The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2) (30 page)

A massive wind blew in through the open door like a fist of rain that punched Lethos square between his eyes. It drove him back, and slammed both Grimwold and Valda against the opposite walls. In the same gust, the wind dragged Kelata's limp form out of the door. Rain cut sideways into the room in a furious rush.

Myrakka raised a hand and lightning struck the roof, blowing it apart over Lethos's head. Thatch, wood splinters, and rain sheeted down on him, and the roar of the wind filled the hall. His power warned him to step back, but it was too late.

Lightning struck him. He saw nothing, but felt as if a hammer had hit the back of his head. White light blinded everything. A thousand bees were stinging his body from the inside, and then he was staring up at the sky. A light drizzle speckled his face.

He was in a field surrounded by autumn-bare trees. A cold wind cut through his naked body. Blood was splattered all over him. The brooding sky held no answers, so he sat up and rubbed his head. His ears rang and his vision was blurry. He had no memory of anything. This place could be anywhere, and this blood could be anyone's.

Lethos stared at his hands. The blood was dried but for where the drizzle wet it again. His first thought was for Valda. What if this was her blood? Could he have done such a thing? If not her, then what of Blund and his people? Not Greenvik all over again. Not more murder of innocents. If anything, this should be the blood of Kelata and Myrakka, yet he knew they had escaped. At least Kelata seemed to have been undone by his own poison. That much satisfied him.

He tucked his legs under his chin and closed his eyes, the cold drizzling over his back. He tried to remember what happened after the lightning, but it was as if time had skipped to this moment. The blood caked between his fingers broke apart as he flexed them.

"Lethos, what have you done?"

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Lethos shambled out of the field of brown grass for the surrounding woods. Dark pines mingled with bare trees that had dropped all their leaves in the final approach to winter. The flecks of cold rain over his naked flesh caused him to shiver and wrap his arms around his torso. Stones beneath his bare feet drove into the tender flesh as he crossed into the woods, yet he feared no cut or bruise. He couldn't work the scent of blood from his nose no matter how he rubbed at it. The gore that had caked onto his hands had also worked its way into his thin beard.

He traveled south, or so he had hoped. Spy training had instructed him in the rudiments of determining direction from the sun, but he did better when it was bright in the sky and not obscured by woolly, gray clouds. If the gods had any pity for him, they would show him to a stream where he could wash away the proof of the murder he had done. For what else could it have been? The bull had been in control, even though he still had his rational mind intact at that time. When Myrakka--who had seized on Lethos's naive presumption that she was Storra come to help him--summoned lightning down on him he had blacked out. Of course, the blood on his hands told the rest of the story. The bull would have gone mad and he would have killed anything in his wake. Had he killed Blund's servants, his men, maybe Blund himself?

Branches pulled at him like the hands of beggars in a crowded street. The underbrush and crunchy carpet of dead leaves made footing treacherous. He slipped and skidded as he pushed south. He was not going to return to Blund's town of Brunholm. No one would welcome him back no matter how contrite he acted. He certainly would not welcome a rampaging monster that killed a loved one. Neither could he face Valda. After seeing him for the mad beast he was, her first act as queen would be put him to death, or maybe banish him if she were the merciful kind. She did not seem so. How could she allow her people to live in danger of a monster suddenly destroying their homes and lives? No, Valda was done with him. And what was he thinking about her anyway? She was not attracted to him. At a time like this, her whole family murdered, and he thought she might fancy him? What a fool. What an arrogant fool. A monstrous, arrogant fool.

Well, enough self-flagellation. The woods engulfed him now, birds screaming in anger before fleeing at his approach or a sudden burst of an unseen rodent darting away. The trees were heavier and thicker now, more pines and less deciduous trees meant the sunlight dimmed as the branches blocked it out. He paused at one tall pine to get his bearings. The trunk had been stripped of bark and massive claws had gouged the wood. He knew enough that it meant a bear had marked this area for its territory. Even with all his powers, he still feared encountering a bear. If anything, it might set off the bull, then he would have to wake up somewhere else and start again. At least this time he was already naked.

He felt Grimwold's mind probing his, like the way you would hear someone trying to listen at the door. Lethos had closed his mind to Grimwold. He was alive now and with Valda. He could care for her much better than he could, and Grimwold would be a greater help to her consolidating her father's throne before contenders appeared. Had it only been days since Eldegris's death? He had lost count, but the news might not yet have traveled far. Valda and Grimwold would have great success in securing her future.

Lethos was leaving them both. There were plenty of tiny, uninhabited islands between here and the mainland. He was going to find one where he could live in safety and seclusion from others. Of course, Grimwold could sense him as easily as he could sense Grimwold. So he was never in danger of being alone, especially since they had to remain in proximity to each other or die. They never learned the trick of separating like Kafara and Turo had been able to do. In any case, his mind was set on this path. The storm riders were settled now that Turo had sunk their ship. He had seemed to believe there would be more conflict, and Avulash before his death seemed confident he was leading some great return of his people. Even if it were true, Lethos still had no place among men. He was a danger to everyone. Grimwold was the only one who had to know where he was, but his power to command him was useless. They couldn't even slap each other so long as their powers continued. Grimwold would have to deal with his decision and could not compel him to any other choice. Grimwold was the least threatening person in the world to Lethos.

He stumbled along in his nakedness, keenly uncomfortable with his immodesty even with no other eyes but squirrels and crows to witness him. While he could not be injured by mundane means, and all but the most grievous of wounds gave him no more pain than a slight bump, he still could experience misery. The cold made him shiver. How Kafara and Turo had strolled about in careless nudity was beyond him. They had claimed to burn power to keep warm. Turo had shown him once, but he could not recall the method. He eventually found a creek where he scrubbed off the caked blood. The bracing cold was worsened from having nothing to dry his skin.

As the day ended, the trees also thinned. He saw smoke rising beyond the bare branches, a sure sign of a settlement. He could perhaps beg clothes from the villagers, or at worst steal them. He was no longer above that much. He hated being naked.

He slipped from tree to tree as he approached the dark outlines of buildings at the edge of the woods. He self-consciously cupped his groin in case some young maiden were to leap out at him. Barring Valda, he had not experienced young women leaping out at him in Valahur, but the worst time for that to begin would be while he was embarrassingly naked. It almost guaranteed it would happen now.

Yet once at the tree line, he forgot his worries of spoiling young maidens with glimpses of his crotch. He forgot to conceal his crotch at all. He leaned against the tree, horrified at what he was witnessing.

The village comprised seven or so A-frame homes, all with gray thatch that slumped in places and attached pens that were mostly falling down. Hearth smoke rose from the holes in the roofs and floated away on the gentle wind. It was a typically poor community of farmers that dotted all of Valahur. Yet far more people had been gathered here than could possibly live in this place.

Perhaps a hundred were pressed together in a great throng at the center of the village, all of various ages. The youngest were in their teens and the oldest were perhaps fifty years, which was old for this part of the world. They were all naked, stripped of any shred of clothing. Their flesh was a mosaic of hues from the pallid white to the sallow to the tanned. Their heads were all lowered, again a patchwork of yellows, golds, browns, and grays. None of them made a single sound and each stood still as if lost in a world of his own thoughts.

Lethos could not understand what this meant. His eyes traveled the length of the throng, finding no restraints or armed men holding them. They seemed to be waiting in contemplative silence. Surely for so many people one person at least would be uncomfortable with the unnatural stillness. Yet as Lethos observed, no one disturbed the bizarre vigil.

He did not notice at first, but children appeared to be lying on the ground at the far end of the throng. Several large dogs lay among them, all equally still. This was extremely unusual, for he knew nothing short of magic for keeping children and their pets so still. He strained his eyes at this scene, and realized that the children were not in some trance. They were as nude as the adults, but they were sprawled out as if cast aside. They were a pile, not a gathering. Their smooth young flesh was a uniform, pale gray color. He could not see the details, but the dogs with them lay in strange positions, as if they had contorted into a tormented shape before falling over.

They were all dead. The adults standing beside them did not appear aware of it. Lethos's heart began to throb against his chest. He guessed at least half as many children as adults were piled up like a heap of so many rags. He ducked behind the tree, pressing his naked back into the rough cold bark as if it could protect him from witnessing more of the scene. Even without the telltale blood scent, he recognized the work of the storm riders.

Had they survived the sinking of their ark? He felt like flopping to the damp ground as he realized he never saw the ark sink. He assumed it had based on the damage he had witnessed. It was the same as his assumptions with Tirkin and Storra. He wanted them to come as badly as he wanted the ark to have been sunk and these storm riders destroyed. A wave of nausea passed over him.

He peeked from behind the tree again, finding nothing changed. He was now looking for Avulash and his crew, for certainly they were behind this. He saw no sign beyond whatever evil magic they had rendered upon all these people. The throng remained still and silent, the only sounds coming from the occasional snap of a branch or rustling of leaves from the woods surrounding him. A glance revealed nothing approaching, the sounds coming from rodents or birds.

A trickle like cold water began to flow down his spine. A smile spread across his face. Even though the sensation was a portent of danger, he still welcomed the return of it. He had no urges associated with the cold running along his back. Perhaps it meant he should stay put or the true threat had not formed yet. Clinging to the tree, he studied the gathering for signs of danger.

Another branch snapped and the cold spread across his back like wings of ice. He whirled now, and realized there was something in the woods behind him. It seemed a section of trunk and branches crept toward him along with another section of green pine branches and dead underbrush. He stared hard at this, unable to determine what he faced. Everything seemed to stop moving as he peered into the dim woods.

Then he realized in those moving sections that golden eyes were staring back at him. The sections were in the shapes of men.

He was looking through men as clear as fine crystal, their outlines bare and delicate against the rough shapes of the trees.

The cold on his back poured down his spine, but he still had no idea what to do next. It felt as if his power were blocked, the way a stuffed nose makes breathing a struggle.

"I was hoping to find you here." The voice came from behind him, toward the village. Lethos swallowed hard at the sound of it. Avulash had come.

The shimmering forms before him seemed to grow more definite as they drew closer. Lethos glanced over his shoulder but saw nothing other than the field and the silent villagers. He whirled back at the forms closing on him. He counted at least four now. They did not appear clear so much as it appeared whatever was behind them had painted itself on to their bodies, and this painting shifted with their motions.

The momentary fascination cost him.

One of the lead shapes thrust a spear at him, and the tip plunged into his shoulder with a cold so sharp that it burned. He screamed then grabbed for where he felt the invisible shaft piercing him. His own blood leaked out, but not as much as he expected. He fell back against the tree.

A shape appeared from behind, and slowly grew more visible as Lethos slid down the rough bark to the dirt. Avulash hovered over him, his arms folded across his chest.

"We were ready for you this time. Is your power blocked?" He unfolded his arms and revealed a chunk of wild stone hanging at his neck. The sight of it made Lethos's eyes burn, but he did not experience the intense pain of exposure as he had before. Avulash laughed.

The storm riders surrounding him faded into visibility, the one pinning him with a spear appearing first. Lethos tucked his head down to see the spear point driven into his shoulder. It had hardly penetrated his flesh, though it felt as if it had plunged through his body. The entire shaft was engraved with runes that seemed to glow with a pale violet light. The iron blade seemed normal enough, but the tip appeared to have been covered with wild stone. He hissed at seeing it jammed into his skin. The burning cold radiated from it all the way into his neck and up the side of his face. He felt paralyzed.