Er’ril refused to back from Joach’s display. He raised his new arm. “Do not fear. It was the key to unlocking the Blood Diary from the spell that protected the book. My arm was fuel for the spell, and with the release of the magick, it was returned. Now where is Elena?”
Joach shook his head and took a step back into the side passage. His face was a mask of disbelief, his eyes glazed. Elena knew her brother’s sight was obscured by his recurring dream. “I’ll never tell you! First the ill’guard tried to find out and failed. And now you appear. I’ll not let you near Elena!”
“What . . . what ill’guard?” Er’ril snapped angrily. “What are you rambling about, Joach?”
Joach raised his staff higher.
Eying her brother’s response, Er’ril choked back his anger. He took a deep breath and started again. He lifted both his arms. “I know how this must appear. It was the reason that I encouraged you to come along with us. Flint and Moris thought your dream was a false weaving, believing it an impossibility for my arm ever to return—but I knew better. Still, to keep the book safe, I had to remain silent.” Er’ril’s voice grew firm and sure. “Look at me, Joach. I am not corrupted. I don’t know what will happen next. But understand and believe me, Joach, I mean your sister no harm. I . . . I care deeply for her.”
Elena’s breath caught in her throat. She swallowed back a sob. She longed to step forward and reveal herself, to end this charade, but what might happen next could reveal the truth of Er’ril’s words.
Joach lowered his staff slightly. Er’ril’s words had removed the glaze from her brother’s eyes. “How can I trust you, Er’ril? You know how my dream ends.”
“Dreams, even weavings, can fool. But I know that that is no answer that will convince you.” Er’ril reached behind him. “Maybe this will.”
Joach backed a step warily.
Er’ril slipped the book from his belt and held it toward Joach. “Here is the Blood Diary.”
Joach’s eyes grew wide.
“It has been my responsibility for five hundred winters,” he said. “But I want you to take it now. I sense that my role in guarding the Blood Diary is ending. If you will not let me near your sister, then you must get the book to her.” Er’ril stepped forward and placed the tattered tome at the entrance to the side passage. He then moved back. “Take this burden from me.”
Elena stood stunned by his act. Surely this was a clear sign of Er’ril’s loyalty. A creature of the Black Heart would never relinquish the book.
The same thought appeared to course through Joach’s mind. But where Er’ril’s offering made Elena hope, it only made Joach more suspicious. Her brother’s eyes narrowed as he set down his torch and slipped closer. He hovered over the book with his staff raised, eying Er’ril with clear distrust. Joach slowly bent, then snatched the book from the floor and darted backward, away from Er’ril.
But the plainsman made no move against Joach.
Elena’s eyes remained on Er’ril. Joach’s continued suspicion held her back from revealing herself. Though the release of the book seemed contradictory to anything a dark minion might do, Elena knew her only safety lay in the spirit spell that hid her.
“Take the book to her, Joach. The duty I swore so long ago is over. From here, Elena has no need of me.”
Elena carefully circled in front of Er’ril, studying him as he spoke these last words. Sorrow and relief were mixed in his eyes. But what did these emotions mean? She stood there, only an arm’s length away, searching for an answer in his face. A single tear rolled down his cheek. Her fingers rose to wipe it away. In her heart, she suddenly knew the truth. Er’ril was not corrupted.
Then Joach spoke behind her. “These pages are all blank.”
Elena lowered her hand and glanced over her shoulder at Joach. Her brother held the book in one hand and rifled through its pages. Even from where she stood, Elena could see the clean white pages.
“This is not the Blood Diary,” Joach spat out. “It’s a trick.”
Elena turned to see Er’ril’s eyes flash with anger. This sudden change was like a flare of wildfire, burning away the sorrow from a moment ago.
Elena stumbled away. She cursed herself for being so blind. Why had she not even considered that the book might be a fake?
Er’ril’s voice was rough. “It is no trick, boy.”
Joach still held the book up by its cover. “And I am to take your word on this? You who step from my dreams with two arms?”
Er’ril shook his head, the fire dying to ash in his eyes. “Believe what you want, Joach. There is nothing I can do to prove my heart more than giving you the book itself.” Er’ril stepped away and returned to his lantern. “Take the book to Elena. That is all I ask.” He lifted the lantern and turned toward the ascending spiral of the catacombs. “My brother is somewhere up there, weak now. I will take my war to him since my usefulness to Elena is at an end.”
Joach danced back as Er’ril moved past the entrance to the side passage. Once Er’ril was marching away, Joach slipped the book inside his shirt, grabbed his torch, and darted down the throat of the side passage, escaping from whatever threat he imagined in Er’ril.
Elena, though, waited at the crossroads. She watched Joach’s torchlight fade down the side passage while Er’ril’s lantern glow disappeared around the curve of the catacombs’ hall. She stood fixed in place, unable to move. Which path should she take? She clutched the ward to her belly, begging it to reveal some sign.
More than ever, she wished Aunt My were there. Right then, Elena could use the swordswoman’s wise and practical counsel.
Finally, Elena took a step toward the side passage. Surely here was the wisest path. Even if the book was a trick, it was best to rejoin Joach and the others. Even Aunt My would approve such a pragmatic decision.
Or would she?
Elena’s feet froze at the threshold. Long ago, back in Shadowbrook, Aunt My had warned her that there must be a reason that a woman, rather than a man, had been destined to carry the banner of freedom. Aunt My had explained her own personal belief: that ultimately the fate of Alasea would depend not on the capacity of magick in a woman, but on the strength of her heart.
As Elena pondered her aunt’s words, the two sources of light faded completely. Gloom descended on her. In the darkness, she pictured the single tear on Er’ril’s cheek, shining like silver in the torchlight.
Elena stepped away from the side passage and turned to the dark catacombs. Her mind attempted to justify her decision. Surely she should pursue Er’ril in order to discover the truth of his allegiance. But Elena needed none of these justifications for her decision. Her feet were already treading up the spiraling concourse, moving faster and faster. She had been won over already. Her heart would not let her leave Er’ril’s side.
And for now, that was enough.
THROUGH THE STREETS of A’loa Glen, Meric rushed ahead of Tol’chuk and Mama Freda. Around them the city lay in chaos. Trails of smoke scarred the horizons. Cries and screeches echoed off the stone walls. The citadel atop Mount Orr still rumbled as bricks and sections of wall tumbled from the heights to crash and rattle into the lower streets. Overhead, the bloated bellies of warships hung in the skies, slowly circling like so many vultures. Under the pall of smoke, the sharp tang of lightning flavored the air, radiating from the ships above and from the recent pair of assaults.
“They mean to strike again!” Tol’chuk called to Meric. “One more blow and the castle be rubble.”
Meric pulled to a stop and glanced overhead just as a score of frantic wings swept past. More panicked skal’tum. Since fleeing the catacombs, Meric’s group had spotted many such fragments of the skal’tum army. Torn into frightened scraps, the beasts sought to escape the arrival of the elv’in warships. So far none of the beasts had attempted to assault the trio. Meric suspected the monsters’ eyes were fixed on the skies above.
Once the skal’tum had flown past, Meric saw that Tol’chuk’s assessment pr
oved accurate. Another five Thunderclouds were beginning to ring the top of the hill. The Sunchaser, his mother’s flagship, still hovered over the smoking castle heights. He cringed at the sight. This was all his fault. “We must move faster!” Meric cried out above the din of battle.
Tol’chuk crossed next to him. The og’re’s face was purplish with exertion. He had carried Mama Freda most of the way. He pulled forth the Try’sil, the d’warf hammer, from its sheath on his back. “We be close enough. Let’s find an open plaza and try it.”
Meric shook his head. “They’ll never see. Not unless we are right under their noses.”
Tol’chuk pointed to the ships moving into position. “We either try now, or we lose everything.”
Meric sighed loudly. He knew the effort would prove futile, but the og’re was right. They at least needed to make the attempt. He could not let the land’s hopes be dashed without first trying to signal the fleet, to warn the ships away. Meric studied the skies for some clue, some way to redeem his mistake. His heart ached with the pain of his betrayal.
Mama Freda spoke from near Tol’chuk’s elbow. “Tikal has found a long plaza up and to the left. We could be there in moments.”
“Let’s go,” Meric said and ran ahead.
Tol’chuk slung Mama Freda under one of his large arms and loped after him. The old healer called out directions, and soon the trio reached the open court. They were almost under the very cliffs upon which the citadel perched. The square was in full shadow from the setting sun. Tol’chuk set Mama Freda down so she could grab her pet tamrink and retreat to the side of the plaza.
Tol’chuk followed Meric to the center of the square. “Hurry, elv’in.”
“I know, og’re,” Meric snapped back; but then his eyes apologized for his harshness. Tol’chuk was only expressing all their concerns. “Raise the hammer high. I will do my best to create a good show.”
Tol’chuk grunted and lifted his arms toward the skies, bearing the hammer aloft.
Meric touched his magick and gathered winds to his frame. Once insulated, he mixed dry and moist winds, creating a crackle of energy from their frictions. He gathered more power from the air. With the warships overhead, the winds were rich with energies. Soon his clothes snapped and danced with scintillating sparks. “Be ready!” Meric called out. “Hold the hammer steady!”
Hands raised high, Meric gathered energy to his fingertips. It built into a sphere of lightning that slowly spun and shone in the shadowed plaza. But Meric knew such a feeble glow would attract few eyes. He needed more of a show. He fed more and more power until his whole frame tremored with the power overhead. All the hairs on his body stood on end, quivering. A sheen of sweat glistened his face and arms. His fingertips began to burn from their proximity to the sphere of lightning. He had meant to shout one final warning to the og’re, but it was too late.
He shifted his eyes to stare at Tol’chuk. The og’re met his gaze.
In a final wrench of shoulders and power, Meric threw his lightning at the hammer. Its ball of energy smashed into the iron. The Try’sil had been forged by lightning. It could withstand the force. It remembered its origin and shouted it skyward.
From the head of the hammer, a brilliant silver-blue bolt shot toward the ships above. Thunder cracked across the plaza. Tol’chuk was thrown backward, his arms scorched to the elbows.
Meric, protected by his winds, was buffeted backward also, but he kept his feet. He watched the bolt shoot between two of the warships overhead. “See it,” Meric prayed. “Look down.”
Tol’chuk scrabbled off the cobbles with a groan, but Mama Freda was already at his side, smearing a balm over the og’re’s singed and smoking skin. Tol’chuk seemed more annoyed than comforted by the old healer’s attention. “Did it work?”
Meric tried to watch the ships above him. He saw no sign that the vessels had recognized the bolt as a signal. With the dance of lightning among the many keels, the crews must have thought little of Meric’s display. “No,” he said sourly. “My people are too much creatures of air and cloud. It takes more than my little spark to get them to look down.”
Tol’chuk rolled to his feet. “Let us try again.”
Meric shook his head. “I used almost everything in me. I would need to rest at least a quarter moon to repeat even the same show.”
“Then it be hopeless.” Tol’chuk’s tired eyes swung to the five Thunderclouds as they gathered around the crown of the peak.
“We should return to the catacombs,” Meric said. “Try at least to get the others away.”
“We’d never make it—”
A sudden rumbling roar shattered across the plaza from behind them. The trio spun around in time to see a massive black-winged shape skirt around a tower’s top and dive toward them. It roared again, silver claws wide as it lunged toward the square. Meric and the others ran out of its way. With a snap of its scaled wings, it slowed its descent to land with a screech of nails on stone.
Meric spotted the tiny rider atop the beast’s back. “Sy-wen!”
The tiny mer’ai woman seemed haggard and exhausted. It was almost as if she had lost substance during the day’s horrors. “Thank the Sweet Mother! I saw your flash and could only hope it was you!” Then she glanced around the square. “Where are the wit’ch and the others?”
Meric rushed forward, ignoring the swing of the dragon’s head in his direction. The beast’s large black eyes seemed to drink him in. “We have no time to explain! Can you get me to that large ship above the castle?”
Sy-wen frowned. “I’ve been trying to reach it since the fleet arrived, trying to get them to stop their assault. But between the lightning and that cursed woman’s winds, I’ve made no headway.”
Meric finally glanced to the dragon. “If your mount will allow it, I can get us there.”
Sy-wen turned to her dragon. A silent exchange passed between them. “Ragnar’k will allow it. But we must hurry.” Sy-wen nodded above.
Meric turned. Already the five Thunderclouds were gathering energy to their keels. He swung back around to see the mer’ai offering her hand from the neck of the dragon. “Climb behind me.”
With a brief nod of thanks at the dragon, who still stared at Meric with clear disdain, Meric crossed and took Sy-wen’s hand. In the moments it took to settle and wrap his arms around Sy-wen’s waist, the dragon spread its wings, pushing up on its stout legs.
“Hang tight!” Sy-wen called.
Then the world swept out from under them. Ragnar’k leaped upward, wings snapping, pulling them from the square.
Tol’chuk’s voice bellowed from below, wishing luck and speed, but most of the words were lost as the dragon’s wings fought to drag them into the sky. Ragnar’k climbed above the highest towers, then banked to the west, circling around the cliffs atop Mount Orr. The bellies of the warships were just overhead. Meric smelled the lightning wafting from them.
Ragnar’k swung farther out, fighting to gain more height. Slowly, too slowly, he scaled higher and higher into the sky. Glancing behind, Meric saw that the keels of the five Thunderclouds now raged with energy. “Hurry,” Meric moaned, both to himself and to the dragon.
Ragnar’k must have heard. The dragon suddenly wheeled back, tilting frighteningly on one wing tip. Meric saw the spread of city and ocean far below. As Ragnar’k swooped around, the dragon’s wings caught a sharp updraft and shot skyward. Soon they sailed above all the armada except the Sunchaser, the flagship. It hovered directly ahead. Ragnar’k banked and aimed for it.
Sy-wen bent low over the dragon’s neck, forcing Meric to crouch, too. Ragnar’k sped faster. “Just get above the ship!” Meric yelled into Sy-wen’s ear.
The dragon was now near enough to the ship that Meric could spy the members of its crew. At the stern wheel, he spotted one crew member with a characteristic streak of copper in his silver hair. It was his older brother, Richald. As they neared, Meric saw the tall woman manning the prow of the ship. Her silver hair already g
lowed with power.
“Mother,” he whispered.
She seemed to have heard him. She glanced toward the dragon, but the expression she wore was not one of welcome. Fire blazed in her eyes even from there. She snapped a hand at them in clear irritation. Winds suddenly assaulted them.
“She does this whenever we draw near!” Sy-wen yelled into the winds as Ragnar’k fought fiercely to hold his position.
Meric slipped one hand from around the mer’ai girl’s waist and lifted his palm against the winds. He cast out his magick, weakening rapidly, and thrust against his mother’s assault. The winds abated, but only slightly. From the back of the dragon, Meric saw his mother’s expression of surprise.
“Go!” Meric urged Sy-wen, pulling back his magick.
Ragnar’k used the break in the gale to sweep at the ship, driving just over their masts. Once above the vessel, Meric released his other arm from around Sy-wen and rolled off the rear of the dragon. He tumbled toward the ship below as Sy-wen yelled in surprise.
Under him, the five Thunderclouds suddenly blasted forth with flows of power, a brilliant star dawning below. Meric fell toward the center of this fiery display.
Stretching out his arms, Meric shoved down with his magick to slow and guide his fall. His body straightened its rolling pitch. Meric swung his legs under him and slipped past rigging and sail. He landed hard on the decks of the Sunchaser, pain lancing up his right leg. The limb crumpled under him. He crashed to his knees, broken bone slicing through his thigh. He bit back any complaint; he had been lucky to live.
Meric raised his face, lines of agony marring his features.
He was already surrounded. One man shoved through the others. The man bore a long thin sword but lowered it when Meric met his gaze. “Brother,” the man said with calm surprise.
“Richald.” Meric nodded as if this were an ordinary meeting of brothers on a sunny day.
Wit'ch War (v5) Page 57
