Chapter Three

Immortal Prey

The fight was over before it began.

Kiraht had Malys by the base of his skull, the silver male thrashing in her hold. His tail lashed, felling trees like stalks of wheat before the scythe. He swung it round, the tip parting to free the sword-like barb housed within before he repeatedly buried it into her flank. The larger female did not so much as flinch, her eyes glazed and vacant, jaws unyielding. Her wings flared, struggling to maintain her hold while Malys’ own scrambled for purchase along the underside of her throat. Bone crunched, but not before his talon found its mark and opened her jugular. He lanced the wound wide, gore bubbling up between the scales and surging from Kiraht’s throat as his body fell slack.

His head dropped limply from her jaws, dust stirring with his final, wheezing breath. Kiraht screamed, either from pain or anguish, Rhydian couldn’t tell. Her eyes blinked with sudden, horrified clarity. The wyvern swayed sideways, dislodging the taloned wing tip still embedded in her flesh and half crawled over the male’s body as she sought Thylas. She stumbled toward her rider, seeking sanctuary, but finding none. Her limbs failed her within the first few strides, strength sapped by the torrent of a torn artery. She collapsed, skidding several feet and rending earth and stone alike in her wake.

Rhydian’s awareness cried a warning and he turned his farsight to the Talhavar. In their dazed stupor, they had failed to notice the woman emerge from the hollow. Malys’ rider was already choking on her own blood, hand desperately trying to stem the gaping wound in her neck while she staggered toward her fallen wyvern. A clawed hand flashed, taking Thylas through the chest, though his attention was still fixed on Kiraht. His furrowed brow was the only indication he’d registered anything beyond the horror that was undoubtedly tearing its way through his Soul at the loss of his bond.

For a moment, the world fell silent and still.

The woman, their suspect, stood amid the carnage, ichor dripping from her fingertips. In truth, she was hardly a woman at all. Proud, sable antlers arched up from her skull amid night dark hair like the crown of some eldritch god, tarnished robes dangling from her narrow figure. Long, metallic claws tipped her spindly fingers and the angles of her face were gaunt with what Rhydian imagined was a terminal emaciation. And yet, she’d torn through the Talhavar as if they were children.

Given their Ascensions, it should have been impossible unless her own far surpassed theirs. Which meant the woman could be nigh on a god. A Puresoul. The realization sent a shiver down his spine. What was it Thylas had said during their brief? They believed this woman, whomever she was, had been shackled. It would explain why he could not get a passive read on her Soul, disrupted as it was with her spiritual core all but cut off from the others. Was an active read worth the risk?

As his thoughts returned to him, he began to register the full weight of the situation. The gore had been so thorough, so visceral, Rhydian knew this was no exercise. They were dead. Members of the Talhavar First Wing, were dead. He and his flight had never seen true combat and, if he were honest, no amount of training could ever fully prepare him for what he’d witnessed. The two dyads had been massacred and had been so blindsided by Kiraht’s sudden turn, they hadn’t had the chance to fight back. He couldn’t help but wonder if it would have even made a difference.

When the woman turned her attention turned to the sky, Rhydian dared an active read. With the members of the First Wing dead, he was now acting flight lead. The more information he could gather now, the better. Her Soul burned like a beacon in the night, all but blinding his spiritual senses. The power she radiated, even while shackled, was dizzying in a way he’d never encountered. He immediately withdrew his awareness, his spiritual core throbbing as if that brief inspection had somehow branded him. Gritting his teeth, he clutched at the sudden ache in his chest.

Tanuzet stiffened beneath him, a soft mewling escaping her as the sympathetic pain bridged through their bond.

“Forgive me,” he breathed.

He should have warned her.

She’s getting away! She hissed, her shock turning to white-hot rage in an instant.

He suddenly found himself viewing the world through her eyes. The woman had crossed the distance between the hills and forest, her figure disappearing into the depths like a wraith in the night. Rhydian had to school his breaths and actively withdraw from their connection to keep from melding with his wyvern’s emotions entirely. He laid a hand upon her scaled back, body shuddering with the effort of his extrication.

“Easy, Tanuzet. We can’t fly into this blind,” he said.

She snarled, but banked hard and issued a pitched command to the other wyverns who were quick to answer her summons. Vaelor swept into formation, close on her tail, and both Inet and Ephaxus dropped from the stratus to take their positions on either side of him. They nickered in their complex language, no doubt questioning what had happened. With so many voices, it was difficult for Rhydian to discern much of anything, so he focused instead on combing the wilds below. He had to land, had to see if anyone had survived, though he had his doubts.

Reading his intent, Tanuzet relayed their descent to the others. Ayduin shouted in protest, but didn’t follow when they angled into a dive. He brought himself flush with his saddle, keeping his awareness keen. If the woman returned, he would only have a matter of seconds to retreat. The sentiment was perhaps on the optimistic side, but he wouldn’t dwell on it now. Above, his flight took their positions, fanning out in a wide, low altitude circle.

He leapt to the ground before Tanuzet had fully alighted beside Malys’ body, leaving his bow behind. Neither it nor his rysk would be of any use if the woman were to return. He sensed, on some instinctive level, she wouldn’t, but assumptions often caused more trouble in the end.

There was no avoiding the blood, not with how much Kiraht had bled. Puddles littered the ground where she’d climbed over Malys and beyond. Beside her, a pond had formed beneath her forequarters. Swirls of golden vital essence streaked through here and there, the result of severed channels as well as flesh. The scent nearly overwhelmed Rhydian, as if the incessant squishing of his boots along the soaked grass were not stomach churning enough. He brought his gloved hand to his nose, carefully sidestepping gore where he could.

He found Malys’ rider half a dozen feet from her wyvern, prone in the midst of a desperate crawl with one hand outstretched. It was difficult to discern where her own pool ended and Kiraht’s began. He did not need to seek her pulse to know she was dead. Her fingers were black with her own lifeblood, still clutching her torn flesh. The sight was difficult to reconcile; a woman of skill, who had reached the height of the Talhavar’s ariel division, cut down without a fight. How would he have fared, being two full ascensions below her, if not more? He didn’t imagine there would be anything left of him to burn.

Shuddering, he sought Thylas. He found him not where he had fallen after being run through, but propped beside Kiraht’s head. Rhydian cursed, hurrying the last few feet when he realized he was still alive and muttering softly under his breath. He was slumped against the wyvern’s snout, his head resting beside one massive nostril as he stroked the soft scales with an idle hand.

“Thylas?” Rhydian asked, dropping to a knee beside him.

Through heavy lids, the man regarded him. The wizened warrior who had summoned them not hours before had been replaced by a broken man. There was no life to his eyes, no light beyond a vague recognition. His skin was white as the stratus, lips verging on blue.

“You,” he rasped, “You need to . . .”

Tanuzet rumbled softly, coming to their side. Thylas’ eyes found hers and she blinked deeply. Her mind brushed Rhydians, opening a viable mental path between them and Thylas.

Save your strength, she murmured.

His voice was tired, distant, but held some measure of relief. Thank you.

“We need to get you back to Mistwatch,” Rhydian said, “Tanuzet’s one of the fastest-”

You and I both know I won’t make it, he said, I want to be here. With her.

If their roles were reversed, Rhydian knew he would want the same. Still, his bleeding heart fought against doing nothing, letting the man die, it wasn’t right. He clenched and slowly unclenched his jaw, sharing a look with Tanuzet.

“All right,” he said at last.

My arrows, Thylas said, eyes widening with a sense of urgency, Take them. You’ll need them to stop her.

Rhydian’s brow furrowed.

Each thought came slower than the last, to where several breaths passed between words.

They’re fullsilver. Whatever happens, promise me you’ll find her. Kill her. Whatever the cost.

He glanced to the quiver on his back. “Who is she?”

Thylas only shook his head, weakly attempting to shrug the engraved leather from his back. Rhydian was quick to stop him with a hand upon his shoulder. The man ceased his struggling, breath shallow as his eyelids drooped once more.

“Please, let me,” he said, undoing the quiver strap.

Promise me. For the Talhavar. For . . . for Kiraht.

Such promises were not made idly, especially those made to a dying man. When an elder asked for a Soul Oath, there was little room for argument, but in this instance, Rhydian believed it was the least he could do. He may not be able to right the injustice of their murder, but he could try. Tanuzet’s mind had been made, her intent siding with his own.

“On my honor and my Soul, I swear it,” he said.

The oath settled between them, marking Rhydian’s Soul in a way that could never be undone. He wondered, for a moment, if he had made a mistake. However, the more he thought on the matter, the more he realized the monster needed to be stopped. If she somehow reached Mistwatch, or worse, a population center, she would reap untold pain. His duty as a Talhavar demanded he see the mission through and with Thylas’ silver arrows, he had the tools to do so. The quiver lay heavy in his hand, the careful sigils engraved in the leather masking the deadly metal housed within.

With a soft sigh, Thylas turned his face into Kiraht’s snout, and breathed his last.

Rest well, child of the sky, Tanuzet said gently.

“Winds keep you,” Rhydian murmured.

He rose, then, the weight of another Soul settling upon his own. He rose his free hand high, guiding his rysk into a simple technique and sending three bolts of flame into the sky. Vaelor’s whistle of acknowledgement sounded, followed by the rest, and he let his arm fall to his side.

Fullsilver.

The metal held the power to down even the strongest of invokers, for it cared nothing for ascension or age or skill. Once embedded in the flesh, the physical core and its channels were rendered useless. Destroyed, in some cases. Five arrows bearing fullsilver heads waited within their engraved prison. With them, he could fell an empire.

Or slay a nightmare.

Wind whipped as Vaelor touched down beside Tanuzet, quietly keening at the sight of their fallen kin. Grief washed through Rhydian’s bond and his throat grew tight to the point of pain. Wyverns were a species in decline as it was, each death bringing them that much closer to extinction. To lose one was a tragedy, let alone two. To say nothing of their riders.

Ephaxus circled twice before landing himself, echoing Vaelor’s mourning. The opalescent male touched the rosie membranes of his wings in close, allowing Inet to alight as well. Both Cyan and Keishara took in the extent of the massacre with unbridled shock from their saddles.

Ayduin peered down from her wyvern, her grey-blue skin a shade lighter than it should be.

“Are they . . .?”

“Dead,” Rhydian sighed, surveying the scene, “They’re all dead.”

“Sky’s mercy,” she breathed, climbing down from Vaelor’s shoulder. “Who could have done this?”

“Someone who could rival one of the Sovereign, I suspect,” he said, “whoever that woman is, she has to be stopped.”

“Stopped? And how do you intend on managing that? You saw what she did.”

“One woman did all this?” Keishara asked, tugging at her flaxen braid, “I - I don’t understand. This was supposed to be a training exercise.”

“I’m beginning to think that was a convenient story,” Cydan admitted.

“If that were the case, why bring us here in the first place?” she asked, then paused as if she’d found the solution to her own question. “Contingency? We’re the only stronghold for near a hundred leagues, at least.”

“Likely enough,” Ayduin said, eyes narrowing on Rhydian, “You still haven't told me how you plan on taking her down.”

“With these,” he said, passing her the quiver.

She gave him a skeptical look, a single brow arched as she undid the ties to reveal the black fletching. She paused, then carefully withdrew one of the arrows. Its pale tip gleamed in the low light, barbed and spanning near the length of Rhydian’s hand. It was an abomination. A godkiller.

"Is that what I think it is?" Keishara asked.

He swallowed. “Thylas gave them to me before he died.”

Ayduin’s voice was shaky when she said, “Well, these will . . . certainly work.”

"How many are there?" Cydan asked.

"Five," Rhydian said.

"Enough to make the kill, if we play this right," Ayduin said.

"Agreed. With the wyverns, it shouldn't take long to catch up to her. Though, she fled toward the breadth, not the mountains. If she's crossed it, we may be forced to follow her into the Wilds."

"It's not like our rysk was going to do anything against her, anyway," she shrugged.

"No, but I believe we'll need Tanuzet's affinity," he said, beginning to form a plan, "Before Kiraht attacked, I heard something like . . . diluted white noise. I can't quite explain it, but I'm certain the woman was behind it."

"A technique, perhaps?" Keishara suggested.

He considered, but ultimately shook his head. "Not from her spiritual core. When I read her Soul, I could sense the shackles. Whatever she did must have something to do with the mental core. Some audible command? Whatever it was, it has a range. Perhaps even a limit as to how many are affected, but we shouldn't take any unnecessary risks, especially with the wyverns. I say we keep our distance, like the elders suggested. We don't stand a chance in a close quarter confrontation."

Three pairs should fly in using ranged techniques as a distraction while the fourth distances itself for an ambush, Tanuzet said.

"In that case, we should be the ones to provide the distraction while you take her by surprise," Ayduin said, giving Rhydian a pointed look, "Your Path is best equipped to land a solid hit."

He was inclined to agree, even if he felt presumptuous on some level.

Still, he nodded.

"All right, you three will provide cover while we part ways and take up an advantageous position unseen. Tanuzet will use a freeform technique to create a vacuum around our ears and with luck, prevent any would- be compulsion while we're within range. We'll have to be quick, especially if crossing into the Wilds becomes necessary. There's no telling how quickly the Veil will drain her rysk."

Ayduin grinned. "She won't know what hit her."