Page 58 of Heart of the Shadow King

Her jaw hardens. “No. The choice was forced upon him. He was willing to die, but only to spare me.”

“Is it possible to find a sacrifice truly willing?”

“You let me worry about that.” With those words, the old witch climbs to her feet, peering down into my face from under the shadow of her hood. “You concentrate on strengthening your powers. One cave devil is a beginning, but it is a far cry from what you will face when you meet Arraog. You will need a truly willing sacrifice then. And it will be provided.”

I shudder, wrapping my arms around my body. My head throbs again, this time with the intensity of her passion, her resolve. She sounds fanatical. She sounds like . . .

“The Children of Arraog,” I whisper.

Maylin stiffens.

“I’ve seen them,” I continue. “I’ve watched them attempt to generate a lesserva-jor.” That vision of blood and chanting and red, pulsing stones flashes through my mind. “Are you one of them?”

She draws a long breath, her lips pressed in a bloodless line. “There was a young priest. He was with me throughout my training, was present every time I performedva-jor,including the day I faced the dragon.” Her hands tighten around her walking stick, knuckles standing out hard and white. “He remains convinced to this day thatva-joris the means by which the Under Realm will be saved. But after witnessing my failure, he came to believe the rise of the dragon is the ultimate will of the Deeper Dark. He still believes in the fulfillment of theAthtar-garagprophecy but sees that fulfillment manifesting rather differently. Now he teaches that troldefolk will only know deliverance by virtue of entering into totaljor.”

Targ. She’s talking about Targ. I’m sure of it. The priest who has slowly but surely gained a following among the people of Mythanar and the Under Realm, preaching salvation through destruction.

An image flashes through my mind: the priest and the dowager queen. Standing together in the hall between me and this garden. Targ had cast me no more than a single glance devoid of all feeling, empty of soul. But the queen? There was hope in her gaze. And hunger.

“I am told,Aruka,that you spend a great deal of your time at the Urzulhar Circle these days.”

A wave of ice washes over me. Vor feared Targ and his influence over Queen Roh. He feared as well what Targ might intend for me. Is it possible the priest has recognized the power inside me? Does he know anotherkurspari-glurhas come to the Under Realm?

Maylin watches me closely. I can almost feel her rooting around inside me, exploring each of my emotions, turning them over, studying them. When she catches my eye, however, she merely shakes her head. “Don’t waste your time worrying about the Children of Arraog. Their interests are best served by leaving you to your own devices. You have noticed, have you not, how singularly unimpeded you’ve been?”

I have. But until now, I’ve simply attributed it to the absolute disdain Vor’s courtiers feel for me.

Looking down at my blood-stained hand, I study the lines where the crystal edges cut and blood swelled. It throbs with pain, but I hardly notice it even when I concentrate. Such pain has little to do with someone like me. It might as well belong to someone else.

What am I becoming?I wonder, moving my fingers slowly, watching how blood drips and stains the white fabric of my gown.

Then, more quietly, a mere whisper in the back of my mind:And will I be able to come back?

24

VOR

There are fewer wayposts to mark the journey between the human fort and our destination. Even those will do us no good as we do not possess the mortal magic necessary to call the light to life. We must make this crossing as swiftly as we may and simply pray to our god of darkness that he keeps this strange, terrifying dark at bay. At least we seem to be praying to the right god.

I lead the force with Parh at my side. Our ranks might be reduced but still make a formidable array as we ride our morleth across the open plain. Parh and I form the tip of a wide V formation, and the morleth eat up the distance, their hooves scarcely touching the tips of the waving dry grass as they skim just above the surface of the world.

By nightfall the churning magic above Evisar looks worse than ever. I have faced my fair share of foes in this life. Even so, my heart quakes at the thought of what lies before us. Far worse, however, is the threat of black lightning. We must break Ruvaen’s siege and enter the sanctity of the citadel walls before we will be safely protected from another culling. If we are caught out in this open territory with no magicked light to shield us, we will all perish. Not a comforting thought, but a motivating one.

At last, the ruinous city comes into view, illuminated by the glare of magic and the awful half-closed eye of the moon. I narrow my gaze, searching for signs of hobgoblins moving about the crumbling remnants of what might once have been towering and majestic structures. They make no attempt to hide themselves. They’ve staked the heads, limbs, skins, and entrails of their victims across the highest points of the fallen buildings, gruesome banners proclaiming their possession.

Gods, I hate hobgoblins.

I raise an arm; the formation draws to a halt. From this low vantage we cannot see what awaits beyond the city ruins, only the magic which bursts and ripples overhead. Ruvaen is no doubt aware of our approach and seeks to end this siege and take the citadel once and for all. He will have prepared a warm welcome for myortolarok.

A growl in my throat, I urge Knar ahead of the formation, then turn in my saddle to look back at my riders. All these brave men and women who have followed me through nightmare and terror to fight a stranger’s war. They have lost leaders, comrades, friends. They will lose more before this night is over. Yet they serve me still. I do not know what I did to deserve such loyalty.

“Brothers!” I cry, raising my sword above my head. “Sisters! Tonight, we ride into the unknown and meet the glory of battle! But always remember—for every life we take and every life we give, it is all for Mythanar and the Under Realm. Hold true to your purpose and never waver.” I sweep my gaze across them, as though I might meet each pair of eyes individually. In some faces I see a spark of hope, in others a grim determination. In a few, despair has already settled in. Those few already know they will not live through the night. But they will meet what must come with courage, and I love them all the more for it.

Once again, I brandish my sword:“Drag-or, ortolarok!”

And they answer, their voices raised in a chorus of death:“Rhozah! Rhozah!”

I turn Knar’s head about, face the city. Face those grizzly trophies and the shadowy forms darting between them. Face the tortured light of spells and magic, both mortal and fae, the cacophony and terror of an outmatched fight. I face it all. And for one moment I close my eyes.

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