David Farland: Chaosbound

The birds were singing in the trees, and squirrels and chipmunks at the edge of town raced about, hiding seeds in their middens in preparation for the coming winter.

The heroes came pulling handcarts, bearing treasures from the wyrmling hoard: forcibles from their ships, oculars to see afar with, gold, and more.

The handcarts could not hold it all, of course. Most of the treasure had been left behind, and much of value was still to come—hundreds of thousands of Dedicates rescued from the darkness.

Young Wulfgaard bore one of the greatest of the gifts: the fabled Orb of Internook, blazing in his hands so brightly that it looked as if he held a splinter from the sun.

Most of the heroes were glad of heart, laughing, and Aaath Ulber expected the townsfolk to erupt in song.

Yet as he neared the edge of Ox Port, he sensed that something was wrong, and when he saw Warlord Hrath looking grim and sullen, he knew before the words were spoken.

“There was an attack,” Warlord Hrath said. “A lich came to town. The innkeeper heard your wife fall, and nothing more. When she went up to check on her, Myrrima was lying beside her bed with ice on her brow. Nothing could be done.”

Aaath Ulber stood for a moment, shocked into disbelief.

“I am so sorry,” Warlord Hrath said. “We initiated a search, all through town.”

Aaath Ulber sank to his knees. No course of endowments now would make him strong enough to stand, and with his perfect memory he heard Crull-maldor’s words ringing in his ears: “I shall touch you yet. In an hour when you are less watchful, in a way that you do not suspect, I shall freeze your heart.”

She had touched him, he knew, and he feared that it was not over.

“Draken? Where are Draken and Sage?”

“I’m here, Father,” Sage said, stepping out from the crowd. “Draken is with Mother now, watching over her body. He’s been with her most of the night.”

His children were alive, at least for now, he realized. But it was only a matter of time before the lich returned.

“Take me to my wife,” Aaath Ulber said. Sage grasped his hand and led the way.

With so many endowments of metabolism, it seemed that Sage moved as if in a dream.

Aaath Ulber could smell the sweet scent of Myrrima’s skin long before they neared the inn.

His mind was black, and his eyes were blind with grief.

He felt lost, more lost than he had ever been in his life.

But he relished the touch of Sage’s hand. Too soon this war would lead him to distant shores, to dangers that he could not fathom. He wanted to walk with her, hold the hand of his child, one last time.