4: THE KORTHAEN BLIGHT

Kihrin was grinning when Thurvishar took a break.

“Stop,” Thurvishar told him.

“I didn’t say a word!” Kihrin protested. “Anyway, it’s funny about the sword.”

Thurvishar regarded him and waited.

“Urthaenriel’s always been silver when I’ve held it, but for Xivan? Black. Curious, don’t you think?”

Thurvishar looked thoughtful. “I suppose you’re right. That is odd. Perhaps it’s the sword’s way of commenting on Xivan’s status as an undead being.”

“Wouldn’t the sword be white, then?”

Thurvishar pressed his lips together and didn’t answer.

“Anyway, I’ll continue.”

(Kihrin’s story)

When the “rain” stopped and we climbed back out from under the battered wagon, metal weapons littered the ground. Sword, spears, daggers, every kind of knife. The two pack animals—whatever they’d been¹—now resembled butchered meat.

I turned to Janel. “Could you complain about not having any food or water next?”

She smacked my arm. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“How will we know unless we try?” I picked up a sword. “Do the weapons just … stay?” The weapon seemed surprisingly well made. I wouldn’t have felt stupid buying such a sword at market. Of course, the cursed sky had only dropped blades on our heads, not scabbards. Carrying the damn thing safely was going to be a challenge.

“No,” Janel said, “but they’ll last for a few days. Long enough for us to escape the Blight.”

“How would you know?” Teraeth twisted his mouth. “Was this something you learned from Xaltorath?”

Janel gave the man a sideways stare. “If you must know, I’m starting to remember my last life.”

Teraeth swallowed and looked away. Abandoning the conversation, he removed a thin silk robe he’d been wearing and bent down by the two slaughtered pack beasts. He began scavenging meat, butchering further when necessary.

Honestly, I’m glad he’d thought of it. Who knew how many days would pass before we could make our way out? This might prove to be our only food.

“So no gates,” Thurvishar said. “Noted.”

“That’s not normal,” I said. “That definitely didn’t happen the last time.”

Janel shrugged. “The last time, Vol Karoth was still asleep.”

I exhaled. She had a point.

“What does that mean?” Thurvishar asked. “Vol Karoth is changing the laws of magic?”

“Not exactly,” Teraeth said. “Try looking past the First Veil.” He looked apologetic. “Sorry I didn’t warn you. I haven’t been back here in this lifetime.”

Thurvishar concentrated. A moment later, he made a low noise and shut his eyes, as if he’d caught himself looking into the sun. “Veils,” Thurvishar cursed. “What was that?”

“Vol Karoth’s corruption,” Teraeth answered. “Now, the last time I journeyed here—in my last life—I wielded Urthaenriel, which stopped me from looking past the First Veil myself. But I’d brought other wizards with me, and they never stopped complaining. Vol Karoth distorts the magic for miles around. No one should use magic.” He gave Janel a significant stare.

She scowled. “You mean my strength.”

“I mean your strength.”

Janel paced back and forth, hands clenching and unclenching, as if psyching herself up for a fight. “Well, I’m going to try something—not using my strength—so everyone be prepared to dive back under the wagon.”

“What are you going to do?” Teraeth seemed prepared to give a lecture on weapon safety. “This is not the time to experiment.”

She ignored him as she bent down over the pack animals’ remains. Janel scooped up a gory handful and dipped her braided laevos² hair into the blood.

I raised an eyebrow. “No, really. Mind explaining what you’re doing?”

“Hold still,” she told me as she approached. “I know, it’s disgusting, but trust me.”

“Always,” I said.

Her ruby eyes softened as she smiled at me. Then she reached up and drew something on my forehead with the blood-soaked tip of her hair.

The air stopped scorching my throat.

“This is that sigil, isn’t it? The one we used at the tavern?” I inhaled deeply. I’d personally experienced this sigil once before when Aeyan’arric the ice dragon had sealed off the tavern we’d been inside.³ The smoke had down-drafted right back into our living space, and we couldn’t leave since a dragon waited outside …

Janel looked up at the clouds, waiting. We all looked up.

Nothing happened.

“Good,” Janel said. “Whatever is causing this doesn’t seem to count the sigils as ‘magic.’”

“Sigil?” Teraeth asked. “What sigil?”

“It’s this glyph thing,” I ever-so-helpfully explained. “It either conjures air or purifies what’s there. I’m not sure which.”

Thurvishar rubbed a knuckle against his chin. “Did Senera teach you that?”⁴

“Taught?” Janel laughed. “No. More like Qown—” She flinched, as though uttering the name itself hurt.⁵ “We realized what she’d done and copied her. Now let’s paint you two, and you can copy the mark to draw on me. I don’t know how long it will last—likely until the symbol wears off. Given what I’m using for paint, not long.”

“Perhaps we’ll be able to make charcoal later, if we can find something to burn,” Thurvishar agreed as she drew the sigil on his forehead.

“The cart will burn, but I don’t feel like carrying planks with me,” Teraeth said dryly.

“Stand still,” Janel ordered. “You’re too damn tall as it is.” She painted the increasingly familiar glyph on Teraeth’s forehead while resting one hand on his arm for balance.

Ever since I’d woken, I’d been hearing this low droning noise. Almost a croon. And it had been easy enough to ignore while we were all in fear for our lives, but now that we’d had a chance to catch our breaths, the noise became intolerable.

“Don’t you hear that?” I asked.

They all stared at me blankly.

“Hear what?” Teraeth asked.

I pointed in the direction where I thought the noise originated. “That sound. It’s like singing? A humming? Something. It’s coming from over there.”

“Uh, Kihrin…?” Janel’s voice sounded worried and far away.

I turned around. The other three all stood fifty feet away. I blinked. “Hey, why did you all walk … away…?” The wagon sat right next to them, the dead pack animals, the deadly weapons on the ground. My friends hadn’t moved.

I had.

I looked back toward the sound. I didn’t remember walking toward it.

I heard footsteps. Teraeth took my arm. “Okay, then, let’s get you back over here.”

I’d apparently started walking again.

“What is happening?” I let Teraeth lead me back, but I could feel my feet trying to turn. The impulse to reverse course felt overwhelming.

“I don’t know,” Teraeth said, “but I don’t like it. I’m going to be honest here—you’re starting to scare me.”

“Let’s not go that way,” I suggested as we returned to the others.

Janel raised her head. “Do you hear that?”

“Not you too,” Teraeth said.⁶

She waved a hand at him, looking irritated. “No, not whatever Kihrin’s hearing. Listen.”

I stopped, trying to ignore the crooning noise. Almost immediately, I heard distant shouts, yells, a low, graveled rumble.

“Battle,” Janel said.

As soon as she labeled it, I heard it too—someone was fighting. Angry yells, shouted directions, the quick drum of running feet.

Janel picked up a metal javelin from the ground, balanced it in one hand, and grabbed a sword with the other. Then she jogged off in the direction of the fighting.

“Wait,” Thurvishar called after her. “Shouldn’t we try to find out what’s going on first?” He turned to Teraeth and me for support.

“Janel, come back here right now!” Teraeth yelled after the woman.

She paid no attention.

“I could have told you that wasn’t going to work,” I said.

Teraeth gave her fading silhouette an exasperated stare. “Damn it, woman.”

“We’d better follow.” I immediately started doing so.

Teraeth grabbed my arm. “You’re going the wrong way,” he said.

I’d started walking toward the droning again. Even though I was breathing in clean air, I suddenly felt like I was choking on it. I had a terrible suspicion the noise had to be coming from the Blight’s center, from Kharas Gulgoth, where Vol Karoth waited.

I nodded, feeling shaken, and let Teraeth lead me after Janel.