The Shade’s skeletal body hisses and pops. Or maybe that’s the wagon, blazing with all our spare clothes and rations inside. Rubbing the pin on my tunic, I stare into the fire and wonder if I did my duty as Serpent when I didn’t make the kill. I didn’t even help.
“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” I ask as Meredy drags an unconscious Master Cymbre off the trail. I try to stand, but the stabbing pain in my leg forces me to stay down, and I crawl toward the woods until I can no longer feel waves of heat on my back. Lysander joins me, grumbling deep in his chest.
“In Lorness,” Meredy says at last. She props Master Cymbre against a tree, then rests with her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “I learned from my teacher, so I could survive in the wild if Lysander was ever too sick or hurt to hunt for us.”
“I’m surprised, is all.”
Meredy’s smile is bright like the moon. “The world’s full of surprises. You’d know that if you just looked around once in a while. Like Valoria. Did you even know she’s an artist? She drew me the best picture I’ve ever seen.”
Somehow, she still manages to irritate me moments after saving my life. “I’m aware of her talents, seeing as she was my friend first. What’s the picture of?”
“We need to get out of these woods soon,” she mutters, apparently ignoring my question.
She’s right, though. The blaze is spreading, catching on dry leaves and twigs and blackening the ground between us and the charred wagon.
There’s no sign that a Shade was ever here, thanks to this Serpent and her questionably loyal protector.
“Can you walk if you lean on me?” Meredy extends a hand and I take hold of her. “Have you ever considered that... maybe raising the dead isn’t worth the risk?” she asks quietly. “That it causes more suffering than healing?”
All the time, I want to say. Ever since Evander died. Since she asked me to raise Firiel.
Before I can reply, I hear a faint voice drifting on the night wind. “Anyone out there?” It sounds like a man’s deep tone.
I put a finger to my lips, looking around, then point to a lone torch bobbing up the mountainside from slightly east of the direction we were headed in before the attack.
Lysander growls as the torch bobs nearer. Meredy puts a hand between his furry shoulders, calming him within a few heartbeats. We wait in silence until the light of the wagon fire lifts the cloak of darkness from the haggard face of a man some years our senior. He has a bow strapped to his back and an axe hanging from his belt, but his eyes are kind.
Meredy and I exchange a glance, and she nods. If we’re wrong, I can take him, even with my leg a bloody mess.
“Over here!” I shout, revealing our location.
Meredy waves a hand, echoing my call.
It takes only a moment for him to navigate around the spreading fire. When he sees the condition we’re in, he says, “Don’t worry. I’m here to help,” and hurries to check Master Cymbre’s pulse. He passes me his torch so he can lift Cymbre into his arms.
“Is the bear friendly?” he grunts, eyeing Lysander. Not even Meredy’s calming influence keeps Lysander completely quiet with a stranger so close, and I think back to what she said about him not liking most people.
Meredy gives a terse smile. “Mostly.”
“I saw the fire from my cabin,” he adds. “Not many folk pass through these parts, so I thought I’d better come check...” His voice dies away as he gets a look at the gold pin on my chest. He offers me a crude bow. “Can’t remember the last time there was a necromancer in my woods.” Shifting his gaze to Meredy, he adds,“Or a beast master. Now let’s get your friend here to a healer. Abethell Castle’s the place you’ll want, just down that hill. And there’s plenty of time to tell me what happened here along the way.”
We hurry past the fire into the black night while I describe the Shade attack as quickly as I can. It’s too fresh in my mind for me to want to dwell on it for longer than is necessary.
The hunter merely grunts in response.
“What?” Meredy snaps.
“There were footprints in the woods near here. All from the same set of boots, by the look of it,” the man says thoughtfully. “I figured whoever attacked you fled the scene after they set your wagon ablaze. Thought I might have to use this.” He taps his axe hilt.
Meredy’s eyes meet mine, searching.
It’s Vane. It has to be. Somehow, he knew our path, and he brought his pet Shade with him to stop us.
XXIII
Abethell Castle is really more of a squat fortress built into the stone of the mountain on which it rests, overlooking a valley far below.
By night, it appeared crouched like a wary beast guarding against our approach. I shivered as we were ushered through a dark side entrance. But by morning, waking in a guest chamber filled with sunlight, it doesn’t seem much different from the palace in Grenwyr. And it has a better view.
