Annon remembered defending Neodesha’s tree from the Boeotian attackers. He had faced insurmountable odds at that time and had used the pain of Reeder’s death to summon courage. The fireblood sang in his veins as he used it to shatter the creatures trying to rip out his throat. Nizeera was a fury of claws and muzzle, shrieking with rage at the monsters attacking them and launching herself into their midst with reckless courage. One had managed to snag Annon’s boot in its jaws and tug him down, but fortunately the leather cuff had protected the Druidecht from the fangs. Another beast came at his head and Annon had to grab the animal by the throat and blast it apart with the fireblood. He kicked the other one loose from his ankle and rolled up to a kneeling position, launching fire two ways at once, sending streamers of flame into a massive arc to hold the others back. He felt the stirrings of giddiness inside him, warning him that he was drawing too deeply from the cup of magic.
Annon saw two of the beasts hit Nizeera at once, saw her fur glisten with blood as one snapped at her middle. He charged forward, screaming with fury himself, and launched himself on the upper hound, clutching its maw with his fingers and blasting it full in the face with flames. A heavy beast slammed into his shoulder, knocking him down, and he felt the fangs rip into his shoulder. He could not feel the pain through the flood of desperate emotions and rolled over and sent fire into the belly of the creature, causing it to explode in a plume of ash.
He saw Nizeera sink her teeth into one of the dog creature’s necks and slash viciously with her claws down the length of its hide. Sweat streaked down Annon’s face as the monsters suddenly yipped and began to escape back into the woods. He was so startled by the sudden change in action that he nearly stumbled as he turned around.
Baylen extracted one of his broadswords from the hide of one of the creatures, and Annon saw a literal harvest of dead around the bulky Cruithne. He didn’t even look winded. Hettie shot several arrows after the fleeing hounds, dropping each one she aimed at. A slash of blood trickled down from a wound on her forehead.
“There!” Paedrin shouted, drawing their attention.
Annon looked where his friend was pointing but saw nothing.
“What is it?” Tyrus asked.
“There was a man. Now he’s gone.”
“A man?” Kiranrao demanded.
“Yes, I swear it. He had . . . there was no face in the cowl.”
A shiver of dread went through Annon’s bones. He felt a whisper of wind against his cheek, his stomach aching with fear.
“I saw nothing,” Prince Aransetis said.
“It’s the Shade of Aunwynn,” Tyrus said, going pale. “He can’t be killed. He leads the packs. We had to run when we faced him.”
“There!” Khiara shouted, pointing in another direction.
Annon turned and caught a glimpse of a gaunt man in tattered clothes. There was a pale nothingness inside the cowl that turned Annon’s blood to ice. Then he was gone.
“The fireblood?” Annon asked.
“Doesn’t harm him,” Tyrus replied. “We must go. The hounds will try to keep us here. We must break through their line and flee.”
“No,” Kiranrao snapped. “You could not kill him because you lacked the weapon that could. I have it.”
“You don’t understand his powers,” Tyrus said. “When he breathes on you, your body will wither like dead leaves. Weapons do not hurt him.”
“This one will,” Kiranrao said, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust.
“There!” Phae shrieked.
They all saw him now. At the edge of the dead corpses stood the gaunt Shade. He was thin as a rail, a bony hand clutching the end of a barbed whip. The hounds began to bay again, their shrill sound grating through Annon’s heart. Even Nizeera sensed the awesome, ageless power emanating from the Shade and limped near Annon, her throat gurgling with terror.
“Come to me,” Kiranrao said, striding forward. Some of his clothes were torn and shredded from the melee with the beasts. “I will take him.”
“As you wish,” Paedrin said deprecatingly.
The Romani strode forward menacingly, not feinting or seeking to deceive. “Are you the lord of this land? I defy you, Shade.”
The gaunt man faced the Romani. His bony hand suddenly jerked and the whip sailed out, wrapping around Kiranrao’s throat.
“Terror is only justice: prompt, severe, and inflexible.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XVI
Phae’s heart raced with the suddenness of the Shade’s attack. She staggered backward, her bones cold from the presence of such a malevolent being. Kiranrao’s face twisted with pain, the barbs in the whip digging into his neck. He jerked at the cords fastened around his throat with one hand and brought up the dagger to sever the length, but the Shade of Aunwynn yanked on the handle and pulled Kiranrao off his feet with inhuman strength, sending him flying into an oak tree. Kiranrao blurred, his body becoming shadow just before the impact, and the cord went loose. The Romani emerged from behind the tree, face contorted with hatred. The blade gleamed in his hand.
Blood trickled from the barb wounds on Kiranrao’s neck, but he stalked forward.
Then the Shade was gone.
Kiranrao stopped, hesitating. He craned his neck to listen.