Sunset of Lantonne (61 page)

“Your understanding of your own history is flawed,” he answered. “There have been human civilizations here for thousands of years. They fell and were replaced by others, as always happens to mortal nations. Most did that on their own, but I must admit I bear fault in the fall of one and that is why I now help you.”

“You’ve been hiding in a cave for all that time? Since before my people came to these lands?”

Nenophar shook his head. “Only since I failed the last man to seek me out. His death began a war that covered many lands. What that man and I learned necessitated my departure from the lands of mortals.”

“That had to be incredibly lonely, being away from anyone for that long.” Ilarra reached out to touch Nenophar’s cheek, but he slid away from her.

“My people live alone,” he explained, shrugging. He glanced toward the end of the cave and the sky beyond, the way most would look at a bed when longing for sleep. “It has always been our way. Rarely do we seek out more of our kind. When it is the only way you know, there is no loneliness in it.”

“So there are more like you?”

Smiling at that, Nenophar nodded. “Yes, though you are pushing the bounds of what I should tell you. There are not many of my kind, but there are a few. I can feel their presence far off. Most sleep, waiting for a reason to wake and walk the world again. The mountains have been a good place to remain hidden.”

Ilarra slid back to the wall, intending to sleep, but then she held up her hand, staring at her fingers in an idle thought. The pain had gone from so long in the cold earlier, but she had anticipated bleeding skin and blisters from the zombies’ biting and clawing. The skin looked healthy and pink, unharmed by the time in the damp cold, the flight from her father, or the attack by the undead.

“Nenophar,” she asked, holding her hand out toward him, “did you heal me?”

“No, I did not.”

“I fell and scraped my hands. Undead crawled all over me. Why am I not hurt?”

The man leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

“Please,” she begged. “I need to know what’s happening to me, or there’s no chance I will be able to sleep. Before you came for me, I thought my heart stopped one night.”

Sighing, Nenophar reached out and grabbed Ilarra’s hand in his own. “I want you to stare at your hand and remember what it looks like,” he told her.

A second later, he dragged his free hand across her palm and pain followed his touch as though he had used a knife to cut her. Blood poured from a wide gash in her skin and Ilarra bit her lip to keep from screaming.

“Remember what it looked like,” he insisted, holding her hand firmly despite her attempt to pull away. “Hold that image in your mind.”

Ilarra struggled to do as he said, then realized the pain was subsiding. As she watched, the wound closed, leaving no trace it had been there.

“I did not use any healing magic,” thought Ilarra aloud, staring at her hand as he released her. “How is that possible?”

“Do you understand why your father’s bonded wildling went mad?”

“The horror of what he did…”

“Not at all,” cut in Nenophar. “Your bond can break a mortal’s mind when either member dies suddenly. Your father was dead weeks ago. The last step in his evolution into the monster he is now was to murder the village’s children. He can heal the same way you just did…all of the Turessians that have been created can. Destroying his conscience gave what was left of him over to his new master.”

“Raeln…”

“…will be fine until you are entirely lost to the Turessians. Your death will only bring him down when your mind is no longer your own,” he finished for her.

Ilarra stared at Nenophar in shock, unable to find words.

“You are already dead, Ilarra,” he confirmed for her. “I’m sorry, but the magic that seeks to use your body killed you long ago, despite my efforts to slow it. The magical poisons the Turessians used consumed your spirit and snuffed out your life.

“Now, your body will take on the form your mind tells it that it should. If you believe you are a rotting corpse, your flesh will slowly decay and your wounds will not heal. Should you think you are as you always were, any injury will be healed in time. The only limitation now is your understanding of yourself and the magic that fills your body, drawn from the realm of the dead and your fellow Turessians.”

Ilarra stared at her hand in amazement as Nenophar settled against the wall, trying to get comfortable. After a long time, she looked up. “Why do you want me to have this kind of power? If I’m a step away from becoming like them at any moment, why have me learn to cast that enchantment?”

“You’ve already been lost to them, so that is unavoidable,” he replied without opening his eyes. “The enchantment was not so much a test for you as it was for them. I wanted to know if I can still destroy their generals if I had to. They would try to seize you and would send someone strong to do so. Your father was not who I expected, but it was ample test. Sadly, they have grown far stronger since I last did battle with them.”

“I’m a pawn in your fight against them, aren’t I?”

Nenophar smiled and did not reply.

Ilarra stared at Nenophar until long after his breathing slowed and he had settled into sleep. The idea that she was dead haunted her, making her want to scream at him, to argue. Instead, she checked the pulse at her neck, finding it strong and regular. She placed the back of her hand against her cheek and felt warmth.

Gradually, she calmed herself and decided the man had meant to shock her or make her leave him alone for a while. She could not be dead and still feeling…well, feeling anything for that matter. She had felt pain at the wound, she had felt heat and cold, and she still worried about whether anything could be done to save her father.

No corpse could worry, Ilarra told herself, smiling at the comical idea that she was dead. The humor allowed her to relax, though she continued to stay awake, listening to her own breathing and heartbeat. Eventually, even that faded away and Ilarra stayed on the cold floor, staring at the ceiling and wondering if she had the confidence to check her pulse again.

“Have you got a good view of him?” Greth asked, squinting down the arrow he kept notched on his bow, drawn and ready to fire. “There’s a bush between me and him.”

Raeln lined up his own shot, looking down the simple arrow Greth had taught him to make days earlier. The human walked down the path while Raeln’s arrow followed just ahead of him, accounting for movement in his shot. The man was oblivious to the two wolf wildlings half-buried in the brush on a hillside less than a hundred feet from the main gate of Altis.

“I can hit him,” replied Raeln, leading his target. “Not for long, though. Tell me if you want me to take the shot.”

The human had walked out of Altis minutes earlier, surprising them both as they had snuck up on the undead guarding the gate. He had the black robes Raeln had come to accept as a clear sign he was one of the Turessians, but when he had petted one of the ghouls that patrolled the gate area, he had dismissed any doubts. Turessian or not, the man was twisted.

“Wait,” Greth advised, still keeping his own arrow ready. “I want to know what he’s up to and who he is.”

Raeln held his bow drawn, keeping it as steady as he could while the man paced back and forth. The thick wood used for the bow made his arm ache quickly, but he had learned to ignore simple pains after two months following Greth around the Altisian countryside, trying to find any weakness in their defenses. He could wait a long time, if Greth needed him to. Patience was always one of his virtues and it served him well in situations like this.

The robed human below looked around at the mountains, clearly not seeing Raeln and Greth hiding in the thick brush at the base of the trees that surrounded the city’s main road.

“Wait for a sure shot,” Greth warned him in a whisper. “If you can’t hit him in the chest, don’t bother. Even then, if he’s one of them…”

Raeln nodded in acknowledgement that firing at a Turessian would be a waste of their time and continued to hold. Thankfully, as close as they were, he had a slim chance of missing the man. He would wait as long as he needed to, if it ensured a perfect shot.

The human down the hillside from Raeln searched the woods again and his head paused near where they lay, but a second later, his attention shifted to something coming up the road. If he had seen them, he did not realize what he was looking at.

“I’ve got something coming up the main road,” Greth said softly, shifting his position to aim his bow past a group of rocks that likely kept him from getting clear sight of the targets. He wound up leaning over Raeln to get an angle on the others. “The Turessian must be outside the walls to meet them. Hold your shot. If they’re not necromancers, we might be able to take them down instead.”

Raeln watched from the corner of his eyes as a wagon came into range and headed straight for the robed Turessian. Raeln maintained his position and kept his weapon aimed at the Turessian, in case Greth changed his mind or the situation required an immediate decision to fire.

“Raeln…” Greth whispered, lowering his weapon. “This got really weird.”

To keep from having to move his whole body to see the approaching group, Raeln eased the bowstring back to a relaxed position, then moved just his head once the string and arrow were out of his way. The less he had to move, the less likely he was to be seen.

What appeared to be a merchant wagon came trundling up the road, with three dwarves marching ahead of the long-haired ox that dragged their cart. The men were heavily armored and kept their hands on their undrawn weapons, even as one of them called out a polite greeting to the Turessian.

“Greetings and welcome back to Altis,” replied the Turessian, bowing to the dwarves as they stopped about fifty feet from the gates. “Have you returned with good news?”

Greth eased himself up alongside a tree and raised his bow, aiming at the lead dwarf.

The dwarves who were not talking mostly ignored the Turessian, their eyes narrow as they watched the two ghouls beside the Turessian and the dozens of zombies and ghouls atop the wall. The men were clearly uncomfortable, but they did not seem surprised.

“We got what you asked for,” the lead man announced, patting a large pouch at his side. “We need to finish discussing payment before you so much as see it.”

The Turessian lowered his hood, revealing the same sharp tattoos around his eyes that Raeln had seen on Therec’s face back in Lantonne. His cool had faded almost instantly and he glared at the dwarf with a hatred Raeln expected to erupt into violence at any second.

“I paid for you to retrieve it and I will give you the payment I promised if you are delivering,” he told the dwarves angrily. “Do not waste my time, merchant.”

The dwarf unknotted the bag from his belt and held it out in front of him while his other hand remained on his sword’s hilt. The other two men were tensed, ready to draw when a signal was given. Raeln knew soldiers well enough to know these men expected to die and were prepared to go down fighting if they had the chance. There was a calm acceptance in their faces that was unmistakable even a ways off.

“There were other merchants,” the dwarf continued, this time raising his voice so it carried clearly into the hills, as though he wanted others to hear. “My kin, some of them. They did not come back from your last search. I want to know where they are or see their remains.”

“This was not part of the bargain…” shouted the Turessian, but the dwarf’s laughs cut him off.

“No, it wasn’t. It is now, though. Cough ’em up or we walk out of here with your precious heirloom.”

Greth lowered his weapon and gave Raeln a concerned stare. Shifting again, he reaimed at the Turessian. “Those three are going to get themselves killed,” he whispered to Raeln. “Get ready to cover them when fighting breaks out. When they start dying, we start running.”