Crown Of Shadows Part 24

For once the Hunter didn't argue. Damien saw the unearthly chill of the coldfire blade blaze to life, and the ice on the mountains to both sides flickered with eerie silver-blue light as its work was done. Not until Tarrant was finished did he look at the horses again, and even in death their suffering was so apparent that it made him sick to his gut to see it.

There was a time when even that small act of mercy would have put Tarrant soul in jeopardy, he realized. he realized. Have we come so far beyond that, that such fine distinctions no longer disturb his unholy patron? Have we come so far beyond that, that such fine distinctions no longer disturb his unholy patron? He watched for a moment as the Hunter worked at getting his saddlebags loose from his horse's body, then stooped beside his own mount's corpse to follow suit. He watched for a moment as the Hunter worked at getting his saddlebags loose from his horse's body, then stooped beside his own mount's corpse to follow suit. The Unnamed expects him to die, he thought grimly. In the face of that, what transgression has any meaning? The Unnamed expects him to die, he thought grimly. In the face of that, what transgression has any meaning?

The stars were bright overhead by the time they had their supplies freed, sorted, and repacked, but the horizon was still comfortably dark. That gave them at least an hour, Damien estimated, maybe more. Enough time get through the pa.s.s and find shelter, G.o.d willing. For the first time in days, he felt almost optimistic.

"Let's go," Tarrant urged, and he led the way north.

It was no easy path, that narrow divide. Mountain waters had dripped down the flanking slopes and frozen, making flat sections treacherous. Rockfalls had strewn the ground with thousands of knife-edged obstacles, some large enough to require climbing over, some small enough to lodge in the leather of a boot sole. It was a hard transition from twelve hours of hard riding to such a strenuous hike, and more than once Damien stumbled. But they had cheated time and Calesta both, and that knowledge gave him new strength with every step he took. The inhabitants of the valley would be less than happy about following them here, where the spirits of the dead were said to rule. Once they made it to the far side of the pa.s.s, Tarrant said, they would surely be safe.

And then they came around a turn and Shaitan's valley spread out before them, as suddenly as if they had lifted a veil to reveal it. Below them the earth swirled with a gray mist that seemed almost alive. No, not gray: thin streamers of silver, that glowed with an eerie phosph.o.r.escence. He could see figures within it that appeared almost human, but they were too far away for him to make out any details. "Shadows of the dead," Tarrant said quietly, following his gaze. Clouds hung low about the valley floor, their surfaces reflecting the stars as no real clouds should. And in the center of it all, rising up from the clouds and the mist like a mountain from the sea- Shaitan. Its summit glowed with hot orange fire, and streams of that color cascaded down its flank, into the unnatural mist that obscured its base. Its steep cone reared up high into the sky, and the clouds of ash that surrounded it seemed to glow with their own inner fire, so fiercely did they reflect its light. Above it the sky had been blanketed with ash, whose undersurface rippled with orange and red highlights as a sea might ripple with froth. It made Damien feel strangely light-headed to stare up at it, and he forced his eyes downward again, to a more comfortable terrain.

"Do the dead really live down there?" he asked Tarrant.

"Shadows of the dead," he confirmed, "which are not quite the same thing."

"What's the difference?"

"The real dead, if they survived separation from their flesh, would feed as other faeborn creatures do: upon the species that gave birth to them. While the shadows of the dead ... do not feed. Do not hunger. Do not expire. They're like reflections in a mirror: perfect, but without real consciousness. The only world they know is the moment in which they died, and they only exist here, where the currents are so powerful that thought thought is practically the same as is practically the same as being." being."

"They don't sound very dangerous."

Tarrant looked at him sharply. "Don't kid yourself."

"But if they don't need to feed-"

"They're perfect reflections, formed at the instant of death. Violent deaths mostly; those are the kind with the greatest power." He gazed out at the vista before him. "You think of what that would mean, to have a creature whose only memory of life is the one moment when it betrayed him ... and then ally that image to that that power, down there." A sweeping gesture encompa.s.sed it all: the mists, the volcano, the unseen currents that swept like tsunami across the earth. "I'd call that very dangerous indeed." power, down there." A sweeping gesture encompa.s.sed it all: the mists, the volcano, the unseen currents that swept like tsunami across the earth. "I'd call that very dangerous indeed."

He glanced at the sky again, toward a place where it was clear, and saw the constellation of Arago rising over the top of the ridge. Why did that seem wrong to him? He shook his head as if to clear it, but the thought wouldn't come to him. It was still dark, at least. Starlight might serve as a warning of the coming dawn, but in and of itself it wouldn't hurt Tarrant- And then there was someone else there beside them, someone who gestured sharply down the slope and bade them, "Come quickly!"

He half drew his sword, then sheathed it again when he saw who it was. "Karril?" he asked. Not quite believing.

"Come," the demon urged. Waving toward the slope behind him, taking a step in that direction as if to inspire them to follow. "There's not much time."

Damien looked back at Tarrant; the Hunter's expression mirrored his own hesitation. "The Iezu can't imitate one another," he said at last.

"And they can't kill humans either," the demon reminded him, "But don't bet your life on that." Again he gestured down the hillside, and whispered fiercely, "Trust me, old friend! If nothing else, you know I respect Iezu law. Come with me!"

Something in his words or his manner must have decided Tarrant, for the Hunter nodded and began to follow him. Damien trotted alongside, praying that neither would lose his footing on the treacherous ground.

-And then they were sliding down the vast slope, so quickly and so recklessly that Damien couldn't even pretend to control his descent. In what must have been no more than a handful of seconds, they dropped so far that Damien could no longer make out the pa.s.s above them, yet Tarrant continued to follow. Even when that meant descent through a grove of thorned brambles that tore at their clothing and skin as they forced their way through. Even when that meant dropping down from a ledge into utter darkness, trusting to the demon's judgment. A demon which could be no more than Calesta's newest illusion, and never mind that Iezu law forbade it ...

It was a ten-foot drop into darkness, and then there was earth to support their feet again. "This way," the demon urged. He showed them a dark s.p.a.ce that led into the mountainside. "Quickly!" With only a second's pause to study his face-for motive, perhaps?-Tarrant pa.s.sed within the cavern's mouth and was gone. Damien hesitated, then moved to follow. But Karril's hand fell on his arm, stopping him.

"It's over," the demon announced. Not to Damien. To the air above him ... or something in it. "You failed, brother! Give it up!"

-And the illusion was suddenly gone from Damien's eyes, the false backdrop of night that had blinded him to a deadly truth. To the east of him dawn blazed brightly-dawn!-and even as he watched the white sun breached the horizon, filling the valley beneath it with fatal, unforgiving light. Had Tarrant been shelterless right now ... He felt sick just thinking about it.

"This way," Karril said gently, and he led Damien into the cavern's darkness.

Immersion in the blackness of the underearth was blinding after such a vision; he fumbled for his lantern and lit it with trembling hands, praying that Karril wouldn't leave him behind while he did so. But the demon waited patiently, and not until he had the wick adjusted and the perforated door latched shut did he urge him onward, into the mountain's heart.

Two chambers later, safely beyond the reach of the sun's killing light, they found Tarrant. The adept was sitting with his back to stone, his eyes shut as if in pain.

"It's dawn," Damien said quietly.

"So I gather." The pale eyes slid slowly open, fixing first on Damien and then, at last, on Karril. "You saved my life," he whispered. "In defiance of Iezu law."

"He broke our law." The demon's tone was defiant. "Should I sit back and let him be rewarded for that?"

The Hunter shut his eyes again. Now that the illusion had been lifted, Damien could see that his face was reddened where dawn's light had fallen upon it. What kind of power did these Iezu wield, that could blind a man to his own pain?

Perceptual distortion, he mused. he mused. That's all it is. A power more deadly than any other, if used without reservation. That's all it is. A power more deadly than any other, if used without reservation.

"Thank you," Tarrant whispered. Not to Karril alone, it seemed, but to both of them.

The demon hesitated. "I can give you dreams-"

"No. Leave me the pain." He lifted a hand to his face, wincing as the fingers made contact. "Let it be a reminder to me of what we're fighting."

The stars, Damien thought suddenly. The stars had been wrong. Arago shouldn't have risen that high until the sun was nearly up. He should have known the truth from that. He should have guessed.

"Don't," the demon said gently. They can read what's in your heart. They can read what's in your heart. "You couldn't have known. Not even we knew, until the dawn was well underway." "You couldn't have known. Not even we knew, until the dawn was well underway."

He looked sharply at the demon. "We?"

Karril nodded. "There are others here. Some as human as I am, others so alien in form even I can't speak to them. And the mother of us all is stirring, after so many centuries of inactivity that some of us thought she might be dead."

"Toward what end?" Damien asked sharply. "Will she get involved in this?"

The demon shrugged wearily. "Who knows? Those few of us who can speak to her use a language I don't understand. Most think that she'll respect her own law and stay out of it. But then, we also thought that Calesta would be punished long before this." He looked at Tarrant; his expression was grim. "I can't keep my brother from using his power to stop you, but I won't allow him to kill you directly. That much I can promise."

"Karril-"

"It's not much of an a.s.surance, I know." His tone was frankly apologetic. "But it's the most I can offer right now. I'm sorry."

"Karril, please-"

But the demon had already begun to fade. A few seconds later only his voice remained, and a few precious words that lingered in the dark cavern air before they, too, dispersed into nothingness.

Whispered: Good luck.

Thirty-four.

The creature called Amoril ran through the halls of the Hunter's keep, howling out his frustration in a wild, inarticulate cry. Over the shapeless mounds of what had once been human flesh-the Hunter's servants, now half-eaten and left to rot-past curtains soaked in blood and urine, past golden sconces which had once held torches but which now, in deference to Amoril's new Master, held only darkness, he made his way to the Hunter's chapel, where an even greater Darkness awaited. called Amoril ran through the halls of the Hunter's keep, howling out his frustration in a wild, inarticulate cry. Over the shapeless mounds of what had once been human flesh-the Hunter's servants, now half-eaten and left to rot-past curtains soaked in blood and urine, past golden sconces which had once held torches but which now, in deference to Amoril's new Master, held only darkness, he made his way to the Hunter's chapel, where an even greater Darkness awaited.

"Not fair!" he screamed. The human words felt strange to him, tattered remnants of another life. But his anger couldn't be vented without the proper words and so he remembered them, formed them, forced them out. "It's not fair!" he howled to the black s.p.a.ce surrounding him. The smell of blood was thick in the air, and he could see crusted stains on the altar, left over from his nightly human sacrifice. "We made a deal!"

For a moment it seemed that he was truly alone in the room. If so, it would hardly be the first time. The dark forces which he had courted back in his human past didn't take an active role in his life; rather, having remade him so that he served their purpose, they preferred to sit back and feed in silence on the fruits of his labors. Now, however, something stirred. Its presence was pain and fear and insufferable hunger, and the thing called Amoril whimpered as it manifested itself.

Have patience, came the black whisper.

"You promised me the Forest," he choked out. "You said it would be mine!"

It will, a thousand voices a.s.sured him. a thousand voices a.s.sured him. As soon as the Hunter is dead. As soon as the Hunter is dead.

"You said you were going to kill him!"

We said that he would die, the voices corrected. the voices corrected. And so he will, once the compact is broken. Soon. And so he will, once the compact is broken. Soon.

"There are men in the Forest," he growled. "Church men with weapons, coming here to the keep. The Forest should be stopping them, but it isn't. He still controls it!" Phlegm clotted suddenly in his throat and he spat it out onto the floor, a thick black ma.s.s. "Why would he let them come here? Why won't his Workings stop them?"

There was silence for a moment, such utter silence that for a moment he feared his Masters had deserted him. Then the voices returned, a sibilant whisper that filled the cold room.

The cause of that is irrelevant. Gerald Tarrant will be dead before the next sunrise, and the Forest will be freed from his control. You will have enough time to stop them.

"You said he would die before and he didn't," he accused. "Why should I believe you now?"

The answer was pain. Black pain, cold pain, that wrenched at his limbs and sent needles of ice stabbing down into his flesh. With a cry of anguish he fell to the floor, his body contorting into shapes no human form should ever adopt, racked by the Unnamed's punishment.

At last, whimpering, he lay on the floor like a beaten dog, echoes of the terrible pain sc.r.a.ping across his nerves like a rasp.

Your role is not to question, but to serve. The whispers had become one voice now, that filled the whole chamber with its venom. He trembled, knowing how merciless the owner of that voice could be. The whispers had become one voice now, that filled the whole chamber with its venom. He trembled, knowing how merciless the owner of that voice could be. Tarrant will not fight this death. He embraces it willingly, for the power it will give him. Tarrant will not fight this death. He embraces it willingly, for the power it will give him.

"Power?" he whispered weakly. Suddenly he was struck by a new and terrible fear: what if the Hunter, in his dying moment, struck out against the servant who had betrayed him? The man whose sacrifice had sent him to h.e.l.l? What then? He began to gasp out a question, but the sounds of it caught in his throat. What if the Unnamed perceived in that question further defiance? He whimpered softly and drew up his body into a tight ball, as if that simple posture could somehow save him. No. Better by far to say nothing. Better to bear this fear in silence.

But the voice must have heard his thoughts, for it answered him. The power he invokes will be directed at another, not you. The power he invokes will be directed at another, not you.

It took a minute for the words to sink in. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."

But the voices were gone. He waited for a while longer in his huddled position, s.h.i.+vering with dread, but no new power a.s.saulted him. At last, very slowly, he unfolded his limbs. No response. Very carefully, very slowly, he raised himself up. Still nothing. With a whimper that was half fear and half relief, he finally got to his feet again. Still nothing. The Unnamed had truly gone.

One more day, he thought. He could taste the Forest's power on his lips, a heady tonic. he thought. He could taste the Forest's power on his lips, a heady tonic. Just one more day, and then it'll all be mine. Won't you be sorry then, Just one more day, and then it'll all be mine. Won't you be sorry then, my my brave little Churchmen! brave little Churchmen!

Then all the human words deserted him. Hungry, restless, the creature called Amoril set off at a frantic lope to find his pack.

Thirty-five.

The Forest had changed. had changed.

Narilka had gone barely ten steps into it, and already she knew something was wrong. It wasn't a difference she saw as much as one that she felt, but she felt it so strongly that for a moment she just stopped, too shaken to move forward. She remembered the Forest from before. Not clearly, not willingly, but she remembered. The Hunter had set her loose in these woods and she had stumbled through its preternatural darkness like a terrified animal, not yet aware that the creature out of legend who followed her trail was a man, and would never hurt her. Now, as she breathed in the rotting stink that came and went like a breeze, she knew that something was wrong. As she gazed upon the necrotic mold that clung to the trunks of the Hunter's trees, she knew that no growth like that had been here before. And as she dared to reach out with her hopes and her fears into the heart of the Forest itself, struggling for some fae-borne sense of Andry's pa.s.sage, the presence that she sensed within that realm of shadows was enough to make her draw back, sickened. Not a human presence, that. Not the clean demonic signature of the Hunter either, which she knew so well from their two brief encounters. This was something less than human, something so unclean that the Forest itself would surely vomit it up if it had the power to do so. What was going on here?

She reached out for a nearby tree-one of the few healthy ones-and s.h.i.+vered, trying to absorb it all. Had he changed also, the Forest's monarch? Was this transformation just a facet of his own soul's evolution, reflected in the trees and the earth of his homeland as a simpler man might be reflected in a mirror? If so ... She shuddered. The monarch of the old Forest had declared her safe. Would his promise hold in this transformed place? And what about Andrys' supposed invulnerability? Suddenly she felt very cold, and very alone. Until this moment her quest had been like a dream, her way so brightly lit by the flame of her love that she never got a close look at the shadows which were gathering behind her. Now, suddenly, she felt smothered by them.

With trembling hands she lit her lantern, so that its earthy light might rea.s.sure her. As she adjusted the wick, she heard a sudden sound behind her and she almost dropped it as she whipped about, her free hand going to the hilt of the long knife which was sheathed at her hip. But it was only a forager rooting in the dirt. Thank the G.o.ds. For a moment she had thought it might be a soldier, and had braced herself for a far more unpleasant confrontation.

The guard at the Church camp would be changing soon and they would discover that she was gone. Or maybe it would take them longer than that. Maybe they had enough duties to occupy their time, so that each soldier would think another had attended to her. Maybe hours would pa.s.s and the sun would set and darkness would fall again before they realized that she had slipped away at dawn ... and by then it would be too late for them to stop her. G.o.ds, let it be so! She had wanted to circ.u.mvent the Church camp entirely, had even turned her horse toward the east with the intention of cirling wide about it and entering the Forest from another direction. Then it had struck her just how foolish that plan would be. There were no roads inside the Forest, and certainly no markers to measure distance or indicate direction. How could she hope to find Andrys unless she followed directly in his footsteps? So she had come back reluctantly to Mordreth, her starting point, and taken the north road directly to the Forest's edge. Where the Church had made its encampment. Where the soldiers of the One G.o.d stood guard against all enemies, real and imagined.

It had been easy enough for her to explain her presence to them. A lifetime of having men make presumptions about her nature had given her a feel for that game, even though the presumptions were usually wrong. Perhaps she was lucky that men were on guard when she rode into the camp. Surely women would have seen through her subterfuge, and watched more closely for hints of what lay beneath. Men rarely bothered.

She was afraid for her lover, she said as the guards confronted her. She had spent too many sleepless nights and tortured, distracted days thinking about the dangers he was facing, and at last she had decided to follow him. That was what she told them, and certainly the words were true enough. What was false was the manner in which she spoke them, and the conclusions she inspired the guards to draw. She appeared to be a weak woman, a confused child, a fragile creature who clearly had never considered the hard reality of battle when she set off to be with her loved one. Now, at the edge of the Forest, with these men explaining the true nature of war to her, she would of course understand that she couldn't ride into the Forest alone, that she didn't want to ride into the Forest alone, that the best thing for her to do was wait here, in this camp, until her lover finished his manly work and returned to her. They would be glad to protect her until then, they said. And their eyes added: such a woman needs protection. such a woman needs protection.

Bulls.h.i.+t.

They let her use his tent for the night. That brought genuine tears to her eyes, to see the manner in which he had left his few possessions, to read his state of mind in their disarray. Belongings were strewn all about the interior, soap and razors, bits of clothing ... and a ta.s.sel. She gasped when she saw that. It was a tiny thing, black silk with bra.s.s tinsel wound around the base, and she wouldn't have noticed it at all if it hadn't been so familiar. She'd owned a scarf with ta.s.sels on the ends, just like that. She remembered it. She'd worn it as a belt one night and then lost it. Later she'd thought that maybe she had left it at his place, but when she'd looked for it the next day, it wasn't there. Or so it had seemed.

Oh, Andrys. She shut her eyes tightly, and her hand clenched shut about the tiny thing. He must have hidden it among his possessions days in advance so that she wouldn't find it and reclaim it, more comfortable with the concept of theft than he was with the thought of asking her openly for a keepsake. There were tears coming to her eyes now and for a short while, in the privacy of his tent, she let them flow. Why had she let him come here alone? Why had she ceded to anyone-even his G.o.d-the authority to separate them? She shut her eyes tightly, and her hand clenched shut about the tiny thing. He must have hidden it among his possessions days in advance so that she wouldn't find it and reclaim it, more comfortable with the concept of theft than he was with the thought of asking her openly for a keepsake. There were tears coming to her eyes now and for a short while, in the privacy of his tent, she let them flow. Why had she let him come here alone? Why had she ceded to anyone-even his G.o.d-the authority to separate them?

Never again, she promised herself.

She'd spent that night in the Church camp, huddled among his possessions. In the morning it had rained, which was an event so fortuitous that she whispered a quick thanksgiving to Saris, just in case the G.o.ddess had been responsible for it. In the distance she could see the morning guard huddled in their rain capes, keeping watch on the paths that led to and from the Forest. Did they really think something from that darkbound realm would brave the sunlight to strike at them? Or were they more concerned that she might continue her journey, and compromise the purity of their faith-driven campaign with her presence? She had no doubt that they would stop her if they could, and so she planned her next move carefully, knowing that she would have only one chance to get past them.

There was a cape among Andry's belongings similar to theirs, and she put it on. Its bulk covered her clothing and her pack and its hood, drawn forward against the rainfall, cast her features into deep shadow. Clad thus, her booted legs imitating the stride of the soldiers as best she could, she made her way to the outskirts of the camp. There was another guard there-a man, she guessed by the height-and for a moment she thought he would recognize her despite her disguise. Heart pounding, she raised up a hand as if to acknowledge his presence, then set off with a firm stride toward the edge of the Forest. He didn't follow her. Nor did he raise an alarm. She knew that he would have done one or the other if he'd realized who she was; he could hardly allow the sanct.i.ty of his Patriarch's mission to be compromised by the presence of a single pagan woman!

Remembering the Patriarch's rejection of her pleas, she shook her head sadly. Is there so little to fear in this world that you have to make enemies out of your neighbors? Does your G.o.d have nothing better to do than pa.s.s judgment on the innocent? Is there so little to fear in this world that you have to make enemies out of your neighbors? Does your G.o.d have nothing better to do than pa.s.s judgment on the innocent? But deep within her heart, where it hurt to look, she did indeed understand him. And she knew that in a way he was right. She had seen the Forest and she knew its power, and nothing short of the One G.o.d Himself was going to bring it down. But deep within her heart, where it hurt to look, she did indeed understand him. And she knew that in a way he was right. She had seen the Forest and she knew its power, and nothing short of the One G.o.d Himself was going to bring it down.

Quietly she slipped out of the rain cape and let it fall to the ground behind her. There was no need for it now that the rain had stopped, and its bulk might slow her down. A faint mist clung to the ground, but despite its clammy touch she was grateful for it, for it made the earth damp enough to hold the mark of footprints. If she could find the place where Andrys and his fellows had entered the Forest, she could surely follow their trail. It was too bad that her improvised plan hadn't allowed her to bring her horse along; it would have made the journey easier. But if she had tried to bring it along with her the guards would surely have noticed, and therefore she must do without it.

As she traveled, searching the ground by lamplight for a promising sign, the Forest changed about her. Not in a neat progression, as one might expect, but in fits and starts. In one place the smell of rotting meat was so strong that it nearly choked her, and she held a damp cloth over her mouth in the desperate hope that it would keep out the worst of the stink. Ten steps later, that smell was gone. Unwholesome growths clung to the tree trunks in one place, but left neighboring acres undisturbed. Wormlike creatures writhed at the foot of the great trees as tribes of smaller parasites slowly chewed their way through their skins, but twenty steps away no sign of worm or parasite was visible. She didn't remember the Hunter's realm being like that before. She couldn't imagine that the man who had shown her the glories of the night-fearsome and violent, yes, but ordered as the finest music is ordered, and pristine as the moonlight itself-would have condoned such a state of affairs.

And then she found it. She thought it was a riverbed at first, a trough scoured into the mud by some flash flood that had swept down from the mountains. But holding her lantern close, she saw the footprints that marked its bottom. They were horses' prints, the triune markings of an eastern breed. She had found the Church's trail at last.

A sense of relief so intense that it was almost painful welled up inside her. Not until this moment had she been willing to admit to her greatest fear, which was that the Hunter's realm might swallow all signs of Andrys' pa.s.sage, so that no one could follow him. But these tracks were so clearly marked, so utterly mundane in form, that she felt a sudden rush of confidence, and even the sour stink of the Forest seemed to fade for a moment, as if to acknowledge, This is it. This is right. Follow him. This is it. This is right. Follow him.

Turning up her lantern wick, she followed the soldiers' trail deep into the Forest. The lumps of horse droppings scattered here and there were still damp and pungent, which seemed to imply that they weren't far ahead of her. Thank the G.o.ds! She tried not to think about what her reception would be when she finally caught up with them. The Church soldiers would be furious, but Andrys ... she could feel his need now, as though there were a cord connecting them. Andrys was all that mattered. And if his G.o.d truly meant to bring down the Hunter, surely he wouldn't let the love of a single woman stand in his way?

The region's thick darkness folded about her like a shroud as she walked, until the light of her lantern was all but smothered. Trembling, she kept her eyes on the ground before her, refusing to search for threats in the looming darkness at either side. If the Forest meant to attack her now, then it surely would do so, and no single lantern could stop it; she had gambled everything on the Hunter's promise, and now, with his words ringing in her ears like a prayer, she gave her whole attention over to following the trail before her. It wasn't easy. The earth was dryer this far into the Forest, which meant that the marks she was following were more shallow, less certain, easily confused with the scrabblings of local animals. It was so hard to see in the gloom that once she went down on one knee so that she might run a hand along the trail for a foot or two to confirm its presence by touch, but the sudden sense of something burrowing beneath the soil, something filthy and hungry and drawn to her heat, made her stand up quickly again. It won't hurt me, It won't hurt me, she told herself. Her heart was pounding; her hand felt clammy against the lantern's handle. she told herself. Her heart was pounding; her hand felt clammy against the lantern's handle. Nothing here will hurt me. Nothing here will hurt me. But despite that self-rea.s.surance she moved quickly forward, whispering a prayer to her G.o.ddess that her feet might stay on the right path, even as she fled unseen horrors beneath the earth. But despite that self-rea.s.surance she moved quickly forward, whispering a prayer to her G.o.ddess that her feet might stay on the right path, even as she fled unseen horrors beneath the earth.

Hours pa.s.sed, cold and immeasurable. She found a hump of rock and sat down on it, resting just long enough to catch her breath and wash down a bit of dried biscuit with a swallow of water. Had she truly run in this place once for three days and nights? She trembled to recall those hours of terror. Could Andrys sense the Hunter's constant presence here, or was that sensation reserved for the woman he hunted? For his sake, she prayed he was immune.

At last, her strength renewed by the meager meal, her courage somewhat bolstered, she lowered herself down from the rock and prepared to take up the Church's trail once more.

Then she heard the noise.