Bloodwalk - James P. Davis [11]
Behind her, she could feel the heat of Khaemil's change, her blood responding empathically as his quickened. His form shifted and condensed, settling into the shape of a great black dog. Morgynn adored the protective nature of the canomorph, known as shadurakul among his kind.
She stood in the doorway, looking out at the giant figure standing in the dying garden, shrouded in deep blue robes. It stood twice as tall as Morgynn and nearly three times as wide as Khaemil. At its side it held a rune-covered glaive, decorated with arcane trappings and grisly trophies. Khaemil crept close behind her. Snarling quietly, he sniffed at the chill air, his keen senses picking up the scent of the ogre's monstrous companions to the south, a pack of gnolls on the edge of the deep forest, growling and clearly uneasy.
"Mahgra," Morgynn began, "you're almost late."
"Lady Morgynn," the ogre bowed slightly, a well-practiced and formal gesture, "I do apologize. We had some slight trouble evading the patrols farther south near Beldargan, of the old Blacksaddle Baronies, but fortunately, my magic brought us through unseen."
The ogre's voice made even Khaemil's deep baritone sound like a squeak, thundering in their ears like a growing headache. Morgynn dismissed his unnecessary explanation with a wave of her hand. She had no desire to engage the ogre's skill at prolonged discussion, typically a one-sided conversation centered on Mahgra's own exaggerated and colorful accomplishments.
Khaemil stood close to Morgynn, eyeing the robed ogre with unmasked suspicion, a mutual feeling between the two.
"All is prepared, then," Morgynn stated, paying attention to neither of them, her gaze lingering upon the silhouette of the forest's edge through the morning mist. She paused as if listening for something. Her eyes clouded slightly and tiny splotches of red appeared at their edges as she answered a quiet call.
Mahgra retreated a step as Morgynn became lost in a trance. Khaemil felt the pressure of her magic in his chest, his pulse unable to keep up with the storm of her wild blood. He growled and sidestepped, baring his fangs in pain as her brief lapse faded and released him.
She looked meaningfully at Khaemil and Mahgra both, and her eyes told them their time in Logfell was over. No command was needed; no reminders were necessary. They knew their parts. The time had come.
Khaemil padded swiftly back to Talmen and the droning circle of wizard-priests. His dark form disappeared in the shadows of a silent avenue as he went to gather the rest of their order. Mahgra turned to leave as well, in the opposite direction, to assemble his charges and continue east along the coast of the Lake of Steam.
Morgynn, left alone, stood staring at the tops of the trees, barely visible above the town's southern wall. Her blood sang in her veins, twisting languidly beneath her skin. Her bare left arm itched, the absence of scars still strange to her senses, while the pale shadows of a hundred past scars calmed her self-conscious musings.
She drew a dagger from her belt and walked toward the dark forest, no longer able to resist the pull of so many faded heartbeats, so many bright yet lifeless eyes, so many children born of plague-emptied villages, waiting among the twisted trees.
CHAPTER THREE
Evening approached, bringing more dark gray clouds. Birds began searching for steadier perches in the strong winds that rolled in from the Lake of Steam. A humid mist hung over the tall grass growing tenaciously on the hill between sea and forest, its mass interrupted only by the worn cart path that led to the town gates.
The mist shifted slightly, rolling in on itself, swirling in ephemeral drafts as a faint figure appeared in its depths. It was tall, this silhouette materializing in the agitated mist, a shadow taking form among shadows. He was wrapped in a gray cloak with a high collar and wore a long-used, wide-brimmed traveler's hat.
The spinning haze settled and revealed fair skin, a graceful jawline, silvered