Despair struck Fryda as the utter hopelessness of her situation showed itself.
"Velmit, I'll return as soon as I can." Bradir looked at Fryda. "You ought to pray to the Guardians that I return before nightfall. Otherwise, Velmit here is going to have himself a meal."
11
Alfric
Late afternoon sunlight slipped through the tavern's shredded curtains and caught dust mites as they shimmered in the humid air. Shattered plates and spilled ale lay scattered about the floor, intermingled with lines of smeared blood that weaved about upturned tables and broken chairs. The corpses of Urd's warriors had started to decay, and the smell of death filled the room.
Alfric gripped the doorframe with a shaky hand, shoulders slumped as he fought for breath. He and Gos had sprinted for three hours to get to Urd. Night was coming quickly, and their entire plan would fail if they changed before they could use the traveling pylons.
Urd had been a town capable of defending itself against bandits or thugs. They hadn't stood a chance. Even warriors with adeptly wielded axes and swords had been felled like wheat before a scythe. The skinwalkers had devoured them completely.
Gos immediately focused his attention on the pylon. It sat in the room’s center, ancient and weathered, as though the tavern had been built around it. Wards, the magic that had once illuminated them long since expired, were etched into the stone. The angular lines of its six surfaces were sharp, and Alfric imagined that they might have been so sharp as to draw blood if they were touched.
Remembering something he'd seen in Urd, he said to Gos, "When one of the warrior's blood touched the pylon, the wards glowed."
Gos immediately bit into his thumb. Crimson blood dribbled down from the wound. He pressed his thumb onto a ward. It glowed faintly. The light flickered, one, two, three times, and then ceased.
"Sif, hear me," he said to himself. He slapped his palm against the pylon in frustration. "All you saw were the traces of residual magic. Nothing great enough to allow my spirit to enter Taerentym, and certainly not enough to provide transport. The magic hasn't been preserved. It doesn't make sense. How else were you able to travel unless you used the pylon?"
Rustling from the stack of barrels drew Alfric's attention. As he moved closer, even through his broken nose, he could smell the scent of fear. The bar maiden hadn't escaped. She'd remained among the barrels this whole time. How was that possible? Why hadn't she fled?
He raised his hands toward the barrels. "We've not come to harm you."
Alfric glanced over his shoulder at Gos, whose clawed hands were poised as if to skewer whatever had made the noise.
"It's all right," Alfric said as much to Gos as to the bar maiden. He kept his hands raised and knelt down. Hidden between the cleft of two barrels was the bar maiden he had saved two nights ago. Though tears soaked her face and her thin hair matted to her head, she was beautiful. She had been waiting here for two days, frozen by the horror of what she'd seen when the skinwalkers had come to her town.
She whimpered as he got closer. Holding his hands up, he realized they were not the hands of a human. He might not look as he had on that night, but he certainly didn't look human anymore.
Howling came from outside the tavern.
"They've found us," Alfric said. "How did they do that?"
Gos frowned, his eyes studying Alfric before dropping to his bag. He tugged the bag off Alfric's shoulders and flipped it open. Taking out the book, he gave it a long sniff before tossing it onto the ground.
"The book is scented," Gos said. "I couldn't smell it because of my illness. They must have traced us with it."
"How? Their sense of smell must be . . ."
"Magical? If you haven't realized it yet, then you're a fool. We're magical creatures now. I'd tell you to burn the book, but they're just as likely to smell that."
Gos cast a furtive glance through the window. Auburn light fashioned long shadows over his face and bronzed his gray beard. "The pack will be upon us soon. I cannot use any more magic. What I used against Radbod was all the magic I had."
The bar maiden's pale eyes widened and then settled nervously on Alfric's face. He tried in earnest to make his expression kind. He didn't know how he would appear; his attempt at kindness probably only accentuated the fangs his mouth was unable to contain.
"If you wish to live," Alfric said, extending a hand, "you must come with me." He winced. The words sounded far too much like a command, and not the offer of salvation he intended.
The bar maiden stared at him, her bottom lip trembling. She seemed to see something in his eyes. "You were the one who came two nights ago."
Alfric feared she might scream then. Instead, her lip ceased moving and her eyebrows stitched together. "You look different now. You saved me from the others."
He smiled. The expression felt foreign, the muscles in his cheeks pulling into a grin that was wrong amid the tavern-turned-slaughterhouse. Regardless of Alfric's unease, the bar maiden evaded his outstretched hand and leaped into his arms. She stayed there, her face buried beneath his chest fur.
He gently pulled her away and turned to Gos. "Can you make the pylon work?"
Gos shook his head. "Sif, take me. I cannot see how you activated it. Did you do anything in particular?"
"Nothing intentional." He could hear the hooting of Bradir draw closer. He couldn't hear Velmit. Did that mean Bradir had come alone? They stood a better chance against one man. But Gos's condition seemed to have grown worse from their run. He would be of little use if it came to a fight.
Gos moved frantically around the pylon, feeling every inch of it with his clawed hands. He looked at the bar maiden. "Have you ever seen anyone use this? Have the runes on its surface ever brightened? Tell me!"
The girl fell again onto Alfric. She sobbed, loud enough to make Alfric all too aware of the man who clambered about on the streets outside, searching for them.
"We must go," he said. "Hide someplace where Bradir cannot find us. We can attempt to use the traveling pylon later."
"Where can we go?" Gos said, sounding defeated.
Ignoring Gos's pessimism, Alfric gently eased the bar maiden off him. "Can you walk?"
She stepped away and bit her bottom lip. Tears had carved a path along the grime on her face, revealing lightly freckled skin. The sight drove his mind back to Indham and the friends he had left there. Did Fryda still live? Or his brother, Hiroc? What of Idmaer and Edoma, the two he counted more as parents than friends?
He forced the memories away and asked the bar maiden, "Can you run?"
“I think so,” she rasped. Patches of food stained her apron, and blood caked her dress at the knees. No doubt she had crawled through the carnage only to retreat to her hiding place among the barrels. How many women just like her had been slain at his hands? Sure, it had been the wraith that controlled his body, but he'd watched through his own eyes.
Soon, Bradir would find them. The decaying bodies in here might hide the scent. But if Bradir's sense of smell had been strong enough to track them with the book, would the stench of decay hide them? Surely not.
Alfric forced himself to breathe and squatted low, indicating with a wave of his hand for Gos and the bar maiden to do the same. They crept toward the back door only to hear the harsh mutterings grow louder, until Bradir's deep voice could be heard.
"I can smell you, Golden Boy. The old man, too. And there's something else. Something sweeter."
That Alfric could hear him clearly meant he had to be close. No matter where they fled, Bradir would find them. The skinwalkers were perfect hunters, and Bradir was the most complete in the transformation.
Alfric cursed under his breath. Had it been too much to hope that the traveling pylons would take them away?
"There's a cellar behind the barrels," the bar maiden whispered. "It has a tunnel."
When the skinwalkers attacked Urd she hadn’t hidden inside the cellar or escaped through the tunnel. Fear could paralyze a person and
cloud their judgment.
"Take us there," Alfric said. Even if Bradir found them, they might be able to outrun him. Night would be upon them shortly, and then the bar maiden would be in danger from not only Bradir, but Gos and Alfric, too. He knew what he had to do. There would be no escape for him and Gos.
Alfric followed after the bar maiden as she slipped between the barrels. Her heartbeat pulsed, a rhythmic thudding that drew his lips back in desire. Just like his heightened senses, the bloodlust was also present. Thankfully, the sun's presence brought strength to battle it, but that didn't make the bar maiden's warm flesh rubbing against his own—or the blood-ripened veins pressing against her pink skin—an easy sight to behold.
"Golden Boy, what are you hiding in there?" came Bradir's voice. "Have you found something to eat?"
The bar maiden's heartbeat drummed with the fervor of true terror. She opened the trap door and disappeared down it. He closed the door and stood atop it. He ignored the bar maiden's cries, hoping she would understand his intentions. She banged three times and then stopped.
Thankful for her understanding, Alfric turned his head to Gos. A crash sounded as the door smashed into a dozen pieces. Gos was alone and helpless as the steady clop of clawed feet on the floorboards drew closer.
Alfric prayed that the scents and sounds of the bar maiden had disappeared with her beneath the earth. His pulse stilled, his heart no longer beating to the tune of mortals. He pushed aside the barrels and walked into the open. Bradir stormed out from the tavern, holding Gos by the throat.
12
Fryda
Fryda warmed herself by the campfire as Velmit held a stick of meat over it. He'd allowed her to sit by the fire, although he'd kept her hands and feet tied. She'd watched him hunt a rabbit like he was a wolf. Seeing someone who'd once been a man act so beastly made her queasy. No matter how hard she tried to think otherwise, visions of Alfric frothing like a wild beast filled her mind.
"I haven't had cooked meat for a week now. The smell makes me sick." He screwed up his face. "Trust me, after you turn, there's nothing like the taste of fresh, bloody meat. That old shieldsister was tougher than an old boot. Still, blood was fresh."
Anger boiled inside Fryda at the man's flippancy. Her stomach quivered at the thought of this vile man eating Gillian like she was mutton.
Velmit raised the steaming flesh to Fryda's mouth. She tilted her head and sneered at the meat.
He laughed. "Don't worry. It's not human."
He settled closer to Fryda and held out the stick. The meat was still pink, the outside barely seared. Her stomach groaned for her to take it. She opened her mouth, and he pressed the warm meat to her lips. Blood oozed down her chin. She took a bite and wrenched away, peeling a strip from the stick.
"That's no fun," Velmit said. "You need to savor the taste. Cooked meat won't taste so good once you've turned."
He kept talking about her turning. She wanted nothing of the wraiths. Bradir had been gone an hour and she still hadn't figured a way out of this mess.
Velmit pushed the meat toward her again. She saw something sparkle in his eyes as she opened her mouth, and she pulled away, scowling at him, wanting nothing more than to break free of her bonds and punch him in the face. Whatever he was thinking, Fryda didn't want to help entertain his thoughts.
"So be it." Velmit shrugged. "Bradir will be back soon. You'll find your passions almost unquenchable once a wraith takes you. It's not just blood we skinwalkers thirst for." He rose his thick eyebrows with intent. "And if Bradir doesn't come . . ." He shrugged.
"I don't believe you're skinwalkers. You might eat the flesh of other people, but I've seen skinwalkers. They don't become human again. Your leader might think the Guardians have blessed Aernheim with the wraiths, but that's not so. They've done terrible things."
"I agree with that. Bradir has gone mad. He was always eccentric, which is why we followed him. But now he's on this religious wagon. Thinks he's seen the light. It might not be a Guardian who did this to us, but the pack is different. One of the others, name's Gos, he's the old man. He's got other ideas. He says the wraiths that took us are different. He thinks they're weaker. Unable to complete the change. It's getting worse, though. Each day we wake up more like beasts. See these?" He pulled back his lips and exposed his fangs. "I woke up with them two days ago. And this." He tugged at his chest fur, showing the length at least two hands long. "That came first. I'm thankful for it with the miserable weather, but it bunches up and tangles. There are worse things, too." Something crossed Velmit's eyes, a hint of something shameful. "I was a bandit before the wraiths came. I did some terrible things. Stole stuff, cut a few throats, but never did I eat anyone. As much as I like the taste now, I don't like how we go about getting it. I joke about it, but what else can I do? The thirst and the hunger must be quenched."
Despite her disgust, she felt pity for the man. He had been embroiled in something not of his choosing. Strangely, she knew that she'd have no pity if just a regular bandit stood before her, and not a skinwalker. She thought about Alfric, and how maybe it was possible that he might be one of these skinwalkers who changed during the day. Maybe that had been what Edoma had seen in the scrying crystal? Bradir had referred to "Golden Boy." Could that be Alfric?
"The other pack member Bradir is going after, what's his name? Bradir called him Golden Boy, but surely that's not his real name?"
"Alfric," Velmit said. He mustn't have noticed Fryda gasp, because he kept his eyes focused on the fire, smiling. "He's a strange one. He never feeds during the day. I've seen him try cooked meat; a terrible sight that is. He just throws it right back up. Thinks he's better than us. That's why we call him 'Golden Boy.' You'll have to be different. I'm not sure Bradir could take two of the pack who went against Eosor's will.'"
Elated filled Fryda. Not only was Alfric alive but he was one of the skinwalkers who could become human. That meant there was hope. Perhaps they could stop the nightly change forever. From what Velmit had said, the wraith hadn't tainted his mind so much that he would eat other humans during the day. He was still her Alfric.
"What are you smiling about? You know Alfric, don't you?" Velmit grinned. "Now this is an interesting development. I remember him speaking about Indham. That where you're from?"
Fryda could barely hear him above the beating of her heart. She simply had to follow this pack, and eventually she would see Alfric again. She'd need to avoid meeting him at night, since that could be deadly, but during the day, he would be the Alfric she remembered. Except he might look a little beastly. She'd need to prepare herself for that.
"Bradir will want to hear about this," Velmit said. "We have trouble controlling Alfric, but with you, he'll be the perfect pack member. Might even get him to eat something proper."
Bradir seemed to have confidence that he would return before nightfall. Fryda suspected he'd said that he wouldn't return just to scare her. But was that something she was willing to bet her life on? It would be much easier to wait here until Bradir came back with Alfric. Then she wouldn't have to attempt an escape, which could very well go wrong.
"Alfric is the reason why I was here," Fryda said. She'd sensed something in Velmit, something like humanity. It had been better hidden than Bradir's, but she hoped he might understand that she loved Alfric. She didn't expect him to care, just to use it to his advantage. He would think that her loving Alfric would mean she'd go along with becoming a skinwalker.
She began again but faltered at Velmit's frown. She would have to do better if she were to convince him. "If he's one of you, then I want to be one, too. When he ventured out from Indham and didn't come back, I knew the wraiths had taken him." She decided to change the part where he'd attacked her and Flight had trampled him beneath her hooves. "I'll not go anywhere. I'll stay here, if only to see him again." Fryda sighed loudly and waited while Velmit appraised her. She could see his expression softening, and knew that she had found the man beneath the monster's veneer.
<
br /> He then spoke about the woman he'd once called wife. They'd never married in any official ceremony, preferring private oaths since he was an outlaw. He'd been a petty thief then, and only his wife's pregnancy had forced him to consider more profitable ventures. Murder. Bradir had welcomed Velmit with open arms. A rival bandit group, unhappy with the divisions agreed upon in their treaties, sought to gain more territory. Velmit was targeted, and in the ways of bandits, his wife and unborn child were murdered.
"It turned me wicked," Velmit said, his golden eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Did more murdering and plundering than ever after that. Got them who did that foul thing to my family. Did the same to them. Made them watch. Not proud of that, but it sure felt good at the time."
Unsure what to say, Fryda stared into the fire. She still felt pity for Velmit, but a man who could do that was dangerous. She'd seen men like that before, so broken by their pasts that a single slight could send them someplace else, while they beat and broke everything in sight. Not Jaruman—he was always calm around her. She'd spent the last fifteen years living in a tavern, so she'd witnessed her share of broken men hugging an ale mug, waiting for a chance to fight. Jaruman always stopped them and banned most of them from the tavern. But they always came back, and Jaruman let them pass through The Flaming Monkey's doors after a time.
Fryda needed to get free of her bonds. She had no plans to escape, but she needed to be able to move should things turn sour with Velmit.
For half an hour while they sat together in front of the fire, she groaned purposefully while fidgeting within her bonds. It wasn't difficult to make them appear painful and uncomfortable—they had already made the skin on her hands bone white, and she could feel her blood gathering around her ankles.
When that half hour ended, Velmit stood with a sigh, and said, "I guess I can remove your bonds. I could tell from the way you spoke about Golden Boy that you love him. You make sure he doesn't try to run again, and we'll keep the both of you around."
The Dragon Soul (Vagrant Souls Book 2) Page 8