Strife & Valor: Book II of The Rorke Burningsoul Saga by Regina Watts (red queen ebook .TXT) 📕

Ears perking with renewed interest, Branwen asked, “What’s that?”

“Zombies,” answered Valeria, “are the personality-less servants of spirit-thieves. Empty vessels. Any being whose mind is invaded by spirit-thieves can become a zombie. They roam around doing the bidding of the demon who made them, completely oblivious and unconscious, generally responsible for only the most basic tasks like guarding a location or collecting brains for their masters’ suppers. Once someone has been changed by a spirit-thief, they are effectively dead…there is no bringing them back without very advanced magic, and even then they may never be quite right.”

With a shudder, Branwen shook her head. “I’d rather be a slave in El’ryh for a thousand years than a spirit-thief’s zombie, I think.”

“We would make it very fun for a slave as cute as you,” said Valeria in a teasing tone that faded quickly back to serious concern for her appraisal of my vision. “It is very possible, yes, that this is some side effect of the spirit-thief’s assault…though, I admit I have not heard of such a thing before.”

“Well, most who have a close enough encounter to get a tentacle in the ear don’t manage to get away. I was lucky Fiora was there to help me—I hope she isn’t in too much trouble back in the Nightlands.”

Valeria stared grimly forward to think of the guard who submitted her armor at the Materna’s command. Shaking her head, the leader of the durrow said, “I must find that ring as soon as I can,” and did not see how the mere thought, spoken aloud, was as painful as any arrow through my heart.

I understood her dilemma. Her duty was first and foremost to her people, for without her to act as a figurehead they may well have already begun to lose their sense of unity. Surely El’ryh as a whole was thrown into chaos to think its leader had disappeared. I hated the thought of all the people there suffering…but, selfishly, I hated even more the thought of losing Valeria.

And Branwen, too. Now that I had spoken to Grimalkin and learned what he claimed to be the truth, I thought about prodding her on why she had really come back to me…but would it have done any good? Further—whatever reason Branwen thought she had returned to me, did that matter when the true reason was Weltyr’s will? Her behavior was selfish, yes, it was true. But the longer we journeyed together, the more she opened her heart to me. That heart would change, or not, (or already had, I hoped) in accordance with Weltyr’s designs.

I did not question Branwen, then, lest I sour the mood or give her too much to think about. I wanted her prime for a battle and, most importantly, on my side. She had acquired a new crossbow in my absence with Gundrygia, and, when she practiced with it during our few breaks along that long trip back the way we had come, I couldn’t help but notice her aim was on something of a hot streak.

It was a true relief to know I had with me someone who could, if nothing else, hit a target when I needed her to. Valeria was good in a support role, but I wasn’t exactly keen to test her skills in combat anytime soon. My exchange for access to her healing and empowering magics would be keeping an eye on her for the duration of any conflict…and that was a potentially steep cost, however worthwhile.

The highway from Soot to Skythorn and back again was one that would have been treacherous were it not so well-maintained. In fact, even with this maintenance in mind, I am sure many still lost their lives—and yet it was still, is still, the most beautiful region through which my travels have borne me. Our first time, Valeria had not been able to appreciate the sights around her. We had passed through during the daytime hours and, as a result, the most beautiful parts of the trip were those when she had been forced to keep her eyes shaded by her hood and a pair of welding goggles.

Now, however, as we passed from the long stretches of farmland north of Skythorn and into the superlative mountains of the Cascadian wilderness, we did so in the evening hours of our journey’s second day. Her face filled with wonder, Valeria dared risk her eyes to behold the mountains of Weltyr’s careful sculpting. Glorious works crafted over time, with weather and fire and the interference of mankinds: all those tools with which the All-Father artfully coaxes the emergence of eternity from temporal existence. The mountains through which we followed long highways, with little rest for our poor horses or ourselves, were well worth the harrowing reason for our journey back through them.

Although, I must admit, my heart was still filled with fear to see Valeria drawing back her hood when even a twinkling of Weltyr’s light still tinged the sky. And, in a paradox, the opposite feeling rose up at once: pleasure seized me to see her in sunlight for the first time, even if heavily filtered. Every rich hint of obsidion, almost bluish undertone to her flesh was evident against the turquoise-pink sky that melted into orange fire between the mountains. Those splendid hills, awash in seas of emerald fir trees, formed a sensual bed for the encroaching night. Their soft frame loaned a reassuring quality to the glittering darkness that promised, as always, to swallow the landscape.

But the loveliest color of all was that which I found in Valeria’s eyes. Squinting at first in the low light of evening through which we rode, soon they managed to relax into the vision surrounding us. To my astonishment, I found that durrow did indeed have both irises and pupils. Against the pale lilac of her eyes, I marveled to recognize a white disk and, within that, a