“Thank the gods!” James gasped, “A bit o’ shade!” He immediately began making his way down the other side of the ridge toward the shadow of the valley below.
“What is it?” Claude asked, looking at Marla.
“I don’t know,” Marla said, “Let’s go down and look.”
Marla tucked her elbow over her wound, finding it difficult to ignore the pain there any longer. Claude seemed to take notice as he moved to help her descend into the valley.
The slope proved a bit more forgiving than the path up, and within a few minutes they could breathe easily in the cool shadows of the dusty gray rocks all around them.
“Let me see,” Claude insisted, lifting Marla’s arm gently to examine her wound.
Marla could hear the hiss of air between Claude’s teeth when he saw the damage.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
“That’s gonna leave a scar,” Master James commented as he peered over Claude’s shoulder.
“Why didn’t you tell me the dressing had come off?” Claude demanded angrily.
“I’ll be all right!” Marla said, clutching her hand over the ragged hole in her jacket again. The burned flesh beneath pulsed with little tremors of pain.
“Lookit that!” James said, finding something more interesting than Marla’s injury to draw his attention.
Marla and Claude followed after the boatman as he made his way toward the center of the valley. They soon began to notice a crackling, hissing sound that filled the air, like ice thrown into a fire.
“What do you suppose it is?” James asked as they approached what appeared to be a dark stone sphere, wreathed in blue flames, hovering about three feet above the ground in the center of the gray, and otherwise lightless valley.
Flickers of blue flame erupted occasionally from the surface of the black sphere, arcing toward the earth below. Where they touched, the ground would flare briefly with a little flash of sunlight before the light was drawn up into the heart of the dark stone. An overwhelming sense of wrongness filled Marla’s soul, making her skin crawl with an unpleasant tingling sensation. She knew somehow that this could only be the work of the Volgrem.
“This is my fault,” Marla whispered, feeling as though she might throw up.
“What?” Claude asked.
“I led the enemy here,” Marla whispered, “and now this thing is going to destroy this place.”
“You mean this thing is gonna drain all the light outta the island?” James asked.
“That’s why it wanted me to show it the way,” Marla said, “It wants to be rid of the crystal moon once and for all.”
“Who are we talkin’ about anyway?” James asked.
“You remember the story of the fall of Uroe, don’t you?” Claude said as he moved close to Marla, putting his hands on her shoulders.
“Moon fell on it, yeah,” James said flatly, “I know that story.”
“The Volgrem are the ones that made the moon fall on it,” Claude said, “and they’re the ones who convinced us to come here and find this place.”
“You sayin’ they followed my boat?” James demanded.
“The Volgrem was on the boat,” Marla said, “We just didn’t know it.” She wondered how much she should tell him about Simms’s true fate.
“What do you mean?” James asked.
“They can move unseen,” Marla said, “but they still needed our help... my help to find the island.”
James stared at the strange dark stone again as it slowly drained the life from the island. “What a stupid waste!” he growled, “... This island’s worth a fortune... a lot of fortunes!” He stooped and picked up a gray shard of rock and threw it as hard as he could at the floating sphere.
A blinding flash of blue flame showered them with fragments of gray stone, and their ears rang with the concussion of the exploding moonshard. The sphere itself hung there still, seemingly unaffected by the vampire’s attack.
“Worth a try,” James said with a shrug.
“What’s that?” Claude exclaimed, pointing toward a nearby cluster of gray boulders.
Marla looked just in time to see a flash of golden light disappear behind one of the boulders.
“Is that the Volgrem?” James asked as he snatched another rock shard from the ground and held it ready to throw.
“No,” Marla said as she watched the gap between the boulders carefully, “I don’t think so.”
A shimmer of golden light caught her eye as something about the size of a cat fluttered through the air between the rocks, hiding itself behind the largest of them.
“Stay back Marla,” Claude cautioned her as he put one hand in front of her.
“It’s not the Volgrem,” she said, sidestepping his protecting hand.
“Is that the dragon you were talkin’ about?” James scoffed.
“No,” Marla said, “I don’t know what it is.”
She moved closer to the cluster of rocks with her hands slightly raised before her. She froze as she saw another flutter of golden light as though whatever it was had dared a peek over the top of the boulder before ducking back down again.
“Hello?” Marla called out softly.
The shimmering, flying thing poked its head around the side of the boulder, and Marla caught a brief glimpse of two large, violet eyes, like twin amethysts, that blinked once before it retreated behind the boulder again.
“Is it fae?” Claude asked.
Marla raised her hand and cried, “Leaastor vehn doghn!” her voice vibrating with draconic power.
The creature poked its head over the top of the rock and blinked at her again before retreating anew.
“I guess not,” Marla said.
“Draconic?” Claude offered.
“It looks more like some kinda flying ferret fish than a dragon,” James laughed.
Their curiosity was immediately quelled by a sudden rumbling deep within the earth below. James fell hard on his backside with a curse as the crystalline rock of the valley floor suddenly fractured like a mirror struck with a hammer. Marla and Claude caught one another as the ground swayed beneath their feet.
The golden flying thing leapt from behind its boulder, wrapping itself tightly around Marla’s waist in a flutter of feathery tendrils.
“Get away!” Claude shouted as the earthquake subsided. He tried in vain to pull the thing off of her, but its ferret-like body proved far too slippery for him to grasp. It continued to spiral around Marla’s body, all the way up until it nestled its cat-like head between her neck and shoulder, chittering fearfully.
“Wait!” Marla cried, waving Claude off as the terrified little creature wrapped around her collar like a scarf of shimmering golden fur, covering its eyes with its feathery tail. Whatever the creature was, it seemed more afraid of the earthquake than of the vampires.
“Don’t mind me,” James groaned, getting to his feet again.
The little creature chittered wildly in what might have been some form of language, but Marla could make no sense of it.
“What’s it saying?” Claude asked.
“I think it wants us to get out of here,” James said, rubbing at his hip.
Marla took one last look at the dark sphere in the center of the valley floor and nodded her agreement. “Let’s get back to camp for now,” she said, “We need to warn the others.” She turned then and started back toward the ridge.
Claude caught her arm. “We need to cover your wound before you go back into the light again,” he insisted.
Marla started to protest, but just then the little golden creature uncoiled from around her neck and fanned the tip of its feathery tail out to cover the tear in Marla’s jacket.
Claude stared at the strange little creature in wonder as Marla marveled as well.
“Thank you,” Marla said as she reached up to stroke at the little creature’s throat.
The thing chittered happily as it kneaded its tiny forepaws against the line of Marla’s collarbone.
> “Looks like you’ve got a new pet,” James laughed.
His laughter died quickly as an aftershock rumbled through the valley.
“Let’s go,” Marla said, leaning hard into her ascent of the valley wall as the little golden ferret thing purred contentedly around her throat.
Chapter Ten
Southern Astorra
“Well I see you’re neck-deep in it now,” Shortgrass sighed as he fluttered down from the branches of the enormous oak tree atop the sunny hill where Garrett had chosen to watch the battle.
“Shortgrass!” Garrett greeted him happily, “I didn’t know you were back already.”
“Well, I met tha rest of ‘em on tha road back ta Taelish,” Shortgrass explained as he settled onto Garrett’s shoulder, “Seems they were anxious ta see if you were as blood-thirsty as tha last Songreaver. I swore to ‘em, No, he’s as gentle as a newborn lamb. There’s no way you’d find ‘im orderin’ tha slaughter of hundreds of people as he leads his army o’ the dead through a foreign kingdom. Not bonny wee Garrett, no!” He paused to catch his breath as he lifted his arm toward the clashing troops in the valley below as though demanding an explanation.
“Nobody’s getting slaughtered,” Garrett laughed.
“Except us,” Haven muttered.
“We can afford to lose a few zombies,” Garrett sighed as he watched the Astorran knights rally for another charge against the Raven Legion’s flank.
“I still wish you’d let me bring the caltrops,” Haven said, “Every time they charge, I can see the bones flying from here!”
“It’s not the horses’ fault the Astorrans wanna kill us,” Garrett said, wincing a little as he watched the armored warhorses crash into the packed ranks of the skeletal Raven Legion. The sound of steel smashing into bone carried above the exhausted cries of the Astorran footmen locked in combat with the Kriesslegion zombies.
“Would ya care ta explain exactly how this is not a slaughter?” Shortgrass demanded, waving his tiny hand toward the chaos in the field below.
“Because he won’t let our side win!” Haven hissed.
“We’re winning,” Garrett chuckled, “Look there.” He pointed toward the Astorran horsemen now struggling to disengage from the bony clutches of the Raven Legion. Half of the Astorrans retreating from the mass of headless undead had lost their horses in the fray. Few were the armored knights that still held a sword or lance, and many of them had lost their shields and helms to the grasping skeletal hands of the red-armored dead.
Shortgrass chuckled as he watched the stream of terrified horses being dragged by their bridles toward the rear of the Gloaran troops where mounted berserkers raced up and down the line, collecting them. As the undead troops advanced slowly across the field, they left behind a few of their fallen comrades, smashed to ruin by the frantic blows of the Astorran knights, but, for every fallen Gloaran undead lying upon the trampled grass, a shining pile of captured weapons lay heaped like a death-offering beside them.
“That’s a clever way ta win a war,” Shortgrass laughed.
“A slow way to win a war,” Haven grumbled.
“We’ve got time,” Garrett said, smiling as he watched the fleeing Astorran footmen stumbling back toward their camp, empty-handed.
“What do ya intend ta do with it all?” Shortgrass asked.
“I dunno,” Garrett admitted, “I guess we could send all the horses and stuff back to Wythr or something. Zombies aren’t very good at riding.”
“You could sell ‘em back to those poor beggars at a profit,” Shortgrass suggested, pointing toward the fleeing knights.
Garrett chuckled. In truth, he hadn’t really thought his plan through that far.
“Well, I’ve got tha emissaries back at camp, whenever you’re done sportin’ with those poor devils,” Shortgrass laughed, “They’re keen ta know your plans for tha future.”
Me too, Garrett sighed inwardly. “I’ll head back, once I’m sure we’ve got all their stuff,” he said, “I don’t think they’re quite ready to give up yet.”
“And here they come again,” Haven sighed as the blast of trumpets echoed across the valley. Another line of mounted knights, their armor glistening in the sun, prepared to charge once again.
“How many horses do these people have?” Garrett demanded in frustration.
“I’ll leave ya to it, then,” Shortgrass chuckled as he lifted from Garrett’s shoulder and flew back toward the Gloaran rearguard.
“You know this won’t last, don’t you?” Haven sighed, “They’re going to figure out another way to beat you eventually.”
“I know,” Garrett said, “I just want to keep things friendly as long as we can.”
“Friendly?” Haven scoffed, “You can’t be friends with these people, Garrett! They’re trying to kill you.”
“I may have to rule these people someday soon, Haven,” Garrett chuckled, “I’d like to keep as many of ‘em alive as I can.”
Haven stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not seriously buying into Ymowyn’s craziness, are you?” she demanded.
“As long as Cabre’s in power, the Astorrans are our enemy,” Garrett said, “Maybe the quickest way to make them our friends is for me to take his place.”
“You really think they’d follow you, after you killed their king?” she asked, “... Actually, as far as they know, you’d have killed two of their kings. I don’t think they’re gonna be lining up to throw rose petals at your feet.”
“Ymowyn thinks they will,” Garrett said.
Haven glanced down the hill to where Lady Ymowyn stood, talking to Cenick and lowered her voice. “Garrett,” she said, “you know that Ymowyn’s not really the most rational advisor to listen to right now, don’t you? I mean she’s got some sort of dream about taking back her homeland, but that’s exactly what happened to Max when he went to Weslae. She’s blinded by this crazy idea that she can make it all better, just by killing off the people that hurt her. She’s using you to achieve her revenge, Garrett!”
“There’s more to it than that!” Garrett said.
“Yeah,” Haven scoffed, “You want revenge too! I understand, but...”
“No!” Garrett interrupted her, “It’s not about that!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah... I don’t know,” Garrett sighed, “Maybe it is a little, but we still have to do this.”
“Then at least be honest about why you’re here, and what you have to do,” Haven said, putting her hands on his shoulders as she stepped between him and the battlefield, “These people are never going to accept you as their king, Garrett! Even if you do beat Cabre, you can’t stay here! It would only be a matter of time before someone put a knife in your back!”
Garrett shook his head. “I don’t know the answer, Haven!” he admitted, “I just know that Cabre can’t be king, and it’s up to me to take him down... The rest of it... well, I’ll figure it out later.”
“That’s a horrible plan, Garrett!” Haven said, shaking her head.
“Excuse me a minute,” Garrett said, gently pushing her to the side as he put his hand on his sword.
A small contingent of Astorran knights had veered away from the battle below and now rode their horses at full gallop toward Garrett’s hill. Cenick started to order the reserve unit of his personal zombies toward the hill, but Garrett waved him off as he strode out into the sunlight to face the oncoming knights.
“You have this?” Haven asked with a worried tone in her voice.
“There’s only six of them,” Garrett said as he drew his sword, its blade already crackling with azure flames.
“Yeah, I don’t know why I asked,” Haven sighed, “I’ll just be over here in the shade, taking a nap.”
“Be right there,” Garrett said absently as he flexed his knees, ready to meet the rapidly approaching knights. He grunted a little as he swung his sword experimentally, rotating his wrist as much as the splint would allow. It might hurt a little, but everything seemed
to be functioning properly.
The first of the knights, leading his fellows by at least ten horse lengths, lowered his lance and shouted, “Astorra!” as he charged.
Garrett blasted him from the back of his horse with a bolt of flaming ice. He sidestepped the man’s mount as it thundered past, leaving its rider, writhing in pain on the hillside below.
The next knight, roared wordlessly as he bore down upon the robed necromancer, but Garrett dodged to the side, chopping the man’s lance to splinters with his sword before turning to meet the third knight’s assault.
Garrett dropped to one knee on the hillside, driving his sword, point-first into the grass. A shield of crackling ice thrust up from the ground before him, and the knight’s horse smashed into it with a deafening crash of steel and stunned horseflesh. The knight screamed in alarm as he went flying over Garrett’s head to roll down the far side of the hill in a wild tumble of jingling armor and hot curses.
Garrett spared a glance back toward the second knight who was already drawing his sword to attempt another charge. A ringing crash split the air as Haven pelted him in the side of the helmet with a rock. Garrett grinned his thanks to her as the man slumped, senseless from his saddle.
Garrett’s icy shield suddenly exploded as the tip of a lance punched through, driving past Garrett’s right ear and sending him scrambling backwards in alarm, landing on his butt in the grass. The fourth knight’s horse pounded past as the last two converged on the prone necromancer.
Too careless, boy, the voice of the Spellbreaker hissed in Garrett’s mind as Garrett’s sword arm whipped upward with a flash of steel.
The fifth knight’s lance scraped along the edge of Garrett’s sword with a sound that made Garrett’s teeth ache. He rolled to the side a moment later as the last knight drove his lance into the soil beneath him. The haft of the lance cracked, buffeting Garrett’s robe with splinters of wood as he spun to his feet, dancing to the steps of the master swordsman’s spirit within him.
The remaining three knights dropped from their horses, drawing their swords as they cautiously surrounded him.
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