Matt Forbeck - Marked for Death

“The Mark of Death,” Kandler said. As he spoke, he heard Rislinto gasp. Everyone else was dead silent, even Pradak, who had stopped weeping. “I think Esprл has it.”

“It’s a lie,” Sallah said softly as she stared at Kandler. “It can’t be.”

Deothen shook his head. “I can see how a father might try such a desperate ploy, but we can pierce such attempts with the help of the Silver Flame.”

Kandler smiled mirthlessly. “Be my guest,” he said.

Deothen hefted his staff from the center of the table and passed his hand through the flame three times as he bowed his head and muttered a prayer to the Silver Flame. “May the tongue of the Silver Flame burn bright enough to put the lie to those whose tongues speak falsely,” he said. As he did, the light from the staff ran down his hand and up his arm until it encompassed his head. When Deothen looked back up at Kandler, the Silver Flame burned in his eyes.

“So,” Deothen said in the tone as serious as a dying man making his final request, “what makes you think your daughter bears the Mark of Death?”

“I’ve seen it,” Kandler said. He ran a hand over his face before he continued. “I don’t even think she knows she has it. It’s very small. On her back. I saw it one morning when she came out of her room for breakfast.”

Burch nodded, realization dawning on his face. As he spoke, his smile revealed his pointed teeth. “That was when you made her give up her favorite shirts for those fuller ones.”

Pradak piped up at that. “We-I mean, me and the other boys… well…” He blushed as he spoke. “We figured it was because she was hitting… um, womanhood. We thought you were just being overprotective of her.”

Rislinto smiled. “My wife was thrilled about that. You bought a whole week’s worth of clothing from her that day.”

Deothen looked at the other knights. “They speak the truth,” he said in a hushed tone, then he turned back to Kandler. “How do you know this is the Mark of Death?”

“I don’t. Not for sure. I hoped it wasn’t, but after what you said…” Kandler ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know much about Esprл’s heritage. Her mother didn’t talk about it, and I never met her father.”

• “She is a full-blooded elf?” Deothen asked.

Kandler shrugged. “As far as I know. She doesn’t seem to have a drop of human blood in her. From what I know about dragon marks, elves these days only ever manifest one kind.”

“The Mark of Shadow,” Deothen said. “The bloodline of the Mark of Death died out centuries ago.”

Kandler’s spine filled with ice. He turned away from the table and walked over to a black-cloaked pile of ash near the door, a mound of dust that had once been a vampire. “What was the name of the house that once held the mark?”

Deothen hesitated for a moment before he spoke. “The House of Vol,” he said. “They were said to experiment with the abomination of breeding elves and dragons together for the purposes of furthering their power. The other elves and the dragons banded together to destroy them all long ago.”

Kandler reached down and picked up the black cloak at his feet. Holding it at arm’s length, he shook the dust from it. When it was done, he turned the cloak about to expose the crimson insignia embroidered on its left breast.

“This is the symbol of the Blood of Vol,” Kandler said, “a religion devoted to blood and death.” He looked straight into Deothen’s silver-flamed eyes now. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

The senior knight nodded gravely. “The bearer of the Mark of Death can only be a direct descendant of the House of Vol. There were always rumors of at least one survivor, and the followers of the Blood of Vol always pursue them vigorously. But no one in Flamekeep believed them… until the prophecy that brought us here.”

Kandler shook his head. “I can’t swear that Esprл doesn’t have the Mark of Shadow. I’m a fighter, not a scholar. I couldn’t tell one mark from the other, I’m sure. It seems the bloodsuckers who followed you here are confident she bears the Mark of Death, though. Can you bet on them being wrong?”

The light flickering in Deothen’s eyes faded and went out. “No,” he said. “The light of the Silver Flame brought us here, but I was too blind to see it.”

The overcast sky above the house was barely a shade lighter than the pitch black of night, but Kandler had charitably decided to call it dawn. The others-Burch and the five knights-hadn’t disagreed, so they all found themselves standing in Kandler’s yard, their horses each packed and ready for a long, tortuous trip. The knights were dressed in their full, gleaming suits of armor and their crimson tabards, their swords and shields buckled in various places, ready to be put to use at an instant’s notice. Kandler and Burch wore less armor than the knights, but they moved more surely for it-a compromise between protection and speed Kandler was always willing to make.

“What do you say, Burch?” Kandler stood over the shifter as Burch examined the ground.

Kandler could barely see even his own footprints on the ground, but the shifter sauntered around the place as if the noontime sun had burned through the clouds and exposed the secrets on every inch of ground.

“They came this way,” the shifter said. He knelt down and ran his hand over the thin, gray, weedy grass that made up Kandler’s lawn. “Two people-both in boots-and a big dog.”

“Vampires often take the form of wolves,” Deothen as he climbed astride his white stallion. Each of the knights followed his example.

“Fits,” Burch said.

“The one we saw turned to mist,” Kandler said. “I hear they can fly as bats too.”

“All true,” Deothen said.

“Then there’s no way to tell how many of them there are,” Levritt said.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Kandler. “We’ll kill them all.”

The shifter followed the tracks for a while on foot, his russet-coated mount-a shorter, shaggy-coated horse known as a lupallo-close on his heels. The others trailed after him in single file-first Kandler, then Deothen, Sallah, Levritt, Brendis, and Gweir, each of the knights on their snow-colored horses.

After a short while, Burch raised his hand to call a halt. The others spread out behind him as he studied the ground before him. “A horse waited here. The two pairs of boots lead right to it. The wolf and the horse went off that way.” He pointed eastward.

“Were the two people Esprл and the changeling?” Kandler asked.

Burch rubbed his chin. “Maybe the changeling, but the other one wasn’t Esprл. Both sets of footprints are too big for her. The changeling was hurt bad too, but better now.”

“How could you know that?” Gweir asked.

Burch reach down and picked up a small, metal vial. He raised it to his nose and sniffed. He wrinkled his nose and then tossed the vial to Deothen, who plucked it out of the air. “Healing potion,” Burch said. “Powerful stuff.”

“It might have been the vampire,” Levritt said.

“Healing magics harm the undead, my son,” said Deothen. “That would have been like poison to one of their ilk.”

“The horse’s trail is clear as a road,” Burch said. “Let’s ride.”

The shifter mounted his lupallo and spurred it to a trot, heading to the northeast. The others fell into line behind the squat, powerful steed.

The hunters rode without speaking, the rhythm of the horses’ hooves the only sound they made. Soon, the edge of the crater reared up before them. Burch picked out an aggressive switchback path that worked its way up the curve of the crater wall, winding its way through the scrub. As the riders rose along the ever-steeper wall, they grew closer and closer to the swirling gray mists that obscured the crater’s edge. The air grew close and oppressive.