Bloodwalk (36 page)

His thoughts fell silent as a familiar cry seized his attention.

A gnoll howled as it fell from the tower, splashing to the ground near the priests. A handful of its companions had already met similar ends. The Gargauthans approached and circled around the bodies. Their voices intoned a deep spidery chant over the corpses as they summoned the power of necromancy to command the gnollish warriors to fight again.

Quinsareth sped forward, raising his sword as the first of the dead gnolls began to twitch in the mud. One of the Gargauthans heard the scream of Quin’s sword and looked up as it descended to cleave through his horned mask.

Baertah fell against a wall in the dark alleyway, gasping as warmth covered his flesh and a sudden pressure grew in his chest. The scents of cinnamon and rot filled his nose as his eyes failed, changing the gloom of the heavy clouds into impenetrable darkness. Blinded, he fell to his knees and whimpered, flinching as the ominous sound of beating wings passed over him. The warmth faded and his eyes adjusted to the dark. He blinked against the blur of the shadows, turning pale as he made out a familiar form standing over him.

“There’s my little failure,” Morgynn said, her voice sinuous and scolding, enveloping his fear in the intimate tones of a scorned lover. “What happened, I wonder? Not enough coin in your coffers, perhaps? The safety and rulership of Littlewater no longer desirable? Or maybe your abilities didn’t quite match your claims?”

Baertah was speechless, backing into the street on his hands and knees, slipping to his elbows in the rain. Morgynn stepped from the shadows, the flushed color of her skin fading from the bloodwalk that had carried her through the lord hunter. She studied him a moment, raising an eyebrow at his silence.

“What’s this? No excuses? No begging?” she asked, truly surprised. “If I didn’t already know you were a complete coward, I’d have thought you were being brave, Lord Hunter. I thought your betrayal admirable before, but now I see why the hunters defy you.”

“I-I’m sorry, Lady Morgynn,” he stammered while warily rising to his feet. “Please accept my—”

“Ah, there it is,” she said, amused. “Do not bother. I’ve heard your words on many tongues throughout the years and I still can’t understand the tastes that put them there. Let’s dispense with formality, shall we?”

Morgynn lightly touched the scars across her collarbone, shuddering as they burned away and released their power. Baertah was hurled into the air by her magic. Thrown down the street, he splashed in a crumpled heap on the cobblestones, the wind knocked from his lungs. He choked and struggled for air as he was lifted and thrown again, this time slamming against a wall and breaking his leg. She scowled at the need for such recreation, but Baertah was an ally courted by the fallen Mahgra and she was not surprised at the similarities between them. Both were vain and preening, and though the ogre had a streak of defiance, Baertah was little more than a fop.

She toyed with his body, carrying him closer and closer to the temple, battering his twisted limbs against any convenient obstacle. Only occasionally did he find the breath to scream. Even then, his voice was ragged and raw as if his throat had been scoured with gravel.

The battle raged far behind them. The sky was lit by the glow of distant fires when Baertah landed on his back only a few dozen paces from the temple’s doors. Morgynn dismissed her spell and walked over to straddle his legs, crouching over him and whispering in his ear.

Baertah’s eyes twitched behind bruised and broken skin. His jaw rested at an odd angle and several teeth hung in his gums by threads. A thin, wheezing breath escaped him and he coughed weakly as the rain spattered against the back of his throat.

“I will give you one last chance to redeem yourself, Lord Hunter,” she said, her eyes fixed on the front doors of the temple. She smiled cruelly as several guards stepped out of hiding with weapons drawn. She slid her dagger from its sheath and traced the scars along her left arm with the blade’s point. The runes squirmed to life as she chanted softly and placed a hand over the lord hunter’s bleeding lips.

Gnolls moved in single file down the north wall, eager to join the fray inside Brookhollow. Jagged battle-axes in hand, they growled at the frenzied waves of bathor below, pawing their noses and spitting at the stench of the undead.

Elisandrya fired a carefully aimed arrow into the throat of a gnoll as he scaled the wall, toppling him to join the others she’d felled. His companions ducked and quickly crawled into hiding. She screamed in protest as they escaped her bow, firing into the shields of the remaining pair. They waited for her bloodlust to wane or her attention to become distracted by the undead climbing the wall beside her.

Seeing the last of the pack loping out to join the battle, one of the gnolls edged forward with its shield raised. Closing the distance with her, he snarled, eager to meet her blade to blade. Elisandrya was tired and only dimly aware of the advancing gnoll. Over her shoulder, the sobs of the undead children neared the top of the wall. Tiny pale fingers, bleeding on the wet stone, gripped its edge.

Eli’s throat and nose ached from the cold air. The steady sound of rain on her hood made everything seem unreal, like a dream. A sense of doom fell over her as a pair of glossy eyes crested the wall. Loping footfalls turned her attention to the gnoll, axe held high, charging across the wall.

Her readied arrow slammed into the gnoll’s gut. He loosed a horrific howl but carried on, ignoring the pain. Behind the gnoll, Eli could still see the signal horn lying untouched at the dead watchman’s feet. It taunted her and she raised her bow to deflect the descending axe. The contact awakened her numb reflexes and sent Shockwaves of pain through her stiff arms. She growled at the gnoll wildly, losing herself in what she believed would be the last moments of her life.

The gnoll grabbed her bow and pulled his axe back to strike again, baring his teeth. Eli stepped back on one foot and kicked at the arrow protruding from the gnoll’s abdomen. The wound gushed dark blood as he staggered back and released her bow, roaring in pain. Eli reached for her nearly empty quiver, and her leg was pulled out from under her.

Her back slammed against the battlement, jarring her neck as she kicked at the undead child that had grabbed her foot. The world spun before her eyes and freezing rain stung her face. Her mind reeled at the cacophony of sounds that pounded in her ears. The menacing growls of two gnolls echoed in her head as they approached her. Warily, they eyed the bathor that climbed and crawled over one another to reach her. She saw death in the eyes of the unfortunate child at her feet and screamed at it, challenging it as she kicked again and struggled to draw her sword.

Thunder crashed and the rain slackened. The wind slowed, but even as the thunder faded, a new voice picked up the sound. The thunder was echoed by a metallic hum. The injured gnoll, ducking behind its companion, snapped off the shaft of the arrow in its stomach. It looked up to view a man with fair skin splashed with blood and murderous pearly eyes. The beast was cut down by a green flashing blade and kicked over the side of the wall.

The other gnoll whirled at the noise. It sniffed the air and scowled at the scent of the cloaked warrior that faced him. A primal chill filled the warrior’s eyes and the growling sword he carried. The gnoll raised his axe and abandoned the fallen hunter to the undead, baring his teeth in challenge at the shadowy aasimar.

Eli freed her blade and hacked at the numerous arms yanking on her legs. The blood she drew hissed and burned on her leggings and boots, the smell caustic and nauseating. Another bathor, a woman, had crawled up the wall on Eli’s right and lay flat against the stone. The woman’s head and neck twisted from side to side as she pulled herself closer.

Looking down the wall, Eli watched the aasimar approach the gnoll like a deadly dancer. Waves of fear emanated from Quin, a tide of terror that made her shiver.

Quinsareth stepped forward, turning to his right as the gnoll’s axe passed within a hand’s breadth of his face. He continued to spin, pushing his shoulder into the gnoll’s ribs and hooking his right leg behind his opponent. As the gnoll struggled to angle its axe at the aasimar, Quin grabbed the gnoll’s right arm and pushed as he spun again. He slammed Bedlam’s pommel between the beast’s shoulder blades, then followed the strike with Bedlam’s blade. He severed the stumbling gnoll’s right leg at the knee and left him to fall over the edge into the undead below.

Elisandrya’s sword arm was pinned, held down by the viselike grip of an undead woman who whispered nonsense as she dug her fingers into Eli’s flesh. The bathor’s touch sent arcs of pain down Eli’s arm and across her chest. She fumbled with her left hand, searching for anything to beat the ghoulish woman away, refusing to give up.

The tortured moans of Eli’s attacker suddenly turned to shrieks. More sizzling blood spattered across Eli’s legs and face. Blue-green lightning flashed with each splash of putrid blood. A gloved hand seized her arm and suddenly she was being pulled across the wall. She watched as the woman, armless, squirmed and beat herself against the battlements before rolling into the masses at the wall’s edge.

Eli felt strong arms lifting her to her feet and she instinctively fought back. Flailing her fists, she tried to kick the legs out from under her captor. Turning, she raised a fist and saw Quinsareth’s face, grim and covered in blood. She almost fainted in relief, but he held her steady and lifted her chin, brushing his hand across the red welts that formed where the bathor’s blood had scalded her face.

“Will you be all right?” he asked with concern in his voice. He backed them toward the guard tower.

“I’ll survive,” she said, managing a smile as she met his gaze.

She was stunned by the depth of feeling his presence suddenly stirred in her. The battle was blocked from her senses for a few moments. Unspoken words hung in her mind, then fell to their deaths in the awkward silence between them. Eli’s eyes said things her mouth and lips could not.

In a daze, she stepped away from Quin and leaped up the steps into the guard tower. She retrieved the watchman’s horn and glared down upon the gruesome army that assaulted her home. The devil-masked Gargauthans kept a safe distance along the flanks of the advancing throng.

Taking a deep breath, she blew one long piercing note that carried across the whole of the city. Flaming arrows were fired high into the air from the north and south gates, signaling their receipt of the order. When Eli turned back, Quinsareth was gone. She caught sight of his shadow moving swiftly and with purpose along the north wall.

Kneeling, she took Zakar’s quiver of arrows and quietly promised him a warrior’s funeral. With the quiver slung over her shoulder, she followed the aasimar.

The prized Shaaran warhorses stamped their hooves and shook their wild manes in the spacious stables reserved for the Hunters of the Hidden Circle. The warriors patted their mounts’ necks and whispered encouraging words in their ears. The horses were uncharacteristically jittery. The smell of smoke and decay in the air had reached them, and tension grew as they waited for the call to charge.

Armor and weapons had been readied before the first sounds of battle, and the fray was still several blocks away, growing louder as it neared the stable. Some of the riders suspected that something horrible had happened, and the commanders were preparing to signal their own charge when the call came through the storm. The warriors’ hearts jumped as the wide stable doors opened.

They rode hard, the surefooted warhorses pounding effortlessly through the mud. The two groups of mounted archers split, heading north and south. Once outside the city gates, they angled west with bows drawn. Exposed to the cruel elements, they breathed the fouled air like a drug, becoming intoxicated with bloodlust for the enemy. They spat the cold rain back into the faces of the clouds, reveling in the downpour. Their expectations of the battle were quickly rewarded as devils roared in the sky and gnolls howled and barked savagely from the walls.

“Hush!”

Sameska’s voice startled everyone in the sanctuary, echoing in the silence as all paid wary attention to the broken woman. Her head was cocked to one side, listening for something, her eyes closed against the light of the chamber’s runes. A few of the priestesses edged closer to Sameska, concerned and frightened by her behavior. They listened with her.

Moments passed and they heard nothing. Shaking their heads, they whispered prayers for the high oracle’s broken mind. A slight gasp from the semicircle of oracles startled them again. Nerves were stretched taut as the evening wore on. Those present followed the oracle’s stare to the far wall.

Several lines of runes had faded, and some had winked out altogether.

“It is coming. She is closer now,” the high oracle muttered. Patches of the arcane architecture died before their eyes, dismantled and dispelled by unseen hands. An encroaching darkness crawled through the chamber little by little, leaving only a single light within the half-circle. The altar, the rune circle, and the dais of the high oracle became islands of misty light stranded in the dark. “She is here to fulfill the words of Savras, girls. To drown us along with the forest in her wake.”

“Be quiet!” a young woman on her right said. Shaking, she searched the blackness outside the circle for movement. She held a dagger, the traditional weapon of Savrathans, close to her breast. Sameska scowled and clenched her own hidden blade.

“Heed what she says, child,” Morgynn said as she stepped into the boundary of the circle’s glow. “There is a certain wisdom in madness that should not be dismissed so readily.”

The oracles looked in horror upon the sorceress, her face like a portrait painted in blood on an ivory slate. Blood dripped from her fingertips, covering her arms up to her elbows. She noticed the oracles’ attention to the mess dripping from her hands and held them forward, palms up.