The Blood Fountain (Mark of Valliath Book 3) by M. H. Woodscourt

Author:M. H. Woodscourt [Woodscourt, M. H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: True North Press
Published: 2024-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

Red Eyes

The ghosts sang.

Each night in the Ruin, otherworldly strains drifted through Sharo’s camp.

The heartrending, eldritch music was enough to drive a weak man mad. Fortunately, the fae prince’s army brimmed with brave and noble souls. Only a dozen had deserted over the past several nights as they crossed the desolate country.

At dusk, two days’ travel from the borders of Amantier, Aredel stood at the edge of the encampment, staring northward toward the unseen enemy. He’d never expected to march with fae folk to defend Amantier from invaders. The ironies of his life piled at his feet, intangible monuments to his failures.

Once, he’d half believed himself to be a god.

Scanning the shadowed path before him, Aredel listened to the night’s growing whispers. The crackle of bonfires, the distant hammering of the army’s smithies, the breath of wind that stirred parched earth up in eddies of black dust—all counterpoints to the ghostly song.

“Aredel.” The calm tones belonged to Sharo.

He turned, eyeing the elven prince still clad in silver armor, a shimmering cape bright in the first sprinkle of starlight. Sharo’s hair almost glowed, matching the gleam of his kind eyes. At the prince’s side, Jinji stood, adorned in his simple homespun apparel, his knowing smile in place.

For a moment, Aredel resisted the pull of their dual serenity. The way they quieted fears and concerns with their very auras. He wanted no comfort. But they persisted, standing there, soaking in the healing stillness of night, the starlight, the cleansing winds, quieting the sorrow of the specters surrounding the camp.

“Do you have a moment?” asked Sharo.

Aredel glanced at the nearby sentries. They were sturdy men, alert and skilled. And somewhere beyond the firelight, Shevek lurked, hoping for enemies to strike so he could take out his restlessness on something.

“I do,” Aredel conceded.

Sharo’s smile brightened, then he and Jinji turned and led the way toward the eastern side of camp. The odor of iron and smoke thickened, while the ring of hammers filled Aredel’s ears. Several soldiers sat near the mobile forges where a dozen blacksmiths repaired armor, horse tack, and other bits of metal.

As Sharo, Jinji, and Aredel approached, one blacksmith raised his head. His long, sleek black hair slithered back, revealing pointed ears. He lowered his hammer, rubbed his hands over his apron, and moved away from the glowing fire of his forge to bow to Sharo.

“Hail, Prince.”

“Hail, Eviril.”

The blacksmith’s dark gaze trailed to Aredel’s face. Eviril’s eyes caught the firelight and seemed to glow. “It is ready, Your Highness,” he said, turning back to Sharo.

“Excellent. Bring it forth.”

Eviril turned back to the line of forges and slipped past the closest to grab something from a chest hunched on the ground. He stooped, then straightened, clutching a bundle in his arms. He returned, eyes still blazing with apparent pride.

Sharo took a step forward and accepted the bundle, then turned to Aredel. “I’ll hold it while you unwrap it.”

Aredel untied the cloth, revealing a gleaming breastplate of red steel. The design was intricate, not quite KryTeeran, not quite Shinacian, but a blending of both.

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