I’m really hoping he won’t.
ChapterSeven
GRIMUS
The beast at my feet rasps its last breath, its body mutilated by my crudely forged morning star. There are three more just like it lying around the area—beasts with no sense, no control, nothing—and now they will literally be nothing but food for the lichen and insects in the soil. The three direhounds were as ugly as they come, always hulking, slobbering creatures. Although they are called direhounds, they no longer resemble a hound at all. They are larger than many things and missing patches of fur along their coat, their teeth poke out of their lips at strange angles, and their eyes, when open, are nothing but red pools. They aren’t gentle pups.
Their bite is much worse than their bark.
Luckily for me, I don’t take too kindly to being bitten on the leg.
I glance down at the bite in question. It’s shallow enough, nothing that will cause any sort of hindrance in my patrol, but it’s an inconvenience for sure. I’ll need to take time to dress it later. Too many monsters in these lands are called to the scent of blood. They will find no easy meal when they find me, and some small part of me wants them to come, eager for a fight, but I know it’s better to continue my patrol without the added complication.
After all, what order am I keeping, really?
Still, some part of me demands I travel through the Dead Lands, killing anything that dares to come across my path with malice. There are no rules here, no laws, except for not crossing into territory that’s not your own, and that doesn’t get you any sort of punishment—it just gets you dead.
As I wipe my morning star along the coat of the nearest direhound, preparing to continue the path that I follow each night, the hair on my arms rises. Strange. I haven’t felt such a tingle in…I don’t even remember when. Not long after the hair rises, I feel a deep, thrumming pulse.
A call that begs me to follow.
One as familiar as the weapon in my hand.
Beautiful, enchanting, wild…magic.
There shouldn’t be such a strong call here in the Dead Lands. There is no such creature within these lands that harnesses such rare power. Not even the fey wield such wild magic in their veins. Too many decades spent locked behind those blasted thorn walls have dampened most of the magic here, so it doesn’t make sense that I’d be feeling such a call now.
Unless there’s something new in the Dead Lands.
Perking up at the thought and with curiosity dragging me forward, I holster the morning star at my back and straighten. The bite is nothing, barely a flesh wound, but with the call of the magic, I don’t tend to it as I should. Instead, I take a step in the direction of the call.
What sort of creature could leak such power? What creature would dare to in a land where beasts and monsters hunger for a taste?
Following the bite of magic in the air, I travel along the edges of the marshlands, tasting the air like so many other creatures are likely doing right now. Whatever is bold enough to flaunt its magic, it’ll be dead within hours if it doesn’t dampen those waves. I should turn around and ignore it, but I can’t deny that I don’t also hunger for a taste of that power.
I’m no better than the beasts I reside with.
It’s easy to follow the trail, to understand that it’s a beacon more than anything. I want it.Reak, do I want it, the familiar guttural curse flowing audibly from my lips. I don’t even know what it is, but my hunger only grows the closer I come to the power. What a strong monster it must be. What a mighty foe.
And then I see it.
Not it, her.
Rising out of the fog before me like the stars I haven’t seen since the Shadow Lands were cut off and we picked out our territories, a female claws through the mud of the marsh, desperation on her face. When she glances behind her in panic, I see what she runs from. The dark fey hovers at the edge of my territory, not daring to cross into my domain, despite not knowing how near or far I am. Wise of him. But really, he’s learned too many lessons.
He can’t pursue her, not without risking my wrath, so he hovers on the edge of the territory, calling to her as she bends over on hands and knees and catches her breath. Even from here, I can feel her exhaustion. How long has she been running? What did the dark fey have the opportunity to do?
If she stays there much longer, more monsters will come. I can’t imagine she’ll move with the exhaustion rolling off her in waves. She’ll just lie down and die right there. Her humanity is an ache in my bones, and humanity is all the same.
Weak, docile, worthless—
I stare with wide eyes as she shoves herself up on shaking arms, gets one leg beneath her and then the other, and straightens to her full height. Despite her weakness, she doesn’t sway. She doesn’t bend. She raises her chin and takes a step forward.
And then another.
Respect for this small human female rises within me as she continues forward, entering my domain as she forces herself through the fog, despite everything she’s encountered so far.
Intrigued, I turn to follow her as the taste of wild magic bites at my flesh.
