Marked for Death

Chapter 29

A shout went up from Levritt’s position to the north of the mound of mist. In another land, Deothen might not have been able to hear it over the sounds of chirping birds or crickets, but in the stillness of the Mournland Levritt’s call carried far.

The senior knight stood and scanned the distance. Levritt was right where he’d been ordered to be, at one vertex of a triangle that surrounded the mist, allowing the three knights to each see a half of the misty mound and both of their compatriots at the same time.

Leaping in the air, Levritt waved at Deothen with one arm and pointed to his right with the other, toward the spot at which Brendis had been sitting near his horse. Deothen turned to look for Brendis and saw the other knight waving as well and climbing upon his mount. Once in his saddle, Brendis pointed off toward Levritt and then spurred his steed in that direction.

Deothen climbed atop his white horse, his bones creaking with the effort. The rest after the long ride here had been good for both himself and his mount, but his muscles had stiffened up in the short time he and the other knights had kept their watch. With a grunt, he kicked his heels into his steed’s sides and galloped off after the others.

Deothen rode down the side of the valley toward the mysterious mound of mist, along the shortest route to where Levritt and Brendis were headed. As he neared the mists, he veered to the right and gave the place a wide berth. He didn’t know what might be concealed within them, but thoughts of a dragon’s wings or a hydra’s head snaking out to pluck him from his saddle danced in his head.

When Deothen made it around to the other side of the mist he saw Levritt and Brendis speeding ahead of him, off to the northeast. He lowered his head, nudged a bit more effort from his mount, and they thundered after the two knights at full gallop.

The blasted landscape fell away before Deothen and the knights and then rose into a hilly stretch of ground that rolled off into the distance. Deothen poked up his head to see what his young charges might be after. It took him a moment, jangled as he was by his horse’s pounding hooves, but he spotted it-a lone figure on a massive black horse galloping straight for the hills.

At this distance, Deothen couldn’t be sure, but he would have bet his last copper that the rider was the changeling. The patch of sunlight over the mound of mist had long since faded, the hole in the thick, dark cloud cover now just a strange but happy memory. It could have been the vampire astride the horse, but Deothen’s gut said different.

The knight looked back over his shoulder, wondering if he’d see the vampire come flapping out of the smoky area on a bat’s wings now that the knights were on the chase. Perhaps it was all some devious trick meant to draw the knights away while the vampire escaped with Kandler’s stepdaughter.

If so, it was too late for the knights to change course. Brendis and Levritt had raced ahead rather than wait for their commander, so Deothen had little choice but to try to catch up with them. He prayed it wasn’t the wrong path.

It bothered Deothen that this course of action forced him to leave Sallali behind, but he saw no alternative. He prayed the Silver Flame would keep her safe.

Levritt and Brendis seemed to be enjoying the pursuit. They hunched high in their saddles and urged their horses beyond breakneck speeds. Deothen heard the two laugh out loud as they glanced at each other.

The land started to rise. Deothen looked ahead and realized that they had no chance of catching the changeling before she topped the first hill. Levritt and Brendis were gaining on her by the moment, but she had too much of a head start. She must have come barreling out of the mists as if all the demons of Dolurrh were on her tail.

The young knights didn’t seem to care. They spurred their mounts on faster and faster, never breaking stride as the ground rose. They used the momentum from their headlong sprint downhill to propel them upward fast as they could.

As Deothen watched, the changeling and her mount disappeared over the crest of the hill. The young knights reached the same spot only half a minute later. They hauled up short for a moment and glanced all around.

Levritt turned back to Deothen and pointed off to the right. The senior knight signaled for the young men to slow down for a moment longer so he could catch up with them. Too eager to run their prey to ground, they never saw the gesture.

Deothen shouted at the young knights, but they plunged over the crest of the hill and out of sight, the thunder of their hooves drowning out the old man’s protestations. Although his mount was laboring at the effort now, he pushed the horse hard up the hill.

Once Deothen topped the rise, he hauled his steed to a halt and scanned the land around. The hills stretched away before him, dipping and rising in an easy, patternless way.

The knight knew that Levritt and Brendis had sped off to the right. A low valley presented itself there, and the obvious path quickly turned around a bend. Deothen could see the path of divots in the grayish grass and rock that the young knights’ steeds had torn up as they raced in that direction.

The elder knight was not so eager to give up the high ground. Instead, he plunged down into the small valley and then up the other side to the next hill’s top. Then he turned his horse to the right and drove it along that hill’s crest.

As Deothen rode, he squinted into the distance, scanning the land for a sign of some kind of trap. He thought perhaps he’d see the changeling crawling along a hilltop with a wand of some sort, ready to rain magical death down on the hapless young knights. Or maybe the vampire would appear, spring upon Levritt and Brendis, and tear them from their saddles.

Deothen shivered as he recalled how the other vampire had sunk its fangs into Brendis’ neck. If it hadn’t been for the shifter’s bolt, the young man would surely be dead. Despite all the training Deothen had striven to instill in the young knight, he’d been helpless before the evil creature’s overwhelming power.

Those thoughts brought Deothen’s mind to the fate of Gweir. He didn’t know what he could have done to save the knight from that kind of an ambush. How could he have predicted so many warforged would be hiding under those long-dead bodies? The concept was almost unthinkable for the old warrior.

Deothen had already prayed long and hard for the Silver Flame to forgive these inadequacies in himself. He hoped that Gweir’s parents could find it in their heart to do the same. Deothen did not relish bringing them the news of their son’s demise, no matter how heroic it might have been or how noble the cause. He prayed he wouldn’t have to make the same visit to any other parents once this mission was done.

How was he going to be able to find Sallah again after this? Of all his young charges, he trusted her abilities the most. He hoped he would see her again before too long.

It was then that Deothen spotted the two knights as they trotted along the floor of the twisting hollow before him, which was coining to a dead end. The changeling was nowhere to be seen, and Deothen imagined the young men were discussing just how they should proceed. He called out to them.

Brendis and Levritt turned in their saddles to wave back at their commander. As they did, Deothen spotted something on the ridge to the left above them. He thought it might be the changeling, but another silhouetted form joined the first, and then another.

Deothen shouted out a warning to the young knights, but they were unable to hear him. They cupped their hands to their ears as more and more of the forms rose from the ridge. Deothen stabbed his finger into the air behind the two knights, over and over, but they didn’t seem to understand.

Deothen snapped his reins and spurred his mount to a gallop as fast as he could. “Get out of there!” he screamed. “It’s a trap! Move! Now!”

Brendis figured it out first. He glanced over his shoulder to see the creatures standing over them, and he slapped Levritt’s horse on the rump to make it move.

As the youngest knight’s mount leaped forward, a few of the creatures atop the ridge let loose a volley of arrows. Most flew wide of their mark, but one pierced a spot right below Brendis’ left shoulder. The knight was able to kick his steed into action before he slumped down over his reins.

It was suicide, Deothen knew. There was no way that the knights could stand against so many attackers. Their only hope was to outrun them, and here he was racing straight for them.