Page 5 of WarBride

A rumble sounds deep in his throat, followed by a voice of dancing light and shadow, which appears in my head, meaning without words:Nyathri comes.

I narrow my eyes, peering out across the valley once more. Sure enough, a rider and steed approach. Almost invisible to the naked eye, the licorneir gallops at full tilt, her head outstretched, her mane and tail flowing like ripples of silk. She is a smaller beast than my own, quicker, nimbler. Ashika, her heart-bound rider, rides low, her body molded to her mount’s until they are nearly one. Nyathri is the most sure-footed of her kind, which is why I chose her and Ashika for this reconnaissance mission. At the sight of them, my pulse kicks up a pace. The speed with which they come tells me they bear good news.

A low rattle in my ears heralds the arrival of another rider and beast. Not a licorneir. No, the beast which draws up alongside mine is a long-legged reptant: hoary, bristled, with huge, muscled shoulders and a low-hanging, predatory head. It stands nearly as tall as my powerful steed, but where Elydark is a creature of almost terrifying beauty, this thing is an aberration, repulsive to the senses.

It's rider, by contrast, projects glamours enough to dazzle even my impervious eye. Though beneath those glamours, Lord Lurodos of Noxaur is no doubt a monster equal to his nightmarish mount, in the light of this pale moon, he is the very picture of the seductive fae lover, one who would lure unsuspecting maidens to their doom. He lashes his beast savagely with a razor-edged flail, drawing ribbons of blood in its flesh, then grins at me as he pulls it to a halt. “Is that your girl returning?” he asks, indicating the approaching rider with his flail.

I don’t like his tone. Lurodos views my kind as a subclass species and holds us all in contempt. The feeling is mutual—I loathe everything about Lurodos, who is a brute without honor. We would not have chosen to conduct this mission together. In fact I argued vehemently with Prince Ruvaen to let me and my Licornyn riders handle this matter ourselves.

“No,”Ruvaen had answered, waving aside my concerns.“If the rumors we’ve heard are true, this is too great an opportunity to miss. I need both of you on this—your brains, Lurodos’s brawn. Between the two of you, I have every confidence you’ll bring back our prize.”

I shift in my saddle, refusing to answer Lurodos. We’ve been on this hunt for days now, but never this close to our quarry. I hate leading my men out into the mortal world like this, exposed to this hideously magic-deprived atmosphere. Worse still, our going leaves the Hidden City all but unprotected. I will not feel at ease until I return and see for myself that my people are safe.

It all comes down to what will happen tonight.

Nyathri draws closer. She moves in shadows and silence, but I can feel even from this distance the burning tension in both her and her rider. My hand tightens around the hilt of my sword. Surely Ashika would not urge her licorneir so desperately if she did not bring the information we need.

I turn in my saddle, looking back at my people, gathered among the trees. “Mount up,” I command. My words are swiftly carried back through the ranks.

Lurodos chuckles darkly. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Taar, my friend. Maybe you and your Licornyn are more bloodthirsty than I was led to believe.”

I cast him a cold glance. “My people are always keen for a fight.”

The Noxaurian shrugs. “That’s as may be, but never so keen as my own boys.” He sweeps back his cloak then, revealing the small crystal vial he keeps tucked at his belt. My eye seems to go straight to it, pulled by some compulsive force I cannot resist. Lurodos sees the look and laughs outright, slipping the vial free and holding it out to me between finger and thumb. Though the cut crystal reflects moonlight, the dark liquid contained within seems to draw all light to itself and swallow it whole.

“Go on, King,” Lurodos urges, speaking the title like an insult. “You and your men must take a draught tonight before the fighting begins. Bring out the savage and let it play!”

A hot serpent coils in my gut. Elydark, sensing my tension, shifts nervously on his massive hooves, but I can scarcely hear the warning song of his voice in my head. My pulse throbs too loud. That single vial of dark liquid momentarily takes up the whole of my vision. Behind Lurodos’s urging, I can almost hear another voice, a softer voice from memory, whispering: “Take it, Taar. Take it and save us all . . .”

Elydark snorts and tosses his head, dragging my awareness back to the present. I draw a sharp breath of thin, magic-starved air through my nostrils and wrench my eyes up to meet Lurodos’s mocking gaze. “My people have no need to augment either their courage or their prowess.”

The Noxaurian’s teeth flash in something between a smile and a snarl. “Is that so? In that case, what would you say to a little wager? Whoever takes the most heads tonight wins, and the loser owes him a prize. A new slave, perhaps. Or a warbride.”

“We’re attacking a temple,” I remind him coldly. “The priests are noncombatants and not to be harmed.”

“Humanpriests. Hardly worth the blood spilled from their worthless hearts.”

“Servants of Lamruil,” I reply. “Am I correct in thinking that you Noxaurians hold the Dark God in special reverence?”

“Not I nor any of mine!” Lurodos hefts his flail, the spikes flashing in the moonlight. “We worship Tanatar, God of War, and don’t give twoshakhsfor another deity! And Tanatar likes it when we bring him heads—men, women, children, they all are pleasing in his eye. So my people will take their dose, and we will carve through any who happen to stand in our way, priest or otherwise.”

I stare at the man, this maniac over whom I wield no control. While I do not like the idea of unarmed men being cut down like animals, I cannot protect the priests of the shrinehouse from what is coming for them. So I say only: “Just as long as your people remember that our target is to be taken alive.”

Lurodos scoffs. “I’ll leave that to you, my friend. As you’re so hellbent against killing, you can have the fun of trying to capture a death mage. Be my guest.”

A chill lances through my veins. I’ve encountered death mages before and do not relish the prospect of meeting one in battle. But this is the first chance we’ve had of capturing one of Morthiel’s servants in many years. I cannot let this opportunity pass me by.

Ashika draws near now, her shimmering mount carrying her up the rise to where we wait among the trees. Lurodos’s reptant recoils from the delicate Nyathri, bristled skin shivering in dread of her spiraled horn. Lurodos strikes it again with the flail, drawing blood from its haunches. I ignore them and lift a hand to greet my scout. “Ashika,” I say, clasping her forearm as she draws up beside me. “What news do you bring?”

The Licornyn rider’s face splits in a great grin which confirms my every suspicion. “He’s here,” she declares. “Mage Artoris is here at this very temple. I saw him with my own eyes!”

“And what of his company?” I demand, keeping check on my own excitement. “Are there many with him?”

“I counted ten hooded mages. Their cloaks were red.”

My brow tightens. Red cloaks? That means Artoris journeyed from the citadel and left the safety of the waypost roads in the company of mere acolytes, not yet fully-fledged Miphates. That is good news for us, for while acolytes may wield impressive magic, they won’t be anywhere near as deadly as Mage Artoris himself. They won’t command death magic. But something doesn’t seem right here.

“Only ten?” I repeat. “You’re sure of this?”

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