An undead here, only a few dozen yards from the castle and the settlement on the other side. A creature piloted by a Master of the Dead, capable of carving its way through their settlement.
Next to her Dugas stirred, brushing a persistent insect away from his gray hair. The older man was very tall and lean to the point of being almost wiry. A scar crossed his face, carving its way through his forehead, his dead milky left eye, and across his cheek until it disappeared into his short beard. Both his beard and hair had gone white long ago, but his eyebrows kept a few black hairs, stubbornly refusing to age. He was wearing his white robe today. It suited him much better than his usual getup of Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt.
The druid stroked his beard. “They’re getting bolder by the day.”
“It would seem that way.” An undead so close to the castle meant a long-range navigator. Likely one of Nez’s Golden Legion Masters of the Dead.
“I’ll get the hunters,” Dugas offered.
“No. I’ll take care of it.”
“They’re due to arrive any minute.”
“All the more reason to handle it myself.” She smiled at him. “I’m faster than the hunters. We wouldn’t want the undead to frighten our delicate guests.”
The druid smiled into his beard. “I have a feeling this guest won’t scare easily.”
“I hope you’re right. Don’t worry. I’ll be back in time.”
She released her magic. It struck out like an invisible whip and splashed against the trunk of a white oak. She inhaled, took a single step toward that anchor, and let the air out.
The world moved.
She stood in the forest now. The wall of the castle lay fifty yards behind her. Massive trees spread their branches above her head. Magic waves destroyed technology, but they nourished the wilderness. The forest around her looked half-a-millennium old. A few yards to the left, and she would come across the remains of ruined houses, completely buried in the greenery.
The vampire ran.
She still didn’t see it, but she felt it scuttle through the underbrush, sprinting away.
Oh no you don’t.
Elara hurried after it, anchoring and moving, each of her steps swallowing fifteen yards. She could’ve moved faster, but expending magic came at a price. She would have to replace it. Thinking about it turned her stomach.
Thinking about their “guests” turned her stomach also. She should’ve let the hunters handle the vampire, but tension simmered in her, too close to the surface. She had to let some steam out of the pressure cooker, or she wouldn’t be able to sit through the meeting.
The undead ran for its life, bouncing off the tree trunks. The hunger inside her woke. Elara chased it, losing herself to the speed. The vampire vaulted over a huge fallen tree, and she finally caught a flash of its back, once human skin and now a thick pallid hide.
Prey.
Ahead bright red ribbons tied to the tree trunks announced the end of their land. She’d run four miles.
The undead bolted for the safety of the ribbons, aiming for the gap between two trees.
She released her magic in a cold rush, stepped in front of the vampire, and caught the abomination by its shoulders. Her power clutched it. The hunger clawed at her from the inside. She bared her teeth.
The undead’s red eyes sparked with a new, brighter fire – the navigator controlling the vampire had bailed. The sudden death of an undead could turn the navigator into a human vegetable. Those who reached the rank of Master knew when to let go.
The undead flailed, but it was too late. Elara found the small hot spark of magic within it and swallowed it. She could almost imagine tasting it on her tongue, as if it were a delicious morsel, and for a long moment she savored it.
The vampire went limp. Elara opened her arms, and the sack of dried flesh and bone that once used to be a human body, then an undead, and now was neither, collapsed to the forest floor.
Too little, the hunger howled inside her. More. More!
She chained it again with a brutal effort of will and forced it back into the dark place she kept it.
Horses.
Elara turned. She was only a few feet away from the narrow ribbon of the road that ran through the woods. Run or sneak a peek? Was there even a choice?
She stepped back a dozen yards, behind a wide old oak, climbed the low hanging branches, and settled above the ground, melting into the shadows among the foliage, as if she were one with them.
Riders approached.
The leading man was tall and dark-haired. That matched Dugas’ description.
Her magic splayed out, masking her.
Do not see me.
The man halted his big white horse and turned toward her.
She couldn’t see his face from this distance. She couldn’t feel his magic either, but he had some, she was sure of it.
Do not see me.
Elara couldn’t see his eyes, but all her senses told her he was staring straight at her. An excited shiver ran down her spine.
She was a complete and utter idiot, she decided. Sitting here, hiding like a child afraid to get caught. Well, at least it’s good to be self-aware.
He gave the forest another long look and rode on.
Elara slipped from the tree and dashed back to the castle.
A few minutes later she stepped past the gates, straightened her long green dress, and checked her hair. Something skittered under her fingers. Elara plucked it from the long braid coiled at her neck. A spider. She walked out the gates and gently set it on the grass.
The spider escaped. She wished she could too. Anxiety flooded her. It’s just nerves, she told herself.
Elara walked up the steps to the wall and touched the druid’s shoulder. He turned, his brown eyes somber.
“I told you I would make it.”
He shook his head. “I know you don’t want to do this…”
“I don’t. But I’ll do it for my people.”
Her people. She knew every single one of them. She was the reason they bounced back and forth across the country, desperately trying to find a place to call home only to be run off again and again. They deserved a home. This was their land, and she had to do everything in her power to protect it. Perhaps d’Ambray wouldn’t prove too much of a problem.
“We could…”
“Pick up and leave again? No.” She shook her head. “You said it yourself, we’ve been here too long. This is home now. I’m not going to uproot us again. Not for this.”
They were done running. She wouldn’t let Nez win.
A group of riders broke free of the canopy and rode up the road toward the gates at a canter. She clenched her hands together. This was ridiculous. She had nothing to be nervous about. She could pull the plug at any time.
The riders grew closer.
Elara nodded at the leader on the white horse. “Is that him?”
“Yes.”
Hugh d’Ambray was huge. The stallion underneath him was massive, but the man matched the horse. He had to be well over six feet tall. Wide shoulders. Long limbs. Very lean. Almost as if he should’ve been thirty pounds or so heavier. Dugas did say they were starving.
Starved or not, he looked like he could hold the drawbridge of a castle by himself.
It was suddenly very real. I don’t want to do this.
“You want me to marry Conan the Barbarian?” A drop of acid slid into her tone.
“An attractive barbarian,” Dugas pointed out.
“I suppose so, if you’re looking at it from a purely animalistic point of view.”
Dugas chuckled.
“Is his horse glowing?” She squinted at the stallion. If you looked just right, there was a hint of something protruding from its forehead, like a shimmer of hot air.
“It appears so.”
They made a striking image, she admitted. The horse that was glowing with silver and the rider, all in black, his dark hair falling to his shoulders. But she wasn’t interested in striking images.
“He’s been here two minutes, and already he’s riding like he owns everything he sees.”
“He very likely always rides that way. Men like him project confidence. It’s what makes others follow them into battle.”
“Violent others.”
“We agreed that we needed skilled violent soldiers with broad backs,” Dugas said. “His back is broad enough.”