Bloodstone (41 page)

Good,
said the Dragon.
Now send me your warrior skills, for we must face the abomination that would be human if the Demon Master of Beggeth had not turned them to his own needs, and I know little of fighting them.

The Dragon’s gaze shifted, and Durren saw dark shapes, hundreds of them, swarming up the rubble piles near the fortress gates.
Dear Koronolan!
He knew there would be Krad. There was too much blood in the air to hope the beast-men hadn’t noticed. But he’d never imagined there would be so many. The last time he had Rees’s arrows to back him up and Ghost to ride, but there were fewer Krad. This time he had no body, no horse, no arrows, and no knife—but he had a Dragon and command of the heights.

Are there any limits to your flame, Beast?

My body has just awakened. Until my core is fully warmed, I can make no predictions.

Well, he would just have to make every shot count. But that was nothing new for a warrior who’d trained all his life for the moment to defend everything he lived to protect. Everything he would die for.

There are two things to remember,
he told the Dragon.
Krad fear fire, but their weapons are poisoned, so you have to stay out of reach. Now, let me see the wider field.

****

Gareth moved down the tunnel as quickly as he could despite his burden. The body was surprisingly light, and he’d managed to balance it over one shoulder, but even though he was glad to be carrying it downhill instead of up, he’d already sweated through both tunic and undertunic. His hair, plastered to his face, dripped stinging beads of sweat into his eyes, so he shut them. He maneuvered best by memory and touch anyway, and the increasing temperature and slight leveling of the floor told him he’d nearly reached the pool.

A sensation of airiness, as if the tunnel had widened, stopped him. He secured his burden and felt with the toes of one foot for the edge of the pool. Finding it, Gareth backed a step and turned left. He paced off nine steps and knelt in a flat area he knew had been cleared of rubble. Puffing with effort, he lowered his burden, making sure no part of the body banged into the rock floor. Then, hands on his knees, he paused. He had another task to perform back up at the surface, and the groaning of the bedrock surrounding him meant there must be a battle going on above. He sensed he would be needed there soon, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet.

The she-lion—Ayliss—believed she and Mirianna could save his master, and he trusted her—trusted both of them—but just in case this was to be his master’s last resting place, Gareth couldn’t leave his body as it was. Durren Drakkonwehr had lived in darkness much longer than Gareth had. It was the bond they shared. But in death his master could at least rest uncovered. Reaching out, Gareth removed his master’s face covering, folded it, and laid it alongside his master’s head.

The Shadow Man—Gareth still thought of him that way—had told him never to try to touch his body. Gareth understood his reasons. Still, someone ought to remember his master for what he was rather than what everyone feared he’d become. After all, Gareth had sponged that face. He knew there was a face there, and it hadn’t seemed horrible, but he hadn’t been focused on discovery then. Now, however, he wanted to say good-bye, and he wanted to remember. Tentatively, Gareth touched his fingertips to his master’s still face.

If they survived this night, Mirianna would have to thank Pumble. He’d shrieked, nothing a man would ever admit to, but his vocal expression of horror penetrated her brain just enough she remembered where she was and with whom. She was in Drakkonwehr fortress, fighting for her life—for all of their lives—and facing the master of the crystal disk she held. Pumble’s shriek had made her blink, and in that blink she’d seen through the cotton wool of illusion to the tattered man with the quicksilver eyes who’d spun the fantasy.

She stared, and he stared back as his mask slipped and the disk scorched her palm. Mirianna knew it now for the snake it was, and she flung the crystal to the paving stones. Her heel came down on it with a satisfying crunch. For good measure, she stomped twice more and ground the remnants to powder. It was a lie, that promise of power. All the power she needed was already hers to command. She’d called on it before when she’d gone to Durren in the tunnels. She’d followed her heart then, and she would follow it again.

The mage blanched. He dropped to his knees and gurgled as though she’d stabbed him through the heart. For a moment, Mirianna wondered if breaking the disk had done that much damage, but Pumble shrieked “Krad!” again, and this time she understood what he said.

She ought to have been afraid. Days ago she would’ve stood paralyzed as dark shapes separated from the deeper darkness of fallen stones and broken walls. She would’ve watched in open-mouthed horror as more and more of them swarmed through gaps and over rocks. But even as she acknowledged that, she was already bending in one fluid motion to grasp the sword at her feet while turning toward Rees. She recognized her own power now, and it impelled her to act, to tuck the bloodstones she still held into her remaining pocket, shutting off their glow. Or maybe the crushing of the crystal had dimmed them. She would consider that later—if there was a later.

Dropping to one knee, she shoved Rees over onto his back. If she was right, taking the disk freed him from the mage’s power. If she was wrong—

“Mirianna…” He blinked up at her, and she knew she’d guessed correctly. “I don’t know what in Beggeth made me…”

“You were entranced.” She seized his tunic and pulled him up while the beast-men’s yips and yowls reverberated from the walls. “I need to know—can I depend on you?”

His gaze followed the noise, and comprehension spread across his face. “To fight Krad? Always!” Climbing to his feet, Rees wobbled. He touched the back of his head, winced, and shot her a glance. “You…hit me…more than once!”

“You deserved it. Now get your bow from Pumble and make him stop screaming, will you?”

He looked at the sword in her hand, his sword, and she wondered if he would demand it back, but when his gaze returned to her face, he said, “Don’t let the filthy beasts inside your reach. Use a torch like a shield.”

“Thanks…for the advice.” He turned and ran to Pumble while she mulled the change in him. Had releasing him from the crystal made him see her that much differently he would trust his life to the sword in
her
hand? Or had she truly changed? Either, or both, could be true, but she had no time to think because the Krad were so close she could smell their stench. She grabbed a burning brand from the fire pit and turned to her father. “Keep the fire going, Papa. We need more flame. Can you do that?”

Tolbert nodded. Planting both fists on the ground, he pushed himself to his feet while sweat popped out on his forehead. “You can count on me, lamb,” he said as he stood, white-faced and swaying, before her.

Mirianna’s chest ached. Her heart had swelled so, it pressed painfully against her ribs, but she had no time now to tell her father how much she loved him, to apologize for underestimating him all these years, or even to tell Durren how grateful she was for the miracle of the water. Her hands were full of weapons, and she had to go into battle. Somehow, that prospect no longer terrified her. With the bloodstones lying close to her skin, barely weighting down her pocket, she charged the nearest group of Krad.

****

Durren fell. Head over heels and spinning, he tumbled down and down into an inky pit, into a deep black hole darker than absolute darkness. One moment he and the Dragon had lit up the walls with blasts of flame, and Krad shrieks still rang in his ears. He could yet see in his mind’s eye the seared-in-place images of beast-men, alight like torches as scores of them fell—or jumped—from walls and debris piles. He and the Dragon had done this, together, and the masses of furry bodies had ebbed away into the darkness outside the walls. Durren had shouted for the sheer joy of routing that threat.

The Dragon had turned to climb for another pass at the beast-men still inside the fortress when Durren was ripped from the body of the Beast. For one long terrifying moment as he fell, he heard nothing. No swish of wind under giant leathery wings, no thunder of a huge heart, no creak of sinew and flesh as joints moved and muscles gathered. There was only this dizzying plunge into the abyss, without warning, without pain, without anything resembling death so that he couldn’t believe he was truly dead—at last. Before he could marvel at that, he stopped.

Was that it? The end?

Why am I still thinking?

And then…he breathed.

Dank warm air rushed into lungs that had forgotten how to expand, delivering a kick to the heart they surrounded. Blood surged, and pain fired along every nerve the life-force replenished. In the darkness, Durren howled. His body bucked as if lightning-struck. He plunged once more, this time into something warm, wet, and soothing. As he slid under the surface, he realized where he was. Somehow, he’d come back to himself, to his own body, in the pool deep beneath Drakkonwehr fortress.

His muscles responded to commands, and he broke the surface. Panting, he sucked in air he’d never expected to breathe again. Someone must have moved his body to the pool because a quick hand-search told him everything he remembered was intact, including his clothes. Muscles still quivering from their recent
death
, he pulled himself out of the water and rested.

He would thank Ayliss from the bottom of his heart, but only if Mirianna was safe, and he had no way of knowing that from here. How long had passed since he’d last seen her facing down Syryk? The Dragon had urged him to trust her to use her power, and he did. But that was when he could still help her, could still see how the battle fared. Now, however, there was no more voice in his head to advise him, to show him what he’d overlooked. He ought to rejoice after years of constant interference. Instead, he felt bereft.

But Durren had no time for grief. He poured water out of his boots, pulled them back on and stood. His legs shook, but they would hold. They would have to. He had a long way to run to the surface.

“Damn you, woman!” In his mind, Syryk heard thunder in his voice. All this pathetic body could expel was a whisper. He wanted to shake his fist at the warrior woman’s departing back, but his hand refused to rise from the grit into which her heel had powdered his last, best weapon. Somehow, she’d seen through his illusion. Even against the power of both crystals, she’d seen. And she’d taken the bloodstones away with her.

Rocks pelted the ground, kicking up dust around him. Syryk raised his head. Nearby, an old man he recognized as the gem cutter limped around a fire pit, tossing sticks onto rising flames. Shrieks filled the air, shrieks Syryk knew all too well. Sweat beaded on his forehead, stinging afresh the cut there, and he staggered to his feet. Krad surged out from every nook and cranny, from every shadow and crevice! Syryk clutched both crystal shards to his chest and shambled in a circle.
We’re going to die! We’re all going to die!

His foot caught on something, and he stumbled, recovered his balance—and forgot to breathe. Beside the singed toe of his boot, lay a smooth, round ash-covered stone about as big as his thumb tip.
Was it—? By the Demon Master, it was!
Dizzy, Syryk fell to his knees. His first grab missed. More rocks showered around the fire pit, but he forced himself to take in air, to reach deliberately for the prize, to capture it with blackened fingers screaming with pain.

He sat back on his heels, heart drumming, while the old man tossed more wood on the fire. Its roar echoed the rush of his blood, and the rising heat seared his face, but Syryk took his time bringing his prize closer to the crystal shards in his other hand. The stone flickered, and he breathed more words over it, like a man lost in the snow coaxing a reluctant fire to light. Another glimmer, and another.
By the Demon, yes!
Energized, he surged to his feet and shouted, “
Karachorynth alyminor! Beggedon ominor et!
”

Silence reigned. No more clatter of rocks. No yowls. Only the crackle and pop of the fire continued. Around the fortress the Krad stood frozen in various poses. Now, almost as one, they turned toward him, and dark, feral eyes fixed on him. Syryk swallowed.

“You…idiot!” hissed a voice he’d once thought dear. “What in the name of all that’s holy have you done?”

Ayliss stood, teetering, scorch marks streaking the cloak she wore, her bare arms, her face. From the tangle of hair fringing her face, she glared at him.

“I did what you asked,” he retorted. “I helped you raise the Dragon. Now it’s my turn.”

“To call upon the powers of Beggeth?”

“I’ve got one damned bloodstone! I’ll use it however I wish. And right now, I wish to be gone from here! If I have to make a deal with the Demon Master to get my wish, I will!”

“You’re a coward and a fool, Syryk.”

“Good-bye, Ayliss. I’d hope to meet you again, but I don’t think the Krad will let that happen.” He shuffled toward the nearest group of beast-men. Even though their stench fried his nostrils, he choked back the urge to gag. The creatures were unpredictable and the bloodstone weaker than he’d expected, but with his two crystal shards, he had enough power to enthrall the weak-minded creatures into effecting his escape. The others, well…

“You have a few moments before the Krad regain their senses,” he told Ayliss as the group of beast-men he joined folded in around him. “I suggest you make the most of them.”

****

Durren saw flickering lights far ahead, but he lumbered on, breath sawing out of his mouth, before he realized these lights were not caused by his air-deprived blood sparkling behind his eyes. These shone only one color, and they were brightening. The floor of the tunnel leveled, and fresh air chilled his dripping face. His legs ached and his boots felt as if he’d never emptied them, but he dared not pause. The courtyard where he should’ve heard the screams of battle was eerily silent. And he smelled blood.