The Iron Altar Series Box Set One: Books 1 to 3

by Casey Lea

  Misty braced herself, but he’d judged the slide perfectly and bumped into her just hard enough for a hug. “Noticed. You okay?”

  Misty didn’t answer. She’d no wish to snap at Ace in the middle of a fight, but his lack of faith in her was galling. Of course she was alright. Her healing flecks were hard at work. The pain was sharp, but no longer biting enough to slow her down. Ace must have felt as much with his fronds, because he drew back and let her rise without help. Just in time.

  Spears appeared from the walls around them and soldiers followed. Excellent.

  Wings snapped out from each one of the team to knock six attackers back into the walls. Nine more kept coming, so Misty hooked the big claws at the tips of her wings into her already fallen victims and dragged them forward again. She jerked them into two of the enemy towering over her, then glided back as they all went down. Their fall made the floor shake, but she kept her feet and faced her final target.

  The Mermaridian warrior was nearly twice her height. Misty’s eyes were hot with battle-sight again and he looked like a silhouette, lit from within by the glowing pulse of organs, blood and bones. All were tempting targets. This one had drawn a sword, which sliced for her throat, so she leaned back far enough to let the blade whisper past. It left him half-turned and wide open. Her own sword darted up to find the red pool of his heart. She pushed hard, thrusting forward in a lunge and the fighter fell to his knees in front of her. She leaned back to pull the blade free and he collapsed.

  “Hold,” a familiar voice commanded and Misty stopped in mid-turn. Falkyn’s cry was like a vice closing on her body, which obeyed without question. She hated it when he spoke to her like that – and hated it even more when she listened.

  Misty shuddered, struggling to shake the order off, before straightening to look for the rest of her team. Zak had taken out four attackers while Ace was still bent over, above the groaning forms of the last two. She checked more closely and he must have felt her concern, because he raised his head and sent her a smile, along with mental reassurance. She nodded, then squared herself to face Falkyn. Why was His Bossiness yelling orders?

  The answer was obvious. Falkyn had appeared in a doorway that led further into the palace, but a heavy arm held him by the throat. It pulled back hard until he was stretched on tiptoes and held close to the Mermaridian behind him. Falkyn’s captor was a big man draped in fabric and looked like an expensive cushion. He clearly wasn’t a fighter, but Fal made no effort to throw him off.

  Misty flicked her energy blade back into storage at her hip and dropped a dagger from her wrist com. She hefted it in her hand, checking the balance and preparing to throw. The solid Luck offered ample targets that Falkyn didn’t cover, but before she could take a shot the Arck was dragged backward.

  Falkyn went without resisting and Misty paused. Even a peace-loving kres should have dealt with that pile of furnishings by now. Perhaps he didn’t want help. She paused and felt the frustration of an unfamiliar emotion. She couldn’t be sure, but was that uncertainty?

  The target had almost dragged Fal from the room and Misty’s fingers tightened on the knife. Fal’s eyes moved from side to side. Was that ‘no’, or a desperate survey of the room? Her hand felt wet on the hilt and she resisted the urge to wipe her palm. Her com would ensure adhesion. The true problem was that she didn’t know what to do.

  Should she kill the Luck and risk annoying Fal, or let the enemy win? That was a simple equation. She lifted the knife, but Falkyn’s fronds rose too.

  Stop, Falkyn thought. I need to find the other Lucks first. Hopefully I’ll get locked up wherever they are.

  The pair staggered backward down the corridor and Misty stamped her foot. This was supposed to be a fight. She wasn’t a spy and restraint didn’t suit her.

  Ace placed a sympathetic arm over her shoulders and she snuggled into a hug. It seemed she was going to have to look elsewhere for some spice in her day. She pulled her honey closer. It was too bad they were still deep in hostile territory.

  Zak must have picked up her thoughts, because he groaned and muttered something about “grope central,” which made Misty smile. It seemed the universe offered a range of alternate satisfactions and annoying Zak was high among them.

  She studied Ace, smiling when he raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Let’s perch on the top of this place,” she suggested. “I feel the need for high ground.”

  He nodded and let her drag him back toward the balcony.

  “Falkyn might call us,” Zak pointed out and Misty looked over her shoulder with her sweetest smile, but didn’t stop.

  “We won’t go far.” She turned back to face the risks of the night and now Ace was pulling her along, and life was pretty damn perfect.

  4

  Facing the Fire

  Falkyn ignored the pressure on his neck to slump further and Belthezeon had to stop. The Luck must be using most of his com energy on his personal shield, with none left for physical exertion. He leaned against a marble wall, panting and swearing a syllable at a time on every breath out.

  “You can’t hold me,” Falkyn said and the solid form behind him heaved out a laugh.

  “Can and will,” the big man promised. He pushed off from the inlaid façade of the palace wall to start dragging Falkyn again, deeper into the remains of the old Assembly chambers. His mind was set on a target and Falkyn could almost read it. Somewhere deeper still, but filled with light? No, he didn’t have enough to make sense of, so it seemed he was a prisoner for a little longer. He dragged his feet, digging in his heels and making the murderous bustwing struggle for every step.

  It took a long time to work through the bowels of the palace. Falkyn gritted his teeth and endured the Luck’s increasingly moist embrace, until they reached the worn platform of a freight chute. They staggered onto it in a parody of an intimate, courtly dance. Belthezeon finally released his prisoner as the lift jerked into motion. It fell at a speed that lifted the Luck onto his toes and almost stopped Falkyn from dropping into a crouch. Where the hail were they going?

  They accelerated until it felt like free falling, but after half a minute the platform squealed and shuddered to a halt. The deceleration drove Belthezeon to the floor to collapse gasping beside Falkyn. A lurid red light flickered over them both, making the huge figure seem to jerk from side to side.

  “Guards,” the Mermaridian called and multiple footfalls sounded in response. Shadows appeared on the wall of the lift shaft and Falkyn tensed. He flowed to his feet, while a silent order drew his internal energy flecks close to the surface of his skin and goosebumps appeared along his arms. They were followed by a smooth flow of energy that solidified to form overlapping plates of armor.

  “What…?” Belthezeon gasped and managed to rise as far as his knees. He swayed and gaped up at Falkyn while the last of the Arck’s formal ice-white protection formed around him. Belthezeon lifted a shaking hand to shade his eyes. “How? I’ve got your com.”

  Falkyn regarded him coldly. “You like to steal things, don’t you? Did you kill the other Lucks when you took their toys? Or are they down here?”

  Belthezeon smiled and clasped his hands together. “You wish to know? What will you trade?”

  The approaching footsteps thumped from the walls and guards clattered round the corner. There were ten - the usual Mermaridian pack - all shiny and excessively tall. Falkyn snapped his fingers and a sword solidified in his hand, its grip cold and comforting. A reassuring weight that he spun through the air in front of him. The soldiers slowed and spread out. Falkyn shifted from one foot to the other while loosening his shoulders. His leathery wings relaxed to spread slightly, making a soft swishing sound.

  “Hold,” Belthezeon croaked and everyone stopped.

  Falkyn lifted a frond to check what the Luck was up to behind him. The heavy man clambered to his feet, while his guards waited patiently for him. Falkyn stood just as still, because anything hired thugs could do, he could do too. He stayed lo
ose and ready to move, letting the tweets in his stomach flutter on, but ignoring them.

  “What are those?” Belthezeon demanded and took three uneven steps toward Falkyn.

  “No closer.”

  “Of course.” The Luck stopped. “But what is your cloak doing? Is it armor? Why is it moving like that? Unfurling? It almost looks like… wings?”

  Falkyn grinned, because he couldn’t help it. Flying remained the most awesome experience of his life. His wings snapped wide to collide with the walls on either side. The claws at each wing tip gouged deep and Belthezeon blanched. He retreated surprisingly fast to slam into the back of the lift. Little threat left there. Falkyn used one frond to track the Luck, but focused his other senses on the soldiers.

  A twist of Falkyn’s wings followed by a gale from their jet-pores made the guards retreat. The rush of air forced them to shelter on one side and Falkyn took advantage of the resulting gap - flipping the edges of his wings behind him again to jet forward and brush past their staggering forms. One sword cut close to him, but he swerved round the blow and was gone.

  Falkyn looked back when he reached the corner and almost flew into a wall. The guards were joining Belthezeon on the lift and their group was bathed in shafts of silver light. He could have sworn some of the soldiers had glowing eyes.

  A wing-claw whipped out, which Falkyn dug into the rock wall to drag him round the tight bend and to a stop. He turned at once to look back around the corner. The shaft leading to the surface seemed more brightly lit than before, but it was hard to tell. A screech from the lift accelerating up its shaft carried clearly down the passageway and Falkyn tensed. It seemed his tweet-hearted opponent was flapping away. Surely he wouldn’t do that if he had Beserks as guards.

  The sounds of the lift faded and a murmur filled the passageway. Falkyn tapped his lips and considered options. His first thought was to contact his younger brother, but there was no answer from Jace. Strange, although scarcely surprising on a hostile world. He and Misty were probably keeping busy. Likely Zak was too, but Falkyn used his hidden com flecks to link to his other sibling anyway.

  Zak answered at once. “Trouble?”

  “Nothing I can’t deal to. Belthezeon’s on his way back up with ten guards. Grab him and bag him. Use all the force you need.”

  “Lethal?”

  “If you must. Keep yourselves safe and don’t worry. He won’t be mourned.”

  “Good,” Zak said. “Hiding bodies is annoying. So is breaking out of prison.”

  The com link went dead and Falkyn stood there, considering. Perhaps he should return to the surface and help take down Belthezeon. If some of those guards were Beserks… Falkyn finally chuckled. It hurt to admit it, but he still wouldn’t be needed. When Jace, Misty and Zak merged mentally in battle they became an overwhelming fighting machine. His feeble efforts were more likely to be a hindrance than a help...

  However, he lifted his com again, just in case. “Zak. The guards with Belthezeon might be silver eyes. If they’re Beserk call and I’ll come fast. I can be a distraction at least.”

  There was no reply for a moment and he wondered whether he’d insulted his brother by offering assistance, but then Zak chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll send any scary-looking Beserks your way.”

  “Wonderful,” Falkyn said. “I should have listened to Amber and stayed home.”

  He chuckled at the idea of hiding behind his doctor’s advice and surged on, his toes barely sweeping the ground as his partially-open wings powered him forward. The light ahead changed to a steady glow, until the walls were burnt orange. His wings began to ache as they sucked in scorching air, before jetting it out again. He dropped to the ground, running a few steps and furling his wings once more. The two crests that stuck up behind his head drooped forward to lie over his shoulders and the disguise was complete. His lovely leathery wings were once again a teal cloak.

  A sound like wind soughing through creaking branches grew louder as Falkyn walked and he slowed. Whatever was ahead didn’t sound like a fire and that’s what he’d been expecting from the light. Sweat dribbled down the inside of his armor and his lungs began to ache. The golden light didn’t flicker, but stayed steady. He suddenly realized what was causing it and stopped in shock. How deep had they come?

  Falkyn moved on and when the tunnel ended abruptly he was ready. He leaned forward, over the edge and into a furnace blast. Below his perch was a lake of lava. It lapped at the cavern wall around it to leave strips of semi-molten rock in a matted hem. There were dark islands protruding from the glowing pool like broken teeth from reddened gums, and pale figures crouched on them. Falkyn switched his focus until the shapes below came into sharp relief. People… crouched and clinging to a few peaks of more solid rock. Some had collapsed and even as he watched a female slipped sideways then fell from her crumbling perch.

  There was no time for thought and no need. The stranger was about to kiss lava and he wouldn’t hover in safety while she died.

  Falkyn pushed off as hard as he could, arrowing after the tumbling form. A silent order sent his armor back into storage and heat hit the bare skin of his face and arms like a hand trying to swat him from the sky. Air jetted harder from his wings and he grimaced when they sucked in more from the super-heated cavern, but didn’t stop. He gained on the limp form just as waves of lava leaped to claim them both. The splashes of fire fell short, but it still felt like being slapped with acid. His com flecks struggled to protect him and it felt as if the heat cut straight through his personal shield.

  Fal dragged more harsh air through his scalded wings and reached the falling girl. He caught her round the waist and jetted past the liquid fingers trying to clutch them. Climbing with anyone was a challenge, but with a tall Mermaridian it was almost impossible.

  Falkyn clenched his fists in the scorched clothes of the girl he’d saved and let the heat still blasting them help their escape. His wings spread wide to catch the wicked thermals and found enough lift to bring him to the central tower of rock.

  Three more prisoners were huddled in the middle of its sooty top and he joined them, dropping the girl as he landed. The other mermaridians hardly stirred. Two merely crouched closer to each other and the last lifted his head with a blank expression. Despite the heat Falkyn felt a chill.

  “I’m here to save you,” he yelled over the furnace roar of the lava.

  The stranger gave a twisted grin. “Too late, kind sah, too late.”

  Falkyn ignored him and crouched beside the girl to check her vitals. It took less than a second. He hadn’t saved her at all. “Drak. She’s dead.”

  The male beside him giggled. “Of course she is. So are you. And me. Yes, even me. We’re all dead.”

  “Unluckily true,” a disembodied female voice agreed and Falkyn jumped to his feet.

  The blistering air made his eyes weep and he drew the back of his hand over them before looking around. There was no one else on the pinnacle of rock. Just the sorry trio of prisoners, the dead girl and Falkyn.

  “Down here,” the woman said and this time he caught the direction of her voice.

  Falkyn leaned over the edge, into the fierce heat and closed his eyes to slits. There was a shadowy figure sitting on a ledge, tucked away from the rising breeze. She raised a hand to shade her eyes and a thick, ornately-carved com gleamed like a band of lava on her wrist. It seemed Belthezeon had left his prisoners with enough protection to die very slowly.

  The lady below slumped back into a rough nest made from several cloaks, but her voice was firm. “Greetings, sire. Are you here because Belthezeon fooled you too?”

  “No, I fooled myself. What is this place?

  “Hell. Also known as the Pot. It makes an educational holding cell.”

  “Who are you?”

  “No one it seems, but I used to be Luck Traya.” The woman stopped and gave a dry hacking cough. “In my younger, more fortunate days.”

  Falkyn dropped to his stomach and leaned over th
e edge to study the ex-Luck more closely. “Traya? We met at the First Emergency Summit after the ice plague.”

  “Ye, sire, I remember. You were quite the flurry and your ascension became the talk of the treaty. We all wondered how badly you’d pressured your father to make him abandon his claim to the throne. What did you threaten him with?”

  “What? Nothing. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “But you have sentenced your mother to death?”

  Falkyn set his teeth against an instinctive answer, grinding down obscenities until he found something more diplomatic. “That’s a matter for public record - not gossip.”

  He bounced to his feet and sweat dripped to the rocks beneath. “I’ll call for help, Luck Traya,” he said and she laughed.

  It was an ominous response, but Falkyn ignored her, along with the male still muttering behind him. He sent a thought to Jace, but the infra-red of the Pot overwhelmed his fronds and they drooped to lie across his shoulders. Annoying, but not a problem.

  He licked his dry lips, which brought no relief and his voice sounded just as cracked. “Jace, I need evac. Now. Misty? Zak? Anyone?”

  Traya laughed again, so Falkyn leaned back out, sticking his head into the oven. She offered him a sarcastic smirk, although her chin trembled briefly. “The shield blocks all communication.”

  “Shield?”

  “The one you flew in through. Very heroic, Magnificence, but a bad idea. It only opens one way and you won’t be flying out. You’re trapped with the rest of us.”

  “Who else is trapped here? Do you know where the First Luck is?”

  Traya pushed herself to her feet and leaned into the wall so she could stare up at Falkyn. “First Indareon died in the plague. His son Indoleo tried to lead us, but his arrogance was his end. He taunted Belthezeon, calling him ill-fortuned.”

  Falkyn winced at the insult. “He’s dead then?”

  “Belthezeon killed him personally, then completed the drawing ritual. Now the usurper has all the Karshek family Luck.”