The Night Voice (29 page)

A shimmering, small form appeared ahead in his way, and Chap stumbled, slowing until he saw what it was: a transparent girl in a tattered nightgown, bloodied at the throat. He had seen her once before in the dank forests of eastern Droevinka—one of Ubâd's enslaved ghosts.

“Majay-hì!” the ghost girl shrieked at him.

There was too much hate in the voice for one who had died so young. Could this utterance have been instigated by Ubâd himself? That seemed impossible.

Chap had killed the necromancer himself and ripped the old man's throat to the spine. Before he could even look, two large, heavily muscled men—with dead eyes—stepped out from behind a rock formation. There was something between them, and one of them tilted it.

The wheel cart's bed rocked forward until its lead end clunked against stone, and lashed to it was a black-robed form held erect by bonds. His hands, folded and bound over his chest, were bare, exposing bony fingers. Where his face should have been was an eyeless mask of aged leather that Chap remembered, and that ended above a bony jaw supporting a withered mouth.

Ubâd's neck was now wrapped or strapped with something that held his head erect.

Chap snarled, and something like hunger but not filled his gut. The decrepit ghost master had somehow used his own skills upon himself, as he had done with the girl and his corpse guards.

“Kill him,” the ghost girl ordered. “Take his head off!”

Both dead men beside the litter drew curved blades and rushed forward. One passed straight through the girl.

Wynn was waiting somewhere beyond them, and Chap could still hear the battle below in the dark. The first corpse guard swung a blade at his head.

Chap ducked aside and leaped. As the man straightened to right himself, Chap's front paws struck his target. The guard toppled, hit the rocky ground on his back, and Chap's following weight came down to crush a weak rush
of fetid air out of the walking corpse. With no time to finish with the first, Chap bolted for the second man—but there was the ghost girl in his way.

“Die . . . dog!” she screeched an instant before impact.

Icy cold trapped the air in Chap's lungs. Everything whitened before his eyes like a flash of light. When his sight cleared amid a stumble, the other corpse attendant had retreated to the litter cart, sword in hand. And the dark around Ubâd's body began to waver like the heat of the desert under a noon sun.

A translucent soldier appeared as if walking out of a rippling lake. His hauberk and abdomen were slashed open, exposing organs to spill out. At another waver of color forming in the dark, Chap quickly glanced toward the litter cart's other side.

A short, bony, tattered young woman appeared. The rough line of bruising around her throat showed where she had been strangled. She opened her mouth and exposed her missing tongue. Whispering voices began to grow all around.

Chap flinched away from another ghost suddenly off to his left. A shirtless, scarecrow-thin peasant boy faded in and out. Starvation had left the specter of his ribs and swollen paunch clear to see.

And the second of the corpse guards charged in an amble.

Chap dodged right at the downward hack of a sword, and then the starved boy flew at him . . . through him. Chap's jaws locked open, but he could not breathe. Cold seemed to rise out of his bones and into his flesh.

“Can you feel your death,” the ghost girl spat, “even before you die?”

The corpse guard swung at him again.

Chap stumbled sideways, now gasping for air as if it were winter. His fright grew.

Below in the battle, he had only seen lower servants of the Enemy. With Ubâd here, what other more powerful servants might have come?

Another—and another—ghost manifested in the dark.

Chap could not survive this alone. Panic took hold, and all he could think of was something that had only worked once long ago.

On a frigid night in the Pock Peaks, in their search for the first orb, Wynn had been lost in the wild amid a blizzard. He had gone out alone to search for her, failed, and in desperation . . .

—Come . . . find me . . . and bring light!—

If only again she could hear him
now.

C
hane was crouched near Leesil and Ghassan when he heard the clicks in the dark. Ore-Locks rose and, without a word, ran into the crevice's stone wall. Somewhere above, Brot'an had found something and signaled for Ore-Locks to come.

Then a wild-sounding cry carried up from below.

“What is that?” Chane rasped.

Leesil had already half risen, as if to peek out of the crevice, but he stopped. The cry lingered but was quickly tangled in sounds of clangs of metal and guttural shouts. Chane rose to look downward. Some campfires appeared scattered by the number of tiny orange glimmers that flickered quickly from many forms rushing about amid screams, snarls, shouts, and more.

Somehow a battle had erupted in the camp, and Wynn was below somewhere with nothing but her staff.

“Magiere and Chap are with her,” Leesil said quietly. “She'll be all right.”

Chane had no patience for reassuring lies. How had he let himself be talked into this? As he began to glance upslope, a chorus of high-pitched howls exploded in the dark. He twisted back to look down again as he heard more and more of those eerie sounds.

“Majay-hì?” Leesil whispered, rising sharply to follow Chane's gaze.

Chane turned to Ghassan. “Do you know anything about this?”

The domin shook his head. “No.”

The sound of a soft footfall on stone reached Chane's ears, and he reached for a sword.

Brot'an stood in the crevice's top. An instant later, Ore-Locks stepped out of the crevice wall's stone, appearing less than relieved. Chane did not have a chance to ask anything.

“I found a possible entrance,” Brot'an whispered, “beneath an overhang. But I only suspect so because of the guards present. At a flash of something in the dark, I crawled closer after signaling for Ore-Locks. The entrance is guarded by . . . things I have never seen before. I could not count their numbers but saw outlines of at least two the height of myself. Sounds indicated there may be more nearby, so we both returned.”

Chane did not like this. With the exception of Osha, he had never encountered anyone as tall as Brot'an. To face two or more while bearing the chests was not possible. Everyone fell silent, likely contemplating the same thing.

“And,” Brot'an added, “given these are guardians of the Enemy, I suspect mere arrows would not dispatch them. My making such an attempt would only give away any element of surprise in our favor.”

That was worse, considering what Chane had seen of the assassin's use of the bow hidden beneath his cloak and tunic.

Leesil asked Ore-Locks, “Wynn said you can take Chane with you through stone. Is that true?”

Chane tensed, and Ore-Locks's brow wrinkled.

“Why?” the dwarf asked.

“We can't fight while carrying the chests,” Leesil answered. “From here, can you pass through stone and move upward until you reach the passage inside, down a ways from the entrance under the overhang? Can you do it with you and Chane bringing at least two chests at a time?”

Ore-Locks finally nodded.

“Then the rest of us will clear a direct path,” Leesil added, looking to
Brot'an. “Or at least keep the guards distracted while the chests are moved. If the opening is that well guarded, it has to be an entrance.”

Though this sounded risky, Chane could think of nothing better, and they had already lingered too long.

Leesil pushed past everyone to start climbing out of the crevice's upper end. Brot'an followed, as did Ghassan. And then Chane was alone with his old comrade.

Ore-Locks shook his head. “I have never taken part in anything so haphazard.”

Chane agreed but did not reply. Too much was being planned in the moment, and he could not stop thinking of Wynn, wherever she was. Leaning down, he gripped one of the poles strung between two chests. A sharp rise of noise broke from below.

It repeated like rolling thunder. Ore-Locks rushed past the chests and Chane to the crevice's bottom end.

“Horses!” the dwarf whispered.

Chane dropped the pole to join him. He had neither seen nor heard horses in the camp, but it was dark for even his eyes. His astonishment bordered on disbelief.

“Elves!” Ore-Locks said. “Never thought I would be glad of them.”

Chane's night sight widened. He saw tall Lhoin'na riders in dark attire, scattering in a wave as they charged across open ground below at the mountain's base. The only way that he knew who they were was by the glint of unsheathed swords and light-colored hair pulled up in tails.

Shé'ith riders.

This must be why Chuillyon had left, likely at Chap's or Wynn's urging and instructions. Checking on Wayfarer, Osha, and Shade had been an excuse, though how the Chuillyon had brought these forces in was a puzzle.

Chane grew furious, for no one had told him. Now a pitched battle raged close to Wynn. One rider caught his attention, for even in the darkness, he
could see that one's hair was brighter and his attire differed from that of the others.

“Osha!” Chane rasped.

His maimed voice could not carry over the distance. Even so, shouting would reveal their presence. He grabbed Ore-Locks as he pointed.

“Can you get to that one and turn him our way?” he asked.

“We do not have time! We must get through the mountain while the others distract the guards.”

In all his life, Chane had rarely begged for anything. “Please. For Wynn.”

Ore-Locks scowled, grumbled with a breathy exhale, and did something Chane had never seen before. He sank like a rock dropped into a pond and vanished under the mountainside.

Chane rushed to the crevice's lower end. He crouched, rigid and tense, waiting to see where the young stonewalker would reappear as he watched Osha's horse charge onward with the Shé'ith.

A distant clank of steel rolled downslope through the night.

Chane spun and looked upward through the dark as his panic rose another notch.

Leesil and the others had already engaged the guards.

• • •

Leesil crept after Brot'an, and then both of them flattened against the slope as they neared a place where he finally spotted the craggy overhang above. He heard Ghassan behind him.

Brot'an finally stopped, as did Leesil.

There was no more cover the rest of the way up. If there had been any, it had all been cleared away, likely for a defensible position.

Brot'an's head turned, as if looking back, though Leesil could not see the scarred face within the dark hood. Brot'an curled his fingers to pinch something between the first two, and Leesil heard a stiletto slide out into that hand.

Brot'an went utterly still, his face still unseen in the pit of his hood.

Leesil understood and quietly unlashed his left punching blade. At that, Brot'an's other hand slipped behind his back where he half lay on his side. That hand came back into sight, gripping a white metal, hooked bone knife.

They had to close the last distance at a run.

Leesil carefully levered up on one arm for a better look.

A hulkish form, as tall as Brot'an, dressed only in a waist-wrap, trudged toward the deeper dark below the overhang. It stopped, turned to face down the mountainside, and a nearby pole torch exposed it.

Leesil stared, not understanding what he saw. Ghassan drew a sharp breath behind him.

“Locatha,” the domin whispered.

Leesil didn't know what that meant as he continued taking in the sight of the huge guard.

A hairless, scaled head with pure black eyes above its protruding muzzle looked down the mountainside. Whether it could see the battle below, Leesil couldn't tell.

Its shoulders, broader than a man's, were covered in glistening scales larger than the ones on its head. Those plates ran up its thick-based neck. In one hand, it steadied a double-thick spear's shaft, but the blade atop that was the size of a short sword, at least.

“You know of these creatures?” Brot'an whispered without looking back.

Ghassan was slow in answering. “They are hard to kill and possess limited mental function. Both are useful qualities in a guard.”

Leesil didn't bother to ask how the domin knew this.

“My skills are of minimal use on such minds,” Ghassan went on. “Take out their eyes first, if you can. Their hides are difficult to penetrate.”

The last of that was obvious as Leesil clenched his jaw. They hadn't even gained access, and now this? The best option he saw was to keep the guards distracted while Chane and Ore-Locks snuck in the chests. And then what?

“Draw and divert,” Brot'an whispered, again without looking back. “Kill after.”

And how were they to do the latter? The largest weapons between them were Leesil's punching blades. He wouldn't know until too late if one of those could penetrate an armored hide deeply enough. Just the same, he pulled the other blade, and after one more breath . . .

Leesil sprang up at a run, hoping to take advantage through surprise. He heard Brot'an right behind him as they raced to close the distance before being spotted.

• • •

Wynn grew frantic where she crouched, watching the battle below. But no matter what she could make out in the dark, she saw no sign of Magiere.

Had Magiere lost herself completely in facing so many undead? She was supposed to have led them into the reach of the sun crystal's light.

Wynn almost stopped breathing. She watched as racing, screaming, and growling silhouettes down there threw themselves at one another. Now and then, some were briefly exposed by scattered firelight, and what she saw was best forgotten. Then she heard the howling and quickly rose up.

Chuillyon had brought majay-hì packs as planned, along with Vreuvillä . . . and Wayfarer . . . and Shade. Wynn forced herself to stay put. She desperately hoped Chuillyon had also been able to move Osha and the Shé'ith.

—Come . . . find me . . . and bring light!—

Wynn whirled around too quickly and almost fell, looking for Chap. He had to be here—somewhere—for him to speak to her like only she could hear in her mind.

But she didn't see him anywhere.

She ran down a ways, looking northward. Had he gone with the packs into the battle?

—Come now . . . with the staff—

Again, Wynn looked everywhere and still didn't spot him. How was he doing this? Where was he? Had something changed, gone wrong?

—Wynn!—

Panic nearly overwhelmed her, and she looked to the battle again. Magiere was down there somewhere, and possibly Wayfarer and Shade as well with the pack. There was nothing she could do for them except ignite the staff.

It wasn't time for that yet. Such an act might only cause more chaos and reveal her too soon.

Wynn took off, running northward along the base of the foothills. She hoped she could find Chap before something else spotted her.

• • •

Chap swerved away from another sword strike by the second animated corpse. He passed halfway through another ghost before realizing too late, and an icy chill shot through his bones.

Everywhere he turned, there were more glimmering, translucent forms having come for him out of the dark. And the first overmuscled corpse guard was rising up again. With both already dead, killing one of them seemed impossible. There were too many spirits as well.

He had to get to Ubâd.

The necromancer controlled all of the dead present, whether dead or undead himself. But there was no clear path to that still and silent robed body erect upon the tilted litter.

Then . . . brilliant, white light exploded from behind Chap. For an instant, he could see nothing as he went white-blind. He heard the ghost girl's screaming wail. The sound faded, as if growing distant, as his eyes adjusted.

Wynn had come! She had ignited her staff.

Chap saw one of the dead men turn toward the light's source.

The spirits all around Chap wavered, some vanishing like vapor in a breeze under the glare. But not that one dead guard and likely not the other.

He had only one choice. To save Wynn, he had to abandon her for the only target that mattered.

Chap lunged around the dead guard in his way, racing for the litter. With
each paw-strike upon the parched ground and stone, he called upon the Elements of Existence without time to stop and root himself in them.

From Earth beneath him, Air around him, Water within him, and his heat for Fire, he mingled these with his Spirit. He could only hope this worked. It was not until the last running paw-strike that he felt himself begin to
burn
.

This time, Wynn would not have mantic sight to see the blue-white phosphorescent vapors that rose like flames to flicker across his form.

He leaped.

His forepaws struck Ubâd's chest and bound arms. The litter rocked wildly backward, and Chap nearly tumbled off.

Ubâd would call his servants here to his aid and forget about Wynn.

Chap tore at the dusty robe to get his claws into the necromancer's dead flesh. He did not think of a guard's blade coming down on his back. He forgot any of the spirits fighting to remain outside Wynn's light and come for him. He thought only to feel the elements within him.

Ubâd's corpse began to quiver as if awakening.

The stench of burning flesh rose around Chap, though he saw no smoke.

The necromancer's withered, crossed hands began to wither even more, until the skin appeared to cinch in tight around the bones. Black fluids leaked out around the eyeless mask as the body became still. Even then Chap did not hear how quiet everything had become, except for the distant sounds of the battle.

He raised his head.

Everything was dark again. Not one spirit remained in sight, not even the girl. When he looked back, both dead guards lay on the ground. The nearest was facedown within arm's reach of the litter, a sword still gripped in his outstretched hand.