Page 190 of Eldritch
“The longer we wait, the closer Zevander might be to discovering the glyph that Dolion mentioned,” Kazhimyr argued.
“What glyph?” Dravien peeled his attention from the window, brows drawn low in a frown.
Kazhimyr hesitated to tell him at first, but perhaps doing so might light a fire under the Elvyniran’s ass to get back on the road. “I suppose it’s of no consequence to a man like yourself, with no moral compass, but it’s an eldritch glyph that’s apparently powerful enough to bring down the Umbravale.”
“So, we’re heading to the mortal lands to kill Zevander.”
Kazhimyr raised his cup for another sip, but paused halfway and sailed a scowl back at Dravien. “No. Zevander isn’t a threat. He’s a pawn in all of this.”
“For whom?”
“You’re asking a lot of questions for someone I don’t entirely trust.”
“Then why answer them at all?”
Instead of taking the sip, Kazhimyr set the cup and pitcher onto the small table beside the bed. “Because I need you to understand how imperative it is that we get across thatUmbravale before it’s too late. And sitting around here like a bunch of hens waiting on eggs to hatch is going to drive me mad.”
“You’re in no position to travel.” Ravezio tipped back another swill of his ale and grimaced. “Fucking hell, this tastes like warm piss.”
“I’m just fine.” Kazhimyr pushed up on the mattress to climb out of bed, and as if a swarm of bees had crawled beneath his skin, his entire leg suffered an intense, swelling pain. Teeth clenched, he fell back onto the bed, clutching his trembling leg.
“A few more days, as I said.” Dravien rifled through a leather satchel and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle. From it, he handed two pieces of jerky to Kazhimyr, which he swiped from him. “Trust me, I know that pain intimately.”
“You’ve been bitten before?” Kazhimyr tore a chunk of the meat away with his teeth, his eyes damned near rolling back as the savory flavor coated his tongue.
“Many times. They say a bite is deadly to some. Others can be permanently paralyzed, and some even suffer premonitions.”
Kazhimyr frowned at that. “Premonitions?”
“Dreams. Sometimes, the dreams come to pass.”
“Have you ever suffered these premonitions yourself?”
“Yes.” The Elvyniran’s brows came together. “I dreamt that I’d one day be captured and enslaved by a woman in golden armor.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
MAEVYTH
Rows of bookshelves lined the stone walls of the temple library—a room I had never been permitted to enter before. So many books, hoarded by the clergymen who insisted that reading was not for women and young girls. It left me wondering if those who survived would change the laws, with Sacton Crain no longer ruling over them. Or would they remain forever stagnant in their beliefs?
Zevander stood over a table beside Father, while on Father’s other side, Corwin had exchanged his black mourneclote for a plain white tunic and trousers. All three studied a Mortasian map. As I understood, the journey to the mountains would take from five to seven days, and the terrain, on a good day, was treacherous.
“What, exactly, do you seek in the Sawtooth Mountains?” Father asked.
Zevander and I exchanged a quick glance. “An element found there. One that Mr. Moros discovered a while back,” I answered.
“The white stones?” The guarded tone in Father’s voice left me to wonder what he knew of those stones, and a fragileglimmer of hope slipped through the cracks of my growing skepticism that we’d ever find them.
“You’ve seen the stones?”
“Lyverians guard them rather violently.” Father looked Zevander up and down. “What is your intention with them?”
Zevander didn’t answer, but gave Father that frighteningly stoic look, like he’d have sooner slid his blade across the older man’s throat
“We only need a small chunk of it,” I said, jumping in. “The scorpion you saw?—”
“The abomination I saw. An illusory trick of the eyes.”
