Shion charged ahead, slashing viciously at the strands to carve open the path ahead. Prince Aran and her father stayed at her side, each with a hand on her arms to help keep her moving quickly. Her shoulder burned from the savage bite of the Raekni, but that was the least of her problems and not as debilitating as the seed moving inside of her.
“This is the end,” Shion said, emerging into the dense woods into an area free of the Raekni webs. Phae felt relief at first, but her father’s expression forbade her from rejoicing.
“What is it?” she asked him, clutching his arm and bending double.
“It’s later than I thought,” he murmured. “We have to find the tree, even if it’s dark. Even by the light of fire.” He sighed, shifting his grip on her arm. “We don’t have much time left.”
“These are the last words I may write. The barricades are breached. I’ve concealed the most important records, the copies of the works of the Paracelsus order, within a hidden chamber known only to the Arch-Rike. These secret works may be all that will survive the carnage. Learn from us. Be wiser than we have been. I bid you, dear reader, farewell.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXX
Any sign of the rider?” Baylen asked as Paedrin floated down from the uppermost branches. From the vantage point, Paedrin had searched long and hard for a sign of the dark horseman, but he was not to be seen. A sick, gnawing feeling had entered Paedrin’s bones. He felt danger lurking in every shadow and wondered what sort of guardians had been stationed to protect the cleft of rock in the center of the Scourgelands.
Crouching next to Baylen, Paedrin rubbed his chin, chafing the stubble and staring at the bulwark of stone and the ramp carved into rock to provide the single pathway up the side. He did not need to use the ramp, being a Vaettir, but his instincts warned him that it would be the most useful decision to walk up it himself, since a Tay al-Ard could only transport him back to a place where he had physically been. Seeing the ramp would not be enough.
From the base of the promontory, he could see the skeletal remains of an ancient keep, black with lichen and dark moss—crumbling to dust.
“No. I can’t even hear the sound of the hooves. There is a storm closing in from the north. It may rain before nightfall.”
Baylen stared hard at the stone ramp leading up to the deserted fortress. “The Arch-Rike wouldn’t have left it unguarded.”
“Obviously. With that single approach, it won’t be difficult to defend.”
“How far to the ramp? It’s open ground, so I don’t like it.”
“Not far. But with the trees pulled down, there isn’t any cover.” Paedrin sighed. “We’re heading into the jaws of a trap. I hate this.”
“Spring the trap then? See what happens?”
“What if it’s a bear trap?”
“We came this far, Paedrin. I feel . . . foreboding. No man has walked this land in centuries.”
Paedrin heard the crunch of twigs in the woods coming from behind them. He gave a curt gesture to Baylen to silence him and shut his eyes, sensing the presence of three riders approaching them from a flanking position. The jangle of harness and tack followed, and Paedrin could feel dark eyes flash malevolently. He was acutely aware that if he had looked on them with his natural eyes, he’d be dead.
“Run,” Paedrin said, rising and holding out the Sword of Winds. “I’ll hold them here and join you on the ramp. Go!”
The giant Cruithne tore free from the brush and bounded into the torn earth, rushing across the small clearing toward the stone ramp.
Paedrin’s heart was in his throat as the three horsemen charged through the brush. Two of them closed on the Bhikhu and one circumvented, heading after Baylen. Paedrin heard the clink of chains and sensed dark weapons coiling to strike . . . great spiked flails whipping around as the horsemen charged him.