Page 55 of Anathema

Wards expended incredible energy, so the likelihood of Dolion using his own blood magic was slim. Which meant the blood stones were with him.

The two Letalisz split up, Kazhimyr taking the west wing of the castle, while Zevander took the east. Room after room turned up nothing more than overturned and ravaged furniture speckled with blood, piles of bones and carcasses, and the stench of death everywhere he turned. Down a long corridor, he came upon a door that looked like it’d been pummeled with a battering ram, its surface marred in deep dents. The iron hinges had cracked, as though something had crashed into the unyielding barrier with no success.

One strong heave failed to move it. He took a step back and gave one forceful kick that swung the door so hard against the adjacent stone wall, it cracked down the center. Dagger at the ready, he climbed the winding staircase, catching the faint sound of whimpering from above. When he finally arrived at the topmost room of the turret, he stepped cautiously across the creaking wood and scanned the open space. In the upper rafters of the room, he spied the glow of yellow eyes staring down at him. The mimicrows, sent to spy.

“I’ve made a grave error,” a weak voice said from behind, and Zevander swung around toward its source. In the shadowy corner, he found a glint of silver belonging to a shoe buckle, and an outstretched leg.

“How so?”

“To speak would be my demise.” The scratchy nature of Dolion’s voice suggested little water had been consumed, and probably little food, unless he’d managed to scrounge some vermin, though the Carnificans likely hunted anything with a pulse. On closer examination, Zevander noticed the disheveled state of the man–his white beard kinked and ungroomed, his hair standing about his head, clothes carrying more than a few days’ grime.

Before the old man could answer further, Zevander unsheathed two blades at his hip. He spun around and hurled them toward the glowing eyes.

Two quiet thuds.

Two birds fell to the floor.

The third took flight before he could yank the next blade, zipping through the open window where the shutters had been torn away.

He threw out his arm, and a scorpion stinger impaled the bird in flight with one quick strike, then retracted just as fast. The growls from below indicated the Carnificans had scavenged it as a welcomed meal.

One more scan showed no other evidence of the mimicrows.

“Those gods damned birds. Always listening.” He shifted on the floor, groaning when he stretched out another leg, as if he’d been sitting there for days. “The red stone. With the silver markings.”

“Your vision was wrong?”

“Not wrong. Incomplete. After we met at the tavern, I dreamed again. Terrible things. War. Famine. The complete destruction of Aethyria.”

“You’ve always raved of those things.”

“My dreams never showed me scorpions.”

Zevander let out a mirthless laugh. “Are you implying I’m your great villain now? That I will bring about this end of days? You are mad.”

“You will join Cadavros in his destruction. This much I know for certain.”

“Then, why not attempt to destroy me now?”

“Because I saw the Corvugon in this vision, also. And with you having fetched the final stone, I do not see how that is possible now.” A dry cough jerked his body, and Zevander unclipped the waterskin he’d brought on his journey, handing it off to him. One exceptionally long swill later, and Dolion lowered the flask, wiping at his mouth. “Don’t suppose you brought any ale.”

“Unfortunately not.”

The slight smile on his face sobered. “My visions, real as they may seem … perhaps they’re unreliable.”

“What is this Corvugon you mentioned?”

“They were messengers of the dead, believed to have been the beloved pets of the Death Goddess. Sizeable raptors with teeth and claws designed for tearing flesh. Centuries ago, they evoked as much fear as the dragon.”

He considered for a moment that the egg tucked under the girl’s bed could’ve very well been the creature Dolion described. “These raptors … they would bear eggs like a bird, or a dragon?”

“Yes. Large, black-scaled eggs, smelling of brimstone.”

“And what does the stone with the silver marking have to do with this Corvugon? You once believed the stone was the end of this destruction. The end of Cadavros. The end of the fucking curse that supposedly makes me so much of a threat.”

Hands clutching the top of his head, Dolion screwed his eyes shut. “I was wrong. My visions failed me.”

Zevander ground his teeth, biting back the urge to punch his fist through a wall. “No. If your visions failed you, then I collected all those stones for nothing. And I surely did not collect those stones for nothing, old man.”

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