Chapter Eleven

A Knock in the Night

It was strange, sleeping alone. Sighing, Rhydian repositioned himself for the dozenth time. The joint quarters he and Tanuzet shared were silent, empty and a touch cold. Without her steady breath present to lull him to sleep, he laid idly in his modest bed, half draped by the covers as he waited for his mind to drift away.

It didn’t.

Despite his tired body, his cluttered thoughts continued their downward spiral. They alternated between his conspiratorial theories and the haunting, bloody memories of the day’s deaths. Whatever rest he managed came in brief stints, whether a few minutes or a few hours at a time, he didn’t know. Each time he verged on the cusp of actual sleep, he was chased back to the waking world by either Keishara’s face or Ephaxus’ mourning wail. Cold sweats wracked his body, leaving his sheets damp and tacky along his skin.

He ran a hand through his unbound hair as he stared up at the ceiling, one of his short, claw–like nails catching on an errant snarl. He didn’t bother untangling it. Instead, he debated dragging his blanket down to the infirmary and simply sleeping upon the ground beside Tanuzet. Perhaps there, he might find some semblance of peace.

He cast his gaze beyond the stone arches of his chamber, to the veritable horde of wyvern-sized pillows compiling her nest. Its emptiness was wholly unfamiliar and rather unsettling, if he were being honest. He could scarcely remember the last time he and Tanuzet had been separated. On some level, he felt foolish. Tanuzet was her own person, after all, and he’d encouraged her to stay and comfort Ephaxus throughout the night.

Muttering under his breath, he snagged his blanket and rolled onto his side. How difficult was it to silence an incessant mind? He closed his eyes, deciding yet another breathing exercise was in order. He had cycled through several already, yet those had honestly been half hearted attempts at best. He measured his breathing, holding and releasing at set intervals until, at last, he finally began to slip.

A heavy knock sounded at the door.

Rhydian’s eyes flew open, one twitching.

Skies above, was he ever going to catch a break?

For a bitter moment, he considered not leaving his bed at all. Let someone else deal with whatever new crisis had arisen. He’d done his part and more already.

He sat up, running a hand over his face. It certainly wasn’t morning, what with the dark beyond the narrow windows at the far end of the chamber, nearest the massive doors to their own private entrance from the mountainside. Had something happened with Ephaxus? Or the girl? He glanced at the dormant wyndstone upon his night stand. If command had reached out, as they’d said, wouldn’t he have been notified first?

Cursing his luck, Rhydian stumbled out from his tangled sheets and searched for the nearest pair of trousers before tugging them on. He wouldn’t bother with a shirt, not at this hour. It wasn’t as if he’d shock anyone without one - the men were often shirtless in the sparring room. He tossed back his hair, running a hand through it in a half-hearted attempt to make it presentable while unbound.

A second knock came at his personal door to the interior halls, rather than Tanuzet’s, this time, more insistent. He huffed a mirthless laugh as he approached, wondering what fresh chaos awaited him. The sage waited on the other side, his expression tight with thinly veiled anxiety. It practically radiated from the man and caused Rhydian’s skin to prickle as a result.

“Vesryn?” He asked, “What is it?”

“Firstrider,” he said with a hasty bow, “Apologies for disturbing you at this hour, but there’s something I need you to see.”

Puzzled, he merely nodded. He saw no point in questioning the man’s urgency. Whatever it was that had rattled him so couldn’t wait.

“Has something happened?”

The man hesitated, but met his gaze.

“It’s about our mysterious dead friend, ser. I’ve discovered something during my inspection. I would explain it to you here, but may be best you see it for yourself.”

Rhydian felt the fine hairs along the nape of his neck begin to rise. He peered out into the hall, noting the silence. Few would be awake and about at this hour.

“Has the patrol passed already?”

Vesryn nodded. “I made sure they were well on their way before knocking.”

At least the man had been discreet.

“Then we don’t have long,” he said, gently closing his door behind him. “Did you take the hidden stair?

“Of course I did,” the man muttered, leading on down the dimly lit corridor.

He drew close to the wall near the end of the hall, pausing to listen. Rhydian did too, though heard nothing, sensed nothing, save the subtle flare of the sage’s intent. A complex sigil script faded to life along the stone, glowing with soft, blue light no brighter than an encroaching dawn. A portion of the wall silently slid into itself, beckoning them into the darkness waiting within.

Few beyond command knew of Mistwatch’s hidden passageways, but Vesryn was an exception. He, along with a handful of the ground staff, were considered permanent residents and thus, were privy to the keep’s many secrets. When he had first arrived, they had helped Rhydian familiarize himself with the complex network of tunnels and narrow stairways, though he had rarely used them.

With one final glance down the corridor, Rhydian slipped inside after Vesryn. Darkness enveloped them as the door shut soundlessly at their back. Reaching out a hand, Rhydian lit a small fire in his open palm to light their path. Shadows danced among the descending stairs as if they were alive, playing along the edges of individual steps.

He took his place ahead, asking, “Have the others been seen to?”

“Their wounds have been closed, yes,” the sage said, “they were . . .easier to mend than Keishara’s.”

Rhydian swallowed the knot in his throat before it could strangle him and forcibly shut out the memory of her final moments.

“I appreciate what you did for her,” he managed.

He felt the man’s eyes along his back, studying him.

“She’ll have her dignity when she’s sent home,” the sage assured. “The others as well, when you’re ready to send them back to command..”

He took some small comfort in that, even if his heart ached.

“We’ll have to see to their wyverns, come morning,” he said, leading on into the dark, “but we'll likely have Sorisanna assist with their preparation once she's finished mending Ephaxus. I'd rather you focus on our guest. Has there been any change?”

“I’ve sensed an abnormality in her cores, but nothing conclusive. With how weak they are, the fever could be causing the variation. I’ve given her a set of medicinal pills, but we’ll have to wait until her body has a chance to absorb them naturally.”

Rhydian frowned. “How long do you think that will take?”

“A few days, most likely,” he replied.

His questions would have to wait, then. He’d been hoping for more favorable news, but he would have to curb his expectations. Right now, her health took priority. It wasn’t as if there weren’t plenty of other matters to occupy his attention in the meantime. He would glean what he could from what few leads he had.

“Notify me as soon as her condition changes. I’d like to question her as soon as she wakes.”

“Of course, firstrider,” Vesryn said.

When they reached the passage to the morgue, Rhydian dismissed his flame. The chamber’s everfire sconces brightened with their arrival, coaxed by the sage’s passive intent. Nearby, laid upon raised stone tables, the dead waited. Vesryn moved toward the figure on the far end, whose blackened antlers almost appeared to absorb the light. Rhydian hesitated before doing the same.

Much like the others, she had been draped in scripted, ceremonial cloth, though hers did not bear the insignia nor the colors of the Talhavar. Those had been reserved for the honored dead she’d slain. Instead, she’d been donned in black. Fitting, in a way. The woman was a spirit of death unto herself.

Across the stone table, Vesryn hesitated. His face had gone a shade pale and Rhydian noted the slight tremble to his hand as he drew back the cloth to reveal her face. She was as gaunt as he’d remembered, her skin leached of all color, but cleaned of blood. Were it not for her black hair, he could have easily mistaken her for some macabre, marble stone creation.

“I’ve never seen a creature quite like this,” the sage admitted, donning a clean pair of gloves.

Rhydian’s brow knit, for beyond the antlers, which could be explained by a soul bond similar to the one riders shared with their wyverns, she appeared Adai.

Until the sage drew back her lips.

Rhydian sucked in a breath, “Sky’s mercy.”

The woman’s upper jaw had been outfitted by not one, but two sets of fangs that made his own look like milk teeth by comparison. Hers rivaled those of a wolf. Her canines were larger and longer than the viper-like subset situated between them and her central incisors and matched those of her bottom jaw. Mercifully, the latter only bore a single set, but appeared no less lethal. No wonder the girl’s shoulder had been all but torn open. She’d been lucky it hadn’t been her throat.

Vesryn pressed a finger higher up along her gums and Rhydian shivered. One of the smaller, narrower fangs slid downward, extending like a cat’s claw. A clear, yellowish substance oozed from the needle-sharp tip which he had only just realized was hollow. He wasn’t quite sure how to react, what to think. Was she some sort of ascended viper? It wasn’t unheard of for ordinary animals to advance, but those occurrences were rare.

“Is that venom?” He asked, finding every nerve on edge.

“It is,” the sage said with a grim nod, “I’ve taken a sample, but that isn’t the end of it. Here, look at her eyes.”

They, like her fangs, reminded the firstrider of a snake’s. Or, perhaps a wyvern’s. The irises took up far more of the eye than a normal Adai’s, the pupil more a slit than a rounded point. They retained their ember orange shade, though had dulled after death, leaving them vacant and milky. Either she bore a soul pact of her own, or she was truly another species entirely. He wondered if she and the girl were one in the same, but quickly dismissed the idea. The two lacked any apparent similarity.

His gaze drifted down her emaciated body, fixing on the long, blade-like claws at the ends of her bony fingers. They were dusky and appeared to be comprised of some sort of metal, rather than ordinary keratin. His blood grew cold at the sight, for he’d seen those talons tear Keishara to shreds. Steadying himself, he stepped back and away.

“Have you checked for a bond?”

Vesryn nodded. “Twice, but I found no evidence of one. The antlers were incorporated from an actual stag at some point in her life from what I can tell, but everything else . . . is hers.”

Rhydian stood back and crossed his arms. “And she’s not some ascended beast?”

The man shook his head.

He racked his mind for some explanation, but came up short and drifted into the obscure. He’d heard tales of the fanged, cannibalistic clans across the sea as a boy, but those had only ever been myth. However, after what he’d seen today, perhaps he should lend them more credence. A mythical monster made flesh would certainly explain the level of secrecy the two dyads had fought to maintain prior to their death. If the woman’s existence became common knowledge, he could only imagine the unrest. And the panic, should the general populous fall victim to her brutality with or without a shackled core.

He considered, for a long moment, before asking, “Have you any theories as to what she might be?”

“None that wouldn’t be considered mad,” he admitted.

At least Rhydian wasn’t the only one considering folk tales and the like.

He dared to ask,“Were you ever told stories about those cannibalistic clans in the west as a child?”

Vesryn spared him a glance. “You mean the vampires?”

He inclined his head. “Is that what they were called?”

The sage nodded. “The ones who apparently fed on those they defeated in battle? If what you’ve told me is true, she’d fit their description quite well, wouldn’t she?”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” he sighed, rubbing at his face. “All right, say we have an actual vampire on our hands, what then?”

He shrugged. “She’s dead. Not sure what more she can do to us now. I say we keep her locked up down here and wait for command to come pick up their monster. Whatever she is, it’s above both our heads.”

While it may have been true, Rhydian wasn’t sure he could sit idly by while she and the others were spirited away. The bodies would be taken and that would be the end of it. He’d be kept in the dark, patted on the hand and expected to continue on as though nothing had happened. He bristled at the thought.

His attention drifted toward the shrouded figures of Thylas and Oraena. Though it felt wrong, perhaps a quick search of their personal effects might yield some worthwhile information. One of them, if not both, were sure to have a wyndstone on their person. If he could decipher where it was keyed to, he may find another lead. Or another contact, should command remain silent. He had the sneaking suspicion that if and when he was contacted, it wouldn’t be by an investigator.

In his mind, there were few within the Arillian Empire outside the Talhavar elders with the authority to send First Wing riders on missions of this magnitude. If his suspicions were correct and this all went sideways, he could be in deep trouble indeed. Still, he felt it wise to learn who he was up against and who it was he might report to.

Muttering an apology, he searched Oraena first.

“What are you doing?” Vesryn asked.

“Searching for a wynstone,” he said, “Or anything else that might be useful.”

The man’s lips thinned and it was clear he disapproved, yet he surprised Rhydian by beginning his own hunt through Thylas' pockets. Rhydian blinked. He had expected some push back or argument, at the very least. He thought it best not to complain and resumed his own search.

The whole affair had grown more involved than he would have liked, in the end. Vesryn had failed to find anything or import on Thylas and Oraena’s pockets had been empty, which was perhaps unsurprising. Any worthwhile wyndstones or other methods of communication would be well concealed. On a hunch, he’d searched her boots and found a hidden compartment in one of the soles. When he found his prize within, his breath caught.

With trembling fingers, he fished out the small, elliptical stone and held it up to the light. Like the arrows, it bore no identifying marks beyond the communication script inlaid along the surface. Without one, there was no telling who he might contact. A part of him considered activating it here and now, but an uncertainty like this was best left as a last resort. He sighed and slipped it into his pocket.

Vesryn watched him, his expression pensive. “What happens now?”

“Now, we wait and see if command remains true to their word.”