Asunder Read online

  He stood still, looking for anyone else willing to help, until the decision was made for him. The rider slumped sideways and toppled from the horse with a groan, directly in Orrin’s path. Instinct moved him forward, and he caught and eased the man to the ground in one smooth motion. Orrin pushed back the hood of the man’s cloak, and recoiled. Every visible inch of skin was blistered and boiled, glistening with seeping fluid.

  The shirtless stranger tried to pull away, and Orrin saw the shocking extent of the burns - no hair on his head, no eyebrows or eyelashes, just rippled, melted flesh. It seemed worse on the man’s right side, but there was no part of him unscathed. How the man had managed to ride at all, let alone the distance he had obviously come, was a mystery. The smell from the fluid in the wounds and the cloak was raw and unpleasant, but regardless of his nausea, Orrin could not leave the man to die in the street.

  “Up you go, friend.” He pulled the man’s arm around his shoulders and stood. “Let’s get you somewhere you can rest, at least.”

  The stranger groaned again as Orrin lifted him and draped him over the horse’s back, balancing him as best he could. The horse nickered and shied away, unsettled by the weight of the body on his back.

  “Not much longer, boy, I promise,” Orrin said. “Come now, there’s a fresh stall in it for you.”

  The horse rolled his eye suspiciously, and heaved an enormous sigh.

  Orrin smiled. “There you are. Come on then.” He led the horse into town and to the stable by his inn, where he paid for its care and tried not to feel how light his coin pouch had become. He shouldered the groaning stranger for the walk to his room just as he had carried the Duke’s prisoner out of the dungeon an eternity ago. A memorable sight, Orrin was sure, but if the stable boy talked, he talked - there was simply not enough money left to buy his silence.

  “Whoever you are, friend, you’re lucky to be alive.” Orrin laid the wounded man on the bed, trying not to injure him further as he pulled the cloak free. “Or are you?” He surveyed the extent of the damage and shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  The man let out a restless breath, tossing his head and furrowing the blistered skin of his brow. The skin there cracked, and fluid began to ooze steadily from the split.

  “Your name,” the man said. It was a command, not a question.

  Orrin ran his hand through his hair. That voice…

  “I am Orrin, milord. You fell from your horse. I didn’t want to leave you in the street.”

  The wounded man ran his tongue out, exploring the scorched skin of his lips, and cracked open the eye that was not swollen shut. It was a deep green. It focused on Orrin.

  “Where are we?” There was strength in his voice in spite of the pain that must be consuming him.

  “Paltos, milord. One of the smaller inns.”

  The green eye closed, and the man on the bed sighed heavily. “You are a soldier.”

  Orrin swallowed, beginning to recognize both the voice and the demeanor. He took no comfort from either. “I – I was, milord.”

  Burnt skin stretched and split as the man raised what should have been his eyebrow. “You’re a little young for retirement, boy.”

  Orrin shook his head, and then remembered that the man’s eyes were closed. What could he say? For lack of a better lie, Orrin told some of the truth.

  “I followed the orders of a woman, milord, and left my post without permission. I fear the consequences of my actions.”

  The man nodded, cracking open his eye again. “Return me to Epidii, soldier, and you will be pardoned, whatever your crime. You have my word.”

  Orrin’s suspicions about the man’s identity were confirmed. “You … You’re Chancellor Garen, aren’t you?”

  The man on the bed managed to look surprised in spite of his ruined face. “Am I so unrecognizable, then?”

  Again Orrin had to nod. “I’ve never seen such burns, Chancellor. In truth, I can’t imagine how you managed to travel at all. If you would like me to try and find a Healer…?” He left the sentence hanging there, testing.

  Rumors amongst Korith’s soldiers said that the Duke’s Chancellor did not share their Lord’s single-minded hatred of all things magical. Orrin had even heard a whisper once of entire units of soldiers who had secretly sworn their loyalty to him over the Duke.

  Garen licked his lips again. “Not in Paltos, boy. They’ve all been killed.”

  His voice was difficult to read, but Orrin imagined he heard disgust. “A woman then, milord? Someone to try and care for the wounds before you travel?”

  Garen shook his head. “You’re going to have to play nursemaid. No one here can see me like this, and I must get to Epidii as soon as possible.”

  Orrin’s stomach twisted. “Yes, Chancellor.” He checked the pitcher at the basin, and found it empty. “I’ll need to get some water.”

  “Get some whiskey while you’re at it, boy. And relax. Whatever you’ve run from can’t be that bad. It will be erased when you aid me in answering Korith’s summons.”

  Orrin was not convinced, but he agreed. “Yes, milord. Thank you. I will be back with the water and your drink shortly.”

  When the young soldier had gone, Garen sank back into the pain that embraced his body like a desperate lover. She had done this, he thought, torn between anger and pride. She had commanded the flames beside him. He had heard her in his thoughts. There was no question it had been her voice in his mind insisting that he burn. And what she had done to the rest of the town … Garen smiled despite the agonizing crackle of his skin.

  He had watched from a distance as every part of Foley had broken or burned. He felt the earth heave, saw the lightning drawn from the clouds again and again. The sheer power in her … it was incredible and huge and unthinkable. Her power may be greater than even the Lich King’s— and for a time, he had controlled it. He, Garen Tambor, Chancellor to the Duke who sought to eliminate all magic, had collared and possessed the single greatest magical ability in all of history. He still would, he thought, if the damned Duke hadn’t summoned him.

  He would have that power again. He had to. Melody was the key to everything. And if she could obliterate Foley, if she was already primed for that kind of destruction, then controlling her would be that much easier. Her affections would not be far behind. But how to find her, and how to keep the fool Duke from interfering again?

  Garen decided he would tell Korith that the witch-child of his wife had perished in her destruction of the town, buried under rubble, along with the two men the Duke blamed for Lucian’s death. His own dramatic appearance would lend all the truth to the tale he would need, and the Duke would stop his foolish pursuit.

  He would not, he realized, be able to seek Melody out himself. Time was crucial, and his wounds were considerable.

  Lothaedus.

  There was no question the Hunter Captain could find her. More importantly, Garen thought, Lothaedus may be the only other man besides himself who could capture her alive. His ability to track and blend into crowds were unparalleled, which led to more than a few whispered rumors that Lothaedus had magic of his own. In any case, there would need to be a reason to send the assassin out. Duke Korith liked to keep Lothaedus close.

  Garen shifted uncomfortably on the small bed, restless and aching. He would change the lie, then. He would tell Korith that his son’s killer had escaped the destruction of Foley, and was still on the run. He would recommend that Lothaedus be assigned to deal with the problem while Garen remained at Korith’s side. Even if he were reduced to using his own powers to push the thought, the Duke would think that was an excellent suggestion.

  He would explain the true situation to his oldest friend, and then Lothaedus would go in search of Melody armed with all the knowledge Garen could provide— what she was capable of, what she responded to, what she feared. Lothaedus would find her and stay by her side. He would bring her to Garen if he could, and send word if he could not.

  Regar
dless, Garen would have his prize once more.

  5

  It was awkward going, but Melody would not abandon the twins to the thing she was now certain followed close behind them. However she ached, whatever pain still pounded in her head, she had sworn to protect the children. Kedra and Kendon bravely held back their whimpers as they clung to her staff, carrying it while she carried them.

  Her footing would be surer with light from the staff, Melody knew. Their progress would be much faster if she could see where to set her feet. It would be easier still to turn and simply destroy the creature with the magic that pulsed through her, vibrating in her head and her hands, begging to be released.

  But she would not.

  It was magic that had drawn it. She didn’t understand how, but she knew that it was her power that had called the thing. Her power had led it straight to her— and to the twins. Using more magic would only be a beacon for this creature, or another like it.

  A groan reached their ears as they crossed into the trees— much too close. The children began to cry, whether from the noise or the way Melody tightened her grip and quickened her pace, she didn’t know. The sound of lumbering steps in the woods behind them drove Melody to a full run, and the children’s cries rapidly became shrieks that pierced the chill night air.

  Jovan looked up at the sound, surprised. He’d been in these woods since the fight that claimed his brother’s life, and heard nothing but birds and squirrels. Except for the sudden storm that never made it away from the city, nothing had disturbed the stillness as he dug Kaeliph’s grave and gathered stones for a marker.

  The work of it, the physical action of digging was no substitute for the vengeance Jovan wanted against Korith, the Duke who had driven the brothers out and hunted them for crimes they hadn’t even committed. The work was no true channel for the rage that tightened his throat and clenched his fists whenever he thought of Melody’s inaction, how she looked right at him with Kaeliph bleeding out in her arms, and refused to save him. After everything, after as many times as he risked his own life for hers, she wouldn’t do the one thing he needed her to do.

  The child’s wail came again, sharp and scared and urgent as Jovan angrily sliced through his long ponytail and dropped it on the cairn of stones he had built over his brother’s grave. In the pale glow of the moonlight, the hair looked like a bloodstain on the rock. Jovan sheathed the knife, took up his sword, and grabbed his pack, heading towards the sound at a quick jog. Melody might let a child die in the forest, but he wasn’t about to.

  The smell reached him before the sound did, but the groan sent a chill down his spine and the back of his neck suddenly itched. He stopped, listening. That sound was as familiar as the smell – and it was close, accompanied by running footsteps and children weeping. Jovan dropped his pack, drew his knife, and stood ready. Whatever it was, it was heading right for him.

  He had just enough time to recognize Melody before the creature behind her struck a blow that sent her to the ground at his feet, the children she had been carrying bouncing out of her arms and rolling into the underbrush.

  He stepped to one side and landed a solid kick to the chest of the not-man, stopping the thing in its tracks.

  “Get them out of here,” Jovan snapped, not waiting to see if she’d do as she was told.

  Jovan?

  The creature had turned its dim red gaze to consider him, but Jovan was already on the attack, striking several blows that pushed the thing back, one step at a time, away from the children. “Go!”

  As before, none of the strikes he was able to land on the thing seemed to have any effect. It was the top of the lighthouse all over again, Jovan realized, and if he was going to walk away from this fight he would have to separate the thing’s body from its head.

  The smell, already sickening, suddenly intensified and Jovan leapt aside as another of the shambling not-men appeared, too close. When he sprang back to his feet, though, he realized it was between the first creature and him— defending him. There was no time to wonder why.

  Jovan had his hands full, even with the unexpected help. Both creatures moved with surprising speed— the first was not distracted by the second, and had knocked the thing aside and torn the sword out of Jovan’s hand in the span of mere seconds. It lunged, claws flashing directly towards his face, and all of Jovan’s concentration was focused on trying to deflect the attacks with the knife.

  It was useless. There was no opening to press an attack of his own, even with the inexplicable help from the equally fast not-man by his side - it had already taken several blows that would have connected with Jovan’s head, but the other was just too fast, too aggressive. The itching memory in Jovan’s neck and arm reminded him of the consequences of failure as he backpedaled, giving more ground to the thing, hoping to at least draw it away from the children before it finished him off.

  Without warning, a sword plunged through the stomach of the creature from behind, drawing a rattling groan from its lips before it crumpled to its knees and lurched to the side, motionless. Melody stood where it had been, her face white and shocked, looking from her hands to the sword that was still protruding from the corpse at her feet.

  Jovan didn’t have time to react— the second creature immediately clamped a cold hand around his wrist, tightening the grip until Jovan could feel his bones grinding together, forcing him to drop the knife. His reaction was pure instinct. He twisted, dropping one shoulder and turning his back to the thing before sweeping his leg back to throw it off balance.

  The move worked, the creature fell heavily to the forest floor, but it didn’t let go of Jovan’s wrist. Jovan hit his knees with a grunt, arching his body to keep his arm from breaking while the creature stood and began to walk, unperturbed. No matter how Jovan kicked or pulled, the grip on his wrist was like iron. The creature intended to bring him somewhere, not caring whether he walked or was dragged.

  Melody blinked, struggling to understand. The stinking, shambling thing wasn’t attacking Jovan, it wasn’t interested in her or the still weeping children - it was taking him, pulling him along like he was a disobedient child instead of a solid, muscular warrior.

  “Melody—" As a last ditch effort, Jovan hooked his free arm and one leg around a smaller tree and set his heel against a root, slowing the thing’s progress momentarily, hoping against hope there was something she could - or would - do. The pressure on his wrist increased, once more feeling as if his bones were being crushed together, but he hung on with gritted teeth. “Please—"

  She grabbed the sword with both hands, struggling to pull the blade out of the dead creature, but it wouldn’t budge. Jovan’s plea turned into a groan of pain, and Melody braced one foot against the corpse and wrenched the sword free at last.

  Jovan’s arm was stretched between where he clung to the tree and the creature’s inflexible grip. The not-man’s arm was equally stretched as it pulled on Jovan’s wrist, and Melody sent up a quick prayer that her aim would stay true as she swung the heavy steel blade overhand and brought it down with all the force she could manage.

  Her heart nearly stopped when Jovan screamed in pain, but it was the creature that fell backwards, its arm severed bloodlessly at the elbow. A low groan escaped its lips before it, like the other, toppled over and lay motionless. Melody dropped the sword.

  Jovan?

  He was ashen gray, braced against the tree, with the creature’s dismembered hand still clamped around his wrist. His arm hung limp at his side, and he was taking deep, shuddering breaths.

  Melody took a step towards him, all fear of the magic forgotten as she instinctively hummed and reached for his arm.

  “Don’t touch me,” he snapped, turning to face her. His teeth were bared in a grimace of pain and anger. “Stay where you are.”

  She froze, watching in horror as he braced his shoulder with his good hand and then used the tree trunk as leverage to force his injured arm back into joint with a strangled cry. He began to pry at the thi
ng’s dead fingers, trying to work it free of his wrist as he made his way to where he had dropped his weapons. The hand wouldn’t budge.

  Jovan, please…

  “No.” He used the knife to cut the clutching hand of the dead creature free of his bruised wrist, careful to stay clear of the claws. When it dropped to the ground, he sheathed the knife and picked up his sword. “We’re done,” he told her. “I’m leaving.”

  Melody swallowed, blinking back tears as she nodded. Wait. She again picked up the sword she’d taken from Ving’s keep. She held it out, offering it to him. Will you take this?

  Jovan stared at the weapon, not looking at her. It looked like any other sword, if more ornate, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Melody hadn’t decapitated those creatures, but they were still dead. His own weapons hadn’t even slowed them down. He took the sword, still not looking at her, curious but refusing to ask where she had gotten it, or why she was this far out of the city - with children. It didn’t matter.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  He couldn’t begin to explain what had just happened, but now was not the time. First, he needed to put some distance between them. The pain in his wrist and shoulder was unthinkable, but Jovan kept his spine straight and his face steady as he brushed past Melody, leaving her and the children to the night and the forest and whatever else might be in it. She obviously didn’t need his help, and he didn’t need any extra responsibility. They would be fine. He had bigger things to think about.

  6

  “M’lady, your husband comes!” Bashara entered the Duchess’ chambers without knocking, struggling to close the heavy wooden door behind her both quickly and quietly. “My Lady!”

  Bethcelamin, in her maid’s adjoining quarters, excused herself from Calder’s side. The ranger was not yet strong, but over time she had managed to heal the worst of the damage her husband had inflicted. They had been concealing the man for over two weeks, and fear of discovery set both women on edge.