Page 69 of Heart of the Shadow King

“Kurspari-glur,”she whispers. “Almuth tor Grakanak.”

Woman of Crystals.

Fist of the Deeper Dark.

28

VOR

Blood, black and festering, gushes over my hilt as I plunge my sword deep into my enemy’s gut.Virulium-maddened eyes widen, a rage-ravaged face drawn close to mine in a moment of bizarre intimacy which may only be found on the battlefield. We are as connected now as any two beings can be, here in this tangle of life and death. Mine is the last face those eyes will ever see as the light of life flickers, struggles, and finally goes out.

With a brute roar, I yank my weapon free. The Noxaurian collapses at my feet, our moment ended. Heaving great breaths, I turn in place, hungry for other prey. I’ve carved a swath of death around me, the field of battle strewn with the bodies of those I and my warriors have slain. The Noxaurians sold their lives cheaply in the end; such is the nature of the poison they take. The savagery it inspires will make the keenest soldier reckless. Myortolarokwere more than ready to take advantage.

I scan the field. There are pockets of action remaining, but we have carried the night in our favor. The lancer line is broken, and the remaining Licornyn riders simply melted away following the disappearance of their leader. Grimacing, I swipe a trickle of blood out of my eye. Black blood, not my own.

Lady Parh stomps toward me, unmounted like myself. She looks grimmer than ever in all her blood-spattered glory.“Aruk!”she hails.

I nod. “What news, Lady Parh?”

“The battle is won, but there are yet the hobgoblins in the city ruins.”

The victory is not complete until the hobgoblins are dealt with, for they cut the citadel off from reinforcements. “Take a band of volunteers,” I say. “No doubt there are plenty of our brothers and sisters hungry for hobgoblin guts.”

Parh smiles like a cave devil. It might be the first time I’ve seen my minister of war look pleased. Not a sight I wish to see again; that smile will haunt my nightmares for many turns of the cycle. “And you,Aruk?”she asks.

I shift my gaze from her to the shored-up gates of the citadel. I made my stand here, the last defense between the citadel’s point of vulnerability and any Noxaurians who got through the morleth riders. “I will speak to those within,” I say, “learn what help they might offer our wounded. Find Lur, if she is still alive, and have her bring me a report of our casualties.”

Parh nods and offers no further questions, for which I am grateful. I have other business within the citadel of which she knows nothing yet. And I find I’m not ready to explain to her the presence of my former betrothed here on the field of battle.

I cannot yet explain it to myself.

“We’ve stopped the bleeding, internally and externally. And Mage Yalanue has crafted a potent stasis spell which should keep her from rapid deterioration. Beyond that, there’s little more we can offer.”

Princess Ilsevel lies on a long scribe’s-table-turned-healer’s-bed in a chamber hastily converted from a scriptorium to an infirmary. She no longer wears the strange garb of the Licornyn, but is stripped down, bandaged, and draped in blankets for modesty. They’ve wiped the war paint from her face, though traces remain around her temples and the hollows of her eyes. She looks frail lying there. Like a pale ghost brought back from beyond the grave. Which is what she effectively is.

How long she will remain on this side of the grave remains to be seen.

I study her face in silent wonder. Ilsevel. Of all people! This woman who was meant to be my bride. The last time I saw that face—that stern brow, those full but down-turned lips—was on my wedding night. I had believed then that I made love to her.

I shudder. Now is not the time to recall that dark moment nor all the dark moments which followed. None of which were Ilsevel’s fault or doing. She was dead. Or so we’d all believed. Does Larongar know? Is this all part of his ongoing scheme, a bid to keep his favorite daughter out of my hands? An unsuccessful bid if so, for here she lies. Wounded. Vulnerable. Completely at my mercy. These Miphates might put up some fight if they were to realize who she is, but their ranks are reduced and their magic supply much depleted following their long siege. They cannot stop me from taking her.

What twist of fate brought her to that battlefield? I cannot fathom it. Neither can I comprehend the bizarre moment I witnessed when she threw herself between me and that Licornyn. Was that his name she cried out? Does she know the man? The look on his face when his blow struck—that moment of lucidity burning through the madness ofvirulium—implied shock. Horror. Some recognition of the deed done.Viruliumis a potent poison; he should not have been able to come out of it for many hours yet. Did I mistake what I thought I saw in his blackened eyes?

There’s too much mystery here, all caught up in this girl who can tell me nothing. This girl who is now in my power.

“Will she live?” I ask, taking care to let no emotion color my voice.

The nervous mage across the table heaves a sigh. He is a young fellow, unprepared for the responsibilities which have abruptly fallen on his shoulders. “It is beyond my skill to heal her. Most of our healing spells have been cast. We haven’t any strong ones left. Besides, look here.”

He lifts the blanket, exposing Ilsevel’s breast and bandaged torso. I start to avert my eyes, but the young man points to a patch of skin between her breasts. I am reluctant to look. Not at her, not at this woman who was supposed to be mine, lying in such a pitiable state. Ilsevel breathes shallowly. On her exhale, the mage says, “There! Do you see it?”

Something appears against her pale skin: a shimmering gold mark, there one instant, gone the next.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Runes.” The mage curls his lip.

“Written magic?”

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