—What—are you—doing?—
Magiere winced, still looking at Chap.
Chap’s concern was not about Magiere reliving the second ugliest moment of their journey into the Wastes. Or the third ugliest for him. In truth, from what he had seen in her rising memories compared to what he had heard her say, she had not been detailed in her account. But she shared things that Brot’an should not know, such as the orbs’ influences upon her, other details of their appearance ... and of thôrhks or “handles.”
What Brot’an might piece together from such scattered bits was one of Chap’s greatest concerns.
Brot’an looked only at Magiere, as if Chap’s sudden presence was nothing but a pause.
“Continue,” he told her flatly.
Magiere didn’t utter a word, but as Chap saw the cascade of memories in her mind, he could not stop his own from returning....
Magiere’s shrieking roar echoed in the ice cavern and assaulted Chap’s ears as, pulling her falchion, she rushed at Qahhar. Leesil spun clear as droplets of his blood spattered the platform from out of his shredded coat sleeve. Magiere’s other hand whipped out from behind her back with the silver-white dagger as her falchion swept for Qahhar’s neck.
The ancient undead dodged aside, reaching for Leesil more quickly than Chap could follow. Chap launched to snap at Qahhar’s hand, but his jaws closed on empty air. Something smashed against the side of his head.
Everything turned white and then instantly black before Chap’s eyes.
Clarity did not return until he hit the platform hard and started sliding. He writhed blindly to right himself before slipping over the platform’s edge. His claws bit into the ice, but he still kept sliding. He felt his tail drop over the edge when he finally stopped.
Chap saw Leesil trying to reach him, but Leesil was limping badly.
Leesil had been behind him or out of direct sight since they’d followed Qahhar up the final passage. Leesil must have been injured during the clash with the three minions. More blood dripped between his fingers clutching his wounded arm.
Chap scrambled up; the cavern was still blurred and shifting under the ringing in his head. As he stumbled forward to get between Leesil and the ancient undead ...
Magiere swung the falchion backhanded, low and across as Qahhar came at her. He tilted easily away from the heavy blade’s arc, as if the ice beneath his bare feet were as sure as rough stone.
The falchion swung clear, and Qahhar lunged in. Magiere followed, slashing downward with the Chein’âs dagger.
Chap had only an instant to hear the sizzle in the cold air. Any hard motion of that white metal blade made its black and hair-thin center seam ignite with orange-red light.
Qahhar gave the white blade no notice, hooked his fingers, and went for Magiere’s throat.
The blade’s lead edge and tip sliced his collarbone and down across his ribs.
His scream was drowned by the sizzling crackle of his flesh. Smoke rose into his face and eyes along the blade’s charred path as Magiere jerked the dagger back up. But she didn’t strike again.
Chap got around Leesil as Qahhar took a wobbling step back, and Magiere kicked out with one foot. Her boot struck Qahhar’s seared chest, and with a cry of pain, he stumbled away, teetering toward the platform’s edge.
Magiere didn’t follow her prey, and before she shouted, “Run!” Chap knew what they had to do.
They already had one orb to get away from this place; they had to forgo seizing the second. Magiere grabbed the back of Leesil’s coat, and Chap swerved, bolting along the narrow walkway they’d traversed on their way in.
If Qahhar’s minions were closing, he could not let them catch Magiere and Leesil on the narrow bridge. After reaching the ledge, he slowed partway to the passage’s entrance and remained watching until his companions caught up. Once they did, he rushed on, glancing back often.
Leesil had sheathed both winged blades, or Magiere had done it for him. He tried to squeeze his coat sleeve against his arm but stumbled and limped as Magiere pulled him along. In the light of his still-glowing amulet, a thin trail of blood on the ice followed his every step.
Leesil was losing too much blood. Soon the cold would get to him even before blood loss dropped him and killed him. But even in panic Chap could not stop now.
When he reached the intersection of the passages, no one was there. Instead of turning to relief, his panic increased. Where were Qahhar’s followers?
Chap looked all ways, and then peered down the tunnel that led outside. An echoing howl of rage flowed into the intersection from the way they had come, and Chap spun about.
Qahhar had not fallen into the chasm.
“Go!” Magiere ordered, shoving Leesil onward.
Leesil released his wounded arm and reached for a winged blade with his blood-soaked hand. Magiere slapped his hand away.
“No!” he choked out. “I’m not leaving!”
Through her elongated teeth, all she got out as she pushed him again was a garbled snarl.
Chap hated the thought of leaving her to guard their retreat, but he had no idea what had become of their own orb. Snatching the back of Leesil’s coat in his teeth, he called up Leesil’s memory of the orb upon the sled.
Leesil struggled, almost toppling backward, and Chap ducked out of the way. As Leesil righted himself, Chap saw Qahhar coming at them out of the passage behind them.
Magiere turned, lunging into the mouth of that tunnel.
Chap barked once at Leesil before turning to race off the other way. All the way to the outside world, Chap heard Leesil struggling to catch up, but at least he’d listened and followed. It wasn’t until Chap was down the snow-crusted slope that he was certain of what he saw.
Out on the endless white plain, what had been the speck of the sled was now a patch of dark red, almost black in the cold dusk. Racing across the snow, he spotted the first corpse.
The dogs were dead, slaughtered with their bodies scattered in pieces. He did not see Ti’kwäg anywhere, but one of Qahhar’s servants—the female—was lifting the orb’s chest off the sled. The two others rose from beyond the sled’s back, and Chap knew their guide had been lost like the dog team.
All three undead were smeared in blood, already crystallizing on their faces, hands, and torsos. All three turned their heads and spotted him.
A screeching shout carried over the plain from behind Chap.
Either Magiere or Qahhar had escaped the mountain, and by Magiere’s sound, the other had followed. Both still survived.
Chap couldn’t look back, not even for Leesil, and fixed upon the undead woman as he charged. She simply dropped the chest and crouched to face him.
He had one chance, only one way to take at least two of these things with him. He’d once done something desperate when they’d been overwhelmed by feral undead in the six-towered castle.
He would give these three something to feed upon.
As Chap charged, he called upon Air from the wind, Water within the ice, the Earth beneath the crusted plain, and Fire from the heat of his own body. He mingled these with his own Spirit, bonded to the elements of Existence that his kin, the Fay, had created so they would not wander in a timeless void.
Only Wynn, with her mantic sight, would have seen the trails of phosphorescent blue-white vapor flickering over his body like ghostly flames. Chap swallowed the sorrowful thought that he might never see her again and threw himself into the female undead.
She only stumbled instead of toppling. Clawing and snapping at any part of her that he could reach, Chap finally latched his jaws onto her shoulder. He ground his fangs deep to the bone, and she screamed.
Magiere’s weapons were the only other things that could cause the undead as much pain as his teeth and claws. He held on with his jaws as the woman’s acrid, oily black fluids leaked into his mouth. She tried to tear him off, but he wouldn’t let go.