"Sulith, be praised," he whispered. Madukai magic didn't require divine invocation, but he still offered exhalation of Sulith's name in respect for the Guardian to whom he was Devoted. The way of the Madukai took various forms. Those trained in the way of the spear, as Jaruman had been, were warriors. The abilities granted by Sulith made them the strongest warriors in the known land.
Senses enhanced, he could smell the sweetness of magic. He reached up and touched his face. Blood, dried and brittle. He felt the lines of the dried blood as they formed shapes. His sense of touch was so strong, that when his fingers grazed the lines, a mental picture of them formed in his mind. Someone had given him wards. Likely wards of healing, considering he could stand after his legs had been half-crushed by a boulder.
He rapped on the cellar door and yelled out again. It had been the dozenth time he'd done so. From the lack of response, it had to be daytime, because people slept inside the warded inn during the evening. His hollering would have woken them if it had been night. Perhaps not. Maybe Edoma and Idmaer had finally found a way to rid the wraiths from Aernheim and the people had returned to their homes. That would be fortunate. He could finally start business again.
With a final series of thumps against the door, Jaruman turned and slumped against it. "Why'd they lock the bloody door?" he said to himself. In the quiet, he rested. Sulith's power still coursed through his veins.
Something else stirred in the basement. Its heartbeat was slow and quiet, almost undetectable. They were intentionally hiding through unnatural means.
"It's locked because I'm not meant to go wandering," a voice said from the shadows.
Jaruman jumped onto his feet as Peoh stepped into the light coming from beneath the door. He'd almost hidden completely from Jaruman's senses. More of that cursed magic. The Madukai despised human mages because they offered the Guardians large quantities of spiritsoul in exchange for power. That flippancy led to poor spiritual health and showed a disdain for the afterlife. And now that Peoh had revealed himself, the stench of expended spiritsoul wafted from him, an overwhelming cloud of sickly sweet sacrilege.
"I suppose you're the one who healed me?" Jaruman said.
"Aye," Peoh said. "One of my better attempts. Thought you were lost for a while there. I take it from your scowl that I won't be getting a thank you."
Jaruman grunted. Anyone who came back from the dead couldn't be trusted. "What are you doing here, Peoh?"
"Twiddling my thumbs mostly. Watching you snore. You're quite loud, you know."
"That's not what I meant."
Peoh sighed. His tattoos now glowed, giving him an aura of cascading colors. First red, and then blue, and then yellow. Wherever he'd been since Skogtar, he'd spent time linking with multiple Guardians. A man with divided loyalties. "I didn't shatter the orb," he said.
"You swore an oath to do it. You were always a wily bastard, but what reason would you have to foreswear the oath? Edoma and Saega had theirs."
"Saega . . ." He rolled the name on his tongue, as though tasting it. His wards burned with white light, and his eyes showed only the whites. With an exhale, the wards dimmed, and his pupils returned. "Seems he kept the oath."
"You accuse him of killing Aern?"
"His taint is all over Tyme's Hill. An adept mage can see that clearly. You Madukai may have greater earthly powers than other men, but an adept mage can see beyond this world. Edoma hunting for me even now, believing me responsible for Aern's death, tells me that she hasn't been practicing her arts. A pity. She showed great promise. Her father would be disappointed."
Jaruman had once been a slave at Edoma's father's estate. He had seen Peoh and Edoma sneaking away to be with one another. Yet Peoh didn't speak of her in the way a past lover would. A great change, especially considering their brutal separation in Skogtar. It made Jaruman uneasy, as though the man in the cellar was someone completely different to the Peoh of old. He had become a skinwalker. Jaruman had seen the possession with his own eyes. Sure, he looked human now, but he couldn't have achieved the impossible without a terrible cost.
"Edoma gave magic up after we escaped Skogtar," Jaruman said. "We saw you become a skinwalker. Now you're human again. That's not meant to happen."
"The gods bless those who serve them." Peoh smiled.
Jaruman stared at the man who stood before him. The Peoh of old, the Archmage of Mundos, the youngest to take the title, had been a reverent and noble man. But this man was neither of those things. There was a hint of insanity to his movements, the odd twitch that set his eyes flickering or his voice quavering.
Peoh said, "Our friend Saega had been led to believe that he, too, serves the gods. The animancer's sickness was upon him, and he might have been dealt with, except I fear not now that he controls the spire."
Jaruman didn't know whether Saega had been the one to kill Aern. In truth, he didn't care. He just wanted things to return to normal, to see Fryda happy and for him to die a peaceful death. He was sixty years old now, and it was past time he left this world and went to the next. But he wasn't ready to leave until he saw to Fryda's future.
"Fryda was the one who locked us both up in here?" Jaruman asked, staring at the door. He had told her not to trust Peoh. With good reason. He had seen the wraith take the man twenty years ago when they'd been prisoners in Skogtar. "She didn't trust you, so she kept you here. I was on the brink of death, and you needed to heal me, so I was put in here with you." It was the best Jaruman could come up with.
"Incorrect," Peoh said with a smug smile. "Hiroc decided it best for me to stay here. Saega is scouring the town for me. No doubt eventually he will find us here. For now, wards mark the walls to hide my presence from arcane eyes."
"And Fryda?" Jaruman didn't like the way Peoh's smile faltered when he said her name. He was hiding something.
"Fryda is gone."
Jaruman's heart stopped. He growled and rushed at Peoh. Taking the other man by surprise, Jaruman slammed him against the wall.
"What happened to her?"
Peoh's face reddened. The tattooed wards on his cheeks throbbed with power. Jaruman's grip tightened around Peoh's throat. Even in his anger, Jaruman knew that Peoh could utter a single word and his head would explode. But with Jaruman's fingers crushing his windpipe, the mage had lost the ability to speak, leaving him incapable of incantation. Peoh was no Madukai. Jaruman took great pleasure in the helplessness in Peoh's bulging eyes. It would be so easy to deal with him now.
Peeling his fingers from Peoh's neck was one of the hardest things Jaruman had ever done.
Peoh fell on his knees, gasping for air, and massaged his throat. "You're strong for an old man. Good to see you never swore an oath against magic. What was Edoma thinking?"
Jaruman sneered. "Where is Fryda?"
"She's gone from Indham to find the man she loves."
"Alfric?" He knew exactly which man she'd pursued, but he couldn't understand why. It sounded like a fool's errand. He'd taught her better than that.
Peoh eyed the door, as though he were waiting for someone to arrive at any minute. “He's special. Like me, the wraith inside him does not have complete control."
"Impossible."
"Am I not standing before you? You've seen skinwalkers. They don't look like me, do they? Just as there are differences among humans, there are differences among wraiths. Some cannot maintain their hold. Especially over the strong in spirit."
This information from Peoh, coupled with what Edoma had witnessed in the scrying crystal, must have led her to believe that Alfric could be saved. Was it true? Jaruman had seen Alfric in that field when the horse had trampled him. He had been monstrous, nothing like Alfric. Jaruman had, however, also seen Peoh become a skinwalker, equally monstrous and inhuman.
Fryda loved the lad. Jaruman had known love like that before, so he couldn't begrudge her the decision to preserve it, even on a whim.
"Did you ward her before she left?" he said through gritted teeth.
"With dragon blood. She'll have seven days." He tilted his head and rolled a murmur on his tongue. "Five days now."
The door’s latch clanged, and the door creaked open. Hiroc stepped inside. He held a torch aloft. Stubble peppered his face and scalp. It was the first time Jaruman had seen him neglect the strict rules of the Holy Order of Aern. Neither was he wearing his acolyte robes. Instead, he had wrapped a black cloak over his shoulders and wore a black tunic and breeches—the attire of a man who wanted to go unnoticed.
Jaruman stormed toward the door, pushing Hiroc aside.
"You can't go out there," Hiroc said, shutting the door and locking it from the inside. “Bertram and his warriors are searching the tannery next door. They'll be coming to The Flaming Monkey next."
"I'll leave before they come. I've got to find Fryda before she gets herself into trouble."
"You can't leave without wards," Peoh said.
"I'm not going to stick around while they put me on trial for hiding a fugitive."
"It sounds like you'll have to," Hiroc said. The floorboards creaked above them as a dozen feet walked through the tavern. "That's them now."
9
Alfric
Exhausted, Alfric rolled over. His bag sat where he had been lying, the book’s corners pressing against the leather and waking him.
Skylarks chirped in the branches above him. Another forest, this one much thicker than the others they'd slept in.
Gos was about two hundred paces away, from the strength of his smell. Alfric didn't hear or smell the others. He picked up the bag and removed the book from it. Why had Bradir given it to him? Was it a bribe?
Alfric flipped open the cover, and the perfume hit him. The pleasant aroma filled him as he scanned the first few pages. There were recipes for various poultices, as well as where the herbs might be found to make them. He'd read books like this before, hoping to one day use the knowledge when he became a warrior. But none of that mattered now. Sure, he'd won the duel against Oswin and was enlisted into Indham's barracks, but when would he ever return to Indham? Were the barracks even still standing?
If Gos's plan succeeded, then Alfric would go to Lamworth. The thought of Gos's plan forced Alfric up. He listened for Gos and decided that a few more moments wouldn't matter yet. He relished reading again. Even though it had only been a week, the steady changes of his body, along with the nightly horrors of the wraiths, made him feel less and less human. Reading this book, no matter how mundane its contents might be, confirmed that he was no beast. Beasts couldn't read.
He came halfway through the book to the blank pages. Their presence made something itch in the back of his mind. Why would someone bind a book with blank pages? Maybe if they intended to make it a journal. The author must have been midway through finishing his account of poultices when the book had been taken from him. Had he been one of those Bradir and Radbod had killed yesterday, or had they inherited it from another, as Alfric had done?
Troubled by the thought, Alfric placed the book beside him and stood. As soon as he was upright, a wave of nausea rolled over him. The roiling of his stomach forced him to sit again. His vision wavered, and he collapsed.
Alfric awoke again to a soft nudging. A face covered in gray hair, fangs reaching over a bottom lip, greeted him. He threw up his arms and pushed the monster back.
"It's me," it said. "Gos."
Alfric rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "You've changed." Gos was more the monster than ever. He carried an odor of death, like a corpse left out in the sun to rot.
"It seems I'm growing more and more the beast." His voice sounded strange, probably a result of the growth of his fangs. "I'm not the only one, either." Gos pointed at Alfric's chest.
Alfric peered down. His chest had broadened, and blond fur covered it. There was no trace of his golden skin. That explained why he'd collapsed earlier—his body had needed the sleep to undergo its more permanent change. The sight sickened him. He crept ever closer to the end of the beast spectrum, and further from the human end.
Gos extended his hand and pulled Alfric to his feet. "Are you ready to flee?"
Alfric sniffed the air, afraid that the other pack members might overhear.
"They've gone," Gos said. "I doubt they'll be back for a few hours."
Alfric breathed, glad for the respite from the presence of the others.
"Listen, Alfric, I have something to speak to you about before we leave. Were you able to control your body last night?"
"No, but I—"
Gos raised his hand. "I believe I know why you were able to control yourself in Urd. There's something special about the place. I knew I'd read something about it, but couldn't recall until this morning. It was once the site of a religious sect. One devoted to the pathways between worlds. Inside the tavern was a strange monument half-hidden behind the barrels. Did you see it?"
“I saw a pillar with the runes on it."
"That's the one. I believe it was a traveling pylon. You must have used it to access Taerentym, and through there, you went to the reliquary. Most of the traveling pylons were destroyed, but that one must have kept its power. There are other pylons in Lamworth, for instance. Some of the other great cities have them, though they've grown out of use. The Garrds, too, use pylons."
"Why are you telling me this?" He'd heard of the Garrds before—mountain strongholds manned by lost civilizations, cut off from everyone except each other. How they managed to survive like that was a mystery, but then if they were able to travel between worlds as Gos suggested, then they weren't really isolated, were they? But all of this seemed so separated from Lamworth. "What do you intend we do?"
"We need to go to Urd."
"Now?" Alfric could barely stand after last night. The wraith had slaughtered with utter recklessness. Maybe it wished for another, more agreeable host.
"Preferably an hour ago. I couldn't wake you." He glanced over Alfric's body and shook his head. "Now is the best we can do."
Alfric looked at his torso. Hair reached from one side of his chest to the other. Where his body had been sinuous with muscle, it now bulged. He reached up to touch it and saw that his hands were much larger and hard skin covered his palms.
"Seems like you fed a lot last night," Gos said. "The wraiths are speeding up the process."
Alfric shook his head, not wanting to think about what he might become when that process completed. He stood and massaged his cramping muscles. "No cloak today?"
Gos shook his head. "I haven't had time to search for something."
"If we see people along the roads, they'll get quite the scare." There was no humor in his tone. He didn't want to have to defend himself against terrified people. They'd end up dead. "Why Urd?" Alfric asked as he slung his bag over his shoulder. "Only my spirit went to the other-realm."
"Have you heard of scrying crystals? No? They are ways of entering the other-realm from this world. Traveling pylons are much more powerful. With the right activation sequence, you can go anywhere. Spirit and body."
Alfric's eyes widened at the possibilities.
"If we use the pylon in Urd," Gos said, "we could arrive at Lamworth's pylon by nightfall."
"We can't enter Wostreheim with Wostre's orb there."
“My friend Barne still lives in Lamworth. I'll speak with him before we travel in body. He should be able to construct protection wards around the pylon in Lamworth. As far as I know, it's still working. It's heavily guarded, but he'll think of something. He's the most resourceful man I've ever met."
Even on the incredibly slim chance they did enter Lamworth, someone would be bound to notice beasts who walked on two legs. They'd surely end up imprisoned or executed. As much as Alfric trusted Gos, this plan sounded insane.
"We need to leave," Gos said, breaking Alfric from his doubts. "Now."
Alfric raised his nose. The wind carried a familiar musky scent. "Do you smell that?" he asked Gos, before remembering that Gos's sickness made him unable to smell. "There'
s only one of them. I can't tell who."
"Quickly," Gos said. "We must leave now."
Alfric reached for the book and shoved it into his bag. When he heard the crunching of leaves, his heart sank. Gos's eyes widened. He, too, must have heard that fateful sound.
"What are you two planning?" Radbod's voice carried through the trees. "Hunting little rabbits?" He came and, upon appraising Alfric, grinned. "Seems last night's fun has brought the change out in you. If you'll not feed in the day, the wraith will make up for lost time."
"Get out of our way, Radbod." Alfric pushed the other man aside. A blow cracked him across the head. Dazed, he turned, only to have another punch crush his nose. A third blow dropped him. He scrambled to his feet, preparing himself for another attack.
Gos stood in front of Radbod, barring his way so he couldn't get to Alfric. Radbod's lupine face was frothing, and his golden eyes had a deadly gleam to them. Alfric couldn't understand how a slight nudge had set the man off so badly. Was he still angry that Bradir had given Alfric the book?
"Leave the lad alone," Gos said. He had something clutched in his hand, but Alfric couldn't see what it was.
Alfric's eyes watered, and blood spilled from what had to be a broken nose.
Radbod hit Gos, throwing him. "This is between me and Golden Boy. Someone needs to rough him up." He glanced at Gos's pack slung over his shoulder and then at Alfric's. "Where you two planning on going?" Realization flashed across his face. "You're fleeing the pack. Well, that's not happening."
"Sif, guide my path," Gos yelled from the ground.
Radbod jerked his head toward the other man.
There came a roar of rustling leaves, as though a thousand trees were stirring. The elm behind Radbod lurched. Three branches, like gnarled arms, swept Radbod up. He screamed and thrashed as the branches constricted. Like a rodent in a viper's coils, Radbod's eyes bulged until a mighty snap signaled the breaking of his spine. His limp body fell. The tree returned to its inanimate state, the light wind ruffling its leaves.
The Dragon Soul (Vagrant Souls Book 2) Page 6