Page 51 of HeartTorn

Kildorath looks at me. “Seven of us crossed the Morrona at dawn.”

“Seven?” My stomach knots. Ashika, I already know, is dead. But there were eleven who set out from the Spire, the survivors of our small campaign. “Where are the others?” I demand. Only now do I notice that Kildorath is bleeding from a wound to his left arm and a cut on his cheek. He looks rough, and his eyes are harrowed.

“We were set upon.” He grits his teeth. “On Agandaur fields.”

My ears are suddenly full of thunder, and heat flames in my head. “Set upon by whom?”

He looks at me. There’s a knowing in his eye that thrusts deep into my gut. “Shanaera.”

Behind me the elders gasp out loud. Halamar curses, and there’s a sudden shifting of bodies and clamor of voices. But my gaze remains fixed on Kildorath’s. I see there all the horror ofwhat he experienced out in the wilds of Cruor. I remember how I felt, coming face-to-face with Shanaera after all these years, seeing her leering at me from her rotted mouth. Would she turn on us, on her people, her kin, and serve the Miphates she hated so vehemently that she would damn her soul for a chance to slaughter them? It defies all belief. Yet there is no doubt in Kildorath’s face. He knows what he saw. And he knows I believe him.

Without a word I turn from him and stalk from the Meeting House into the too-bright light of swelling morning. There the other six riders sit astride their licorneir in the middle of the green, all of them wounded, haggard, and worn from their terrible journey. Alluirnath, Keizana, Thuridar, Birenthor, Loraena, and Vomyar . . . all my friends, my brothers and sisters, alongside whom I’ve fought and striven and suffered over the long years. No Ashika, of course. And no Onor Vamir, our young priest. Of the twenty who rode out from the Hidden City in response to Prince Ruvaen’s summons, these are all that remain.

A void seems to open in my chest, threatening to pull my spirit down into it. I should never have taken my riders beyond the borders of this world, into that human air where we are vulnerable. I should never have sent them alone across Cruor. I should have been with them, should have protected them. Now they are gone, slaughtered by an enemy I cannot understand. And what of their licorneir?

The thought has barely crossed my mind when a scream erupts in the air. To my shock, I see that two of the riders, mounted on their licorneir, have a third beast bound and hobbled between them. Nyathri—burning with hearttorn rage, but secured in powerful chaeora ropes, the only fiber in this world strong enough to withstand her flame. She tosses her skeletal head, and a great gout of fire erupts from her throat. Rearing on her hind legs, she strains against her bonds, fieryand hideous. The two licorneir, powerful though they are and bonded to their riders, struggle to keep her at bay.

Kildorath appears from the Meeting House and steps to my side. “What happened?” I demand. “When you left the Grimspire. Tell me everything.”

“We waited for you at the Luin Stone, as you commanded,” he replies. “We believed we saw you coming, for there were Licornyn riders in the valley. We thought you’d joined company with another tribe. But as they drew nearer, we saw the crimson cloaks.” He drops his head, breathing heavily for a moment. “I don’t know how to describe the horror that came over us at the sight of them and those awful steeds.”

“What did they ride?” I ask. The question has haunted me for days now. No ordinary horses could survive in Cruor.

Kildorath meets my eye. “Licorneir. They were mounted on licorneir, but . . . I’ve never seen such beasts. They were like dead things, moving strangely, their muscles and joints all half-rotten. Rather than flame, they gave off poisonous fumes that darkened the air around them. It was like thevardimnar.”

I stare at him, aghast. This is worse than anything I could have imagined. Dead licorneir reanimated? Surely not even the Miphates would dare commit such a sin! I want to accuse Kildorath of falsehood, to demand he tell me the truth. But there is no lie in his eyes.

“We fled into Cruor then, trying to escape them, for they outnumbered us. But we were ambushed in Agandaur and forced to defend ourselves. It was then that they threw back their hoods and . . . and . . .” His voice breaks. He shakes his head, and I glimpse a sheen of tears on his cheek. “I saw her, Taar. I saw Shanaera. Only she wasn’t . . . she isn’t . . .”

He cannot bear to finish. I don’t blame him. When I met her on the night of the temple attack, I couldn’t believe what I saw, forced myself to distrust my own eyes, my own memories. Howcould our beloved dead walk this world again? So ruined, so mutilated. Cursed creatures, wrapped innecroliphonspells. It’s a fate far worse than any death.

“They were unkillable,” Kildorath says. “I ran one through the chest—Riluan, you remember him? He laughed as my blade pierced him, and when I pulled it free, the gaping hole reknit right before my eyes.” He swipes a hand down his face. “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

Neither would I. But I remember Naerel, Morinar, and Illanthor at the Between Gate, impervious to all but decapitation, and I know he speaks the truth.

“Only the seven of us managed to escape,” Kildorath continues. “The others were all either killed or . . . or taken. I’m not certain.”

I think of Ashika’s body, the only one left in the dirt of Agandaur, her head half-severed from her shoulders. Was she too damaged to be useful tonecroliphonmages? But what of the others? Will I be seeing them again, their rotten bodies reanimated and turned against their brothers and sisters? Young Onor Vamir’s face flashes before my mind’s eye. It was his first campaign, and how much he’d wanted to prove himself, to do his part for the cause of Licorna! Surely Nornala would not allow her brave servant to suffer such a fate.

Nyathri screams again. Her voice rips the air with pain and wrath. I look at her, my heart breaking at her devastated state. She cannot bear the loss of her rider; it will drive her to utter damnation.

“We found her on the banks of the Morrona,” Kildorath says, answering my unasked question. “The othervelrhoarlicorneir all fled into deeper Cruor, but she seemed to have been drawn this way somehow. It took some doing to secure her, but for Ashika’s sake, I could not bear to leave her suffering. I hoped you would be here when we arrived and could help her.”

There is only one way to help Nyathri now. She’s too far gone invelhroarto be drawn back again. I can offer her nothing but the mercy of death. Asluinarof Licorna, it is my sacred duty, one I have performed more times than I like to remember. But it never ceases to hurt.

“Give me a sword,” I say. Halamar steps forward silently and offers me his weapon. I move into the green to where Nyathri stands, restrained in those taut chaeoraropes. Her burning eyes roll with fire and pain. Gods-damn me, why was I not there to save Ashika? I could have spared her life and this glorious beast’s suffering, if only I hadn’t been weak.

If only I’d walked away and left Ilsevel on that auction block.

Nyathri watches my approach. One massive forehoof tears trenches in the ground. “I’m sorry, my friend,” I say as I draw near, speaking as much to Ashika as to her licorneir. I heft the weight of Halamar’s sword. The blow must be swift and sure; she’ll run me through before I have a chance at a second. “I’m so sorry—”

“What are you doing?”

I startle at the voice bursting behind me. Nyathri roars and throws back her head, and the Licornyn riders struggle to restrain her. Leaping back out of range of her horn, I whirl on heel to see Ilsevel rush into the green. The slits in her skirt part to reveal most of her long legs, and her skin looks very pale beneath the ceremonial paint decorating her abdomen. The city folk react at the sight of her. Voices explode in a tumult of confusion and fear, but she ignores them all. She rushes forward, her gaze fixed, not on me, but on the hearttorn licorneir.

“What are you doing to her?” she demands again, her voice ringing in the stillness. Many of the people gathered here have never heard human tongue spoken before. Gasps of terror punctuate the air, followed by threatening rumbles. Ilsevel paysthem no heed. She stares into the burning eyes of the unicorn, unblinking.

“Stand back.” I put out a hand to restrain her.

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