A chime sounded, alerting him to a visitor at the door. He expanded his senses, determining whom it was that had arrived. He smelled the clean scent of freshly scrubbed skin, heard the telltale beat of a submissive heart.
"Enter."
The domestic that came through the door was a diminutive young girl, perhaps at the start of her between years. Like all of the domestic girls, she wore a filmy white dress banded at the waist by a wide sash. Her skin was flawless, her hair inky black waves that tumbled past her shoulders. She kept her eyes downcast as she crept forward and dropped to her knees at his feet.
"This one has the honor of serving her master," she said in a tone that sounded of soft sighs.
"Yes." Alaric felt the stirring of hunger that betrayed his resolve, the curse that afflicted his people and drove them to perform monstrous deeds to survive. "Yes, of course you do."
He reached out, gently cupping her head in his hands. The domestic did not tremble at his touch. She was raised to serve, taught from birth how to surrender her precious pran to her masters.
Alaric focused, opening his Other Eye to properly part the barriers that protected her life energies. So close to Vitalis, the Craft of healing, but the result was so different. The domestic stiffened in his grasp as her pran fled from her body and entered his, filling him with the sweetest, most exhilarating sensation he ever experienced. Every follicle of hair was the wind; lightning pulsed in his veins as he fed upon the domestic's essence.
Yet Alaric did not lose himself in the sensation. He fought the ecstasy, focusing instead on the way the young domestic's body jerked spasmodically, watching as the veins in her body and face distended near to bursting as her body fought to save itself from destruction. He severed the link before that could happen, lowering her to the floor where she lay spent, limbs quivering and chest heaving from the exertion and agony. It would be some time before she could be used again.
Alaric stood over her as she convulsed, making sure the repulsion was still present in his consciousness. He did not want to become accustomed to his curse as so many of his people had, did not want to make peace with his fate. He made himself observe the damage every time, forced himself to witness the suffering he inflicted.
If I lose sight of what I am, all that I strive for is dust.
Chapter 18: Nyori
Nyori had never known riding could hurt so much until days later. The grunnien were much different than a horse. Her legs felt swollen, her thighs chafed, and the small of her back was a twisted knot of pain. The nights that had started off so beautiful soon became mocking stretches of time riding in silence, for Marcellus was prone to long stretches without speaking. He was ever alert, however, even long after the sound of hunting dogs faded away.
"I don't know what happened," he said. "Sounds almost as if they are going back toward Bruallia."
"Perhaps they lost our trail."
He shook his head. "No. There has been no rain, nothing to hide our trail. Our tracks are clearly visible and they were close, only hours behind." He gazed back as though trying to see through the tangle of brush and flinty stones. "Something stopped them. Something made them turn back."
Neither of them wanted to give voice to what they thought could have done that.
Although the way was mostly downhill, that did not mean the path was any less treacherous. The mountains were known for their hidden pitfalls and sandy slopes that could send the unwary sliding off a precipice — a fall of a thousand spans or more to certain death.
Marcellus had an uncanny sense of direction, safely maneuvering them through winding passages that led them ever downward toward the plains. When Eymunder became heavy in her hands, she realized that she could reduce its size back to the original wand again. The memory came unbidden in her mind as if it were her own. All it took was a moment of focus, linking her mind to the staff and seeing it as she originally found it. The glassy material glimmered as it shrunk in obedience to her mental command, and she replaced it in the pouch at her belt.
The accomplishment would have been more gratifying had she not been so weary. Her eyelids were heavy, requiring concentration just to keep them open. Several times she found herself nodding in time to the heavy strides of the wooly beast.
"Why do we travel at night so often?" she asked at one point.
The answer was short and obvious. "You told me that you were attacked at night. The creatures you described would be very visible by day. I would wager that they are nocturnal, and I would not want to be sleeping should they still hunt you."
She swallowed and looked upwards, though nothing was visible except stars.
Usually, when the first rays of dawn crept up behind them, he told her they could dismount. If they were lucky, he'd find a rocky hollow or cave, leaving the grunnien to graze what they could of the sparse and stunted brush. At first she was wary of sleeping near him, but he was true to his word and never touched her other than to wake her up after what seemed only moments of sleep. She fell asleep almost instantly after the first few days, exhausted beyond measure.
Marcellus set an unflagging pace, riding or walking beside his grunnien to give it a rest since it bore most of the provisions. They descended into the foothills of the Dragonspine where the air was a little warmer and the land a little greener, though the wind still bore the chill of autumn's breath. Still, coming from the Dragonspine it was like returning to paradise after an exile. Soon they would be out the wilds and back into the Steppes.
With the land less rugged they seemed to make better time. They traveled more in the daylight since they'd seen no signs of the Dhamphir. Marcellus appeared less discontent with their pace, perhaps because he had fixed in his mind that he had no choice. Nyori hoped that he did not consider her a burden that slowed him down. She finally became used to him, even fond of his company. He seemed to feel similar, though it was hard for her to read what lay behind his steely eyes.
At one point he pointed to the distance. "Do you see?"
She squinted. "Where?"
"Do you see the tower in the distance? He pointed southwest of them.
She shielded her eyes, barely able to see the solitary structure. It stood alone and forlorn in the deadened wilderness, but she felt it in her mind; a dark and terrible presence weeping inconsolably like a broken god, sobbing of blood and madness.
"What is it?" she whispered.
Marcellus's face was grave. "That is the Unfinished Spire. We are close to what was once Khelios."
The name sounded familiar to Nyori, but she could not remember. "What happened?"
"It was once a city greater than Kaerleon, once the greatest city of men. A gathering place for the wisest of sages, the mightiest warriors, and the greatest kings. Yet legend says that it became corrupted from within. In time war engulfed the great city as vying factions struggled for power. When the Elious Wars reached their climax, the battleground was in Khelios.
"Talan the Dawnrider, greatest of the Elious, had gathered the forces of Elious and men against the dark and terrible hosts of Anko the Shadow Prince. There, in the shadow of that Spire, the two armies met and slicked the grounds red with the blood of both sides. The great heroes of that time battled: Corat, the Outlander King; Thewan Lorel, the greatest swordmaster; Korielle Alurran, the beautiful warrior princess of the Steppes, and many more. These fought and died with the most vile and horrific warlords of the Wilds."
Nyori could easily picture the surrounding terrain crawling with clashing armies. In her mind's eye she saw flying creatures like the Dhamphir darken the sky as twisted, bestial creatures snarled and roared as they fought and died in battle.