Marsheila Rockwell - Legacy of the Wolves

“Shifter tracks,” said Irulan. “Less than a day old. Moving fast, and leading into the graveyard.”

Andri smiled. “We have him.”

“Maybe,” Irulan cautioned. “It could be another shifter. Even if it is Skunk, we have no way of knowing if he’s still in there. But just in case, you’d better leave the horse here and we’ll follow the tracks on foot. It’s getting dark, and I don’t want to miss anything.”

Andri readily agreed and dismounted, tying the horse to a small thicket and pulling his holy symbol out from beneath his armor. Then he unsheathed his father’s silver sword, its two large wolf eyes glinting redly in the last light of the dying sun.

“Let’s go.”

Andri followed Irulan into the graveyard, his eyes struggling to adjust as the sun set and night fell across the cairns. The area around the burial ground was quiet, though not eerily so. Wind still whispered through the high grasses that surrounded the small hill, night birds called to one another in the distance, and he could even hear an occasional whicker as their tethered horse voiced his displeasure at being left behind. But among the tombs themselves, there was little noise. Andri’s breathing sounded loud in his ears and his footfalls seemed to echo. Irulan, on the other hand, was as stealthy as her wolf forebears, a silent shadow moving against growing darkness that he lost sight of more than once.

Andri moved in the direction he thought she had taken, his eyes searching the area where he’d last seen her and not the ground in front of him. As he passed between a waist-high pile of stones and a weathered marble statue that might once have depicted Tira Miron, his foot caught on something soft and he stumbled forward, nearly losing his grip on his sword. Recovering quickly, he turned to see what had tripped him, calling silver flame to his blade with a word.

It was a net, half-stretched between the two grave markers. To one side, an uncoiled rope, hammer, and some stakes lay scattered on the ground, as if their owner had been disturbed in the middle of something.

Like setting a trap.

Even as the realization struck him, he felt a sudden chill and Irulan came loping toward him through the cairns.

“Run!”

But it was too late. Behind her, a desiccated corpse leapt from atop a crumbling statue, its twisted form weirdly illuminated by the flickering argent light of Andri’s sword. He caught a glimpse of the thing’s eyes, glowing red with malevolence, as it flew through the air and landed squarely in the middle of Irulan’s back, sending both of them tumbling through the dirt.

Wight .

Even as he called on the Silver Flame to rebuke the foul creature, the back of his neck tingled with sudden apprehension and he twisted out of the way as two leathery arms slammed down in the space where he had just been. Andri spun to face his own attacker.

Correction. Two wights.

And as the second undead creature lunged at him, he noted the scabbards still riding on both the thing’s hips and the red and yellow markings on its arms, and the awful realization hit him, worse than any physical blow.

Thorn .

Or what was left of him, anyway.

And then the wight lashed out at him with a heavy foot, sending him sprawling, and Andri was too busy fighting for his life to wonder how the shifter guard had come to be there.

He climbed to his feet, his blade tracing a path of fire in front of him as he readied himself. And then he charged.

“For the Flame!”

Sul, Therendor 22, 998 YK

Greddark urged his mount up a small rise and caught sight of a shimmer in the distance that could only be Lake Arul, reflecting the light of the warm afternoon sun. Though he was too far away from Aruldusk to hear the city’s signature carillons, he guessed the time was just past the second bell. He reined in the mare he’d purchased from one of the few merchants still open on the weekly Day of Cleansing-a fact which allowed the impious man to charge Greddark a ridiculous price. But she was docile and fairly nimble, he reflected as he led the horse back down the rise. She might actually be worth half of what he’d paid for her.

He dismounted and tethered the mare to a small, stunted tree. He climbed back up the knoll, crouching low when he reached the crest so as not to stand out against the skyline. Pulling a spyglass out from his long coat, he surveyed the shoreline. He located the compound easily. With a high palisade that encompassed a large house, a sizeable stable, a corral, several barns and outbuildings, and at least a hundred acres of rangeland, he would have to be blind to miss it. Damn. He had hoped he might be able to walk into the compound without being noticed, but the stockade thoroughly quashed that overly optimistic plan.

As Greddark scrutinized the wooden fortification, he saw no sentries, though the timbers themselves were sharpened and tipped with iron. Telltale blue sparks arced between the iron spikes, revealing the existence of lightning-based wards meant to keep both predators from entering and livestock from escaping. The high gates were open and seemed to be untended, though he had no doubt that the entrance to the compound was ensorcelled. Still, if you weren’t interested in announcing your arrival, it was much easier to get around spells of warding than a bevy of gate guards.

Especially if you were a member of the same House that operated the Warding Guild.

Though he spent long moments examining the gates through the glass, without getting up close and personal-which he certainly wasn’t going to risk in the middle of the day-there was no way he could determine which type of ward they might be using.

Well, no matter. He’d find another way in.

He turned his attention back to the palisade, watching the faint white flashes that jumped from tip to tip like miniature lightning bolts. He had tried to bypass similar wards only once before, with disastrous results. He was hoping he wouldn’t need to try it again, but he’d have to study the spell mechanism more closely to figure out how, and it was going to take some time. More time than he was comfortable spending so close to the road, exposed to anyone who might be coming along behind him from Aruldusk.

Greddark crept back down the knoll and untied the mare, leading her north, away from the muddy track but parallel to the stockade. After about a mile, he found a small copse where the horse could rest unseen while he continued his perusal.

Climbing one of the taller, sturdier trees in the thicket, he picked a spot on a branch, pulled out his glass and bit of jerky, and settled in to watch and wait.

An hour later, Greddark saw what he’d been waiting for. A flock of birds flew in from the west, heading for the fresh water of the lake. Thirty feet up, they cawed back and forth to each other as they passed over the stockade, blissfully unaware of the fiery death that sparked along the metal tips below them. A straggler, its wing trailing awkwardly as if it had been injured, flew lower than the others, perhaps fifteen feet above the tops of the timbers.

Too close.

Like a wick dipped in oil and dangled too near a lit candle, the bird’s wingtip brushed the top of the invisible barrier and burst into flame. The unlucky fowl was consumed within seconds and hurtled to the ground behind the stockade, a smoking ball of fire and feathers.

So. He would not be going over the barricade. There was likely an approach on the lake side. Though he hadn’t been able to see far enough to determine if there were docks, he had to assume the Vadalis handlers had chosen this location because they trafficked in aquatic as well as earthbound animals. He also had to assume that any approach from the water would be just as well warded as the palisade itself. In any event, it was too far around-he didn’t have the time to circumnavigate the compound and then search for a way in. Nor did he have time to try and go beneath the wooden stockade.