Daybreak

by Shae Ford

  “Keep pushing! Aim for the edges! Really get it spinning, now,” he called.

  When the other mages redoubled their efforts, the water rose higher up the shield. As the wind shoved on, it spun the sea like a potter’s wheel: trapped against the shield’s sides, it had no choice but to grow upwards instead of out. Debris got sucked up along with the water. It swirled inside the spout, adding to its height.

  Soon the whole sea had been molded into an enormous tower. It leaned dangerously against the shield as the wind lashed on, but Jake held strong. He moved it fractions at a time, edging the spout for the southern wall.

  The archers who’d been called to the ramparts paled as its shadow crossed their heads. They spilled from the top in such a rush that Elena thought more of them had likely jumped than used the stairs. But no matter how they screamed, it wouldn’t save them.

  Her blood rose when Jake let the tower fall. The roar as it tumbled through the air, the thunder as it crashed into the southern courtyard — the flash of gold-tinged bodies launched helplessly skywards as the monstrous waves slapped against their ranks. Elena had always known that Jake was powerful.

  But this was, without a doubt, the most fantastic thing she’d ever seen.

  Her eyes were so fixed upon Jake that she hardly felt the first thud of the ram against the gate behind her. She knew they ought to move … but for some reason, she couldn’t look away.

  Jake called the mage-children together again and joined in their cheer. “Yes, well done, lords and ladies. Very well done, indeed.”

  The wildmen’s howling had slowed while the spout towered inside the courtyard. But now that the danger had passed, they were at it again. Even from a distance, Elena swore she could hear the craftsmen scraping against the gates. They would be through in a moment.

  “I think it would be best if you all left now. Get as far from Midlan as you can,” Jake said, passing a severe look around the mages. “Use the invisibility spells I taught you. Stick together, and do not stop.”

  Most of the children disappeared with a pop — but all one boy managed to do was turn himself and his clothes to the color of stone.

  “Just edge around the walls for as long as you can,” Jake said, shoving him away. “Somebody help Patrick, will you?”

  The boy jerked aside as an invisible hand wrapped around his wrist — and the moment they dragged him against the wall, he disappeared.

  “What are we going to do about this?” Jake muttered, glaring at the main door. The guards were nearly though: they’d split the door badly, and were perhaps only a hit or two away from breaking the latch.

  “You could blast them to bits,” Elena said hopefully.

  Jake laughed and wrapped his wounded arm around her waist, dragging her against his side. “I would … but I’m afraid you chopped off my sword hand. Don’t worry — I think I’ll still be able to get us through. Hold on tightly.”

  She did. And when the gates burst open, the guards on the other side met the unforgiving front of Jake’s shield.

  It wrapped over their bodies in a protective orb, churning everything in their path aside. He flattened the guards and knocked the ram askew. Blades shattered all around them and arrows snapped helplessly against their sides.

  “Where are we off to?” Jake said as they neared the keep doors. Though the shield was plenty wide enough for both of them, he kept Elena pressed against his side.

  And she didn’t mind it in the least. “We should probably find Jonathan and Eveningwing. I had them lock themselves into one of the chambers before I left.”

  “All right, then.” Jake dropped his shoulder and sent the keep doors flying backwards. “Lead the way.”

  The halls twisted by them in a rush. Most of Midlan was smart enough to stand aside — though a large group of soldiers at the end of one passage mounted a brave attack.

  They stood with their spears raised and their feet set beneath them … as if any of that could’ve possibly stopped Jake.

  Elena laughed when the shield smacked into them. Their limbs flailed as their bodies churned like dirt from a plow. One soldier got stuck against their front: they dragged him, his body trapped in a clanging roll, for nearly the full length of the next hall.

  By the time Jake managed to scrape him off against a pillar, Elena was out of breath. “I’m always surprised by the things you find amusing,” he said with a slight grin. “If I loved you any less, I might accuse you of being odd.”

  They barreled their way to the lion pelt room. Elena pounded on the door, but didn’t get an answer. So she kicked it in.

  “I can’t believe it,” she snarled when she saw the room was empty. “I told them to get here and stay put! They’ve got no business trying to drag that old man all around the castle.”

  “Old man?” Jake said. He stretched his hand out and the shield swelled to fill the room. It slammed the shattered door closed and held it tightly inside its frame, even as the guards who’d followed in their wake began to beat it with their fists.

  Elena told him quickly of the old man they’d found in the dungeons, and how Eveningwing insisted that they bring him along. Jake’s smile only got wider as she spoke, and she didn’t understand why. When she finished, he laughed and shook his head.

  “What’s so blasted funny?”

  “You have no idea who they’ve got with them, have you? It’s a longer story than I wish to tell,” he said when she shook her head. “But I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Argon once or twice. Trust me when I say that our friends are safe. That old man can see trouble coming three years out.”

  Elena thought the loss of blood might be getting to his head. “Are you all right?”

  “Better than I’ve been in ages. I think we ought to stay here for a while — at least until the wildmen have the battle worked out of them. I’m not eager to step in the middle of their fight.”

  He cast his gaze around the room slowly, taking in everything from the pelts upon the floor, to the blue-shining walls. When his eyes finally settled back onto hers, Elena realized just how wildly her heart beat.

  Her legs shook as she took a step towards him, a tremor that had nothing to do with her wound. “We should probably think of a way to pass the time.”

  That edge in his eyes clashed against hers. His smile held her to her feet. “Yes, I was just thinking the same thing — ah, but nothing too strenuous.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “I have lost quite a bit of blood, and my nose is throbbing horribly. Still, it might be nice to … have a distraction.”

  “I’m no healer, Jake.”

  “Well, nevertheless, I think — wait a moment.” He clutched her hand and squinted at her face, staring as if he thought she might’ve been someone else. “You … you called me by my name.”

  Elena tried to stay calm, but it was difficult. Everything between her ribs had ground to a sudden, trembling halt. “I suppose I did.”

  “You hardly ever do that.”

  “I suppose I don’t.”

  He glanced away for a moment. Red singed his throat as his hand tightened around hers. “I … well, I don’t suppose you’d say it again, would you?”

  Elena couldn’t stop herself. The uncertainty in his touch, the way he reddened so magnificently against those words — it utterly and completely undid her.

  “Perhaps,” she managed to growl.

  Then she shoved him onto the bed.

  CHAPTER 53

  A Lesson Learned

  “They’ve spotted someone near the northern gates, Your Majesty. Ulric’s already on his way,” the mage said flatly.

  “He’s probably a spy. They’re looking for another way in. See to it that he’s dealt with — quickly. I want them to believe that the western gate is their only entrance,” Crevan said.

  He paced before the dying hearth, his mind spinning along the fall of his steps. The night had passed by in a blink, and now the dawn approached. There’d been not a moment wast
ed: no sooner had the whisperers appeared than Midlan rallied its strength. They’d woken a monster, when they dared to march upon his walls.

  And now, they would face its teeth.

  Aside from the mage who sat beneath the bricked windows and the steward who waited beside the door, Crevan was alone in his throne room. Soldiers packed the hallway outside — just to be safe. Though he was confident in his plan, there was one thing that made him uneasy.

  The mage beneath the windows shifted suddenly. The shackle upon his wrist burned and he bit down on his lip, as if he was doing everything he could to keep the words from spilling out. But Crevan’s command was far stronger — and he’d ordered him to relay everything the archmage said.

  “Ulric wants to know why you won’t use the dragon. He says if you mean to end the whisperers, it could easily be done —”

  “Nothing is ever easy with the whisperers,” Crevan said, his mind darkening against the light of a distant memory. “They’re worse than serpents. The moment you believe you’ve got them trapped, they lash out and bite you. Once the battlemage has them weakened, then I’ll send the dragon to finish the rest. But not a moment before.”

  When the mage nodded, Crevan went back to his pacing.

  The truth was that he wouldn’t send Devin away unless he had no other choice. Though he had her bound in magic and had taken away that cursed white sword, the Dragongirl was still dangerous. She could undo everything, if she got loose — she’d managed to slip from his grasp countless times before. No, he wouldn’t leave her unwatched for even a moment.

  If she did manage to escape … Devin was the only one who could stop her.

  “Your Majesty!” The mage nearly fell in his rush to stand. His hands dragged down his ears and his eyes went stark with terror. “The man at the northern gates … it’s the Wright! The birds see the emblem on his shield. He … oh, he’s tearing them apart! He’s slicing them to pieces with … with his hand. He’s killing them with his bare hand!”

  Crevan’s boots froze to the floor.

  It wasn’t possible. The birds must’ve been mistaken. He’d driven a sword through Setheran’s chest, himself — had his body tied up and burned. There wasn’t a trace of the Wright left within the Kingdom’s borders.

  But if there was a chance, if there was any chance at all …

  “Send the dragons. Send them both. Do it now!” Crevan roared, snatching the mage by his robes. “Kill him! Do not let him near the gates!”

  He listened as Ulric’s voice boomed above the fortress, relaying his orders —bolstered by the fury of his command. Several long moments passed before he heard Devin’s roar. A rumbling sound echoed his voice, and the slightest tremor raced across the throne room floor.

  “He toppled one of the northern towers, Your Majesty,” the mage said at Crevan’s look. Then he crouched and cupped his hands against his ears. His eyes tightened as he listened. “Devin’s going after him. He sees the Wright —”

  “What about the Dragongirl?”

  “I’m trying, Your Majesty!” the mage whimpered when his shackle flared hot. “I’m trying to listen for her, but Devin’s voice is too strong — he covers everything else.”

  “Burn the Wright!” Crevan demanded, his blood boiling hot. “Destroy him, leave his bones in ashes!”

  He watched as the mage’s lips moved with his command. They flew furiously across the words, forcing them through the walls and beyond the courtyard. But then all at once, he stopped.

  The mage’s hands crept from his ears to grip the top of his head. He rocked in his crouch, moaning nonsense under his breath. His eyes went stark again.

  Crevan leaned down and wrenched the mage’s head from where it’d fallen. “What is it?”

  “The burning sword,” he moaned, clawing at his face. “The burning … no, I’ve lost him. I — I can’t hear him anymore.”

  “The Wright?”

  “No … Devin. He’s gone. I can’t hear —”

  “Send them to the northern gates!” Crevan shouted at the steward beside the door. “Send every man in the hall, pack the entrance with swords — do not let him through. Then go to the western corridor and make certain the battlemage is protected. Give him whatever he needs. Move!”

  The steward rushed out the door and a moment later, the noise of tromping footsteps covered over everything else. While the soldiers in the hallway rushed to their posts, Crevan tried to steady himself. But his hands still shook when he grabbed the mage around the throat and growled:

  “Send me Ulric.”

  In the few minutes they waited for the archmage, chaos erupted.

  It was all falling apart. Everything was falling apart. Footsteps rattled the walls; voices packed the throne room to its edges. Stewards and guards poured into the chamber in a near constant stream:

  “The Wright’s just come through the doors — he’s melted the gates!”

  “Set the beasts on him. Tear him to pieces,” Crevan said. Though the mage’s shackle already glowed hot, he spurred him on with the edge of his boot.

  “Y — yes, Your … the dragon’s returned, Your Majesty! I hear him!” the mage said suddenly.

  Crevan dragged him up by his robes. He didn’t know what power of the Wright had caused Devin to flee, but he wouldn’t risk it again. His hold on the battle was slipping — and he meant to get it back. “Send the dragon after the whisperers. Burn them alive.”

  The mage’s face paled, but he did what he was told. A moment later, he moaned again. “They have magic …”

  A frozen hand clenched around his gut. The whisperers didn’t carry magic. They never carried magic. It was impossible — impossible!

  “They struck Devin with a spell. He’s fled from their reach.”

  Crevan was about an inch from tearing the mage down the middle when a pale-faced steward collapsed in the doorway. “Our enemies have slipped into the fortress, Your Majesty! There’s a stack of bodies in one of the western corridors. They’ve all been cut to …”

  The steward was violently sick on the throne room floor.

  Crevan had him hauled away by his throat.

  Once the steward was gone, he bolted the doors. There were so many voices bouncing off the halls that he couldn’t think to give orders. He needed silence. “Where’s Ulric?” he snapped as he slammed the latches into place.

  “I don’t know, Your Majesty,” the mage replied.

  “Tell him to hurry up, or I swear I’ll tear the cords from your throat. Do you hear me, mage?” Crevan snatched him up again. He shook his body hard, trying to fight the urge to crush him against the floor. Red swarmed at the edge of his vision. The madness circled hungrily as his panic rose, waiting to overtake him. “Send Ulric now!”

  “I … can’t,” the mage whispered. All of the flatness was gone from his voice. As he spoke, it rose across the shocked lines upon his face. “I can no longer hear him, Your Majesty. The beasts, the other mages, I can’t hear any of them.”

  “What do you …?”

  Crevan’s words trailed away when the mage raised his arm. The shackle upon his wrist was … melting. Iron dripped from his fingers in molten lines, falling to cool across the front of his robes.

  “I can’t feel them anymore. The curse, it’s — no! No, Your Majesty! Please!”

  But Crevan didn’t stop. He couldn’t chance it.

  He drove his sword through the mage’s chest and tore it free. The moment his knees touched the stone, Crevan lopped off his head.

  His lungs tightened even as the mage’s blood spilled across the floor. His ears sharpened upon every sound, his eyes scraped against the shadows. Screams echoed down the hallway — a terror mixed with roars and wild, bloodthirsty howls.

  The beasts were free. The mages were free. If Ulric had fallen … then she would be free, as well …

  Madness gripped Crevan with this thought. It burst from the corners of his eyes and drowned his ears. He’d taken a step towards the door when the la
tch suddenly began to shake.

  Crevan charged it with a bellow. The surge of his fury outweighed all thought. It covered the world in a mask of red. His sword fell upon the man who’d stepped through the door — and shattered against his upraised spell.

  So Crevan grabbed him around the throat.

  “Your Majesty!” Ulric gasped, holding up his arm.

  Slowly, the red mist faded from his eyes and Crevan could see the silver links wrapped around Ulric’s wrist. Only two remained.

  “Something’s happened to the battlemage,” Ulric said the moment Crevan released him. His face had gone ashen; he strained air between his jutting teeth. “His link melted from my arm. The whisperers have taken the western wall. They must’ve slain him —”

  “Help! The battlemage has gone mad!” a steward cried. He leapt through the open doorway and grabbed Ulric by the robes. “The army in the southern courtyard — he’s drowned them! The whole lot of them! He dumped the ocean on their heads and broke into the keep. He flattened everybody who tried to stop him. Now he’s got himself locked up with some forest woman. Kingdom knows what new terror he’ll unleash upon us next. We can’t get in to stop him — he’s magicked the door shut!”

  Ulric’s face went dark. He knocked the steward aside with a spell. “I’ll get him out —”

  “No. Leave him,” Crevan snapped.

  He couldn’t have cared less about the battlemage or the whisperers. At the moment, one fear rose above everything else. He looked down at the chains on Ulric’s wrist and saw that one of them glowed red …

  But the other was dull.

  “Where’s the Dragongirl?”

  Ulric’s face turned the color of sand when Crevan spun on him. Only when his chains burned white-hot did he finally admit with a yelp: “I don’t know! I can’t hear her — but she’s still bound, Your Majesty. I swear she’s bound!”

  Crevan didn’t care. He didn’t care what Ulric’s excuse was. He’d entrusted the archmage with everything … and he’d failed.