“Give me to drink, Taarthalor,”whispers the voice in my head.
Shanaera tilts her head as though listening. “Ah!” Her hand slips from my face to rest against my wildly beating heart. “I knew you would do it. Once that little human pet of yours was gone, I knew you would turn back to the virulium. Did it give you ease, beloved? Did you find some satiation in the rending of flesh and the breaking of bones? Kildorath, good brother that he is, made every effort he could to get rid of the girl, but it was difficult with both you and your watchdogs hounding her every step. Halamar may be a useless hearttorn, but he’s a stubborn beast. And that brute, Sylcatha! Who would have thought she’d take such a liking to a human?”
She takes a step back from me, shaking her head, her gray eyes burning with pleasure. “It would have been a blow to the Miphates indeed, had the hobgoblins succeeded in tearing her apart. As it is, I suppose it’s just as well she lives. Much as I would like to put an end to her, she may prove useful sooner or later.” She grins again then, her teeth flashing too bright, too hungry. “In the meanwhile, we have unfinished business.”
“Bind him to the altar,” Kildorath commands sharply.
I utter a roar and throw myself against the powerful grips holding me. There are too many of them. Tassa screams, and I believe she puts up a fight as well, but is swiftly driven to her knees, pinned roughly in place. I, meanwhile, am thrown across the altar slab. Black chaeora cords secure my limbs, constrict mychest, my waist, my legs, my throat. I strain and struggle, to no avail. Shanaera stands over me, smiling. She reaches inside her tattered garment and pulls forth a black vial. Virulium.
“No!” I scream, my whole body writhing, even as the voice in my blood cries out,“Yes! Yes, yes! Give me to drink!”
“Shanaera!” Tassa cries out, tears clogging her throat. “Let him go! For the love of all the gods, don’t do this!”
“The gods?” Shanaera turns to my sister for the first time. “What have the gods ever done for me? Abandoned me in my hour of need, left my broken corpse to the clutches of enemies, to do with as they willed. But they learned a thing or two. They may not be able to bring back their own dead, but a virulium-lacedibrildiancorpse . . . well now! That is far more to their liking.”
She turns her gaze back to me. I’m shuddering, sweating. The raw heat of fury clashes with the cold of pure terror in my bones. Shanaera touches my forehead, a tender caress. “Don’t worry. I’m going to make your death hurt, of course—but you’ll be so wild with virulium madness, you’ll hardly notice.”
Then she grabs my jaw and forces the contents of her vial down my throat.
Darkness roars up from inside me, from the deepest places of my being. The voice in my head becomes a tempest of furious power, screaming for violence, opening me up from the inside like a hungry, gaping maw.“Give me to drink! Pour out blood unto me!”
I yank at my bonds. The chaeora strains, and fibers begin tobreak. Shanaera takes a step back, surprised at the ferocity of my reaction.
“Taar!” Tassa screams, her voice nearly inaudible compared to this storm in my head. “Remember! Remember who you are! Don’t give in!Taar!”
Shanaera throws back her head and laughs. “It’s too late. He’s given over to it now.”
Some last vestiges of sanity scramble for a hold in my mind, but I feel it giving way. I sink down, down, into a ravening hell. Black bile pours over my chin, spatters on the altar stone beneath me, and my body convulses wildly.
“Good,” Shanaera purrs. “Now, because I can’t have you causing me any trouble on the journey back . . .”
I see the flash of a knife. It means nothing to me. I snap my jaws, eager to catch her by her rotten throat, to rip her head from her shoulders. But I cannot reach her, and she draws in close and looks me straight in the eyes. “I’ll see you again soon, beloved.”
Then she rams her knife up under my ribs, straight into my black-pulsing heart. The last thing I hear is Tassa, screaming my name.
25
ILSEVEL
I don’t discover the knife until the sun begins to rise.
It’s the twin of the blade Taar gave me when we first met. I recognize the gold jewel set into the hilt, sparkling in the light of the new sun. Fury revives me from the stupor into which I’d slumped. How had I missed it? How had my skewering mortal eyes failed to see it throughout these long hours of headlong flight? I have no patience for myself, for my fainting body, my bleary head, my numb and stupid fingers.
Elydark crossed the Morrona some while ago. We are once more deep in the wilds of Cruor, and our pursuers have long since given up their lackluster chase. Nevertheless, Elydark will not slow his pace. My voice is too raw from pleading to manage more than an occasional hoarse croak of protest. A sense ofdesolation grips me, though that may be from exhaustion and pain as much as anything.
I reach for the knife. At first I cannot seem to get a grip on it. My limbs are cold with shock. Constant pain throbs from my shoulder, and I cannot feel my right hand. It’s difficult to draw a blade lefthanded, much more so when in a full gallop, even considering the smooth, gliding stride of a licorneir. When I finally manage to wrap my fingers around the hilt and draw it from its saddle sheath, I nearly drop it right away. My heart jolts, and I firm my grip. Then, setting my jaw and summoning up whatever strength remains to me, I begin to saw away at the ropes. This blade is not meant for cutting work, but I keep doggedly at it until the cord finally gives way.
Suddenly I’m free. And yet I cannot do what I’d meant to so many hours ago. I cannot slip from the saddle, hope I don’t break my neck, shake myself out, and run back. I look over my shoulder at the expanse of empty landscape behind me. No chance in the nine hells I’ll find my way, not weak as I am. And there’s always thevardimnarto contend with out here.
“Elydark,” I plead at last, no trace of musicality in my voice. “If you don’t stop soon, I will faint.”
For the first time since this one-mount race began, he seems to hear me. His hoofbeats slow. Only now do I notice how labored his breathing has become. Odd, for licorneir are beings of pure magical essence, and he has recently replenished that essence, feasting on ilsevel blossoms. An overnight gallop should benothing to him. It’s the parting from Taar; I’m sure of it. It’s not unlike thevelrawas for the two of us at the beginning. A parting of significant distance causes both of them to be weaker.
I myself am wilting like a plucked wildflower. When I dismount, both legs give out underneath me the instant my feet touch the ground. I end up in a pile of limbs, breathing hard and waiting for the world to stop pitching and the pain to stop flaring. When some semblance of equilibrium returns, I glare up at Elydark. “How could you do it? How could you listen to him? Youknowhe’s a damnable idiot. So determined to protect me, whatever the cost! YouknowI could have helped him.”
That last statement might not be wholly true. Yes, my song had temporarily influenced the licorneir, and perhaps, if I’d not been shot, I could have maintained my hold on them. Would it have been enough? Could I have turned them to our side? It had felt wrong, invasive, to get into their heads like that. Not a proper connection, more like an invasion. My song simply overwhelmed the music of theirvelarinbonds. Is this truly the purpose of my gods-gift?
Letting out a long, long breath, I close my eyes, try to still my racing heart. Then, summoning up what courage I can muster, I grab the arrow and break the shaft. The pain is almost as bad as being shot all over again. I double over, panting hard, and spit bile from my lips. Oh gods. I really wasn’t bred for this adventurous life, was I? Nature intended me for more decorative function.
