by JA Andrews
“Father?” she said uncertainly.
He dropped her hands and turned back to the circle of elves. Without looking, he waved in her direction. Ayda felt the air stir around her. She looked down and saw that her clothes had changed into a white robe covered in clear crystals.
The queen’s gown.
“Father,” she said with more steel in her voice. “This belongs to the queen.”
King Andolin looked sadly at the closest tree. There, her face frozen in pain and confusion, stood Queen Alaine, not fully a tree but far from an elf.
“She’s not dead!” Ayda cried. “And even if she were, you are still here and so is Elryn.” She gestured across the clearing to where the crown prince still stood firmly before the eastern entrance. The smoke and darkness were almost upon him.
Suddenly, flames blazed out from between the trees, and a thin, black figure strode into the clearing. The air around him rippled slightly, and even from across the glen, Ayda could feel that the trees near him were filled with loathing.
“This will be your end, Rivor,” Elryn said calmly.
Mallon laughed and looked across the clearing. “You don’t have many to fight with you.”
“We have what matters.”
“Yes, I see you’ve collected my curses. You do realize that just means that now I control all of you as I once controlled others. I could take all your brethren and use them as my own personal army, if I needed an army. Or just set them to killing each other.” Mallon smiled. “Or I could just leave them here to rot, haunted by my spirit for the rest of their long lives.”
“That’s what we were counting on,” Elryn said with a smile.
Before Ayda could understand what he was doing, Elryn nocked an arrow and sent it deep into the Rivor’s heart.
Mallon stumbled back a step, then stood straight and looked quizzically at Elryn. “Do you think you can kill me with an arrow?”
“Not yet,” Elryn answered.
Ayda was distracted by the movement of her father as he reached his arms out over the elves. He closed his eyes, and Ayda felt the spirits of the elves fight to give him their attention. Each elf pushed aside the power of their curse for just a moment to answer the call of their king. She felt their agreement, but her attention was too divided between them and Elryn for her to understand what was happening.
“Aydalya,” the king said gently.
She turned back to him just as he opened his eyes.
“It was our only choice.”
She wasn’t sure if it was an explanation or an apology.
At that moment, each elf gave a long sigh and toppled lifelessly to the ground. Thin wisps of light rose from their bodies, slowly curling toward the sky.
Ayda’s breath caught in her throat in horror. “No!”
Her mind spun as a darkness tore out of each figure and rushed across the clearing toward the Rivor.
This was how they would defeat him. As each elf died, each curse was set loose and flew back to its master. Almost all of his power would be held again in his body, and that body would be mortal.
Mallon cried out and grabbed at his chest where the arrow sat.
Elryn smoothly drew another and sent it sinking in next to the first. The Rivor hissed and threw a burst of flame at Elryn. He screamed as flames engulfed him. Ayda took a step toward her brother.
Her father stepped between her and Elryn, stopping her. The flames grew and a growing darkness spread out behind him.
A terrible blackness, solid and living, shot out of Mallon toward the prince. The Rivor dropped to his knees as Elryn raised one hand and the darkness shattered. Pieces shot off him and flew throughout the glen. Elryn faltered then collapsed. Ayda screamed his name. A sliver of darkness shot toward her father’s back. She shoved him out of the way.
The shard spun deep into her chest. It stabbed into her, shooting out tendrils, wrapping and crushing her.
“Ayda” her father’s voice was strangled as he reached for her.
Inside of her, the darkness spread, consuming her. She dropped to her knees, gasping for breath while everything inside her burned with darkness.
The king reached his arm out toward the wisps of light floating up from the elves. He breathed out a command, and the tendrils streamed over to Ayda, as though carried by a wind.
A flood rushed into her. Voices clamored and wept and commanded. An enormous weight settled on her and she fell to her knees. She clamped her hands over her ears to block out the roar, but it was within her, stretching her, deafening her.
There was a roar of fury, and the elves inside of her tore into the darkness, ripping the fingers of darkness out of her and shoving them into a small ball. Then they wrapped themselves around it, smothering it inside of her. With the darkness contained, the voices stilled and drew back to the edges of her mind, but they did not leave.
Fire spread across the glen. The trees burned, their cries of anger filling Ayda’s mind.
Her father moved in front of her again, sheltering her from the backdrop of flames and darkness. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
“I will stay to finish this. You must leave, Ayda. You are all that is left.”
She pushed at him, trying to get to Elryn. Past the king’s shoulder burned a wall of fire. Mallon stumbled out of the flames, but the prince was gone.
“Ayda,” her father’s voice snapped her attention back to him. “Run!”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Alaric blinked. He was staring at Ayda, their horses walking calmly along the road still damp from last night’s deluge. Ayda dropped his hand. She looked down, letting her hair fall forward in front of her face.
“My people are not dead,” she said softly. “But they are not alive, either.”
Alaric couldn’t find any words. The elves, all of the elves who had sacrificed themselves were inside of her. No wonder energy flowed out of her. She was like a dam holding back a flood.
“My people are bound to me. They exist in a half-life, a shadow world contained inside of me. They give me their power, but it bleeds them dry of their own… essence… their own souls. Yet they cannot die. They cannot change or heal or free themselves. They just continue, tattered remnants of a once formidable people.
“They crowd my mind. They fill everything. They infest…” Her voice trailed off. She picked a twig from her horse’s mane.
Alaric’s attention was caught by a movement of the stick in her hand. What had been nothing more than a sliver of wood swelled to the size of a nut. Ayda’s hands still rolled it unconsciously between her fingers as it lengthened into a thin stick. The stick sprouted branches with tiny green buds.
“They saved me from being consumed by Mallon’s darkness. I should be grateful.” Ayda’s features hardened. She squeezed the small tree, now clearly a maple, in her fist. “But they left me alone, and yet I’m never actually alone. I carry the weight of them always, every day, no matter where I am.” Her voice rose. “I can’t speak to them, but I also can’t get away from their presence.”
The little maple tree burst into flames.
She looked back at Alaric. Her eyes were dark with anguish. “So yes, when this is done, I will sleep. What was my life ended eight years ago.”
Alaric pulled Beast away a step, looking at her warily. Catching sight of the burning tree, Ayda snorted in irritation and tossed it aside. As it fell, the flames solidified, just like the flame on Alaric’s necklace, and a perfect model of a burning tree fell to the ground. She didn’t even look back as the spot of orange disappeared behind them on the road.
“There is too much power…” she said. “Too much for one body. It flows out too quickly. It trickles out when I don’t know it. This… person, this… thing that I have become is not a good thing. No one should be able to flatten hills or level a city on a whim.”
“Like Mallon?” Alaric asked.
Ayda nodded. “And so I am still with you, and not sleeping yet.” Her face grew pensive again. “
I wasn’t there when they began to fight him.”
Alaric nodded, remembering her racing to the glen. “Would you have made a difference?”
“No. I was no stronger than the others. Weaker than many. I would have died like the rest. But my people sacrificed our whole race to try to destroy his power. I cannot stop before I have tried to do the same.”
Ayda fell back into silence. Everything about her made sense now. The effortless way she performed magic, the tortured limbs and faces when she was changing back from a tree. And the fact that she was now part of this group, truly part of it, because she wanted to defeat Mallon. At least that was a goal that Alaric could trust. As long as he was trying to destroy Mallon, Ayda would be with him.
They rode on next to each other in silence. Alaric mulled over her memory for a long time. Will was right. Ayda did have darkness within her. Whatever blackness Mallon had attacked the glen with, a piece of it was inside her. If it weren’t for the power of the elves, she surely would have been destroyed.
The only question now was what that darkness had been doing for the last eight years.
The Scale Mountains drew closer as the day went on, their barren slopes rising like jagged teeth. The lower foothills were carpeted with dark green pines, but the taller slopes were bare rock.
The western road ran up against the foothills of the Scales before intersecting a narrow dirt track that ran north and south along the edge of the range. They turned south and Douglon took the lead, walking off the road along the base of the slope, looking closely at every nick in the mountains. He stopped them several times while he explored small paths they came across, but came back each time shaking his head.
“Faster, dwarf,” Ayda chided him. “I thought you’d been here before.”
“I came from the mountains north of here last time, not from the east like this,” Douglon said, glowering at her. “I only passed this way on the way out, and it was quite dark. But these hills are wrong. These were carved by a glacier. Kordan’s valley was behind a mountain that jutted up from the west.”
Alaric looked down the range of foothills that ran along the road. They looked like mountains, not carved mountains or jutted mountains, just mountains. But it wasn’t much later when the dwarf gave a satisfied grunt and pulled over next to a barely visible path that ran through the trees toward the roots of the mountains.
Brandson gave a hoot and clapped Douglon on the shoulder as he rode into it.
The ground from the lowlands next to them ran smoothly up the front of the next hill. Down the ravine Douglon pointed at, Alaric could see the rocky backside did look like it had been thrust up out of the ground. Jutted fit after all.
Brandson called out that the trail had disappeared.
“How sure are you?” Alaric asked.
“As sure as I am that I’m a better woodsman than the blacksmith,” Douglon said, grinning.
The trees grew close together, and the path wound into a narrow gap between two hills. The floor of the valley was dotted with large rocks and the thin path wandered slowly through them.
A small knot of anxiety formed in Alaric’s chest as they drew closer to Kordan’s valley. Kordan had walked down paths similar to Alaric’s and had left the Keepers to begin a life here. What sorts of things had he created? Had Kordan built something better than the Stronghold?
A shout rang out from beside the path, and a man lunged at Brandson. Milly screamed as the smith was knocked off his horse, with his attacker landing on top of him.
Two more men attacked Douglon, one leaping off a large boulder to knock him from his horse.
Douglon shoved him off, then slid to the ground, loosing his axe. The men before him crouched down, spreading out and leveling swords at the dwarf. Their clothes were worn, and they had the wild look of brigands. Douglon swung his axe smoothly before him, keeping the men at bay.
Alaric reached toward the man who was straddling Brandson, choking the smith.
“Dormio,” Alaric directed the burst of energy toward him. The man fell limp and collapsed on Brandson.
Swearing, the blacksmith shoved the body off him. He stood up, pointing his knife at the man.
“He’s asleep,” Alaric called out, sliding down off of Beast.
Brandson ran back toward Douglon. The dwarf had knocked the sword out of one man’s hand and was facing the other. The weaponless man grabbed at Douglon from behind until Brandson ran up and pulled him off. The smith pinned the man’s arms behind him, easily overpowering the thin brigand. Brandson pulled out his knife and thumped the man on the head, knocking him out.
Ayda had stopped up ahead on the path, watching a campsite. More men were tumbling out of the camp and rushing toward them. Alaric ran up next to her, lifting his hand to help. Ayda ignored him, smiling slightly and flicking her fingers at the bandits.
One man yanked to a stop when tiny roots shot out of the ground and wrapped around his feet. Another stumbled to his knees, blinked foolishly at them, then stood and wandered off into the trees. A third stopped, spun around, and started to grab at his companions, calling for them to stop fighting.
Ayda giggled, and Alaric let his arms fall as he watched her take care of them, one after another.
There was a howl and a thud, and they turned to find that Douglon had knocked out the last man who had attacked him and was turning, axe raised, to survey the area. The area had quieted, the bandits escaping off into the forest. Brandson went to help Milly dismount from her horse. Douglon glanced around, then walked back toward Alaric and Ayda, surveying the trees.
Brandson joined them, looking into the clearing and giving them all a grin. “Here’s a group of bandits who won’t be bothering anyone for a wh—”
Douglon shouted and lunged forward, shoving Alaric out of the way and back against a boulder. The dwarf dove in front of Ayda.
Brandson pointed up a tree, shouted a warning, and threw his knife up into the branches.
There was a soft umphing noise, and Douglon staggered. He spun slowly around, and Alaric felt his stomach drop as he saw the fletching of an arrow sticking through the dwarf’s beard.
There was a series of crashes, and a body dropped lifelessly out of a nearby tree, Brandson’s knife in his chest. The bandit’s bow fell after him.
Ayda stood and stared at Douglon. The dwarf stumbled a step toward her then sank to his knees.
“Douglon!” Brandson yelled, rushing to grab the dwarf’s shoulders and lay him gingerly on the ground.
Alaric knelt closer to look. The arrow was sitting in the center of the dwarf’s chest. It quivered with each beat of the dwarf’s heart.
Milly squeezed her lips together and held Douglon’s hand. Brandson knelt next to her, alternately reaching a hand forward, then pulling it back.
Alaric’s mind raced. He had to stop the bleeding, had to do something. He reached out, gathering energy from the forest around him. He felt it build in him, pressing against him like a flood.
Douglon’s breath came in gasps, his skin was frighteningly white. With every breath, the arrow shuddered. Milly began to cry.
There was so much blood. Too much blood. Douglon was losing more life than Alaric could replace. If he tried, if he began, the dwarf would pull too much energy through him. More than Alaric could handle. And once the magic burned Alaric out, once the energy drained all the life out of himself and into the dwarf, Douglon would probably still die.
Alaric’s mind spun helplessly. There was nothing to be done.
Douglon looked down at the arrow and let out a ragged breath. It ended in a gurgle.
Chapter Forty
Alaric sank back on his heels.
Douglon looked at him, and his head jerked forward in a quick nod. The dwarf knew it was pointless. Milly held Douglon’s hand with tears streaming down her face.
Ayda shoved Alaric out of the way. “Why did you do that?” she demanded of Douglon.
“Ayda!” Milly said aghast.
Douglon
tried to scowl, but coughed, and his face crumpled in pain.
Ayda glared at him. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
The pool of dark blood seeped into the ground beneath Douglon. The arrow moved less with each breath.
“Ayda, there isn’t much time,” Milly whispered.
Ayda waved away Milly’s words impatiently. “Why?” she demanded again.
“Why?” Douglon’s voice came out in a gasp. “Because you weren’t paying attention.” A spasm of coughing wracked his body. “You are never paying attention,” he whispered.
Ayda stared at him uncomprehendingly. “But why did you do it?”
Douglon groaned. “Any of us would have.”
She glared at the rest of them. “That’s not true.”
“Of course we would, Ayda,” Brandson said.
“I would want to,” Milly said. “I’m not sure I would be brave enough.”
Ayda spun to look at Alaric.
“But you wouldn’t,” she said to Alaric. “You have… a lot of things to do.”
Ayda was genuinely confused. The anger was back in her eyes, and she was leaning toward Alaric with the look that said if he didn’t answer her soon, she was going to step into his mind and rip out the answer.
“I think any of us would try to save each other, Ayda,” Alaric said, stepping back.
“Ayda,” Milly said, watching Douglon’s face grow pale, “I think the time is almost up.”
Ayda dropped to her knees and leaned close to Douglon. She was so slight next to him. A sliver of bright copper next to the stocky dwarf. She reached out and turned his face toward her, her hand small and pale against his red beard. “But why?”
Douglon looked at her directly. “I would die for you a hundred times without regret.”
She drew back slightly and her eyes widened. Milly and Brandson froze. Alaric felt suddenly intrusive, but he couldn’t bear to move back, couldn’t look away. Douglon lifted a hand toward her, but it fell back to the earth.
“But I didn’t ask you to,” she said helplessly.