Page 92 of Eldritch
“It isn’t real, remember?”
“How did you arrive here yourself?”
“I don’t know,” Zevander lied. “I longed to be here, and I arrived.”
“You must never venture to Caligorya yourself! It’s dangerous. Had I not found you, you might have never returned.”
“Why would I want to return? What awaits me when I wake? More suffering? More brutality? More wounds that need stitching? Why wouldn’t I stay here?”
“Because you have a destiny, and that destiny does not reside in Caligorya.”
Zevander’s chuckle held little mirth. “What destiny? To die a slave? To be humiliated and shamed?”
“The gods have favored you. They will see you set free.”
“To Hell with the gods!” Zevander growled. “The gods have forsaken me!”
“They have not forsaken you, boy. They are simply not ready for you. Patience. Do not return to Caligorya again without me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
KAZHIMYR
Present …
Having secured two more horses, Kazhimyr and Ravezio trailed behind Dravien, as he led them along the snow-laden path toward the city at the foot of the mountains. Four days, they’d traveled with him, sleeping in coach houses and camps along the way, and Kazhimyr hadn’t come to trust the strange Elvyniran any more than before.
Not that he’d expected to trust him much after the bastard had slit the necks on their horses. He’d chalked it up to unsavory coincraft, but Kazhimyr’s suspicions only heightened with the way the stranger kept along, as if he knew the land well—too well for one who claimed he’d never been as far north as Susurria and was only passing through. Yet, somehow, he seemed to know where to avoid the random sinkholes and where to set up camps for the night.
Even more frustrating was the fact that Kazhimyr couldn’t share his reservations with Ravezio, given their traveling companion seemed to have exceptional hearing.
No, Kazhimyr was certain the man was quite familiar with the stretch they traveled, which led him to question the fork-tongued snake’s motives.
Ahead of them stood the sprawling city of Wyntertide, where they’d hoped to secure passage to Calyxar, but Kazhimyr couldn’t shake the thought that they were being led toward something more nefarious. He’d heard of wanderers getting swept up by raptors, as they were known throughout the neighboring villages and towns, who befriended them, promising passage, or work. Instead, the raptors would lure them to where a pack of their friends awaited to drain the blood of their victims, for use in dark rituals.
Despite Kazhimyr knowing that if Dravien’s plans were to kill them, he’d certainly had plenty of opportunity during their travels, he’d always made a point never to ignore his instincts. “When we arrive, Ravezio and I have some dealings that must be settled,” he lied.
“Very well,” Dravien said over his shoulder. “We can convene in the morning.”
“Seems you travel this path frequently.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You appear to know the landscape well.”
“I told you, I happen to be good at navigation. I can sense changes and danger.”
Hehadtold them that, and still, Kazhimyr’s instincts refused to settle. “How fortunate we are to have found you, then.”
“I agree.”
“Perhaps you might suggest a place to stay while we’re there.” In Kazhimyr’s periphery, Ravezio glanced at him, but didn’t bother to mention aloud that they were quite familiar with Wintergrave, the sprawling castle owned by Zevander’s Aunt Morwenna. It was there they planned to stay for the night.
“There’s a hostelrie right next to an alchemist shop in town. Stayed there when I first arrived.” He shrugged and glanced over his shoulder again. “But if you’re aware of better accommodations, please don’t hesitate to share.”
“The hostelrie will do.”
“Excellent.”
