group stood on their feet, too bewildered with exhaustion and pain to believe what had come to their aid.
The nightmare thundered up the tunnel, his large body filling the tall space. He burned everything in his path, and the warriors who did not recover themselves to jump out of the way were trampled under his flaming hooves.
The beast stopped several feet away from Ashok and tossed his head imperiously. He had tasted blood, Ashok thought, and gloried in it. As he watched, the nightmare turned and started a charge back up the tunnel.
“Go,” Ashok cried, pulling Ilvani along, shoving Skagi and Chanoch and Vedoran until their trance was broken and they were all surging forward.
The warriors scrambled to get out of their way. Ashok cut down the few who tried to reach for them as they ran past. Breaths before, they’d been trapped behind a wall of death, and yet they were flying, following the rolling fire, until Ashok saw the brittle daylight of the open Shadowfell.
The nightmare dropped back as the enclave gathered itself to mount a pursuit. Ashok pushed his group toward the entrance. “Get out,” he ordered, and fell back to join the nightmare.
“Where are you going?” Skagi cried.
“We’ll cover your escape,” Ashok said. “Don’t stop until you get back up the valley.”
The nightmare slowed enough for Ashok to leap on his back. Fire surged greedily along the beast’s spine, but as before it did not reach Ashok’s flesh. Together they rode up the tunnel, and Ashok let his chain swing free at any enemies who got in their way.
The warriors saw him coming and fell back, but Ashok ran them down, shouting, urging the beast forward. The only thought in Ashok’s head was to let the nightmare taste blood, to let the fire burn a path through the enclave and burn all the images of the slaughter chamber from his mind. He let the nightmare run and let the beast within himself free, hacking a path until the tunnel became too narrow for them to continue.
The nightmare whickered and pawed the ground, as if he wanted to tear the walls apart. Ashok urged him back and around, and with the way clear of living things, they charged down the tunnel, the wind whipping the flames around Ashok’s face. His eyes stung, but the tears were not caused by the flames. He sobbed and screamed as he rode, and the nightmare screamed with him, warning all enemies and friends away.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The carved steps up the valley wall were too steep for the nightmare, but when they cleared the caves the beast seemed to know exactly where he was going. That was a fortunate thing, for Ashok was still gripped by the frenzy of the battle and could not tell the beast which way to turn.
They climbed a steep, rocky hill, and Ashok had to hold on to keep his seat. The bumps and jolts returned some sense to him, and with shaking hands he put his weapon away. Newly aware of the pain from the dagger slash and the blood coursing down his body, Ashok pulled the mask away from his face and wiped his soiled hands.
He slid off the nightmare’s back when they reached the top of the valley. Weak, he stumbled and fell. His hands left bloody prints in the rocky soil from the deep gouges on his palms where he’d forgotten to hold the chain guard.
Looking down the valley, Ashok saw no movement at the cave entrance.
Not yet, but they would come.
He stood up. The nightmare waited silently nearby, his fire dulled but simmering beneath his flesh. Ashok felt the heat, the waiting. The beast wanted more of the battle.
“Let’s go,” he said but didn’t mount the beast. He trotted alongside, and they traced the rim of the valley back to find the others.
Black dust hung in curtains on the air, obscuring Ashok’s vision beyond a few dozen feet. Chanoch hailed him from a distance; he must have seen the nightmare’s stunted fire. Ashok followed Chanoch’s voice and saw them all huddled at the brink of a roiling darkness to the south. When he got close enough, Ashok recognized Negala’s bog, and the dust storm enveloping the surrounding plain.
“She’s cut us off,” Vedoran said when Ashok joined them. “We can’t circumvent the bog without trudging right into the dust storm.”
Ashok surveyed the group. Skagi and Cree were in the best shape of all of them-their wounds were superficial, but Ashok could see the exhaustion dragging down their bodies. They would be no good in a fight against the hag. Vedoran and Chanoch were one step away from collapsing from their wounds, and Ashok knew he looked no better to their eyes.
The most alert among them were the nightmare and Ilvani, who sat some distance away, watching the bog and the surrounding dust storm. Wrapped in his cloak, she dipped her head and peered into her satchel, whispering something Ashok couldn’t hear.
“Do we have any healing draughts left?” Ashok asked.
Vedoran shook his head. “It took all of them just to get us halfway up that tunnel. If that beast hadn’t shown up …” He looked at the nightmare, then at Ashok, with a strange mixture of awe and wariness in his expression. “Why did he come?” he asked. “How did he even know where to find us?”
“I don’t know,” Ashok said. “The nightmare seeks out death. He craves flesh. Maybe he knew that following us was the only way to get both.”
“It’s more than that,” Vedoran said. “That beast is connected to you. He knew to come for you.”
And I was never more his master than I was today, in that place of death and carnage, Ashok thought. I fed him as no one else could. The shame rattled through him. More than ever Ashok could smell the blood clinging to him. He tried to shake it off. He needed to focus, to find a way to get them all through the storm.
“What are our choices?” Skagi asked, coming up to the pair. Cree and Chanoch stayed close to the nightmare, as though drawing strength from the beast’s heat. He ignored their presence and whipped his tail impatiently.
“Fight through the bog or fight through the dust storm,” Vedoran said grimly.
“What are our chances?” Skagi asked, a smile pulling at his crooked lip.
“We’ll probably die in the dust storm or be killed by Negala when we get to the heart of the bog,” Ashok said. “Given the choice, I’d rather die facing an enemy.”
“My thoughts as well,” Vedoran said.
They turned and were surprised to see Ilvani standing near them. None of them had heard her approach.
“The green is calling,” she said matter-of-factly.
“The bog,” Ashok said, nodding. “A hag lives there.”
Ilvani looked at him as if he were a slow child. “It isn’t real,” she said.
“Real enough to kill us,” Skagi said. “Come on, we’re wasting time.”
Ilvani’s expression darkened. To appease her, Ashok tried to explain. “The witch created the bog in her mind and made it stretch across the plain.”
“Really?” Ilvani said. She looked toward the bog, and a strange expression spread across her face. An indignant look, Ashok thought, but for the utter coldness of her eyes.
She reached into her satchel and removed a sphere of blown glass. Sealed inside was a piece of what Ashok thought looked like red silk. The fabric rippled in an impossible wind.
“What is that?” he asked, but Ilvani put her satchel on the ground and strode away from him, past the nightmare, toward the bog. “Stop!” he cried. But she didn’t heed him.
He started to chase after her, but Vedoran grabbed his arm. The others hesitated as well.
“Wait,” Vedoran said flatly.
“She’ll be killed,” Ashok said, struggling. But he was too wearied to break the warrior’s grip. “What is that sphere?” he asked.
“If we’re very lucky, there’s magic in it,” Vedoran said. “Be still now.”
Ilvani took small, unhurried steps, Ashok’s cloak dragging behind her like an oversized shadow. Her bare
