by Lee Dunning
If this were the Abyss, he wouldn’t doubt his ability to lay waste to every creature on the plain. However, his brief time back in Alassea had already seen him nearly perish from overextending himself. This day he’d underestimated the danger of a shadow creature and put himself in the embarrassing position of owing his life to a human.
Blast and bother! He didn’t dare push himself to the extent required to take on all of them. How unseemly to harbor such doubts about one’s abilities like some unblooded whelp. He fumed at himself.
He gazed around himself and pinpointed more soul sippers. The dukes must have assigned them the task of putting stress on the elves’ magical dome. The soul sippers responded by forcing those weaker than themselves to give their all for the cause. As W’rath scrutinized the battlefield, another cloud of fliers crashed into the shield and died. The wards flickered again. The dukes roared in approval and anticipation.
W’rath lashed out at the soul sippers before he considered further his inadequacies. Splitting his mind into a dozen simultaneous attacks taxed his resources, but if he gave the devils a chance to realize someone hunted them, he’d find himself back in his own body with little to show for his efforts. From across the field, every soul sipper exploded in a torrent of blood and organs.
The suicide attacks fell into disarray. Those freed from the soul sippers gazed about themselves intent on revenge. Some of them spied the last surviving soul sipper amongst them. They converged on W’rath’s host, signaling he’d overstayed his welcome. Might as well take out a few of the beasties before he abandoned his captive soul sipper.
His heart stuttered.
As one, the devils and demons turned away from him to level their malignant scrutiny upon Castle Teres. No more flares from stray attacks blazed. The hum of the magic, more felt than heard, had simply cut off. The wards had failed.
He stared at the thousands of monsters still blackening the ground and air, at the two horrors cackling in glee. There was only one way to kill all of them at once, but …
Already elves had died because of his poor choices. Would he let more fall because refused to offer his all? What right did he have to expect these people to follow him as a leader if he put himself before them? His mind turned to Lady Swiftbrook and the tiny life inside her. He thought about Uruviel Stormchaser and the sacrifices she’d made to save him all those years ago. Even now, lady, you teach me.
His decision made, W’rath’s third eye flew open wide. The power of a demi-god rolled off him.
Lady Swiftbrook’s concentration slipped as the barrier keeping the enemy at bay winked out. The wind disk landed hard, skidding across the cobblestone ground, forcing them to leap, hop, and run off the jarring momentum.
Had the creatures finally broken through the makeshift ward? She searched for Lord Mistborn and found him crumpled on the ground, a crossbow bolt, glowing with magic, protruding from his back. Stench dashed to the fallen mage’s side and gave a grim shake of his head after searching for a pulse.
That still didn’t explain the utter failure of the barrier. Despite Lord Mistborn’s death it should still stand—at least until something broke through. The fact the bailey wasn’t overrun suggested this hadn’t happened. Therefore, that meant more mischief from within the walls.
Another bolt streaked through the air only to pang off Lord Orcbane’s tower shield as he stepped in to protect the distracted councilor. Idiot, she chastised herself, even as she tracked the trajectory of the missile.
There! Among the crenulations of the back wall, three elves taunted her, grinning maniacally. The First Born bounced an empty crossbow against his palm. The two Sky Elves chanted and magic the color of bruises coalesced around their hands. An unnatural shadow crawled across their faces.
No, not elves. Not any longer. Lady Swiftbrook didn’t allow herself to think about what she intended. She bellowed in rage and the bailey shook with the force of thunder. Roiling black clouds erupted from nothing, blotting out the pale autumn sky. Day turned to night. Triple spears of lightning tore out of the sky, blasting the three devils in elf skin into blackened chunks. Their half-cast spells dissipated leaving nothing but a foul odor.
An explosion shook the grounds. Lady Swiftbrook spun, fearing another attack. A lone figure hung in the air near the battlements. Around it, bits of eviscerated demons and devils rained down. It had to be the creature W’rath chose to possess. Despite the threat he posed, or perhaps because of it, the demons and devils turned from him to race toward the unprotected castle. He teleported in front of them and spread his arms as if welcoming the hoard into his embrace. He’s going to blow them all up along with his host.
“Take cover!” she yelled and leapt past her guardians to throw herself in front of W’rath’s inert body. The two young soldiers she’d left to stand by him stepped forward and raised their tall shields. Orcbane, F’en and Sh’ren added their protection, forming a wall against the impending annihilation. Before the shields fully blocked her view, Lady Swiftbrook spied an expanding ring of orange oblivion flowing out from the possessed devil. She pinched her eyes shut.
An instance of pure silence descended, as if a smothering blanket draped over the castle. The soundless blast lifted Lady Swiftbrook off her feet. The expected crunch of pain didn’t come. Instead, freezing cold gripped her. Cold never affected her. I’m dead. I must be dead.
All at once, the heart-stopping cold released her. The world rushed in, full of stinging heat and the smell of scorched air. Her ears rang with the return of sound. The sharp impact she’d expected earlier came as gravity reasserted itself and dumped her to the ground.
She groaned. Had she hit her head? She struggled to sit up when strong hands helped to steady her. She cracked open her eyes. W’rath’s image swam in front of her. “Apologies for the harsh treatment, madam. The rascals lost interest in me at the most inopportune time. I’d already committed to my course of action.”
Lady Swiftbrook shook her head, and bits of rubble tumbled off her. W’rath brushed his fingers through her hair, dislodging pebbles and shattered fragments. She took in her surroundings. The blast had reduced the bailey to a ruin. The gateway lay in a heap of shattered masonry and puddles of liquefied iron. Melted stone fused into strange sculptures. Shadows etched into the few standing walls showed where the twisted figures of devils and demons burned away into nothing.
Amid the devastation, elves, ashy pale but whole, pulled themselves to their feet and retrieved their weapons. Chalice Renoir blocked a door gone absent. His arms and legs splayed as if determined to keep those in the nonexistent hall safe by making a wall of his fragile human body. He backed away on shaky legs. Refugees, no longer confined by the castle’s walls, spread out across the obliterated bailey. Lord Icewind and Lady Winterdawn gaped. Even the deranged human king staggered about like one caught in a dream.
Ancestors, we should all be dead. “How did you …?” She found she didn’t know what to ask. For the first time she noted the sheen of sweat coating W’rath’s face. The slim but powerful hands tending to her shook. She changed her question. “What did you do?”
W’rath’s eyes dropped as if reluctant to share what he’d done. It’s not like him to be shy. “What?” she prompted.
He gave a resigned shrug. “At the last moment, I released the devil and returned to my own mind. Just as the force of the detonation hit us, I pulled everyone who didn’t feel fiendish into a pocket universe.”
“No. Tha—Impossible.” Even as the words tumbled off her still clumsy tongue, the memory of the numbing void brought an ache to her bones and sucked the breath from her lungs. He made something out of nothing. Empty and frigid … but still. No one’s done that since the days of the First.
W’rath leaned back against a twisted stump of masonry, and bestowed a weary smile upon her. “Not impossible, madam—just arduous.” He released a long, heavy breath and shut his eyes. “I’m leaving you in charge of rebuilding this place. I simply cannot be bothere
d.”
Chapter 27
Raven flopped down next to W’rath where he rested, away from the excitement of their victorious people. “You stole my thunder,” she chided. “I was supposed to sweep in and save you but here you are living it up among the ruins, completely free from peril. I even brought an army. What am I supposed to do with them now? You already killed everything.”
She meant to sound flippant, but the last came out in an embarrassing little girl whine. Raven dropped her head. W’rath reached out and gripped her forearm, giving her a squeeze. When she raised her gaze, his face creased with a fond smile. “Are you all right, lass?”
All at once, the immensity of what she’d done washed away the battle fervor sustaining her. She trembled and had to clamp her jaw tight to keep her teeth from chattering. She dropped her eyes again so he couldn’t see the tears flooding them. He was right. I had no business out on that battlefield. Look what I’ve done. I’ve ruined everything. “I … I me-ssed up,” she stammered.
“Odd, based on all the excited chatter, I gathered you saved our people from disaster. I’ve heard no mention of you failing in any capacity.” He sounded maddeningly calm even though he had to know by now she’d done exactly what he’d warned her not to do—cast magic in front of the others.
“Everyone knows,” she said. “Even K’hul.” She’d seen the hatred on the First Born’s face as he marched past her. How long until the other elves had the chance to think about what had transpired and drew the same conclusions as the Voice of the First?
“Do you remember what I told you when you first awoke on the ship taking us to First Home?” W’rath asked.
Raven sucked down a snuffle. “Something about how I don’t do anything by half measures.”
“Correct. Do you also recall I named you our people’s first paladin?”
His deep, warmly accented voice calmed her trembling. Her breathing came a little easier. She nodded. Gods, less than two days had passed since those words sustained her and gave her the means to call on her power to save the fledgling gryphon. “But I also remember you told me that no matter how good my intentions, the minute I used magic, the elves of First Home would see me as the enemy.”
“These last few weeks have tempered my opinion, but yes, some will. Cretins like K’hul will use your show of power to justify old hatreds,” W’rath said. “Others, however, will recognize the courage it took for you to stand before them unmasked, risking all so they might live.”
“I’ve put you in danger too,” Raven said.
W’rath burst into laughter. Raven’s scowl only served to send him deeper into his fit. She was seriously considering punching him when he heaved in a deep breath and wiped at his eyes. “You sweet, innocent child,” he said, “Did you fail to note the lack of anything resembling a castle or a town, when you arrived? Perhaps you missed the mile-wide blast radius burned into the landscape?”
Raven snorted her own laughter and W’rath nodded his approval. “Precisely,” he said. “You needn’t worry your actions put me in any danger, lass. Whatever jeopardy I find myself in is entirely of my own making.”
Though nearly a thousand years old, Kiat Icewind couldn’t recall ever struggling under the weight of such exhaustion. Even while he endured under his parent’s tutelage, back when they still harbored some hope for him as a sword master, he’d fallen into bed each night with the expectation of awaking renewed. The heartache and burning weariness gripping him now seeped into his very bones. He feared it might never relinquish its hold on him.
Kiat huddled next to Lady Winterdawn on a lump of stone. Its location suggested it might be the remains of a pedestal, which had held a statue of the Duality. Ancestors, even Teresland’s gods couldn’t survive the death we brought to their door.
The mage could hardly bring himself to look upon the humans for fear one of them might meet his eyes. Kiat had found them distasteful for so long, his shame at being a part of the disaster that destroyed their country, sickened him even more. He felt unworthy of Lady Winterdawn’s gentle presence but feared if he let go of her hand he’d unravel and join the ash chasing itself in the fall breeze.
A clearing of throats wrested Kiat out of his internal fretting. A childhood spent in fear of his parents’ disapproval started to pull him to his feet but he resisted, and instead gave a tired nod to Lady D’rizen and Lord Bloodletter. “Mother. Father. Welcome to my latest failure.”
Kiat readied himself for his parents’ inevitable criticism, their dismay that such a weak creature could have resulted from their careful, deliberate coupling. “We’re both very proud of you,” Lady D’rizen said. She offered Kiat the tiniest of smiles, tilted her head to Lady Winterdawn, and marched back into the anonymity of the army.
Lord Bloodletter attempted a smile too but the muscles in his face couldn’t quite manage it. Instead, he reached out and gave an awkward pat to Kiat’s head before the mage could duck out of reach. The sword master folded into a stiff bow and, like Kiat’s mother, disappeared into the crowd.
Kiat was too shocked to blush at the ridiculous display. No wonder I’m completely useless.
“So, your parents are famous sword masters,” Lady Winterdawn said.
“Yes.”
“But you don’t carry either of their names?”
“No.” Kiat expected her to pry. She didn’t. Perhaps she assumed he chose to make his own way without family attachments. He preferred she believe that than know the truth. What sort of parents asked their child to refrain from taking their names because he embarrassed them?
Lady Winterdawn clasped his hand with greater vigor. “They seem nice, Master.”
Kiat choked and swung his head around to find her grinning at him. Nothing had changed, Teresland still lay in ruins and Kiat still held himself responsible but the grief crushing his heart eased a fraction. “Please call me Kiat,” he said.
“Does that mean I’m no longer your apprentice?”
“I’ll teach you everything I know,” Kiat said.
Lady Winterdawn widened her eyes. “Everything?”
Kiat went scarlet. He sat rigid as Lady Winterdawn leaned in close to press her lips close to his ear. Her breath tickled at him. “You may call me Aenwyn.”
There’s too much to do. Too much to undo. Lady Swiftbrook arched her back and grunted at the small relief the popping provided. Delegate—that’s what a proper leader should do.
As if sensing her need, Lord Orcbane materialized out of the dark to stand at her side. “Councilor,” he said, “we’ve started to bring food and supplies over from First Home for the humans. We’re setting up tents and doing our best to make them comfortable. They have only the one healer, though, and she’s as exhausted as the rest. Perhaps Lady Sera’s people could lend assistance?”
I should have thought of that. “Have one of your supply runners contact her,” she said. “And make sure you and your people get some rest. You’ve gone non-stop for—well, frankly I’ve lost track. Is it even the same day?”
Orcbane raised a fiery eyebrow. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Councilor, you need rest as much as any of us. Ladies Earthfire and Culna’mo, and Lord K’hul have things under control. They’re still fresh. If it weren’t for the state of their armor, I’d swear they hadn’t seen combat. The stories I’m hearing—”
Lady Swiftbrook cut him off. “None of us are thinking straight. Best not to allow our imaginations to run unchecked. I’ll speak to the others and let them know I’m returning to First Home to recuperate.”
The commander bowed and excused himself, leaving Lady Swiftbrook to hunt down the other councilors. The chaos of earlier had settled into a frenzied rhythm with elves simply doing what needed doing. He’s right. They don’t need me. Overhead, the gryphons came and went as the Wood Elves kept up a constant stream of intelligence. Some had returned to watch over activity around Second Home, while others hunted for signs anything escaped W’rath’s terrifying psychic blast.
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sp; She bumped into Lady Culna’mo before noticing her. “Whoa,” the First Born said, steadying her, “you’re shuffling along like one of restless dead.” She shared a grin with her mother who wandered over, slapping dust from her hands.
Lord Orcbane hadn’t exaggerated, no one should look so robust after nearly dying on a desolate battlefield. Even Lady Earthfire’s strange prosthetic writhed with life. The Sky Elf half expected it to sprout leaves. She looked over her shoulder to the ruins where Raven had gone to seek out W’rath. A bright ember lit up his face for a moment, throwing up a halo around Raven’s hair. Stench must have finally hunted W’rath down to deliver his gift of smoking sticks. She was too tired to curse her young cousin. She shook her head and turned back to the mother and daughter.
Lady Earthfire lifted her chin in the direction of the two resting Shadow Elves. “Whatever you’ve heard, it’s an understatement.”
“So, there was magic,” Lady Swiftbrook said. Her stomach twisted at the thought. She didn’t harbor any doubts on Raven’s account. The child held more good in her bones than any other the Sky Elf had met. She found herself scanning the night, wondering what K’hul was up to. He’d ignored Raven up to this point, focusing all of his mistrust on W’rath. What would he do now? “You can’t claim the power imbued in the sword you made destroyed the devils?”
Both First Born laughed. “You should go see for yourself,” Lady Culna’mo said. “This isn’t about wiping out a pair of devils—though that alone should earn her a place in the history books. She healed an entire army. She healed the damned land.”
Lady Swiftbrook tried to imagine what the younger councilor meant. She knew neither elfess leaned toward hysteria, but …
