Pilgrim by Sara Douglas

focusing on something moving towards her.

Drago looked, and cried out. A gigantic figure loomed out of the blackness, a man several

handspans taller than any man Drago had ever seen before, and encased entirely in black armour.

In his mailed hand he held a gleaming, wicked knife.

A kitchen knife.

The girl hiccupped in terror, and almost choked on a sob that wrenched up from deep

within her.

Drago could hear Faraday screaming, but he could not see her, and he could not free

himself from the dream, nor could he move to aid her.

The black armoured man stepped to the girl‘s side—

Run, run, run! Drago screamed at her, but she was so stricken with terror she could not

move.

—and seized the girl‘s glossy brown curls in his left hand, jerking her head back to

expose the slim whiteness of her throat.

Then the knife slashed through the air, and all Drago could see and taste and feel was the

thick redness of life pouring forth from the girl‘s throat, and—

He jerked awake, sitting upright and staring about wildly. Beside him Faraday was

screaming in her sleep, throwing herself from side to side, her hands reaching up and groping

uselessly into the air above her.

Drago heaved in a great breath, orientating himself out of the dream, and turned to

Faraday. He lifted a hand, intending to wake her from the nightmare, when her eyes flew open.

She stared at Drago, and then, before he could stop her, she leapt to her feet, dived through the

tent flap, and ran outside.

Into the terror of the night.

― No! ‖ Drago screamed and, without any thought, ran after her.

He felt the cold fingers of the Demonic terror intrude into his mind as soon as he left the

safety of the tent. Faraday was a pale shape struggling on the ground several paces away, the

wind whipping her hair about, her hands groping at the ground about her.

She was screaming uncontrollably.

Drago knew that madness was only an instant away, and he knew it had already claimed

Faraday, but all he could think of was that he had to reach her, that somehow he needed to be

with her before he lost his own mind completely.

The cold fingers dug deeper and more agonisingly into his mind, and Drago screamed

and threw himself on Faraday‘s struggling body.

In her fright and horror she instinctively hit him, and Drago caught at her hands, rolling

himself atop her and pinning her hands down to the ground.

―Faraday!‖ he yelled above the storm of madness about them. ―Faraday, it is only me!

Drago! Please, be still, please…please…‖

She ceased to struggle and stared at his face a handspan above hers, and suddenly Drago

realised that he stared into the eyes of a woman who was terrified beyond measure…

…but sane.

―Faraday?‖ he whispered. ―Faraday?‖

The cold fingers of terror continued to probe at his mind, but Drago slowly realised that

although they probed and probed—and stung horribly in that probing—they could not enter.

His mind was still his.

As was Faraday‘s.

―Why?‖ she whispered. ―Why are we safe?‖

He laughed softly, not caring that the fingers still pushed and prodded at his mind, but

revelling in his—and her—strange immunity.

The Demons could not touch them.

―I don‘t know,‖ he whispered back. ―And I do not particularly care why.‖

At that moment, staring into each other‘s eyes, both forgot the girl and her terrified cries

for help, as they forgot the winds of terror howling about them and the thick tendrils of grey

miasma that clung to their clothes and hair.

Very, very slowly Drago lowered his head and kissed Faraday.

She closed her eyes, accepting his kiss, and then from nowhere came the memory of

Drago swearing that nothing, nothing, was to get in the way of his determination to save the land, and from that memory her mind leapt back forty years to the moment when Axis stood before

her in Gorgrael‘s chamber and lifted not a finger to save her so that he, too, might save

Tencendor.

She twisted her head away.

―No!‖

Drago did not protest. He lifted himself from her and stood, holding a hand to help her

rise.

Reluctantly she accepted his aid.

―Why?‖ she repeated. ―Why aren‘t we mad?‖

Drago stared about him. The night landscape seemed to be in the grips of a fatal insanity.

The air itself was alive, twisting and writhing and roping under the Demon Rox‘s

influence. A small rabbit, caught outside its burrow, was winding and contorting in a dance of

madness, chewing at its own paws and dribbling thick saliva down the matted fur of its chest.

Somewhere a dog howled and screamed, and then gurgled into quietness.

And yet here he and Faraday stood, their minds aching from the insistent probing of the

Demon, and yet safe.

Why?

Why?

Slowly Drago turned his face to the east.

Far away Rox turned and stared across the western Skarabost Plains. There was

something wrong. Something…different.

He sent his senses reeling out across the land.

There! A man and a woman, standing close together in the night, their minds

invulnerable.

The man was staring at him, as if he could somehow see him so far to the east.

Who? Who?

Why? Why? Why?

Slowly Rox turned his eyes back to his east. There the StarSon was, walking into the dark

trap, so who was this to the west? Who? Who?

Why?

He sent a message screaming through the night to the Hawkchilds: It seems we have a

stray magician or two to the west. Find them. Find out why they can resist us. And then kill them.

22

Arrival at the Minaret Peaks

They arrived in Arcen by late afternoon the next day. The mayor greeted them

enthusiastically, begging for news, hope, anything…

―I am sorry,‖ StarDrifter said. ―We know little, but what we do we would be happy to

share. Perhaps over dinner…?‖

The mayor apologised, embarrassed at his lack of civility, and bustled StarDrifter and

Zenith into his townhouse. His servants laid out a good meal, and the mayor and his wife were

pleasant and entertaining conversationalists, but StarDrifter and Zenith spent the time far more

aware of each other than of the mayor.

―You must be tired!‖ the mayor eventually declared, as his guests lapsed once more into

silence. He clapped his hands. ―Let my servants show you to your rooms.‖

They had separate but adjoining rooms, and Zenith was not surprised to hear the gentle

knock at her door after an hour.

―Come in,‖ she called softly.

―I missed you,‖ StarDrifter said as he closed the door behind him. ―Even the feather bed

is not enough compensation for the lack of your company.‖

Zenith smiled awkwardly. This was so strange, so uncomfortable. She felt as if he

thought she should just invite him straight into her bed, she knew that was what he wanted, and

maybe she should do that, but—

―I just came to say goodnight, Zenith,‖ StarDrifter said, watching the play of emotions

over her face.

She nodded, relaxed, then smiled. ―Goodnight, StarDrifter.‖

Then, suddenly bold, she walked up to him, put her hands on his chest—his skin was so

warm!—and kissed his mouth softly. She leaned back slightly, but she did not step back, and she

did not take her hands from his chest.

Feeling certain that the time for hesitancy was past, StarDrifter slid his hands into her

hair, pulled her close, and kissed her again. She tensed slightly, but did not pull back, and so

StarDrifter held her tight against his body, and let both hands and mouth grow bolder.

More than anything else Zenith wanted to be able to accept StarDrifter as a lover—it was

why she‘d been bold enough to kiss him—but now she fought to keep still as unwelcome images

tumbled through her mind. StarDrifter gently chiding her when she was a child, and holding on

to her chubby arms as she learned to walk. WolfStar‘s harsh kisses, the scrape of teeth and rasp

of tongue against her neck. StarDrifter rescuing her from the cliff face, and telling her he‘d

always be there to catch her. WolfStar‘s repulsive rape, feeling him force himself inside her

body—

She pulled back.

―I won‘t hurt you,‖ StarDrifter said. ―I won‘t.‖

―I know,‖ she whispered, feeling even more the failure. ―I know you won‘t…but…‖

―But?‖

―But it just doesn‘t feel right,‖ she said.

StarDrifter reached out a hand and stroked her cheek. ―I can wait,‖ he said, planted an

undemanding kiss on her forehead, and walked from the room.

Zenith stared at the door, then turned and looked at the bed.

A tear slowly ran down one cheek.

Two days later, Zenith and StarDrifter arrived at the colonnades and spires of the Icarii

city nestled in the forests and ridges of the Minaret Peaks.

What they found shocked them.

To avoid the deadly miasma of the Demons, they‘d had to approach via the forest paths