Shadowfall

  An ilk-beast.

  The creature leaped into the room—toward Laurelle, the closest to the window.

  Dart screamed as the creature struck her friend, knocking her to the bed. Another pair of creatures filled the window, crawling in from either side, misshapen horrors. At the same time, windows shattered around the room. More ilk-beasts boiled in from all sides.

  Dart lunged toward the nearest, the one tangled with Laurelle. Her friend kicked and bit, turning as feral as the creature that attacked her. But a swipe of claws ripped her robe and drew bloody furrows across her chest. Laurelle cried out.

  Dart already had her cursed dagger in hand. She plunged it to the hilt in the monster’s back. It reared up, tearing the blade from Dart’s grasp. The beast struggled for the impaled dagger, writhing to reach it. It screamed, but all that came out was fire. Its body stiffened with pain, a statue of agony.

  Laurelle kicked out at it from the bed. Her heel struck its form and it shattered to ash, blowing outward. A reek of charred flesh whelmed over them.

  Dart joined Laurelle, dropping behind the edge of the bed, ducking almost under it.

  Around the room, a dance of blades held the ilk-beasts in check. The castellan swirled in and out of shadow, dealing death with swift skill. The tall Wyr-mistress had a sword in each fist, lunging and stabbing in all directions, seeming to have eyes in the back of her head. Even the godslayer wielded a blade in one hand and a dagger in the other, his back to the bearded man who fought with a broken chair leg, sharp as a spear.

  But more and more beasts crawled and scrambled into the chamber.

  Dart blindly searched the hot ash pile for her dagger. Despite her terror, she dug with care. It would not do to prick her finger on its black tip.

  “Make for the door!” Master Gerrod called to them. His bronze form had sprouted sharp blades at elbows and knees. He held the legion at bay from Dart’s corner.

  Laurelle grabbed Dart’s arm. She pointed under the bed.

  Dart abandoned her search and belly-crawled with Laurelle beneath the bed to its other side. They waited for a clear moment, then shoved across the open space to the next cot, diving beneath it and crawling toward the far door. They waited until the fighting ebbed away from the entry.

  “Now,” Dart urged.

  The two girls rolled out and to their feet. Hand in hand, they raced for the door and through it. The hallway echoed with the fighting, but it was thankfully empty. They fled down its length, realizing that the clash of swords grew louder again only as they neared the stairwell.

  Their feet slowed.

  More fighting ahead. Yaellin must be holding the stairs. The scrape of claw on stone drew their attention behind them. Laurelle let out a small whimper.

  Climbing down the corridor, a lone ilk-beast had followed them into the hallway, a cat chasing two fleeing mice. On all fours, it was massively muscled, naked of all clothing. Its skin ran with black mottles. Its muzzled face held a fixed snarl, revealing daggered fangs. Fiery eyes stared at them.

  Trapped between the two battles—stair and chamber—there was nowhere to run. Dart pawed her belted sheath. They had no weapons.

  The beast let out a growl and stalked toward them.

  Tylar stabbed a beast through the eye. From the bared breasts, it was once a woman. But her skin had hardened to scale, her fingers to bony claws. Oil cast the nails in a poisonous sheen. But the worst was her face: slitted eyes aglow with a yellowish flame, nostrils flared for scenting, jaws shaped like an adder, full of fangs.

  With a grunt, Tylar yanked his blade free. The beast fell, convulsing on the stone floor. A hissing wail flowed forth. Even in death, the creature remained a monster, its human self burned away forever by corrupted Grace.

  Tylar felt a mix of sorrow and fury. What could drive someone to yield all of themselves to such a defilement? He remembered Darjon’s shout. Myrillia will be free! He stepped over the dead body. She was certainly free now.

  The battle raged. The air reeked of burst bowels and blood. The room echoed with wails and shrieks of the raving.

  But Tylar dared not call forth his daemon. With fighting in such close quarters, friend as well as foe could find themselves brushed with the deadly touch of the naethryn. So he fought, Rogger on one side, Kathryn on the other. Gerrod and Eylan were another island of resistance across the room.

  “Make for the door!” he yelled. “We’ll hold them off better in the hall!”

  But his order was understood by the ilk-beasts, too. Though the men and woman had forsaken themselves to this fate, some semblance of human cognition remained. The pack of beasts surged toward the door, cutting off their retreat. The way was slammed shut.

  More beasts clawed and crawled through the windows. Was there no end to Chrism’s slavering army? How many had given themselves to this false god?

  With a grunt, Rogger went down on one knee, his shoulder ripped to shreds by a lash of claw, his stave knocked from his fingers.

  Tylar used a backhanded blow with the hilt of his sword to crack the ilk-beast in the face. It fell back.

  Rogger gained his feet. Kathryn passed him a dagger.

  “We can’t hold them,” she said. “We’re being swamped.”

  With each death, the floor grew slicker with blood, each step more treacherous. And it was not only the beasts’ blood that stained it. They all bore cuts and scrapes.

  Tylar found his vision narrowing. Fear and fury had helped fuel his fight, but there were limits. He had lost too much blood earlier, had had too little time to recover. His heel slipped in a pool of blood. He fell into the arms of one of the beasts, a squat toadish man with bony spines growing from his skin. Tylar felt himself speared across arms and chest.

  As he struggled to free himself, the creature suddenly jerked, spasmed, and released Tylar. He fell to Tylar’s toes, a dagger hilt protruding from the back of his neck, impaled to the brain.

  Tylar matched gazes with Eylan. Even while fighting her own host of monsters, she had thrown the dagger with unerring accuracy, protecting her charge, doing her duty.

  He nodded his thanks and raised his blade as another beast lunged for his throat. He struck out with his elbow, catching the creature across the nose. Then stabbed upward with his other hand, fingers wrapped around his dagger. He shoved the blade under the beast’s rib cage, driving through to the heart. It gasped and choked. He kneed the beast away from him.

  Enough.

  “To the walls!” he called out. “Backs to the walls!”

  The beasts could not block such a general order.

  Tylar and the others cut a swath, retreating to the stone walls. Tylar, Rogger, and Kathryn found spots on one side of the room, Eylan and Gerrod on the other.

  “I must loose the beast,” Tylar said to Kathryn and Rogger. “Stay as low as possible.”

  “ ’Bout time,” Rogger grumbled.

  Kathryn cast out shadows to shield them.

  Working quickly, Tylar sheathed his dagger, grabbed his smallest finger with his other hand, braced himself, then snapped the digit clean backward. Agony flamed his hand like a hammer strike.

  Nothing else happened.

  Rogger looked on. “Only popped it out of place. Let me help.”

  Tylar glanced up in time to see the hilt of Rogger’s dagger aiming for his face. He could’ve ducked, but didn’t. The iron hilt struck him square in the nose. He heard the crush of bone at the back of his skull.

  It echoed outward, rattling through his body.

  Though he was prepared, the agony was no less than before. Each break was fresh, each snap ripped flesh. He fell to his knees, which broke before even striking stone.

  “Get clear!” he screamed as he felt the buildup behind his rib cage. Then those bones broke, too.

  The daemon sailed forth, through the same hole it had burned in his clothes earlier. With its escape, bones reset and healed, callused and misaligned.

  Tylar’s vision opened enough to see Kat
hryn and Rogger falling to the walls on either side. The naethryn smoked from his body, spreading wings and stretching its neck.

  Ilk-beasts still had enough humanity in them to know terror. The creatures fled from the daemon’s path as it settled to the stone floor on smoky claws and legs. Fiery eyes scanned the room.

  Across the way, even those beasts that had been attacking Eylan and Gerrod gave pause, backing in panic from the dark newcomer. Several fled back out the window.

  Tylar straightened, sensing a change in the tide of battle. “Make for the door,” he urged.

  They all began sliding along the walls.

  Not all the ilk-beasts were cowed by the naether-spawn’s appearance. Several leaped with piercing shrieks. Tylar smiled grimly. Their deaths would not be pleasant.

  But the beasts crashed through the naethryn as if the daemon were ordinary woodsmoke. They came out the far side, unharmed. The yellowish fire in their eyes remained just as fierce.

  Gerrod called from across the way as the two parties converged on the door. “Their corrupted Grace shields them! The naethryn’s Grace is a match to their own. It cannot harm them!”

  “Now he tells us,” Rogger griped.

  All around the room, the pack of ilk-beasts took heart from their braver few. They rushed at the party pinned to the walls, with little maneuverability.

  Tylar tried to raise his sword, but his misshapen curl of fingers could not grip it. The sword fell and clanged against the stone floor. He couldn’t defend himself.

  Beasts closed upon them, swamping them.

  Dart shoved Laurelle behind her as the ilk-beast stalked down the hall. “Get to the stairs!”

  “But—”

  “Get Yaellin!” she yelled.

  Dart knew they couldn’t both flee. The beast would be upon them before they could reach the stair. Someone had to hold it off.

  Laurelle must’ve understood this, too. She didn’t argue further and ran down the hall.

  The mottle-skinned beast twitched, watching Laurelle flee. But it did not pursue. There was easier prey. It lowered its head, snarling, revealing a maw of sharp fangs. A slight black pall steamed from its pores, along with the scent of burning blood. Black Grace burned through its flesh.

  Dart sought any weapon, any means to escape. The only objects in the halls were a row of chairs along either wall. Dart had sat in those same chairs as she waited for her purity to be tested. Then, too, she had been terrified.

  Creeping backward, Dart kicked and shoved the chairs into the hallway. But the monster simply bulled through them.

  Distantly, she heard Laurelle’s cry for help. Aid would never reach Dart in time.

  The monster knew this, too—and leaped.

  It flew headlong through the air.

  With no retreat, Dart dove forward.

  Under the beast. Under one of the scattered chairs.

  The beast, ill prepared for such an unexpected move, twisted in midair. Its hindquarters smashed atop the chair. Dart scrambled free as the wooden legs snapped like saplings. She rolled past the creature’s rear.

  The beast thrashed around, kicking and slashing at the tangle of chairs.

  Dart glanced back to the healing chamber. Its door had been slammed closed moments ago. And even if it had not, there was no sanctuary to be found in that room. She heard the shrieks and wails from inside.

  The ilk-beast regained its footing.

  It slunk toward her again, shoving through the chairs. It would not make the same mistake twice. Despite its ravening appearance, its eyes glowed with keen intelligence. Somewhere inside its twisted form was the man who had consumed Chrism’s blood. Both beast and man burned with fury.

  A howling wail escaped its throat.

  Dart felt her knees weaken. She trembled from crown to heel.

  With one last growl, it ran at her, low this time, but bulked at the shoulder. Claws scraped stone.

  Dart stumbled backward, tripped on a broken chair, and fell hard to her backside.

  The beast lunged up, claws raised, fangs bared. It crashed down upon its cowering prey.

  Dart dropped to her back. Her fingers scrabbled for any weapon. Her palm found a shattered chair leg and raised it, braced with both arms now.

  The beast landed on her, impaling itself on her sharpened stave of wood. Through the throat. Blood splashed over Dart. It burned like acid, blinded her eyes.

  But the beast was far from dead. The mortal wound would take time to kill, and the beast intended to take Dart with it.

  It shoved up enough to bring a claw to Dart’s shoulder. Skin tore, muscle, down to bone, pinning her. Dart screamed. Her mouth filled with the blood. She spat and choked, fearing to consume it, fearing she’d become what attacked her.

  Panic fired her arms. The weight, the blood, the hot breath . . . all brought back a deeper terror. She struggled against the violation.

  No!

  The scream ripped up through her, yelled against all that tormented her, past and present. She shoved her stave deeper. The beast wailed and bucked backward. Its claws tore from her shoulder and she lost her stave.

  The beast snarled and fell upon her again. It raised its muzzle to rip into Dart’s throat.

  Then its left eye exploded with blood and gore.

  The point of an arrow protruded out of the socket.

  Shot from behind.

  The body crashed atop Dart, knocking the last of the wind from her. She kicked and clawed her way from under it, gaining her freedom.

  With her left shoulder on fire, Dart shoved to her feet. Down the hall, she spotted a whirl of shadow turning away.

  With crossbow in hand, Yaellin returned to his defense of the stairs, vanishing down a few steps.

  Laurelle appeared out of the cloak of his shadows. “Hurry, Dart!”

  Dart stumbled past the ilk-beast, then gained her footing. She fled the length of the hall and reached Laurelle.

  “Up!” Yaellin yelled from down a bend in the spiral stairs. Bodies draped the closest steps. “Get to hiding!”

  Laurelle grabbed Dart’s uninjured arm and urged her upward.

  They fled together. Each step jarred Dart’s clawed shoulder and drew hot tears.

  They ran with no plan but to escape, to put as much distance as possible between them and the horrors below.

  A door appeared, blocking the way.

  It wasn’t until then that Dart realized where they had reached.

  The top of the tower.

  The rookery.

  Her feet slowed. Her head shook. “No . . .”

  “We must hide,” Laurelle said. She grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.

  A flutter of wings sounded inside the dark chamber. The air stung of guano. A few beams of light illuminated the dusty space, but succeeded only in highlighting the darker shadows.

  “Come. We can hide here.”

  Laurelle drew Dart inside. She closed the door behind them.

  Dart could not breathe as they stumbled deeper into the rookery. Eyes shone down from above. Dart searched the floor for blood. She knew the spot. By the back window, on the floor . . . bare planks, speckled with droppings. How could such horror leave no lasting mark?

  “We’ll be safe here.”

  Dart slowly shook her head. There was no safety to be found here.

  The snick of a thrown latch sounded behind them.

  Dart didn’t need to turn. It was happening all over again. “So we come full circle,” the voice said at the door.

  Laurelle stiffened. “Healer Paltry . . .”

  Dart slowly turned. The man stalked from the shadows. He bore a long sword in one hand. He carried it deftly. He must have escaped when the fighting first occurred, sneaking out the door and slipping past Yaellin as he defended the stairs, choosing the same place to hide.

  Paltry came forward, fully into the light.

  “Now to put an end to the abomination.”

  Kathryn defended Tylar. She kept her
eyes from his broken form. She could not balance the knight from a moment ago with the crippled wreck at her feet. Her heart ached, as if she’d lost Tylar all over again.

  In fury, she stabbed and hacked to keep him safe. The naether daemon had no effect on the ilk-beasts. If anything, it made the fighting more difficult. Their party had to be careful of its shadowy form. While its touch might not harm the corrupted creatures, they had no such protection.

  A slip of her cloak had accidentally brushed through the smoky umbilicus that connected Tylar to his leashed beast. The brief contact sucked all Grace from her, dropping shadows and cloak to her shoulders. All the speed borne of Grace died. It would take time to draw shadows back into her cloak. In the meantime, she felt as if she were fighting in mud.

  Tylar understood the danger. He bloodied his palms and readied to call back the beast. “To the door,” he urged.

  If nothing else, at least the appearance of the daemon had cleared the beasts blocking the room’s only exit. Gerrod and the Wyr-mistress had already reached the door and held it for them.

  Kathryn hacked the last few steps to join them.

  Gerrod manned the door, his armor stained from head to toe with blood and gore. “Rein in your daemon,” he called to Tylar.

  With a nod, Tylar brought his bloody palms to the black umbilicus. His touch ignited a burst of fire. It raced out from him, consuming the naethryn before it. Wings burned away. Details blurred to smoke. The flash of fire startled the ilk-beasts, buying them all time to slip from the room.

  Tylar waved them through as the fires reached the tip of his daemon’s nose and whipped back again. “Stand clear!”

  The flames raged back toward Tylar.

  He was the last, standing in the doorway. When the fiery wave struck him, he was knocked backward through the door. Eylan caught him and kept him from falling. Gerrod slammed the door.

  Ilk-beasts struck and dug at the planking.

  Gerrod shouldered the door, but the fight rattled the frame.

  Tylar returned. Hale again. He wiped his sweated brow, then jabbed a fingertip on his dagger. “Back,” he warned Gerrod.

  Tylar reached a bloody finger to one of the door’s hinges. A crackle of frost snapped from his touch. The iron took on a bluish cast. He did the same to the other two hinges.