Bloodwalk by James P. Davis Page A

tribal leaders to converse and settle disputes. Kaeless had forbidden Morgynn to attend for many years after rescuing her, as the Creel would also be in attendance. Eventually, seeking to gain her daughter’s trust, Kaeless allowed Morgynn to participate.
    Morgynn had grown into a beautiful young woman by then, and was well aware of her effect on men. She was learning to use that knowledge to her advantage, much to her mother’s glowering disapproval. At those trade meets, Morgynn had first begun to learn more of the world beyond the tundra. There she had met Zhamiel, an aging priest of Gargauth and an outsider from the Great Dale to the south.
    She had never taken to the worship of Lathander, like the rest of the Sedras, and found no interest in Zhamiel’s talk of Gargauth, but she’d felt a kinship that day as he wove tales of older times and armies of demons. She learned of the Nar Empire and its war against Raumathar, learned the histories of the ruins that dotted the cold plains of her homeland. Zhamiel told her of the magic as well, hidden treasures lost, buried beneath stone and time.
    Ruins in Narfell were numerous and easy to find but were approached only by the brave or the greedy. Morgynn and a few acolytes of Zhamiel set out to find the Well of Goorgian, an open pit in the ruins of a nameless city. Goorgian was once a Nar wizard who, it was rumored, had worshiped Gargauth and built the first true temple in Gargauth’s name. He and his followers became known as the Order of Twilight.
    Zhamiel promised Morgynn that powerful secrets lay hidden in Goorgian’s grave, a crater where he’d been destroyed by his own foolishness. She’d left the Bildoobaris unannounced, knowing her mother would search for her, but Morgynn had no intention of returning to the Sedras or even the Creel. Her time walking in the paths of others was over.
    Her group eventually found the edge of the pit where Goorgian had consumed his own life in dreams of power. Morgynn stared deep into that darkness and began to dream herself. For the first time, Morgynn imagined power, real power. She had no idea that the next three years would pass so quickly or that her mother would not only give up on her only daughter but would also seek to end her life.
    With her ritual complete, the memories faded along with the pain that lessened to a dull ache in her forearm. Traced with the letters and secret language of her magic, she admired her skin for a moment, studying her work and feeling more confident with her scars restored. She sighed, shrugging off the haze of the pain-induced trance, and surveyed her surroundings.
    The walls inside the lone tower of Jhareat were piled high with bones, shoved from the floors to clear them. Dusty skulls and fleshless limbs adorned each room in the narrow tower, its long-forgotten defenders well beyond caring about being conquered. Their weapons and armor lay rusting and tattered amid the bones. Through a small arched window, lightning flashed and powerful winds roared. She could almost hear the chanting Gargauthans below, weaving the storm spell into the base of the tower.
    She found that she enjoyed the storms more as she’d traveled farther south. Their warmth was a welcome change from the chilling gales that blew across the tundra in Narfell. The more she beheld them, the more it seemed her thick blood demanded them. Lost in the chaos of thunder and roaring tornadoes, her memories were but a nagging whisper, where her blood was a raging tempest.
    She peered through the darkness of the low-hanging clouds, across the fields of ruined walls and jutting bits of rubble, to the edge of the forest. She whispered a quick spell and her eyes became as sharp as an eagle’s, focusing the forest with amazing clarity. After a few moments, she found what she’d been looking for, what she’d sensed coming closer. A massive, coal-black mastiff stared back at her, its muscles rippling as it prowled through the trees. She smiled