Madness of the Horde by Zoey Draven

Chapter Forty-Nine

There were many entrances to the Dead Mountain. Hidden ones throughout the eastlands, tunneled from the Dead Mountain directly, ending in forests or deserted valleys. It was how the Ghertun could move so easily without being seen.

I didn’t use any of them. Instead, I used the main entrance at the face of the Dead Mountain, though it was guarded by at least a dozen Ghertun warriors.

Hedna was on his pyroki at mypyroki’s heels. We’d passed the darukkars—both Davik’s and the Vorakkar of Rath Kitala’s—camped close by. They had been waiting for something but when Rath Kitala had seen me, alive, I heard his curse as I stormed passed.

“Kalles, stop!” he’d bellowed after me but I paid him no mind, my heartbeat thrumming in my ears after the long journey. Physically, I was exhausted—hungry, tired, aching. But mentally, I could take on anything. We weren’t that far behind Davik but I wondered how long he’d already been inside the Dead Mountain. There was no sign of him among the small encampment, which only made me fear the worst.

Hedna followed and then I heard the Vorakkar’s orders. I didn’t look behind me—my eyes were only for the Dead Mountain—but I heard the rumble of dozens of pyrokis and their riders as they pursued me.

The entrance was up ahead and we wound down the valley with astonishing speed, the pyrokis’ clawed talons made for rocky terrain like this.

When the Ghertun guards saw us, they were already prepared, standing in a line at the entrance, their spears raised towards us. I felt their hesitation, their fear. I didn’t know the boundaries of this new power but once I could see the glittering of their eyes, I spread that power over them like a blanket, imagining that it wrapped them tight like a cord.

Let us pass, I pushed into their minds. Though there were a dozen guards, each of them lowered their spears...

And they let us pass.

At the gates of the Dead Mountain, I pulled my pyroki to a stop and slid off her side. I felt the heartstone, hot and burning in the pockets of my trews. I gritted my teeth because I had to focus on keeping that command pressed within the Ghertun’s minds like a brand. A dozen at once was staggering but manageable. I only feared that I would reach my limits soon without finding my family or Davik first.

The Vorakkar of Rath Kitala and the darukkars kicked up a cloud of dirt behind me, the evening sun beginning to redden the sky above us.

“What…what is this, kalles?” Rath Kitala rasped, eyeing the Ghertun, who were standing close to me.

“Restrain them,” I said. “Please.”

Hedna was already off his pyroki, casting me an unreadable look as he passed to take the Ghertun’s weapons. He knew something about me was different now. He’d realized that the moment the Dead Mountain had come into view and I’d dropped my previous command from his mind.

But he also knew that I would do anything to help Davik and so, he did as I asked.

Another darukkar came forward with rope and only once the Ghertun were tied did I release the command with a shuddered breath. Immediately, the Ghertun were hissing and struggling against their binds but they stilled when a group of warriors surrounded them, their swords pointed at their throats.

I didn’t waste another moment and I strode inside the Dead Mountain, taking the darkened stairwell down to the depths, where most of the Ghertun lived. Already, that musty, moldy, cloying scent filled my lungs, making me want to retch. Behind me, I heard the remainder of the warriors follow, including Hedna and Rath Kitala, their swords hissing from their sheaths.

Once we reached the main landing, I pointed down the darkened hallway to our left. “The sibi who own slaves live down there,” I told Hedna, connecting eyes with him. “Find them all. My family is among them.”

Hedna jerked his head and a group of Davik’s warriors followed him. I had faith that they’d be able to handle the Ghertun they encountered, since most of the sibi would be in the great hall with Lozza, especially if they had Davik as their entertainment.

The thought made my gut churn as Rath Kitala’s eyes found mine.

“I hope you know what you are doing, kalles,” he murmured.

“I haven’t a clue,” I confessed, reaching into my pocket, my palm squeezing around the heartstone, clutching it to me. I needed to be brave. For my family. For Davik. “This way.”

The pathway to the great hall was long and narrow, winding in a seemingly endless circle to the very center of the mountain.

Then we heard screams, hissing shrieks of horror and surprise, echo from the hall up ahead. My stomach dropped, my blood freezing to ice, as the whole mountain seemed to awaken.

“Vok,” Rath Kitala cursed as we, and the handful of darukkars that accompanied us, pressed close to the walls.

Most of the population of Ghertun lived on the level where the great hall was and soon, I heard hordes of them begin to approach from all directions.

We slipped into a shadowed alcove, my nails piercing half-moons into my palm around the heartstone. A moment later, there was a rush of dark bodies, the walls vibrating as more and more Ghertun streamed into the hall, all heading towards the awing blackness at the end of it.

Davik was in there.

I knew it. I could feel him.

And I couldn’t afford to wait until the hallway was cleared because Ghertun would pour from every dark crevice of the mountain until we were swarmed and unable to move.

“Kalles,” Rath Kitala bit out when I stepped out from the safety of the alcove. A Ghertun ran into me, making the breath whoosh from my lungs, but I felt the heartstone burn even hotter in my hand. The Ghertun wouldn’t think anything of a human—one who wore the slave mark—so I ran with them towards the great hall, getting lost in the crush of their bodies, the acrid and bitter scent of their flesh, until I reached the entrance and peered within.

What I saw made panic claw at my throat.

The Ghertun king was bleeding and slumped near his throne. And Davik was near him, a deep wound in his chest, blood dripping down his face, fighting off a legion of Ghertun that had begun to swarm, no doubt at Lozza’s command.

“No,” I whispered, throat tightening with fear and panic. There were too many.

My power rose.

My first instinct was to help Davik, though I didn’t know how. My only thought was of saving him because he wouldn’t be able to fight off the hundreds of Ghertun that were pouring into the great hall alone. And more would come. They wouldn’t be satisfied until he was dead on the floor.

No.

If he were gone from this world…I didn’t think I’d be able to bear it.

Kakkari, help me,I pleaded, panicked, pressing my palm around the heartstone tighter and tighter until I thought it would burrow into my hand. Help me save him.

That burning heat sank into me and filled the cavern of my chest. Just like at the tree in the ancient groves, that heat began to sear me from the inside, painful and scraping, a silent scream lodged in my throat as it rose and rose. The pain from the vovic was nothing compared to this.

My vision went dark. My skin prickled like a thousand needles were piercing me at once. But despite the pain, I felt my gift building inside me, the energy that I could conjure at will becoming something far more powerful, roving and roiling inside me, desperately seeking an escape.

Through a thick haze, I heard him.

“Nik! Vienne!” Davik roared.

But it was too late.

That power flooded out of me as I screamed. As it left me, my lungs filled and I felt like I could breathe again.

Directing that power, I felt it travel through the great hall like a wave, stopping all the Ghertun in their tracks, freezing them into place. When the power hit the walls, it delved inside the stone and I directed it to encase the entirety of the Dead Mountain. I could see it rushing through the tunnels, filling and filling them all, stopping all the Ghertun in their tracks.

In my mind, I felt thousands of souls. I was in them all.

Unfathomable power…

I could have killed them all. In a single moment.

And for a moment, I was tempted to. I was tempted to bring the Dead Mountain down, once and for all. I was tempted to end thousands of lives in a single moment.

Because I could.

“Vienne!” Davik bellowed across the still, quiet place.

When I locked eyes with Davik, I felt my chest fill with something else. I felt suspended in time as he pulled himself from the bodies of the Ghertun around him, who made no move to stop him as he sprinted towards me, pushing and weaving.

When he reached me, I felt his touch on my cheek.

“Nik, leikavi, what have you done?” he rasped, his voice anguished, his mind on the verge of breaking.

I had used the heartstone. That same power had meant death for Lokkaru’s father…would it mean the same for me?

A price has to be paid.

Acceptance settled in my chest. At least Davik would be safe.

“It’s done now,” I murmured to him, my eyes filling with tears though I blinked them away. “Bring me Lozza.”

There must’ve been darukkars behind me because Davik bit out an order to them. They streamed into the great hall and, a mere moment later, dragged the Ghertun king to my feet before they scurried away, as if afraid of me. Lozza’s side was bleeding in a steady flow, pooling on the floor. He would bleed out soon. He would die.

He was as frozen as the rest but I found his life source in my mind and I gave back his will.

“You will give me the cure for vovic,” I told him. “You will release your enslaved under the Dead Mountain and vow to me that you will never take another.”

He was staring up at me in fear, in bewilderment, and in pain.

As I looked down at him, I realized it would be so easy to end his life. Davik would do it for me gladly. This male had been the cause of so much pain and suffering within my own family, within many.

But as I looked at him, I also realized that if he died…another would take his place. Perhaps another even more terrible than him. The hatred in the Ghertun’s minds, after centuries of Dakkari oppression and rule, ran like vovic in their veins, poisonous and bitter. It would never end.

“Or else I will bring the Dead Mountain down on top of you,” I whispered. Light was coming from somewhere, blue light that illuminated Lozza’s face. Was it coming from me?

Davik had spoken of a white-haired sorceress that had destroyed an entire horde?

Well, I would destroy an entire mountain if necessary.

The Dothikkar had had every right to fear me when I turned up in Dothik, I realized.

But my newfound power was already beginning to wane. I could feel its reaches begin to contract and pull back. We didn’t have much time.

Lozza stuttered, “In the cellars. The cure is there with the doses. I swear it. Take it. Take it all.”

Rath Kitala’s voice cut in, from somewhere behind me, words in Dakkari to the darukkars, who sprinted from the great hall—no doubt to take every last item in the cellars.

“How do I know you speak the truth?” I asked, even as I delved deeper into his mind. This part of my gift felt familiar to me.

I was relieved when I found no deception, a weight seeming to lift off my shoulders.

“I swear it. T-take the slaves,” Lozza rasped. “Take them but spare me. Spare my kingdom. I will do whatever you wish.”

“Of course I will spare you,” I told him. Davik started at my side, a growl tearing from his throat. When I looked at my Vorakkar, I nodded. He procured a silver disk from his pocket and I took it, flipping it open to see a dark blue salve inside.

“Kalles,” Rath Kitala cut in. “We should discuss this.”

“He lives,” I decided, leaning over the Ghertun king and applying the salve to his wound, since his limbs were still heavy. Relief relaxed his features. He looked up at me almost gratefully and I felt a sting of anger rise in my chest. It was a similar expression, no doubt, to how I’d looked at my sibi when they’d finally given me a dose of vovic. “How else will he hold his promise to me?”

That grateful relief gave way to shuddered fear.

I wiped my fingers on his clothes and rose. As I did, my head was beginning to split and throb.

This is done.

I turned from Lozza, my legs feeling heavy and sluggish, like I was wading through water. Davik caught me in his arms, swooping me up against his chest.

“Hedna is here,” I whispered to Davik, starting to feel the strain of holding a thousand minds within my own. Davik was already running down the hallway leading from the great hall, back towards the main level and the staircase that led up to the entrance. Rath Kitala was at his heels. “I—I don’t think I can hold it for much longer, Davik.”

“Stay with me, leikavi,” he rasped, his chest heaving, keeping me tight in his arms. I was convinced the blue light was coming from me now because it shone over Davik’s face, highlighting the deepness of his scar, his scowl, the black threads of his red eyes. “Please. We are almost there.”

Then the light over his face began to fade and I felt Kakkari’s power beginning to drain with it.

My eyes closed.

“Vienne!” Davik grated. “Look at me.”

I heard heavy, booted footsteps. Not Davik’s or Rath Kitala’s. I heard the whisper of bare feet too on the stone, of shivering gasps and sobs. I felt the hard press of hundreds of emotions fill my mind. Relief, fear, confusion, sadness. I felt the presence of dozens...of the enslaved?

Were my family among them?

“Davik, my family,” I told him.

“Hedna will find them,” Davik assured me. “If they are not outside already. Hold on, rei kassiri. I beg you.”

We were ascending stairs now. I gritted my teeth, my eyelids fluttering open to see the blackened stone of the mountain. We were still deep inside.

Just a little longer, I told myself. Hang onto it a little longer.

The power was flickering. Fading. How long did we have until the Ghertun would move freely again? Had the darukkars reached the cellars? Had they found the cure?

“Look at me,” Davik growled.

My eyes found him.

His eyes were panicked and wild as he peered down at me. A wave of affection, of grief went through me, tears beginning to flow freely from my eyes.

“Do not do this, leikavi,” he rasped. “Hanniva, do not do this.”

I wanted to tell him at least once. I did not know what would come next. I did not know what price Kakkari would ask of me for the use of her power…but I wanted to tell him at least once.

“You did a terrible thing, you know,” I told him.

“What is that, leikavi?” he asked quietly. “Keep speaking. Tell me.”

“You made me love you.”

“Nik, Vienne,” he growled. “It was the best thing I have ever done.”

A sound tore from my throat.

“Drokka, she’s fading,” I heard, the voice sounding like Rath Kitala’s. “The heartstone—”

“I know,” Davik growled, just as we reached the top of the stairs.

The hallway to the gates of the Dead Mountain was short but just as we crossed the threshold, I felt Kakkari’s power give way, releasing, a tight tension from the mind unravelling and unravelling until I thought I might unravel with it.

A hum seemed to rise up from within the mountain, growing louder and louder as we burst from the gates, into open, cool air.

I heard crying. I heard human voices—I heard Killup, and Nrunteng, and Dakkari. A loud murmur that seemed to rise.

Then I heard, “Vienne!”

My eyes opened and I could recognize that voice anywhere.

And there, huddled together in the darkness in the open air of the Dead Valley, was my family. Maxen and Eli, thin and bleary-eyed, and Viola, whose tear-streaked face hit me like a punch.

The woman running towards me was older than I remembered, with lines across her forehead that hadn’t been there before, streaks of white in her hair that hadn’t been there before.

Relief pierced me, bright and perfect.

“Maman.”

The last of Kakkari’s power left me like a whisper, leaving me empty and ravaged, scraped clean from the inside with nothing left to give.

“Vienne, nik,” Davik growled.

I felt my mother’s hand touch my face just before the world went dark.