The Elder Blood Chronicles Bk 1 In Shades of Grey

by Melissa Myers

  She couldn’t say how long the fight had lasted, and she was still reeling as Havoc led her away from the dragon and Wisp. She saw the Firym give Victory a look and nod back toward Wisp, but her mind refused to register. She kept her gaze from traveling to the tangled bloody bodies of horse and rider and tried instead to locate Marrow. She hadn’t seen the Bendazzi since the beginning of the fight.

  “How did you know to come?” she asked, her voice faint.

  “You were squeezing the dagger,” Havoc explained. “It drew my attention to you. It had enchantments on it to let me know if you needed me,” he added.

  He led her back and motioned for her to sit. She shook her head absently and looked back at the dragon now lying full on its side in the bloodied grass. “Is that really Finn?” she asked.

  Havoc gave a silent nod, his expression grim. “It is, he shifted to spare you the flames,” he replied.

  “Is he going to be okay?” she asked, her tone worried. His expression didn’t shift and he simply shrugged in response. She started to head back, and he grabbed her arm.

  “Wait, let Victory see what can be done. If you go now you will just get in their way,” Havoc said, his tone firm and his grip on her arm firmer.

  She nodded slightly and pushed back a wave of dizziness. She had used too much magic too quickly. Her reserves were not yet built up. “How bad is he?” she asked, wishing he would just give her some sign. Havoc shrugged and motioned to the ground again. “Sit, you are pale,” he ordered and she ignored him, her eyes fixed on the form of the dragon.

  Victory leaned back from the massive bronze form, and it appeared to be shrinking. She watched in fascination as the dragon’s body seemed to fold back into itself, and then it was Finn lying flat on his back in the grass, still and unmoving. She must have made a sound because Havoc’s hold on her tightened. She could see the burns on Finn from here and his right side seemed almost entirely black.

  “Let me go, I won’t get in the way,” she promised and tugged against his grip again. Victory was speaking to Wisp now, and the small Fae seemed to crumble before his words. She watched Wisp raise her hands to her face and saw the little Fae’s shoulders shake with sobs. “Let me go now,” Jala demanded, panic rising in her voice. Victory looked across to Havoc and gave a slight shake of his head. She watched Finn’s form seem to spasm his back arching in the grass.

  “Spare yourself, Jala, there is nothing you can do,” Havoc said in what she thought was meant to be soothing tones.

  Reeling back from his words, Jala stared at him. She tugged on her arm again, and Havoc’s grip didn’t lessen at all. “Let go,” she ordered again, her voice growing more desperate. When he again ignored her, she summoned all of her rage and frustration and balled up her fist. It was the first time she had ever punched anyone, and from the way Havoc staggered back it must have been a good start. The Firym had been caught completely off guard by the blow and she caught him solidly on the jaw sending his head snapping back. Without waiting for him to recover she sprinted to Finn and dropped down on the grass across from Victory. The damage was worse than she had seen from beside Havoc. His right side was burnt through, and the flesh was cracked and split open, revealing bone beneath. His right eye was gone and his left eye was closed, his expression calm, despite the terrible ruin of his body. At first, she thought him dead, until she noticed the very faint rise of his chest.

  “There is nothing I can do Jala. Neither my sister nor myself are healers of this caliber, and he is too far gone to transport magically. He is burnt inside as well as out and shouldn’t be alive now,” Victory said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

  “Can we bring a healer to him?” Jala asked, tears welling up in her eyes. She took a deep breath and forced herself to remain focused. She couldn’t break down now. Finn needed her. He wouldn’t even be hurt if he hadn’t saved her. She felt pressure on her hand and looked down to see his good hand pressed against hers.

  “Couldn’t before more Rivasan’s arrive. Leave here,” Finn mumbled, his words broken by the ruined right side of his mouth. His voice was weak and the words hard to decipher, but Jala understood them well enough. He expected her to leave him here.

  “He is right, we need to go,” Victory said, his gaze quickly dropping from her face.

  “Then go, I will not leave him here dying by himself,” Jala hissed back, her throat tight.

  The pale one still watches, should I leave him be, Marrow asked and she glanced over her shoulder at the Soul Reaver. He sat motionless, simply watching them with no expression on his face.

  “Can you heal?” she called to him in desperation. He had not made any move against them in the fight so it was possible he might be persuaded to help.

  The Soul Reaver rode closer and looked down at her. “I cannot, Milady, my apologies. The Sovaesh fought well. I will wait with him and prevent the Rivasan’s from defiling his soul. I must collect it though, as I was paid, but you should go before more of them arrive. They will exact their vengeance on you if you remain.”

  Heal him yourself, Marrow urged.

  “I don’t know how,” she whispered to the Bendazzi who now sat beside her regarding the Soul Reaver warily.

  He will die if you don’t try and he will die if you move him. Even if you don’t do it correctly and he dies anyway, at least you have tried, Marrow pointed out.

  Jala gave a slight nod. The Bendazzi’s appraisal of the situation was accurate. Taking a deep breath she mentally calculated her magical reserves trying to estimate if she had enough left. With grim determination, she pushed aside the calculation and wrapped Finn’s hand in her own. Anthae’s words rang in her mind as she settled herself more comfortably. Let no one tell you what you are capable of. Search your heart and find that answer yourself. She leaned forward and pressed her other hand gently on the unhurt side of Finn’s chest. Closing her eyes she focused her magic and listened as her heart told her she could do this.

  “What are you doing?” Victory demanded. She felt his hand brush against hers trying to stop her. “Untrained healing is dangerous for the healer as well as the patient, Jala. You must stop.”

  “To doubt is to fail,” she whispered to herself and pushed Victory’s words away. “If he tries to move me again, Marrow, remove his hand,” she said in a slightly louder voice, just enough to reach Victory’s ears.

  Marrow gave a low growl, and she pushed herself further into the magic, trusting her Familiar to keep her from being interrupted. The magic coursed through her and into Finn and she had to bite her lip against the pain that washed over her as she shared his pain. It said much for the man that he wasn’t writhing and screaming in agony. He apparently planned to die with dignity. She ground her teeth at the thought and pushed the healing on. That was a plan she would disrupt happily. Finding the proper concentration through the mingled pain was difficult at first, but the knowledge that if she didn’t he would die, kept her focused. Finn Sovaesh would not die. She would not allow it. With gentle pushes on his body, she wove the magic through burnt flesh and felt it reweave under her touch. She started deep where the damage didn’t show and worked steadily on organs that had ceased all function. There was so much damage, and her reserves were already low. She pushed back the doubt once more and continued. Her breathing grew shallow, and everything except Finn’s wounds faded from her mind. It was the deepest into the magic she had ever gone. Sovann had spoken of the trances before, but she had never been able to achieve one. Spots began to form behind her eyes and something warm ran down her face, from her nose she thought.

  Draw from something other than yourself, Jala. You are pulling too much from inside, Marrow urged.

  I can’t channel, I’m a sorcerer, she objected, speaking back to his mind, too deep in the trance to bother with spoken words.

  You are not a healer, either, and yet you are healing. Find something to draw from before you die with him, Jala, the Bendazzi insisted, his voice gnawing at her mind, refusing to
be ignored.

  Jala let her eyes flicker open and searched for something as the Bendazzi urged her. Still heavy in the trance and past the point of logical thought, her gaze lingered on Finn’s swords. She had seen the Barllen absorb magic just days ago. Silently she outstretched a hand toward the swords and pulled. The first magic to brush against it was absorbed, but she tried again, her resolve firmer. With a low, almost feral growl that sounded more like Marrow than herself, she pulled and the magic answered in a rush. With renewed energy, she continued the weaving on Finn’s ravaged body, allowing her eyes to sink closed once more. Her work became a steady rhythm. Simply locate the damage and mend the damage, and then, do it over again. Until she no longer spared it though, becoming more machine than thinking creature.

  “Enough, Jala, it’s enough,” she heard a voice say in her ear. Arms were around her and they seemed so warm, almost feverish. The voice was familiar but she couldn’t place who was speaking to her. There was still more damage to repair. She ignored the voice and continued the weaving, Finn wouldn’t die; she wouldn’t let him.

  The arms wrapped tighter around her, gentle and warm. “Jala, enough, I’m all right. Enough. Please. You are bleeding, please stop,” the voice pleaded, and Jala stirred from her trance a bit.

  “Finn?” she asked, with eyes still closed and her voice sounding distant to her ears.

  “Yes, Jala, it’s me. Please stop now, please. Just relax, it’s OK now, Vezradesh,” he repeated, his voice holding more urgency.

  The last word broke through to her, and she smiled. Finn was the only one that had ever called her Vezradesh. Wisp had told her what the word meant, but she still didn’t know which meaning Finn was using, heart, love, or eternity. Her eyes still closed, she leaned forward into his arms, and her face brushed against the burnt remains of his shirt, as she rested fully against his chest. “So tired, going to rest now if you are okay, Finn,” she whispered into his chest, her body relaxing against him.

  “That’s right, Jala, rest. It’s okay, I’ll get us both back home,” she heard him whisper and felt him gently kiss the top of her head as she drifted into dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 26

  Morcath

  Shade’s knuckles were white on the controls as he sat the spell hawk down roughly. He turned a glare to Temare, and then looked past him to where Madren and Leah sat pale faced and silent. “Stay on the ship. I’m going to speak with my father.”

  “You were ordered to return to Sanctuary,” Temare snapped. Shade eyed his former Sword Master with contempt and matched his glare.

  “You serve House Morcaillo, Temare, and I am heir to this house. You forget your place,” he snarled, pushing past the man. He had never before spoken to Temare in anything but tones of respect. He no longer cared for protocol, though, and had been pushed too far. He had to keep a constant effort to keep images of Jala’s torments from forming in his mind; torments she wouldn’t be enduring if he had stood his ground. “Get out of my god damned way before I move you,” Shade growled as the Sword Master once again stepped into his path.

  “Your father will send for you when he wishes to speak with you. You are to return to Sanctuary. He has other matters that he must see to before he deals with you,” Temare replied, unmoving.

  “My father will speak with me now,” Shade returned, with enough force that the man stepped back a fraction. Rage fueling his strength, he shoved past the man and opened the door to the Spell Hawk and stepped out into the balmy night air. Lights glowed in the house beyond. He started to head that way, ignoring Temare’s demands for him to stop until the aging Sword Master’s complaints stopped abruptly in mid command. Spinning back in confusion, Shade saw Temare’s form lying sprawled on the ground face down in the dirt. A figure stood above him cloaked darkly and dressed in blue and silver. Blue eyes met his own and Shade’s anger fell away as he recognized his uncle. The man was taller than Myth by no more than a few inches and as lean as a wolf.

  “Silent and follow, Shade,” his uncle commanded and strode off toward the house, staying deep in the shadows as he moved. Shade followed, confused but curious.

  “What is going on, Uncle Kiernan?” he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

  “Be silent and pick a smaller form boy, once suitable for skulking,” Kiernan replied, his own form already shifting down to the small serpent form he favored. Shade regarded the tiny snake for a scarce breath and shifted his own form to match his uncles. Never before had any member of his family used the Changeling talent so openly before, and he felt his skin prickling at the open display. He had been schooled since he was a small boy that to use the talent openly was to invite death. His uncle moved silently through the grass, and Shade followed wordlessly as he was led under his family home and into the floors beneath. Absently, he wondered how many times his uncle had used this method for spying and dismissed the thought as no concern of his. He had never done a thing worth spying on. He had always behaved as expected, always. And because of that, Jala was most likely being raped or already dead and Amelia Faydwer was now hostage in Rivasan lands. The thoughts died at once as voices rose from the room above him. His father’s voice and what he thought was Lord Avanti. His uncle settled himself, no longer moving, and remained frozen as he listened to the conversation above.

  “It will be gone within the year and Arovan with it,” his father was saying, and Shade wished he had caught the first part of that sentence. As far as he knew, his father never had any interest in the Arovan lands. They were far to the north and not even on the same continent as his own. For the most part, Lord Arovan remained apart from the intrigues of Sanctuary. The only time the lands were ever mentioned was in reference to Lord Hai’dia, Arovan’s General, or one of his family. Shade settled himself silently and focused all attention on the words above as his uncle was doing. Apparently Kiernan thought this was important for him to hear.

  “So you say, but what proof do you have of this,” Avanti spoke, his voice smooth and cultured. There was no mistaking who it was, now that he heard it more clearly. Lord Avanti was a longtime associate of his father, and he had sat through many dinners with the man.

  “Open a scry and look for yourself. Gaelyn lies in ruins and Glis sits defenseless,” his father replied.

  “And you don’t think the Fionaveir will intercede?”

  “They have already tried, and several of them are dead because of it,” his father’s voice held more than the usual arrogance. He sounded positively smug. “They have no way of linking it back to me, or you, if you choose to help.”

  “A very tempting offer and one I am most interested in. That is not, of course, why I am here, and you know it. It does go far in soothing my other concerns though. It is good to know that Morcaillo is still the friend I thought it was. I confess your son was raising doubts.”

  “My son regrettably has made some very poor choices recently. I had thought him more than what he has shown to be.” Despite his choice of words, if Myth truly felt regret it didn’t show in his tone.

  “I have been told that Rivasa is tending to the problem with the peasant girl. What do you intend to do about your son?”

  “I’m afraid House Morcaillo will have to suffer casualties as well in this effort, and sadly I think my son might not survive to see our victory,” Myth replied with an exaggerated sigh.

  A muffled laugh came from above, and Shade was unsure if it was Avanti or his father laughing as they discussed his impending demise. “Do you have any idea what Rivasa intends to do with the girl? As I understand it, Finn will die. If they make a slave of her, though, I might find an interest, she has shown remarkable talent from what I hear,” Avanti spoke casually, apparently satisfied that Myth had the difficulties with his son well in hand.

  Shade sought his mind frantically for what he had done that was bad enough his father would kill him for it. His gaze flicked to his uncle as Kiernan began to move back toward the starlit night. Shade glanced up and would have fr
owned had the expression been one available to snakes. Silently, he followed after his uncle, fighting down the curiosity of what might be discussed in his absence.

  They were well away from the house heading back toward the Spell Hawk before Kiernan once again shifted back to his human form. He stood patiently, brushing his dark red hair back from his face as he waited for Shade to finish his own transformation.

  “As you have heard, your life is forfeit, Shade, and you must not confront your father. It would be best that you go now and not look back,” Kiernan spoke quietly, his eyes flicking around the grounds as if he expected to be discovered at any moment.

  “Why, what did I do?” Shade asked. Just minutes before he had been ready to hurl his signet ring into his father’s face, but now when confronted with this, he felt nothing but despair. It was one thing to disown a child or your family, but to kill your own blood was betrayal beyond what Shade had ever contemplated.

  “Because you had the audacity to think for yourself too many times, Shade. You have always been obedient but you are showing signs that make him nervous. He will eliminate you and put his mind at ease by doing so,” Kiernan replied, his voice filled with disgust.

  “Why are you helping me?” Shade asked with suspicion. He barely knew his uncle in truth and this sudden appearance seemed too convenient. This could be a test on his loyalties. That was something his father would do. He knew that from experience. Push him as far as he dared and then test him to see if he would break.

  “Because if I don’t, Myth will kill you,” Kiernan replied simply. He shook his head at Shade, his expression sympathetic. “Don’t look at me with that suspicion, Shade. This is not one of Myth’s mind games. This is serious. He is pushing hard against the other houses, as you heard. He doesn’t have time to worry about you betraying him while he plots war, so he is betraying you first.”