Legions of Bone: Dragon Rider Book 3

Chapter 32: Deaths Gift

Dagen

The city was empty.

Deserted. Not even a speck of blood in sight.

But Dagen could smell the death. He had smelled some of the worst things imaginable, stenches so foul that even the most experienced necromancer vomited. But this was like walking into a perfume house, the smell slamming into you. So strong it suffocated you and made your head spin and eyes water.

Dagen could feel them too, the Thrawlers lurking deep in the city like a cold blob. They were moving but he couldn't pinpoint exact, individual bodies. And judging by Topher's drawn face and narrowed eyes that darted to those invisible blobs, he couldn't either. Neither could Norah.

The morning was cool, the sun heating his back and all the black he wore. At first, the warmth had been welcomed. He had been tired and cold from lack of sleep and the grey clouds. But hours after stalking deeper into the city the clouds had cleared, the sun bright and blazing. Now Dagen was sweating and wanted to rip off his cloak and the mask covering the lower half of his face.

"I don't know how much we should trust your judgment," Topher said, his voice echoing through the streets. Loud enough that Dagen cringed and glared at him, willing him to shut up. "When you didn't sleep at all."

"I did sleep," Norah answered, the lie as smooth as river stones. "You weren't awake."

Topher met Dagen's gaze, curious. Because the only other person who would have been up would be him.

Dagen shrugged, the lie cool and casual off his tongue. "I didn't mind."

Topher bought it. He shrugged, his brown leathers, which had certainly seen better days, creaked slightly with his movements. They fit his body awkwardly, the leather worn and split in places and Dagen wondered if it had been a hand-me-down, or something stolen off a body. Topher bobbed his head, his white-streaked hair combed back and out of his face. "Uh, so, how long until we start seeing Thrawlers?"

"Should be pretty soon," Norah said, her eyes sweeping over the city like a slow, steady scanner. "I know I said this before we left, but, don't use your abilities until you're ready, Thrawlers will sense it."

"I'd rather not deal with a horde," Topher grumbled, eyes darting around every corner. "Dagen and I only need one--maybe a small group."

The sun rose higher, the sky now a pale blue instead of gold. Heat rippled off the asphalt streets, soaking Dagen's black attire in warmth. It had been nice earlier when his breath clouded and he shivered beneath his cloak and mask, but now beads of sweat collected in the small of his back.

And while he and Topher decided on lighter, quieter armor and a few knives, Norah was a walking arsenal.

Sunlight melted her armor, the mended joints of metallic-looking plates now a shifting puddle of liquid light. She packed a bow and quiver with a sword between her shoulder blades, and had every other kind of knife Dagen could think of strapped to her body. He didn't understand why she needed so many weapons when she had literal destruction at her fingers. But he didn't have to carry it so he didn't really care much.

Ahead, Eoin darted in and out of sight. He gave them the thumbs up at every street signaling that the coast was clear.

Dagen wasn't sure whether to be relieved or dread the prolonging of the trip. He didn't mind being beyond the wall, he wasn't bothered by the dead wandering the streets. But he didn't like the prospect of this journey turning sour and making them retreat behind the wall--their tests a failure. Dagen was trying to be better--trying to be known as more than just the thief and the necromancer. That wouldn't happen if he couldn't convince the one person he hung around most that he was more than some leech Norah couldn't get rid of.