deaths?”
“No, no,” Sisel answered. “They don’t know when you will die any more than a goat does. But every living creature has a measure of death in it. Bits of us die every moment-skin flakes off, hairs fall away, and even though we are alive, we slowly decay. You can smell it on the old. It is the decay that draws the Knights Eternal. It smells sweet to them. And if we are wounded, if the life within us ebbs, we draw their attention, and they gain greater power over us.”
Fallion took mental stock of himself. He felt much stronger now than he had two nights ago, when the Knights Eternal had first begun hunting him. He had wondered even before the knights had begun stalking him if he was near death, for a great weariness had been on him.
On the trail behind them, perhaps five hundred yards back, an owl hooted once.
It was a common sound in the woods at night, but Sisel immediately tensed, and then whispered, “Shhh, they are upon us.”
The king raised a hand, calling a halt.
Up in the air, the pounding of wings came heavily.
Fallion looked up to Sisel, for he was taller than men on Fallion’s world, and saw the wizard standing with his eyes closed, leaning on his staff, mouthing some spell.
Fallion gripped his sword, found himself studying Siyaddah. If she felt any fear, she concealed it well. She peered up into the trees with seemingly as little concern as a housewife might show upon learning that it might rain on her clean laundry.
Rhianna, Talon, and Jaz only stood as still as a herd of deer, sensing for danger.
The Knight Eternal passed, flying ahead, and Fallion’s group began their journey again.
They climbed up out of the marsh, into the foothills near Luciare; the mist drew back, and the trees thinned. Stars shone through bright swathes in the canopy. The hills became like a chessboard with dark blotches of forest skirting meadows where sun-bleached grasses shone ash gray under the stars.
Fallion felt exposed. The king called a halt at the edge of a clearing, and stood for a long moment. One of his guards pointed ahead. There were wyrmlings in the trees on the far side of the clearing, just beyond a gentle rise. Fallion could hear the tread of heavy feet, the clack of bone armor, a pair of grunts, followed by a snarl. There had to be a patrol of at least two dozen of them.
All of the fireflies suddenly winked out, and the king motioned for everyone to get down. Fallion soundlessly dropped to his knees, ducking behind a fallen log. He heard Jaz drawing heavy breaths to his left, saw his brother nock an arrow and then lie quietly, like a poacher waiting for a boar to come drink at a pond.
Talon and Rhianna were just beyond him.
To Fallion’s right, Siyaddah lay with her face up-turned, listening.
She caught Fallion staring at her, and she just lay there peering into his eyes.
There was a grunt on the far side of the clearing, the sound of a footsteps coming toward them.
Fallion clutched his sword, loosened it from his scabbard. He didn’t fancy the notion of fighting wyrmlings in the dark.
He heard another gruff grunt, and the wyrmlings suddenly halted. One of them began to sniff the air, like a stag checking the trail ahead.
They’ve caught wind of us, Fallion realized. He saw his own warriors tensing nearby, gripping battle-axes, preparing to leap up.
The Wizard Sisel was only ten feet away, just beyond Siyaddah.
He raised a hand, pointed his pinky finger downhill. Fallion spotted the glint of a golden ring.
Something ominous sprung from the ground. It was a boiling mist, numinous and fog-like; the air suddenly chilled, as if they were in the presence of a wight.
The hair stood up on Fallion’s neck; goose bumps rose along his arms as the mist went hurtling through the brush like an arrow shot from a bow.
It glided almost soundlessly away, making only the faintest rustle through the grass and bushes, like a small wind; its effects were chilling. A hundred yards away, a grouse suddenly erupted from a bush, squawking in terror. A moment later, in the field beyond, a hare thumped its feet in warning, while its fellows hopped in every direction. Farther on, in the oaks beyond the clearing, a hart bounded three times, its rack snagging in a branch.
For all the world, it sounded as if someone were fleeing in fear.
With a growl the wyrmlings went charging south, racing after their invisible prey.
Moments later, once the wyrmlings had departed, the king headed north, and Fallion had to sprint to keep up.
They reached a narrow ravine that headed up the skirts of the mountain. A small brook ran through the ravine, its waters burbling over rocks and moss. The trees overhead grew thick and dark, and had it not been for the return of fireflies to give their light to the wizard, the troops could not have negotiated the thick brush.
Three times they had to cross the broad road that wound down from Caer Luciare. Each time, the king sent his scouts to watch for long moments before they made their crossing.
It was not until they neared the castle, perhaps three hundred yards from the gates, that they met resistance.
The king and his men climbed up out of the ravine, beneath the shadows of the oaks, and reached the last stretch of road. It was paved with thick stones, each four-foot square and fitted so closely together that a knife blade could not have been inserted between them.
Ahead the city blazed. Blue-white lights played beneath the arches on the mount, flickering and twisting, like some ethereal bonfire, and these lights reflected from the golden scrollwork and the freshly limed walls.
To Fallion, it looked beautiful, as if the walls of the city were made from enchanted crystal, and the Glories themselves stood guard beneath the arches.
Little did he know that it was not far from the truth.
As they waited, a deep growl came softly from the trees off to their left.
Four wyrmlings stepped from the brush.
“Watch out!” Rhianna cried, leaping forward with her staff. The king’s guard seemed startled, and many a weapon was drawn.
One of the wyrmlings held up his hand, three fingers extended in the air.
Jaz let an arrow fly, but Sisel bumped him just as he did, and the shot went wide.
“Scouts,” Sisel whispered. The wyrmlings began to talk softly and urgently to the king, their voices deep and guttural.
“Scouts?” Fallion whispered.
“Not all of the wyrmlings are evil,” Daylan Hammer whispered. “Not all of them have wyrms inside them, and though they are taught that they should desire one, they resist the teachings. They long for peace, just as we do. These few here are friends.”
Fallion looked to Talon, who seemed shocked. “Did you know about this?”
She shook here head. “I did not know that the king employed such creatures.”
As the wyrmlings spoke, Talon began to translate. “They say that the road ahead is dangerous, and they were afraid to try to reach the castle. They say that a horde of wyrmlings is approaching Luciare, a horde so vast that the city cannot withstand it. Another horde is already upon Cantular.”
Fallion nodded. Taking Cantular had been a vain gesture, it seemed. The men of Luciare had taken it in the morning, and the wyrmlings would have it again by midnight.
The wyrmling scouts finished relaying their message, and the king gave a nod, waved his men forward with his battle-ax.
So the men came out of the trees and bracken, and they could not hide any longer. The king’s men began to sprint, and the little road filled with light as Sisel’s fireflies streamed along beside them, a cloud of green fire.
Suddenly there was a strangled cry from Rhianna behind, and Fallion whirled to see something huge and dark spread its wings. It had been sitting in the crook of an oak, and now the branch went bobbing and waving as if in a strong wind.
Down the mountain, other cries arose, strange and vile, like the cries of peasants as they die, and suddenly the Knights Eternal were winging toward them.
Now it was just a race, the king’s men sprinting up the even road, calling for help in their strange tongue, as
