Rise of the Seven

by Melissa Wright

  I cut from the path and through a narrow pass between boulders, climbed a rock wall, and slid behind a tattered group of thorn bushes before stopping to check the trackers’ progress.

  “There are four,” I whispered. “One is scaling the north wall. Two outside the east wing... they appear to be waiting for a signal. The fourth is farther down, hiding among the rocks.”

  The instant my eyes opened, I was running again, darting through crevices and climbing over stone. I would lose the tracker once he was inside the castle walls, but I couldn’t stay with him and keep moving. I had to figure out where he was going, what he wanted within. They knew we were gone, surely. They had waited for this opportunity. But why?

  I slipped on a loose rock and narrowly caught myself in time. Cool moss beneath my palm signaled we were nearly there, and I glanced up, searching the wall for the entrance. I nodded, confident now, and Chevelle pulled a dagger from his belt as we began again. We were through the entry and sprinting down the dark corridor when I realized where the tracker was headed.

  “The vault,” I said, breathless from running.

  Anvil cursed. “I’ll take the two on the east wing. We’ll catch the fourth before he swings back around. There’s nowhere for him to go.”

  I nodded. “Here.” It was the only warning I gave before throwing myself through the end wall where the corridor turned. I felt Chevelle and Anvil falter at my use of magic, as it was, but they recovered quickly, Anvil splitting from us toward the east wing as we kept on for Asher’s vault.

  The hallway was too quiet. The pad of our boots seemed to scream in the silence. But that didn’t matter as soon as Chevelle busted the door to the vault. The seal had been broken, so he must have expected the tracker to replace it with a new one.

  I couldn’t worry about who the tracker had killed to get here, where the fallen might be, because once the door was open, flames burst into the hallway. They died down after a moment, and I could see Chevelle again, forced to the opposite side of the opening.

  He gave me a look. I thought you said they were trackers. I turned my palms up. They had been dressed as trackers. And they had moved like trackers. Someone with this kind of power shouldn’t have bothered learning stealth.

  The wall beside Chevelle blew out, large chunks of stone flying into the corridor, and he jumped back, pressed farther from me. Had council been cross-training their strongest fighters all along, or had we given them too much time to regroup? The next blast opened the wall beside me and I leapt out of the way, flinching as pieces of rock pelted my side.

  I glanced back at Chevelle, whose expression left no doubt he was about to pummel this nasty interloper. But just as he shifted to move on the entrance, a cyclone of paper, Asher’s precious documents, swirled into the corridor. I bit down hard. This was one man. And we were wasting time.

  I stepped in front of the opening in one swift move, just as Chevelle did the same. The documents parted, Chevelle’s magic, and the tracker’s arms and legs broke at the bicep and thigh, mine. He fell back against a shelf, gritted his teeth, and threw a vicious strike toward me, which met my power and dissolved to nothing. He threw another, and then another, to no avail. I stepped forward, ready to question him, and recognized his face. Archer Lake.

  He smiled at my recognition. It was an ugly, hate-filled smile and I wanted to destroy it.

  Flames returned with the memory. I felt the heat surround us as I watched her burn. He had been the one who’d finally overtaken her. They had all killed my mother, but this man had possessed the strength to overwhelm her, an energy of legend. He had burned her.

  And he had taken pleasure in it.

  I would make him suffer. He would blister and burn in agony. Dark hair whipped my face as I drew air into the room to feed the flame. He would boil. He would suffer. He threw another blast of power toward me, but I couldn’t even feel it now, the collision was nothing. He was nothing.

  “Frey!” Chevelle’s voice cut through the anger, and I was startled by the inferno. We were surrounded by flame. Had he been yelling?

  I glanced at him, beside me, unburned but clearly in pain, and shook myself. The fire extinguished while I let out a long breath, as if blowing out a flickering candle, as I released the magic. My eyes connected with Chevelle and we stood for a moment, understanding passing between us. He was right. We had to get to Anvil.

  I looked for one last time at the man who had killed my mother. He was badly burned, but seemed relieved. As if he were saved now. I shook my head in disbelief and then severed the large vessels of his heart. He wouldn’t die slow enough, but he would die.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Myst

  We found Anvil among a large pile of rubble that used to be the east wall. He was winded and between that and the chaos of stone, I knew the two here had been no mere trackers either.

  “What happened?” I asked, glancing at the destruction surrounding us.

  He shook his head. “Not trackers. They were waiting for whoever was inside to return.” He took a deep breath. “They were going to ruin what they could of the castle and grounds.”

  I eyed the remaining section of wall. They hadn’t done a bad job of it, even now.

  A few sentries were running toward us, finally aware of the attack. I couldn’t fault them, it had all happened rather quickly. Chevelle gave them a brief explanation and instructed them where to search for the fallen and what to repair first. I took the opportunity to find my hawk.

  When I opened my eyes again, Anvil was recovered. “Where is he?”

  “Bunkered down on the northeast crag. No doubt he heard this,” I gestured toward the wall, “so he must have known better than to run.”

  “Or he has some agenda,” Chevelle said.

  I shrugged. “We can find them here or at the temple. It will end the same.”

  From the east tower, we heard a sentry call out when he’d found a fallen comrade. The three of us looked toward the sound.

  Chevelle’s voice cut through the silence that followed. “Then let us end it.”

  We moved swiftly across the yard and down the jagged black rock to where I’d seen the council member.

  As we neared the target, Anvil shouted, “Show yourself.”

  There was no response, so we stepped carefully closer, the three of us spread out along the mountainside. I could barely see the colors of his robe where he’d concealed himself, and a surge of apprehension prickled my skin. This felt like a trap.

  “Hold,” Chevelle said from across the rock.

  I glanced at him, and then heard the chanting. That wasn’t fear prickling my skin, it was the edge of a spell. I stepped back involuntarily.

  “You cannot protect yourself,” Anvil called to the mass of rock. “Will you go out like a coward?”

  The chanting grew louder and I had to fight not to move back again.

  Anvil’s gaze fell on Chevelle, silently questioning whether he recognized the words. Chevelle grimaced, the gesture conveying we’d not be able to cross the bounds of the protection spell. He glanced at me, and I immediately shook my head. There was no way I was going to let him battle a council member with castings.

  I sat on the rock behind me, careful to secure my foothold among the looser pieces below my feet, and closed my eyes. It took longer than I would have liked, but I tried to focus solely on bringing the animal in with as much speed as possible instead of the attack on Camber or that I should be with my guard, not here in the broken shards of the crag with one council member.

  The cat had been hunting at the base of the cliffs, so it came from below us, agile form moving swiftly up the treacherous granite to the saw-toothed rock where we waited.

  From that vantage point, I could see the him; it was Clay of Rothegarr. He had not bothered protecting the back side of his enclosure.

  His face changed when he saw the golden fur of the mountain lion rushing toward him. It was some mixture of wonder and dread. He hurried to defend him
self, drawing a thorn bush toward him and heaving as much energy as he could into expanding its size. The cat struck, clamping its strong jaw around the council member’s leg, and I could feel the muscles of his thigh tearing under the biting grip as he struggled against it. The cat hadn’t been able to reach his neck in time, but this was instinct. It would wait for him to die, never easing its grip until it was over.

  I felt my own body jerk as the thorns pierced the cat’s hide. Through its eyes, I hadn’t seen the vines growing, only the blood as it poured from the councilman’s wound and bubbled up beneath our muzzle. We bit harder, twisting, tearing, and lost our footing as the vines pushed us from the ground. A thorn ran through the pad of our paw, breaking through the top, and we yowled before striking again, but we missed, our jaw snapping shut against air as the vines caught our neck and held us in place. We struggled, furious and desperate, but the tree only tightened around us.

  A hand on my shoulder, a word in my ear brought me back to my own body, gasping for air. Right. It was the cat. Not me.

  “Can you get my lion out?” I whispered to Chevelle.

  He knelt beside me. “Not without casting.”

  I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and then shook my head. It was too risky.

  A high-pitched cry escaped the cat, now wounded and trapped within the thorn tree, and I acted without thought, placing my hands to the ground in front of me, cursing the council member to death.

  “Frey,” Chevelle warned from beside me, moving to stand as the ground shook beneath us.

  Rock crashed into rock as it tumbled down the steep mountainside and I could hear Anvil swear as he and Chevelle worked to protect us from the avalanche. But I couldn’t stop. This was wrong. We shouldn’t be here, trying to drive out this one remaining nuisance instead of fighting against council in a proper clash. We had given them time to regroup and they were fighting dirty. Like the fey. The fey, who were, as we sat here, attacking Camber. We were being assailed from all sides when we should have been avenging the massacre, setting the wrong to right.

  “Frey!” Chevelle’s voice was a command this time as grabbed me by the shoulders and hoisted me to standing. But I didn’t fight him. I was done.

  The mountain fell quiet as the final rock settled, and Chevelle spun me around to face him. He was angry, and I knew he’d intended to ask me what I thought I was doing, but whatever he saw in my expression stopped him.

  “Is the casting broken?” I asked in a lifeless voice.

  He nodded. We’d not been able to use magic within the boundaries of the spell, but the rock had made it through. Clay of Rothegarr was dead.

  “Will you get my cat?” I said softly. “We need to go.”

  He released my arms and I closed my eyes to call our horses to the castle. I heard the clatter of rock as Chevelle cleared the debris surrounding the thorn tree. I dropped quickly to the mind of the cat, willing it not to hurt Chevelle as he freed it.

  We needed to get to Camber. We needed to end this. All of it.

  I glanced at the sky as we rode for Camber. The sun was too low on the horizon, though we’d been running since we’d left the castle. Chevelle had carried the mountain lion to the yard, where he’d left instructions to build an enclosure for the animal and tend it as best as possible until Ruby had returned. We’d barely spoken since, nothing but the rhythmic thump of horse hooves on the path, until we neared the bounds of Camber.

  “Is it safe?” Chevelle asked from his place behind me.

  The heavens were empty, likely due to the fighting, so I drew a red-tail from its perch in the safety of a black spruce. There was nothing in the outlying crevices and copses. Nothing on the paths into town. Nothing, until my circles brought me closer to the epicenter, where smoke and dust rose in caustic clouds above Camber.

  “It’s over,” I said, opening my eyes again to clear skies and order. “And I don’t see anything lying in wait for us.”

  When we finally reached town, most of the major damage was restored. The ground was littered with fairy dust and bits of wing, pebbles and ash. A dozen busted wine casks were scattered in front of the Kraig residence, and the deep purple fluid splashed beneath our horses’ hooves where it ran in rivulets over the dark stone path, trickling halfway through town before waning to nothing. Troughs were overturned, crowns of houses were lying in rubble on front porches, and horses were painted with berry juice and shimmer. But the fires were no longer burning, the floods had been diverted. No bodies lay in the street.

  Rider met us near the center of town. I could tell by his appearance such had not been the case when they’d arrived.

  “I suggest making your way to Ruby’s house,” he said. “It appears her protections worked quite nicely to deter the fey.” He glanced around, clearly not wanting to voice the real reason in front of a crowd. “Rhys waits for you there.”

  I nodded, understanding his hesitation. They’d saved one, and by the looks of the elves here, they wanted no part of it.

  “Is anyone hurt?” I asked.

  “Ruby is tending them,” he said. “Seems they’ve taken to her, here at least.” He saw my uncertainty. “We have everything else under control.” He was right, but it wasn’t easy to walk away.

  Rider glanced past me to Anvil. “What did you get into?”

  I followed his gaze to find Anvil’s forearm caked with blood. I’d not even noticed.

  Anvil waved it off. “They weren’t trackers. Sent some muscle to tear up things while we were down there looking for them.”

  I wondered briefly if there was more truth to his words than he realized. Council might not be at the temple at all. But I didn’t mention it, this was no time for supposition. Chevelle and I left Anvil and Rider to exchange stories and assist the others. As we rode through Camber, the passing elves stopped to watch, a mixture of emotion meeting our presence.

  Ruby’s home stood out among the rest, clean of assault, and I had to wonder if it had been her protections as Rider had suggested, or if the fey had done this intentionally.

  We stopped in front of the house where another horse stood, drinking from the only unmolested water trough in town. I stepped down, staring at the poor beast as it nervously puffed into the water. A smattering of small handprints painted its ribcage while its mane stood in thick, gooey spikes. I shook my head absently; I would never understand their fixation with horses.

  Chevelle waited for me at the door, where I took one deep breath before nodding for him to go on. We slipped in quickly, dreading what we’d find on the other side.

  Ruby’s living area seemed smaller, though I couldn’t say whether it was owing to my memory or the pale blue fairy that hovered above the couch, flittering nervously from side to side.

  “Myst,” I sighed, undecided if I was relieved to know her.

  “Lord Freya,” she crooned, “so good to have a friend here.” Her expression was hopeful until she saw mine did not change, and then her shoulders fell.

  I moved forward, taking a seat across from her as she dropped gracefully onto the couch. Her feet never touched the floor as her slender legs curled up beneath the wispy fabric of her skirts. It would have been too fragile for most fey, but Myst was more than a few decades old. Not that anyone could tell by looking. The fey were ageless, growing to full maturity within a couple of years and remaining as such until death, which came by some means other than old age more often than not.

  I glanced briefly at Rhys, who appeared in fair condition. Myst would have been exceedingly well behaved in her current predicament. Given what she’d find outside, escape would be far worse than anything we could do to her.

  She waited patiently for me to speak, though anyone could see it pained her to stay still. One corner of her pale bottom lip was tucked under her teeth and she picked at the poppy seeds detailing her skirt. But her colorless eyes remained on me.

  “Tell me you’re not in league with Grand Council,” I said.

  She laughed, but it took on a
uneasy stutter when she realized I was serious.

  I leaned forward. “Why are you here? All of you?”

  “We were supposed to have free rein once council was removed.” Her gaze flicked to Chevelle and then back to me. “You know, before someone called war.”

  I glared at her. We’d not even left the castle before they’d attacked, let alone given them reason to declare war.

  She shrugged. “We got a little excited.”

  I stood, suddenly no longer able to bear being in this room, this situation.

  She stood as well, silk-covered feet landing noiselessly on stone. “What about me?”

  I smiled. “You are free to go.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Messengers

  She wouldn’t leave, I knew that, but I had to get away from her. So I was standing in Ruby’s tiny guest room, staring blankly at my reflection in the large ornate mirror when Chevelle came in.

  “You were right,” I said numbly, unable to look at him as he approached to stand behind me.

  He didn’t speak.

  “I was about to cause a war. A war we couldn’t win.” I looked down at my hands, feeling helpless at my lack of control. “I nearly set into motion a conflict that would all but hand our world to the fey.”

  His fingers slipped against my waist and the simple touch brought, if not relief, then reassurance. I turned to him, sliding my own hand up his arm, but when I finally looked up into the deep sapphire of his eyes, all I could think was, what now?

  “Freya,” he started, but I cut him off.

  “What is it?”

  He held up a scroll with his other hand. “A messenger was here.”

  I took two sideways steps to sit on the bed, not positive I could remain standing when he told me who’d been lost. “Who?”

  “Two watchmen, a sentry, and a keep. The sentry was of Camber, the second messenger is with his family now.”

  They had killed four. Masquerading as trackers, they had snuck onto the grounds, taking down anyone who’d seen them. Archer had attempted to steal the castings from the vault while the rest lay in wait. To burn and raze the castle.