This book is dedicated to my mother and father, who have always believed in me and supported me in everything I do.

Also written by Jennifer McCormick and available now from Blue Feather Books:

* The Midas Conspiracy

COMING SOON:

* Rogue Faction, sequel to The Midas Conspiracy

This is a work of fiction. All characters, locales and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

The Withering

Copyright © 2014 by Jennifer McCormick

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, save for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews.

Cover design by Ann Phillips

A Blue Feather Book

Published by Blue Feather Books, Ltd.

www.bluefeatherbooks.com

ISBN: 978-1-935627-67-8

First edition: February, 2014

Printed in the United States of America and in the United Kingdom.

Acknowledgements

I want to thank Emily Reed and everyone at Blue Feather Books for making my dream come true a second time; Day Petersen, for doing an excellent job editing. It has been such a pleasure working with everyone.

I would also like to thank my family for standing by me as I pursue this dream.

Chapter 1

It was dark. It was always so dark in the northern woods. Winter had come early, bringing heavy, wet snowflakes and a cold that penetrated through to the bone. There was something sinister lurking just beneath the veil of white that cloaked the forest; Simone Norland could feel it. She trudged onward through the snow, her footfalls muted by the unearthly silence hanging like a shroud in the air around her. Her progress was hindered by the deepening snow, which now nearly reached her knees. Undaunted by the cold, Simone pressed forward, her legs moving of their own volition. Something was there in the forest with her, watching, waiting. Although she couldn’t put a name to it, she knew she had to get away as quickly as her legs would carry her.

Suddenly the snow gave way beneath her feet. She had reached a cliff. As she peered cautiously over the edge, the snow crumbled and fell to the valley far below. It seemed as though she’d come upon the edge of the world, a vast, barren crater that stretched on for leagues, farther than her eyes could see. There was a slight pressure between Simone’s eyes, a thrumming that made her shudder all the way to her very soul, and she knew she wasn’t alone. She turned, moving as though the entire world was in slow motion. The path she had created in the snow was now enveloped by a dense fog, so thick that she could barely see her hand in front of her face. A ghostly presence called to her, and she once again set out in pursuit of the mysterious voice, her body moving of its own accord.

Within seconds, she was swallowed up by the fog. Everything surrounding her was obscured by the mist. There was no escape; she was trapped within the white void. There was the crack of a twig snapping somewhere behind her. Simone spun around, but could see nothing. It was as though the silence in the forest had become tangible, a visible cloak that hung in the air and settled on her skin like perspiration. Simone continued forward; she could not stop herself. It was like someone else was in control of her body. When she looked down, she saw not the usual attire of a noblewoman of her status, but a metal breastplate, darkened by blood. She was not herself, and even though she knew it was only a dream, she couldn’t force herself awake.

Dark shapes suddenly materialized from the fog, leaping and bounding around her on all sides. She was surrounded. It was in that instant that she realized she wasn’t seeking escape but rather the source that was summoning her deeper into the forest. She felt warmth against her face, like the forest itself had come alive and was breathing. Something was calling her, something close. The veil of mist parted; the light revealed from within it was a pulsing luminescence, its convulsions matching the rhythm of Simone’s erratic heartbeats. Slowly, steadily, the tremors of light grew stronger until the otherworldly presence was nearly overwhelming. At length, her eyes adjusted to the light after so long in the dark. A figure appeared before her, small and frail compared to the hulking shapes circling her position. A young woman stared back at her with eyes haunted by anguish and despair.

Simone gasped at the image. The haunted eyes which stared so accusingly at her…were her own.

Her hands clutched at her head. Simone screamed, but the sound couldn’t penetrate the silence of the dense forest.

Vivienne Norland’s sleep was shattered by a shrill scream of agony and despair. Instantly recalling how strangely her younger sister had been behaving of late, she jumped up from her bed, immediately wide awake.

Vivienne rushed into the room next to her own and dashed to her sister’s bed. Vivienne could see that beneath a shimmering sheen of perspiration, Simone’s skin was ashen gray, the same shade one might find on a corpse. Simone wasn’t breathing. Repressing a frightened scream of her own, Vivienne began violently shaking her younger sister.

“Wake up, Simone!” she cried out through tearful sobs. “Please don’t leave me.”

With a bone-deep shudder and a raspy intake of breath, Simone suddenly sat bolt upright in bed. “It’s coming,” she said, her voice as hollow as the lifeless expression in her pale eyes. “I’ve seen it.” Then her head lolled to one side, and her rigid body went limp in her elder sister’s arms.

Unable to refrain any longer from screaming for help, Vivienne called, “Mother! Father! Come quick!” She collapsed into a fit of racking sobs, still hugging her sister in a firm embrace.

* * *

The night sky was pitch black over Rielzen that night, an inky canopy so dark that not a single star could be seen. As the capital of Anolaya, Rielzen was by far the most populated city in the region, lying in the south, next to the Anolayan Sea. Although the lowlands never offered as spectacular a view of the stars as did the northern mountains, there was something odd about how the sky looked that night, almost as though the darkness would swallow up any light that dared encroach upon it.

Logan felt a peculiar sensation as she sat with her knees drawn close to her chest, her arms encircling her knees to help ward off the cold of the late winter night. It drove her to rise stiffly from her small prison cot and briskly cross to the single small barred window in the corner of the cell. By standing on her overturned chamber pot, she was just tall enough to see out. From this vantage point, Logan could see many leagues stretching out before her. The infamous prison, Purgatory, was built atop the highest hill in the capital, providing an extraordinary view in spite of its grim purpose.

At the far edge of the horizon, Logan’s theory about the sky devouring all light was invalidated. Many leagues to the north, perhaps even beyond the boundaries of Anolaya itself, was a ghastly light, glowing a noxious shade of green against the intense blackness of the sky. For a second, the light seemed to throb with a horrid life of its own, just before it disappeared completely.

Gazing upon the strangely obscene image, Logan shivered with revulsion, though she couldn’t for the life of her have explained why. Her sudden uncontrollable shaking caused the inverted chamber pot to rattle beneath her feet, waking her neighbor in the next cell.

“Can’t sleep?” Eunice’s voice crackled hoarsely in the cold. One of the newer residents of Purgatory, Eunice had been a wandering soothsayer. When her journey had brought her to the streets of Rielzen, a city renowned for its strong aversion to magic and any talent that could be attributed to such practices, she had been arrested and charged with making false prophecies.

It really was a shame, for Eunice was quite old, and the cold nights only further compromised her already delicate constitution. But then, residency at Anolaya’s most notorious prison was never permanent. One way or another, Eunice’s time there would be short. The only reason Logan herself had managed to survive nearly ten years in Purgatory was because it was deemed immoral and unethical to execute anyone under the age of twenty-one. Still, considering the severity of Logan’s crime, some had argued that an exception to the age rule should have been made.

Blood magic was considered the darkest of the arcane arts as it relied upon the use of the blood of living creatures to weave powerful and often devastating spells. The practice of blood magic had long been forbidden in Anolaya. The penalties placed on its use were so harsh that mages scarcely acknowledged their nature openly. Convicted Blood Mages were certain to face a swift execution, usually without even a chance to contest the claims brought against them. But Logan had been a child of eleven, too young to be judged as an adult, no matter how brutal the nature of her crime. In the end, it was this argument which had prevailed, sparing Logan from her inevitable fate for ten long years. Unsure whether to consider even that small concession as a mercy, Logan would not be protected from her fate for much longer. With the arrival of spring would come the eve of her twenty-first year in the world, heralding at last the end of her long torment. After all she’d suffered, Logan almost welcomed death and the cold embrace of oblivion. In fact, having become something of a masochist during her long years of imprisonment, she looked forward to her death with relish.

“Are you all right, dear?”

Eunice’s voice intruded upon Logan’s dark thoughts. Stepping down from the pot and setting it upright, Logan contemplated making use of it, but ultimately decided it was too damn cold. “I’m fine, Eunice,” she reassured the old woman with a faint chuckle. “Just trying to decide whether I want to brave baring my arse long enough for a piss in this frigid cold.”

“I know what you mean,” Eunice agreed. “I’m beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t be better to just go in my breeches for what little warmth it would provide.”

There was a long silence as Logan resumed her position on the little cot, her knees drawn up to her chin and her back pressed against the wall. It was easier to hear Eunice against this shared wall and to communicate without the other prisoners overhearing their conversation.

Eunice sighed. “There are dark energies at work tonight,” she announced, unbidden. “I can feel it in the way it rattles these old bones. The power flows through me and haunts my dreams. Can you feel it too, Logan?”

Logan guffawed. Although she thoroughly enjoyed Eunice’s company and hearing of her prophecies, she highly doubted there was anything of the mystic about the woman herself. There were times when she suspected the charges of false prophesying brought against Eunice were accurate.

“All right, then,” Eunice said, a trace of apology in her voice. “It’s just that I thought there might be more keeping you from sleep than the need to make water. Forgive an old woman her inquisitiveness.”

Logan closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the wall, but Eunice said nothing further. Either she’d offended the closest thing to a friend she had in this world, or the old woman had become too cold to talk. Either way, Logan had the silence for which she yearned. When next she opened her eyes, she thought she caught a fleeting glimpse of that same light from earlier snaking its way into the sky, like gnarled and ancient fingers clawing the heavens.

Turning her gaze away from the window, she rested her chin upon her knees. No matter, she told herself. Whatever it is, it doesn’t concern me. Whatever is causing my heart to race so has nothing to do with me, so the best thing to do is put it out of my mind. Logan knew in her heart that her time in the world would soon expire.

* * *

It was pitch black in the secret chambers of the Norland estate, save for the flickering of the single flame of a candle lantern. The only purpose the light served, it seemed, was to cast twisted shadows, grotesque forms that danced menacingly across the walls. Or so Simone believed. On numerous occasions, she considered snuffing out the flame, only doing so would leave her alone in the dark with her ominous visions. Or her delusions.

The thought was upon her before she could cast it away. They all think I’m mad. Only I know what I saw was more than any dream. It was too... Dark shapes flitted briefly before Simone’s eyes, beastly shadows looming above her as she cowered near the now welcome light of the candle. She shuddered. Thinking about the revelations her visions showed her was never easy for Simone, least of all when she was by herself, in a dark and secluded area of her family’s ancestral home. She clutched the amulet at her throat so tightly that the engravings etched into the metal marked the delicate flesh of her palm. Outlined in bright red against her fair skin, the Norland family crest glared menacingly back at her as she opened her hand and held it before her eyes. Since childhood the amulet had served as a source of comfort to Simone, yet it was also a grim reminder of the Norlands’ long and somewhat dark history.

The Guardians of the North, the Norlands were the lone sentinels that stood between Anolaya and the wild and terrible creatures which prowled the mystic Yor’kesh Highlands to the north. Home to all manner of powerful beings, the Yor’kesh Highlands were avoided at all costs by the Anolayans. Many a lost wayfarer had met his fate in some horrifying beast or, at the hands of the cruel and cunning Yor’kesh Elves. It was the Norlands’ sacred duty to maintain a constant vigil against such incursions from the north, a task not to be taken lightly.

The Norlands had been charged with this mission since before many could remember, and that was the way the Norland clan preferred it. Long faded from Anolayan minds were the ancient ties the Norlands held with the Age of Magi. Their bonds to the otherworldly had haunted the dreams of the people for ages following the harsh restrictions placed on the use of magic and the fall of the great mages. Those dark days had changed the Norland clan forever, eternally branding them as outcasts among Anolaya’s fearful populace. The Norlands fled their persecutors, taking refuge in the ragged edge of Anolaya’s shared border with the Yor’kesh Highlands. The cursed lands...

Simone shivered as she reflected on the darker days of her ancestors’ history. After years spent in hiding along the cold and desolate northern border, the Norlands had proven their usefulness, quite accidently, when their stronghold was discovered by a diplomat from the capital. Thoroughly impressed by this forgotten family’s ability to thrive in the unforgiving northern wastelands, the diplomat took word of his discovery to the magistrate, who in turn presented the information to the king. Before they knew it, the Norlands had found themselves entrusted with the duty of keeping watch against the haunted Yor’kesh Highlands. As incentive, the Norlands were deeded the vast expanse of land lying to the far north of Anolaya, along with titles and the much coveted inclusion in Anolayan nobility to seal the bargain. So it was that the descendants of a band of exiles became a noble family. Their honor and prestige spread throughout the land of Anolaya as their tragic past was slowly forgotten.

Supposedly her ancestors were guilty of associating with the rogue mages. Their affiliation with these depraved men and women was the sole reason for their exile, but the bizarre insignia engraved upon the Norland amulet would never allow Simone to forget the darker aspects of her ancestors’ nature. As she stared at the ghastly image still quite vivid upon her pale palm, she felt her scalp prickle and her skin begin to crawl.

Simone sighed as she passed the imprinted hand over her face and began massaging her temples. This was no time to be reminiscing of days long gone, not when she was sitting alone in a dark, secluded room without even the company of her family. In addition to Simone and her sister Vivienne, the Baron Thurston Norland and his wife Edena had two sons, Duncan and Corbin, who served proudly in their father’s personal guard. Sometimes it would be several long months before any other nobles passed through, and other than the various servants and guardsmen, it was merely the six of them, going about their lives in their own little piece of the world.

It wasn’t fair. Although Simone was perfectly content to live out her life in her lonely corner of the world, she didn’t want to be locked away like some dark secret or the bane of her family’s proud heritage. She wasn’t mad, even though the only ones who seemed to believe this were Vivienne and Corbin. Vivienne would never stand quietly by and allow her unjust imprisonment to endure for much longer, for the two sisters were very close. And dear Corbin, who was between Vivienne and Simone in age, was nearly as upset about Simone’s confinement as Simone herself.

As if summoned by her thoughts, there was a soft rasping sound at the door. Corbin appeared a moment later, all smiles and bright eyes despite the grim situation.

“How is my baby sister today?” he asked, entering the room bearing a tray laden with food from the kitchen. The tray was piled high with breads and cheeses. There was even a roast pheasant among the delectables Corbin had selected for her.

“Cook will skin you alive if she catches you pilfering from her kitchen again.” Simone took a slice of crusty bread and nibbled at one corner thoughtfully. “And to answer your question, I am pretty much the same as yesterday: alone and locked in a suite against my will.”

“Any retribution the cook can dish out is well worth it if this small repast can make you smile.”

Simone was enjoying the cheese flavored with exotic peppers imported from the south. The peppers lent a spicy heat to the otherwise rich and creamy cheese, but not so much that it was unbearable. Corbin was well aware it was one of her favorites when he made the selection, and she had to admit, it was pleasing to enjoy even such a simple pleasure these days.

“Thank you,” Simone murmured, some of the ice in her heart melting at the genuine affection in her brother’s smile. “I don’t know what I would do without you and Vivienne coming by every day to cheer me up. Go as crazy as they claim I am, most probably.” She managed a chuckle at her feeble attempt at humor.

“You’re not mad,” Corbin said, the sudden intensity of his voice shocking Simone. After regaining his composure, he added, “Don’t let them trick you into believing you are.” He picked at the pheasant a moment before blurting, “I’ve had them as well. The visions, I mean.”

Simone’s hands began shaking uncontrollably, and she dropped the bread crust into her lap. “You’ve seen them? That should prove that I’m not insane.”

“I’ve seen visions, but I don’t think mine are nearly as vivid as yours. Have you experienced any more?” Corbin asked hesitantly.

“Every time I close my eyes.” Simone drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She’d had very little sleep for days, and it was starting to fatigue her. But she dared not close her eyes or extinguish her faintly flickering candle for fear of what the darkness would bring.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Corbin asked, purpose underscoring his every word.

Simone squeezed her eyes shut and then quickly opened them again. “It looks like blood magic is about to be revived in Anolaya, and along with it, all manner of horrendous things.”

Chapter 2

Tibolt made his way through the stockyards and past the gallows of the stately Purgatory. As he looked to the sky, thick and overcast with oppressive gray clouds, the massive stone structure seemed to be grinning down upon him, malice twinkling in its dark visage. Beginning to doubt his source’s information about the place, Tibolt paused in uncertainty. It was during this brief silence that he heard voices coming from the backyards of the prison, proof that life did exist in this morbid place.

Rounding the corner of the building, Tibolt found a small clearing, where a burly man was sharpening a large and formidable axe.

“Is there something I might assist you with?” an equally burly prison matron said, so suddenly that Tibolt jumped back with a start. Eyeing Tibolt’s armor and the animal head emblazoned upon the breastplate in a shade of deep crimson, she added more hospitably, “You must be Sir Tibolt. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Pleased,” Tibolt said with a polite bow. “You bestow unwarranted honor upon me by addressing me thusly. I am certainly not a knight.”

“I am quite aware of that.” The matron narrowed her eyes at Tibolt as the two made their way around to the front of the prison. “So what interest could a place like this possibly hold for the Legion of Blood, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“We are seeking new recruits.”

“In a prison? Oh, Sir, do go on.”

“It’s the truth.” Tibolt’s face remained as stoic and unreadable as a statue’s. “The Legion has suddenly found itself extremely shorthanded, and the most obvious way to gather new recruits is to enlist any… persons of interest. We have heard rumors of a powerful young Blood Mage imprisoned within the confines of this impressive establishment.”

The matron’s expression quickly sobered. “You want her? After she killed her family in cold blood? Do you really think you can trust her?”

“Her crimes mean nothing to the Legion. Power is the key as is the will to do whatever is necessary in order to survive. From what I have heard, this woman has just the sort of cruel cunning we are seeking. As for trusting her, well, we have ways of keeping unruly recruits under control.”

The woman blanched at the implication of his words. It was common knowledge that few recruits in the Legion of Blood actually survived their training to become full-fledged Legionnaires.

“Now,” Tibolt persisted, “where is this woman? I’m sorry to be abrupt, but I don’t have all day.”

Suddenly the matron’s eyes flew open wide, and she spun around toward the backyard. Moving more swiftly than Tibolt would have expected of a woman of her stout structure, she began running in the direction of the man who had been sharpening his axe. Unsure of the proper course of action in such a situation, Tibolt followed.

In the yard there now stood a young woman, barely more than a girl really, her hair cropped short in the manner of prisoners and asylum patients. She was tall and lean, the rough fabric of the prison uniform clinging loosely about her body. Her hands were manacled behind her, and she was wearing similar chains around her ankles. When the matron and Tibolt came to a halt, the girl looked up, her dark eyes fearlessly meeting Tibolt’s. There was no emotion there, no sorrow or hatred, only twin pools of darkness as deep as they were hollow.

“Whew!” the matron exhaled, panting from her exertion. “Thank all that is holy that you haven’t yet carried out your duties.”

The executioner grunted. “No killing today?”

“Not today.” The matron affirmed his supposition. “There has been a change in plans, it seems. As for you,” she turned toward the shackled girl, “it seems that you have been spared from your deserved fate, at least for a while longer.” The girl remained unfazed as the matron went on. “You are to accompany this gentleman to the northern lands, where it will be decided if you are qualified to join the Legion of Blood.” When the girl still said nothing, the matron turned back to Tibolt. “All right, then. Shall I leave her bound so she doesn’t get any ideas of escaping? She is a devious one, she is.”

“Remove the restraints,” Tibolt ordered, surprising everyone present, including the determinedly calm and impassive girl. “I’m sure you have greater use for such implements than I.”

The matron looked hesitant but nodded at his order. “As you wish.”

Tibolt watched the matron set to work unshackling the girl, never taking her eyes off her. Apparently the prison staff had reason to fear and mistrust this well-formed, stoic girl. Only time would tell if she was destined for the Legion of Blood, Tibolt thought sadly, wondering whether his presence had saved her, or he was merely transferring her from one miserable fate to another.

Although Logan watched calmly as the matron went about unlocking the shackles securing her feet, she contemplated kicking the hateful woman as she smugly grinned down at her. Surely she would be able to get away with such a thing, for if the Legion of Blood truly wanted her, there would be nothing the matron or anybody else could do against her. The Legion of Blood was highly revered in Anolaya, almost sacred, and its word was written in stone. In the end, Logan decided to wait patiently while the matron unbound her wrists, content to smile to herself at her imagined acts of retribution.

When Logan was freed, the gentleman in the suit of armor nodded and said, “Thank you.”

Logan scrutinized his breastplate intently from where she stood. Upon it was emblazoned an animal’s head, its maw open as it roared at whoever gazed upon it. The edges were blurred, as if the image was formed by the splattering of blood, and this detail made the species of the animal indiscernible. At first Logan thought it was a wolf, but it might also have been one of the large cats which were so common in the northern mountains where the stronghold of the Legion of Blood was located.

As if suddenly sensing Logan’s curious gaze, the man turned and smiled at her. Logan instinctively recoiled at the unwarranted kindness, for certainly there was no reason for anyone to be kind to her. Once the matron and the executioner were satisfied, or at least pacified, he moved over to join her.

“You must be Logan.” The smile still lingered at the corners of his mouth. “You may call me Tibolt, and, as the matron mentioned earlier, I am an envoy of the Legion of Blood. You have been given a second chance, Logan.” He gestured toward the trees in the yard, their new leaves small and weak but nonetheless budding forth on that early spring morning. “Just as the world begins anew on this day, you too shall have the opportunity to rise again, like a phoenix from the ashes of its own demise. Is there anything you need before we set off? Anyone in Rielzen you wish to bid farewell?”

“No,” Logan choked out, the reality of the situation hitting her at last. She was actually leaving Purgatory with her life. It was a miracle she had dared not hope for, and yet here she was, alive and unshackled, and for the first time in years, she had the prospect of a future before her. For reasons unknown, fate had spared her from the axe. “I have nothing. No personal belongings, no friends.” She paused, swallowed past the lump in her throat, and added bitterly, “No family.”

“Then you and I have more in common than you could possibly realize,” Tibolt rumbled, leaving Logan to ponder over his cryptic words.

What was more puzzling to Logan, perhaps, was why the Legion of Blood would suddenly take an interest in her, such a profound interest, it seemed, that it would draft her into its ranks on the very day of her long-awaited execution. Whatever the Legion wanted with her, one truth remained: Logan’s life had been spared. The only problem with this, of course, was that Logan was unsure if she should rejoice at this second chance, to be the phoenix, as Tibolt had described it, or refuse to be inducted into the ranks of the secret Order and face whatever consequences resulted from such a blatant rejection.

Ultimately, Logan decided to be the phoenix, for even though she hadn’t planned on living past this day, the world was vast, the future fraught with endless possibilities. Who knew what fate held in store for her. One thing was certain. If her destiny was so important that her life would be spared at literally the last moment, then she would not take her second chance for granted.

* * *

Thurston Norland sat at the head of the long table in the dining hall, his brow furrowed in a deep scowl as he listened to his eldest daughter and youngest son speak.

“Simone and I are experiencing the same sort of visions,” Corbin said. “They must certainly herald the coming of dark times, the likes of which have not been seen since the Age of Magi.”

“I admit,” Vivienne began hesitantly, “even I’ve been influenced by the same dreams and visions as my siblings. Only I was afraid to say anything before now.”

They watched as their father leaned forward on his elbows, his head held in his hands as he thought about the implications of their words.

“That’s absolutely preposterous,” Duncan, their oldest brother, said from across the table. Unlike Vivienne, Corbin, and Simone, who had inherited their father’s fiery red hair, Duncan took after their mother, with straw-colored hair and a slightly darker complexion than his siblings. Duncan also possessed Edena Norland’s sharp tongue and harsh skepticism, traits that had led to more than a few arguments with his father and siblings.

“You know as well as I that the Legion of Blood can handle any stray packs of Witherbeast that might come in from the north,” he continued. “Those warriors are nearly as savage and merciless as the monsters they are sworn to slay. Each time the Legion of Blood inflicts its damage on the Witherbeast population, it takes it a good decade for the monsters to recover to sufficient numbers to be of any threat to Anolaya.”

Duncan spoke the truth. The Legion of Blood, long revered for their deft abilities at thwarting Witherbeast invasions, had practically eradicated the demons seven years earlier, driving the few survivors back into the mountains of the far north from whence they had come. It was these survivors that would ultimately ensure the future of the horde, but seven years did not seem like sufficient time for the offspring to mature into full-fledged adults, capable of wreaking havoc on all they encountered.

“All we ask is that you hear us out,” Vivienne said with a sigh. “As the Guardians of the North, it is our sworn duty to remain vigilant against our northern borders, even in times of peace. Or need I remind you of that?”

It was their mother, Edena Norland, who spoke next, breaking her silence for the first time that evening. “Your father and I need no reminding as to our reason for being here. It is the purpose which drives us. What other reason could there be for us to remain in these harsh, forsaken hills, so close to the northern wastelands?” Her smile was wan. “Perhaps we have been too hard on Simone, too quick to dismiss her visions as hysteria.”

Thurston smiled warmly at his wife. “As usual, you’re the voice of reason in my otherwise chaotic life. We shall go to Simone immediately and examine the information she presents to us. And in the future,” he looked pointedly at Vivienne and Corbin, “I will not be so quick to judge.”

Vivienne and Corbin shot a quick glance at one another, each beaming inwardly at their small victory over their parents.

Chapter 3

The northern nights were bitterly cold, so cold that Logan nearly longed for the nights she had spent locked away in Purgatory. The days were scarcely any better in the rugged region surrounding Broken Fang, the stronghold of the Legion of Blood. Appropriately named, Broken Fang jutted from the mountainous terrain, the top of the tallest tower ending abruptly in a jagged and uneven slant. From this soaring vantage point, one could see for many leagues in all directions, but it was the mystery-enshrouded land to the north which was the Legion’s primary concern. Founded in the final days of the Age of Magi, the Legion of Blood existed solely to drive out and exterminate any fell beasts which might have survived from those dark times. And survivors there were, for there were numerous occasions throughout Anolaya’s history where the land had come under attack by hordes of the bloodthirsty Witherbeast.

Long thwarted by the Legion of Blood, the Witherbeast had somehow managed to endure despite the losses they suffered at the hands of the Legion. The two were mortal enemies, each bent on the destruction of the other. But the Legion had a slight advantage over their beastly nemesis. A Legionnaire’s blood was lethal to the foul creatures; one crimson drop was enough to bring about an agonizing end to an adult Witherbeast.

Such a precaution was necessary, Logan reminded herself. The Witherbeast themselves had once been human; men and women transformed into grotesquely misshapen beings by avarice and their lust for power. During the Age of Magi, Blood Mages, corrupted by their use of the Dark Arts, had sought to gain the raw strength and agility of beasts. Instead their bodies were forever changed, altered not into the graceful forms of animals as they had wished, but into the hideous shapes of demons. Along with their horrific appearance, this misuse of magic also brought an intense hunger, an insatiable appetite for human flesh. Starving for the flesh of what they had once been, these first Witherbeast ravaged Anolaya, annihilating entire villages in a single night. What was worse, those who managed to survive an attack by the Witherbeast were faced with a dreadful fate, for the bite of those monstrosities was highly infectious, changing the unfortunate victim into one of their own. In this manner, the numbers of Witherbeast grew rapidly, their taint spreading to all they touched. If the Witherbeast had been allowed to continue their rampage unchecked, the unsuspecting world would surely have been doomed.

That was when the Legion of Blood stepped in. With their incredible endurance and almost supernatural abilities, these warriors alone were qualified to stand against the Witherbeast. In a few short weeks, the Witherbeast numbers were brought under control, and what remained of the horde was driven past Anolaya’s northern borders, into the dark heart of the Yor’kesh Highlands.

The Legion of Blood’s solemn oath to excellence and vigilance still persevered, and each new initiate was expected to perform under even the most grueling circumstances. A chill north wind blew in from the Yor’kesh Highlands, the last remnants of a harsh northern winter that was determined it would not be so easily forgotten by those foolish enough to call the mountains home. Constantly battering the ancient fortress, the gale was strong enough to tatter the banner bearing the cryptic insignia of the Legion of Blood, and cold enough to chill a person through to the marrow of their bones. Through it all, Logan was forced to endure intense physical challenges and even tougher mental exercises, as she underwent her training as a Legion of Blood initiate. There were times when she thought of running away in the night, for facing the unknown perils the northern wastelands had to offer could surely be no worse than what the Legion was subjecting her to. There were even those times when, in a moment of despair, she considered begging to be taken back to Purgatory and her past due date with the executioner’s axe.

Somehow, though, Logan managed to survive, learning at length to overcome the endless onslaught of Legionnaires launching themselves at her, weapons drawn and ready for the kill should she make even one fatal error. Although Logan was one of very few women Legionnaires, she soon became cunning and skilled enough to best any of her male colleagues. Her reflexes were so quick and sharply honed that not a single one of the other initiates could best her.

Logan’s progress did not go unnoticed. In fact, Logan herself had witnessed how her body had changed since her departure from the capital. Once scrawny and malnourished, her lean body was now lithe, elegant, and taut with muscle from her many hours of physical training. Pausing at a fountain to wash her face after a victorious match, she took a moment to look upon the reflection of the woman gazing back at her.

Almost a stranger to herself, Logan initially shrank away from the intensity of the chestnut brown eyes, for in the prison they had been denied luxuries such as a mirror, lest one of the inmates shatter it and attempt to use a shard as a weapon. She wasn’t an unattractive woman, she finally decided, no matter that she’d often felt ugly and wretched since that fateful day in her childhood, the day of her family’s death. Memories of blood flooded her mind every time she recalled that grisly scene, though after her recent training, the sea of crimson did not seem so suffocating. Overcoming the natural aversion to blood and death was part of the training required to become a Legionnaire, thus Logan had been exposed to a great deal of it. Corpses of those brave enough to venture into the Witherbeast breeding grounds were brought back to the keep, their bodies so mauled and masticated it was often difficult to discern that they had ever been human at all. At first Logan had thought it a horrid custom, but now she realized it was meant to prepare them, so they would not blanch in the midst of battle.

As she leaned on her elbows and gazed at the curious reflection of the young woman in the fountain, Logan became aware of a presence approaching from her right. A long shadow fell across the water, obscuring her reflection as Tibolt joined her.

“I see you have given yet another raw recruit a proper trouncing,” he said merrily, reclining against the fountain beside her.

“Arrogant bastard was practically begging for it,” she replied gruffly. “Such a fool should not be allowed to fight Witherbeast.”

“We shall see.”

Tibolt sighed, then looked away sadly. Confused by his sudden change in mood, Logan remained silent. After a while, Tibolt directed his gaze back to her.

“You’re of elven descent, aren’t you?”

His question took Logan by surprise. Flustered, she lowered her head and said, “I am a half-breed, though I know little enough of elven culture that it sometimes slips my mind. My fellow inmates wouldn’t let me forget it, though, and neither would the matrons. The way they treated me, you would think I was a Witherbeast come to feast on their flesh.”

Her reflection gazed back at her from the water’s surface. Her sable hair had grown since her arrival at Broken Fang, the ragged edges now clipped into neatness, though Logan insisted on keeping it cropped short. The slightly pointed tips of her ears peeked through the strands, betraying her elven heritage.

“It must have been rough,” Tibolt continued. “If you don’t mind my asking, I would like to know more about the nature of your crime. You were but a girl when you were first taken into custody, were you not?”

Logan ducked her head lower. Actually, she did mind the asking, and if it had been anyone but old Tibolt, she would have given them a solid thump on the head with the pommel of her sword. But somehow she knew Tibolt meant no harm with his curiosity, and she felt she owed him an explanation of sorts.

“I didn’t kill them,” she announced solemnly. “The city guardsmen found me unconscious next to the bloody corpses of my family and their murderers, but I give you my word, I wasn’t the one who killed them. Not my family, anyway. Mother and Father were the world to me. I would never have caused any harm to befall them. I don’t know anything about the assassins who attacked them.”

Her eyes narrowed as she recalled the figures clad in heavy robes, their faces obscured by... Were they wearing masks? Or was the reason Logan failed to recall a single face from the incident because of the red mist that had clouded her vision?

“Your family’s attackers,” Tibolt gently prodded. “Did you kill them? Did you actually use blood magic?”

Logan shook her head, not surprised that Tibolt was aware of the charges brought against her. He probably wanted to hear her tale from her own lips. “I don’t remember. To think of those old memories is too painful. Other than the blood and the chaos, I remember nothing of that wretched day.”

There it was; the painful truth that had been haunting Logan for so long was finally out in the open. She couldn’t remember whether she had used the forbidden arts to exact vengeance on her parents’ murderers, whether she had called upon some latent ability which lay dormant within her. Her very obvious elven heritage had only further fueled the prevailing belief that she was a child prodigy, a Blood Mage and mystic by her very nature.

The Legion of Blood had somehow gotten word of this phenomenally talented young woman, even though Logan herself possessed not a single memory of how her destiny had been sealed. Tibolt’s knowledge of her alleged use of blood magic was proof enough of that. At last Logan knew why she’d been selected for this elite service. Now all there was for her was to wait until Tibolt dumped her back on the doorstep of Purgatory for deceiving him for so long.

“Oh?” he asked, apparently unfazed by Logan’s confession. “If your account is correct, and I have no reason to believe that it is not, then that could mean that you are innocent of your supposed crimes.”

“Yes.”

“In that case, you were wrongfully imprisoned for nearly a decade, subjected to tortures and cruelty no child should ever have to endure.”

Logan sighed. “You don’t believe me.”

“I never said that. You’re no murderer, any fool can see that. In fact, I suspected as much from the moment I met you.”

Logan opened her mouth to speak and then paused in uncertainty before saying, “If you have known all along of my innocence, then why go to such trouble to recruit me into the Legion of Blood? Clearly, I am not the ruthless, half-elf, child Blood Mage the rumors made me out to be. I was barely more than the starving waif daughter of a fur trapper.”

Tibolt laughed heartily, and the sound warmed Logan’s heart.

“You’re much more than that,” he assured her. “No mere waif could survive eight weeks of Legionnaire training and boast bragging rights over all other recruits.” Logan joined in his laughter. “You have a talent, Logan, though perhaps you don’t yet realize it. So, your parents were fur trappers?” he asked, unaware that the subject of Logan’s parents was scarcely more cheerful than that of her imprisonment and torment.

“My father was an elven warrior,” she began reluctantly, for she’d never discussed such matters with anyone before. “At least he was until he met my mother. From what I gather, Father’s clan wasn’t happy with his decision to enter into a union with a human woman. Mother and Father didn’t need anyone’s blessing to be happy, though, not as long as they had each other.” She smiled at the fond memory. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people more madly in love.” Her expression grew dark. “That is why Mother refused to leave his side, even when she knew that by staying she would...”

Tibolt waited patiently as Logan struggled with the dark memories that were raging within her, tormenting her beyond any physical pain that had been inflicted on her at Purgatory.

“Sorry,” she said finally. “I haven’t revisited those old memories in a very long time.”

“I should be the one to apologize. I never meant to cause you grief.”

“No,” Logan said sharply. “Don’t apologize. If I never learn to overcome this darkness, then I’ll never become strong enough to fight for the Legion.”

Tibolt thoughtfully considered Logan’s forced courage and then said, “I think that perhaps you’re missing the point, Logan. In order to attain true strength, one must first find something they believe is worth fighting for, not a traumatic past they want to run away from.”

Logan reflected on his words for a moment. “Do you believe I can do it? That I can become a fierce warrior, with or without the use of blood magic?” she asked, her usually strong alto sounding tentative and shaky to her own ears.

Again it seemed as though something she’d said caused Tibolt physical pain. “We shall see,” he said, and then both of them fell silent as each withdrew into their own dark reverie.

Chapter 4

The day of the Initiation was overcast. The ominous black clouds hanging overhead promised to assail the world with the wrath of the very heavens. Such thunderstorms had become common as the summer progressed, even as far north as the Yor’kesh Highlands. The days had grown so hot and sticky, in fact, that Logan looked forward to the afternoon downpours, for at least the rain would wash away some of the sweat and grime. But not even the humidity could dampen her spirits on this day, not with the looming prospect of her at long last becoming a full-fledged Legionnaire.

It was surprising to Logan just how much she had come to anticipate her acceptance into the Legion of Blood. Too many years had passed since she remembered yearning so for anything. At one time, she had longed for the day marking her twenty-first year in this world and her death which would inevitably follow, but now she saw those days as no more than another nightmare, one that she’d awakened from at long last. And yet, her happiness was constantly pervaded by a rising fear that the thing for which she longed would be snatched away from her when it was so close that she could nearly touch it.

Logan gave herself a mental shake as she stretched her arms above her head. Worrying about things never solved anything, she reminded herself; it only caused more grief. She had learned that long ago. But in spite of herself, she couldn’t quell the rising excitement threatening to overwhelm her better judgment. She was well aware that the Initiation was not going to be easy, yet she looked forward to the challenge. There was electricity in the air around the Legion’s stronghold that day; there was no denying that.

Several of Logan’s fellow initiates had already been escorted away, to prove themselves worthy through this final challenge. It was some time more before Tibolt entered the great hall where Logan had been instructed to wait, catching Logan in the middle of a grand yawn.

Tibolt laughed at Logan’s startled expression. “I see you’re eager to get started, as usual. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting this long,” he said, his expression becoming serious once again, “but preparations had to be made for each of the initiates. Some arrangements... funeral arrangements.”

If Logan’s shock showed, it was for only the briefest of instances, and then she willed her quiet reserve and steadfast determination to return to her features. “I should have known it was too good to be true.” Bitterness was clear in her voice. “There’s no way Purgatory would have released me if there was even the slightest chance I might someday regain my freedom, no matter if the Legion of Blood or anyone else ordered them to do so.”

“The same arrangements have been made for each of the new recruits, regardless of their background,” Tibolt pointed out. “I won’t lie to you, Logan, the Initiation is a dangerous procedure and has claimed the lives of many young Legionnaires-to-be over the years.”

“Is that the reason behind all the secrecy?” Logan had heard many rumors regarding the Legion of Blood, including some stating that the Legionnaires were scarcely more civilized than the demons they were sworn to slay. More troubling still, other rumors linked them to sorcery and mysticism.

“That constitutes one of the reasons for our clandestine nature,” Tibolt affirmed. “For now, however, I am not at liberty to share with you the rest of it. Please, come with me.” He motioned for Logan to join him.

Although there were a myriad of questions circling in Logan’s mind, she followed without argument. Whatever surprises the Legion had in store for her, they surely weren’t as absolute as the fate set for her at Purgatory.

Logan was escorted to a vast subterranean chamber beneath Broken Fang. The cavernous nature of the vault indicated that it had been formed more by nature than the hands of man. Evidence of humanity’s modifications was visible along each side of the cavern, where a series of large doors were barred and sealed, standing out from the surrounding rock. Logan marveled that despite her months at the keep, she had failed to gain knowledge of this expansive underground area, but she supposed it was meant to be kept the strictest of secrets due to the role it played in the Initiation.

There were six massive doors cut into the stone, Logan noted, one for each of the initiates. Whether this was intended or merely coincidence, she did not know, but she did find it odd and rather unsettling.

They came to a halt in front of the door in the farthest corner of the west wing of the chamber, where two heavily armed and armored Legionnaires awaited them. Taking the proffered sword from one of the men, Tibolt turned to Logan and extended the sword to her, hilt first.

“You have earned the right to wield a true blade of the Legion of Blood.” He motioned for Logan to hand over her practice sword in exchange for the real one. “Whatever happens henceforth, you have attained the honor of fighting and dying as a Legionnaire.”

Logan took the sword and respectfully bowed her head to Tibolt. She hefted the weapon in her hands. The broadsword was heavy but well-balanced, its length nearly half of Logan’s height. The guard curved outward elegantly, like brilliant rays of sunshine, and the pommel was fashioned in the shape of the head of a snarling beast. Somehow the sword felt appropriate in her hands, the solid weight of it complementing her strength as though it were an extension of her own body. Sliding the blade out of the sheath a few inches, she saw that it was very sharp.

When Logan raised her gaze from her examination of her new weapon, she saw Tibolt waiting patiently.

“It is to your liking, then?” he asked.

“The best I ever saw.” Although Logan had limited experience with weapons, she had never beheld a sword quite like it. “I am honored, Sir,” she added with a quick bow of her head.

“Then the Initiation shall commence.” Tibolt snapped his fingers, and immediately the two Legionnaires began sliding back the massive bolt holding the door in place. “The final step in completing your Rite of Initiation lies in the subterranean chambers beyond this door. It is not an easy challenge to overcome, but as you can see by the presence of me and my colleagues here, it can be done. Good luck, Logan.” He grasped her shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. “You will need it.”

No sooner had Logan crossed the threshold into the dark passage than she heard the sound of the immense door being shut and fastened behind her. “Wonderful,” she muttered. She took a few stumbling steps forward while her eyes adjusted to the gloom.

The rough-hewn tunnel was sporadically lit by torches set into makeshift sconces along the wall. It appeared that whoever was in charge of lighting the way had done so in a hurry, for some of the torches had been left unlit altogether. Logan noticed that this was especially true of the torches farther along the passage. In fact, it looked as though no one had been so deep within the tunnel in a good many years. Forced to backtrack a ways and retrieve one of the lit torches from its sconce, Logan then continued the job left undone by whoever was there before her, lighting her way and marking her progress with flame.

Logan was beginning to believe that the tunnel burrowed right through the earth and that its travelers were fated to wander for all eternity, when at last she reached an area where the passage broadened into a chamber, much like the one from which she had begun her journey. Thinking that perhaps this was the chamber where she’d left Tibolt and the two Legionnaires, she strode swiftly and purposefully toward the far side of the room. After only a few steps, she realized that she was not alone.

There was a faint snuffling from somewhere to her right, a sound like that of an animal scenting its prey. Pausing midstride, Logan slowly turned and extended the torch toward the sound in a feeble attempt to pierce the darkness. She heard more sniffing, followed by a guttural growl like nothing she’d heard before, and then all was silent. The silence was far worse than even the growling had been, and Logan dared not move a muscle as she stood and strained her eyes against the darkness.

Suddenly a deafening roar tore through the underground chamber, shaking the ground until Logan feared that the ceiling would cave in above her. The roar faded until it became a growl, a low menacing sound that slithered along Logan’s spine and rattled her bones with its vibrations. She sensed something behind her and whirled around in time for the light from her torch to illuminate the most horrid creature she had ever laid eyes on.

Standing on its hind legs like a man as it lurched away from the flame, the beast was covered in shaggy fur and taller than any man Logan had ever seen. Its head was massive and misshapen, the ears resembling those of a wolf but the muzzle broad and square, like a great feline. Logan was offered a generous glimpse of its lethal fangs as it crouched low and bared its teeth in a cruel grin, the canines as long as daggers. It was a Witherbeast. Logan had never actually seen one for herself, but from the accounts she’d heard from the other Legionnaires, there could be no mistaking the identity of this creature.

In one fluid motion, Logan reached over her shoulder and drew her sword, although even such a weapon suddenly seemed futile against the fangs and claws of a Witherbeast. The blade sang as it came free of its sheath, the flash of metal catching the beast’s eye and destroying any advantage Logan had over it. The Witherbeast, no longer stunned by the brightly burning torch, cast all its reservations aside and leapt forward, hitting Logan squarely in the chest and pinning her to the ground. The torch rolled just out of her reach, the shadows cast by its light sinisterly warped as the Witherbeast slashed at Logan’s armor with its long, razor-sharp claws.

Impressively, those claws managed to shred through the blackened steel breastplate bearing the image of the beast’s own bloodied head upon it. Logan felt the jagged tips score her flesh beneath the chain mail and instinctively twisted and convulsed as the pain lanced through her.

Momentarily stunned by the wailing and thrashing form beneath it, the Witherbeast drew back long enough for Logan, in a fit of agony and despair, to raise her sword. Once the Witherbeast saw the flashing of the blade in the light, its anger was renewed, and it lunged forward once again, taking Logan’s shoulder in its gaping maw. Logan felt rather than heard the crunch of her armor as those deadly fangs pierced through the metal like hot knives through butter, then a shaft of pain coursed through her body, and she brought the sword up as a reflex.

The Witherbeast released its hold on Logan as it howled in pain and fury, the very earth beneath them trembling with its defiant rage. Logan lunged forward the best she could, driving the blade in deeper and twisting as the Witherbeast began to slash at her with its sharp claws. Using all the strength she could muster, Logan forced the sword into an upward sweep, slashing open the beast’s chest and filleting it like a fish. The Witherbeast’s red eyes burned with fury and hatred as it growled and sputtered over the blood filling its mouth. Finally, after a fit of racking convulsions, it fell to the ground.

Logan collapsed next to the beast in a pool of spreading crimson, unable to discern whether it belonged to her or the Witherbeast. The world before her was stained scarlet, slowly fading to black as the last remaining ounce of energy drained from her. She was dying. As much as Logan had anticipated the moment of her death during her long stay at Purgatory, now that it was upon her, she found herself regretting all that might have been. Logan might very well have been lost in the darkness forever if not for a pair of voices conversing somewhere above her.

“...lost a lot of blood...do you think she will make it?”

The sporadic voice came and went, as if the speaker was drifting through a dense fog. The fog, however, only existed in Logan’s mind, for when she next opened her eyes, she was greeted by the image of Tibolt leaning over her, a deep scowl on his face as he examined her injuries. Logan tried to speak, but only a small whimpering sound emerged.

Tibolt noticed her action and motioned to the other Legionnaire. “Bring it to me,” he said. “Quickly.” Logan saw him reach for something that was out of her field of vision, and then he turned back to her and asked gently, “Do you think you can swallow?”

Still unable to find her voice, Logan nodded weakly. She was startled as the rim of a goblet was pressed between her lips, and she nearly choked as a foul liquid filled her mouth. There was the sensation of a large hand sliding under the back of her head, and Tibolt cradled her gently as he held the goblet to her mouth once more. The thick, hot liquid was unlike anything Logan ever tasted before, bitter and metallic, like the taste of blood, only dirtier somehow. Logan tried to turn her head to spit it out, but Tibolt held her fast.

“You must drink it,” he implored.

Something urgent, desperate, in the way in which he spoke renewed Logan’s determination. Taking Tibolt’s wrist in her hand in a grip that should have been beyond the strength of someone who was half-dead, she brought the goblet and its horrid contents to her lips and began gulping it for all she was worth.

When every last drop of the vile drink had been drained, Logan let the goblet slip through her fingers. Bouncing off her ruined breastplate, it then clattered loudly to the ground, the sound echoing ominously in the dark cavern.

“What... what was that stuff?” Logan managed to ask, suddenly feeling much stronger. Strong enough to raise her head up on her own. Strong enough to take in her surroundings, which was the subterranean vault where she’d encountered the Witherbeast. Stronger than anyone who had so recently survived such an ordeal should have been.

A few paces away, lying on the ground in a lake of its own blood, was the Witherbeast carcass, its chest cut open and its heart removed. Looking upon this scene in dazed fascination, Logan unconsciously wiped at her mouth. When her hand came away, remnants of the liquid clung to it, the red darkening to black as it dried.

“You have completed the final step in the Legion of Blood training,” Tibolt said, quite cheerlessly considering this should have been good news. “You have slain a Witherbeast, and in doing so, incurred injuries that surely would have been fatal if not for the countermeasure we have given you.”

Logan was speechless, only this time it wasn’t from weakness. Her left shoulder ached and throbbed where the Witherbeast’s fangs had scored her flesh, reminding her sharply of the nature of her wounds: A Witherbeast had bitten her, and she had survived. Logan’s hand trembled violently as she reached toward the source of the searing pain, seeking absolute confirmation that this wasn’t some horrible nightmare. Her fingers came away bloody, though not as bloody as she had expected.

“It bit me,” she announced solemnly. Her voice cracked as she repeated, “The Witherbeast bit me.”

“I know.” Tibolt nodded gravely. “But there is no need to despair just yet. All Legionnaires must face the fangs of a Witherbeast at some point, so we veteran members of the Order are not ill prepared. All that has happened today was necessary, Logan,” he added cryptically.

Logan could still taste the acrid liquid in her mouth and looked to where she’d dropped the goblet. A trail of blood dribbled down her breastplate, spattering an uneven trail along the ground until it reached the goblet. The Witherbeast’s carcass lay beyond, its heart cut out and discarded next to its bloody body. Logan didn’t recall cutting out the beast’s heart, nor did she have any idea why the heart was in such a shoddy shape, flattened and drained, as if a portion of it had been ground to a pulp.

“You mentioned a countermeasure,” she said, not certain she wanted to know the truth.

“There is a reason we are called the Legion of Blood,” Tibolt said, and Logan quickly returned her attention to him.

Although Tibolt was speaking softly, his voice suddenly seemed too loud to Logan’s ears, almost unbearably so. There were other sounds, as well, and light and colors she could not recall seeing before. Above it all she could hear the steady drumming of her own heart, and beyond that, the heartbeats of Tibolt and the Legionnaire, the one who had been dubious about her survival only moments before.

It was too much. Logan raised her head, and she thought she might have been laughing, though she was too delirious to know for sure. Then the sound became too much, and she clutched her head in her hands in an attempt to shut it out. The world reeled beneath her, the earth’s own deep pulse pounding against the ground on which she was sitting, and then everything went dark.

Chapter 5

The atmosphere at the Norland estate had been peaceful since Vivienne and Corbin had successfully convinced their parents to free Simone from her confinement, but beneath the pleasant façade of calm, nothing had changed. The visions still haunted Simone every time she closed her eyes, and if Vivienne and Corbin felt the horrors she sensed, that meant the visions were more than delusions. If anything, Simone’s visions were becoming more frequent and more vivid, with each night seemingly bringing her closer to something, though she knew not what.

Thurston Norland still refused to believe Simone’s claims that there was to be a cataclysm in the coming winter, as did Duncan, but Edena Norland was somewhat more sympathetic.

“There is nothing to worry about,” her mother had reassured Simone at least a thousand times over the weeks since her visions began. “If the Witherbeast were on the move, don’t you think your father would know about it? And as for the few strays that crop up from time to time, the Legion of Blood will deal with them. They always do.”

Simone knew this was true. Rumors claimed that the Legion of Blood was as ruthless and cunning as the beasts it hunted. But what if a few stragglers managed to sneak past the Legion’s stronghold and into the land of Anolaya?

When Simone voiced this concern to her mother, Edena replied, “Witherbeast don’t possess the power to think and reason. They are nothing more than mindless animals with an insatiable appetite for dining on human flesh. What you suggest personifies them, gives them the ability to plot a sneak attack on the northern lands. I assure you, we have nothing to worry about from that quarter.”

“But, Mother, is our line not descended from the Bound?” Simone’s seemingly innocent question caused Edena’s breath to catch in her chest. “You know,” Simone prodded. “From the days before blood magic was forbidden in Anolaya, even before the Legion of Blood was officially formed, when the king’s army needed all the help it could get. The Norland clan’s foundations can be traced back to those days, can they not? Back to the Witherbeast that could become human through the use of blood magic?”

“Don’t speak of such things,” Edena growled. “Silly fables, no more. Witherbeast becoming human? Ha! I’ve never heard anything more ludicrous in all my days. Really, Simone,” she added in a gentler voice, “you should find better ways to occupy your time than sitting around daydreaming about old legends.”

“But don’t all legends contain some grain of truth?”

Edena turned cold, hard eyes on Simone. “Truth? What is true is that once someone has been infected by the Witherbeast, there is no turning back. Your soul withers; your body changes. You become bloodthirsty and ravenous, a monster, and then you eventually die. But don’t worry about the Witherbeast developing the ability to reason,” she added dismissively. “Whatever atrocities transpired in the Age of Magi, blood magic has been forever banned in Anolaya. Even if the Witherbeast once possessed such amazing transformation abilities, those individuals have long been vanquished from this world. And with such a high price to pay for being a Blood Mage, I doubt anyone would dare to repeat the actions of those so long ago. Furthermore, if Witherbeast of any variety somehow manage to make it past the Legion of Blood’s stronghold and into our realm, your father will know of it.”

Simone didn’t share her mother’s conviction in the matter, but she said no more. Edena believed fiercely in the abilities of her husband and his army, and once she had something so firmly ingrained in her head, she could be impossible to convince otherwise.

Many times over the years, Corbin had regaled Simone with tales of the mysterious Yor’kesh Highlands, of the Bound from which their family was rumored to be descended, and of how the Blood Mages of old had created the Bound and forced them to be loyal servants in the war against the Witherbeast. He had also told her how, once the war was over, the Bound were mercilessly hunted down and executed for being what they were. According to Corbin, a few individuals managed to elude the genocide campaign aimed at them, and they had gone on to survive in the remote regions of Anolaya disguised as ordinary humans. But the most surprising tale of all was when Corbin revealed to Simone that the Norlands were the descendants of those same exiled individuals. Curious as to the credibility of these stories, Simone had gone to Vivienne, who wasn’t as reluctant to deny the truth in them as their mother, though she was hesitant about going into any further detail involving the Norland bloodline.

Simone could understand Edena’s reservations about accepting as their family’s actual history, the garbled fragments of oral folk tales passed down through the generations. Sometimes Simone herself found it hard to believe that they could be related to the very monsters they were sworn to defend Anolaya against. However, detecting the presence of Witherbeast was much easier when some faint essence of the beast still remained within a bloodline. Even now, as she recalled her mother’s warning never to speak of the Bound again, Simone could feel the writhing, beastly essence within her struggling to be free of the human confines binding it.

Simone was pondering her earlier frustrations with her parents’ recalcitrance when she heard a soft knocking at her door. “Who is it?” she called nervously.

“It’s your favorite brother,” Corbin replied in a cheerful voice, “and I come bearing gifts.”

“Then, by all means, enter.”

Corbin had been raiding the kitchen again, and this time he brought some of the small pies filled with apples from the Norlands’ orchards as a treat.

“One of these days,” Simone said around a mouthful of the delicious pastry, “Cook is going to catch you. Then you will be in for it.”

Corbin laughed merrily. “Maybe. We’ll just have to see.”

Simone shook her head. Sometimes her brother could be so reckless. Perhaps that was why he could speak so easily about a topic which so greatly upset their mother and unnerved even the usually proud and bold Vivienne.

“What’s wrong?” Corbin asked when he noticed Simone had stopped eating the sweets he’d brought. “You look troubled.”

“It’s nothing,” Simone offered half-heartedly. She hesitated a moment, then said, “Could you tell me about the Bound again?”

“The Bound? Whatever for?”

“Please, Corbin, this is important.”

Corbin sighed. “Very well. What do you want to know?”

“Are we... are the Norlands truly descended from these creatures? I mentioned it to Mother, and she wasn’t too pleased with my inquisitiveness on the subject.”

“You brought up the Bound in front of Mother? Simone, do you want to find yourself locked away in a dark chamber again?” Simone’s complexion must have paled at the mention of being isolated again, for when next Corbin spoke, his voice had softened.

“I didn’t mean to sound so harsh,” he said apologetically. “I only wish you would be more cautious in the subjects you broach while in the presence of our esteemed parents. Some things are better left for just our ears.” He retreated into uncharacteristic silence, a dark expression settling over his usually cheerful features. When it became quite clear that Corbin was going to say no more on the matter, Simone took it upon herself to tactfully change the subject.

“So,” she said in conversational tones, “what brings you around at this time of day?”

“I’m getting ready to go out on patrol. I thought I would stop by for a visit before I leave.”

“And you thought to drop in and pilfer some sweets from the kitchen while you were at it?” Simone knew her brother well, but she much preferred his jovial pranks over his brooding silence.

This prompted a round of hearty laughter from Corbin. “The trail can be so dreadful, especially along the northern border.”

This detail captured Simone’s full attention. “You’re going to patrol near the Yor’kesh Highlands?”

Corbin nodded. “There have been reports of suspicious activity there. Of the human kind, not Witherbeast,” he added before Simone could give voice to her fears. “Small bands of travelers have gone missing. Father seems to think kidnapping could be involved, though for what purpose, we have yet to uncover. Wandering merchants wouldn’t bring a high ransom, so perhaps there is something more malicious behind this mystery. Try not to look so fretful, dear sister. You will have wrinkles long before your time.”

Simone had grown quiet and thoughtful as she listened to the details of the disappearances. “Are you certain humans are behind the abductions?” she asked, chewing on a fingernail, as was her wont when she was worried.

Brushing back the loose strands of Simone’s hair, Corbin gave her a courageous smile. “Not to worry. I’ll return in no time with this matter solved and behind us. I guarantee it.”

Simone wished her fears could be dispelled so easily, but something kept gnawing at the back of her mind, with teeth as deadly as the fangs of a Witherbeast.

* * *

Logan woke with the coppery tang of blood still lingering on her tongue, undeniable confirmation of the events that had unfolded the night before. She opened her eyes and was met with a blinding light that forced her to squeeze them shut again. Something wasn’t right. Everything was more sharply defined than it should have been. The birds singing outside, the drumming of her own heart within her chest—it was all almost unbearably loud in the peaceful serenity of the Yor’kesh Highlands. Her sense of smell was now maddeningly acute as well, and scent alone was enough to tell her that she was not alone in the room.

Slowly opening her eyes to avoid the onslaught of light she’d just experienced, Logan cleared her throat to signal to her guest that she was awake. Surprised to find that the room was lit only by a single burning candle, she averted her sensitive eyes from the dancing flame and sought out her visitor.

Tibolt sat in a chair against the opposite wall, beaming cheerfully as he leaned forward. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a Witherbeast chewed me up and spat me out.” The wounds to Logan’s chest and shoulder had been cleaned and dressed, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust at the many scents that assailed her nostrils. She’d never found the pungent aroma of medicinal herbs particularly pleasing, but now the smell nearly choked her.

Laughing at Logan’s foul mood, Tibolt rose and stood at her bedside. After examining the gashes on her shoulder, he looked closely into Logan’s eyes. “You’re healing properly,” he said, taking her wrist and checking her pulse rate. “Everything seems to be functioning as it should. You seem calm and rational. Have you noticed anything unusual?”

“You mean besides encountering a Witherbeast and living to tell about it? No.” Logan’s voice sounded unbearably loud to her own ears. She attempted to raise her hands to cover her ears and found that her arms were bound at her side. Similar bindings secured her waist and legs as well.

“What is this place?” she demanded, noticing for the first time that this room wasn’t her own but was completely unknown to her. The solitary window in the far corner was secured with a crisscrossing set of metal bars. It reminded Logan rather startlingly of her prison cell. Panic washed over her like a tidal wave. “This isn’t the infirmary,” she growled as she struggled to be free of the restraints. “Where have you taken me? Why am I being confined?”

Tibolt attempted to reassure her. “A necessary precaution.” Logan continued to thrash about, threatening to further aggravate her injuries. “All Legionnaires who survive the Initiation are brought here.”

This succeeded in catching Logan’s attention, and she stilled. “Why?”

Tibolt sighed wearily. “The Initiation is a highly lethal procedure. ‘In order to kill beasts, you must become a beast.’ That is the Legion of Blood’s oldest saying. A wise saying, but sadly, it is not always the truth. Many of the recruits who are wounded when they manage to slay a Witherbeast never make it to the next step. The infection from any bite spreads rapidly, and many initiates are already in the first stages of transformation by the time we reach them. Even some of those who live to devour the heart of their prey do not survive. They might appear to be fine initially, but after a few days their condition begins to deteriorate. They become rabid, a Witherbeast trapped within the body of a human. You have been brought here so we can closely monitor your recovery while ensuring no other Legionnaires are endangered.”

I’ve been deposited into another prison, another living nightmare, Logan thought, despair filling her. Aloud, she said, “How long will I have to stay here?”

“Fear not,” Tibolt said with a smile. “This arrangement is only for a few days. By then, you will be good as new.”

Voicing the pessimism she was feeling, Logan said, “And what if I am not?”

The smile fell from Tibolt’s face. “Do you truly wish to dwell on such a grim possibility?” Logan did not so much as flinch as she held his gaze. Tibolt sighed. “The answer to your question should be obvious.”

Although Logan showed no outward sign of fear, some minuscule part of her wanted nothing more than to cringe away from the light of the candle flame, away from the man she’d come to view as a friend, but who could just as easily become the instrument of her death.

* * *

Three days after Corbin’s departure for the north, Simone was seated in the garden with her mother and Vivienne, enjoying the balmy late summer afternoon. Hints of red, orange, and gold were already beginning to show in the northern lands, a promise that fall was on its way. The autumn chill often hit the northern region early, quickly giving way to the blustery cold of winter. Simone had lived in the northern hills of Anolaya her entire life and so was accustomed to the harsh, unforgiving weather.

Simone dreamily lifted her cup of mint tea to her lips, taking in the aromatic scent before sipping elegantly.

“What are you thinking?” Vivienne asked, so suddenly that Simone nearly dropped her cup.

“I was just wondering how long it will be before winter gets here.”

Vivienne didn’t fail to notice the melancholy in Simone’s voice. Taking her sister’s hand in her own, she gently squeezed it.

“Oh, dear,” Edena said, overhearing the exchange and looking up from her needlepoint. “You’re not still brooding over those old dreams, are you? Hasn’t it been since late spring that you last suffered from them?”

Vivienne shot her mother a look that said, “You know nothing,” but remained silent. She turned a compassionate gaze to Simone, who wasn’t in the least fazed by their mother’s insensitivity.

In fact, Simone barely heard them at all. She was focused on movement in the distance, beyond the garden wall. She heard Vivienne gasp when she looked in that direction, as well. A band of riders was riding toward the estate with the Norland banner flying as the horsemen descended the high hillock and disappeared behind the stone wall encircling the garden.

“Corbin!” Vivienne cried joyously, but Simone had already jumped to her feet and was making her way toward the gate. Something in the way the guardsmen were riding did not seem right to her, perhaps it was the breakneck speed of the steeds, but she couldn’t bear suffering through the formalities her status decreed for her. Simone nearly plowed over two servants as she lifted her skirts and ran, quite unladylike, through the mansion to the court outside.

The scene their eyes beheld at the front of the mansion was one of chaos and horror. Horses were whinnying in terror as desperate stable hands attempted to soothe them enough to lead them away. The men milling about were barely any better, shouting nonsense and crying out so deliriously, there was scarcely a coherent word uttered among them. Simone noticed that Corbin was conspicuously absent, as were others of his squad, and she was about to inquire as to his whereabouts when one of the guardsmen finally spoke something other than nonsense. His words made Simone’s heart stop.

“Captain Norland is gone.”

As Edena began to cry and Vivienne attempted to calm her, Simone pushed her way through the crowd and stopped mere inches from the guardsman who had spoken the dreaded words.

“What do you mean?” she demanded. “What happened to my brother? Where is he?”

The armored man flinched away from Simone as if she were some sort of monster. “We were ambushed. Two nights ago, while we made our patrol, the Witherbeast—”

“Witherbeast?” Edena wailed hysterically.

It was clear to Simone that her mother did not know what she was doing or saying in the shock of her grief. She looked as though she might swoon, and Vivienne held tightly to her to keep her from falling.

“That’s right,” the guardsman said, confirming not only Edena’s wild ramblings but the validity of Simone’s visions, as well. “A whole pack of them descended upon us before we had time to react. What fierce, horrible things they are.”

Trained mainly to defend the Norland grant against more common threats, the guardsmen were not accustomed to dealing with horrors like Witherbeast. That business was best left to the Legion of Blood.

Those poor men must have been terrified out of their wits. As well they should have been. For if their story proved correct, that would mean Simone’s dreams were, in fact, a prophecy. The Witherbeast were gathering, and they had already claimed their first victims.

Immediately upon hearing the news of his youngest son’s demise, Thurston Norland prepared his men for battle. Usually, the Norlands’ duty consisted only of keeping vigil against an incursion on Anolaya’s northern borders, but if the Witherbeast were on their way to the estate, then Thurston would be forced to defend his lands. Corbin’s death played a key role in his decision to mount an attack against the Witherbeast. Isolated in a secluded location such as the Norland grant, family was everything. Thurston wasn’t about to let his son’s death go unavenged, nor would he stand by and wait for more of those closest to him to become casualties of the rampaging Witherbeast.

Simone was terrified by the idea of her father and Duncan going off to fight against the savage beasts. A strong sense of foreboding had crept into her mind at the revelation of this plan, but, as usual, her concerns went unheeded. Even more disturbing was Edena’s refusal to sit idly by while her husband and remaining son risked their lives. No one could have been more surprised than Thurston when his wife appeared in the great hall, clad in a suit of armor especially fitted for the feminine form. No one, except maybe Vivienne.

“Mother! Have you lost your mind?” she cried upon hearing Edena’s stated intention of joining Thurston on the battlefield.

“Mind your tone, girl,” her mother reprimanded, then added more softly, “It is my duty, as well, to defend this family, and I assure you there is no greater cause to be fighting for. But first,” she added, a sadness creeping into her features, “I must show you something.” Vivienne and Simone shot each other nervous glances, but said nothing as they followed their mother down the long corridor leading to the family vault, where the Norlands, and their many secrets, were buried.

“Vivienne,” Edena began, turning to face her eldest daughter, “with your father and me gone to battle against uncertain elements, and Duncan as well, that leaves only yourself and Simone to handle affairs. Indeed, you two could very well become the last of our line.”

“Please, Mother,” Vivienne protested fervently, “I don’t want to hear this.”

“You will hear me,” Edena replied sternly. “This is for your own good. Simone,” she said, turning somber eyes toward her youngest child, “you inquired earlier about our true relation to the Bound, a race believed by some to be no more than the subject of dark fairy tales.”

Simone’s eyes grew round, and her breath caught in her chest as she waited for her mother to continue. But it was Vivienne’s voice that broke the unnerving silence that fell over them.

“But they are more than fiction, aren’t they?”

“Oh, yes,” Edena replied, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Much more.” She fumbled around in an enormous, ancient-looking trunk until she found what she was searching for. What Edena held in her upraised hand was an amulet almost identical to the one Simone wore. It was much the same as all the Norlands wore.

“This belonged to your grandfather,” Edena said, holding the amulet so Simone and Vivienne could inspect it. “Each of our amulets has been handed down from generation to generation, since the end of the Age of Magi and the fall of the Blood Mages.”

Simone noticed the trail of crimson that seemed to flow beneath the engravings like blood through veins. “What is that red liquid within the amulet?” she asked.

“That is blood, dear,” Edena stated bluntly. “The blood of our ancestors. You see, Simone, we are not merely descended from the Bound. We are the Bound.”

Simone was taken aback by this sudden revelation and beside her, Vivienne gave a horrified gasp.

“How could that be?” Vivienne demanded in a shaking voice. “Surely we are as human as anyone. How can people also be beasts, let alone without ever even knowing it?”

“Our bloodlines are ancient.” Edena seemed unoffended by Vivienne’s disbelief. “The Age of Magi ended nearly five hundred years ago. The Norland ancestry dates back even further, back to even more tumultuous times. Our ancestors were among the first to volunteer themselves for the Blood Mages’ cause, the first to willingly become Witherbeast through the dark workings of blood magic. To answer your question, Simone, there were once Witherbeast who could shift from human to beast at will.” She gestured toward the amulet in her hands. “These amulets, imbued with the blood of our ancestors and the power of the Blood Mages’ spell, enabled the transmutation.”

“The amulets?” Simone lifted her amulet to inspect it.

Edena nodded. “These amulets were all that kept our ancestors bound to their human forms. The Blood Mages would order the amulets to be removed when it was time to fight the Witherbeast. That was the true purpose of the Bound—to be supernatural beasts with the strength of demons, combined with the intelligence and cunning of humans. They were unstoppable. Perhaps that is why things turned out the way they did, once the Witherbeast had been driven well beyond Anolaya’s borders.”

“That was around the time the Bound were hunted and destroyed, wasn’t it?” Simone observed. “With the Witherbeast no longer posing an imminent threat, what need did Anolaya have for such minions as the Bound? What happened next? How did our ancestors escape the humans’ fear and hatred?”

“The Norlands were the strongest among the Bound,” Edena continued. “But even so, they couldn’t maintain their human appearance without these enchanted items. Before the Blood Mages and all their magical possessions were destroyed, our ancestors reclaimed their amulets and left behind their lives of servitude. Once the war had ended and the massacre began, our people fled to the northern mountains to escape the wrath of the Legion of Blood. These very mountains,” Edena said.

“I thought the Legion of Blood was our ally,” Simone said.

Edena gave a derisive snort. “Perhaps now, as long as our cooperation suits its needs. And,” she added, her eyes flashing warningly as she regarded each of her daughters in turn, “as long as the Legion remains unaware of our true nature. The knowledge of our dark heritage must never leave these walls, do you understand? I am only imparting this secret to you now because there may be no future opportunity.”

“Don’t say that, Mother,” Simone said. “You and Father will return victorious, I just know it.”

Edena smiled warmly. “Thank you, dear daughter. I’ll keep your empowering words in mind when I need them most.” She walked with Vivienne and Simone back to the grand hall, where she gave each of her daughters a kiss on the cheek. “Be strong, Simone,” she said. “Follow your heart, and never let anyone tell you that you’re weak.” She turned toward Vivienne, eyes shining wetly. “You have grown into such a strong young woman. Take care of yourself, Vivienne, and your sister too.

“Now,” she said, turning slowly to face the large double doors leading to the courtyard where the home guard was gathered, “I must be going. I’ve kept your father and his guard waiting long enough.” Then she was gone, on her way to join Thurston and his men in mounting their steeds, huge warhorses that stomped and pawed the ground impatiently as they awaited their masters’ commands.

“This is horrible!” Vivienne exclaimed. “Certainly no good will come of this.”

Simone watched her elder sister pace the floor, the look of dread on her face quite genuine as she frowned at the marble tiles. Vivienne’s behavior was a bit curious, not to mention uncharacteristic of the usually levelheaded Vivienne. What were a few stray Witherbeast in the face of their father’s army?

In the end, though, Vivienne’s forecast proved correct. A mere two days after their parents had set out, a messenger rode in on a fast horse, bearing grave news as to the fate of the Norlands. Thurston, Edena, and Duncan had all fallen beneath the claws and fangs of the Witherbeast, slaughtered alongside most of the remaining guardsmen. The few who were returned by the healers and their caravans were in no condition to defend the estate, should the Witherbeast target the Norland grant.

“Oh, Vivienne, what are we to do?” Simone asked, temporarily forgetting her grief over the loss of her family out of fear for her own safety. “If the Witherbeast’s course brings them through here, and I’m quite positive it will, we will be like sheep for the slaughter. Witherbeast possess a sense for finding places where they can cause death and destruction. No doubt they will catch our scent, what with so many wounded in our midst.”

The smell of the blood of the injured soldiers would undoubtedly precipitate their downfall, but Simone couldn’t very well turn them away, not after they had risked life and limb to protect her and Vivienne.

“None of our soldiers will be of any use in a fight,” Vivienne agreed. “And I highly doubt that we and the servants would last for long against any onslaught. We have but one option. I shall ride to the south, to the village of Bhujari, and hope that they can spare a few of their limited number of soldiers. It would be in their best interests. If the Witherbeast continue on their current path, they will eventually come upon Bhujari. Dealing with them now would be the better choice over waiting them out. What do you say, Simone?”

This proposal wasn’t at all what Simone had expected. “Are you sure you’re up to this? It would mean riding like the wind all the way to Bhujari with nothing more than a few healers as your entourage.”

“I intend to ride alone,” Vivienne announced, adding to her sister’s mounting distress. Before Simone could voice an objection, she said, “I know it sounds mad, but you know as well as I that a group of healers would only slow me down.” Vivienne was right; she was quite easily one of the best riders in the north, and her horse one of the fastest. “Time is of the essence, Simone. This is the only way. Please trust me.”

After a moment, Simone drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right. I trust you. Just be careful, okay? We have already lost our parents and brothers to this catastrophe. You’re the only family I have now.”

“I have no intention of leaving you anytime soon.” Vivienne leaned forward and kissed the top of Simone’s head before heading out the double doors and disappearing in the courtyard, like so many others had done.

It wasn’t that Simone didn’t trust Vivienne’s determination. But something told her, some little voice in the back of her mind, that she should make preparations of her own in the event that Vivienne’s plan failed. Summoning the messenger who had delivered the grim news of the demise of the Norland guard, she quickly scribbled a note on a scrap of paper, then sealed it with an impression of her ring, a depiction of the Norland crest anyone should be able to recognize. After hearing her request, the messenger saluted her, pivoted on his heel, and left via the same front doors her sister had.

The Witherbeast were on the move, and if anything, this was only the beginning of the Norlands’ woes. Anolaya needed help in these dark times. Simone needed help. She needed the Legion of Blood.

Chapter 6

Logan watched as the last of the clothing she had brought along from Purgatory—a symbol of her old life—was consumed by flame. That part of her life was over; some part of her was now dead. In many ways, the bonfire was a funeral pyre, its purpose to burn away the last shreds of her former life in order to make way for the new. It gave her an indescribable sense of satisfaction to see her final ties to those dreary days shrivel and curl into black wisps before disappearing altogether among the coals. It was time to rise from the flames renewed, like a phoenix from the ashes.

Sadly, Logan’s discarded belongings were the only offerings in the bonfire that night. None of the other recruits had survived the Initiation, and she felt a sharp stab of sorrow at their loss. It lasted only briefly, however, as the sensation of freedom and victory was too intense for her to spend much time brooding over her fallen comrades.

Accompanying the sense of freedom was the ever present feeling of revulsion, for wasn’t she actually finding herself cast from one prison to another? The Legion had freed her from Purgatory and pardoned her for any crimes, alleged or real, she might have been accused of before, but now she was bound by blood, quite literally, to the mysterious Order that had liberated her. Memories of the Witherbeast’s blood on her tongue suddenly flooded her thoughts, and the thought of the bitter, acrid taste made her nose wrinkle in disgust. Immediately following the sensory overload, came the wild impulses. The desire to slash at something with her sword was nearly overwhelming.

Since completing the Initiation, she had frequently been experiencing such impulses. Tibolt assured her it was quite common for new Legionnaires. The Witherbeast’s blood was commingling with her own, affecting her body and her senses. Indeed, Logan’s ability to see in the dark had improved drastically. She had but to turn away from the almost too intense light from the bonfire, and the landscape beyond the glow immediately came into focus. Something bayed in the distance, and Logan’s blood began to boil.

It seemed Logan would have a chance to test her new fangs, so to speak, rather sooner than she had imagined. Lady Simone Norland, youngest daughter of Baron Thurston Norland, had sent word to the Legion of a purported Witherbeast attack. There were rumors circulating throughout the region that the young woman was quite mad, and that her parents had been forced to have her locked away earlier that year to prevent Simone from injuring herself or others. Logan knew a thing or two about wrongful imprisonment, but her client’s mental stability was not the issue. If the Norland estate was indeed suffering under an onslaught of Witherbeast, then Logan’s duty was to eliminate every last one of the hairy brutes.

This feat in itself, however, was of concern to Logan. She asked Tibolt how one Legionnaire would be of any help against an entire horde of Witherbeast, and he had replied, “Your task is but to investigate the Lady’s claims and ascertain whether or not the damages done were indeed caused by Witherbeast. If her account proves true, then you are to send word to the Legion, and we will rendezvous with you as quickly as possible. Don’t attempt to engage the beasts on your own,” he added in a warning tone. “You’re new to the Legion. The ways and nature of the Witherbeast are as of yet unknown to you.”

So I am to be a scout, nothing more, Logan thought with a trace of bitterness. And why should that come as such a surprise to her? She was the newest Legionnaire, a raw recruit. You’re expendable. In the eyes of Society, your crimes are unforgivable, whether you actually committed them or not. When will you accept that?

* * *

Simone paced agitatedly as she waited in the foyer for the envoy from the Legion of Blood to arrive. Although she’d wanted to contest the Legion’s decision to send but one representative of the Order, the impending Witherbeast attack left her with little time to fret over such matters, and the expertise of one Legionnaire would be better than none. Not to mention that since learning of the Legion’s involvement in the fate of the Bound, her own ancestors, Simone was reluctant to ask for the Order’s help at all. Only out of necessity had she been forced to do so. She owed her faithful servants a protection she herself could not provide.

Four days had passed since Vivienne had departed for Bhujari, and Simone had received no word of her progress. She supposed there was little Vivienne could do by way of communicating. With no messengers to relay her messages, Simone was left with the sole option of hoping her sister knew what she was doing and also hoping for the success of her mission.

A sudden knock on the front door startled Simone out of her reverie, the sharp report of the servant banging his fist against the ancient wood causing her to jump. She had assigned positions around the mansion to all servants, healers, or whoever else was available, giving strict orders to notify her immediately should they see signs of anything, human or otherwise, moving around the perimeter.

A servant rushed into the foyer, quite winded from a long run. “My Lady, a stranger approaches on horseback,” he informed her. “Could it be the Legionnaire?”

“I certainly hope so.” Simone tried to keep the despondency from her voice, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

She made her way down the front steps to the courtyard with her ragtag guard of wounded soldiers, servants, and stable hands. There she saw an armored figure dismounting a magnificent steed of the purest black. Simone recognized the distinctive dark armor bearing the image of a bloodied Witherbeast’s head and immediately felt relieved, yet apprehensive. Her Legionnaire had arrived, but this one man seemed insignificant against the horde that threatened them.

“Greetings,” Simone said, approaching the Legionnaire as he was fumbling with something in one of the saddlebags. At the sound of her voice, the Legionnaire turned around and removed the dark helm concealing his face.

In an instant, Simone realized her mistake; this was no man, but a woman. A woman with hair cut nearly as short as a common criminal or lunatic, but a woman nonetheless. Too shocked to say another word, Simone merely stood and stared as the female Legionnaire returned her salutation.

“My Lady, it is an honor and a privilege to be of service to you and the proud heritage which the Norland name represents.”

Her voice was deep, rich, and slightly accented, though Simone couldn’t quite place the dialect.

“I’ve taken the time to study up on the Norland line,” the Legionnaire continued in her musical alto, “and I must admit I’m quite impressed with your family’s devotion to protecting Anolaya’s northern borders. Not everyone would be amenable to being posted in such a remote location, with the constant threat of a stray pack of Witherbeast clawing its way to their door.” She stiffened to attention and smiled brightly. The kind gesture took Simone by surprise.

“I am Logan, envoy of the Legion of Blood.” She bowed stiffly from the waist.

Though the formal gesture was usually one performed by a man, Simone allowed that it would look rather ridiculous for Logan to attempt a curtsy while wearing a suit of armor. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Logan,” she said. “As you undoubtedly know, I am Lady Simone Norland, daughter of the late Baron and Baroness Thurston and Edena Norland.”

Logan flinched noticeably as Simone revealed the status of her parents. “The Baron is...”

“Dead,” Simone finished for her. “Slaughtered by the Witherbeast, along with my mother and two brothers. My elder sister and I are the last of the Norland line.” Surprisingly, Simone was able to remain stoic and collected as she spoke of the horrors, almost as though she’d somehow become detached from her body and was looking upon the scene with a stranger’s eyes.

“I am so sorry to hear—”

“You don’t have to be,” Simone interrupted, feeling the tears threatening to well up in her eyes. “There was nothing you or anyone else could have done.” With an undisguised curiosity, she regarded the tall, dark-haired woman before her. Gone was the initial impression Simone had held that this Legionnaire was a lunatic. Now Simone saw that Logan’s short hair was trimmed neatly, the dark tresses the same shade as the most decadent chocolate. As Logan reached up and brushed a stray lock from her eyes, Simone took in her other features. Broad shouldered and slim, Logan’s movements bespoke the raw power lurking just below the surface.

Logan noticed the scrutiny and said directly, “Is there something troubling you, My Lady?”

“No. Yes... uh, well, it’s just that you’re not what I expected.” Simone’s neck and face grew hot, and she knew she must be blushing furiously. “Until today, I had no idea women could be accepted into the Legion of Blood.”

Logan narrowed her eyes. “Does that bother you? Because I assure you, I can perform in battle as well as any of my male compatriots.”

Simone shrank under Logan’s intense gaze. Never in her life had she met anyone with such penetrating eyes. “No,” she stammered. “It’s just that I’ve been through so much lately. I’m probably just tired. Welcome to the Norland estate,” she added, in what she hoped was a more welcoming tone.

Logan continued to regard her with caution blazing in her dark eyes. In truth, Simone wasn’t at all bothered by the fact that the Legion of Blood had sent a woman in response to her request for protection. In fact, she was rather fascinated that this woman had somehow managed to impress the Legion enough to be accepted among its esteemed ranks. Intrigued, Simone fell back as an entourage of servants directed Logan to the guest corridors, where she would be spending much of her time during this investigation.

She sighed as she watched Logan’s back retreating up the spiral staircase. A female Legionnaire. How interesting. The Legion envoy was perhaps the most captivating woman Simone had ever met, but somehow she’d so easily managed to offend her. She wondered if Logan’s attitude toward her would improve over the course of her stay at the manor, and then immediately wondered why such a thing would matter. Logan was there for one thing and one thing only, and that was to investigate and confirm Simone’s premonition of a Witherbeast threat. What the woman thought of her mattered little in the end, especially if Simone’s intuition proved correct and Anolaya was to face a crisis more severe than it had seen in centuries.

All rational considerations aside, Simone couldn’t deny the sensation she was experiencing, the familiar, giddy feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was a feeling she had struggled against since adolescence, her fear and revulsion at this aspect of herself forcing it into submission. One thing Simone knew for certain amidst the chaos and destruction: Logan of the Legion of Blood was indeed an intriguing woman.

Chapter 7

Logan covered her nose against the onslaught of unpleasant odors. Despite the pre-autumn chill in the higher elevations, the trail of carnage that stretched before her had spent several days under the fierce heat of the blazing sun, and decomposition had already set in. The stench coming from the slain soldiers was quite foul, even more so to Logan, whose newly heightened senses had detected the massacre leagues before she and her party of relatively able-bodied soldiers had come upon it.

At daybreak on the day following her arrival at the Norland estate, Logan had organized a small cadre of the remaining soldiers to accompany her as she searched for evidence of a Witherbeast attack. As might be expected, the soldiers were none too happy to have their word about an attack so easily dismissed in favor of traipsing about in the dangerous northern highlands, nor were they particularly thrilled at having the person who disbelieved their accounts leading the search. Logan did not begrudge the men their stern glares and disapproving remarks. Somehow they had managed to survive the carnage once, only to be forced back to the grisly scene of their comrades’ deaths by an arrogant young Legionnaire. A female Legionnaire, at that.

Simone’s words rang sharply in Logan’s mind. During her training, Logan had not failed to notice that she was one of but a handful of women among the Legion’s ranks, the only female initiate. But she had been the only survivor of the Initiation. She had passed the test, and that gave her as much right to wear the armor of the Legion of Blood as any man, no matter what Lady Simone or any of her subordinates believed.

Logan frowned. Simone Norland wasn’t exactly as she had imagined, either. The young woman with the deep auburn hair was demure and timid, perhaps even a trace backward, but she did not resemble a madwoman in the least. There was sorrow in those pale blue eyes, and pain—Logan had seen that the day before—but there was something else there as well. Something buried so deep it could not be identified, nor did Logan have a name for it. But it was most certainly not madness.

Banishing thoughts of the frail noblewoman from her mind, Logan directed her focus back to present matters. The mauled, half-eaten bodies strewn before her were badly decomposed, but even so, Logan could accurately ascertain the cause of their death. Witherbeast were rampaging in the otherwise beautiful and tranquil North Anolayan Mountains; there was no doubting that.

Kneeling a short distance from one of the bodies, Logan brushed aside a cluster of leaves and twigs, revealing a massive paw print beneath. The print spanned more than the width of her splayed fingers, the indentations at the end of each toe indicating very sharp claws. As if to undeniably confirm what each member of the party already knew all too well, a cry sounded somewhere in the valleys below. Like a mingling of a roar and the shrill scream of a cat, the howl flowed over those gathered on the hillside like fear made tangible.

Logan rose briskly from her crouched position and brushed her hands on her legs. Even at such a distance she could smell the Witherbeast, but what was more, she could feel them. Tibolt had warned her that the Witherbeast would be able to sense her just as easily, for she now had their blood in her and so carried their foul essence.

“Time to move out,” she announced, her voice loud and clear in the mountain air. The men did not question her authority, only nodded gravely and set about mounting their horses. Proper graves would be devised for those moldering dead, but that would have to wait. Nightfall was approaching. The soldiers accompanying Logan were barely fit to ride. They could offer very little support if the Witherbeast detected them. If they rode hard and fast, perhaps they would make it back to the Norland estate before night arrived, before the Witherbeast had the chance to track them.

Upon her return to the Norland estate, Logan immediately prepared a message to be sent to Broken Fang, informing Tibolt that it was indeed Witherbeast that were attacking the Norlands. She knew it would be safer to ride with the coming of dawn, but any delay could result in the loss of even more lives, so the messenger set out that very night, riding like the wind through the darkness. Logan hoped the messenger would reach the keep in time, but she would be relieved if he made it at all. The life of everyone at the manor, including her own, was hanging in the balance.

Logan sensed a presence at her back. Pivoting abruptly on her heel and rounding on the unknown intruder with lightning-quick reflexes, she nearly startled Simone out of her wits. The young noblewoman placed her hands in front of her, palms up, to show she was unarmed.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said to Logan, although it was she who had been frightened. “I was merely curious as to what you found today.”

Logan swallowed hard as she recalled the scene on the hillside. Simone’s family must have been among the rotting corpses, she was sure of it. Suddenly the recollection of so much blood and death awakened a much deeper memory, one that Logan believed she had conquered. Feeling lightheaded and weak, she began to sway unsteadily as her vision became tinted with red.

“Easy.” Simone draped Logan’s arm across her shoulders.

The slight redhead had appeared at her side, seemingly from nowhere, Logan mused. Then it hit her. A sweet smell, like lavender and lilac, filled her nostrils and flooded her senses, driving out all thoughts of blood and unpleasantness. Logan lowered her head and inhaled deeply of Simone’s perfume, instantly becoming lost in an altogether different reverie. Simone’s scent was peaceful, soothing, intoxicating. Such serenity was alien to Logan, who had known only torment and chaos in her life. The promise of tranquility within that alluring scent overpowered all of Logan’s senses, and she suddenly straightened with a jerk.

When next she looked at Simone, she saw that the noblewoman was regarding her with an expression of pure terror. Simone’s eyes flew open wide, and she recoiled from Logan as if she’d been burned by their contact. Logan stared at her quizzically, the previous dizziness completely forgotten.

Regaining her composure somewhat, Simone laughed nervously and said, “That bad, huh? I had surmised as much already. Did you... did you find any signs of my parents? My brothers?”

Clearing her throat uncomfortably, Logan shook her head. “There were very few distinguishing signs to go on, other than the fact that the carnage was indeed caused by Witherbeast. Identification will be very difficult.”

She so hated to tell this wide-eyed young woman that her family was now little more than carrion littering a hillside. Logan couldn’t understand her uncharacteristic reluctance to relate the simple truth. She couldn’t comprehend even half the feelings swirling about in her own head at that moment. Her heart still raced from their brief contact, her body still burned where Simone’s slight form had been pressed against her own. What was happening to her? Why did she feel as if she were falling from a great height?

“I am sorry,” Logan said, although she saw no reason why she should be apologizing. She’d done all she was able, and the sting of Simone’s terse reaction the last time she offered condolences came back to her suddenly.

Simone did not snap at her this time. Instead, she only smiled. “There is no reason for you to be,” she said gently. “They brought this upon themselves. I tried to warn them time and again, but they never listened to a word I said.”

“You warned them?” Logan asked. Simone regarded her nervously, but remained silent. No wonder, Logan thought. If Simone had somehow been aware of these tragic events before they occurred, the locals might suspect her of being a prophetess. Maybe that was why she was rumored to be mad, Logan deduced. If she was indeed having visions, her family would have wanted to keep word of it from the general populace. Magic in any form was frowned upon in Anolaya.

Logan watched as Simone turned away from her and walked over to lean against the banister lining the grand staircase.

“Forgive me.” She faced Logan. “I didn’t mean to sound so callous. What I meant was—I warned my father and my brothers on numerous occasions to be wary while out on patrol. These northern roads are dangerous, you know.”

“Of course.” Logan amicably agreed with Simone, but she suspected Simone knew more than she was letting on. Whatever secret the Lady Norland was protecting, it seemed unlikely she would disclose it to a stranger.

Bowing her head politely, Logan said, “Forgive me for asking, My Lady. It was not my place to inquire into your personal affairs. I fear I’ve taken up too much of your time. If you’ll excuse me?”

Suddenly anxious to put as much distance as possible between herself and the young noblewoman, she bade Lady Simone a good day, even though it seemed pointless after the grim news she’d just delivered. Simone affected her in a way that she had never before experienced, and the tension between them was making her increasingly ill at ease.

Logan would have ascended the flight of stairs leading to the second floor, but doing so would mean that she would have to pass uncomfortably close to Simone at the foot of the stairs. She did not think she could bear another close encounter with Simone so soon, so she waited, hoping that Simone would allow her to pass without there being another embarrassing incident.

Simone licked her lips as Logan moved uncomfortably close to her on the staircase. Undoubtedly there were all manner of rumors flying around the region about her sanity. It would not do to have people claiming she was a seer, as well. She thought for certain Logan would launch a barrage at her after she had nearly exposed her clairvoyance, but the question never came. Instead, the lady Legionnaire only offered a polite apology for overstepping her bounds and made as though she were about to leave.

“Wait,” Simone said, not wanting to be alone. With the images of her family’s fate so fresh in her mind, she couldn’t bear another moment of solitude. Logan paused in midstride, apparently uncertain as to whether or not she wanted to stay.

“I loved them dearly,” Simone said softly, not meeting Logan’s gaze as she returned her attention to her. “There were times when they could be a little irksome, but I suppose all families are like that. I certainly never wanted anything so horrid to happen to them.”

“None of us ever do.”

Logan’s expression was stoic. She reminded Simone of a statue, her sculpted features hard, unreadable. Something had happened to this woman, something tragic. Simone could feel her pain by just looking into her eyes, fathomless dark pools that reflected her own agony. An infinite sadness lurked there, just below the surface, and suddenly Simone felt closer to the lady Legionnaire.

Logan’s dark eyes glittered moistly in the low light. She looked lithe and powerful in her full armor, and Simone no longer had the faintest doubt that this woman could best any man in the Legion of Blood. Wondering what could possibly have driven a woman to become a warrior, Simone suddenly found herself very curious about Logan.

“When did you first decide you wanted to be a Legionnaire?” she asked quietly.

“I didn’t. The decision was made for me. I had little choice in the matter, actually.”

Simone waited for Logan to explain in further detail, but when she didn’t, she took it upon herself to pursue the conversation. “So you were drafted into the Legion of Blood? I’ve not heard of such drastic measures being taken in many long years.”

“Well, apparently they are taking them now.”

“The Witherbeast threat must be far greater than even I imagined.” Simone hesitated, uncertain whether she should go on, but she decided the words must be spoken aloud, if for no other reason than for the sake of her sanity. “I had a vision,” she continued in a hushed voice. “When I told my parents of it, they locked me away in a secret chamber until I promised not to speak of it again.”

Genuine interest shone in Logan’s eyes. “What did you see?”

“An onslaught of Witherbeast like none ever before,” Simone replied, her voice so low she could barely hear it over the pounding of her heart. “In my dreams I can feel them flitting about like shadows, circling, waiting for the right moment to strike.”

“And you think this will be a full-scale invasion?” Logan voiced Simone’s fear aloud.

Simone nodded. “It feels good to finally talk to someone about it, someone who won’t have me locked away in some dreadful asylum somewhere.” Logan shivered noticeably at that, her expression going dark, and Simone wondered what could have happened to this woman to make her so grim.

“You must be very strong to have attracted the attention of the Legion of Blood,” Simone said cheerfully. “Many have applied for consideration only to be turned away.”

“Strong,” Logan mused aloud, her dark eyes clouding over with sorrow. “Cowardly is more like it.”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind. It’s not important.”

Determined to continue the conversation, since she’d admitted so much already, Simone pressed onward. “So, where are you from originally? Your features are rather exotic, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Logan hesitated for a moment, before saying, “Rielzen. I’ve spent much of my life in Rielzen.”

“The capital?” Simone didn’t seem in the least surprised by Logan’s response, as well she shouldn’t be. Many emigrated to Rielzen from foreign lands, and Logan’s appearance suggested a possible elven heritage. Simone could see the pointed tips of Logan’s ears through her wavy hair. Although she was far too tall for an elf, the elvish qualities were still evident in her fine, almost sharp features. It was common knowledge that elves usually kept to themselves, strictly avoiding humanity at all costs, which prompted Simone’s next question.

“Does your family approve of your conscription by the Legion?”

Logan tensed until she stood as rigid as a statue. “I have no family,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve already taken up too much of your valuable time. Good day, My Lady.”

Logan bowed stiffly and swiftly departed. In her obvious haste, she brushed past Simone, forced to squeeze between the noblewoman and a wall. Simone gasped at the light contact, however brief. Wondering just how she had come to possess such a knack for offending this amazing woman, she braced herself against the nearest wall as she gathered her wits about her.

The next two days were tense and awkward. Logan, obviously embarrassed by her confrontation with Simone, kept to herself, plotting tactical maneuvers for use in case of a Witherbeast attack or showing off her prowess with a blade in the practice yards. Simone watched many such displays, astounded at how one woman could harness so much strength and energy. And fury. Simone wasn’t sure, but she thought she detected a new sort of anger and resentment in Logan since their conversation. What could possibly have happened to Logan to make her so bitter and standoffish?

It was during such a performance, where Logan flitted across the practice yard in a deadly dance and Simone sat on the sidelines, deep in thought, that they came. Suddenly pausing in midstride, Logan straightened and focused her attention on something in the distance. Following her line of sight, Simone saw a band of armored men riding toward the front gates.

There was a gust of wind as Logan vaulted over the low fence around the practice yard, then rushed toward the approaching entourage. Not knowing whether to join Logan or to remain at a safe distance from the formidable figures, Simone tarried several moments before ultimately deciding to greet the new arrivals.

When she reached the front courtyard, many of the riders had already dismounted, and Logan clasped the hand of one of the men in greeting. These men, Simone could now see, were Legionnaires, wearing the same black armor as Logan. Her fear and apprehension dissolving, if only slightly, at this reassurance, Simone gathered her courage and made her way forward.

“How did you manage to make it here so quickly?” Logan was asking the apparent leader as Simone approached.

“I sensed the Witherbeast,” the man replied. “Even in the most remote peaks of the Yor’kesh Highlands, their baying doesn’t go unheard.” Just then, the man noticed Simone nearing hesitantly. “It seems there is someone who wishes to join our conversation,” he said.

Logan glanced at Simone, then cleared her throat awkwardly and made the formal introductions. “Lady Simone Norland, may I present Tibolt of the Legion of Blood. He is an experienced veteran of the Legion and wholly dedicated to his duty of protecting Anolaya in its time of need. A nobler warrior you couldn’t find, I assure you.”

“Thank you, Logan,” Tibolt said, acknowledging her with a polite nod. He turned to Simone and bowed. “And I am most honored to meet you, Lady Simone. Long have I heard of your noble family and its vigilance along the northern borders. The Legion of Blood is indebted to the Norlands for providing an additional safeguard against Witherbeast invasion. What is wrong, child?”

At the mention of her family, Simone’s eyes had filled with tears. She waved her hand dismissively as she pulled out a handkerchief. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Only I was beginning to fear the worst would happen to all of us, had you not arrived so promptly.”

“Indeed,” Tibolt agreed. “We saw evidence of Witherbeast passing not too far down the road. At a Stonecutter’s Pass, I believe.”

“Stonecutter’s Pass?” Simone choked. She couldn’t believe the Witherbeast were so close. If the Legionnaires had been but a single day later... She shuddered to think what might have happened.

“Thank you for coming to us when you did,” she said again, the gratitude underlying her words genuine and sincere.

Tibolt nodded politely. “Yes, and now we must prepare.”

Chapter 8

Vivienne dismounted the exhausted stallion, her legs nearly collapsing beneath her as she slid from the saddle. She had been riding hard during the greater part of that day and was so sore and stiff from the long hours sitting astride the galloping animal that she feared her legs wouldn’t support her. But her persistence was being rewarded at last. After days of hurtling relentlessly through the dangerous wilds of northern Anolaya, she’d finally arrived at her destination. It was not the quaint village of Bhujari that lay before Vivienne, however. Instead, a single tower, carved from the stone of the mountain slope itself, rose above her, its presence nearly indiscernible to the naked eye.

Vivienne hesitated outside the entrance to the stone tower. She felt a degree of guilt at having deceived Simone, especially since her sister was trusting her to bring help, but venturing to Bhujari had never been Vivienne’s objective. She had only made the suggestion as an excuse to leave the Norland estate without having to reveal her true intentions.

The true reason for her harrowing journey arose from a burning longing; her heart’s desire to see her beloved once more had driven her to abandon her only remaining relative to whatever fate might await her. Fate had also played a role in Vivienne’s decision — the fate of her family had made her yearn to be with the man who resided within the stone temple. At the same time, he was the last person she wanted to see. Desire had won out in the end, and now she trudged forward and entered the temple through the narrow fissure hidden behind a tangle of vines.

Despite the temple’s rustic exterior, it was surprisingly well furnished and bright. With natural light streaming in through the skylights in the cave, there was scarcely any need for candles. “Armand,” she said, laying eyes on the tall, dark figure at the other end of the entrance hall.

“Vivienne.” Armand’s voice was cloyingly sweet. Flanked on either side by two of his companions, Armand was an intimidating sight. He strode toward Vivienne, but stopped as she uttered her next words.

“Armand, you monster! What have you done? This wasn’t part of our plan.”

He quickly regained his composure. “Have I done something to displease you, dearest?”

“My mother and father and both of my brothers are lying dead somewhere, victims of the Witherbeast. Of course I am displeased! And now my sister sits alone, waiting for a similar fate to befall her.”

“And whose fault is that?” Armand countered. “No one told you to come here at this time. You could have stayed by her side. You could have died along with her, if that is what you truly desire. But it’s not, is it?” He tilted his head in question as Vivienne avoided his gaze. “No. By coming here, you have made your decision as clearly as if you had shouted it from a mountaintop.”

“Life around the Norland estate can be dreadfully dull,” Vivienne said slowly, unsure whether she should be admitting as much. It was so easy to confess her heart and soul to Armand, although she did not particularly trust him. “I was so tired of it all. Then you arrived.”

Recalling the day the troupe of brightly clad entertainers had ridden up to the Norland estate brought a thrill to Vivienne now as it did every time she thought of it. She distinctly remembered how her father had been reluctant to admit them to the manor, but seeing the joy and interest in his children’s eyes at the prospect of some entertainment, he had finally relented.

Armand was the head of that troupe. Vivienne vividly remembered her first impression of the man who would come to win her heart. Traveling long hours through the Northern Anolayan Mountains had done little to detract from Armand’s physical appearance. Exposure to the sun had made him quite tan and had bleached his hair to the color of dry straw, but still Armand managed to present himself with all the grace and dignity of a courtly noble.

All this and more came rushing back to Vivienne as Armand stood before her, his hair neatly combed, his clothes immaculately clean despite living in the rugged highlands. She had wondered upon their first meeting how a lowly traveling entertainer could possess such regal bearing; she also wondered at the obvious reservations her mother and Simone had had about welcoming Armand. However, her young woman’s heart filled with romantic ideals eventually won out over her sister’s reticence about accepting Armand, and Vivienne suddenly found herself swept off her feet.

This in itself was somewhat disconcerting, for Vivienne couldn’t recall exactly how or why she’d fallen for Armand, a man who was practically a stranger despite all their secret meetings. Every time her mind ventured down that path, she found herself strangely distracted. There was nothing overly charming about Armand, she decided as she looked at him now, other than his gentlemanly appearance. What was more, Vivienne could almost sense something sinister lurking just beneath that smiling facade, but, as usual, the more she focused on pinpointing the source of her unease, the more muddled and disoriented her thoughts became.

Vivienne felt drawn to Armand, advancing toward him in slow, even steps. Whatever paranoia had been troubling her hadn’t completely subsided, but the tragedies that had so recently befallen her family had left her in desperate need of comfort, and what could be more comforting than the smiling man who was welcoming her with open arms? As she allowed his embrace, her eyes fell on a spider web in one high corner of the chamber, a broad-winged moth caught within struggling fruitlessly to free itself. As desperately as Vivienne wished to believe that she was happy, content to be with Armand, she couldn’t extinguish the feeling that she was very much like that ensnared moth.

Armand took the visibly distraught Vivienne Norland in his arms. Soothing his latest victim was a necessity, unless he wanted all his hard work and carefully laid plans to be for naught. Months of plotting and manipulating had gone into bending this young noblewoman to his will, yet the hold he held over her was still fragile. Outside influences could weaken the spell. The powerful bond Vivienne shared with her family could cause it to come unraveled in an instant. All the time and effort he had invested must not be in vain. Sacrifice was, after all, an integral part of his plan if he wanted to succeed. Blood magic would soon be revived in the land of Anolaya.

The son of a lower ranking noble family, Armand had spent much of his childhood in Rielzen. That was where he first developed an interest in the Dark Arts, where he began experimenting with the arcane on family pets. By using their blood, Armand discovered he could channel great energy through the spells, the remnants of ancient magic of ages long past. Eventually graduating from pets to the stray dogs and cats roaming about the capital, and against his family’s express prohibitions, Armand continued to practice blood magic. As he grew, so did his powers. Eventually, sacrificing the stray animals of the capital was no longer enough to fulfill his ambitions. In order to reach the next level, to become the greatest Blood Mage since the Age of Magi, he needed the blood of a human being.

Before long, he resorted to taking the lives of the prostitutes who walked the streets of Rielzen, using their blood to cast spells like never before, all while his family stretched its money and influence thin to keep the secret of his true nature. And then there was the child, a young boy he sacrificed in a dockside warehouse. The energies he channeled had never been stronger than they had been that night, but sadly, his research came to a sudden end when his family decided to sever ties and leave him to his fate. He was sent to Purgatory, that stately hellhole blighting Rielzen’s highest hilltop, sentenced to be executed for his crimes within a week.

And then the Legion of Blood came for him.

Armand tensed as he thought of the arrogant, self-righteous bastards parading around under the pretense that they existed to protect Anolaya, when, in truth, they were the very thing they were sworn to defend others from: Cursed blood flowed through their veins, just as it flowed through his. Mastery of the Witherbeast’s blood was in itself a form of blood magic. Glorified Blood Mages or not, in the end, even the Legion of Blood had betrayed him. The man Armand had come to respect more than any other had turned his back on him because of his ability to harness blood magic, casting him aside just as his family had done. The Legion of Blood had claimed his ambitions were too dark and dangerous, but Armand knew its rejection of him was due to fear.

Let’s see how high and mighty you are when I have a horde of Witherbeast to do my bidding.

Through extensive research, Armand had learned that such an alliance had existed before, during the Age of Magi. The mages of old, with their unrivaled powers, had constructed enchanted items which could bind the intelligent Witherbeast to their human forms. These creatures were able to transform from human to beast at will, obeying the commands of their mage masters as they fought the Witherbeast that would have surely destroyed Anolaya. If Armand could replicate that lost spell, he would be unstoppable.

“How is your plan coming along?” Vivienne asked, interrupting Armand’s recollections.

“Progress is slow, for now.” He tilted Vivienne’s head back so he could meet her gaze. The young noblewoman had been delightfully easy for Armand to influence. Once, when Armand had presented a rose of the deepest red to Vivienne, she had pricked her finger on one of the thorns. That small amount of blood, though seemingly insufficient for anything of consequence, was more than enough for Armand to weave one of his spells. Vivienne Norland was now in his thrall, a living puppet to do his bidding.

“Now, let us prepare.” He waved his hand, motioning for Vivienne to precede him as they walked deeper into the ancient mountain temple. “The children are waiting.” When he was certain that Vivienne wasn’t watching, he produced a crude talisman from his pocket. He regarded it with disappointment, and then dropped it and ground the carved wood and stone beneath his heel. Another failure, he thought, but he had not expected to succeed on the first attempt. Creating an army of intelligent, shape-shifting Witherbeast was no easy task. Not even the Blood Mages of old had succeeded on the first try.

But soon he would have his revenge on those who had betrayed him. His family, the Legion of Blood—everyone who had ever wronged him would pay dearly with their pitiful lives. With an army of enthralled Witherbeast at his disposal, no one could ever stand in his way again. He smiled wickedly as he followed Vivienne into the darkness. And when that day comes, ultimate power will be mine.

Chapter 9

Tibolt and the senior Legionnaires set out shortly before dusk in hopes of resolving the Witherbeast problem before it reached the estate. Simone wished she could share the Legionnaires’ confidence that they could bring an end to the matter, but she didn’t think this problem would be so easily solved. Logan had been ordered to stay behind and protect her at all costs. Grumbling to herself, Logan settled herself on the sofa in Simone’s sitting room, not far from where Simone herself stood vigil at a window.

“Do you think the Legion will succeed in its mission?” Simone asked in a faint voice as she watched the procession slowly file out the front gates.

Logan snorted. “The Legion of Blood has always managed to drive the Witherbeast back. Why should this time be any different?”

It was painfully obvious to Simone that Logan was bitter at being left behind. Moving from the window and sitting on the sofa next to her, Simone hoped she could at least offer a little comfort in this decidedly menial task.

“I can’t explain it,” she said, in response to Logan’s question. “For one, I suppose, this uprising is different than others. Something about it just doesn’t feel right. There are more of the monsters than there should be.”

“Perhaps the Witherbeast are breeding more frequently than they have in the past.”

Simone pondered Logan’s statement for a moment. Did the Witherbeast even breed as normal animals did? Witherbeast were most certainly not ordinary animals. Bloodthirsty and ruthless, the sole impetus that drove them was their hunger for human flesh.

“Whatever they’re up to,” Logan added in a more confident tone, “the Legion of Blood will put a quick end to it, I assure you.”

“That’s good to hear.” Simone was silent for several minutes before saying, “Have you known Tibolt long? You seem awfully fond of him.” Almost like a father.

“I first met him in the spring,” Logan said. “Though it seems like much longer, especially when you factor in all the grueling training I had to endure. And I suppose you could say he saved my life. Twice. At first I resented him for it, for sparing me and thus ensuring my life would continue despite my determined fate. Then I came to realize Tibolt truly had the best intentions in giving me a second chance.” Logan frowned, and then said bitterly, “I suppose I should be grateful.”

Logan must have had quite a history, Simone thought, to actually prefer death over being given a second chance. She would have liked to inquire more about this elusive, and most likely tragic, past, but she noted the way in which Logan had suddenly reverted to her withdrawn, sullen self, and doubted asking would do any good. Probably it would only annoy or offend Logan, something Simone did not want to do. She would let Logan retreat into her personal darkness for now. Just being close to this amazing woman was enough to provide her with a sense of security in these dark times. She didn’t want to do anything that would cause Logan to leave.

Simone doubted that would happen. Tibolt had given Logan a direct order to guard her, and as reluctant as she was to admit it, Simone could tell Logan held a great deal of respect for the old Legionnaire, and would never disobey an order.

Simone couldn’t help staring at Logan, who sat deep in thought. Her elbow propped on the armrest and her chin resting in her hand, she was oblivious to the admiring glances she was receiving from her charge. Logan’s hair was cropped short and her features stern, and there was no mistaking the powerful woman lurking beneath the surface. With high cheekbones and a pointed chin, Logan very much resembled a tall elf. Her strong, angular features were perfectly offset by the most beautiful lips Simone had ever seen. Plump, firm, though so alluringly soft...

Simone blushed as she became aware that her thoughts had run rampant. It wasn’t the first time she’d developed a fixation on another woman, but it was the first time she had ever longed so passionately to kiss someone. Even now, as she squeezed her eyes shut and confronted the dark visions that danced on the backs of her eyelids, her own lips burned with the desire to be kissed. The heat sent waves of sensation coursing throughout her body. When she next opened her eyes, Logan was hovering scant inches from her face, that tantalizing mouth so close Simone had but to raise her head...

“I thought you had fallen asleep,” Logan said, her rumbling voice breaking the trance which held Simone in thrall.

“I was just resting my eyes,” Simone replied breathlessly.

“It’s all right if you want to. Sleep, I mean. In fact, you should try to get some rest. It might be a long night. I’ll be right here to watch over you, I promise.”

Logan flashed the faintest of smiles, and Simone’s heart melted. “I just bet you will,” she murmured, then her eyelids grew heavy and, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, she drifted into a peaceful sleep, undisturbed by the horrors of the danger that lurked just beyond Anolaya’s borders.

Tibolt drew his men to halt as they came upon a crossroads. By riding long into the night, they had descended from the higher elevation, where the Norland estate itself was situated, into the infertile land that flanked the nobles’ domain. Steam rose ominously from the moors, making visibility difficult, even for the Legionnaires, who were accustomed to traveling at night. The fog was so thick, Tibolt would not have been surprised if he could cut it with his sword.

“Which way should we go?” one of the men asked.

Tibolt was at a loss. It was now after midnight, and there was still no sign of the Witherbeast. He had been sure they would have come upon the creatures long before now.

Just as Tibolt opened his mouth to reply, a twig snapped in the distance. In the eerie silence of the night, the sound was magnified tenfold, causing every one of the Legionnaires to draw their swords.

Tibolt motioned for all to hold their positions. “It would seem we have guests.”

The Witherbeast must have been tracking them for leagues from a safe distance and now were growing impatient. Or perhaps the beasts’ bloodlust was getting the better of them. The Legionnaires would be interesting quarry, indeed, with the essence of the Witherbeast’s blood flowing through their own veins.

There was a deathly stillness in the air before the night erupted in a flash of fangs and fur. One by one, the Witherbeast burst through the fog, until they outnumbered the band of twenty Legionnaires at least two times over.

“Where did they all come from?” one of the Legionnaires called to Tibolt.

Bringing his sword down in a deadly slice that left one of the beasts headless, he replied, “It’s as though the very shadows themselves have come to life.” He doubted anyone heard his observation. As the words passed his lips, they were drowned out by the ferocious roars and agonized screams that surrounded him. Tibolt leapt from his saddle and joined his men in the battle, determined to honor his pledge to fight until his last breath.

The clash between the Legion of Blood and their ancient enemy raged on for some time, resulting in many deaths on both sides. No man or beast was without injury as the fight took its awful toll.

“There’s so many of them,” a Legionnaire shouted.

“Not nearly as many as there were,” Tibolt called out in encouragement. Indeed, the Witherbeast fatalities vastly outnumbered those of the Legion, the dark intersection piled high with their furry corpses.

Perhaps the Witherbeast, as ravenous and cunning as they were, realized they were outmatched by these peculiar humans. One of their number, a grizzled beast that towered over the others by at least a head, lifted its broad muzzle to the sky and let out a scream that shook the ground. At their leader’s call, the others retreated into the mist from whence they had come, leaving the bloody battlefield of the crossroads to the Legion.

“Why did they give up the fight?”

Tibolt shook his head as he watched the last of the shadows disappear in the fog. There was something that bothered him about the way in which the alpha had vigorously sniffed the air before retreating. Suddenly his sword nearly slipped from his fingers as he realized the beasts’ intention.

“The estate,” he said, searching the area for a horse. Most had either been killed or bolted in terror shortly after the fighting began. “They’re heading for Norland Manor. One Legionnaire and a mansion full of helpless servants must seem a more promising hunt than a squad of Legionnaires.”

As he rode out into the darkness, followed by the remaining members of his squad, he could only hope that they would reach the Norland estate before everyone there was slaughtered.

Chapter 10

Logan sat at the small desk before a window that overlooked the courtyard. The night was dark, foreboding. Barely a sliver of moonlight pierced the thick clouds.

Simone lay on the sofa, where she had slept peacefully for hours. Logan had watched her for some time, until the serene scene had lulled her, and she nearly dozed off herself. Never letting Simone out of her sight, she had paced the sitting room for hours. It was now well past midnight, of that she was sure, with still no word from Tibolt and his squad. Surely they must have found and eliminated a stray pack of Witherbeast by now, Logan thought. But what if Simone’s visions were true, and there were many more of these horrors lurking in the northern highlands.

Logan placed her elbows on the desk and rested her chin in her hands as her gaze returned to Simone. The young noblewoman had seen much pain, yet she knew nothing of true suffering. No one ever could, unless they had endured the kind of torment Logan had. It would destroy her. So small and frail, Simone resembled a haphazardly discarded porcelain doll as she lay crumpled on the sofa. The only sign that she was a living being was the slight rise and fall of her chest, which was intermittently interrupted by a quick jerk and soft whimpering.

Perhaps she is dreaming. She recalled how breathless Simone had seemed earlier. The young noblewoman might not be as mad as rumors claimed, but Logan sensed a fragility about her that could explain her parents’ overprotectiveness toward her. Even she felt some desire to watch over Simone, a desire to prevent any of the world’s ugliness from ever touching that delicate beauty. Her protective presence was an order, issued to her by none other than old Tibolt himself, an order to guard Simone Norland with her life, but it went deeper than that. A part of her wanted to protect Simone, even though she had known her only a short time. Was it pity that she felt? Logan didn’t think so.

Entranced by this strange thought and the warm sensation which accompanied it, Logan’s eyelids drifted closed and her head slowly descended toward the desk. When next she woke, it was with a start. Lifting her head from where it rested on her folded arms, she turned toward the window. A familiar scent was carried to her by the slight breeze, a smell that she would never forget. Her forehead throbbed between her eyes and at the top of the bridge of her nose, and her breath caught in her chest.

Witherbeast.

When Logan turned back to Simone, she found her already awake and staring at her with eyes filled with terror.

“They’re here,” Logan announced, and, as if by some miracle, these simple words seemed enough for Simone to understand their dire situation. “Quickly, My Lady, we must go.”

Before the Legionnaires had departed, Tibolt had devised a plan for Logan to escort Simone to the cellar, should they find the estate under attack. And while they were not precisely being attacked just yet, Logan feared that it was only a matter of time before the peaceful manor became a living nightmare.

Upon reaching the flight of stairs leading to the cellar and the dungeons that lay below, Simone came to a sudden halt as she suspiciously eyed the descent into darkness. “We can’t go down there,” she protested.

“Please, My Lady, there is no time to argue. If the Witherbeast should find a way in, this will be our only safe haven—”

“Which could just as easily become our tomb,” Simone finished defiantly. “There are no exits, Logan. If we seal ourselves into the cellar, then we will seal our fate as well.”

Logan sighed. “Then what do you propose?” Truth be told, Logan had never been very fond of the idea either. The dark confines of the cellar reminded her too much of the dungeons of Purgatory.

“Remember the secret chambers I told you about before?” Simone swallowed hard. “The ones where I was kept when my parents believed me mad? Well, this estate is full of such secrets―forgotten rooms, hidden passageways. A network of such corridors runs the length of the entire west wing and is known only to myself and... a few others.” Simone’s expression grew thoughtful and brooding.

Logan considered it likely that someone dear to Simone had shared these secrets with her, perhaps one of her late brothers. Extending her hand toward the young noblewoman, Logan said, “Shall we go? I’ve never been in a house with secret passages, and I would like very much to see them for myself.”

Simone choked back unshed tears as she met Logan’s gaze. “Let’s go.” She took the proffered hand and guided Logan toward the main hall. Startled at the contact, Logan stumbled a few steps before allowing herself to be led along. Even through the thick gloves she wore, she could feel the warmth of Simone’s hand.

There it is again, a voice warned her from a far corner of her mind, that inexplicable spark of sympathy that one such as Logan should be incapable of feeling. For some reason, Simone inspired a hint of something resembling compassion within her heart.

Their flight ended at an ordinary wall in the far corner of the dining hall. There was an unfamiliar sinking sensation in Logan’s chest as Simone’s delicate fingers slipped from her own to embark on another quest as she sank to her knees next to the stone wall.

“I know it’s here somewhere,” Simone muttered as she pushed aside a hanging tapestry bearing the Norland coat of arms. “Aha! Found it.” Sliding her slender fingers into almost imperceptible indentations, a portion of the seemingly solid wall began to move.

Simone beamed proudly as Logan marveled at the tiny door. The small opening barely reached above her knees. There was no way a Witherbeast could fit through it, if one could even find it.

“My brother showed it to me when we were kids,” she said, confirming Logan’s earlier supposition. “The two of us, along with my older sister, used to hide in here for hours while our parents frantically searched the whole estate. Corbin was a scamp, but I loved him dearly.”

Eager to feel the sweet warmth flow through her once again, Logan tentatively reached out a hand and placed it on Simone’s shoulder. Somehow the contact gave her hope and left her feeling invigorated. Simone was kind and caring and filled with love for those dear to her. Logan scoffed inwardly at all the things she’d heard about Simone. How could anyone bear to lock this woman away, unless maybe out of a desire to protect her from the world’s cruel words and harsh realities?

Acknowledging Logan’s gesture by covering her hand with her own, Simone smiled up at her. “We should go,” she said. “Time is of the essence, and if we don’t set out soon, I fear we will not reach the servants standing guard outside in time.”

“So this passage leads outside?” Logan ducked through the cramped opening. She was relieved to find that the passage itself opened into a wider corridor, tall enough for her to stand without slumping over.

Logan pushed the door closed, the stones melding perfectly with those surrounding them, disguising any trace of their passing. Behind her, Simone said, “There are many exits. The one leading to the gardens is but one of them. Where do you think we will be the safest?”

“Certainly not out in the open.” Logan hadn’t considered it before, but perhaps scurrying about in a dark corridor wouldn’t be a successful course of action. Whether or not they would actually be able to reach her, the Witherbeast would be able to find her. The taint of their foul blood in her veins ensured that.

The Order required that she not share the details of the Legion ritual with anyone outside the Legion, and though Logan had been accused of many things, she wasn’t one to break her vow. Instead, she said, “Like it or not, if Tibolt and the others don’t return shortly, we might have to fight our way through this.”

“My servants are not warriors like you. They would stand very little chance in combat, especially against Witherbeast.”

Logan hated admitting it, but Simone had a valid point. “You’re right. They would probably be torn to shreds before delivering a single blow.”

“Have you ever fought one?” Simone’s eyes shone with apparent curiosity in the gloomy passage. “I’ve heard Witherbeast are vicious in battle.”

“That they are. And yes, I have.” Logan cringed at the memory of the cruelly curved fangs in her shoulder, the beast’s rancid breath against her skin. “And I seriously doubt any enemy could be as fierce in a fight.”

“Judging from the fact that you’re standing here before me, you were the victor.”

“It came at high cost, trust me.” Logan shrugged the unpleasant memory away. “Now, if we want to save your people, we must hurry. As you said earlier, time is of the essence.”

Simone nodded and followed close behind Logan. As they neared their destination, the sound of muffled screams and savage roars filtered in from outside.

“We are too late,” Simone said, dismayed.

“Maybe not. I’d like to take a look, see what’s going on with my own eyes.” Logan positioned herself flat against the wall where Simone indicated the door should be. Shoving the door open a scant millimeter at a time, she carefully, cautiously, peered out into the night.

The wind had picked up, dispersing the thick clouds. Shreds of dark fluff sailed across the black sky, their swift passing briefly exposing the silvery light of a full moon. Patches of landscape were eerily illuminated by pale moonlight, the luminescence disrupted only by indiscernible dark shapes strewing the garden. Still there were no signs of Witherbeast, nor were there any signs of Simone’s retainers. A strong gust of wind assaulted the garden, nearly tearing the door from Logan’s grasp.

“I don’t see anything,” she finally announced. “Neither human nor beast. All I can make out are dark shapes, but seeing as how I am unfamiliar with the gardens, perhaps they are topiaries.”

“Let me have a look.”

Simone squeezed herself into the narrow opening next to Logan, their bodies so close that neither could move without brushing against the other. Logan’s heart pounded in her chest, so fiercely that she was afraid Simone could feel it through her breastplate. If Simone noticed, she gave no sign.

“Something is not right,” she said, turning frightened eyes to Logan. “I know I heard screaming. Now it’s as peaceful as can be. It just doesn’t make any sense.” In her fright, Simone moved even closer to Logan and now leaned against her, her hands on her breastplate as she gazed imploringly at Logan with eyes that were too blue in the moonlight.

“Perhaps I should investigate more closely,” Logan said, her labored breathing having little to do with fear. “Wait here,” Logan ordered in a steadier voice. “Keep the door closed, and don’t come out until I give the signal that all is clear. Understand?”

Simone nodded, and reluctantly relinquished her hold on Logan’s armor. Logan felt as if heavy shackles had been removed from her as she crept from the shadows of the mansion and carefully made her way toward the center of the garden. Against the moonlit flagstones, the mysterious dark shapes glared obscenely, their twisted forms unnatural and out of place amidst the serenity. An acrid, metallic scent assailed Logan’s sensitive nostrils, carried to her by the wind, and she knew long before looking upon the shapes what she would find.

The bodies of several men were scattered across the lawn, including the last remaining able-bodied soldiers who had accompanied her expedition earlier, some literally ripped to pieces by the fangs and claws of their enemy. As Logan assessed the carnage, a presence was heralded by a slight pain in the center of her forehead. A soft whimpering made Logan spin around, sure at first that Simone had disobeyed her order and followed her into the clearing. But the sobbing did not come from Simone. Crouched next to a tall hedge was a shivering mass, the source of the heartrending sound. A woman, presumably a survivor of the attack, huddled next to the shrub, her back toward Logan as she bleated helplessly.

Not wanting the sound to attract undesirable attention, Logan slowly crossed the lawn to where the woman was sitting. “Excuse me,” she said, extending a hand toward the woman’s trembling shoulder. “You had best come with me. It’s not safe out here.”

“Don’t touch me!”

The woman’s shrill cry caused Logan to quickly withdraw her hand. When she turned to face her at last, the spark in the woman’s eyes told Logan she was quite mad with fear.

Logan recognized her as one of Simone’s maids, Clara. As Logan’s gaze drifted over Clara’s features, she noticed the blood smeared across her face. Her left leg, exposed through a series of tears in the fabric of her dress, was lacerated, the deep gashes cutting almost to the bone in places.

“You’re hurt,” Logan said, in what she hoped was a soothing tone. In her heart she knew it was already too late for this unfortunate woman; the taint of the Witherbeast was already spreading. When she reached toward Clara again, despite her injuries, the woman slashed threateningly at the air with her fingernails.

“Stay away from me.” Her voice quivered. “I am not myself anymore. I can feel it, trying to eat its way out of me. Oh, how it burns!” Her gaze suddenly became more focused. “You’re the Legionnaire, are you not? The one come to help defend Lady Simone against those accursed beasts?” When Logan nodded, Clara began to crawl forward on her hands and knees. “Then you must set me free. Let me feel the cold steel of your blade in my breast.”

Appalled by the unthinkable request, Logan backed away. “Are you mad, woman? You have been hurt, and quite badly. If you don’t get help soon, you will surely die.”

“That is how it must be.”

Logan recognized the truth in Clara’s words, yet she could not bring herself to perform the unspeakable task. Slicing open a Witherbeast with her great sword was one thing, slaying an unarmed, injured victim was another matter entirely. Clara reached out weakly, but Logan jerked her leg back as if from a venomous snake. Clara let out a bloodcurdling wail as she clutched at the sides of her head.

“Please, Legionnaire, I beg of you—end it now, before it’s too late.”

Logan retreated a few more paces and shook her head as if to clear it of all troubling thoughts. What Clara asked was appalling, yet not without reason. If Logan found herself in a similar situation, she would probably prefer death over the alternative. She hadn’t been given the option.

All during this strange conversation, the pain in Logan’s head had been steadily increasing. The noise Clara was making did little to help, but damned if Logan was going to quiet her by honoring her bizarre wish. Suddenly Clara fell silent, her gaze focusing on some incomprehensible thing in the distance. Logan’s headache reached a crescendo, and she became aware of another presence in the garden. The smell of wild animal musk, accompanied by death and decay, was suddenly overwhelming, and she whirled around and again found herself face-to-face with a nightmare.

Realizing it had been found out, the Witherbeast reared onto its hind legs and roared so ferociously that Logan was nearly blown back a few steps from the wind of it. Logan wrinkled her nose as the beast’s foul breath fell on her, hot and fetid and containing the unmistakable stench of rotted flesh. This beast was taller than the one she’d defeated for the Initiation, strands of saliva dripping from its long fangs as it towered over her. One of its eyes had been put out, and Logan noticed a deep red gash running from the top of its head down the right side, ending just before it reached the muzzle. The wound was fresh. Whoever had had the misfortune of encountering this beast before had at least gotten in one good swing before being slaughtered.

The Witherbeast hunched over, its long arms, or forelegs, dangling limply as it began to circle Logan, sizing her up, no doubt. Logan followed suit, aware that this beast could sense her just as easily as she had sensed it. Her hand hovered just above the hilt of her sword as they continued their deadly dance, but she dared not make any sudden moves while the beast was at such close range. Suddenly the clouds parted and sent a shaft of bright moonlight cascading down upon woman and beast, and for the first time, Logan was provided with a clear view of her enemy.

In the glow of moonlight, it became quite clear that this Witherbeast was female, the two rows of teats along her underbelly plainly visible as she stood on her hind legs. It was an alpha female, Logan thought, a bit uneasy at her discovery, no doubt attracted by the Witherbeast scent on Logan. It would seem that this female was offended and intimidated by the presence of another strong female. Something inside Logan snapped and, pulling back her lips to bare her own teeth in a feral grin, she circled the Witherbeast with more confidence.

In the face of her opponent’s newfound vigor, the Witherbeast shrank back a few steps and sniffed the air between them, clearly unsure of the nature of this new enemy.

Logan’s grin broadened, her fingers aching to release her sword from its sheath. It would be so easy, she thought, to end this battle in a single blow while her foe was distracted and uncertain. Tibolt’s warning not to engage the enemy echoed in her mind, but she wondered, also, just how long she could continue her bluff before the Witherbeast grew bold and attacked.

And it wasn’t just Logan’s life that was in danger. She was acutely aware of Simone’s eyes on her as she stared death in the face, could almost smell the sweet scent of her perfume, even at this great distance. Simone was depending on Logan to keep her safe. It was with this thought that Logan at last reached over her shoulder and unsheathed her sword in one fluid motion, swinging it at the beast’s shaggy head in the next instant.

Sensing the change in her opponent’s demeanor, the Witherbeast leapt back just in time, the finely honed edge of Logan’s blade barely grazing her pointed ear. Logan cursed as the beast issued a ground-shaking roar and slashed the air between them with its dagger-like claws. Nimbly dodging the clumsy maneuvers, Logan feigned an attack to the left, then, while the beast was distracted, lunged forward, her sword aimed for the Witherbeast’s heart.

All but forgotten in the face of the immediate threat, the injured servant wailed her misery and banged her head against the ground. Even the Witherbeast was startled by the sound, hesitating in battle long enough to look upon Clara. Something about her had changed, Logan thought, or was changing. She watched Clara’s body twist and contort into unnatural positions. Was she dying? Or was her change in appearance due to something far more sinister?

Suddenly Clara’s head snapped up, her tear- and blood-streaked face wild and incoherent. Her eyes had lost their unfathomable fear, the imploring anguish. Those had been replaced with a malice that made Logan shudder. The mutant parted her lips in a smile as she saw Logan’s gaze upon her, and the teeth that were revealed were altogether too sharp and gleamed with menace in the moonlight. Clara was changing, the taint of the Witherbeast’s bite infecting her blood and convoluting her body. Unless she devoured the heart of the beast that bit her, as Legion Initiates were forced to do, she was fated to become one of the vile creatures herself.

Feeling guilty that she hadn’t complied with Clara’s plea for death, Logan looked on the grim scene in disgust and sorrow. Because of her inaction, this woman was changing into a foul beast, her soul withering to nothing, replaced by the Witherbeast’s insatiable bloodlust. Driven by some deeply ingrained instinct, Logan grasped her sword firmly in her hands and advanced toward the retainer, the Witherbeast temporarily forgotten. The she-beast did not forget about Logan, however, and pounced on her as she strode purposefully toward Clara, at last ready to honor her request.

The beast struck hard against Logan’s side, its immense weight pressing her to the ground. Logan struggled to bring her blade up in a deadly arc, but her left arm was pinned beneath her. All she could do was turn her head and hope the Witherbeast’s attacks did not strike anything vital as the beast ravaged her with teeth and claws. Gritting her teeth, Logan squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the end, but it did not come.

Instead, the beast suddenly straddled her inert form, strands of hot saliva dripping on her head as the massive muzzle hovered inches above her face. The Witherbeast’s attention had been drawn away from Logan. It stared ahead at some point beyond Logan’s field of vision, its black lips quivering as it bared its fangs at whatever possessed the audacity to interrupt her hunt.

Simone! Logan’s mind immediately conjured up the image of Simone venturing forth from hiding, only to stumble upon such a horror. Slowly, not wanting to attract the Witherbeast’s attention, Logan lifted her head, fearing what she would find staring back at her.

She gasped as the weight on her body suddenly lifted, her lungs craving fresh air devoid of the heat and stink of the Witherbeast’s breath. Rearing onto her hind legs, the she-beast howled to the night sky, a sound which was immediately echoed from all directions.

“Logan! Get up now, while she is distracted!”

The voice was familiar, but it did not belong to Simone. Obeying her mentor, Logan leapt to her feet and rushed to join Tibolt where he stood at the opposite side of the garden path.

“You took your time in getting here,” she said, relief seeping into her voice. “It’s great to have you back.” The smile she flashed Tibolt as she took up a battle stance at his side was truly genuine.

The bushes around the clearing trembled and shook violently before bursting apart with fangs and fury. At least twenty more Witherbeast now joined the alpha female, pacing agitatedly as they formed a defensive barrier around their leader.

Turning toward Logan, who was prepared to fight alongside him, Tibolt said, “What do you think you are doing? I gave you a direct order not to engage the Witherbeast in combat. Your mission is to protect Lady Simone from harm at all costs. Understand?”

Logan did not understand the sudden change in Tibolt’s usually calm demeanor, but she nodded anyway.

Their attention was suddenly drawn from one another by Clara, who now turned her face toward the sky and cried out, seemingly in response to the baying Witherbeast. Never taking her eyes off Clara, Logan said, “That woman...Why is she not dead, along with the rest of the staff assigned to stand watch here? Why is she the only one spared in this massacre?”

Tibolt sighed, a troubled expression wrinkling his brow as he followed Logan’s line of sight to where the Witherbeast were circling the transfiguring woman.

“It seems almost as though they are forming a line of defense around the human woman as well as their alpha female. Do they already recognize her as one of their own?”

“Witherbeast are not ordinary animals.” Tibolt looked away again, this time narrowing his eyes at the alpha female, who bared her enormous fangs in response. “They were human once. Some still possess a trace of that reasoning and logic we humans so pride ourselves on. The bite of a Witherbeast is infectious. They know this. That is why they have spared the woman. Fresh blood is hard to come by among their kind.” His voice lowered as he said, “They need her and others like her in order to ensure the future of their horde.”

Logan’s eyes flew open in shock as the impact of Tibolt’s words hit her. Her hand went to her shoulder, where the Witherbeast had bitten her during her Initiation. “New blood,” she said absently as she stared at the horrific scene taking place in front of her. “So she is to become a broodmare for their ghastly horde? Is that why that woman was spared?” She spoke more to herself than to Tibolt as her gaze remained fastened on Clara and the circling Witherbeast.

Clara’s skin was turning an ashen shade of gray, the color of a corpse, yet she still lived. There was something odd about her eyes, as well. Red-rimmed and swollen, they stood out against the pasty flesh like fresh blood. Some of the Witherbeast had grown bold enough to venture close and were sniffing at her with keen interest, but one snap from the alpha was enough to send them scurrying away with their tails between their legs.

“We have to do something,” Logan said, though her voice lacked the conviction her words implied. She knew Clara was already beyond saving. There was only one way to help her now. Tibolt confirmed her fears.

“It’s too late for her, I’m afraid. Once you’ve been bitten by a Witherbeast, there are only two choices—either you consume the heart of a Witherbeast and become as we are, or the taint runs its course and you become one of them.”

The heart! Logan had at first been resentful of Tibolt’s feeding her a ground Witherbeast’s heart without her consent, but now her eyes were truly opened. It was his action alone that had prevented her from becoming one of these ravaging nightmares. Without mastering the taint of the Witherbeast’s blood, the Legion of Blood would be hopeless in their war against these creatures.

“In that case, we must kill her,” Logan said with determination, speaking in slow, measured tones. “Spare her from her fate if we can’t change it. She was one of Simone’s handmaidens. She doesn’t deserve this.” She swallowed hard around the lump that had formed in her throat. “She begged me to take her life, but I was too scared. Please, Tibolt, end her misery. Do this one thing for me, and I will retreat from here without another question. You have my word.”

“Ending her suffering won’t be that easy. First we will have to get through them.” Tibolt nodded toward the encircling Witherbeast. “That will be very difficult, for Witherbeast are quite protective of their brood stock, but I’ll try my best to fulfill your request.”

“Thank you.” Logan was surprised to find herself suddenly struggling to hold back tears. “For everything.” A far cry from the bitter, pathetic ragamuffin she’d once been, Logan had Tibolt to thank for much of her progress. Her fateful encounter with the Legion of Blood had changed her life, decidedly for the better. Now it was time to repay some of its generosity with the kind of dedication and honor on which the Order was founded.

Tibolt acknowledged her gratitude with a nod. “Now go,” he said gently. “Lady Simone waits for you, doubtlessly worried that you have abandoned her with no intention of returning. Or worse, believes you dead.”

“I will protect her.” The feel of the resolute words on her tongue gave Logan something substantive, something to hold on to amidst the insanity of the night. With one last nod of respect, she pivoted on her heel and ran back to the wall of the mansion, back to the secret corridor where Simone was waiting.

“We must leave,” Logan announced, startling Simone as she rushed into the passageway. “The other Legionnaires have returned and are focusing their efforts on securing the estate. I’ve been given the order to escort you to safety, wherever we might find such a rare commodity in this nightmare.” Logan arched an eyebrow, daring Simone to challenge her orders. After all that had transpired that night, she was in no mood to argue.

Surprising Logan, Simone agreed without a moment’s hesitation. “Where shall we go?” she asked as Logan led her stealthily across the garden courtyard.

“Anywhere there are no Witherbeast.”

Looking back one last time, Logan saw Tibolt swinging his broadsword at the alpha female’s head; the other Witherbeast flanked him on all sides. Forcibly tearing her gaze away from the seemingly hopeless scene, she took Simone’s hand in her own and squeezed until she felt Simone flinch.

“Let’s go,” she said, as she drew Simone away from the carnage on the moonlit estate.

Chapter 11

Their flight had taken them off the main road and through the forest land that surrounded the Norland estate. Behind the distant mountains, the sky was slowly beginning to grow lighter. Panting with exhaustion, Simone collapsed to the ground behind a large tree while Logan backtracked to make sure they were not being followed. Unaccustomed to such exertion, Simone felt as though her lungs were on fire; every breath she drew was pained. She wondered how Logan could keep running as though their expedition were no more than an evening stroll, especially while still clad in her suit of heavy armor. The physical trials a Legionnaire had to endure must be torturous indeed.

After a few minutes, Logan returned, the expression behind her chestnut eyes unreadable. “It looks as if we’re safe, at least for the time being.” She leaned against a boulder and folded her arms across her chest as she stared down at Simone. “The Witherbeast will be going to ground soon. Their foul ilk cannot long tolerate the light of day.”

Ever since the ordeal in the garden, Logan had been very quiet and very grim. The silence as they made their way through the woodlands nearly drove Simone mad, but she’d dared not speak before for fear of attracting the attention of a stray Witherbeast. Now that Logan had declared them momentarily safe, she could no longer hold back the words that had been dancing on the tip of her tongue all night.

“What were you thinking?” The sound of her voice snapped Logan out of her grave reverie. “You almost got yourself killed back there. Yes, I saw you as you so foolhardily dared to take on that huge Witherbeast all alone. You’re lucky you weren’t torn to shreds.”

“Being torn to shreds isn’t the worst fate when one faces a Witherbeast.” Logan’s hand went to her shoulder, the same as it had every time they had stopped for a brief rest that long night.

“Are you hurt?” Simone asked, wishing she could inspect Logan’s arm for herself, but she was certain that her tired legs would crumple beneath her should she attempt to stand.

“An old wound,” Logan replied. “Only recent events have brought to light just how narrowly I averted an unimaginable fate.” She shivered.

Simone smiled warmly. “Come, sit by me. You’re trembling so, I believe I can hear your bones rattling.”

“It’s probably just my armor,” Logan said as she nevertheless sat beside Simone against the massive tree trunk.

The northern woods were beautiful and mystical. Simone wished she had the leisure to admire them instead of running for her life. Plucking a fallen leaf from the forest floor and twirling it between her fingers, she suddenly felt very shy with Logan by her side.

“Promise me you will never take a chance like that again,” she said, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen between them. “I thought I’d lost you. We’ve only known each other for a short time, but the idea of being left alone again...” Simone swiped at the tears that were beginning to fall. “Sorry. Too many people have walked away from me, never to return.”

“I won’t be so foolish again.” Logan placed a finger beneath Simone’s chin and gently tipped her head back until Simone was forced to make eye contact. Logan’s chestnut eyes bored into her, holding Simone transfixed. “You have my word.”

Simone couldn’t breathe. The heat and passion in Logan’s brown eyes seared right through her and left her breathless. Parting her lips in an attempt to draw in air, she allowed her body to relax as all the thoughts and inclinations she struggled to control ran rampant for a few brief moments.

A high-pitched whistling wrenched Simone’s attention away from Logan, and an instant later, Logan grabbed her and yelled, “Get down!” Too shocked to comply, Simone only stared at Logan, her voice failing her as the Legionnaire shoved her to the ground.

There was an ominous thud overhead as Logan covered Simone’s body with her own, and when Simone next looked, there was an arrow lodged in the tree where her head had been only seconds before.

“We’re under attack,” Simone whispered, panicked.

“Yes,” Logan agreed. “But Witherbeast don’t fire arrows at their prey.” Keeping her hands in front of her, palms out, Logan slowly stood and made her way to a clearing between the trees.

“Don’t make any sudden moves,” commanded a male voice, thick and slightly accented, from the shadows of early dawn.

“Keep your hands where we can see them, or I promise you the next arrow will not miss,” added a second voice, female, with the same musical tones as the first.

“Please,” Logan said in a placating tone, “we have no quarrel with the Yor’kesh. We were fleeing Witherbeast when you happened upon us.”

“They appear to be human,” the male voice said, and a lean figure stepped into the clearing, silhouetted by the dim glow of daybreak.

“Be careful,” his companion warned. “Those damned beasts can be very deceptive. Perhaps these two are merely decoys to lure us out.”

“You are too suspicious, Valira,” the male said, and in that moment, the first rays of sunlight crested the mountains and filtered through the trees, falling fully on the two elves.

They were beautiful, Simone thought. Every bit as striking as the legends claimed them to be. The female, Valira, had dusky skin and hair the same shade as the golden sunlight. Her male companion was fairer skinned, with bright red hair, but possessing a beauty all his own. Both moved gracefully, and in that grace Simone could see calm and controlled lethality. No two ways about it, these two Yor’kesh Elves were definitely warriors.

“You’re of elven descent?” the male elf asked as he noted Logan’s sharply defined features.

Appearing unaccountably shy under the elves’ scrutiny, Logan turned her head. “Yes.”

“We have had our own share of problems with Witherbeast,” the elf continued, seemingly oblivious to Logan’s discomfort regarding her lineage. “Please forgive me. I am Zaris. Valira and I are sentries of the T’fanga clan, one of the most powerful and prosperous tribes of the Yor’kesh.”

Logan bowed stiffly. “It is an honor.”

As if noticing for the first time the suit of dark armor Logan wore, Valira stepped forward and said, “Rise, half-breed.” Closely inspecting the crimson Witherbeast head emblazoned on the breastplate, she added, “You’re of the Legion of Blood? Perhaps you can be of use to us, after all.”

Behind Logan, Simone rose unsteadily to her feet, still exhausted from the night’s exertions. Her stumbling did not go unnoticed. The hard, rugged Valira saw how Simone struggled to remain standing, and her stern features softened.

“Poor child,” she said. “She looks as though she’s dead on her feet. Even a human and a half-breed deserve more than being thrown to the Witherbeast. Come, Zaris, let us escort these two back to our camp. The Elder will know what to do with them.”

The camp to which Zaris and Valira escorted Logan and Simone was a caravan, the wagons converted into makeshift dwellings for use as the elves traversed the forest. Simone wondered what a tribe of Yor’kesh could be doing so far south. Usually the elves did not venture beyond the boundaries of their sacred Yor’kesh Highlands, avoiding the lands inhabited by humans at all costs. Simone found that it was exhilarating to witness such an amazing people and their customs personally, despite the grim circumstances of their meeting.

And, one of the many questions that had been preying on her mind since she’d met Logan had been answered. Just as she had suspected, Logan was indeed descended from elves. However, Simone never would have guessed that Logan was a full half elf. Most of the T’fanga clan came only to Logan’s shoulders. The Legionnaire’s height, Simone surmised, must be a trait inherited from her human parent.

Logan and Simone were not given much freedom about the camp. Valira ordered them to wait inside one of the covered wagons while she and Zaris informed the Elder of their situation, and she left two armed sentries to stand guard. Given the elves’ distaste for humanity, their caution was understandable.

Once widespread throughout Anolaya, the elves had been all but eliminated by the human settlers. Driven beyond the northern mountain range and hunted nearly to the point of extinction, the elves laid claim to the treacherous terrain of the Yor’kesh Highlands, for it was seemingly the one place where the humans could not thrive. Man’s body was heavier, his movements clumsier, and in a land where one misjudged step could prove his downfall, the elves once again gained the advantage. For this reason, many of the elves believed the Yor’kesh Highlands were a gift from their forest deities, and the land was revered as sacred.

Simone saw the hard lines of Logan’s face tense, her jaw set as she focused on some indiscernible point in the distance. She wondered what Logan could be thinking, what could have happened to her to make her so grim. Deciding to take a chance on making small talk, Simone sidled up next to Logan as they waited in the covered wagon.

“It’s been a long day.” At the sound of her voice, Logan jumped. Her dark eyes were clear and focused, but Simone thought they seemed haunted somehow. “I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done,” she added. “If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t even want to think what might have happened.”

Some of the characteristic nonchalance returned to Logan’s face. “What I’ve done is hardly worth mentioning.” When Simone began to protest, Logan waved her hand for silence. “It was good fortune that we managed to survive the night. We should consider ourselves lucky.”

“I wonder if there are others who were so lucky,” Simone said hesitantly. Logan looked reflective. “You’re thinking about Tibolt, aren’t you?” Simone said. “So he truly is like a father to you.”

Logan’s eyes darkened. “I have no family.” Her voice was cold, hollow. “One such as I does not deserve such a luxury.” Resting her chin on her knees as she hugged them to her chest, she drew a deep breath and exhaled raggedly. “You saw how the Legionnaires were surrounded. The Witherbeast had them thoroughly outnumbered, and I did nothing.”

“There was nothing you could do,” Simone said in reassurance. “To charge headlong into that fray would have been suicide.”

“And so I ran away, too pathetic to save anyone.”

“You were obeying your orders.” Simone smiled. “And you did save someone. Because of your brave actions and devotion to your duties, I am still alive.”

Logan raised her head, her expression showing a mixture of sorrow and relief. And perhaps pain. Simone knew Logan must be blaming herself for all that had happened, hating herself for not being able to prevent the deaths of her comrades. She continued to regard Simone with that haunted expression for several long moments before returning her attention to the forest around them, and Simone wished with all her heart she could find the words to ease Logan’s suffering.

Logan surreptitiously watched Simone out of the corner of her eye. Simone was quite lovely in the early morning light. Golden rays of sunlight streaked through the canopy of the wagon, igniting Simone’s auburn hair like flame. Logan could see a faint dusting of freckles across Simone’s nose, a minute detail she’d failed to notice before. Simone was captivating, the allure so great it was difficult for Logan to tear her gaze away.

Her young charge’s words had a profound effect on Logan. She’d protected Simone, just as Tibolt had ordered. Because of her, Simone was alive. Maybe she wasn’t a complete failure. And yet, she had then led Simone right into the hands of these traveling elves that were so far from their territory, a fact which was in itself suspicious.

“I am sorry I couldn’t save your servants,” Logan said, still feeling shame at her inability to protect everyone at Norland Manor.

“Logan, don’t be so hard on yourself.” Simone sighed. “I know it was hard for you to flee while the Legion stayed to fight. It was hard for me, too.” Logan noticed how badly Simone was shaking. From fear, Logan wondered, or rage?

“Don’t despair. If you’re able to save even one life,” Simone continued, “then you have fulfilled your charge as a Legionnaire.”

Logan suddenly became aware of a heat emanating from Simone and turned her head to face her. Simone was beaming at her, the gratitude and affection in her eyes so real, so deep, that it was nearly palpable in the air between them.

“I...” she began, but before she could frame a proper response, Zaris and Valira returned.

“The Elder is quite pleased to have a Legionnaire among us,” Zaris said. “Especially one of our blood. She is wondering if perhaps you would be willing to assist us with our own current dilemma.”

Logan looked from Zaris to Valira, who was staring disapprovingly. Whether at having to rely on a half-breed for help or having to tolerate a human in their midst, Logan did not know.

“What sort of dilemma are you facing, exactly?” When Zaris appeared self-satisfied, Logan qualified her interest by saying, “I am not agreeing to help, mind you, only I think I should at least hear you out before I decide.”

“Well, yes. Of course.” Zaris cleared his throat. “As I said earlier, we have been having some difficulties with the Witherbeast as of late. There have been attacks on our village in the Yor’kesh Highlands. Many of our clan were slaughtered and others disappeared. Among the missing are women and children.”

Logan wanted to tell Zaris that it was probably too late for any of those taken by the Witherbeast, but the precarious situation in which she and Simone found themselves made her hold her tongue. If she refused to assist the elves in their futile search, would they allow her and Simone to just go their own way?

She looked at Simone; her blue eyes were wide with concern and pity for the unfortunate elves. Given the right circumstances, the innocent young noblewoman could just as easily become a bargaining chip for the elves, a way for them to ensure Logan’s cooperation. Logan wasn’t about to give them that incentive. “And you want to find these people?”

Zaris nodded. “It’s the reason we have traveled so far beyond the protection of our sacred lands. We have tracked the Witherbeast to this forest, yet a resolution of our search has not yet presented itself. If anything, our journey has only complicated matters. Since our expedition began, we have lost nine more of our clan.”

Logan desperately wanted to tell this fool to go home and forget about the Witherbeast, but something prevented her from doing so. Something other than her regard for Simone’s safety. Unexpectedly, these people reminded her of her father with their courage and determination as great as his had been. Logan did not know from which clan she was descended. Her father had chosen a human woman and so was sentenced to live his life as an outcast. For all she knew, these very elves could be her distant relatives. Although Logan was uncertain why any of this should matter, she decided to listen to the elves’ plight.

“What do you intend to do now?” she asked, knowing she would regret the words as soon as they had been spoken.

“What else is there to do?” Valira spoke for the first time since the conversation began. “We are going to storm the Witherbeast while they sleep and take back any of our lost comrades that we find.” There was such sadness in Valira’s eyes as she spoke this last, that Logan almost pitied the warrior.

“Your plan to attack during the day is a good one,” she commended. “However, it does have its flaws. For one, the Witherbeast usually sleep in caves or other dark and dangerous places. For another,” she hesitated, recalling Tibolt’s claim that the Witherbeast possessed a keen intellect, “I’ve personally never known of Witherbeast hoarding live prey within their denning sites. More than likely, such a place would be filled with carrion or the victims of their latest hunt.”

“But I’ve seen them!” Valira’s gruff voice took on a note of despair Logan had not thought possible of the warrior. Valira noticed this too, and immediately regained her composure. “A while back,” she continued calmly, “while we were spying on the Witherbeast to gather more information, I saw them herding live prey into a cave.”

“Herding?” Logan could not believe she had heard correctly.

Valira nodded. “Like dogs herd sheep. However, I did not recognize any of them. Perhaps they were human travelers who had been caught out in the open.”

“My brother mentioned missing caravans,” Simone said suddenly, the sound of her gentle voice startling all present. Her pale eyes seemed dark and hollow. Her thoughts were undoubtedly of her family, lost to the merciless Witherbeast. Simone looked from Logan to Valira. “So the Witherbeast do keep at least some of their prey alive, and even go to the trouble of transporting the victims from one den to another. The question is, why?”

This new information deeply unsettled Logan. If the Witherbeast were indeed herding live prey from one denning site to another, as Valira claimed, then that could indicate that more complex thought processes existed in the beasts. Logan recalled Tibolt’s warning regarding just this conjecture and had to suppress a shudder.

“Why those accursed beasts would choose to keep anything alive is anyone’s guess,” Valira said, some of the disdain returning to her tone. “Maybe the Witherbeast prefer to snack on fresh meat while they are resting.”

Simone shuddered at Valira’s cruel words, and Logan gave the elf a reproachful look. “There is no need to be so callous,” she reprimanded. “We have all lost someone important to us.” For a long while, the two women stared each other down.

“She is right, Valira.” Zaris stepped into the intense silence. “If you allow your anguish to cloud your judgment, we might be forced to leave you behind on the next hunt.”

Valira surged to her feet and towered over the startled Zaris. “You’re welcome to try,” she said, then stormed away from the wagon.

“Please forgive her,” he said to Logan. “She has not been herself since the latest attack, a few nights ago. One of our fellow sentries was taken.”

“I can understand her frustration,” Logan said. “Many Legionnaires were undoubtedly lost during the battle last night. I assume this is so, otherwise they would be out searching for us by now.” She gave Simone a wan smile, but her heart wasn’t in it. “Anyway,” Logan said, sounding as cheerful as she could, “when do we set out on this Witherbeast hunt? It has been hours since my life was last in peril, and I’m aching to be at it again.”

Zaris laughed at Logan’s wry humor. “We leave immediately,” he said, utterly serious. “The pack was spotted heading southeast just before dawn. If we hurry, we might be able to reach its location before nightfall.”

Chapter 12

The elven hunting party was having little success in their search for the Witherbeast. They had spent the entire day carefully picking their way through the forest; now the sun was beginning to sink over the distant mountains, and still there were no signs of the creatures.

Weary from her long day of travel and the events of the previous night, Logan trudged onward, her feet so used to motion that they now seemed to move of their own accord. Simone was faring little better, she imagined, though the elves had been kind enough to allow Simone to ride in one of the covered wagons, at a safe distance behind the warriors. The elves’ reason for bringing along an entire caravan was the need for healers and a makeshift infirmary should they encounter the Witherbeast and suffer casualties, but Logan suspected the truth of the matter was that they wanted Simone close, to serve as a constant reminder of what might happen should Logan choose to double-cross the wary T’fanga. Of course Logan had no such intentions, but she had to admit the T’fanga clan’s methods and precautions were understandable, if somewhat excessive.

Zaris—who Logan had learned held the status of captain among the T’fanga sentries—stepped out of the shadows cast by the setting sun and called a halt.

“It will be dark soon,” he said. “The beasts cannot move about so freely in daylight. With the coming of dusk, what little daytime advantage we have over the Witherbeast will vanish as surely as the fading sunlight. We should set up camp for the night. Let’s head back to the others.”

Half-awake, Simone stumbled from a wagon when it came to a stop, still rubbing her eyes but ecstatic at seeing Logan—the closest thing she had to a friend—among the group.

“Welcome back,” she called, then stifled a yawn behind her hand. “Any luck with the hunt?”

“None at all.” The flat tone of Logan’s voice conveyed her disappointment. With the images of the massacre of the night before still fresh in her mind, she had longed to discover the Witherbeast while they were inactive and unaware.

Feeling Simone’s eyes upon her, Logan turned and offered a reassuring smile. “At least one of us had a chance to get some rest. Are you feeling better?”

Embarrassed, perhaps even a little ashamed at sleeping while Logan had been searching all day, Simone ducked her head and said, “I hadn’t intended to sleep so long. It just felt so good. It seems as if I haven’t slept so soundly in forever.”

Logan chuckled. “There’s no need to apologize. There was nothing else you could have been doing. And besides, you needed some rest after all you’ve been through.” She sat on the back of the wagon next to Simone, whose legs dangled over the edge.

“But it’s nearly dark now,” Simone protested. “And I haven’t done a single thing to help you or the T’fanga, who so generously took us in when they were living on limited rations as it was.”

Logan quickly looked away. Simone’s almost childlike innocence was one of her endearing qualities, but Logan hadn’t expected her to be so naive as to not realize her situation. It made her feel guilty to keep such knowledge from Simone, but she would be even more wretched if she had to explain to the noblewoman that she was little more than a glorified hostage.

“I had a dream about you,” Simone said timidly, her gaze fastened on her hands folded in her lap. “As usual, I was lost in a forest so dense, no light could penetrate, only this time, I didn’t feel so alone.”

She leaned into Logan ever so slightly. Logan shivered at the contact. When Simone lifted her head to meet her gaze, Logan noticed her eyes were immediately drawn to something beyond her instead.

“I know this place,” Simone exclaimed. “We have come full circle and ended up almost at the point from which we started.” She jumped down from the wagon, unaware that the gaze of every T’fanga sentry was fixed on her. “My manor should be just beyond that hill,” she said, pointing to a rise in the terrain in the distance.

“What’s all this about?” Valira demanded as she rounded the corner of the wagon.

“What did the young woman mean by ‘her manor’?” Zaris asked Logan. “Is she the noble presiding over this region? I’ve heard humans practice such a custom, but I never would have thought that this child was of any significance.”

Logan had noticed from the beginning that the elves had not shown Simone any respect, but she had assumed that was because of their contempt for humans. Now, indignant that Zaris would speak of Simone in such a manner when she was standing within earshot, Logan was torn two ways. On the one hand, if she confirmed Simone’s identity—that she was a person of significance—it might worsen Simone’s already precarious situation. On the other hand, the elves might be willing to listen to a human of status. Backed into a corner as she was, Logan just stood and stared as the horrific images of the night rose to haunt her.

Suddenly her mind locked onto a detail which she had failed to recognize as significant. “Of course! The mansion,” she exclaimed, causing Zaris to stare at her as if she had gone mad. “Last night, the Witherbeast attacked the Norland estate, killing everyone. The mansion is filled with dark corridors and chambers. I’ll just bet that is where they are resting.”

Zaris and Valira listened intently to every word Logan said, but Simone appeared appalled at the idea of the Witherbeast denning inside her ancestral home. Logan’s own revulsion at the obscene prompted her into action.

“The last of the sunlight hasn’t completely faded. If we are quick about it, we might be able to get the drop on the beasts before they rise for their nightly hunt, before they have the chance to locate this caravan and claim more victims,” Logan added ominously, hoping that this possibility would sway the elves into agreeing with her suggestion.

Zaris was thoughtful as he looked to the darkening sky, apparently skeptical about this mad plan. “I don’t know,” he murmured, his mind undoubtedly already considering all their options and the possible outcome of such action.

“Come on, Zaris,” Valira said in exasperation. “She is right, and you know it. If we just sit idly on our backsides tonight, those accursed monsters will find us.” She took Zaris’s hand in her own and squeezed it as she said, “We might be able to stop them before it’s too late if we follow this half—” She looked at Logan. “—this Legionnaire’s advice. Please, Zaris, if not for the sake of meting out justice, then do this for the sake of our clan. Our future is in your hands.”

There was a long hesitation, during which he looked from Valira to Logan, who were anxiously awaiting his decision. Zaris sighed and closed his eyes. “Very well.” He rubbed his temples. “We move immediately. Stragglers will be left behind.” As Valira rushed off to inform the rest of the hunters of their marching orders, Zaris turned toward Logan. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Legionnaire.”

“Positive.” Logan didn’t say any more, hoping that Zaris would be content with her affirmation.

Simone gingerly took hold of Logan’s arm, her blue eyes round and filled with unspoken horror. Smiling broadly, Logan did her best to offer reassurance. “Fear not, My Lady. The Legion taught me well how to deal with Witherbeast. If we find them, that is.”

But Logan already knew they would find the Witherbeast at the Norland mansion; she could feel them, their dark presence vibrating in her veins as the beastly essence sang in her blood. It was all she could do to keep her own dark power in check. Only the knowledge that vengeance was waiting just over the next rise kept her sane, kept her inner beast leashed and shackled.

Soon, she soothed the savage shadow stalking her mind. Very soon.

The stately Norland mansion was dark, much darker than Logan or any of the others had anticipated as they stalked their cautious way across the open courtyard. Even the sun, it seemed, was against them, sinking low over the ragged horizon at a deadly pace. In the garden, the scene of the tragic battle that had transpired only hours before, Logan paused briefly to conduct a quick search of the grounds. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw no sign of Legionnaire corpses, but she found it odd that there were no slain Witherbeast either. There was evidence of a battle; the stones were spattered in blood and gore, and the grass was practically matted with viscera. Images of similar bloodshed from so long ago flashed briefly through Logan’s mind, and she averted her gaze from the carnage.

As two T’fanga warriors began making their way toward the main entrance, Logan called them to a halt. “Not the front door,” she said, surveying the damage done to the impressive piece of wood. The thick double doors bore evidence of Witherbeast passing, the rents in the slabs of wood as wide and as deep as if they had been made by swords. “There’s no telling what we might encounter in there. I know of a secret entrance.”

The elves followed her obediently, trusting her prior knowledge of the manor. Logan tried not to think about what might have transpired in the hours since she was last at this place. She did not really want to know what had happened to Tibolt and the Legionnaires. Nor did she want to think about the unfortunate woman who had begun transforming into a Witherbeast.

“It’s over here,” she called, willing her mind back to concentrate on the task at hand. She’d promised Simone she would come back alive. Losing her focus now would not bode well for her or the T’fanga.

The hidden door to the secret passage was precisely where she remembered, only now the stones concealing it had been clawed and pawed until the door itself had been pried loose. It stood ajar, and as Logan and the elves approached, the scent emanating from within was enough to drive one of the hunters to his knees. The place Logan had come to know, almost fondly, as smelling of flowers and pine now reeked of blood and death. It was nearly enough to drive the beast within her into a frenzy. The beast’s essence roiled and seared through her veins, and for the first time in her life, Logan was truly afraid of the darkness that lay within her.

“They’re in here,” she growled, her voice several octaves lower than it had been. If any of the T’fanga noticed, none dared speak of it. Drawing her sword from its sheath on her back, she took hold of the edge of the door and pulled it open. She would have charged forward if not for the halting hand placed on her shoulder.

“Easy now,” Zaris said. “We don’t know what we might find inside.”

“We are running out of time, Zaris,” Valira said, stepping forward and joining Logan. “There is no reason for hesitation after we’ve come this far.” She turned to Logan. “You’re familiar with this place, Legionnaire. Lead the way.”

The command from the T’fanga lieutenant was enough for Logan. She shouldered aside the section of wall and moved onward, the overwhelming reek of Witherbeast growing stronger with each step she took.

The mansion was darker inside than it had been outside. It was so dark, in fact, the search party could scarcely see where they were going, and the usually nimble T’fanga stumbled clumsily through the narrow corridors. Logan had little difficulty picking her way through the passageways. Even without the stench of death to guide her, the beast’s essence inside her enabled her eyes to pierce even the deepest gloom.

They emerged from the secret passage on the first floor of the mansion, near the flight of stairs that led to the cellar. Logan recalled Simone saying that the nearly impenetrable stone walls could easily become a tomb. Those words now echoed ominously in her mind as she pinpointed the location of the Witherbeast den.

“I can’t see a blasted thing in this dark,” Zaris said quietly. “Are they near?”

Nodding her head in the direction of the stairs, Logan said, “Down there. Everyone quiet down. We don’t want—” A blur of motion shot past her and began descending the stairs.

“Vengeance!”

The sound of Valira’s battle cry reverberated throughout the mansion, the fury and pain behind it enough to nearly make the walls tremble.

“Damn it all!” Logan cursed as she followed the enraged elf. “Does she want to get us all killed?” But truth be told, Logan was just as eager as Valira to storm the basement, perhaps even more so. With all the recent information she’d gathered on Witherbeast behavior, she was anxious to see just what, or who, she would find huddled in the darkness.

It was pitch black in the basement, and Logan immediately detected the scent of older blood amidst the stink of Witherbeast. Probably from the dungeon, she told herself. She was well aware of the methods used for extracting information from stubborn prisoners. Suddenly Logan was very grateful to Simone for having suggested the secret passage. This place reeked of torture, and the scent brought back all–too-vivid memories of Purgatory. Her head reeling from the combined force of the dark recollections and the even darker shadow struggling to free itself from her soul, Logan stood rooted to the spot, momentarily dazed by all that was happening around her.

“It’s too dark down here,” an elf said. “Someone make a light.”

Before Logan could formulate a coherent warning, there was a spark and two candle lanterns were lit. Her heart froze in her chest as the scene before her suddenly came to bright and vivid life.

Two large Witherbeast, apparently sentries of their own sort, were curled outside a set of double doors, splintered down the middle as though they had been rent by great claws. The two beasts were lax in their duty, their blood red eyes blinking lazily in the glare of the lanterns. Prodded into action by the sight of the beasts, Logan unsheathed her sword and took up a defensive position at the head of the elves.

Seeing the cause for her alarm, the elven hunters drew their weapons. Two archers fired from the back of the group, and a hail of arrows sailed through the air and lodged deep within the hides of the Witherbeast. Angered by the arrows, the two Witherbeast howled in fury, clawing desperately at themselves in an attempt to dislodge the arrows.

“Now is our chance,” Logan called to the elves. “Attack, while they are off guard.”

Logan managed to bring down the first Witherbeast, running it through with her sword while it was distracted by the archers. She was pleased to see the elves had successfully slain the second, beheading the great brute before it had time to react. Placing a booted foot in the center of the Witherbeast’s chest, Logan pulled her blade free of the carcass.

Applause erupted among the elves, but was silenced by a glare from the gore-splattered Logan. The battle was far from over.

Alerted to the elves’ presence by the commotion, two more Witherbeast rounded the corner in front of Logan, bounding toward her on all fours. Dropping to one knee, Logan managed to land a good blow to one of the beasts as it leapt over her. Her blade made contact with the Witherbeast’s soft underbelly, opening a gash nearly as long as her arm.

She heard Zaris call, “Hold your positions. Assist the Legionnaire. Fight like elves!” Sounds of battle could be heard from somewhere behind her, but Logan dared not take her eyes from the Witherbeast glowering down at her.

The wounded beast circled her cautiously, its red eyes glowing in the dim light. Thinking it had found an opening, the Witherbeast charged, its claws extended as it went for the kill. Logan rounded on the beast at the last second, the shaft of her blade lodging in its furry chest as she brought her sword up defensively. It proved a victory by sheer luck. The Witherbeast flailed and kicked violently for a brief moment before the last of its energy drained away with the blood pouring from its chest wound.

“Nice work, Legionnaire,” one of the elves complimented.

Logan raised her head and saw that the other Witherbeast had also been dealt with. Arrows protruded from the lifeless body, such that it resembled a huge porcupine. Relieved, Logan returned her attention to the monster at the end of her sword. The beast hit the floor with a thud as Logan pulled her blade free.

“It’s best if we don’t tarry here for long,” she said. “The beasts know of our presence. It will only be a matter of time before more come to destroy us.” She stepped over the corpse to continue along the corridor. Somewhere up ahead was a presence most foul, so strong it made Logan’s head hurt.

The path broadened as the hallway extended deeper into the earth, ultimately opening into a vast chamber containing all manner of torturous implements. Logan could see them by the faint light of the rising moon, which streamed in through small openings around the ceiling of the chamber. She could also see dark shapes milling about along the edges of the room.

In a moment, the T’fanga caught up to her, the light from their candle lanterns flooding the torture chamber as they approached Logan. With the additional light, Logan could clearly see the abominations which huddled nervously in the corners. Not quite human, or in some cases elf, these creatures were not yet completely Witherbeast, either. Stuck in the middle phases of the metamorphosis, these unfortunate souls were a horrid combination of the two. The elves were appalled, but even as disgusted as they were at learning the sad fate of their fallen comrades, the T’fanga readied their bows and swords, eager, it seemed, to put an end to their former comrades’ miserable existence.

The creatures’ minds were already bestial, of that much Logan was certain as she observed their behavior. She noted that most of the humans and elves present were female, which confirmed her earlier concern. The Witherbeast were looking to increase their numbers, and therefore were creating new brood stock. Logan shivered as her grip tightened on her sword. This had to end. She couldn’t allow Simone to be faced with a similar fate.

By now, more of the pack had become aware of the intruders in their den and were slowly circling in from adjoining hallways and chambers. Among them was the she-beast Logan had encountered before, the one Tibolt had been fighting when last she had seen him. Still alive, she thought, remembering Tibolt’s words of how the blood of a Legionnaire was lethal to a Witherbeast. Did that mean Tibolt had bested the she-beast, and she had been forced to flee? Immediately upon seeing Logan, the she-beast’s black lips pulled back in a feral snarl, a physical expression perfectly mirroring what Logan was feeling inside.

“It’s too late for any of them,” she said to Zaris, indicating the victims of the Witherbeast.

He nodded. “Aye. They’re changing. They’re withering.”

Having witnessed the stages of this metamorphosis with her own eyes, Logan understood why the elves had named these brutes the Witherbeast. It seemed a most appropriate term to describe the foul creatures.

“We have to destroy them now, before they have the chance to leave the denning site.” Logan took a candle lantern from one of the elves. “We need more fire, enough to set this whole place ablaze.” Though she regretted having to explain her decision to Simone, Logan had no way of knowing whether more Witherbeast lay hidden in other parts of the mansion. Burning the place to the ground was the only way; she hoped Simone would understand.

“No, you can’t!” This outcry came from Valira, who appeared suddenly from the darkness. “You mustn’t burn this place, not before I’ve located Kalin.”

“You know as well as I that Kalin is probably dead,” Zaris said. “Or worse.” He looked to the group of female creatures fearfully hunkering down away from the light of the lanterns.

Valira followed his line of sight and shuddered. “No,” she protested. “It can’t be. Not my Kalin. She would never give in so easily.”

“Now could be our only chance.” Logan tried to persuade Valira. “The entire pack is probably converging on our location even as we speak. If we don’t put an end to this now, the Witherbeast will only harm more innocents.”

Valira stood motionless for several agonizing moments, doubtless at war with her own emotions. With the anxious eyes of Logan and her fellow hunters on her, she eventually set her emotions aside and came to a reluctant conclusion.

“You’re right, as usual, Legionnaire,” Valira conceded. “I only wish I had some way of knowing if Kalin is among those infected.”

“Do you really want to know?” Logan startled even herself with her question. “Wouldn’t you rather remember her as you knew her instead of seeing her in this miserable state?”

Valira was quiet for a moment, and then laughed sharply. “Right again. I never knew humans were so wise. Must be the elf in you.” A slight smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “All right, let’s do it.”

“Give me something that will burn,” Logan ordered. Some of the elves handed over their flasks, which contained a homemade brew that was spicy and lightly sweet, but would fuel the fire.

The T’fanga followed Logan’s example as she poured the liquor in as many places around the room as she could, even spraying some on the Witherbeast whenever one ventured too close.

“That’s enough for this area,” she called. “Save the rest for our retreat.” The elves, even Zaris, followed her command, splashing the walls and floor as they backed hastily from the torture chamber. “And now…” She held the lantern aloft. With one quick motion, she flung the lantern to the ground, where it shattered.

As soon as the flame touched the liquor, it ignited a trail of blazing fire that snaked its way along the hallway as though it were a live entity. The Witherbeast howled and yelped as the fire spread into their den, forming a wall of heat and death around their precious breeding stock. The flames leapt into the air, climbing the frantic Witherbeast and setting their shaggy fur ablaze. Logan watched the scene with grim fascination for some time, until she felt a gentle nudging at her shoulder.

“Time to go,” Valira said, cheerless despite their apparent victory.

Nodding, Logan gave the blazing inferno one last glance, then followed the T’fanga up the stairs to escape.

Outside Norland Manor, Logan watched tongues of flame lick at the night sky. Simone’s ancestral home seemed to glow with an inner light as the howls of dying Witherbeast pierced the night.

“It was the right thing to do,” Valira said from beside her. “Tell me it was the right thing, Legionnaire.”

“There was no other choice.” Although Logan sounded assured, she was having her own doubts about the effect her decision might have on Simone. She shook her head, as if trying to cast off the unpleasant concept. Simone had really gotten to her like no one ever had before. Why should it matter to her how Simone felt? She was little more than a stranger to Logan, after all.

“Kalin was there,” Valira continued. “Among the Witherbeast. I’m sure of it. If only there were some way I could identify her remains, I could give her a proper burial.”

“Was she family?” Logan asked.

Valira hesitated a moment before saying, “Kalin was more than family.”

Watching as the mansion continued to glow and the last of the Witherbeast screams died down, Logan said, “I’ll do whatever I can to assist you in finding solace.” Valira seemed pleased by Logan’s offer, while Logan herself was perplexed at her reasons for extending such a courtesy. The Witherbeast pack had been exterminated; her mission was accomplished, even if the outcome wasn’t as any had expected. Certainly she didn’t owe anything to this elf woman, or anyone else, for that matter. Her allegiance belonged to the Legion of Blood, if it still existed.

“We should go,” she announced suddenly, the timbre of her voice revealing the confusion welling up inside her. “The others will be worried, and standing around here isn’t doing any of us any good.”

Surprisingly, the T’fanga obeyed her quiet suggestion as though it were an order, almost as if Logan had been promoted to commander of their small band during the height of this dire encounter. The weight of authority was new to Logan, but not at all unwelcome.

Slowly, the weary party made its way back to their camp. Logan luxuriated in the feel of leadership while she could, for she knew Simone would have some words for her, once Logan explained the fate of her family’s estate.

Chapter 13

Simone wrapped the deerskin blanket around her shoulders as she rose to pace to and fro in the light of the bonfire, pausing every so often to stare into the blackness beyond, as if her eyes could pierce the dark to where Logan was. She’d been gone for too long, along with most of the T’fanga sentries. Only four young guards remained to stand watch over the camp until their warriors returned. If they returned.

Simone clutched her hands together before her mouth, fiercely breathing on her fingers to ward off the sudden chill that spread through her. Of course the elves would return; they had Logan with them. In addition to being part elf and possessing the nimble reflexes for which the race was known, Logan was also of the Legion of Blood, the ancient Order dedicated to the extermination of Witherbeast. With such a valuable asset, the team could not fail. Logan must win. She would win. Logan would never leave Simone to face the world alone.

Baffled by her extreme concern for Logan, Simone ceased her relentless pacing and tilted her head back to turn her gaze to the stars. Wherever Logan was, it gave her some comfort to know that she was under the same sky, beneath the same bright stars. Simone considered her unexpected affection for Logan. Perhaps it was because Logan was the closest thing she had to a friend among the T’fanga, who were by their very nature estranged and reserved when it came to humans. Or maybe it was this other thing, which had come back to haunt and torment Simone since her adolescent years no matter how she tried to push it down.

It wasn’t fair, she thought, that she should experience such unnatural thoughts and desires and be forced to endure them alone. What was also unfair was that Logan was a woman, and as such, unattainable for someone in Simone’s position. A female Legionnaire, she thought, and, just as they had the first time she had thought it, the words sent a pleasing thrill through her.

A rising commotion at the outer edge of the camp drew her attention from her musings. The four sentries had left their posts and were talking excitedly as several dark shapes neared the ring of light cast by the fire. Among them was a very familiar figure, sauntering nonchalantly at the front of the group as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Logan!” Simone cried, her voice so full of emotion she feared she would sound wanton to those listening.

If Logan noticed, she said nothing of it. Instead, her confidence seemed to diminish with each step as she approached Simone.

“What’s wrong?” Simone asked, not failing to notice how Logan refused to meet her gaze. “Did you find the Witherbeast? Are you injured?”

“We found the Witherbeast, all right.” Logan hesitated, seemingly unsure of how to go on. “They had taken shelter in Norland Manor, just as I anticipated. It was both a blessing and a curse to find all those vile creatures clustered so close together in one place. Such proximity made eliminating the entire pack considerably easier. However...” Logan cleared her throat uncomfortably. “With such a short time before sunset, we were left with limited options as to how to deal with the infestation.”

Simone grew apprehensive; Logan was trying to hide something. “What happened, Logan? Tell me.”

“In order to destroy the pack without risking any of them escaping, we had no choice but to set fire to the dungeons. I am sorry, My Lady, I truly am.”

“The dungeons?” Simone sounded relieved. “Is that all? Logan, you don’t have to worry about that, I assure you. You did what you had to do. I trust your instincts. And,” she added shyly, “you don’t have to be so formal. Not after all we’ve been through. Please call me Simone. I’ve never liked being referred to by those stuffy old titles.”

“As you wish, Simone,” Logan said with a wry smile.

Logan seemed pleased at being allowed this liberty, Simone thought. Perhaps she disliked using titles as much as Simone tired of hearing them. Returning Logan’s smile, she watched as the T’fanga warriors received a warm welcome from their comrades and families. It reminded her sharply of how her own parents and brothers were lost to the Witherbeast, her sister unaccounted for, but it reminded her also that here, Logan was the closest thing she had to a friend, and even that small bond was precious to her.

The morning following the extermination at Norland Manor, Logan returned to the mansion with Valira and Simone to help each woman pay her last respects. Her original intention had been to chant a Yor’kesh prayer over the ruined dungeon to honor the elven and human victims that had died there, but Valira wasn’t to be satisfied without some form of closure. So Logan and Simone had spent much of the morning sifting through the ashes for some concrete evidence that Valira’s beloved Kalin had been among the victims. Valira found what she sought in the form of a locket, a simple homemade trinket containing a lock of her own hair. The locket perfectly matched the one which Valira wore beneath her studded leather armor, next to her heart.

“You’re a kind and noble person,” she told Logan. “Never let your mixed blood befuddle your sense of justice. Stay strong,” she said, offering the T’fanga sentry salute, “and may the spirits guide you to whatever paradise you seek.”

“Such a peculiar thing to say,” Simone commented once Valira had gone to rejoin the rest of the T’fanga.

“The Yor’kesh believe that the spirits of the forest will lead every wanderer to his or her own paradise, as long as that person remains strong and faithful to their heart. Personally, I don’t know if I believe in all the forest deities, but having an extra pair of eyes watching over us while we trek across the wilderness would not be such a bad thing, especially if those eyes are divine.”

Even though the entire pack of Witherbeast had apparently been consumed by the fire, Logan wasn’t so naive as to believe that the problem had been eliminated. For as long as the Legion of Blood had been keeping records, stray Witherbeast had cropped up here and there, even without a prophesied Cataclysm, as seen by a supposedly mad young noblewoman.

She looked affectionately at Simone as she carefully picked her way through the destruction done to the stately mansion. Most of the damage had been contained to the subterranean level, extending only slightly to the first floor. The dining hall and foyer were ruined, but much of the rest of the grand building was still habitable.

“I’m terribly sorry about your home,” Logan offered. “There was no way for us to keep the fire from spreading.”

“Don’t trouble yourself over it, Logan,” Simone said with finality. “It sounds dreadfully strange to hear you refer to the estate as mine, even though I could be the last surviving Norland. After all this is over, the Norlands could be no more. What use is an old mansion without a noble to reside within it?”

“That’s not true. You’re still alive, and you are as much a Norland as any who have gone before.”

“One mad noblewoman to govern the entire northern region of Anolaya? It’s laughable, Logan, imagining me ruling over the north as my predecessors have.”

“And why not? It’s your birthright, is it not?”

Simone leaned back against the outer wall of the building and tipped her head back. “I’ve never wanted it,” she stated bluntly. “The title of nobility and all the frills that come with it, those things just aren’t for me. Hey, I know,” she said, suddenly turning her vivid blue gaze on Logan. “I could apply for consideration from the Legion of Blood. With all that were lost during this battle, surely the Legion’s already limited resources are stretched further still. Maybe I could help with the rebuilding.”

Logan could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Forgive me, Lady Simone,” she said, in her shock forgetting Simone’s request to address her by her first name, “but have you truly gone insane? The Legion of Blood is no place for a woman such as you.”

“Why not? You’re a woman, and you are doing just fine as a Legionnaire. So tell me then, what is stopping me from successfully completing the training as well?”

Logan hesitated for a moment, uncertain how to explain. “That wasn’t what I meant. Gender is not as big an issue among the Legion as some might believe. Although there are few enough women Legionnaires, you would not be turned away on the basis of gender alone. What I meant was,” Logan continued, clearing her throat several times, “I’m not so sure a woman of your petite stature would find the life of a Legionnaire suitable.”

This deflection did nothing to deflate Simone’s interest. If anything, it only infuriated her. “I realize I might seem small and frail,” she said, calm in spite of her obvious irritation. “But believe me when I say I am not as delicate as I look.” A dark shadow crossed Simone’s features. “There are things you don’t know about me, Logan, things you wouldn’t understand.”

“Far be it from me to stand in the way of your happiness then,” Logan said, smiling at the fierce determination in the smaller woman’s eyes. One look from an enraged Simone just might be enough to send a Witherbeast scurrying away with its tail between its legs, Logan thought.

Her anger and resentment somewhat assuaged, Simone returned Logan’s smile. “Take me back with you, then?” she asked hopefully. “When you return to the Legion’s stronghold in the Yor’kesh Highlands.”

“I can make no promises.” Truth be told, Logan was uncertain if she herself wanted to return to Broken Fang now that Tibolt was most likely gone. Without his wisdom and fatherly guidance, Logan did not know what life amongst the other Legionnaires would be like for her. She felt it likely that she would be an outcast. Tibolt had been one of the few to overlook her elven heritage and the dark rumors about her past.

Simone continued to regard her with eyes bright with curiosity and hope. Logan sighed. “Don’t mistake my words as a promise, but I’m open to considering your request.” The light in Simone’s blue eyes brightened further still at this prospect, making Logan wonder if she would regret extending her offer.

Logan did not know how such an arrangement would work out, but if the stubborn Simone wanted so desperately to see what a Legion of Blood initiate must endure, did she really have any right to deny her that opportunity? Furthermore, it wasn’t as though she could abandon Simone on the deserted Norland estate, with no one around for leagues to come to her aid should she encounter a stray Witherbeast that had somehow managed to escape the conflagration. No, Logan knew if she left Simone to an uncertain fate, she would worry for her safety every day.

Logan wondered which she would regret more—watching Simone suffer the trials of a Legion of Blood initiate, or having to look into her desolate, heartbroken eyes if Logan departed for Broken Fang without her. Only Fate would tell if their lives were to continue to be intertwined, and for now, Logan decided to place the matter in the ever-capable hands of Fate.

“For now,” she said, setting aside any further thoughts of taking Simone with her, “we should return to the T’fanga camp. I believe Zaris wants to speak with me on some matter.”

The T’fanga were pleased with Logan’s performance in their encounter with the Witherbeast. In honor of their victory, however bittersweet it might have been, a huge feast was held the following night to celebrate the defeat of their adversary. Logan and Simone were invited to attend the celebration, Simone as a guest and Logan as an honorary T’fanga hunter, out of deep respect for her contributions to the clan in their hour of need. Invited to take part in the sacred hunt before the feast, Logan assisted in procuring the magnificent stag that was the centerpiece of the meal, which further raised her estimation among the elusive T’fanga.

Wild boar and venison was served, seasoned with herbs and spices supplied by the resourceful herbalists. Simone had never tasted meat so deliciously seasoned, so exotic and rich in its taste that the meals she’d had at noble banquets were bland in comparison.

Much of the night was spent talking, laughing, and eating. For some indefinable reason, it pleased Simone to see Logan mingling so nicely within elven society. The quiet Legionnaire seemed so distant, so completely and utterly alone, that it was a relief to Simone to see that a friendship of sorts with Logan wasn’t entirely beyond her reach.

The purpose of this feast wasn’t merely to celebrate the T’fanga’s victory, Simone learned, but also to honor the spirits of those who had fallen to the Witherbeast. Throughout the evening, ancient Yor’kesh customs were observed. A shaman chanted incomprehensible arcane words to the moon, clad in the most fantastical attire Simone had ever seen. Feathers dyed a shade as brilliant as the flickering flames of the fire adorned his long flowing robe, catching the glow of firelight and giving it back in a thousand rays of splendor. Upon his face, the old mystic wore a mask, the top crowned with a crest of feathers of the same dazzling color. When Simone inquired about the nature of this ritual, quietly so as not to disturb the ceremony, Logan replied by explaining about the phoenix, one of the Yor’kesh deities.

“The phoenix is often used to represent spring,” Logan said, her eyes glued to the ceremony taking place before them. “The rebirth of the world after long months being caught in winter’s cold grasp. The role of the phoenix is to guide the spirits through the afterlife so that they can one day be born anew.”

The shaman’s costume was meant to represent the phoenix; the wearing of it while speaking the Words of Guidance and Regeneration symbolized the powers held by that deity. Indeed, as the shaman’s chanting reached a crescendo and he spread his arms wide like outstretched wings, the many feathers shimmering and dancing in the breeze like tongues of flame, Simone nearly forgot that behind the beak and those fiery feathers was an elf seemingly as ancient as the ritual itself.

All in all, it was a learning opportunity for Simone, one which had rarely been afforded to human eyes throughout the ages. As the night stretched into the early morning hours and the celebration drew to a close, Simone felt she had grown closer to both Logan and the elves, but a burning question remained. The matter of her joining the Legion of Blood had not yet been resolved, and it looked as though Logan didn’t want to discuss the subject again. So, with as much courage and determination as she could muster, Simone approached Logan as she returned from the surrounding woods, likely having answered nature’s call.

“An excellent feast,” she said by way of starting a conversation.

“It most certainly was,” Logan replied drowsily, starting for the covered wagon they were to share.

Simone was not going to allow Logan to escape so easily, and she intercepted her before she could reach the wagon. “I found the ceremony honoring the fallen T’fanga most enlightening,” Simone continued, her desire to be closer to Logan urging her to press the matter.

“A pretty ritual, filled with bright colors and flashy dancing,” Logan said in a flat tone. “But in the end, it is little more than a tribute to old fairy tales and mysticism.”

“You don’t believe in the Yor’kesh deities?”

“What’s there to believe? That a bunch of Sacred Beasts are watching over the elves and granting them mystical powers?” Logan shook her head. “Where were the Sacred Beasts when the Yor’kesh needed them the most, when they were being hunted nearly to extinction by the greedy and fearful humans?”

“But the deities did answer the cries of the elves,” Simone responded. “By providing refuge from the onslaught in the form of the Yor’kesh Highlands.”

“Cursed mountains,” Logan mumbled. “Overrun, I might add, with slavering, bloodthirsty Witherbeast. Some salvation, that.”

“So you believe in curses, but not the Sacred Beasts?”

“I never said I believed in curses. The perils of living in the Yor’kesh Highlands are rather obvious. Makes one wonder if being forced to live in those lands is a blessing or a curse.”

“It’s a double-edged blade, I suppose,” Simone added after some thought. “Just as capable of dealing damage on either side if the wielder is not wary.”

“An appropriate analogy.” Logan produced a small grin. “And befitting of many things that dwell within the Yor’kesh Highlands.”

“There is still the matter of where I should go now that the Witherbeast problem has been dealt with,” Simone hazarded, now that she had Logan’s undivided attention. “I don’t think I can bear going back to Norland Manor, not armed with the knowledge of all the death and destruction that have taken place there so recently.”

“Not to mention the damage done by the fire,” Logan added guiltily.

Simone chose that moment to plead her case. “I am still rather anxiously awaiting your decision regarding my earlier request.”

“You mean the one involving you becoming a Legionnaire?” Logan asked, feigning forgetfulness. “I was rather hoping you would come to your senses.” Logan seemed to consider Simone’s request for a moment longer. “I’ve been thinking on it all day, and I have reached a decision. I can’t just leave you here, with nowhere to go, especially since I am partially to blame for putting you out of your home.

“And there’s another matter to consider,” she added, the seriousness in her features catching Simone’s full attention. “What of your sister, who rode to Bhujari for assistance?”

Simone bit her lip. She didn’t want to think about all the things that might have happened to Vivienne on her journey. “Considering the amount of time since her departure, she should have returned by now or at least sent word from Bhujari of her progress. I think it likely that she met with trouble along the way.”

“She could be injured or worse. Perhaps we should search for her,” Logan said.

Simone considered, then shook her head. “That isn’t necessary. Vivienne is a capable rider. And if she met an untimely end, there is nothing we can do about it, save give her a proper burial.”

Logan thought for a moment. “As you wish. I have decided that maybe it’s for the best if you come with me. With no servants or guards left, you would literally be all alone in that huge house, with the possible threat of a stray Witherbeast or two lurking somewhere in the shadows. You can accompany me, at least for the time being.”

Logan flashed her a look that clearly said, “Don’t get too used to this,” but Simone was too busy rejoicing at her small victory to be troubled over Logan’s thinly veiled reluctance.

So it was that after Simone bade the T’fanga and her former life farewell, she and Logan set out on a new adventure, one which would take them to places unknown to Simone. Hopefully, she thought, it will be a journey that will bring us closer together.

Chapter 14

Two days after their departure from the T’fanga clan, Logan sat on the stump of a fallen tree, considering the journey on which she and Simone had embarked. She wasn’t sure she wanted to return to the Legion stronghold now that Tibolt was most likely dead, for if he and the senior Legionnaires still lived, they would surely have come searching for her and Simone by now. Life around the keep would be different, indeed, without old Tibolt’s sage advice and seemingly infinite wisdom to guide her. Depressed at the prospect of being an outcast from the Legion of Blood, Logan dismissed those troubling thoughts from her mind.

There was also her concern for Simone. Even though Simone declared she would be able to handle any challenges the Legion of Blood could present her, she had thus far failed to provide any evidence that supported her assertion. Logan looked fleetingly at the sleeping Simone, her slender form elegant and peaceful beneath blankets provided by the T’fanga.

The elves had been generous in their attempt to repay Logan for her assistance with the Witherbeast, offering clothes, food, and even two horses to help them on their journey. The horses were of the Highland variety, light on their feet yet sturdy enough to survive the harsh northern winters. Logan had been very grateful for the animals, not merely for herself, but for Simone’s sake as well. If not for the horses, Simone would probably have already been worn ragged after their two days in the forest.

As she watched, Simone turned over and began muttering incoherent words in her sleep. Facing Logan as she now was, Logan had a clear view of Simone’s lovely face, its features softened by sleep. Her full lips were slightly parted, though her mumbling had ceased. Little lines creased her brow, the way they always did when something was troubling her. Logan wondered what Simone was dreaming, what could possibly have her so distraught that she would talk in her sleep.

Logan caught her gaze drifting along Simone’s body, and she gave herself a mental lashing. Perhaps the most problematic of all the elements of their journey, she thought, was her bizarre fascination with Simone. Logan had become fixated on the young woman, drawn to her charm and delicate beauty. Leaving her post on an old tree stump, Logan covered the short space between them and knelt next to the sleeping woman, her intention being to replace the blanket where it had fallen away from her body.

As she bent near, she paused, her face hovering mere inches above Simone’s as the girl dreamt. For a brief instant, Logan visualized how it would feel to press her trembling lips against Simone’s. Enthralled by the view, Logan ran her hand above Simone’s body, close enough to feel the heat from her skin but never actually touching her. When she reached the swell of Simone’s breast, rising and falling ever so slightly beneath the blanket, Logan allowed her hand to linger. Each time Simone inhaled, her chest would rise until it very nearly brushed against Logan’s fingers. Logan maintained this position for a few painful minutes and then withdrew as though she had been bitten.

What was she thinking? If Simone woke to find her kneeling over her like some demented prince in an obscene fairy tale, Logan would never be able to look her in the eye again. Looking at Simone was becoming increasingly difficult, as Logan knew the reaction it would inspire deep within her soul.

Perhaps Logan had been more deeply affected by her stay in Purgatory than she’d realized. She’d heard tales of some of the women there becoming intimate with one another in the absence of men. Even some of the matrons were said to have participated in such acts, but Logan herself was a condemned Blood Mage, a crime so atrocious that she wasn’t permitted near any of the other prisoners. In fact, Logan had not been allowed outside her small cell unless her hands were firmly shackled behind her back, lest she try to work her forbidden blood magic. This had probably been the only thing that had kept her from the matrons and their dark desires, though she had received quite a few approving, if somewhat disdainful and frightened, looks.

Her thoughts abruptly brought her back to the moment. What would Simone think if she knew she was traveling with a condemned murderer, a Blood Mage accused of taking the lives of her own family? Logan found the potential reactions oddly amusing, though she had no intention of telling Simone about her past. It had nothing to do with dishonesty. To speak of it was too painful; even allowing those dark days to dwell on her mind for too long was maddening. This brought a faint smile to her lips. Simone had lost her family, just as Logan had long ago, but she knew nothing of torment. If the young noblewoman had seen half the things Logan herself had witnessed, then she would be as mad as the rumors claimed she was.

As if somehow feeling Logan’s thoughts, Simone suddenly opened her eyes and yawned.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep. Simone must have sensed Logan’s tension, for she suddenly sat upright and stared about the camp in fear.

“It’s nothing,” Logan assured her. “Sleep a while longer. It’s not yet dawn.”

The two had been sleeping in shifts, with Logan taking the night watch, when they were more likely to face the threat of a stray Witherbeast or a hungry animal. Logan slept for a few hours each morning, never allowing herself to drift off to sleep before the sun was fully up. With this schedule, they were able to set out just before midday, traveling until well after dusk before setting up camp. Logan knew that it was best to keep moving during the dark hours, never lingering in one place long enough to be tracked down and surrounded.

Logan gave Simone a warm smile. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you for your shift.”

Simone sank back down onto her pillow and grabbed hold of the covers, pulling the blanket all the way to her chin as she settled down to sleep again.

Logan watched as Simone’s eyes fluttered shut and her breathing became slow and shallow. She let out a sigh as she buried her face in her arms, resting on her knees as she sat down and leaned against a tree. Perhaps she did not belong with humans. If her past was any indication, Logan should take her chances with the elves instead. Their beliefs and customs might differ from hers, but in time, Logan thought she could come to accept them.

Logan settled back against the tree, her former weariness warded away by the many burdens weighing on her mind.

Logan and Simone’s journey through the forest continued unhindered. Admittedly, the complete lack of Witherbeast, when they had seemed so abundant before, did trouble Simone, but she wasn’t one to complain. She decided to enjoy their good fortune for as long as it should last and deal with any danger when, and if, it presented itself. Simone felt almost certain it would. Something in the unnatural stillness of the forest was unnerving, the calm before the storm, she’d heard it called before. Whatever lurked in the shadows was apparently fearsome enough to keep even the woodland creatures quiet.

And then there was the change in Logan’s treatment of her. It seemed that every time she turned around, Logan was there, watching her with those dark eyes, as fierce and keen as a hawk’s. It unnerved Simone somewhat at first, for every time she met that penetrating gaze, a tingling sensation began in her lower abdomen and spread outward until her whole body was alive with wanting Logan. Simone thought she detected a trace of desire in Logan’s demeanor, as well, but if the stoic Legionnaire returned her feelings, she did nothing to invite further attentions.

Simone chided herself for being so simpleminded. It was clearly only wishful thinking on her part that her longing for Logan was mutual. What she felt toward Logan was queer and unnatural, or so the majority of the populace seemed to believe, and should Logan ever find out, she would probably be ashamed at being the object of such a fixation. It hurt Simone to imagine herself being rejected by Logan, to have the woman who she’d come to trust with her very life think of her as a pervert. So she kept her feelings hidden as best she could, fighting down the desire that had flared to furious life that instant Logan had dismounted in her courtyard.

By the twelfth day out, the provisions, given to them by the elves and rationed to last as long as possible, had run out, and both women were tired and hungry. The horses were exhausted as well. As there was little forage for them, Logan voiced her fear that they might be forced to free the animals to fend for themselves and continue their journey on foot.

Fatigue wasn’t the only enemy stalking them. As the biting winds blew down from the north, they brought with them the first traces of winter. Snow flurries drifted through the forest canopy, soft and white as goose down as they made their slow descent. Beautiful and serene, their presence heralded the coming of an early winter, and for Simone, they reawakened old fears.

Winter was almost there. With each snowflake that drifted past, Simone was reminded of her dreams; her mind transported to that place of darkness, cold, and despair. She realized the forest in her dreams was similar to the wilds of Northern Anolaya, lonely and desolate. It made her shudder to think that with each step she and Logan took, they were somehow moving closer to the source of Simone’s visions. Perhaps it was not a good idea for her to accompany Logan to the stronghold of the Legion of Blood. The Legion was the sworn enemy of the Bound, after all, yet Simone couldn’t help feeling that she was heading toward her destiny. Only time would reveal what that destiny was.

Logan watched Simone carefully as they picked their way through the increasingly rugged terrain. So far, Simone was holding up far better than she’d expected, but Logan was alert for any signs of stress or weakness Simone might be hiding. The first sign that something might be troubling Simone came with the arrival of the first snow.

“How lovely,” Simone murmured as the falling snowflakes fluttered around her upturned face, but Logan could tell her heart was not in it.

Logan hesitated for a moment, some of her former discomfort returning as her eyes followed the line of Simone’s exposed neck, the creamy whiteness of her skin almost as pure as the snow itself. Logan’s relationship with Simone, if it could be termed such, was improving. She’d learned to control her unnatural impulses, and no longer felt that fierce fire in her belly whenever she watched over Simone as she slept. Her affection could now be characterized as friendship although Logan couldn’t fathom why she should be inclined to feel anything at all toward this young noblewoman. Perhaps her feelings rose out of sympathy, a feeble attempt to replace the loved ones Simone had so recently lost. Or maybe it was because she’d never had a friend. No one had loved her or wanted her around since her parents died. And now Simone seemed to trust her, to depend on her for her very life. Logan found it a little overwhelming to be needed.

Quickly looking away, she sniffed, and said, “Is there something bothering you? You have been unusually quiet of late. Normally you would be talking my ears off, I believe.”

Simone blushed furiously. “I suppose I have been less talkative than usual,” she said. “I didn’t realize you had noticed. Or perhaps you merely long to hear the constant prattle of a companion?”

Logan turned and looked her squarely in the eyes, something she’d been unable to do in days. “Is there something on your mind? You can share any secret you’d like with me. There’s no one else around to hear us.” She spread her arms wide, encompassing the vast silent wilderness which surrounded them.

“Winter is coming.” Simone reached out and caught a single snowflake in her raised hand. “It’s remarkable how something as beautiful and innocent as this can be the harbinger of darkness and despair.”

“You’re referring to the Cataclysm?” It had been some time since Logan had heard Simone mention her visions. She had almost believed that Simone’s fears had died along with the Witherbeast pack that had nested in the Norland mansion. “Have you had any more premonitions?” she asked. To be burdened with such deadly visions must be akin to living in a waking nightmare.

Simone shook her head. “They stopped about the time...”

“When?” Logan inquired. “When did they stop?”

“Around the time you came to the manor.” Simone sighed and turned downcast eyes toward Logan.

Logan was serious as she said, “Do you think I had something to do with their cessation? That maybe in some way I am a part of your vision?”

“I’ve never thought of it that way.”

Simone sounded hesitant to speak of her dark dreams, but Logan pressed her. “What did you see in your visions? Can you recall any specific details?”

“All too well,” Simone said sadly. Suddenly, her face lit up. “I do remember something. In my dreams, I am not myself. I remember wearing armor. Much like yours.” She gestured to the bloodied Witherbeast head on Logan’s breastplate. “What do you think it means?”

“Who can say for sure? Maybe your ambition to become a Legionnaire will come to pass,” Logan said, pondering possible interpretations of Simone’s dream. Whatever the meaning behind Simone’s visions, it seemed that the Legion of Blood was to be involved.

“I’m flattered that you think so.” Simone smiled. “But I don’t think the person in my dreams is me. It’s as though I am witnessing the events through someone else’s eyes.”

Logan waited for Simone to continue. She said no more. “What happens next?” Logan asked.

“It’s like I am lost.” Simone spoke quietly, so quietly that Logan had to strain to hear her words. “I keep wandering through a deep, dark forest, the darkest I’ve ever seen, and no matter where I turn, I just can’t seem to find a way out. And there’s the sensation that something is watching me. I don’t see anything, but I know it is there, just waiting for me to make one misstep.”

“Witherbeast?”

Simone shook her head. “I don’t think so. Whatever it is, it seems more sinister, more cunning than a Witherbeast.” She laughed, a small, nervous sound. “I know it sounds silly. I mean, what could be more sinister than a Witherbeast?”

“You would be surprised,” Logan replied, reflecting on her own dark past, on the Blood Mages who murdered her parents and left her to take the blame.

“During my aimless wandering, I come upon myself in the forest,” Simone continued. “It’s foggy, the fog so dense I can scarcely see. Dark shapes are moving all around me, yet somehow I am not afraid. I clearly recall the expression on my face, and I seem relieved at finding this wanderer, like I’ve been waiting for so long.”

“And you think the person in your dreams is me?”

“Maybe you’re destined for greater things,” Simone said, her voiced tinged with an emotion that might have been sorrow. “I’ve seen you in action, and I know you are stronger, and more worthy, than you think.”

Logan watched Simone for a moment longer. Simone expected too much of her. As much as Logan did not want to betray Simone’s trust, she knew she could never live up to the heroic image Simone held of her. A chill breeze from the north cut through the trees, and both women shivered.

“We should get moving.” Logan was certain that her shuddering was not entirely due to the cold. “The snow doesn’t show any sign of letting up anytime soon.”

Simone followed behind Logan, her mind on their conversation. She had meant what she said about Logan being destined for great things, and the thought left her feeling empty inside. Logan probably thought Simone had been disheartened by her visions, when in truth, Simone was sad because she knew greatness would take Logan away from her. Perhaps it was her own destiny to be forever alone and unloved, to be labeled as demented by the rest of the world and shunned for her madness.

“I know you’re right about one thing,” Logan said suddenly, startling Simone out of her reverie. “The Witherbeast menace didn’t end with the burning of your dungeons. The T’fanga might believe it is so, but I do not. If the Witherbeast are so great in number that they can muster a pack of adults so large and coordinated, then there must surely be more of them out there.”

Simone could hardly believe her ears. “You believe me?” There were times when she suspected that even Vivienne and Corbin had not believed her, only they loved her too much to openly declare her insane.

Logan smiled at her, and it was the sweetest, most beautiful thing Simone had ever seen. “Of course I believe you. After all we have been through together, how could I not?”

Simone fought to hold back her tears. It was so nice to finally hear those words spoken aloud. “Thank you.” She sobbed, her emotions betraying her at last. Embarrassed by the tears streaming uncontrollably down her face, she buried her face in her hands.

She felt a warmth against the otherwise cold world, followed by a sense of something strong and solid bracing her against the wind, and she looked up. Logan held her tightly, her long arms easily encircling Simone’s slight body. Logan did not meet her gaze, but focused her attention elsewhere, her dark eyes scanning the forest with intent scrutiny.

Simone followed her line of sight, her eyes settling on the steep slope of a stone cliff not far away. There was something unusual about the rock face towering before them, but Simone couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“There’s something over there,” Logan muttered distractedly. “Some ruins, I think. Do you see them?”

Looking again to the strange outcropping of rock formations, the anomaly suddenly stood out in stark relief against its background. Large, irregular shapes jutted out from the very side of the mountain itself, their angles too clean and their cut too smooth to be a product of nature. Simone was impressed. Only the most intense scrutiny would discern the crumbling shapes from their rocky surroundings, so dilapidated and covered in moss and vines were they. Logan’s dark eyes must be as sharp as a hawk’s indeed, to be able to spot such subtle detail from such a distance.

“What do you suppose it is?” Simone mused aloud.

“My best guess would be the ruins of an elven city, abandoned long ago. This land used to be inhabited by the Yor’kesh, though now they rarely settle so far south. They rarely settle at all, in fact. Most are nomadic, erecting small villages for a time then packing up and moving on. Just like the T’fanga clan we met.”

“Incredible.” Simone stared intently at the ruins, her eyes widening with wonder at the marvel. Never before had she witnessed such a fabled, almost mystical piece of history firsthand. She sneezed, and the sound echoed eerily in the vast wilderness.

Placing a heavy hand on her shoulder, Logan said, “Perhaps we will find shelter and some protection within that ancient stonework. Both of us could use the rest.”

Simone’s eyes fastened on Logan’s hand. First the embrace, now this small act of reassurance. This was far more compassion than Logan had ever shown her, and the sensation of being so close to the Legionnaire awakened the familiar stirring within Simone. Logan was an incredible woman—strong, independent, and beautiful. Simone did not know how much longer she would be able to endure her company without betraying her innermost desires, and the thought of offending Logan terrified her even more than a horde of Witherbeast.

To Logan’s relief, the elven temple or tower or whatever it had once been was remarkably intact and well- preserved, aside from the crumbling exterior. The thick stone would afford them protection against the wind and cold.

Logan sat on the hard floor and took out what remained of their dwindling provisions. A single spice cake, a sweet delicacy given to her by the T’fanga remained, but Logan wasn’t inclined to partake of the treat alone. Simone appeared to be much weaker and in low spirits, both of which could prove fatal in the Highlands.

“Take this,” she said to Simone, holding out the neatly wrapped spice cake. “You look like you could use the energy.”

Simone accepted the proffered cake and gingerly unwrapped it. Her eyes glittered as they fell on the small treat, and Logan knew she had made the right decision. She knew that look. It said more clearly than words that Simone possessed a fondness for sweets, and Logan felt an uncharacteristic sense of joy at watching her enjoy the gift.

“This reminds me of the cakes my brother used to bring me.” She licked her fingertips in a way that caused something within Logan to stir. “Corbin was something of a rascal, always raiding the kitchen. He used to smuggle treats to me when I was locked away in the secret chambers. He risked reprimand time and again because he knew I loved them.”

“You must have loved him dearly,” Logan said, trying to quell the rising darkness within her, trying to shut out the painful recollections of her own family.

“Were you an only child, Logan?” Simone’s voice broke her concentration.

In spite of herself, Logan replied, “Yes.”

“It must have been lonely. Being the youngest of four, I can’t remember a single day without the company of my siblings.”

“That’s not true,” Logan countered softly. “I might have been an only child, but I was never lonely. Mother and Father were always there for me. I meant the world to them, and they to me...” Why was she telling Simone such personal and painful information about her past? Clearly it was none of Simone’s business, yet she felt the need to release that which she had kept bottled up tight inside for so long, to be free of the burden placed on her by her past.

“It sounds as though they were near and dear to you,” Simone said quite innocently. She couldn’t possibly know, after all. How could she know, when Logan herself refused to confide the details to anyone?

“Logan, I notice that you speak of your parents as though those days are long gone,” Simone added. After a brief pause, she asked, “Would it be unseemly of me to inquire what happened to them?”

There it was, the opening Logan had been watching for, and dreading.

“They were murdered.” She had said it, and it felt as though a weight had been lifted from her. “My parents were killed when I was quite young.”

“Was it Witherbeast?” Simone’s tone was so completely innocent and sweet it made Logan grimace. “You told me you had to enlist in the Legion of Blood through no choice of your own. Is that the reason—to avenge your parents’ grim fate?”

Logan laughed and was startled by the sound of it. It was harsh, even to her own ears, but not as harsh as the words she said. “You really are a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?” As Simone’s eyes widened with hurt and confusion, Logan added more softly, “To answer your question, my parents were not killed by Witherbeast. The monsters that took my family were the human kind.”

Simone’s eyes grew wide with concern. “Oh, Logan, I am so sorry. I never would have brought up the subject if I’d known how painful it was for you.”

“There is no need to apologize.” Logan’s voice had lost its sharp edge, becoming completely and utterly devoid of emotion instead. She felt nothing—no pain, no sorrow. “There is no need for anyone to feel any mercy or sorrow or anything for someone like me. They say I killed them, you know, but I don’t remember. The only thing I remember is screaming my head off at the unspeakable horrors until I blacked out.”

“You were accused of murdering your own parents?” Simone asked. “How? You were but a child! How could anyone believe a child guilty of such a heinous crime? Especially when you so obviously loved your parents with all your heart.”

“It was not just my parents who were killed,” Logan clarified, unable to stop herself now that this had begun. “It was the bastards who killed them, as well. But perhaps it’s not the crime itself which attracted so much attention, but rather the nature in which it was committed. You see the bodies of my parents and their murderers were found by the Rielzen Royal Guard. Their wounds clearly showed evidence of advanced blood magic.”

Simone’s eyes were now as wide as saucers. “The forbidden art? Who were these men, Logan, who were they that they would possess such awful ancient knowledge?”

“As I said earlier, I don’t remember much of what transpired that horrible night. When I regained consciousness, I was surrounded by carnage and soldiers, come from the capital in pursuit of the rogue mages who lay dead on the floor of our cottage.” Logan laughed bitterly. “If I did kill them, you’d think the law would have given me a medal for making their job easier, but instead they locked me in Purgatory and threw away the key.” Logan did not need to look at Simone to see her shocked expression; she could feel it.

“You were a prisoner?” Logan found it surprising that Simone’s voice held not a trace of accusation or disdain, only pity. “I see. So that’s why you had no choice in the matter. You were conscripted into the service of the Legion of Blood.”

Simone’s calm and compassionate demeanor despite the grim revelation was too much for Logan to bear, and she rounded on Simone in sudden inexplicable fury. “Don’t you hate me? Fear me? Do you not loathe me, as everyone else has? I was known around the capital as the cold-hearted Blood Mage who slew her own kin. And that was one of the nicer descriptions assigned to me. Some of the others are too inappropriate to repeat in front of a fine lady such as you.” Logan paused for breath before continuing in softer tones. “I might not recall exactly what took place after I found the bodies of my slain parents, but I promise you, I am no Blood Mage. And no matter what anyone tells you, I am not responsible for the death of my parents. That much I do know.”

Simone was quiet for a while as she processed all of Logan’s revelations. Then, in a voice as sweet as honey, she said, “I could never hate you, Logan. If you say you did not kill your family, then I believe you. As for the mages who did it, I am sure they deserved the death they received. What I find impossible to believe is that you would have been capable of such advanced blood magic at so young an age. How old were you when this happened? Nine? Ten?”

“Eleven.”

“Far too young to be branded a cold-hearted killer, and too young to be capable of advanced blood magic. It must have been extremely hard on you, surviving all those years in Purgatory. I’ve heard stories of the things they practice there, and each one of them gives me a new nightmare.”

“I did not expose myself to receive your pity,” Logan said coldly.

Simone returned the ice with a cold glare. “So why did you tell me?”

Logan slammed her fist down against the stone floor. “Because,” she said after a time, “I feared that if I did not do so, it would continue to fester and grow until it gnawed its way out of my very being. You can’t begin to imagine how it has been for me.”

Simone rose onto her knees and moved closer to Logan. She tentatively extended a hand, but halted herself before she could place it on Logan’s shoulder. “You poor dear.”

“No pity,” Logan repeated. “I don’t deserve it.”

“It’s not pity. It is empathy, understanding. And it is mine to give freely, as I choose.” Simone leaned closer to Logan, until their faces were scant inches apart. “My advice is to learn to accept it graciously.”

Feeling Simone’s breath hot against her neck, Logan’s head jerked up, and they locked gazes. Simone’s eyes were wide as Logan took her in her arms, wider still as she dragged her down, pinning her beneath her weight. The stone floor of the crumbling ruins was cold, unyielding, but she was suddenly impervious to the insistent chill which permeated the air. Nothing existed in Logan’s world save for those icy blue eyes and the finely sculpted face from which they stared. A raging fire ignited within Logan, and she lunged forward like a falcon swooping upon its prey, her lips meeting Simone’s in a hunger so fierce it was without rival.

The kiss lasted for what seemed a small eternity, the lava coursing through Logan’s veins until the oncoming winter was all but forgotten. The sensual energy was dissolved between them as she withdrew, suddenly ashamed of her actions. What was she thinking? Simone was a woman, just like her. She should not be having such feelings for her, and she certainly should not be acting on them.

Logan regarded Simone carefully as the young woman stared up at her. Simone’s expression wasn’t one of revulsion, as Logan had feared. Instead, she continued to stare so intensely into Logan’s eyes that she seemed to be seeing right through her. Logan opened her mouth to offer an apology, but before she could utter a word, the unearthly silence around them was broken by a voice as low and ominous as thunder.

“Is it not as I said?” the man asked another, as yet unseen figure. “We have visitors.”

Logan quickly raised herself from where she and Simone lay tangled on the floor, her hand flying back over her shoulder to the hilt of her sword. Simone continued to lie helpless as Logan crouched over her protectively.

It would seem that the mountain refuge wasn’t abandoned, as Logan had first believed. And for some reason, perhaps it was her keen senses honed by the essence of Witherbeast, she couldn’t dispel the feeling their host wasn’t entirely friendly.

Breathless from the sudden intimate encounter with Logan, Simone lay on the floor beneath the Legionnaire, her body already growing chilled where so recently it had been heated by Logan’s touch. An almost physical pain lanced through Simone as the sweet contact was severed. Several long moments passed before Simone realized that she and Logan were not alone, a truth confirmed by a deep, booming voice from somewhere beyond her vision.

The man who had spoken stepped forward out of the shadows of the dim ruins, affording Simone her first clear view of him. He was tall but lean, perhaps from living in the solitude of the mountain ruins. His hair was the color of straw, and almost as matted, and it tumbled down over his blue eyes.

He was decidedly attractive, and somehow familiar, though she could not place where she had seen him before. There was an underlying hint of malice beneath his bright smile, a subtle, slithering sensation that reminded Simone of a snake. However, it wasn’t the man that gave her a start and sent her bolting to her feet, but rather his companion. A woman materialized out of the gloom at his side, her features colder and more stern than Simone remembered, but heartrendingly familiar all the same.

“Vivienne!” she cried, stumbling to her feet. She swayed unsteadily as she moved toward her sister, and Logan caught hold of her arm in support. Logan’s gloved fingers tightened around her forearm so tightly, it was almost painful. Out of the shadows, more figures appeared. She and Logan were outnumbered, yet, despite the potential danger, Simone couldn’t tear her gaze away from her sister.

“What are you doing here?” Vivienne asked incredulously. “After receiving news of what happened at the estate, I assumed you were dead. Why have you come so far north, into the harsh wilderness?” Her gaze flicked briefly to Logan before settling back on Simone. “And who is this woman accompanying you?”

The man was scrutinizing his two unexpected guests. “You’re Vivienne’s younger sister,” he said to Simone, then turned to Logan. “But I can’t for the life of me say I recall ever seeing you before. I’m certain I would remember one so... unusual.”

His gaze slithered along Logan’s body, igniting a stab of jealousy in Simone. He stopped abruptly, fixated on the insignia on her breastplate. The leer faded from his smile, and his expression sobered.

“You are of the Legion of Blood? I knew it would only be a matter of time before they became involved.”

Logan spoke softly to Simone. “Is this woman truly your sister?”

“Yes, of course. Do you think I am so mad that I would not recognize my own sister?” But what was Vivienne doing in the middle of nowhere, in forgotten elven ruins that had been abandoned for centuries? And who was the man standing beside her? Suddenly it dawned on Simone where she had seen him before.

“You’re the traveling entertainer who performed at our manor last winter. Armand, was it?”

Armand bowed theatrically. “Very impressive. You’re every bit as smart as dear Vivienne is beautiful. I’m beginning to see why the Norlands are highly esteemed among the Anolayan nobles.” He raised his eyes and held Simone with his stare, and she felt the slithering presence creep over her. Repulsed to the core, she shuddered violently.

With a satisfied smile, Armand said, “Your sister and I are lovers and have been for some months now. Noble hierarchy can be rather tedious when lowly entertainers such as I are involved, so Vivienne and I decided to keep our affair a secret in order to avoid possible censure and separation.” He wrapped an arm loosely around Vivienne’s waist, and Simone wondered how her sister could stand this man’s touch upon her.

“I would never do anything to cause distress to my Vivienne,” he said, nuzzling her neck. But Vivienne, Simone noticed, seemed anything but comfortable in Armand’s embrace.

“Is this true, Viv?” she asked, hoping it was all some sort of cruel joke. “What of the aid you were fetching from Bhujari?”

Vivienne slowly turned her head, too ashamed, it seemed, to look her sister in the eye.

“You never intended to seek their help in the first place,” Simone said. “You only meant to meet your lover for a tryst in the wilderness while I was left to defend the estate against the Witherbeast.” Her tone was cold, hollow. “I trusted you, and you left me to die.”

At that, Vivienne’s head snapped up, her countenance filled with her intention to justify her actions, but Armand did not give her the time to frame a believable reply.

“Such a brazen accusation to be leveling at anyone, least of all at your own sister, who loves you dearly. She is, perhaps, the last person in this world who would show you any compassion, young Baroness.” His lips twisted into a snarl even more fearsome than that of a Witherbeast.

Simone had a creeping feeling that this man knew far more about the Norland family than he should, and certainly far more than he was letting on. It was deeply unsettling. To even suspect that anyone was aware of the Norlands’ secret made Simone’s skin crawl, and Armand seemed just the sort to employ that information to his own advantage.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Simone demanded of Armand. “Certainly you’re no mere entertainer.”

“Perceptive.” Armand’s snarl became a sneer. “All that you need to know is that I merely wish to perform a favor for my homeland.”

“Sacrificing innocent lives in order to restore blood magic to Anolaya hardly seems any sort of favor to me,” Vivienne said, breaking her long silence. Beads of perspiration trickled down her face despite the chill in the air.

A Blood Mage. The words sent shards of ice prickling down Simone’s spine. This was the very crime Logan had been accused of committing, the monster she was believed to be. And this man standing before her was the real thing.

“That’s enough.” Armand turned to meet Vivienne’s gaze. “You wouldn’t want to reveal too many details to our guests, would you, my dear?” Vivienne clutched her head and swayed uneasily.

Next to Simone, Logan whispered, “Your sister is enthralled. The Blood Mage has somehow obtained some of her blood and is using it to control her. Blood magic is a cruel thing.”

Armand overheard this last and bared his teeth at them in a feral grin. “Cruel? Who are you to judge what is cruel, Legionnaire? You and your profane kind have mercilessly murdered all of my precious children.”

“Your children?” Simone turned to look at Logan. Suddenly her mother’s account of how the Legion of Blood had ruthlessly tracked down and slain the Bound came rushing back to her, and she found looking upon Logan more uncomfortable than she could ever have imagined. As if her soul had been laid bare for Logan to see, all the dark secrets held by her and her kin were there, bubbling to the surface.

Beside her, Logan seemed genuinely confused by his accusation. “I certainly have no recollections of murdering children,” she said.

“My brood,” Armand replied. “I worked so hard to ensure that they would mature and thrive, and yet the Legion of Blood cut them down before they could even reach civilization.”

Logan’s eyes flew open wide in shock, and Simone immediately understood. This maniac was referring to the Witherbeast as if they were his own creation! No doubt they were, at least in part. Blood magic could be used for all manner of horrendous things, and Simone wouldn’t put it past the unsavory Armand to resort to all of them.

“You’re mad,” she spat.

“Perhaps.” Armand’s demented eyes shone in the dim light. “Do you know the difficulty involved in controlling a pack of savage Witherbeast? Maybe I should thank you, Legionnaire, for destroying those miserable ingrates. All power and bloodlust, but no intelligence. Not like my next batch.” Armand returned Logan’s stare. “That’s right. I am breeding, in these accursed wastelands, a race of superior Witherbeast. The ultimate warriors will be born of my blood magic and the savagery of demons. Then, at last, all those who dared to oppose me will be taught a lesson.”

“You’re a monster,” Logan said. “None would be better suited to lead a horde of demons. I hope you get what you deserve when those Witherbeast you love so dearly turn on you.”

“Enough.” Armand waved his hand for silence. “I will create the perfect being. Using the long forbidden powers of my ancestors, I’ll build a race like no other, creatures with the strength and finely honed instincts of beasts and the advanced intellect of humans. My creations will reign supreme! Anolaya will tremble before my might! And unlike humanity, my pets will never betray me.”

Logan scoffed at his overconfidence.

“Laugh at my work all you want,” Armand retorted, “but we will see how amusing you find it when you are face-to-face with one of my new children. Vivienne, escort our guests to the entertainment chambers.”

Deep in thrall once again, Vivienne began to move toward them.

Simone could say nothing as her sister advanced, her mind unable to formulate a coherent thought since hearing of Armand’s intentions. This man planned to create an army of highly evolved Witherbeast—of Bound—with his accursed blood magic, then set them loose on Anolaya. It would be the Age of Magi all over again. Wasn’t it for this very reason that blood magic had been banned, that magic in general was shunned lest it be used for evil purposes?

“You’re forgetting, perhaps, that you will have to get past me first.” Logan stepped between Vivienne and Simone. Her hand on the hilt of her sword, she prepared to draw the great blade. She would have engaged the Blood Mage in battle right then and there, had Simone not gently placed a hand on her arm, stopping her in mid-motion.

“Please, Logan, don’t hurt my sister,” Simone implored. “Her behavior is through no fault of her own. She is being controlled, otherwise she would never do anyone harm.”

Simone knew that Vivienne Norland was a woman enthralled, a marionette being manipulated by an outside force. Her actions were not easily judged, especially when a man as odious as Armand was pulling the strings. Why should her sister have to suffer on his account, in his stead? It was Armand’s throat Simone wanted to see Logan slit, not Vivienne’s. Nodding stiffly, Logan released her sword.

Simone’s mind raced with possible ways out of their plight as Vivienne led them deeper into the ancient mountain temple, the reek of blood and beast worsening with every step they took into the darkness.

Chapter 15

Logan smelled them long before she saw them—wretched, withered beings hunkering low in the deep shadows of the mountain temple. Accompanied by the stench of death and excreta, the pungent aroma of the beasts pervaded the air to the point that it became difficult to breathe.

The gloom was so deep, Logan imagined that Simone could barely see where she was walking. Logan, however, could see just fine in the dark, the beastly essence within her enabling her eyes to pierce the darkness of even the innermost chambers of the temple.

Their journey came to an end at a grand archway carved into the stone, its features eerily illuminated by the faint glow of Vivienne’s candle.

“Inside,” she instructed, her voice devoid of emotion.

Logan wrinkled her nose at the stench emanating from within the darkened extension of the temple. “What is this place?”

“Armand calls it the breeding pit,” Vivienne replied.

“I thought we had eliminated the Witherbeast’s brood stock at Norland Manor,” Logan remarked. “Just how many are there down there?”

“The trade caravans,” Simone interjected. “Corbin mentioned that many travelers in the northern highlands had gone missing.” She rounded on Vivienne. “Is this what became of them? Were they abducted for Armand’s amusement? Or were they merely food for his pets?”

There was a long silence in which the two sisters stared each other down. It was Vivienne who backed down. She looked away, her eyes glazed and strangely luminous in the dim light.

Logan knew she was enthralled. Armand would not risk losing control of Vivienne, as he had before. There would be no additional information forthcoming from Vivienne. The unpleasant task of telling Simone about Armand’s use for the abducted humans fell to Logan.

“I believe I can explain,” she began, searching for words to describe the origins of the Witherbeast. “The Witherbeast were conceived from blood magic, the beast born from the suffering of the very mages who sought to control such raw power. Witherbeast are the physical embodiment of the atrocities committed by the Blood Mages of old. For those accursed individuals, the characteristics that differentiate humanity from the beasts have been permanently removed, until there is nothing left but pain and bloodlust.”

Simone’s eyes widened, and her grip tightened on Logan’s arm, but she did not speak.

“It gets worse,” Logan said. “Much worse. The beasts’ accursed condition is highly contagious. The mere bite of a Witherbeast is enough to infect a person.”

“And?” Simone asked. “What happens once someone has been infected?”

“They become one of the beasts.”

Simone turned her gaze on Vivienne. “Is this what Armand has been doing? Turning innocent passersby into Witherbeast?”

Vivienne remained silent, still refusing to meet her sister’s searching gaze.

“Likely all the men have been killed and eaten,” Logan said darkly, hating that she must be the one to instruct Simone on this grim subject. “Witherbeast are chiefly interested in expanding their brood stock, and thus usually only keep the females alive.”

“Viv, why are you doing this?” Simone still refused to believe her sister would allow any harm to come to her only living sibling. “Come with us, away from this place, away from that horrid man. You don’t have to live this way.”

Vivienne’s features twisted and contorted in the light, almost as though she was suffering physical pain. Was she fighting Armand’s hold over her? Logan wondered whether that was even possible.

“You don’t understand,” she spat. “I chose this. I chose him. Did you know, dear sister, that I even played a small role in the deaths of our family?”

Simone paled at her sister’s confession. “It’s not true,” she said, shock and disbelief in her voice. “Tell me it’s not true.”

Vivienne’s lips curled in a snarl. “It’s true. I knew of the Witherbeast presence long before Corbin was sent out on patrol. And yet I did nothing to stop the events from unfolding.”

“This is madness! What does Armand hope to accomplish by breeding Witherbeast? More importantly, what do you hope to gain by assisting him?”

“I’m not at liberty to share that information with you.”

“Your sister is under Armand’s spell,” Logan said to Simone. “Apparently the Blood Mage wants to drive a wedge between you by having Vivienne confess these details.”

“Enough talk,” Vivienne said forcefully. “Armand doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Simone opened her mouth as if to make one last attempt to sway her sister’s decision, but Logan halted her by placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s no use,” she said. “Nothing you can say will change her mind. She is totally under his control now.”

Reluctantly, Simone withdrew into silence as she and Logan were ushered into the dark, reeking chamber, and the door was sealed fast behind them.

With her heightened night vision, Logan was able to survey their new surroundings. The area in which the Witherbeast were being held had once served as a sort of altar, most probably to the forest deities in whom the Yor’kesh placed so much belief. Logan recoiled at the thought of the Witherbeast slouching in the shadows, their foul presence tainting this once sacred place. It was surprising to her that she had such a strong reaction. She was a half-breed who did not belong in either world and had no affiliation with the beliefs and customs of either. Still, Armand and his obscene fascination with Witherbeast made her skin crawl.

Beside her, Simone shivered in the dark. Logan could see how Simone trembled, and she flinched as Simone inched closer. The memory of Simone’s body, so warm and alive beneath her, flooded her mind and caused her to keep a distance between them. What exactly had come over her, Logan wondered. She had kissed Simone as only a man should and felt the desire swelling up inside her. Such desires couldn’t be natural. Perhaps the beast’s blood flowing through her veins and the accompanying wild impulses were beginning to drive her mad. Whatever the case, she should not remain in the presence of Simone Norland any longer than necessary. As soon as she found an escape from their current dilemma and saw Simone delivered to safety, she would go her separate way.

Tibolt had mentioned that on occasion a Legionnaire would manage to survive the Initiation, only to have their condition worsen later. If Logan was becoming a beast trapped in a woman’s body, then she wasn’t safe to be around. She would retreat quietly into the solitude of the northern mountains to await her fate, but first she would defend Simone, with her very life if necessary. The Witherbeast would not claim her as brood stock; Logan would personally see to that.

“We should get moving,” she announced, so suddenly that the sound of her voice caused Simone to jump. “We will probably encounter Witherbeast up ahead, but I feel a breeze blowing through here, carrying with it the scent of fresh air and hope. A breeze means that we might find a way out, a crack or fissure in the stonework that Armand has overlooked.”

“What will we do about the Witherbeast?” Simone asked in a small voice.

“Armand has had them trapped in these crumbling ruins, in a makeshift den. Some of them probably haven’t been outside since their metamorphosis.” Logan noticed Simone’s discomfort at the reminder that these creatures were once human. “Armand has been keeping them in these dark confines, forcing them to breed. Many of these Witherbeast are probably underdeveloped and unaccustomed to fighting.”

She thought about the abominations in the dungeon of the Norland estate, stuck in the transitional phases of the metamorphosis. Such creatures were a pitiful sight to behold, and Logan was suddenly grateful for the darkness enveloping them. Simone was compassionate. She would find it disturbing to witness the obscene metamorphosis of the creatures, many of whom were likely to be in a state somewhere between human and Witherbeast. Logan would do all in her power to shield Simone from the horrors waiting somewhere up ahead.

She took Simone by the hand. “I’ll lead you. At least Armand was arrogant enough to leave me my sword and armor. We will undoubtedly need them to bring about our escape.” When Simone said nothing, Logan turned to look at her and noted that Simone’s left hand never released the ornate pendant that hung from the necklace around her throat. Simone clung to it like a lifeline.

Logan had noticed the amulet before; Simone was never without it. Many times she had seen Simone fingering it while she was in deep thought, as though tracing the intricate engravings gave her some sort of inspiration. Logan now wondered about the significance of the necklace, but said nothing. Now was not the time to go prying into Simone’s personal life. Survival was what mattered most at the moment, and Logan silently vowed that Simone would survive, no matter the cost.

“We will make it through this,” Logan said. “Do you believe in me?”

Some of the tension seemed to leave Simone. “I trust you, Logan. If you say this path leads to hope, then I believe you wholeheartedly.”

Logan smiled to herself, secretly wishing that she had as much confidence in her abilities as Simone did.

Placing complete and utter trust in her Legionnaire, Simone allowed Logan to lead her through the darkness. Simone tightened her grip on Logan’s hand, lacing her fingers through Logan’s.

Lead me from this nightmare, Logan. I’m beginning to believe that only you can.

Simone followed Logan through the dark maze of corridors, her heart racing as she recalled the intimate encounter she and Logan shared. The fond memory was a pleasant distraction from their current situation. Logan had kissed her. For a brief instant, she had held Simone in her arms and kissed her as passionately as a lover would. Those few precious moments felt like a dream to Simone.

Vivienne had taken the candle, the only source of light, leaving them enveloped in utter darkness with beasts lurking somewhere nearby. Simone knew they were there, even without the overwhelming stench filling her nostrils. She could feel them moving about in the darkness, their hungry eyes upon her and Logan.

Simone shuddered and clutched the ancestral amulet at her throat in a death grip, the beastly essence it contained soothing her with a reminder of her own peculiar nature. Perhaps her fate wasn’t sealed just yet. Maybe the Witherbeast would be repelled by the blood of the Bound. But even if the Witherbeast did not want her, Logan might still be in danger. It puzzled Simone how Logan could accept her impending fate so quietly, so calmly. Even as Simone’s own body was racked with a bone-deep shudder, she could sense the steady resolve emanating from Logan. She wasn’t about to give up without a fight, and Simone knew without a doubt, Logan had no intention of allowing either of them to die.

As Logan and Simone ventured deeper into the recesses of the ancient elven temple in search of the source of the breeze, the presence of the Witherbeast grew stronger until the air was almost too fetid to breathe. Simone realized that she no longer had to worry over the visions that danced before her eyes when she slept, for she knew the dark shapes that she now saw writhing and crouching in the shadows were quite real.

The Witherbeast were everywhere. Aware of the foul beasts long before she laid eyes on them, Logan drew to a halt, reached over her shoulder with her free hand and curled her fingers around the hilt of her sword.

At first the Witherbeast did not notice them, too preoccupied with their own activities to notice the two intruders. Logan silently watched a Witherbeast gnawing on a bone from a human leg, while three more fought over a scrap of dried flesh that still clung to the skeletal remains. Logan’s attention was drawn by a sudden clamor in the far corner of the once grand room, where a portion of the roof had caved in and now formed a sort of lean-to within the temple. The opening was partially concealed by the debris and guarded by a trio of bickering Witherbeast. One Witherbeast cringed as two others snapped and clawed in battle, the two figures blurring together in a cyclone of fur and fangs. Suddenly the fighting Witherbeast disentangled and leapt back, then began circling each other as they snarled and gnashed their teeth threateningly.

Clearly the reason for this squabbling was the third Witherbeast, the one crouching submissively on the floor and watching while the other two fought for dominance. One of the breeding females had suddenly come into heat, Logan mused. Such a thing could throw a pack of bickering Witherbeast into turmoil if not properly dealt with. With a deafening roar, a fourth player suddenly appeared in the ongoing drama. Logan had to stifle a gasp as the huge Witherbeast reared onto its hind legs, her massive size identifying her as a dominant female to her squabbling subordinates.

The two males cowered low, their bellies pressed to the floor in puddles of their own urine as the she-beast hovered over them. She glowered down at the underlings as they whimpered and rolled onto their backs, exposing the soft flesh of their throats. Apparently satisfied with the males display of submission, the alpha female dropped to all fours and growled softly at the quivering Witherbeast, as if to remind them of their place.

Tibolt had spent hours lecturing the Initiates on Witherbeast behavior, and Logan was beginning to understand the importance of having such knowledge. Knowing the enemy’s strengths and weaknesses could give her the advantage in battle. If a pack of Witherbeast had no alpha to reign over it, it would fall into chaos. A dominant female was the only salvation, a strong, calculating she-beast to lead the pack and decide which individuals possessed good breeding qualities. The alpha female was the one Logan needed to dispose of first. After that, the squabbling subordinates would be directionless.

The she-beast continued to tower over the males. Whining loudly, the contested female crawled on her belly toward the alpha, stopping a respectable distance from the she-beast. The dominant female left the two underlings and lowered her broad, deadly muzzle until it was mere inches from the brood female’s head, the dagger-length fangs just grazing the subordinate’s muzzle.

Logan shuddered in the darkness, appalled by these creatures, yet at the same time, captivated by their complex social behaviors. Mirrored in their strange behavior, she saw faint traces of her own tendencies, such as the desire to dominate all those around her. A shiver racked her own body as she recalled what it had felt like to have Simone beneath her, the expression in her blue eyes timid and submissive as she stared up at her.

A light pressure on her hand drew Logan’s attention back to the scene before her. Simone still clung tightly to Logan, her anxiety threatening to overwhelm her as she waited in the dark for a fate she dared not imagine. Logan gave Simone’s hand a reassuring squeeze, then started forward, around the outermost circle of the crumbling amphitheater. However she had intended to deal with the Witherbeast, Logan couldn’t afford to rouse them now, not with Simone helpless by her side and a dominant female in their midst. Death would come upon them swiftly in the dark confines of the temple. Justice would have to wait until the playing field was leveled, then Logan would put an end to Armand’s plan.

Simone followed close behind Logan, their fingers still intertwined. Even through the thick gloves Logan wore, Simone could feel the heat from her hand. Memories of Logan lying on top of her, lips pressed firmly to her own, came unbidden, the rush following the recollection enough to cause Simone to stumble in the dark. Logan slowed so that Simone could regain her footing. Simone vaguely sensed that they were making a slow arc, perhaps around a larger open area. The stench of Witherbeast was unbearable, their growls and whines so near that Simone dared not make a sound for fear of giving away their presence. Although she longed to know where they were and what was happening, Simone knew she could not speak to ask. She also knew that Logan could see everything that was going on around them.

Simone could not see well in the dark, but she possessed attributes of her own. Her keen sense of smell was one such talent, and with it Simone could discern each individual scent of every Witherbeast in the temple. There were thirty-five or forty of the creatures, mostly females. Mostly females in heat, Simone noted as she inhaled the close, acrid air once again. Probably many of them had once been travelers, passing through the northern mountains with the trade caravans when Armand and his Witherbeast had ambushed them.

Shocked and repulsed by her grim realization, Simone staggered to a stop, nearly tripping Logan in the process. Although she could feel Logan’s insistent tugging at her arm, Simone refused to budge. Something inside her had awakened, something dark and primal and lethal, and she wanted nothing more than to tear her enemies limb from limb. Although she knew she should turn away and follow Logan’s lead, she couldn’t pull herself from the horrors lurking within the darkness. She wanted to end their suffering, to set free the souls of those poor travelers with her bare hands. Her whole body trembled with the effort of repressing the wild impulses.

Logan held tight to Simone’s hand as she stood shivering at her side. Doubtless, Simone had somehow become aware of the imminent danger and was petrified with fear, her slight body as rigid as a statue and almost as solid, Logan mused as she attempted to pull Simone along. Her efforts were to no avail. Simone remained rooted to her spot, staring intently at the gathering of Witherbeast. Could Simone see in the dark as well? Logan did not think so. There was a blank expression in Simone’s eyes as she watched the beasts, like she somehow knew what was going on without needing to see it. Her shaking had almost stopped, and she became much calmer.

“We have to end this,” Simone whispered. The hissed sibilants seemed to bounce off the ancient stonework, causing Logan to look about in alarm. “They were human once, and they are suffering. Can you not feel it?”

Logan regretted telling Simone the details of Witherbeast metamorphosis. Tugging at Simone’s arm again, she said, “Believe me when I say I understand your concerns, but now is neither the time nor the place to engage the creatures. We must move, quickly before we are discovered—”

“No!” Simone’s voice pierced the stagnant air like a dagger. Every Witherbeast in the area paused in its activities and turned its head toward them.

Logan took Simone in her arms and flung her over her shoulder, then began running as fast as she could from the scene. Sounds of the Witherbeast pursuing close at her heels would haunt her for the rest of her days, but still she ran, ducking and leaping clear of the obstacles in the grand chamber as she ran toward the cave-in. After what seemed an eternity, Logan scrambled over the large stone that had become dislodged from the ceiling, and she and Simone rolled to the relative safety on the other side.

A shaft of golden sunlight streamed in through the open ceiling, bathing the room in an eerie glow and keeping the Witherbeast at bay. Simone, at last coming to her senses pushed herself up on her hands and knees and took in the details of their surroundings. It took some time for her eyes to adjust to the light, accustomed as they had been to total darkness. They had stumbled into some sort of tomb, and Simone realized with dull horror that she was bracing herself against an ancient sarcophagus. Quickly withdrawing her hand, she sat back and scanned the rest of the room. The light was streaming in through an opening in the temple ceiling, where many of the stones had dislodged and fallen in over the long years. There was a cruel irony in it, Simone thought, that their flight to freedom would lead them instead to a tomb.

“I knew I smelled fresh air beyond the smell of Witherbeast.” Logan’s gaze was fixed on the gaping hole in the crumbling ceiling, some twenty feet above their heads.

Another round of snarling and snapping from the enraged Witherbeast caused Simone to draw close to Logan. Whenever one beast would venture too close to the sunlight, it would emit a high-pitched whimper and fall to the back of the group.

“Is there no other way?” Simone asked, squeezing her eyes shut against the image of the beasts clawing and pawing at the boulder that blocked their path.

With the sunlight illuminating the ruins, it was easy to see there were no other exits from the room, other than the way in which they had entered, which was being closely guarded by ravenous Witherbeast.

“This is it,” Logan said, a note of finality in her voice. “The only exit is through there.” She pointed to the hole in the ceiling.

Simone tilted her head back and basked in the warmth of the sun’s rays, but it didn’t keep her voice from trembling as she said, “We can’t leave here then. Our fate has been sealed.”

“We can’t stay here either,” Logan stated firmly. “The sun is already beginning its descent. How long do you think they will be content to merely growl and threaten us once night falls?” She nodded in the direction of the waiting Witherbeast, quieter now as they hunkered down in the shadows beyond the reach of the sun. “You know what will happen as soon as daylight fades. You don’t want to become one of them, do you?”

Shaking her head vehemently, Simone rose to her feet. “But what use is there in trying to avoid it any longer? We are trapped here, Logan, doomed to be devoured by monsters, or worse.”

Simone thought about how she had wanted to rip the Witherbeast apart with her bare hands. What had come over her? Was the beast within, held in check for so long by ancient blood magic, finally trying to emerge? “I’m sorry for getting us into this situation,” she said. “If only I had remained silent—”

“There is no need to apologize.” Logan looked as if she wanted to say more, but she did not.

Growls from the Witherbeast disrupted the silence, and Simone shivered. She did not want to become like those tragic souls, a victim of her own fury and bloodlust.

Logan listened to the monsters’ restless pacing. “The snarls of Witherbeast sometimes sound eerily like human words,” she said, listening with fascination to the vocalizations of the beasts. “Some old Legionnaires claim they can understand them.”

Simone was appalled at the very idea of communicating with Witherbeast. “Who would want to listen to what they have to say?” she hissed. “They are abominations.”

“But don’t forget that they were human once, just like you and me.”

“I will never become like them.” Simone’s hands tightened into fists at her side, and she turned to Logan, her eyes filling with tears. “Promise me, Logan, if it comes to it that you will take my life with your own hands. I would prefer death to living as a mindless, bloodthirsty beast.”

“They will not take you,” Logan stated as a matter of fact. “In order to do so, they will have to get through me first, and not even the Witherbeast will have me. My blood is toxic to them.”

Logan became downcast, almost as if she regretted being exempted as a Witherbeast target. Simone saw the sudden change in Logan’s mood and took a step closer to her. “Are you referring to the taint all Legionnaires possess?” she asked, startling Logan out of her melancholy. Simone smiled. “I’ve lived in the north woods my whole life and have heard much gossip surrounding the enigmatic Legion of Blood. The Legion’s blood is tainted, but it is that same taint which protects you from the bite of the Witherbeast. Is this correct?”

Obviously perplexed by Simone’s knowledge, Logan jerked her head in what could have been interpreted as a nod. Simone imagined that Logan had pledged to never speak of the Initiation to anyone. Secret societies typically required their members to take such oaths. It was the same with the Bound. Apparently Logan had no intention of breaking her promise, not even at the possible threshold of her death.

Simone grew thoughtful. “I suspected as much. Witherbeast bites are highly infectious, and almost always lethal. How would the Legion of Blood be able to successfully thwart them unless they were somehow immune to the beasts’ contagion?”

“How do you know so much?” Logan asked. “Secrets surrounding the Legion and its centuries-old battle with the Witherbeast have long been kept from the public. You acted surprised when I informed you of the consequences of surviving an attack by a Witherbeast, so why is it that you speak so familiarly of the infection spread by the Witherbeast, even though you claim you had no knowledge of it before today?”

Simone sighed, realizing too late that she had said too much. Perhaps it is better this way, she told herself. She knew that Logan hadn’t been taking her seriously when she said she could meet the challenges set by the Legionnaires, that Logan saw her as a frail, fragile woman, as so many others did.

“I have a confession to make,” she began, “one which I believe will shock you. Nevertheless, I think you should know the truth.”

She had promised her mother she would never tell another living soul of the Norlands’ secret, but Logan needed to know the truth. Logan deserved to know just who she was risking her life for.

After taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Simone took a deep breath and said, “Contrary to what you have been led to believe, the Legion of Blood is not the only Order dedicated to the extermination of the Witherbeast.”

Chapter 16

Logan could only stare at Simone after her unexpected announcement. Could another Order sworn to battle Witherbeast truly exist? If so, then this group must be cloaked in even more secrecy than the Legion of Blood.

Simone cleared her throat and continued. “There is another Order, older and more clandestine than even the Legion of Blood. For centuries it has existed in absolute secrecy, long forgotten by all except those who carry with them the proof of its existence.”

Logan could not contain her questions. “What is this Order?” she demanded. “Why are there no records of the Legion having an ally in the war against the Witherbeast?”

“Because the Legion does not see these individuals as allies.” Simone sighed. “They are called the Bound, so named for their life of servitude to those who made them.”

“Made?”

“The Bound were created by mages, powerful mages wielding ancient and forbidden spells.”

At last Logan understood. “Blood Mages,” she said. Simone nodded. “So why has no one ever heard of these Bound?” Logan probed. “It seems to me that their contributions would not be so easily forgotten.”

“They were not known as the Bound for long,” Simone replied, sorrow filling her blue eyes. “The Legion of Blood decreed that they were abominations, and shortly after that, the people of Anolaya branded them as monsters. They were hunted, tracked down and ruthlessly slaughtered until their kind teetered on the brink of extinction. All but a handful were killed.”

“Why would the Legion do such a thing?” Logan shook her head at the very thought of Tibolt ordering the unjustified execution of an entire race. “No matter that the Bound’s history lay within the workings of blood magic, I can’t see the Legion taking such drastic measures unless it believed the Bound to be a dire threat to the general population.”

“It wasn’t its ties to blood magic that brought about the fate of the Bound, but rather its dark origins.” Simone narrowed her eyes. “There is a saying among the Legion of Blood, I believe. ‘In order to kill a beast, you must become a beast.’ The Bound were sought out and destroyed, Logan, because they were beasts trapped in human skin. Witherbeast are humans who have become monsters. The Bound were Witherbeast forced to become human again, the agent forcing and then binding this transformation with the arcane powers of blood magic.”

“Witherbeast turning into humans,” Logan mused aloud. “Unbelievable. It is little wonder why blood magic is mistrusted today.”

“It wasn’t always so. Anolaya was under siege by the Witherbeast, and the Bound had an advantage. Through the use of blood magic, they were able to transform at will, shifting from human to beast as effortlessly as donning a cloak. What better way to fight monsters than with an army of enthralled soldiers forced to destroy what they themselves had once been?”

Logan regarded Simone thoughtfully for a moment. “How is it that you know so much of this forgotten history? If no written records of those dark times exist, then I assume an oral history is passed down from generation to generation. You mentioned before that there were survivors of the genocide against the Bound. What became of those individuals?”

Simone smiled, a thin, tight-lipped smile. “Haven’t you figured it out? The Norlands are among the last remaining direct descendants of the Bound. I am a Bound.”

For a long while, Logan was too stunned to speak. Simone, dear, sweet Simone, was one of the very creatures she had spoken of in her wild tale—a Witherbeast that had become human, an unwilling soldier that had been forced to fight. To think, Logan mused to herself, that all this time she had been in the company of such an astounding woman and had never even suspected it.

Still, it was hard to imagine Simone having fangs and claws and an insatiable desire to dine on human flesh. Simone was as delicate and beautiful as a butterfly. Nothing about her hinted at monsters and nightmare creatures lurking just below the surface.

“You were a Witherbeast?” Logan asked incredulously.

“Never physically. I was born into a human body, but the beast has always been there. For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt its presence within me. At times it’s comforting to know that such power flows through my veins. But sometimes it feels as though the beast is clawing and gnawing at my insides, trying to be free.” Simone looked Logan squarely in the eye. “See? You’re not the only one with dark secrets and a past that is better left buried.” There was genuine fear in Simone’s eyes as she spoke of her inner beast and its attempts to tear its way out of her.

“Why tell me?” Logan asked, startling Simone.

“Why?” Simone looked at her as though she expected Logan to already know the answer to her own question. “It will all be over soon. I meant what I said earlier, about killing me with your own hands if it comes to that. There is no denying the darkness which lurks in my soul, but I have no intention of letting the beast have its way.”

Simone raised her eyes, and Logan could see the fire of determination flickering within them.

“And furthermore,” she continued, “I feared for my sanity if I had to carry the burden of my secret alone any longer.”

Logan thought she understood. After all, wasn’t it for similar reasons that she had finally confided in Simone the events of her childhood?

Simone smiled again, only this time it radiated an energy that warmed Logan all the way to her core.

“I’ve always wanted someone I could talk to,” she began, taking a step closer to Logan. “Someone I could trust. If you were to tell me that we will grow wings and fly to safety tonight, I think I would believe you.” When her body was a mere hand’s breadth from Logan’s, she stopped. “I want no regrets,” she said, her every word filled with trepidation.

Logan thought she knew where Simone was going, and she knew that she must stop her before she went any further. “Sorry,” she said, stepping quickly away from Simone. “I might be filled with many surprises, but even I can’t sprout wings and fly.”

“I know that.” Simone’s laugh was filled with brittle tension. “But even so, I would prefer to spend my last moments in this world with you. You are... special.” Reaching out and gingerly lacing her fingers through Logan’s, she said, “I’ve grown very fond of you.”

Suddenly Logan rounded on her. “I’m sorry, Simone.” Her voice was tight with pent-up emotion. “I can’t be what you wish of me. Dragging you into the harsh wilderness was a mistake. Because of me, you’re trapped here… with them.” She tossed her head in the direction of the Witherbeast.

As she stood in the fading sunlight, refusing to meet Simone’s gaze, she felt a hot tear slide down her cheek. It hurt, avoiding Simone like this, when all she really wanted was to take her in her arms and hold her for dear life.

Apparently Simone sensed some of her uncertainty, as she persisted. “You kissed me,” she said quietly, as though she still couldn’t quite believe it herself.

As Logan turned to face her, she worried that Simone would see the unguarded fear in her expression.

“I’ve never felt as alive as I did in that moment,” Simone began.

“That was another mistake,” Logan snapped, jerking her hand from Simone’s grasp. “One that I shall not repeat.” Even as she spoke the words, Logan could feel the dark desires burgeoning within her, threatening to overwhelm her self-control. If she did not get away from Simone soon, she feared she would lose all restraint.

But Simone was not the frail little thing she appeared to be. There was a beast prowling within her as well, a beast that perhaps was answering Logan’s dark call even now.

“Don’t say that!” Simone countered. “What happened was no mistake. Do you honestly think I couldn’t see the passion in your eyes? I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in all my life.”

“Simone, this has to stop. It never should have happened.” As much as Logan wanted to avoid looking upon Simone’s disappointed face, Simone refused to allow her to look elsewhere as she stood before Logan, blocking her only escape route.

There was something between them, of that Logan was sure. She could feel it, and apparently, so could Simone. Logan held her ground, pinning Simone with her most intimidating glare as she stared her down, but it seemed Simone was not about to back down. The young noblewoman returned her gaze; her full lips pressed together until they formed a thin line. In the end, Logan’s common sense faltered. She wanted Simone, wanted her more than she’d ever wanted anything before. She advanced a step toward the smaller woman, but before she could act on her desires, a shadow fell across them.

Logan quickly shifted her gaze to the ceiling above, her eyes widening with disbelief. Perched on the rim of the skylight was a silhouetted figure that was darkened beyond recognition by the setting sun. But Logan knew who it was; she knew, even though she could hardly believe it.

“Hello down there!” a familiar voice called down to them.

“Tibolt!” Logan’s voice was filled with relief. “Is that really you?”

“Who else would it be? We’ve been tracking you all over the northern countryside.”

Logan suddenly became aware of the other shadows joining Tibolt at the edge of the hole. The surviving Legionnaires from the battle at the Norland estate. They must have been following them for days. And all the while, she had believed them dead.

“Is there a way out? We are besieged down here,” Logan called up, struggling to hold back the tears. Perhaps she was relieved that she and Simone were not going to fall victim to the fangs and claws of the Witherbeast, after all. Or maybe her relief came from the fact that she would not be alone in Simone’s company any longer. Either way, it gave Logan a warm feeling to see the renewed hope sparkling in Simone’s eyes.

Tibolt shouted, “Can you hold on for a few minutes more? We are on our way down.”

Chapter 17

Upon hearing about Armand’s plot to breed an army of superior Witherbeast, Tibolt was determined to put an immediate end to the plan before it could come to fruition. Logan disagreed with Tibolt’s decision to press the Witherbeast where they denned, especially when not one of the remaining Legionnaires was without injury, but she did not voice her dissent.

“We can’t allow Armand to create a horde of chimeras,” he said. “It happened once before, centuries ago.” He shook his head sadly. “Such a disastrous uprising is not an incident the Legion wants repeated.”

“Chimeras, Sir?” Logan asked timidly. In her heart, she already knew the ancient creatures to which Tibolt referred could be none other than the mysterious Bound of Simone’s tale.

Tibolt offered the slightest of smiles. “That was a long time ago. Before the world was awakened to the horrendous powers of blood magic. I’m sorry about your sister,” he said to Simone. “It saddens me to hear that a Norland has become involved in the treachery of this madman, but I assure you, the Legion will do all in its power to save her.”

Simone nodded. “Thank you.”

Since confiding the truth behind the secrets of the Norland line to Logan, Simone had become withdrawn and distant. Indeed, this was the first time since Tibolt and the Legionnaires had arrived that Logan had heard Simone utter a word. Perhaps she feared that Logan would expose her for what lay within her, now that their doom was no longer so imminent. Logan would never betray Simone’s trust in her, but something had been bothering her ever since learning the truth behind the legendary chimeras—the Bound, as Simone called them. As soon as the Legionnaires proceeded to the task of eliminating the Witherbeast that surrounded them, Logan drew Simone to the side.

“Something has been troubling me,” she began, her voice low to ensure that no one overheard. “You said earlier that blood magic was used to create the Bound. Armand admits to being a Blood Mage.”

“A Blood Mage with a horde of Witherbeast at his disposal.” Simone’s eyes grew round. “You don’t suppose he intends to create an army of Bound to serve him? I have to admit, the idea had crossed my mind. But how can one man hope to attain enough power to create an entire army? The Blood Mages of old were many, their powers far surpassing any we have seen in centuries.”

“What other use could a Blood Mage have for a pack of slavering, bloodthirsty Witherbeast? Remember that Armand called the previous horde inferior, the one that attacked your estate. He must be planning something different, some advancements for this next batch.”

“Then we have to stop him,” Simone said with determination. “Not even the Witherbeast could deal with the pain and confusion which accompany the reverse transformation.”

“Don’t worry,” Logan reassured her. “Tibolt has already set his mind to the task of exterminating them, and he won’t be satisfied until every last Witherbeast lies dead.”

Shouts from the tunnel leading deeper into the Witherbeast’s denning site affirmed Logan’s supposition. Turning to Simone, she smiled and extended her hand. “Shall we join them?” she asked.

Startled by the question, Simone stared at her before saying, “Do you truly want me to remain by your side, even when you know the truth? I am volatile. The presence of so many Witherbeast has disturbed the spell binding me to this form.”

“I can’t leave you here unguarded,” Logan replied. “I promised to keep you from harm, and I have no intention of breaking that promise now.”

Simone was silent for a long moment, and Logan wondered what she was thinking. She hoped that Simone could see the sincerity in her words. It must be difficult for Simone to trust anyone after carrying around such a great secret, least of all a member of the same order that had nearly driven her ancestors to extinction.

Finally, Simone apparently overcame her reservations, as she accepted Logan’s hand. Logan took it gently, enjoying the way Simone’s fingers felt against her own. She would protect this woman. Tibolt had ordered her to guard Simone with her life, and she intended to follow that order, not because of her allegiance to the Legion of Blood, but because she couldn’t bear to see Simone suffer any more than she already had.

The path carved through the mountain temple by the Legion of Blood was bloody indeed. Taken by surprise by the onslaught of reinforcements, the Witherbeast never knew what hit them. Leading the purge was Tibolt, flanked on all sides by the enraged Legionnaires. It seemed that now, they at least had some vengeance for the deaths of their comrades and the forced retreat from the Norland estate.

Simone brought up the rear with Logan, who dispatched any stray Witherbeast that had managed to avoid the initial fury of Tibolt’s attack. Throughout the quick and violent battle, Simone never once felt any symptoms of instability. If her condition were to deteriorate and her true nature were to be discovered, she had no idea how Tibolt and the others would react. For many centuries, it had been believed that the Bound were extinct. To have that belief so suddenly shattered, and in the wake of such a bloody battle... Simone did not want to dwell on the possible outcomes of such a situation, but none of the imaginable reactions looked good for her.

The battle was going in the Legion’s favor until they burst through the double doors leading into the grand hall of the temple, where they were met with Armand, along with a small group of his Blood Mages, and the largest Witherbeast Simone had ever seen. The huge beast lay curled in one corner of the room, its black lips pulled back in a feral grin as it acknowledged their visitors. The candles in the chandelier overhead flickered brightly, the firelight reflecting menacingly in the Witherbeast’s eyes.

“Well,” Armand began, eyeing Tibolt and the Legionnaires flanking him, “more guests. I never imagined I would be meeting you here, Tibolt. This must be my lucky day.”

“It has been a long time, Armand,” Tibolt replied, unimpressed by the Witherbeast and the gathering of Blood Mages with Armand. “I can see the years haven’t altered your fascination with blood magic.”

Simone crowded at Logan’s back, eager to see beyond the protective curtain of men gathered before her. Vivienne was nowhere to be seen, which was a source of great worry for Simone.

“I don’t see my sister,” she whispered to Logan, but the Legionnaire never tore her gaze away from the large, reddish gray Witherbeast occupying the hall. Following Logan’s line of sight, Simone took in every detail of the creature as it lounged upon an overstuffed cushion like some hideous, oversized pet. Simone had never seen a Witherbeast so clearly before, and beneath the flickering light from the candles overhead, she realized the beast was more horrifying than she had ever imagined.

As Simone continued to scrutinize its every movement, the Witherbeast seemed to grow bored and its maw opened in a gaping yawn. Every tooth was visible as its massive head seemed to split in a chasm from ear to ear, including the lethal canines, which were as long as daggers and every bit as sharp. The Witherbeast closed its mouth with a snap and rose stiffly from its bed. As it sat back on its haunches, Simone noted the twin rows of teats along the beast’s underbelly, barely visible through the scraggly fur.

“It’s a female,” she mused aloud, both fascinated and repulsed at just how close she was to the creature to notice such a minute detail.

“A dominant female,” Logan corrected. “From what I’ve seen, this one has every characteristic needed to become an alpha.”

The she-beast seemed to understand Logan. She nearly deafened all those gathered as she rose to her hind legs and let loose a roar that shook the very foundations of the mountain temple, as if to affirm Logan’s words. Then the Witherbeast’s gaze fell on Simone. Almost as though she recognized something different within the woman, some faint trace of the Bound still within her, the beast lunged forward, crossing the vast hall in one bound.

Logan flung herself between the Witherbeast and Simone, making direct eye contact as she brought her sword up. Simone quivered with fear as the beast towered over them both, her blood red eyes darting rapidly from Simone to Logan.

“Take Simone and get her to safety,” Tibolt called to Logan. “We will handle him.” He narrowed his eyes at Armand. “What did you hope to accomplish by breeding Witherbeast?”

“The answer should be obvious, old man. I intend to pick up where my predecessors left off,” Armand said with a smug smile. “I will breed an army of superior beings, stronger than any human, smarter than any Witherbeast. With them, I’ll bring swift retribution to all who have persecuted me. Not even the Legion of Blood will be able to stand in my way.”

Overcoming her initial fear of the she-beast, Simone stepped forward. “You should know that if an individual is capable of thinking for itself, it will.”

“So,” Tibolt barked, “you intend to create another horde of chimeras with your blood magic. You shall not achieve your goal. These rogue mages you have surrounded yourself with do not have as much power as the mages of old.”

Simone flinched at the use of the offensive word, her body suffused with fear at the potential consequences of revealing herself in front of the Legionnaires. Tibolt spoke of the chimeras, the Bound, as if they were no more than beasts thrust into human skin.

Armand remained smug, his aspirations unfazed by either Simone’s or Tibolt’s words. “Creating my army will be easier than you think, especially when there are willing candidates.” He looked menacingly at Simone, the murderous gleam in his eye causing her skin to crawl. “The spell that grants a Witherbeast the ability to transform at will was thought to be lost long ago, along with the great and powerful Blood Mages of those days, but I’ve found the missing link. The key to infinite power is in my hands. Isn’t that right, Lady Simone?”

He knows! Simone’s grip on Logan’s arm tightened as she realized that Armand had been aware of the Norlands’ secret all along. She wondered just how long he had suspected the truth behind the stories, whether he had known even before coming to Norland Manor the previous summer, but she dared not ask for fear of giving herself away. A thought suddenly dawned on her. Vivienne! If Armand had known of the Norlands’ long history when he had ventured north to their realm, then he was only using Vivienne, using her bloodlines, when she believed he was in love.

“Where is my sister?” Simone demanded. “What have you done to her?”

“My beloved?” Malice shone through the mask of innocence Armand wore. “Nothing she did not consent to, of course. Why do you loathe me so? You could be a lieutenant in my army, if you were more like your sister.”

“Enough! Release Vivienne now, or I shall not allow these Legionnaires to show you any mercy.”

Armand’s eyes twinkled with spite. “Mercy? Do you honestly believe they are capable of such an emotion? You, of all people, should know better. The Legion of Blood is a tool of destruction and carnage. Mercy is not in their vocabulary. Be careful which side you choose, Lady Simone, or else you might not live to make another foolish decision.”

“Silence!” Logan commanded, her low alto reverberating throughout the spacious hall. “I’ve heard just about all I can stand from you.”

“Ah, yes, the lady Legionnaire,” Armand sneered. “How could I have forgotten about you? Can you really stand there and tell me that you’re willing to devote your life to protecting a total stranger? There are things about Lady Simone which you can’t possibly understand.”

“I called for silence.” Logan’s voice was a low rumble in the cavernous chamber. “Don’t make me slice the tongue from your foul mouth.”

“My, how terrifying you are! I can see why you would choose to follow this woman anywhere,” Armand said to Simone, causing her to flinch noticeably.

“Ignore his taunts, My Lady,” Tibolt said. “Logan, get her away from here. These ruins are about to become a battleground.”

“Come on, Simone.” Logan took Simone by the hand and tugged her toward the door.

They ran through the halls toward the double doors that would lead them to freedom, but the reddish Witherbeast leapt between the two women and their only escape route. Simone watched as Logan took up a defensive position between her and the Witherbeast, but the Witherbeast’s attention wasn’t centered on Logan. The beast’s glowing red eyes were focused on Simone. Her lips peeled back from teeth that could easily tear a person asunder, and she slowly began to advance toward them.

“Get back,” Logan commanded. Shoving Simone out of range of the beast’s claws, Logan swung her sword in a broad arc. The sudden movement and the glint of metal were enough to draw the Witherbeast. She snarled as her attention shifted fully to Logan.

“The feeling is mutual,” Logan said, baring her own teeth in a feral grin. She raised her sword, poised to strike the advancing Witherbeast. Simone caught her arm at the last second, preventing Logan from making a deadly slice.

“No!” Simone cried, holding Logan with more strength than she imagined she possessed. “It’s too dangerous to fight here. Follow my lead.” Insinuating herself between Logan and the female Witherbeast, Simone grasped the amulet she wore around her neck firmly and thrust it toward the Witherbeast.

The dominant female sniffed the air between them and then, surprisingly, lowered her head and began to whimper as she backed away. The horrifying creature appeared to be terrified of the ancestral Norland amulet. Fearless, Simone held tight to the amulet and continued to herd the beast into a corner, keeping her at bay as she and Logan backed slowly toward the door.

“We’re going to have to make a run for it,” Logan warned as they stood at the threshold to freedom. “On my word, make a dash for the ravine we saw earlier. Witherbeast are not fond of running water.”

The Witherbeast crawled, her belly low to the ground as Simone stood over her, the amulet signifying her dominance both attracting and repelling the ferocious beast. When the she-beast grew submissive and retreated into the shadows several paces away, Logan gave her a nudge.

“Now!” she said, grabbing hold of Simone and nearly lifting her from the ground as they whirled around and began running for the ravine.

The female Witherbeast snapped at their heels as they ran, but she did not launch into a full attack even though she was perfectly capable of overtaking them at any moment. The amulet must have been what was keeping her wary, Simone deduced, suddenly feeling lightheaded at realizing just what she had done. She had unflinchingly stared death in the face and emerged victorious. Simone wished she could feel more elated, but her woes were far from over.

The Witherbeast, apparently growing bolder now that the amulet was no longer a part of the equation, leapt over Logan and Simone and planted herself firmly in front of them, blocking their path to the water as she reared onto her hind legs and roared. Standing upright, the creature was a full head taller than Logan, her gangly limbs longer and tipped at the fingers with lethal claws.

Simone clutched the amulet dangling at her throat, but before she could thrust it toward the Witherbeast, Logan pulled a flask from her belt and flung its contents at the beast’s eyes. The Witherbeast screamed, a shrill sound that made Simone’s hair stand on end as she pawed at the burning liquid in her eyes.

“Come on!” Logan said as she grabbed Simone’s hand. “We’re almost there.”

They reached the steep embankment above the ravine, the Witherbeast roaring furiously behind them. A flash of claws glinted in the moonlight, and Logan leapt to cover Simone with her body. Momentum from the action carried them forward, sending Simone sprawling face down as they crested the edge of the embankment and the soft ground gave way beneath their feet. Simone and Logan fell in a downward sprawl, Logan holding her charge tightly as they rolled over and over, through the damp grass toward the stream. They hit the bottom with a thud, the rocky soil ending their descent with a jolt.

Simone found herself on top of Logan, tightly enfolded in the strong arms as she struggled to cushion Simone from the worst of the shock. There was a clamor somewhere close by, followed by a series of short grunts and snarls as the Witherbeast landed near them at the bottom of the ravine.

“Get up, Logan,” Simone implored, tugging at Logan’s arm as she struggled to remain on her feet herself. The world reeled and threatened to drop away from her, yet she continued to coax Logan to her feet.

Arms draped across one another’s shoulders for support, they reached the water’s edge with barely a second to spare. The Witherbeast lunged at them from the darkness as they plunged headlong into the cold stream. The icy blast of water chilled Simone to the bone and brought Logan to her senses. Feeling Logan’s arms encircling her, Simone looked back at the bank where they had been only seconds before.

Fury shining in her red eyes, the Witherbeast paced to and fro along the water’s edge as Logan stood in the middle of the stream, clasping Simone. The water was waist deep and bone chillingly cold where it was seeping through her clothes. Silently Logan turned and began wading toward the opposite shore, still leaning on Simone for support. Simone could hear the cry of the Witherbeast behind them as it howled in rage.

“We made it,” Logan reassured Simone.

Immediately Simone’s gaze fell on the Witherbeast skulking along the opposite bank and her body went rigid. “Is there no escape?” she asked, bracing herself by placing a hand on Logan’s chest. Oddly enough, the Witherbeast did not rush them again, but continued to pace next to the water, pausing occasionally to glare sulkily at them. “She could cross this stream in a single leap and yet, she doesn’t.”

“She won’t. Witherbeast don’t like running water. They almost seem to fear it.”

As if to support Logan’s words, the Witherbeast stretched a tentative paw toward the gently lapping waves. As the cold water made contact with the beast’s skin, she howled, as if in pain, and recoiled a few steps from the stream.

“We should be safe here,” Logan said. “At least for a while. There’s no telling what other dangers are lurking within the shadows.” A tremor ran through Simone, and Logan smiled down at her reassuringly. “But perhaps our hairy friend over there will be terrifying enough to keep the more ordinary predators at bay.”

It was strange to be comforted by the presence of a Witherbeast, but stranger still that the creature was so deathly afraid of a little water. Out of habit, Simone’s hand strayed to the amulet at her throat. It had saved their lives that night, yet still Simone felt no awe for the locket bearing the insignia of the Norlands.

“What was all that about back there?” Logan asked gently. “That dominant female Witherbeast appeared to be frightened out of her senses by your necklace. Why is that?”

“It’s my family’s crest,” Simone replied acidly. “It is our bane and our salvation.” She turned the amulet over so it caught the light of the half moon. “It contains, sealed within it, our very essence, the essence that keeps us human but also reminds us of the beasts we once were.”

Logan leaned forward and carefully regarded the engravings in the moonlight. Simone didn’t need to look. She had scrutinized it many times before. The scene on the locket depicted a stylized Witherbeast, incongruously overlapping the form of a human.

“And this little trinket holds enough power to keep a dominant adult Witherbeast at bay?” Logan asked, incredulous despite the evidence she had witnessed with her own eyes.

“It holds unspeakable power,” Simone said. “The Blood Mages created these long ago to bind the Witherbeast to their human bodies. As long as the Bound wore one of these, their form would remain stable. The amulets are passed down from generation to generation, with a few alterations made to the essence contained within. This one belonged to my grandmother.” Simone grew pensive as she stared at the amulet she held in her cupped hand.

“Does it hurt you?” Logan asked, laying a heavy hand on Simone’s shoulder. “Do you ever want to take it off and be free of its burden?”

Startled, Simone looked up at Logan, fear rising in her soul. “I can’t take it off. I am bound by its power. It’s the only thing preventing the beast inside me from taking control.”

“All of that happened centuries ago. Surely the Witherbeast’s influence weakens over time?”

“I don’t know.” Simone was at a loss for words. “All I know is my ancestors’ blood haunts me still. My dreams are clouded by my dark heritage. I dare not remove the amulet for fear of what doing so will unleash.”

“It’s all right,” Logan soothed. “Whatever powers it holds, it has saved both our lives tonight. I never could have escaped without you.”

“You wouldn’t even be in this mess if not for me.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Simone. Only a few short months ago, I was sitting in a dark dungeon waiting for death, believing that death was the only thing I had in my future. Perhaps this is my destiny.”

Simone looked up at Logan, at how the pale moonlight outlined her prominent features in a ghostly shade of blue. Lights twinkled in Logan’s dark eyes like stars in the sky as she reflected on Simone’s revelations. Destiny. Simone wondered if she was also a part of Logan’s destiny. She certainly hoped so. It was while Simone was admiring the meditative Logan that she realized how close she was huddled against the Legionnaire. Logan was practically cradling Simone in her arms as she stared up at the night sky. Feeling her face grow hot, Simone began squirming uncomfortably, an action which didn’t escape Logan’s attention.

“Are you cold?” she asked, leaning back and surveying Simone.

Her clothes still thoroughly soaked from her passage through the stream, Simone realized that she was very cold, and she nodded in a quick, jerky movement.

It was at precisely that moment that the Witherbeast pierced the night with a furious roar and swiped at the ground with her huge paw, leaving furrows in the rocky soil several inches deep. With a snarl, she feigned a lunge at the two women then turned and bounded away down the opposite shoreline.

“Impatient?” Logan asked the empty space where the Witherbeast had stood seconds before. “Where could she be off to in such a hurry?”

“She was heading upstream,” Simone mused. “Logan, how far do you think this stream runs?”

“Maybe she has gone to search for its source so she can go around. Is that what you’re thinking?”

“Exactly.”

Logan sighed. “Whatever the creature’s reasons for running off so suddenly, I fear it’s no longer safe for us here.”

“What do we do now?” In spite of herself, Simone felt compelled to crowd against Logan’s long, powerful body.

“I wonder if Tibolt and the others could use some assistance.” Logan gazed thoughtfully in the direction of the mountain temple.

Simone followed her gaze, sniffing the air inconspicuously. The wind carried the strong, acrid scent of Witherbeast blood, but Simone could also detect, albeit faintly, the unmistakable scent of the Legionnaires’ blood. Undoubtedly this was the source of Logan’s concern. Her comrades were being slaughtered, and, once again, she could do nothing to help.

“Come on,” Simone said with authority. “We have to help.”

The scene inside the mountain ruins was like something out of a nightmare. Logan was appalled that the once sacred temple of the Yor’kesh Elves had been converted into a charnel house. Bodies of Witherbeast and Legionnaires were strewn about; sprays of blood marred the ancient stone walls and floors. Behind her, Simone had to avert her eyes as they passed through the carnage.

“What the hell happened here?” Logan asked as she observed the vicious way in which the bodies were mutilated. “This is not the work of Witherbeast. There are definitely signs of fighting here. But as for the rest of this...” She knelt next to the carcass of a slain Witherbeast. “No Legionnaire would resort to such unnecessary brutality.”

The Witherbeast had literally been torn limb from limb, almost as though an explosive force from within its own body had ripped its way out. Logan wondered what could possibly have wrought such damage. The sound of Simone’s gasp of surprise caught Logan’s attention, and she quickly turned away from the remains of the slain Witherbeast. Her gaze fell on the beast’s severed head, the look in its glassy red eyes one of sheer pain and terror. Simone had seen it too, her blue eyes wide in horror as she beheld the grisly scene.

“What could have caused this?” she asked as Logan steered her away from the worst of the butchery. “Something has torn them apart.”

Logan had a bad feeling about what she was seeing. The situation didn’t look good for Tibolt and his men, and it was looking worse with each passing second. Panicked, she made her way around the eviscerated Witherbeast and pressed onward through the mayhem, still holding tightly to Simone.

When they reached the grand hall where they had last seen Tibolt, Logan hesitated, uncertain as to whether she wanted to discover what was waiting at the end of the trail of blood and gore. Steeling her nerves, she clenched her hands into fists at her side and took a step forward. Upon entering the grand hall, they were met with a sea of scarlet, the once white marble flagstones stained red with blood.

It took several seconds for it to register in Logan’s mind that she wasn’t looking upon the random splatters of blood she would expect with a massacre. Slowly the crimson sigils took shape in her mind, bringing back dark memories from her childhood, and with them, an intense stab of pain. The sigils imparted no meaning to her, but she was well aware of the pain and destruction they were capable of evoking. The grisly scene inside the temple was testament enough to that.

“It’s blood magic,” she announced, struggling against the memories flooding her mind. This was the same dark power that had left her an orphan and branded her a criminal and a traitor. “That bastard Armand must have done this. I’ve seen markings like these before.”

Her rising anger was kept in check by a faint wheezing followed by a weak cough.

“L-Logan...” a familiar voice croaked.

Logan rushed toward the source of the sound, her eyes so eager to confirm what her ears told her that she nearly tripped over a man’s leg. Lying among the viscera was the crumpled form of the man Logan had come to view as a surrogate father, the black Legion armor he wore now painted red with blood.

Tibolt reached toward her, blood dripping from his fingertips. “The pain...” he said in a faint whisper. “I underestimated our enemy. Armand used the blood from our battle to fuel his dreadful magic. He even resorted to sacrificing the Witherbeast he so cherishes.” He grimaced as he clenched at his left thigh. It was in that moment that Logan realized the severed leg nearby belonged to Tibolt. His left leg ended in a bloody stump just below the knee.

“Earlier, you called the Blood Mage by name,” Logan said, eager to take her mind off the scene before her. “Have you met Armand before?”

Sadness crept into Tibolt’s eyes. “Our paths have crossed many times over the years. The Legion of Blood has long found itself at odds with Blood Mages,” he said evasively.

“And yet he somehow managed to escape?” Logan found it hard to believe that anyone could best Tibolt, one of the strongest warriors the Legion had. “Is Armand truly so powerful? Is he really able to cause such destruction with just the casting of a spell?” She gestured toward Tibolt’s amputated leg and immediately wished she hadn’t. The wound was life-threatening; if Tibolt didn’t receive medical attention immediately, he would bleed to death.

“Never underestimate the destructive force of blood magic. A pint of blood is all it takes for a mage with Armand’s level of power and expertise to summon all manner of unspeakable horrors.”

“So I was right,” Logan mused aloud. “Something other than Witherbeast caused this bloodbath.”

“Something much worse.” Tibolt grimaced as he met Logan’s gaze. “The abominations conjured by Armand’s magic can send even a Witherbeast scurrying away in terror.”

“What exactly happened here?” Simone asked, stepping forward while conspicuously trying to avoid looking at the grisly scene around them.

“This temple holds great power. The Yor’kesh Elves designed it as a beacon for channeling their dearly departed. Armand used this power to his advantage, tainting this once sacred place with blood magic. I was powerless to act as I watched man and beast alike being torn asunder by spirits of long dead Yor’kesh, warped into evil entities by Armand’s magic.”

“Spirits?” Simone’s eyes were wide with awe. “You mean Armand has the ability to resurrect the deceased?”

Tibolt gave a weak nod. “Blood magic is a terrible thing. I managed to avoid the worst of it,” he said when he caught Logan staring at his disfigurement. “Yet the force of the attack flung me across the room.” His expression darkened. “Are there any other survivors?”

Logan shook her head.

“I didn’t expect there would be. Those not torn to shreds by Armand’s arcane powers were too weak to fight against so many Witherbeast. We have to stop that megalomaniac before he has the means to amass an entire army.” Using his sword as a crutch, Tibolt struggled into a sitting position. Even so simple an action seemed an overexertion for his waning strength.

“You’ve suffered grievous injuries,” Logan warned. “You shouldn’t try to move.”

“If we don’t stop Armand, then who will? No one else knows about this threat, Logan, and if we don’t warn people, no one will.”

“He’s right,” Simone said in a small voice. She stared fixedly at one of the few spots on the floor untainted by blood. Logan noticed how she avoided making eye contact with her or Tibolt as she spoke. “Anolaya is unaware of the dangers brewing in her northernmost mountains. It’s up to us to sound the alarm, to warn her people of the treachery lurking within the shadows.”

“Tibolt is seriously wounded,” Logan protested. “There’s no way he can travel through the mountains, and we can’t leave him here. What do you propose we do?”

It was obvious to Logan that they couldn’t leave Tibolt behind. No matter how precarious her own situation, she couldn’t allow the old warrior to become food for the Witherbeast. She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully as she searched for a solution to their problem. Suddenly the chamber was filled with shadows, all moving as silently as wraiths, and a resolution presented itself in a most unexpected form.

The T’fanga clan descended upon them, stepping lightly over the viscera splattering the chamber floor. Valira came to a stop before Logan, a look of mild surprise glittering in her eyes.

“Fancy meeting you here, Legionnaire,” she said. “I wish the reunion could be under better circumstances.”

Logan was baffled by the sudden appearance of the elves. “What are you doing here?”

Zaris came forward. “We were tracking another pack of Witherbeast when we sensed a great disturbance somewhere in these mountains.” He regarded the carnage surrounding them and shook his head sadly. “Dark forces are at work here. I’ve not heard of a massacre of this magnitude since long before my time.”

Tibolt weakly raised his head at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. “The Yor’kesh?” he managed to choke out. Dipping his head in a bow as respectful as his body would allow, he said, “May the Forest smile upon you, friend.”

Zaris met Tibolt’s gaze, the two old warriors carefully scrutinizing each other. After an awkward silence, Zaris returned the bow with a slight nod and said, “I’m honored, Legionnaire. Your Order’s deeds are legendary, even among the Yor’kesh.” He turned his gaze toward Logan. “And the courageous deeds of your young ally will not soon be forgotten by our clan. Tell me, Logan, what has caused such devastation and despair?”

“You’re not going to like it,” she warned. “It’s a tale most appalling.”

“We assume as much.” Valira surveyed the dismembered, disemboweled bodies strewn about the room. “It seems you have quite a long story to tell. Perhaps it would come easier if everyone was more comfortable.”

Chapter 18

The T’fanga escorted Logan and Simone to their caravan, where the clan’s healer assessed Tibolt’s wounds. Although the force of the blast had missed his vital organs, he had lost a great amount of blood, along with his severed leg, and it would take him time to regain his strength. Logan was relieved at the healer’s reassuring tone. One of her worries was laid to rest, but she had many more.

Shortly after their arrival at the caravan, a T’fanga scout was sent to Broken Fang bearing a message for the Legion warriors who were waiting for word from their comrades. News of the exiled Blood Mage’s return to Anolaya would be enough in itself to get the Legion on the move; the details of Armand’s plan would prompt the Order to send reinforcements as quickly as possible.

Simone seemed apprehensive, and Logan didn’t blame her. She knew that Simone had undoubtedly broken a multitude of vows by revealing the truth of her family’s secret history, and by doing so, she had also placed herself in great danger. The Legion of Blood had played no small role in the extermination of her ancestors, yet Simone had trusted Logan with her secret.

Logan could not deny that Simone trusted her with her very life, nor could she deny how wonderful it felt to hold Simone in her arms. That was perhaps the most troubling development for Logan, now that Tibolt’s wounds had been tended. And it had seemed, at least for an instant as they awaited their fate in the den of Witherbeast, that Simone reciprocated her unusual affection. Logan had seen it, her own desire mirrored in Simone’s eyes as she stared right through her. But now Simone wouldn’t so much as look at her. What had Logan done to betray her trust so deeply? She wanted to get Simone alone, to talk to her and find out what had happened between them.

She was about to pursue that course of action, when a shadow suddenly fell over her.

Logan looked up from where she was sitting, her back against a tree, and saw Valira standing above her, her proud features silhouetted by the afternoon sun.

“I thought I might find you here, Legionnaire. I’ve been sent to retrieve you. Elder Darceus wishes to speak with you.”

Logan’s head snapped up. “The clan Elder wants to see me? Have I done something wrong?” Logan was beginning to believe she was only gifted at offending people, until she saw a slow smile creep across Valira’s face.

“Nothing of the sort. If what you claim is true and blood magic has returned to the humans, then the Elder thinks it best to confer with the Legion of Blood. And since your companion is currently incapacitated, that leaves you as our only choice.” Valira’s stern features softened somewhat at Logan’s apprehension. “Try to relax. Elder Darceus is not as terrifying as everyone claims.”

Logan made an outward show of being calm and composed, but on the inside she felt as if she was tied in knots. Not many humans, half-breeds included, were ever invited into the presence of a Yor’kesh Elder. She hoped that her mixed heritage would not make her presence offensive to Darceus.

Elder Darceus was an imposing woman. Even though she must have seen hundreds of years, she looked as intimidating and regal as a Yor’kesh warrior half her age. Her long silver hair glistened, even in the low light of the wagon. Clad in a more elaborate version of a hunter’s armor, Darceus was as fearsome as she was beautiful.

Logan entered the wagon at Valira’s behest, then knelt before the ancient and awe-inspiring woman. Darceus sat still as a statue, regarding Logan with dark eyes as piercing as a hawk’s.

“You’re the half-breed Legionnaire,” she said, her voice sounding not at all elderly. Darceus seemed young and strong, and very confident, as though she could lead her warriors into battle and emerge victorious without even breaking a sweat.

Logan fought to retain her composure. “Y-yes.” As much as Logan hated to admit it, she found it hard to meet that penetrating gaze head-on for very long and averted her eyes submissively. Her suddenly meek demeanor seemed to annoy Darceus.

“Raise your head, child. Let me have a look at you.”

Logan would have complied, even without the strong, cold fingers that suddenly clasped her chin and lifted her face until her gaze was level with the Elder’s. Darceus tilted Logan’s head from one angle to another, carefully scrutinizing her elven features.

“You have the look of a T’fanga,” she said when she finally released her hold on Logan. “Tell me, child, what was the name of your elf parent?”

“Rigard,” Logan choked out. Why did Darceus want to know of her parents? Did she truly believe Logan was a descendant of the T’fanga clan? And even if she was, what should it matter to Logan, who had given up on family long ago?

Darceus mumbled something to herself and then said, “You have his eyes. I suspected from the moment I saw you that you were his daughter.”

“You knew my father?” Despite Logan’s better judgment, she wanted to know the truth, even if she was only setting herself up for more heartache.

“I knew him rather well,” Darceus replied, a strange light glinting in her eyes. “You see, Rigard was my brother.”

Logan could scarcely believe what she had just learned: Her own father had been the brother of a clan Elder, exiled for his union with a human woman. It was almost too much for her to grasp all at once. And she had now inadvertently stumbled upon the same people who had passed judgment on him, her father’s people. Her people. She was T’fanga.

Simone was sitting by a small fire when Logan returned from her visit to Elder Darceus. The afternoon was wearing away, and the north wind brought a chill to the campsite. When Simone saw Logan approaching, she rose to greet her.

“Welcome back. Zaris informed me that you had gone to meet with the clan Elder. Did it go well?”

Logan growled low in her throat and gave an exasperated sigh. “I suppose you could say that.”

Boldly holding Logan’s gaze, Simone asked, “What’s wrong? You don’t seem as if all is well.”

Logan shook her head. “Forget it. It’s nothing.” But in her heart she knew that wasn’t true. Impressed by Logan’s skills with a sword and her heroic actions in their joint encounters with the Witherbeast, Darceus had extended her a cordial invitation to join the T’fanga clan. All hostility against her father and her own hybrid lineage would be forgotten. She would be accepted. For the first time in her life, she would belong somewhere.

But Logan feared that would not be enough, not after meeting Simone.

As if sensing the turmoil raging within Logan’s soul, Simone stepped closer. Logan could smell her unique sweet scent, could feel the heat emanating from her body, and her heart began to crumble.

“Are you all right, Logan? You look exhausted.”

The sound of concern in Simone’s voice was genuine, and Logan felt her resolve beginning to weaken. Taking Simone gently by the shoulders, she said, “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you. Please follow me.” Disconcerted though Logan knew Simone must be by her odd behavior, Simone obeyed the request without question.

Logan came to a halt at the side of the covered wagon that she and Simone shared, the wagon obscuring the view of any onlookers in the campsite. At least there’s the illusion of privacy, Logan thought, but she knew without a doubt, the elves had other ways of monitoring their guests. As long as she and Simone were in the boundaries of the T’fanga camp, they would never be completely free of watchful eyes.

Simone shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “What is this all about? Why the sudden need for secrecy?”

“You once told me that you wanted to join the Legion of Blood.”

Simone looked uncertain, but nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“Even knowing the truth about what you are, about what the Legion did to the... your people.”

“Yes.”

Logan pinned Simone with her gaze. “Did you actually mean it? When we leave here, do you still intend to apply for the Initiation?”

Simone gave an abrupt nod of her head. “Logan, what does this have to do with anything?”

“I ask because I want to know how you could stand the very thought of being among those who wronged your ancestors in such a way for every day for the rest of your life. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the cold way in which you regard Tibolt—and me—since you confided in me about your heritage.”

Breaking eye contact, Simone drew her lower lip between her teeth.

“I know it must be difficult to bring yourself to trust anyone,” Logan continued. “Believe me when I say I’ve been there. But I would never do anything to harm you. Whatever you decide to do next, your secret is safe with me.”

Chewing her lip thoughtfully, Simone met Logan’s gaze. “What do you think I should do? I will not be used as a pawn as my ancestors were—made to put my life on the line and then disposed of once the danger has passed. Not by the Legion or anyone else.”

“I can’t make such a weighty decision for you.”

“Then what do you intend to do?” Simone tilted her head inquisitively. “Am I incorrect in assuming there is some indecision on your part as well?”

Logan hesitated, then began by saying, “My duty lies with the Legion. I swore to commit to loyal service in defending Anolaya against Witherbeast.”

“You’re bound by blood, then?” When Logan gave her a surprised look, Simone laughed softly and said, “I know about the procedures involved in the Initiation. In order to complete the trial, you must slay a Witherbeast and eat its heart—barbaric, but a necessary precaution for immunizing yourself against the bite of the Witherbeast.”

Logan was crestfallen. “The beast’s blood has changed me. I can feel it inside me, coursing through my veins and threatening to take control. Sometimes it is overwhelming.”

“You and I are not so different,” Simone said. “It’s a pity that the Legion of Blood couldn’t see the value of having the Bound working for the same cause.”

“I know that you’re a valuable asset, both as an ally and as a friend.” Logan knew she was blushing at the tender confession, feeling out of her element and rather ridiculous for saying such a thing aloud.

Simone laughed, a light musical sound that sent a thrill up Logan’s spine. “Thank you. It’s nice to see at least one Legionnaire with the ability to distinguish a valuable confederate from a bloodthirsty monster.” Her expression sobered and the mirth vanished from her delicate features. “You never answered my question. What will you do next?”

Feeling herself torn between two worlds, Logan searched for a reply to Simone’s inquiry. She wasn’t yet ready to disclose the details of her father’s relation to the T’fanga clan, nor was she prepared to admit that she was considering staying with the elves. Too much had happened in so little time. Logan felt something changing inside her, and she believed this change had little to do with the Witherbeast blood flowing through her. Simone watched her closely as she awaited an answer, the hope shining in her blue eyes enough to melt Logan’s heart.

With a broad grin, Logan announced, “Tibolt has ordered me to guard you with my life. I am still under that order, and I will follow it to the end. Wherever you go, Simone, I will be there beside you.”

The sparkle in Simone’s eye told her those were the words the lady wanted to hear.

But what am I to do once this is all over?

She was dismayed at the idea of having to decide. She might be welcome among the elves, but Simone was a human, an outsider. With a mental shrug, Logan tried to convince herself that Simone was none of her business, but there was no denying the simple truth. She had grown fond of Simone’s company, and going about her daily life without Simone by her side now would seem as alien to her as the prospect of slaying Witherbeast once had.

Logan spent the next few days wondering just what was happening between her and Simone. She could not look at Simone without a spark of desire igniting deep within her loins, yet Simone didn’t appear offended by her strange fascination. If anything, Simone seemed to return her attentions. On numerous occasions, Logan had caught Simone staring after her in the same lustful manner of which she herself was guilty. Logan thought she had seen a flicker of desire glimmering in Simone’s icy blue eyes before, now she was beginning to suspect it had been no mere illusion.

Simone was not the woman Logan had initially believed her to be. The woman she now knew was a far cry from the frail, half-mad noblewoman she had been told to expect before they first met. Although Logan had never believed that Simone was mad, as people claimed her to be, she never would have guessed how powerful the small young woman was. Contained within her beautiful, almost ethereal form were the powers of the ages, the great and terrible ferocity of the legendary Bound. And the only thing holding that power at bay was an amulet. If they were to win this war with the new breed of Witherbeast, Logan knew she would need Simone’s power and knowledge. But more than that, she realized, she would need Simone. Simone had become an integral part of her life, and Logan didn’t want to imagine living in a world without her. She’d meant what she said earlier. She would protect Simone, no matter where the path might take her. If the occasion demanded it, Logan would accompany Simone into the dark abyss from whence the Witherbeast sprang.

Simone still couldn’t believe that Vivienne had turned traitor. Somehow, someday, Simone vowed, she would make Armand pay for the grief he had caused the Norland family. Her ancestral home had been tainted by the Witherbeast, and so had her own sister. Since she had no reason to return to the Norland estate, Simone had decided to follow through with her plan to journey north to the stronghold of the Legion of Blood.

And then there was the matter of Logan. It had hurt to be betrayed and abandoned by her own sister, but Simone’s heart now resided wherever Logan was. Unfortunately, Logan’s heart seemed to be dedicated to performing her duties for the Legion of Blood. Simone knew it was risky to accompany Logan into the very heart of territory ruled by her family’s ancient enemy, but there was no one else in the world she could turn to. Furthermore, Logan had given her word that she would take Simone’s secret with her to the grave, and Simone had no reason to disbelieve her. Logan was an honorable person, and Simone believed that, unlike Vivienne, Logan would never betray or abandon her.

As if sensing she was the subject of Simone’s thoughts, Logan raised her head and captured Simone’s gaze from where she stood across the small clearing. Holding Simone in place with her dark penetrating eyes, Logan smiled ever so slightly and nodded, a gesture which indicated the elves were ready to move.

The T’fanga were preparing to move out, and already there was virtually no evidence that they had ever camped in the forest. It amazed Simone how the elves moved so deftly through the woods, disturbing nary a twig or dead leaf as they traveled. It was as though they were one with the forest, a trait which Logan shared.

Returning Logan’s nod, Simone hefted a pack onto her back and mentally prepared for the trying journey ahead as the caravan disappeared into the shadows of the forest.

Chapter 19

The T’fanga caravan traveled lightly and quickly. Even when the group ascended higher into the northern mountains and found themselves suddenly blanketed with an early snow, the elves didn’t lose a single day’s progress. Simone trudged along wearily, stumbling several times in the deepening snow. Logan suddenly appeared at her side, offering a reassuring smile as she patted Simone’s shoulder affectionately.

Although still autumn according to the Anolayan calendar, they were now crossing the Northern Anolayan Mountains, the foothills of the Yor’kesh Highlands. Winter came early here, and was known to be fierce and unrelenting, even into late spring. Simone had forsaken the soiled, tattered remains of her noble apparel in favor of thick, warm furs provided by the T’fanga. The formal dress of a noble court held no value in this rugged wilderness, just as Simone’s status as a baroness seemed to no longer hold any cachet. She was an outcast, a refugee. Witherbeast were lost without a strong alpha to lead them; the same applied to the Bound. One frightened individual stood little chance when faced with a world of fear and hatred, and would stand even less of a chance when surrounded by the deadly Legion of Blood. At least at the Legion’s stronghold, Simone would have Logan with her, which was much more than she would have if she had chosen to face the world on her own.

As the ghostly shade of twilight began to set in and the last of the fading sunlight stretched long fingers through the trees, Zaris called a halt to the caravan. Traveling by night was too risky for the entire group, so the sentries rotated shifts throughout the night, keeping a constant vigil on the camp. So far there had been no incidents with Witherbeast or any other malignant forces, but Simone knew that was no reason to let her guard down.

Simone looked up as Logan sauntered over to where she was sitting alone by a small fire. There was a lot weighing on Simone’s mind, but looking upon Logan’s strong features illuminated by the soft glow of firelight made the sense of foreboding recede into the shadows of her consciousness.

“The healer says Tibolt is making a remarkable recovery,” Simone said, making an attempt at small talk in order to break the silence.

Logan nodded, apparently eager to discuss the progress of her friend. “He is eating well and seems to be in good spirits. However,” her features darkened as she reflected on a troubling thought, “Tibolt might be unable to fulfill his pledge to the Legion. It seems impossible and absurd to even consider fighting Witherbeast with only one leg.”

“Has he brought this matter up?”

“No. I fear Tibolt has not yet had the health to fully consider his situation.” Logan shook her head. “It’s a shame really. An acclaimed and highly capable Legionnaire like him being disabled in such a way. We need Tibolt,” she said, her voice raw with emotion. “I can’t do this alone. If only I had been in the temple in his place—”

“Don’t ever say that!” Simone cried. Logan turned to face her. Simone continued, “It was a fate not meant for you. You spoke earlier of destiny, Logan. Well, I believe you were sent to me for a reason.” Simone wrung her hands in her lap. Her voice softened, she went on. “Never in my life have I felt so calm and certain. My past, my ancestors’ past, has always haunted me. I feel anxious, apprehensive, always as though the beast will emerge and regain control. With you, I only feel... peace.”

Logan could only stare, her eyes wide in bewilderment at Simone’s heartfelt confession.

Caving under the intensity of Logan’s piercing eyes, Simone dropped her gaze to her hands, which were folded in her lap. “Please don’t give up on yourself, Logan. I know I never will.”

As if understanding Simone’s feelings at last, Logan reached forward and took Simone’s hands in her own. Simone shivered at the contact, and Logan draped an arm around her shoulders. It felt undeniably right to Simone to be held in the strong arms like this, like the world around them faded into the background and ceased to exist, if only for a brief moment. How Simone wished they could remain like this forever, but she knew it wasn’t to be. The moon had ascended high in the sky; it would soon be time for Logan’s shift at sentry.

There was something different in the night air, an electricity that Logan could not quite identify. Perhaps her hypersensitivity and improved mood had something to do with the time she had spent with Simone by the campfire, but she didn’t think so. It was as though there was an energy charging through the camp, gathering strength until it felt as if it would explode. Destiny had brought her here. Simone had said so, and her own heart told her so. Here, to this point in time.

She suddenly felt a slight pressure between her eyes, akin to the sensation she felt when she sensed Witherbeast nearby. But this pressure quickly escalated to searing pain. Clutching her head in her hands, Logan dropped to one knee as the world began to reel around her. Something was near, something powerful.

A shadow suddenly tore itself free of the surrounding darkness and flitted through the underbrush at the edge of her field of vision. It began circling. Although Logan couldn’t actually see it, she felt its presence, heavy and persistent, like an oncoming storm. She knew she had to warn the others of the danger, but she dared not make any sudden movements for fear of provoking the watching creature. It looked like she would have to deal with the threat on her own. Slowly reaching over her shoulder and grasping the hilt of her sword, she simultaneously drew the blade free and spun around to face her unseen opponent.

In full battle mode, Logan assumed a combat stance, waiting for the beast to strike. The silence of the forest was maddening as her eyes darted back and forth, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. Her headache was less severe now, a sign that she interpreted as the beast having moved on. Without the intense throbbing in her head, Logan was able to think clearly. The camp! Of course the beast would find a camp full of unsuspecting elves more appealing than a lone sentry with an unusual scent. Slicing her way through the underbrush, Logan raced back to where the T’fanga, to where Simone, slept soundly, unaware of the peril that prowled just beyond the perimeter of their campsite. Logan slid to a halt as a shadow stepped in front of her on the narrow deer path.

“Easy, Legionnaire,” a familiar voice said as Logan raised her sword in a defensive maneuver. Placing her hand on Logan’s, Valira gently nudged the blade away from her. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“There’s something out there.” Logan’s eyes were frantically searching the shadows for the source of her discomfort. “It’s on the move, I can feel it. I think it might be heading toward the camp.”

In a flash Valira became the reliable, no nonsense sentry Logan remembered from her first encounter with the Yor’kesh.

“Witherbeast?” she asked.

“Probably,” Logan agreed. “But something feels different.” She thought of Armand and his quest to create an army of intelligent Witherbeast and shuddered. “We have to intercept it first. Come on.”

The pounding in Logan’s head intensified as she and Valira rushed through the forest at breakneck speed, the pain becoming so great that her vision blurred and she nearly stumbled into a tree. She felt strong hands supporting her as she staggered onward, and Valira slammed into her back when she froze in her tracks.

“Logan, are you all right?”

She heard Valira asking about her status, but Logan did not answer. Her gaze was locked onto the stretch of forest that lay before them, her mind numb with horror. Valira followed her line of sight and stifled a gasp.

A few feet from the worn deer path, a Witherbeast crouched behind a line of low bushes. Seemingly oblivious to the two onlookers, it surveyed the campsite beyond the brush with intense scrutiny. It had a calculating expression in its eyes as it crept stealthily along the bushes on all fours, almost as though it was searching for something. Logan watched as the Witherbeast moved silently around the clearing, until abruptly it paused in mid-step and its head jerked up. They had been spotted.

The Witherbeast’s black lips peeled back, and it growled a low warning. Logan noted with some surprise that this wasn’t the dominant female she had encountered at the confrontation with Armand. While the beast’s fur had the same reddish gray color, the red in this one was much brighter. How many of them can there be? she wondered with dismay.

“We have to lure it away from the campsite.” Logan spoke to Valira without ever taking her eyes from the Witherbeast. “Keep it distracted. Be careful, it looks and behaves like a dominant female.”

Logan noticed how Valira tensed and belatedly remembered the fate of Valira’s lover, Kalin. Regretting the effect of her words, Logan gave Valira the slightest of smiles as reassurance. “We can do this,” she said. “Everyone is counting on us.”

Bringing her sword up in a battle-ready position, Logan made sure the Witherbeast interpreted her actions as a display of aggression. The beast initially bristled and crouched low, preparing to pounce, but surprisingly, it began swinging its head to and fro in an uncertain manner as it scanned the area around them. Logan lunged forward, intending to capture the beast’s full attention, when the beast suddenly sprang up and over the bushes that encircled the campsite.

“Damn! We have to stop it,” Logan exclaimed as she watched the Witherbeast circle each wagon it came to, its nose pressed to the ground.

What’s going on? It’s not like a Witherbeast to back down from a challenge. Clearly, this was no ordinary Witherbeast. She raced into the clearing, Valira right behind her.

“Where did it go?”

Valira had asked the question that was playing over and over in Logan’s mind. The answer came in the form of a scream that pierced the hitherto quiet night. It came from the direction of the wagon she shared with Simone.

“Simone!”

Logan ran toward the source of the commotion and found the Witherbeast had Simone cornered against the covered wagon. Logan froze for a moment, her body rooted to the spot by the horrifying scene before her. A desolate, haunted expression darkened Simone’s features as she stared up at the monstrosity towering over her.

The disbelief clouding Simone’s mind was followed by sheer terror. That which she had spent her entire life trying to elude now stood before her, as ominous as her visions but made of solid flesh and blood. Her dark inheritance had caught up to her at last. Her mind barely registered the sound of Logan calling her name somewhere in the distance as the Witherbeast rose onto its hind legs and pulled back its lips in a terrible hiss.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Simone waited for the end, but it did not come. The beast continued to hiss and wheeze, sounds that were uncharacteristic of a Witherbeast. Slowly Simone opened her eyes and met the fierce crimson gaze of the creature. The beast was silent for a second, tilting its head inquisitively to one side, then it began rasping curiously once again. Simone’s eyes flew open as she realized the Witherbeast wasn’t merely making threatening noises at her. Her heart froze as she made out the sound of her own name amid the hissing and guttural growls.

“Sssimone,” the beast snarled. “Mouth missshapen. Ssso hard to ssspeak.” The Witherbeast paused as if to catch its breath, and then said, “It’sss me.”

Simone could hardly believe her ears as the Witherbeast, the creature of her nightmares, spoke to her. Its visage was every bit as terrifying as those in her visions, yet Simone thought she recognized something nonthreatening, almost friendly, in the creature’s demeanor. The beast tilted its head to one side again, and when it bared its lethal canines, it appeared to be a facsimile of a human grin. In that instant, Simone knew for certain in her heart what her mind wished to deny.

“C-Corbin?”

“Yesss.”

There was a sadness in Corbin’s eyes, pure and definitive, and perhaps a little fear too, despite the feral countenance from which they looked at Simone. There was certainly no room for doubt. The monster before her was definitely her brother.

Simone opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a single word, a cry of fury erupted close by and drowned out coherent thought. Simone watched in horror as Logan charged forward, her sword drawn and poised for a fatal strike.

“No!” she cried, throwing herself between Logan and Corbin at the last second.

Logan hesitantly obeyed her command, lowering her sword to a defensive position. Corbin dropped to all fours, his ears laid flat against his head as he stared at the Legionnaire who seemed intent on killing him.

“What’s going on?” Logan huffed breathlessly. “Why are you protecting this creature?”

Simone’s mind raced. How could she possibly expect Logan to understand the reality of this bizarre situation when she herself barely believed it? She thought she had lost Corbin forever, but, by some miracle, he had been returned to her, albeit in a most unexpected way. Simone couldn’t bear the thought of losing him again, no matter how terrifying he now appeared.

The sound of Corbin growling defensively at Logan’s approach drew Simone’s mind back to the moment with a jolt. Never letting her guard down for a second, Logan raised her sword again.

“Stop it, both of you,” Simone interjected, placing herself firmly between the two.

Logan sighed in exasperation. “You haven’t explained your unusual behavior toward that creature.”

Behind Simone, Corbin growled softly. There was no other way. As protective as these two were of her, Logan and Corbin would continue in a standoff the whole night if she did not explain the circumstances to the two of them.

“Logan, this is my brother, Corbin,” Simone blurted, not thinking twice about how strange her statement must sound.

Clearly taken aback, Logan diverted her gaze to the sulking Witherbeast. “Brother? I thought your entire family was killed in the Witherbeast attack.”

“I believed that at the time.” Simone shook her head. “You remember what I told you about my family. Something must have happened to force the change.” Corbin whined behind her.

Logan looked as though she couldn’t believe this incredulous tale. “How can you be so sure this is your brother?”

Meeting Logan’s questioning gaze directly, Simone said, “Because he told me so.”

The shock in Logan’s eyes was evident. “It speaks?”

“Yesss, Legionnaire, it ssspeaksss.”

Logan’s eyes widened at the hissed sibilants that lent credence to something that only moments before she believed to be impossible. Torn between fascination and revulsion at the marvel, Logan could only stare in shocked silence.

Shouts from within the camp heralded the fact that Valira had succeeded in rousing the other sentries. Simone started to protest as Logan frantically corralled her and her brother toward the back of the wagon.

“I believe you,” Logan said to Simone. “But he can’t stay here. The others will not be so understanding of his nature.”

Simone gasped when she heard a shout from somewhere nearby.

“Over there! I saw the Legionnaire chase the beast into those bushes!”

Drawing a sharp breath, Logan spoke urgently. “Run! Quickly, before it’s too late.”

Corbin staggered sideways a few steps before pausing uncertainly. He met Logan’s gaze for an instant before bounding away into the underbrush just as Valira and the sentries reached them. The hunters fired a round of arrows at the tail of the retreating Witherbeast, but it was too late. Corbin was gone.

“Damn it! It got away,” one young hunter exclaimed.

As the younger elves cursed their lousy aim, Valira made her way over to Logan and Simone. “Are you all right?”

“We’re both fine,” Logan reassured her. “We managed to come away from the encounter unscathed.”

“We must pursue the beast.” The gruff voice belonged to Tibolt, who, with the support of a makeshift crutch fashioned for him by the healer, had stumbled over to join the commotion. “It knows where to find us. It will track us wherever we go. We can’t rest until it is dead.”

The T’fanga hunters nodded in agreement. Simone huddled closer to Logan, rising fear making her want to shrink from sight entirely. There was no avoiding it. It looked as though there was going to be a Witherbeast hunt, and if the elves successfully captured their prey, the consequences could be dire. The genocide of the Bound could begin all over again.

Chapter 20

The unbridled fear in Simone’s eyes haunted Logan as she stalked silently through the forest. At Tibolt’s order, she, along with most of the T’fanga hunters, had deployed on a mission to track and kill the stray Witherbeast. Simone’s brother. The memory of the beast’s growled words made Logan shudder, yet there had been something in his eyes, an unmistakable spark of intelligence that set him apart from the other Witherbeast she had encountered. It was for this reason alone that Logan had sworn to herself that she would reach him first, so she could warn him of the danger of staying in this area of woodland any longer.

Logan laughed to herself at the prospect of aiding a Witherbeast. If her superiors ever learned of her actions, the sentence pronounced on her would be swiftly carried out. Why, then, was she risking her life for the Norlands? Was it because of Simone’s earlier observation that she was destined for something greater? Logan thought she knew the answer, had known it for quite a while, but she was too afraid to admit it. The truth, plain and simple, was that she had fallen in love with Simone. It was a truth that was tearing her apart. Forever indebted to the Legion for saving her life, Logan knew she should be focused solely on carrying out her duties. Many lives would be at stake if a horde of intelligent Witherbeast came upon Anolaya, especially a horde controlled by Armand and his nefarious blood magic. Regardless of this knowledge, Logan couldn’t tear her mind away from the desolate expression on Simone’s face. She was willing to risk everything for Simone, even if meant committing an act of treason against the Legion of Blood or Anolaya.

Would Simone also become one of these creatures, if her amulet were to be removed?

Logan found it hard to believe Simone’s angelic face could ever become a visage torn from a nightmare, yet the intricate workings of the powerful magic behind it enthralled her. Shaking her head vehemently, as if to physically dislodge the thought from her mind, she trudged onward. The lure of blood magic was strong, as was Logan’s fascination with the forbidden art. It seemed that no matter where or how far she ran, she would never be free from its dark cloud. There was only one way to save Simone’s brother. If his amulet could be located and returned to its place around his neck, then perhaps he would return to his human form. But Logan had no idea where to begin her search for the lost amulet, and the only one who could provide her with that information was Corbin himself.

A soft rustling in the bushes behind her caused Logan to whirl around, half expecting to see the talking Witherbeast standing there. However, it was Valira who stepped forth into the moonlight.

“Something is troubling you,” she said. “I sensed it earlier, after the Witherbeast sighting.”

“It’s nothing.” Logan tried to sound reassuring, not only for Valira but for herself, as well.

“I find that hard to believe.” Valira hesitated, and then said, “Are you worried about her?”

Logan’s head snapped up. “Who?”

Valira couldn’t suppress a laugh at Logan’s feeble attempt to play the innocent. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you two stare at each other. It reminds me of when Kalin first came to the clan.” She sighed at the mention of her deceased lover. “I admit, I don’t know much of human society and what is acceptable, but if you truly care for her, then you should tell her. These are tumultuous times we live in, Legionnaire. Would you risk losing her altogether rather than deal with the consequences of being honest with yourself?”

Logan considered the elf’s words. She knew Valira was right, and her words were those of someone who had known great heartache. She smiled. “Thanks for the sage advice. I’ll remember it next time—” She paused in midsentence as the world around her seemed to shudder.

A low rumble, deep and foreboding like thunder, shook the ground and sent tremors through Logan. Unlike thunder, this tremor felt as though it originated from beneath the earth instead of from the sky. Logan’s teeth rattled as another spasm racked the ground beneath their feet. “What was that?”

“The mountains are crying.” Valira’s words were laced with dread. “This hasn’t happened in many long years. Oh, we must inform Elder Darceus at once.”

“How can a mountain cry?” Logan asked as she followed a panicked Valira back toward the camp. “Has this happened before?”

“Only once.” Valira shot a dark look over her shoulder. “In the Age of Magi, before the Legion of Blood cleansed the land of darkness. When the Blood Mages were powerful, and much of their power was left unchecked. There was a horrible battle nearby, one that is the source of nightmares for many of the Yor’kesh even today.”

Logan knew of the times whereof Valira spoke, and images of the Bound flashed suddenly before her mind’s eye. Interpreting the implications of this new development, she rushed after Valira.

“Damn! Is Armand trying to use blood magic to bind human spirits to the Witherbeast?”

Refusing to meet her gaze, Valira said, “It would seem so. Come. We haven’t a moment to waste.”

Elder Darceus lay her head against the faintly trembling ground, listening carefully as the mountains continued to vibrate and pulse.

“What do you make of it?” Logan asked. “My father told me many stories of the northern forest and its deities, but never have I heard of mountains crying.”

“He would not have shared such a tale with a mere child.” Darceus kept her ear to the ground as she spoke. “The tale of which I speak is certainly no bedtime story.

“The Yor’kesh believe the mountains possess an energy, a driving force that flows through all living things,” she continued. “Vigil’s Peak is at the heart of this energy. If you listen closely, you can hear her voice and feel her pulse beneath your feet.”

Logan heard no voice, but she definitely felt a pulse pounding deep beneath the earth’s surface. “And the mountain, Vigil’s Peak, she is crying now?”

“Listen, child, and you will hear. Can you not feel her pain shaking through your very soul?”

Logan did feel something, but it didn’t resemble pain in the least. It felt more like an enormous peal of thunder, fury from the heavens. “What I feel is more akin to rage.”

“Sometimes pain and rage are interlinked, so it is hard to tell where one begins and the other ends. The Blood Mage must be attempting to suborn the mountain’s energy, as the primal force of nature is vital for a spell of such magnitude to function properly. The mountains are not pleased.”

“Do you know where Armand is? If I could reach him in time, I might be able to put a permanent stop to his plan.” Logan tried to hide the hope in her voice, but something in her eyes must have betrayed her.

With a broad smile, Darceus said, “Just follow the sound of the mountain’s sorrow. Your heart will lead the way.”

Logan sighed. How could she place her trust in Yor’kesh mysticism when so much was at stake? She was only half elf, and not as sensitive to the ways of the forest as this Elder.

“I’ll send Zaris and Valira, along with some of my finest warriors, to accompany you,” Darceus said, easing some of the tension between them. “You are strong, Legionnaire, but remember this—even the strongest of warriors can’t overcome such a challenge without aid. You might not realize it yet, but you are not alone. A T’fanga is never alone. Remember this and have faith, for the Forest always watches over her children.”

“Thank you, Elder. I am most grateful.”

“And, Legionnaire,” Darceus’ expression became grave, “please hurry. The Blood Mage must not be allowed to reawaken the dark powers which reside within these mountains.”

Wondering at the clan Elder’s cryptic words, Logan immediately began preparations for her departure.

The journey to Vigil’s Peak was a somber one, the path leading Logan and her companions through the dark and ominous Valley of Mist. Located along the northern border of Anolaya and the Yor’kesh Highlands, Vigil’s Peak was the tallest of the Northern Anolayan Mountains. Many long vigils had been held on its majestic height, the high summit offering a sweeping view of all directions. The Legion of Blood itself often used Vigil’s Peak as a lookout. Indeed, Logan could see, faintly in the distance, the beacon which would be alight with flame in times of crisis. Many legends and tales of the supernatural and divine, both in elven lore and human stories, were a part of the mountain’s history, but not nearly as many as those involving the fog-enshrouded valley.

The site of many fierce battles, including the Yor’kesh Elves’ last stand against the attacking humans, the Valley of Mist was supposedly cursed, haunted by the restless spirits of slain warriors. Logan didn’t lend credence to ghost stories, but she noticed that even though she was traveling with the most seasoned T’fanga hunters, not a single one of them seemed at ease while traversing the long, lonely stretch of land.

In accordance with its name, the Valley of Mist was shrouded in a perpetual fog, so thick at times that it was impossible to see more than a few feet. It was like drifting through a sea of clouds, Logan decided, and if not for the steady rhythm of her horse’s hoof beats, the silence of that void would have been maddening. This place is a Blood Mage’s paradise.

Even if Logan didn’t believe in spirits, she wasn’t so quick to dismiss the very real energies at work in this dark place. It was little wonder that Armand would choose the ancient battleground to work his magic. Logan only hoped her hunting party could kill him before he caused any more damage.

Somewhere far above the forlorn elves, Vigil’s Peak loomed, its majesty and wonder completely invisible in the dense fog of the cursed valley. Unreachable though it seemed to Logan, Valira assured her that the summit of the towering peak could be reached by nightfall, assuming that any one of them could discern day from night from within the mist that clung to them like a mourner’s veil.

The situation made Logan ill at ease. During the day they had the upper hand over the Witherbeast, who could not tolerate the brightness of sunlight. If they reached their goal at night and were too late, they might find themselves outnumbered by a horde of unusually intelligent Witherbeast. Like Corbin. Only these beasts would not be able to think for themselves; Armand would be the one controlling them, and Logan didn’t think he would show any mercy to his adversaries. No matter what the cost, she couldn’t allow Armand’s plan to succeed. Anolaya was counting on her. Simone was counting on her. Before leaving, she had given Simone her word that she would return victorious.

There were so many things Logan had wanted to say to Simone, but the timing hardly seemed appropriate. Now, as she trekked silently onward through the ominous veil of sorrow and despair, she wondered whether she would have another opportunity. The ground became more broken and uneven with each step, and the air began to crackle and writhe about them, almost as though it were a living entity. The valley was seething with a dark energy so powerful Logan could sense it.

“Step lively,” she commanded. Though she meant the statement to sound encouraging, she found that her voice emerged in a shaky whisper. Was she afraid that Armand was nearby, unseen in the dense fog? Or did her wavering voice stem from her concern about disturbing the vengeful spirits rumored to be wandering the valley? Despite Logan’s attempts to banish the ridiculous notion from her mind, it felt as though there were many eyes upon her as she carved a path through the misty valley.

Logan had been traveling for what felt like an eternity, when suddenly the earth began to tremble beneath them. The horses whinnied in agitation as the ground seemed to stir with a life of its own. “Easy, girl,” she said, trying to soothe the uneasy mare that bucked and twisted beneath her. To Valira, she said, “What’s happening? It feels so... unusual.” Each time the earth pulsed, the peculiar feeling washed over Logan anew.

“The valley is seething.” Beside her, Zaris struggled to control his panicked stallion. “The Blood Mage must be using his powers,” Valira observed. “We must hurry.”

The fog parted barely enough to afford Logan a glimpse of the land around her. The ground continued to shake, each tremble accompanied by an eerie red light which snaked its way through the earth like subterranean lightning.

“What is that light?”

“Don’t touch it,” Zaris commanded. He had managed to subdue his wild horse and was staring in horror at the phenomenon taking place. “The Blood Mage is close. He is attempting to harness the power of this cursed land. I can feel his power.” Without warning, Zaris surged ahead, taking Logan’s place at point as he urged the stallion onward.

Reluctant to venture any nearer to the source of the eerie light, which was now darkening to the color of blood, Logan spurred her horse, impelled by the need to disprove the ghost stories and blood magic of the cursed valley. Her horse galloped through the impenetrable fog as the blood red light flanked her on all sides, coursing through the earth like an intricate network of veins. The pounding in Logan’s head intensified the deeper she plunged into the miasma, the nightmarish atmosphere escalating with every step.

When at last Logan thought she could take it no longer, their mad journey came to an abrupt halt. Armand’s silhouette flickered against the fog, darkness personified, as he carved a trail along his own arm with a long dagger.

Armand chanted incantations in an unfamiliar tongue, seemingly oblivious to the presence of the elves. The undecipherable words made Logan’s scalp prickle, even though she couldn’t begin to fathom their meaning.

“Stop!” Zaris ordered, but the Blood Mage was too enraptured with his own mutilation to pay any heed to the old elf.

Crimson droplets of Armand’s blood splashed to the ground, where they were immediately absorbed into the earth, almost as though the land itself possessed a voracious appetite of its own.

“This doesn’t bode well,” Valira muttered as she and those gathered watched the ground greedily drink up Armand’s life force.

“What—” Before Logan could utter another word, the ground beneath her began to shake and tremble even more violently.

Dirt sprayed into the air as the earth erupted with great force. Logan was aghast as she witnessed the otherworldly phenomenon, scarcely believing what she was seeing with her own eyes. Long, bony fingers clawed their way through the muck and mire, fallen warriors from ages past rising again, thanks to Armand’s accursed spell. Fueled by their insatiable bloodlust, these warriors could no longer differentiate between friend and foe. The sole purpose of their existence was to slay all who stood in their way.

“Necromancy!” Valira shouted, more appalled than frightened by the horrors clawing their way to the earth’s surface.

“Armand, you Witherbeast-loving bastard.” Logan rested her hand on her sword. Hesitant to attack these warriors who could very well be her elven ancestors, slain in the battle to protect their sacred homeland, she paused before drawing her blade. That brief hesitation nearly proved her downfall, for when she turned to seek counsel from Valira or Zaris, she found herself face-to-face with a vision from a nightmare.

A menacing red light glared hatefully at her from empty eye sockets as the shambling corpse raised its sword high above its head for a fatal strike. Logan could only stare in horror as the skeletal remains of the vengeful warrior prepared to strike her down, her own sword only halfway out of its sheath as her body froze in terror.

There was a bright flash as a sword sang past her and the reanimated corpse fell to the ground, its torso neatly sliced into two pieces.

“Draw your blade, Legionnaire!” Valira shouted over the commotion. “These abominations are no longer the bones of our fallen kin, not after they have been corrupted by blood magic. Besides,” she added, looking toward the skeleton she herself had just slain, “this one is most assuredly the remains of one of our human enemies. The bone structure is all wrong for an elf.” She spat on the bones of the human warrior, which, due to Armand’s influence, still twitched and rattled with the desire to rise and kill.

“We defeated them once. We should have no trouble beating them again,” Valira continued. “Fret not over the fate of these warriors,” she said when she noticed Logan’s reluctance to enter the battle. “Their souls have long departed from this realm. They are only old bones and cursed blood.”

Feeling relief at Valira’s words, Logan pulled her sword free of its sheath. She knew what she had to do in order to protect Anolaya, to protect Simone, and she vowed to succeed no matter what. It was the Legion of Blood’s sacred duty to eliminate demons and darkness that seeped into the world. Valira was right in her assertion that these foul beasts were no longer the bodies of their fallen brethren; they were abominations, their physical remains tainted by the influence of blood magic. The only way for them to ever rest in peace again was to purge the darkness from their bodies, and the only way to do that was to break Armand’s spell.

Logan searched the nearby area for any signs of the Blood Mage. Surprisingly, the fog had lifted shortly after the battle began, enabling the combatants to see farther than a few feet in front of their faces. The elves had their hands full dealing with the reanimated warriors, but Logan could find not a trace of her true adversary amidst the ghastly battlefield. As if the situation wasn’t grave enough, the overcast sky chose that precise moment to indiscriminately inundate all those below with a torrential downpour. Logan squinted as the rain stung her eyes, and she plunged onward through the chaos.

Dodging an attack from one of the undead warriors sitting astride a skeletal mount, Logan cursed their luck. Armand had disappeared. Her heart sank as she swung her sword in a mighty arc, decapitating a skeleton warrior and saving the life of a young T’fanga hunter. She knew this was all a delaying tactic, an elaborate distraction to buy Armand more time to work his real spell.

Her spirits lifted and her blood began to boil as she caught a glimpse of Armand fleeing from the battle he had started via a winding path curving around the base of the mountain. Logan swiftly dispatched two more skeleton warriors before setting out in pursuit of the Blood Mage. Armand would learn that he could not wreak mass destruction and then escape without facing justice. She would personally to see that.

The narrow deer path led to a fissure in the rocky slope of Vigil’s Peak, a small sanctuary from the wind and rain. Armand had taken refuge inside the cave. Logan could feel his dark presence within the gloom. Once her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she could make out shapes in the cave. Vivienne Norland was there, huddled in a corner, her expression clearly that of a woman in thrall. Armand stood several paces away, leaning against the wall and struggling to catch his breath.

“Well if it isn’t the lady Legionnaire,” he said with a sneer. “Tell me, have you finally come to your senses and decided to join my forces? Or are you here to become extra fuel for my spell?”

Ignoring his taunts, Logan focused her attention on Simone’s sister. “Lady Norland!” Logan called, hoping against the odds that Vivienne could hear her and comprehend at least some of her words. “You needn’t suffer at the hands of this madman any longer. I’ve come to rescue you.”

Vivienne’s head jerked up with a snap. Her pale blue eyes were wide, the expression within unfathomable and completely devoid of emotion. “Rescue me?” she said flatly. “I don’t recall ever claiming to be in need of rescue. And most certainly not from the likes of you, Legionnaire.”

Logan hesitated, certain that Vivienne must be under Armand’s control. Why else would she refuse to accept help?

“You’ve been through so much,” Logan continued, “and I know you have your reasons for mistrusting the Legion, but Simone is with me. She is safe and sound, only her mind is troubled over your absence.”

“Enough!” Vivienne clutched at the sides of her head as if to drown out the sound of Logan’s voice. “You know nothing of me, Legionnaire. You can’t imagine what it is like... being her sister. You see how her madness has touched even my mind, has made me come to despise what I am.”

“Simone is not mad,” Logan stated defiantly. “How can you stand here next to this Blood Mage and claim that she is? His presence alone is proof of the credulity of Simone’s visions. Blood magic has returned to Anolaya, and with it the means to blight the land and its people. Look at yourself. You’re already under his spell, allowing his hatred to turn you against your own sister.”

Shrinking away from Logan, Vivienne said softly, “It’s too late for me. I can never atone for the sins I’ve committed. There is no escape.”

As Vivienne continued to mumble incoherently, Logan quickly scanned the rest of her surroundings. Dark red splotches covered the cave floor, sigils drawn in blood in order to channel Armand’s power. And among the splatters of blood, she also saw the motionless bodies of Armand’s accomplices. They lay sprawled haphazardly around a stalagmite near the back of the cave, as if they had been positioned in a hurry. Larger than usual and almost unnaturally smooth, the stalagmite glowed eerily in the dim light, giving Logan a clear view of the sigils etched into the stone. They were the same as those she remembered from her childhood. In that instant, she knew, knew that the man responsible for all her grief and torment was now standing before her.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Her voice sounded more like the snarl of a wild animal than human words. “You were the one who murdered my family. That day changed me forever. Do you know how much pain and suffering I’ve had to endure because of your actions?”

Still exhausted from his hasty retreat and weak from the loss of the blood he’d used to reawaken the warriors, Armand leaned against the stone wall, panting heavily from exertion. “I’ve used the blood of many unwilling subjects over the years,” he huffed. “How do you expect me to remember a few faces among hundreds?”

Enraged, Logan snarled, “Maybe this will refresh your memory. My father was a T’fanga hunter, my mother, a proud and strong human woman.”

“Ah, yes,” Armand said thoughtfully, “the Yor’kesh warrior. I remember him. And I remember his wife. Such a pity she had to die so needlessly. But what was I to do? In order to attain the power I sought, I needed the blood of an elf. Your mother could have been spared, if only she hadn’t refused to stand aside.”

“The blood of an elf?” Logan asked incredulously. “That is the reason my parents died, for blood?”

“It proved to be a dead end, anyway.” Armand’s eyes narrowed, reminding Logan very much of a snake. “There was a slight misunderstanding in my translation of the Yor’kesh text. It wasn’t an elf’s blood that I required, but elven blood magic, ancient elven magic that had been sealed away for centuries. It took some work, but I finally was able to decipher enough of the text to discover its location.”

“So my parents died because of your lust for power? What of the others, your followers?”

“I killed them too.” Armand’s stare was cold, unblinking. “What other choice did I have? They were expendable.”

“You murdered your own men?” Logan was appalled at Armand’s casual cruelty. Even though those men had been aspiring Blood Mages, they deserved better than to be betrayed by their own leader. “You used them to do your dirty work, and once they no longer served a purpose in your grand scheme, you casually disposed of them. Just as you have sacrificed so many lives to fuel your corrupt magic.” She indicated the bodies strewn about the cave. “They believed in you, trusted you!”

“Why so upset over a band of rogue Blood Mages? They were, after all, your enemies,” Armand said calmly. “You should be grateful to me for disposing of them.”

“You’re a demon,” Logan said.

“Oh no, Legionnaire. Not yet.” Armand laughed maniacally. “And you have no right to lecture me when your own hands are stained with blood. You think I don’t know? In order to kill beasts, you must become a beast. That is what the Legion of Blood believes, is it not?”

“How is it that you know so much about the Legion of Blood?” Logan was remembering how Tibolt had seemed to know more than he was telling about this man. “At the elven temple, you addressed Tibolt by name. What exactly is your affiliation with the Legion of Blood?”

“I’ll bet old Tibolt still claims he makes no mistakes in his selection for suitable initiates.” Armand’s gaze was as sharp as a dagger as he returned his attention to Logan. “But there was one young Blood Mage he should have left to rot in that stinking dungeon until his execution day.”

Logan did not like his implication of the Legion seeking out Blood Magi. “What are you rambling on about? You of all people should know that I am no Blood Mage. You admitted to killing my parents and your own men just moments ago. My conscription was an accident.”

“I wasn’t referring to you,” Armand said. “Don’t believe for a moment that you are the only condemned Blood Mage to be recruited by the Legion. There is a reason why they are so choosy in selecting new initiates.”

Suddenly the truth hit Logan like a stone. “You were a Legionnaire, weren’t you?” She could hardly believe it. “That’s why you have been on the run all these years. You’re a deserter.”

Armand chuckled sardonically. “Your conscription was no fluke. Blood doesn’t lie, and neither does blood magic. You must possess at least an inclination toward the Dark Arts, otherwise you would not be standing here. Think about it. The Legion of Blood—where do you think such a title originated?”

Shaking her head furiously, Logan argued, “That’s not true. It can’t be.” It just couldn’t be true. She was no Blood Mage. She didn’t know the first thing about using magic of any kind. It must be a trick, Logan decided, a ploy devised by Armand to get her to lower her defenses.

“I’ll bet you were the only one to survive the Initiation, weren’t you?” Armand continued to prod now that he had found a weak point in Logan’s seemingly impenetrable defenses. “Haven’t you ever wondered about that? Not many live past the Legion training, and many of the ones that do are not allowed to live. Why would you succeed where so many have failed? Did it never occur to you that it might be because you actually possess an iota of the power you were accused of wielding? ‘In order to kill beasts, you must become a beast.’ The most effective way to fight blood magic is with more powerful blood magic.”

“Silence! I’ve heard all I can bear from you.” A shaft of lightning lit the sky outside the cave, and there was a flash of metal as Logan drew her sword from its sheath.

“Ah, ah,” Armand reprimanded. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Before Logan could make another move, Armand reached to his side and pulled Vivienne close. “We wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to befall Lady Vivienne here. Would we, Legionnaire?”

“Coward! Hiding behind a defenseless woman.” But Armand had the upper hand, though Logan was loath to admit it. As long as Vivienne was enthralled, sapped of her free will, there was no way for Logan to reach her.

“Is it because you know you’ve reached the end of the line?” Logan hoped she could regain control of the situation if she could buy herself more time. “There is no escape. You know this as well as I, so why not set her free?”

Armand stood unwavering in the face of Logan’s abundant confidence. “No escape? We shall see.” A sinister smile slowly spread across his face. “As for your other request,” he reached behind Vivienne’s head, “I believe I can agree to that one.”

It suddenly dawned on Logan that Armand didn’t intend to use Vivienne as a hostage. His hands were at the back of Vivienne’s neck, fumbling with something as yet not visible. Logan was aghast as she heard the sound of a chain breaking, and then she saw the glint of Vivienne’s amulet as it sailed through the air.

“No!” The despair in her voice as it echoed off the cave walls was startling even to her. “What have you done?”

“I’ve done as you asked and set her free.” Armand shoved the trembling Vivienne away, laughing as she stumbled and fell on her hands and knees.

Torn between her desire to help the noblewoman and her fear and awe at the eerie phenomenon transpiring before her very eyes, Logan stood motionless as Vivienne’s body was racked with violent convulsions.

Vivienne met Logan’s eyes and, in her last brief moments of sanity, shouted, “Get away! Go to Simone. Protect her. Don’t let her—” Her pleas ended in an unearthly scream as her body began contorting into painful positions.

In a last desperate attempt to undo Armand’s misdeed, Logan knelt on the cave floor and began searching frantically for the discarded amulet.

Armand’s eyes were burning nearly as furiously as a Witherbeast’s as he smiled triumphantly at Logan. “So, you know of the amulet? I should have known after the way you protected the bitch’s little whelp of a sister.” His eyes gleamed with a sinister light as Logan flashed him a murderous look. “Then you should also know what happens next.”

Logan had never witnessed the transformation from human to beast, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Vivienne as her body began to change. First were the eyes. The pale, icy blue irises shared by Simone began to burn red, the round black pupil narrowing to a catlike slit as Vivienne screamed in agony. Or perhaps it was fury. Vivienne’s body twitched and contorted as the change took her. Her alabaster skin thickened and grew darker as coarse reddish gray hair sprouted. Logan noticed that Vivienne’s slender arms were lengthening, the firm, tightly coiled muscles of a Witherbeast’s forelegs bubbling and bulging beneath the skin. Each of her fingers was tipped in blood as deadly claws slid from their sheaths. Vivienne gave a strangled, guttural cry as her face violently erupted into a snout, her nose and mouth melding together to form a Witherbeast’s broad muzzle. Previously blunt teeth elongated into lethal canines set within the twisted, contorted features, and Vivienne’s ears slid back along her changing head, becoming the blunt, slightly pointed ears of a Witherbeast as they made their ascent.

Inspired—or perhaps triggered—by Vivienne’s transformation, the inert Blood Mages lying around the cave began stirring to life, their bodies warping and contorting in the same way as Vivienne’s. Armand had sacrificed these men and women out of his greed for power. To him, they were no more than pawns to be used in his mad game. Logan watched as the mages writhed in pain until they became Witherbeast, their screams drowning out the sound of thunder from outside the cave.

The transformation could have lasted no more than a few minutes at the most, yet to the fascinated Logan it seemed to go on for an eternity. The magically altered Blood Mages were a terrifying sight to behold, but none were as impressive, or as frightful, as Vivienne Norland. The creature crouched before Logan no longer resembled the woman it had been only moments before. Eyes like glowing embers stared back at Logan from the thickly furred face. Vivienne was gone, leaving in her stead the dominant female Witherbeast that had nearly killed Logan and Simone near the river after the battle at the temple. At last it was beginning to make sense why the creature had been so frightened of Simone’s amulet.

“It was you,” she muttered. The Witherbeast replied by baring her enormous fangs in a mockery of a grin.

Vivienne’s dress hung in tatters from the beast’s rangy body. Unable to bear even this minor constraint, the Witherbeast shredded the last remnants of her human life and flung them to the ground before rounding on Logan.

“I’m sorry, Simone,” Logan mumbled to herself. “Your sister is beyond redemption.”

The beast that had once been Simone’s sister was clearly under Armand’s control, as was every Witherbeast in the cave. There was burning hatred in the beast’s eyes as Logan slid her sword from its sheath. Vivienne accepted the silent challenge and rose onto her hind legs. Towering over Logan by at least a full head, she was an impressive adversary.

Transfixed by Vivienne’s grotesque transformation, Logan had all but forgotten Armand’s presence. A slight movement at the edge of her field of vision jolted her into awareness of his actions. Armand had reopened his wound and was using his blood to energize the sigils scrawled upon the large stalagmite jutting up from the cave floor. Springing into action, Logan lunged toward the Blood Mage, but she was too late.

The blood spilling forth from Armand’s arm seeped into the stone as if the stalagmite was greedily drinking the life force from Armand’s body. The crimson sigils began to glow and pulse eerily against the darkness. Logan stared in horror as the red markings twisted and writhed free from the stone that bound them, almost as though they possessed life of their own.

“At long last, the ultimate power created by the Yor’kesh Elves is mine.” Armand’s face transformed into a mask of pure ecstasy. The sigils coiled like a crimson serpent and began slithering up Armand’s outstretched arm. Whatever unknowable phenomenon was transpiring before her very eyes, Logan knew one thing for certain: she must put an end to Armand’s plan, no matter what.

Rushing the Blood Mage with all her might, she intended to separate Armand from the workings of his magic. The bond between the mage and the creeping red sigils was stronger than she’d expected, and she suddenly found herself trapped by the unimaginable power of the spell. Logan’s skin tingled as wisps of glowing red energy sparked and danced around her. Suddenly Armand’s expression of pleasure transformed into one of fury and agony, as he was forsaken by his own creation and the sigils began snaking their way along Logan’s arm instead. The markings etched themselves into Logan’s armor, burning all the way through to her skin. She cried out in pain as her left gauntlet melted and warped from the effects of the arcane spell.

“You miserable whelp!”

At the sound of Armand’s voice, Logan tore her gaze away from her own arm; that was when she noticed the lacerations on Armand’s arm. The areas touched by the sigils had been burned, the flesh torn away by the sigils’ sudden relocation to Logan.

The armor of Logan’s left arm crumpled and turned to ash, revealing the path of the sigils beneath. They were forever burned into her skin in a shade of bright red, glowing menacingly in the dim light of the cave.

“What have you done?” she demanded, her voice hoarse and raspy as she struggled to remain conscious against the searing pain.

Armand no longer seemed able to hear her. He watched Logan in silence, his eyes reflecting the glowing red symbols.

“The Legion of Blood has thwarted my plans for the last time.” He advanced toward Logan. Clutching the dagger firmly in his uninjured hand, he raised it above his head. “That power will be mine, even if I have to tear it from your flesh!”

Ducking out of the way at the last second, Logan rolled clear of Armand’s initial attack. Fueled by rage as he was, he quickly rounded on her, swinging the dagger in a wide arc. The blade made contact with Logan’s face, and she felt warm blood trickle down her left cheek. Armand continued to swing the dagger wildly, landing several glancing blows before Logan could bring up her sword.

“Stop this,” she commanded.

His knife held high, Armand shouted, “The Wrath of Flames shall be mine!” as he charged at Logan.

Unable to parry with her sword at such a close distance, Logan attempted to seize the Blood Mage’s wrist with her left hand. The arcane symbols etched into that arm glowed crimson, and a burst of red light erupted from the palm of her hand.

Caught off guard, Armand was struck with the brunt of the attack, the force of impact enough to knock him off his feet. Pain ignited in Logan’s arm, so intense it nearly drove her to her knees. Her arm felt as if it was on fire, as if the glowing red sigils were burning their way to the bone.

Armand struggled to his feet. “This isn’t over,” he said, clutching at his mutilated arm. “Just because you’ve prevented me from reaching my goal today doesn’t mean that you have won. To believe so would be delusional. After all, I still have her.”

Logan backed away from the Blood Mage, belatedly recalling the hulking she-beast which lurked within the shadows. During all that had transpired, the monstrous Vivienne Norland had all but slipped her mind. Vivienne had not forgotten about Logan, however, and now sprang forward from the dark corner in which she had been crouching. Her attack caught Logan off guard, and the Witherbeast’s immense weight sent her sprawling back toward the mouth of the cave, where she and Vivienne tumbled over and over one another until they landed in the valley at the bottom of the cliff.

Forcefully dislodging herself from the Witherbeast’s massive paws, Logan leapt to her feet. The rain had ceased and the fog had settled once again, making visibility all but impossible. Logan could hear Vivienne’s growls, as low and ominous as thunder, but she couldn’t see her adversary through the impenetrable miasma. It hung like a shroud, clinging to Logan as she waited for any sign of her foe.

A roar from an enraged Witherbeast made her flinch. Logan’s arm still burned from the earlier strange attack, and her sword swung up in an erratic movement, but the source of the cry was farther away now. The T’fanga! Remembering that Witherbeast preferred to stalk weak, unsuspecting prey, Logan rushed off in the direction she had last left her elven companions. In the direction of the Witherbeast’s furious cry.

Chapter 21

Simone watched the sun slowly sink behind the Northern Anolayan Mountains. Unable to shake the worry that had besieged her since Logan’s departure, she had taken a seat on a large rock that provided a view of Vigil’s Peak. Although the distance was too great for her to actually see anything of the hunting party, she imagined Logan and the T’fanga making their brave ascent, carving a path as legendary as the mountain itself on their journey to the top. Simone smiled to herself. Perhaps this entire adventure was destined to become legend, and she, a prophetess, for foreseeing the events long before they came to pass. Simone hoped her visions would not come to pass, but with each passing day, she grew more doubtful about their chances for a victory that would avert the future she had seen.

She wished she could have accompanied Logan on her journey. Being able to do nothing didn’t suit her, especially when she was becoming increasingly aware of the great and terrible powers locked away within her own body.

The soft crunch of dry leaves brought her out of her reverie. Someone, or something, was watching her, and now it was right behind her. Simone swallowed hard, too afraid to turn her head for fear of what she might see. There was no doubting the smell, the smell of blood and wild beast.

“Simone,” a familiar voice grumbled.

Simone’s heart ached as she slowly turned to face the now unfamiliar and frightening face of her brother. “Corbin, you came back. You really shouldn’t be here. The elves spent most of the night searching for you.”

“I know.” He lifted his muzzle and sniffed the air. “But they are not here now, are they? At least, not many of them are here.” The gruff voice now sounded less like the growling and huffing of an animal and more like actual words, a fact that didn’t escape Simone’s attention.

“I came here to warn you,” Corbin continued. “A great evil is heading this way, corrupting all in its path. If you and your companions don’t leave immediately, you could end up like me. Or worse.”

Simone nearly fell from her perch atop the boulder. Was it already too late? Could Armand’s evil truly be unstoppable?

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I saw it with my own eyes.” A softness shone in Corbin’s feral red eyes. “Dear sister, you must go now.”

A thought suddenly struck Simone like a bolt of lightning. “What about Logan? She set out early this morning with a band of the finest elven hunters.” Her throat constricted, and she could barely voice her next question for the tears threatening to overtake her. “What became of her? She is important to me, Corbin, and I refuse to leave without her.” Surprisingly, Simone felt no shame in admitting as much, but then, Corbin had always been easy to talk to.

There was a knowing look in his eyes as he said, “The Legionnaire was well on her way through the Valley of Mist when last I saw her. But, Simone, she faces great danger. The extraordinary power which resonates within this land is the source of all this darkness and dread.”

“Even so, I can’t just abandon her.”

“I suspected as much.” After a moment, Corbin said, “I’m a swift runner. I’ll go assist the Legionnaire, if you like.”

“I doubt the T’fanga hunters would be so accepting of your aid. But what other choice do we have? If you can resist Armand’s influence, then go. Make sure that Logan’s quest is successful.”

Corbin gave a nod of understanding and was about to depart for the valley when a scream made his ears perk forward. The scent of death and animal musk was upon them suddenly. Corbin’s lips drew back in a snarl. “Witherbeast!”

By the time Logan arrived on the scene, the T’fanga hunters were in total chaos. Zaris and the more seasoned warriors had their hands full fending off the last of the undead soldiers, while Valira stood guard over those too badly injured to fight. The number of casualties was greater than Logan had anticipated.

At the sound of Logan’s approach, Valira rounded on her, arrow nocked and ready. When she recognized the familiar face, some of her tension melted away. “It’s a relief to see a friendly face,” she said, lowering her bow.

“Armand has escaped,” Logan announced without preamble, the solemnity in her voice foreboding.

Valira frowned. “Elder Darceus will not be pleased.”

Logan looked at the senior hunters still battling the skeletal remains of warriors long dead. “I interrupted Armand’s spell. That should have brought about an end to this,” she gestured toward the reanimated corpses, “yet the battle rages on. By the time I reached the cave, Armand had sacrificed his followers and positioned their corpses around a stone column bearing strange engravings. His blood magic animated the symbols and gave them mobility. I was able to thwart his immediate plans, whatever they might have been, but not without cost. When I charged him, the strange markings attached themselves to me rather than to Armand.”

“They became attached to you?” Valira repeated. Her gaze locked on Logan’s arm, on the red sigils which glowed like embers in the coming night. “Spirits of the Forest preserve me, what has happened to your arm?”

Logan shook her head. “That was what I meant when I said the sigils fused with my body.”

“Elder Darceus will certainly want to have a look at this,” Valira said, examining the red sigils closely.

Logan dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “That will have to wait. My condition is not our utmost concern. A beast also escaped the cave, a Witherbeast like no other.” She felt a tightness in her chest as she referred to Simone’s sister as a beast. “As long as it runs free, Anolaya will never be free of this nightmare.”

Valira looked as though she might protest, but her opportunity disappeared as a scream tore through the night air, rising above even the clamor of the elves and the skeleton warriors that were still fighting some distance away. A chorus of guttural growls accompanied the shrill cry.

Following the terrified cries, Logan and Valira came upon one of their comrades cowering before the towering form of a Witherbeast. Immediately recognizing the reddish pelt, Logan sprang forward, her sword drawn and ready for a fatal strike. At the last second, Vivienne dodged Logan’s attack, effortlessly leaping to one side as Logan swung her blade with full force. Before Logan could regain her balance, Vivienne launched herself at the Legionnaire. Being caught beneath the full weight of the Witherbeast knocked the wind out of Logan, and she found herself pinned to the ground beneath Vivienne.

Catching a glimpse of Valira readying her bow out of the corner of her eye, Logan called, “No! Don’t worry about me. Warn the others.”

Valira hesitated, reluctant to leave Logan to fend for herself, then she helped the frightened hunter to his feet and hurried him away.

Satisfied that her allies were out of harm’s way, Logan returned her full attention to Vivienne. “It’s just you and me, My Lady,” she said sardonically. “Shall we dance?”

Elbowing Vivienne hard right in the face was enough to buy Logan a few seconds to escape. As the Witherbeast slavered and snarled, Logan rolled from beneath her and leapt to her feet a few paces away.

The roar of fury Vivienne emitted at her quarry’s escape caused the ground to tremble beneath Logan’s feet. Logan knew this was it. Vivienne would do whatever it took to kill her. If Logan was to survive, she must employ anything and everything that could be used to her advantage.

Fighting with the Vivienne Witherbeast was like fighting with a mirror. She seemed to sense Logan’s every move before Logan made it. Every time Logan lunged forward, Vivienne leapt back. Whenever Logan feigned an attack, Vivienne knew, and used the brief opening to lash out with her claws. There was the horrible screech of claws against metal as Vivienne grazed Logan’s armor. Logan avoided the brunt of the attack by leaping away, but the hard truth still remained—even her speed and agility were no match for this enthralled Bound.

Logan knew she would need every shred of concentration just to stay alive, but even so, she found it hard to focus. The searing pain in her left arm was nearly unbearable. What was more unbearable still, was the knowledge that so many were counting on her. She knew that Simone would ultimately be in danger, and the only thing that mattered was that she reach Simone before the pack of Witherbeast found her. With renewed vigor, Logan swung the broadsword in a wide arc, catching Vivienne on the right flank as she leapt to one side.

Vivienne roared, blood spraying from her wound as she charged Logan at full tilt. She tackled Logan to the ground and began ravaging her with fangs and claws.

The memory of her Initiation, of the battle by torchlight, sprang into Logan’s mind, rekindling the raw desire to live that had fueled her then. Bringing her knee up to Vivienne’s midsection, she kicked upward, sending the startled Witherbeast flying back over her head. Using the brief respite to her advantage, Logan charged forward with the intent to kill, hesitating at the last second as she recalled the distraught noblewoman this beast once had been. That hesitation proved to be her downfall.

Logan’s eyes widened in surprise as a second Witherbeast materialized from the fog, followed by a third, and then a fourth, until a small pack of the creatures surrounded Logan. The Witherbeast joined their alpha female, drawn to Vivienne’s commanding presence. At the threat to their alpha, the underlings sprang into action, leaping on Logan and driving her to the ground.

As Logan struggled at the bottom of the heap of fur and fangs, her mind conjured an image of Simone. A feeling of peace and serenity washed over Logan as the beasts sliced and slashed at her with their lethal claws. Fire erupted along her left arm as the Witherbeast tore at her flesh, the pain so intense that her struggle to remain conscious seemed destined to fail.

A blinding ray of red light flashed all around Logan, driving back the beasts that threatened to devour her. The Witherbeast collapsed to the ground, whimpering in agony as the light seared their bodies. The air was rank with the scent of burnt hair and flesh.

Lifting her arm, Logan could see the sigils burning like flame against her skin. The strange power had protected her once again, but the battle was far from over. Vivienne howled and attacked. The last thing Logan saw before the world faded to black was the nightmare visage of Simone’s elder sister, standing over her as she raised one enormous paw and smashed it down against Logan’s skull.

The Witherbeast had crept in without a sound, silently surrounding the T’fanga camp while its most experienced hunters were away. With only the young hunters on sentry duty, the elves would be desperately shorthanded when the monsters launched a full-scale attack. Until Corbin joined the fray. Perfectly matched to the Witherbeast’s strength and speed, Corbin managed to take out three of the beasts before Simone could blink an eye. It was obvious the Witherbeast, with their inferior intellect and disorganized numbers, were no match for a Bound. This stray pack did not even have a clearly defined alpha, only several feuding dominants reigning over unwilling and confused subordinates. Not a single one of the aspiring alphas posed a threat to Corbin. His claws gleamed in the moonlight as he put an end to the quarreling leaders and sent the submissives scurrying into the shadows with their tails between their legs.

Satisfied that her brother was handling the attackers on his own, Simone ran into camp to check on the families. Everyone with any training with sword or bow had taken up weapons to defend the clan, so only the elderly and a few adolescents remained huddled amid the cluster of wagons. Simone saw how they shivered, frightened by the sounds of fighting. Tibolt was trying to rally these individuals. Simone knew it must have been incredibly painful for him, a warrior sworn to defend the land and its people against the Witherbeast threat, to sit helplessly by while the only people who had shown him any hospitality in this wilderness were under attack. Still, Simone could not forget the animosity in his voice as he spoke of the Bound, her people, so she navigated around the old Legionnaire as if treading on broken glass. The fact that Corbin was so near made Simone nervous. As long as he stayed out of sight, perhaps no one would be the wiser.

“Lady Simone, I’m glad you’re all right,” Tibolt said when he saw her approaching. “I was beginning to worry.”

“I was outside camp when I heard the commotion begin. I think the elves have it mostly under control now.” She didn’t mention their secret protector, only silently thanked the stars that he had arrived when he did. She dared not think what might have happened if the T’fanga had been forced to face this threat alone.

But the stray Witherbeast roaming the area were not the only problem they faced. Corbin had come to warn her that the influence of Armand’s blood magic was spreading, seeping into the land and corrupting all it touched. If this was true, Simone had to find a way to warn the elves without arousing their suspicion as to how she came by her knowledge.

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a deafening roar sounded from her immediate right and the bushes split open as a huge Witherbeast launched itself at her. Frozen with fear, Simone could only stare as the Witherbeast sailed through the air toward her. The sound of a gruff voice calling her name was the only thing that made her move.

“Simone!”

Corbin tore through the underbrush at incredible speed, leaping into the clearing and catching the Witherbeast in midair only a scant second before it struck Simone.

The two beasts met in a tangle of fur and claws, the momentum sending them tumbling over and over across the small clearing. When they came to a stop, the glow of the firelight eerily illuminated their fierce features against the darkness. As Corbin’s jaws locked around its throat, the attacking Witherbeast struggled fruitlessly, kicking out with its hind legs as it swiped harmlessly at the air with its forelegs. Its motions stilled as Corbin crushed its throat with a sickening crunch. After the Witherbeast’s body ceased twitching altogether, Corbin raised his head and sought out Simone, his muzzle stained crimson. All eyes were on him as he stood over the slain Witherbeast, his sides heaving from exertion.

Suddenly the ground shook with the thundering of hooves, and Legionnaires surrounded the campsite. The T’fanga scout had returned with the reinforcements. Simone felt her heart lurch. They could not have arrived at a more inopportune time.

“That beast! It spoke,” one of the adolescent elves said incredulously. To the others gathered there, he said, “Tell me I didn’t imagine it.”

“You didn’t imagine it, my boy.” This came from Tibolt, who was standing unsteadily with the aid of his cane. His handicap did not make him any less intimidating. “This creature did indeed speak. I believe it called for you, Lady Simone.” He turned piercing eyes toward Simone. “Is there something you want to share with us?”

Simone’s mouth was suddenly dry, her tongue thick and heavy. She didn’t think she could have answered, even if she had known what to say.

“Leave her alone,” Corbin growled. “Simone has nothing to do with this.” His fur bristled. “Do what you will with me, only leave her be.”

Everyone stared in shock at the amazing spectacle—a talking Witherbeast. As Corbin continued to glare at Tibolt, the assembled Legionnaires overcame their disbelief and uneasily reached for their weapons.

Simone knew that the tension would inevitably reach a boiling point if she did not do something immediately. “Stand down, Corbin,” she said, realizing too late that she had said too much.

“Corbin? As in Lord Corbin Norland?” Tibolt asked.

Simone was surprised that the Legionnaire did not sound as shocked as she would have expected at learning the identity of this beast.

Tibolt looked thoughtful as he said, “So this is why Armand was so desperate to forge an alliance with your sister. He must have somehow learned of the power your family holds.”

“Sir,” one of the Legionnaires said nervously, “what are we to do with him?” He gestured at Corbin, who crouched in a defensive position.

“That creature is a chimera, one of the fabled Bound. We must bring him back to the Legion stronghold, alive, if at all possible.” Using the cane, Tibolt hobbled over to Simone. “I’m afraid I must also take you into our custody. It’s not safe to allow you to wander around on your own.”

Simone wondered if he meant it wasn’t safe for her, or for those around her, but she remained silent. It was all over. After so many long years, the Legion of Blood had finally caught up with the remnants of the Bound, the Norland family.

Chapter 22

As if from the other side of a great void, something was calling to Logan, the sound hollow and distorted by distance. It was this small voice alone which brought Logan back from the depths of the abyss, its lilting cadences and musical notes both strong and alluring enough to penetrate the unfathomable darkness.

Upon opening her eyes, Logan found herself lying on her back in a sea of mist, the dense clouds roiling as they swirled and coiled about her inert body. The Valley of Mist. Logan remembered being crushed beneath the amassed Witherbeast, believing those moments to be her last as she fought fruitlessly against the horde. Blood from the gashes rent by the Witherbeast’s claws stung her eyes, forcing her to squeeze them shut once more.

It was oddly silent in the valley now. No sounds of battle between the elves and Armand’s ghastly army, no horrendous, bloodcurdling cries of hunting Witherbeast. There was only silence. So who, then, had called to Logan? Logan tried to raise her head to seek out the speaker, but her broken, battered body would not obey her.

“Rest, child. Do not torment yourself so.”

The voice came at her all at once, rolling over Logan like a tidal wave of tranquility. It was everywhere, and yet nowhere at all. As Logan struggled to find the source of the voice, she became aware of a presence next to her.

An imposing figure stood over her, clad in long, flowing garments so purely white, that it was nearly invisible against the fog that enshrouded Logan’s vision. Too weary to move, Logan could only squint up at the figure in an attempt to discern whether it was real, or merely a hallucination.

“Fear not, child. You’re among friends here.”

Again the voice seemed to come at Logan from all directions. Logan squeezed her eyes shut as a hand suddenly gripped her injured arm.

Raising her head weakly, she tried to discern some of the features of the speaker. “Elder Darceus?” she stammered uncertainly, feeling rather foolish and disoriented as she tried to get her bearings. “Where am I?”

“The T’fanga camp,” Darceus replied. “For the moment, we are more or less safe here. Now that the Witherbeast have been disposed of.”

“How did I get here?” Logan’s mind tried to conjure up some rational explanation. All she remembered was being crushed beneath the Witherbeast, and a torrent of red flame tearing through her flesh. “I thought for sure I was dead.”

Darceus laughed. “You have been through quite the ordeal, haven’t you? To answer your earlier question, Valira and the sentries found you lying unconscious among Witherbeast corpses. Seeing as how you were unfit to walk, they returned you here to convalesce.”

“Maybe I would be better off if they had just left me there,” Logan said, feeling increasingly wretched as her recollection of the events was beginning to come back to her.

Armand’s words rang clearly in her mind as she envisioned Tibolt, a face she had come to know so well. The Legion of Blood was nothing more than an Order of self-righteous Blood Mages, using their own dark powers to check those of any rogue Blood Mages that might rise up from time to time. Her heart sank as she thought of how easily she had been deceived. Now it all made sense to her, why the Legion of Blood would seek out convicted Blood Mages. But knowing didn’t lessen the stab of pain at learning the truth so abruptly, and from an enemy, no less.

“Why am I here?” Logan asked, speaking more to herself than Elder Darceus. “I’ve stared death in the face time and time again, and yet somehow I manage to survive. Why is that? And why have the T’fanga taken such a profound interest in me? I’m only a half-breed. My elven blood is tainted by both human and Witherbeast. I am unworthy of your attention.”

“Not an elf, not a human,” Darceus mused. “Why is it that you only see what you aren’t? Open your eyes, and you will see what you are. You’re T’fanga, and so one of my kin. The darkness which courses through your veins is nothing compared to the strength of your indomitable spirit. Furthermore, you’re my brother’s daughter. How could I face him in the Great Beyond if I just callously abandoned you to your fate?”

“So, that’s it, then?” Logan asked. “You help me because you feel indebted to my father?”

“Debt has nothing to do with it. You must protect this land from the encroaching darkness,” Darceus continued, examining Logan’s injuries as she spoke.

“How am I to save Anolaya?” Logan asked in dismay. “You saw how easily I walked into Armand’s trap, how easily I fell before the might of the corrupted Bound.”

Darceus pinned her with her steely gaze. “You’re not as powerless as you think.” She pointed to Logan’s left arm with a slender finger. It had taken Elder Darceus little enough time to notice the sigils etched into Logan’s flesh. The fact that her left gauntlet and arm bracer had been burned away, leaving her skin for all to see did little to hide her newest stigmata.

Darceus moved closer to investigate Logan’s arm. Tracing the intricate patterns branded into the flesh, she said, “It has been some time since I last saw these particular sigils.”

“Courtesy of the arcane workings of Armand’s magic,” Logan supplied as Darceus continued to study the markings. Was the Elder reading the mysterious symbols?

“Not Armand’s magic. You have been given an advantage in your battle with him,” Darceus continued.

Logan lifted her arm and regarded the red markings thoughtfully. “This?” she asked in disbelief. “It transferred to me when I intercepted Armand. I thought this was a construction of blood magic. How can anything associated with blood magic be considered an advantage?” She thought briefly of Simone, of the Bound, and how they had been forced to fight by the Blood Mages of old.

“It is blood magic,” Darceus stated matter-of-factly. “In its way, it’s both a gift and a curse. The Wrath of Flames is a fickle mistress. How you choose to employ its power governs its effectiveness.”

“Wrath of Flames?” Logan asked. “Is that the name of this power?”

Darceus’ head dipped slightly in confirmation. “It is an ancient elven magic, one surviving from the days before the Age of Magi. It’s an elemental power, one of the strongest created by the Yor’kesh Elves. The wielder has the power to control fire. Fire becomes your weapon, your shield, your ally.”

“Power over fire seems like a beneficial magic,” Logan mused. “So why was it hidden away deep within Vigil’s Peak?”

“It was sealed away in that cave to prevent it from ever falling into the wrong hands, but that is not the only reason. The power of the Wrath of Flames comes at a price.”

Of course, Logan thought, but she remained silent and attentive.

“The Wrath of Flames drains its wielder of their life force,” the Elder continued. “As you’ve already concluded, it is a construct of blood magic, and thus requires the wielder’s own blood to activate.”

Logan remembered the strange burst of light and the intense pain that had followed. “I think I might have used it already,” she said. “Albeit inadvertently.”

Darceus grunted. “I suspected as much. I can smell the magic on you. I can also smell the blood.”

Logan wondered at the Elder’s words, but didn’t press. Instead, she asked, “So this power can help me defeat Armand and save Anolaya, but at the cost of my own blood?”

“That is correct, young one. But be warned: with each use, the destructive force of the Wrath of Flames grows stronger, and its wielder becomes weaker. It is a doubled-edged sword.”

“What happens if the wielder continues to harness its power?” Logan asked, dreading the answer.

“Eventually, it will kill you,” Darceus replied. “Not a single person who has been endowed with the Wrath of Flames has been able to fully control its power, not even the great elven Elders of old.”

“So if I choose to use this power to fight Armand and the Witherbeast, I’ll die,” Logan mused. It wasn’t such a surprise, really. Death seemed to follow her, always lingering over her like a dark cloud.

“Maybe, maybe not.” A mischievous twinkle sparkled in Darceus’ tawny gold eyes. “No one has ever before successfully mastered the Wrath of Flames, but as you’ve pointed out so many times, you’re not like everyone else. Perhaps you will be able to succeed where so many others have failed.”

The words cut into Logan’s heart like a shard of glass. Armand had said the same thing to her only hours before. As with the Initiation, it seemed she was destined to survive while those around her withered and died.

Lifting her left arm, she regarded it closely, for the first time studying the strange sigils adorning her flesh. A curving line coiled around her forearm like a crimson serpent, extending to her biceps where it ended in an elegant curl. Subscript accompanied the coiling line, the meaning unfathomable to Logan as she traced it lightly with her fingertip. Of one thing Logan was certain as she investigated the runes, and that was there was indeed power behind the mysterious symbols. She could feel the force, barely contained within its vessel of flesh and blood. How could Darceus place so much faith in her? Did the Elder actually believe Logan could learn to control this power that even now threatened to overwhelm her?

Through the flap in the covered wagon, Logan could see that signs of life were beginning to appear in the camp. The ghostly light of early dawn was flooding through the trees and painting the campsite in a serene beauty. Logan felt anything but serene as she stared at the latest stigma marking her, and she pondered the implications of the Elder’s words. By the light of day, her frightening battle with Armand and Vivienne’s grotesque transformation from woman to beast seemed like a dream. But Logan knew it had all happened. The burning in her left arm was testament to her reality.

Suddenly it dawned on her that something was amiss. There was no sign of Simone anywhere in or around the camp. Logan’s heart began to race.

“Where is Simone?” she asked in a shaky whisper.

Elder Darceus lowered her head. “I’m afraid your human friend is not here.” The sage’s voice was betrayed by a darker emotion underlying the Elder’s usually calm demeanor. “The Legion of Blood took her.”

Logan could hardly believe what she was hearing. “What? How did—”

How was the Legion able to reach the camp in so short a time? And what interest could it possibly have in Simone? Apparently it had been an eventful night, for her and for the elves that had remained at the camp.

“Last night, while you were gone, our scout returned with the aid we requested from the Legion of Blood,” Darceus informed her. “Due to unforeseen occurrences, the Legionnaire Tibolt ordered that Lady Simone accompany him, along with the bella’nari.”

“The what?” Baffled by the recent chain of events, the strange word barely registered in Logan’s mind.

“The bella’nari, the beast-spirited. The beast leapt from the shadows to save your friend, but he made a mistake in speaking her name. The Legion of Blood found him most interesting.”

“Corbin,” Logan said.

It was all beginning to make sense. Despite her promise to keep the Norlands’ secret, Simone had fallen victim to the very thing from which Logan wanted to protect her. How terrified she must be, held captive by an intimidating band of Legionnaires.

Darceus interrupted Logan’s dark thoughts. “The young lady and her brother are most interesting indeed.”

“Do you know where the Legion is taking them?” Logan was barely able to restrain herself. At the moment, all she wanted to do was to jump up off the pallet and go in search of Simone. The only things keeping her from it were the fact that she was still in a considerable amount of pain, and the silent yet firm insistence of the Elder.

“To its stronghold, I assume.” Without saying a word, Darceus managed to pin Logan to the pallet with a mere glance. “If you intend to save her, you will need a strategy.”

Logan knew the old elf was right. A frontal attack against a squad of highly trained warriors would only result in her death, and if she was dead, she would be of no help to Simone.

“What do you propose I do?”

A smile lit Darceus’ features, radiating an energy that Logan could feel in the air between them.

“Fear not, I have a plan. Leave it to my clan. All you have to do is rescue young Simone.”

Logan was speechless at the Elder’s offer to risk her own people to help free Simone. “I don’t know how I will ever repay you for all you’ve done.”

“Hush, child, you have done enough already.” Darceus indicated the Wrath of Flames and sadly shook her head. “Long have the Yor’kesh contrived to keep it hidden from the world.” Her expression was grim. “The Blood Mage has ascended to great heights, indeed, for him to have knowledge of this power.”

“Is it truly so terrible?” Logan looked at the red symbols encircling her arm. Having lost the eerie glow, the sigils now appeared no more menacing than ordinary tattoos.

“Having fire as an ally can produce devastating results, depending on the wielder. Although I would not wish the responsibility of this burden on anyone, least of all an ally, I am grateful that you intercepted Armand before he could acquire the Wrath of Flames.”

“Glad I could help,” Logan said. “And I’m eternally grateful for all you have done, but I can’t sit here while Simone is suffering and alone. If the Legion of Blood has her, I fear she could be in danger. You’ve seen her brother’s unusual condition for yourself?”

Darceus turned razor-sharp eyes on her. “Yes. It seems the Norlands are much more than they appear. I thought the human bella’nari had been eradicated centuries ago.”

“Humans call them chimeras,” Logan said. “Simone detests the term. She refers to her kind as the Bound.”

“A very appropriate title indeed. A beast, bound by spirit to the body it once inhabited.”

“Tell me, Elder, how is it that you know of the Bound? They have been believed to be extinct for hundreds of years. Knowledge of their existence has faded from all minds, save for those few who speak of them as myth and legend.”

Darceus laughed, a strong, hearty sound that somehow inspired courage within the despondent Logan. “You’re forgetting that we elves live much longer than our human neighbors. Some of us still vividly remember the Age of Magi. What those Blood Mages did to our people was unforgivable.”

“Your people?”

“Surely you didn’t think their unspeakable experiments were performed solely on human subjects? Oh no. The Yor’kesh had already proven itself an enemy to humankind, and thus no mercy was shown. The Blood Mages scoured the northern wilderness, abducting any adolescent unfortunate enough to be caught alone. Many Yor’kesh elves were taken before the threat was realized, and by then it was too late for retaliation.”

“So the Bound, the bella’nari, exist among your people as well?” Logan found the idea fascinating.

“Of course, child. In fact, I myself have acute recollections of the Age of Magi, of my tragic youth. I was a rebellious youngster, always wandering off on my own.” Darceus shifted, and a ray of sunlight fell squarely on her throat.

A brilliant flash caught Logan’s eye, and as she inspected it more closely, she saw an amulet similar to the one Simone wore. “You?” Logan asked incredulously.

Darceus smiled and nodded. Her expression sobered quickly, however, as she regarded Logan with intense scrutiny. “So, what do you intend to do next, after you rescue Lady Norland, of course? Will you return to the Legion of Blood to fulfill your sworn duty?”

Logan fidgeted with the thin coverlet. “You know as well as I do, that would be impossible. I cannot give my allegiance to those who would cause harm to Simone. But what else is there for me?”

“My offer stands. If you wish, you may join the clan and reclaim your heritage as a T’fanga.”

“That is tempting, I must admit. However,” Logan stared into the distance, toward the rugged mountains that held the Legion’s keep, “I can’t leave Simone to an uncertain fate at the hands of her ancestors’ persecutors. I know you mean well by keeping me here. Please forgive me, but I must go.”

“I understand. If I may make a suggestion?” Darceus continued, “It would be much easier to free your friends if we intercept the Legionnaires before they reach the stronghold.”

“You’re right,” Logan agreed. “The keep is filled with secret tunnels and hidden chambers, all of which would make for an endless search. It is unlikely the Legion would allow us so much time.”

“Then we shall leave immediately.” Darceus pivoted on her heel, in the direction of the camp. “As soon as I’ve gathered the others, we shall set out.”

“So soon?” Logan was astonished at the Elder’s eagerness. “The senior hunters have just returned from battle in the Valley of Mist. Surely they must be exhausted.”

Darceus glanced back over her shoulder, an enigmatic twinkle in her eye. “We are bella’nari. It takes much more than a little skirmish to tire us out.”

Logan stared after her for several minutes. Something in the Elder’s elusive manner sent chills down her spine. One thing was for certain: the T’fanga clan was more ancient and mysterious than Logan could ever have imagined.

Simone slumped in the saddle as she rode in silence following behind Tibolt’s horse. She was flanked on all sides by Legionnaires, presumably to ensure she formed no ideas of escape.

Her situation was not as grim as Corbin’s, however. Secured in a makeshift cage constructed from spare parts from the elves’ wagons, he was being towed along behind two horses, the Legionnaires surrounding him wary and ready to take action at a second’s notice.

Simone felt responsible for his misfortune. If only she had not made the mistake of calling his name in front of the Legionnaires, neither might have found themselves in this hopeless situation. On the other hand, if Simone had remained quiet, the Legionnaires would have destroyed Corbin on the spot. The Norland name and the long and respected history of the family were probably the only things keeping them alive.

Thoughts of Logan also weighed heavily on Simone’s mind. Was she able to successfully put a halt to Armand’s madness? And if so, had she managed the feat without suffering the effects of blood magic? Simone sighed, now thoroughly depressed. Even if Logan had survived the encounter with the Blood Mage, returning to the camp and learning the circumstances of her own absence would surely break her heart. Simone knew without a doubt that Logan would blame herself for not being there to protect her, viewing her absence as a failure to keep her promise. It made Simone’s heart ache to think of the proud Logan, returning from her triumphant battle, becoming crestfallen and desolate upon finding her charge gone.

Don’t despair over me, Logan. Tears streamed down Simone’s cheeks. You will be better off without me.

The scent of wild beast suddenly overpowered Simone, nearly causing her to fall from her saddle. It was a scent similar to that of the Witherbeast, only different somehow. Her horse whickered and tossed its head nervously, as did every other horse in the party.

“What’s going on?” one of the Legionnaires called as his horse reared. “Whoa! Easy there.”

Before anyone could react, a group of swift shadows rushed at them and began harassing the horses. Men shouted as they were thrown to the ground and cursed as their frantic animals bolted into the woods. Simone heard a loud crash as the wooden cage that held Corbin struck against a tree and toppled over, freeing its enraged occupant. She caught a glimpse of a reddish blur as Corbin fled into the deeper shadows of the forest, away from the swords of the Legionnaires.

Simone’s horse seemed to be excluded from the worst of the pestering, but even so, it bucked and twisted in agitation as its fellows fled. Never possessed with her sister’s skills at horsemanship, Simone struggled to stay mounted as the horse dashed deeper into the forest, kicking its hind legs out as it ran from the beasts. Simone looked back in fear at the two huge Witherbeast nipping at her horse’s heels as they herded it further away from the others. Terrified, she squeezed her eyes shut and held on to the reins for dear life.

The horse eventually began to slow, snorting in fear as it came to a complete stop. Simone slowly opened her eyes to meet her fate, but it wasn’t as grim as she had anticipated. Logan was next to her, sitting astride one of the swift Yor’kesh horses. She was holding the reins of Simone’s horse, which still stomped and whinnied beneath her.

Simone had never been happier to see anyone in all her life, though at first she couldn’t believe that what she saw was real.

“Logan!” She wanted to say the name over and over to affirm that this was not some dream. “Logan, it is really you! You came for me.”

Overwhelmed with joy, Simone flung her arms around Logan’s neck as she helped her down from her horse. Logan was her anchor, her presence so strong and solid amidst the visions and nightmares that plagued Simone. Sometimes Simone believed Logan was the only thing holding her from the fathomless abyss, keeping her from making that final plunge into madness. She clung tightly to Logan, only recognizing the intimacy of their position when she realized that Logan was holding her in her arms to support her. After disentangling herself, she quickly stepped away.

“Thank you.” She wiped away tears. “I was afraid I had lost you. When Tibolt ordered his men to leave without you, I thought hoping for your return was too much to expect.”

“Tibolt,” Logan muttered, a darkness seeping into her eyes at the mention of his name.

Simone knew it must be hard for Logan to go against Tibolt’s order. She respected and trusted him. To go against the Legion of Blood must be tearing Logan apart. After all, she was bound to the Order by blood. Simone wished there was something she could say to Logan to alleviate her distress, but nothing came to mind.

“Of course I came for you. What other purpose is there for me in this life? I gave my word to protect you from all harm. Even if it is the very man who issued that order who is now intent on harming you, I will not go back on my promise.”

Simone was speechless. She could tell that Logan meant every heartfelt word, even though confessing her heart was surely no easy task for her.

“Come on,” Logan said with a smile. “Let’s return to the T’fanga camp.”

Chapter 23

Simone was not in the least surprised that the T’fanga had picked up camp and relocated in very little time. Once the Legion gathered its horses and got its bearings, the clan’s former location would be the first place they would search for their escaped captives. The caravan had now moved much deeper in the forest, where the shadows were pitch black and the overhead canopy was so thick it blocked the light of the moon. Upon closer inspection, Simone saw that there were crumbling archways and partially intact buildings, remnants of an ancient civilization that had defied the many long years since their abandonment. Certainly no human had ever seen this part of the northern wood, and Simone felt a thrill at being the first.

“What is this place?” she asked as she and Logan approached the ruined city.

“Elder Darceus tells me that it is Tal’rashal, the one-time epicenter of elven civilization.”

“Not the Tal’rashal from the fairy tales told to every human child in Anolaya?” Simone’s voice was filled with awe. “Mothers everywhere tell their children, if they don’t behave, the spirits and beasts of Tal’rashal will rise from the dark heart of the Yor’kesh Highlands and swallow them up.”

“One and the same.” There was an undertone of pride in Logan’s voice. “Elder Darceus believes that there might still be some residual elven magic here. Maybe enough to keep the Legion from finding us, at least for a while.”

“The T’fanga are too generous in offering this protection, especially since I’m a mere human. And after they saw my brother—”

“Nonsense,” Logan interjected. “Corbin is already here, I believe. The bella’nari are respected among the Yor’kesh, as long as they do not allow their beastly natures to turn them into bloodthirsty monsters. At any rate, they are not hunted down and slaughtered among the elven clans as they are by humans. To possess the blood of the Bound in one’s veins is viewed as a blessing, not a curse.”

For the second time that night, Simone could find no words. Elven Bound? Somehow it had never dawned on Simone that there might be others of her kind outside of the Norland grant. What a fool she had been, believing her family and its associates to be the only ones, especially with all the rumors that surrounded the Yor’kesh Elves. Now the tale that claimed they were shape-shifters made more sense.

Seeing Simone’s reaction, Logan laughed. “It’s been a long day for you, no doubt. Rest assured, you and your brother are most welcome here.”

One thing was still bothering Simone, and despite the shock of learning that there were elven Bound living in the Yor’kesh Highlands, she couldn’t get it off her mind.

“How is it that a stray pack of Witherbeast just happened upon the Legionnaires as they were escorting Corbin and me back to their keep? And why did the Witherbeast not attack me?”

Logan gave her a sly look. “Perhaps they sensed your strange blood and were repelled by its similarities to their own.”

“You know as well as I how unlikely that is. The amulet binds the beast, masks its presence so completely that not even a Witherbeast can sense it.”

“You’re right, as usual.” Logan sighed. Her eyes darted to the shadows at her left, a mischievous light twinkling in them. “I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting the clan’s Elder, have you? Allow me to introduce Elder Darceus.”

A flash of silver flitted through the darkness of the nearby ruins. Instinctively huddling closer to Logan, Simone turned her head, trying to track the movement. Something stalked them in the shadows, something swift and powerful. Simone’s eyes flew open and she gave a strangled cry when a huge Witherbeast of pure silver leapt in front of them.

“Don’t be alarmed, child,” it said. In its claws, it held an amulet similar to Simone’s own. After placing the necklace about its neck, the silver Witherbeast fastened the clasp and the amulet fell into place around its throat.

Immediately the beastly features began to change, the silver pelt began to recede into tan skin. The beast’s muzzle shortened until it had withdrawn into an elegant nose and full lips, and after only a few minutes, Simone found herself staring at a very beautiful, and very naked, elf woman.

“We are honored to have both you and your brother among our clan,” she said to Simone. “You may stay as long as you like. Or, considering the circumstances, as long as we are able to hide from the Legion.”

Feeling a blush creep into her cheeks, Simone awkwardly looked away from the naked woman. “Thank you. You are too kind.”

Elder Darceus gave a slight nod and turned to rejoin the clan, some of which were just returning to elven form and were in various states of undress. There wasn’t much elderly about Darceus, Simone noted as the elf woman walked away, save for the long, flowing silver mane and the few lines around her eyes. Simone hoped that she would age half as gracefully as the elves.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Logan whispered once the Elder was out of earshot. “In private.”

Simone’s overactive mind was racing with catastrophic possibilities and dire eventualities as Logan led her to a small stone structure that was, for the most part, still in habitable condition. Was her presence further jeopardizing the safety of the exhausted T’fanga clan? Were she and Corbin and Logan compromising their own safety by staying so near a clan of shape-shifting elves? Logan closed the door behind them, then ventured a few paces into the open room, where she began to pace to and fro in an agitated manner.

“What’s wrong, Logan? Are we in danger here?”

“No. The T’fanga sentries will alert us at the first sign of trouble.”

Had Logan brought her here just to talk? Simone wondered. For a brief instant, she had feared that Logan was lost to her forever. Maybe Logan had felt the same upon returning to camp to find Simone gone. Having Logan standing before her was enough to restore hope to her heart.

“Oh, Logan,” she said, fighting back tears, “I thought I would never see you again.” She wanted to fling her arms around Logan and hold on until all the pain and fear subsided, but she was afraid that by doing so she would only drive Logan away. Her gaze settled on the breastplate of Logan’s armor. Something was different. Taking a few minutes to assess every detail, Simone noted that the pieces covering Logan’s left arm were not the standard Legion armor, but the shoulder guard, arm bracer, and gauntlet of the T’fanga. It was almost as though Logan’s armor had been patched together in a hurry.

“What happened in the Valley of Mist?” she asked. “Even from where I stayed in the T’fanga camp, I could feel the world trembling. Did you find Armand? Have you come any closer to learning what he wants to accomplish by enlisting my sister?”

“We found Armand in the valley. He used his own blood to resurrect an army of long-dead combatants in order to delay our progress.” Logan shook her head. “It was awful. Before last night, I had no idea just how terrible blood magic could be. While we were under siege by his undead warriors, Armand escaped to a cave. I faced him alone, but without ultimate success.”

Logan looked away, but not before Simone had seen the pain shining in her eyes. “And what of Vivienne?”

Logan’s hands tightened into fists at her side. “I was unable to save her. I’m sorry, Simone. I know you expect me to be like some hero out of legend—”

“It’s not your fault,” Simone interrupted. “You did your best. That’s all I ever ask. What is important is that you’re here with me now. Anolaya needs you. I need you.”

“You still place so much faith in me, even though I failed?” Only the slight rise in Logan’s voice marked the statement as a question.

“You’re needed now more than ever,” Simone said. “Armand is still out there somewhere, plotting his revenge against all who he thinks have wronged him. So, what do you plan to do next?” she asked, hoping to lighten Logan’s mood by discussing plans for the future. “Do you have any idea where Armand might be going?”

“Elder Darceus seems to know. Elven legends speak of a place in the far north, where spells cast are stronger, more potent than anywhere else in Anolaya.”

Simone knew of the place. She’d heard it whispered in tales of the days before the Age of Magi. Supposedly it was also the origin of the Witherbeast.

“And will you go there?” she asked, dreading Logan’s answer.

“I must.”

“How soon will you depart?”

Logan was silent, clutching at her left arm as though she was experiencing great pain.

“You’re not planning on coming back,” Simone said, fighting the urge to hold tight to Logan and prevent her from ever leaving her again. “When are you leaving? How long before I must bear the agony of being without you again?”

“We set out tomorrow morning. Armand mustn’t be allowed too much of a head start.”

The morning. In a few short hours, Simone would again be faced with the possibility of losing Logan forever. Logan’s hand tightened to a death grip around her left arm, and Simone suddenly realized that she was holding back. Logan was hiding something, and whatever it was, it was tearing her apart.

“So soon,” she said quietly, taking a tentative step toward Logan. “And after we were only just reunited.” When Logan still refused to look her in the eye, Simone stepped closer. “What is it that you’re not telling me? I know there’s something. I can see it in your eyes.”

Shaking her head, Logan let out an exasperated sigh. “This is hard for me.” She glanced at Simone and then quickly looked away. “And the truth is, you’re not making it any easier. I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

“Well, we have faced one crisis after another, perfect fodder for a busy mind.”

“The Witherbeast are only half of the problem. I used to think I knew exactly what I wanted. Everything changed after I met you.”

Simone flinched at the bluntness of Logan’s words. “So you’re saying I am to blame for your dilemma?” It caused her physical pain to imagine herself as the source of Logan’s distress.

Logan lowered her gaze and nodded slowly.

“I see.” Simone couldn’t hide the sadness in her voice. She had thought she and Logan were past the rocky phase of their relationship, but Simone had never felt further away from Logan than she did at that moment.

“I feel like I’m changing inside,” Logan said into the cold, hollow silence that had fallen. “Once I eagerly anticipated my date with the executioner’s axe, but now, I find myself wanting to live. It’s because of you, Simone. I want to live for you.”

Their conversation just kept taking unexpected turns. Simone raised her head to meet Logan’s gaze, but anything she might have said was forgotten as Logan’s lips covered hers. The kiss lasted only a second, but in that brief time Simone experienced a sensation of peace and tranquility she hadn’t known existed.

Blushing furiously, Logan pulled away, obviously frustrated at her inability to adequately express her feelings. “I shouldn’t have done that.” She shrugged. “A Legionnaire should show more self-control.”

“Don’t speak to me as a Legionnaire,” Simone said in a gentle tone. “Speak to me as yourself. As Logan.”

“I’m sorry, Simone. I was out of line. I’ve behaved badly, and the worst part is, I expect you to sit back and tolerate my behavior.”

“You have done nothing wrong,” Simone chided. “The truth is I’ve been wanting you to do that for quite a while.” She batted her eyelashes and looked away bashfully. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind if you did it again.”

Overcoming some of her initial nervousness, Logan took Simone in her arms and drew her close. She leaned down until their lips were mere inches apart. Her warm breath tickled Simone’s face as she said, “Like this?” and lightly brushed her lips over Simone’s before claiming her in a kiss.

Not numbed by shock at the contact as she had been before, Simone welcomed Logan more openly this time, wrapping her arms around Logan’s broad shoulders and holding on. She reached up a hand and tangled her fingers in Logan’s short, thick hair, then held her fast as the kiss deepened.

Logan broke away at last, leaving them both breathless. She rested her forehead against Simone’s. “How was that?” she asked between breaths.

Finding it difficult to stop now that they had started, Simone kissed her way along Logan’s throat. “More,” she growled, and she felt Logan’s laughter vibrate against her lips. Her desire was fueled by sensation as her hands explored Logan’s body, until she pressed her palms against the cool metal of Logan’s breastplate.

“Take off this armor,” Simone ordered, her voice sounding lascivious even to her own ears.

Logan complied with the passionate demand, first removing the more cumbersome components of her Legion armor before moving to the chain mail beneath. When she stood before Simone in a tunic and trousers, Simone took in every detail of the long slender body.

“I believe this is the first time I’ve seen you without your armor,” she said, nervous despite how her body ached for Logan’s touch.

No longer hidden behind the emblem of the Legion of Blood, Logan seemed somehow vulnerable. This wasn’t the lady Legionnaire Simone had first met. This was Logan as she was meant to be. Unable to repress her desires one minute longer, Simone stepped forward until she was encircled in Logan’s arms. For the first time, she could feel how Logan’s heart raced as she held her close.

When Logan embraced her, Simone noticed that the left sleeve of her tunic was in shreds. Her eyes fell on the unusual red markings circling Logan’s forearm and biceps. There was something sinister about the design; a dark energy seemed to radiate from it. Simone stared in awe. “What is this?” she asked, her question innocent enough.

Following Simone’s eyes, Logan recoiled as though she had been burned.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Simone reached toward Logan’s left arm. Logan gently seized her wrist, keeping questing fingers from making contact with her forearm. Many of the T’fanga displayed tattoos, Simone had noticed, the various crests and emblems indicating rank or status among the clan. But Logan was only half-elf. Simone had not expected her to be adorned by elven body art. Maybe it wasn’t by Logan’s choice. Simone noted how Logan had tensed at the mention of the tattoos, as though she did not want to discuss the matter.

“It’s a reminder of the past,” Logan announced suddenly, the sound of her voice startling Simone. Her expression darkened. “A reminder that I can never run away from who I am. Anyway,” she added more cheerfully, pulling Simone closer, “it is unimportant now. Right now, this is all that matters.” She bent down and kissed Simone so deeply she thought she would melt.

Even though she still wore the many layers of fur and warm garments given to her by the elves, Simone shivered, but her tremors were not at all due to the cold. Logan was so close to her, her svelte, muscular body separated from Simone by only a single layer of cloth. She was the physical embodiment of power as she held herself rigid in Simone’s grasp, yet at the same time Simone sensed a great vulnerability about her, as if the proud, regal woman before her could crumble at a moment’s notice. Simone couldn’t bear the thought of that happening. She was gentle as she ran her hands along Logan’s sides until they came to rest at her narrow hips.

Logan fumbled with the clasp of Simone’s furred cloak, the look of hesitancy on her face as clear as a mountain spring. Simone reached up and unfastened the cloak. It rustled softly as it slid to the floor. This small act inspired Logan to continue undressing her, until their clothes had joined Logan’s armor in a heap on the floor.

Simone’s skin came to life under Logan’s touch. Wherever Logan’s hands made contact with her sensitive flesh, a flame ignited beneath her skin, a fire that could only be extinguished by Logan’s kiss.

Logan scooped Simone into her arms, then carried her over and laid her gently on the pallet and blankets spread out on the floor. Her body alongside Simone’s atop the pile of cushions and blankets, she kissed Simone again. Their tongues met briefly before Logan withdrew and began kissing a wet trail along Simone’s throat.

Simone moaned at the contact, her entire body burning with need for Logan. “Don’t stop,” she urged as Logan descended. “Please, don’t ever stop.”

At the soft swell of Simone’s breasts, Logan paused, and took one in her hand. Simone gasped as Logan caressed the pliant flesh, and her nipples quickly grew as hard as stones. Logan brushed her thumb over one, circling the puckered flesh as Simone whimpered beneath her. Tipping her head down, Logan took the other erect nipple between her lips and began performing similar actions with her tongue. Simone groaned and arched up to meet her, her body riding on the edge of a release that only Logan could grant her.

After several moments, Logan released Simone’s breasts from her exquisite torture and trailed her fingers down Simone’s abdomen. She cupped Simone high between her thighs, applying pressure to the area that was so longing for such attention. Her palm pressed firmly against the erogenous tissue as her fingers ventured deeper, parting the wet folds and slipping into Simone’s hidden entrance. Simone gasped and wriggled beneath Logan, the intensity of the movement nearly enough to overwhelm her. She thrust downward against Logan’s hand, riding the long fingers as they plunged inside her over and over again.

Simone climaxed forcefully, and her body went rigid in Logan’s arms. Logan continued to hold her as the aftershocks of the powerful orgasm racked her body, until at last the undulating of Simone’s hips ceased.

“That was wonderful.” She gazed up at Logan. “I love how you make me feel.”

Logan blushed at the compliment. She had never looked more beautiful to Simone than she did in that moment, but something was on her mind, something troubled her. Simone sensed her disturbance and propped herself up on her elbows.

“Is something wrong?” Her face was inches from Logan’s. “You look unsettled.”

“I—” Logan hesitated as she met Simone’s eyes. Simone gasped as Logan held her with her gaze. Those eyes were impossible to hide from, and even more difficult to deny. “I need you, Simone, more than I’ve ever needed anything.”

Her arousal stoked by Logan’s simple confession, Simone wedged her thigh between Logan’s legs. “Then you shall have me,” she said, bringing her legs together tightly against the heat of Logan’s desire.

She was in the forest again. It was night. Could daylight penetrate the dense canopy overhead? Simone wondered. The snow was falling, heavier than ever before. Forcing her way through the knee-deep snowdrifts was all but impossible. Just like all the other times, she was clad in a suit of dark armor, the metal stained red with blood. Simone was grateful for the armor. At least it kept out some of the elements.

There was a change in the terrain, a clearing Simone had never seen before. She was heading toward this clearing, an area of the forest that was devoid of all vegetation. Although she couldn’t explain why, Simone wanted to turn away from the barren land, to run as fast and as far as her legs would carry her. There was something sinister about the place, a creeping feeling that slithered over her skin and coiled coldly around her heart.

The scene flickered, suddenly enveloped by thick fog. When it cleared, she found herself in a dank, dark place. The very atmosphere caused Simone’s head to ache, like the weight of a thousand Witherbeast all bearing down on her at once. She found this place, this strange cavern, even less appealing than the forest of gloom and shadows. After a while, her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she began moving forward once more. Through the nearly impenetrable dark, she could see—or rather, she could sense—a light, a sinister glow that pulsed in rhythm with her rapidly beating heart.

She blinked, and the landscape changed again. She was still inside the cavern, but now she was in a wide open chamber. This room was the origin of the pulsing light. Firelight flickered in the center of the chamber, bathing the rocky walls in blood red light. Somewhere out of sight, a voice chanted in an arcane tongue. The fire danced, and Simone was suddenly looking up at some incomprehensible shape looming above her. Something in her eyes blurred the silhouette. Blood, maybe. Or perhaps it was tears. Beyond the figure, she saw that the cave ceiling extended far beyond the reaches of the fire’s illumination, stretching on into darkness. The ghastly shape—that she could not see no matter how hard she looked at it—lunged forward, and the next thing she knew, a blaze of red light burst forth in its direction from somewhere close by.

Her left arm felt as if it was on fire. Squinting desperately against the light of the inferno, Simone still couldn’t make out the details of what was happening before her. One thing she did see clearly before waking up, and that was the insignia emblazoned upon the breastplate of her own armor, clearly illuminated by the blast of searing light.

As the dream world faded and she began slipping back into the harsh and unforgiving realm of reality, the snarling face of a Witherbeast, splattered in the color of blood, grinned up at her menacingly.

As the first light of dawn crept over the jagged horizon, Simone woke to the sound of birds chirping. Logan slept soundly beside her, an expression of deep contentment on her face. Simone’s legs were still draped loosely around Logan’s powerful thigh, as they had been the night before.

Being nestled against Logan soothed her soul. So soon after escaping the frightening world of her visions, it felt indescribably good to have Logan’s body against her, to have something so solid to anchor her to this world. Her gaze slipped past Logan to the discarded armor in the corner of the stone hut. The last thing Simone remembered seeing before she woke up was the crest of the Legion of Blood. It was the first time she had been able to see her dream-self’s armor so clearly. But what could it mean? Was it merely the product of an overactive imagination, a dream, as so many would have her believe? Or was it a premonition, a precognitive vision of things to come?

After pondering the terrifying scenes for several minutes, the dream seemed to be no more than that: just a dream, albeit a remarkably vivid and profound one. Stretching, Simone accidently brushed against Logan’s left arm. The tan skin seemed to glow in the dim light of early dawn, the elven runes standing out in stark relief in their hue of fresh blood. Unable to resist touching them, she traced her fingertip lightly over the pattern. The symbols began to pulse and glow beneath her touch, in rhythm with Simone’s own heart. Uncomfortable at the strange sensation, Simone withdrew her hand. The eerie light faded, but the unease it had awakened in Simone lingered.

Something in the touch must have disturbed Logan, for she stirred in her sleep and began to wake. “Good morning,” she said, finding that Simone was already awake.

“It certainly is.” When Logan gave her a suggestive smile, Simone couldn’t resist leaning in for a kiss. “I never knew a night could be so good,” Simone continued when the kiss ended. “So warm, so tranquil. I’ve only known them to be long, desolate, and lonely.” Her smile faded as she recalled her many nights plagued by visions. She had lost sleep, and possibly her sanity, during those dark times. And now, there was this new dream.

Should she tell Logan about recognizing the emblem of the Legion of Blood on the armor? Or the dark, foreboding sense she felt every time she thought about the dream? Perhaps Logan would think her mad at last.

“Something is troubling you.” Logan leaned forward and scrutinized Simone with concern. “Did you have trouble sleeping?”

Shaking her head, Simone tried to dismiss the ominous feeling that recalling her dream had engendered, as much for her own sake as for Logan’s.

“Your presence has been a miracle in my life.” She smiled down at Logan. “You are my guardian angel.”

Logan laughed. “There are many who would disagree with you on that point. I’ve been called many things in my time, but you’re the first to brand me an angel.”

“Maybe your life has been filled with the wrong sort of people,” Simone said, rolling on top of Logan. “Until now.” She sat astride Logan’s hips, gently rocking back and forth as her fingers trailed tenderly along Logan’s cheek.

Logan captured Simone’s hand and gently brushed her lips across her knuckles. “As much as I wish I could stay here with you forever,” Logan said between the kisses, “I fear that Zaris will be along shortly. Armand is still on the loose.”

“Must you go?” Simone didn’t like the idea of staying behind, useless, while Logan ventured into the heart of the enemy’s territory.

“I promised the T’fanga I would help them. Besides,” Logan turned her head so she was looking at her discarded armor, “I might be the only one who can stop this insanity.”

Logan was hiding something; Simone could see it in her eyes. “Are you sure you’re not worried?”

“Armand is a formidable adversary,” Logan replied evasively. “And he is not alone.”

“Vivienne is still out there,” Simone said with sudden understanding. Images of her sister, physically altered beyond recognition, played in her mind, and her spirit sank. She slumped onto Logan, her body suddenly limp as the despair flooded over her.

Logan took Simone in her arms and tried to soothe her. “I’ll do everything in my power to help your sister, I promise. I retrieved her amulet from the cave floor, and some of the clan healers are doing their best to repair the chain. The bella’nari are an important part of the Yor’kesh heritage, for reasons you’ve seen with your own eyes.”

“Do you really think there is hope for her?” Simone was still despondent, despite Logan’s efforts to cheer her up. “Or has she been forever damned by Armand’s influence?”

“By resisting Armand in the elven temple, Vivienne has proven that she has a strong will. Armand’s sweet words and cunning manipulation have confused her, his spell further enhanced by blood magic. Perhaps she is not beyond redemption. Returning her to her human form would be the first step. And Corbin, too.”

Simone’s head snapped up. “Corbin can be cured? His amulet was either lost or destroyed when the Witherbeast attacked his patrol. Even if it is still out there somewhere, could it ever be recovered?”

“The T’fanga are a resourceful lot. They believe they might be able to replicate the amulet. The effects might not be as powerful, but its magic might hold until we are able to locate the original.”

“If we can, you mean. The Legion knows of our existence and will undoubtedly be close on our trail. There is nowhere we can go where the Legion of Blood will not follow.”

“You can stay with me,” Logan said. “I will protect you.”

“You can’t protect me from myself. And besides, you have sworn your life to the Legion. You have sacred duties to fulfill.”

“I was enlisted by the Legion because they were concerned that the delusions of a supposedly mad young noblewoman might be correct.” Stunned by this revelation, Simone stared at Logan. “That’s right,” Logan said. “The Legion of Blood resorted to recruiting accused Blood Mages because it suspected the forbidden art was once again being practiced in Anolaya. In the event that there was an uprising, the Legion would have found itself extremely shorthanded, so it began seeking out alleged Blood Mages. To fight fire with fire, as they say.” She leveled her gaze at Simone. “My life was spared because of you. If anyone deserves my unwavering loyalty, it is you, my love.”

Simone’s eyes filled with tears at the words Logan spoke from her heart.

“However, you’re right. When I was taken in by the Legion of Blood, I vowed to defend Anolaya against the Witherbeast. I have this one duty to fulfill as a Legionnaire, and then, my love, I am forever and faithfully yours.”

Chapter 24

Logan glanced back one last time at the ruins of Tal’rashal as she and the finest T’fanga warriors set out for the north. Simone was among those gathered to watch their departure, her eyes brimming with tears as she was forced to stand by while Logan rode out to face this perilous task. It tore at Logan’s heart to leave her now, so soon after declaring her love, but the road ahead was dangerous, and Logan couldn’t bear to put Simone at risk. She would feel much better leaving her with Elder Darceus and some of the other powerful bella’nari among the clan. At least that way Simone would be well guarded should the Legion resume its pursuit, though Logan doubted Tibolt would lead his men so far into the forest while the threat of Witherbeast still remained.

Logan knew that Corbin would not be there to watch Simone in her absence, as he had requested that he be allowed to accompany the warriors. Simone had been heartbroken when Logan broke the news of his leaving, but his reasons were sound.

“The Witherbeast you will encounter on this quest are not of the usual ilk,” he had said when presenting his argument. “Furthermore, they will be led by my sister. From what you told me, Vivienne has probably assumed the role of alpha. With your permission, I would like to go with you, to have one last chance to talk some sense into her.”

Logan had readily agreed, but the decision wasn’t hers to make. Fortunately, Zaris and Valira were also descendants of the Bound, and Valira, having lost someone she loved to the Witherbeast, spoke on his behalf. So it was that Logan found herself on her way to the untamed north with an unusual entourage.

The land to which they were travelling was far beyond Vigil’s Peak and the Northern Anolayan Mountains, past even the formidable Broken Fang where the Legion of Blood’s stronghold was located. According to Yor’kesh legend, there was an ancient rift in the earth formed countless centuries ago, a fissure between two worlds—where the realm of spirits and the world of the living overlapped. It was this otherworldly crevasse that was their destination, the chasm where Witherbeast and other unearthly creatures were rumored to have originated. Deep within the heart of the Yor’kesh Highlands, this chasm had been seen by very few, human or elf. No accounts of the fissure’s actual location could be found; any hints existed only in age-old tales. One thing Logan knew for certain was that every battle with the Witherbeast in the past had begun somewhere in the far north, in the uncharted wilds of the Yor’kesh Highlands.

In the land that was reportedly created by the forest deities.

Their journey took them through the Black Mire, where the wet, spongy ground could swallow a person in minutes if one did not tread carefully. Once they were past the swamplands, the ground hardened and began to rise steadily, forming the foothills of the great, jagged peaks for which the Yor’kesh Highlands were known. The air became drastically cooler, as well, and after only a few hours in the mountainous terrain, the group was bombarded with a flurry of large, heavy snowflakes. Visibility was increasingly diminished as they ascended into high country, making walking across the rugged terrain treacherous. Once, one of the T’fanga lost his footing and nearly tumbled into a ravine filled with sharp rocks below the path. Logan was forced to call a halt until the weather cleared.

When the snow finally let up, it was well past nightfall, but the moonlight reflecting on the blanket of pure white enabled them to see well enough to continue their expedition. Weary and wary, the group climbed higher and higher into the night sky, until just before daybreak, when they at last crested the rugged mountain range.

Logan stared in awe at the foreign land stretching out for leagues before her. The ridges and valleys were broken and uneven, their appearance as harsh and unforgiving as the land’s reputation. She could see a strange glow on the horizon, a faint illumination against the still-dark sky. She recalled seeing this phenomenon before and dismissing it as having nothing to do with her. How long ago that seemed now. As she watched, the ghostly greenish light faded as shades of the pink and orange of dawn lit the sky.

“There it is.” Zaris pointed to a swath of shadow that ran across the rocky terrain like a jagged scar.

Logan couldn’t help her fascination as she looked upon the chasm, the unfathomable darkness within seeming to pulse with a life of its own. As if in response, her left arm began to throb in sync with the energy of the cursed land. If what she had heard was true, the powers of blood magic ran strong here. The way the dark energy seething in her arm seemed to be spreading, its presence slithering its way along her entire body, she had no reason to disbelieve the claim.

“We had better get moving if we want to reach the abyss before nightfall,” she said, hoping that no one noticed how she held her aching left arm against her chest protectively. Now was not the time to show weakness. These people were depending on her. Simone was depending on her. Although she doubted they could make the trip in a single day and still entertained doubts that she could thwart the powers of a deranged Blood Mage, she saw no sense in delaying the inevitable.

Slowly, solemnly, the group of warriors began their long descent into the shadowed heart of the Yor’kesh Highlands.

Simone cursed inwardly as her foot snagged on a gnarled tree root and she was pitched forward. She was beginning to doubt her decision to set out after Logan, alone and at night, and in a region where humans scarcely ever trod. Fighting the urge to sit down beneath the ancient twisted tree and cry, she brushed the leaves from her clothes and continued onward.

Logan and the others were venturing deep into the heart of a mysterious and dangerous land; Simone was aware of that much. However, she couldn’t sit helplessly by a campfire when she knew that she alone held some sort of key to bringing about the end of this long nightmare. Refusing to be a bystander while all those she loved risked their lives, Simone had decided then and there she would follow Logan into the bowels of the abyss if she had to prevent the carnage she’d seen in her visions from coming to pass. Vivienne was already a part of this, Corbin too, so Simone vowed to take her rightful place as a Norland and protect Anolaya from harm.

There was something else, as well. The glowing red symbols etched in Logan’s flesh had left a mark on Simone. When her fingers had made contact with the wreathed skin, a sensation was transported from Logan’s body to her own. It was both familiar and foreign, as if she had experienced the feeling before but not as herself. Which could only mean one thing: those sigils had been present in Simone’s dreams. As to what they meant, she could not say. She only knew that she needed to be with Logan, to be by her beloved’s side as she faced the one who had destroyed both their families.

Despite her quiet resolve, Simone wondered whether she had acted hastily. The journey into the highlands was a long and treacherous one, and the fact that she didn’t know the way was an added obstacle. Certainly one woman could never make it alone. But Simone was no ordinary woman; she had to remind herself of this at least a hundred times that first night in the wilderness. Whether or not the Norland blood ran strong in her remained to be seen, but regardless, she was a descendant of the Bound. These northern woods should be like home to her. Closing her eyes, Simone dug deep for that spark of familiarity, searching her soul for that primal connection to the forest that must surely lie buried within her.

Simone found what she was looking for, not in her connection to the land, but in her connection to Logan. In her mind she could see Logan plodding through a swamp, the black mud clinging to her boots and threatening to gobble her up at any second. The Black Mire, she thought, but was she even heading in the right direction? With a sinking sensation deep in her chest, she realized she didn’t even know the way back to the elves’ camp. The way things were going, she would probably be stuck out in the wilderness until one of the elves noticed she was missing and decided to track her. Or, she thought grimly, until a Witherbeast or some other wild creature caught her scent and found her wandering in the forest.

She knew what she must do, although the prospect didn’t seem at all appealing to her. This is for Logan, she reminded herself, slowly reaching behind her head to unclasp the chain that held her amulet in place. For everyone. The amulet slid down between her breasts before she could catch it, landing with a muted thud at her feet.

At first, nothing happened, at least nothing extraordinary. Fighting the urge to drop to her hands and knees and crawl around on the forest floor until she recovered the amulet, Simone breathed deeply in an attempt to steady her nerves. Not having the familiar weight at her throat was disconcerting. She felt naked as she stood in the strange forest, and it was a sensation that made her shiver against the chill breeze. It took some time before Simone realized the bone-deep shuddering wasn’t due to the cold. She now trembled so violently, she could scarcely stand. Her vision was clouded by a red haze, a crimson fog the same shade as fury, passion, the color of blood. Dropping to her knees, she groped in the dark for the discarded amulet, but the gloom in the forest was too deep for her eyes to penetrate.

It’s too late, a voice chided from the furthest reaches of her mind. Unknown, but strangely familiar, the three simple words made Simone squeeze her eyes shut and fight back the rising panic threatening to overwhelm her. It was too late. Knowing the repercussions she would face, she had willingly removed the amulet sealing her beastly presence, her dark heritage. Her body felt hot, as if it was burning from within. She was changing, and the most frightening part was that she was unsure whether there was any way to undo the transformation now that it had begun.

The forest reeled around her. The towering trees loomed overhead, seeming as though they would crash down on top of her. White-hot pain lanced through Simone’s body, and she collapsed upon the cushion of dry leaves. It was happening. The beast was taking over, and she was becoming that which she most despised.

Suddenly the world seemed to snap into focus. The unbearable pain racking Simone’s body subsided, and the world around her returned to normal. Except that it wasn’t normal. The sounds of the night were very clear and defined, and when she opened her eyes she found her nighttime vision had improved miraculously. It was all too much—the sounds, the colors, the smells. A sour scent assaulted her nostrils, making her want to cover her face and block it all out. Simone tried to raise her hand, and in that instant she realized that she no longer had arms, but muscular forelegs. Crying out in horror, the only sound that escaped her throat was a high-pitched whine. Her body was no longer her own, the arms and legs of the petite noblewoman replaced by the powerful legs of a Witherbeast. The elven furs hung in tatters from her own vivid red fur, ripped to shreds sometime during the agonizing transformation.

The sour smell drifted to her again, carried on a breeze. This time she recognized it as the scent of dry leaves and stagnant water. It was as if the land itself had reached out to her and was beckoning her. Deciding to make the most of her bizarre situation, she rose unsteadily and began to walk on wobbly legs. Following the smell, Simone came upon an area of dense undergrowth and trees filled with low hanging vines. The smell here was overpowering. Taking another step, she felt the ground suck at her foot, and she quickly retreated a few steps. Her paw was covered in the black mud of her vision. She had found the Black Mire.

There was a familiar scent underlying the sour odors of the swamp, one that stirred an intense longing in Simone’s heart. Sniffing furiously at the muddy ground, she knew there was no mistake. Logan had passed through here recently. At the edge of the bog, Simone found a set of mingled tracks accompanied by the massive paw prints of a Witherbeast. With her heightened sense of smell, she readily determined that the tracks belonged to Corbin and not some stray Witherbeast tracking the group of hunters. Her heart pounded joyfully at her small victory. She was on the right trail at last, and she had her family’s dark legacy to thank for it.

The world was eerily silent on the rocky land that led to the chasm, too silent for Logan’s comfort. Not a living creature could be seen or heard for leagues surrounding the otherworldly fissure, which Logan had found unnerving at first. However, now that she stood on the precipice of the deep abyss, she longed for the unearthly stillness of the barren wasteland. As she stared into the darkness, emotion raged and roiled within her. Something was calling to her, as though some unseen force was reaching out and tightening a cold, hard fist around her soul. The sigils burned into her flesh were struggling to answer the chasm’s dark call, and the pain was nearly enough to force Logan to her knees. Logan suddenly found it hard to breathe, a discomfort for which she gave little credit to the thinner air of the highlands.

“Do we really have to go in there?” Valira asked from behind her. “Such a sinister feeling emanates from within.”

“It is the only way,” Zaris said in a firm voice. Despite his attempts to appear brave in front of his underlings, Logan could see the way he trembled.

“So, where are the Witherbeast?” Logan asked. “I expected this place would be crawling with them. I have to admit, I do sense something writhing about within the void, but it doesn’t feel like Witherbeast. It feels... different. Peculiar.” It felt like the Bound, she suddenly realized. She recalled the odd sensations she was having when Corbin first appeared. What she felt now was very similar, only darker and fiercer.

She looked to Corbin sitting back on his haunches and peering over the edge of the chasm. Even sitting down, his head reached the shoulders of most of the elven warriors gathered there. Logan shuddered as she considered the ferocity of a beast with such supernatural power and human intelligence, and she was suddenly very grateful that he was on their side.

“I believe we are in the right place,” she announced. “There is a disturbance here. Something is altering the flow of energy. I think Armand has arrived before us.”

If Armand managed to successfully channel the immense dark energy enveloping this place, the consequences would be dire. Logan kept her grim thoughts to herself. Likely the elves had drawn similar conclusions and didn’t need to be reminded of just how slim their chances for victory were.

Suddenly Corbin sprang to his feet, his hackles raised as he stared intently into the darkness of the chasm.

“What is it?” Logan asked. With Corbin’s heightened senses, it was possible that he could detect an anomaly in the land’s energy that would be imperceptible to Logan and the others.

“Vivienne,” Corbin growled. “My sister has brought her pack of magically affected Witherbeast here. I can smell them.” He sniffed the air and rumbled low in his throat. “There are not many of them... Yet.”

“Undoubtedly she has the intention of dominating every female Witherbeast dwelling within this chasm,” Logan surmised, “and then breeding them with the rogue mages who have become her subordinates.”

“I see,” Zaris said. “Since the Blood Mage’s beasts are few, the danger is not imminent. It will take years for this rogue bella’nari to amass a pack large enough to wreak havoc on the land.”

Logan shook her head. “The real threat might not present itself this winter, as we initially feared, but within a few years’ time there could be an entire horde of these superior Witherbeast.” She turned to face her gathered warriors. “This must end here and now, before Simone’s dark visions have the chance to come to pass.”

Everyone’s attention was drawn to Corbin, who had begun to whimper and growl. He crouched low, his ears pressed flat against his skull. For an instant Logan believed the influence of the blood magic and the proximity of the chasm had proven too much for him, then she felt the tremor of hoof beats reverberating beneath her feet.

“The Legion!” Corbin yelped, and he turned and bounded for the only cover available. The mouth of the chasm seemed to swallow him up in a split second, leaving only the impenetrable darkness.

In a matter of minutes, the pounding of hooves grew louder and the Legion of Blood appeared, led by none other than Tibolt himself.

“Logan,” he said when he saw her standing among the elves, “I’m rather surprised that you survived your encounter with the Blood Mage.”

“Armand is here,” she stated matter-of-factly. What else was there for her to say to this man? If Armand spoke the truth, then the Legion of Blood was no more than an Order of Blood Mages, hiding behind their vow to uphold peace in Anolaya as a means to justify them using their dark powers.

“We almost apprehended him in the Valley of Mist,” she continued, “but not before his blood magic had taken its course. The mages traveling with him have been magically converted into a pack of Witherbeast, Witherbeast with the cunning and reasoning powers of humans. We believe those misbegotten individuals have returned here, to the place of the Witherbeast’s origin.” Logan chose not to disclose how Armand’s spell had affected her, as well.

“The chasm. Yes,” Tibolt mumbled. To his men, he said, “Prepare yourselves. We’re going in. These chimeras must be stopped before they can multiply.”

A violent, bone-deep shudder ran through Logan at his use of the offensive term. Tibolt noticed her discomfort and must have mistaken it for uncertainty. He smiled at her. “Good work, Logan.”

Logan was briefly reminded of the man who only very narrowly saved her from death before her mind snapped back to the present situation. Things had changed. Logan was no longer a wrongly accused child fated to suffer the consequences rightfully due to a rogue Blood Mage. She was a Blood Mage, although not by choice. Tibolt had lied to her. By snatching her from the executioner’s axe, the Legion of Blood had turned her into the very thing she had come to despise. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down around this man. Some of the acts she had committed could be interpreted as treason against the Legion of Blood, perhaps even against Anolaya itself.

Logan nodded to the T’fanga hunters as they filed down into the gaping mouth of the chasm behind the Legionnaires, her mind reeling with a multitude of questions.

“Who is Armand?” she asked, her voice low as she got right to the point. “And don’t tell me he is just some wandering Blood Mage. No rogue mage could be so powerful. And no mere rogue could possibly have so much information on the Legion of Blood. Some of the things Armand said were rather interesting, particularly the part about Legionnaires being nothing more than glorified Blood Mages.” Now that she had come this far, there was no turning back. Even if Tibolt killed her for asking, she must know the truth. “Do you know anything about this, Tibolt?”

Sighing, Tibolt followed her line of sight as the last of the elves entered the chasm. “He was once a promising young initiate,” he began. “Perhaps one of the most promising the Legion of Blood had seen in countless years. As you’ve probably guessed, he survived the Initiation, successfully mastering the taint of the Witherbeast’s blood.”

“So he really was a Legionnaire?” Logan wasn’t surprised. In fact, she had already suspected Armand’s words were the truth. It was the only rational explanation as to why Armand did not fear being infected by the Witherbeast with whom he worked so closely. “What happened?” she continued. “When did Armand become so bent on destroying Anolaya and everything for which it stands?”

“Perhaps the animosity was there all along, only I was too blind to see it.” Tibolt cleared his throat. “Or perhaps I am to blame.”

Logan shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“I promised Armand that I would protect him, but I wasn’t aware of the hatred he carried in his heart. Like you, Armand was imprisoned for practicing blood magic, except his crimes were real. Very real. Even as a child, he practiced the Dark Arts on family pets. Still, he was not arrested until he was caught experimenting with blood magic on a young child. Looking back now, knowing the sadistic cruelty he was capable of, it was a mistake for me to spare his life. It came as little surprise when Armand began once again practicing his skills using unwilling victims.”

“Unwilling victims?” Logan asked.

There was sadness in Tibolt’s voice as he spoke. “Shortly after becoming a Legionnaire, Armand resumed his practice of using human lives to experiment with his blood magic. When I confronted him about it, warned him that if he continued down this path he would be expelled from the Legion, he was furious.”

“Can one be discharged from the Legion of Blood?” Logan asked, wondering if perhaps there was a way for her to resign her duty. “I wasn’t aware of such a thing.”

“That’s because it is impossible. Once you pledge your life to the Legion, there is no turning back. As you’ve accurately deduced, the Legion of Blood is no more than an Order of Blood Mages. The only fate awaiting Armand for his unspeakable actions was, and still is, death.”

Logan felt her heart sink. Was there truly no way for her to be free of her ties to blood magic?

“Perhaps Armand will find the peace he seeks within the darkness of oblivion,” Tibolt continued. “He has become a mad dog. I never realized that in sparing his life, I would create such a monster.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Logan said, causing Tibolt to meet her gaze. “You were merely doing what you believed was right. And you made no mistake in recruiting me. I’ve sworn to defend Anolaya, and I have no intention of going back on my word.”

“Even after learning that we are little more than dirty Blood Mages who have learned to suppress our powers?” Tibolt asked, a faint smile touching the corners of his mouth.

Logan leveled her gaze at the old warrior. “I’ve been accused of worse. Now if you’ll excuse me, Sir, I have a sacred duty to fulfill.”

“Glad to hear it,” Tibolt said. “We have a trying battle ahead of us. It’s time for you to stop being a mere protector and become a true Legionnaire.”

Logan felt herself being torn in two directions—torn between her vow to perform the sacred duty of the Legion of Blood, and her promise to protect Simone at all costs. Blood Mages or not, she owed her life to the ancient Order, but her heart belonged to Simone. She was caught in the middle of two opposing sides. There could be no common ground, no truce between them. Logan knew she would be forced to choose one or the other.

By the time Simone crested the mountain range bordering the rocky wasteland of the Yor’kesh Highlands, the sun was rising over the distant horizon. She had been running all night to catch up with Logan and her party, and her progress so far was due in no small part to her new physical capabilities. In spite of how much she detested the beast she had become, Simone was aware she would never have made the trip in one night without the help of her dark heritage. It was little wonder that the mages of old had wished to acquire the strength and endurance of wild beasts. Her sides heaved with her panting, the pads of her feet ached from endless hours of running on the unforgiving ground, yet still she possessed enough stamina to press onward. There was to be no rest for the weary. As she looked out at the vast expanse of rugged terrain below, she caught a glimpse of a group of horsemen riding swiftly toward the north. Simone had the strong urge to make herself invisible. Slinking behind an outcropping of rock, she watched as the horsemen galloped across the unforgiving land.

Sniffing vigorously at the air, Simone caught the bitter, metallic scent of blood. She growled, a low, menacing sound that began in her chest and reverberated throughout her body. The Legion of Blood. Although Simone couldn’t say how she knew the identity of these riders from such a distance, she knew they were of the Legion. And they were heading in the same direction as Logan and her company of elven warriors.

Simone’s heart beat faster as she envisioned an image of Logan, suddenly confronted by the Legion of Blood and its wrath. Despite her aching and weary body, she urged herself forward, desperate to reach Logan before anything catastrophic happened.

The inside of the chasm depths pulsed and seethed with a dark energy. It felt to Logan as if the entire land in this region had a life of its own, and she was now in the womb of the great beast. And a womb it was, giving life to the Witherbeast and other strange creatures that prowled the night. It was surprisingly warm inside the chasm, almost hot, and beads of sweat popped out along Logan’s hairline.

Logan could sense them writhing about in the darkness, hundreds of Witherbeast lying in wait, watching the intruders in their den with keen interest and hunger. She could also sense the sharp, prickling sensation of the Bound, of Armand’s beasts, with an almost unbearable acuity. The whole place was suffocating, and Logan found herself with a desperate desire for fresh air. She clutched her head and tried to shut it all out.

“Stay strong, Logan,” Valira said as she came up behind Logan and placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “Don’t let this place get the better of you.”

Logan nodded and wondered to herself how Valira and the others could stand it. They were bella’nari. Some of the younger hunters were descendants of the infamous Bound, their beastly bloodlines weakened considerably throughout the generations, but some of the Elders of the clan, such as Darceus, were themselves the actual survivors of those dark days. How they could resist the allure of this place was beyond Logan. Even she, a half-breed, could feel dark forces tugging at her soul.

Perhaps it was due to her being a Legionnaire, she told herself. The Witherbeast blood had successfully mingled with her own, forever changing her. Forever tainting her. Could there ever be a life for her outside the Legion now that she had this stain on her soul? It seemed she was destined to be branded an outcast forever.

But Simone could see past her stigma, Logan reminded herself. Simone was stigmatized by her own unique heritage. The Bound would never be wholly accepted among the citizens of Anolaya, and in that aspect, Logan and Simone shared a similar fate. The people viewed them both as monsters. Their true place was with one another.

The Legionnaire leading the group called a halt as the nearby area was searched for any sign of Witherbeast. Due to the injury sustained in his previous encounter with Armand, Tibolt had been forced to remain outside the chasm, although Logan suspected the old Legionnaire was reluctant to stay behind while his squad risked their lives.

Logan was lost in thought, longing to be with her beloved Simone, when a chorus of bestial roars reverberated throughout the sweltering chasm, rattling the bones of all those gathered.

“Look sharp, everyone!” the Legionnaire called from the front of the group. “Our presence is known.”

No sooner had the words passed his lips, than the dark tunnel came to life with the sounds of battle. Logan unsheathed her sword and launched herself into the fray, her fears melted away in the face of her sudden overwhelming yearning to be free of this nightmare.

Images of blood and chaos swirled in her mind as she slashed her way through the horde, dark memories that threatened to overpower her sense of reason. Armand was there somewhere, the Blood Mage who had caused so much grief in Logan’s life. Logan needed only to find and slay him, and then she would at long last have her freedom.

In all the excitement, Logan nearly forgot about her promise to Simone to locate Vivienne before the Legionnaires could destroy her. She didn’t have to search; the alpha Witherbeast, Vivienne, found her. The huge reddish creature bounded toward her from across the dimly lit cavern inside the chasm. Vivienne struck out at a man holding a torch, casting the chamber into deeper darkness.

Logan didn’t need to see Vivienne to know she was there. She could sense her movements as she circled, sizing her up, until Logan’s own eyes adjusted to the darkness. Logan whirled around to face her challenger, but was too slow. Vivienne was a Bound, a creature of great power and reasoning transformed into a nightmarish abomination by blood magic. Even Logan’s heightened senses and finely honed abilities were no match for such a horrific creature.

Vivienne tackled Logan, pinning her to the ground with the weight of her body. Murder gleamed in her eyes as she held Logan down, her jaws parted in a feral grin of victory. Strands of saliva dripped from the beast’s fangs onto Logan’s breastplate as Vivienne suddenly flattened her ears against her head and snarled. The snarls sounded vaguely like human words, but Logan couldn’t comprehend their meaning. Apparently Vivienne did not possess her brother’s speech capabilities. Or perhaps her mind had been degraded by the influence of blood magic. Whatever the reason, it was obvious to Logan that Vivienne was intent on the kill, even if she would endanger her own life in doing so. She was prepared to risk everything to ensure her pack’s survival, just as Logan was ready to sacrifice herself to protect Simone.

Logan brought her sword up in a defensive maneuver, only to have it knocked away by a lash of Vivienne’s great paw, which she brought to rest on Logan’s right forearm, pinning it to the ground in an inescapable position. Vivienne didn’t let up, not even when Logan flailed at her with her free arm. The Witherbeast lunged for Logan’s throat in one swift motion, her fangs bared and ready for the kill. Logan flinched away from the glistening fangs at the last second, and Vivienne’s maw clamped shut a few scant inches from her jugular.

Logan felt her armor compressing under the force of the Witherbeast’s powerful jaws, crushing painfully against her collarbone. The metal began to warp and rend beneath the pressure. Logan felt the first scratch of Vivienne’s fangs through her chain mail and twisted violently to one side in an attempt to dislodge herself from the Witherbeast’s grasp. The erratic movement only served to drive Vivienne’s teeth deeper, piercing flesh as the armor crumpled inward. Logan felt the intense searing pain as shards of twisted metal and fangs lacerated her shoulder.

Spirits of the Forest, preserve me, she thought desperately, repeating a phrase she had heard the elves use many times. If ever I needed your assistance, that time would be now.

Logan waited for what seemed an eternity for the deities to answer, half expecting Vivienne to be flayed alive by the sheer power of their will. To her dismay, nothing happened. Not even the sigils on her left arm reacted to her plight.

Vivienne’s blood red eyes bored into Logan’s, the force of the beast’s hatred pinning her where she lay, blood-soaked and ragged in that dark cave. For a brief moment, Logan wished she knew how to activate the sigils, how to call upon the dark power of the Wrath of Flames. Then the darkness around her became clouded with a blood red haze as Logan’s vision began to blur.

Simone sensed the first wave of the Witherbeast attack as a cold chill that rushed down her spine. Images flashed into her mind, unbidden and while her eyes were open, of a dark place filled with carnage and destruction. An unidentifiable energy crackled in the air, empowering the combatants and giving Simone an intense headache.

The moon was rising over the horizon, and already Simone could see the ghostly light from the chasm dancing eerily against the night sky. It was no longer the ghastly shade of green from her visions. The light was now stained a deep red, the color of spilled blood. Simone shivered at the implications of this phenomenon and instinctively picked up the pace.

Suddenly a very familiar visage flashed before her mind’s eye, twisted and contorted in pain and agony so great it made Simone’s heart weep. Something truly traumatic must have been going through Logan’s mind to affect her so. Another familiar image followed immediately after Logan, one of Vivienne, changed by the influence of Armand and his accursed blood magic. Vivienne’s pretty features became grotesque and elongated, until Vivienne had become a Witherbeast in Simone’s mind. The vision of the transformation elicited a bone-deep shudder from Simone. To see someone so familiar and adored become something so horrific was truly disturbing. Vivienne raised one immense paw and smacked at an indiscernible figure caught beneath her with great force.

Simone’s heart lurched as Vivienne made contact with her unfortunate prey, and she knew without a doubt the identity of this poor victim. Logan! her mind wailed. And in that instant, all the pain and doubt and fear melted away until only her quiet resolve remained. Logan needed her, and Simone knew what she must do in order to stop Vivienne, to put an end to this.

She was all lean muscle and raw energy now, racing toward the ghastly light on long, powerful legs. She reached the entrance quicker than she ever imagined she could. There were strong forces at work here, of that much she was sure. The place reeked of Witherbeast, and beyond that lay the stench of blood and gore. Simone’s keen nose locked on to one scent amid all the others, and she rushed off to find its source. What she found made her freeze in her tracks.

Logan lay motionless, pinned to the cold hard earth by the weight of the beastly Vivienne. Deep gashes ran along her left cheek, and her armor had been shredded and was gouging into her skin. Blood oozed from her wounds, the dark blotches standing out in stark relief against the darkness of the cavern.

Simone lowered her head and rumbled low in her throat, a ferocious, primal sound that immediately drew Vivienne’s attention. Startled to find herself faced with another challenger, Vivienne slowly relented in her torment of Logan and turned to face Simone. There was nothing left of her elder sister, Simone realized, not even in her eyes as there had been with Corbin. Vivienne was gone, replaced by this insatiable, bloodthirsty monster that had been altered by forbidden magic. Simone doubted Vivienne even recognized her, instead seeing her as no more than a threat to her dominance. Simone’s heart wept for her sister, but she knew what she had to do. And she must do it quickly, otherwise there might be no chance left for Logan.

She put one paw forward, making the first advance as she and Vivienne circled one another. Simone sprang forward suddenly, catching her sister completely off guard. She grabbed Vivienne by the ruff and shook hard, using her momentum to force Vivienne on to her side. Vivienne’s belly and throat were exposed only briefly before Vivienne kicked out with her hind legs and sent Simone rolling away from her. Simone came to a halt a few paces out of Vivienne’s reach, where she crouched low and awaited the next attack. Vivienne was back on her feet in seconds, her jaws snapping and frothing furiously as she dared Simone to attempt another such foolish maneuver.

This was no ordinary Witherbeast, Simone reminded herself. This was a Bound, her own sister, physically and mentally transformed by the misuse of blood magic. Defeating her would not be simple. Vivienne was the alpha, the queen of these beasts, and Simone was now presenting the first real challenge to her hitherto undisputed reign. This battle would not be resolved without bloodshed; it would be fought to the death. Whatever the outcome, it would ultimately prove who had the greater desire to live, Simone or Vivienne. Simone thought she heard Logan shift slightly behind her. She had insinuated herself between Logan and Vivienne in order to protect her love. Simone had no desire to rule over a horde of Witherbeast, she wanted only one thing, and that was to remain by Logan’s side for many years to come. Girding her resolve with her reason to live, her reason to fight, she charged forward once again, hoping to catch Vivienne off guard with the sheer fervor of her attack.

Vivienne was a formidable opponent and was not to be taken down so easily. Intercepting Simone’s attack, she flung her younger sister to the ground and began savaging her with fangs and claws. Simone had never experienced such intense pain; she yelped and whined in spite of herself. Vivienne rolled Simone onto her back, where Simone’s throat was dangerously exposed to Vivienne’s lethal canines.

Simone realized her situation and held Vivienne back with her front paws the best she was able, but Vivienne had the advantage of gravity on her side and was using her weight to press down on Simone. Simone couldn’t hold her off much longer. Her forelegs were bent at a painful angle, and she could not reach for Vivienne’s throat without feeling Vivienne’s fangs upon her muzzle. Just as Simone feared she was overmatched, Vivienne suddenly pitched forward, but Simone did not find her sister’s fangs at her throat.

Vivienne landed heavily against Simone, crushing her to the rocky ground with immense force. But, Simone realized, that weight was not entirely Vivienne’s own. Logan had regained consciousness and lunged at Vivienne while her back was turned. Vivienne was impaled on Logan’s broadsword, the tip jutting through her right shoulder.

All of Vivienne’s focus was now diverted to dislodging Logan’s blade from her body. Simone lay completely forgotten as her sister whipped her head around and snapped furiously at Logan. Logan was unrelenting, her form glistening sleek and powerful in the dim light from the Legionnaires’ fires in the distance. The more Vivienne struggled, the deeper Logan plunged her sword, and Vivienne’s attempts grew increasingly frantic and futile. As Vivienne growled and thrashed in desperation, Logan shifted her weight, positioning herself for the final slice that would end Vivienne’s struggle for all time.

In a last attempt to regain control of the battle, Vivienne rose onto her hind legs, causing Logan’s hold on her to weaken. The sword ripped free of Vivienne’s body in a spray of blood, and Logan was sent staggering back a few paces as Vivienne swung her paw at her. Despite her injuries, Logan was lithe and swift, and she quickly regained her composure as Vivienne at last whirled around to face her.

Torchlight from the distance illuminated the two combatants, and for the first time Simone had a clear view of the action. Vivienne was furious. Her eyes glowed red in the low light, pinning Logan with the hatred of a thousand angry demons. Simone could feel her sister’s fury as she struggled to her feet. Despite Logan’s bravery, it was clear to Simone that it was all the Legionnaire could do just to remain standing. Her arms trembled as she brought her sword up in a defensive position, readying herself for Vivienne’s next attack. Simone watched in frozen fascination as Logan and Vivienne circled each other, each looking for the elusive opening that would give her the advantage in battle. Logan was injured and weary, but she was still a force to be reckoned with. Her long limbs were slender, but there was definite power contained within that rangy body. The months of training with the Legion of Blood had honed her into a finely tuned instrument of justice. Logan was not to be underestimated. It would be the downfall of any opponent foolish enough to do so.

As powerful as Vivienne had become, even she hesitated as she stared at Logan. No Witherbeast could match her in strength, not even the false Bound Armand had created from his followers. And she was being bested by this injured, almost half-dead human. And Logan was seriously injured; Simone could smell the blood. She also noted how Logan carefully guarded her right side, keeping it averted from Vivienne’s claws.

Simone wasn’t the only one to notice. As if sensing Logan’s weakness, Vivienne bared her fangs in a facsimile of a grin her facial muscles could no longer execute. Feigning an attack on Logan’s preferred side, Vivienne leapt sideways at the last second, lunging for the fresh wounds on Logan’s right. Logan howled in fury and pain, collapsing to the ground as a spray of blood erupted from her right side. Vivienne was on her in seconds, sinking her teeth into the tender flesh and extending the raw, bloody wound tracks.

Logan’s cries were filled with sorrow and regret for her failure, a mournful sound which drove an exhausted Simone to her feet. She slammed into Vivienne’s side as Logan struggled to prevent Vivienne’s fangs from finding a hold on her throat. The force of Simone’s attack tore Vivienne away, and she and Simone went tumbling for several paces before they finally came to rest.

Simone’s jaws were closed around Vivienne’s throat, ready to make the kill at a second’s notice. Images of her elder sister and how things had been between them flashed through her mind, and for a moment, she hesitated, unable to administer the fatal bite. But Vivienne refused to relent, the magic corrupting her blood forcing her to fight until either she or her opponents were dead. Simone whined her pity, and then brought her jaws together tightly. Blood gushed into her mouth, foul, bitter blood tainted by Armand’s influence. Vivienne continued to struggle in Simone’s grip for a few minutes more, then lay still, her body drained of its life force.

Her muzzle soaked in her sister’s blood, Simone pulled away and looked to Logan. Logan had pulled herself into a sitting position, her sides heaving from the exertion. She watched Simone with eyes filled with caution. Simone couldn’t begrudge Logan her apprehension. In her current state, she must surely look a fright.

“Is that really you, Simone?” Logan asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Unable to answer, Simone whined and dipped her head in what she hoped Logan would interpret as a nod. Forming words with her transformed mouth and vocal cords was a task for which she wasn’t ready, and one for which she would have to remember to commend Corbin. Assuming they all escaped the chasm with their lives. Even with the threat of Vivienne removed, Armand was still at large, and as long as he lived, there would be no end to his wickedness. And the cavern was still crawling with the Legion of Blood, any one of which wouldn’t hesitate to end Simone’s—or maybe even Logan’s—life.

Logan rose unsteadily to her feet and staggered a few steps toward Simone, and Simone had to fight the urge to go to her. It was highly likely that Logan still had reservations about being rescued by a Witherbeast. Simone’s ears perked up as she heard a voice in the distance, a voice she had come to loathe. Logan heard it too, and looked in the direction of the outlandish chanting.

“Armand,” she said through gritted teeth.

Laying her ears back, Simone growled her hatred for the man who had ruined her family.

“We have to stop him,” Logan said as she moved toward the sound of the voice.

Growls from the darkness froze Simone in her tracks. A group of Witherbeast had apparently managed to elude the elves and the Legionnaires and was now closing the distance between themselves and Logan. Undoubtedly they smelled the blood from Logan’s battle with Vivienne. Witherbeast were drawn to the scent of death and chaos.

Positioning herself between the approaching Witherbeast and Logan, Simone swung her head in a gesture that urged Logan to go ahead without her. Also aware of their unseen visitors, Logan clutched her sword in a white-knuckled grip and hesitated, obviously uncertain whether she wanted to leave Simone behind. In an effort to reassure her, Simone opened her mouth and panted laughter. She watched as Logan faded into the darkness, not feeling at all as certain about Logan’s chances as she did about her own. Logan’s injuries were severe. If she encountered any stray Witherbeast in the cave ahead, Simone didn’t think her body could withstand another fight. And Armand was little better. Even though he was human, his extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts made him deadly, perhaps even more deadly than the advanced Witherbeast he sought to create.

The Witherbeast were in view now; Simone counted three of them. They circled the corpse of their fallen alpha, emitting fierce snarls of anger at their leader’s death. Keeping her presence unknown until the last second, Simone lay in wait as the Witherbeast cast about for the scent of the one responsible for this killing. These Witherbeast were hunting Logan. If they managed to catch her, they would tear her to shreds without regard for their own lives.

Just let them try. Simone lowered her muzzle and prepared to pounce as the first of the Witherbeast neared her position.

Logan’s right side was streaked with gore. Blood dripped from deep red gashes made by Vivienne’s claws, and bits of metal from Logan’s ruined armor were still lodged in her flesh. The pain was unbearable, but in spite of it, Logan couldn’t tear her thoughts away from the bizarre scene she had just left. A Witherbeast had rescued her, a Witherbeast that, despite its horrific appearance, seemed heartrendingly familiar. She had ordered Simone to stay with the T’fanga, where Elder Darceus could keep her safe. Simone wasn’t always the most obedient when it came to such matters, but still, it was hard for Logan to imagine sweet, innocent Simone becoming the savage beast she had seen only minutes before.

With each step, Logan descended deeper into the bowels of the chasm. Each step brought her closer to the madness and despair of the Witherbeast. She could feel her mind clouding over, like a dense fog was enveloping her senses. Was the dark power within the place calling to the beast’s blood inside her? Or was the feeling something else entirely? Her left arm burned, the sigils seethed, as each step brought her closer to Armand and the source of the unfettered energy that circulated throughout the cave.

Logan found Armand in the very heart of darkness itself, an inner chamber of the chasm. Splatters of blood stained the rock walls red, and the cave floor was bedecked with the bones and severed limbs of the victims of the Witherbeast. The scent of death permeated the air, so much so that Logan’s heightened senses were nearly overpowered. Envisioning Simone eagerly awaiting her return, she fought down the dark power that threatened to consume her and pressed onward.

Armand, who had seemed totally entranced by his own incantations, opened his eyes and turned his head toward Logan. “If it isn’t the lady Legionnaire,” he said, his eyes still glazed over with the effects of the spell.

Wasting not a single moment, Logan drew her sword and pointed it at Armand. “It’s over, Blood Mage. Whatever you hoped to accomplish by coming here will not come to pass. I’ll personally see to that.”

“Arrogant fool,” Armand said. “You think just because you managed to thwart my plans once, I will be so easily defeated? Tell me, Legionnaire, how does it feel to be in possession of the Wrath of Flames, to have its infinite power flowing through your body?”

Logan tightened her grip on her sword as she held it with both hands, an exertion which caused her to wince at the pain in her left arm.

Armand sneered. “Are you even aware of the powers you now wield?” he asked. “By harnessing the destructive force of the Wrath of Flames, you have the strength to crush the world beneath your feet. You’ve been wronged by so many, branded an outcast and a traitor by all those around you. Why not use the power, Legionnaire? At your command, you could reduce this pathetic wasteland to a pile of rubble.”

“As I’ve said before, I’m not like you,” Logan stated firmly. “Have you forgotten, Blood Mage, it is in part because of you that I’ve suffered so unjustly? You murdered my family and your subordinates and left me with blood on my hands. Because of you, I lost everyone I loved and spent over a decade in prison for crimes I didn’t commit.” She raised her sword, aiming the tip at Armand’s head. “Maybe now some of that darkness will be lifted.”

“Ha! You think the curse will be lifted by killing me? What a fool!” Armand’s expression sobered. “You are the wielder of the Wrath of Flames, an agent of destruction. There is nowhere in this land you can run, or any action you can take to change your fate. You will die, Legionnaire. Even if you choose not to employ your immense power, the flames will consume you, eating away at your life force over time. Like it or not, you are like me, a Blood Mage destined for a path of chaos and destruction.”

“If that is how it must be, then so be it,” Logan said. “However, I don’t plan on letting myself expire before I’ve dealt with you.” Rushing forward before Armand could react, she closed the distance between herself and the Blood Mage with incredible speed.

Armand watched, unflinching, as Logan raised her great sword and prepared to sever his head. “Haven’t I warned you before, Legionnaire? Taking me down will not be so easy.” Bringing up his right hand, Armand stopped Logan’s blade as easily as if he were swatting a fly.

Too late, Logan realized her mistake. An arc of blood sprayed into the air when her sword sliced into Armand’s palm. Droplets of crimson hit the floor, where they mingled with the bloodstains of the Witherbeast’s prey.

“The spell is complete,” Armand announced with pride. “I must express my gratitude, Legionnaire. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

The walls of the cave glowed red and began to pulse with life. It was like the sensation Logan had experienced earlier, only magnified tenfold. “What is this?” she asked, backing away from Armand as he, too, began to pulse with the eerie light.

“My spell is complete,” he repeated. “Now, at long last, I shall be able to attain the power I’ve sought for so long.”

All the blood in the chamber flowed to Armand, enveloping the Blood Mage in a shroud of crimson. At a second glance, Logan realized that not all of the severed limbs had belonged to humans. Remains of Witherbeast and other creatures also littered the cave floor. Trying to avoid being caught in the flow of energy, she leapt aside, clinging to a boulder for dear life. The blood flowed around her like a river. It was as though the very cave itself had come to life and was writhing, coiling its way around Armand.

Logan felt the sharp prickle between her eyes, the sensation of detecting nearby Witherbeast, only intensified. The pain was so great, she nearly blacked out, and her grip on the stone loosened. Regaining her balance at the last second, she pulled herself up onto the rock, away from the river of blood and the power that threatened to consume her. For a fleeting instant, she wondered where so much blood could possibly be coming from. She didn’t need to ponder long before she had her answer.

The Legion of Blood.

With the Legionnaires and the Witherbeast locked in fierce battle, there would be no shortage of blood, the fuel for the Blood Mage’s spell. Armand was using the situation to his advantage. The Legion, the T’fanga, the Witherbeast, even Armand’s own variant of the Bound, such as Vivienne, all would provide the thriving life force required for Armand to work his magic. Logan had led the T’fanga here with the intent of bringing Armand’s madness to an end. Instead, she had led them to their deaths. Knowing that she had failed awakened a sense of despondency in Logan like none she had ever felt. Knowing and being able to do nothing about it made her furious.

Biting back the rage that threatened to overwhelm her, she turned her gaze toward Armand. The Blood Mage was nowhere to be seen. A large, oblong sphere stood in his stead. The carnage from the ongoing battles had converged and formed a cocoon around Armand. Logan gasped as the mass of blood and viscera pulsed and glowed with a sinister inner light. She gritted her teeth and clutched her sword more tightly as she held on to her rocky perch. She must end this before Armand achieved whatever it was he hoped to gain from his ghastly metamorphosis. Pulling herself to her feet atop the large rock, she searched for a way to the Blood Mage without making contact with the cave floor. She leapt to another rock jutting above the flow of blood and dark energy, then tottered dangerously to the side. The last time she had come between Armand and his magic, she had been forever altered. She couldn’t afford to fall victim to another of his spells.

Once she was within striking distance of the fleshy orb, Logan hesitated, unsure of her next action. The cocoon was surrounded by a dark energy, similar to the sensation she had experienced upon first entering the chasm. Likely Armand had created a barrier around himself, she finally decided. Whatever he hoped to achieve, he probably didn’t want to risk being interrupted before it was completed. Logan dared not make contact with the barrier for fear of what might happen to her as a result. The only way to get to Armand was to find some way to disrupt the barrier. Logan wished she knew how to interrupt the flow of energy long enough to land one good sword strike.

Her attention was drawn to the cocoon as it began to writhe, stretching and contracting as though something on the inside was trying to get out. Logan jumped back to her previous rock refuge, placing distance between herself and the obscene chrysalis. The oblong shape twisted and contorted, the outer wall stretching thin as whatever was inside struggled for freedom. Logan steadied herself and prepared for anything. She didn’t know what might emerge from such a vile construction of blood magic, but she doubted it was going to be a butterfly.

She was nearly tossed back from the force of impact as the fleshy pod burst open, the magical barrier around it shattering with explosive force. Logan braced herself as a blast of hot, foul air buffeted her, bringing with it the reek of death and blood, and something else Logan couldn’t quite put a name to. Squinting against the gale of fetid air, it was hard to discern the mysterious shapes moving about against the darkness of the cave. Logan’s grip on her sword slipped, and she realized she was soaked with blood and gore from the cocoon’s explosion. The flow of blood had ceased, she noticed. Aside from the ghastly wind and the swirling bits of entrails that still danced in the air, it was eerily quiet in the chamber. After several agonizing moments of the maddening silence, Logan was able to see one dark shape which stood out from the surrounding gloom.

It was the most horrific creature Logan had ever laid eyes on. Its body was covered in shaggy fur like a Witherbeast, yet its head remained grotesquely human. Huge, curving horns, like a mountain sheep’s, further accentuated the monstrosity, lending it a beastly appearance like nothing Logan had ever seen before. It was a demon out of a nightmare. As she stared in horror at the creature, her sword nearly slipped from her hand. Just what sort of spell had Armand cast upon himself? Was his metamorphosis into this beast part of his plan, or had his beloved blood magic backfired on him at last?

As Logan stood contemplating all the reasons why such a monster might appear in this world, the beast finally detected her presence. It swung its massive head in her direction, and to Logan’s eternal surprise, it laughed.

“What’s wrong, Legionnaire?” it asked, once its fit of laughter was over. “Have you lost your nerve now that you’ve seen what true power looks like?”

Still unable to fathom that such an abomination could speak, Logan did not reply. Something in the voice sounded distinctly like Armand, even though the Blood Mage was otherwise entirely unrecognizable.

“Take a good look,” Armand jibed. “Tremble in fear in my moment of glory. Witness for yourself the true meaning of despair.”

“You wanted this from the beginning,” Logan said. “Becoming this monster was your intention all along. You used Vivienne Norland in order to gain her powers, just as you used your followers and even the Legion of Blood. How many must you betray before your madness is done?”

“You’re very perceptive. I must admit, it was nice having the company of a lady as lovely as Vivienne Norland. However, I no longer have a use for such a luxury. My power is at its apex! What use could such trivial sentimentalities have for a magnificent being such like me? I believe you know what I am talking about. You’ve felt it too, haven’t you? The tremendous power, the otherworldliness—both traits that separate us from everyone else.”

Logan assumed Armand’s transformation had made him even more perceptive to magic elements. “Circumstances have shaped me into a rather unusual woman,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll never find a place I truly belong and will forever be an outsider. But that is where I am different from you. If I am fated to always be alone, then so be it. It is no one’s fault. It’s just the way I am.”

“How noble of you,” Armand said. “I never expected you to be such a fool. The destructive force of the Wrath of Flames is in your hands, yet you refuse to use it. You could make the world quake in awe and terror at your might. You could become a queen!”

A sardonic grin slowly spread across Logan’s face. “What use would someone like me have with such a fancy title?”

“So power means nothing to you, then? In that case, you are right—we are different. I’ve been wronged, imprisoned and branded an outcast, a traitor, but I hold no forgiveness for my enemies.” The beast narrowed his eyes at Logan. “As long as you stand in my way, Legionnaire, I consider you an enemy. If our past encounters have proven anything, it’s that you are an adversary worth destroying. But I’m not so cruel as to let you suffer as you have at the hands of so many. It will be over soon.”

At last regaining her confidence, Logan raised her sword. “Yes, it will,” she said. “Only I’m not the one dying here today. I won’t let you betray anyone ever again.”

“Impudence!” the beastly voice boomed. “Since you obviously haven’t realized your situation yet, allow me to show you just how outmatched you are.”

With that, Armand tossed back his head and let out a deafening roar. The cave trembled as Armand’s voice reverberated around the chamber and a few stalactites rained down from above. The sound made Logan’s head feel as if it would split open.

Ignoring the pounding in her skull from the beastly Armand’s demonstration, she said, “Unless you intend to defeat me with your voice, I suggest you try a different approach.”

“You will use the power which you so despise,” Armand said once he ceased his howling. “The only way to fight blood magic is with blood magic. Didn’t Tibolt explain this to you?”

Logan made no reply. Somehow she already knew she would be forced to use blood magic in order to win this battle, and the prospect wasn’t appealing to her. Lifting her left arm, she imagined the sigils etched into her skin. How was she to control a power that had taken the lives of so many great mages before her?

A rumble of laughter from the monstrous Armand brought her attention back to him. “Tempting, isn’t it?” His beastly features twisted into a sneer. “It would seem that even you can’t possess a power as great as the Wrath of Flames without facing temptation. Too bad you’re no Blood Mage, as you’ve averred countless times. But don’t expect me to go easy on you in consideration of your ignorance.”

Armand’s clawed fingertips began glowing, a detail Logan noticed too late.

Caught off guard, she had no time to react. Lightning erupted from Armand’s fingers and struck her metal breastplate, sending her flying from her perch on the rock. She rolled when she hit the ground, continuing until she was stopped by a stalagmite jutting up from the cave floor. Fighting the darkness of oblivion that wanted to swallow her, Logan struggled to her feet. The world reeled around her, threatening to go dark at any second. Glancing down, Logan saw that her ruined breastplate was charred and smoking where Armand’s lightning attack had struck her.

A flash of light made her look up in time to see another shaft of lightning snaking its way across the cavern. Leaping out of the way at the last instant, Logan managed to avoid being hit a second time. The lightning struck the stalagmite Logan had used to support herself only seconds before and blasted the rock to bits.

Forest Spirits, preserve me, Logan thought as she took cover behind another rock formation. If she were to take the brunt of one of Armand’s attacks head-on, it would all be over. Despite the supernatural healing abilities gained after the Initiation, being tossed around by the force of Armand’s magic had reopened the wounds she’d sustained in her battle with the Witherbeast Vivienne, and all this leaping around wasn’t helping any. She looked at the sword in her right hand. As fine a weapon as it was, it looked as if it would be inadequate in a fight against such a monster.

“In order to fight beasts, you must become a beast.” The saying of the Legion of Blood sprang unbidden into her mind, reminding her that she wasn’t out of options just yet. If she did not resort to the blood magic she despised and use the Wrath of Flames, she had no hope of winning this fight. But how was she to intentionally call upon a power that she had never before used?

Blood. The Wrath of Flames was an instrument of blood magic, perhaps one of the greatest and most terrible ever created. She looked at her armor, blood-soaked and ragged from her battles. After having lost so much blood already, would she be able to survive using the spell?

Another blast of lightning struck the remainder of the stalagmite that shielded Logan, sending a shower of gravel raining down on her. Trying to channel the dark power coursing through her, she stood and confronted the mage.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she taunted. “If you truly want to crush the world, it’s going to take much more than what you have exhibited so far.”

“I’ll swat you like an insect!” he bellowed.

The entire chasm trembled at the sound of his voice, but Logan stood her ground. Even as Armand concentrated all his energy into creating his most powerful attack yet, she didn’t so much as flinch. An orb of sparkling energy shimmered between his massive hands, slowly growing as it gathered strength. As if in response to the magical energies permeating the place, Logan’s left arm became warm, as though an inner fire was trying to burn its way to the surface. She’d already used the Wrath of Flames twice. If its power increased with each use, as Elder Darceus had said, then this attack could very well kill her. So be it. Even knowing the possible outcome, she was willing to risk everything to take down Armand and protect Anolaya. To protect Simone.

Perfect, she thought, carefully lining up her shot. It’s now or never.

Gazing down the length of her left arm, she opened her palm and aimed in the direction of Armand. At her will, a blaze of flame erupted from her hand, shattering the darkness of the cave and searing through all it touched like the fires of the Underworld. The force of the blast felt strong enough to tear Logan limb from limb, and she saw the armor covering her left arm disintegrate, turned to ash by the sheer power of the flame. Blood sprayed from the sigils and swirled in the air around her, splattering her face. Crying out at the intense, searing pain, Logan fought to retain consciousness, knowing that if she blacked out, it would be the end of her. Holding on with all her might, she channeled her energy to the palm of her left hand. The torrent of flame burst forth, growing in size and strength the more she concentrated her efforts.

Armand returned fire, sending the ball of lightning hurtling toward her. Their orbs collided in midair, fire and lightning wrestling like live entities as each mage struggled for dominance. Logan held her ground, focusing every ounce of energy she possessed into her devastating power. Fire eventually won, smothering the lightning and engulfing the entire cave in a wall of flame. Too distracted by his defeat to avoid the head-on attack, Armand was caught in the inferno.

It was ironic, Logan thought, that after all these years of being wrongly accused of being a Blood Mage, she had resorted to using blood magic to protect the very land which had accused her. Fate worked in mysterious ways.

Once the flames died down, Logan thought she detected movement in the darkness. A pile of smoldering rubble twitched, and her eyes beheld what remained of Armand. The monstrous form of the Blood Mage struggled against his injuries and the unimaginable pain he must be experiencing, futilely trying to regain his feet and continue the battle. Logan very nearly felt pity for the sad creature, a man so blinded by his own dark ambitions that he had fueled his own demise. His fur had been singed away, revealing skin burnt to ash by the Wrath of Flames. The hulking beast collapsed to the floor, jerking a few more times before becoming completely still.

Logan sighed. It was over. She had won. She had called upon the power of the Wrath of Flames, and she was still alive. For now. As if she’d been drained of her vital energy, a weakness washed over her, her bones creaking at the mere effort to remain on her feet. She sank to the ground and rested her back against a rock. After such a trying battle, she only wanted to shut her eyes, just for a while.

Logan’s eyelids fluttered open a few times before she finally gave in and let the darkness of sleep overtake her.

Simone could feel her heart sinking with each step she took. As she neared the heart of the dark chasm, she became aware of an unfamiliar energy permeating the air. It was oppressive, dark and foreboding like thunderclouds.

Shortly after Logan set out in pursuit of Armand, Simone had been joined by the T’fanga bella’nari, led by none other than Elder Darceus herself. With the T’fanga’s help, Simone was able to quickly take down the stray Witherbeast. Once the battle was won, Elder Darceus had once again transformed from beast to woman before Simone’s very eyes. Surprisingly, after her transformation was complete, the Elder produced a second amulet from the pouch she wore, an amulet which she offered to Simone.

“I believe this is yours,” she said. “I found it lying some distance from here, as though you abandoned it rather swiftly. You should be more careful where you leave such a valuable resource.”

Taking the amulet in her clawed hand, Simone slipped it around her neck. The transformation was more awkward this time. Simone was no longer powered by an adrenaline rush as she had been earlier, and now she could feel every bone, every muscle, even every hair, as her body altered from its beastly shape. There were tears in her eyes by the time the transition was complete. She wiped at her eyes, smearing the blood and grime that still clung to her skin.

“This is also for you,” Darceus said, reaching for a furry cloak one of her warriors was carrying.

Now that the pain of her transformation was subsiding, Simone realized she was standing before the elves completely naked. Accepting the proffered cloak without a moment’s hesitation, she quickly wrapped it around herself. The elves pretended not to notice her modesty.

“The decisive battle should be drawing to a close,” Darceus said, gazing absently in the direction Logan had taken.

Simone’s heart nearly stopped. “Do you think Logan will be the victor?”

“Only the deities know.”

If Darceus knew anything, it was obvious that she had no intention of speaking of it.

That was when Simone heard the explosion. A blast of heat buffeted them, its point of origin somewhere deeper within the cave. Unable to bear the uncertainty a second longer, she rushed off down the tunnel leading deeper into the chasm without a second thought.

Simone thought she could feel the Elder and the others behind her, but she didn’t pause to look back. Logan was somewhere up ahead, somewhere dreadfully close to the source of the strange feeling that was creeping over Simone.

The tunnel suddenly opened up into a spacious chamber, a cavern formed naturally at the center of the chasm. Simone stopped in her tracks. Evidence of a fire covered most of the chamber. Rocks had warped and melted from the intense heat, and the ground was scorched. Whatever had transpired here had happened recently, she deduced, feeling the heat beneath her bare feet. In fact, the further she ventured into the chamber, the harder it became to walk on the still-smoldering ground. Biting back a whimper at the pain, she felt despair settle over her. Logan was nowhere amidst the chaos. Keeping to the outer edge of the chamber, where the ground wasn’t as hot, she slowly made her way around to the other side.

Simone’s eyes settled on something right in the center of the chamber, a large, unmoving shape crumpled on the ground. It was far too large and ghastly to be human. As her progress afforded her a better angle for viewing the hulking form, Simone was able to see the curving horns, the bestial countenance. Wondering what had happened there, she almost didn’t see a second figure slumped against a rock at the edge of the scorched zone.

“Logan!” Forgetting the pain of the heat, Simone ran toward the motionless Legionnaire. As she drew closer, she noted that the armor on Logan’s left arm was missing, leaving the red tattoos plainly visible. Simone thought they had changed somehow since the last time she saw them. They seemed brighter now, more vivid. Logan didn’t appear to be breathing, and Simone quickly dismissed the markings. Kneeling next to Logan, she checked for any sign of life. When she took Logan’s wrist in her hand to check for a pulse, Logan began to stir.

She was asleep, Simone thought, alarmed that Logan could close her eyes for even a second in this place. Breathing a sigh of relief, she grasped Logan’s hand more firmly.

“Simone?” Logan asked as soon as she opened her eyes. “What are you doing here? I thought I told you to wait for me at the T’fanga camp.” Her eyes suddenly clouded over, and she grew thoughtful. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the one who saved me before.”

“I had no other choice. I had a vision that you were in danger.”

“What if you had encountered the Legion of Blood?”

Leveling her gaze at Logan, Simone said seriously, “It was worth the risk.”

“Then I guess it couldn’t be helped.” Logan smiled.

Simone was unable to restrain her curiosity any longer. “What happened here? I felt such a strange essence emanating from this place. And that vile creature over there, what is it? I’ve never seen anything like it. Did it cause all this destruction?”

Logan lowered her gaze. “The beast is not entirely to blame. He is only a product of blood magic gone awry.”

“Where is Armand?”

“You’ve seen him yourself, although he is not the man he once was. He used blood magic to turn himself into that monster.” Logan gestured weakly toward the creature lying motionless on the cave floor.

Simone looked again to the lifeless form of the beastly Armand. It was hard to imagine such a monster could ever have been human. Maybe this was Armand’s true form, the inner truth revealed by the misuse of blood magic.

“I had no other choice,” Logan said. “In order to protect you, in order to protect everyone, I had to resort to blood magic.” Tears streaked her face as she raised her left arm. “This power, granted to me through no desire of my own, will be the death of me.”

“Blood magic?” Simone said, understanding at last. The red markings were not tattoos, as she had thought, but sigils etched into Logan’s skin as the result of a spell. “You told me that you were not a Blood Mage.”

“I’m not—or I wasn’t. Fate has changed me. Maybe it has been my destiny all along.” Logan looked sadly at the sigils branded into her flesh. “This power will eventually kill me. Quite honestly, I am surprised I’m still breathing.”

“I won’t allow that to happen,” Simone said determinedly.

Logan met her gaze, smiling warmly.

Shouts from the Legionnaires could be heard, followed by the distinct sounds of fighting. Simone thought of the T’fanga, in their beastly forms, being suddenly discovered by the Legion of Blood. Simone trembled as she recalled the Legion’s harsh view of her kind.

“I won’t let them have you,” Logan whispered defiantly to Simone. “They will have to go through me to take you.”

Simone laughed bitterly. As badly as Logan was injured, getting past her shouldn’t take trained warriors such as the Legion more than a few seconds at most. She kept quiet, however, staying by Logan’s side. So long as Logan drew breath, she would not run—not from the Legion of Blood, not from anyone. Logan needed her, and Simone would never leave her behind, no matter how badly her own body was shaking.

“I’ll fight them myself if I must,” Simone said, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands in an effort to control her tremors.

“It doesn’t have to come to that.” Darceus suddenly appeared, naked but for a pouch, and covered in gore from her earlier battles with Witherbeast.

“Elder,” Logan exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been following this one.” She indicated Simone with a jerk of her head. “You specifically requested that I guard her at all times. However, you mentioned nothing of where I must keep this vigil. I figured whether it was within Tal’rashal or the very heart of darkness, it mattered not, so I pursued her. Her latent powers of the bella’nari are not in the least surprising. It was only a matter of time before her true nature surfaced. You, however, are a different story entirely,” she said to Logan, thoughtfully assessing the damage within the chamber. “But, alas, it is a topic which we will have to discuss some other time. My clan can keep the Legion distracted, but only for so long.”

Simone realized what the Elder was risking by helping them. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

Darceus shook her head. “Worry not about such trivial matters. Not only are you bella’nari, you are also T’fanga, and I would not have one of my own suffer.”

“T’fanga?” Simone asked.

Darceus nodded. “Your bond with Logan is recognized. You will always be welcome among the T’fanga, Lady Simone Norland.” She reached up and began removing the amulet from around her own neck. “Now go. You will find your brother a short distance from the cave entrance. He will help you escape. And might I suggest calling upon your bella’nari form once again, Lady Simone? I fear you might need the added speed and power in order to successfully get her away from here.” Darceus motioned to Logan, who still slumped against the rock.

Simone knew Logan was too weak to stand, never mind flee from the Legion of Blood and the Witherbeast that could still be wandering the area. Mimicking Elder Darceus, she unfastened her amulet and slowly removed it from its place around her throat. The transformation came upon her quickly, as before, changing her from frail human to powerful beast in a matter of seconds. It was a disorienting sensation, and it took Simone several minutes to grow accustomed to her new body.

There was no time to waste. The voices of the Legionnaires grew closer with each passing second. Simone crouched next to Logan and helped the wounded Legionnaire to climb onto her back. How odd it seemed for Logan to be the one in need of support. If Logan felt helpless in her current condition, she voiced no complaints. She held tightly to Simone as she bounded through the dark corridors.

As Darceus had promised, Simone found Corbin at the cave entrance, a very human Corbin. Simone was overjoyed at seeing her brother the way she remembered him and whined excitedly in greeting.

“You certainly look different from when I saw you last,” Logan joked. “But no matter how you look, I would recognize you as Simone’s brother in an instant.” Simone knew Logan was referring to Corbin’s mussed red hair, a trait for which the Norlands were known. Brighter than either Simone’s or Vivienne’s, Corbin’s hair had an intense coppery hue which caught the moonlight and shone like a low flame.

“The T’fanga discovered a way to return me to my human form,” Corbin replied. “And for that, I am eternally grateful. You look like you’ve been through quite the ordeal, as well.” He hesitated a second before asking, “And Vivienne?”

The regret in Logan’s voice was evident as she said, “Dead. There was no other way.”

“I feared as much.” A sorrowful expression settled over Corbin’s features. “There is a ravine to the north of here. If you follow it, it should take you deeper into the Yor’kesh Highlands, far beyond the reaches of the Legion’s stronghold, while providing some cover from the eyes of the Witherbeast and Legionnaires. Elder Darceus showed it to me. I recommend you rely on Simone’s strength and speed to carry you far away from this place.” He hesitated for a second, looking to the chasm with uncertainty. “Take care of my sister. I know that you will.”

“What are you going to do?” Logan asked as she followed his gaze. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

“I’m sorry. As much as I want to be away from here, I am still an able-bodied soldier. It wouldn’t be right for me to just run away. I owe the T’fanga my life, and I shall serve them with my very life, if need be.”

Simone whimpered in protest, at which Logan stroked her neck affectionately. “It’s his decision to make, love. And quite a noble one, I might add. Fear not, Simone. Elder Darceus will not allow any harm to come to him.” To Corbin, she said, “Farewell, then. May we meet again someday.”

“You can count on it,” he called over his shoulder, just before he disappeared into the mouth of the chasm.

“We should be on our way,” Logan said.

Simone nodded and began racing toward the ravine at the northern end of the rocky wastelands, following it to the unspoiled dark wilderness that lay beyond.

Logan staggered forward, not sure how much longer she could go on. For the three days since the battle in the chasm, Logan and Simone trekked through the northern wood, conserving what little food and water they had, their meager rations stretched thin and their morale stretched even thinner.

Three days, Logan mused.

Three long days that had been harsh enough to be felt for a lifetime. There was very little forage to be found so far north, even less with the approach of winter. Still weak from employing the Wrath of Flames, Logan was in no condition to hunt for food. She could barely stand without Simone’s support. Logan hated to be a burden to Simone, but the elven magic had all but drained her of life. Simone held tightly to her now, supporting her as they rested against a tree.

Simone was feeling the effects of Logan’s increasing despondency. Logan could see it in the way Simone looked at her, the way she spoke to her. Simone was nothing but kind and compassionate, despite Logan’s sour mood. Logan knew Simone didn’t want her to think their current situation was her fault.

Logan slumped against the tree trunk. “It feels nice to rest,” she said. The moon was likely high in the night sky, but Logan could not see it through the dense canopy of the northern woods. Although there had been no sign of Witherbeast since their flight from the chasm, both agreed it best to keep on the move at night. Tired, wounded, and asleep, they would become easy prey for predators, both otherworldly and earthly.

The silence of the night was broken by Logan’s stomach growling loudly. She hadn’t had a bite to eat since their limited rations had run out the day before. Putting her hand over her belly, she tried to muffle the annoying sound.

Simone laughed. “I’ve never been without food for this long.” She looked wistfully up at the obscured sky. “What I wouldn’t give for one of the sweets Corbin used to pilfer from the kitchen right about now. I wonder where he is.”

Logan looked at the ground. They had had no word from the T’fanga or Corbin, and she did not think the chances were very high that they had survived. Wanting to spare Simone from such depressing thoughts, she did not voice her fears. “Thinking about food isn’t going to accomplish anything,” she said, more harshly than she had intended.

“I suppose you’re right.”

Both fell silent. Simone kept her thoughts to herself, but Logan could tell by her expression that her mind was busy. She wondered what Simone could be thinking about so intently. Her unspoken question was soon answered.

“I could remove my amulet,” Simone offered quietly. “With my heightened senses and the increased speed and power of my beast form, I should be able to catch a stag, or at the very least a hare.”

It pained Logan to envision Simone undergoing the beastly transformation. “I could not ask you to do that.”

“You don’t have to.” Simone stood. There was determination in her eyes. “There’s no need for us to sit here and starve. We might be the only survivors of the battle. How I loathe facing such a possibility, but it might be true. Otherwise Corbin would have found us by now.”

Logan knew Simone was right. If Corbin or the T’fanga lived, they would surely have come to search for them. She relented. “All right, you can go hunting. Just, please, be careful.”

A look of self-satisfaction spread across Simone’s face. “I knew you would come to see things my way.” Her eyes widened, and her expression became wild. She stared about the forest around them. “Do you sense that?”

Logan felt a prickling between her eyes. She cursed under her breath. “Witherbeast. I didn’t think there would be any survivors from the battle, but I suppose there will always be a stray pack or two.” She knew she was in no condition to fight. “Run, Simone,” she said, despair flooding her. “Get away from here while you can.”

Simone shook her head as she clasped Logan’s hand. “I won’t leave you.”

The rustling of bushes caught Logan’s attention. It was too late. The Witherbeast were already upon them. She kept her eyes on the surrounding bushes as they twitched and writhed despite the lack of wind. A wave of relief washed over her as the undergrowth parted and a silver Witherbeast stepped forward.

“Elder Darceus,” she exclaimed. “How glad I am to see you.”

The beast’s silver pelt rippled in the moonlight, and then Darceus stood before them. “You have come far,” she said. “We didn’t expect you to journey so far north in three days’ time.”

“We?” Before the word was past Logan’s lips, she saw the shadowy forms lurking just beyond Darceus. The T’fanga had survived.

Simone scanned the figures enveloped in darkness. “Is Corbin with you?”

“I’m here,” Corbin said, stepping into the patch of moonlight for Simone to see. “You didn’t think you would be rid of me that easily?”

Simone rushed forward and threw her arms around his neck. Logan smiled as she listened to Simone admonishing her brother between sobs. She had lost so much of her family already. Logan was glad that Corbin had made it through the battle.

Darceus cleared her throat. “I hope that now you might be willing to accept my offer. The T’fanga welcome you with open arms.” She looked to Simone and Corbin. “All of you. Our village is to the north. Follow us. Seek the source of your heritage.”

Logan swallowed hard to fight back the tears threatening to fall. The T’fanga clan—her clan—had survived. She was going home.

Logan smiled as the cool northern wind whipped at her face, curling invisible fingers through her hair as she looked out upon the wide open world of the Yor’kesh Highlands. The uncharted wilds stretched on endlessly, vast possibilities on every horizon. Although Logan wasn’t at all certain where she would go or what she would do, now that she’d left the Legion of Blood, she knew that for the first time in too many years to remember, her future was hers to control. There was no one so far north to dictate her actions—no prison matrons, no Legionnaires. Her life was her own.

Despite her severed ties with the Legion of Blood, Logan still wore the armor bearing the bloodied Witherbeast head. It was of a quality rarely seen, especially in the northern wilderness, and it offered far more protection than the armor favored by the elves. Logan regarded the Witherbeast head with a harsh sentimentality. She was free now, free from her haunted past and from the cage in which she’d been confined for so long. And Simone was with her, the love Logan would never have dared hoped for, realized at last, along with the T’fanga, a family she never knew she had.

Logan thought of all the T’fanga had done for her. Indeed, she would be eternally grateful to the elves for their continued support in her unusual predicament. She was still uncertain as to whether she deserved to be treated with such respect, let alone honored as a hero for sacrifices she did not make.

When she mentioned her concerns to Valira, the elf simply said, “You are T’fanga.” She gave Logan a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Rest easy. Elder Darceus doesn’t make such decisions lightly. The Elder must see great potential within you. Perhaps your ability to harness the Wrath of Flames has impressed her.”

And so Logan came to be known among the T’fanga as Logan of the Flame. She supposed she should consider it an honor. Not since the acclaimed Elders from the Age of Magi had an elf been so deeply touched by the arcane, and even then, no one had been able to wield the power of the cursed runes and live. Still, Logan wondered why she’d been chosen—she, a half-breed, her blood further corrupted by the taint of the Legion of Blood’s initiation.

“You have done well, child,” Elder Darceus said, her voice disturbing Logan’s troubled thoughts. The Elder joined Logan by the ledge. “However, your journey has only just begun.”

“My journey?” Logan was not sure that she wanted to hear Darceus’ explanation.

When the Elder nodded, Logan said, “You don’t believe this is over, do you?”

Darceus shook her head. “Blood magic has returned to Anolaya,” she announced in her musical voice, “once again manifesting itself in the dark minds and corrupted souls of humanity. Armand might be dead, but I fear there will be others.”

“Not all humans are evil,” Logan protested, thinking of her mother and Simone.

“Perhaps this is true, but no human can remain pure after experiencing the effects of the Forbidden Arts. You saw proof of this with your own eyes, in the person of the young noblewoman. She was enamored with the Blood Mage and so was easily ensorcelled. Once the magic touched her, she was never to be the same again.”

Logan thought of the tragic Vivienne Norland and her untimely end. Perhaps hers was a fate that could have been prevented, perhaps not. Armand’s influence had warped her mind, so much so that Logan wondered whether Vivienne could even remember she had once been human.

“So what would you have me do about it?” Logan asked, dreading the old elf’s answer. “I was only able to stop Armand because of this,” she gestured at the sigils on her arm, “and even then, for a few moments I thought the Wrath of Flames would consume me. Surely you can’t expect a half-breed to be capable of performing such an astounding feat on a regular basis.”

“Don’t disparage yourself,” the Elder said with a sly smile. “You would be surprised at what you can accomplish if only you set your heart to it.”

Logan regarded her suspiciously, unable to fight the feeling that the old elf knew more than she was sharing. Elder Darceus patted Logan on the back and turned away.

Logan watched the Elder stride purposefully to where the rest of the clan awaited her, her elegant gait not betraying her age in the least. Turning her attention to the landscape before her, Logan allowed her thoughts to drift. The sheer cliff loomed dangerously before her, the loose gravel bouncing to the rocky valley far below a sharp warning of her proximity to the edge.

Logan pondered the implications of the Elder’s words. Had the T’fanga extended an invitation to join their clan because they truly wanted Logan as one of their own, or did the offer stem from darker intentions? She was an instrument of blood magic, an agent of destruction. The Wrath of Flames was a force to be reckoned with, even at the cost of its wielder’s life. Darceus had said that no human could remain untainted by the effects of blood magic, and Logan herself was half human. The thoughts chased themselves in circles, leaving her no less confused than she had been before her musings.

Sighing, Logan stared out across the sweeping landscape. She understood the elves’ need to keep a constant vigil over the wielder of the Wrath of Flames, but it seemed to her Darceus was hiding something. It was almost as though she expected Logan to become something more than human or elf and to master the power that was threatening her very existence.

Overwhelmed by the great burden she perceived to be upon her, Logan fleetingly contemplated falling to her fate on the sharp rocks below. Perhaps she would have followed through with this mad plan, if not for the simple knowledge that Simone was waiting for her. It was because of Simone’s premonitions that Logan’s life had been spared. Logan believed it was no coincidence. Simone loved her, all of her, and that was enough to make Logan’s life worth living. There was also the matter of the Elder’s words to consider. The ancient power was within her, and she had the ability to make a difference, to ensure that blood magic would never be misused again.

Smiling inwardly, Logan turned and headed back toward the Yor’kesh caravan. She did not want to keep her Lady waiting.

Epilogue

Simone sat thinking about the long journey that had brought her so far north as she gazed out over the majestic peaks rising on the horizon, the stoic, unmovable sentinels of the northern world. Those distant mountains were like Logan and herself in a way, ever vigilant and constantly wary.

After fleeing the Legion of Blood, Logan’s status among the elves allowed her to build a new life for herself and Simone. They now lived along the broken and jagged coastlands of the Yor’kesh Highlands, the T’fanga clan’s homeland. Months had passed since those dreadful days Logan and Simone had spent on the run from the Witherbeast and the Legion of Blood. Winter had melted away into spring, and spring blossomed into summer. The sunlight streaming down from above was warm and the chill breeze off the sea was pleasant, but so far north, Simone was told, the summer lasted only a few weeks.

Having to endure the harsh northern weather was a small price to pay for her freedom, and the T’fanga would migrate inland to avoid the worst of the storm season. And, no matter where she ventured, Simone knew Logan would be there by her side, and she was willing to suffer through all the snow and ice in the world for such a prize.

Simone left her seat by the window of the small hut and returned to their bed, where Logan lay fast asleep. Simone couldn’t resist running her fingers through the short, wavy hair, brushing aside a stray lock that kept falling into Logan’s eyes.

Sensing her lover’s presence, Logan opened her eyes and stared dreamily at Simone’s face. “You’re up early,” she said, her voice still thick with sleep. Suddenly wide awake, she bolted upright in the bed. “Is something bothering you? Any news of the Legion?”

The Legion of Blood was a thorny subject; it had plagued Logan’s mind since their escape from the chasm. Simone and Corbin were of the Bound, a historic enemy of Anolaya. Moreover, Logan’s own standing with the Legion also preyed on her mind, for she was technically a deserter. Even though the T’fanga hunters had reported that Logan had been killed while protecting Anolaya, Logan did not think that Tibolt would believe their tale without some proof. Logan suspected the Legion of Blood would not give up its pursuit of three known fugitives, and no one had been able to provide evidence to the contrary.

“Nothing of the sort,” Simone soothed reassuringly. “I was just thinking.” A shy smile slowly spread across her face.

Logan settled back against the pillows. “About what?”

Simone lowered herself to the bed and sat astride Logan’s waist. “About how much I love you.” She leaned forward and claimed Logan’s mouth in a kiss.

Logan captured Simone in her arms and held her tight to her chest. “That, my love, is a subject which deserves much thought,” she said when the kiss ended. “In fact, I’d say it could take days to measure such a thing, perhaps even weeks.”

“Weeks?” Simone teased, trailing a fingertip along Logan’s neck and across her collarbone. “Darling, my love for you could not be measured in an entire lifetime. It is eternal.” She smiled and rested her forehead against Logan’s.

Logan lowered Simone to the bed beneath her. “Then eternity we shall spend,” she said, her rakish grin enough to make Simone’s heart melt.

Author Jennifer McCormick

About the Author

Jennifer McCormick has always had a fondness for fantasy. Dragons, gryphons, unicorns, elves, and dwarves have always fascinated her.

Jennifer enjoys reading, writing, video games, computers, and just spending quality time with family and friends. She currently lives in North Carolina with her parrot, Reggie.

Jennifer’s debut novel, The Midas Conspiracy, was published by Blue Feather Books in 2012. She’s currently working on Rogue Faction, the sequel to The Midas Conspiracy.