“Move aside,” Aegasson commanded. He pushed forward to the edge of the lake, dipping his fingers in the gently steaming water. Ice spread from the tips of his fingers, turning the surface of the lake to solid ground. As soon as the freeze passed the halfway mark, Aegasson turned to Rie. “Go,” he said.
Khukuris in hand, Rie rushed forward, sprinting across the rough ice. She didn’t wait to see if the others would follow, and she didn’t pause to check her balance. Her only goal was to protect the man who had protected her from the moment of her birth until his injury at the tribunal. The man who had gifted the enchanted blades in her hands. The man who had let himself be stabbed with a poisoned knife to give her the opportunity to escape and fight another day.
Garamaen would not die this day. She wouldn’t let him.
Rie’s vision shaded to red as her heart pounded in her ears. A battle cry echoed off the walls of the cavern, sending ripples across the water and shaking the foundations of the stone. She didn’t realize it was coming from her own throat.
The pixies shifted and launched themselves into the air, adding their own shrill voices to the cacophony.
The wolves turned as one toward the new threat. With a final surge of speed through her legs, Rie launched herself into their midst, spinning and twisting in a vortex of razor sharp blades. The weapons found their targets, blood arcing across armor and stone.
Fire blazed behind her, the steel of Daenor’s sword lighting the room in fierce red light. He followed in her path, protecting her back as she had once done for him.
Smashing a gauntleted arm across the bared teeth of a wretched slathering animal, Rie brought a blade into the belly of another. A kick to the side of a third sent him sliding away to crunch into a wall.
Rie became a senseless machine, every action aimed to inflict maximum damage, to reach Garamaen’s side before his last protectors faded away to their places in the Daemon Realm.
Wolf after wolf fell to Rie’s knives. She cut a path through the pack like a snake through tall grasses.
A gust of wind startled Rie out of the berserker rage. Judith sprinted to Garamaen’s side, her wings held wide and sword ready. She sliced through the tendrils of Maethor’s soul that had managed to attach themselves to Garamaen’s prone form.
Angeni and her daughters were nearly gone, their figures barely an outline in the space around their fallen husband and father.
“We can’t hold on,” Angeni said, her voice a raspy whisper on the wind. “It’s up to you, now.”
Their souls disappeared.
Maethor shouted in triumph, his twisted form surging forward toward his prey.
Judith’s sword swung in a wide arc, the blade a blur of hardened steel. Rie knew how deadly that sword could be, had seen it in action in the wastelands, and knew the angel could wield it with the greatest of ease.
“I will send the wicked to their final end,” Judith shouted at Rie. Judith flared her wings, defiance written on her face. “Don’t let the wolves interfere.”
Rie ground her teeth but had no choice. She would just be in the way if she tried to fight at Judith’s side. Though she could send the wicked to the Daemon Realm, she couldn’t destroy the soul completely. Only Judith’s sword could achieve that. But the battle raged around her.
Daenor had one wolf trapped with its back to the cavern wall. The creature lunged, Daenor twisted out of the way, bringing his fiery sword across the beast’s neck. In the same motion, he threw a fireball at a wolf on the other side of the room, knocking it away from Aegasson who had been pinned to the floor. The frost sidhe rolled over, stabbing his knife into the creature’s eye.
A third wolf was rolling around on the ground, yipping and whining as his fur flew in tufts. He gnawed at his own skin. Though she couldn’t see them, Rie assumed the pixies were hard at work on that one.
Meanwhile, Fenrir stood near the cave entrance, his eyes narrowed in fury. Four of his remaining wolves stood between their leader and the battle surrounding him.
With a wordless scream, Rie lunged toward the wolf. His guards moved to intercept. She dodged one, kicked the other. Rolled to avoid the slash of claws.
An ice spear pierced the first creature’s side, but the giant wolf simply growled and snapped the frozen shaft between four-inch fangs. Daenor threw a fireball at the beast, blasting him back toward the cavern exit.
Falling back toward the center of the cave, Rie, Daenor, and Aegasson regrouped. The remaining wolves faced them, Fenrir at their rear.
“You will not save him,” the wolf growled. “You are too late. He walks the dead road, in truth this time. I have made sure of it.”
Rie snarled. Pulling the last bit of straw from her vest pocket, Rie flicked it toward the wolves, igniting a fireball built of fury and fear. In a heartbeat, the inferno grew from a fist-sized orb to a missile the size of a small car. The wolves dashed from the cave, as the flames hit the wall where Fenrir had stood. Rocks tumbled into the tunnel. The wolves got away.
***
The twisted corrupt soul before her was a mass of hooks and tentacles, all aimed at claiming the body of one of the most powerful elvish lords as his own. The damage Maethor could wreak with Garamaen’s powers was immeasurable. Knowing the possible futures, being able to predict the actions and movements of anyone he cared to watch, that by itself made the risk too great to bear. Add on the ability to speak with the souls of the Daemon Realm, pull souls through the veil or send them to the afterlife, control fire and the energy of those around him . . . Maethor would be unstoppable.
The only thing that prevented Garamaen from conquering all nine realms was his desire to live a simple life and an aversion to power. He didn’t want to control people. And that was what saved him.
Judith clenched her jaw, determination pulsing through her veins.
“You cannot take this body,” she said, her voice calm and sure. She sounded stronger than she felt. But she wouldn’t let Garamaen fall. Judith shifted onto the balls of her feet.
“I can and I will,” Maethor grinned, his dual-heads showing too many teeth. His form expanded beyond what should have been possible, stretching out to surround Judith and Garamaen, blocking them from the rest of the room. With a snap, the edges of his form split into hundreds, perhaps thousands of thin threads, each with a barb on the end. If the barbs were able to snag a place in his skin, they would wriggle between and beneath the cells, coring into Garamaen’s essence until the wicked ejected the native soul and took possession of the body.
Garamaen didn’t have the energy left to fight. He would succumb if even one of those barbs achieved its purpose.
Twirling her sword in front of her, Judith prepared for the battle of her career.
Like lightening, the threads of the wicked launched themselves at and around Judith. She couldn’t dodge them all. As sharp as needles but twice as painful, the barbs struck her skin and bounced away, unable to make a connection. Any that slipped past her guard were quickly severed before they could take root in Garamaen’s prone form. Judith twisted and lunged, her sword in perpetual motion while her wings acted as shields. The blade sliced and severed the soul’s threads, their forms burning to ash and drifting to the nothing.
This wasn’t working. There were too many threads. Judith would never save Garamaen by defending him. She needed to take the offensive. Judith dodged to the side, avoiding a thicker tentacle that might have knocked her over if it connected. She turned, slicing the appendage free while lunging forward toward the center mass of the corrupt soul, where the heads merged.
Maethor laughed, sliding back on a cloud of insubstantial plasma. Judith’s sword missed. She lunged again, but Maethor kept out of the way. She lunged again. If nothing else, she was driving Maethor away from Garamaen’s weakened form.
A thunderous rumble and a crash, cut through the sounds of battle. A woman’s tormented scream reverberated off the cavern walls. Everything seemed to freeze. Even Maethor turned, shocked out of co
mbat. But the scarred face of the wicked soul grinned, its lips pulled wide in a display of desiccated tissue.
Rie stood with her hands fisted on the grips of her blades, knuckles white as she screamed at the tunnel out of this cavern. Except, the tunnel was no longer there. Dust drifted in the air as rocks shifted and settled, blocking the entrance.
With a start, Judith realized the wolves had gotten away. A heartbeat later and she realized the wicked soul was on the hunt, and she couldn’t reach Rie in time.
With a snarl and a shift to the side, the wicked soul wrapped a tentacle thicker than Judith’s wrist around Rie’s throat. The scream cut off. Daenor and Aegasson stared at their leader, unable to see what was happening, the disembodied form invisible to those without soulspeech.
Rie’s eyes bulged. Her hands scrabbled against pressure around her neck. If she fell unconscious, her wards would lose their power and the soul could take possession.
Judith swung toward him, but Maethor slid out of the way, putting Rie’s body between them and using her as a shield.
“You’ve given up on Sanyaro so soon?” Judith taunted, hoping the twisted souls would somehow be convinced to let go. Maethor was an opportunist, that much was clear, but he was also fixated on power. “She is only an apprentice.”
“Garamaen is nearly dead. His body won’t survive a possession, not anymore. But this one will be next to lead,” Maethor replied.
“Besides, I’ve wanted to take her since the first day I saw her.” The empty skull of the wicked chuckled with ill-humor, his voice the sound of dry grass in the wind.
But in all the excitement, the corrupt had forgotten one crucial factor. Rie had the power of soultouch. The gates might not accept the lost soul, separated from the weave of life, but the former general was fair game.
Still choking on the appendage around her neck, Rie’s scrabbling fingers began to seek purchase in the soul. When her fingers were finally enmeshed in the plasma connected to Maethor’s head, Rie whispered a word.
The soul screamed another ear-piercing cry, but the twisted weave of his form separated. With a pop of displaced air, Maethor was gone. Judith lunged forward as Rie spun out of the way. Her sword plunged into the core of the lost. She sliced upward, cleaving the creature in two halves.
The soul burned from the inside out, dissolving into the nothing. Ash drifted into the air. All that remained was the scarred face, until it too burned away on the wind.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
RIE RUSHED TO Garamaen’s side, dropping to her knees to put her hands on his body. Her vision switched to the magical plane, and she could See the damage that had been wrought on his spirit. His aura, like his clothes, was torn and tattered, the once-bright golden hue a dim flickering ember. The poison of Fenrir’s bite had smothered and infiltrated every last inch of his energy. His breath was shallow, his body covered in still-bleeding wounds. His face was a wreck of torn flesh, his bottom lip hanging on by a sliver of skin to reveal the gums and teeth beneath.
This was beyond Rie’s ability to heal.
A heaving sob broke from between her lips. Daenor came to kneel behind her, his hand on her shoulder. Judith and Aegasson kept back, for which she was grateful.
Rie pulled the heavy fur coat around Garamaen, covering some of the worst wounds as she struggled to maintain her composure.
Garamaen’s left eye cracked open. “I never could See my death until this moment,” he whispered, the sound a hoarse croak that tore through Rie’s last remaining shields. “But now I see it in your eyes.”
Rie broke down into heaving gasping sobs. She dropped her head to his chest. His hand came up to rest on her hair, the weight heavy with the effort.
“How will I be sorted?” he asked. Rie couldn’t see his face with her own buried in his coat, but she guessed the question was aimed at Judith. “Do my good deeds outweigh my terrible choices?”
“I cannot say,” Judith replied. “I am not a sorter.”
“No, you are a counselor. So, counsel me. I’ve lived thousands of years. My soul is heavy with the weight of the decisions I made. Fenrir is only one of the many choices that fell in the gray.”
“You are an honorable man. You do not need counseling from me.”
Garamaen coughed, blood splattering on the stone floor next to his face. Rie wiped his cheek with the corner of her sleeve, tears streaming down her face.
“Sit up, Rie.” Garamaen urged her upright with a weak push to her shoulder. “Lift that bit of fur there. You have a patient.”
Garamaen slowly lifted his hand to point at a bundle of black stuck between a head-sized rock and the stone wall.
“Careful,” he said, coughing once more. “She’s weak.”
With gentle fingers, Rie pulled the bundle from its protected place, unwrapping the fur. She gasped.
Wrapped in her tiny cloak and additional layers of warmth from Garamaen’s own coat, Niinka lay curled in a fetal position. Her wings lifted and lowered with the steady pace of her breath.
Hiinto zipped to his sister’s side, landing on Rie’s finger with a bounce. “Niinka!” his voice chimed with excitement.
Niinka cracked an eyelid. “Took you long enough,” she whispered.
Her brother grasped her hand as Possn and Gikl crowded in.
Rie smiled from behind her tears. “You saved her. How did you save her?” she asked.
“Scooped her from the snow.” Garamaen coughed again, the blood spatter getting thicker. “Couldn’t cure the poison, but I healed the injuries before I faded. Needs the ritual.”
“I can do that, now.”
Garamaen smiled. “Angeni told me. She . . . impressed.” His words were fading, his energy flagging as the poison leached the last of the magic from his system and his internal injuries took over. “Tiik was here too. Went to find you.”
Rie’s breath hitched. Was it possible that Tiik had also survived? “Where did he go?”
“Barbegazi . . . city.” Garamaen struggled to get the words out.
“He may have been caught in the avalanche.”
A buzzing sound approached. Tiik thumped into Rie’s back, nearly knocking her off balance. “You’re here. Thank the gods, I found you, and you’re here,” he chimed. Tiny claws gripped Rie’s earlobe as Tiik leaned into Rie’s neck.
Tears flowed freely down Rie’s cheeks, relief warring with regret.
Still cradling Niinka in her hands, Rie bent to kiss Garamaen on his forehead. The mobile pixies fluttered away. It was time to say goodbye to Lord Garamaen Sanyaro, Rie’s great-great-many-times-great grandfather, mentor, and protector. He’d earned a bit of peace.
“Rest now,” she said. “You’ll be with Angeni soon. She’s waited a long time.”
A bittersweet smile spread across Garamaen’s face. The twang of the first soulstring breaking its hold sounded loud in Rie’s ears. His heart had stopped. One final breath, and the second string broke.
Tears dripped from Rie’s chin, her own heart breaking as her last living blood relative passed from the mortal world.
His soul rose up from his damaged form, his remembered body whole. The bloody gashes were gone. The pain no more. He even regained his hand, lost so many thousand years ago to the very wolf who claimed his life today.
You’ll do well, you know, Garamaen said. But make it your own, just as I did. Forge the role you want to take, don’t let them force their rules and restrictions on you.
I’ll try.
Garamaen’s soul glanced at Daenor, who watched Rie with fascination. He couldn’t see the afterlife the way she could, though she knew he could feel that she was using soulspeech.
If I were you, I’d keep that one around. He’ll challenge you without taking over.
Rie’s lips trembled in a wet smile. That’s good advice.
Garamaen suddenly looked to the left, at something Rie couldn’t see. Seems my escort has arrived. He turned back to face Rie. Good luck. You know where to find me.
&
nbsp; With that, the third and final soulstring broke and Garamaen disappeared.
Rie bent at the waist, a renewed bout of sobs wracking her body. A hand rubbed circles on her back. And then, out of nowhere, the warmth of wings wrapped around her.
Judith embraced them all as Rie cried. Her wings seemed to absorb all of the emotion, the final release of Rie’s battered and bruised soul.
Garamaen was gone, but he was with Angeni and his daughters. He had earned a long rest. And Niinka was alive, a surprise and a blessing, Garamaen’s final gift to his apprentice and heir.
Meanwhile, Maethor, The Wicked, had been destroyed. Rie had rectified her mistake and there would be no coming back for the leader of the lost souls. There might still be others out there, but she would find them, and she would end them.
Just as she would find and end Fenrir. The wolf may have escaped this battle, but she wouldn’t let that stand. She couldn’t. She had made a promise to the barbegazi, and she would make another now: the wolf would die for the lives he’d taken.
But first she needed to heal. They all needed to heal and rebuild. The cost of this battle had been too great, and the survivors wouldn’t walk away unscathed. They needed time.
Rie didn’t know how long she sat warmed by embrace of others, but her tears had long since dried when she finally shifted to sit up. Judith lifted her wings, unwrapping her position while Daenor leaned back.
Rie was shocked to see the streak of tears on both their faces, Rie’s pain reflected in their eyes.
“Are you okay?” Daenor asked, his hand still warming her back.
“I will be.”
“Good. Then can we get out of here?” Aegasson asked from across the cavern. He sat with his back to the wall, a bored scowl crossing his features. “I have people to rescue and a city to rebuild.”
“What about Fenrir? We can’t let him get away with this,” Daenor growled.
“The tunnel is gone. We can’t chase him now, we don’t have the energy or the resources. But we’ll be back, and he will pay for what he’s done,” she paused. “Besides, Aegasson is right. An entire city is still in danger. But . . . ,” she turned toward the frost sidhe, “. . . Aegasson, you should probably meet with Felman first. I have a feeling he and his heirs will have a few words of input.”
Sanyare: The Winter Warrior (The Sanyare Chronicles Book 4) Page 26
