ like it, has you?”
“No.” Ratsnest grunted. “It ain’t his.” The dagger’s luminous glint held the men captive. They were lucky they hadn’t met its owner. “Clothes are ragged. He ain’t no well-to-doer. He stole this sticker.” Ratsnest turned his head and rolled his lips together. He trawled his bloodshot eyes over me. “He was alone?”
“Wargs hunted just one,” Boots replied. “Nearly killed ’im on the road. They’re gettin’ wilder.”
“Jodelle says they’s sensin’ a storm …”
The men’s voices rumbled on as I rolled my gaze about the camp, flinching whenever pain bloomed behind my eyes. I couldn’t see much beyond the firelight, but the wargs weren’t here. Evidence of their attack throbbed down my entire right side. Rumors claimed a bite from a warg could turn the victim into one. Just tales to keep wayward children from venturing too far into the Draynes, I hoped.
Where was she? She had to be close, or else I’d be bond-sick on top of everything else. Or maybe I was and couldn’t tell. She couldn’t leave me, though. She believed that. She would be nearby. Kill me and you kill yourself, she’d threatened. That worked both ways. She wouldn’t let me die.
She had better be quick.
Unless this was all a twisted fantasy. All I knew for certain about Shaianna was that she was insane, and she killed with unnerving flippancy.
The all-over heat had begun to go numb. The cold would come next, and then I would no longer care about the pain, the jewel, or the mystery of Shaianna. Death had to come for me eventually.
My sister had said she was cold, at the end, right before death stole her away. But she had smiled. She was going home, she had said. I had no home to go to, not in life or death. I wasn’t ready …
“Hey,” I said, or tried to. It came out as a muffled grunt around the rag. “Hey-hey.”
“Looks like he’s got somethin’ on his mind.” Boots leered. Firelight pooled in his dull eyes and cast contorting shadows across his wrinkled face, making his ugliness even more hideous.
I continued growling and mumbling, hoping they’d remove the rag and let me speak.
“Shut ’im up before he draws the wargs back to camp.” Ratsnest held out the dagger. “Use this. See if it’s as sharp as it looks.”
Boots took the dagger and grinned. “The wargs’ll sleep with full bellies tomorrow, traveler.”
Wait! I twisted, somehow getting my legs under me, and shoved backward despite the new wave of heat spilling shivers beneath my skin.
Boots stomped closer and fisted a hand in my shirt. He hauled me clean off my feet, holding me close. When he spoke, spittle dashed my throbbing cheek. “Shame they won’t be huntin’ you. They prefer fresh meat. Maybe we could make you run, huh?”
“Just end it,” Ratsnest snapped from behind him.
I breathed hard through my nose and glared back at the ugly bastard. I hadn’t begged in the workhouse or on the streets, and I wasn’t about to start now. I had lost everything but my pride, and this worthless sack of horseshit wasn’t taking that from me.
He drew the dagger back and smiled, but its twin flashed in from behind him, hooked around his throat, and sliced neatly through his flesh. The skin of his throat peeled apart, and blood bubbled from between the folds. He coughed. Blood splattered my face. And then we both crumpled to the ground. I landed on my knees and watched the whirl of darkness sweep onto her next victim. The dagger sank home in Ratsnest’s chest. His bloodshot eyes widened in alarm, but he didn’t so much as get a chance to cry out. Shaianna tore the blade free of his chest and cut his throat. From her arrival to their execution, it was all over in seconds.
She turned on me and strode forward. The tear-shaped emerald I thought I’d imagined glistened on her cheek. Her eyes were cold, her expression flat. Her actions left no doubt. She’d kill me if I ever crossed her. But not today.
She plucked the rag from my mouth. “Come, the wargs are close.” She cut the ropes from my wrists and tugged me onto my feet. “Can you run?”
Run? I was having a hard time standing. “I don’t—”
A warg burst from the bushes. Its rippling snarl spurred me on. I ran, but soon stumbled and pitched forward. Shaianna snagged my coat, hauled me around, and shoved me aside. I hit a tree, clung on, and watched her square off against a warg. The beast had to be three times heavier than her. It hunched, head bowed, preparing to leap. Shaianna stood straight, head up and dagger gripped near her heart, ready to plunge forward. She couldn’t win this. The beast would gut her.
“Run …” I hadn’t meant to speak.
The warg snapped its head to me and flattened its ears with a growl. Icy terror spilled through my veins and rooted me to the spot. I couldn’t run, not even if I’d had the strength. Terror gripped me. I was looking my death in the eye and couldn’t do a thing to stop it.
Shaianna drew in a small breath and whispered something in a language I had never heard before. I would have missed it had the breeze not changed and carried her word to me. It sounded like a promise, like something that should have been spoken alone in private. The warg heard it and forgot me. It cocked its head at her. She said the same word again and lifted her chin, then whispered a string of sounds that may have once been a language, but sounded smooth and fluid like a flowing stream.
The warg’s growling breaths slowed. Its yellow eyes widened, drinking in the sorceress and her spoken-magic. It huffed something like a sigh and settled on its belly, planting its head between its massive paws.
She tucked her dagger away and then held out its twin to me, the one I’d stolen and lost. “Take it.”
I wasn’t sure I could step away from the support of the tree and made no attempt to move. “How did you…? How is it…?”
She closed the distance between us, took my hand, and placed the dagger in my palm, hilt first. “We must go now—”
A horn sounded, followed by a heavy silence. The forest seemed to hold its breath. And then a blood-chilling howl rang out. Our docile warg swung its head around, ears pricked.
Shaianna’s cool hand slipped into mine. She pressed a finger to her lips and drew me away from the warg. We walked with her arm scooped around my waist—one step at a time, quietly and painfully slow—until the second horn sounded and the answering howl was joined by another.
Shaianna stilled.
A growl rumbled so close the sound touched the back of my neck.
“Run!”
We did. My hand was locked in hers—but it wouldn’t last. Branches snagged on my clothes and clawed at my face, and with each step a wretched weakness hunted me down just as the wargs did. The horns faded until all I could hear was the throbbing of my taxed heart and my ragged breaths filling my burning lungs..
Shaianna pushed ahead, a blur weaving left and right. She tossed a glance over her shoulder—to shout a warning as the ground gave way and we fell over a precipice. My hand slipped from hers. Fear widened her eyes. She might have said my name. Her lips moved, and her hand reached out. But I was tumbling and already lost. The wind rushed all around and then, suddenly, the cold had hold of me. Inside its icy embrace, I found I didn’t care that this may be the end. There was nothing left to care about.
I wondered, lost in the dark and cold, if when I met my sister again, she would forgive me.
Chapter Seven
I came to with a roaring sound filling my head, sunlight stabbing at my eyes, and the smell of wet stone assaulting my nose. After a few haze-filled moments spent trying to figure out why I couldn’t hear Brean city noises, I realized the roaring was coming from a nearby waterfall and I was sprawled on a riverbank, which went some way in explaining why my clothes were damp, but explained absolutely nothing else.
I sat up, and my sore muscles creaked a warning. That wasn’t right, was it? The last thing I recalled was bleeding and running from the wargs. Another look around the riverside confirmed there was no sign of wargs by the tree line or in
the river where the water meandered around boulders.
I ran a hand through my wet hair, surprised at the stiffness in my arm and that I could move it at all. I shifted my shoulder back and forth, expecting pain to fire up, but nothing happened. I’d woken feeling worse from sleeping on straw beds. My jacket sleeve had been reduced to bloody shreds, so I hadn’t imagined the wargs. I shrugged off the jacket and unlaced my bloodstained shirt, freeing my arm. It should have been a ragged, torn mess, but there was nothing to indicate a warg had attacked me. I flexed my hand open and closed, watching veins and tendons move. No pain, no wounds. How long had I been out?
I staggered down to the water’s edge and got a look at my reflection in the rippling surface. Patches of blood and dirt clung to my face and my eyes had a haunted look about them, but I was still in one piece. I cupped my hands in the water and splashed myself clean. A memory of smashing my face into the ground hit me with startling clarity. I prodded my cheek and circled my jaw. No evidence of the encounter with the wargs remained on my skin or beneath it. But it had happened.
Resting my hands on my knees, I sat on the bank and watched the river flow.
Magic.
Wounds like mine did not heal overnight.
I remembered running, falling, and … nothing.
I trailed my gaze down the waterfall thundering a few hundred meters up the river. Rolling mist billowed from the plunge pool. In the cool morning air, steam drifted above the warmer water. At first, I didn’t see Shaianna in the water, and then she was all I could see. Her slick hair ran down her pale back, failing to obscure the multicolored gems snaking from her left shoulder to her right hip. They may have continued lower, below the waterline. My thoughts certainly did.
I wet my lips, leaned a hand on the bank, and spectacularly failed at not looking. Morning sunlight breached the gorge above and spilled over the waterfall into the plunge pool. The gems—scattered in trailing patterns across her milky skin—lit up like constellations in the night sky. Maybe I had died, because a sight such as her, draped in sunlight and glitter, couldn’t be real.
The Heartstone Thief (Dragon Eye Chronicles Book 1) Page 5