Poisonwell (Whispers from Mirrowen Book 3) by Jeff Wheeler

Author:Jeff Wheeler [Wheeler, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: 47North
Published: 2015-02-24T05:00:00+00:00

“Darkness falls across the city. Fires are burning in the Preachán quarter. I am restless this twilight. Heavy despair blankets Kenatos. There is no pain so awful as the pain of suspense, the Bhikhu say. I agree.”

- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

XXV

Blood smeared Baylen’s face with little flecks of tattered leaves. There were gashes in his scalp too hideous to look at, and Paedrin experienced a rise in his gorge yet willed himself not to vomit. Baylen’s eyes were blue, amidst the dark, clotted blood, and they were awake and quite alive.

“I can’t move my legs,” Baylen said with tortured breath. “I passed out from the pain. Where’s Khiara?”

Paedrin stared down at the giant Cruithne, his emotions roiling with conflicting feelings. He hung his head, ashamed of himself, ashamed at the questions that were coming. “Dead.”

Baylen closed his eyes, panting with shallow wheezes. “That’s . . . unfortunate.”

The word was inadequate to describe the desperate situation that hung as a pall. She was dead, Tyrus had abandoned them, and Kiranrao was loose in the woods with a dagger that could slay any living thing. The Fear Liath’s lair was still nearby, and then there were the—

As summoned by his despair, he heard rustling in the branches overhead. The sound of flapping and hissing descending from the boughs. Yes, the Cockatrice were still there as well, gathering back to their roosts now that the violence had ended.

“Paedrin.”

The Bhikhu sagged to his knees next to the bleeding man, powerless to save him. He rested his elbows on the hilt of the Sword of Winds, pressing his forehead against his arm. What a disgrace he was to the Bhikhu order. What a failure.

“Where is Tyrus?”

“Gone,” Paedrin muttered. “Baylen . . . they’re all gone. We failed. Phae was killed by the Fear Liath. I saw her body. Then Kiranrao grabbed Khiara—” A shudder passed through him. “He murdered her. The only thing I could think at that moment was killing him. He went into the woods, Tyrus shouted the word, and then they were gone and then so was Kiranrao. This is . . . this is bad.”

Anguish twisted inside of him, shredding his composure and nearly making him sob with despair. He hung his head, feeling the full brunt of his stupidity and failure.

Baylen’s hand brushed against his leg. Paedrin opened his eyes, stared down at him, and saw the determination in the Cruithne’s eyes. “Go,” Baylen said flatly.

Wings flapped as more Cockatrice arrived. He could hear them scuttling along the oak branches. Closing his eyes, he extended his blind vision and felt them rustling, preparing to swoop down and attack them. He was so weary. Fighting them off would take time, precious time he didn’t have. He needed to escape the Scourgelands. Once it was dark, the Fear Liath would come out of its lair and begin hunting. He knew it for certain.

Paedrin reached down and gripped the Cruithne’s hand. It was massive, and there was only a glimmer of strength left.

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