Maylin's Gate (Book 3) (34 page)

He glanced over his shoulder into the mist thickening across the plain. What creatures lurked there?

Shadowy figures moved further down the tree line. General Demos strode through the mist carrying a satchel bulging with twice as much wood as his.

Shadows pressed in around him and a shiver zipped along his spine. He hustled through the mist on a course toward General Demos and the campsite.

Tarbin's silhouette shifted among the trees. The banther seemed content to take full advantage of the fading sunlight.

He paused beside General Demos at the campsite.

A high-pitched wail and a sickening gurgle came from the forest's edge.

His flesh crawled. He tossed aside the wood, reached for his longbow, and spun.

A silver blade reflecting the last rays of daylight slid across Tarbin's throat. Blood sprayed from the wound and the banther's eyes widened in shock. Gathered wood tumbled from Tarbin's arms and the banther teetered in the mist.

He brought his weapon to bear with arrow knocked a full second after General Demos.

The two men stood in the mist waiting for a glimpse of Tarbin's attacker.

The banther held his gaze for a last lingering moment. Tarbin's arm raised as if to point and breathy gusts of air pumped through the wound at the banther's throat. Tarbin’s arm trembled and pointed south across the plain. The banther toppled forward and disappeared into the mist.

He swallowed willing moisture into his throat. His breathing came labored pulls. Patron Tyrell had taught him how to shoot a bow long before he'd dreamed of Elan's magic. He tugged on those memories and shielded himself in their armor. He exhaled and searched for calm at his center.

A figure clad in black stood in the mist clutching a blade dripping with the banther's blood. Shadows cloaked the murderer's face.

Adrenaline surged through his body burning away the fear. He pulled back on the bowstring. Its steady weight greeted him like an old friend. He didn't want to question the assassin. He had scant tolerance for despicable acts of cowardice. With shoulders relaxed, he let his fingers go and the bowstring thrummed.

Beside him, General Demos's arrow hummed like a bumblebee over the mist. The arrows flew true never wavering in their course and the figure made no attempt to move.

The arrows hurtled forward and the black-clad man vanished. With a hollow thunk of finality the arrows sank into a weathered oak hovering at the forest's edge.

Blood drained from his face. People can't vanish into thin air. But, hadn't he vanished using a spirit shield and a trick of the eye? This felt different. He'd seen no spirit shield. Was he losing his mind? Back in the swamp, General Demos said he'd spoken in puzzles and riddles. He glanced sideways.

General Demos stared across the mist. The general's bow hung limp.

He hadn't imagined the figure. General Demos had seen it too. "Where did he go?" He managed a hoarse whisper.

General Demos's tongue flickered in and out like a man possessed. "Danger," the general said in a low leering hiss.

A rustle. A shift. The blade flashed behind General Demos raking upward through the mist.

His mind recoiled but his body reacted. He ripped the blade from his belt sheath and lunged forward.

An arm covered the general's chest and the blade whistled upward. General Demos fell back into the black-clad figure’s chest.

Letting go a feral scream, he plunged the knife into the attacker's arm and ripped downward.

Without a sound, the figure's shrouded face turned to meet his gaze. Smooth gray flesh covered the figure's face. Unblemished by eyes, nose, or mouth.

He gasped and staggered backward.

The crisp sound of a blade sliding from its sheath came from General Demo's waist. A moment later, the general sent a long sword flashing near the faceless man's head.

The faceless man vanished and reappeared on the general's exposed side.

General Demos stumbled whiffing on air.

From the mist, a low rattling sound curled his toes.

The faceless man twisted as if searching for the noise.

He lunged striking downward with his blade.

A shift. Empty air.

More rattling came from behind and to his right and left.

The faceless man appeared behind him. Overwhelming death, like that of a rotten carcass, rolled over his nostrils.

Hot saliva formed in his mouth and his throat constricted. He reached for his power. Nothing. Elan's magic had forsaken him.

The faceless man loomed over him in the mist.

The rattling grew louder accompanied by the shrieking hiss of voices. Inhuman voices.

The faceless man spun scouring the mist.

The rattling deepened and wailing echoed through the mist.

With blade held out, General Demos whirled in a tight circle.

He staggered to his feet and reached for his longbow.

The screeching grew to a fever-pitch and the faceless man vanished.

General Demos's wide-eyed gaze met his. "Run."

He sprinted following General Demos south through the mist.

General Demos ran ahead setting a pace he couldn't hope to match.

His breathing came in hard staggered pulls. On trembling legs, he willed himself to run faster.

General Demos slowed as if unwilling to leave him behind. The general would not abandon him.

White cottony spittle flew from his mouth. His heart hammered threatening to explode, but he ran deeper into the mist. Deeper into the savanna's heart.

The rattling fading and the screeching disappeared. They ran without looking back.

A quarter hour passed and he staggered unable to keep pace. "I can't," he said through haggard gasps.

General Demos slowed and turned back appearing as fresh as a spring morning. The general's eyes scanned the mist still searching.

Had he met this man, this friend, in open combat could he overcome him? A decent man he would strike dead with all the pomp of chopping down a pine tree. A shiver slid across his neck. He didn't want that. He didn't want to cross swords with this alien man from across the sea. "Thank you."

General Demos's tongue flickered in and out tasting the wind as if willing a sense of normalcy. "I sense nothing in this place."

"Did you see him?" he said.

"I saw."

"It was the same creature that came through the portal."

"Or one like him," General Demos said.

His gaze flickered to the satchel still attached to the general's shoulder. He stared awe-struck at the stuffed wrap holding at least twenty pieces of loose timber. "You never dropped your pack?" Using the back of his hand, he wiped away a wall of perspiration streaming down his forehead.

General Demos's gaze passed to the bundled wood swaying above the mist. "So I didn't."

The southern wind picked up. Like a steaming cauldron, the mist swirled around his waist. The day's last gasp of light settled beyond the horizon leaving the savanna awash in a shroud of darkness.

The chattering mewls of some unknown creatures carried on the wind. The moon's smooth edge appeared on the eastern horizon.

General Demos unclipped the satchel and the wood rattled onto the dry grass.

Sounds, alien and pressing, closed in around him. In the distance, a throaty roar came from what he imagined a vicious animal. From the near mist, a cackling burst of laughter set his skin crawling.

General Demos knelt beside the logs and built a make-shift campfire.

"Hurry. I don't think we're alone out here."

General Demos glanced at him eyes rimmed with panic. "I can't find my flint."

He slipped his leather pack from his shoulder and rooted through the contents.

The moon rose above the horizon enough to shed light inside his pack.

"I found it," he said clutching the flint. "Here." He turned to General Demos and froze.

A dozen sets of glistening eyes burned through the mist all bearing down on him and General Demos.

He spun in tight circle.

More eyes. All around them closing in. Like a madman's song, the cackling came again in high short bursts.

His chest tightened and his heart raced.

"Give it to me," the general said in a fast hissing cadence.

He stood, hurried to General Demos's side, and handed over the flint.

"Watch my back," General Demos said.

He unhooked his longbow strapped to edge of his pack and pulled a fresh arrow from the quiver perched beside it. Turning in slow circles he armed the bow and let go a feral shout of warning.

Sparks flew from the flint and steel and rained on the dry grass General Demos had layered atop the wood.

A beast darted forward.

He loosed the arrow. The air whistled and a sickening crunch came a half-second later. The beast let go a high-pitched squeal and the grass rustled a few feet from General Demos. "I can't hold them off much longer. Hurry with that fire."

Flames licked the dried grass and a newborn fire sprang to life.

General Demos's palms hovered over the flames while a gust of wind swirled the mist around them. The general leaned forward and blew willing the flames to take hold of the wood beneath.

Bursts of cackling laughter sounded across the pack. Their tones urgent bordering on desperation.

He whirled searching for the telltale eyes glistening in the mist and thanked Elan for the moon rise.

Like golden marbles, the eyes shifted in the mist. The cackling intensified, but the animals held back as if distracted.

A deep roar like that of an Ayralen forest cat came from behind the pack. A yelp preceded the sounds of a brief struggle and the pack scattered in every direction.

Rivulets of fear rattled along his spine and he glanced toward General Demos.

A single flame licked the kindling and the welcome sound of popping wood came a moment later.

Another set of eyes shone through the mist. Then another pair, larger and unafraid, moved in from the night. Roaring and the grotesque sound of ripping flesh raked the back of his brain. The big cat's fought over the fresh kill, but what if they smelled the dead beast lying near General Demos?

General Demos hovered over the fire like a mother nursing a newborn infant.

"Hurry. For Elan's sake, get the bloody fire going already," he said.

The eyes hovering highest in the mist turned toward the flame. The cat's eyes held the flame for a long moment before a silky roar alerted the pride. Eyes turned toward the flame. Toward him and the general hunkered in the mist.

General Demos glanced toward the big cat. "Keep them back."

A loud whoosh came from the wood nestled between General Demos's boots and flames soared into the mist.

The big cat paused and rumbled a low growl. The pride paused and the smallest sets of eyes turned from the fire.

In a vast world unknown to him in so many ways, one truth held firm. Fire destroyed. He smiled and glanced toward the general. "They're leaving."

General Demos heaped fresh pine atop the blazing campfire until it roared.

One by one, the eyes faded from the mist and disappeared into the night.

Orange and yellow flame danced atop a bone yard of withered pine.

His shoulders relaxed and he held the bow loose at his side.

The fire burned hot and flames chased away the mist clinging to the grass. As the air warmed, the space around the campfire cleared.

The beast he'd shot lay three feet from where General Demos had tended the fire. An arrow jutted from the creature's short mottled fur. The animal's snout, frozen in a snarl, reflected the agony of its unexpected death.

"I thought you shot just one of them," General Demos said from the camp's far side.

He glanced over the fire and frowned. "I did."

General Demos pointed to the ground. "Then what killed these?"

He rounded the fire and paused beside General Demos.

Two more of the beasts lay dead with arrow shafts embedded deep into their skulls. Bright red fletching extended from black arrow shafts. Arrows he'd never seen.

CHAPTER FORTY

Ceremony

Danielle raced down the ventilation shaft and burst into the open air.

Arber glided close behind.

The sanctuary appeared unchanged from the previous day. Towering pines hid the glade where Ormond and Dravin met. The stream trickled from the crystal boulders, and the vegetable garden appeared as it had.

She glided above the treetops and inhaled the fresh scents from lilacs, tulips, and mint. Despite the danger facing her this evening, her muscles eased and her mind relaxed. She flew between the treetops and crossed the garden. Ormond would soon arrive and lead them to the emperor's orb of power. A place she hoped to find the last heartwood tree.