Moon Shadows Read online

  “Now stay out of the way,” he ordered curtly, and gripped his sword all the tighter as he advanced upon the bearded man groggily trying to rise from his knees.

  Gwynna pushed herself to a sitting position and stared about her. The rider Keir had dragged from his horse lay face down near a charred tree stump in a pool of blood. His horse stood to the side, trembling.

  Keir descended upon her attacker, who now stood with his feet planted wide, a sneer upon his face. She saw that he had the cudgel in one hand, a short sword in the other. Blood still streamed from the wound she’d inflicted on him, but it didn’t appear to have had any effect on his strength or his savage eagerness to fight.

  Fear for Keir raced through her and she forced herself to her feet. She glanced desperately about for her dagger and scooped it up even as she heard Keir’s voice.

  It had never sounded so deadly.

  “You dared to lay a hand on this lady,” he said in a soft, lethal tone. The bearded man responded with a leering laugh. “I’ll lay more than me hand on her after I kills you,” he spat. “Then I’ll kills her, too. No one passes through the Valley of Org and lives to tell the tale.”

  “No?” Keir edged closer, his sword glinting through the gloom.

  “No,” the man hissed. “Only evil walks here. And you two don’t got the stench of evil about you. You’re doomed, both of you. Doomed.”

  “Let’s see who’s doomed.” Keir lunged forward before he’d even finished speaking. Gwynna had never seen anyone wield a sword with such swiftness. He looked to have the strength of five men as he plunged the blade through the other man’s chest.

  The bearded man’s mouth gaped open as his life’s blood spilled. Keir ripped out the sword and his enemy toppled forward. The only sound was a gurgling from the bearded man’s throat. Then the cudgel and short sword slipped from his lifeless fingers, thudding into the dirt.

  Keir bent over him only long enough to make certain he was dead, then he sheathed his sword and spun back toward Gwynna. When he saw her standing near him, the dagger clasped in her hand, he grasped her arms.

  “I told you to stay back.”

  “I thought you might need help.” She was trembling. She’d never encountered evil before—or such brutal death—but since crossing into Org she’d seen more than she’d ever thought to see in a lifetime. And it shook her to her core.

  “You were right, about this place. It is foul. Those men . . . they seem scarcely human.”

  “They’re not. They’re demons in human form. Outlaws who have lived and hunted in Org so long that whatever humanity they might once have possessed has been poisoned by the demon air they’ve inhaled over the years.

  “But we must find shelter and soon,” he said tightly. “At night the vampires walk this land and they’re stronger than men, stronger even than the demon-men. And they travel in packs, like werewolves and wild dogs.”

  By the moon, it’s hopeless, Gwynna thought, despair clenching at her heart. There are too many enemies here, too much evil.

  She saw the grim line of Keir’s mouth, the tension in his face. Now she understood. This place was indeed cursed. How would they survive the mist, the cold, the vampires who would walk the night?

  Keir seemed to read her mind. “We have to reach the cliffs. There are caves; it’s our only chance. But they’re still a long distance to the north, nearer to Ondrea’s fortress. We’ll have to run to reach them before complete darkness takes the land.”

  “Why run? We have horses—two of them.” She started toward the steeds ridden by the demon-men, but Keir yanked her back as the spotted gray horse reared high, the whites of his eyes showing, and the other kicked out warningly.

  “They’re wild, Gwynna. And vicious. They carry outlaws and demons and won’t submit to you or me,” he warned.

  Gwynna saw the signs; the horses indeed looked wild. And as if they’d like nothing better than to stomp her into the ground. But she saw also the scars upon their flanks, the burns and whipped flesh, and the wary angle at which they hung their heads.

  “Wait here,” she told Keir softly. He reached for her arm to stop her as she started toward the dun-colored horse, but she turned back and met his gaze.

  “They won’t hurt me,” she said quietly, and something in her face made him release her arm, though his chest felt tight with concern.

  Slowly, despite the urgency that called for haste, she walked toward the dun-colored horse. “Parumosa bentien zarat,” she whispered, and the animal went still.

  “You mustn’t be afraid. I am Gwynna of Callemore, friend to every creature that roams the earth. Men have whipped you, hurt you. My touch will heal you.”

  The dun-colored horse trembled. Its eyes rolled warily. “I come to you in friendship. Never will I harm you, parumosa zarat.”

  Keir held his breath. He was ready to spring forward instantly but as he watched, Gwynna reached out a hand and touched the horse’s neck. She stroked his mane, murmuring to him, and he quivered beneath her touch.

  But even as she spoke to him again, more softly so that Keir could not hear the words, the horse lowered his head, and whickered softly, a sound that echoed with gentleness and longing in the dusky desolation of Org.

  “My poor beauty,” Gwynna whispered, her heart aching for the animal, who edged closer to her, as if craving her touch.

  It was the same with the second horse. In only a short time, they were both following at Gwynna’s heels, ears twitching, eyes alert and calm. They now seemed almost as tame as stalwart old ponies, and Gwynna spoke to them in a language he didn’t understand before turning to him with a smile.

  “They’ll carry us to the caves now. I promised we would shelter them. They fear the vampires as much as we do.”

  “How did you do that? Witchcraft doesn’t work here—”

  “It isn’t witchcraft. It’s a gift.” She shrugged. “I understand the language of wild creatures. I know their yearnings, their feelings, those things others cannot begin to fathom. And they understand me. It has always been so. These poor beasts were mistreated all of their days. They knew only hate, fear, submission. For the first time when I spoke to them today, they heard love. In my voice, my words. And in my touch.” She smiled at him. “Every creature seeks love.”

  “Not the vampires.” Keir grimaced. “Time to ride, Princess, or risk our blood.”

  “You called me Gwynna before.” She searched his face. “It was the first time you ever spoke my name. It sounds much nicer than when you call me Princess.”

  There was a softness and a longing in her tone that startled him. Something in that beautiful, weary face made him want to touch her, cradle her face between his hands, brush his mouth across those soft pink lips.

  But darkness was stealing over Org. They were in the open, at their most vulnerable.

  “Princess—” He saw the flicker of disappointment in her eyes and stopped. “Gwynna,” he said, with a ghost of a smile, “we must find the caves. There’s no time to lose.”

  She murmured to the horses again and they stood quietly while Keir and Gwynna mounted them. Heading westward at a gallop, Gwynna watched the land flying beneath the dun’s hooves, heard the whoosh of the wind in her ears. The darkness was growing denser, deeper; it was nearly purple now and there was no moonlight or starlight to brighten the sky.

  Yet she thought she saw gray shapes gliding past the trees, lurking behind shrubs and pale stones.

  “Ghosts,” Keir muttered as he rode up beside her and saw her glance following the floating forms. “Ghosts of those who lost their way and wandered in here, then couldn’t get out, and ghosts of souls who were carried here against their will and left to roam forever. Prisoners of Org.”

  The last words lingered between them. Prisoners of Org. As we might be, if we cannot get out, if we fail, Gwynna thought as she clung to the dun horse that galloped with her through the night.

  We won’t fail. We can’t fail, she thought, but a shiver ran thr
ough her, chilling her spine and her very blood.

  Antwa had predicted failure, and so had Keir. And now that she was here and saw the wasteland that was Org, the evil that brewed here like broth in a blackened cauldron, how could she even hope to succeed?

  Yet one spark of hope still held strong within her. Lise. She could save Lise. Even if she did not escape herself, she could get to Ondrea and force her to set Lise free.

  But what of Keir? Her thoughts raced. It was one thing to risk her own life, but now she had led Keir into this danger, too. And suddenly, fear for him closed like a vise around her heart.

  He had escaped Org once before, she told herself. He could do so again. But would he leave without her, even to save himself?

  For all his protestations, he was the most courageous, most heroic man she had ever known. He wouldn’t abandon her. So if she were to fall, to become a prisoner of Org like those silent gliding ghosts, he would as well.

  Tears welled in her eyes. Not Keir. He didn’t deserve it. He was so brave, so good, and he didn’t even realize it. He had only returned to this place because of her. He couldn’t die. But he would, she knew suddenly. They both would . . .

  Grief stabbed her, and her shoulders sagged beneath the anvil-like burden that weighed on her—Keir’s life and Lise’s. As she rode on through the darkness and heard the roar of a dragon in the distance, saw a burst of fire in the sky and watched the gliding ghosts, she felt hopelessness descending upon her. There was too much evil here to fight. Too many enemies, seen and unseen.

  And she had no magic left to employ against Ondrea—if she should even get that far. Why had she come? Why hadn’t she listened to Antwa and to Keir?

  Her shoulders shook and silent sobs wracked her throughout the ride. They reached the mountains and rode along the ledges until they found the caves Keir remembered from his last journey. When Keir sprang from his horse and came to help her down, she turned her face away so that he wouldn’t see the tears.

  They led the horses into a wide-mouthed cave that was even blacker than the night sky and Keir built up a small fire with dry twigs and sticks. It was only then that he suddenly heard a tiny sob.

  Keir turned to Gwynna, fear rushing through him. “You are hurt. Where?”

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped, the flames creating shadows across her face. “You don’t deserve to die. It’s my fault. I never should have let you—”

  “It’s gotten to you, Gwynna. Don’t you see? This isn’t you speaking. It’s Ondrea. It’s Org.”

  “No, I am realizing finally that what you said is true; we cannot win. There is no light here, nothing good can live, much less flourish. The evil is too strong.”

  “Listen to yourself.” His tone was sharp, but he gripped her shoulders gently. “You’re losing hope, and all that makes you who you are. Gwynna, that’s what this place does to all who enter, especially those who draw near to Ondrea’s stronghold. But I can’t bear it if it happens to you.”

  His gaze held hers, his eyes fierce and determined. Slowly his arms wrapped around her, holding her close. “Fight it, Gwynna. Fight for yourself, and I will fight for you. If anyone can reach Ondrea, challenge her, it is you, my love. You are Lise’s only hope, and now you are my hope, too.”

  My love. He called me his love. She lifted her gaze to his in wonder. In the firelight his eyes had softened upon her. They were filled with understanding and with something else. Love?

  “I thought my heart was closed forever,” Keir said and there was a different kind of desperation in his tone, not one born of despair, but of need. The need to make her understand. His hands slid up to cradle her face.

  “Before you came, there was nothing I wanted, Gwynna, nothing. For nothing gave me pleasure. Until you stormed your way into my hall and laid seige to all my senses. To my mind, my conscience and my heart.” He took a deep breath and spoke simply. “They are yours now. I battle now, not for vengeance, but for you. For your life and for your love.”

  He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I won’t let you suffer the fate that I did—hopelessness, despair, a gloom so complete that nothing in the world had meaning anymore. I swear to you, you will live and return to the goodness of the world. I will give my life for that. For you. So fight, Gwynna. Let your hope be the one thing that the Valley of Org cannot take from you, the one light that shines even through the darkness. Fight the darkness.”

  Slowly, as she stared into his eyes, she began to see. To feel. Love. Love gleamed in his eyes, burned from his fingers into her flesh. Love leapt from his soul to hers as they stood together in the firelit cave.

  He loved her.

  And when had she come to love him—this harsh, handsome man who had entered the Valley of Org by her side despite all that would drive him away? At what moment had her feelings changed from gratitude and warmth and admiration, to this sweet rush of passion and love that made her soul ache and her eyes weep because he might die?

  Love rose within her as she lifted her arms, clasped them around his neck. She gazed into those eyes which once had looked so cold. Now they shone with a fierce love and his mouth lowered swiftly to hers. He kissed her deeply, possessively, a fire leaping between them.

  Keir had never known a kiss so sweet or so hot. The feel of Gwynna in his arms gave him the strength of a thousand men and he held her slender form against him, wishing he never had to let her go. His blood roared in his ears and need, desire, tenderness hammered through every muscle and bone of his body.

  “I’ll not let Ondrea harm you, I swear,” he said hoarsely against her lips, and she clung to him all the tighter.

  “I’ll not let her hurt you either,” she promised and in her eyes, those rich enchanting eyes, he saw a determination so strong it made him ache with love for her.

  “That’s my girl. My obstinate, dedicated, unstoppable girl. Gwynna, enchantress of my heart.”

  “Keir, lord of my heart,” she whispered back. She stood on tiptoe, touched her lips to his, drank in the scent and taste and warmth of him.

  He fitted his mouth to hers and took the kiss deeper, drawing her into a swirling blur of heat and pleasure. Their tongues caressed, battled, stroked. Keir’s hands thrust through her hair, crushing the curls, even as he crushed Gwynna against him. Exquisite sensations rushed through her. Pressing closer, her body sang, tingled—feeling alive in a way it never had before. Joy dazzled her as she wrapped her arms tightly around him and the hungry kisses flew between them like sparks. He was so strong, so demanding and yet so tender. His touch sparked fire.

  Gwynna wanted to kiss him forever. She wanted more, needed more.

  More, and more, and more . . .

  Then the horses screamed and reared up, and they broke apart in shock, turning to see a looming figure with a bloodless face and twisted features ducking into the mouth of the cave. Another bobbed behind the first, fangs bared and a burning hunger glittering in its soulless eyes. And yet another followed on its heels.

  “Vampires.” Swift as fury, Keir thrust her behind him and swept out his sword.

  Chapter 8

  AS the three vampires fanned out and began to advance upon Keir from different directions, Gwynna scooped up a stray stick lying alongside the fire and plunged it into the red-hot flames. Even as the torch burst into a blaze, she grabbed another stick and did the same. A moment later she was at his side, a burning torch in each hand.

  “They don’t look so dangerous,” she murmured, but her heart was pounding. She had just found love and it had found her. She wasn’t going to lose it—or the one man in the world she would ever love—because of some undead creatures with a blood-lust from hell.

  “Run—or die again,” she ordered them. The creatures’ grotesque laughter echoed through the cave.

  Keir leaped forward, gripping his sword like a stake and driving it through the first vampire’s heart.

  Gwynna sprang at the same instant and thrust the burning torch into the second vampire’s thro
at, eliciting a spew of purple bile that narrowly missed her cloak. But the third vampire dodged aside quicker than a blink. Before she could pivot, he was on her with a growl, pouncing low, knocking her backwards to the ground. Then she felt his hands, powerful as bear claws, holding her shoulders down. His bared fangs dropped toward her throat and she smelled the vile tang of fresh blood on his breath.

  “Morafusken—get back, get off!” she cried desperately, hoping against hope some shred of the spell would take effect, but it did not. She was too deep in the Valley of Org, and her magic could not help her here.

  The vampire merely laughed again, a sound like teeth grinding against bones. Its fangs sank against her throat, but just as they began to bite down, Keir hauled the creature back by its lank hair and sent it crashing into the cave wall. Before the vampire could spring up, Keir’s sword plunged clear through the vampire’s heart, the blade shoving up against the solid rock wall as it penetrated clear through the beast and protruded out its back.

  Purple goo flew from the wound, spattering near the horses, who whinnied and pranced and huddled together.

  Three vampires dead. How many more to come?

  Keir spun toward the mouth of the cave.

  No more vampires approaching—yet. He knelt beside Gwynna and helped her to her feet.

  To his horror, there were scratches on her throat, but no blood. He’d reached her just in time.

  “We need . . . a circle of protection,” she gasped, knowing there was not a moment to lose. “Help me . . . we must make a circle of fire that blocks off the mouth of the cave—quickly, before others arrive!”

  Moments later, it was done. Keir had dashed outside and gathered more sticks. These they’d spread out in a wide circle, edging close to the mouth of the cave, blocking the entrance. Fire blazed around the circle, the flames dancing and swaying as Keir and Gwynna and the two horses huddled within the cave.