Bloodwalk by James P. Davis Page B

at his savage beauty, his brute strength and stealth as he negotiated the shadows of the ruined clearing at a full run.
    Khaemil was shadurakul, a breed of shapeshifter called from the realm of Avernus in the Nine Hells. Though released from his initial bond of servitude, Khaemil had bound himself to Morgynn willingly, remaining at her side ever since and considered a blessing by the Gargauthans. Morgynn stopped short of calling him a blessing. She’d tasted one of Gargauth’s favors already. Though grateful, she felt no desire to entertain them in the future.
    Morgynn could hear him entering the tower below. The heavy clicking of his paws became the familiar rustle of night robes as he ascended the twisting staircase along the tower’s interior. Then Khaemil stood in the doorway to the uppermost floor, his head bowed and awaiting Morgynn’s attention. She’d been casting recently, and she knew he could smell the scent of her as soon as he’d entered the tower. The aroma of blood and heat defied the open window and the cool air that blew outside.
    She turned to him slowly, settling into her stone seat and dismissing her spell of vision, bringing the room back to a softer focus. Khaemil stepped into the candlelight, lowering his hood, as Morgynn watched him expectantly.
    “What news from the forest?” Morgynn asked the question nonchalantly and looked down to inspect her skin once again, caressing and tracing the darkening designs.
    “We have many potential allies deep in the woods, but they are mere beasts. Those more intelligent attempt to hide themselves from us, but they are there.”
    “No matter,” Morgynn replied, “All is as it should be for now. The Gargauthans have begun their work on the tower and the storm grows by the moment. We have little to do but gather our strength and wait.”
    “Yes, my lady. The storm is magnificent.” Khaemil walked to the window then, looking across the dampening ruins as she had moments before. “Talmen looks little pleased by our success so far.” A smile crept into his voice, capturing Morgynn’s attention with his implication of further news.
    “Your voice is mischievous, Khaemil. What delights you so?”
    Khaemil turned, sighing through his toothy grin. “Only that poor Talmen and his favorite pupil no longer serve Gargauth in the same manner. While Talmen seeks his god’s favor in his daily works, Mahgra now petitions for mercy in the pits of the Nine Hells. He is dead.”
    Morgynn returned Khaemil’s smile, but the look lasted only a moment before her mood changed and rage boiled in the back of her throat. Khaemil gasped, his heartbeat pounding as she stood and walked toward him. He couldn’t breathe and stared wide-eyed at her, frantically clawing at his chest and shoulder as pain raced through them.
    As she watched him struggle, her eyes welled with blood, red tears seeking to burst forth in a mockery of despair. At her belt she gripped a small silver vial. Within it was Khaemil’s blood, taken long ago and used as a kind of leash against him. A leash—and, as now—a lash.
    “Why does Talmen know the tale of Mahgra before me?” Her words were swift and forceful, wasting none of the time Khaemil had left before death might claim him. She eased her spell slightly, giving him a moment to answer with shallow breath.
    “Scrying! My lady, please! He watches!”
    Morgynn arched an eyebrow and looked to her side. “Ah, so the worm isn’t as docile as I’d imagined him to be.” She released the vial of blood and Khaemil fell to the floor, gulping at the air and allowing the pain to fade before standing again. “We must watch the dear malefactor more closely. He may be ready to accept that a wandering Hoarite has killed Mahgra, but if he suspects our hand in the matter, we may lose the support of the Gargauthans.”
    “Yes, my lady.” Khaemil’s voice was hoarse as he regained his footing. He staggered slightly as his pulse slowly fell into step with his