The power of it hit him again and thrust him back against the wall. Someone, something, sought him out, although he did not sense danger.
“Never,” he gritted, letting it be known to any ghosts that watched him that he was not their savior.
Whoever he denied apparently did not listen to him as another wave of magic fell over his flesh, like a wet rag covering his skin. Astegur breathed in, and his nostrils filled with the smell of moist soil and a strange, citric sweetness that startled him. It smelled like human blood. It smelled like awitch. Very fresh, very alive, fruity human witch. Pure or not, he couldn’t be sure. It also smelled like the wetlands below.
His hearts pounded.
Suddenly, the roar of thunder crashed into the shallow cave, and the sound echoed all around him, threatening to shatter his skull. The ground shook and rumbled.
He squeezed his eyes shut as something itchy and invisible clouded them. Behind his closed eyelids, he saw the image of a warband of centaurs riding straight for him, their spears in the air, slicing the mist in two.
He was on his hooves with his weapon before him in the next instant, forcing his eyes back open despite the pain.
A young female now stood before him instead.
The vision of the centaur army faded into the background.
Astegur stiffened, his hand poised over his weapon, ready to strike. His nostrils flared as a fresh wave of human blood tantalized him, stopping him from striking the intruding female down. He still could not tell if it was tainted or not.
She was pale white, wraithlike, and had the appearance of an innocence dirtied. Shewasdirty. The female wore a faded brown dress that he assumed had likely been white at one point. Despite her clothes, her face was mostly clean, save for some smudges. Her raven black hair fell in long tangles behind her.
Her eyes ensnared him as smoke filled the cave. They were harrowing, desolate.Devouring. They were the same color as the dirt beneath his hooves and much older than his own. This female had seen, and survived, the despoilment of this world and had managed to live. Some eyes were young, some eyes were sly, but hers...hers ensorcelled his.
Astegur reared his head back.Magic.The smell of blood vanished.
She reeked of magic, and try as he might, he could no longer smell the fresh human blood in the air. He raised his battleaxe to destroy her. Whoever this female was, she was either born on his side of the wall or was on the verge of becoming a thrall herself.
What a waste.
Somewhere far away, yet incredibly close, the thunder of the encroaching centaurs built to a crescendo. The sound melded into a cacophony of war-cries and the clatter of shells clinking against weapons and armor. It was moving ever closer. Yet, he could not tear his gaze off of the female. He did not want her to disappear. Not yet. Even if she were a ghost seeking vengeance and with blood that no longer held power. Even though battle called to him at his back. Her gaze had captured him, and for the first time, remorse filled him.
This female could have been mine, if I had not failed to procure her...
He slipped his fingers across the blade of his weapon, fighting his instinct to destroy her and the magic she had brought to his cave.
“What are you doing here, ghost?” he asked, but his voice melded into the approaching war party below or above. He could not tell. “Who are you?”
The smoke from the fire swirled through and out of her image. “Come to me.”
He stepped toward her, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “Who are you?” he asked again, his patience thinning. “I have slayed beings for lesser offenses.”
She responded by hugging herself tighter, her face tensing and slackening as if she fought through pain. Her response to him, to death itself, was unusual.
“Were you after the goblins I killed? Are you after something the goblins had? Why are you haunting me now?” If the goblins brutalized her before her death—raped and tortured her—her ghost might still remain as a stain. He may have picked something up her spirit was attached to.
He glanced at his loot and crouched slowly, sliding his hand toward his satchels in search of such an object when her eyes finally met his again under the black veil of her hair.
His hand stilled.
She stared at him, piercing him, through the smoke and haze, with her gaze. The heat in his body built. His sneer morphed into a frown. He searched her face. He realized now, it was twisted much like his, but with pain.
“East, closer to the labyrinth wall,” the female finally said. Her voice was musical and soft.
“What...is East?”
“The rest of the goblins you are looking for, and the answer to the question of those vials you found filled with human and orc blood.”
She answered a question he did not ask aloud. “Are you seeking vengeance for your death?”
