‘What became of this enchanted dagger?’ the Magelord’s adviser asked. There was a hint of excitement in her voice. Excitement and… fear?
‘Magebane? I, ah, don’t have it with me.’
‘Where is it?’
‘An old Highlander stole it from me.’ The admission stung. Yet again he cursed Brodar Kayne. Interfering old fool. I didn’t even need your help.
‘Where is this Highlander?’
‘The last I saw of him he was headed to the Wailing Rift, a day’s ride east of Dorminia.’
The White Lady shifted irritably. ‘Are you finished, Brianna?’
The adviser, Brianna, looked pensive. ‘Mistress, this boy is heir to a weapon that is anathema to our kind. I should know. I barely made it out of Dorminia alive. Tell me, Davarus Cole. Did you ever have cause to test Magebane against one possessed of magic?’
Cole was unsure where all this was going, but he thought it best to keep talking — especially with General Zahn glowering down at him. ‘No,’ he said in answer to the woman’s question. ‘There are no mages alive in Dorminia except for Salazar. And I plan to kill him one day.’
Brianna nodded. She turned to the White Lady. ‘I would speak with you alone, mistress. This boy could yet be of great use to us.’
Cole held his breath as the Magelord seemed to consider her adviser’s request. ‘Very well,’ she said eventually. ‘Take him to the Tower of Stars. I will send for him once his fate has been decided.’
Three-Finger cursed again. The White Lady glared at him, revulsion plain in her enchanting purple eyes.
‘Drag this offal away and have him imprisoned alongside the boy. He has abused his privilege of strength, and now he must suffer for his crimes.’
‘You should have let me deal with him,’ the Sumnian general grumbled as the White Lady’s servants approached to encircle Cole and the convict. ‘See how he likes a spear shoved up his arse.’ He reached down and grabbed the surprising bulge of his manhood beneath his leather skirt, and there was the glitter of something almost like amusement in his eyes. ‘Or my cock.’
The thought made Cole queasy all over again.
The Right Thing
Squelch.
Brodar Kayne lifted his boot, placed it down in front of him. Felt it sink down into the mud. His skin was on fire and his body shook as if it was about to seize up, but they were almost there. One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other. One foot-
Sasha yelped as he stumbled into her, almost knocking them both into the muck. He kept his balance, but the effort caused some of his stitches to split open. Agony exploded around the wound in his stomach.
‘Sorry, lass,’ he gasped, trying futilely to disguise the pain. The village was further than it had initially appeared. The sun had disappeared some time ago and now they struggled on in the darkness, battered by a merciless downpour that had turned the hills into a slippery marsh. He’d fallen on his arse several times and was covered in filth, and over the last hour he had developed a fever. Only the lure of the faint glow of torchlight in the distance had kept him moving.
‘Fucking rain.’
The Wolf was in obvious discomfort, the downpour causing his burns to itch uncomfortably. His mood had started off foul and had only deteriorated the closer they got to the village. Isaac trudged along at the rear of the despondent group. The torrid conditions seemed to have subdued even his perpetual cheerfulness.
‘You all right?’ Sasha asked Kayne. She looked annoyed. He pulled his hand away from his stomach and stared at it. It was hard to tell in the poor light, but it looked red.
‘I reckon I might’ve opened this damned scratch back up. Nothing to be done about it now. No use grumbling.’
‘You don’t have to do this, you know.’
‘Do what, lass?’
‘Keep up this macho act. You’re not made of stone. You shouldn’t even be moving around, never mind marching in this kind of state.’ Her tone softened a fraction. ‘You need a physician.’
‘We have Isaac.’
‘Yes, and his supplies are exhausted. If you need to rest, just say it. We’ll leave you here and go on ahead. Isaac can gather what you need and bring it back here. We shouldn’t be long.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m all right.’
Sasha made an exasperated noise and turned away from him. He clenched his teeth. How much further? Can’t be more than half a mile. Come on, you old bastard. Walk.
A rumble of thunder suddenly split the sky overhead. The lightning struck a moment later, illuminating the small settlement ahead of them in blue fire. The village wasn’t much to look at, but it would serve.
The girl had the right of it. If he didn’t rest soon he would collapse — and there was no guarantee he would get back up again.
By the time they finally reached the village his legs had turned to water and he was shaking like a leaf in the wind. There was no one around. Fortunately the rickety old gates were unlocked. Sasha frowned.
‘That’s odd,’ she said. ‘These villagers evidently don’t care much for security. There isn’t even a guard posted.’
Jerek spat. ‘I ain’t surprised. Bit of rain and you Lowlanders curl up in your holes like worms.’
‘There’s light over there,’ said Isaac. ‘By the farmhouse.’
Kayne squinted, but it was no good. All he could see was an indistinct yellow blur. ‘Guess we should go and have a look,’ he managed.
There was a barn next to the farmhouse. The doors were flung wide open, revealing a pair of torches hanging from brackets on the walls just inside. The place reeked of dung, but there was no sign of any livestock within. The old barbarian wanted nothing more than to collapse on a mound of straw in one of the empty stalls just then, cow shit be damned.
‘Might want to wait here, Kayne-’ Jerek began, but a piteous whining noise cut him off. It came from one of the stalls at the very rear of the barn, where the light from the torches couldn’t quite reach.
The Wolf pulled one of his axes from its harness. ‘Wait here,’ he said in a gruff whisper. He wrenched a torch from its sconce and approached the shadowy corner. He stopped as he drew near, stared for a second, and then spat. ‘Now ain’t that a pretty sight.’
Brodar Kayne stumbled over to see what his friend was referring to. He immediately wished he hadn’t.
A cow rested on its side in the middle of the stall, pink tongue lolling out of its mouth. Its eyes were wide and staring madly at the roof. From its rear end, glistening obscenely in the torchlight, long tendrils of intestine snaked out over the blood-matted straw. Someone, or something, had reached into the rear of the animal and literally torn half its innards out from its rectum.
He heard Sasha gag behind him. ‘These villagers got some queer ways and no mistake,’ he said. He noticed someone was missing. ‘Where’s Isaac?
‘Here,’ came the manservant’s voice from outside the barn. He was barely audible above the drumming of the rain. ‘No one is answering. I think this place is deserted.’
‘Bullshit.’ Jerek raised his axe and brought it down on the cow’s head, splitting its skull in half. The animal jerked once and went still.
Sasha wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her face was pale. ‘The villagers can’t all have left. Where would they go? And why?’
‘Perhaps they’re hiding from us,’ Isaac suggested.
‘Could be. Or could be that they’re hiding from something else,’ Kayne muttered. He stared at the ruined body of the cow. Ain’t no man did that. Something ain’t right in this village.
The warmth of the torches and the temporary respite from the rain had calmed his fever a little. He felt gingerly around his stomach, prodded at the wound. The sudden pain made him grunt. He looked down and winced. The left side had opened up and was leaking bloody pus.