Magiere’s muscles tensed as she was about to charge toward the sound.
Ghassan held one hand up to stop her.
“Wait,” Leesil whispered.
She didn’t know how long she could wait, but then Brot’an and Ghassan both broke into a jog onward. Another scream pierced Magiere’s ears. Her jaws ached as her teeth began to elongate. Leesil grabbed her wrist, and that was all that kept her from bolting past Ghassan and Brot’an as they followed.
Brot’an ran upslope and dropped to his stomach near the crest. Ghassan dropped beside him, and Leesil had to pull Magiere down.
“We cannot interfere,” Brot’an whispered. “We must let this finish and follow them.”
Magiere choked back a hiss when she saw the slaughter taking place at the base of the downslope. Her night sight exposed five figures with near-white skin and filthy hair setting upon a small group of Suman nomads. Throats were ripped under yellowed fangs. Children were pinned to the hillside’s stony exposures. The noise grew as two men with long knives tried to fight back, and both went down quickly. One was torn open at the throat as the other went down, and his scream was cut short in a choke.
Magiere lost all thoughts of anything else. She sprang to her feet, but Leesil grabbed the back of her belt. She barely heard him skid on stone and packed earth as she pulled her falchion and white metal dagger.
Khalidah watched in alarm as Magiere charged, breaking Leesil’s grip on her belt and sending him skidding and tumbling after her. Brot’an was up in an instant. Leesil rolled to his feet and pulled a winged blade as he ran on. Khalidah fixed on the back of Magiere’s head as sigils and signs filled his sight.
If the dhampir and her consort, along with that master assassin, did not kill all targets before any could flee ... there would be a trail to follow. Even if one of Magiere’s companions died in this rash assault, in her current state she might still rush after a fleeing quarry—and she could keep up.
That quarry might lead her straight to Beloved, and all of Khalidah’s delays to gain the orbs would come to nothing. Worse, if she were somehow crippled or even killed, would others continue or turn away?
Khalidah arose as more lines of light spread around his view of Magiere.
Rage consumed Magiere as she ran. Her mind was filled only with thoughts of tearing, hacking, and rending the undead. Her speed picked up in charging downslope, and then her legs shook and buckled for no reason.
She stumbled and then toppled as the baked ground and stones vanished before her eyes, as if her night sight had suddenly failed.
Ghassan fought wildly to regain control of his body as he watched Magiere stumble several times and then fall. Leesil dropped beside her and grabbed her shoulders. Brot’an ducked around them both, watching below for any attention that turned their way.
The screaming faded, the last one cut short to silence.
Ghassan’s legs began to move as Khalidah took his body to join the others.
“What happened?” Khalidah asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” Leesil answered, sounding panicked. He had dropped his weapon and pulled Magiere up against his chest. “Magiere?”
Her eyes fluttered open, and her irises had contracted to their normal state. She sucked in a loud breath before even seeing her husband.
“What happened?” he asked her.
Magiere blinked several times, looked all around, and ran her hands over her face.
“Perhaps fatigue or disorientation made her lose her footing,” Khalidah suggested, glancing below to see nothing but the mute silhouettes of corpses. “It is too late to do anything. The undead are gone, and we should leave here. Attempting to track them now could only lead us into an ambush. We will wait to pick up the trail at dawn, when most of their kind go dormant.”
Ghassan railed in frustration and impotence. The specter’s concern would sound so rational to the others.
Leesil reached for his fallen blade and drew Magiere up as he rose. “Yes, back to camp ... for now.”
There was nothing Ghassan could do but turn his anger upon Khalidah.
I will see you scattered into nothing.
He heard nothing in reply, not even a snicker in the dark.
It took only a day for Osha—along with Ore-Locks and Wayfarer—to purchase necessary supplies. Not long after nightfall, he climbed into the remaining space in the wagon’s back with Wayfarer, Shade, and Chap. Ore-Locks climbed up onto the front bench. Chane followed him and took up the reins.
“Everyone present?” the vampire rasped.
Chap huffed once to answer, and Chane clicked the reins.
The wagon rolled out of the stable and onto the street. Osha leaned back against a chest to face the wagon’s rear. The others with him here in the back were packed in tight among the three chests, the supplies, and all the other gear.
This was all happening too fast.
Only one night earlier, he had walked into the city with Siôrs while wondering how he would spend his time outside of training. Now he was heading off to find an entrance to a fallen dwarven stronghold.
He had not even had a chance to say good-bye to Siôrs and the others or even pay his due respects to Commander Althahk.
Only one thing brought him comfort.
Wayfarer sat nearby, though she did not lean in upon him as she once had. Shade lay close to her, the majay-hì’s head across her thighs. Chap lay farthest back near the wagon’s rear, his head upon his paws. Wayfarer did not appear daunted by the prospect of another journey through strange places.
This was not the only change he noticed.
In her, Osha now saw ... confidence ... though perhaps it was still tangled in doubts. He understood both personally.
As the wagon neared a southern exit from the city and turned onto a road that still ran through the forest, he studied her whenever he thought she would not notice. She even looked different, though he could not decide if that braided circlet of raw shéot’a strips and soft rawhide clothing were to his liking. He certainly liked the look of her, but at the same time the new attire made her someone he no longer knew.
“Are you sad to leave?” he asked quietly in their tongue, so Chane or Ore-Locks would not overhear or understand.
She cocked her head slightly, watching him. “Not exactly.”
Again, she did not sound like Wayfarer—and certainly not Leanâlhâm of older days. For one, she answered his question directly and did not stare at the wagon bed. He had never heard her speak in such a forthright manner.
And likely that confusion showed on his own face, and so he glanced away.
“I have not learned enough ... I am not ready to leave,” she added. “But I do miss Magiere and Leesil, and it is also good to have you again.”
In a flash of hope, Osha sought to meet her eyes, but found her looking at Chap. The elder majay-hì huffed at her with one switch of his tail.
Osha hung his head.
Strangely disappointed, though he knew not why, he felt the truth of her words.
He did not feel “ready” in what he had learned either, as he had uncovered no connection between himself, the sword, and the Shé’ith, and no reason why fate would link him to them. Was he sad to leave? He could not be sure. Perhaps had he found a new way to live? Perhaps he would miss Siôrs and the others and even En’wi’rên, though he still had bruises from her instruction. But as to all of this and how it had come to him ...
It was still because of that sword forced upon him. Could he allow his path to be decided by anything connected to that blade? Finally, he lifted his head to watch the city’s southern gate of massive trees grow smaller and smaller.