The mirror glass in the room in which Shaella was waiting out the snowstorm captivated the puny part of her mind that was still Gerard. He had loved Shaella dearly, and she him. Only this likeness of her held no knowledge of her past. He suppressed the dark side of his demonic power and let his fiery dragon blood heat his desire as he slowly undressed her.
It was a strange sensation, looking out of one’s eyes and watching that person follow your every whim. Especially when that person was someone you loved beyond the constrictions of time and space, someone you knew loved you from beyond the grave.
The last button of the farm mother’s gifted shirt came loose and Shaella’s heavy breasts became visible. A dark brown stain was crusted on her chest between her large nipples, down into her cleavage. It was the farm boy’s blood. Seeing it ruined the mood of the moment. When she tasted the sticky gore, the coppery flavor woke up the Warlord. Gerard’s consciousness was no match for the powerful evil thriving in his mind, and he was soon forced back into a lonely, empty place where a rare memory of love and life was all that remained. The glimpsing of his past was so far removed from his reality, and so shadowed in pain and hatred, that it was madness anyway. He was trapped, a tiny, insignificant bit of consciousness drowning in a sea of pure malevolence.
The Warlord, the Abbadon, the Master of the Hells, was reveling in the memory of the dying farm boy’s gasping pleas. The confusion in his eyes when his flesh tore, and the way he had so foolishly expected her to let him bed her, was savory. Shaella rubbed and squeezed at her breasts feverishly. Flakes of dried blood and gore fell away or crumbled to powder in her kneading hands. A knock at the door was the wagon master. She let him in and pulled him to her bed. He was far more smitten than the farm boy had been, but as much as the Warlord lusted for his blood, he needed the man. As soon as the snow lessened enough to travel through, the wagon master’s personal carriage would carry her all the way to Xwarda.
Here in this shabby little inn, though, she would satisfy his every desire. First with her hot mouth, then with her body. Then she would command him to hire an armed escort, and if need be, chart a more southerly route across the continent that would be less affected by the snow. They could go through Weir and Seaward City, if they had to, then cut north.
From some deep, dark place within the Warlord’s mind, that tiny bit of Gerard watched helplessly through his lover’s eyes and a looking glass as she gave herself to the old wagon master. The jealousy and rage he felt added only to the sea of hate he swam in. The Warlord’s pleasure of using both her body and this man’s lust was palpable.
The Warlord moaned with Shaella’s delight. What better way to wait out a storm than by draining the life from an idiot in a warm bed?
Chapter 45
Though he didn’t yet have a section of King Aldar’s kingdom to guard, Durge had earned the title of guardian well. When he was chosen from the rest of his peers to venture into the Wedjak with Hyden Hawk and Huffa, he was elated. At twenty-four years of age, Durge had room yet to grow. At fourteen feet tall, and nearly six hundred pounds, it didn’t seem possible that he could get any bigger. He was superbly fit and had walked the boundaries of his king’s land more than a dozen times as part of his training. He knew the locations and the commands to activate all of the teleportation symbols, and the rudimentary spells required to get them through the deep of the mountains. He carried a strange staff. The butt was booted in iron, while the head had a small yet wicked-looking blade attached to it. It was pointed like a spear tip, yet as long as a human forearm. One side of its edge was curved like an axe. It was an intimidating weapon, for the staff was as big around as Hyden’s leg and stood twice as tall as he did.
Durge was confident, cordial, and somewhat imposing. His smooth confidence was quickly welcomed into the group.
They were camped at the mouth of a deep cave, sitting around a roaring fire. Huffa lay with her big, fluffy head on Hyden’s lap. The other two great wolves, Urp and Oof, were standing vigilant, one at the cavern mouth, the other a few yards into the depth of the cave beyond the camp. The repetitive scraping ring of Jicks sharpening his sword blade could be heard over the crackling of the flames.
According to Durge they had one more day of travel to get to a portal called the Shoovway. It was different from the teleportation symbols. It was a permanent gateway, a time-tunnel, Durge called it. It would take them hundreds of miles to the north. So far north, Durge said, that it wasn’t north anymore; it was south again. He said that when they emerged from the unfathomable passage they would be in the Wedjak, far beyond the borders of King Aldar’s realm.
They’d come far in the two days since they left the last teleportation symbol. On the backs of the great wolves, the miles flew by. Amazingly, the giant kept up with a steady, loping gait. His huge strides ate up the miles like a hungry maw. The wolves were seemingly tireless. Hyden had ridden them before, when he, Vaegon, and Mikahl had to get to Xwarda to thwart Pael.
He’d been reminded of that trek earlier in the day when he and Huffa stopped on a ridge to watch Talon soar on the frigid breeze. Corva and the ever confident young Jicks had looked so much like Vaegon and Mikahl that Hyden shivered in his shagmar coat. He hoped this journey turned out better than the last. Grrrr and Vaegon hadn’t survived that one, and Mikahl had nearly died from the terrible bite of a Choska.
In Hyden’s lap, Huffa stirred. She raised her big head and licked his cheek, as if to ease his heavy thoughts. She was the pack leader now, and only when she took a mate would a male lead them again. Like Hyden, she was slow to forget the losses of the past, and her standards were quite high. She might never find a wolf that could fill Grrr’s fur.
Corva was admiring Vaegon's bow. Hyden had placed it in his hands before leaving Afdeon. “If I live through this, I want it back, my friend,” Hyden said. “But with it in my hands, my instincts are to use it. I have the powers of the goddess and Claret’s teardrop now. I hope to learn to turn to those when I’m in need.”
Corva took the bow, though he clearly didn’t grasp what Hyden was saying. The elf carried it reverently, so much so that Hyden had to chide him into stringing it that first day.
“It’s just a bow, Corva,” Hyden told him. “It’s only special because it was once Vaegon’s. Don’t be afraid to use it. It’s not a trophy, and I think Vaegon would be proud that an elf as persistent as you was carrying it. I have a great respect for how you tracked down your princess and followed your duty.”
Since then, Corva had been beaming.
The next day was blizzard-like. Powerful wind blasted snow and ice at them, but they forged on. The storm made the first part of the day miserable. By the afternoon the wind had lessened, but still the passage was rough. The continuous snowfall made the drifts deeper and the rocky ledges that much more treacherous. Having the smaller party, and the great wolves to ride, helped them tremendously. They were covering five times as much ground as they had been with the full group.
Something terrible greeted them at the cavern leading to the Shoovway. With only a long hour of daylight left to them, they found a band of trolls dwelling in the cave. They couldn’t see into the darkened area well enough to tell how many trolls there were. There was no other shelter about, and the nights were deathly cold. If they turned back, they would freeze to death before they got anywhere. They knew they had to fight for the shelter of the place. The aggressively defensive trolls were more than willing to put up a battle.
It started when a barrage of head-sized rocks came flying out at the companions. Luckily, the slope immediately behind them was gentle. Had it been a steep cliff edge, they would have been forced over it.
Hyden rode Huffa to the edge of the cavern mouth, while Durge and Jicks chose to dodge the rocks and charge in on foot. To Hyden’s great satisfaction, Corva slid gracefully from Oof’s back and covered the others’ entry with a quick flurry of arrows fired from Vaegon’s bow. A howling yelp confirmed that at least one of them had hit a troll.
Hyden wanted to cast a spell but he had to slow Jicks and the giant so that they didn’t get caught up in it. “Make way!” he yelled and pointed.
The two swordsmen darted toward the cavern wall just fast enough for Hyden to cast his spell.
