Night of Flame (Steel and Fire Book 5)

by Jordan Rivet

  “She’s alive,” Latch said as he joined them, “but we won’t be if they attack again.”

  “Can you get more Watermight from the vent?”

  “I’m spent,” Latch said, and Siv realized blood was pouring down his leg from a nasty wound above his knee. “So is she.” He shifted Dara on his shoulder, and she gave a soft groan. Rumy swooped in to land beside them, squawking agitatedly at the sight of Dara’s limp form.

  “Options?” Siv barked.

  “I say we—”

  “Look out!” one of the men called, interrupting whatever Latch was going to suggest.

  “Reinforcements on the hill!”

  Siv whirled around. Dozens—no, scores of Pendarkan riders were cresting the ridge, preparing to charge the small company of fighters gathered in the shadow of the village. Khrillin had been running toward them, not truly retreating. Their ranks opened to admit him then closed again, forming a single mass of galloping death.

  “We’re outnumbered,” Lian said.

  Siv cursed. “The villagers?”

  “Hiding or dead,” Lian said. “I haven’t sensed any Watermight activity from them since the first blast.”

  “We can’t fight that many alone,” Siv said. “We have to retreat.”

  “The Forest,” Latch said. “We can hide there and regroup.”

  “Done,” Siv said. “We retreat to fight another day.”

  “Cindral Forest isn’t safe, Sire,” Detsin said. A few of the other men were looking apprehensively at the dark shadow of the trees beyond the village. “Haven’t you heard the stories?”

  “Nowhere is safe,” Siv said. “Now move, unless you want to be cullmoran food!”

  The soldiers obeyed. They ran for the cover of the trees, many supporting their injured comrades. Here and there, Soolen villagers were also rushing for the shelter of the woods. Behind them, Khrillin’s men thundered down the ridge and swept into Mirror Wells. A few broke off to harry the fleeing villagers, but the rest focused on their prize.

  Siv couldn’t keep despair from leaching into him as he ran away. Khrillin now had control of the secret Watermight vent, the Lantern Maker occupied Fort Brach, his pen fighter comrades had betrayed him, and his two Wielders were too injured to fight even if they had a drop of either magical substance left. This was not good. All of Siv’s brilliant plans were falling apart. He had never imagined Khrillin would come for the Brach Watermight so soon—or that he would be so powerless to stop him.

  They reached the forest and hurried beneath the eaves of the towering Cindral trees. With any luck, Khrillin would decide it wasn’t worth chasing them.

  “You’re about to drop,” Siv said, jogging beside Latch. “Let me carry Dara.”

  “You don’t look much better,” Latch grunted. “She saved my skin out there.”

  “Give her to me.” Siv’s tone brooked no argument. He appreciated that Latch was grateful to Dara, but he didn’t need his friend to collapse. That wound on his leg looked nasty.

  Latch obeyed, pausing long enough to transfer Dara to Siv’s arms. She moaned softly as Siv held her close, but she didn’t regain consciousness. Siv fought down the fear bubbling in his stomach as he carried her into the woods. She had to be all right. Everything else had gone to ruin.

  15.

  The Forest

  DARA awoke on a bed of leaves. She felt disoriented and drained. A dark canopy loomed overhead, and she wasn’t entirely sure whether it was day or night. Were they in the Darkwood? Had Khrillin bashed her over the head and taken her back to Pendark?

  She sat up, head throbbing, and looked around for her companions. She was in a sheltered hollow surrounded by massive fallen trees. Siv and the others leaned back against the logs nearby, looking desperately tired. Only twenty soldiers remained from their original company in addition to Captain Lian. They seemed to have lost both Fiz and Gull, unless they were out scouting. They had gained half a dozen Soolen villagers who now sat in their own forlorn cluster. Vine and Vex were still missing, of course.

  Dara shifted on her pile of leaves, wincing. Her bones felt as brittle as glass. She was becoming all too familiar with this sensation. She’d first experienced it after trying to draw in far too much Fire the first and only time she faced her father. She had been a novice then, unable to direct so much power safely. She was still a novice when it came to wielding the magic substances together. The battle in Mirror Wells had taken more out of her than she expected. She could barely remember the end. What had she been thinking right before she was knocked out? Something about how she could end the war then and there? What had given her the idea that she was invincible? Judging by her companions’ despondent appearance and their forested refuge, they had lost decisively.

  “Does Khrillin have the vent?” Dara called to her companions, her voice coming out surprisingly hoarse.

  “Dara! I was starting to worry.” Siv dashed over to her and dropped to his knees at her side.

  She smiled. “Only starting?”

  “He’s been a complete wreck since he saw you were unconscious,” Latch said, limping over to join them. He had a bloodied shirt wrapped around the arrow wound in his thigh.

  “Have not.”

  Latch chuckled dryly. “I seem to recall someone saying he’d cut me up into pieces and feed me to a bullshell if you didn’t wake soon.”

  “Why you?” Dara accepted the wineskin Siv was offering her, relieved to find it contained only water.

  “I’m the one who knocked you over the head,” Latch said. “You lost control. I had to stop you before you destroyed yourself.”

  “You shouldn’t have told me that part,” Siv said. “I’d have believed you if you said one of Khrillin’s men whacked her. You’re lucky we’re on the run, and I haven’t had a chance to give you a proper thrashing.”

  “I’d like to see you try,” Latch muttered.

  Despite Siv’s words, he seemed less hostile toward Latch than he had been since Fork Town. He even helped him ease down to sit on the ground beside Dara. But defeat was evident in the hunch of his shoulders and the lines in his brow.

  “So what happened with Khrillin?” Dara asked.

  “He has the village,” Siv said. “We were outnumbered ten to one in the end.”

  “And the vent?”

  “It’s now feeding Khrillin a steady supply of Watermight,” Latch said. He nodded at the bedraggled Soolens seated in a huddle on the opposite side of the hollow. “We collected a few villagers on our way through the woods, but many were captured, including my aunt.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dara said. “I thought I had him.”

  “Me too,” Latch said. “That was impressive Work, Dara, but you need to be more careful. You’re no use to anyone dead.”

  “Will you go away,” Siv growled. “She’s had a rough day.”

  “He’s right,” Dara said. “I had control at first—more than I’ve ever had before. But Khrillin kept adding power to the mix, and I couldn’t resist—”

  “You have to resist,” Latch said. “The temptation will get worse if you let it.”

  “I said leave her alone,” Siv said. “No one is harder on Dara when she makes mistakes than Dara herself. Besides, the Lantern Maker himself wouldn’t have stood a chance once those reinforcements showed up.”

  Dara frowned. The statement struck her strangely, like a hit glancing off a target, but she wasn’t sure why.

  “Ten to one.” Dara rubbed her head, trying to calculate how many men she’d taken out of the fight herself. “Where did they come from?”

  “Apparently, now that Khrillin knows the great Brach secret, he figured he should take over the vent before Commander Brach returns,” Siv said.

  “How did he found out it was in Mirror Wells? Was . . . was it Vine?”

  “I don’t know if she was involved.” Siv glanced at the surviving soldiers and lowered his voice. “But Gull and Fiz definitely betrayed us. They must have sent word to Khrillin about the
vent while they were out on scouting missions. Our hold over the men we have left is getting a little flimsy. We need to be very careful about our next steps.”

  Dara rubbed her forehead, trying to process all this new information. They hadn’t fared well against Khrillin’s horde the first time, but they couldn’t take back Fort Brach from the Fireworkers without the Watermight he now controlled.

  “So Khrillin has the vent, and my father has the fort. We have a small company of men who may or may not stay loyal, two exhausted Wielders, and no magic left to Wield.”

  There was an indignant squawk nearby. Rumy had been listening in. He shuffled closer and nosed at Dara’s trousers, which were caked with drying mud.

  “Okay, we have a small amount of Fire,” she amended, scratching Rumy’s scaly head. She met Siv’s eyes, and she could see he was fully aware of how dire their situation was. She didn’t see how they stood any chance of winning now. “I guess we lost this round. And we still have to worry about . . .”

  Siv’s words came back to her again. The Lantern Maker himself wouldn’t have stood a chance once those reinforcements showed up.

  “Khrillin’s next move,” she said. “I think he’ll try to take the fort now that he has all that Watermight within striking distance.” Dara honestly didn’t know who would win between Khrillin and her father, but they would pile up bodies around them no matter who was victorious. Blood and death followed wherever these two Wielders walked, and Dara couldn’t catch up. Despite all her efforts, all her progress, she was still losing this race.

  “Maybe,” Siv said. “I’m still not sure why he moved into Soole at all.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and Dara noticed deep red grooves crossing his face, as if someone had wrapped a net around his head and pulled it tight. “Khrillin has barely had time to establish his hold in his own kingdom.”

  “He wants the Cindral dragons badly,” Latch said, his voice bleak. He must still blame himself for allowing the secret of their existence to reach Khrillin’s ears in the first place. “With them, he can expand his power over the whole continent.”

  “Do you think he’ll go after the dragons before the fort?” Dara asked.

  Siv shook his head. “If he holds Fort Brach, he can travel between Cindral Forest and Pendark more easily. He could expand his boundaries all the way to the Ammlen Ocean. I think you’re right that he’ll secure the fort first.”

  Dara sighed. “And he’ll use the Brachs’ own Watermight to do it.”

  “Aye. But we need to be prepared for either option.” Siv took a gulp of Dara’s waterskin and grimaced, no doubt wishing it contained wine. “I’ve had enough of surprises.”

  Despair seemed to wrap in around the three of them, as close as the warm summer air. All their efforts to broker peace, to buy it with their own blood, would be for nothing if Khrillin secured the dragons. With all of Pendark’s Watermight at his command, he would do even more damage than Commander Brach had. Maybe even as much as the Lantern Maker.

  “So what now?” Dara asked, attempting to break the spell of hopelessness. “Do you know your way around Cindral Forest, Latch?”

  Latch shrugged. “We usually stick to the main road, but we could run into Khrillin there if someone shows him where to find the Cindral Folk.”

  “We’ll just have to get to them first.” Siv got up, rolling his shoulders as if throwing off the gloom of their failures. Despite herself, Dara felt tendrils of hope spreading through her as Siv stood tall before them.

  “Let me guess,” Dara said. “You want the dragons.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Siv grinned at her, boyish glee flitting across his battered face. “We’re going to find the Cindral Folk and help them keep those dragons out of Khrillin’s hands.”

  “Fine.” Latch pushed himself to his feet as if there was no point in arguing with Siv anymore. “Let’s just hope they’re happy to see us.”

  They began their trek into Cindral Forest as soon as Dara’s head stopped spinning long enough for her to stand without toppling over. Just walking through the wild woods, much less finding their elusive inhabitants, proved more difficult than anticipated. The trees were towering giants not found anywhere else on the continent. Their trunks grew so wide Dara was sure someone could live inside them quite comfortably. Fallen trees were often too wide to climb over, and they had to walk for ages to find broken sections or narrower parts of the trunks to scramble over. The horses’ reins constantly snagged on spiny brambles, and the animals themselves were skittish, spooking and snorting at sounds no one else heard. Dara caught glimpses of furry creatures scrambling up tree trunks or disappearing into shadowy hollows, and strange birds sang in the trees. It was hard to believe that people—much less dragons—lived in these woods.

  The day was warm, but before long, the clouds broke open, and heavy rain poured over the forest canopy. They trudged through the drizzle for hours, the muddy earth further slowing their progress. Gloom spread through their party, as cloying as the stench of death.

  Trying to ignore the pain in her head, Dara focused on the wet pine needles crunching beneath her boots and the tracks of rain down her skin. She thought over the fight in the village move by move, as if she were analyzing a tournament match. She had finally used some of the tricks she’d been practicing. She was especially proud of how her spiny spirals of Fire had darted across the field of battle before they became too small.

  But the most important moment, when she had produced another wave of force by combining Fire and Watermight, was a blur. She thought she had controlled the wave’s trajectory for a few seconds, but she couldn’t remember how. She wiped the rain out of her eyes, trying to think through the pounding in her skull. Her power would be a far more effective tool if she could keep from knocking down friends and enemies alike. Why couldn’t she remember?

  The sheer quantity of the power had enticed her, intoxicated her, made her feel invincible. She had felt that dangerous seduction before. She knew that force called to her father too. When the full Fire of the mountain came under his control, he had stepped beyond mere mastery of his craft and sought utter dominance. With that much power, he must feel he deserved to rule.

  But Dara knew the enemy now. She had stumbled under the temptation. She had danced to the call of the power, but now she saw it for what it was. She may have lost this bout, but she understood a little better what it would take to win the war—if she could only remember how she had achieved those few seconds of control.

  “You awake in there?”

  “Huh?”

  Siv had fallen in beside her.

  “The mud is that fascinating, eh?”

  “I’m just thinking over my fighting strategy.”

  “Good to know someone is having an interesting time.” Siv smiled at her, looking tired. “I was just wallowing in misery on account of the rain.”

  The rest of the company looked about as miserable as Siv sounded. The sun was sinking low behind the trees. They would need to make camp soon.

  “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

  “Latch thinks the Cindral Folk will find us.” Siv looked around the woods. The shadows were impenetrable now that night was approaching, revealing no hint of any living being apart from their party. “I figure if we look forlorn enough, they’ll take pity on us.”

  Dara lowered her voice. “Do you think Lian and his men will leave us?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure we can trust anyone these days.” Siv sighed and wiped the raindrops out of his eyes. “I should have been more skeptical of Fiz and Gull when they decided to tag along.”

  “They were your friends.”

  “I should have been wiser.”

  Instead of answering, Dara slipped her hand into his. He pulled her close and kissed her gently on top of the head.

  They walked through the rain in silence. The storm clouds choked off what little light remained, and at last they gave up and made camp for the night. The gigantic trees offer
ed some shelter, but they could do nothing about the mud and the damp. The downpour continued all night long.

  After one of the worst nights of sleep Dara had ever endured, they trudged onward through the woods. Streams trickled all across the forest floor, making it impossible to identify tracks or hunting paths that might have helped Latch find his way to a village. They floundered through flooded hollows and slipped across muddy ravines, all devoid of life. Even the strange birds they’d heard the day before disappeared, perhaps knowing better than to be out on such a day.

  By their second night in the woods, everyone was too miserable to complain. Silence lay heavily on them, except when the Pendarkan soldiers muttered about the curse of Cindral Forest. The Soolen villagers who had escaped with them were no more help than Latch. They once had a good relationship with the Cindral Folk, but none of them had entered the forest without a Cindral guide to show them the way. Unfortunately, Brach had betrayed this friendship by invading Cindral Forest to steal the dragons for his campaign. It began to seem absurd that the Cindral Folk would accept their help—or offer any in return. Perhaps they were destined to wander in the dreary, dripping woods for the rest of their lives.

  But on the afternoon of the third day, the Cindral Folk took pity on them at last.

  Three of them emerged from the trees with barely a rustle, wraithlike and cautious. Their clothes made of animal skins and soft green and brown fabrics gave the impression of a trio of wood beetles creeping out of the forest. Dara sensed others watching through the trees.

  She tugged on Siv’s hand to alert him when they appeared. He gestured for the men to wait and walked forward with only Dara and Latch. The Cindral Folk were notoriously reclusive, and they didn’t want to scare them away. They were in for yet another wretched night if the locals decided not to take them in.

  The three Cindral Folk awaited them in front of a particularly large tree stump. At the front of the group was a man, perhaps thirty years old, with eyes that turned up at the corners. His clean-shaven face seemed at odds with the oiled fur mantle he wore on his shoulders. He carried a staff in muscular hands that were as strong and knotty as tree branches.