“She’s still a fairy, and she is just doing her job. Helping people she thinks are right, just like we are. Please take her with us!”
“There will be dozens of them before we are through.”
“They’re light!”
If Ether’s present form had had teeth, she would have been grinding them. “Very well…”
A curling loop of wind snatched up the fairy. Without further comment, Shah darted skyward. Ether followed the stir of wind and the burning of the gem from her partner. Similar sensations blazed through the landscape around her, both near and far. If she was to succeed, she would have to catch them all. They gave chase to the nearest one.
#
Myranda held firmly to Myn’s back as she watched the midair clash playing out in the distance. It didn’t seem possible that any creature could be as large as the dragon doing battle with Garr. Grustim’s mount looked like a hatchling compared to the beast. Nonetheless, the monstrosity swooped and swept with the focus and precision of a seasoned predator. Ponderous motions and apocalyptic gouts of flame barely missed the nimble target.
She leaned low to speak to Myn, to motivate the creature for the battle ahead, but there was no need. Myn saw the predicament Garr was in just as plainly as Myranda did. The young dragon scarcely needed to be told what to do. Get to Garr. Help him. Protect him.
The distance between them closed swiftly. Myranda focused her mind, doing her best to force away the concern for Deacon. He had been left behind with an insurmountable task, but he was equal to the challenge. She set aside the fear for her own life. This was worth risking it for. Most trying of all, she set aside her concern for the safety of the precious life growing inside her. She would need every ounce of focus, every scrap of strength if she were to triumph.
She held tightly to Myn and gripped her staff, shutting her eyes and reaching out with her spirit. In her mind’s eye, the elder dragon was, if anything, even more fearsome. His spirit burned like the sun before her. Its light dwarfed the smolder of Garr, Grustim, and Reyce. He was a rival even for Myn’s soul. That meant his spirit may as well have been as heavily armored as his body. At her best she would have had trouble penetrating such a potent defense with her magic, and she was far from her best right now.
There were other things for her to consider. She felt the corrupt burn of D’Karon magic wrapped about Reyce. It wasn’t masked anymore. At least, not very well. As Myn tucked her wings and dove into the fray, Myranda knew her role in this battle would be to deal with that sorcery. Her one asset in this clash was that Reyce depended upon the crystals for his magic. They were little more than a tool for him, limited in their function. If she tugged at the threads of his magic, he would not know how to keep the enchantments from unraveling. The spell was in use before her, and in a weakened and labored state. If she could take a lesson from Deacon and intuit its workings, she might be able to snuff it out, and other spells like it.
Searing heat flashed across her skin as she delved deeper with her will. Myn was fully entrenched in the battle now, and Myranda had to trust the dragon could do her part. The familiar twists and knots of mystic power pulsed at the edge of her mind. Under her scrutiny, the pieces of the spell resolved in greater detail. Like bricks in an arch, they traced out the structure… and at the peak… the keystone.
She interwove her will with the central focus of the spell and wrenched at it. The ribbons of D’Karon magic rippled and recoiled, struggling like a stricken serpent and sending jolts of painful energy through her mind. She did not relent. Another mighty flex of her will finally severed the link, and she felt the spell fall away. She had not merely broken the enchantment. That would have done little good, as the malthrope could have commanded the crystal to restore it. She had torn the very spell from the crystal itself, stolen that weapon from his arsenal. Perhaps Nehri or another more skilled practitioner could restore it, but not an untrained warrior.
Myranda opened her eyes. The battle had not relented in the least while her focus had been elsewhere. Myn had curled herself about the base of one of Boviss’s wings, teeth clamped tightly and hind claws slashing. Boviss was trying to curl his neck to snap at her, but each time he tried, Garr dove and swiped his own claws at the massive beast’s eyes. The wizard tried to get her bearings and find a new task to set her mind to. The last flickering violet light of the veil formerly obscuring Reyce fell entirely away. A heartbeat later Grustim seized the opportunity of a clear and open target, jabbing his weapon at the malthrope.
Reyce leaped aside, but even on a beast as large as Boviss there was precious little space where one could be sure of foot. The edge of Grustim’s blade caught his side and he faltered. He slid painfully along the jagged scales of Boviss’s back until his flailing hand grasped the iron links of the chain dangling from his abbreviated tail.
“Lose them!” Reyce barked. “The D’Karon magic has failed me.”
The elder dragon acted swiftly, ignoring the attacks of both dragons and their riders. Instead, he pivoted into a dive. The clash had climbed higher and higher into the air, such that they were near the clouds now, and thus the dive would be a long and swift one. As he dove, he worked his wings, flapping to speed his descent and rolling to put himself into a spin. The wind felt thick as syrup as it blasted against them, and his twirling spin forced them to hold ever more tightly or be thrown aside.
Garr pursued, but he steadily fell behind. Myn was still holding firm and doing her best to tear a hole in Boviss’s hide, but soon it was all she, Myranda, or Grustim could do to keep their grips.
The Dragon Rider worked his way toward Myn, moving hand over hand as though he were climbing a mountain. “I have seen dragons do this to Dragon Riders. It is a death plunge. We need to be free of him before it is too late to recover,” he called.
He climbed to Myn’s back. After a final, vicious bite and a blast of flame for good measure, she spread her wings to catch the air. Boviss continued downward faster than either Myn or Garr could pursue, though now free from attackers he ended his twirl. Reyce clamored along the tail and up his back, making his way to the base of the elder dragon’s neck. His massive wings spread and he leveled out a bit, striking the ground with a force that must have knocked the air from his rider.
The battle had done its job, at least. Garr’s and Myn’s harrying attacks had drawn Boviss some distance from the city, and even after his dive, they were far enough that it was barely visible to the south. The two smaller dragons landed at a safe distance, edging near enough for Grustim to transfer to Garr’s back but never taking their eyes from the looming behemoth. The battle had left both Myn and Garr terribly winded and badly battered. Even their mighty hides couldn’t completely shrug off the intensity of Boviss’s fiery breath. Myranda held her staff low and healed the worst of the blackened and burnt scales. When the open wounds had sealed, she raised her head to match their gazes.
Boviss was staring at them. It would take no more than three powerful strides for the monster to close the gap and begin the battle anew, but instead he watched, horrid grin agape and teeth curling with flame. Myn’s and Garr’s best attacks had done little damage at all. Fresh, bright scrapes marred the rusted iron of his replacement limbs. Nicks and gashes along his scales didn’t even show a tinge of blood. It would take so much more than what they’d done so far if they hoped to hold this monster at bay, and they didn’t have much more to give.
His rider was another story. Reyce climbed painfully up Boviss’s neck and perched atop his head. Once there, he clutched his crystal tightly in his hand and held his injured side with the other.
“What have you done?” he cried angrily. “Why will the gem not obey me?”
Myranda did not answer. Not immediately. This was the first time she’d seen Reyce clearly, without the madness of battle or the confounding veil of D’Karon magic to hide him. His face, his bearing, even the curl and glow of his soul… If she’d not known otherwise, she would have believed it was Lain, tha
t he’d clawed his way from the clutches of death to return to them. Beside her, Myn took a single tentative step forward, her eyes fixed upon Reyce, and her nostrils breathing deeply of his scent. Both wizard and dragon were at the brink of tears. It was as near a reunion with their fallen friend as they were ever likely to get.
“Keep your distance and answer my question! What have you done!” he cried.
The tone of voice was the first thing to shatter the illusion. Lain could be cold, even cruel. But he was always in control. Reyce was at the end of his rope, struggling to maintain a grip on the situation.
“I’ve undone the spell. Taken it from you,” Myranda called back. “You can’t hide behind the D’Karon veil any longer. Now that I’ve done it once, I can do it again. I can teach the elves to do it. Your soldiers will be revealed. And once they are, the elves will know who they are facing. You must end this now. Call them back, or you will force my hand.”
“Tiny wizard,” Boviss murmured. “I can feel your power. You are the one who might have stopped us. You are the one who might still. But that power fails you. You are like a lame bit of prey. You lack the strength to do what must be done. Let me end your misery…”
He took a single plodding step forward.
“Hold,” Reyce said.
Boviss took a second step.
“Hold,” Reyce demanded.
The elder dragon rumbled in anger, but held his ground.
“You would condemn my people to oblivion,” Reyce said.
“I do not wish to see anyone killed. Some of my most cherished friends and allies have been malthropes. My heart ached at the thought that the race had been snuffed out, and it sings at the revelation that you and your kin have survived. But you use the tools of my enemy, the enemy of our world. You seek to kill, to destroy, even when a hand is extended in peace. If I must choose, I can only choose to help those who wish to defend themselves.”
Reyce bared his teeth. “We are defending ourselves!”
“You are seeking to slaughter thousands out of fear. That is not defense.” Myranda tightened her fist about her staff. “I won’t let it happen.”
Reyce squeezed the gem tightly, then turned to the east. The lumbering form of the golem was drawing near. Soon it would reach the city. He lowered his head. “Then you must die,” the chieftain decreed.
“A wise decision,” Boviss said.
Myn did not wait for an order. She burst into the air, summoning all of the remaining strength and speed she had left to keep Myranda from harm.
“To the east,” Myranda ordered. “I do not know if we still have a chance, but if we can lead him to the golem, if we can reunite with Deacon, we will have more options. And if the beast stays on us, the city will be safe. So long as Ether is doing her part…”
Chapter 12
Mellawin, from his throne in Grandwinn, looked upon the other nobles. In the time that the Chosen had been north of the isthmus, he had returned to see to the affairs of state. As he had hoped, his decision to recruit the heroes of prophecy had stirred a great deal of discussion. Many heaped upon him the praise that such an inspired decision deserved. Of course, as with all challenging decisions, there were naysayers.
“I, of course, defer to the greater knowledge of the court mystics when they say that these so-called Chosen do indeed seem to have been touched by the divine, but I am simply not certain so drastic a measure was necessary,” remarked Lady Morrilyn, a representative from the southerly reaches of the kingdom.
“I ask you, milady, what are we to do if our people are assaulted by unknown aggressors? Simply lay down and allow them to trample us?” Mellawin said.
“We have an army of our own, and though I would never trivialize the death of any of your subjects, there was but one life taken. And it belonged to someone who unwisely chose to break with tradition and cross the isthmus. I am uncertain anything more than a return to the wisdom of remaining within the safety of our own land is called for.”
“I wonder, milady, if perhaps you would feel differently if the attack had come from the southern reaches of our fair land. If the people whose lives were lost were under your protection. And let us not forget that all of the people of Sonril are under my protection. While I am king, I will not shrink from the task of keeping us all safe. If doing so means crossing an angry sea and securing the aid of the representatives of the gods, and through them the gods themselves, then I shall do so. It is long past time those above us turned their eyes to our people. Perhaps in bringing their warriors to our shores we can remind them of the greatness of our land.”
She raised her hands. “Again, my king, I would not think to second guess your wisdom. But what evidence have we that what awaited them north of the isthmus was worthy of their attention? Attacks by ruffians and barbarians? We knew they made their homes in that terrible land.”
“They turned up a plot of potential assassination.”
“They claim such. We cannot be certain they are correct. Suppose there is nothing to be found but the same wilderness and lawlessness that our people left behind when we turned our backs on the place. I very much doubt the gods would look kindly upon those who waste the time of their representatives.”
He clucked his tongue once, as if in disappointment at her lack of understanding. “Milady, North Crescent is a vast place, and of course the Chosen would be thorough. It is as wise to send word of the threat of assassination as it is to provide evidence only when it is certain. I, of course, hope to see proof of their claims as soon as something worthwhile is found, but if they do not contact me for a month, I would not be surprised.”
Morrilyn leaned back and sipped her wine, formulating her next carefully phrased jab at her king’s plans. This all was to be expected. Elven diplomacy was complex and nuanced, but a large proportion of it was aimed at taking a subtly contrary stance such that points could be scored if and when even the slightest negative resulted from them. It was a game of waiting and remembering, perfect for those with centuries of rule to maneuver themselves.
While waiting for her further comments, Mellawin had turned to a lesser lord who had been particularly articulate in his praise, with the express desire to receive another helping of it. Alas, he seemed distracted, as were several others at the banquet table. The king didn’t need to ask why. A horrid, wailing wind could be heard outside the palace. It might not have seemed so out of place if there had been a storm raging, or even one brewing, but the sky was clear and the air had been still until that moment. The pair of guards near the entrance stepped outside to investigate. They shut and secured the door behind them.
“Curious,” the king said.
“No matter, Your Majesty,” Morrilyn said. “I am certain it is nothing of concern. I did wonder, however, how you would—”
The door burst open, bringing her passive-aggressive comment to a sudden and startling end. Wind filled the hall, hurling plates and glasses about. Guards shouted warnings, ordering everyone from the room, but the intensity of the gusts was such that every door rattled and slammed dangerously on its hinges. The palace mystics struggled to formulate some sort of defense, or even to comprehend what was happening, but it was all too powerful, too swift. Forms flickered at the edge of vision, the beat of tiny wings buzzing in their ears and the shouts of still-smaller voices echoing as if from miles away.
In one monumental gust, the wind shifted from swirling all around them to blasting in a single direction. Nobles struggled to keep from being dragged to the far wall. A sharp thump rattled one of the curving branches that had woven to form the structure. A flickering, glowing violet form struggled there, then in a flash, became visible. It was a fairy, dressed in thorn armor. The long, sturdy thorns of her equipment had bitten into the wall and pinned her there. Before anyone could investigate it, a second and third thump signaled the impact of two more fairies. Flashes of shattering thir crystal revealed them, then a mystically concealed blur fastened a cord about their waists to render them
still. The wind became more focused, and it seemed to be following the king as he retreated farther into the corner.
Two crystals dropped to the ground at his feet, both glowing so brightly he couldn’t look directly at them. Simultaneously, a pair of fairies appeared inches from his face. One was dressed in the same thorny equipment as the other unexplained ones affixed to the wall. The other was dressed as one of the elves’ messengers. The fairies were shouting at each other in a twittering, trilling cacophony. Behind them, a swirl of wind so intense it was visible to the naked eye resolved into a disheveled female form, who snatched the thorny fairy out of the air. Easily a dozen other thorny fairies, motionless save for the breeze that kept them aloft, drifted behind her. The messenger fairy grabbed one of a handful of threads being tossed about in the lingering wind and tied it about the waist of the struggling fairy, rendering her still.
Ether stalked silently to the wall, plucking off the pinned fairies one by one.
“I don’t feel any more of them, do you?” Shah trilled breathlessly.
The little fairy was red-faced and ragged. Here and there, tears in her clothing and dabs of blood marked where struggles with the fairies had taken their toll.
“I believe these were the last,” Ether said.
“What is the meaning of this?” Mellawin demanded when he finally found his voice.
The fairy turned and gasped, realizing for the first time just who was standing before her.
“The king!” she squealed. “Er, I mean my king. Uh, My Majesty. No, no, Your Majesty. I, hah… This is Ether, it is an honor and—”
“We don’t have time for this, Shah. Speak quickly. We must return to the others,” Ether said. “And destroy that crystal.”
“Yes, right!”
Shah darted down, grabbed the crystal that had been strapped to the final assassin, and hurled it out the door to shatter on the ground outside.
The Crescents Page 29
