Page 3 of Promise of Darkness
I have to kill the bane first.
Darting up the spiral staircase of the tower, I slip my knife from its sheath so I’m well armed. Blood is spattered on the steps, and it will be only a matter of time before Andraste follows me. I can’t afford to rush this and make a mistake, but I cannot afford to lose the chance.
My mother granted the task to the both of us, and I know it’s another one of her little tests.
Thighs burning, I make it to the highest level, my steps slowing.
Wounded grunts and soft whispering sounds echo from within the chamber at the top. I dart toward the door, pressing my back to the stone wall beside it and softening my breath. A glance shows the turret room inside, dust and dead leaves covering the floor. In the middle of the room is an enormous, twisted mass of fur and sinew.
It looks like a wolf and a lion had a baby.
Or no, not quite.
There are enormous teeth that don’t belong to either animal, and claws that are two inches long. It moves like a man, though its spine is curved like a cat’s, and it loped along on all fours when we were hunting it.
Blood drips from the wound on its flank where my arrow sank between its ribs, and it licks the ravaged wound, wincing a little. The broken shaft of the arrow’s been snapped off, and the creature tries to bite at it, as if attempting to remove it.
The movement’s so familiar that my fingers curl around the knife. The sound it made when my arrow sank into soft gray fur lingers in my memory. A cry. It sounded like a man’s pained cry.
No mercy for the monsters,sneers my mother’s voice.
But is it a monster?
It was fae once, whispers my conscience.
Aye, and now it’s terrorizing local villages.
Year by year, it will lose itself to the curse, until all it craves is blood. All it will hunger for is flesh. There’s no turning back. If the curse hasn’t been broken yet, then I doubt it ever truly will be.
This is mercy.
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.
My fingers flex around the knife as I creep closer, picking my way between dead leaves.
The creature freezes.
So do I.
“Schmell you,” it whispers, the sound like the skittering of dead leaves. “Coming to finish job.” The word comes from an inhuman mouth, but it freezes me right to the core.
Banes are violent, magic-twisted beasts. There’s no reasoning with them. No means to save them or break the curse. All you can do is put them out of their misery and stop them before they slaughter entire villages.
But this one is fae enough still to speak.
The slight hesitation almost costs me.
The bane lunges toward me, muscle rippling beneath its fur. I drive to the side, blade swinging up. Its claws lash out, smashing my sword to the side. The weight of it slams into me, and then I’m going down. Only pure luck—or years and years of practice with my mother’s swordmaster—mean that my knife drives into its side.
Stupid. So stupid.
As my back slams into the stone floor, I kick my heels up, driving it over the top of me. Lines of heat sear my thigh. Its claws glance off me with the momentum, but if I hadn’t reacted so quickly, they’d be buried in my gut.
Rolling ungracefully to my knees, I scramble for my sword. I have no idea where the knife went. Probably still in its flank.
The bane lashes out, claws swiping my boots from under me. I hit the floor, my hand closing over the hilt as I flip over. Like a turtle on its back, I shove the sword between us, scrambling back across the floor until my back hits the wall.
The beast stretches its spine, eyes glowing an amber gold in the dying afternoon light that pours through the open arch window.
