Chapter 197

Amberleigh seemed pleased with the results. Not happy. Satisfied.

There was a difference.

I'd handed over the note Bram had given me along with the ledgers Iolite uncovered. None of it proved anything on its own, but it pointed somewhere. They were breadcrumbs scattered through the forest, and for the first time we had a trail worth following.

Amberleigh turned the pages carefully.

His clouded eye remained fixed on the documents while the green one tracked every detail with unsettling precision.

Every few moments he cleared his throat.

The sound had become familiar during our conversation. Not a cough exactly. More like something lodged stubbornly in the back of his throat that refused to dislodge no matter how many times he tried.

He looked exhausted. Stressed. Old.

Older than I was used to seeing him.

For a moment I wondered if I was finally seeing the man beneath the title. Not the Archmagus. Not the advisor. Not the statesman who somehow held half of Arvellia together through sheer force of will.

Just an aging man carrying more responsibility than any one person should.

He never voiced it, but I got the distinct impression he would have preferred a different approach. Part of him would have rather supplied the medicine himself than taught Bram how to make it. That way the governor's dependence would have shifted from the Covenant to the Crown.

A cleaner solution. A more controllable solution.

Or perhaps he would have preferred we wait. Watch. Verify the shipment. Confirm Bram's information before revealing our hand.

That was probably the smarter play. The safer play. The strategic play.

From a political standpoint, I understood the argument. From a human standpoint, I hated it.

I was a father. There was no version of events where I was going to hold someone's child hostage for leverage. Not for intelligence. Not for politics. Not for a kingdom. Not for anything.

If someone's kid was sick and I could help, then I was going to help. The rest could be sorted out afterward.

I think Amberleigh understood that, which was why he never voiced the objection.

Or perhaps he'd known exactly how that conversation would go and decided it wasn't worth having.

Either way, the disagreement passed between us without ever becoming words.

He kept reading.

I kept quiet and the pages continued to turn.

Unfortunately, we were far from finished. Several names still remained on the list he'd given me, and Amberleigh wanted every lead investigated. Every supporter uncovered. Every waystation found. Every link in the chain broken.

The more pressure we put on the Covenant, the fewer places they had to hide. And the fewer people they could hurt.

Eventually the meeting ended.

Iolite and I stepped home.

The familiar comfort of Northwatch Keep settled around me as we arrived.

I kissed her, then headed for my study.

The list Amberleigh had given me still sat on my desk.

I lowered myself into my chair and stared at the remaining names. One governor had led us somewhere. Hopefully the next would do the same. I picked up a pen and began planning our next trip.

* * *

“What a load of horse shit!” Grams barked as she stormed into my study hard enough to rattle the doorframe.

I looked up from my papers, blinking. “What?”

“These ring books! What kinda crap is this?”

“The Lord of the Rings?” I asked, a smile already tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“No, the cock ring, you blunt-membered fuckwit. Yes, the Lord of the Rings!” she snapped. “My da sat me on his knee spinning tales about brave goblins sneaking through tunnels and outsmarting tallfolk, and all along it was hairy little humans with cold feet?”

“Hobbits aren’t humans,” I said.

“Whatever,” she spat. “And what fuck is wrong with your elves?”

“The evil ones?” I asked.

“The GOOD ones,” she shot back. “Half the damned story is elves singing at each other in forests. They talk for six pages and nobody even gets stabbed.”

I smirked. “Fair point.”

“And another thing,” she continued, winding herself up further. “You humans have entirely too much poetry. Nobody in those books talks like a normal damned person. Every other sentence sounds like somebody blessing a turnip harvest.”

“That’s Tolkien.”

“Well Tolkien can kiss my wrinkled gray ass,” she swore.

She paced for another few moments, muttering under her breath before finally deflating with an irritated grunt.

“I guess I can see why my da changed it, though.” Her voice softened around the edges. “Wanted me to feel proud. Wanted me hearing stories where folk like me were clever. Brave. Important.” She shrugged roughly. “Can’t fault him for that, I suppose.”

Then she scowled again. “You still should’ve warned me about the singing.”

I laughed. “Did you like it though? The story, I mean.”

“No.” The answer came fast enough to trip over itself.

“Mirri said you cried when Sam carried Frodo.”

“That girl’d sell her own Grams for a fig tart.” Grams narrowed her eyes at me. “And if you tell anybody I got misty-eyed over a pair of tiny barefoot idiots climbing a mountain, I’ll cave your skull in with my kettle.”

I chuckled.

Grams grumbled something under her breath before her expression softened despite herself. “That Samwise though…” she muttered. “That’s the real heart of it.”

I nodded.

She wiped at one eye aggressively, glaring at the moisture there like it had personally offended her. “That’s what my father liked too. Folks carrying each other when things got hard.” She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “That part sounds more like your lot than all the stories about kings and magic swords.”

* * *

The body Benedrict had wrapped himself around lasted two days before it finally died. After that he was forced to drag his boneless form across the ground once more.

Still, those two days had carried him closer to his destination.

That evening he came upon a merchant and his family camped beside the road, eating dinner around a small cookfire.

He waited. Watched. Listened.

Eventually the wife wandered into a nearby stand of trees to relieve herself.

That was when he struck. Vines lashed out and wrapped around her before she could react, covering her mouth before a scream could escape.

He was gentler this time. The surrender came easier.

His thorns still pierced her flesh, but he guided them carefully, feeding them into her a little at a time instead of tearing her apart. Blood stained her dress, but not as much as before. The damage was manageable.

This body would last longer - he was certain of it.

When he returned to the camp, wrapped around the woman like a grotesque second skin, her family reacted exactly as expected - shock, fear, denial. Then acceptance.

He silenced them quickly. The sensation washed over him again as they surrendered to the inevitable. Even in their final moments. Even as death approached. They stopped fighting. Stopped resisting. Stopped suffering.

The euphoria that followed was intoxicating - power, satisfaction, relief. Feelings he'd spent his entire life chasing and never truly found.

If this was the price required to become strong enough to exact his revenge on Seth, he would pay it gladly.

He took what little money the merchant possessed, climbed into the wagon, and continued down the road.

A day later - far from civilization and well off the beaten path - Benedrict arrived at the Stone Warrens.

The old quarry sat nestled among rolling hills. A vast wound carved into the earth. Three hundred feet across. A hundred feet deep. Tiny by Earth's standards.

Enormous by Annwn's.

Terraced stone walls descended into the pit below, their pale gray faces weathered by decades of wind and rain. A partially collapsed stone building stood near the rim, serving as a lookout post for those stationed there. Old hoist towers clung to the quarry walls like broken bones. All but one had collapsed long ago. Nearby sat an abandoned barracks once used by miners and now repurposed for storage.

Smaller pits dotted the surrounding landscape. Some had collapsed. Some had filled with dark water. Others remained open, their depths leading into the labyrinth of tunnels beneath the hills.

Benedrict stopped the wagon roughly a hundred feet away. Then he climbed down and covered the remaining distance on foot.

A man emerged from the barracks.

Wextren, if he remembered correctly. The lookout. Officially the caretaker of an abandoned quarry.

The caretaker walked forward casually at first, then stopped. Something in his expression shifted as he finally realized what he was looking at. Fear. Confusion. Revulsion.

“Get me Mastvale,” Benedrict said. His own voice sounded wrong - soft, melodic, unmistakably feminine.

Wextren blinked. “Ma'am?”

“I don't fault you for failing to recognize me, Wextren.”

The man froze.

Benedrict took another step forward.

Vines shifted over the woman's skin. Crystal glinted in the afternoon sunlight. “But if you don't fetch Mastvale, you will become my next host.”

Wextren's face drained of color.

Benedrict could already feel it. The fear. The uncertainty. The beginnings of surrender.

“I am in no mood for resistance.” His voice remained calm. Matter-of-fact. Certain.

“Tell the quartermaster the Shepherd has returned.”

* * *

Blood dripped from my blade as the last man collapsed at my feet.

I watched him for a moment, waiting to see if he would rise again. He didn't.

It had been nearly a week since I'd found a Covenant operative. They'd vanished after the Mercy Engine fell. Gone to ground. Hidden themselves away like wounded prey crawling into a den to die.

And I needed something to kill.

These bandits weren't the Covenant, but they were close enough They'd been terrorizing a nearby village. Extorting money. Stealing livestock. Taking women.

Now they couldn't.

I supposed that was something. But it didn't fill the hollow place inside me. It only dulled it. I wanted vengeance. I wanted every last member of the Covenant dead. I wanted to hear them scream. I wanted to drown in their blood and finally silence the rage clawing at my insides.

Instead I stood in a clearing surrounded by corpses and felt empty. I hated that feeling.

“Not bad.” The voice came from behind me.

I felt his Faith before I turned. It pressed against me like the heat rolling off a predator moments before it lunged.

“I would have liked to have seen a bit more, though.”

I turned toward him - Anura. God of Predation.

His tall form stood at the edge of the firelight, half-hidden by shadow. Lean. Powerful. Dangerous.

Short umber-brown fur covered his body, interrupted by pale scars that striped him like the markings of some great hunting cat. His wings curled around him like a feathered cloak, black near the quills before fading through shades of brown into pale gray at the tips.

The dying campfire caught his eyes and for a moment they flashed - eyeshine gleaming in the darkness. Watching me. Studying me.

He was handsome. Not the polished beauty of a noble's son or courtier. This was something rougher. Sharper.

A strong jaw. High cheekbones. A heavy brow. His nose had clearly been broken at least once. Long canines rested over his lower lip even when his mouth was closed.

His hair hung to the middle of his back in uneven layers that looked self-cut. Or torn out and slowly growing back. Leather cords bound portions of it together - and small bones, claws, and teeth hung from the braids without making a sound.

He wore layered leathers and dark furs. A sleeveless vest covered his chest while a heavy skirt split high at both hips allowed easy movement. Bone knives hung everywhere. Some sheathed. Some simply stabbed through leather where he could grab them quickly.

He began circling the campsite, staying just beyond the reach of the firelight.

I didn't know what to say. Or how to react. The last time we'd met he'd told me I was pretty. This time I was apparently disappointing. For some reason that made my chest tighten.

The silence stretched.

“I see you've chosen new prey,” he said at last.

“Not new,” I replied. “Available.”

“I see.” His smile widened. “That explains why your heart wasn't in it.”

He crouched beside one of the corpses and poked it with a claw. “I know the hunger.” His gaze lifted to meet mine. “The need.” He dragged a finger through the dead man's blood. “I understand why you came out tonight without your pack.”

He brought the bloodied claw to his lips and licked it clean.

Something in my stomach twisted.

“It's what brought me here.” He stood and began walking toward me. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a hunter approaching a snare he'd already set.

My muscles tightened instinctively. Ready to fight. Ready for something. I wasn't sure what.

He stopped close enough that I could smell him - earth, leather, blood, rain-soaked fur.

He inhaled deeply.

Goosebumps raced up my arms.

“You truly are fascinating.” His voice had gone softer. “A god who creates their own Faith.”

He circled behind me.

The eyes at my temples tracked him automatically, giving me a perfect view despite his position.

“What is it like?” he asked. His breath brushed the back of my neck - warm. “Is it thrilling to taste yourself?” The words sent an uncomfortable shiver through me. “Or does it leave you unsatisfied?” He moved closer. “Yearning for a real hunt?”

“I never noticed it.”

It was true. I'd never felt my own Faith. Never really considered it. Didn’t even know I generated it until now.

It made a certain kind of sense - I was born mortal. I’d probably generated it before my ascension. Now that he'd pointed it out, I could sense it - faintly. Like noticing your own breathing. Or feeling your fingerprints. Something always present but easy to ignore.

“A shame.” He emerged from the darkness on my other side. “I can taste it from here.”

He inhaled deeply through his nose. His eyes drifted shut. “It's exquisite.”

The way he said it made my pulse quicken.

Anura opened his eyes and spread his wings - massive, beautiful, and terrifying. “I'll leave you to your kill.” He turned away.

“Wait.” The word escaped before I could stop it.

His wings relaxed. Slowly, he turned his head toward me. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

My stomach tightened. I had no idea why I'd stopped him. No idea what I wanted. I only knew I didn't want him to leave. Not yet.

The silence stretched again.

My mind searched desperately for something intelligent to say. It found nothing.

“Why?” The word came out malformed. I wasn't even sure what I meant.

Why me?

Why are you here?

Why do you keep coming back?

Why does this feel different?

Anura's smile deepened. “I told you before, Tansy.”

Something in my chest fluttered dangerously.

“I like you.” The simple words hit harder than they should have. “Maybe one night,” he continued, “we can hunt together.”

Then he spread his wings. A single powerful beat. And he launched himself into the night sky.

Gone.

I stood there staring at the empty space he'd occupied. Only then did I realize I'd been holding my breath.

The feeling I'd been trying to ignore returned almost immediately. That hollow ache. That restless hunger.

I grimaced.

This was going to be a long night.