Sunset of Lantonne (59 page)

“I was chased by the undead…the dark ones. I lost my cloak back in Hyeth somewhere,” explained Ilarra and the woman nodded in understanding. She did not really want to explain that she had been stuck with the one outfit since she had fled Lantonne during a dinner party. Somehow, that might not go over well.

A distant howl made the barbarian woman look around nervously.

“One of the mad manwolves searches for food. They may find us before the dark ones do. Whether that is better, I cannot say.”

“Manwolves? Wildlings?”

The woman nodded in agreement, motioning toward the pelts she leaned against. Many appeared to be wolf hides of the four-legged variety, but some of the newer-looking ones were far larger.

“The manwolves no longer chase my people off of the farmers’ lands,” she told Ilarra. “They hunt us for food, now. Many of my kin are dead or have moved to better lands to keep from being a manwolf’s meal. I and my family were the last here, but the dark ones attacked each of the last few nights. Now, I will die beside a cowardly farmer…a sad fate. The spirits may not even recognize me for my shame. It is a just death for what we have failed to do.”

“I am no farmer. I’m a wizard,” Ilarra told the woman, then cringed at the glare the woman shot her.

“Bad omens from all sides. The dead eat the living, the manwolves go back to being wild and eat both the dead and the living, and now a farmer-wizard comes to see me into the next life. These are bad times for my people, farmer.”

“What…if I may ask…did you fail to do that you think earned this fate?”

The older woman grinned and nodded. “Our bards tell of a time when the land was safe and food plentiful. In those times, the animals that wrap themselves in black and white were gone from these lands. Now, your people brought them back. We must drive them off, or our spirits will never rest.”

Ilarra’s eyes went back to the wolf pelts. Every one contained black and white fur.

“You’re scared of wildlings that have black and white fur?” she demanded, realizing that the raids on Hyeth had always been especially rough on their wildlings. If these people were actually attacking to kill wildlings and not to take food or land, she had seriously misjudged the situation.

“We do not fear them,” the woman corrected, wincing as she tried to move one of her legs. Ilarra saw that the wound there was more severe than she had initially thought and below a tourniquet, bis of bone poked out. “Our legends say that they are a bad omen and will bring the dark ones down on us. Our legends were true.”

Another howl came from the other side of the tent, this time far closer.

“Run away while you can, farmer,” the woman told Ilarra as she drew a knife and placed it at her side. She pulled a sword from the hides and put it opposite the knife and then dragged her bow closer. “I intend to die fighting, as my kin already have. If you remain here, you will fight as a true person to keep from dishonoring the spirits that watch for my last breath. I will not allow you to ruin my last moments with cowardice.

“My people have always worshipped the spirit of the wolf…a funny thing now that the manwolves come to send me to the spirits. You and I will fight here and earn some glory among the spirits. If those spirits do not come for me because of your cowardice, I will find a way to come back for you.”

Before Ilarra could reply, a soft rustle at the entrance to the tent drew her attention. As she watched, a tiny grey-furred hand reached into the light, pushing aside the heavy tent flap. Slowly, a small muzzle and dog-like face came into the edge of the light, staring at Ilarra with large eyes that did not focus at all.

“The shame the spirits feel must be great,” the woman across from Ilarra said, sounding sad. “There will be no honor here today. We will both die as killers of children.”

Behind the wildling pup, three more appeared, walking into the edge of the firelight from the darkness beyond. They stopped there, standing eerily still with even their tails hanging limply. None of them even breathed.

Many soft footsteps outside caught Ilarra’s ear, and she turned, following the sound as it circled the tent. Soon, the last sounds stopped and she knew the entire tent was surrounded. The dead children would attack from all directions at once. Fear threatened to send Ilarra into tears, but she bit her lip until it bled and tried to be strong.

The four wildling pups at the entrance bared their teeth and began walking into the tent. They advanced no more than two steps before the woman fired her bow, the arrow knocking the lead wildling off its feet and sending it tumbling away. The others walked around it, reaching for Ilarra as they came, while the fourth stood back up with the arrow still protruding from its chest, the wound dry.

Tearing sounds came from everywhere as more children tore through the walls. A scream from the barbarian woman was cut short as a group of elven children leapt onto her, biting and clawing at her face, while she screamed and tried to keep them away from her flesh. All Ilarra could see was blood and the woman’s weapons flashing as she got in a swing or two.

Surrounded, Ilarra stood up where she was, trying to decide what to do. She had magic on her side, but she doubted she could even cast a single spell before the children took her down. The only thing that seemed to slow them was that she had made no fast movements. Each time she tried to take a step, the entire group would look at her with those horrifying vacant eyes, then quickly return to attacking the woman they held down if Ilarra held very still.

Ilarra thought through her options while trying not to meet the gazes of the mindless creatures that looked like children. She knew some of them and sobs of grief kept shaking her body despite her efforts to remain still. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched Raeln’s nephew sitting near the barbarian woman, his little muzzle drenched in blood as he nibbled at a piece of fresh meat.

She searched the recesses of her mind for any spell that might destroy the undead or simply get her out of there in one piece. The wet tearing noises nearby made keeping her thoughts straight all the more difficult. The screams had stopped, but the dead children continued their brutal attack.

Finally, with the tiny zombies starting to scratch at her dress quizzically with their cracked and broken fingers and claws, Ilarra decided on a plan. She would drop a column of flame on the undead…and herself. She had no way to get herself out of the way, but the blast would kill her instantly, a mercy compared to dying like the barbarian woman. It would be swift and would take all of the children’s animated remains with her, sparing anyone else from the horror of seeing them like this.

An ear-piercing animal cry shattered Ilarra’s concentration and made many of the zombies around her look for the source. Even those kneeling over the remains of the other woman lifted their blood-drenched heads, their bodies tensing to chase something down, Ilarra completely forgotten and ignored.

From the darkness beyond the holes in the tent, fur and claws practically flew into the light as a wildling leapt into the horde of zombies. Ilarra soon realized that it was Asha, furiously tearing at the children with claws and fangs, throwing aside those that tried to get a grip on her.

“Get outside,” roared Asha, hurling a small elven zombie into the fire. “He is waiting to get you out of here! Run!”

Barely able to take her eyes off Asha, Ilarra ran back outside while Asha snarled and fought harder than Ilarra had even seen Raeln fight. Looking back, Ilarra saw the wildling woman fall under dozens of small figures that clambered over her, nipping and clawing at her as she screamed and continued to struggle. The children were soon joined by adult zombies, coming in from the far side of the tent in a large group. They rushed Asha as a horde, but the woman managed to keep fighting somehow, coming repeatedly back onto her feet.

“Over here,” called out Nenophar, appearing near Ilarra’s side. His entire appearance seemed to blur as he moved, startling Ilarra. “We need to leave right now. She won’t last long against them.”

“We can’t leave her!” Ilarra pleaded, grabbing Nenophar’s arm and tugging him toward the tent.

“And I can’t save her. I’ll explain once we’re safe,” he countered, raising his other arm high in the air.

“I won’t go without her,” she argued, wiping at the tears that covered her face. “That’s my mother…please.”

Ilarra felt the world whirl around her, the cold winds battering her as she experienced a brief falling sensation. When she opened her eyes again, she stood in a dark cave lit only by a dim strip of sky and stars at what appeared to be the cave entrance.

With a grunt, Nenophar collapsed beside Ilarra, holding his head.

“What did you do?” demanded Ilarra, sliding slowly to the floor of the cave. “We need to go back…”

Nenophar shook his head and pushed himself to a seated position, his body and clothing both shimmering and blurring like they had back at the tent. He seemed dazed, but Ilarra could see no injuries on the man.

Rubbing his head, Nenophar replied, “You are alive. What more matters, Ilarra?”

“Are you a monster?” she screamed at him, grabbing Nenophar’s shirt and pushing him against the wall of the cave. The struggle to keep her sobbing at bay in the tent was now a lost cause and she punched Nenophar’s chest weakly as she cried. “That was my mother! Take me back! I’ll die with her if I have to!”

Catching her wrists, Nenophar held Ilarra away, looking genuinely confused. “Why do you cry for this? You are unhurt. Her pain is not yours.”

Ilarra yanked a hand free and slapped Nenophar as hard as she could. “She was better. She wasn’t trying to kill me anymore. We could have saved her…”

“No, we couldn’t,” Nenophar replied, touching his cheek. “I could feel her struggle to regain her mind when I came looking for you. Her thread had one last chance to help others and I gave that to her. She was proud to make that sacrifice, Ilarra.”

“Do you feel nothing? What if it was your mother out there?”

Nenophar continued to look baffled by the questions. “If she was my mother, I would either fight beside her if that would win the battle, or flee if that was the prudent course of action,” he admitted. “I am sorry…I did not understand how this would affect you. There is much I don’t understand about your people, it seems.”

Ilarra curled into a ball and began openly weeping, thoughts of Asha and her father’s happier times in her life intermingling with the horrific death of Asha at the hands of the very children she had helped raise.

Sliding closer on his hands and knees, Nenophar lifted Ilarra’s head with a finger, the skin around his eyes crinkling in confusion. “I do not understand this,” he told her, wiping away a tear. “Her thread is ended. Many thousands of mortals die every day. Why does her ending sadden you so much more than the others?”

“I knew her…I loved her,” Ilarra told him, feeling hopeless. The man, whatever he was, clearly did not understand her and might never understand. “If I knew the others who died, I would cry for them, too. Don’t your people care about others?”

That seemed to startle Nenophar and his hand dropped to his side, his expression shifting to something far off for a moment. “We do care, but we cannot let ourselves feel sorrow over mortal lives,” he said eventually. “I would not have agreed to try and help you if I did not care at all. One who sees the fabric as a whole cannot allow themselves to feel anything when a thread ends. We would weep for our entire lives.”

Taking Nenophar’s hand in hers, Ilarra asked, “You promised to try and help me. If you fail and I…if I end up like my father…”

The suddenness with which Nenophar’s grip on her hand tightened surprised Ilarra.

“I swore I would do whatever I could to prevent that for the sake of a friend and the fabric itself,” he said with a touch of resolute anger. “You will not be lost. If you are, the things that would happen…Ilarra, my people need you to survive and stay as you are, not as another Turessian.”

“And if I did become one?”

Nenophar’s features softened into the saddest expression she had ever seen on his face. “Then I would weep for you, my people, and the world. You cannot imagine what will happen if I allow that part of the prophecy to come to pass.”