“Is that—?”
“Shush!” Eliran ordered in a hiss.
In front of the kneeling group, across from the bonfire, a tall woman wearing the same black robes as the others held a chalice over her head. The artifact’s purple metal and glowstone gems gleamed magnificently despite the fading light. The woman chanted something, but the words became jumbled as they echoed throughout the clearing.
There it was, finally within grasp, and Astoreth herself, too. It had to be her.
Did the Head Archon expect Eliran so soon? Could they catch her by surprise if they acted now?
Down in the clearing, Astoreth’s chant died and the small crowd in front of her mumbled something as a response. Finally, Astoreth brought the cup down to her eye level, dipped her head to it, and turned to step into a tent standing behind her.
Eliran held her breath, the ache in her lungs forgotten for a moment.
“What do you think happens now?” Aric whispered.
“Wait,” Eliran replied, her eyes not leaving the tent Astoreth had walked into.
A moment later, the Head Archon – it had to be her – walked out, the chalice no longer in her hands, and her minions dispersed. Whatever that ceremony had been, it was over.
Glaring, Eliran shot Aric a look. “We can take it right now.”
“Just the two of us? There have to be at least thirty of them down there.”
“You’ve scattered your hunters across the island, foraging. It would take hours to gather everyone and get back here. Who knows what’ll happen in the meantime? For all we know, they could move camp at any moment.”
“In the middle of the night?” Aric asked, a skeptical look across his face.
Eliran looked up. The sky had turned from a dull gray to a dark blue. “How long did it take for night to fall?”
“Long enough that I don’t want to think about it.”
“An hour? Two?” Eliran pressed. “Dusk is supposed to last about a quarter of an hour, at least in our part of the world. Now, granted, the storm could have pushed us away several miles, but not that far away.”
“Sure… but what’s your point?”
Eliran took a deep breath. “My point is that nothing on this island feels natural, including time. Under regular conditions, I would agree with you. There’d be plenty of time to go and get reinforcements. As it is, we don’t even know when the sun will rise. They could be about to raise camp at any moment. We should not waste this opportunity.”
Aric thought about it, studying the Archon camp.
“Come on, we can do this,” Eliran insisted. “We can sneak through the back of the tent. They’ll never even see us.”
“You know what? I’m usually the reckless one, but you’re making me sound like Leth.”
A smile played on Eliran’s lips. “And you do have a reputation to maintain, so…”
Aric smiled back at her and rose to one knee. “So let’s get that damn cup.”
* * *
They practically crawled their way around Astoreth’s camp, the thick tree line covering their advance. The tent where the cup had been placed stood at one edge of the camp, its rear panel facing the crumbling walls of some moss-covered ruins.
Aric was happy to have darkness cover their approach, but it also meant it was harder to detect any lookouts. He saw Eliran drink half of her last vial of runium and stepped next to her, the two crouching behind a massive oak tree.
Eliran scanned the darkness, her pupils dilated, her eyes unblinking.
“You can see in the dark?” Aric asked, his voice barely registering as a sound.
The mage just nodded, then skittered out of the tree line and into the ruins at the edge of the camp, gesturing for Aric to follow. Trusting she knew what she was doing, Aric obeyed.
Granite columns, some fallen over the ground, others standing upright but severed at a portion of their length, were scattered here and there, implying whatever building had once stood here had probably been considerably large. The question on Aric’s mind, however, was who had built it, and what had happened to them?
The sounds of the camp grew louder as they maneuvered through the remains of the building, mostly casual chatter and the crackling of the bonfire. They reached the wall right behind the tent they were headed for and Aric peeked around it.
We have to assume there will be guards in there, Eliran’s voice rang inside Aric’s mind. He had almost forgotten she could do that and was quite proud of himself for not yelping when she did.
Any way you can find out how many? Aric asked, unable to avoid feeling awkward with their odd method of communication.
Not without looking inside, no. I’ll tear a hole in the canvas. I can do it silently, but I need you to be ready to jump in and take out whoever’s inside without making a sound. If they hear us, we’re done for.
Aric drew a knife from his forearm and another from his thigh, making sure the blades didn’t ring as they slid from their sheaths.
Ready? Eliran asked
Aric took a deep breath. Ready. He glanced around the wall and immediately shrank back as two Archons walked by another tent about five yards away. His heart pounded and he counted a handful of breaths before taking another peek. This time the coast was clear, and Aric tiptoed to the rear of the tent, Eliran in tow.
On the count of three, step inside, Eliran said.
Aric acknowledged her with a nod.
One.
A slit started to magically form itself near the top of the gray canvas.
Two.
The tear in the canvas grew longer and longer, and Aric tightened his grip on his daggers, palms suddenly sweaty.
Three!
The opening reached the bottom, met the ground, and Aric pounced, blades at the ready. The tent was lit by a couple of candles, casting an orange glow over two women flanking the sacred artifact. They swung towards Aric as if they were mirror images of each other, raising their arms, but that was all they had time to do. Dashing forward, Aric slashed both blades horizontally in a single, wide arc.
Both Archons grabbed their throats, blood flooding between their fingers. They staggered and Aric moved to the one on his left, finishing her with a stab to the heart. As he did, he looked right and saw the remaining Archon stumbling towards the tent’s exit. He reached for one of the throwing knives on his shoulder. Just before he hurled it, Eliran materialized right in front of him, grabbed the Archon’s head, and the woman fell lifelessly at her feet.
Struggling to keep his heavy breathing silent, Aric faced the chalice.
It was incredible. There was enough glowstone on the artifact to fashion a quiver full of arrows. Its handles were shaped like roaring dragons, the sculpting so perfect it seemed as though actual baby dragons had been used as molds. The purple metal reminded him of the magic sword he had used in the Frostbound to defeat Sohtyr.
We need to move! Eliran told him, breaking through his thoughts and snatching up the chalice.
Aric nodded. I’m right behind you.
The mage went first, leaving through the tear in the back of the tent. When Aric followed her out, it was like he’d stepped out into a nightmare.
An old woman stood in their way, grinning. Silver hair, tied in dozens of tight braids, spilled over the shoulders of her black robe, reaching down to her chest. “Going somewhere?”
* * *
The voice felt like a chill, and every hair on Eliran’s body prickled up.
Astoreth…
In the dagger’s memories, everything had always been presented from the Head Archon’s eyes, so Eliran had never seen the woman’s face.
The sight was terrifying.
Her skin had the sickly, gray hue of a corpse’s. Instead of wrinkles, her face was riddled with cracks like old, dry leather. But the worst of all were her eyes. No white, no iris, just the deepest black, as if her pupils had dilated to fill out the whole socket.
“So you’re the one they sent after me,” Astoreth said, h
er voice a whispered screech. “I have to admit, I was expecting someone more…” she seized Eliran up, “highly ranked.”
Everything, from the way she looked to the way she sounded, seemed like it had come straight out of a horror story, and Eliran had to force herself not to curl into a ball. “Well, I do hate to disappoint,” Eliran replied, knowing she couldn’t freeze, couldn’t panic. She reached inward, feeling her runium reserve, its warmth giving her a sliver of comfort.
Magic, she had always thought, was more about not doing magic than actually doing it. Runium, as it turned out, didn’t like being trapped inside a human body. It always tried to escape, which was why young mages had to be trained to control it, to keep it still within their systems. Otherwise, if left to its own volition, the potion would simply boil up inside them until it burst out in an unbidden gush of energy which would probably kill whoever had failed to keep it still.
At that moment, in the face of that creature and her minions, Eliran did just that. She released her runium.
It was a magnificent sensation. One of power absolute as her body seemed to burn from the inside. Then…
The world detonated, Eliran exerting one final bit of control over her magic to keep it from hurting Aric.
* * *
Her ears were ringing, and a bright light burned her eyes. A long moment must have passed, but Eliran had no way to know exactly how long. The next thing she remembered was hearing someone yelling at her over the ringing.
“We need to go! Now!”
Eliran tried to focus on the voice.
“Get up! We need to run!”
It was Aric. He was tugging at her arm.
Eliran looked down herself, her body coming into focus, and realized she was on her knees. Were her limbs smoking?
Her brain finally caught up and her heart exploded in her chest, bringing with it a sense of sudden clarity. Unfortunately, it also brought the pain. She gasped and tried to ignore the searing agony across every inch of her skin as she got to her feet, Aric holding her hand. Goddess how it burned…
“This way,” she heard Aric say, pulling her into motion. He was holding the artifact.
The chalice, she thought. They could still pull this off. It gave her the drive to speed up. She was barely able to see, so she allowed Aric to guide her. Runium… I need runium.
She still had some, having been careful enough not drink the entirety of her last flask. Fiddling with her belt, her trembling fingers found the vial. It felt like touching a red-hot iron, and when she brought the flask to her lips, she saw flakes of blackened skin peeling off her hand. The sight made her knees buckle. She tumbled forward but never hit the ground.
“You alright?” Aric asked, holding her as gently as he could.
The look on his face told Eliran more about her condition than the state of her hands.
“Don’t I look alright?” she croaked.
Aric chuckled, the briefest of things, like the blink of an eye, and then his fear returned. “They’re coming,” he said. “I can hear them.”
Eliran brought the runium to her lips again and tipped her head back, downing the potion in one gulp. Immediately, she began to feel better, the pain slowly replaced by a tingling. It wouldn’t heal her, but at least it would allow her to function.
Taking a deep breath, Eliran got to her feet, suddenly feeling herself again. “Let’s go,” she said.
Aric’s face relaxed and he gave her a determined nod.
They took off, swerving between trees and thickets. Somewhere behind them, there were shouts, first from her left, then from her right. Astoreth’s people were closing in around them. Eliran looked over her shoulder, saw the flare of a green light, and ducked. A bolt of energy whirred past her and exploded against a tree, cutting it in half, the top of the tree hitting the ground with a loud crunch.
Merciful mother!
She took another glance over her shoulder and this time saw the shape of the Archon before he fired. A green bolt crackled menacingly, but it wasn’t headed for her. She lurched to the side, tackling Aric, the spell missing both their heads by an inch, and they tumbled down a steep slope, rolling over each other. About a dozen different rocks found their way to her head, ribs, and arms, and when they landed on a bush at the base of the hill, instead of cushioning their fall, its thorny vines ripped at her skin.
Warm tears ran down her cheeks and she whimpered as Aric helped her to her feet.
“Get behind me,” he said, chalice in one hand, long knife in the other.
Stepping behind Aric, Eliran looked around, getting her bearings. They were in a hollow, two ridges towering around them. One by one, the dark shapes of Archons appeared up at the crests. They all stood motionless, statues of ebony until one stepped calmly down the slope. It was Astoreth, her silver hair now a mess over her head.
“Enough,” the Head Archon croaked. “This folly ends now.”
If she had looked sinister before, now she was hideous, a portion of her face having melted away.
“Hey, did something happen to you?” Aric asked, attempting a crack of humor. “You don’t look so good.”
Astoreth didn’t reply. She simply kept scuffing towards them, a predator ready to finish its prey.
Taking a deep breath, Eliran began whispering an incantation, preparing an array of defensive spells. It wouldn’t be enough. Even with an indefinite supply of runium and on her best day, there was no chance she would withstand so many of them.
“You know what, forget what I just said.” Aric spread his arms in a pacifying gesture. “On you, it’s actually an improvement.”
Astoreth flashed her teeth in a snarl. “Dragon hunters,” she spat. “No matter how many of you get killed performing your ridiculous occupation, you all still think you’re indestructible.”
“Not all of us,” Aric said. “Just the ones who don’t get killed.”
Opening her arms, Astoreth shrieked. Green tendrils rippled around her sleeves. Eliran’s stomach turned upside down, a cold hand of panic reaching inside her chest. Still, she managed to raise her shield, bracing herself.
Except the attack never came.
Eliran’s shield collapsed somehow, as if her power was being sucked away by the forest itself. She looked at Astoreth, and the Head Archon had a look of disbelief about her as she inspected her hands, every visible sign of her magic gone.
“Put your weapon down, Avashun!”
The command came from above, on the ridge, and when Eliran looked up, every single one of the Archons was being held by a hooded figure, glowstone blades trained on their throats. One of the mysterious figures stood above the rest atop a bolder, a mighty staff in his hand draped in glowstone gems and gleaming powerfully.
“I said, put the weapon down!” the one with the staff demanded again.
An arrow whistled thought the air, striking Aric’s shoulder. He cried out in pain, dropping his knife, and staggered backwards. Eliran wrapped both arms around him, steadying him.
“What’s happening?” Aric asked. “Who are they?”
Eliran swallowed. “I don’t know.”
18
First Blood
The day after the sighting of Intila’s scouts, Fadan woke with a chill. It was warm enough beneath the thick blankets he was wrapped in, but the room was freezing. A bitter wind blew through the wide-open windows. On the hearth, only cold ash remained, and outside, a gray slab in the sky announced a sunless day. He propped himself up on his elbows. Next to him, Phaedra still slept, wrapped in a bear skin like a furry sausage. Her breathing was slow and silent, and Fadan imagined she was having a calm, peaceful sleep. Not like his.
He had dreamed of his father dragging his mother by her hair across the hallways of the Citadel. He had tried to scream for him to stop, but his voice had failed, coming out in gasps like he had run out of air.
Fadan shook his head, pushing the fragments of the dream away, and stood. He walked to the window, wrapping the blankets tight
er around his shoulders. A cold breeze welcomed him. To the north, the forest was quiet. Could Intila’s troops be hiding beneath the shadow of the treetops already? Probably not. But they couldn’t be far, either.
“Did you sleep well?”
Fadan looked over his shoulder. Phaedra was still laying on the floor, covered in her furs, eyeing him through droopy eyelids. He considered lying to her.
“Not really.”
She nodded. “It’s okay to be nervous.”
Fadan turned to her. “Have you been in many situations like this? I mean, considering what you do, you must have faced some pretty bad odds.”
Phaedra sat up, thought on it for a few seconds, then shrugged. “I’m usually all by myself. I don’t depend on other things or people.” She glanced around their room. “A well-maintained fortification, loyal subjects, competent officers, thousands of troops—you have a lot more to deal with. When things go badly for me, I can just… poof. Disappear.”
“I can make a tactical retreat.”
“Sure, but you’re trapped on a peninsula. Sooner or later, you’ll be cornered.”
“Wow, you’re just brimming with confidence, aren’t you?”
Phaedra grinned. “Are you?”
Fadan stared at her in silence for a moment. Of course he wasn’t, but that’s not the sort of thing a prince says out loud. “When Intila comes, will you fight?”
Phaedra frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Mages don’t fight the wars of kings.”
She exhaled loudly. “Persea wants me to keep you alive, so if a Legion comes at you, what else am I going to do?”
“Well, I’m sorry she put you in this position.” Fadan turned to look back through the window. “I know how much you hate this assignment.”
“That’s not what I meant. It’s just—”
There was a knock at the door, interrupting her.
“Come in,” Fadan said.
A soldier stepped inside, smashing a fist against his chest plate. “Imperial Majesty, General Vardrada wishes to see you. There’s news from our scouts.”
The Shadow Of Fallen Gods Page 28
