That death was the last time he’d dreamed of her. And though Kavik knew Mala’s face better than his own, he’d never imagined the woman in his dreams would be the woman in red. He’d never seen her wear the color before. But now she was here—and she was the woman who heralded his end.
So it was time to meet it.
Stiffly, Kavik rose from the bed he’d made on the ground, with his brocs laid out beneath him and his saddle pillowing his head. His breath steamed in the morning air and the cold ached through to his bones. The previous night, darkness had forced him to stop at the head of the labyrinth. A fire would have drawn the leather-winged raptors that hunted these canyons and the sun wouldn’t climb above the maze’s high walls until midday. If he wanted warmth, he needed to start moving.
His brocs were crusted with dried blood and dirt, but he dragged them on, then slung the saddle over his shoulder. Pain tugged at his wounds, but it wasn’t the agony he’d expected. Mala’s salve had not only drawn out the revenants’ poison and kept the fever at bay; his injuries were healing faster, too.
Many charlatans claimed to sell potions blessed by Nemek, yet in all of his travels, Kavik had never met a divine healer. Mala had come across one, though. She must truly be favored by the goddess.
Vela’s favor wouldn’t help her defeat the demon tusker. The goddess protected those who quested for her, but they had to complete their tasks without Vela’s assistance.
With every step through the maze, Kavik debated whether to offer his. If Mala coming to Blackmoor meant his end, then he could think of few better deaths than while fighting beside her against the demon. That creature had plagued his people too long. And all the while, he’d pray to Hanan that she would torture him with another touch, and burn him with the heat in her eyes.
Another good way to die.
But she would pay for his help when Barin took notice of it, and if Kavik was dead, he wouldn’t be able to stand with her against the warlord. He could help her . . . but doing so might hurt her worse than the demon could. Which meant the choice would have to be Mala’s, not his.
And throughout these long years, Vela hadn’t abandoned him. Instead the goddess had remained nearby, sliding her blade so slowly into his heart that he hadn’t even known she’d pierced his flesh. She’d promised to return when he’d lost everything. And what had he left? No family. No home. Not even a horse. So Vela only had to twist the blade through his heart—and somehow, she would use Mala to do it.
At least he would see her again. And it wouldn’t be a dream.
KAVIK passed through Perca’s gates just before the guards closed them for the night. Familiar rage clutched at his throat when he glanced up and saw the torches burning in the citadel towers, so he kept his head down through the streets. Better not to think of Barin.
Instead he would think of how to find a horse. A full day had been lost walking through the maze and across the moors—and Kavik couldn’t hunt the demon on foot. But escorting the caravan had only earned him enough gold to buy a few meals, not a new mount. And although hunger gnawed an ache into his gut, better to save the coins for those days when not even a lizard could be found in the fens.
Except he probably didn’t have many more days remaining.
So he would buy a meal. He was already headed to the Croaking Frog, where Telani’s sister was innkeeper. He’d promised to let Selaq know whether the caravan had made it across the river, and he had no doubt that Telani had encouraged Mala to stay at her sister’s inn. Kavik might find her there.
Along with a dozen of Barin’s soldiers. Kavik set his jaw when he spotted their horses in the alley leading to the inn’s stables. The Croaking Frog lay near the eastern gate and in the shadow of the city wall, so Selaq served more ale to Barin’s men than to travelers needing a bed. Usually Kavik came during the day, when soldiers and guards were less likely to have settled in. There’d be no avoiding them this night.
But no matter how enjoyable cracking their heads would be, Kavik would stay his fists. Selaq didn’t need the trouble he would bring.
The inn’s thick clay walls trapped the heat from the hearth and the warmth instantly soaked through his wet tunic and brocs. Quiet fell in the common room when Kavik entered, as it always did. Then voices rose again, but he ignored the soldiers’ taunts about collars and leashes. He’d heard it all before. His gaze searched the tables. Mala wasn’t here.
He fought the heavy disappointment. Her absence didn’t mean she hadn’t come to the inn. She might have taken a room and preferred privacy to the company of soldiers. He’d learn more from Selaq.
The innkeeper was already almost on him. Though petite, she always moved with the determined stride of a man twice her size, but her step faltered a few paces away. She blinked rapidly, then seemed to steel herself and approached him with tightened lips.
“There’s clean water and soap in the basin out in the brewery.” Rag in hand, she swatted him in that direction. “Use it.”
To bathe in. Kavik shook his head. “Don’t—”
“I’m not helping you, fool. Your stench will empty out this room in a breath.”
The revenants’ blood. Not all of it had washed off in the rain. Kavik hardly noticed the stink anymore—but nearby patrons were covering their faces. “Considering who’s here, I should stay as I am.”
She snorted and swatted him again. “I don’t want them taking their coin elsewhere. Go on.” More quietly, she said, “I’ll join you shortly.”
With a nod, he started across the common room. Best to wash, anyway. Mala had talked of tasting him if not for the stench—even though she hadn’t smelled much better at the time.
By Hanan’s shaft, it mattered not. He’d have tasted her even if she’d been dipped in dung.
And here was the gods’ answer to that. He just had to think of dung and one of the soldiers rose from his table and pushed into his path. Kavik stopped only when another step would have pressed their noses together. He knew this measle. A brute, Delan was one of the few men who stood level with him. But like all of Barin’s soldiers, he took Kavik’s unyielding gaze as a gesture of disrespect.
They were right. It was disrespect, mixed with the same hatred and rage he felt for their warlord. Fueled by it, Kavik had stared down Delan before. Doing it again would be no effort. He could stand here all night.
But Delan had been distracted by the burden on Kavik’s shoulder, and he called out, “Look at this! She’s already saddled him.”
A burst of raucous laughter came from the soldiers. Someone shouted, “Then we’ll all ride the beast!” and then abruptly fell silent when Kavik glanced in that direction.
No one would ever ride him again.
And he would stay his fists. Maybe. He looked back to Delan and saw the sudden unease in the measle’s shifting eyes.
“Now move aside, little pony, so I can take this piss in my belly outside.” Delan’s overloud command rang through the room. “Or continue standing in my way so I can piss on you.”
Unsmiling, Kavik waited. A span of breaths passed. Finally, Delan muttered and shoved past him.
Shaking his head, Kavik moved on. Pissing on him? Hardly a threat. Kavik couldn’t smell worse than he already did.