Sons of Evil: Book 1 Book of Dread (13 page)

“I know,” Luke said with a
nod. He forced a smile. “Guess it’s still good to hear it. You think she’s
okay?”

“She could handle either of
us,” Darius replied lightly, trying to mask his fear.

Luke laughed with no feeling,
trying to match his brother’s feigned confidence, and knowing he was doing as
poor a job at it as Darius was.

*

Kaelesh drummed his fingers on
the arm of his chair. It wasn’t a nervous gesture—Kaelesh was prone to no such
flaw—but rather an indication that he was deep in thought. The nearly incessant
demands of the war and of King Landri had left him little time to himself, and
although he had continued his search for the Blood Book through various agents,
he found this was the first time in several days he could give himself fully
over to pondering his next move.

The Stonemans had, of course,
answered all his questions in a most truthful and forthcoming manner, and he
had learned that the girl Sasha had indeed fled with the book and had taken it
to her family’s home. Unfortunately, her two brothers were home at the time,
and the three Stoneman children and the book had all disappeared, with the
parents having no idea which way they went, where they were headed, or what their
plans were. His spies had been able to track the boys’ path west but it grew
cold somewhere before the Old Road reached Anson’s Furnace. One piece of
information they did obtain was that the girl was not with them, but of her
travels nothing was known.

So far Kaelesh had been steady
but cautious in this hunt, trying to conceal himself, his motives, and his
power as much as possible. But with the trail growing colder by the day, he
knew he needed to act with more boldness. Bold, yes, he thought, but not
foolish.

The word made him think of
Landri, of the unnecessary risks he took and the missteps he made when left to
his own plans. The Dezku were but one example. Called forth using the book,
Landri had no thought to what purpose he would use them, and so now they ranged
over Corterra without a set task, simply wreaking havoc. That in itself was
fine, but their very existence here could draw unwanted attention from someone
with knowledge of the dark arts. Foolish.

Kaelesh considered his options
one last time and made his decision. Once that was done, he went down his
chosen path, as always without looking back. He made sure the door was locked,
then lit the candles that formed a circle in one corner of the room. He pulled
up the rug the candles encircled, revealing the concrete floor. He drew a
dagger he kept sheathed on his hip, pulled up the left sleeve of his robe, and
unflinchingly sliced open his forearm. He flexed the muscles of his arm so that
the blood would flow freely, and as it began to pool in his palm he crouched
down and held his index finger out like a pen, the blood running down to the
tip so he could mark the floor. He made several simple figures, then drew
smaller signs inside of them, runes few would understand. When his work was
finished he wiped the excess blood off on a cloth, which he then lit with one
of the candles. It went up in a quick burst of flame. Before the ashes dropped
to the ground, the deep cut on his forearm was completely healed.

From his pocket Kaelesh pulled
three small items: an earring, a small rock with a golden metallic vein, and a
bronze coin. These he placed at the corners of the first shape he had drawn, a
triangle. This done, he surveyed his work, and gave an approving nod. He backed
out of the candle-lit circle, and took up a soft chant, his voice no more than
a whisper, though there were none in the castle who would have understood his
words even if they heard them.

The drawing on the floor
changed in hue, from the dark red of Kaelesh’s drying blood to an orange-red
more like the light of a fire. Gray smoke rose from each corner of the
triangle, quickly obscuring the objects that rested there. The smoke thickened
and took form, and as Kaelesh finished speaking three small creatures stood
where the objects had once been. Their hairless bodies were covered by pink
flesh, their forms somewhat reminiscent of thin dogs bred for speed, but their
faces, especially their eyes, held an intelligence that indicated these were no
mere animals.

Kaelesh went to the window and
flung it open. “Find them,” was his simple order.

The three creatures burst into
action, scrambling out the window, up the wall, and onto the roof of the
castle. In a heartbeat they disappeared into the night.

The Dragon’s Teeth were a
range of mountains that stretched just over three-hundred miles, forming a good
portion of the border between Longvale and Dalusia. The mountains had been
so-named due to the fact that most were narrow—at least as far as mountains are
concerned—and high-peaked. During the summer months there were many paths that
could be used to pass from one side of the range to the other, but most still
involved steep, difficult climbs and were considered quite treacherous. The
least imposing passage was in an area between the North Long and Little Rivers
to the south, and Wingate Falls and the city Wingate Heights to the north.

Traveling as they did in the
rocky foothills of the Dragon’s Teeth, it took the companions nearly ten days
to reach the point where they began to ascend the slightly overgrown path
between mountains. Not surprisingly, the path had been little used since war
had broken out between the kingdoms—it was of little use for traders even when
the kingdoms exchanged goods freely with one another, and was too small for an
army to use. But one person, or a small group, could still save considerable
time moving from one kingdom to the other by braving the twisting path, and
even with the war the way was still outlined for any that would hazard the
journey.

They camped that night on the
mountain, and the next day finished their ascent and just before dark started
back down. They were now in Dalusia—enemy territory. That night they again
camped on the mountain, but were even more cautious than normal about making
their small fire behind the shelter of a rock outcropping, not wanting to call
attention to their presence.

After they had eaten and full
night had fallen they used their perch to spy out what was before them. Darius
pointed to a group of lights in the distance. “That must be Wingate Heights.”

“Seems in decent repair, at
least as far as my eyes can decipher from here,” Silas noted. “But you said the
last you knew the armies were further north.”

“That’s so,” Darius said. “But
I do not know that any fighting has taken place at Wingate Heights, nor was the
city subject to siege. It had been cut off, but had no real strategic value.”

“Then it’s likely to be
well-populated and possibly well-defended,” Adrianna said. “Best give it a wide
berth.”

They all agreed, planning to
work their way west in the morning to keep clear of the city and any sentries
that might be posted there. One by one they turned away from the scenic
overlook to head back to the fire and their campsite.

There was a stand of trees to
their left as they returned, and from that direction came a sudden noise, a
rattle in the brush as something burst forth. Before they could even turn in
that direction, it was upon them.

A flash of fur and teeth flew
at Adrianna, and she just managed to raise a warding arm before the reaching
fangs were able to find her throat. The impact still knocked her over, and she
rolled defensively as the thing tried to get at her.

Silas was nearest and quickest
to react. He swung his staff, a swift slap merely meant to get the thing off of
Adrianna. The wood connected and her assailant was thrown clear. It rolled over
and found its feet quickly, deciding where to strike next.

“Wolf,” Silas muttered, just
as it went for Adrianna again.
Dumb thing
, he thought, as he readied the
staff for another blow, this one intended to be fatal.

“Look out!” Luke yelled, too
late.

Silas found himself airborne,
going over the prone sorceress and the charging wolf. As he spun to face his
attacker, his eyes grew large. The goblin that had sent him flying was coming
for him, and it was not alone.

The companions had not
expected or wanted battle, but now it was upon them. There were at least a
dozen goblins with three wolves in their company, but the fighting was all
chaos, the goblins racing in to take advantage of their outnumbered foes but
yielding the edge they had by not working together. The wolves were no better,
each looking for what they deemed the easiest prey.

Given a choice, the companions
would have fought side-by-side, working together and protecting one another’s
flanks and rear, but when the monsters struck they were strung out almost
single file, and now the sheer numbers of their enemies left little chance for
the entire group to come together. Adrianna and Silas were the closest, but
Adrianna carried no weapons, not wanting to engage in hand-to-hand combat. Silas
knew this, and so he spent as much or more energy trying to keep the monsters
off of her as he did defending himself. Not only was Adrianna doing all she
could just to keep the wolves from tearing at her flesh, she had no chance to
use her magic, unable to attain the focus and time needed to cast even the
simplest spell.

Barlow fought with righteous
fury, his sword swinging in powerful arcs, hewing at anything within reach. He
did not possess the raw physical strength Silas did, but the edge on his sword
was keen and did far more damage with each successful blow than did Silas’
staff.

Unsure where to turn or
strike, Luke felt as if his feet were made of clay. A goblin charged him,
forcing him to shake off his hesitation, his staff rising just in time to ward
off the goblin’s club. The crack of wood-on-wood was loud even above the din of
battle, and Luke felt the bee-buzz in his hands from absorbing the might of the
goblin’s strike. The goblin pressed forward, raining blow after blow upon its
smaller opponent, finally forcing Luke to lose his balance and fall onto his
back. On instinct one hand had cushioned his fall, so he had only one hand on
his staff when the goblin next struck, his grip hardly enough to keep the staff
up at an angle sufficient to deflect the club. The goblin kicked at his hand
just as Luke whirled the staff around to crack into a green-skinned knee. Without
much leverage behind it the blow seemed to enrage the goblin rather than
harming it. The goblin raised the club high, but rather than driving it down
immediately it instead kicked again, this time connecting with the staff so it
twisted up and behind Luke, leaving him defenseless.

Luke tensed, ready to roll
right to avoid the killing blow, but the club never fell. The point of a sword
came punching out of the goblin’s chest, and dark blood spattered across Luke’s
forehead and then started to run in great gouts down the goblin’s torso. For a
moment it held perfectly still, its eyes wide with surprise, as if trying to
understand what had happened. Then the goblin went slack, the club falling to
the ground just before its lifeless body, leaving Luke and Darius staring at
one another.

Luke only managed to get to
his feet and mumble “Thanks” before a wolf flew between them, teeth flashing
and saliva flying before it in a wide arc as it turned its head, trying to get
at either of the now scrambling brothers.

Silas felt time pressing upon
him, could feel the weight of the battle pushing him and his friends to the
edge. One mistake and one of them would fall, and the odds would get worse. He
knew he needed to do something more than just defend himself and Adrianna. He
needed to switch to the offensive, but the relentless wolf was not to be
dissuaded, and three goblins pressed him, looking for an opening in his
defenses or simply hoping to drive him far enough away that they could take
advantage of the apparently defenseless woman. Silas had struck the wolf with
sharp, cautious blows, giving Adrianna temporary respite in her struggle but
little more. Once he decided on more aggressive action, he continued to move
with the same fluid grace, blocking each incoming club and sword, and things
seemed to slow down for the trained warrior in him. He saw the woman and the
wolf in their deadly embrace, watched as they rocked one way then rolled the
other, then saw his opening. He swatted a sword away, blocked a low swipe of a
club, then brought the staff around with all his might, missing Adrianna by a
fraction of an inch and driving the full force of the swing into the wolf’s
skull. The wolf was thrown clear and landed with a thud several feet away.

One of the goblins tried for
Adriana as she started to rise, but Silas’ staff swung around and tripped the
beast. He drove the end of his weapon into the prostrate goblin’s back,
smashing the air from its lungs and breaking a couple of ribs as well. Adrianna
broke free as the fallen goblin tried to crawl away from the cruel staff, while
its two companions, growing more wary, decided it might be best to let the
woman flee and focus on the staff-wielding man.

Silas spared a glance at
Adrianna, who got clear of the battle as quickly as she could. Convinced she
was safe for now, he turned his attention back to his nearest foes with a grim
smile that made them both fall back a step.

Barlow remained at the literal
and figurative center of the battle. Something about him seemed to draw the
goblins to him, be it his appearance or some intangible aura. His arms, legs,
and back cried out for rest, but he pushed himself on, swinging his sword with
near-abandon, the sweat flowing from him as freely as the blood from his
enemies. He pushed the aches and pains away from his mind, knowing the
relentless press of his foes would bury him if he so much as paused to catch
his breath.

Luke had found his feet and
his focus after Darius had saved him. The training with Silas now paid off, the
staff an extension of his body, his movements more sure. He did little real
damage, but he found he could defend himself well enough, especially against
club-wielding goblins. Those with swords, he found, were a different matter,
the blades digging into the wood of his staff, weakening it. He quickly
adjusted his technique, needing to ward the blows off rather than stopping them
cold with his weapon.

Darius had taken a bite on the
hand from the wolf that had sprung between him and his brother, and while the
wound wasn’t serious the blood made his grip on his sword tenuous. He found
himself fending off two wolves, using kicks to beat them back almost as much as
the sword. They circled him warily, looking for an opening, blood flowing from
the wounds he had inflicted upon them. Darius kept his feet moving, not wanting
to let one get behind him and looking for a chance to put one out of the fight
permanently to even the odds.

As soon as Adrianna was clear
of the melee she turned and collected herself. Surveying the battle, she felt
Barlow was under the most duress, and as she spoke ancient words she pointed
her outstretched finger at one of the goblins nearest him. A sphere of blue
energy sprang forth from her hand and slammed into the goblin, the impact
sending it sprawling senseless to the ground. A second ball was close behind,
catching another goblin before it even saw what had happened to the first.

“Mage!” one of goblins roared.
It turned and fled, and its fellows did likewise. Seeing their masters flee,
the wolves, with some reluctance, did the same.

Barlow stood in place for a
moment, the adrenaline that had coursed through his body abating, and then he
fell to one knee. His heart hammered in his chest and he closed his eyes,
willing it to still. His arms and legs trembled, the aftermath of being pushed
far beyond what they had grown accustomed to. A strong hand fell gently on his
shoulder.

“You all right?” Silas asked.

“Fine,” he replied, wincing at
how he gasped for air around the word. “Just give me a moment. Better see to
the others.”

The others were fine, save
some bruises and cuts and the bite Darius had received. There were two dead
goblins and one dead wolf on the field, and Luke was staring down with morbid
fascination at the goblin his brother had slain, the goblin that otherwise
might have slain him.

“You did well,” Darius said,
gently, knowing from his time as a soldier the confusing jumble of emotions
Luke was feeling at the moment.

“So you did,” Silas added. “Your
training has paid off.”

Luke only nodded, his eyes
never leaving the goblin. Somewhere in his mind he knew he should be thanking
the two men with him, both instrumental in the fact that he was still alive
while the goblin was not. But no words would come. He could only stare dumbly
at the goblin’s open eyes and open mouth and the wound in its chest, the latter
framed by the dark stain of its own blood.

Luke’s stomach betrayed him. He
managed a half-dozen quick steps before he fell to his knees, sick. When he
recovered, Darius was beside him.

“It’s okay,” Darius said. “Happens
all the time.”

Luke
nodded his appreciation, but said, “Bet it didn’t happen to you.”

“First time I killed a man,”
Darius said, forcing his brother to meet his eyes. “There’s no shame in it. Killing
shouldn’t be easy, even when it’s necessary.” He helped Luke to his feet and
brushed him off.

“I’m fine,” Luke said. “And
thanks. I owe you one.”

After Barlow had recovered
somewhat he tended to Darius’ hand, saying prayers while healing power flowed
to the younger man.

Darius flexed his hand when
Barlow had finished, surprised at how little it hurt. He looked at Barlow with
some amazement, despite what he had seen the old paladin do for the wounded
back in New Bern. “Much better. Thanks.”