Page 21 of Vow of the Undead
As hours lengthened into the dead of night, harsh beliefs drowned out all other thoughts, leaving me shaky and dizzy. Anxious thoughts often plagued me worse when I was tired.
My pulse fluttered and my eyesight narrowed with every memory of my corruption resurfacing. Damning my mother, killing the courtiers, my blood burning them, and the hatch. The screams. The swing of an axe.
Foolish.
Weak
Evil.
I doubled forward.
Breathless, I palmed my eyes as if I could scrub my mind from dwelling on what I couldn’t change. I wanted to wipe the words away, wipe the memories, wipe my hands clean of the blood that once stained them.
“Move!” The guard barked from ahead.
I lifted my head and tried to take a step forward. Stumbling, I grabbed a man’s arm. He startled and pulled his arm away from me before realizing I needed help. When hescooped his arm under my elbow and righted me, I whispered a breathless thank you.
The guard kept moving with his neck twisted so he could glare at me from several feet down the path. “Run if you have to. I can see King Drakkar from here. We’re not slowing down now.”
Run.
I could try it. Riding the horse and the stops we’d made to set up camp and rest each dawn had replenished my strength. Hopefully the walking hadn’t stripped every bit of it away again.
I straightened.
We were within sight of the king. It wouldn’t be too far.
I shoved my feet forward, starting at a tentative walk.
Focusing on each step, one after the other after another, buried the taunting thoughts. If I would succumb to dwelling, it would be to dwell on the ache in my feet.
I’d fear collapse instead of the memories.
I sucked in a deep breath and focused on the distance between me and the guard. It was only a short sprint, nearly the same distance of the race to the rotted ash tree.
My heels numbly struck the path. I dodged past the rest of the Stormdal travelers as an executioner with a wolf’s mask turned at the sound of my footsteps.
Only a few more steps.
My legs burned, but if I pushed harder, maybe the Gods could show me more with a new vision. Where in Mara’s Keep were the historical records kept? Perhaps there was something else in the castle that would grant my mother freedom from exile.
I kept my eyes fixed on the guard, determined not to lose my dignity. He would not tie me up, the king would not meet me in tethers, even if I was his servant.
Sweat and pain blurred my sight. I slowed when a vague shape stepped in front of me, but not soon enough. Ismacked into someone’s back and the wind knocked from my chest.
The woman whirled around, her eyes flaring from beneath a mask carved with the face of a wolf—the animal whose species now became her name. It was the way of all members of the Grimward. They were assigned a mask, and so became their identity.
Wolf spat out a string of loud curses and several guards turned to stare at me. Others setting up camp stopped to see what the commotion was about.
A villager had collided with an executioner. No doubt it was a sight to see. Nobody was stupid enough to get that close to the executioners.
The guard I’d caught up to laughed as Wolf hissed obscenities at me.
Breathless, I apologized and stumbled back away from her. I slammed my palms against my knees and dragged painful breaths into my throat. My eyes fixed on the dirt in front of me as I tried to contain my spastic breaths, but my head spun from the effort. Even on the edge of collapse, a vision didn’t come over me.
It was just as well, because with a clear head I caught Ragna’s voice.
“Drakkar!” She didn’t address the king formally.
