A voice broke into her thoughts.
She looked up from the smoking ground at her boots, but couldn’t spot a dragon anywhere.
Had Euskal decided to make good on that play bet to fly over the area?
Straining her neck, she stared into the night sky, but she caught no glimpse of wings or dragon shapes. Maybe it was only a distura bird. Or even a rock lizard. She had never been out here, this close to the marshes. Perhaps they made such a noise after sundown.
But then she heard it again. A male voice. Low, strong. But the words…
It almost sounded like another language.
The voice echoed across the simmering marshland once more—just a weak shout.
A hissing started near Vahly’s boot.
A plume of acrid smoke blasted from the ground. Vahly leaped back, boots crunching on the uneven ground. Stumbling, she landed on her backside. Thankfully, she hadn’t been burned. But that creature out there, it was surely in trouble.
She would at least go as far as the remaining path allowed. Then, if she couldn’t go any further, she would return to Nix’s and get help.
The old path wound through pillars of curling gases and past black and crusty ground. Vahly’s throat burned, and a coughing fit stalled her progress. The path was nearly gone and now she second-guessed this rescue mission. Once she had stilled her struggling lungs, she walked a few more steps.
There, on the ground, was a shape that was not rock or smoke or golden earthblood.
Or dragon.
Her lips parted in a silent gasp.
Two arms. Two legs. Supple flesh instead of scales.
Crouching by the body, Vahly moved a curtain of obsidian hair away from the creature’s face.
A pointed ear.
Vahly’s tongue didn’t want to work.
It was an elf.
She shook him hard, finally forcing her mouth to make sounds. “Wake up, fool! You’re going to die out here and I’m not about to go down with you. I thought your kynd was known for wisdom. Why in the world are you out here by yourself?”
He could have asked her the same thing.
The elf was nothing like she’d imagined. Yes, he had the glowing elegance of the illustrations she’d seen from the library scrolls. His exposed arms showed powerful muscles and his features were just as chiseled as recorded in dragon history.
But there was an age to him, a feeling of having weathered many storms, a burnished look to his fine, clear skin and proud, beardless chin. His presence weighed on her like a winter cloak, heavy but somehow comforting.
A line between his sharply slanted eyebrows made her think he had experienced great frustration in his lifetime. She hadn’t thought to see that in an elf. This wasn’t the picture she’d cobbled from her research.
He was so much … more.
Grabbing the sleeveless, black surcoat he wore, she shook him hard. Dirt fell from his front, but his inky lashes remained closed and resting on his sharp, moonlit cheeks. Silver embroidery sewn to resemble small oak leaves decorated the shoulders and breast of his surcoat as well as the outside seam of his travel-stained trousers. An image covered his heart, perhaps a half moon, half sun, though it was difficult to tell in the dark.
A quiver was attached to his belt, its details echoing those on the surcoat, and a bow showed behind him, its tip touching his head. On his belt, he wore two knives with hilts of silver and blades of swirling steel—similar to the throwing knives the elf on the scroll held above the brazenberry bush.
The moonlight seemed to be playing with the shadows around his mouth, as if with a word, he could make light and dark dance to his tune.
She couldn’t stop staring. So still. So lovely. Like marble or glass, with the tiny scratches that time wore into such surfaces.
Except in illustrations, never had she seen a form so similar to her own. Her entire life, Vahly had known only dragons. Claw and fang, scaled bodies and translucent wings. She lifted his hand to study his fingers, marveling at their slender strength. They were larger than her own, but smoother. He had no scars whatsoever though he appeared roughly her age. Though she should have expected that part, it was still astounding to see with her own eyes.
A hiss sounded beside his left leg.
Panic needling her veins, Vahly put arms under him and attempted to move him, but he was too heavy.
The hissing grew louder.
She was going to watch his flesh, so similar to her own, boil in front of her eyes. Adrenaline pumping through her body, she moved herself over the hissing spot and rolled the elf onto his side, then to his stomach, avoiding the dangerous area.
The ground popped. The fire marshes’ deadly clouds reached out of the ground like claws.
Only a small area of the elf’s upper arm had suffered from the heat. The flesh was darker than the rest of him, but she couldn’t quite see the extent of the damage.
She had to get him out of here. Now.
Like so many times before, she wished she were a dragon with powerful wings. A dragon could easily save this elf. But she was a lowly human with a faulty Blackwater mark between her brows. A cruel joke.
She collapsed, her lungs beginning to clog in the foul air again. Soon, she’d be on the ground with him, well on her way to death.
“Nix!” she called out, knowing the only chance she had of being heard was if the dragons had already set out to meet her. “Dramour!” Stones, why had she wandered out here by herself? Her nerves had trumped her good sense.
The elf stirred, and his fingers twitched. He moaned a word or what she guessed was a word. It sounded like Etor. A name? She reached for the opposite hand and found a circlet of leather on his wrist. Tiny silver bells rang out as she shifted his arm.
The elf said the word again.
“Are you saying Etor? Is Etor a friend? Does that mean help?” Vahly cursed her own ignorance. Granted, no one besides Nix had seen an elf in an age. But still. She should have at least studied the basics of their language just in case. This was twice now it would have come in handy. “We need to get you out of here or we’re both destined to be a fine, steamed dinner for the marshes. Does this have magic to it?” She shook the bells.
A black and white horse with a curved neck pranced out of the darkness.
Vahly stood. “Etor?”
The horse clomped forward, then skittered at the nearest vein of earthblood.
She held out a hand. “It’s all right. Just stay on the path. Let’s get your master on your back.”
“Etor.” The elf’s luminous, black eyes opened briefly.
Vahly shivered. “We need to go,” she said, hoping against everything that he might understand.
The elf nodded doggedly and hauled himself to a seated position. Vahly crooked an arm under his and helped him to his horse. She put a steady hand on the simplebeast. The animal’s coat was finer than Amona’s best velvet.
The elf coughed out words in a language that wasn’t elven or dragon. She shook her head, fearing the hiss sounding right behind her.
Dropping suddenly, the elf called the horse’s name. Vahly caught him, and he seemed to fade away for a moment before rousing himself again.
He managed to stand, leaning heavily on Etor. With a shove, she aided him in working his way onto the horse. It wasn’t easy. His sword’s sheath—pale bone tooled with a riot of symbols Vahly had not the time nor the will to study—stuck her in the side once. His boot caught on the horse’s saddle as she tried to get him settled. With his feet in the stirrups, she had done all she could do. The elf’s eyes remained shut. He swayed like a drunk, his hair falling in front of his face and his pointed ears catching the moonlight.
She took Etor’s bridle and headed quickly down the winding path of rock and earth, toward safety. Seen only through the haze of gases released by the earthblood cracks, the sky was starry bright. Using the constellation of Goat’s Horn and Wolf Pack, she determined she was heading the right direction.
Anothe
r hiss and a blast with no pause between sounded behind them.
Etor startled, jingling his reins. The elf pitched to the side.
Vahly spun to catch him. The gas burned her leg. Her trousers smoked in one spot and agony crawled up her limb. The pain was red-hot, and it pulsed slow and strong, taking her breath and making her shiver. Coughing, she forced the elf to his seat, then took up the bridle.
Her body shook as she guided the horse through the fire marshes. One more step. Just one more. One more. She took up the phrases and turned them into a chant to keep her going despite the pounding pain in her leg and the intense heat soaking through her linen and leather clothing. The soles of her boots softened in the extreme temperature and sweat pooled between her toes. The fire marshes were going to eat through the bottoms of her boots.
She glanced back at Etor and his master. The horse’s white mane trailed low, to the simplebeast’s knees and he nickered in Vahly’s direction.
“Yes, Etor,” she croaked. “This isn’t my favorite day either.”
The elf kept his seat. His fingers curled loosely around the reins, but his feet hung free of the stirrups. His cheeks looked hollow and unhealthy and his color had faded further. If they didn’t get out of this foul air soon, he would surely die.
Finally, they breached the last stretch of fire marsh and felt solid earth under their feet and hooves, respectively.
She tied the horse to a tree at the side of the cider house and hurried inside the kitchen door. She found Nix with her crew huddled around her like disciples.
“Vahly?” Nix hurried to meet her, mouth drawn.
She winced at her own injury, the pain lancing through her in time with her heartbeat. “I found an elf. In the marshes. Just now. He’s wounded.”
Chapter Nine
Dramour’s eyes slitted. “Are you joking? You are, aren’t you, Vahl?”
“I’m not.” She pointed to her burned leg. “I do love a good laugh, but I wouldn’t scorch my leg off to sell a prank, my friend.”
Ibai hurried to check out her leg. She waved him away. “The elf needs your help more than me. Come on.” She limped out the door and pointed. “He’s there. Hopefully, still on the horse.”
She followed Nix and the rest toward the spot where she’d left the elf and Etor. “Stones.”
The elf lay sprawled on the ground, unconscious, and all that was left of the horse was a torn bridle.
“Horses don’t love dragons,” Nix explained.
“I suppose losing a horse is the least of his problems,” Vahly said. “What would push an elf to brave the marshes?”
Nix rushed inside to close the cider house down. Her coaxing and singing rang through the night.
“Spend a night or two without her,
See your love grow harder … ”
Dragons poured from the door, laughing and shouting praises to Nix. A few voiced their willingness to test Nix’s song upon return.
Ibai and Kemen stood shoulder to shoulder to block Vahly and the elf from view, even though most of the dragons leaving wouldn’t be bothered to check the far side of the cider house. They headed for their hideouts in the city of thieves—tunnels and homes carved into high ridge.
When the place was cleared, the dragons helped Vahly to one of the gaming tables. Then, Kemen hauled the elf inside and plopped him on the bar top.
Nix rubbed her hands together. “We are going to find out what made this elf risk the marshes. And maybe, if we’re lucky for once in our Blackwater forsaken lives, he’ll know all about your scroll and your dozing powers.”
Ibai was already emerging from the storage room with a mortar, pestle, and three bunches of herbs. “We don’t know that anything we do will work on this thing.”
“He is not a thing.” Vahly winced as Kemen poured clean water over her burn.
Kemen snorted. “I didn’t know you were into elves,” he said, his voice nearly too low to be understood.
“I’m not into elves. But I’m not an arse. He is a highbeast like me and like you.”
Ibai shuffled over and handed Kemen a small crock. Kemen’s scarred fingers were gentle as he applied a paste of honey, aloe, and brazenberries on Vahly’s wound.
“I respect that runaway horse more than I do his master,” Kemen mumbled.
“Just because dragons warred with elves ages ago? Or is there another reason?” Vahly honestly did not understand their prejudice.
“Wait until the creature opens his mouth. Then you’ll be on our side again,” Dramour said, bringing Vahly a cup of water to drink. “Now, why did you leave without us? Nix has told us everything and we are behind you, Vahly. Although we do wish it had less to do with those.” He snarled in the direction of the elf.
The water cooled Vahly’s scorched throat. “I didn’t leave without you. I just heard the elf calling out. I went to help.”
The corner of Dramour’s mouth lifted. “A queen indeed.”
“What do you mean? Nix, what does he mean?”
“None of us,” Nix said, fingering the ruby necklace at her throat, “would head into the marshes to rescue a creature shouting in a foreign tongue. We are good to our fellow Call Breakers. That’s it.”
But they had accepted her, a human, into their makeshift clan. Vahly decided not to push it. They would care for the elf because he might be able to save them a trip to the Forest of Illumahrah. It didn’t matter what they would have done under other circumstances. Finding the answer to Vahly’s power was all that mattered. If they ever subdued the Sea Queen, then they could argue about the rest of it.
Ibai stuffed a woven sack with the herbs he’d crushed, then held it to the elf’s nose.
Nothing.
“He might be dead,” Nix said.
Kemen crossed his arms and clicked his tongue. “No. His chest moves. Wait. No. Yes, he is dead.”
Vahly came out of her chair, her wound forgotten.
Dramour snatched the herbs from Ibai and sniffed, his green nostrils flaring. “I would die too if you stuck your sack up my nose.” He lowered the bag. “Someone, please. Make a joke about that. Come on. You cannot let that one pass. Anyone?”
Vahly grabbed the elf’s surcoat and shook him hard. This elf could be the answer to everything. “You are not allowed to die, elf. I saved you. You have to get my permission to die!”
Dramour leaned on the bar and pointed a thumb at Vahly. “I love her more every day.”
Ibai clapped his hands, startling Vahly so that she jumped. “I have an idea,” he said. His mottled, blue-green wings fluttered behind him as he rushed into the storage area. “No one do anything. Keep your hands off.”
“Still begging someone for a joke, here.” Dramour blinked pleadingly at Vahly. “You know you want to.”
“Want to what?”
“Keep your hands on—”
“Shut up, Dramour,” Nix and Vahly said in unison.
Banging sounded from the room, then Ibai ran out, holding blacksmith bellows. “Hold his mouth open and his chin back, Kemen.”
Ibai fit the end of the bellows into the elf’s mouth, then compressed the goat skin contraption.
The elf was standing, and the bellows—as well as Ibai and Kemen—were on the ground before Vahly could blink.
He was magnificent.
His black eyes scanned the room and took in each of them, including Vahly. He uttered a phrase in what Vahly guessed was elvish, his bow-shaped lips quick. His voice was dark and melodious, like the six-foot high stringed instruments the dragons played when battle units returned for respite. A well-worn bow strapped to his back, painted in charcoal shades of gray, peeked from the top of one shoulder, and his quiver remained on his belt. Five black and silver fletched arrows sat inside.
Nix held back Ibai and Kemen. The males were a touch unhappy at being flung to the floor. Nix kept a hand on each as she said three words to the elf in his language.
The elf’s arms fell to his sides. His posture relaxed somewhat.
“I told him we are friends,” Nix said, “not foe. And that I don’t speak his language past this.”
He bowed to Nix, then to Vahly, and Vahly almost missed his next words as she marveled at his movements. It was fascinating to see a creature so like her speak and gesture. Though he was an elf and had flesh far stronger than her own, he still appeared incredibly fragile compared to dragons. She couldn’t even guess how terribly weak she seemed—and indeed was—when studied by dragons.
But seeing this elf, so like her in ways that dragons were not…
“My name is Arcturus,” he said in dragon. “Please tell me what is happening. My mind is addled, from injury or foul play, I don’t know.”
Vahly coughed. “I found you in the Fire Marshes. You passed out. From the gases, most likely. I’m pretty sure you died.”
Dramour held up his first two fingers. “Just a little bit.”
“And you helped me regain my consciousness?” Arcturus watched Ibai and Kemen as Nix let them step forward.
Vahly worried they might decide they liked him better dead, so she got between them. “Yes, they did. These two are healers. Well, Ibai is and Kemen is his helpful brother. Would you like to sit down?” She gestured toward the chair she’d been sitting in.
He nodded and took the seat. “I can’t remember why I went into the marshes. You’re quite certain you found me there? Is your mind addled as well?”
“I’m fine. And yes, it was in the Fire Marshes. I don’t think I could mix that place up with anywhere else.” Vahly fought the urge to glare.
Dramour elbowed her. “Now you’re seeing the parts no one likes. Supreme pigheadedness. Ultimate arrogance. I remember an elf I met during a trade when I was five and fifty.”
“Shut it down, Fine Eye,” Nix barked.
Dramour nodded. “No problem.”
Arcturus looked at the open door, then lifted his head and cocked his sharp chin. “Someone tricked me. Someone close to me.”
Ibai made a face. “The gases of the marsh took you down. That’s why your head’s not straight.”
Fate of Dragons Page 9
