Linn stepped forward and jutted her arms forward, palms out. A blast of air swept the red smoke clear and painted the struggling pair in shocking clarity.
“Oh …”
Baas’s statement spoke for all of them, Kole imagined.
In the place of a vanquished queen or a bloody scene was a sight less violent but no less striking because of it. The queen’s sword was broken, the remnants strewn about like bits of stone. It had shattered like a mirror, while Jenk’s Everwood blade—blackened and unlit—hung limp by his side, entirely whole, though no doubt bearing a new notch.
The queen’s skin now shone with a brilliance it hadn’t before, as if the frost had grown thicker, colder and harder. She looked the furthest thing from human in that moment. The furthest thing from merciful. As for the Ember, Jenk was alive and seemingly unharmed, but his primary concern was in keeping the Sage from squeezing the life from him, which accounted for his discarded sword.
Jenk dangled a foot from the clay on the end of the diminutive ruler’s arm. She held him by the throat, and whether or not her muscles strained beneath her shimmering magical armor, she appeared to hold him with the same ease she would hold a kitten. Jenk grasped her icy wrist with both hands, his eyes squeezed shut tight against the pressure.
“My queen,” one of the Blue Knights—the female that had spared Kole a nasty fall—said. There was no reaction, and Kole saw Linn and Misha twitching with the need to act. He heard a distant rumble that startled him before he recognized it as the voice Baas used to call up favors from the earth.
“My queen!” Still nothing, and now Kole’s blood touched its ignition point. He felt his knives thrumming in their sheaths and knew he must draw them lest they scorch his scabbards and the armor beneath.
“Elanil!”
Tundra shouted the last, and that one got a reaction. The queen whose name was Elanil blinked. She seemed to remember herself. She brought Jenk an inch closer to her face, frowned at him as if she couldn’t quite recall who he was or how he’d ended up in her clutches, then tossed him aside, where he rolled and coughed into the disturbed dust.
The shimmering, frosted armor that had coated the Sage’s limbs dissipated, leaving not a trace behind on her fair skin. She surveyed the broken bits of her sword and looked at Jenk with renewed respect.
“A worthy fight, Ember,” she said. Kole felt his heat ebbing away, the scales of his black armor shifting back into place. “A worthy contest.”
Jenk grunted out something unintelligible and waved at her. He struggled to his feet, where he seemed to sway unsteadily for a few moments before he stumbled back over to where Kole and the others stood. Shifa greeted him worriedly and Jenk brushed absently at her. Baas made a grab for him, but the Ember shouldered into the sheer wall of rock behind them and slid down onto his rear, panting. Kole felt his anger growing as he looked at the state of his friend, but Jenk turned a smile his way and seemed to mean it.
“Hopefully that was enough …” Jenk swallowed and then spat. “Enough to earn our liege’s confidence.”
Misha smirked at him, her look of concern shifting to one of amusement, even pride.
“Enough for you, Jenk Ganmeer,” the Sage intoned, adding unnatural hearing to her growing list of abilities. “There is no shame in this defeat, if you can call it such. I knew all the old forms, once, though never as well as the Sage of Center. My husband was closer. Alas,” she fixed her eyes on Linn, “that green blade is gone, along with the man who had become it.” She paused and smiled at Jenk. “I am confident that I have taken the measure of you, my boy. Now, what of your friends?”
Kole could have written the scene himself. He saw it coming, but there was no stopping Misha Ve’Gah when she wanted to do a thing, and so he simply hung back and bit his tongue as she did.
The Third Keeper of Hearth strode forward, red hair blowing as a gust swooped low enough to greet it. Her right hand was already swinging back around toward the great Everwood spear that jutted from behind opposite hip and shoulder like a polished length of solid obsidian. It was the most wondrous weapon in the Valley core aside from the spear of Larren Holspahr, which he’d carved himself, and Kole knew that Misha could wield it well. Better than Jenk could his sword, and with more fire by several orders of magnitude.
He also knew she lacked the control of the other Ember. Or, if not control, then the will to enforce it. She reminded Kole of himself in that way, and if there was anything Kole feared, it was his own power running away from him.
“I’d like to see what you can do,” Misha said. “If you don’t mind, of course.” She dipped into the slightest bow, twirling her left hand in the air like a courtier, yellow and green tassels streaming from either elbow and painting a stark contrast to the form-fitting black armor that Kole also wore. When she came up, she did so holding her spear out in front of her, brandishing it like a ward against evil. It hung there, suspended horizontally like a challenge and an accusation.
The queen’s face was inscrutable, but she did watch Misha closely.
“But my dear,” she said, sickly sweet, “you have already seen my ‘tricks,’ as you put them.” She didn’t seem to appreciate the term.
“Don’t sell yourself short, your lordship,” Misha said, spear motionless as her body was tense. “I’m sure there’s much more to you than what we’ve seen.”
“Always.” The Sage smiled.
The silence stretched between them until Queen Elanil broke it. “Alas, I must recover my strength.” Kole didn’t think that was true, but he thought it a good thing for the Sage to say it, lest they end up with a real fight on their hands, and one that could not easily be put out.
Misha took a step toward her, clearly unwilling to accept the retreat. “You called us here—”
“To spar,” the queen interjected, her tone taking on some of the tenor that had rung out over the glittering spires and crenellations for longer than the Emberfolk had resided in the Valley core. Since before their grandfathers had been born beneath the hot desert sun. “And spar I have. Now, I am not only trying to get the measure of you so that I can learn how best to combine our powers against the fell forces arrayed against us.” She turned her eyes on Tundra and the Blue Knights, who watched Misha like hungry dogs, or nervous ones. “I have also asked you here to show my Landkist what sort of power they might come against, and soon. After all, Valour has taken the form of an Ember, has he not?”
Misha didn’t answer, only gritted her teeth and shot the Blue Knights a glare.
“An Ember stronger than any gathered here.”
“Yes,” Kole put in before Misha could. She was too flustered to curse him for it. “It is true.”
“Very well, then,” the queen said. “Pirrahn.” One of the Blue Knights stepped forward. She was clad in the same golden armor as the rest. She looked younger, though Kole guessed them all to be far older than him. It seemed the Blue Knights hailed from something close to the same creature the Frostfire Sage had once been. They were long-lived things, and apparently grown bitter and terse.
Pirrahn walked out onto the dusted clay as the sun sank a little lower, bathing more of the yard in the shadows of the mountains. She passed the queen, who touched her on the shoulder and trailed her fingers along the gilded metal, running them over the jutting spikes and inlaid jewels as she left the center of the yard and stood on the eastern side, turning around to watch.
Misha’s eyes followed her the whole way. They were green and piercing, though not in a dreamy, ethereal way like Iyana and the Faey. Misha’s were the eyes of a hawk, or an eagle with red-tipped wings. When she turned them on the Blue Knight who stood facing her, Kole thought he saw the other Landkist tense to recover from a flinch.
“Very well,” Misha whispered.
Kole had felt her heat building all the while. It was subtle, but when unleashed, it was a frightening thing, su
dden as a storm and more deadly by far. Misha’s spear ignited in a flare of deep orange that bordered red. Kole saw the horizontal scales of her black armor shift and open, the air growing hazy above the tiny vents as her heat found its way out to eat at the open air. She swung the burning spear out to her side, haft touching the sliding plates along her back as the red-hot razor tip pointed toward the queen.
Misha exploded into motion so quickly it seemed to shock the Blue Knight. Pirrahn wore no helm like Tundra, and so her expressions were easy to see. Easy for Kole, and doubly so for the charging Ember.
No doubt these knights had come against much, including the imbued, armored warriors of Balon Rael. Perhaps that was why they had crafted gaudy suits of ridged metal with which to combat the twisted black beetle shells of the south. But this was an Ember of the Valley, forged by fire and hardened by the terrors of the night. She had seen her lover savaged by a bear the size of a hill, seen her people killed only to rise again as part of a Corrupted army of lost, silent-screaming souls. This was an Ember who had battled the Sages themselves and come out on the winning side.
In short, Pirrahn of the Blue Knights was not ready, and Misha wasn’t in a forgiving mood.
The Ember leveled her spear as if she might throw it, gripping it between her thumb and two fingers and angling her shoulders as her strides lengthened during her approach. Pirrahn recovered some of her wits, enough to call those shimmering Nevermelt weapons out of the moisture in the air itself. As Kole and the others watched, Shifa wagging her tail excitedly, a frosted casing grew from the Blue Knight’s fists. She spread her hands out and gritted her teeth, calling more of her power out. The casings covered her hands, which had been pointed, fingers held tightly together like spear tips, and passed them by, forming twin sickles that could have been swords of glass.
Misha did not care. As the Blue Knight settled into her stance, Nevermelt bladehands angled, one behind, the other in front, Misha shot up … or seemed to. Instead, she rose onto the balls of her feet and then spun, shooting into a slide across the dry clay and bringing her flaming spear around with her. Pirrahn bit on the feint like a floundering trout and rose onto the tips of her toes, crossing her blades out in front of her chest to block a strike that would no doubt burn her anyway. As it stood, she was about to lose both legs in a river of glowing, raging red.
But Misha, it seemed, was full of surprises, and not all of them were bad. Instead of sweeping her spear around and coating the red field in a scythe of red fire, she sent one lancing tail of flame at the Blue Knight’s armored knees. The fire struck with a sound like whistling wind, and the Blue Knight cried out more in surprise than pain—though no doubt there was a bit of that as well—and rolled to the side, landing heavy and awkward on her right shoulder and nearly spearing herself on one of her own blades.
To her credit, she rolled and went to rise, but she winced. There was a black band of char coating the shin guards below either knee, and Kole could see the skin above the pieces already beginning to blister with pink and white strips like fat on the edge of a cut of venison. Her right arm and the blade that coated it quivered, her forced meeting with the ground having done its own damage.
Misha came out of her slide and stood facing the other Landkist. She took a step forward and the Blue Knight showed her teeth, glistening white. Misha smiled, seeming genuine, and strode forward with a confidence that was becoming of her.
Pirrahn did not cry out, but she did lash out, surging forward on burnt legs with one angled blade and then the next. Misha dodged the first with an easy twist, but she was forced to knock the other aside with her spear. The third strike came on the end of a deft pivot and quicker spin than any of them were anticipating, and Misha had to leap back to avoid getting stuck on the tip like an apple core. Now she sank into a crouch, burning spear beginning to twist in slow circles as she raised it above her head.
Pirrahn’s eyes showed a bit of white despite her bravery, and when her front foot stepped backward, Misha’s back foot stepped forward.
“Cress,” Kole heard the queen say, and the male Blue Knight darted forward with some speed. He was smaller than the others—far smaller than Tundra—and he seemed entirely unafraid of the formidable Ember and all her flame. He was also heading straight for her back, his own Nevermelt beginning to form into a long shaft, like a spear taken from the heart of a winter storm.
Kole looked at Baas, who frowned at the sudden change. Linn opened her mouth to shout a warning, but Misha was aware of the charge. She shot straight up as Cress reached her position, thrusting his spear forward. Her spear left a streak of whipping red and a cascade of sparks behind, and when she reached the zenith of her skyward climb—nearly as high as Jenk had jumped—the weapon was a disc of dusklight spinning with enough speed to make the air spark and smell. Kole could hear the atmosphere crackling.
“Looks like you’re not the only one who can summon storms,” Kole said, nudging Linn in the back. She mumbled something but was unable to take her eyes from the spectacle. “Seems Ve’Gah’s been holding out on us.”
Baas nodded his agreement.
When Misha hit the ground between the Blue Knights, she led with that fiery disc. She hit the clay already spinning along with her spear, and the fire she had gathered whipped up in a frenzy around her that became a torrent. The Blue Knights avoided it easily enough, leaping away to either side, translucent blades drinking in the light Misha gave off, but they couldn’t see the Ember at the heart of her red storm. That storm only lasted for seconds, but it was more than enough to do her work, and Kole smiled as he saw it.
She angled for Cress first, ducking low and shooting through the curl of orange fire she’d made. Cress reacted too late, and Misha jabbed him, hard, with the butt of her glowing spear, doubling him over. She was back into her fading storm of burnt embers, swirling motes and charred, smoking clay before his knees touched the ground and after his own lengthy weapon fell from his grasp as nothing more than water and frosted steam.
Pirrahn never had a chance. Now that the fire was blowing out, the smoke was thick and obscuring. She crossed her blades in front of her, waiting for the inevitable strike. A rod of orange daylight parted the black smoke and shot up and out of the plume, taking all their watching eyes with it, including Pirrahn’s. The bolt sailed in an arc before landing with a sharp, echoing crack in the clay below the sloped wall of stone to the west. Its glow began to dull almost immediately now that it was cut off from the source of its power.
Linn seemed to see her first. She inhaled sharply as a deeper shadow darted through the smoke, angling straight for the Blue Knight. Misha led with her fist, fording the gap between the knight’s crossed clear blades and rewarding her look of surprise with a crack on the jaw that sent her tumbling. Kole saw the spurt of blood and perhaps a flying white tooth from his place in the shadowed borders of the bowl.
And Misha stood tall, seemingly victorious, while Cress hacked and coughed on the opposite side of her smoky circle of char and Pirrahn stood dizzily, stumbling on shaking legs, her face a mask of red and rage.
Kole could not help but smile. Opponents were often so fixated on an Ember’s fire that they forgot the heat in their blood. Heat that engorged the muscles with a vitality most men only felt at the peak of sexual release or unbridled rage. It was a burst of liquid fire that fueled an Ember’s burst for minutes rather than seconds, and when focused, pushed into a strike as Misha just had, an Ember could strike as hard as any Rockbled with no Everwood to speak of.
Almost any Rockbled, Baas Taldis notwithstanding.
Kole almost felt guilty when his eyes met Queen Elanil’s, whose own look was more measured, though no less surprised.
Pirrahn actually screamed, but the Frostfire Sage held up her hand and the effect was immediate. The Blue Knight dropped her hands to her sides, her blades dissolving in twin puffs that scattered and blew apart in her wake. She passe
d Misha by with a limp she couldn’t hide, and Kole cringed as he saw streaks of juice dripping from the fresh wounds below her knees. The Ember tensed in case the Landkist’s seeming surrender was a ruse, but no further violence ensued. Pirrahn hooked Cress beneath the elbow and dragged him up to his feet. He shot a glare at Misha that she accepted with a smile and a stiff nod, and the Blue Knights shuffled back toward their queen like whipped dogs.
Shifa barked excitedly, tail up and wagging, and Misha turned from their allies and moved across the smooth red-brown ocean toward her Everwood spear. The weapon still held a bit of a ruddy red glow, and trails of gray snaked up from the spiderweb cracks the tip had made, twining around the smooth handle and kissing Misha’s bare arms and colored tassels. She turned and started back toward Kole and the others, not so much as sparing a glance at the Sage and her fuming, fumbling champions. Misha’s arms, always lean, were bunched, the veins standing out and the cords sliding over one another like fisherman’s knots.
When she reached them and met Kole’s eyes, he expected to see a wide smile. Instead, she looked drained. Her tan skin had paled slightly, making her bright hair stand out all the more. She bore no fresh wounds from the spar—which was more a miniature war that had left a charred circle in the clay—but her face was streaked with ash from the smoke. She was exhausted, having used up a good portion of her heat.
Her long strides turned into haggard steps as she angled toward Jenk, twisted and let her back touch the shelf of stone beneath the cliff walk. She slid down next to the other Ember, who gripped her knee and smiled. She returned it and then let her eyes drift closed, not sleeping but not fully awake as she tried to take in what remained of the day’s fire.
“Some show,” Linn said, and Misha smiled without parting her lips or eyelids.
The Frostfire Sage Page 46
