Drake of Tanith (Chosen Soul)

by Heather Killough-Walden

  “Grolsch might be able to help,” Loki suggested. The ork had been with Tanith for a long time; as the man had said, he’d surely picked up a skill or two.

  Raven considered it in silence and nodded. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

  *****

  “What you’ve done is inexcusable.” Oberon’s deep voice filled the ancient, vast marble chamber despite his relatively quiet tone. His expression was outwardly calm. But Astriel could see the danger in his father’s eyes. They mirrored his own.

  Zeta stood before the steps of Oberon’s throne, her chin defiantly raised, her eyes just as defiantly narrowed. She said nothing, but Astriel could feel his sister bristling. Her power crackled with static, unspent and unsettled.

  But it was nothing compared to what his own power was doing in that moment. The windows of the massive thrown room had already been magically replaced once. The pulses of Astriel’s anger were shattering, and he was having a very hard time keeping them under control. The flames in his father’s enormous marble fireplace had gone black and the air was thick with the feel of unborn lightning.

  “I demand that you tell us where you have sent her, Zeta. I know you are shielding her location on the Terran realm. Why?” Oberon asked. Astriel was allowing the king to do all of the questioning. He didn’t trust himself to speak in that moment; his silence was dangerous enough.

  “She is in no physical danger,” Zeta said. She spoke with a determined and rather icy calm. “And I will not tell you where I have sent her. She made a promise and she will keep it.”

  “You used her,” Astriel finally said. His words were no more than a whisper, but escaped like verbal venom. The windows rattled in their panes. One cracked through, a wicked sound that split the eerie silence. The black flames leapt, turned red at their tips, and settled down again into an agitated dance.

  Zeta winced nervously, glanced at the windows and the fireplace, and turned to face her brother. “What did you expect?” she asked, visibly steeling her nerves. “She’s the daughter of Malphas and she was in Eidolon for thirty moons.” She raised her chin, her blue eyes flashing. The fear was still there, but there was a healthy dose of righteous defiance as well. “Untapped potential is putting it mildly, big brother. I’m a member of the elven court. I haven’t been trained to sit back and ignore that kind of strategic advantage.” She turned to her father. “Have I?”

  “I see,” Astriel said, drawing her attention once more. She glanced at him, and her sea blue eyes widened. Astriel could feel that his own eyes were glowing. They were hot in his face, and his vision had shifted. “You know she will one day become queen,” he said. “And you think she’s going to help you do the same.”

  Zeta hesitated, her lips parting a little more, and then closing again. Finally, she turned to fully face him and lifted her chin a touch higher. “What of it?” she asked icily. “It’s better than doing what you were doing, Astriel, which is to say nothing. For the past thirty days, you’ve stood idly by and pathetically hoped against hope that she would choose you over the bounty hunter.” She laughed harshly, the sound filling the chamber’s air with a nearly palpable static. “Not likely,” she hissed nastily. “And what’s more, you’ve no business wedding her anyway.” Her eyes shot daggers now, narrowed into cold blue slits. “She is an Abaddonian. She’s not one of us, and she never will be-”

  “That’s enough.” Oberon’s command echoed off of the throne room walls. Zeta stuttered to silence, blinked rapidly, and turned to face her father. Astriel merely watched her. He’d felt himself grow colder, harder, and more silent as she’d spoken. The wheels in his head were spinning like mad, the flames in the hearth were tinged with a thoughtful blue, and it felt as if the world had stopped in its tracks to watch.

  Just now, revelations had been made. Zeta’s words were a yank on a curtain cord, and Astriel had a view of the broader picture now. Raven’s escape angered Astriel in a way little else ever had. But there were more urgent matters to attend to. Bigger problems. And one of them had been right in front of Astriel for thousands of years.

  Astriel barely heard his father’s next words.

  “Zeta, you have crossed a line.” Oberon stood slowly and magnificently. The antlers on his head cast bizarre shadows on the walls. He turned to his son. “You may name the punishment,” he told him stonily. “Within reason.”

  Astriel continued to stare through Zeta. He only partly saw the sister he’d known and cared about for century after century. There was another woman there now – a woman who had officially made plain her desire for the throne.

  He waited several long beats before replying, allowing the silence to stretch until Zeta’s edging nervousness was palpable. “No punishment,” he finally said softly. And then, as if it were an afterthought, he added, “There is no need.”

  Both Oberon and Zeta were surprised enough by this that they remained silent. Zeta’s eyes widened a bit more, and then narrowed suspiciously. Astriel took a deep breath and felt his eyes return to normal. The air around them lightened, becoming more breathable.

  Astriel turned to the side, his gaze on the marble floor as he clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace away. He took the steps down from the dais one at a time and his boot falls echoed through the chamber. “Father, if you’ll permit a change of subject, I would give some consideration to what happened a month ago when the Chosen Soul destroyed the Death Mage,” he said as he slowly made his way toward the double doors that were the exit to the throne room. Silence followed him.

  Once he was at the exit, the guards who waited on the outside of the room and had clearly heard his approach, opened the doors for him. He stopped and turned to face his father and sister one last time. Both stared at him, completely nonplussed. “There is a space to fill now amongst the gods,” he continued, allowing double meaning to heavily lace each and every one of his words.

  And then, seeing the sudden spark of understanding in his father’s eyes that he was looking for and, satisfied that he’d sown the seed he’d intended, prince Astriel turned and left the throne room.

  Chapter Seven

  They left the forest surrounding Trimontium and started on a lesser used trail that would eventually lead them to the front doorstep of Sarah and Alastair Grey’s cottage. Aster Hollow was approximately a day’s walk away.

  As if their thoughts consumed them all, Raven, Loki and Grolsch followed the trail in relative silence. As far as Raven was concerned, the silence was welcome. She thought of her parents and everything they’d been through. Was it wise for her and her brother to be returning to Aster Hollow now? Would it bring her parents more trouble? Worse yet, would it possibly lead Lord Astriel to their door?

  The night grew long as the hours passed, and the trail darkened. The forest thickened, becoming damper and draped in thin, wispy mists. The party slowed as the trail grew more difficult to make out. Finally, it ducked around a corner of trees and became shrouded in nearly absolute darkness by the thick canopy that arched overhead.

  Raven and her companions came to a sudden halt.

  Despite the darkness, it was clear that a tall, broad figure was standing in the center of the thin trail several yards ahead. His form was outlined by the very dim glow of moonlight that made it through the thick foliage, but it was not enough to give Raven and her companions any indication of who the stranger was.

  He was male; that much was clear. From the tips of his boots to the top of his head, he stood nearly six and a half feet tall. He was draped in the color of night; Raven was certain that if he shifted just a little, he would meld into the shadows around him and disappear from view.

  Raven’s physical instincts ran fast. Before she could determine whether the stranger meant them harm, a cold, crackling power began to build and swirl in the palms of her hands. Beside her, Loki had drawn his bow and nocked an arrow. Grolsch, however, remained oddly still.

  Raven glanced at the ork, wondering whether she should be wasting the time
. Just as she was deciding to strike first and let loose with everything she had, Grolsch was raising his hand in a signal to wait.

  Raven stopped just short of tossing a deadly, pulsing ball at the figure, when he took a step toward them on the path. In response, she raised her arm again defensively and found herself wanting to step back. At the same time, she poured more magic into her hands and sent tendrils of it all around her in a protective shield.

  Loki sucked in a pain-filled breath and shot his sister a warning glance. Control yourself, his expression told her. Mist formed before his nose and mouth. She was unwittingly surrounding him with the painful freeze of her magic.

  Focus, she told herself. But it had been a month since she’d used her magic at all, and before that, she’d never really had adequate instruction nor the time to practice. “Sorry,” she whispered without taking her eyes off the stranger, who was now advancing at a slow but wholly threatening pace.

  That’s it, she thought, and her gaze narrowed. But the sound of deep, raspy chuckling from behind her stilled her once more. The ork moved up beside her and she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eyes. He was smiling broadly. Raven frowned and glanced at him. His tusks gleamed brightly in the few weak beams of moonlight that shot through the tree canopy overhead.

  “Tanith,” the ork said, shaking his big head. “I should’ve known you’d find a way out on your own.”

  Raven’s head whipped back around to face the tall figure as he finally came close enough for her to make out the lines of his features. Strong jaw, slight stubble, jet black hair. He raised his head just a touch and the light from a wayward moonbeam struck the silver glint of his eyes.

  Raven’s arms dropped. Her power fizzled out around her, settling down of its own accord. Her lips parted and her guts felt suddenly heavy. She tried to say his name, but just as she was taking a breath to do so, her heart skipped a painful beat in her chest and a sensation of dread overtook her. She caught the scent of smoke and froze – and Drake was moving.

  In one fluid movement, he pulled the sword from its scabbard across his back. The motion made a hissing metal-on-metal sound, loud enough to split the sudden silence, and moonlight reflected off of the metal of the blade, highlighting its long, razor-sharp edge. Raven’s eyes widened, but Drake was on her before she could blink.

  His sword came down in a split second of disbelief and paralyzation, and Raven watched it arc through the air, its long length winking at her wickedly.

  The blade came nowhere near her. Instead, he knocked her hard to the side, a blow that would leave a bruise but sent her safely out of the way. Her hair fanned out across her face, flying into her eyes, and she lost her balance to the sound of someone crying out in pain. It was a deep, low, and guttural cry, somewhat like an injured animal’s.

  Raven went to one knee, shoved her hair out of her eyes, and hurriedly tried to take in the scene. Her brother was beside her, also having been shoved to the ground, and by the time she had seen enough in the relative darkness to realize what was happening, he had too.

  “Stay back!” Loki bellowed as he regained his feet and aimed down his nocked arrow.

  Raven straightened, her wide eyes glued to the nine-foot-tall form that was currently fighting with Drake. It was vaguely humanoid in musculature. It possessed two legs, a chest, and a head, but that was where the similarities ended. Its skin was the color of soot and shimmered as if composed of millions of tiny scales. Its eyes were empty sockets from which flames flickered and smoked, and its hair looked like knotted, burnt twine that also smoked and smoldered.

  From its mouth protruded two insidiously long fangs, both dripping something clear and ominously vile. Most terrifying of all, however, were its arms – all four of them. Each tapered to a single finger-like claw that curled inward like a scythe and dripped the same poison as its mouth. The beast moved these arms back and forth and back and forth in a scissor-like motion so fast, it nearly blurred. Drake ducked and rolled and swiped with his long sword, somehow managing to avoid the monster’s claws despite its size and speed.

  On the other side of the monster stood Grolsch, whose bastard sword made much slower arcs against their foe. The beast spun and swiped and Grolsch backpedalled, bumping into the tree behind him. One of the monster’s claws raked through the bark, leaving a smoking groove of hissing poison in its wake before he was turning again, and this time, one of those claws swiped toward Drake’s throat.

  Drake’s form shifted, and for a heartbeat, Raven saw him as he really was – the devil son of Asmodeus, tall and dark and immensely dangerous. But the heartbeat passed and Drake ducked and lunged forward, attempting another piercing thrust at the monster’s midsection. For the briefest moment, Raven could swear that the blade had struck home. She saw the tip pierce the monster’s scales and caught the strong stench of something burning. But then the beast seemed to disappear for a moment, his image wavering – there and not there – and Drake missed after all, his sword falling several inches short of its mark.

  Raven’s gaze narrowed. The strike should have hit; she’d seen it with her own eyes. Despite the visible proof to the contrary, the monster had somehow moved out of the way and, seemingly, he’d done so out of time.

  From beside her came the sound of a bowstring releasing and Loki’s arrow went flying. Raven watched it hit dead center of the beast’s chest – and then miss completely – and she felt her blue eyes begin to glow. The monster was using magic against might.

  Drake was an Abaddonian prince. He possessed the means to transform and use his powers against the monster, didn’t he? So why did he attack with his sword and not a spell? What in Abaddon was this thing?

  Raven gritted her teeth and stretched out her arms, once more allowing the frigid cold of her power to build in the palms of her hands. The night took on a bluish glow that gave the smoke from the monster’s smoldering eyes and hair the look of early morning fog. Whatever the beast was, Raven wasn’t going to stand there and watch it rip her brother and companions apart.

  Raven was still a relatively novice magic user, and the feel of it as it piled up in her outstretched hands was not only foreign, but a little frightening. The ring her father had given her – the Ring of Halcyon – was long gone, taken by the Fae prince along with the dagger that had killed Cruor and the arrow tip that had so gravely wounded Drake more than a month ago.

  It was clear that she no longer needed any help in finding her powers. She’d attacked Astriel in one of the halls of Eidolon. And now the power that flooded her form both scared and thrilled her. It was a killing magic. She knew it in her heart.

  Just as she pulled back her hand to throw the ball of icy death at the beast that whirled and struck, Drake leapt out of the way of yet another dripping claw, glanced in her direction, and paled. His eyes widened. “No, Raven don’t!” he cried.

  But it was too late.

  Raven released her magic and it went sailing, expanding in the dark air between herself and their enormous, monstrous attacker. She had no idea what the magic was, exactly. There had been no thought behind the creation of the spell. It was pure anger, cold and hard and heavy, and it grew as it flew toward its target, a sphere of crackling, swirling ice.

  The monster stopped in its blurred scissor-like attack and straightened, its fire eyes turned toward Raven and the ball of magic she’d just released. Time slowed down. Drake turned and ran toward Raven; she saw him in her peripheral vision, his tall, strong form blending into the shadows and grayed out by his speed. Raven stood still, transfixed by the pulsing sphere of energy as its edge touched down.

  Drake dove for her just as the magic spell engulfed the beast and he roared in inhuman agony. Drake’s body slammed hard into hers, knocking the wind from her lungs. She felt herself go down, felt herself turning in Drake’s arms, and then the world became a chaotic mixture of light, darkness, noise and pain.

  There was an explosion. The strength of it blasted all other sound from Raven�
�s ears and filled the world with a high-pitched ringing. The blast warped through the air, crushing her into the ground, Drake’s weight above her pressed even more fully onto her body. The air was un-breathable and her lungs wouldn’t work. Her eyes were shut tight against the hellish confusion, her teeth clamped together, her hands curled into desperate fists. The world had been turned upside down.

  It took a long time for her brain to sort out what was what. Little by little, the blanket of trauma was pulled off of her and the world began to compartmentalize once more.

  Her legs hurt. She knew that much. Her right upper thigh and left calf were throbbing. It felt as though the flesh had been flayed from them in places.

  Her ears were ringing as well, but other sound was gradually returning. She could hear crackling, and she could smell smoke. The Autumn forest ground was damp beneath her and had absorbed her impact like a sponge; nothing was broken. But she was in enough pain that her teeth ground where they pressed into each other.

  “Raven.”

  Raven opened her eyes and a shadowy, smoke-haloed form floated above her. She tried again to take a breath, willing her lungs to expand. At the same time, the body on top of her own shifted and lifted its weight. Raven’s chest drew in a thankful breath, and she was almost instantly coughing as a result.

  The air was choked with the black belch of fire.

  “We have to get out of here,” said Drake. His voice rumbled across her skin, licking at her nerve endings. But it wasn’t enough to stay the pain coming from her legs, and she winced. She tried to bend them, to sit up and see what was wrong, but when she did, her skin screamed as if it were tearing, and she cried out.

  “I can’t move!” she said. She took another breath to tell him about her legs, but the air was un-giving and selfish. It wouldn’t fuel her lungs; it only burned. She coughed, inhaled, coughed again.