By midmorning she was behind him again.
And no longer at a distance. If she had been, the thick forest would have concealed her presence. Yet she followed close enough that he could hear the clomp of the horses’ hooves over the noise of the rain and the dripping leaves. Her voice floated among the occasional nicker and whinny—and at times her laugh. That night she didn’t stop to camp before he did, and set up hers so near that the glow of her fire was indistinguishable from his. Over the flames he roasted the red-crowned hopper taken with his bow in the morning. The wingless bird’s meat was tough and stringy, and he watched her skin a fat opossum while he ate. She glanced over at him once, holding up half the animal—offering it. Kavik shook his head and made his bed on the wet ground.
Though Kavik would have liked to smash the other man’s teeth for it, the measle Delan had spoken truth. It hadn’t mattered that Mala had been the one bound by the collar and leash; Kavik had been the one being tamed from the moment he’d tasted her—and by the time she’d screamed his name, he’d forgotten his rage. Instead he could only reverently kiss her sleek thigh. He’d have done anything for her, this woman he’d loved even before knowing her name. Who’d been drenched in her need even before he’d touched her.
He’d been led so easily. He’d gone exactly where she’d wanted him to go.
Never again.
But Kavik couldn’t summon more rage. Instead he went to bed with a heavy ache in his chest, and it still remained when he woke. He’d known an ache like this before, following his father’s death. Now Mala stalked his path and heralded his own.
Vela had been clever. She’d sent the one person in the world Kavik couldn’t fight. But he could stand firm. And he would have to until Mala abandoned this quest. He might lose everything. He might die. But he wouldn’t face the end tamed and on his knees.
In the morning she came to him, leading a sturdy black gelding. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep and her dark hair newly braided. The rain dripping from the trees overhead beaded on the shoulders of her red cloak before soaking in.
“This mount is yours, if you wish,” she said. “He’s sound and even-tempered.”
And of a similar build to his gray horse, as if she’d noted the size of his saddle and chosen a horse it would fit. With a nod, Kavik asked her, “Do you still want to hunt the demon tusker?”
Her lips parted and she stared at him for a long moment—she hadn’t likely expected any answer. But he couldn’t stand firm while running away.
“I do,” she finally said.
He took the gelding’s reins. “Then we will go.”
THE density of the trees prevented Mala from riding alongside Kavik, so she continued following him to the forest’s edge. Though the rain had ceased, the leaves still dripped, and she studied him from beneath her shadowed hood. He’d hardened himself again. Not with icy rage, this time. Instead he seemed filled with iron determination.
She preferred his anger. Fire could be doused. Ice could melt. But iron wasn’t so easy to bend.
Mala knew it well. Her own will and stubbornness was crafted from iron just as strong. So they would be as two hammers, striking away at each other. Neither one would break.
But if Mala’s task were simple, the reward would not be so great.
When they emerged from the forest, her gaze immediately sought the jagged peaks to the north. The demon tusker reportedly haunted those mountains, but that wasn’t why the sight drew her so powerfully. Two nights before, when she’d bedded down in the marshes, an orange glow had lit the dark clouds shrouding those peaks—the same glow that had lit the southern sky outside the window of her bedchamber at home. The Flaming Mountains of Astal. They were all that stood between Krimathe and Blackmoor. But there were no passes that allowed travelers across those treacherous, burning peaks; instead they had to trek far east or west before finding a path over the Astal range.
Mala had taken the fastest, most dangerous route, yet it had still been a two years’ journey to this land. When her quest had finished, it would be two more years before her return—and with her she would carry Vela’s promise that, when Mala most needed it, the strength of ten thousand warriors would be added to Krimathe’s own.
She had begun to hope Kavik would be one of those warriors.
Though she couldn’t imagine that he would leave Blackmoor as it was. Not as long as Lord Barin still sat on his corrupted throne and the demon tusker still fouled the waters.
Mala frowned and looked westward. This land had dark, rich soil. With so much rain, at this time of year the earth should have been bursting with growth. Instead thin, dried grasses wove a scraggly carpet across the moors. Game was scarce. She’d seen no animals grazing—only those protected behind the city and village walls. Yet Shim hadn’t given her any indication of danger near.
Scratching the stallion’s neck, she asked him, “Have you scented any revenants?” When he responded with a shake of his head, she urged him to catch up with Kavik’s mount. “Warrior, do you slay all of the revenants at the maze each time you escort a caravan through?”
His gaze searched her face, as if he wondered what had prompted her question. “I do. A few have escaped my sword. Not many.”
“So when more animals are corrupted, the new revenants congregate at that same location and wait for the next travelers?” Mala shook her head. “That is unlike anything I’ve ever heard. After forming packs, they usually roam.”
A humorless smile touched his mouth. “It is whispered that Barin has tamed them, and that he has ordered them to prevent anyone from escaping his rule. They also say the same of the demon tusker.”
Fear made people whisper many things. “Do you believe they’re under his control?”
“I believe they could be.”
So did Mala. Foul magic surrounded the warlord and his citadel. “Telani told me Barin couldn’t be killed.”
“Perhaps he can.” Jaw suddenly tight, Kavik looked ahead. “But I haven’t found a way to do it yet.”
“You’ve tried?”
“Countless times.”
Her mouth dropped open. Even Shim snorted his astonishment, his ears swiveling back as if to better listen. Kavik glanced at the stallion, then back to Mala as she asked, “What did you try?”
“Blades forged of every metal, axes and spearheads made from every stone. Knives of bone and ivory. Catapults launching boulders that required a dozen oxen to move. Fire, arrows, and poisons. At sunrise and as it sets, at midnight and midday, during the full moon and new moon and every turn in between.” The litany stopped, then he added with a faint smile, “I even tried using a charm I bought from a peddler who told me it would make Barin’s eyes boil in his head. It smelled like tusker dung.”
Mala grinned. “It probably was.”
“I attempted it anyway.”
She couldn’t imagine him being cheated by a peddler now. “How old were you?”
“It was during my eighth winter when I took my first sword to the citadel. It was my fourteenth when I left Blackmoor. I haven’t made any attempts since my return.”
And he’d returned five years ago. Since then, he’d helped people leave this land—saving them from the man he couldn’t kill.
“Why did Barin allow it?”
“I amused him. And with my every failure, those who opposed him lost heart. Everyone knew a blade didn’t cut his skin, boiling oil didn’t burn him, and that he could drink poison by the barrel.”