Empire of Night (25 page)

M
oria ran through the forest following Daigo, leaping over logs and skirting fallen trees until she ran right into him as he stood there, peering into the darkness. He stayed stock-still, only his tufted ears moving, pivoting until he heard what he was searching for—the sound of pursuit, she presumed. Then he took off again. She managed to keep pace until she heard the sound of running footfalls and stopped short. They were heading
toward
the footfalls.

“Daigo . . .”

He stopped.

“I hope you know who that is,” she said.

He huffed, as if offended she'd question him. Moria still lifted her dagger, poised, watching in the direction of the footfalls until a cloaked figure appeared. It peered into the darkness.

“Moria?”

She heard that voice, and she raced forward, Daigo barely getting out of her way in time. Even before the figure pulled down his hood, she knew who it was. She tucked away her dagger as she ran, and when she finally reached him, she threw her arms around his neck. He caught her up in a hug, swinging her off the ground and embracing her so hard she gasped for breath, gasping and laughing, tears prickling as relief washed through her.

“You're all right?” Tyrus hugged her so tight she couldn't back up to look at him, and had to settle for nodding into his shoulder. She tried to say yes, but the word caught in her throat.

He released his grip, and as she pulled back to look at him, those threatening tears filled her eyes and his face wobbled in front of her.

“I didn't know,” she said. “They wouldn't tell me . . . No one would tell me if you were . . .”

She couldn't get the rest out. So she kissed him, which seemed a perfectly reasonable alternative to speaking.

He kissed her back, deep and hard, his arms tightening around her again, and it was the kiss she'd barely dared to remember, lying in her cell, not knowing if he lived. It was the same . . . yet not the same.

The first time, if someone had suggested she'd been holding back, she'd have drawn her dagger at the insult. No matter what Tyrus said, she'd been certain no part of her had not been fully engaged, not fully committed to being with him.

But he'd been right. There had been a ghost between them, a little part of her still hurt and bewildered by Gavril's betrayal, still thinking he had some excuse, and even though she had hotly denied any romantic feelings for him, there'd been some
confusion there, that part that hadn't quite figured out what she
did
feel. Now it was gone.

Gavril had done what she suspected and, worse, had been willing to lie about it to lure her back into captivity. He was nothing more now than a reminder of how easy it was for some to deceive and how easy it was to be deceived.

Everything she'd felt during her imprisonment—fear, shame, rage, helplessness—evaporated in Tyrus's kiss and his embrace. He was here. He was alive. She was free. Perhaps that did not mean the world was right again, but it was right enough.

Unfortunately, one member of their party did not share her conviction. It was a gentle nudge at first. Then a growl. Then a knock, hard enough to make them both stumble, their kiss breaking.

“Enough, Daigo,” Tyrus said with a growl of his own. He reached one hand into Moria's hair, pulling her to him, his lips coming back to hers. “We'll leave in a few—”

Daigo grabbed Tyrus's cloak and yanked him so hard he landed on his rear. Tyrus twisted up, growling in earnest now, and Moria had to laugh at the two of them, scowling at each other.

“He's jealous,” Tyrus said as he got to his feet, brushing himself off.

Daigo snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Are, too,” Tyrus said. “I'll wager your greeting wasn't nearly so effusive.”

“Because I already knew he lived,” Moria said. “And because he doesn't kiss half as well as you.”

Tyrus laughed. “He is right, though, as much as I hate to
admit it. We ought to get moving.”

“Is Ashyn nearby?” Moria asked as she took out her own blade.

Tyrus shook his head. “She left with Ronan to check on his brother and sister. They'll meet us near the compound of Lord Goro Okami. It's . . . It's a long story.”

“But she's safe?”

He nodded. “She's with Ronan. I was at Lord Okami's the day before last to speak to him. His men will be watching for her. With any luck, she's already there.”

Moria peered into the forest. “So you're alone?”

Daigo growled.

“I meant the two of you, of course,” she said, giving the wildcat a look. Then she turned to Tyrus. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

Another growl from Daigo.

Moria rolled her eyes. “Thank you for taking care of each other.”

Tyrus grinned and leaned in for a quick kiss. “And thank you for getting yourself out of there. The ancestors were smiling on us today, because I had no idea how I was going to manage the actual rescue part of my rescue plan. I'm sure Daigo didn't either, however much he might like to claim otherwise. Now, let's get out of this forest before someone sounds the alarm.”

“Did anyone see you leave?” Tyrus asked as they walked.

“Gavril.”

Tyrus's face tightened. He tried to hide the reaction, but Moria caught a glimpse of it before he said, carefully, “So he helped you escape, then.”

“Hardly. He was trying to stop me.”

A flutter of relief, followed by a flash of guilt and then worry and finally something like disappointment. As a romantic rival, he would want Gavril kicked from Moria's mind. But Gavril was more than that. He was a boyhood friend, and Tyrus still hoped for some sign that the Gavril he remembered lived, that he'd not lost his honor, not betrayed them and held Moria captive.

“We'll speak of that later,” she said, taking Tyrus's hand and entwining her fingers with his. “For now, I'm not surprised we haven't heard him raise the alarm. He'll not want his father to think he let me escape. He'll pretend he was occupied and did not see what happened.”

“Does he fear his father?” Tyrus asked. “Perhaps that's why—” He cut himself off. “I'm sorry.”

She tightened her grip on his hand. “I know. It would be easier to think he's held there, as much a prisoner as I was. But he's not, Tyrus. I'm sorry. We'll talk more later, but Gavril isn't cowering in his father's shadow. He's free to come and go, and he chooses to stay and play his role—as heir—in his father's plan.”

Tyrus nodded. “As he must.” And that, Moria knew, was how he would make sense of this. Gavril was doing his filial duty. It did not make him a good person or mean that he was not now Tyrus's enemy, nor that he was less culpable of the evil he might do. It was simply the only way to accept that his old friend could do these things and not be a monster. Which was what Tyrus needed. What they both needed.

A
s they walked through the shadowy forest, Moria tilted her head to listen and heard only the rustle of wind in the leaves. “It's quiet here.”

“Very. You're in the western provinces. Beyond the trees, you'd see the Katakana Mountains.”

“Where the Kitsunes are from.”

“Exactly. Also not far from Lord Okami's compound, which is almost a day's ride in that direction. In this direction”—he hooked his thumb toward the camp—“you'd be in the ocean by sunrise. Go that way”—he pointed left—“and you'd land in Lake Shiko. The other way? An ocean inlet.”

“Which means the Kitsunes have chosen an isolated location with one way in or out. This forest.”

He nodded. “That's why it was a good location for a camp. But after a decade of peace, it was abandoned, and it's been empty almost ten summers. Lord Okami had already figured
out that this was the most likely spot for Alvar Kitsune to be holed up. When I reached him, he was preparing to send men to investigate, so he could notify my father.”

“Are his men nearby, then?”

“A few. Beyond the forest. That's where Alvar's guards were. Okami's men helped me deal with them. Now they are out there keeping watch. The forest itself, as you see, is empty. As long as you are correct, and Gavril doesn't raise the alarm, it's likely to stay that way.”

“He won't.”

“If he does, we'll hear it. I've caught the bells signaling every meal. It's so quiet out here that it's impossible not to hear them.”

So quiet . . .

Like the Forest of the Dead. Which was not the way a forest should be at all, as she'd learned from her travels.

“Have you heard or seen
anything
?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “I suspect Alvar's been here long enough to empty the forest of prey. That's one disadvantage to his situation. He can't simply travel to the nearest town and purchase enough supplies for an army.”

When they stepped into a clearing, she looked up to see the dark shape of a bat flitting past. Not empty, then. Just very, very quiet.

Tyrus adjusted his grip on her hand and cleared his throat. “A lot has happened since you were taken. I'm not sure how much of it you know.”

“None. I wasn't exactly an honored guest, privy to rumors and news.”

He looked at her sharply. “You ought to have been. Not privy to news, I mean. But an honored guest. I presumed . . . You are a Keeper and surely Gavril . . .”

“I was not a Keeper within those walls. I was a prisoner and Gavril's responsibility, one he—” She shook her head. “I just want to be out of this forest, and as far from this place as I can get.”

He took her other hand, tugged the dagger from it, and tucked it into his own belt as he pulled her to a stop in front of him.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

She looked up at him. “For what?”

“We did not . . .” He inhaled sharply. “No, I'll accept responsibility for this. Full responsibility. I did not come after you immediately, Moria. I presumed Gavril . . . I was certain he would care for you.”

Moria saw the guilt in his eyes and hurried on with a lie. “It was not a pleasant experience, but I was not mistreated. Gavril saw to that. I—”

Daigo cut her off with a growl.

“Yes, I know,” Tyrus said to the wildcat. “You're right. This isn't the time for—”

He stopped again as Daigo peered suddenly into the dark forest, his long tail puffing as it swished.

“He hears something,” Moria whispered.

Tyrus handed Moria her dagger and took out his sword. But when they went still, all they could pick up was Daigo's growling.

Shadow stalkers.

The thought had flitted through her mind earlier, and she hadn't entertained it because her gut had told her she was mistaken. While it was possible that Alvar would keep his shadow stalkers here, she detected none of the negative spiritual energy she'd felt in the Forest of the Dead. The strum of spirit life was weak but present.

Yet something must be out there or Daigo wouldn't keep growling. Some predator afoot. One that frightened every living thing into hiding.

She looked up, thinking of the thunder hawk, but this dense forest would be a poor place for a bird the size of a house. It needed open ground.

Speaking of ground . . . She glanced down, but again, it was the wrong terrain. No death worms could live beneath these thick roots.

“Moria?” Tyrus whispered. “Talk to me.”

Tell me what you're thinking.

She didn't know what to say. She feared if she put her thoughts into words, he'd think her foolish. Like Gavril. Mocking her for her stories and her imagination.

“Moria . . .”

Tyrus leaned against her, his hand on her waist, his breath warm against the side of her head, both the touch and the whisper of breath reassuring.
You can talk to me. I'm not Gavril. I don't mock.

“I don't hear anything,” she whispered. “That's not natural, and I fear . . .”

“That whatever's out there isn't natural either.”

She nodded, and he said nothing. She expected to see that
recoil of disbelief, of not wanting to insult her but thinking she was indeed being foolish. Instead, she saw him peering into the shadowy forest, his dark eyes bright, his lips slightly pursed. Looking and thinking, equally hard.

“Not thunder hawks or death worms,” he mused. “Wrong landscape for either. Not shadow stalkers either.”

She could have laughed as he voiced exactly what she'd been thinking.

“It could be someone with a tracking hound,” she said.

“A very quiet hound. Having spent time in Tova's company, I'm not sure that's possible. A hunting cat, perhaps.”

Daigo harrumphed, looking pleased.

Tyrus continued. “But if it was a hunting cat, I would hope Daigo would know. In fact, I should hope he'd know what it was regardless.”

The wildcat's eyes narrowed.

“Daigo,” he said. “Why don't you go see what's out there?”

The wildcat backed up, bumping into Moria's legs and sitting on his haunches at her feet. He stretched out a giant paw, claws extending.

“No, you don't need to watch over Moria. I can do that.”

Daigo motioned with his nose to the forest, as if to say,
I'll stand guard. You go investigate.

“He listens about as well as you do,” Tyrus said to Moria. “And argues as much, too.”

“Which is why I don't try to give him orders.”

She lowered her hand to Daigo's head, rubbing behind his neck. He let out a rumbling purr, looked at Tyrus, and sniffed.

“We don't see anything and neither does he,” Moria said. “I'd suggest, instead of standing here debating our next step, we simply move. This way?”

She motioned, and Tyrus nodded. “The forest thins after a while. I was able to ride partway in, and I brought a horse for you. They're camped over there.”

“Good. If there is something in this forest, we'll do better escaping it on horseback.”

As they set out, the moon passed behind cloud cover, stealing the little bit of light that guided them. Tyrus pulled a torch from his cloak and handed it to Moria, leaving both his hands free for his sword. The torch was small, barely enough to light their way. Larger, though, and it would have been a beacon for anyone who came after them.

Daigo's head swiveled as they walked. With every few steps, he'd pause, gaze whipping in one direction or the other. He'd peer into the pitch-black forest, then chuff, telling Moria he could see or hear nothing, and they'd continue on.

Something was out there. But perhaps it wasn't a threat. Not every fantastical creature was inherently dangerous.

“It can't be dragons either,” Tyrus said as they walked. “They'd be larger. Noisier.”

He was smiling wryly, as if he knew she was doing the same thing, running through the list of possibilities.

“Definitely not dragons,” she agreed. “Nor—”

She caught a glimpse of red in the forest and stopped short. Red eyes. She'd seen red eyes.

“Did you . . . ?” she whispered.

Daigo grunted, and Tyrus shook his head. Neither had
noticed. She resumed walking.

“Not water horses either,” she said, “given the complete lack of water.”

Tyrus chuckled. “I've seen a stream or two. Perhaps they are much smaller than in the stories.”

“Sadly, so far, nothing is smaller than in the stories. But I would be quite happy with tiny water horses or dragons the size of dragonflies or . . .”

She trailed off.

“Moria?”

I think I know what it is.
That's what she wanted to say, but she stopped herself. There was an entire bestiary of magical and lost creatures that Alvar Kitsune could have resurrected, and while they were joking about narrowing the possibilities, the truth was that it would be nearly impossible to guess. If she thought she knew, that was only because her mind was leaping to the worst possible conclusion.

Or the most likely conclusion?

If something fantastical lived in these woods, it was because Alvar Kitsune put it there to keep out those who slipped past the guards at the forest's edge. And if one had to resurrect a creature to quietly guard a forest, it would not be a death worm or a thunder hawk or even a dragon, but a monstrous spirit of myth, like shadow stalkers . . . only worse.

She peered into the forest again and caught another flash of crimson.

“I saw that,” Tyrus whispered. “Red eyes.”

She nodded.

“That's all I saw. No shape.”

That's all you will see, if I'm correct.

“How much farther?” she asked.

“We're almost there.”

“Can we go faster?”

He nodded.

“Just don't run,” she said. “Whatever you do, don't run.”

“You think it's—” He cut himself off with a curse. “Of course.”

“I could be wrong.”
I hope to the ancestors I am.
“Just keep moving. Don't try to see them.”

“Believe me, I don't want to see them.”

She made a noise of agreement under her breath. Daigo had fallen back beside her now, guarding her on one side, Tyrus at the other.

“It's a grove of white birch,” he whispered. “I see it ahead.”

She detected the faint glow of the trees, visible even in the darkness.

“Are the horses tied?” she whispered.

“Well tied.”

“Good. We'll have to be fast. Jump on, slash the ropes, and go.” And hope the steeds could outrun the beasts that followed. If anything could outrun the beasts that followed.

“The gelding is on the left,” Tyrus whispered. “He's a bay. The gray mare is yours.”

She nodded. They both clutched their blades, slowing their steps, peering toward the glade, ready to rush forward the moment they saw—

Daigo let out a snort and tried to leap in front of Moria, but she was already stumbling over whatever he'd noticed in
her path. It looked like a fallen branch and she was righting herself, cursing, when Tyrus inhaled sharply.

Bone protruded from the end of the “branch.” Bloody bone and shredded flesh and, on the other end, a hoof.

“The horses,” he whispered. “They've killed . . .”

He didn't need to finish. He and Moria raced forward, both calling a warning to the other to stop as they realized, simultaneously, what they'd done. They'd run, and it was only for a few steps, but it was enough. All around them the forest erupted in growls. Red eyes flashed in the darkness.

They stumbled into the clearing. Tyrus tripped this time, and Moria looked down to see him stagger away from the head of the gray mare. The remains of the horses were everywhere, whole pieces and sometimes no more than bone, the flesh stripped as cleanly as if vultures had feasted for days. There was blood, too, and she slid on a rope of entrails.

Tyrus grabbed her arm to steady her. Then he swung her around behind him, his blade out, the two of them back-to-back. The forest had gone silent now, but Moria could sense the beasts circling. Daigo hissed and spat. When those red eyes flashed in the darkness, he lunged, only to slide on the blood-slick grass and dance away, snarling, his fur on end, ears laid flat. When Daigo looked up, Moria whispered, “Trees. We need to climb a tree.”

“The birch are too small.”

“I know.”

Moria lifted her torch and squinted into the semidarkness.

“There,” she whispered, pointing to an oak outside the grove.

Tyrus shifted, as if flexing his knees while he contemplated the distance.

“Twenty paces,” she said.

“I have the bigger blade. You'll go first.”

“No, you ought—”

Daigo cut off her argument with a growl.
Just go.

Moria inhaled and they turned as one, putting her in direct line with the tree.

“You'll be right behind me?” she whispered.

“You have my word,” he said.

Which meant yes—without question, yes. She exhaled, adjusted her dagger and the torch, crouched, and counted to three under her breath so Tyrus could hear. Then she ran.