necessarily. The thought of the Dhargots’ favorite method of slow torture—impalement—sent a shiver down his spine. “What happens to me isn’t important. Stay with our father. When he… when he dies ”—he choked on the word—“your new responsibility will be to get back to Coldhaven and protect the other Shel’ai, especially the children. Do you understand?”
One by one, the others nodded. Shade faced them for a moment, feeling as though he should say more but lacking the words. After a final glance at Fadarah, he started in the direction of the smoke.
Once Shade was alone, he felt his exhaustion even more profoundly than before. He looked west, staring directly into the setting sun. I am a Shel’ai, descended from Dragonkin, who gained their power by conquering beings that soared on six wings and breathed fire into the face of the gods. If it’s my will to stay awake, I will do so.
Nevertheless, his steps grew heavier and heavier as he trudged northeast across the snowy plains. He was glad his cloak matched his surroundings because he would eventually encounter sentries. Then he reminded himself that the sigil of the crimson greatwolf sewn into his cloak would be visible from a half mile away. He cursed. Undoing the clasp of his cloak, he let it slip from his shoulders and land on the snowy ground. A chilly breeze made him shudder.
I feel cold. That’s a bad sign. He loosened his sword in its scabbard and continued in his just his fighting leathers.
He felt a mixture of trepidation and relief when he realized that the Dhargots were making no effort to hide their presence, though little could be done to conceal an army of ten thousand men. Shade could hear the drunken laughter of Dhargothi soldiers mingling with the cries of women being raped. He also heard what sounded like a single man screaming in pain.
How did we ally ourselves with such people? Shade shook his head. Resisting the urge to turn around,he rested one hand on the hilt of his sword. The sounds grew louder, especially those of the screaming man. An hour later, in the thickening blue-black haze of twilight, he spotted the first two sentries. Both wore scale armor decorated with tassels of black silk. One leaned on a spear. The other leaned on a stake, onto which a naked man had been impaled. Like the sentries, the impaled man had painted eyes and a braided goatee. He was weeping in agony, pleading for help. The sentries laughed.
Must be a deserter.
Shade stepped behind a tree, glad his superior Sylvan vision had allowed him to spot the sentries before they saw him. Crouching low, he slipped from one tree to the next. When he ran out of trees, he surveyed the twenty feet of snowy grass separating him from the sentries. He came up with three options: he could circle around them; he could step out from hiding, present himself to them, and demand that they take him to see Prince Ziraari; or he could kill them. He tapped the hilt of his sword.
The sentry leaning against the stake munched on an apple. When he was done, he threw the core at the impaled man’s head. Though the impaled man hardly seemed to notice, the other sentry laughed then quickly flipped his spear and jabbed the impaled man in the ribs. Blood spurted from the wound. The man screamed but did not die. Shade realized the wound had not been intended to kill but merely to add to the man’s torment.
Not that he can suffer any more than he already is.
Shade felt an unexpected pang of pity. True, the man was a Dhargot and had probably visited this same agonizing death on others, but his cries rang out in the encroaching night, piteous and shrill—a warning to any who dared defy their prince.
The same prince I intend to ask for help. Shade straightened, took a deep breath, and stepped out from hiding. He approached with open hands raised. The sentries spotted him at once. The one with the spear leveled it at Shade’s chest while the other fumbled to retrieve a
One by one, the others nodded. Shade faced them for a moment, feeling as though he should say more but lacking the words. After a final glance at Fadarah, he started in the direction of the smoke.
Once Shade was alone, he felt his exhaustion even more profoundly than before. He looked west, staring directly into the setting sun. I am a Shel’ai, descended from Dragonkin, who gained their power by conquering beings that soared on six wings and breathed fire into the face of the gods. If it’s my will to stay awake, I will do so.
Nevertheless, his steps grew heavier and heavier as he trudged northeast across the snowy plains. He was glad his cloak matched his surroundings because he would eventually encounter sentries. Then he reminded himself that the sigil of the crimson greatwolf sewn into his cloak would be visible from a half mile away. He cursed. Undoing the clasp of his cloak, he let it slip from his shoulders and land on the snowy ground. A chilly breeze made him shudder.
I feel cold. That’s a bad sign. He loosened his sword in its scabbard and continued in his just his fighting leathers.
He felt a mixture of trepidation and relief when he realized that the Dhargots were making no effort to hide their presence, though little could be done to conceal an army of ten thousand men. Shade could hear the drunken laughter of Dhargothi soldiers mingling with the cries of women being raped. He also heard what sounded like a single man screaming in pain.
How did we ally ourselves with such people? Shade shook his head. Resisting the urge to turn around,he rested one hand on the hilt of his sword. The sounds grew louder, especially those of the screaming man. An hour later, in the thickening blue-black haze of twilight, he spotted the first two sentries. Both wore scale armor decorated with tassels of black silk. One leaned on a spear. The other leaned on a stake, onto which a naked man had been impaled. Like the sentries, the impaled man had painted eyes and a braided goatee. He was weeping in agony, pleading for help. The sentries laughed.
Must be a deserter.
Shade stepped behind a tree, glad his superior Sylvan vision had allowed him to spot the sentries before they saw him. Crouching low, he slipped from one tree to the next. When he ran out of trees, he surveyed the twenty feet of snowy grass separating him from the sentries. He came up with three options: he could circle around them; he could step out from hiding, present himself to them, and demand that they take him to see Prince Ziraari; or he could kill them. He tapped the hilt of his sword.
The sentry leaning against the stake munched on an apple. When he was done, he threw the core at the impaled man’s head. Though the impaled man hardly seemed to notice, the other sentry laughed then quickly flipped his spear and jabbed the impaled man in the ribs. Blood spurted from the wound. The man screamed but did not die. Shade realized the wound had not been intended to kill but merely to add to the man’s torment.
Not that he can suffer any more than he already is.
Shade felt an unexpected pang of pity. True, the man was a Dhargot and had probably visited this same agonizing death on others, but his cries rang out in the encroaching night, piteous and shrill—a warning to any who dared defy their prince.
The same prince I intend to ask for help. Shade straightened, took a deep breath, and stepped out from hiding. He approached with open hands raised. The sentries spotted him at once. The one with the spear leveled it at Shade’s chest while the other fumbled to retrieve a
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