Page 69 of HeartTorn

She doesn’t hear a word I say. Straining against me, beating my chest with her fists, she shouts over and over again, almost unintelligible in her panic. Only a few words manage to get through: “That song! I must find that song!”

Elydark draws near, his soul bright with concern. I catch his eye, and he tosses his head.I hear something too,he says.

Is it Nyathri?

I’m not certain. I think . . .His nostrils flare, and a shiver of fire flickers down his neck.Something is very wrong out there, Vellar.

Everything is wrong in Cruor. But to see Elydark distressed like this is enough to put me on my guard. “Hush, hush.” I shake Ilsevel a little to force her to look at me, catch and hold her frantic gaze. “We’ll go together. We’ll find this song of yours. Understand?”

She bites her lip, then nods. Still trembling, she allows me to assist her back into the saddle. When I mount behind her, she moans as though in pain and leans far over Elydark’s neck. I feel the urgency in her spirit; Elydark feels it too and responds by leaping into motion before I give him the command. I grabhold of Ilsevel for balance, pull her back against me. She ignores this, her gaze fixed ahead, her hands wrapped in handfuls of mane. She seems to be guiding Elydark, who responds to her silent direction without question. For the first time I feel like a passenger on my own licorneir. I do not hear whatever this song is that drives the two of them, but the unease in Elydark’s soul increases to distress and then to fear.

We come to the top of a small rise just as dawn begins to pink the horizon to our right. I look down into the shallow valley below and see the first of the dead licorneir.

My heart stops.

It lies pinned under an enormous net. A chaeora net—I recognize it immediately without conscious thought. The dark fibers braided with licorneir hairs seem to devour what little light there is in this shadowed place. The licorneir struggled valiantly, limbs and head all twisted and tangled up in the weave. The great beast lies still now, however.

At first I can do nothing but stare in horror. All sense seems to have gone out from my body. Even Elydark’s song is stilled, the dread with which his spirit had hummed obliterated in a moment of shock.

Ilsevel, however, leaps from the saddle and rushes down the incline, staggering, falling, rising again. Racing for that carcass. I shake off my stupor and dismount quickly to hasten after her. We reach the dead thing at the same time, our footsteps slowing as we draw near.

It’s a wild licorneir. I can see all the signs ofvelrhoar: the skeletal frame and burnt-out flesh. But I’ve never seen one like this. Along with the suffering of the hearttorn state, this beast has been pierced in numerous places anddrained.All the blood is gone from its body, leaving it an empty husk. Someone has further desecrated the corpse by shearing its mane and tail.

“Who did this?” Ilsevel whispers. She kneels beside the body, trembling hands reaching out to the once beautiful head.

Elydark appears at my shoulder, his head bowed and solemn. I look at him, sharing a knowing glance. We both know who must have committed this act. Only the Licornyn know how to braid chaeora ropes, but no Licornyn would dare defile a licorneir’s corpse like this. No living Licornyn, that is.

“Ilsevel,” I say. “We must leave this place. Now.”

She doesn’t seem to hear me. Looking up from the first carcass, she spies another not many yards away. I have already seen it and seven more besides, all revealed in the light of the rising sun. This valley is littered with dead licorneir.

“Come.” My voice is stern with command. “We can do nothing for them. Let us go before—”

“She’s still alive!” The words rip from Ilsevel’s lips in a sob. She turns to me, eyes shining with horror and hope. “She’s still singing, Taar!”

Before I can prevent her, she sets out running again, making for one of the netted mounds not twenty yards away. “Stop!” I cry and launch after her, hand outstretched. I take no more than five great strides, when the ground all around us ripples, erupts, and crimson-cloaked figures rise like corpses from their graves.

33

ILSEVEL

An explosion of un-song assaults my senses.

It’s so abrupt, so extreme, for a moment I believe thevardimnarhas fallen, and we somehow missed the warning signs of black lightning in the sky. I scream at the shock, stagger to a halt, and brace my legs. It’s all I can do, not to fall to my knees.

As though from a distance, other senses thrust at my awareness. Red cloaks flash before my eyes like blood spewing from a wound. A stench of rot in my nostrils, a taste of iron on my tongue, and somewhere, faraway, Taar’s voice shouting my name. But all of that seems to belong to a world quite apart from the one I inhabit. Here, in this world, there is only song and that dark intent which shreds it, disintegrates it, and renders it not.

Elydark’s furious bugle brings me back with a painful jolt. The pure power of licorneir song shoots like fire through my soul, momentarily purging the un-song. I gasp, my dizzy vision whirling around me. The world is upside down and inside out, a confusion of movement and violence I can make no sense of. Before me in the grass lies a net of those black fibers which I had seen binding Nyathri on the altar stone. It seems to writhe like a mass of living snakes, but after a series of blinks, I’m able to force my mind to see it for what it is: knotted rope, black and white. Pulsing faintly with more of that hideous un-song.

Another blink, and I’m able to drag my awareness into the present. I remember now the figures throwing back coverings ofthose woven nets, under which they had lain hidden while Taar, Elydark, and I approached. In the deep gloom of pre-dawn, I’d run past them without noticing, my attention consumed by the broken unicorn song I pursued. Tossing them aside, a host of crimson-cloaked figures had emerged, radiating an intense pulse of un-song. It’s like they are pieces of thevardimnaritself, clad in human shape.

I know who they are: the undead. The silent figures who accompanied Artoris to the Temple of Lamruil. He had brought only ten, but there are more now. In my stunned state, I cannot count them, but I think there might be thirty or more.

They ring us in: a circle of figures around me, another around Taar, and a third penning in Elydark, cutting us off from one another. Those who watch me make no move to attack. The others are more active, for Taar and Elydark both put up valiant fights. Taar is unarmed, his sword still sheathed to Elydark’s saddle. My heart twists at the realization, knowing he will soon be cut down.

The crimson cloaks don’t seem intent on killing him, however. They use their weapons to fend him off and keep him imprisoned in their ever-tightening circle, away from Elydark. I see no wounds on his flesh, though they could easily have sliced him to ribbons by now.

I reach for my own knife at my belt. It isn’t much, but the weight of it in my palm gives me comfort as I face those spectral beings. I spin in place, trying to get my eyes on all of them at once. Five crimson cloaks, all hooded so that their faces are hidden in shadow, surround me. There is no escape, no weakness in their defenses. The un-song pulses from each of them, an individualized horror of devolving. It seeks to drag me down into madness, pulling at my gods-gifted awareness. I shake my head harshly, then let out a furious scream, anything to block out that noise. I won’t let them frighten me. Brandishingmy little blade, I charge the nearest figure, who simply lifts an arm, deflecting my blow. A hand reaches out from under red folds of cloak. I catch a glimpse of rotted flesh before it plants on my chest and, with a single push, knocks me off my feet.

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