Fireborn Page 18

  A small, wizened old woman looked up from where she sat next to a fire, a cup in her hands. “Who are you? What are you thinking, clomping in like that?”

  “Binchley, what is that noise from the courtyard?” another voice asked from a connecting room.

  “I know not, my lady, but here is a soldier come running into the room covered in the blood of Shades.”

  The old lady was clearly a servant. I gave her a quick nod of my head and sketched a fast protection ward on her before heading to the open door from which emerged the voice. Just as I got there, a woman appeared, a tall, dark-haired woman bearing a single silver star upon her brow.

  I bobbed a curtsy that Sandor had insisted I make whenever local authorities visited the temple, and said, “Queen Dasa? I have been sent to escort you to freedom. If you will come with me now, Deo waits below—”

  “Deo?” She looked annoyed, casting a quick glance toward the window. “He is here? Of all the idiotic ideas—”

  “My lady, please, you must come now,” I said, making shooing gestures toward the hall door. I didn’t dare grab her and hustle her out as I would anyone else, not because she was a queen and I was from the hearty peasantry, but because there was an air of a seasoned warrior about her that made me secretly acknowledge she could beat me into the ground if she so chose. “The Harborym are aware of our arrival, and you are not safe here. Lord Deo is most concerned that you are released.”

  She snorted and strode past me to look out the window, her long silver robes fluttering as if they were made of gossamer. “Don’t be ridiculous. You may tell Deo I wish an explanation of what he’s doing in Genora without my permission.”

  “My lady,” I said, a distinctly pleading tone entering my voice, “please, you must allow me to rescue you. Now. Time is short!”

  “Yes, it is,” a voice said from behind me. It wasn’t a pleasant voice, sounding more like someone was gargling gravel. I whirled around, both swords in my hands, but the man who strode past me simply waved a hand, and I went flying backward, slamming against the wall with enough force to make my vision go black for a few minutes.

  I slid down to the floor and lay there watching stupidly as the Harborym captain strolled over to the queen, saying, “Your spawn causes much disruption.”

  He was big, bigger even than Deo’s enhanced form, the reddish hue of his skin glistening as if he was oiled. His black hair was long and braided, slithering over his shoulders and back as if it had a life of its own.

  The queen made an annoyed gesture. “He is not here by my bidding. I told Israel to keep him well away from here, but clearly he cannot undertake even that simple task.”

  I shook my head to clear it, clumsily getting to my knees, struggling to stay upright when the floor tilted. The little old lady who had been here scurried to another room at the appearance of the Harborym captain, and she returned now with a pale pink shawl.

  “This changes things,” the Harborym said, lifting his hand toward the old lady.

  The queen quickly grasped his wrist, her eyes blazing for a second before she said, in a voice that had edges as sharp as a razor, “Binchley is not worth your trouble. Nor, for that matter, is my son. He will bluster and shout, nothing more.”

  The Harborym lowered his hand, but his eyes, shiny and black, were full of ire as he, too, turned to look out of the window. “You speak with sincerity, but not knowledge. Your son, the one you claimed was in the control of his father, now threatens our plan. It is no longer wise to remain here. I have given the order to regroup.”

  “I wondered why you had sounded the horns.”

  “Only one was mine,” the captain said darkly.

  The queen inclined her head. “I do not agree that such an extreme action is necessary, but if it is your wish to leave, then so be it.”

  I managed to get to my feet, but almost fell when I bent to pick up my swords, my head swimming. It was the chaos magic, however, that had me worried. Rather than reacting to the captain with a surge of power that left me struggling with it, it had gone dormant, so quiet that I glanced at the cuffs on my wrist. The runes were still present, but lay oddly flat and dead upon the surface of the metal.

  It was as if the captain had knocked the magic right out of me.

  “My wish is as it has been these last ten years: to be allowed to proceed unhampered.” The captain’s lips thinned. “I have acceded to your desires, instead, but that ends now.”

  “My lord Racin, I assure you once again that my son’s actions will in no way impact our plans—”

  “I will not allow them to.”

  I staggered a few steps, my head clearing enough for me to focus my gaze upon the form of the massive Harborym. The chaos magic still refused to answer me, so instead, I sent up a prayer to Kiriah, and drew upon her power.

  “Do not think you will remain behind.” The captain grabbed the queen by the arm and shoved her toward the door.

  “But I have sworn to remain in Starfall!” she protested, struggling to free her arm. “I cannot leave now or all will be undone!”

  “That means nothing now.” He raised his hand toward me when I stumbled forward. This time, however, I was ready, and wrapped myself in light just before a wave of chaos magic sent me flying toward the fireplace, and once again into a brief oblivion that snatched awareness from me.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Although I had hit the brick mantel painfully, I was on my feet a few seconds later, rushing after the captain and Queen Dasa. “Stop and fight, you scum!” I yelled, twirling my swords, halfheartedly hoping to goad the captain into pausing his quick descent down the stairs. He didn’t, but I was heartened when he turned toward the throne room, where the sounds of fighting could be heard.

  “Deo!” I yelled, hoping to give him a warning. “The captain is here!”

  I skidded to a halt inside the room, pausing for a moment at the sight that met my eyes. The room was filled with banesmen and Harborym, the floor littered with bodies of both Harborym and Shades alike. Hadrian’s group was here, the long room echoing with cries and screeches that hurt the ears. Blood, both black of the Shades and red of the Harborym, lay in pools on the floor and splattered the once pristine silver and white wallpaper. The few pieces of furniture in the room were destroyed, gore dripping from jagged pieces of wood, the upholstery torn and stained.

  And in the middle of it all, striding through the pandemonium, was the captain, with the queen in tow.

  “Deo!” I yelled again, and this time saw his dark head turn our way. He was on the far side of the room, slashing at two Harborym who were trying to skewer him on pikes, the air around Deo red with magic. As I called his name, he slammed a ball of chaos directly into the nearest Harborym, causing him to explode in a rain of guts and blood.

  Brilliant blue lit up the room for a moment, followed almost instantly by a percussive blast that knocked half the occupants down. In the center of the blast, Hallow stood with the black staff held high, the bird circling him with joyous swoops.

  “Nicely done,” I said under my breath, before once again pulling on Kiriah Sunbringer. I slid the swords home in their sheaths, striding after the captain, the way made easier now that Hallow had downed half the Harborym, my eyes on the back of the massive invader. The light of the sun gathered in my hands, my lips moving as I spoke the words of the goddess’s invocation.

  Around me, banesmen fought Harborym, the noise from the battle terrible to hear. Two banesmen went down as I passed, still gathering power from the sun. Deo, now seeing his mother in the grip of the captain, fought his way toward the center of the room, where the twisting black and green rift continued to turn in upon itself, little tendrils of black reaching out to snap in the air.

  It was at that moment that I realized what the captain meant when he’d said they were regrouping—he was going to take the queen through the rift into the Harborym’s dimension. She struggled and fought him in a way that spoke of centuries of experience in melee co
mbat, but before she could disable him, he clamped his hand over her head for a second, and she fell limp.

  “Hallow!” I dashed forward, ducking when a Harborym swung his axe at me, and jumping over another one that was crawling in his own blood toward another banesman. “The rift! They’re going to the rift!”

  Hallow spun around, took the situation in with a glance, and started forward, but at that moment, a phalanx of Harborym poured through the door and went straight for him. I hesitated, torn whether to stop the captain from escaping or to help Hallow. A blast of arcane magic that punched hundreds of little holes in the nearest oncoming Harborym solved the problem for me—Hallow could take care of himself.

  I ran forward toward the rift in space, still drawing down sunlight, the halo of it surrounding and half-blinding me. All around, the banesmen fought, while Deo hacked his way toward the rift, and Hallow continued to pump raw arcane power directly into the attackers. Dimly, I heard a horn sound, and wondered if yet more Harborym were on the way.

  It didn’t matter—I had to stop the captain from dragging the queen into his realm. Deo screamed something unintelligible, his face black with agony as he threw Harborym from his path, knocking back others who had flung themselves on him, until they swarmed him, at least two dozen of them trying to hold him back as he dragged them slowly, step by painful step, toward the rift.

  I stepped over a banesman who had lost an arm and was writhing on the floor, my eyes on the twisting black nothingness, the sunlight streaming out of me like I was Kiriah herself. The banesmen and Harborym alike fell back out of my path, scurrying out of the way of the burning light.

  “No!” Deo cried, attempting to free himself, reaching out one bloodied hand in entreaty. “Stop the queen!”

  Something in my mind clicked, like a gear slipping into place. Just as the captain reached the rift and stretched out a hand to draw it open, I released the sunlight, a great burning shaft of it coming down from the sky, blasting through the roof and floors above us, until it slammed down directly onto the rift. The light grew until it filled the room, the screams of those nearest it drowned out by the rush of air as the rift was destroyed.

  Right after the captain dragged the queen through it.

  The light burned itself out, leaving me momentarily bereft of its power, my vision dazzled by the brilliance. For a second or two, I stood there, blinking at the spot in the air where the rift had been, my heart feeling like it was made of lead.

  I had failed. I wasn’t in time.

  Deo’s agonized snarl filled the air, and suddenly, he was everywhere, spreading a wave of chaos magic in front of him, literally melting the Harborym with it.

  At the sight of it, the chaos within me burst into being again, filling me with a lust for blood and vengeance. Unable to control it, and with no light left to weave, I spun around, feeling like an animal at bay, and charged the nearest Harborym, slamming bolt after bolt of magic into his body. He, too, melted, screaming a death cry that would haunt me for centuries.

  Deo and I ran amok. There’s just no other word for what happened—we were like the frenzied giant berserkers of old, wild with bloodlust, chaos power flowing from our fingertips as if it were water. The room filled with the entire battalion of Harborym, the bodies consumed by the magic until just smears of blood were left on the corpses of those who had been killed earlier.

  Hallow lit up half the room with another arcane explosion while Deo and I, along with the surviving banesmen, continued to plow through the oncoming mass of Harborym. Just when I thought there couldn’t be any more left, the chaos magic began to ebb, allowing the runes to control it again. At that moment, a group of Harborym ran into the room, their eyes wild. We attacked with vengeance until the last one dropped.

  I stood panting, my hands and arms dripping red with blood, my swords lost somewhere under the pile of bodies. My head echoed with the screams of the dying, a dull pain growing until it almost blocked my vision, my body shaking with the aftereffect of so much magic. I felt as if I were made of wet linen, and wanted nothing more than to crumple to the ground and sleep for a month or two.

  Hallow stumbled forward, fell to his knees, and sat for a few minutes, his hands limp on his stained leggings. He was clearly just as exhausted as the rest of us. The wooden bird circled him twice, then landed on his head. Even it looked drained.

  Seven banesmen survived in addition to Deo and me. Two were on the ground, nursing grievous wounds. They, too, were covered in blood, and had a dazed, stunned look that I knew I bore, as well.

  I dragged myself over to the side of the room where I thought my swords had been torn from my back, halfheartedly looking for them while trying to cope with the growing headache and sense of exhaustion.

  “It is exactly as I expected,” a voice said from the sides. Dully, I turned my head and saw Lord Israel gesture to the bodies in front of him. Three guards hurried forward and cleared them from his path. His tunic was as pristine as ever, although the sword in his hand was stained black with the blood of Shades. He looked with distaste first around the room, then at me, finally settling his gaze on Deo. “You have truly become the monster I feared you would be.” His gaze flickered over to the handful of banesmen who staggered forward. “And this time, you have damned others to your nightmare. Well done, Deo.”

  Deo stood in the center of the room, where a black stain on the floor marked the location of the rift, his head bowed, his great chest heaving and shining with sweat and blood. The runes that crossed his chest still glowed red, although they were fading with each passing second.

  He lifted his head and looked at his father, his face so filthy with gore it was hard to see an expression. “I did what you were too weak to do. I saved Alba. I—and my banesmen—brought an end to the Third Age, as was foretold at my birth.”

  “And do you expect congratulations for that? For embracing the foulness of the invaders? For becoming as much an abomination as they were?” Israel waved his hand toward the room. “And what do you expect to do now? Return to Aryia and live happily ever after with the taint of Harborym oozing from your every pore? Or do you expect your mother to welcome you to your Starborn kin—those that your kind hasn’t yet destroyed—and have you rule at her side?”

  “The queen is gone,” Deo said, his words as hard as granite, but I heard a thread of pain in them, and guilt grew once again within me.

  I’d failed to save the queen.

  “Gone where?” Israel asked, his lip curling in scorn. “It isn’t like her to leave a battle. Or did she know you were coming and conveniently locate herself elsewhere?”

  “My mother is no coward,” Deo snarled, limping over to stand in front of his father. “She was taken by the monsters that you failed to destroy for ten years. Ten years, old man! Ten years of you whining and moaning about the invaders, but not one finger did you raise to save my mother or her people!”

  “What? She was taken?” Israel looked thunderstruck; then suddenly his face was red and choked with rage. “When?”

  “Just before you came,” Deo answered, relaxing his aggressive stance a little. I could only imagine the pain at knowing how close he’d been to saving his mother. “You are, as usual, too late to help her. Assuming you wished to do so, which, judging by your actions these last years, I doubt.”

  “You know nothing,” Israel snapped, the words all but bitten in half when he spoke them. His fingers were white on the hilt of his sword. For a moment, I wondered if he would strike at his son, but he had more control than I had given him credit for.

  “I know what my eyes see, and that is a man come conveniently to a battle once it has ended,” spat out Deo before turning away as if he couldn’t bear to look at his father any longer.

  Lord Israel said nothing for a moment, clearly struggling to maintain a hold on his emotions before he moved around the bodies. He stopped in front of Hallow, who still sat on his heels, his shoulders slumped. Even his eye crinkles looked tired.

&nb
sp; I wanted badly to wrap my arms around him and lose myself in the comfort of his warm chest, and warmer eyes, but I didn’t have the energy to do anything but stand and watch the scene in front of me.

  “What happened to the queen?” Lord Israel asked Hallow.

  Hallow sighed and slowly got to his feet. He held one of his shoulders higher than the other, indicating some injury of the chest or shoulder. The wooden bird fluttered with Hallow’s painful movement, and hopped back to its position on the top of the staff. “The Harborym captain took her through the rift. Allegria called down the fury of Kiriah Sunbringer herself, but ...” He slid an apologetic glance my way. “But the Harborym made it through seconds before the rift was destroyed.”

  “This should never have happened,” Lord Israel said, his voice filled with anger. He turned back to Deo. “If you had not been so determined to have your way, we could have controlled the Harborym, and kept them from taking Dasa. If you had heeded my advice—”

  “Your advice? What would that be? Banishing me to a godless rock in the ocean again? You will forgive me if I chose not to sit and do nothing, as you have done all this time.” Deo choked on the last words, and once again turned his back on his father.

  Israel’s free hand tightened into a fist. I was dimly aware of others entering through the side door that Israel had used: a yellow-eyed giant of a man in amber and gold armor, over which flowed a braided blond beard; the balding runeseeker; and a slim, dark-haired man bearing a purple and silver tunic. No doubt the last was the queen’s representative to the Council of Four Armies. Even as I watched, the men parted and a woman stepped forward, tall and willowy, with the bearing of the queen herself. She had the same silver hair as Hallow, and was clad in the amber colors of her father.

  Idril, the Jewel of the High Lands. My mind tried to mock the title I’d heard used for her, but I was too tired even for that.