Undead (Heirs of Anarwyn, Book 2) by J.W. Elliot

Author:J.W. Elliot [Elliot, J.W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-09-08T16:00:00+00:00

Zenek crawled from the pile of rubble to prop himself up against the remaining wall. He tore a piece of cloth from his tunic and wrapped it around the wound in his throat where the wolf’s teeth had torn a jagged gash. Fortunately, the wolf hadn’t punctured the artery, or Zenek would have bled out long ago. The only reason he was alive was that the fall from the wall had broken the wolf’s hold and separated them. He had tumbled into a narrow space between blocks of stone where the wolf couldn’t reach him.

Still, the wound was serious, painful, and rapidly growing stiff. The loss of blood left him lightheaded. He was bruised from head to toe from the collapsing wall, and at least one finger was broken. Steeling himself against the pain, Zenek yanked the broken bone into place. Cursing at the flash of agony, he laid his head against the wall to let the pain subside back to the throbbing ache.

He surveyed the battle site. The bodies of his Mahrowaiths lay smoking, cut in two or buried in the rubble. Their blood had congealed into beautiful lumps of red-veined obsidian. He remembered what Spider and Cam had said about the blood of the Mahrowaiths. It was a potent killer that could be absorbed into the body of an enemy where it would consume them from within—turning healthy, living flesh into a muck of black, oozing disorder. No power of the Anarwyn could heal such an injury.

Gingerly, Zenek reached out to touch a chunk of dried Mahrowaith blood. It warmed to his touch but didn’t harm him. He permitted himself a sad smile. These Mahrowaiths had been created from his own blood. They would not hurt him. He gathered up several chunks of obsidian and slipped them into his pocket. Perhaps he could find some use for them.

Resting against the stone wall, he surveyed the damage. He toyed with the idea of returning to the Braganeth to create more Mahrowaiths to do his bidding, but the memory of the agony of their creation gave him pause. He had nearly died, and in his weakened condition, the effort would probably finish him for good. No. It was too risky.

The guard tower was destroyed, and the iron footbridge collapsed into the gorge. Nothing had gone the way he planned. He had become so confident of victory with his newfound powers and his beautiful servants. But Hebron’s sword ruined everything.

The stories his mother whispered to him on cold winter nights had been true. The sword, Dorandel, was a powerful talisman of the Anarwyn. Too powerful for him. He might have been able to kill Cam if he had been unaided. Hebron would need to be neutralized. To do this, Zenek needed to control more of the stones of power, and he needed aid.

He groaned as he rose to his feet and stumbled down the remaining stairs. He would search for the bodies of the members of the Black Council whom Galad slaughtered at this very gate.

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