And he was stuck. He could not kill her and relieve himself of her presence, nor could he run away from her. His only chance would be if someone set upon her and did him the great courtesy of dispatching her for him. His lip curled as he regarded the open road, the sheer mountainside giving way only to the viewpoint of the entire world beneath them. The chance of miscreants coming across them was minimal. Scowling, he angled his sword so that the blade could strike against the stone wall at their other side in passing in a subtle voice to his anger.
The necromancer twitched at the sound, her shoulders drawing up slowly as it continued until, finally, she stopped and turned to give him a sharp look. “What are you doing?”
He gave her a nasty smile. “Finding an entertaining way to pass the time, naturally. What of it?”
Ashul wanted to rejoice when her lips pinched with frustration, and she raised a hand to pinch her brow. “You mean you’re finding amusement solely by torturing me by whatever means possible as often as possible and for as long as you can to punish me for something I can’t even control.”
He cocked his head. Did he feel guilt that he was lashing out at her when she did not expect to be bound with him either? A small sense of unease shifted deep—deep—inside of him, and he quashed it brutally.No.He felt nothing. Instead, he allowed his smile to grow.
“As for your question,” she continued, giving him a disgusted look, “that noise is distracting and potentially dangerous. The paths through the mountains can easily give way in spots or even be covered by rockslides. Death may not mean much to you, since as a resurrected being your flesh will simply reknit due to the grace of the leash, but I’m not looking for a quick way to die.”
“If only I could be so lucky,” he growled, jabbing hard at the ground in front of him with the point of his sword. It plunged deep and vibrated from the force of the blow as he released it and took a step toward her. “It would be my greatest pleasure if some calamity seized you and gave me some peace.”
She laughed, infuriating him. “You’re horrible. You think that would be lucky for you? How I wish there were a way for you to find out the reality of the situation without involving my death.” She threw her arms out furiously. “For that matter, I wish that we were granted the knowledge and higher magic that allowed us to destroy the leash so I could give you the ‘freedom’ you so richly desire and deserve. But I can’t, so I’m just going to continue on and hope that you fall off the side of the cliff and are forced to put yourself back together painfully as you are forced to crawl after me.”
She spun away and started walking again, this time at a faster clip, leaving him to decide whether to catch up or lingering behind her. He begrudgingly yanked his sword free—not relishing the reminder of another brutal snapping sensation from the leash—and began to follow, admittedly at a slower pace as he fumed.
He would catch up to her later and begin again with his torments, but for now he sucked in breaths that weren’t thickly scented with her natural perfume or tainted with the inescapable image of her swaying hips that provoked urges he did not wish to acknowledge. He would give himself this moment. There would be plenty of time to twist the blade of their connection later.
Turning away from the sight of her oddly enticing backside, he peered out at the scenery stretched to his left, the mountainside below purpling with the setting sun, and just beyond that a dark hint of trees, their color deepened by the approach of night. Drawing in a deep breath, he savored the view, enjoying the first cool appearance of the stars piercing the sky when the sound of the crack of rocks breaking free filled the air from around the bend just ahead of him and was followed by the sound of the necromancer’s sharp cry.
His head jerked around in disbelief. Had the Dark Ones truly listened to his prayers? His steps quickened, and eagerness filled his spirit as he hurried forward. He wished to see this moment and know that at last he was free.
A smile slowly stretched across his face as the path ahead came into view and he saw the half-crumbled segment of the path that had suddenly given out and a gloved hand desperately clinging to the broken sides. The necromancer cried out fearfully as her hands slipped when she tried to pull herself up, only catching herself at the last minute.
With a quiet chuckle, he crept toward the edge and peered down, his smile widening at the sight. She looked up at him wide-eyed with stark fear, her white hair flowing behind her. His nostrils flared, and he discovered that the scent of her distress had an obnoxiously mixed effect on him. Part of him relished it as much as he ever did from those who were in his way and served no purpose for him, and yet there was a strange pinching ache in his chest that disturbed him. Ignoring it, he crouched down and tossed a pebble so that it bounced off the sigil marking her forehead.
“It seems that things have worked out in my favor after all, necromancer,” he purred.
A harsh bark of laughter escaped her even as she was forced to switch the grip of her right hand to a root as the stone came loose from beneath her fingertips.
“You’re an idiot,” she snapped.
He recoiled in offense, his eyes narrowed even as his nostrils flared with temper. “You dare to speak to me in such a manner. I am a prince—a conqueror—and you are nothing.”
“Not nothing,” she gasped, as she returned his smile with a strained one. “I’m your necromancer.”
“Exactly. A stone around my neck,” he agreed dismissively, standing. “One I am happy to be rid of.”
A strange giggle left her as she slipped further, the sound causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise unpleasantly.
“And that’s why you’re an idiot. Think about it,” she gasped. “I’m your necromancer. Your life force is tied to me.”
“Your spell has leashed me to you,” he agreed impatiently as he peered down at her. “Which means that your death shall dissolve it, freeing me of you.”
“My death will dissolve the spell entirely, asshole,” she bit out, and he jerked back in surprise. “Which means you return to exactly the state you were, except that your bones will be decorating this path rather than a fancy throne room.”
Ashul wanted to deny it, to tell her that he would not fall for her trickery, but a cold sensation formed a lump in his chest, and he surged forward with the inborn speed of his race as the root pulled free from the mountain wall. Her scream nearly deafened him as he snatched her from the air, his muscles straining as he pulled her up while making certain not to go over himself. He cursed as the bag with the meager amount of provisions she had supplied him slipped off him and fell to the ravine below, but he could not spare much thought about it now. Growling, he tugged her up until they both fell back onto the hard path behind them.
Getting to his feet, he dragged her upright, his eyes and hands frantically searching for any sign of a deadly injury as he steadied her on her feet until she batted him away with a grumble.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she muttered, stepping out of his reach, her eyes looking anywhere but him as she brushed her long, colorless hair behind her small, rounded ear. She adjusted the straps on the sturdy pack leashed to her back and turned away. “Let’s get going. We have a lot of ground we need to cover to find safer ground to camp on when the sun is high. Even with the lengthening autumn hours, the night won’t hold forever.”
Without another word, she walked away as if she hadn’t nearly died, and Ashul stared after her perplexed and feeling an odd sense of admiration for her indomitable spirit. He could relate to that, and it was with a much fainter but somewhat more genuine smile that he hurried after her. It was disappointing to know that there was no perceivable escape in sight other than following through with the course of action that the necromancer had laid out, but any female who could nearly die and come back from it both with strength and no apparent need to lash out at him for something he did not contrive… It was impressive.
Hours later, as they settled into an uncomfortable tightly hollow off the road, he was shocked further when she passed nuts and meat and a thick loaf of bread to him—something he had only eaten on feast days before. He stared down at the offerings and swallowed uncomfortably. She had split her rations in half before to make sure he was fed, and now she was sharing what little she had when he had laughed at her fate when he thought he would benefit from it. The food wasn’t much, but they each had only so much when they set out from the keep days ago. He ate while brooding, his eyes fixed on her with a quiet curiosity.
She ignored him and settled as far from the encroaching sunlight as possible, pillowing her head on her pack with a pained grimace. Her skin was no longer as pale but overbright with discolored, angry streaks that he did not care for. Although the sun was painful for the drow, it apparently affected her grievously too… and still she did not insist on the cloak back. Was she one of those who enjoyed pain? He had a warrior who took excessive pleasure in the bite of pain to the point of recklessness, but he did not think that was it. She was simply… kind.