‘The incantation, the spell,’ Drutheira replied, apparently annoyed at Sevekai’s ignorance. ‘It was charnel blood magic and he took it from my mind and destroyed it.’
The others in the coven did not speak, but like jackals they examined every detail of her sudden weakness. Drutheira sensed their murderous ambition, spoken on the Wind of Dhar still roiling through the gorge, and was quick to reassert her dominance.
Malchior, her male suckling, was the perfect example. She thrust her hand at him, turning it into a claw, and Malchior was contorted by a sudden agony.
‘I see your thoughts,’ she hissed, flicking a scathing glance at Ashniel who quailed despite her ostensible truculence.
Veins stood out on Malchior’s forehead like death-adders writhing beneath his skin. He fought to speak, to muster something by way of contrition that would make the pain stop. Instead, he managed to stare. His eyes were oval rings of red, burning flesh. Rage, fear, desperate pleading for the agony to end roiled across his face. Spittle ran down his cheek, drooling through clenched teeth.
‘I could churn you inside out, flay the flesh off you,’ Drutheira hissed, seizing him by the neck of his robe and dragging him to her until mere inches parted them.
She glared, revealing to him the manifold agonies that awaited him, let Ashniel see it too.
‘Crippling, isn’t it?’
Malchior barely managed a nod. ‘Druth…’ Crimson flecked his lips as he tried pathetically to speak.
She leaned into his ear, whispering, ‘Do you see how insignificant you are to me?’ before she bit his ear and then looked up at Ashniel.
‘Excruciating… Would you like to try?’
The young sorceress was already shaking her head. Malchior was on his knees, retching. Drutheira released him, and he collapsed.
‘Never put your hands on me again,’ she snarled.
Malchior found the strength to breathe then grovel. He nodded weakly.
‘I only meant–’
Drutheira cut him off with a raised fist, the promise of further torture.
Malchior bowed and spoke no more.
‘Prepare the rite of communion,’ she snapped, sneering at them both. ‘Lord Malekith will know all that has been done in his name.’
Dismissed, Malchior and Ashniel went to find a sacrifice. Some of the dwarfs yet lived, if only just. Although slowed, their blood would still be fresh.
‘Your apprentices, or whatever they are,’ said Sevekai, ‘are viperous little creatures. You should be careful, Drutheira.’
She pouted at him. ‘Is that concern for my welfare I am hearing, Sevekai?’
His face grew stern like steel. ‘What are you really doing here? You need no scout through these lands.’
‘Performing our dark lord’s bidding, as are you I presume. “To each coven a cohort of shades”, you remember now, don’t you?’ She regarded the runelord’s desiccated body. ‘Fortunate that I arrived when I did, it would seem.’
‘Do not expect any gratitude.’
‘Must we fight, lover?’ she purred.
Sevekai laughed, utterly without mirth.
‘I still feel your love, my dear. It is a wound in my back that is taking its time to heal.’ He winced, his mock humour jarring his damaged ribs.
Drutheira stepped closer. ‘Then at least let me ease your suffering…’
She outstretched her hand, but Sevekai recoiled from her touch.
‘Don’t be such a child,’ she chided him.
Still wary, he relented and showed her the side of his chest where the dwarf had struck him.
‘Now,’ she warned, ‘be still.’
A warm glow filled Sevekai, just hot enough to burn but the pain was tolerable. When it abated again, his ribs were healed.
‘Miraculous…’ he breathed.
Drutheira clenched her fist as he smiled and one of the ribs broke as if she’d crushed it.
Crying out, Sevekai glared daggers at her.
‘Hell-bitch!’
‘A reminder,’ she said, all her genial pretence evaporating into an expression of pure ice, ‘that I can do that to you at any time.’
‘Duly noted,’ said Sevekai. Behind, Kaitar was approaching.
Drutheira’s gaze snapped to regard him.
‘Who is that?’ she asked.
Sevekai thought he detected a hint of anxiety in her voice, even fear, but dismissed it almost at once.
‘He is no one. Just a shade from Karond Kar.’
She lingered on the distant warrior for a moment, and Sevekai took her interest for lust. He tried not to feel jealous, but his fist clenched at the slight.
Drutheira was still staring.
‘What?’
‘It’s nothing.’
Sevekai’s eyes narrowed. ‘Drutheira, are you all right?’
‘We are not staying,’ she said, turning her attention back to Sevekai.
‘You have just arrived. Do you tire of my company already?’
‘Yes, I do.’ She beckoned him. ‘Come forwards.’
Sevekai obeyed and like a striking serpent Drutheira cut his cheek with her athame.
‘Whore!’
‘Now my blood mingles with yours,’ she told him. ‘In it you will find your purpose.’
Still wincing from the burning pain of the wound, Sevekai saw a host of hidden roads in his mind’s eye. Such seldom trodden paths could only be found by those who were given knowledge of them by their keepers. Malekith possessed such knowledge, garnered long ago from an old friend. Given unto Drutheira by the dark lord, she now passed it on to Sevekai.
‘We will accomplish more and be less conspicuous if we are apart. My task requires craft that you don’t possess, my love.’ She smiled like a serpent.
‘Beguiling dwarf lords and marking outposts for your riders to burn down,’ he smirked. ‘Indeed, such craft is required for that subtle work.’
‘You have your orders,’ she snapped. ‘See them done.’
Sevekai was still wiping the blood from his cheek. ‘You need not worry about that, Drutheira.’
‘Just conceal our presence here if you can,’ she said, turning on her heel and heading further into the gorge to find the others.
Kaitar had stopped halfway and was standing amidst the corpses. He was just looking, no expression, no acknowledgement beyond what was in his eyes.
Sevekai hailed the others, suspecting that Drutheira was leaving much earlier than she had initially intended. He wondered if it had anything to do with the warrior from Karond Kar.
They hauled the dwarfs off the road, dragged them into the shadows created by the overhanging rocks. Any that
