They hated him.
He sighed and turned his back, trudging through the long grass and retracing the path he had taken from the gate just a few days before. At least his sense of direction had never let him down. A good job, as the dawn was an hour away yet and there was little to help highlight the route they must take. He had insisted they leave early, for though he hoped that the gate was still in his own people's hands, if he was wrong, he at least wanted the cover of darkness to shield them a little.
Frustration at how this whole task had once again descended into farce was making him bad-tempered, and that was something he really wasn't used to. An optimist by nature, gloomy thoughts were not something he usually dwelt on, but he couldn't help being depressed by the unfairness of it all. Somehow life always conspired against him. The simplest of tasks could become an adventure of epic proportions once he became involved, and he simply could not fathom how that was. He knew deep down that he was now a very capable man; he had proved that to himself and to others on too many occasions, now, not to know the truth of it. The name Bram struck terror into those who travelled at night with fat purses and a heavy conscience. He had killed, both to protect others and himself, though never without good reason. Bram could not, however, deny the fact that he had always lived in the shadow of the two princes, and longed for their approval. Corin’s, especially. Just for once, he’d wanted them to be proud of him, rather than merely finding him a source of amusement, or worse: irritation, if they were once again forced to retrieve him from some debacle of his own making.
He had long since given up hope of impressing his father. The day he had been shamed in front of his peers and run away to live as an outlaw, his father had disowned him, and now his cousin would inherit his title of Viscount Rhadnor. As there was a price on his head, Bram could do little to challenge the decision. He had thought when Corin had entrusted this task to him, that this would be his chance to do something that would make them see him differently, as something closer to an equal. For no matter how his fearsome reputation grew amongst the people, put him in front of Corin and Laen and he was six years old once more and in need of rescuing from some misadventure.
Well, nothing else could go wrong, he wouldn't allow it. He remembered with a gloomy countenance of how he had imagined the gratitude in Claudette's beautiful eyes when he had returned her brother to her safely. He had even wondered if she might kiss him again. Not that he had any intention of being disrespectful to Corin, but he had a developed a fondness for Claudette that he could not deny. He thought the prince a very lucky man indeed.
Bram berated himself for his own idiocy. Well, his chance had come and gone; the best he could hope was to get them all there in once piece. Anything more than that was going to be a bloody miracle.
***
Claudette awoke with a start, the howling of wolves outside her tent raising the hairs on the back of her neck. Cerberus began to howl, too, his shrill voice joining in the eerie song that seemed to crawl around the woodland at their back, threading its sorrowful pattern between the trees.
Corin’s wolves had joined them late yesterday morning. They had been shut up when Claudette had left, but had been determined to escape. Once the wolves had made up their minds, there was nothing that would sway them. They had been restless ever since Corin had gone, and only his words to them, his demand that they keep Claudette safe, had kept them with her. She had been afraid to let them free; Corin was so fond of them, he would be devastated if they got hurt, but of course they were wild things at heart. They could well take care of themselves.
She stumbled to her feet in the darkness of the tent, wrapping the fur-lined cloak the queen had given her, for another perilous journey once before, tightly around her. Outside, the sky had begun to lighten, a dreary grey light against the heavy blackness. The weight of the night seemed to glower with fury over the land, and Claudette felt fear in her heart. It was going to happen today. She knew it. The countryside through which they had been riding had become increasingly bleak, tainted with something she could not see or understand but could feel in her heart. The sickness that had been tormenting Corin was so clear to see now, and she ached to be with him.
The soldiers nodded and greeted her. Their faces were grave, voices low, everything in their movements confirming that they could feel it too. There had been no birdsong since they’d entered Solastire, no rustle of rabbit or deer in the bracken. The land here was barren, dying, and the blood of men watered her parched soil.
She had wept when they had found the forest, though at first she had not understood what she was seeing. The men had known, though, and explained what she stood before, a cathedral to the fallen. The canopy of trees sheltering the newly dead, giving them peace. It was a vast cemetery, but instead of the acres of white crosses she had seen in northern France, here the dead were honoured with new life. She had touched her hand to the trees as they rode past, knowing that Corin had done this, and felt closer to him as the rough bark passed under her fingertips.
The wolves stopped their song as she approached and circled around her, huffing and buffeting her hands, all eager for a caress, a soft word. She bent to kiss Varg, holding his great head against her and looking into his eyes, seeing her own worry reflected back at her. "I'm right, aren't I?” she whispered, her voice taut with fear. “It's beginning."
Beneath their feet, the ground began to tremble and the wolves whined and fretted, crowding against her. She twined her fingers into Varg's thick coat and prayed. She prayed to the Christian God that she had been brought up to believe in. She prayed to the old gods that she felt touch this land and its people. She prayed to Jacques, whom she knew Corin feared, and to anyone who would listen.
Protect him. Please. Please, I beg you. I’ll do anything you want. Only keep him safe.
***
As the men regrouped, stumbling through the mud and their fallen comrades, they awaited the order to march on the city. They had to hold out long enough, they had to give Corin enough time. As they waited for the moment to come, they watched in awe as the wall crumbled. The guns had stopped, the bombs ceased to fall as Auberren’s men ran, terrified in the face of such power. The great city seemed to shiver with fear, as well it might.
Laen had known this was Corin's intention, known that he believed he could do it, and yet ... To see that vast wall topple like a child's building blocks was something he would never forget. His friend had fallen to his knees in the mud, arms stretched wide, every muscle and tendon taught with the effort of what he was doing, and the light Corin had cast over the dim morning burned still behind his eyelids.
The wall was gone, the surrounding fields covered in rubble and stone, and yet now Auberren's men spilled over it once more. Thousands and thousands, all of them carrying weapons from a world beyond their own. The rush of movements blurred together until Laen could believe a great monster was coming to devour him and his men.
"Corin!" he yelled, but he was deaf to Laen’s shouts of concern. Exposed and alone in the middle of the battlefield, no one could get near him.
The guns had begun again and now the whistle of arrows as their own armies tried to retaliate against a force which was beyond their comprehension. But the hiss of magic ate through human weapons with disgust and turned them to ash in the hands of their enemies as the most powerful of their kind stepped forward. Those with the ability created shields and called on the land to defend those who would help protect her. The rubble shifted and groaned as roots thrust up, tossing boulders high into the air, letting them fall upon the heads of those who had failed to honour her. Fire leapt from great gashes in the earth, molten lava spewing forth as though the earth was truly bleeding, her hot blood scalding and melting skin and bone like snow falling into hell. Men screamed and wailed until those who witnessed the horror really believed that the fires of Tartarus had risen to the earth, to devour them all for their sins.
"Corin!"
Try as he might, Laen could not get close to
him. The light was too bright, burned too fiercely, and Corin was too focused on what he was doing to listen. The Light Fae had now targeted him once more, though, all weapons trained upon that brightness, and Laen knew that the slightest falter would leave him open and vulnerable. How long could he sustain such power? Laen commanded his own men to surround Corin, knowing they would follow him despite the exposed position. His own magic burned beneath his skin, rippling over the land like a heat haze, repelling the enemy fire and protecting his soldiers as they fought to get as near as they dared to Corin. The glare of Corin’s magic was as dangerous as the enemy, though, and made their skin burn and sear as the power touched them. Those of the Light Fae who got anywhere close to the elven prince gasped in shock as their human weapons burned in their hands, and those that could fell back on ancient blades forged in this world. Corin seemed oblivious to the clash of swords and the desperate battle that surrounded him as the ground began to move once again, and men disappeared into vast craters that swallowed them whole in the blink of an eye.
Laen looked up and felt desperation as yet another wave of men broke the rim of the fallen wall. His and Corin's men were being cut down like some obscene crop under a scythe as the guns spewed their deadly rain over all that stood before them. He turned and brought his sword down on a man who ran at him with hatred and fear in his eyes, and wondered why the men would fight for a king with such blind desperation when he was so obviously destroying everything the Fae held dear. He felt the ground rock and fought to keep his balance as the body dropped at his feet ... and then he saw it.
The ground around the city groaned and shuddered, the stone-covered fields that stretched for miles into the distance rippling, with one long, sinuous movement, as though it had gained a life of its own. Laen spun around to look at Corin, who was speaking now, old, old words that raised the hairs on the back of Laen’s neck and sent fear rippling down his spine. There were few who remember the old tongue, still fewer that could speak it. It had been forbidden many, many centuries ago, considered too dangerous, too unpredictable in the hands of those who tried to use it. It was a fickle power, often turning against those who tried to wield it without really understanding the natural force of what they toyed with. Laen had always known that Corin understood it, commanded it. He had heard and felt the magic fall from Corin’s lips when he spoke to his wolves, and had fought back the prickle of unease as he had realised they understood his words. Laen had asked him how he knew it, who had taught him, but Corin had never answered and Laen had been left with the feeling that he couldn’t ... because he didn’t know.
The ground buckled and rose, gaping jaws that roared and spat flames and lava as the earth screamed her fury through the power of Corin’s magic, the two of them united in pain and suffering and the desire to cleanse themselves of the filth that stained the world around them. The jaws, like that of a great serpent, moved forward as the ground lashed out a tail that flung rubble thousands of feet into the air and smashed them back to earth, shattering bones and smashing heads, raining retribution down on all those who stood in the path of the true king.
The Light Fae fell, screaming with terror as the jaws consumed them, the sinuous, earthy wave moving snake-like, swallowing them down into what appeared to be the mouth of hell. Those that could, fled back into the city, even though they now knew the truth ... there was nowhere to hide.
Chapter 16
By the time Bram and his motley crew had reached the gate, a faint halo of light had begun to stain the horizon and Bram knew they must move quickly.
"Inés, you’re ready?"
The witch snorted and rolled her eyes, which he took for a yes. Once he had resigned himself to the fact she was going to be coming with them, he figured he may as well make use of her. She had devised a spell that would keep them hidden from view; it would last barely more than a few minutes, but with luck it would be enough to get clear. He knew it was likely the gate would be guarded by the elven army, but his land was at war and he did not know what may have befallen the country in the time he had been away. He could not take the risk that the Light Fae were waiting for them.
He began to call the gate as Inés wove the magic between them. Her words were lyrical and soft, the spell prickling against his skin as the sweet smell of her magic rose up. Jean-Pierre stood close to Ameena and she grabbed hold of her friend’s arm, looking as though she was unsure whether to keep her eye on Inés as she bound the spell to them, or to Bram, as he summoned the gateway to the Fae Lands.
The gate shimmered to light, like a reflection flickering on water before Bram moved forward and drew the thin veil between the worlds apart. As he did so, a tremendous explosion of noise assaulted them and the wind ripped through the opening, howling with fury and stinging their faces with freezing rain as the deafening rage of a violent thunderstorm left their ears ringing.
"Perhaps we should wait for the storm to pass?" Ameena shouted over the din, looking at the world on the other side with wide eyes as lightening lit up a countryside that looked much like the one she was standing in.
Bram's heart sank as he saw the violence of the storm raging and knew that Corin was in the midst of a terrible battle. He spared a moment to send a prayer for him, for Laen, and for all those who fought for them and pushed aside the wish that he was there too, standing beside them. They had given him a job to do and he would do it. He glanced at Inés, who met his eyes, understanding what it meant. "This storm will not pass any time soon, Ameena, we must leave, now."
Another roll of thunder boomed overhead, making Jean-Pierre jump out of his skin. Inés laughed and pinched his cheek. "Le pauvre," she mocked, pouting at him. "Did the ickle storm frighten you?"
"Oh, leave him alone, you silly bitch!" snapped Ameena, clutching her leather jacket around her. "It's the biggest bloody storm I've ever seen."
"Shut your damn mouths, all of you!" Bram hissed, his dark eyes flashing with fury in the light of another lightning strike. "Not another word," he warned, as he drew his gun in one hand and his sword in the other. He stepped through the gate, his eyes scanning the darkness as the storm soaked him to the bone in seconds, his long dark hair whipping around his face. He turned back to them and motioned for them to follow, leading them into the Fae Lands
***
When they rode into the village, Claudette knew that Corin had passed this way. The few people they had glimpsed enroute had been starving, terrified, just fleeting shadows peering through gaps in the dying trees. Frail as wraiths, they’d been little more than rag-covered skin and bone, with eyes too big for their heads. Here, though, the trees were a vibrant green, branches bowed low with fruit, and the children ran after them, screaming and laughing. The street was lined with women who threw flowers in front of them as they passed by and called out prayers and blessings for them to be safe. One woman braved the soldiers and ran to Claudette, a babe clutched tightly in her grasp.
"You're his lady, aren't you?" she asked, her voice breathless as Claudette waved her guards away with an impatient gesture.
"If you mean Prince Corin, then yes, I am." Claudette smiled at her and the woman grasped her hand and held it to her lips.
"We will never be able to thank him, my lady. If ever there is anything we can do, if ever you have need of anything, we are your servants."
Claudette looked at the sincerity and gratitude in the woman's eyes and felt her breath catch in her throat. She squeezed her hand in return and then looked around as she realised there were only women here. "Where are all your men?" she asked.
"They left last night, they have gone to fight for him, for the true king," she said, her eyes glittering with fierce pride.
Claudette looked at her in surprise. "But surely, they were not soldiers?"
The woman shook her head. "No, not soldiers. My husband was a farmer, like many others, and there are craftsmen, builders; all of them have gone. They will fight for him. He saved us and he will risk his life for us on the Field of
Kings. They will follow the Bright One wherever he leads."
He will risk his life? Fear touched Claudette's heart at her words and she knew she would not want to hear the answer but she had to know. "The Field of Kings?" she repeated, the words sticking in her throat.
The woman's eyes widened and then she gave a smile, too full of sympathy to reassure Claudette at all. "Of course, you are human. You do not know of our ways, forgive me." She hesitated and looked down at the babe, who had begun to mewl, and hushed it with soft words before looking back up, her face full of pity. "He must face him, my lady. The land chooses the king, but all kings have the right to fight for their land, they must both stake their claim, but only the true king can take it as his own."
Claudette’s breath caught and she could hardly get the words out. "And what ... what happens to the one who loses?" she asked, her heart pounding in her chest so hard she felt dizzy and light-headed.
"He is the true king, my lady," the woman replied, her eyes defiant, her words implacable.
Claudette nodded, resolute. She knew that. She did. "Oui. Oui, I know he is but ... but what happens to the king who fails?"
The woman drew in a breath, clearly not wanting to say, but forced to give an answer. "He will die, my lady. He will burn, and he will die."
***
Laen looked at the heaps of blackened, smoking metal in disgust. The stench made his throat burn and his eyes itch and he had no clue as to what most of the weapons were. He knew without a shadow of a doubt what they could do though ... but not anymore.
Before they had made their attack on the city, there had been a moment of silence as Corin had turned and held up his hands, commanding them to wait. His eyes were no longer gold, but black, the pupils blown, wide and wild. Then they had seen the wave of power, a rolling, billowing shimmer of magic, growing higher and stronger and faster as it rushed over the wasteland that now surrounded the city. Collectively, they had held their breath as the wave rolled forward, gathering momentum and growing higher, brighter, until it broke over the city and the resulting screams from those inside were something Laen knew he would hear again whenever he closed his eyes.
The Darkest Night Page 17
