One moment the gates were before her, threatening to shatter her tiny frame like glass, and the next she was galloping through the trampled field in which the soldiers had leisured moments before.
‘Where…?!’ She swiveled her head: behind them, the warm grass ended abruptly at the muddy boots of Saebellus’ cheering force. To her left and right, stone and steel was cut clean through the center to arch high above in a striking frame.
Alvena gaped, swinging her head once more to the north. There stood the heart of Raestra itself: homes of slated grey. Cobbled streets laced in colorful river stones. Glorious statues that were dwarfed only by the spires of an ancient, blue-stoned palace.
It was as she had dared not believe: through Adonis’ magic, he had created a plane of passage straight through the impenetrable walls of Raestra!
She could hear the roar of the troops as they marched to join them across the plain. A screeching trumpet blasted from the city wall and Alvena imagined the sight below as Saebellus’ troops seemed to vanish before the Ruljenari’s eyes.
But Alvena knew where they would soon appear.
‘General Taemrin never had a chance,’ she whispered to herself, leaning into Adonis in shameless awe as he jerked to a halt. She watched the swarm pour past to flood Raestra’s pomerium.
Another trumpet blast tore into the evening sky, but the Ruljenari could have little hope for salvation now. Vale’s voice boomed above the chaos, bold and brazen even as a volley of arrows sailed down upon him. “RAZE RAESTRA TO THE GROUND!”
A mage near Vale’s right snapped his fingers and the hail of arrows flew away, revealing the captain’s triumphant sneer.
Alvena’s stomach churned. ‘You let them in—don’t let this be like Galadorium!’ she cried to Adonis, searching his face for direction.
He gave her no acknowledgement, instead bending forward, jostling her into Ethwen’s neck. There was the solid thump of his heel against the mare’s flank and they tore out behind the last soldier, hooves clattering upon the cobbled streets to the fringe of battle.
The mass of dead and the stench of blood ripped Alvena’s breath away. Bodies scattered the stones like clumps of snow, spilling over one another in lumps and mounds like grotesque snowbanks. Their eyes seemed to find hers, bloodshot and hollow, paralyzing in their fear. But she dared not look away. This was what was wrought by the use of evil as the path to victory—and she could not let herself remain naïve! She would remember them.
A sharp glint in Alvena’s peripheral vision jolted her upright. A mace swung high and smashed into a Ruljen nearby, splattering Alvena’s leg with blood. She shrieked, throwing her book before her face as though it could possibly deflect so much as the shaft of a spear. Ronan dropped his mace, kicking the body free of Adonis’ vicinity.
The sun dipped and fell, and the dead around Alvena grew. It was only when the fighting had dispersed across the streets and faded deep within their wide, icy lanes that Adonis too nudged his mare onward. She waded through the corpses and scattered weaponry, then down a narrow road. A section of troops had already made swift work of the vicinity, and the dim sheen on the river stones suggested the way to be bereft of bodies or even excessive blood. In fact, the darkness swallowed almost all of the carnage, feigning a sense of peace that only made Alvena’s heart beat faster.
Her eyes darted across the dark windows of an abandoned home, the panes of glass glinting eerily down upon her like too many sinister eyes. The curve of the balconies below adorned the building with an unnerving grin.
Something shifted in the darkness and Alvena let out a yelp.
“It’s alright,” Adonis soothed, his arms nestling her within.
“Just some prisoners,” Damon grunted.
Alvena dared to look again, but the forms of the victims were indistinguishable in Noctem’s shadows.
A soft creak sounded from their right and Alvena leapt once more. Why, she’d rather be standing amongst the dead than the unknown! A nearby door had swung wide, preceding the fiery glow of a bobbing torch. Through the narrow opening, Alvena could glimpse disarrayed furniture, a broken vase, a toppled table, and a thick, lush blanket of baby blue. But then the silhouette of a Sel’varian soldier blocked such sights from view; the male emerged in the doorway, huffing beneath the weight of the Ruljen he dragged.
Ethwen slowed to a walk, and Adonis locked eyes upon the limp victim. Alvena forced herself to do the same. ‘You may be able to do nothing, but do not dare look away,’ she ordered herself sternly.
Orange and white light mixed across the Ruljen’s unarmed frame, pulling greys and whites from his pallid flesh. Locks of dark hair were plastered to his temple, spilling over a swollen eye.
Alvena’s assessment shifted downward, to the abundance of liquid flowing from his chest.
Her stomach heaved.
“Lieutenant Adonis, this section of the town has not yet been secured,” the puffing soldier grunted, nodding his insistence to Adonis’ escort. “There could be any number of enemies unaccounted for. Captain Vale has forbidden your presence here until such a time when he has deemed it—”
Before he had finished his sentence, Adonis had dismounted.
“Lieutenant Adonis,” Ronan immediately barked. “You heard the male. Return to your mount immediately.”
“Captain Vale will not be pleased,” the mage muttered below his breath, stroking the appalling silver fuzz upon his chin.
Adonis shot them both a scathing glare and extended a white-gloved hand. “I command you to remain there.” While the escort exchanged uncertain glances, the lieutenant hurried to the wounded male’s side. “Lay him down,” he bade the breathless soldier. When the soldier obeyed, Adonis dropped to his knees, sweeping off his thick fur cloak to wrap the dying male in his warmth.
To Alvena’s surprise, it was not Adonis’ compassion that moved her.
Ronan stiffly dismounted, slicking back his wiry hair with the blood that dashed his forehead. “I ask you again, Lieutenant, to return willingly to your mount.”
Adonis’ fingers only tightened upon the Ruljen’s hands, staining his gloves red as he helped the weakened fingers grasp the ebony shroud.
Alvena’s own hand curled about the charm around her neck. It was by his magic that the fall of Raestra had occurred. That this male lay here now. She felt a twinge in her chest and the cold familiarity in her boot. Had she held the responsibility to stop him?
When she forced herself to meet the Ruljen’s eyes once more, they had glazed over, becoming no more than mirrors to the sliver that hung in the cold night sky.
A roar erupted from down the road. “Adonis—Lieutenant—what the fuck are you doing out here?! Ronan, Kevus, were my orders not fucking explicit?!”
As one, they turned to the vicious chastisement: Vale stalked down the center of the road, eyes ablaze with disapproval.
“Of all the ill timing,” Adonis grimaced, and Alvena imagined that he could no longer rebuke the captain for his prior flirting. He gently released the dead hands and straightened to respond—though his defense was unlikely to quell the captain’s fury.
There was a crash from inside the Ruljarian home. A voice cried out unexpectedly from the still-open door, drowning out Adonis’ reply. “Ninsar!” it wailed, the tone swiftly morphing into rage. “Loedrin’s breath upon you!” A broad elf burst from the darkness, a male and female flanked at his back.
Alvena choked in surprise. She leaned back on the saddle sharply, but Ethwen would not budge without Adonis’ command—even at the sight of the three enraged Ruljenari. They were donned in half-plate, dark eyes wide, long hair pulled back. Each of their scimitars was elevated, prepared to drive into the gut of Saebellus’ stupefied soldier.
A sudden flare of purple light whisked through the air, singeing the Sel’varian soldier’s helm as it passed. The light illuminated the stricken face of the first Ruljen for just a breath before it struck with a bone-shattering crunch. The face exploded in a wash of blo
od and soft pink flesh, obliterating the skull like an egg dropped on stone.
Alvena wobbled on the mare, hurling what little contents her stomach still contained.
The showering blood spurred the soldier into action. His blade swept free of its hilt, meeting the thrust of the second attacker.
“STAND DOWN!” Adonis roared as the soldier plunged his blade into the breast of the second male Ruljen. “I said stand down!”
The female leapt past her dying comrade, driving her scimitar inexorably at Adonis’ gut.
With a swift parry, the lieutenant forced the blade away. “Please lower your weapon or my guards will have no choice but to—!”
Vale was running now, bellowing a dozen curses at the Ruljarian female who dared strike at his lieutenant.
Ronan’s bow swept up and launched twice. In an instant, the final attacker dropped to one knee. With one of the two vibrant, plumed shafts protruding from her forearm, her scimitar clattered to the ground.
Alvena dared a single breath.
“Enough!” Adonis’ shouted. His boot flew, catching the leather-wrapped hilt to send it skidding across the cobblestones.
The female leapt at the opportunity forged by his compromised balance. Her hand snagged his ankle and with a swift yank, she swept Adonis’ leg out from under him and flung it high into the air.
There was a crack as Adonis’ skull smacked against the icy stones.
“ADONIS!”
But Alvena could not echo Vale’s scream. Even when her lungs howled for air, she could not find it. For a moment, the world seemed to slow. She could see the rise of Ronan’s bow for the Ruljen’s heart. She could feel Vale’s anguished cry vibrate through the swirling air. She could see another figure rushing from the home’s still-swinging door.
When the world seemed to move again, she was standing beside Adonis, uncertain how she had arrived. His fair face had turned ashen in the moonlight, the pinks of his once-alabaster cheeks lost within the hue.
“ADONIS!” Vale bellowed again, and then he was upon her. His elbow struck her ribs, hurling her into a snowbank. Without a second spared, he tore his glove free, pressing his long fingers against Adonis’ wrist. Only the faintest puff of white before Vale’s lips let Alvena know that Adonis was still alive. “Kevus, Ronan, get him to Laeth immediately! East quadrant! NOW!”
As Alvena gingerly returned to her feet, the two guards rushed to Adonis’ side. ‘He is alright!’ Yet a prickle of guilt accompanied her joy. No fountain of his empathy for one dying soldier could restore the lives of the elves that adorned the bloody streets—or reverse Saebellus’ success.
Vale vaulted upright, rounding upon the wounded female. His foot kicked out, catching an arm raised in swift defense. “You fucking cunt! You could have killed him!”
The female winced, but her arm remained.
Alvena mindlessly shuffled closer until she could see the details of the buttons lining her thick wool sleeves. A Ruljarian boy was held in that good arm. He was tall and scrappy, with riverweed hair and muddy eyes. By his still-round face, Alvena guessed he had seen no more than a dozen winters.
Her eyes fell to the dead Ruljen in the sable cloak. It was he the boy resembled.
But Vale would not have noticed such a detail. His eyes were wild with rage, and the female’s union with the boy only furthered his fury. “I swear to the gods you’ll never see this river rat again,” he snarled, seizing the youth by the arm and wrenching violently against her hold.
Alvena took an instinctive step forward before sense drew her still.
“No, Galway, no!” the female shouted. When her grip tightened, Vale’s foot raised again, slamming down onto the arrow’s shaft. It jerked and twisted in the bloody wound, the agony lending the female a howl that rose high above the city’s din. Her grip faltered and Vale swept in to rip the shrieking boy free.
The tome tumbled from Alvena’s arms. ‘ENOUGH!’ she wanted to scream, but Adonis was not there to echo her distress.
Vale lobbed the youth at the soldier on his right, who had wrenched his blade free of his Ruljarian victim and now waited attentively for further direction.
The boy’s guardian reached out too late, catching only the fall of Vale’s wrist. She yanked herself to her feet and her knee slammed solidly into Vale’s leg in a foolish attempt to mar his balance.
Vale stumbled away. His fingers curled around his hilt as he barked to the soldier behind him, “Take the child to the prisoners and add some scars if he resists!” The female stumbled forward in a desperate attempt to intervene, but Vale whipped his sword free of its crimson sheath and swiped viciously at the air between them. “I can tell Adonis with a clear conscience that you’re a resistor,” he snarled, swinging his blade high for the fatal blow.
At the sight of the glinting steel, a voice inside Alvena leapt to command. She did not allow herself to think—no doubt, no hesitation, no cowardice to stay her blade. Her hand wrenched the dinner knife free into the dim moonlight and she lunged, closing the remaining distance between them. The ebony hilt was nearly swallowed in her hand, so small a weapon against the powerful figure.
But she did not seek his gut or chest: it was the chink beneath his arm that caught Alvena’s eye.
As Vale’s arm rose into the clouded sky, she drove her knife home.
A thunderous cry erupted from the captain and reverberated down the hilt. Alvena released it as she scrambled away across the stones. Her whole body trembled, alive with the warmth that soaked her glove.
Vale’s arm dropped toward his back to clear the deeply plunged hilt. Yet his arm was rapidly growing weak; it knocked against the blade, tearing a cry from his lungs that caused Alvena’s heart to stop. He clutched frantically at the rush of blood, staggering away as his wild eyes blinked in rapid succession.
The Ruljen stood immobile, her lips parted, her eyes blank. Alvena thrust a wild hand. ‘RUN!’ she screamed internally.
Down the road, the soldier with the youth let out a yelp of surprise. “Captain!” he hollered, and she could hear the thud of his feet as he rushed to aid. At a blur of movement from her peripheral, she knew his charge had bolted free.
‘RUN!’ she screamed again, thrusting her hand hysterically down the road. ‘Just run!’
Vale had managed to switch his sword to his free arm, and in a delusional rage, he haphazardly lurched for the Ruljen’s gut.
The pathetic act was enough to restore the female’s wit. With a single whisper of the river tongue, she spun and fled, her wounds hardly inhibiting the speed with which she vanished down the nearest alley.
Vale’s sword clattered at his feet. “Gods that’s a lot of blood…” he choked, staggering against the nearest building. “You… fucking cunt…!”
A cacophony of shouts penetrated Alvena’s stupor. From the north and south, a dozen soldiers rushed to the source of Raestra’s commotion.
Alvena’s hands dropped limply to her side, but her jaw was set.
For the first time in months, she felt certain of her course.
She had no regrets.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Navon pushed his mug across the table, watching as it skidded through the puddle of spilt ale. There was no one around the small table at which he sat. No company. No one with whom to share a drink. He eyed the two empty mugs placed expectantly before two empty seats, then slid his mug back to his other hand. It made a soft scraping, but at that hour of night, the noise was lost within the din.
“Finally finished the drinks, ’ave we?” a sultry voice inquired as the barmaid sidled over. She cocked her hip, resting her tarnished, bronze tray casually against it. “You’ve been nursin’ those all day, Navon. You stayin’ another night in ’ere? You need me to fill the other mugs again?”
Navon quickly looked up, shaking away his unease. He smiled. “Yes, thank you, Alessandra. The usual. Still waiting on those friends.” He pushed the three empty mugs toward her, glancing toward the dingy window on his right
. The night was dark and the usual glow of snow was lost beneath the flurry of blizzard flakes. “It’s the damn weather. I don’t remember a late winter so bleak!”
He noted a brief pause in her response, but when he returned his gaze, she merely tossed her chestnut curls and donned her rosy dimples. “…I fancy you’ve got it figured out,” she finally spoke, and swung off into the crowd.
She passed through, barely noticed. Across the inn, several bodies slumped in their weathered chairs, their faces steeped in puddles of their own vomit or mutually spilt brew. The rest chattered and sang with enough vigor to rattle the rafters. With Sanae’s rich temple traffic, the Painted Stallion was flush with coined men.
Of which Navon was not one, but would be soon. He felt the corners of his lips widen as he recalled General Bardolph’s admiration. His praise. His offer.
A twinge of guilt pulled his grin away. ‘Humble me, Sel’ari,’ he chastised himself, clenching his jaw. The seat beside him was empty, and yet he had the audacity to consider his fortune!
He forced his teeth apart, but it did little to ease the tension. ‘He’ll be here. Defeated, pride shaken, but he will come. And as we’re a few thousand closer to rising from our debt, he might even dare to show a little gratitude.’
Navon nearly laughed at the thought. He would have to settle for a begrudging rebuke for his desertion. Perhaps a few comments of, “If you had been there we could have slain him!” and other such nonsense intended to salvage his general’s pride.
Navon swiped his hand through the puddle, flinging the amber drops across the muddy floor. He dried his fingers slowly down his leg.
“You a’right?” the sweet voice rang out, and Navon became aware of a throbbing in his thigh.
He released his vise-like grip. “Yes, of course.”
Alessandra dropped each mug onto the tabletop with muttered sympathies, extending a hand toward his shoulder. Navon recoiled, rejecting her pessimism through gritted teeth, and the woman hastily departed to answer some vociferous call from across the room.
Heroes or Thieves (Steps of Power 2) Page 58
