Page 6 of WarBride

Ashika nods eagerly even as Lurodos whoops in triumph. “The night is won already!” the Noxaurian declares. “Only a Miphato fool would leave the citadel with so small a force. He’s begging to be hunted down like a cur.”

I shoot him a dark look. “You would be wise not to underestimate our enemy. Even a single death mage can kill a dozen foes with a single spell.”

“Aye, but I’ve got dozens to spare. When his spells have run out, and he’s busy trying to scribble down another, we’ll take him.” Lurodos turns in his saddle then and barks a harsh command in his own evil language. The reptant riders assembled in the forest behind him answer with a series of barks, snarls, and yodels, teeth flashing, weapons ringing.

“Lurodos,” I say, urging Elydark to stand between him and the open valley. “We must plan our strategy.”

“Already done, King!” the warlord bellows. “Charge up that hill, kill anyone who screams at the sight of us, throw a sack over the Miphato’s head, and drag him back to Ruvaen. Meanwhile . . .” He bites off the top of the vial, his teeth crunching against crystal. A cloud ofviruliperfume permeates the air, thick and intoxicating. My vision clouds over, and for a moment, my whole attention focuses once more on that little sliver of darkness grasped in Lurodos’s hand. Then he tips back his head and downs the lot in a single gulp. “Meanwhile,” he finishes, dashing the empty vial to the ground, “we have our fun!”

The swell of virulium comes over him. An abyss opens in each of his eyes, and black blood tears roll down his cheeks. Utter savagery takes hold of his soul. He throws back his head, issuing a bloodcurdling scream that must echo for miles. Then, beating his own steed with that vicious flail, he charges forth from the trees, his men falling in behind him. They’ve all taken their owndoses of virulium and been overcome with madness. Their cries mingle with that of their reptants, fifty monsters mounted on nightmares, sweeping into the valley below the shrine.

“Luinar.”My second, Kildorath, urges his licorneir up beside me at the edge of the trees, watching the Noxaurians go. “Are we to follow?” Flames shimmer along the flanks of his beast, and the light gleams in the depths of his eyes. Kildorath also wishes to take the virulium and give into the madness of bloodlust. But my men are strictly forbidden from partaking of that foul brew.

I grind my teeth. “We will circle round behind the shrine. Artoris is no fool. He will try to escape the moment he gets word of the attack—which will be sooner rather than later now, thanks to our friend Lurodos. We must try to head him off.” I turn then, gazing back across my eager company of twenty brave souls. “Ride like shadows, my friends. Swift and silent.”

They obey without question, following me as I lead them through the forest, around the valley. Our licorneir move like dreams incarnate, navigating the dense foliage as easily as a dancing breeze. Though here and there one flames with eagerness for battle, for the most part, they remain invisible to the naked eye, and their riders blend into them like phantoms, only caught in chance glimpses. We are faster by far than the Noxaurians and reach our destination first. The temple above is still quiet; Lurodos’s assault has not yet reached them. Soon enough, however, the night will erupt in fire and terror.

“Fan out,” I bark, swinging an arm to indicate my will. “We cannot let this mage slip through our fingers. Form a perimeter, and—”

My voice breaks off in the combined sound of Nyathri’s trilling cry and Ashika’s excited, “Look,Luinar.”

I face forward. There, just reaching the base of the road winding down from the temple hill, is a party of eleven riders. No, twelve—Ashika’s initial count was off by one. But they are,as she said, clad in crimson cloaks with the hoods pulled low; my vision, augmented by Elydark’s innate power, can discern the color even by moonlight. I pick out the foremost rider as well, swathed in black robes elaborate with red embroidery. The robes of a death mage. Our prey is here and even now approaching our position.

“Quick!” I growl. “Prepare for battle, but keep your mounts subdued until the last. Surprise is our best weapon.”

Without word or sound, my Licornyn spread out to form a semi-circle. On the slopes above, the rooftop of a lower temple building goes up in flames, and the first cries echo down from the hillside. Lurodos and his men attack with wild abandon, unaware their prey has already fled. No matter—I’m just as happy for them to drive our quarry straight into our trap.

“Steady,” I whisper, more to myself than to Elydark. My licorneir’s gaze is fixed upon the approaching mage, as eager as I to take him down. But we both must remember our mission: capture, not kill. Though there are few men whose blood I should like more to spill, too many lives depend on the information I must draw from Mage Artoris’s lips. I adjust my grip on my sword, heart thudding, blood pounding, awaiting the right moment.

One of the riders pulls up sharply. It’s a woman—her lithe shape is unmistakable even beneath the folds of her cloak. Unlike the others, she wears blue, not red, and her face is unhooded. She does not look like a Miphates acolyte. Her horse prances uneasily under her, turning in circles, but she masters it well. Her face tilts up, angling in my direction. The silver glow of the moon bathes her features, revealing a much younger woman than I would have expected. Young and—I notice even through the driving urge for battle in my blood—lovely.

Her gaze fixes on the strand of trees where I even now hide. Of course she cannot see us; licorneir are invisible to human eyessave when enflamed. And yet, if I didn’t know any better, I would say that she was looking straight at me.

“Luinar?”Kildorath’s voice reaches me as though through the misty haze of a trance. “My king,they are close. Do we attack now?”

I don’t speak. I’m caught, somehow. Transfixed by those eyes set beneath that stern, moonlit brow. Suddenly the distance between me and the young woman seems almost nothing. I feel as though I could reach out and touch her, try to smooth that puckered line from her forehead with the pad of my finger. What’s more, I want to. The impulse is strong, almost irresistible.

What is this? Some enchantment? Some Miphates sorcery?

Elydark growls, a vicious rumble in his chest. It’s enough to snap me back into myself, to break whatever spell had come over me. I grit my teeth and lift my sword arm high. I’m not about to let some Miphata mage catch me in her magic. I have a mission to accomplish. I will see it through.

“Licornyn,”I bellow,“forward!”

Elydark’s muscles bunch and surge beneath me. He bursts from the sheltering trees, and as he leaves behind shadows and leaps into moonlight, his body erupts in flames. Those flames sweep over me, burning both my body and soul, an inferno of raw magic. My Licornyn riders take up the battle cry, pouring out from the trees on either side of me, and we sweep down upon our enemies in a crescent arc of doom.

3

ILSEVEL

I hear the song before I see its source.

Only . . . this doesn’t feel likehearing.It’s more than the simple act of sound entering my ears and vibrating inside my skull. It’s too great, too terrible, too overwhelming to fit in such a simple understanding. It’s more likecolor.Vivid bursts of color in a range far beyond anything my eyes have ever seen. It’s heat as well, blazing across my mind with a reality more real than mere physicality.

It's not a song. It’s an explosion.

Through the color, heat, and overwhelming awe, beings emerge. One could almost say Iseethem, though I’m not sure my eyes play a part in what is happening to me. It’s as though the song itself creates shapes in my head—creatures of flame, four-legged, long-necked, with great shining horns protruding from their foreheads. Bigger than horses, but vaguely horse-shaped, if the comparison weren’t so laughable. Fire burns within their souls, all the colors of the rainbow and more.

Unicorns.

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