Page 10 of WarBride

A scream rips through the air.

I pivot on heel. Three of Lurodos’s men lurch across the room, darkness oozing from their eyes. I shake my head, and my vision clears a little more, enough to see her: the young woman with the stern brow and the flashing eyes. She stands over her fallen friend, a knife in her hand, and lashes wildly at the nearest ravening Noxaurian. They laugh, spitting black bile between their teeth, amused by her ferocious helplessness. One of them smacks her with the flat of his sword, toying with her. Then one lunges, grabs her by the front of her gown, his awful mouth going for her throat.

By then I’m already across the room. I latch onto the Noxaurian by the hair on the back of his head, and he emits a gurgling screech as I wrench him off. The woman collapses, but quickly scrambles to put herself between her enemies and the fallen girl she’s so determined to protect. She’s no match for any of them with that little knife of hers, which she doesn’t even know how to hold properly. Yet she bares her teeth, fierce as a wolf, and I cannot help but admire her tenacity.

I turn the Noxaurian, forcing him to look at me, and snarl into his virulium-stained face. “She is not your enemy.”

“She’s human!” the Noxaurian hisses. His abyss eyes blink, sending globs of black ooze down his cheeks.

“Human and delicious,” one of his fellows agrees and makes a grab for her. I twist and hurl the first man into him, knocking both of them to the ground. Then I swing my sword, rest the edge just under the jaw of the third ravener. His black eyes goggle, and his throat constricts. Otherwise he goes still.

“Stand down, you dogs,” I growl. “You’ve had your fun for one night. If you lay a hand on this girl, you will lose your lives. Is it worth it?”

Were they still in the initial throws of virulium,they would deem it a fine price to pay. The madness of the black venomwould drive them to glad death in exchange for just one bite of human flesh. But the first rush has past, and some reason has returned to their twisted minds. They back down, snarling, hissing, cursing. Then, as of one accord, they turn and flee across the room, scrambling over the bodies of the dead men in their haste to reach the door.

When they’ve gone, I turn to face the woman again. She’s got the fallen girl by one arm and struggles to drag her across the floor. Even if she succeeds in getting the two of them out of this building, she’ll fall right into the arms of other Noxaurians, who will only too happily tear her limb from limb.

Gods above, what am I supposed to do? I have no time for prisoners. Not while Artoris is even now making good his escape.

Vellar?Elydark snorts and drops his head, his shining horn stained with battle gore.Vellar, we must go.

But I can’t just leave her.

“Shakh,”I curse, and wipe a streak of blood from my eyes.

Then, sheathing my sword, I step toward the girl. She looks up at me, terrified, and when I stretch out a hand to her, she slashes at it ineffectively with her knife. “Don’t touch my sister!” she snarls, her eyes wild, reflecting firelight.

A growl in my throat, I lunge, block her next wild blow, catch hold of her arm, and wrench it behind her. Not hard enough to hurt, but the pressure forces her to turn around and drop to her knees. She shrieks with rage, but when she tries to resist, pain shoots through her body. She goes still, panting hard.

Smiling grimly, I slip another length of cord from my belt and swiftly bind her wrist. As I reach for her other hand, however, and the pressure momentarily eases, she twists suddenly and launches up from her knees. Her free hand goes for my eyes, fingers curled.

“Sheathe your claws, wildcat,” I snarl, dodging her attack. One nail scratches me across the cheek, a sharp sting. I catch her wrist and drag her to me until her face is inches from mine. “I’m trying to help you.”

She looks up at me, her face ablaze with defiance that cannot quite mask her fear. She has spirit, I’ll give her that. Outmatched and outnumbered as she is, most would crumble under the pressure of sheer terror. Yet she fights me, knowing she cannot win. Foolish, perhaps. But courageous.

Then, to my absolute surprise, she opens her mouth and begins to sing.

It is probably the last thing in the worlds I expected. The audacity of that simple act startles me so much, I cannot at first react. By the time I realize what’s happening, something has changed. Something has . . . caught me. That melody—soft and sweet, a perfect contrast to all the horror, fire, blood, and mayhem surrounding us—yanks me right out of this time and place, hurtles me across the years. I am no longer standing in a death-filled human temple dwelling. I’m in Evisar, the seat of my forefathers, the home of my childhood. The City of Spires, nestled at the foot of the mountains, whereoriqirelbirds wheel overhead, putting on colorful displays with their rainbow wings, and the water sprites laugh in the bubbling river and wave to all who pass over their bridge.

And I’m riding. I’m riding, riding, across the open stretch of land, making for the city with all speed, joy bursting in my heart. It isn’t Elydark who gallops across the plains under me—it is Onoril the Black, greatest of all licorneir. I am a child, seated on the great beast’s back, my own father just behind me. His arms wrap around my small body, and I am sheltered, safe, protected. All the things I have not been or felt in these many long years.

The song fills me up, threatens to carry me away with it. But suddenly Elydark’s voice bursts through the melody, roaring in warning:Vellar! Beware!

A shudder—a quake right through my soul. The song’s spell over me breaks, and I jolt back into the present, staring down into the eyes of the girl. She looks as surprised as I do, her gaze not on me, but on Elydark, who stands in flaming power with his horn aimed at her heart. Her eyes swivel to me, and her mouth opens again.

Though I may not understand exactly what just happened between us, of one thing I am certain: I cannot risk her uttering another sound.

With a single, swift blow, I strike her across the temple. She falls immobile into my arms.

5

ILSEVEL

I wake up slowly and in pain. Every bone in my body is being actively jostled, and there’s an awful stench creeping up my nostrils. At first I cannot concentrate on anything else—just the ache in my bones and that putrid, inescapable stink. Slowly, however, other senses return. The dull thud of my pulse in my ears gives way to a chorus of low moans. Then I blink, and my vision clears enough to take in an impression of bodies in front of me, crammed into a too-small space. Groaning, I close my eyes again, unwilling to see more.

“Ilsie?”

My throat tightens. Wrenching my eyes open, I turn my head and peer up into the shadowed obscurity above. Aurae’s face appears above me, like an angel in the darkness. Tear tracks score through the blood and grime on her cheeks, and her doe-soft eyes stare out from deep, fearful hollows. But she’s here. Alive. Cradling my head in her lap.

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