Estred, the light of his soul, was trapped somewhere in the grip of a thing that ate the dead, hunted the living, and had no place in this world. At least she had Siora with her, though his fear for her was nearly as great as that for his daughter.
The woman whose selfless compassion had saved his child, then motivated her to betray him, was all that stood between one small girl and a monstrous, ancient force he suspected made the brutal Dalvila seem like a sweet-natured infant by comparison.
A woman repulsed by the idea of necromancy, forced to wield such magic in one shattering moment. He had suspected her powers went far beyond that of a medium, especially after she madeKalun appear before them all. Her name meantraven, those carrion-eaters that helped vultures clear battlefields of decaying corpses. Even her name was associated with the dead. Was it any wonder chance and circumstance had unveiled her true power? He didn’t consider necromancy the abomination she did. Magic was magic. It was men who twisted it for nefarious purposes. Still, he wished she might have embraced her newly discovered power without the threat of a ghost-eater.
He’d caught only a glimpse of her fright and the resolve that had hardened her delicate features as she invoked a necromancer’s spell in a bid to save her father and Kalun before she was snatched from Gharek’s arms, Estred along with her.
To Midrigar. Of that, he had no doubt. And while Zaredis was assured of the cat’s-paw’s extorted alliance, Gharek schemed to slip away at the first opportunity. Domora offered the best chance and a means for him to reach Midrigar via the Maesor. The general was welcome to the artifact and Domora itself. Gharek just wanted his daughter—and his lover—back. He wanted Siora in his arms, in his bed, in his life. She, who gave him no quarter and allowed none of his excuses, had been generous in her mercy with him, her understanding. From the time she’d entered his house as Estred’s nurse, her presence had begun to alter him, remind him of the gentler man he’d once been so long ago. She’d turned his rage away, cooled the fire of his vengeance and made him question his purpose for it. She’d had no reason to help him with Zaredis’s task or defend him to the general, yet she had, and put herself in danger for the doing. Siora made him whole when he was with her, made him believe there was something inside himself notyet rotten or splintered beyond repair. Something ultimately redeemable.
Schemes and memories occupied his thoughts and kept at bay the grimmer reality of her and Estred’s current circumstances. He barely noticed the way the sun crested the horizon to bring forth the dawn until Zaredis signaled a stop.
“These roads will soon have a fair number of travelers as we get closer to Domora,” he said. “I’ve been a long time away from this part of the Empire. I doubt I’ll be recognized. You, however,” he eyed Gharek, “are notorious and hunted. Even your beard won’t fool the sharp-eyed for long.”
He was right. Gharek had already pushed his luck more than once by visiting Domora. He recalled the assassin who’d appeared at the abandoned brothel that was one of the gateways to the Maesor, a killer dispatched by one of many who sought revenge against the cat’s-paw. Someone had recognized him then, and there was only so far a beard or a head wrap would go. “What do you suggest then? I don’t think I’ll make a very convincing woman if you have such a disguise in mind.”
“I have something better than a shoddy disguise as an exceptionally ugly milkmaid,” Zaredis said. “I have a sorcerer.”
Instantly alarmed by the implication of his remark, Gharek halted Suti and leapt from the saddle to run. Too late.
His feet had barely hit the ground before a wash of sensation like thousands of tiny thorns dug into his skin, covering his entire body. The feeling lasted no more than a couple of moments. He stood next to the patient Suti, who stayed beside him and took advantage of their short rest to nibble grass at the roadside. “What did you do to me?” Gharek snarled at Rurian, ready to charge themage in his fury and pull the uppity bastard from his mount so he could strangle him.
“Peace, cat’s-paw,” Rurian said, one hand raised in truce. “You wear a disguise, an illusion, though not that of a milkmaid. It’s a temporary spell but works better than any dress, hat, or beard ever could.”
Zaredis handed Gharek the small shield he carried. “Take a look for yourself.”
Gharek held the shield up, its low polished surface not much of a mirror but reflective enough that he could make out the face staring back at him. It was one he didn’t recognize. One no one looking for the cat’s-paw would ever suspect hid their quarry in plain sight. The anger drained away, and he glanced at Rurian, impressed. “You’re more useful than I thought. I could have used such help on my first trip back to Domora.”
“You’ll do,” Rurian said. “But you can’t wander far. The spell’s strength is limited by distance from the spellcaster. Get too far from me and it will fade.”
They set off once more, arriving at the double walls that girdled Domora and were manned by guards in towers and on the battlements.
Zaredis stared at the formidable fortifications with an eye for strategy. “It’s changed since I last saw it. I think it might have been half its current size when I lived here. And Herself added another three stretches of walls.”
Rurian pointed to a section built of recently quarried stone. It shone brighter than the more weathered squares on either side of it. “That’s a repair. Bigger or not, someone managed to breach that section.”
Gharek gave a bitter chuckle. “Work of a draga,” he said. “The one who ate the empress.” He recalled Malachus’s long-suffering expression as he denied eating Dalvila.
“A draga would be very useful to us,” Zaredis said on a wistful note.
“And beyond any control you might fancy you had over it,” Gharek replied.
“If that repair work is any indicator and the Kraelian stories are true, it will be nothing for the artifact to conquer,” Rurian said in a low voice.
Gharek noted the mage avoided calling the Windcry by name. They were on the perimeter of the heaviest traffic flowing into and out of the city. Rurian would have had to shout his remark for any beyond the three of them to hear, but one could never be too cautious when discussing the siege of a city, especially when one stood just outside its gates.
The inaugural test of Rurian’s spell on Gharek came when they were stopped by a trio of gate guards. One demanded to know who they were and what business brought them to Domora.
This was the first time Gharek had seen the lazy gate guards actually do their jobs and question visitors. It was also the first time he’d seen so many soldiers in the city at a given moment, even more than when he and Siora were here days earlier. Regiments marched through the gates, all wearing General Tovan’s heraldry on their shields or their horses’ barding. Word had obviously reached Domora that an army amassed and prepared to march on the capital.
Zaredis answered the guard’s questions with an easy smile. “Whores for the army,” he said. “I’m Baleetis of South Dale. I’vebrought over a nice crop of cunts from Wester Way. I hear Tovan likes to keep his men happy, and these mares are a fine lot to tempt the choosiest prick. I’m here to barter.”
The guard’s eyes lit up as if he might have a chance to purchase the services of these nonexistent prostitutes. He gave both Gharek and Rurian no more than a passing glance before waving them through the gate. The pungent crush of people and horses surrounding them reminded Gharek why he didn’t miss most things about living here, even if he was effectively a homeless exile.
He glanced at Zaredis. “A whoremonger? How the great have fallen in the world.”
The general shrugged, unfazed by the mockery. “If there’s one thing that will gain you access to most places, it’s the possibility of a good fuck. Free or paid for, it doesn’t matter.”
Were they not adversaries, Gharek would have enjoyed Zaredis’s company. He was pragmatic, straightforward, and ruthlessly resolved when necessary. His observations were insightful and no less accurate for their occasional vulgarity. Too bad the man had threatened to execute him, held Estred hostage, and refused to set him free so he could rescue her and Siora. Gharek wouldn’t think twice about sinking a knife into the general if it aided in his escape, but he’d regret doing it. The Empire, crumbling away every day, might actually survive and thrive under Zaredis’s rule.