by Jen McIntosh
Renila interrupted before Ornak could respond. ‘Casting?’
‘Elvish magic,’ Arian replied, not taking her eyes off Ornak. ‘Powerful, but not without its limitations – especially given that I am only part Elf. Not to mention, its easily tracked.’
Renila looked to Alvar for explanation as their companions continued to squabble. He sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘Elves can use their power to manipulate the world around them. Control over the elements, if you like. But they cannot create something from nothing. That power is unique to Immortals.’
‘And the Shade,’ Arian interjected.
‘Their power is destruction,’ he corrected sharply. ‘We Wield the might of the Aether itself.’
She snorted. ‘Whatever you want to call it, it works the same way. You both Wield a force not of this world.’
‘Stop changing the subject,’ Ornak growled. ‘You know I’m right. And you’re going to have to use the Casting to hide us at some point.’
‘Compromise,’ Alvar intervened. ‘We move on, avoiding the towns for now, and she practises whenever possible. And my presence should help to hide all but the strongest of Castings. Acceptable?’
The Phoenix and the Dragon looked mutinous, scowling at each other, but eventually, they nodded.
‘Where are we going?’ Renila asked, handing Arian her other sword back once they looked less inclined to kill each other. She felt like Erion stuck in the middle of an argument between Suriya and Lucan.
‘The Immortal says your boy was taken by a Shade Prince,’ Arian said. ‘Get a good look at him?’
Renila looked to Alvar. Her memories from that night were a haze. All she could remember was her fear. And those pale eyes.
Alvar only nodded and described him – slight, dark red hair and magic like black fire.
‘Kieyin,’ Ornak grunted, exchanging a long look with Arian.
The Phoenix woman nodded. ‘The Shade King’s chosen successor – in the absence of either of his true heirs. A Prince of the Shade Court, and one of three generals commanding the Shade King’s armies. I’ve never faced him myself, but I’ve heard the stories. You were lucky to have escaped with your lives.’
‘Not all of us did,’ Renila whispered.
Arian watched Alvar for a moment before speaking. ‘Your Captain gave his life for you. Do not dishonour that sacrifice with guilt for surviving when he did not. He made his own choices. You should respect that.’
Renila bristled at her tone. But something in her chest eased – the words soothing the harsh, bitter edges of regret and self-loathing that had been shredding her from the inside out.
‘If Kieyin was the one who took the boy, he’ll have handed him over to the Shade King,’ said Ornak, glancing at Arian again. ‘Only one place the King keeps a prisoner that valuable.’
She nodded. ‘Elucion.’
Renila could feel the fist of fear closing around her heart. ‘What can we do?’
‘Doesn’t matter if it was a Prince or the King himself. The Shade took your son.’ There was no light in Ornak’s eyes as he met her gaze. ‘I say we go take him back.’
She stared at them in stunned silence. It was exactly what she wanted. She just hadn’t expected it to be so easy. She glanced at Alvar, expecting him to argue. And though there was reluctance in his storm-cloud eyes, his jaw was set with determination.
‘I promised you I would do everything in my power to return your son to you, and I will hold to that promise. If I have to tear the world apart, one rock at a time until I find him, that’s what I’ll do.’
She shivered from the force of his voice, at the promise of violence it held. A storm was gathering, thunder roiling behind his eyes and lightning sparking over his skin. She glanced at Arian. Her glorious golden eyes were burning, the flames of her strength and determination given form, and Renila felt something spark deep within her in recognition. A sliver of fear coursed up her spine as she looked around her. Here were two with fire and thunderstorms in their veins – who could ever hope to hold them in check?
She knew the stories. Magic was dangerous, a power so enormous it corrupted and destroyed all it touched. But as she thought of Erion, of her beautiful boy trapped alone and afraid in the dark, she found she didn’t care. Alvar said he would tear the world apart to find her son? She would burn it to the ground if it meant she could pull him from the ashes.
Ornak smiled, a broad and bloody grin. ‘I know what that look means.’
‘The Shade will tremble in fear before the end,’ Alvar murmured in agreement.
There was something akin to regret in Arian’s gaze as she studied Renila. But she nodded. ‘And so begins the Rising.’
They were another two weeks in the mountains, crossing the spine of Ciaron ridge and skirting south through the western foothills. It was a hard journey, though made easier by Starfyre. He’d given his master a reproachful look when Alvar first suggested it but had now grudgingly assumed the role of packhorse. Erion would have loved the gleaming stallion. It was easy to picture – her son, assuming responsibility for the horse, brushing him down each night, feeding and watering him whenever they stopped. It was an image that brought a tear to her eye.
As promised, they avoided all signs of civilisation – a harder task than she had first assumed. Mortals dwelt in relative safety in the mountains, protected by the presence of the Dragons lording over them from their castles.
‘There are nine clans,’ Ornak explained as they walked, ‘each represented by an elected Chieftain who represents their interests at the Council of Nine.’
Alvar interjected, ‘It’s the same way the Council governs what’s left of the Immortal Empire. Imagination was never a strength for your people.’
‘Yes, a race of people who can shape-shift by visualising the form they wish to take must really lack imagination,’ Ornak snapped.
‘How does it work?’ asked Renila before Alvar could respond.
Ornak grinned at her, flexing his arms. His bronze tattoos glowed in the sunlight, growing brighter and brighter until they almost obscured his entire body. His form shimmered and shifted, Changing slowly in a way that almost looked to be a trick of the light. Then it was over and, where Ornak had been, now stood a great, reddish-brown bear. Then the bear shimmered and shifted to reveal Ornak once more. A gasp of wonder echoed in her mind – the sound she’d heard from Erion’s lips when he’d learned he was to be Farran’s squire. She pushed the thought from her head. It was too painful.
‘It’s called the Change. I picture the form I want to take, and magic does the rest,’ Ornak panted, his cheeks flushed as if from exertion. ‘It has to be accurate though – if my mental image is off, so is what I turn into.’
Renila reached for him as he swayed. ‘Are you alright?’
‘It’s draining,’ he explained, waving her away. ‘Magic is energy – it’s tiring to use, and everyone has a finite resource. I wasn’t blessed with the same kind of well to draw upon that you and Arian have. I’m more powerful than a lot of Dragons, but using that power still takes it out of me.’
She took his hand in her own until he was breathing normally, ignoring the suspicious frown creasing Alvar’s brow. ‘Tell me more about them? Your people?’
‘Not much to say about them,’ he snorted. ‘Mine is a bloodthirsty, warmongering people. Even before the Fall, Nightwalkers were not uncommon, and they wore their curse like a badge of honour. It’s even worse now.’
Renila frowned. ‘Nightwalkers?’
‘Murderers,’ Arian growled, unable to hide the disgust and hate in her voice. ‘They were Graced once, but when they turned on their own kind, they were cursed to endless night – banished from the light that once brought them strength. They’re killers, traitors to their blood. Before the Fall, they were killed on sight in Elucion.’
Ornak’s eyes were sad, but he didn’t disagree. ‘Nightwalkers rule Ciaron now. But even before the Fall, many admired them. They thought the curse a reaso
nable price to pay for vengeance, money, power – whatever drives them to kill their own kind.’
‘And is it?’
He looked at the ground, refusing to meet her gaze. ‘As a boy, I used to think not. I thought I would die rather than never feel the sun on my skin. I was sure there was nothing that would ever move me to murder my own kin. But now … now I’m not so sure.’
They kept moving. Never staying in one place for more than a day. They passed through the lands of three different clans, giving their seats a wide berth. Ornak’s continuous stream of information was surprisingly soothing, though it clearly irritated Alvar. Arian just watched, not bothering to intervene. Sometimes, when Renila wasn’t paying attention, it was almost as if Erion was walking at her side – the incessant chatter an aspect of his personality he’d reserved for his mother.
The seat of the Tu clan was furthest north, Ornak explained. Their castle – guarding the entrance to a vast network of caves that ran through the mountains – occupied the whole of the first great chamber, which the Dragons called the Maw.
‘Religious nutters,’ was all he’d offered to describe the Maw’s occupants.
She never saw the seat of Bán – the next most northern clan. Ornak just pointed to the twin peaks high above, shrouded in mist.
‘The Horns,’ he’d told her, shouting over a howling wind that came roaring off the mountains. ‘The castle sits in the valley between them, and they keep a constant guard on the towers atop the peaks themselves. I flew the gap once.’ He shuddered. ‘Don’t know how anyone can live in a place like that.’
A hundred questions would have risen to Erion’s lips at that. Renila could hear his voice, whispering them in the vaults of her mind. One or two she even asked aloud, just so she might have something to tell him if they were ever reunited.
‘So you can take any form you wish? Even something that can fly?’
Ornak nodded. ‘Tricky, though. You need to visualise the wings perfectly, or risk crashing mid-flight … if you can even take off at all.’
‘What form did you take to fly the gap?’
He grinned. ‘A dragon, of course.’
They were now deep within Sil territory, on the Western Wing. Their seat was a sprawling splendour that spilled out of a secluded corrie, with the castle itself nestled at the centre, the ridge of mountains known as the Spine just visible through the cloud beyond. A wall of glittering granite blocked the entrance, and guard towers lined the upper ridge. But the town that had grown up around the castle stretched far out over the hillside. In her head, Erion’s eyes were wide with wonder.
‘Sil has always been a wealthy clan,’ Ornak said, ‘and safest of all from Darkling raiders. But even they didn’t escape the Fall unscathed. Kah Thoran’s mate was the Sil Chieftain’s youngest daughter. She was our High Priestess, the Jewel of Ciaron. The Darkling Queens sacked the Temple, slaughtering her and all her handmaidens. Her daughter saw the whole thing. Sil Voren hasn’t seen his granddaughter since. He’s a broken man now, but he has no fear of the Shade. Besides my father’s lands, this is probably the safest place for you in all of Ciaron.’
Renila looked up at the bustling settlement with trepidation. ‘Is that where we’re going?’
Ornak and Arian exchanged a long look, while Alvar crossed his arms expectantly.
‘Voren remains Chieftain in name only,’ Arian began. ‘He’s only been allowed to live because his other daughter Vella is wed to the leader of the Nightwalkers.’
Ornak grunted in disgust. ‘Vella hated her sister – she was always jealous of Adara’s union with Thoran. We’ll get no help from that spiteful bitch. And even if we can get through her to Voren, which is unlikely, he won’t aid us without Dorrien here to twist his arm.’
‘We need supplies, Ornak,’ warned Arian. ‘And information. If she’s left word for us anywhere, it’ll be here.’
He grunted again, this time in agreement. Then he frowned. ‘She might have gone to the Tail.’
‘She wouldn’t ask that of you,’ Arian breathed, laying a gentle hand on his arm. ‘No, if we’ve any hope – it’ll be here.’
Then she looked at Alvar, who only nodded, understanding the exchange. He closed his eyes, frowning in concentration as sweat beaded on his brow. Slowly, painfully slowly, tattoos bloomed. More purple than grey, they forked and streaked like bolts of lightning over his softly glowing skin. Power churned like a thunderstorm beneath, but as the magic abated, so too did that ethereal aura. Panting from the exertion, he opened his eyes. They were wholly black, iris and sclera swallowed by night.
‘Not quite what I was going for,’ he complained, glancing down at his tattoos.
Ornak snorted. ‘It’ll do. Silver wouldn’t have worked anyway – they’d have known you weren’t one of their own and asked questions. Let’s just hope there’s nobody here from Io.’
Arian was busy braiding her hair back from her face, having discarded her headscarf for the first time since they’d left the cabin. Then she frowned and looked down at her arm, where ruby-red tattoos now blazed their way over her golden skin. Her eyes swirled to black, like Alvar’s and with a wave of her hand Ornak’s too were changed.
Then she looked more closely at Renila. Renila felt her skin tingle as the magic brushed over her, her own power sparking as if in answer. But when she looked down, rather than red tattoos to match Arian’s, her skin was covered in black marks, curling over her like flames. Arian winced and glanced at Ornak. He was frowning in confusion, recognition sparking in his emerald gaze.
‘Seriously?’ he snapped, rounding on her.
Arian bristled. ‘Too many of us from one clan will draw attention. If you don’t like it, do it yourself.’
Ornak seemed to scent the lie – Renila could – but he let the matter drop. Instead, he pulled a jet-black cloak from his pack and handed it to Renila, watching in silence as Arian sat her down and wrapped her claret locks in a headscarf. There was no mistaking the suspicion and hurt in his now-black gaze, but he said nothing. Whatever secret Arian and Alvar were hiding from him, he seemed to understand that he would be told only if and when it was necessary for him to know. Renila envied him his trust, and his patience. Erion’s voice was a constant whisper in her mind now, crying out in pain and fear. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see his tear-stained face, his hands reaching for her. There would not be much of her mind left if they did not find him soon.
While Arian finished fixing Renila’s hair, Alvar busied himself packing some of their more ostentatious weapons away, hiding the jewelled hilts of Arian’s twin blades and the ornate scabbard of his Immortal-wrought sword from view. Ornak, on the other hand, was strapping more weapons to his body.
‘Bloodthirsty and warmongering,’ he reminded her, when he caught her watching him. He hefted the great, two-handed axe higher, running an assessing eye over the edge. Then he handed her a simple, vicious-looking dagger nearly as long as her arm. ‘Violence is the only language my people understand. Stay close, and do not hesitate to use this if you have to.’
The town was a bustling hive of activity, the cobbled streets thronging with people. Farmers hauling produce for market, merchants and artisans carting their wares, mercenaries keen to spend hard-won coin. The Nightwalkers were easy to spot, their clothing similar to that which Arian had given them. Hooded and cloaked, scarves drawn up over their faces and even their hands covered. Hiding from the sunlight that would turn them to ash.
A group of them stood in the shadow of a building, hoods down. Most bore the silver marks of the local clan. But there were a few others – flashes of blue and red, purple and green, and even one man covered in twisting black marks like Renila’s. Ornak had given him a wide berth, a restraining hand on Arian’s wrist until he was out of sight.
He led the way through the winding streets. The crowd parted for him, giving way to either his bulk or the promise of violence associated with the arsenal of weapons he carried. Renila followed closely, one
side shielded by the gleaming flanks of the great white stallion and the other guarded by the grim scowl on Alvar’s handsome face. Arian was not far behind, slipping smoothly through invisible gaps in the crowd.
They passed through the main gates without incident – though the sweat beading Arian’s brow suggested it was no accident that the guards had overlooked them. A relieved gasp escaped the Phoenix woman when the throng swallowed them once more, and Alvar had to catch her arm when she stumbled. She flashed him a grateful smile that made Renila see red. But then that flash of hot anger was gone, and she was left wondering if she was indeed losing her mind.
Before she could think too much on it, Ornak glanced over his shoulder and jerked his chin in silent command. Renila followed the gesture and looked around in wonder.
The marketplace could only be described as the beating heart of the town. A hundred stalls – at least – lined the square, with more arranged in neat rows up and down the centre. But it was the variety of what was on offer that took Renila’s breath away.
Food. Grocers’ tables laden with milk and eggs and cheese and fruit and vegetables. Butchers’ counters piled with everything from huge raw haunches to delicate slices of cured meat. Bakers’ stands bursting with freshly baked bread and cakes and tarts and pastries – the smell of it enough to make her mouth water. Much of it packaged to be taken home, but some cooked and hot and ready to be eaten right away. And drink. Wine and ale and whisky and mead, bottled or served that very moment, and all available for tasting before purchase.
Fashion. Dresses and shoes. Scarves and hats and gloves. Fabrics like Renila had never seen, bought by the yard or incorporated into a garment of the customer’s design – ordered now and delivered within the week. Perfume and cosmetics. Ribbons and feathers and lace and more. Jewellery befitting a dragon’s hoard.
More practical clothing. Armour and weapons. Paintings and tapestries. Pots and pans, glasses and plates, cutlery and other utensils. Even a man selling pups sired by his prize hunting dog.