Empire of Storms
Page 23

Four against one. Usually easy odds for him.
Usually.
But he bore the Wyrdkey they sought, and that golden ring he’d stolen from Maeve, then given to and stolen from Aelin Galathynius. Athril’s ring. And if they brought either to their master…
Then Erawan would possess all three Wyrdkeys. And would be able to open a door between worlds to unleash his awaiting Valg hordes upon them all. And as for Athril’s golden ring … Lorcan had no doubt Erawan would destroy the ring forged by Mala herself—the one object in Erilea that granted immunity to its bearer against Wyrdstone … and the Valg.
So Lorcan moved. Faster than even they could detect, he hurled his axe at the creature farthest from him, its focus pinned on its companion as it prodded his shield.
They all whirled toward their companion as the axe slammed into its neck, deep and permanent. All turned away to see it fall. Lethal by nature, but untrained.
The beasts’ attention diverted for a heartbeat, Lorcan’s next two knives flew.
Both blades embedded to the hilt in their ridged foreheads, their heads reeling back as the blows sent them clattering to their knees.
The one in the center, the one who had spoken, loosed a primal scream that set Lorcan’s ears ringing. It lunged for the shield.
It rebounded, the magic denser this time. Lorcan drew his long-sword and a knife.
And could only watch as the thing roared at the shield and slammed against it with both ruined, clawed hands … and his magic, his shield, melted under its touch.
It stepped through his shield like it was a doorway. “Now we’ll play.”
Lorcan crouched into a defensive stance, wondering how far the girl had made it, if she’d even turned to look at what pursued them. The sounds of her flight had faded away.
Behind the creature, its companions were twitching.
No—reviving.
They each lifted a strong, clawed hand to the daggers through their skulls—and yanked them out. Metal rasped on bone.
Only the one with its head now attached by a few tendons remained down. Beheading, then.
Even if it meant getting close enough to do so.
The creature before him smiled in savage delight.
“What are you?” Lorcan ground out.
The two others were now on their feet, the wounds in their heads already healed, bristling with menace.
“We are hunters for His Dark Majesty,” the leader said with a mock bow. “We are the ilken. And we have been sent to retrieve our quarry.”
Those witches had dispatched these beasts for him? Cowards, not to do their own hunting.
The ilken went on, stepping toward him on legs that bent backward. “We were going to let you have a quick death—a gift.” Its broad nostrils flared, scenting the silent forest. “But as you have stood between us and our prey … we will savor your long end.”
Not him. He was not what the wyverns had been stalking these days, what these creatures had come to claim. They had no idea what he bore—who he was.
“What do you want with her?” he asked, monitoring the creeping approach of the three.
“It is none of your concern,” the leader said.
“If there is a reward in it, I will help you.”
Dark, soulless eyes flashed toward him. “You do not protect the girl?”
Lorcan gave a shrug, praying they couldn’t scent his bluff as he bought her more time, bought himself time to work out the puzzle of their power. “I don’t even know her name.”
The three ilken looked at one another, a glance of question and decision. Their leader said, “She is important to our king. Retrieve her, and he will fill you with power far greater than feeble shields.”
Was that the price for the humans they’d once been—magic that was somehow immune to what flowed naturally in this world? Or had the choice been taken from them, as surely as their souls had been stolen, too?
“Why is she important?”
They were now within spitting range. He wondered how long it’d take to replenish the supply of whatever power allowed them to cleave through magic. Perhaps they were buying themselves time, too.
The ilken said, “She is a thief and a murderer. She must be brought to our king for justice.”
Lorcan could have sworn an invisible hand touched his shoulder.
He knew that touch—had trusted it his entire life. It had kept him alive this long.
A touch on his back to go forward, to fight and kill and breathe in death. A touch on his shoulder to instead run. To know that only doom waited ahead, and life lay behind.
The ilken smiled once more, its teeth bright in the gloom of the wood.
As if in answer, a scream shattered from the forest behind him.
 
 
10

Elide Lochan stood before a creature birthed from a dark god’s nightmares. Across the clearing, it towered over her, its talons digging into the loam of the forest floor. “There you are,” it hissed through teeth sharper than a fish’s. “Come with me, girl, and I will grant you a quick end.”
Lies. She saw how it sized her up, claws curling as if it could already feel them shredding into her soft belly. The thing had appeared in her path as if a cloud of night had dropped it there, and had laughed when she screamed. Her knife shook as she raised it.
It stood like a man—spoke like one. And its eyes … Utterly soulless, yet the shape of them … They were human, too. Monstrous—what terrible mind had dreamed up such a thing?
She knew the answer.
Help. She needed help. But that man from the stream was likely dead at the claws of the other beasts. She wondered how long that magic of his had held out.
The creature stepped toward her, its muscled legs closing the distance too quickly. She backed toward the trees, the direction she’d come from.
“Is your blood as sweet as your face, girl?” Its grayish tongue tasted the air between them.
Think, think, think.
What would Manon do before such a creature?
Manon, she remembered, came equipped with claws and fangs of her own.
But a small voice whispered in her ear, So do you. Use what you have.
There were other weapons than those made of iron and steel.
Though her knees shook, Elide lifted her chin and met the black, human eyes of the creature.
“Careful,” she said, dropping her voice into the purr Manon had so often used to frighten the wits out of everyone. Elide reached into the pocket of her coat, pulling out the shard of stone and clenching it in her fist, willing that otherworldly presence to fill the clearing, the world. She prayed the creature wouldn’t look at her fist, wouldn’t ask what was in it as she drawled, “Do you think the Dark King will be pleased if you harm me?” She looked down her nose at it. Or as best as she could while standing several feet shorter. “I have been sent to look for the girl. Do not interfere.”
The creature seemed to recognize the fighting leathers then.
Seemed to scent that strange, off scent surrounding the rock.
And it hesitated.
Elide kept her face a mask of cold displeasure. “Get out of my sight.”
She almost vomited as she began stalking toward it, toward sure death. But she stomped along, prowling as Manon had so often done. Elide made herself look up into the bat-like, hideous face as she passed. “Tell your brethren that if you interfere again, I will personally oversee what delights you experience upon Morath’s tables.”