Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“That’s one way to get rid of him.” Elisaf checks over his shoulder, his big brown eyes tinged with sympathy. Or maybe pity.
I release a shaky breath. That won’t be the last time Jarek confronts me, I’m sure. “What’s a sapling?”
“The worst of our kind.”
I wait a few beats for more information. “Care to elaborate?”
“Not especially.” He scans around us, but the warriors have given us ample space, whether by coincidence or design. More likely the latter. They want nothing to do with me. “They are Islorian immortals who feed off their own kind.”
My eyes widen. “By own kind, you mean …”
“Other Islorian immortals.”
“I didn’t know you could do that.”
“Not without dreadful results. They become dwellers of darkness, the sun scorching their flesh in daylight.”
More like the fictional vampires I’ve heard of. Though maybe not so fictional after all. That these creatures might have lurked in my world … “They live in the mountains?”
“In caves deep within the range. It is the perfect place for them to survive.”
“The caves. Where we’re going?”
“The mountains are a vast place. There is plenty of room for all of us.”
That doesn’t make me feel better. “The Ybarisans are hiding somewhere in there too. Won’t the saplings feed off them?”
“We do not know precisely where the Ybarisans are. There is a settlement called Woodswich, where humans live without keepers and shun the rule of Islor’s king. It is a hard life, given the terrain and the climate, but they do it to escape the tributary system, surviving on their own. Immortals won’t settle there for fear of the saplings pulling them from their feathered beds while they sleep. Our armies have not bothered with them for the better part of a century. It might be where the Ybarisans have holed up.
“But no, it is not likely the saplings would feed off them. At least, not for sustenance. They lose their taste for everything else. Mortal blood no longer sustains them, and their venom becomes impotent. They cannot turn anyone as a means to create their blood supply, and so they must hunt for other immortal Islorians.”
“He was going to enjoy Annika later. That’s what the one at the bridge meant.”
“Yes, they abduct Islorians and imprison them. Shackle them, I have heard.”
“Seems a bit karmic, if you ask me.” The mortals may not be shackled in a cage, but they wear the cuffs of imprisonment all the same.
“Perhaps, though the rare few who have escaped over the years share stories the likes of which I have never seen a mortal experience.” His brow furrows. “The more they feed on us, the more strength they gain, the weaker we become. They sap the strength from their immortal victims, hence the name.”
“Can they kill you?”
“If they take too much. But their feeder stock cannot survive long anyway. Not without mortal blood for themselves. One cave exit on the east side of Venhorn allows the saplings access to Lyndel. The city spends its nights guarding the walls against any who might venture in. They kill them on sight.”
“How can they tell someone is a sapling?”
“There is no mistaking them up close. Fortunately for us, they are limited to traveling in the cover of darkness, which makes it a challenge to reach great distances.”
“The one who tried to take Annika made it to Cirilea.” You have failed, Romeria. He thought he knew me. “Princess Romeria was working with him.”
“Yes, that is a curious alliance, one we have not been able to understand. Regardless, he would have relied on caves and cellars and covered wagons. Perhaps he never made it back at all.”
“And now we’re going to them.” All these legionaries are following Zander’s order to march to a lair of cannibals.
“As I’ve said, the cave system is vast and mostly unoccupied. There’s even an old mine. It fell to the Nulling’s creatures when the seam tore and no one has ventured to reclaim it since, given its proximity to the rift and whatever may still lurk there.”
“Things still lurk? What things?”
“Nothing we can’t kill.”
I picture the nethertaur and shudder. Now I see why Elisaf was not excited about this.
We fall into silence for the rest of the ride.
The sun dips toward the horizon as our company crests a hill and the first rooftops appear. Soon the town’s wooden outer wall is visible. Four guards at the open gate shift as they observe us.
“Do you know where we are?”
“I do. It’s a name I believe you will remember well.” Elisaf steers our horse out of line and coaxes it forward with his heels. “Freywich.”
9
Romeria
“Freywich?” I hiss as we gallop forward. “Isn’t that closer to Cirilea?”
“It is. But we need supplies and information, and this is the best location to acquire both. It is a distance from the king’s road and not prominent, having struggled over the years. Atticus will not have sent a messenger here.” Elisaf moves us beside Gesine and Horik. The line of warriors slows as we approach.