| |
I managed a few groggy blinks. A shallow pained breath. Crawling out from under the rubble, I found the strength to shove up onto my feet. I coughed, doubling over. The world swayed, but I fought against it. I had to stay conscious, alert.
"What the devil happened?"
I could hear Sylos's voice, scratchy and dry in the distance. He was alive. Good.
When the ringing in my ears finally stopped, I searched for him in the dust and debris. He was lying against the base of tree, his arm badly broken.
His dark, bruised eyes lifted to mine. "Glad you're still alive, mate," he said in a strained voice. "Need someone to reset this for me." He grunted as he tried to maneuver himself upright using his one good arm. I offered a hand and tugged him to his feet.
"You ready?" I asked, staring at the jagged edge of bone jutting out from the cloth of his sleeve.
"No, I'm not ready, I'm—"
"On three." I grabbed hold of his arm and snapped the bone back in place.
Sylos let out a loud howl. When I let go, he glared at me.
"I said I wasn't ready," he barked, hugging his arm to his chest.
"You'd never be ready."
I placed my hands on either side of his arm, letting the cold of magic swirl from my fingertips into his arm. Before long he would be nearly as good as new. It would not heal him instantly, the way Lorelei's touch did, but it would ease his pain while he healed. Faerie healing was not a cure-all, and it did not erase all signs of injury. Some things just did not heal and return to how they were, but Sylos would have almost normal use of his arm. It was more than he could have hoped for were I not with him.
I managed to get him mounted onto his horse. He had more mobility in his arm, but it would take another night before he could use it freely. Clearly, we did not have the luxury of waiting. If whoever launched that assault believed we were dead, we might stand a chance of outrunning them. The toxic gas they’d exploded would keep them away from the site until it cleared. It would take until dawn before they realized we'd gotten away. By then we would have put enough distance between us that we could safely make it to the trod that crossed from this place into the realm of the Dunedin Plains.
"This has Witches all over it. The note, the explosion. Witches," Silos ranted between coughing fits. "It has to be. Like the redhead you freed from Oberon's tower."
"She has no powers. Remember?"
"Yes, well, the realm puts far too much faith in a magic-suppressing bracelet," he grumbled. "I'd not put it past her to gnaw off her own hand just to remove it, then hocus-pocus herself a new one."
"Magic does not work that way. You know it doesn't." I pointed at his bandaged arm, which I could tell was still paining him by his foul mood. "If it did, you'd have a brand new arm and be less of a pain in my backside right now."
He muttered under his breath. "Fine. Then who do you think set off that explosion?"
Explosives were not the sort of warfare tactics known to beings in the Nevermore. They were more of the realm of men. Those desperate to not only right a wrong or take a life, but annihilate each and every living thing in their path. "I don't know," I said, scanning the darkened trees. "But whoever it was, is desperate. We need to get moving."
****
THE DUNEDIN PLAINS might have been difficult to locate, but the Dwarf's home was not. The entire village radiated wealth and affluence. If the relation we'd pressed for information in the game-house was a close kin, you would never know it. This place was well-kept and well-guarded. I'd felt its magic even before setting eyes on it.
Invisible markings on the door glowed under my touch. This was a Druid home. They were not in the habit of taking Dwarves under their wings and offering them shelter, and yet this one had. Why?
I opened the door and paused at the threshold. This place was under protection from powerful beings. There should be no cause for concern, and yet a sickly sensation came over me the moment we stepped inside. The house must have been grand once, but all that was left were its shabby remains. Tall ceilings lit with torches and chandelier candles burned brightly, though it was midday. The heavy, faded drapery covering the many windows was drawn shut. Dust motes danced in the stale air, and a musty smell lingered as we searched each room.
"Hello?" Sylos's voice echoed, bouncing around the empty room. "I thought the Dwarf was supposed to be meeting us here."
"He was." I shrugged. "But who knows what goes on in the mind of a Dwarf?"
"Well, this place seems about as empty as my belly," Sylos said, running his finger along an ornate table, leaving a line in the dust.
My eyes tightened. "Seems to be—but isn’t."
I turned abruptly toward a room, sensing a presence. Sylos moved toward the closed door, but something caught my eye. A torn piece of fabric lay on the floor under the console.
"Wait." I reached for the fabric. It was lighter than air and woven from the finest of filaments. "I know this cloth. It's of Fey making...woven by the hands of the Summer Fey."
I fingered the filigreed lace that appeared to have been ripped from a hem. My gaze remained on the cloth as my hand closed tightly around it. "This is not from a garment any commoner would have access to. It was exclusively created for Lorelei. Do you know what that means?" I didn't wait for his reply. "She was here."
I hurried toward the closed door, but a noxious smell assaulted us.
"What is that?" Sylos scrunched his nose.
It stank of animals, rotting food, and death. No one of this affluence would have an abattoir within their home—which meant it was either a kitchen or a dining hall.
I pushed open the door, Sylos close on my heels.
An elderly Dwarf sat in a chair, his head resting against a table. At first glance it seemed he'd fallen asleep, but something was not right. His arms stretched out in front of him on the table, holding a fork and a knife upright in each hand, as though in the midst of eating. The small piece of meat skewered on the fork prongs crawled with maggots. Under his hand, a note read "Tilak will meet you," but the last letter trailed away as though he’d been unable to finish writing.
Sylos made a guttural sound and threw his arm over his nose. "Do you think that note is for us? The Dwarf did say he'd catch up with us at some point." His voice was muffled.
My stomach was stronger, and I took in the Dwarf’s appearance with a single glance. The stained clothing. Torn hat, dirty skin and hair. Somewhere under the filth and dried blood had been a being intent on helping us. One who had already helped Lorelei.
"Is he dead?" Stepping closer, Sylos poked at the Dwarf’s leg with his boot.
"Very. And for some time, I'd say."
I watched the thin, milky worms gorge their way through the rotting flesh. I pulled the Dwarf’s head back to examine his face. His mouth and eyes gaped open, and his once russet skin was now pasty and tinged with blue. I've known of some sleeping curses, which once cast could simulate death, but in all cases the victims of those spells were always left breathing. He was not.
Sylos paced a few steps. "Do you think it mere coincidence that he was killed as we were intending to question him?"
"I don't believe in coincidence. I believe there's a reason for every action. This included."
He nodded slowly. "Then someone must have known we were coming. Gotten to him first to prevent us from learning what he knows." He pounded his fist against the table, jostling the dusty cups and bottles. "Someone is spying on us."
I shook my head. "It's far worse than that. We are not just being watched, or followed," I said gravely. "We are being hunted."