Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(69)

Icy breath blasts against my legs.

The last time I came face to face with a Shade, I remember my blood spilling out like buckets of paint. I remember that, after the initial gut-wrenching agony, I didn’t feel much at all. Only this time, there’s no Danial to heal my wounds.

The first scream tears from my throat as the Shade sinks its teeth into my leg.

And drops me with a piercing wail.

I land facedown, spitting out a mouthful of dirt and fallen leaves. I guess I taste worse than I look. As I scramble away from the monster, dragging myself toward my blade along the rocky ground by my elbows, a bright-orange glow washes over me.

The Shade claws at itself, tugging on a burning arrow lodged in the softest part of its chest. But it’s too late. It’s already engulfed in flames.

Several paces back from the wagon, looking immensely pleased with herself, is Meredy. She drops her bow at Lysander’s feet and rushes to my side. “You’re lucky I had Lysander carrying my things instead of storing them in the wagon. Are you hurt?”

“No. Not bad, anyway.” But my head spins when I touch my aching lower leg, and my hand comes away slick with blood. “Check on Master Cymbre.”

Frowning, Meredy hurries to where Cymbre fell. I catch my breath, watching the Shade melt into ash.

There’s something odd about the way it appeared on this particular mountain, when there are dozens of trails like this one leading into Elsinor, and the only people who know our chosen path to Abethell Castle are back in Grenwyr.

It’s as if the monster knew exactly where we’d be tonight.

I peer into the shadowy forest surrounding the wagon trail. But other than the lonely call of an owl, I don’t see or hear anything. There’s no sign of Vane or anyone else.

The Shade’s skeletal body hisses and pops. Or maybe that’s the wagon, blazing with all our spare clothes and rations inside. Rubbing the pin on my tunic, I stare into the fire and wonder if I did my duty as Serpent when I didn’t make the kill. I didn’t even help.

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” I ask as Meredy drags an unconscious Master Cymbre off the trail. I try to stand, but the stabbing pain in my leg forces me to stay down, and I crawl toward the woods until I can no longer feel waves of heat on my back. Lysander joins me, grumbling deep in his chest.

“In Lorness,” Meredy says at last. She props Master Cymbre against a tree, then rests with her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “I learned from my teacher, so I could survive in the wild if Lysander was ever too sick or hurt to hunt for us.”

“I’m surprised, is all.”

Meredy’s smile is bright like the moon. “The world’s full of surprises. You’d know that if you just looked around once in a while. Like Valoria. Did you even know she’s an artist? She drew me the best picture I’ve ever seen.”

Somehow, she still manages to irritate me moments after saving my life. “I’m aware of her talents, seeing as she was my friend first. What’s the picture of?”

“We need to get out of these woods soon,” she mutters, apparently ignoring my question.

She’s right, though. The blaze is spreading, catching on dry leaves and twigs and blackening the ground between us and the charred wagon.

There’s no sign that a Shade was ever here, thanks to this Serpent and her questionably loyal protector.

“Can you walk if you lean on me?” Meredy extends a hand and I take hold of her. “Have you ever considered that . . . maybe raising the dead isn’t worth the risk?” she asks quietly. “That it causes more suffering than healing?”

All the time, I want to say. Ever since Evander died. Since she asked me to raise Firiel.

Before I can reply, I hear a faint voice drifting on the night wind. “Anyone out there?” It sounds like a man’s deep tone.

I put a finger to my lips, looking around, then point to a lone torch bobbing up the mountainside from slightly east of the direction we were headed in before the attack.

Lysander growls as the torch bobs nearer. Meredy puts a hand between his furry shoulders, calming him within a few heartbeats. We wait in silence until the light of the wagon fire lifts the cloak of darkness from the haggard face of a man some years our senior. He has a bow strapped to his back and an axe hanging from his belt, but his eyes are kind.

Meredy and I exchange a glance, and she nods. If we’re wrong, I can take him, even with my leg a bloody mess.

“Over here!” I shout, revealing our location.

Meredy waves a hand, echoing my call.

It takes only a moment for him to navigate around the spreading fire. When he sees the condition we’re in, he says, “Don’t worry. I’m here to help,” and hurries to check Master Cymbre’s pulse. He passes me his torch so he can lift Cymbre into his arms.

“Is the bear friendly?” he grunts, eyeing Lysander. Not even Meredy’s calming influence keeps Lysander completely quiet with a stranger so close, and I think back to what she said about him not liking most people.

Meredy gives a terse smile. “Mostly.”

“I saw the fire from my cabin,” he adds. “Not many folk pass through these parts, so I thought I’d better come check . . .” His voice dies away as he gets a look at the gold pin on my chest. He offers me a crude bow. “Can’t remember the last time there was a necromancer in my woods.” Shifting his gaze to Meredy, he adds, “Or a beast master. Now let’s get your friend here to a healer. Abethell Castle’s the place you’ll want, just down that hill. And there’s plenty of time to tell me what happened here along the way.”