A woman rode a snow-white stallion beside the manticore. Her silver-chased armor gleamed brightly, and her dignity was a contrast to the ferocity of her companion. Yet when she swung her blade, men flew through the air like shattered dolls from the impact of her blows of Transference.
Rhanu rolled to his feet. A spear thrust his direction, forcing him to grapple with the attacker. He snapped the spear in two and stabbed the odji in the heart with the bladed end. When he turned back, a lone rider galloped toward the manticore as the others in the vicinity scattered. A single ray of light broke through the clouds and streamed down as if painting the moment in gold.
It was Meshella.
She held a lance in her hand. Rhanu wondered where she learned to use one. He focued — Scintilla from the nearby flames along with threads of Transference. The binding was nearly effortless. Meshella galloped slowly, dreamlike as Rhanu finished the binds and prepared to cast.
The manticore trumpeted again. The air rippled in the wake, and Rhanu clutched his ears as the blast exploded in his mind, shattering his focus. Dirt and debris shattered around him; Meshella's horse screamed and reared in terror. The manticore tore out its throat as Meshella fought to leap from the saddle. The odji atop the manticore swung his sword.
Meshella toppled slowly, taking all the time in the world to fall to the battered earth.
Another roar filled Rhanu's ears. The anguished cry exploded from his throat as he blindly struck with Regolos. The earth tore apart in a jagged line from him to the beast, which lost its footing amid the violent eruption of dirt and exploding stone. The rider leaped clear as dragon jaws of stone tore the manticore's body apart. The spiky formation continued to rise like the jagged tips of a wayward crown.
Rhanu dropped to his knees, panting from the effort. His eyes only saw the body of Meshella, who lay where she had fallen in a patch of red-painted grass. He scrambled on all fours to her side. His mind dizzied as he desperately flung through the borrowed memories to the workings of Neumos, the Discipline of healing. He didn't care about the nausea. He would heal her regardless of what damage it caused himself.
But when he touched her, his mind could not find the focus. It shattered in his pounding head as easily as a child's bauble. The world swam around him as he realized the truth. He'd drained himself too much, and Meshella paid the price for his foolhardiness.
He tried not to look at the gash that had nearly cut her in two. Tears streamed down his cheeks when she gazed at him as though unsure of who he was. Then her eye flickered with recognition. Her bloodied lips curved into a painful smile before her hands convulsed around his. A ragged sigh escaped her lungs, and her body went limp. He did not need any arcane knowledge to tell him what he already knew. He was too late.
She died in his arms.
A sob ripped his chest as he clutched her. Tears carved tracks in the dirt on his face. The pain was so intense that he almost didn't hear the voices behind him.
"I'm telling you, Tasith, he used the Crafts. I felt it when he struck."
"Then we must destroy him now, while he is distracted, Drowan. Quickly, before—"
Rhanu somehow found the focus again as he turned. With a whistling roar, the winds became his to command. Soldiers around him fell to the earth as a gale force swept through with a sound like crumbling mountains. Tasith and her stallion were struck by gusts strong enough to shatter stone. Rhanu didn't bother to see where she landed.
Drowan had already counterattacked with Transference, but Rhanu's memories enabled him to swat it aside easily with the same Craft. Dividing his focus with Regolos, he linked to the rubble. Hundreds of jagged rocks pelted Drowan like missiles from all directions. His shield of Tropos could not block them all. He fell in a bloody heap, half buried by stone.
It was not enough. Rhanu's fury swelled so that he could scarcely breathe. He could only think back to when Tameri lay dead as Meshella was. Again, he had arrived too late. Too late for anything except rage and vengeance. Titien blazed against his chest. He felt the Glyphs flare like brands across his skin. In his mind, he heard Raakhi's words.
Its eye will capture different forms, and your body will alter to take on those shapes.
When his sister died, he had used Titien unconsciously. He felt hatred so powerful it consumed him. He could think of only one thing: death. And so he became it. That was in the past, but the hatred never went away. It had lain in wait, lurked in his subconscious until the moment it could erupt once more. He did not even bother to resist when it came for him.
He welcomed the agony when his limbs cracked and splintered like pottery. His head snapped back, and he howled to the unforgiving heavens. The bones of his skull shifted, and dark fur sprouted from his body as the beast claimed his humanity. When the ground seemed to recede, he realized somewhere in his mind that his size had increased with his transformation. Even that thought receded as his hatred consumed all rational thought.
Drowan had pushed the debris away, wincing as he raised himself to one knee. His eyes widened when he looked up and witnessed the transformation.
"Vargulf. It is not possible—"
What had been Rhanu growled deep in its chest and leaped. Before Drowan screamed, the vargulf saw the reflection of the monster in his eyes. But the understanding escaped it as it became immersed in the taste of blood and the shrieks from its enemy.
It surely did not understand when shafts of light broke free from the cloud cover. The odji cried out as their Crafts vanished, making them mortal as the humans they fought. Archers found that their arrows meted out deadly punishment. The remaining human army took advantage of their opponents' fear and confusion, striking with renewed vigor.
The vargulf took note of none of that as its foe's throes finally ceased and his body went limp. Blood dripped from the vargulf's mouth when it threw back its shaggy head and howled. The wolves answered as they dashed alongside their human companions. The vargulf joined their pack, certain they would lead it to what it sought, what it eagerly hunted for.
The next kill.
Chapter 68: Nyori
Nyori and Leilavin darted along a red-carpeted hall of the massive palace. The leather satchel that held the Tome slapped against her hip as she jogged along. The place was largely abandoned, and the tremors that shook the walls and floor spoke of why. The army still attacked, but Nyori had no idea whether they were winning or being slaughtered. She thought of Ayna, Nando, and the others, hoping they were still alive.
"This is no good, Mistress. Alaric could be anywhere. We are wasting time wandering in this way."
"I don't know any way to find him, Leilavin. Not in something this large. I've never seen anything like this." The palace was of a size that bordered on impossible. It was as if someone had taken a mountain and fashioned it into the most beautiful construction ever designed. The halls were wide and long enough so that the ends were lost to sight. The doors were endless, the scrollwork on the walls and ceilings nearly hypnotic. They could wander days and not even find their way outside to where the battle raged.
"Focus on the need, Mistress. Where you need to be. Let your intuition guide you."
Nyori took a deep breath. It had been easy with Eymunder. The staff pulsed and pulled, subtly steering her along the correct path. But without Eymunder, she felt rudderless. She tried to focus as Leilavin suggested. The need. Where I must be.