Барб Хенди - The Night Voice

Once he had freely reveled in the beast within him—that was him—for the pleasure it had brought. He had given that up, pushed it down, and chained it, in order to be what Wynn might want. Now he had to be that thing—that monster—he never wished to see reflected in her eyes.

And if he did not, and she still lived ...

Chane loosed the thing chained down for so long within him as he held to only one thought—an orb.

Khalidah panicked for the first time since the dhampir had rammed his previous host out of an empty manor’s window back in the empire’s capital. The elder assassin had vanished without a trace.

No matter how much Khalidah probed for any presence, he could not find Brot’an. That was impossible. Even though he could not reach Chane’s mind, he could see that one. All he could do was drive the half-blood and dwarf, but even in that, he had to split his awareness a third way to remain sensitive to other mental presences that might reappear in the cavern.

Brot’an was still here—somewhere—and would never flee, so how did he evade detection? How? This fearful, irate wondering cost him.

“Chane ... get to ... orbs ...”

At Leesil’s stuttered whisper, Khalidah exerted his will to silence the half-blood. He glanced aside, looking for Chane. The undead was on his hands and knees, broken and cowering, so Khalidah looked to the dwarf and then to the half-blood again.

Without warning, Chane lunged from the floor, rushing at the half-blood.

Bending Leesil and the dwarf to his will was nothing to Khalidah, and even splitting his awareness a third time to remain aware for Brot’an was only slightly trying. But Chane, his mind hidden though he remained visible, was another matter.

This time, Khalidah would smash that undead to pulp upon stone.

Chane rushed by the half-blood without pause.

Khalidah flinched at that, focused on Chane ... and inexplicably blinked.

Ghassan felt Khalidah’s shock as Chane rushed for the chests holding the orbs.

Somewhere in the cavern, the elder assassin hid his presence. As Khalidah split his focus again to fix upon Chane, Ghassan struck out with the last of his near-broken will.

All he needed was an instant of control for a breach of focus—just a blink .

When it happened, torment followed with the specter’s outrage.

You ... I am done with you! I no longer need even your memories!

Within the prison of his own mind, Ghassan burned as if set afire. In so much sudden pain, he could not even scream, though none would have heard him.

His suffering ended suddenly.

Ghassan floundered in the darkness, but even then, he tried to reach for and hold on to Khalidah’s presence yet again.

It took but an instant.

At Chane’s lunge and Ghassan’s wayward glance, Brot’an sprang and vaulted the skeleton’s tailbone. He matched every running step to the sound of Chane’s footfalls to mask his approach. In three steps, he reached his target.

There was one strike that might kill quicker than a sorcerer’s thought.

Brot’an wrapped his left arm around Ghassan’s throat as he rammed the stiletto’s tip up into the back of the domin’s skull.

Leesil saw Chane rush by toward the chests, and then he lurched to a sudden halt. He almost fell forward and for an instant didn’t realize he could move freely. Chane’s distraction had worked, and Leesil knew he needed to act quickly.

He dropped Magiere’s thôrhk, grabbed up both fallen winged blades, and spun, ignoring Chane. Again he stalled.

Ghassan stood with eyes wide and mouth slack, a thick arm around his throat. His own hands gripped tightly to either side of that arm’s elbow, but he didn’t move.

“Chane?” Ore-Locks shouted somewhere to the left. “Chane!”

“Stop him,” Leesil ordered without looking. “Any way you have to.”

Ghassan’s head lurched slightly forward, eyes rolling up under his lids. Behind him stood Brot’an with his other hand hidden behind the domin’s head, and Leesil knew what the elder assassin had done.

It was over for the moment. The traitor among them was dead.

Ghassan’s eyes snapped open, narrowed viciously, and his hands released Brot’an’s arm to thrust up and back for the master assassin’s head.

Leesil charged while cocking back one blade.

Brot’an suddenly found himself in darkness and silence. He felt numb in thought and flesh, as if he had neither, though he could still somehow look about. Darkness—impenetrable shadow—was everywhere, as if he had sunk into it once more in mind and body.

It had taken the whole world as well.

The cavern, his target, the bones, the others ... were gone. Never in his long life had he ever been so completely without sound.

“Since you took my flesh, it is only fitting that I take yours.” He heard—felt—something barely perceptible shift in the black void.

Someone stepped out of the surrounding darkness into view: a man. He was smallish, bald, and wizened. His eyes were black, and he wore a simple robe. His face shone with hatred.

As that visage closed on Brot’an, he merely waited ... until it was close enough. The instant was interrupted as something else took form behind the old one out of the pure darkness. Domin Ghassan il’Sänke rushed in without a sound behind the wizened one.

I know you now ... all that you are ... by your own thoughts.

Brot’an heard this, though Ghassan’s mouth never moved. As their gazes locked, the domin silently clamped his hands over the old one’s eyes. As he pulled that bald head back, its mouth opened and its lips curled in a snarl.

“Worm! How did you follow me to new flesh?”

Again, the domin’s mouth did not move. Finish this ... as only you can.

The old one’s hands clamped over the domin’s own. “I am done with you!”

White fire flickered on and within those old hands. It quickly spread into the domin’s.

Ghassan screamed as those flames illuminating nothing else in the dark spread over him, even to his anguished face.

Brot’ân’duivé lunged in. Without realizing he could, he clamped both hands around the old one’s throat. White flame spread onto his own flesh. There was no wound or agony in his life to match this.

Still he tightened his grip.

There was a third shadow beyond that which took mind and body.

Only if spirit remained could one emerge from shadow once more.

This secret was learned—or not—in the first step upon the path of a greimasg’äh, a “shadow-gripper.” Many failed in that moment, which was why so few of them walked among the Anmaglâhk.

Brot’ân’duivé’s agony was only a sign that life still remained. Both would end as he let shadow take his spirit and that of all others with him inside his last shadow.

That Léshil—Léshiârelaohk, “Sorrow-Tear’s Champion”—survived for their people’s sake was all that mattered to the Dog in the Dark.

Leesil rammed his right blade’s spade into Ghassan’s chest with all of his force and weight. The tip tore through fabric and sank in nearly to his grip as he rammed the other blade in. He wrenched them both out to strike again.

Ghassan crumpled, as did Brot’an, and the first fell across the second, both on their backs.

Leesil dropped atop them, one knee crushing down into the domin’s blood-soaked clothes as he raised his right blade to strike for the throat. He hesitated at the blank eyes staring up at him.

Neither of them blinked—not Ghassan or Brot’an. Both stared up sightlessly into the cavern, their faces slack and expressionless.