Page 43 of Heart of the Shadow King

Unable to bear the intensity of her stare, I look around at the towering crystals. Darkness churns in their hearts as well. Just like the darkness in my own pendant. Perhaps I’m imagining it. But I cannot help feeling it’s Maylin. That her energy pours into the stones, changing them according to her will. If this is magic, it is black magic. And yet, what if there is truth in what she’s saying? What if the woman of this prophecy is real?

What if she’s me?

“Very well,” I say at last and turn to meet the old witch’s eyes. “Show me.”

18

VOR

The Miphato assigned by Larongar to serve as our escort is a man named Artoris. He is unexpectedly young. If memory serves, the three Miphates I met on my visit to Beldroth were all much older men. Even the youngest of them sported gray at his temples, a sure sign of human aging.

By contrast, this Artoris has yet to see his thirtieth year. Still more unexpected, he is built like a warrior, lean and hard. Everything I’ve learned about Miphates has led me to expect anemic individuals, more suited to pouring over scrolls and dusty tomes than the battlefield. Has Larongar been building a force of battle mages of which I knew nothing? An intriguing thought, one I will contemplate more closely.

Nine other mages join our ranks as well, all of them too lowly to merit the title Miphato. They are grim and anxious, six men and three women. Mounted on nervous horses, they take up positions among my ranks, with the last of them bringing up the tail end of the party. Mage Artoris rides vanguard with me and Lady Parh.

We assemble in formation, preparing to pass through the gate arch. Larongar, mounted on his great black charger, watches from a distance, flanked by his own warriors. It is difficult for me to discern expressions in human faces, but my time with Faraine has taught me to read nuances I might otherwise have missed. There’s something in the eyes of the king and his men that unsettles me—some nameless fear which they themselves don’t seem to understand.

What exactly are we riding into? Larongar is a man of many faults, but cowardice isn’t one of them. What terrors does the Kingdom of Cruor hold that would make this battle-hardened king afraid to enter even with the full strength of his fighting force behind him?

I turn in my saddle, inspecting the long line of dark riders extending across the plain behind me. It took the better part of what remained of the human day for all of them to cross into this world. Many had never world-traveled before and took the crossing poorly. Between the aftershocks of feeling their very essences torn apart and stitched back together again and the horror of the open sky above, they struggled. But each member of this mighty company is a warrior to the core, from the most hardened commander to the youngest message-bearer. They are ready now to ride.

Pulling the visor of my helmet down, I angle Knar’s head toward the gate. The morleth submitted to returning to this world after nightfall, but they don’t love the light of that garish moon overhead. Knar puffs streams of smoke from his nostrils, his cloven hooves shifting uneasily. The little gray horse Artoris rides rolls its eyes and sidesteps, fearful of the predator at its side. A wise beast; Knar could easily turn and rip out its throat were I not holding him fast.

The mage adjusts his grip on his reins and scowls up at me. He wears a deep cowl, but his face is lit up from below by a small vial of some shining liquid, which hangs on a chain around his neck. “Remember,” he says, “once we are through to the other side, your riders must stay between the wayposts. They mark safe passage across Cruor. To stray from them is perilous.”

I nod and raise an arm, signaling the host. Behind me, the barking voices of my commanders respond, readying their men and women. My arm drops, and I spur Knar forward. The gate is broad enough that Lady Parh and the mage may ride at my right and left, but I pass through the rippling air beneath the arch first. The effect is . . . strange. It’s nothing but a faint echo of the pain that usually accompanies journeys through the Between Gates. A mere rippling across my flesh, like a few layers of skin have just been sloughed away. When I am through, the landscape does not appear to have changed. The world beyond the arch is the same moonlit plain. Is the Kingdom of Cruor part of the human world or not? Yet another answer neither Larongar nor his mages were able or willing to give.

The wayposts are obvious enough—tall white pillars, at least ten feet high, carved in five smooth, flat faces that taper to a sharp point. They look ghostly and incongruous in the otherwise desolate space. I guide Knar toward them, and my people follow close behind. They pass through the gate three at a time and fall into formation at my heels. We move like a great winding snake beneath the eye of that hideous silver moon.

“We would be better off flying,” Lady Parh growls. “We might follow these posts easily enough from the air. It would save many hours.”

“Fly at your own peril,” Mage Artoris replies darkly. “Without the waylights, you won’t make it far.”

“What lights?” Parh cranes her head, studying the twin rows of white pillars. They line each side of the path, staggered at twenty-yard intervals. Her question is valid; though the white stone reflects the moonlight, it offers no illumination. Certainly nothing compared to our ownlorststones.

Artoris sneers, his lip curling beneath a trim mustache. “You’ll see,” he says and nothing more.

We ride on in silence. This is the most challenging part of any campaign. Not the fighting itself, not the battle and blood and terror. In those moments, the pulse is pounding, and instinct takes over, driving every action, be it to glory or to death. But this? This long, slogging plod across strange and inhospitable territory gives a man too much time to think of home. Of all he misses and all he might never see again.

I peer up at the distant sky spangled with stars overhead. And suddenly, I remember the first time I gazed at such a sky—the night I met Faraine. It feels like an age ago, but in truth it’s been no more than a few short weeks. She sat before me in Knar’s saddle, her small body cradled against my chest. How slight and delicate she had seemed. Yet it was she who gave me strength that night. She who noticed the terror coiling through my spirit when I looked upon that vast expanse of space and darkness overhead. She’d touched me then, imparting calm into my soul.

Though I didn’t realize it at the time, it was that moment I fell in love. Fell in love with the mortal woman who could ease my fears with a single touch, imparting me with courage and strength. She made me whole. Surely such a love is worth every sacrifice, every price.

Something shudders overhead.

A strange rippling, there and gone again.

I blink, frown. What did I just see? It comes again in the next breath, a multi-pronged lash of black, deeper than the void of night. It branches across the sky in an instant before vanishing again, leaving an unsettling afterimage emblazoned behind my eyelids. Shouts of surprise erupt behind me. Morleth toss their heads, jangle their tack, and armor creaks as riders seek to control their mounts. “What was that?” I demand, yanking Knar to a halt.

The Miphato tosses back his cowl and stares up at the sky. One hand grips the vial around his neck. Another branch of darkness appears, and he spits a curse. “It’s the black lightning,” he says, swinging down from his saddle. He cups a hand around his mouth and shouts,“They’re coming!”

“Who are coming?” I demand, but the mage does not answer. He sprints to the nearest waypost, ripping the vial from around his neck. He mutters something, pouring the shining liquid onto his fingers, and proceeds to write a series of characters into the post. They glow for a moment, holding their shape, before breaking apart and spreading across the pillar. It begins to shine, brighter and brighter.

Other pillars farther back along the path light up as well, as his fellow mages mimic Artoris’s action. Artoris sprints to the next waypost, where he performs the spell again before hastening on to a third. The light expands, covering us all in a shimmering, silver haze.

I exchange glances with Parh. Her eyes are wide, her brow stern. She is as baffled as I. Twisting in my saddle, I look back to Lur and Wrag, who ride behind me. “Send word down the line,” I say. “Everyone is to remain between the pillars. Stay in formation and don’t leave the—”

Darkness.

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