Matt Forbeck - Marked for Death

“In what fashion?”

Kandler could tell the elf was being deliberately obtuse. She seemed to enjoy forcing him to drag every detail from her papery lips. “Forgive my vulgarity, my lady,” he said with a grimace, “but is he dead?”

Majeeda opened her mouth and laughed out loud. The sound rustled like a child dashing down a leaf-strewn lane in late fall. “My dear,” she said, “I haven’t laughed like that in over a century. That creature of which you speak died a long time ago.” She patted her chest to calm herself down. “But I… eradicated his corpse, yes.”

Kandler bowed then turned to speak to Esprл, Burch, and Sallah. “Lady Majeeda here,” he said in the common tongue, “has asked us to stay a while and enjoy her hospitality. It would be in our best interests to take her up on her kind offer.”

“What about the vampire?” Sallah asked.

“Already taken care of,” Kandler said.

Burch looked around at the mists. “Is this safer than the Mournland?” he whispered.

Kandler glanced at Majeeda. “I think so. At least for tonight.”

“For any day or night,” said Majeeda. “I want you to be comfortable here in my home for as long as you stay.”

“But I can’t,” Sallah started, but Kandler cut her short with an angry glare. She tried again. “My thanks for your kind offer, my lady. We would rather not impose on your good nature for any longer than we have to.”

“It’s no imposition at all,” Majeeda said. “I assure you.”

“How long might you expect us to enjoy our time with you?” Sallah asked.

Kandler’s stomach flipped at the question. He wanted to know the answer himself, but he’d hoped to not learn it until there was no other option.

The deathless elf smiled. “Not long at all, my dear,” she said. “A blink of an eye. Only until it’s safe for you to go.”

“When’s that?” Burch asked.

Majeeda’s pleasure dimmed only a bit at the sound of the shifter’s voice. “Why, until Gyre is restored and the Mournland is no more,” she said.

A shout went up from Levritt’s position to the north of the mound of mist. In another land, Deothen might not have been able to hear it over the sounds of chirping birds or crickets, but in the stillness of the Mournland Levritt’s call carried far.

The senior knight stood and scanned the distance. Levritt was right where he’d been ordered to be, at one vertex of a triangle that surrounded the mist, allowing the three knights to each see a half of the misty mound and both of their compatriots at the same time.

Leaping in the air, Levritt waved at Deothen with one arm and pointed to his right with the other, toward the spot at which Brendis had been sitting near his horse. Deothen turned to look for Brendis and saw the other knight waving as well and climbing upon his mount. Once in his saddle, Brendis pointed off toward Levritt and then spurred his steed in that direction.

Deothen climbed atop his white horse, his bones creaking with the effort. The rest after the long ride here had been good for both himself and his mount, but his muscles had stiffened up in the short time he and the other knights had kept their watch. With a grunt, he kicked his heels into his steed’s sides and galloped off after the others.

Deothen rode down the side of the valley toward the mysterious mound of mist, along the shortest route to where Levritt and Brendis were headed. As he neared the mists, he veered to the right and gave the place a wide berth. He didn’t know what might be concealed within them, but thoughts of a dragon’s wings or a hydra’s head snaking out to pluck him from his saddle danced in his head.

When Deothen made it around to the other side of the mist he saw Levritt and Brendis speeding ahead of him, off to the northeast. He lowered his head, nudged a bit more effort from his mount, and they thundered after the two knights at full gallop.

The blasted landscape fell away before Deothen and the knights and then rose into a hilly stretch of ground that rolled off into the distance. Deothen poked up his head to see what his young charges might be after. It took him a moment, jangled as he was by his horse’s pounding hooves, but he spotted it-a lone figure on a massive black horse galloping straight for the hills.

At this distance, Deothen couldn’t be sure, but he would have bet his last copper that the rider was the changeling. The patch of sunlight over the mound of mist had long since faded, the hole in the thick, dark cloud cover now just a strange but happy memory. It could have been the vampire astride the horse, but Deothen’s gut said different.

The knight looked back over his shoulder, wondering if he’d see the vampire come flapping out of the smoky area on a bat’s wings now that the knights were on the chase. Perhaps it was all some devious trick meant to draw the knights away while the vampire escaped with Kandler’s stepdaughter.

If so, it was too late for the knights to change course. Brendis and Levritt had raced ahead rather than wait for their commander, so Deothen had little choice but to try to catch up with them. He prayed it wasn’t the wrong path.

It bothered Deothen that this course of action forced him to leave Sallali behind, but he saw no alternative. He prayed the Silver Flame would keep her safe.

Levritt and Brendis seemed to be enjoying the pursuit. They hunched high in their saddles and urged their horses beyond breakneck speeds. Deothen heard the two laugh out loud as they glanced at each other.

The land started to rise. Deothen looked ahead and realized that they had no chance of catching the changeling before she topped the first hill. Levritt and Brendis were gaining on her by the moment, but she had too much of a head start. She must have come barreling out of the mists as if all the demons of Dolurrh were on her tail.

The young knights didn’t seem to care. They spurred their mounts on faster and faster, never breaking stride as the ground rose. They used the momentum from their headlong sprint downhill to propel them upward fast as they could.

As Deothen watched, the changeling and her mount disappeared over the crest of the hill. The young knights reached the same spot only half a minute later. They hauled up short for a moment and glanced all around.

Levritt turned back to Deothen and pointed off to the right. The senior knight signaled for the young men to slow down for a moment longer so he could catch up with them. Too eager to run their prey to ground, they never saw the gesture.

Deothen shouted at the young knights, but they plunged over the crest of the hill and out of sight, the thunder of their hooves drowning out the old man’s protestations. Although his mount was laboring at the effort now, he pushed the horse hard up the hill.

Once Deothen topped the rise, he hauled his steed to a halt and scanned the land around. The hills stretched away before him, dipping and rising in an easy, patternless way.

The knight knew that Levritt and Brendis had sped off to the right. A low valley presented itself there, and the obvious path quickly turned around a bend. Deothen could see the path of divots in the grayish grass and rock that the young knights’ steeds had torn up as they raced in that direction.

The elder knight was not so eager to give up the high ground. Instead, he plunged down into the small valley and then up the other side to the next hill’s top. Then he turned his horse to the right and drove it along that hill’s crest.

As Deothen rode, he squinted into the distance, scanning the land for a sign of some kind of trap. He thought perhaps he’d see the changeling crawling along a hilltop with a wand of some sort, ready to rain magical death down on the hapless young knights. Or maybe the vampire would appear, spring upon Levritt and Brendis, and tear them from their saddles.