Page 73 of Heart of the Shadow King

He cracks.

Fractures.

Then bursts into a billion particles of shimmering dust.

30

VOR

“Let me ride through first with the princess, Your Majesty. I’ll inform Larongar of all that has transpired. No doubt he will have a hero’s welcome prepared for you and your people.”

Mage Artoris shifts in his saddle while his horse dances nervously under him, unhappy to stand in proximity to my morleth. We have taken up position a little to one side of the Between Gate as my warriors file through, leaving this realm behind.

The journey back across Cruor was less perilous than the journey in, thank the gods. It was as though the land itself was glad to see us go and wished to speed our departure. In the three nights we spent marching along the winding path marked by the wayposts, we faced only one instance of black lightning. Two of my riders were lost, dragged away into darkness. We found their dead and eyeless bodies when the darkness faded once more, and added their number to the other dead we carry home on the backs of their morleth. Fifty in total. The culling claimed almost as many lives as the battle itself.

But we have not seen the black lightning rip open the sky tonight. We rode unmolested across the miles until at last the gate appeared on the horizon, and our spirits lifted. We will all be glad to see the last of Cruor.

I sit astride Gash, a morleth who lost her rider in a culling. She’s no match for Knar in either size or viciousness but has proven a steadfast mount. She growls softly at the nervous horse beside her, and I grip her reins tight to keep her from taking a bite out of the beast’s neck. Parh is on my left, her face fixed, watching the procession ofortolarok. Behind us are two more morleth with a sling strung between them in which they carry the unconscious body of Princess Ilsevel. She has not woken once since leaving the citadel three nights ago. But she clings to the last threads of life with unexpected tenacity.

Artoris has scarcely let the girl out of his sight since the moment he discovered her with us upon our return from Evisar. His reaction to her recovery was . . . noteworthy. First all the color drained from his face. Then he staggered, fell to his knees so hard I feared he had fainted. It took some time before he could find the strength to form the first of what proved to be a deluge of questions. None of which I could answer; I know as little as he how she came to be there. He agreed with the citadel mage’s assessment of the rune mark on her breast—the mark which darkened more with each passing day. He likewise acknowledged the presence of a witch in Beldroth and urged us to ride faster across the dangerous landscape, chaffing at each sunrise that brought us to a halt. I hated to risk the princess’s life, but I hadn’t the heart to push my people to march under the full light of that awful sun. They have suffered enough as it is.

So, Artoris cursed and raged to no avail, then spent his days in sleepless watch beside Ilsevel. Much more of this, and he will run himself to death. He is little more than a hollow-eyed phantom clinging to his saddle with both hands.

I ignore his plea to be sent through with the princess. I will not leave this cursed land behind until I am certain my people, both dead and alive, are free of it. And I am certainly not letting Ilsevel out of my sight.

Artoris curses again and slumps in his saddle. Lady Parh’s hand rests surreptitiously on the hilt of her sword. She is well aware who the cursed girl we carry with us is, of her value in the altercation to come. She’s not about to let the Miphato compromise our chances of negotiation with Larongar. Whether or not Artoris has guessed my intentions for Ilsevel, I cannot say.

My fist clenches, fingers tightening around the sharp edges of the crystal hidden in my palm. I’ve taken to carrying it, theurzulstone Maylin gave me what feels like a lifetime ago. Part of me longs to never look at it again. But I have to look; I have to know. The price of Faraine’s life is not yet paid. Fifty good troldefolk perished in the name of Mythanar and the Under Realm, but they were not sufficient to cancel my debt. As for me . . . I didn’t sustain a single scratch. Not even when my morleth was slaughtered and fell, crushing me beneath its remains. Apparently, the gods do not see me as a worthy substitute for my wife.

But what of Ilsevel? I turn in my saddle, cast my gaze over to that rough sling in which her body lies in fevered torment. Will she survive? Or have I already delayed too long? Perhaps it is she who will give her life to free me of my debt.

As the last of the morleth pass through the gate, Lur returns from the far side to offer her report. “Your people await you, my King.”

“And Larongar?”

“He is there,” she affirms. “He has heard news of the victory at Evisar already.”

“What else has he heard?”

Her gaze flicks momentarily to the sling in which Ilsevel lies. “Nothing to my knowledge.”

I nod. I have sought to keep news of Ilsevel’s reappearance secret, but do not know what means the Miphates have of communicating with one another. For all I know, Artoris may have found a way to send word to Mage Wistari. We will have to risk it. “Very well,” I say. “Lady Parh, remain with the princess until I send for you. Lur, you’re with me.”

“You would leave Ilsevel unguarded in this realm?” Artoris protests, his color rising.

Parh shows her teeth. “She is not unguarded, human.”

Before the Miphato can retort, I hold up one hand. “Artoris, I would be grateful for your company.” It is neither an invitation nor a request.

He hears the command in my tone and doesn’t have the mettle to resist. With a last glance Ilsevel’s way, followed by a bitter curse, he urges his steed into motion, riding alongside me and Lur as we approach the gate. I face the ripple of reality’s veil and cannot help a fleeting, futile attempt to peer through, striving to catch a glimpse of the far side. For all I know, Larongar even now waits with a contingent of warrior mages, ready to blast me to oblivion the moment I cross into his world. Drawing a short breath, I spur my morleth forward. She steps eagerly, ready to be rid of this place, though she’s about to have a rude surprise.

The veil of time and space slips over our bodies, gossamer thin. We stagger through into the blinding light of sunrise. Gash lets out a protesting bellow, shuddering so hard, she very nearly slips out of this reality altogether, anxious to reenter her own dimension. I hold her fast, managing to keep her present, my spirit straining against hers.

“Vor, my son!” Larongar’s voice roars in my head before my eyes have had a chance to adjust. “It is good to see you!”

I couldn’t return the compliment if I wanted to. I see only a black, shapeless form on horseback, draped in a bear-hide cloak. My own people stand in formation on either side of the gate, most of them unmounted as their morleth refused to exist in this too-bright world. “Greetings, Larongar,” I say, lifting an arm in salutation. “I return to you now from the liberation of Evisar. Your city and your citadel are free.”

“I don’t give a goblin’s ass for the city,” Larongar replies. “Pile of useless rock. But Mage Wistari here”—he swings an arm to indicate one of the indistinct shadow-figures riding beside him—“thanks you for the safe return of his favorite citadel. Ah, but I always knew you’d do it, boy!” He slaps his thigh and utters a deep roar of laughter. “My advisors were all,‘Oh no, don’t go bargaining with trolls! Nasty, bone-gnawing brutes they are, not to be trusted!’But you’ve proven them all wrong, haven’t you?”

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