Pilgrim by Sara Douglas

the air finally erupted. He was too old and set in his ways to cope with a situation

this…abnormal, and without Drago‘s help in evacuating the Carlonese through Spiredore into

this Sanctuary, then they were as good as dead if the animals managed to break through the city‘s

defences.

He checked his wife and family, making sure they were in an easily defensible section of

the palace, then joined Gustus and Grawen, another of Zared‘s men, in an inspection of the

defences down one of the city streets.

Initially, the mood of the Carlonese heartened Herme. These people were not wide-eyed

with fear, but narrow-eyed with determination. All the population, save the very young and the

bedridden aged, had armed themselves as best they might against any attack.

Women held brooms and pans in white-knuckled grips, men had homemade pikes, clubs

and blades. Children, ever inventive, had a variety of slings, stones and, down one street, a

complex system of oil-filled barrels set in place.

―Any hoofed creature, or crawler, comes a-running down this street,‖ one bright-eyed

urchin informed Herme, ―he‘ll get a slippery shock for sure!‖

Herme grinned, and tousled the youngster‘s hair, then followed Gustus and Grawen

inside a tavern, inspected the main rooms, then clumped down the cellar stairs. Unlike the

atmosphere outside, here the tension and fear were palpable.

―Well?‖ Herme asked.

Two soldiers and the tavern keeper were crowded inside the cellar, and they glanced

among themselves before one of the soldiers answered.

―Sir Earl,‖ he said, hesitated, then simply pointed into a darkened corner of the cellar.

Herme turned and peered, and the soldier thrust a burning brand a little closer to the

corner.

There was a cat crouched in a far niche, its head almost buried in an all but invisible

crack in the floor.

It was growling softly.

―Gods!‖ Herme exclaimed. ―That‘s one of Drago‘s cats!‖

Gustus nodded. ―We‘ve found them in several of the cellars, sir Earl.‖

―Then, by the gods! Get extra men in and about those particular cellars!‖

Even as he finished speaking, there was a thunder of feet above, and then the cellar stairs

were crowded with some thirty heavily armed soldiers.

―Already done, Sir Earl.‖

Herme nodded, and turned back to the cat. ―Can any of you hear anything?‖

The soldier shook his head. ―We‘ve crouched down by the cat, but have heard nothing

save her growls. Cats have got better hearing than us, anyhow.‖

Herme took a deep breath, trying to force from his mind the imagine of hundreds of

thousands of rodents crawling through the earth beneath his feet, and turned back to Gustus.

―And then there are the Alaunt,‖ Gustus said, forestalling whatever Herme had been

about to say.

Faraday blinked, overcome by the warmth of the sun and the heady scent of the flowers.

The man had disappeared. She looked about her, desperate to find him again despite her resolve.

Stately lilies rose to waist height about her, and in between their stems crowded a thousand

varieties of poppies and cornflowers and peonies creating a veritable rainbow of colour to

support the lilies.

“Faraday.”

She turned at the sound of the quiet voice, but it did not belong to he she sought.

It was Leagh, standing amid the flowers several paces away. Her cloak had disappeared,

and now she wore only the linen robe wrapping itself in the slight breeze about her gently

distended figure. Her nut-brown hair tangled over her shoulders and in the lilies at her back and

sides.

Faraday moved slightly, and realised that she, too, wore only the linen robe. Even her

feet were bare.

She tipped her head back and laughed, feeling the tug of her hair caught amid the

flowers.

“Is this the Tencendor that will be?” she cried.

As if in answer, she heard the sharp rapping of Drago’s staff, and it summoned her back

to the grassy flat in the coldswept Western Ranges, and the enchantment collapsing over

Gwendylyr, DareWing and Goldman, and slowly sinking into their forms.

―What about the Alaunt?‖ Herme asked.

―It is easier to show you than to tell you,‖ Gustus said, and began to climb the stairs.

Herme managed to suppress, with some difficulty, a frustrated curse, then followed

Gustus, taking the stairs three at a time.

Gustus led him silently out into the street, down a block, then turned down a laneway that

led them through to the next major street.

There several of the Alaunt were pacing stiff-legged down the sides of the roadway, their

hackles bristling, low snarls filling their throats.

They were staring at the gutters.

One of the hounds raised a head and stared at Herme. It whined, almost as if it were

trying to communicate with him. Herme stared at the dog, his fingers twitching with frustration

at his sides.

―It is FortHeart,‖ Gustus said quietly. ―Sicarius‘ mate.‖

Herme wondered how Gustus could tell any of the Alaunt apart, but accepted his words.

―One of my men came to me with words of the hounds just before we left the palace,‖

Gustus continued. ―They‘ve been stalking the streets for over two hours now.‖

FortHeart whined again, her entire body quivering with the strength of whatever she was

trying to say.

Herme stared at her, fixated by her golden stare.

She whined yet once more, and suddenly Herme was in a very, very different place.

He stood in the streets of a ruined city. Buildings lay tumbled in great heaps of stones

that made the streets almost impassable. He led a tense and nervous force down one of the main boulevards, but towards what Herme did not know. On either side of the boulevard the Alaunt

ranged, stiff-legged and hackled, their noses and eyes probing every gutter and hole in the

tumbled masonry and—

Someone yelled, and the Alaunt clamoured, and something horrible wormed from a crack

in the gutter. It was grey and leather-skinned, its head encased in bone-like armour hiding

silvery eyes behind narrow slits. Its mouth was huge and hungry, with fangs curving out in every

direction. It was a—

“Skraeling!” Herme cried, and suddenly he knew where he was.

Hsingard. Hsingard! Hsingard, where Azhure had led a force that had been cruelly

attacked in the streets from Skraelings that had wormed from the—

―Gutters!‖ Herme cried, and FortHeart yelped. ―Gustus, they‘re coming up through the

sewers! They‘re coming up through the cursed sewers!‖

― Gwendylyr! ‖ Theod screamed, and suddenly he was hurtling down the slope of the hill

so fast Faraday was sure he would fall and break his neck.

Behind him Zared came at a more sedate pace, although still as rapidly as caution would

allow him. The sun topped the ridges now, and the dawn danger had passed, although Zared had

been forced to hold so tight to Theod during the time Drago had collected the three and worked

his enchantment over them he‘d wondered if the man would have any unbruised skin left on his

upper arms at all.

Below, the three were slowly rising from the ground, their faces uncertain, frightened,

and yet full of wonder at the same time.

All had woken in the field of flowers.

―Girls,‖ Drago said softly. ―The blankets.‖

Leagh and Faraday jumped, still lost amid the memories of the flowers themselves, and

then hurriedly reached for the blankets, wrapping them about the shoulders of Gwendylyr,

DareWing and Goldman. Of the three, Goldman seemed the most orientated. He rose to his feet,

struggling with his balance, and gripped the blanket about himself, tearing his rabbit-skin and

twig garment to the ground with a few angry jerks.

He drew in a deep breath, then looked about until he saw Drago standing slightly to his

left. Goldman stepped over, still careful with his footing, and dropped to one knee before Drago.

He took Drago‘s right hand, kissed it briefly, and stared into Drago‘s face.

―I am yours,‖ he said, his voice intense. ―Tell me what to do.‖

Drago nodded. ―Be patient,‖ he said, ―and I will.‖

He walked over to where Theod sat with his arms tightly wrapped about Gwendylyr. The

woman looked up at him, and Drago squatted before her and took her face in his hands.

She was lovely, even under the grime of the week spent roaming the hills as a wild

animal, with very pale skin and black eyes framed by equally black hair. She was trembling, but

whether from cold or emotion, Drago could not tell.

―What have you made me?‖ she whispered.

―My handmaiden,‖ Drago replied, and leaned forward and kissed Gwendylyr softly on

her mouth.

Theod jerked in surprise and some anger, and Drago shifted his eyes to the Duke‘s face.

―She is back,‖ he said, ―but no longer exclusively yours.‖

Watching, Faraday felt jealousy so profound sweep her body she shivered violently.

Leagh looked at her. ―If you push him away,‖ she said, ―you must endure the resultant

suffering.‖

Drago rose and stepped over to DareWing. The birdman had sunk back to the ground,