Lord's Fall

by Thea Harrison

  He said, “I have already summoned the Wyr.”

  • • •

  He had summoned the Wyr as he raced toward a magical fire that destroyed the Elven Wood and lit the night sky for miles.

  The Deus Machinae were only dangerous in proportion to the Power of those who wielded them. When they fell into the hands of those with little Power or no real understanding of what they possessed, the Machinae influenced the world in subtle ways.

  The last time Dragos had seen a Machine was almost two hundred and forty years ago. Although he had not touched it, he was fairly certain it had been Hyperion’s, the god of Law. At the time it had appeared in the shape of a quill pen, and one of the most famous human lawmakers in American history had used it to sign the Declaration of Independence.

  Now an Elf wielded one of the Machinae again. Only an ancient Elf with an affinity to the elements had the Power to use a Machine to such devastating effect on the environment, and he was NOT GOING TO LET THEM tear the Earth apart again.

  The fire had killed the spirit of the Wood. He spared a thought for how that would sadden Pia, as he reached out to Monroe telepathically.

  You will call Graydon, he said to the startled gargoyle. Tell him to halt the Games. The High Lord has been attacked, and the Elven Wood is broken. Graydon is to bring a hundred of our strongest, as fast as he can. As soon as you deliver that message, get your ass back to your unit.

  Yes, sir, Monroe said. The gargoyle sounded much calmer than he had when he’d answered Pia’s cell phone. I’ll be right there.

  Then Dragos raced toward the fiery horizon, willing Pia to be safe with every ounce of his energy. Even though he spoke to her telepathically, his world only settled into rightness when he laid eyes on her. She was bedraggled, sweaty and smeared with ash from the fire, but she was calm, and despite the streaks of blood on her clothing that caused his heart to pound in heavy slugs, she was unharmed.

  Now as she looked up at him with such earnestness, he knew what was going on in her mind. She counted the cost of the Elves’ struggle in the lives they lost, and she responded to that loss out of compassion.

  He did not share her compassion. As far as he was concerned, the Elves could keep killing each other until they wiped themselves off the face of the Earth. But she would always be finer than he was, and more generous.

  His gaze shifted to Calondir. “My people will be here in just under two hours,” he said. “Accept our help or not as you choose. But you and I both know that you do not have the strength to confront another one of your ancients if he is wielding a Machine.”

  He watched with interest as Calondir struggled. It was not his job to ease the High Lord’s path or make him feel better. He did not bother to point out to the Elf Lord that he had already summoned the Wyr because he was going after Amras Gaeleval whether Calondir accepted his help or not.

  Like Constantine, he never pulled his punches.

  “I accept,” Calondir said. Ferion and the other Elf stood beside the High Lord, their postures and expressions eloquent with bitterness and resentment, but they also clearly recognized the necessity for a Wyr alliance for they said nothing. Calondir told his two lords, “We will cross over when the Wyr have arrived.”

  Just then two runners, a Wyr and an Elf, came back from the search party with a preliminary report. The loss of life was devastating but not a surprise. The big news was that much of the main building was still intact, as a group of Elves had banded together and used their combined Powers to slow the progression of the blaze.

  “There are a lot of survivors,” said the Elven runner, who was a slender girl. She had a tear-streaked face and short, fluffy brown hair that was dyed blue at the tips. “There are many more alive than we had feared. Healers have set up a station in the main hall to tend to the wounded.”

  The three Elven males’ expressions lightened. Calondir said, “Survivors, shelter and supplies. It is the first good news I have heard this whole gods-cursed night.”

  The Wyr runner was one of the males, the magic user of Pia’s guards. He had tightly coiled muscles, strong, high cheekbones and restless dark eyes, and his spark of Power glowed steady and strong. Dragos was interested to note that the male did not look at him but at Pia when he spoke. “They also captured several of the attacking Elves and are holding them in a secured area, but they won’t let any of us near enough to examine them.”

  Pia turned to Dragos quickly, who said, “I no longer sense the Machine in the area, so I assume Gaeleval crossed over to your Other land.”

  “Yes,” Calondir said. “He took Beluviel and the others.”

  “Now that he’s no longer present, I want to know how much of his beguilement has lingered on the captives,” said Dragos. That was just one of many questions to which he intended to find answers. He also still wanted to know how Gaeleval had traveled to reach the Elven demesne in the United States, and he was very interested in finding out what happened in Numenlaur before Gaeleval left. Dragos looked down at Pia. She was as filthy as all the others, and she was the most beautiful, most precious thing in the world to him. He told her, “But first, I want to make sure that you are clear of any influence. I do not like how he was able to enter your dreams.”

  Her lips tightened and she nodded.

  Calondir said nothing, either in acknowledgment of what Dragos had said or in negation. Instead the High Lord led the way through the decimated Wood to a building at the top of a waterfall. One side of the building was charred and shattered glass lay all around. Braziers lit the open area and bodies lined one end of the clearing, covered in blood-spotted sheets.

  Dragos noticed that a few limp and unmoving head snakes from a medusa trailed out from under the corner of one of the sheets. Elves weren’t the only ones who had died here tonight.

  Pia averted her gaze from the sight, blinking rapidly, her eyes reddened. Dragos put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close against his side.

  The unit captain from Pia’s guards came out to meet them. Eva, that was her name. Dragos had met with her personally before Pia’s trip. Just as her unit mate had done, she nodded to him but spoke to Pia. “Whole place is a mess, inside and out. Our rooms smell like smoke, but then everything does right now. Other than the smell, the apartment is fine if you need it.”

  Pia said, “Get the others, and have something to eat and rest while you can. We’ve allied with Calondir. Troops will be here in less than two hours, and then we’re crossing with the Elves to go after those who were taken.”

  The captain’s face sharpened. “You got it.”

  The captain jogged away to round up her unit. Dragos asked Pia, “Where are those rooms?”

  She looked up at him thoughtfully. “Not far.”

  He frowned. Her earlier fierce outburst of joy had become tempered with other things, and he could no longer tell what she was thinking. He told her, “I want to go there.”

  Pia hesitated as her gaze traveled to two Elves who half carried an injured third person into the building. For a moment he thought she would insist on helping them, but instead she said, “All right.”

  She led him through the building to the apartment. Other than a dim red flicker of coals that were still glowing in the fireplace, the rooms were almost totally in shadow.

  The other Wyr would be arriving soon. Dragos asked, “Which room is yours?”

  “This one.” Now she kept her gaze averted as she took him to the bedroom, and his mouth settled into a grim line. As they stepped inside, she pulled away and went to look out the window where torch lights from the working Elves dotted the shoreline and were reflected on the black surface of the river.

  He shut the door. This room also had a fireplace. Wood for a fire had been laid but it had not been lit. With a flick of his fingers, he set it alight.

  He said, “Look at me
.”

  She did, sidelong, as he walked over her. He took hold of her shoulders and turned her fully around. “No, really look at me.”

  His tone must have conveyed the seriousness of his intent, because she complied, gazing up at him with wide, dark violet eyes. He cupped her face, stroking his thumbs along the rose petal softness of her skin and slipped quietly into her mind.

  Last May he had removed an intricate citadel of spells that Pia’s mother had woven around her mind. Her mother had intended to protect her, but ultimately the spells had prevented her from fully accessing her Wyr form once she had matured into adulthood. Now her mental strength was wholly her own—and she was strong, with a slender, wholly feminine thread of steel that ran right through her core.

  Obsessively, carefully, he examined every part of her, and she allowed it, resting her hands on his wrists, open and trusting to his mental touch. Finally he pulled back and released a deep breath. “You are clear. There isn’t any lingering influence.”

  Relief lightened her lovely features. “Oh, thank God. I was really shaken when I realized how much he had messed with my thinking.”

  “What did you dream about?” he demanded. “What did he do to you?”

  “Nothing,” she said. Then her eyes widened as she caught the full implications behind his fury. “There weren’t many more details other than what I already told you. He kept trying to put a hand on me, but it wasn’t sexual. I think he was trying to control me, and he was probably trying to control the others as well. They had all fallen asleep, including the two that were on watch. Not even the smoke or the sounds of fighting woke them.” She frowned. “But I also dreamed about the baby, who was lying on me and growling. He bit me, which woke me up and then I woke the others.”

  “The baby bit you?” Dragos laid a hand on her abdomen, where his son’s strong, bright spark nestled.

  Her expression turned wry. “Yeah, that was my reaction. I really believe he wasn’t trying to hurt me, just startle me. It worked.”

  “Way to go, little man,” Dragos told the spark.

  He knew that Pia thought the baby believed his name was Peanut. Dragos thought it was more likely that the baby responded to the love he felt when his mother talked about him, and in reality he comprehended little more than love and danger. Still, he had acted twice now to save his mother.

  A fierce wave of emotion caught Dragos off guard. He clenched his jaw, blinking.

  He had a son. The concept was still new and shocking after several months. He had a son, a delicate and small very Powerful creature, and already he was so proud of him.

  “All right,” he said, his voice deeper and rougher than usual. “You’re safe. The baby’s safe. Next item of business.”

  Pia raised her eyebrows, her expression turning cautious. “We have items of business?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  She sighed. “Dragos, we have enough to think about. We don’t have to talk about that right now.”

  “I do,” he told her. “I’m a bad-tempered bastard at the best of times, and I was on a hair trigger. The border problems with the Elves, the sentinel issue, all the business problems, and to top it all off, you were gone. None of that is an excuse, and I’m not trying to make one out of it. I’m just telling you, and I want you to know that I heard every word that you said. And I’m sorry.”

  Her expression softened, and his world became brighter. “You’re right, it’s no excuse. But I know you have been under a lot of strain.”

  “I can’t promise we won’t run into this issue again,” he said. “I’ve been used to solitary rule for a very long time.”

  “We’re both feeling our way,” she murmured.

  “And it’s too easy for me to slip into old habits and difficult for me to change on something so fundamental, but I am asking you for patience. I promise that I am trying, that I will continue to try.”

  A small grin tugged at the corners of her lips. He raised an eyebrow, not at all sure that his carefully crafted and quite rare apology should elicit such a reaction. “I knew you were sorry,” she told him, “when I was standing in the middle of a forest fire with Calondir of all people, and I was about to cross over to the Elven Other land, and you still said ‘please.’”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What part gave it away?”

  She laughed out loud, a silvery sound of pure pleasure that danced in his old, wicked soul, and he felt the magic again, how she lifted him to a better place.

  She put her hand to his cheek. “Well, I’m probably going to regret this, but I’ve got to say it’s a good thing you don’t listen to me all the time,” she told him. “Wait, did Hugh ever get in touch with you?”

  “You mean Monroe? Yes. He called me and then I sent him to Lirithriel House. That’s how I summoned the Wyr. I told him to call New York and then get his ass back here. He was coming in from the opposite direction I was, and he should be arriving soon.” He gave in and did what he had been wanting to do for a while now. He pulled her close and held her tightly. She put her face against his chest, slipped her arms around his waist and heaved a big sigh.

  She told him, “If you had listened to me, you wouldn’t have flown south, and you wouldn’t have been close enough to respond to the fire. Shows what I know.”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead. “If I hadn’t listened to you,” he said, “you wouldn’t have come south in the first place.”

  “I wasn’t going to mention that one,” she muttered.

  “I didn’t mean that the way you think.” He slid his fingers underneath her chin and tilted her face up. “It was a good thing you came south. Not only were your original reasons valid, but believe me when I say this—it is much better to find out about Gaeleval now so that we can act before he has the chance to acquire more Power. He will only become harder to stop as time goes on.”

  “I just don’t understand why someone would do this,” she whispered. “Kill so many people, cause so much damage and take so many others.”

  “He took too many people,” he said, thinking. “If he wanted hostages, he would have taken a smaller selection of the most influential Elves. They would have been more mobile and easier to control. If he is the voice I heard in the Oracle’s prophecy, he has an ambitious agenda.”

  She shuddered. “I remember you said that the voice talked about all kinds of grandiose shit, birth and death, and gods, and time.”

  “It also claimed to be the bringer of the End of Days,” he said dryly. “But if all Gaeleval wanted was pure destruction, he would have stayed here with the Elves he controlled and he would have fought until everybody was dead. You said he mentioned something about paving a way to a new age.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then I think he must be building an army,” he said. “And not only did he conscript a substantial addition to his troops, but he crushed any effective resistance from Calondir. Those are the moves I might make if I were building an empire.”

  She looked even more troubled. “Persuasion and beguilement are all very well and good, but how can he control them all at the same time?”

  “For that, I’m positive he’s using the Machine. As I flew in I could feel the Machine being used before its Power cut out. That must have been when Gaeleval crossed over. It’s amplifying the Power and skills he already has. I’ve seen it happen before. And the more he uses it, the more it will work on him and affect his mind.” He shook his head. “We will confront him soon enough. Right now our meeting time is limited and we need to move on to our next item of business.”

  She cocked her head. “I didn’t know we had an agenda.”

  “I did,” he told her.

  He bent his head and kissed her, and there it was, the real thing, not some made up, distant dream. Her gorgeous lips softened and molded to hi
s mouth, just as her slender body molded to his.

  He had been afraid. What a horrendous emotion. He had been scared for her, and the room smelled like ash and the whole area looked devastated. Aggression and tenderness fought for supremacy, and tenderness won.

  He ran his hands down her body, rock hard and aching for her. He knew this hunger for her would never ease, never die away. “You are never going to get trapped in a magical forest fire again,” he growled against her lips. “Do you hear me, Pia? That flight took millennia off my life.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Goddamn right it won’t,” he said between his teeth.

  Gaeleval was a dead man walking; he just didn’t know it yet. Dragos would find and stop him because he wouldn’t allow the kind of destruction that had come before. But he was going to rip Gaeleval limb to limb because the Elf had put Pia in danger and because he had dared to try to take her.

  She threaded slender fingers through his hair as she kissed him, and he bent to pick her up and carry her to the bed. Then he laid her on top of the covers and came down on her, and he covered her body with his. In a move that was as natural as breathing, she wrapped her long, fabulous legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. She held him with her whole body, and he was home.

  Home. It was a concept to which he had never given much thought. Self-contained and solitary by nature, his home had always been within himself, but not any longer.

  “I love you,” she whispered against his mouth.

  He lifted his head to look at her. She smiled at him, golden-skinned in the firelight, her eyes as rich as sapphires. He laid his fingertips along the exquisite, delicate curve of her cheekbone.

  The dragon came to a realization and was amazed. In the unending years of his acquisitive existence, despite all his hoarding of the treasures of kingdoms and emperors, he had never been rich before this. She had come into his life to steal from him, and in the process she had given him everything she had.