Bloodwalk (13 page)

She held her fist forward, palm upward, fighting the trembling anger that hid behind her cool facade. Staring daggers into the trees, their pale crimson orbs regarded her curiously as they continued to giggle and chuckle. Opening her clenched fingers, she revealed an ebon object resting within them.

The trees’ laughter slowed and hesitation returned to their chortling voices as they beheld her prize. A smooth stone of marble it seemed, black as night, with lightning veins of ivory shot through its surface. What they could not see were the minuscule writing, ancient runes, and spells inscribed on its surface in ivory ink. All was written in a language long feared and considered taboo by the superstitious of the Border Kingdoms and Calimshan.

It was the alphabet of the djinn, the ancient masters of the Old Empire that had stretched from the Shining Sea to the far edges of the Lake of Steam. Though the letters and meanings were invisible to them, the stone’s power radiated like a cold sun, draining their mirth and sobering their attentions.

“Do you know what this is?” Morgynn stared at the three massive oaks over the top of the black bauble. Though smooth and glassy, it reflected nothing around it, not even the brief flashes of lightning through the branches above.

Their silence and trepidation answered her question as she stepped closer, bringing the stone’s icy aura closer to them, letting its chill settle on their exposed roots, which squirmed almost imperceptibly, trying to sink further into the dirt, away from its touch.

“It is called the Stone of Memnon. Do not be fooled by the ice in its heart. It carries the flame of the fire djinn, the efreet.”

“Take it away!” The voices returned fully to their fear and Morgynn saw the foliage at the perimeter of the grove shifting and crawling, the razorvines and bloodthorns responding to the sylvan call of the oaks’ inhabitants. Their crimson eyes disappeared, folding closed and melting back into the security of the white bark and the wooded flesh beneath.

Sensing their intent, Morgynn called a sphere of force around herself, snapping the words of the spell out like a whip, just as the animated plants lunged, uncoiling their greenish black tentacles. They thrashed against the sphere’s transparent surface and the grove grew darker as the living forest enshrouded the unbreakable magic. Only Morgynn and the three oaks stood within her sphere, with her threat still pulsing in the palm of her outstretched hand.

“This tiny stone will shrivel your roots, bleed you dry, and reduce this forest to a wasted desert. This is the relic sought and rarely found, a sample of that old magic that ruled kingdoms and laid them to rest.” Morgynn turned the stone over and grasped it between her thumb and index finger. “Shall I plant it here with you?”

Only the serpentine wall of vines and thorns made any sound, creaking and rustling against the barrier, growing thicker and darker. Quietly, almost conspiratorially, one soft, dry voice spoke without the others, “Your tower will be exposed. Your threat still rings hollow.”

The other two voices hissed from within their trees, attempting to silence the third.

“True, but I will be alive to deal with the consequences. You three will be dead, along with your oaks.”

Several branches moved then and Morgynn tensed, prepared to punish them again for further defiance, but the white limbs shifted, entwining in each other’s embrace. Their horrible whispers were quieter now, directed at one another, the sound of dry leaves blowing in a winter wind on a barren field.

As they conversed, the animated plants surrounding the grove retreated, falling away to their roots and shadows, resuming their passive roles and hungry waiting. A bloodthorn snapped behind her, ensnaring a screaming animal flushed out by the commotion. Its cries weakened as the thirsty plant drained its tainted blood.

Sensing growing wisdom in the strange discussion between the pale oaks, Morgynn lowered her arm but still held the stone in her fist. She had no desire to drain the artifact at that moment. She would sooner destroy the three with her own power than waste such a treasure.

Finally, a consensus reached, the branches untangled from one another and returned to their natural positions. The pale eyes appeared again, shyly from behind the trees, hiding themselves as they once again spoke in unison.

“We will comply. The pale sisters are at your service, but we keep our loyalty to ourselves.”

Morgynn smiled and returned the stone to her pouch, removing its chill from the already cool air. “A wise decision, ladies. Enjoy your forest for now, and hamper not my minions. I shall call upon you when the time comes.”

She turned her back on them and returned to the deeper forest, still wary of treachery but trusting her instincts. As her shell of force dissolved, the winds of the storm rushed back to life in the grove. The treetops swayed as fallen leaves mumbled and spun in the pull of greater forces.

“Elisandrya! Stop!”

Rhaeme strained to be heard above the pounding hooves of the galloping steeds and the furious thunder overhead as they rode farther north. Eli had heard him the first three times, but had spurred Morningstar even faster. This time, though, she’d glanced back and caught his eye, banishing her attempt to pretend otherwise.

Reluctantly, she reined her tired horse to a stop, gripping the leather tightly and dreading what she knew would come.

Rhaeme pulled alongside her with concerned eyes. Of all the hunters, she’d been closest with him, but like most of her relationships, it had fizzled from her own lack of commitment. She felt too much danger in being involved, being too close. She raised her voice to be heard over the wind and rain.

“What is it?”

He waited, looking at the other seven hunters who sat stoically in their saddles, puffs of steam rising around their faces. She had no desire to hear his arguments, but he was persistent and stubborn, much like herself.

She looked up at him. Her eyes were set, her face a mask of resignation and hesitation. Rhaeme was handsome, as handsome as any man to whom she’d been attracted. Chestnut brown hair flowed to his shoulders and deep brown eyes cast perfect reflections of her own. His dress and ready bow reminded her too much of her father, though that face had blurred with time.

His dark eyes regarded her knowingly from beneath his hood and she looked away, at the pommel of her saddle, to the ground and the heavy splatter of constant rain.

“We’re going. You know that.”

Eli didn’t reply except to lift her head and stare north. Rain streamed down her face and she resisted the urge to shiver.

“I know what you seek, Eli, but the rest of us … the rest of us don’t have your faith, such as it is.” Rhaeme’s tone was firm, but understanding. “We’re going into the Qurth. Beyond all prophecy or oracle’s madness, something is there!”

“I know,” she answered, still not meeting his familiar gaze. “I have no doubt.”

“Then come with us! Prove your own fears! Sameska is lost, you said so yourself.”

His voice became urgent and insistent, almost angry with her, which dredged forth her bottled anger.

“What I said was not meant for you, Rhaeme! I’ve slept alone ever since then, if you remember correctly. What I feel about Sameska is my own business. You have no idea …”

“Exactly Eli, I don’t have any idea! Whose fault is that?” He shook his head and looked away, clearly regretting his words. He continued more calmly. “Come with us, Eli. There’s nothing for you to find this way.”

Elisandrya’s lip quivered with emotion, but she mastered it, refusing to let him think he’d affected her.

“No. I have to prove something else first, and that lies to the north.”

“What’s that?”

She looked him in the eye, at once thankful for the rain. “That I’m right.”

Rhaeme pursed his lips and looked to the others, anxious to be on their way. Looking back, he said, “You’ll find what you’re looking for, then. We’ll miss your bow.”

He nodded to the remaining hunters and turned his mount west to face the forest. Over his shoulder, he called back to her. “Farewell, Elisandrya Loethe. Despite all, I hope you find him.” He spurred his horse to meet the others. The Qurth yawned as a black silhouette before them, a splotch of waiting darkness.

Eli watched him until he disappeared behind sheets of rain, where even the lightning could not show him to her.

From a distance, the surviving tower of Jhareat pointed like a jagged bone into the black vortex of flashing thunderheads above. It rose from the center of a bowl-shaped depression, surrounded by the forest, which sloped steeply downhill toward the crumbled bits of stone, all that was left of Jhareat’s once strong outer walls. Whether the slope was natural or some ancient crater made during the city’s fall, Morgynn could not tell.

The strange tales of the ruin of the once mighty city were sketchy and fanciful at best, so she hadn’t pressed her contacts in Derlusk for more than its location. She’d grown tired of sagelike explanation and speculation.

From behind a large stone, Khaemil appeared, slowly and deliberately making himself visible as he approached. He had learned not to surprise Morgynn, and made all effort to ignore his primal instinct to remain quiet and unseen.

Patiently, for the moment, she waited as he came closer, noting the grim look of bad tidings on his ebony face. Her mood froze in midswing, somewhere between her recent success with the pale sisters and whatever nerve Khaemil might choose to strike in the next few moments. Chaos boiled in her mind and she closed her eyes to take a deep breath, dreading her own wild emotions.

“My Lady Morgynn,” Khaemil bowed slightly at the waist, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Yes, Khaemillenthranux, I hear you. Speak.”

Her use of his true name caused him to wince as if jabbed by a dagger. A fiend’s true name held power for those with the proper knowledge, and Morgynn’s tone conveyed her growing impatience clearly. She knew something was wrong. Sweating in the chilly air, he obeyed her.

“Talmen and his followers have detected a presence in the forest, east of here.” He swallowed and gritted his teeth, but kept his eyes level as he reported. “Hunters from Brookhollow have entered the edge of the Qurth. They seek us even now, just past the fringes.”

Words failed her and rage bloomed in her heart, racing through her body. Outwardly, she showed no signs of her turmoil, but Khaemil stepped back a pace. She could almost see his pulse beating in the air, fluttering to escape her anger. Morgynn looked to the east, sniffing the air and searching for those wayward heartbeats, foreign to her. She would know them.

“Hold still,” she said, walking purposefully toward him as one might approach a door.

Such was her purpose.

Her hands entered his chest, splashing crimson as they disappeared. Her arms and torso followed, racing along his veins and through his body.

A vast plain of red opened before her eyes, crisscrossed with corridors and tunnels. This was the void of the blood’s magic, one river leading to the next, the connection known only by those of her kind. Distance meant little here, and time even less. Instantly she was drawn to those faint heartbeats she imagined and could now see. Beacons of pulsing red light called her to their corridors, their tunnels.

As he felt Morgynn’s presence pass into him then leave him, Khaemil gasped for breath. He was winded, but otherwise none the worse for wear. It was never pleasant to be the portal that initiated the bloodwalk, but it was a far less fearsome fate than befell the recipient.

The forest felt like a living, breathing beast, fighting the hunters’ efforts to penetrate its depths. Rhaeme’s curved blade hacked ceaselessly through the thick undergrowth of twisted vegetation. They marched in a sideways gait, their armored sword arms bent to push forward, wielding the curved blades typical of Hidden Circle warriors. Their shield arms held thick ironvine cloaks tightly to protect against lashing razor leaves and the seeking tendrils of bloodthorns.

The rain had eased since they’d passed beneath the almost-solid canopy of branches. Rhaeme was glad for the gloom of the sky beyond that wooded ceiling. In sunnier times, he’d witnessed the effect of the trees in silhouette. He knew they looked like giant arms and fingers, interlaced and huddled together like conspirators over their victims. The image was unsettling, as was the way the canopy moved as a single organism when the wind was strong.

He put such thoughts out of his mind and focused on the task at hand, locating an easier passage so the group might search in a more stealthy manner. The only saving grace of the heavy rain was that it covered the sound of their movement. Their noisy approach echoed in his ears.

Better to get in, discover the source of the region’s troubles, and get out, he thought. Easier said than done.

The hunters were growing nervous. The improvised path they’d left behind them would soon begin to close itself as the forest’s predatory foliage reset its traps and vicious intentions. Rhaeme stopped and waved the man behind him ahead to take point. He needed a moment to rest his weary arm and take stock of the situation.

Direction was a problem inside the Qurth. Landmarks were few, and, when found, were well hidden. He’d hoped to find a small clearing, some overgrown ruin or sign of intrusion, perhaps even the sound or sight of an enemy encampment. His prayers to Savras had so far yielded only confirmations of his own fears. The Hunters of the Hidden Circle were not as receptive as the oracles to visions and prognostication, but they were gifted with a sense of insight, usually manifesting as flashes or images.

Each time he’d attempted to focus his awareness on this ability, he’d smelled blood, stronger and stronger as they moved inward. He closed his eyes and again raised the small ring of dried fethra to his lips. The scent came again, this time accompanied by a warmth that covered his skin like a wave of fever. Sucking in a quick breath, he opened his eyes and looked past the men ahead of him. He sensed that they were being watched. The feeling of distant eyes on him was chilling. The darkness of the forest revealed nothing, but he was innately aware of something getting closer.