The baroness locks eyes with Meredy, evidently thinking how to respond. I don’t know why it should take so long unless she’s not telling us the truth, and I’m about to politely point that out when the carriage driver calls, “Lady Abethell! The signal fire!”
I lean out the window and follow the baroness’s gaze to a flickering flame at the top of the next mountain.
“What—?” I start to ask.
“A Shade attack in the next valley,” the baroness answers tensely, all her pleasant mannerisms gone. “We’ll head there right away. My guard will have seen the flare and know to meet us.”
The carriage veers wildly onto a new path, making Meredy slide into me. I steady her with an arm around her waist, but quickly pull away when a sudden heat pulses through me.
“Are you sure the Shade is in the next valley?” Meredy asks a moment later, sounding out of breath. When the baroness asks what she means, Meredy points out the window to another mountain.
Another signal fire glares from an outpost on high.
And on the mountain beyond that, so faint it could be a trick of the noon sun, another fire shines a plea for aid.
As the carriage rushes down the wide dirt path, I look out the windows on either side, and a heavy weight settles in my stomach.
There’s a signal fire lit on every mountain around us.
I wrap my fingers around the comforting hilt of my blade and whisper a prayer to Vaia as Meredy mutters something under her breath, perhaps summoning Lysander. But nothing prepares either of us for the grisly sight in the next valley.
For carnage and chaos unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
This isn’t a village in need of an army. This is a massacre in need of a cleanup crew.
The second the carriage halts, I throw open the door and scramble out. My boots slide in someone’s blood, and I lean against the carriage to steady myself as I struggle to make sense of what I’m seeing.
Hollowed-out buildings still burning. A smashed signpost. A stray horse shaking under the eaves of an empty blacksmith’s forge. And the corpses. All the corpses. Men, women, and children strewn across each other, like they were cut down as they triedto flee. The Shade didn’t even bother feasting on most of them. I think I see a few stray limbs, but I can’t bring myself to look close enough to know for sure.
The smell hits me in a rush, threatening to bring me to my knees.
And I let it. I kneel in the putrid mix of blood and mud.
We’re too late. Too late to help any of these people, and if the eerie wail rising into the clear sky is any indication, we’re too late to help those in the other valleys as well. Vane has to have been here, forcing the monster’s—ormonsters’—every move with whatever power his unique Sight gives him. This feels calculated. Organized. No Shade would leave the Deadlands voluntarily, let alone wreak this much havoc without even eating its prey. And no Shade knows how to coordinate attacks on this scale.
Forcing another look at the wreckage, I promise myself I won’t stop chasing the rogue necromancer’s trail of victims until my hands are around his neck.
Meredy appears at my side and offers me a handkerchief. I dab my soaking face while she lets her own tears fall freely. It’s only when she takes my hands that I feel I can properly breathe again. She guides me back into the carriage, where the smell is slightly more bearable, though my head spins.
Her touch is all that keeps me from losing my balance until I slide onto the empty seat.
The baroness remains outside, talking in low voices with what must be her entire guard of fifty armed men.
“Hadrien would have sent us with more help if he knew it was this bad,” I manage to say at last. “Why didn’t the baronessor someone else say how many Shades had been spotted?” Before Meredy can respond, I answer my own question. “They must not have known. This must be the first attack of this scale.” As Meredy wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, I add softly, “I wonder who the Shades were. Who they used to be.”
“At this point, I think the more important question iswherethey are now,” she whispers. “It doesn’t seem like anyone killed them.”
Last night, after the surprise Shade attack, Meredy asked me if I ever considered whether raising the dead was worth the risk, and finally, I have my answer.
None of the Dead want to become Shades and hurt the loved ones who sacrifice so much to bring them back, but as Evander’s parents proved, accidents happen. Accidents that could be prevented if the Dead stayed where they belong. If I quit doing the one thing I’ve trained most of my life to do.
The thought catches me by surprise. It’s something Lyda might say. I shake my head to clear it.
Gradually, villagers emerge from behind the shells of homes and shops, wide-eyed and deathly pale. Some are spattered with blood, and all look lost. Even the few Dead in their long shrouds are clearly shaken, leaning against their living relatives for support.
“We’ll make room in the castle for them all,” the baroness declares to her guards. Even from a distance, there’s no mistaking the shock in her voice. She clearly had no idea how much destruction Shades could cause, or she’d have spent her time arming her soldiers with liquid fire instead of taking us on a valley tour. The earlier attacks reported to the king must have been like the Shadeattacks of years past, monsters picking off livestock and the occasional late-night tavern-goer from the shadows.
We emerge from the carriage to join the survivors, the sounds of someone weeping filling the air. It’s one of the Dead, I realize, as a living man pushes away someone beneath a shroud, then points down the road.
