With each step into the west tower, Thaena's dread grew stronger. The walls closed in as the group made their way, and she had to focus on each breath, each step, always careful to hide her discomfort.
They found wychlaren wards at regular intervals, covered over with more of the Nar glyphs, these written not in ash and oil, but blood. The Creel seemed to be systematically destroying the very protections that made Shandaular and the Shield even remotely safe for mortals. She could not imagine the madness that would send such an invitation to the dead.
Duras stayed close, his concern for her obvious in his stance and bearing. He stared at the walls as if teeth- filled mouths might appear on them at any moment. There was no time to explain to him what she had been made to feel, what she had imagined. Nor did she think she could, even if the rest of the fang were not so near and the walls not so conducive to carrying even the slightest sound. Keeping what she had experienced a secret seemed more and more pointless as they climbed. Everyone could sense something wrong. She heard whispers of smordanya-a place that existed as a pathway or gate between the world of the living and the dead.
It is an accurate description, she thought.
Louder voices echoed from above, and she was ushered through the group, Duras and Anilya close behind. They had reached a large semi-circular landing with tall windows. Wind whipped at their long braids, and snow piled in small drifts on the floor. Half-buried in the snow were two more Rashemi bodies, frozen like those at the gates. No one approached, and the lead warriors looked to Thaena for instructions.
'Signs of movement?' she asked while studying the corpses.
The warriors shook their heads.
'We must wait,' Duras said close to her ear. 'If they have been defiled, we are honor bound to destroy them, give them peace. If not…'
'Then it is a desecration,' Thaena finished.
'Perhaps,' Anilya said, 'but why take any chances either way:
'Perhaps you did not hear my mention of honor,' Duras said angrily.
'Or perhaps I did. Honor may leave them in peace, but peace by its very nature is temporary,' Anilya said. 'We've already left plenty of bodies in our wake that could be used against us.'
Thaena strode forward, ending the argument before it could continue. Approaching the bodies she held out her hands, feeling for the cold aura of the bleakborn reaching out for her warmth. The durthans words echoed in her mind as she neared the dead warriors. She wondered why those in the entrance hall had not been raised in such a manner. A chill in her fingertips interrupted the thought. It began to travel up her arms, and she backed away as the first of the two leaned forward from the wall, ice cracking as its frozen braid split, stuck to the stone.
Duras pulled her behind him, clapped two warriors of the fang on the shoulders, and raised his sword.
'As one,' he said and made a downward stabbing motion with his weapon, waving the others toward the left while he angled toward the right. 'Now!'
Before the bleakborn could gain their feet, Rashemi steel pinned them to the wall. Duras held one alone. The other was pinned at the shoulders. Both grew stronger from the attack, feeding on the warriors' body heat. Duras looked to Thaena as frost crawled up his blade.
Anilya acted quickly. Grabbing a torch from one of the Rashemi scouts she tossed it into the lap of the bleakborn on the left. The two warriors holding the undead stared at the durthan as if she'd gone mad. Even before the torch landed she was whispering a spell, her hands tracing the guttering flames in intricate movements. The undead grew flush and more lifelike, trying to reach for the blades in his shoulder.
Thaena followed Anilya's lead. The torch's flame changed from bright yellow and scarlet to shades of white and blue. The bleakborn groaned and thrashed as the heat became cold.
The ethran scooped a handful of snow in her palm and tossed it across the undead. Every place the snow fell it sparkled and spread, becoming a second skin of ice and frost. The bleak-borns' movements slowed, and the two women stepped aside. Thaena waved more of the fang onto the landing.
'Destroy them now,' she commanded. 'Quickly!'
They rushed in, hacking at the frozen bodies, dismembering them into piles of icy parts. Shivering, Duras freed his sword and fell back.
Thaena placed a hand on his shoulder as they waited for the fang's work to be done. She winced as the once recognizable bodies disappeared in a flurry of flashing steel and cursing oaths. As Duras's breathing became more measured she caught his eye.
'Are you well?' she said.
Taking a last cleansing breath, he nodded.
'I thought you liked the cold,' she added playfully, trying to hide her greater concerns for a moment.
'As ever, my lady.' He smiled, then added, 'But death remains a cold season I have no wish to experience. At least not in this place, gods willing.'
Thaena did not reply, didn't have to. She had no idea why the wychlaren had claimed such an outpost in the first place. Its position along the Lake Ashane notwithstanding, Thaena could imagine many spots better suited to the defense of Rashemen than a cursed city and the citadel that had failed in its defense. With all its dangers, she felt there must be something more to the Shield, a secret she was not privy to as an ethran. Secrets were common among the sisterhood, but the price paid to keep this one seemed far too high. She hoped the mystery was worth the sacrifice. Knowing her sisters, it probably was.
Anilya walked by them to stand at the base of the next flight of stairs, looking impatiently between them and the frozen bits that had once been living men. As distasteful as Anilya's presence was to her, Thaena agreed with the durthans sense of haste.
Taking her hand from Duras's shoulder, Thaena took the silent cue. The procession filed past the scene, their moods at once strengthened by the scent of fresh cold wind and darkened by the ruined bodies of their fellow Rashemi. Anilya's sellswords gave both bodies barely a second glance, keeping weapons ready and cloaks pulled tight.
As Thaena rejoined the marching order, it suddenly struck her to wonder how much the sellswords were actually being paid to take on such a mission… and to what end.
Chapter Eleven
The storm howled through tall windows at the tower's top, and a high ceiling arched to a conical dome overhead. The rang took up positions at the two visible exits: one to the west, the wall beyond invisible through the blizzard, the other out onto the bridge that connected with the Shield's larger central tower. It wasn't long before even the stoic warriors of the Ice Wolf pulled furred cloaks tight against the bitter cold.
Duras and Syrolf patrolled the area, looking for signs of recent activity by the Creel. Thaena looked to the west, trying to make out the northwest tower, but quickly gave up. Anilya approached, also staring hard toward where their quarry might be encamped.
'The blizzard will cover their tracks,' Thaena said, loud enough to be heard over the wind.
'True,' the durthan replied, 'and the Creel are as accustomed to the season as we are.'
'Why are they here? Why this place?' Thaena eyed the durthan, studying her ornate mask and posture, looking for any sign of deception. Though the masks hid their faces, she had grown accustomed to reading body language while learning with the wychlaren. Signs like fidgeting hands or shifting feet could reveal much, even when the face was hidden and the eyes unreadable.
'Who can know?' Anilya answered. 'I suspect they are pawns for the power that I followed here. Though for all we know, this leader is Creel as well. A powerful shaman or wizard.'
The tone of her voice was too flat, too conversational in Thaena's ears.
'You don't believe that, do you?' she asked.
Anilya hesitated before answering, as if gauging her own thoughts on the subject, but Thaena suspected she could also be deciding how to keep hidden something she already knew.
'No, I don't,' the durthan finally said. 'The Creel are known to be dangerous, rumored to be ambitious, but are rarely considered a real threat. The power that I sensed was a threat.'
