Midrigar’s unnatural silence clung to its walls and buildings, but beyond it, the living world still spoke and whispered, hooted and chirped, rustled and fluttered. And howled.
For all that the creature attacking the spell wall to reach them made Azarion’s skin crawl, it didn’t twist his gut into knots the same way as the baying of hounds.
The sound carried on the night, growing louder and more frenzied as the tracking party closed in on the city. Azarion flicked another glance at his captive. Her eyes had narrowed as she, too, heard the dogs’ approach, accompanied by the thunder of horses’ hooves.
Starshine cast an otherworldly glow on the monster’s pallid skin, highlighting the rippling movement of flesh over skeleton as it dropped into a crouch. Its faceless skull continued to turn, the long, thick tongue tasting. Tasting.
Voices joined the chorus of barking dogs and galloping horses. The barking changed to reluctant whines, some escalating topained yelps following the crack of a whip and a rider’s angry shout.
Equine whinnies and snorts mimicked the dogs’ wordless protests. The ruckus originated from a place on the other side of Midrigar’s north gate. Azarion imagined the chaos, a mob of dogs, horses, and trackers facing the cursed city, the animals showing more sense than their human masters by refusing to go any farther.
The creature continued its odd swaying back and forth as if deciding whether to take the hunt to the new, unwary prey or stay with the ones it had cornered but couldn’t yet reach.
A telltale soft inhalation made Azarion spin around, yank Gilene in his arms, and clap a hand across her mouth. “Don’t,” he ordered.
She glared at him over the edge of his palm. Against his callused skin, her warning cry came out as nothing more than vibration and heat. She remained undeterred, drawing in another breath through her nostrils to try again.
Azarion shook her, disrupting the breath so that she coughed into his hand instead, wetting it with a spray of spittle. He lowered his head until his nose almost touched hers. “Those men and their dogs are here to capture me, not rescue you. Do you understand the difference?”
She was desperate, and desperate people did foolish things. His colossal mistake in choosing Midrigar as a sanctuary was testament to that.
She stood rigid in his arms, and the breath from her nostrils gusted across the back of his hand, but her gaze turned thoughtful. Her eyes slid to the side where the creature continued to hover. It stretched out a misshapen arm to casually rake its talons across the spell wall, trailing sparks in its wake.
“Do you understand?” Azarion repeated. She nodded slowly,and he eased his hand away. “If you lie...” He left the threat implied.
“I won’t scream,” she assured him in a whisper.
“You give your word?”
“No, but I give you my understanding.”
It would have to do for now and was the thing he wanted from her most.
A voice rang clear in the chilly air, furious and frustrated. “What is wrong with those fucking mutts?”
Another voice answered. “It’s Midrigar, Captain. “Theys knows it’s haunted. So do the horses. You’ll not get ’em past the gate neither.”
“Then we go in without them. Load your crossbows. First sight of the gladiator, shoot to wound, not to kill. Herself wants him alive.”
“No mercy in that,” another voice chimed in.
“Not our problem,” the captain replied. “And if any of you lily-livered fucks refuse like the hounds and horses, I’ll shoot you myself, and it will be to kill. Now move!”
More sounds from the north gate traveled to Azarion’s ears; the tramp of boots, curses, and prayers as the tracking party entered Midrigar on foot.
The monster’s tongue writhed like a worm impaled on a hook as it slurped a path up its own skull as if in anticipation of a feast. It slapped the spell wall a final time—a wordless promise that it intended to return—before loping down the rubble-strewn avenue toward the invaders.
Azarion watched it dwindle out of sight before releasing theagacin. She shuddered and tossed the blanket aside. Azarion kicked the packs out of the way. He didn’t need extra weight to slow him down. He was impaired enough by his own injuries aswell as those theagacinsuffered. He held on to the knife. A blade might not work on the otherworldly hunter, but it was effective against a human adversary.
Listening for the chanting of ghosts or the monster’s distorted buzzing that signaled its approach, he heard nothing except the voices of the men drawing ever closer to their hiding spot.
A strange popping bludgeoned his ears as he stepped across the charcoal circle. Theagacingaped at him when he held out a hand to her and gestured for her to follow him.
“How did you do that?” She glanced down at the circle and back at him, befuddled.
“It’s a simple ward. Protects us from demons and wights who try to get in and traps them if they try to get out. We’re neither, so we can move in or out of the ward as we please.” He crooked his fingers to signal her. “Come, we can’t linger.”
“What if it comes back?” Her eyes darted toward the path the creature had taken.
