Carrow sighed, growing serious. "I might not make it back from this."
Instead of assuring her that she would, Lanthe said, "It isn't likely. ..."
Wastelands, Oblivion
Year 601, Trothan Restoration
They'll come to kill me soon, Malkom thought as he adjusted the tension on one of his spring traps.
After concealing the contraption, he climbed to a blustery vantage on his mountain, gazing out over the Forest of Bone and the vast desert beyond - the sun-scorched desert he could never cross again. His vampire nature made it impossible.
Far in the distance, in the city of Ash, sacrificial pyres burned bright. The dwellers there were making yet more offerings to their dark gods for an end to Malkom. He'd been judged a twisted murderer, a fugitive from justice, an abomination.
All true.
They would like nothing more than to sacrifice Malkom himself on a pyre. More so now than ever since they were desperate for water. And he controlled every drop.
Soon they'd come for him; their stores were nearly gone. They'd have no choice but to cross the desert that had protected them from Malkom.
Though he could travel over his dust-shrouded mountain in the hazy light of day, the desert and city were void of wind and shade. He couldn't cross that expanse and return within a single night. The sole time he'd successfully traversed it - fleeing a mob of Trothans more than three hundred years ago - he'd nearly died.
All his attempts over the centuries had failed. Each time, he'd been so weakened by the midpoint that he couldn't continue, much less contend with his powerful foes.
So he'd cut off the dwellers' water supply to draw them near, knowing they would be led by Ronath the Armorer - the demon who'd taken over after the leaderless vampires fled from this plane.
The traitor who now lived in the Viceroy's opulent fortress.
I removed all of his obstacles. Kallen and eventually the Viceroy both fell because of me.
Malkom had despised the vampires, but at least they had acted according to their nature. The armorer and his men? Malkom remembered their feigned greetings to him just before they'd attacked, just before they'd doomed their prince.
Kallen, my sole friend.
At the memory of his death, bitter-tinged grief swept over Malkom. As fresh as the day I killed him.
When the winds increased, heralding dusk, Malkom gave a low curse. They would never come in the dark.
Now a long, solitary night stretched before him. He'd endured lifetimes of them.
He turned away, heading toward his lair down in the mines - where he would wait, alone, in silence, staring at the damp walls. Time passed slowly deep in the mountain, and the isolation weighed on him.
Malkom consoled himself with the knowledge that one way or another, his miserable existence was about to end.
"You can't come, sweetheart," Carrow told the irate seven-year-old seated on the bunk before her. "Oblivion's not a place for kids."
Sometime between last night and this morning, Ruby had decided she would not be separated from Carrow.
Throughout the night, Carrow had lain awake, wanting to be there if she woke missing her mother. Carrow had been exhausted and knew she needed to be strong for her mission, but putting Ruby's needs above her own affected her in ways she wasn't ready to analyze.
Once, the girl had sleepily mumbled, "Mommy?"
Tears threatening, Carrow had said, "It's okay, baby. Go back to sleep."
But since Ruby had awakened this morning, there'd been nonstop hissy. At least she hadn't passed out so far.
"Why do you have to leave this morning?" Ruby demanded.
"The sooner I leave, the sooner I can return. Now, Dr. Dixon is going to sit you until Lanthe gets back, okay?"