Valley of Silence
Page 65

With Larkin, Cian stood and studied the scorched earth.
“It’s as you said, you and Blair. She would lay waste to the farms and the homes.”
“Stone and wood.”
Larkin shook his head. “Livestock and crops. Sweat and blood. Hearth and home.”
“All of which can be bred and grown, shed and built again. Your men withstood the siege, with no casualties. They fought, and held the ground—and took some of Lilith’s forces to hell. Your glass is miraculously half full, Larkin.”
“You’d be right, I know it. And I hope if she tries to drink what’s left in it, it burns her guts black. We’ll move on then.”
There were fresh graves at the next base, burned earth and wounded men.
The sick dread in Larkin’s belly eased, finally, when he saw his younger brother, Oran, limp out of the farmhouse. He strode to Oran quickly, and in the way of men gave him a hard punch in the arm, then a bear hug.
“Our mother will be pleased you’re among the living. How bad are your wounds?”
“Scratches. How is it at home?”
“Busy. I’ve seen Phelan at one of the other camps, and he’s safe and well.”
“It’s good to hear. Good to hear. But I have hard news, Larkin.”
“We know of it.” He laid a hand on Oran’s shoulder. His brother had been little more than a boy when he’d marched away from home, Larkin thought. Now he was a man, with all the weight that went with it. “How many besides Tynan?”
“Three more. And another I fear won’t make the night. Two others taken, dead or alive, I can’t say. It was a child, Larkin. A demon child who killed Tynan.”
“We’ll go inside, and talk of it.”
T hey used the kitchen with Cian sitting back from the window. He understood why Larkin listened to the whole account, though they knew or could imagine most of it. Oran had to speak it all, see it all again.
“I’d had the watch before his, and was still sleeping when I heard the alarm. It was already too late for Tynan, Larkin, already too late. He’d gone out, alone, thinking there was a child hurt and lost and afraid. It lured him, you see, some distance from the house. And though there were men posted, bows ready, when it turned and ripped at him, it was too late.”
He wet his throat with ale. “Men rushed out. I think back, I think, I was second in command, and should have ordered them to hold. It was too late to save him, but how could we not try? And because we did, more were lost.”
“He would have done the same for you, for anyone.”
“They took his body.” Oran’s young face was alive with grief, and his eyes very old. “We searched. The next morning we searched, for him and the two others, but found only blood. We fear they’ve been changed.”
“Not Tynan.” Cian spoke now, waited for Oran’s weary gaze to meet his. “We can’t say about the other two, but Tynan wasn’t changed. His body was brought back to Castle Geal. He was given a full burial early this morning.”
“I’ll thank the gods for that, at least. But who brought the body?”
As Larkin gave the account, Oran’s face hardened again.
“Young Sean. We couldn’t save him in the ambush along the road. They came out of the ground like hellhounds. We lost good men that day, and Sean was lost as well. Is he at peace now?” He looked to Cian. “Now that what took him over is gone, is he at peace?”
“I don’t have the answer.”
“Well, I’ll believe he is, just as Tynan is, and the others we’ve buried. He can’t be held accountable by men or gods for what was done to him.”
T hey double posted guards for the night, and at Cian’s instructions small bladders were filled with blessed water. These would be hooked to arrows. With this, even a miss of the heart would cause considerable damage, and possible death.
In addition, more traps had been set. Men who couldn’t sleep whiled away the time carving stakes.
“Do you think she’ll send out a raiding party tonight?” Larkin asked Cian.
They sat in what had been a small parlor, and was now in use for weapon storage.
“To one of the other points, she may. Here? Little point in it, unless she’s bored—or wants to exercise some of her troops. She’s done what she had in mind to do at this base.” Since they were alone, Cian drank blood from a pottery cup.
“And if you were her?”
“I’d send out small parties to distract and harass. Chipping away at enemy troops and morale at every base. The trouble with that is your men tend to stand firm, while we know some of hers desert. But your individual losses echo with you, where hers mean less than nothing.”
He drank again. “But then I’m not her. Being me, I’d find satisfaction in seeking out a raiding party, taking it by surprise before it reached its objective. And killing the hell out of it.”
“Isn’t that peculiar,” Larkin said with a grin. “Not being her, and not being you, the exact same thought had planted itself in my mind.”
“Well then. What are we waiting for?”
They left Oran in charge of the base. Though there was considerable argument, discussion, debate, Larkin and Cian set out alone. One dragon and one vampire, Cian had reasoned, could travel swiftly, and undetected.
If they found a party and opted to land for hand-to-hand, Larkin’s weapon harness was well-loaded. Cian swung a quiver over his back, loaded extra stakes in his sword belt.
“It’ll be interesting to see how the idea of aerial warfare flies—as it were.”
“Ready then?” Larkin changed, stood gold and sinuous as Cian strapped on the harness.
They’d agreed to keep it short and simple. They would fly in widening circles, looking for any sign of a party or a camp. If they spotted one, they’d strike—quick and clean.
The flight up toward a moon approaching its third quarter was exhilarating. The freedom of the night swept over Cian. He flew without cloak or coat, reveling in the cool and the dark.
Beneath him, Larkin soared, his dragon’s wings barely a whisper on the air, and so thin Cian could see the glimmer of stars through them when they swept the air.
Clouds drifted, thin wisps that slid like gauze over stars, sailed like ghost ships over the waxing moon.
Far below, the first fingers of fog began their crawl over the ground.