Page 40 of Vow of the Shadow King

Beside him is another figure. A woman. Smaller than the priest, but no less imposing. Like him she is naked—what use is modesty in such utter darkness? No one can see her, not even me save by the strange non-seeing perception of my gods-gift. But she is undeniably beautiful. Statuesque and shapely and strong. Like the man, her hair falls free down her back, shining like a waterfall. She kneels before the cluster of seven crystals and holds her left hand above them, dripping a steady stream of blood. Blood which, at first, I think she holds cupped in her palm.

Then I realize: her hand is sliced open. The blood is fresh, flowing from her veins.

Even as I watch, the man steps to her other side, takes hold of her right hand, and holds it out above the crystals as well. She does not flinch as he opens her fingers, takes a black stone knife, and draws its blade across her flesh. Blood bubbles up, spills over, dripping in a fresh stream onto the crystals, which flare and pulse with every drop that falls.

My own hand aches as my grip on my pendant tightens. I shouldn’t be seeing this. This ceremony, this rite . . . it’s not meant to be seen. It’s meant to be performed in the dark. But I cannot tear my gods-gifted gaze away from the woman. She sways in time to the priest’s deep, chanting voice, in time to her own dripping blood. The crystals blaze brighter and brighter, hotter and hotter. My little stone heats so much, my hand quivers with pain.

Something is happening. The pulse intensifies, beating through my outer layers of awareness, down into my blood and bones. Something wraps around my heart—like a layer of magma, engulfing and then swiftly cooling into hard stone. My chest is suddenly heavy, weighted down. I press a hand against it, nails digging into my skin, as though I can reach through and tear that stone away.

Suddenly, the woman opens her eyes.

She cannot see me. It’s too dark.

But somehow, impossibly . . . she looks directly at me.

I gasp and open my eyes. I’d not realized they were closed. I’d not realized how deeply I’d sunk into my gods-gifted perceptions. Now, abruptly, I’m plunged into darkness so all-consuming, my whole being spasms with terror. I stagger back, choking on a cry which comes out a whimper. Even that is swallowed up in the priest’s reverberating drone.

Strong hands grip me under the elbows. “Princess?” Yok’s voice, low in my ear.

I turn to him, clutch at his arms in my terror. “Get me out of here!” I hiss. I don’t know if my bodyguard can hear me. I’m whimpering, pathetic. But he takes hold of my shoulders and guides me back to the stair. I cannot perceive the steps anymore and fall over my own feet. With a grunt, Yok picks me up, tosses me over his shoulder. I can do nothing but cling to his mail shirt, squeezing my eyes tightly shut.

At last, we emerge at the top of the stair into thelorstlight. Only then does Yok set me on my feet, propping me up with both hands. “Princess? Are you all right?”

I cannot answer. Pushing away from him, I lean against the wall, desperate to catch my breath. Deep inside the stone, I feel the resonance of the crystals, still pulsing. Reaching out with my gods-gift, I try to grab hold of their resonance, to steady myself, to purge away some of this pain. Instead, the stone wrapped around my heart tightens.

“I knew it.” Yok runs a nervous hand through his hair so that it sticks up all over his head. “Humans aren’t meant for this kind of worship. They’re not meant for the Deeper Dark.”

I tilt my gaze up at him. My vision swims, blurs. “Did you see?”

“See?” The boy frowns. “Princess, one doesn’tseein the Dark.”

I blink stupidly. My head throbs. I cannot for the life of me think of some other way to phrase my question, to ask if he perceived and understood the strange ritual of blood I’d stumbled upon. When I open my mouth, the only words that will emerge are: “Get me back. To my room. Now, Yok. Please.”

16

VOR

Darkness and cold shock my senses.

I open my eyes and at first see nothing but white bubbles bursting before my vision. Movement draws my attention. I turn toward it and spy thelorststone affixed to Hael’s helmet flashing wildly. Several feet under water, Hael grips the side of the boulder. Only the tremendous strength in her arms keeps her from being dragged down into the lake depths.

A stone hand latches hold of her leg. When Hael turns her head, angling herlorstdownward, I see to whom that hand belongs. It’s a woman. Slender. Older. Mostly bald save for a few white hairs floating about her face. Fine lines wrinkle her cheeks, surround her eyes and mouth, but those lines are etched in skin as hard as stone. Though her mouth is open wide, no air bubbles escape. She’s not breathing. Neither is she drowning. She stares up from the abyss, and her eyes are the only thing about her not stone. They are bright with madness.

I don’t have time to think. Hael won’t last long, not with her armor weighing her down. I move my arms and legs, propel myself forward. Most trolde do not fair well in water; their solid bones tend to sink. But my mother taught me how to swim when I was young, and I’ve enough human blood to make me more buoyant than my fellow troldefolk.

I reach Hael and the stone woman. I cannot draw my sword under water, so I simply grab the woman’s arm. She shifts her mad gaze from Hael to me. Darkness swirls in the depths of her pale eyes. I recognize that darkness—theraogpoison which has stolen her sanity. I know the pain of it, the agony she suffers. I would offer my sympathy were she not actively trying to murder my friend.

I take hold of her forearm with both hands. It’s slender, almost delicate, but solid stone all the way through. Summoning all my strength, I bend, twist and finally . . .break.The limb snaps in half, hand and wrist still attached to Hael’s leg. The rest of the woman’s body sinks down beyond the glow of thelorstlight. I catch one final glimpse of her mad eyes flashing up at me just before she disappears.

Then I kick as hard as I can for the surface. Hael still holds tight to the rock. She’s not pulling herself up. Is she too weak from her struggle? Does she not have air left in her lungs? She’s going to lose her hold, sink as fast as the stone woman if I don’t act fast.

My lungs burn with a desperate need for air. I ignore them, push myself closer to Hael, using herlorstlight to guide my hands as I seek the straps of her breastplate. I must pull it off, lighten her load. I must—

Something grabs me by the back of my shirt.

The next moment, I’m yanked to the surface of the lake, gasping in a painfully glorious lungful of air. “There, Big King!” Toz’s voice growls in my ear. “I’ve got you.” My great troll captain flings me onto the rock beside him. I lie where I land, only just able to gasp, “Hael!”

I needn’t have worried. Toz leans into the water, grips Hael under her shoulders, and hauls her up next, dropping her beside me. I roll to make room.

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