Ember turned and looked at Sarenkesh still crying softly, his tears washing the soot from her blackened body. Sir Hestbone continued to pat the elf on the shoulder with one hand as he knuckled the tears from his own eyes. Leaning over her legs, Kaedric sobbed quietly, and behind him, Beron sat staring blindly out across the hot, steaming valley while Zeadren looked on.
“You want to return to your friends and family, aye?” Torr stated, admiration and a bit of humor in his voice. “And to give the Gloaming Elf your love.”
She nodded. “I want only to be whole again so I can be with them. You can take my power away too,” said Ember. “I would much rather wield my sword in battle than through magic. I want to love another without the risk my power involves.”
“Done.” Torr clapped his hands together, and thunder rolled throughout the valley. He glanced at Raya. “I will deal with you later—or Oshin will.”
Relief soughed through Ember on a breeze of delight.
“I will look for the one who has betrayed me and my favored one,” Raya said. A harsh wind swept the mountaintop. Sparkles covered her body and her pets. A white column of light appeared, and in a flash and a crash of displaced air, she and her cats disappeared.
Chapter Seventeen
She came to with a great sneeze, showering Sir Greensleeve and Sir Hestbone in black ash and blinked up into their stunned faces. Lightning zipped along her body and through her hair to crackle in the air around them. Long, flaxen tresses replaced the sizzled tufts the fire had left upon her skull. Blinding pain assailed her, and she cried out as her body reanimated, her soul settling deep within her chest. Fresh sinew, muscle, and tendons materialized over her charred skeleton, and more mind-numbing agony coursed across her body until she couldn’t stand it any longer. With thankfulness, Ember gave herself over to darkness.
When she regained consciousness again, she lay wrapped tightly in Sarenkesh’s cloak. Shivering, she looked up into her love’s black, glowing eyes. “Sarenkesh,” she whispered.
“Praise Torr,” he cried and cuddled her to him. With one hand, he stroked her hair. “I’ve cried a river of tears for you, my love.”
“Ach! You scared the seven hells out of me, Princess!” the dwarf cried from nearby. He removed his cape and threw it around her body too.
King Zeadren, Kaedric, and Beron fell to their knees across from Sarenkesh and Ember. Her brother kissed her forehead repeatedly as he laughed and cried tears of happiness.
“Let me up,” she said.
“Are you sure?” asked Sarenkesh.
“I am whole,” she replied with a smile. “Torr has restored me.” Looking at her brother, she added, “You have need of honing your visions, dear brother. They lack clarity.”
Beron laughed harder, and he swept her into his arms, hugging her tightly.
“What happened?” Kaedric used his cape to wipe his face and beard. “How is it that you were allowed to return to the living?”
“Aye, Ember,” said Beron. “How?”
Sarenkesh helped her to her feet. She sat on a rock and tugged the cloaks tighter to her chilled body. Slowly, she relayed the events that had unfolded in the spirit realm.
“So, the gods are aware Raya employed trickery and schemes to—to what?” asked Beron. “That you are the chosen one to fulfill her deceitful dreams?”
She nodded. “It seems so.”
Red blossomed in his cheeks, the tips of his long, pointed ears matching them. “Our aunt died because the goddess wanted to be the god?”
“Not exactly.” Ember shrugged and fought another shiver, the wind tearing at her hair and capes. “Raya insists there is a traitor. Drakyrr”—she motioned at the dragon’s great body—“had another agenda besides his mother’s. He was part of Hellembr’s plan, but”—she glanced over at the dragon a second time—“it looks like the leader of Hellembr can no longer boast its power through the Ebon Weapon. However, there has to be someone who knew about Raya’s plans to open Muspell. The question now is what will Hellembr use for its next weapon of terror and control?”
“But why would Drakyrr betray his mother?” King Zeadren asked.
“Revenge, I think,” she mused. “Raya kept him confined on Flame Mountain, but someone used strong magic that allowed him to fly beyond this mountain into other regions. Drakyrr used his fire as an example of what would happen to those who did not conform to Hellembr’s rule.” She sighed. “We need to find out who rules that city.”
“Ember,” said Sarenkesh. “Your mark is gone.” He touched her temple.
“Good. That means I have been released from my duty.”
“So what now?” asked Kaedric.
“We go home, gather the races together, and ferret out who is so powerful in Hellembr.” She stood and looked around the crater that Drakyrr’s body had created. “We cannot attack such a city without reinforcements and plenty of knowledge.”
“Perhaps Fazohn will have news for us when we meet him,” the king stated, his expression worried.
Ember straightened, her gaze sweeping the area.
“What are you looking for?” asked Beron.
“Something to put on my half-frozen feet,” she replied. Cold had seeped into the soles of her feet and nipped at her toes.
The moment the words left her mouth, the dragon’s scales began winking and glittering in the sunshine, each one a bright onyx plate. The body disintegrated, the scales falling inward upon black, sooty dust, leaving only a pile of large gemstones behind. On top of the hillock, a bright light appeared. As it dissipated, a bundle of warrior’s garments and a new, gleaming sword appeared.
The dwarf uttered a sound of surprise. He hurried over, gathered the items, and then returned to Ember with them. “It looks like Torr favors you now, dear princess.”
Quickly, she dressed, pulled on woolen socks, the boots, and then dropped to her knees, bowing. “Thank you, great Torr.”
Thunder rolled over the mountaintop.
Grinning, Ember picked up the sword. Her palm grew warm, and the odor of sulfur and brimstone filled her senses. She frowned, then pointed her sword at a small, twisted scrub tree growing on the edge of the volcano’s lip. Focusing her desire, she urged fire out along the blade. Blue and white flames erupted along its edge to shoot into a tree. Its branches ignited, and in seconds, only ash remained.
“Torr did not take my power but returned it to me to wield through my sword.” She glanced at her comrades as she sheathed her sword. Stretching out her hand, she concentrated again, but nothing happened. “’Tis true!” Relief roared through her. “I can only wield it through my weapon.”
Sarenkesh moved to her side. She looked up at him and offered him a seductive smile.
“There will be time for that later,” he whispered into her ear, sending a delightful rush of desire throughout her body.
Sir Hestbone clasped Sarenkesh’s shoulder. “Just remember not to anger her, Sarenkesh. She can still pick up that sword to teach thee a lesson.”
Laughing, Ember put her hand in Sarenkesh’s, and together they followed the others on their trek back down the mountain. Everyone chuckled and cajoled one another, their voices wrapping around Ember, giving her the strength to start life anew.
Over the next two days, Ember enjoyed Sarenkesh’s company. They talked together whenever they rested or camped for the night. He told her about his childhood and adolescent years, and she relayed tales of how she tormented her sisters, Enigma and Eternity, and then Beron once he was old enough. With the others always within earshot, Ember couldn’t express her feelings for Sarenkesh, but every time she looked into his eyes, she knew he felt the same way she did.
On the morning of the third day, she and her comrades reached the secluded spot where they had left their horses. Hoggr nickered and stomped over nearly knocking Ember down as he nuzzled her with his great head.
“Aye, I missed you too,” she said and threw her arms around his massive neck. “I feared you would not be here
when I returned.”
The warhorse nickered again, louder this time, as if to say she was ridiculous for having such thoughts. He blew hot breath into her hair and rubbed his velvety muzzle alongside her face. She patted Hoggr on his neck and turned toward the sounds of the men as they saddled their steeds.
As they moved about the site putting blankets and saddles upon their mounts’ backs, Sir Hestbone emerged from the shrubbery leading Fazhon’s short, stocky horse. Ember’s mouth fell open, and she gaped at the image before her.
King Zeadren noticed her expression. She briefly met his eyes, then inclined her head, indicating he should turn around.
“By Torr’s sword!” the king cried and stood still.
Across the leather saddle laid a headless body in black and red robes. Fixed upon the saddle horn sat Fazohn’s head. The dark eyes stared sightlessly, the mouth hung ajar, and each broken, bloodied tooth told of the abuse that led to Fazohn’s demise. Black flies buzzed around the corpse. Yellow and white maggots wiggled in the hole atop the captain of war’s body and in and out of the head’s nose and mouth. The sweet, nauseating odor of decay wafted over the site.
The stench violated Ember’s nose. With her hand over her mouth, she retched. Bile surged into her throat, but somehow she managed to keep from vomiting. Once she recovered, she glanced at the body again. She stifled her cry of horror and looked away.
Crossing the distance between them, Sarenkesh slipped one arm around her waist and drew her close.
Zeadren dropped the reins on the ground and walked over to Fazohn’s body. “Who did this to you, faithful friend?” He placed one hand on the captain of war’s boot. “To decapitate a man and send his body and head back means only one thing.” He turned and looked at Ember. “They know we are here, and they want us to take this warning back to all the races.”
For some reason unbeknown to Ember, the image of the warrior on the plains came to mind. In her mind’s eye, she saw his bronze helmet with its sweeping black horns crossing beneath his chin and his dark, glittering eyes peering out at her. Has he done this to Zeadren’s captain of war? Is he truly a member of Hellembr’s city, or something else? Somehow, I sense we will meet again.
A shiver slipped across her skin.
“Are you well?” Sarenkesh asked with concern.
“Aye, but I sense evil and heartache ahead for all of us.” She leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment. Once she’d calmed her inner turmoil, she turned her attention to King Zeadren. “Come back to Verdfauna with me, good king,” Ember offered. “Stay there as long as you like and join forces with my father and king. He is wise, has much power, and many connections within the Mortal and Fae races.”
The king nodded and scratched his ebony goatee. “Aye, I will. Many thanks, Princess. There is strength and safety in numbers.” He pulled his long, curved sword free and slit the throat of Fazohn’s steed. The creature fell to the ground in a gush of blood and a brief, distraught whinny. Falling at its side, the king used Fazohn’s helmet and began digging a hole. “Ride your steed to Torr’s hall, good friend. Perhaps you can persuade him to aid us on our coming journey and avoid a war of the races.”
Ember forgot her worry and strode over to help the king bury his friend. Next to her, Sarenkesh and the others helped dig too. Even with helmets and small camping spades, it took them the better part of the day to dig the grave, place Fazohn and his steed inside it, and then cover them over. As evening settled over the mountain’s foothills, Ember, exhausted and covered in dirt, sat mutely by the fire with her friends. She ate red cheese and drank from a water skin but not a morsel did she truly taste.
She snuggled against Sarenkesh where he leaned against the base of a tree. “I wish to be with you,” she whispered.
He tightened his arms around her. “It is dangerous here, my love. We must wait.”
She sighed and nodded, once.
That night, Ember slept cuddled next to Sarenkesh with Sir Hestbone to her back for protection. Beron and Kaedric kept watch until midway through the night. At that time, the dwarf and Zeadren took their positions until just before daybreak when she and Sir Greensleeve kept watch.
The day dawned gray, and a fine mist fell upon everything and everyone.
“I will return to Hazzenshoke and speak with the town masters and village council. In half a fortnight, once I have gathered supporters, I shall meet you in Verdfauna,” Kaedric said as he rode alongside Ember. “It will also give you time to discuss things with your parents and to mourn Dikartha’s death.”
She nodded. “You have proved yourself, Kaedric, and I will speak in favor of you to my parents too.”
“Thank you, good princess.”
“And I will stay a night in Mist Valley and alert Lady Evanesce and her people to what has developed,” Sir Hestbone stated.
“Your help is valued, my friend,” Ember replied.
At the base of the mountain, she halted Hoggr, lay flat across his back so she wouldn’t slide off, and allowed him to drink at a stream. The men dismounted and gave their mounts their heads to sup freely. Sir Hestbone led his pony across the stream and hoisted himself into the saddle again. The others did the same, and Ember urged Hoggr to cross too. Sarenkesh waited for her, and together they continued out into the wide sweeping meadows still charred from Ember’s magic. Carrion birds wheeled in the sky over the bodies of warriors and horses. Although they traveled a wide berth around the scene, the wind brought cloying breaths of decaying flesh.
Sir Hestbone gently heeled the pony’s flanks. The steed cut loose with a fart that echoed over the rolling hillocks.
“Ach! You are such a disgusting beast,” the dwarf grumbled and pulled part of his beard up over his nose. “But you are not nearly as foul as the carnage across the way.”
Laughter bubbled from Ember and the others. “At least things seem to be returning to normal, for a while anyway,” she called out.
The dwarf straightened the braids that comprised his beard and offered her a half-hearted grin. “First thing I am going to do when I get home is enjoy a nice, long roll with a willing woman, and then go buy a new pony.” He gently heeled his steed into a trot.
Sir Greensleeve maneuvered his steed abreast of Hoggr. He looked up at Ember. “Care if I join you?”
She stopped the horse, and Sarenkesh stood in the saddle to clamber up behind her. Holding his mount’s reins in one hand, he slipped his other arm around Ember’s waist.
“And what are your plans once you reach home—aside from the obvious things,” he asked.
“Do you have other obligations in Twilight Vale?” She leaned against him, his spicy scent tantalizing her senses.
“Nothing pressing, no,” he replied. “I have thoughts of sending a messenger to my home bearing news of my journey.”
“Care to warm my bed for a while?” Ember hid her smile from him.
He grasped her chin, turned her face toward him, and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “That kiss is merely a promise of what is to come.” Sarenkesh moved his mouth next to her ear. His warm breath flowed over her neck and stirred her hair, prompting swaths of goose flesh over her skin.
“If you keep teasing me like that,” she replied breathily, “we won’t make it back to Verdfauna.”
“Aye.” He chuckled, the sound penetrating her back and stirring her need for him even more. “You have sensed my thoughts for the evening.”
Heat flashed across Ember. She nestled herself in the hollow of his arms, willing her desire to abate. It was going to be a long couple of hours until they camped for the night.
Chapter Eighteen
Deep within the dark cover of The Great Wood, Ember laid out her bedroll by the campfire and then returned to the shallow corral of bushes where they’d unsaddled their steeds. She gathered a feed sack and some oats and offered it to Hoggr. The horse lowered his great head so she could reach him, and she slipped the bag over his muzzle, hooking the strap behind his ears. Immediately,
sounds of crunching began. She smiled and scratched him between the ears.
“You are a true and faithful friend,” she whispered to the horse. “I am very thankful Torr blessed me with you.”
She turned to find Sarenkesh standing behind her.
“I just returned from scouting the area. Beron has slain three doves,” he said with a wry grin. “We shall have meat with our cheese and bread tonight.”
“How fortunate. Perhaps Torr is still overseeing our journey.”
“Kaedric will leave for Hazzenshoke in the morn. At first I did not like the Mortal. Something about him was quite distasteful, but as the days have passed, his heart seems to have lightened, and his personality has shifted to good.”
Ember nodded. “Aye, ’tis good to be able to report his change of heart to Mother and Father. It will be nice seeing him welcomed into the palace instead of merely tolerated.”
Straightening, Sarenkesh held one hand out to her. “Let us join the others by the fire. It shall be the last opportunity we will have to share camaraderie with our friends.”
She placed her hand in his, and Sarenkesh squeezed it gently. Before they moved through the brush, he pulled her to him and claimed her mouth. His lips tantalized hers. Desire burst through Ember, leaving tingles and overpowering need in its wake. Sarenkesh slid his hands down her back and palmed her ass. He tugged her hips to his, rubbing his arousal against her belly, and deepened the kiss. A moan slipped from Ember. She opened her mouth to him, allowing his tongue access. He groaned low in his throat and reluctantly released her.
“You are”—he panted hard and adjusted his breeches—“like the most precious of fine wine. Heady, strong, and yet so sweet one cannot drink enough of it.”
“More charm speak, my Gloaming Elf?” She grinned up at him and palmed the bulge he’d attempted to hide.
He chuckled. “Nay, my love. I speak only the truth.” He took her hand again and led her through the berry bushes. They followed the aroma of wood smoke to the campfire. “Prince Beron,” he called out loudly, “what say you about our supper?”
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