Page 39 of Shadow's Heart

Eighteen

The Wilds of Canada

Racing against the coming dawn, Lothaire and Kristoff sprinted along animal trails for what must have been a hundred miles, following the vague directions outlined in the wizard’s journal.

They passed the residents of the woods—elk, cougars, and, yes, bears—but not another Lorean or human. Kristoff struggled to keep up with his much faster half brother, would be damned before he asked to slow down.

Lothaire only did once they’d reached the base of a cliff wall. Quiet reigned here. No small creatures rustled, no night birds calling. Using his enhanced senses of smell and sight—honed over millennia—he investigated the area, stalking back and forth with a look of intrigue on his face.

Kristoff grudgingly followed. “What are you searching for? It’s not as if there will be a sign to mark the entrance.”

Lothaire dragged away some foliage from the cliff and pointed out an etched section on the sheer rock face. “Here.” He brushed away grit, revealing cryptic symbols carved into the stone. “Why, I believe it’s a sign marking an entrance!”

Kristoff scowled. “Then what does it say?”

“No idea.” Lothaire didn’t sound discouraged whatsoever.

“We need to find an expert who knows the language. We can return once the sun sets again.”

“I’m going to sleep.” Lothaire dropped to the ground and rested with his back against the rock.

“What are you talking about? Dawn approaches. We have no shelter.”

“I’ll wake before then.” His eyes closed.

As Kristoff paced, fingers of sunlight loomed over the cliff, soon to reach them. Part of him was tempted to let those rays scald Lothaire.

Closer . . . closer crept the light, a phantom’s hand ready to snatch a vampire’s long life.

For the sake of Furie, he said, “Wake, Lothaire.”

Nothing.

Kristoff wasn’t as sun-paranoid as some vampires—he’d met many who couldn’t even view a picture of it—but he also didn’t court unnecessary burns. Again it struck him:I can’t abandon my nemesis, even to his own insanity.“Wakenow.”

Lothaire roused and traced to his feet. “That was a productive nap. I haven’t always been able to pull up memories at will, but I continue to evolve—to your detriment.”

With another glance at the growing dawn, Kristoff asked, “Howwas it productive?”

“I once drank another vampire, a thirsty sort who was filled with memories.Hehad drunk a wizard who’d mind-melded with a Gaoler. Anyway, while I slept, I accessed that vampire’s memories of memories. It’s all very meta, but I know the Gaolers’ language now.” Of course he did. “You forbade your Forbearers to bite others, but you’re not truly a vampire until you consume another. You haven’tlived.”

Kristoff could scarcely imagine drinking a victim. Before his heart and sexual impulses had gone dormant in his thirties, he’d sought pleasure like a male who’d known he was on borrowed time. Yet he’d never been tempted to bite another.

Lothaire returned to the panel. As he deciphered the symbols, he absently said, “Stolen memories hold power. And not just mental. They fuel my physical strength too.”

As if a being his age needed help with strength. “You overindulged.”

“Yes. No one can be a reservoir for so many memories and not dance along the edge of the abyss.”

“How has your queen not gone mad after drinking from you?” Kristoff asked. “Shouldn’t she have harvested all of your memories?”

“When I used Dorada’s magical ring, I made a wish to ensure my Bride never took memories from my past, just my own going forward. Once she drinks from me again, she’ll be able to witness all of my bravery within Nightside.”

Comprehension hit. “You embarked on this trip to impress your Bride. You really are mad.” Lothaire had struck a devil’s bargain: power in exchange for lifelong madness. Would Kristoff have done the same if he’d had to contend with both Demestriu and Stefanovich?

“Only now realizing this?” Lothaire continued his translation. “The journaling wizard was right; this is indeed the portal to Nightside, the official entry into a mythic hellplane.” He read aloud:“Nightside, land of the forsaken, ruled by the dead. Woe to any be-lived who enter.”

“Andhowdoes this portal open?”

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