just filling in. The man leaned casually on a heavy spear decorated with a spray of fresh green oak leaves and contemplated the blade and the bird. 'I hope you don't get those mixed up while you're eating,' he said in a pleasant voice.
Geth didn't move. The other man shrugged. 'Don't mind me,' he added. 'I didn't mean to interrupt.'
'You're not,' growled Geth. When the man still made no move, he settled back down to the ground, though he made sure to keep one hand free and his sword close. The sack that held his great-gauntlet was nearby as well-he wouldn't have time to don the armored sleeve, but its weight made a decent weapon on its own.
The bearded man moved slowly out from among the trees, deliberately giving the shifter plenty of time to react. Geth's eyes darted around the small clearing, trying to see if he had brought anyone else with him. The forest was thick with the new growth of spring and the shadows were growing deep as evening settled over the valley, but neither growth nor darkness were so dense that he couldn't see through them. The man was alone.
As the stranger settled down on the other side of the small fire, Geth became conscious of how he must look. Chicken juices shone on his face and hands, mingling with the grime of long travel. His thick hair was matted. His clothes were stiff with dirt and a foul stink rose from both them and his body. How long had it been since he washed? He choked off the thought and bit back into the chicken, sharp teeth ripping off a big chunk of flesh. He kept his eyes on the bearded man as he chewed.
'My name's Adolan,' the man said after a time.
'Geth,' the shifter answered around a mouthful of meat. He looked over the other man's well-worn leather clothing and the rough collar of polished, rune-etched stones that hung around his neck. He swallowed and, in between bites, grunted, 'You're a druid?'
Adolan nodded. 'I watch over this valley.' He twitched his spear toward the forest. 'There's a hamlet back that way. Bull Hollow. You might have noticed it?' Geth grunted and Adolan continued. 'Some of the farmers on the edge of the Hollow have noticed someone suspicious skulking around the forest. One of them asked me to look into the theft of a couple of chickens.'
'Might have been a fox,' said Geth, licking his lips.
'Might have been,' agreed Adolan. The druid looked at him. 'Are you just passing through?'
The question sent a flash of heat through Geth. 'Maybe,' he rasped angrily, returning his gaze. 'Maybe not.'
Adolan's eyes seemed to sharpen with such intensity that, even in anger, Geth hesitated. 'Yes,' he said after a moment. 'Just passing through.'
'Mind if I ask where you're headed?'
Geth seized a bone in his teeth and pulled it loose from the chicken, then spat it away into the night. 'West,' he answered. 'As deep into the Eldeen as I can.'
The druid actually chuckled. 'You can't get much deeper into the Eldeen than Bull Hollow-unless you want to turn south and live with the fey in the Twilight Demesne.' He fell silent for a moment, then said, 'I know you're not from around here. Your voice has the sound of the northern Eldeen in it, though. Is that where you're from?'
Geth's lips twisted. 'A long time ago,' he said.
To his surprise, Adolan let the matter drop entirely. Geth waited for the inevitable questions-where have you been? what did you do? — but they didn't come. The druid said nothing. After a long silence, Geth looked back at him, then nodded at the fire and the other chicken that was roasting unevenly above it. 'Want some?'
Adolan glanced at the plump carcass and Geth could tell he was appraising the way its skin, tufts of singed feathers still clinging to it, was turning black on one side while remaining pale and raw on the other. 'Was that the red one or the white one?' he asked.
'Red,' said Geth. Adolan nodded.
'That was a fine-looking bird.' With nimble fingers, he flipped the chicken on its spit, then produced a knife and sliced a leg free. He settled back and bit into the steaming meat. 'Would be better with salt,' he said after chewing thoughtfully.
'My chef took it all when he ran off with the chambermaid,' Geth said.
Adolan laughed and stripped another mouthful of meat from the leg. Geth found himself laughing as well-and he hadn't laughed since well before the last time he'd bathed. A feeling of peace settled over him and the faint warmth of tentative friendship stirred in his belly as he looked into the fire-
— that rose all around him. He spun and blocked the blow of an Aundairian soldier's sword with his gauntlet, then punched the man in the gut. The blood-smeared mail shirt that the soldier wore soaked up the worst of the blow, though, and he laughed.
He stopped laughing when Geth's sword sliced through his neck. Geth didn't wait for his body to fall, but leaped away, sprinting through the madness that Narath had become, searching for the next Aundairian. He didn't look at the carnage around him. The atrocities. The massacre. Rage gripped him, crushing his heart and snuffing the light in his spirit.
Rage-and shame. He howled as he ran, screaming out names. 'Nilda! Coron! Singe! Dew! Treykin! Frostbrand, answer!'
More Aundairians fell to his blade and his black gauntlet. He took three at once, stabbing one from behind, gutting another, and crushing the throat of the last with a single punch. Their victim was already beyond his help. Geth left her and ran on.
His head throbbed from the blow that had laid him low, his chest and face were still cold and wet from having lain unconscious in the winter snows of Karrnath. Blood and water had frozen his hair into thick clumps that slowly melted in the heat of the burning town. The flames around him scorched his skin, making him feel like he was burning as well. He was sweating heavily and he ached right down to his bones. He kept going, though, shouting for his friends, for any member of the Frostbrand. Narath seemed to have turned into a maze. Every corner he turned opened onto the same scene of fire and blood. Geth sobbed as he raced through horrors that in only a few short weeks would become infamous throughout the Five Nations…
Some part of him knew that the tale of Narath couldn't possibly have reached so far when it was still unfolding around him; another part wondered why he was back in Narath when he had just been in Bull Hollow with Adolan. The rest of him didn't care. He shouted again. 'Frostbrand, answer!'
He was running through corpses. Faceless. Broken. Bloody. The mass of them dragged at him, pulling him back. He had to force his way forward, as if he was walking against a powerful wind. The dead of Narath just kept piling higher. He started to recognize faces among the corpses, too. Treykin. Dew. Coron. Other mercenaries of the Frostbrand whose names had vanished from his head. Sweating and aching and burning from the inside out, Geth climbed a hill of death. His voice had fallen away to a constant moan.
The faster he tried to climb, the slower his progress. All around him, the corpses began to slide, slipping and running like a slope of loose earth. Geth struggled to stay on his feet, to stay on top of them, but more bodies came at him. Singe slid by to one side. Dandra to the other. Sandar. Natrac.
Red-brown hair flashed. 'Adolan!' Geth screamed. He lunged, trying to get to the druid, but Adolan's body just sank down among all the others. Geth dug down through death, desperate to reach him.
Living figures rose above him. Geth looked up as Medalashana, her face drawn tight with madness, swooped close. 'Let me take him, Dah'mir!' she shrieked. 'I'll shred his mind and lay his thoughts out before you!'
But Dah'mir stood aloof, untouched by the death and fire all around. 'Hush, Medala,' he said. 'We have the one we came for. He's nothing.'
The green-eyed man reached out toward Geth. His hand was a scaly claw. As it plunged into Geth's chest, all of the fires of Narath seemed to come together in the shifter's body. Geth howled in agony and toppled into darkness.
CHAPTER 12
He woke up shouting names he hadn't spoken in years. Strong hands grabbed his shoulders, pushing him back down onto rough blankets, and a gruff voice muttered words he didn't understand. Geth thrashed, trying to sit up, to climb out of whatever bed he lay in. The gruff voice rose sharply, grunting more gibberish. Geth picked out one word though: Natrac.
