Hunted (Book 3) (10 page)

Gen peered into the pit, trying to understand what it was he was seeing. It took several moments before he could discern that the moonlight softly glinted off the bodies of an uncountable number of black-scaled and unmoving snakes.

“If you are wondering,” Tornus said, “there are sixteen thousand, three hundred and thirty-three of them down there. I cannot be sure I discovered them all. There are simply too many cracks and crannies in the dwarven halls.”

“I can’t tell what they are,” Volney said, nonplussed.

“They are snakes,” Gerand informed him. Volney edged away from the pit, blood retreating from his face just as quickly.

“Black-toothed vipers, to be exact,” Tornus corrected. “They are only as long as a man’s arm or leg, typically, but just imagine if thousands of them slithered into a column of soldiers marching through high grass. Their teeth can puncture boot leather, and the poison reduces muscle to barely coagulated slime in moments. While I rue my decision not to march with the dwarves, leaving them unprotected, I cannot fathom what we could have done had we been there. Only Mages would have had some recourse, but I doubt even they would have lasted for long.”

A voice intruded into Gen’s mind.
“I await thy bidding, my master. I am Ghama Dhron, one of the four fell servants of Mikkik.”

The voice spoke in the ancient evil tongue, and Gen jumped back and drew his sword, only to find his companions and Tornus regarding him as if he had gone mad.

“What startled you, young master?” Tornus asked, face curious.

Gen’s mind raced. “I thought I saw something move,” he lied.

“Oh! You have good eyes in the dark. They have been a bit twitchy since the light of Trys rejoined the sky.”

“What?!” Gerand and Volney exclaimed.

“Do not fear, friends! They have done nothing, as yet, amounting to purposeful movement. One will twitch or spasm now and again. I suppose that if we waited until Trys bloomed full in the sky, we might have a problem, but I plan on burning the lot of them as soon as I can pile enough tinder and wood into the hole. Nevertheless, I can see you are uncomfortable, and it is most discourteous of me to have taken up so much of your evening in this fashion when clearly you need your rest. Come, let us retire to the keep.”

“Speak the word, master, and I will follow. I do the bidding of he who holds the power of my making.”

Gen shook his head to clear it, and while he could no longer hear the words, he sensed a presence in the back of his mind, full of hunger and malice, awaiting his call. The feeling remained strong even after they crossed into the safe confines of the keep.

Tornus wound his way back to the hall where they had taken dinner, all the plates and bones now cleared away.

“Stay and rest a moment by the fire,” Tornus encouraged them graciously. “I will go command Bibbs to prepare a room with three beds for you. When you are ready to rest, use the stairs by the main entrance. It will be the first door on your left. Now, I must bid you good evening.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, sir,” Gerand said in parting.

Tornus turned, expression strange. “There is no need for thanks. The company you provide is certainly worth more than anything you have received at my hand. Sleep well.”

Gen waited until the echoes of their host’s steps had long faded down the empty corridors before calling for Volney and Gerand to come close so they could talk quietly.

“I feel a great deal more than uneasy about this Tornus,” Gen began. “Something doesn’t seem right about him.”

“Doesn’t seem right?” Volney interjected. “He’s bloody mad! Imagine, stuck here for centuries with nothing but a Basher and wagonload of guilt to keep you company! For pity’s sake, he dragged every dwarf carcass in this mountain range and buried them here!”

“I do not think he is mad,” Gerand contradicted. “Loneliness and time have warped him, but he is willful and perfectly in control of himself.”

“His own narrative of events holds the key,” Gen added. “He said the Mikkik Dun changed him somehow to keep him alive for all these years and taught him some secret of murder. That is the most disturbing. He made a covenant with dark powers, though his forthright confession and heroic efforts at atonement certainly cast him in a more favorable light.”

“But what of those lamps?” Gerand asked. “Those Uyumaak he killed—and killed in an instant—had not one mark upon them! How was that done? Not to mention the piles of bones everywhere.”

“Perhaps the way he killed the Uyumaak is part of the secret he gleaned from the Mikkik Dun,” Gen speculated. “Remember how no one could tell that Oakenstone had been killed? We take watches tonight and leave early tomorrow even if a company or two of Uyumaak encamp at the gates.”

“Agreed,” Gerand and Volney said in unison.

Gen stretched and placed his hand on his sword hilt. “We now know the answers to some questions historians have asked since the Shattering. Hopefully we can live to share them.”

They left the hall, only the sounds of their own footsteps and the crackling and popping of the dying fire accompanying them. They found the stairs where they had first entered the keep, the door locked and barred. Bibbs had ensconced torches along the staircase and the hallway it intersected at the top. The door to their quarters stood open invitingly, a lamp inside casting a wan yellow glow that spilled into the hallway.

The room was spacious with a high ceiling and thin round columns decoratively placed down the middle. Two arched windows flanked the fireplace mantel, wood old and brittle. Gen speculated that the room had served as a meeting hall or an officer’s mess. A single fireplace stood in the center of the long room, the three beds clustered close to it, though nothing burned within.

“I suppose all the blankets and mattresses have gone to rot,” Volney observed dourly. “The mention of a bed had me hoping for a little more than a wooden plank a few inches off the floor.”

Gen closed the door and joined his companions, spreading their travel stained blankets on the ancient furniture. “I will take first watch. I will trim the lantern but leave it burning for as long as it has oil.”

“I’ll take second watch,” Gerand volunteered.

Despite the lack of comfort, Gen’s friends drifted off to sleep quickly, and Gen breathed out and tried to relax his mind and body. Since escaping Elde Luri Mora and regaining his health, he felt, as Sir Tornus did, that he had a restitution to make for his mistakes, mistakes with potentially disastrous consequences for the world. And perhaps, as their host also thought, nothing he could offer as expiation met the cost of the severity of the crime. While he could never pledge any allegiance to Chertanne, the enormity of his mistake in trying to kill the Ha’Ulrich weighed upon him.

Pride and madness,
he thought.

But there was more. He had yet to admit to himself that he loved the Chalaine in a way that he should not, for he found nothing unwholesome in his feelings with which he could convict himself. If he wanted her unjustly or wantonly, surely the self-reproach would come more easily.

Only her pain and disappointment in his love stung him, and with whatever life he had allotted to him, he was determined to prove to her that to trust him had been no mistake, that his heart was true, and his motives pure. He would serve her without any hope of reciprocation or reward, though he recognized that his stupidity had rendered his ability to protect or aid her feeble, indeed.

The hours passed slowly. The sound of Bibbs shuffling down the hall and extinguishing the torches provided the only break in the uneasy monotony of the passing time. Gen threw open the shutters to get a better look at the sky to check how much time had passed, the weak light and view of the sky calming his nerves. A soft, cool wind helped alleviate the oppressive feeling he’d felt since entering the keep, and the uncomfortable bed now beckoned to him.

Only an hour more.

Gen awoke Gerand for his watch in the dead of night. A chill had stolen over the room as the night deepened high in the mountains. After stretching and rewrapping his cloak about himself, Gerand slipped on his boots and went to the open window to refresh his eyes. Moonlight streamed through the opening, a slanted column of moonlight casting the shadow of Gen’s companion across the room.

Remembering their strange circumstances set Gen’s blood to churning, grogginess fleeing as anxiety and a need to depart in haste took hold. Were it not for the scant illumination from the moons, the room would be lost in utter darkness. The ancient bed creaked wildly as Gen settled on it, and, despite the toils of the day, sleep would not come.

Time crawled by as he stared at the cracked ceiling, ears primed for any sound besides that of his companions’ breathing, every moment passing lending him hope that the night would pass uneventfully and the protecting sun rise to free him from the nagging fear that gripped him in the presence of their host.

So it was that when he first heard soft, steady footsteps in the hallway, he could not tell if it were real or a product of an imagination ripened by fear. The voice of experience and the nearing footfalls pulled him off his bed, Gerand casting a worried glance at him. A quick shake pulled Volney from his slumber. They struggled with their boots and strapped on their weapons. Anxiously and in silence they waited, hearing someone tread back and forth just outside the room like a sentry for nearly fifteen minutes. At length, the pacing stopped and the door swung inward. They drew their swords, staring at the vague shape outlined the door frame.

“Who goes there?” Gerand demanded.

“Forgive me, young master,” the voice of Sir Tornus spoke. “I had only come to check to make sure my guests slept well.” He entered and closed the door. “Bibbs can, from time to time, be mischievous. But I see that you are ready for a fight. A shame on my house that my guests cannot find rest after such a tiresome day.”

Gerand relaxed, noting that Tornus held a shuttered lamp at his side, but no weapon. An awkward pause kept nerves raw. Unexpectedly, Tornus’s voice, sad and agonized, broke the silence.

“How can I do this?” he moaned, face angled toward the ceiling. “I suppose I hoped too much that my penance would bring release. Too many crimes. Too much to forgive. There is no escape, and I am so hungry! The Uyumaak do not satisfy. What are three more among so many? I must feed this one last time and leave this place.” More sobs filled the room. “I am sorry, my young friends.”

“Take him!” Gen yelled, but as they moved to advance, Tornus threw open the shutters of his lamp and a pale blue light bloomed in the room. In that instant, Gerand and Volney stopped, eyes wide and faces slack, swords clattering to the ground. Tears ran down the haunted face of their host, red rimmed eyes widening with surprise at Gen’s unabated advance. Gen chopped sideways with his sword, the blade passing through Sir Torunus’s neck. The man made no move to avoid the attack.

Gen’s shock followed as he watched the skin behind the blade adhere and heal the instant the blade had passed through, Tornus’s expression turning melancholy. Gen stepped back defensively.

“Believe me,” Sir Tornus said, “I wish that had worked as much as you do. I’ve thrown myself off parapets and cliffs, stood in bonfires, crushed myself under avalanches of snow and rock, and spent months lying in the lake. Nothing will do. I’ve no pleasures but to feast on the spirits of the living, and one as strong-willed as you must satisfy!”

With frightening speed, supple fingers darted for Gen’s neck. Gen sliced at the incoming strike, but the blade simply gave his attacker a newly severed sleeve of his shirt, leaving the arm undamaged and the hand latched around Gen’s throat in a crushing grip. Tornus’s eyes flashed with a spectral light and hungry anticipation, but Gen felt nothing, his attacker’s expression turning to disappointment and curiosity.

Gen kicked the ancient knight in the midsection, sending him staggering back into the stone wall with terrific force. The lamp skittered to the ground as it leapt from Tornus’s grip. Gen sheathed his useless sword and dashed for the lamp, but Tornus recovered quickly and collided with him, sending both men skidding across the floor.

“Well, my young friend,” Tornus hissed as he stood, “I have often wondered what I had become, but you . . . what are you? You’ve no soul to feast on! Are you my damnation come at last? Come, get the lamp if you can, but beware, I just need an instant to consume one of your drooling companions!”

Hand-to-hand they struggled, Gen employing the elven fighting art of Kuri-tan, thinking he could gain the upper hand on his opponent, but Tornus was even more immune to pain than Gen was, quick hits and distracting slaps as useless as his sword had been against the demon at the Chalaine’s betrothal.

“You are fast, young one.” Tornus grinned maliciously. “But enough of the girlish elven fighting!”

Tornus dashed toward Gerand and Volney, Gen leaping onto his foe’s back and covering his eyes, throwing his weight down. Tornus stumbled and then purposefully dropped backward, slamming them both into a bed. The ancient frame broke, Gen’s breath exploding from his lungs as his back hit the cold floor, his enemy’s crushing weight driving him down.

Gen rolled and flung Tornus away from his friends and into a nearby column. As he tried to stand, the blanket tangled around his arms and shoulders, Tornus taking advantage by delivering a crushing punch to his face that sent him to the ground, head spinning. Gen fought for his concentration and his balance, thrashing against the blanket and trying to stay between Tornus and his friends. Just as Gen tossed the blanket away, Tornus rushed him, encircling him in a powerful embrace. Grinning, Sir Tornus reared his head back and butted his forehead into Gen’s face. Gen took the strike on his cheek, ignoring the dull pain and using his weight to pull Tornus down. The knight let go before they fell, Gen landing hard on his backside.

Tornus dashed toward Gerand, Gen realizing that he could not catch Tornus in time. The light shining through the window reminded him of his power, and with a thought he dissolved half of Tornus’s boot heel at a slant, a technique he had read about in one of Ethris’s texts. Even that simple effort winded him, but it had the desired effect. As soon as their host set his hurried foot down, the ankle twisted and broke, sending him to the hard ground, dust exploding from the floor.

Thinking quickly, Gen sprinted forward and grabbed Tornus’s leg and dragged him toward the lamp, feeling the man’s ankle knitting back together under his fingers. Tornus clawed and scratched at the ground, finally grabbing the leg of one of the beds. With another spell, Gen weakened the leg so that it broke off in Tornus’s hand, and, with muscles roping in strain, he pulled Tornus’ body over the lamp and fell on top of him, ramming his elbow into Tornus’s neck and breaking it. The blue light extinguished.

Gerand and Volney’s slack faces regained their tightness and comprehension, and, grabbing their weapons, they rushed to Gen’s side. Already Tornus’s neck was healing, and Gen pinned a thrashing Tornus to the ground.

“Get out!” Gen yelled to the others. “Get out now! Wait for me outside the door. Swords are useless! Go!”

Reluctantly, his companions left. Gen had Tornus flipped onto his stomach, and taking his hair, bashed Tornus’s face into the ground three times as hard as he could muster before extricating himself from the knight and bolting for the door. Tornus regained his feet with impossible speed, but his warped boot heel sent him flailing into the wall, lending Gen just enough time to get out and pull the door closed. Tornus arrived seconds later, and the two men strove with each other, each pulling at the door handle with every ounce of his strength.

“Get out of here! I will find you!” Gen yelled to his friends.

“We can’t leave you!” Gerand protested.

“You can and will! You cannot defeat this foe! Run!”

Gen put enough terror into his voice that the hint of it in his entreaty persuaded his companions to obey. Gen held to the handle, planting his feet against the wall and pulling. Inch by inch the door crept inward, Tornus’s strength fueled by his need to escape and feed.

“How long can you keep this up?” Sir Tornus said, voice strained. “Let me out. Let me out, and I will let you leave this place. I only want your companions. They will sate me.”

An idea popped into Gen’s mind, and he knew what he had to do. Gathering himself, he yanked backward with everything he had left, the door slamming shut. Envisioning the inside of the room, he used Trysmagic to create a lip of stone on the floor just in front of the door. Exhausted, he fell away against the wall on the opposite side, limbs listless and energy spent.

“What in Mikkik’s name?” Tornus thundered. Cursing, he pulled at the door several times before pounding his fists upon it. “You’re a Mage! Let me out of here! This won’t keep me long!” Silence prevailed for a few moments, and then Tornus laughed. “Why, the moons are lovely this evening. I think I’ll go to the window for a better look.”

Gen swore. Legs wobbly, he half jogged, half walked down the corridor, hand on the wall to steady himself. “Don’t go outside!” Gen yelled. Gerand and Volney ran back up the stairs toward him. Gen sat down and probed the bruises on his face, mind racing.

“What happened?” Volney asked.

“I think he went out the window.”

“That is good information and all, but I mean,
what
happened in there? One minute we’re talking to Tornus, and the next thing I know you’re wrestling with him on the floor.”

“He had a lamp like the ones he showed us for the Uyumaak, but this one was for men, apparently. I was able to resist the spell. He is a Craver, one of Mikkik’s most awful creations, invented sometime near the Shattering. Nearly impossible to kill. I’ll explain later. I think he is heading back in here.”

“Can we gather our supplies?” Gerand asked.

“No. He’s barred the door somehow,” Gen lied, not wanting to explain why the door could no longer be opened and not possessing the strength to undo his spell. “We have to find a place to hide. I think the door into the keep is the only one, and there are no windows on the first floor.”

“If we can find a place to hide, perhaps we can wait until he comes in, hide until he passes, and then make a run for it,” Gerand suggested. “Do you think we can outrun him?”

Gen shook his head. “For a while, but Cravers are relentless and tireless when they want to feed. If he’s shut the gates or pulled in the drawbridge, then we could be in a great deal of trouble.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Gerand said. “I think he can manage the gates by himself, though it would take time. The platform across the canyon, however, is too heavy and needs the services of many horses to pull in and out.”

“That is some comfort,” Gen commented, legs feeling stout enough to stand and walk. “For now, let’s head down the hallway and see what we can find.”

“Don’t forget that Bibbs is bumbling around here somewhere,” Volney reminded them. They had proceeded down the hall several paces when Gerand stopped dead in his tracks, a smile spreading across his face.

“What?” Gen whispered.

“The one room he will not think we are in is the one he barred shut.”

“Right,” Gen replied, “but we can’t get in.”

“We can. You have Aldradan Mikmir’s sword. It can cut through anything! We can cut out a section of the door at the bottom, go inside, replace it, and with any luck, he won’t even notice it.”

Gen smiled in return. How could he have forgotten the virtues of the sword? They ran quietly back to the door. “Let me see if he spiked it somehow,” Gen said, lying prone and jamming the sword into the crack beneath the door, breaking apart the rock he had created earlier. “I looks like he jammed some rock underneath it or something. Try it now.”

As they went to open it, they heard pounding on the outer door, Sir Tornus yelling for Bibbs to unlock it.

“If we can beat Bibbs to it, Sir Tornus would be locked outside,” Volney suggested.

Gen pulled them in and shut the door. “It isn’t worth the risk. Volney, jam some of the rock back underneath the door, if you can. Gerand, see how far of a drop it is to the ground. I’ll get our gear packed back up.”

In a few moments, the squeal of the keep door opening suspended Volney’s efforts, and he Gen and Gerand neared the window.

“It is about twenty feet to the ground,” Gerand reported. “Does anyone have rope?”