Sikras held up one hand in mock surrender, the other gripping his scythe. “Why would I? I’m sure Dionus is all but hovering over Enos after the events in the Grand Hall. It’s not just my life on the line if I keel over.”
“Good.” Benjamin planted a playful punch on his arm. “I’d hate for you to give Rowan the satisfaction of watching you suffer.”
Sikras arched a brow as Banneret Rowan broke from a pack of Red Sentinels and advanced toward them like a charging boar. “Oh, look. You’ve summoned him, and you didn’t even need to utter any profane spells.”
“Sentinel Helspira.” Rowan stopped several yards short of the three, and Sikras couldn’t help but notice how he refused to make eye contact or acknowledge him in any way. “We haven’t penetrated the gate, but scouts ascended the trees and confirmed Vessik’s presence inside Stow’s Peak. Might I have a word to discuss our next course of action?”
She nodded, her mannerisms suddenly reflecting a caged animal. “Yes, Banneret.”
Sikras squinted as she approached Rowan, the two disappearing behind a large rock formation jutting from behind several towering coniferous trees. Curious. She seemed nervous. Then again, Rowan had that effect on people.
The sudden spritely chords of Benjamin’s lute competed with the wind as he repositioned his instrument and strummed. His words left him in a sing-songy tune rather than a spoken sentence. “Is there anything you’d like to say before I stab Vessik in the face? I don’t mean to offend; I know he was your friend before he fell so far from grace.”
“Catchy.” Hands on his hips, Sikras smiled. “Nothing important comes to mind. Just come back alive. Rather, as alive as humanly possible, please and thank you.”
Benjamin let the twang of his plucked notes fade. “I’ll do it as quick as I can,” he said, sincerity replacing the playfulness of his singing. “I promise he won’t suffer if I can help it. He was my friend too, before he killed my sister. And me.”
A thoughtful sigh left Sikras’s chest feeling hollow. “If only the rest of the world had granted him the same mercy. Maybe it would’ve saved us a murder trip.”
“The circumstances aren’t great,” Ben said, “but it’s nice to get out of the house for a change.”
Sikras laughed, nodding. “Yeah. Everferd was fun. You had that audience eating out of the palm of your hand. We could always travel when this is over, you know, maybe see what else Siaphara has to offer a couple of not-so-young adventurers? We’ll find you more audiences to perform for. Keeping your talent locked away in Nyllmas is a far greater crime than tax evasion.”
A disembodied chuckle followed. Why did it sound so forced? “Yeah,” Ben said. “Sure thing.”
Sikras tilted his head. “Benjamin? Something you wish to tell me?”
A black bird struck the ground beside Sikras’s boot with a mightythunk, silencing any response Benjamin might have uttered. Like a piece of coal in white snow, it hit with such force that one of its spindly little legs snapped, and several feathers sloughed off behind it in a grisly trail. It beat its wings against the earth, kicking up snow, dragging its body closer toward Sikras’s foot.
Then the smell hit.
Sikras shielded his nostrils with a cupped hand. “This bird isn’t exactly putting the ‘life’ in wildlife, is it?”
Benjamin gave it a less-than-gentle poke with his lute. “I don’t know shit about magic, but I’ve hung out with you long enough to know an undead aura when I see one.”
Sikras kneeled to inspect the bird. It looked an awful lot like the ones he had seen outside his mansion over the years—the ones he had once thought to be cleverly disguised Druids that Saeilihn had sent to keep tabs on him. “That would explain the smell. And the decomposed eyes.”
“Given that necromancy isn’t as popular a career choice as baker or blacksmith, I’ll give you two guesses who sent it.”
“I’ll only need one,” Sikras muttered before spying a small rolled-up note clutched in the clawed foot that hadn’t snapped like a dry twig. With a yank, he plucked it from the bird’s grasp and unraveled it to read,I’ve missed you, my friend. You must be in so much pain. Don’t be afraid. Soon you’ll know peace.
Shit.
Benjamin leaned over. “What’s it say?”
“A death threat disguised as a generous gift.” The paper crumpled under the pressure of Sikras’s fingers. “Vessik knew exactly where to send this bird. He must’ve had eyes on us this whole time.” It made sense. The undead beasts had been watching him for years. That was how Vessik knew Sikras had finally responded to Saelihn’s summons. That was why he had sent his living followers and his undead to attack the city that very night. And he knew they were here, outside Stow’s Peak. What else did he know? That they had the scroll? What their plans were? Was Benjamin compromised?
One thing was certain; the sentinels were.
Much as he hated to admit it, he had to alert Rowan.
Sikras stood, fingers wrapping around his scythe’s snath. “Vessik knows we’re here. I don’t know how much time we have. Organize whatever men you can. I’ll tell the banneret.”
Benjamin nodded. “I’m on it.”
As the sound of Benjamin’s clanking cuirass and rattling bones disappeared behind him, Sikras followed the footprints Helspira and Rowan had left in the thin layer of snow. A stiff breeze kicked up flurries, and he squinted to see through the sea of red scarves and anxious men and women. Rowan’s grating voice should’ve stood out regardless of how far he had wandered, but the winds whistled with an ear-piercing wail, howling as they weaved through barren branches and the barebones camp sight.
The trail of prints led Sikras to the large rock formation. Though he couldn’t see the pair on the other side, Rowan’s identifiable aggressive tone managed to rise above the violent wind.
