Death Wind

by Tara Grayce

  They didn’t balk at walking on the branches until, like she had the first time she was here, they hesitated when the branches went from safe, twenty-foot-wide roads to a mere four feet.

  “Our rooms are right over there.” Essie gestured at the treehouse on the far side of the branch. “It’s not as scary as it looks.”

  Julien glanced from her to the branch and back again. “You’re not scared of falling.”

  “I got used to it.” Eventually. It had taken Farrendel a lot of coaxing to get her to cross that branch the first time.

  She refused to let herself ache at the memories.

  She strolled across the branch, then waited on the porch that ran around the outside of the main room. Her brothers inched across, arms spread to help them keep their balance.

  Once inside, she gave them a quick tour. The main room was nothing besides a small kitchen area of cupboards and a table with two chairs while the other side held various cushions on the floor for relaxing. The far side of the room had three doors. Two guest rooms and the room she had shared with Farrendel for all of two nights before they had left for Escarland.

  She pointed Edmund to the far room, then Julien to the one in the middle, the room that had been hers for most of her three months here. “I think some of my things might still be in that room. I’ll fetch them in a little while.”

  She didn’t wait to see his reaction. She retreated through the door to her and Farrendel’s room. Her knees wobbled as she climbed the staircase, crossed the porch, and entered the bedroom.

  The bed beneath the window looked as if it had been grown of branches out of the wall, still piled with the mound of blankets Essie had hauled into the room since Farrendel liked to sleep with the window open no matter how chilly the night breeze. The clothing shelves were nearly bare of items, as she and Farrendel had taken most of their clothing with them to Escarland.

  But more than missing clothing and personal items, this room felt empty. Even though Edmund and Julien were in the rooms a short walk away, Essie sank onto the bed, lonelier than she could remember being in her life.

  This place didn’t feel right without Farrendel.

  She curled onto her side. His pillow still had the minty smell of his shampoo.

  Farrendel. How were either of them going to survive the weeks it was going to take to rescue him?

  She reached for the heart bond deep inside her chest. It took a few moments of concentration before she felt it. That crackling sense of magic that held the impression of Farrendel.

  He was still alive. She could tell that. There was a lingering sense of pain, though not sharp. Perhaps he was still asleep or unconscious. Yet, he’d been like that for hours now. Were the trolls keeping him sedated? Perhaps they were using the same ether that Mark Hadley and Lord Bletchly had used to capture Essie and Farrendel in Escarland. She couldn’t sense enough through the heart bond to say for sure.

  Don’t give up, Farrendel. We’re coming.

  MELANTHA CURLED in the corner of the frigid train car as it shook and shuddered down the tracks as if about to fly off and go careening down the mountainside toward a fiery crash at any moment. How did the trolls survive these train rides? Surely this was not safe.

  But Prince Rharreth leaned against the wall in the center of the train car, arms crossed as if unperturbed by the rocking vibrations. He had been like that ever since they had hiked, or been hauled, across the border and deep inland until boarding this rickety excuse for a train. Rather than join his brother King Charvod in whatever the trolls considered a royal train car, Prince Rharreth had insisted on being locked in this windowless, heatless boxcar with the prisoners.

  Farrendel lay on the far side of the train car from Melantha, bound with stone and seemingly still unconscious under the sedation of that human drug. Stone shackled him to the floor of the car, and Melantha was almost jealous. At least he was not in danger of rolling every time the car tipped dangerously.

  As the train lurched around what Melantha could only guess was another precarious turn above a precipitous drop, she braced herself as best she could against the steel wall, her fingers burning with the icy chill. She clamped her jaws shut to stop a shriek. She might be a prisoner, but she still had her dignity. Barely.

  The trolls had played her for a fool. A royal, naïve fool. The trolls never intended to uphold their end of the bargain. All those fine words about feeding their starving people had just been an act, a reason they had given her as they pretended to want peace, if only they were given the minor appeasement of revenge on Laesornysh.

  They had never wanted peace. That dratted human princess Elspeth had been right all along. The trolls just wanted Farrendel out of the way before they started a war to crush Tarenhiel once and for all.

  Melantha had been used. Again. Just like she had been years ago when Hatharal, her betrothed, had only wanted to marry her for her title. He had walked away the moment the scandal of Farrendel’s birth and acceptance into the royal family made the prestige of Melantha’s title meaningless.

  But this time, it would cost not just her dreams but her entire family. The trolls would not stop with just Farrendel. They would kill Weylind. Melantha’s sister-in-law Rheva. Her nephew and niece Ryfon and Brina. Jalissa, if she did not flee to Escarland. Their grandmother Leyleira. Anyone and everyone who had ever meant something to Melantha.

  In trying to save her family from the decades of scandal and heartache that had plagued them, Melantha had doomed them all. She made everything so much worse.

  The wheels squealed, and the entire train gave such a hard, slamming lurch that Melantha thunked against the front wall despite her best efforts. Even Prince Rharreth staggered a step under the force.

  With a prolonged screeching that had Melantha pressing her hands over her ears, the train came to a juddering halt.

  Prince Rharreth stepped away from the wall, his face in hard, unperturbed lines. “We’re here.”

  Melantha peeled herself from the floor, using the wall to help her stand on shaking legs. “And where is here?”

  “Gror Grar.” Prince Rharreth grabbed her arm, yanking her forward as the large cargo door scraped open, revealing a squad of trolls dressed in leather armor and carrying Escarlish weapons, though Melantha was not sure if they were rifles or muskets or some other human-made atrocity.

  Her knees buckled, and Prince Rharreth all but carried her to the door. Gror Grar was the legendary fortress of the trolls. Supposedly impenetrable, only one elf in living memory had ever successfully breached its walls and come out alive.

  She glanced over her shoulder to where Farrendel lay in chains. This time, he would not breach the walls and kill the troll king. He was a prisoner to be subjected to torture while being used as bait to lure Weylind to his death.

  Prince Rharreth gripped her arms and swung her off her feet. She shrieked and kicked, but his grip remained solid. She was passed from him to the trolls on the ground as if she were nothing but a sack of cargo.

  When she was set on the ground, Melantha drew herself straight, gathering the last shreds of her poise. “Unhand me.”

  The two trolls gripping her arms did not budge. Their gray skin might as well have been made of the stone of the surrounding mountains.

  King Charvod marched up to them with more troll soldiers flanking him. He climbed into the train car, reappearing a few seconds later with Farrendel dangling limply from his grip. “Behold! The great Laesornysh of the elves!”

  The troll soldiers stomped their feet and gave their howling war cries.

  King Charvod tossed Farrendel from the train car, and the troll soldiers let him land hard on the ground.

  Melantha winced, finding herself taking a step toward Farrendel before she caught herself. Why the concern now? A few days ago, she had hated him enough to try to have him killed. And yet, now, seeing him like this...being caught in this nightmare with him...

  It had a way of shining a light into a part of herself she was
not sure she wanted to acknowledge. If she looked too closely, she was not going to like what she saw.

  King Charvod jumped from the train car, strode to Farrendel’s still form, and kicked him hard in the ribs. “Stripped of your magic, you are nothing. Just a weak, pathetic elfling.”

  Amid the laughter of the soldiers, King Charvod hauled Farrendel to his feet and dragged him along, surrounded by the jeering soldiers.

  Was Farrendel even conscious? A part of Melantha hoped he was not. Better he remain senseless and never remember these insults hurled at him.

  She should not care. She had betrayed him to the trolls, knowing this was the cruelty he would face, even if she had shied away from dwelling on anything besides the hope that her life could finally go back to the way it was before her mother had been killed. Back when her family had not been scorned because of their acceptance of an illegitimate half-brother.

  Another stab of that churning pang in her stomach had her hunching over. What would Dacha think about all this?

  Did she even need to ask? Her father would have been horrified. He had loved Farrendel as much as he had Weylind. Dacha had sacrificed years of his life to make sure Farrendel had the best childhood he could give him. And he had died to rescue Farrendel from the trolls.

  How could Dacha have put his illegitimate son over the happiness of the rest of his children? That was the question that had been simmering inside her from the moment he had been killed.

  Yet, had he? Dacha would have sacrificed just as much for her or Jalissa or Weylind. Had he not been angry on her behalf when Hatharal had broken their betrothal? He had been there for all her growing up years. Those beautiful years when both Macha and Dacha had been alive and she, Weylind, and Jalissa had spent many happy summers at Lethorel.

  Prince Rharreth’s grip tightened on Melantha’s arm, and he marched her forward after the army of trolls.

  Melantha gritted her teeth and trotted to keep up with him. A blast of wind cut through her thin, silk dress, sweeping up off the rocky terrain only sparsely broken by tufts of grass and other brush that Weylind or Jalissa could name, as they had studied such things for their plant growing magic. Mountains stretched toward the horizon as far as she could see.

  As they rounded the end of the train, the view of a flat plateau spread before her. Deep gullies stretched on all sides of the plateau except one. Behind them, the train tracks wound up the one sloping side while in front of her, a stone bridge curved over the crevasse.

  On the other side of the bridge stood Gror Grar. Its walls and towers rose out of a mountain as if they had been grown like that. With the trolls’ stone magic, they probably had transformed a mountain peak into the spiraling towers and mighty walls before her.

  Beyond Gror Grar shone the lights of the capital city of Osmana, tucked onto the side of a distant mountain guarded by walls and the fortress of Gror Grar standing in the way.

  Melantha shivered and hugged her arms over her body as best she could with Prince Rharreth gripping her elbow. Would she ever leave Gror Grar? Or would both she and Farrendel die there behind those cold, stone walls?

  She was hauled across the bridge and into the fortress itself. All the stone surrounding her sent a dull throb to her temples.

  In the courtyard, hordes of trolls had gathered with King Charvod in a cleared space in the center, shouting.

  The trolls at the edges of the cleared space were shoving and kicking Farrendel as he staggered, arms pinned to his sides with stone. The trolls had stripped Farrendel of his shirt and boots, leaving him in only the Escarlish trousers. His gaze was wide and hazy, as if he was still groggy and drugged.

  Melantha struggled against Prince Rharreth’s grip. “You have to stop this.”

  Prince Rharreth stared down at her with cold, dark blue eyes. “Why? He is my kingdom’s greatest enemy. We have no reason to spare him any indignity after the numbers he has killed.”

  She gritted her teeth. “You value honor, especially in battle. You might hate him as your enemy, but surely you value his strength as a warrior. Treat him with the decency of an honored enemy. This...this is just barbaric.”

  “Perhaps. But it is deserved.” Prince Rharreth dragged her through the crowd of trolls until they broke through the circle.

  Shoved from behind, Farrendel tumbled to the ground, lying still.

  Prince Rharreth stared down at Farrendel with an impassive expression before he lifted his gaze to King Charvod. “You have paraded Laesornysh before our people as you wished. Now we should kill him, as is honorable for a defeated enemy.”

  Melantha tried to wrench her arm from the troll prince’s grasp. “No, do not—”

  He shook her. Not hard, but hard enough to cut off her words. The glare he sent her clamped her mouth shut.

  This was what she had wanted when she had betrayed Farrendel. A quick execution by the trolls, an easy elimination of a decades-long problem.

  Yet, now, when the time came, why did her stomach churn? Why was she protesting?

  “I wish to keep him alive a while longer. He should suffer for our people he has murdered.” King Charvod aimed a kick at Farrendel’s ribs as the troll soldiers around them cheered and howled more battle cries.

  Farrendel curled on the ground as much as the stone wrapped around him would allow. Why was he not fighting back? Were the stone bindings and troll magic lacing them enough to keep his magic locked from his reach?

  “It is too great a risk to keep him alive.” Prince Rharreth remained as stoic as the stone walls around them. “His brother believes we have him captured. He will come regardless of whether we keep Laesornysh alive or kill him now.”

  “Actually, we must keep him alive, since you let his human wife escape. They share one of those elven elishinas, and she would feel it if Laesornysh were killed.” King Charvod sent a sharp look at his brother before turning to Melantha. “Isn’t that right, elf princess?”

  That was one of the tidbits of information she had shared with the trolls through Thanfardil. Still, Melantha stared back and said nothing. She had no wish to continue helping this troll king who had lied to her so grievously.

  “I see you aren’t talking.” King Charvod shook his head. “Too late for guilt now. Your brother already knows you are a traitor. He won’t come for you.”

  Melantha pressed her mouth into a tight line. Would Weylind come for her, if he realized she had been taken by the trolls as well?

  After what she had done, he might decide to let the trolls have her, and good riddance.

  King Charvod gestured down at Farrendel. “Look at him. He is fully in our control. I am counting on your magic to keep him contained. Unless you believe your magic isn’t strong enough for one elfling?”

  Prince Rharreth bowed his head. “My magic is strong enough, especially here.”

  “Exactly.” King Charvod pointed at Farrendel. “Take him to the dungeon and see that he is properly secured. Then meet me in my quarters. I have some questions for our elven princess.”

  Melantha swallowed as Prince Rharreth released her. Several troll soldiers surrounded her, cutting off any hope of escape.

  Even if she ran, where would she go? She was now hundreds of miles into Kostaria. She had no food. No water. Nothing but the thin dress she wore.

  While Prince Rharreth dragged Farrendel to his feet, the troll soldiers shoved Melantha forward, following as King Charvod led the way toward a pair of double doors set into the main tower of Gror Grar, which looked more like a mountain peak than a tower.

  As she stepped inside, the cold and the stone shivered into her bones, sharp with the tang of troll magic. Her headache pounded harder behind her eyes. Easing a hint of her magic into her fingertips, she rubbed at her temples and soothed the headache away as subtly as she could.

  For some reason, it seemed important to keep the trolls from knowing that she was not as susceptible to the stone as Farrendel was. Since she retained more of the use of her magic, she could heal her
self from the minor physical discomfort caused by proximity to stone.

  The soldiers escorted her up a set of stairs, through winding passageways lit with flickering torches, and finally pushed her through a door embossed with a likeness of the carved, antler crown of the troll king.

  Inside, a few frayed rugs covered the floor while a few worn cushions covered the stone chairs in what looked like a sitting room. A fireplace to her left held a crackling fire while a door to her right probably led to the bedroom. Slim windows filled the far wall, providing glimpses of the vast mountains stretching in all directions. It would have been breathtaking, if she had not been marched there as a prisoner.

  King Charvod halted in the center of the room and waved toward the soldiers. “Thank you for escorting her. You may wait outside.”

  With a click of their boots on the stone, the troll soldiers left, closing the door behind them.

  Leaving Melantha alone with the troll king.

  King Charvod reclined on one of the chairs. “Please. Have a seat.”

  Melantha perched on the edge of one of the stone chairs as far away from King Charvod as possible. This felt like a trap.

  The troll king’s icy blue eyes studied her before he gestured at the room. “You have a choice, Princess Melantha. Either I can have you escorted down to the dungeons or you can spend your time enjoying the hospitality that Gror Grar has to offer.”

  If this was Gror Grar’s best, then it was sorely lacking. All but a few of the poorest of homes in Tarenhiel had more luxuries than this.

  Even if this place held all the wealth in the world, it would not disguise the fact that King Charvod was attempting to bait a trap. Melantha gathered the poise she had learned as a princess of the elves. “And what would be the price of that hospitality?”

  “Nothing much. Certainly nothing more than what you have already done.” King Charvod shrugged, as if what he was about to ask her was nothing to raise her concern. The light from the windows highlighted the hard lines of his square jaw. “All you would have to do is give us a few more pieces of information. The size of your brother’s army. His likely strategy. The kinds of magic he will unleash now that he no longer has Laesornysh to fight at his side.”