This will go so horribly wrong, I knew. A haphazard plan that was strung together with desperation and mad hope, sprung to life from the words of a witch.
It would never work. The wrath of a horde king would be immense, even if we managed to capture him.Keepinghim here until the witches arrived was another mountain of a problem entirely. One we were not prepared to climb.
But it had to work. What other choice did we have?
“I wish I could go in your place,” Tess confessed to me. “I wish that I could take that burden from you.”
Strangely, her words made me bristle, though I felt her worry for me pouring from them. She had always seen me as weak. Her weakness to bear. Her weakness to protect.
She didn’t think I was brave enough. Perhaps a part of her didn’t think I was capable. Just like the others thought.
And yet, I was the only one of us truly immune to the fog that had blanketed the eastlands.
And yet…even Tess didn’t know what I couldtrulydo inside the fog.
“Let’s fin-finish,” I said softly. “Before he comes.”
* * *
Everything around me was red.Like a sunset had been painted before my very eyes. Streaks and swirls of vibrant color that swam around me, parting for me as I stepped into it. Trying to escape me, perhaps.
Others feared the fog. I knew, logically, I should too. I had seen what it had done to the Ghertun. I had seen what it had done to Benn’s wife, to Karr, to Serina, to Matti too. Members of our village that had not made the crossing to the eastlands, who had succumbed to the reddened power.
Yet, the fog meant safety for me. Walking into it felt comforting. I felt strong. Because I knew that no one could touch me here. No one could harm me here.
I was safe.
Truly safe.
The only danger to me was getting lost in it, which was why I’d left markers for myself. Peculiarly shaped rocks I’d found, a broken shard from a potion bottle with blunted edges pointing back towards the mountain, a scrap of brown cloth tied to a stick. All led me west. Towardshim. Towards where we knew he visited, every single morning.
We had been at the Dead Mountain for nearly two weeks. All the preparations were done. A group of females had left to hunt and to forage whatever they could find farther north. Mohamed had gone as well, to ensure that they returned. The rest of the men had stayed behind, however, because we might need all their strength to haul an unconscious horde king back to the Dead Mountain.
Tomorrow. We would attempt to capture the horde king tomorrow morning. They wanted me to lure him back to the mountain, which was a laughable idea. I was no siren, no great beauty that could seduce a horde king of Dakkar. But the Dakkari witch seemed to believe that if I came to him as anoffering, if I told him that I washis, a gift from Kakkari herself, then he might be more amenable to my sudden presence.
The fog worked quickly. It fed on strength. The horde king would only need to be within it for mere moments before his strength would begin to leave him, before his mind would begin to blur and soften.
And Iknew that this particular horde king entered the fog willingly. Two of our scouts who had eyes on his horde reported it. Just yesterday I had gone to see for myself, slipping from the Dead Mountain when I knew that Benn was sleeping, with Tess no doubt next to him.
I’d seen him. Though not very clearly. My sudden fear at his massive, shadowy size, a body that even the thick fog could not conceal, had me retreating quickly, though I feared he’d seen me.
It had been impulsive and foolish. And a part of me itched to go to the edge of the fog again. To see him clearly. To gaze upon his no doubt fearsome face. For horde kings seemed like mystical beings to us. Gods. Monsters. Devils. Demons.
All our lives, we had been taught to fear them. Now, I was supposed to go to one willingly. I was supposed to bare myself to the beast in a ceremonial dress the witch had given me. I was supposed to let him touch my offered flesh, let him do whatever he wanted to me until the fog stole his mind and crumpled his legs under his bulk.
The Dakkari witch had even taught me the words to say to him.
“Lo rune tei’ri, Vorakkar,” I practiced.
I am yours, horde king.
The words were frightening and beautiful. The cadence was soothing. Easy. I didn’t stumble my way through them, which was thrilling in itself. I didn’t feel them building in my throat, trapped and hammering at my tongue to get out. They released from me easily, as smooth as the words that came from everyone else.
“Lo rune tei’ri,” I practiced again.
Before I realized it, the red fog pushed away from me, leaving a bubble of clear air all around me. The fog seemed to hit a boundary, dispersing when it met it. Above me, the fog still shrouded the sky but I saw its wispy tendrils trailing across the bubble, sliding their way down, as if trying to find a gap to slip inside.
It had happened before. Often, in fact. Possibly even before the fog.
