“Oh, Valour,” she cooed, “how I’ve missed your … confidence.”
That put a grimace on Valour’s borrowed face. He suppressed it quick enough.
“There are no queens in this land,” he said. He nodded behind them, toward the mountains they had left behind. “No kings. No princes.” He emphasized the last, and a deadlier look crossed Elanil’s face than Linn had yet to see from her. “Nothing but lies nest here.” He looked at the Blue Knights as he spoke, but soon gave it up as futile. Instead, he fixed his attention on the three Valley Landkist, who had drifted farther from the opposite retinues and closer to the gap. Linn could make it over with the help of a conjured gust of wind, and she knew Misha would have no trouble clearing it with a burst of the fire in her blood.
Valour turned those deep, alluring eyes back on Elanil, and Linn followed the look. The queen’s eyes were wide. She stood with her feet wide set, fingers splayed, as if she expected an attack at any moment.
“How disappointed would he be in you, I wonder? The proud, handsome, dashing Prince Galeveth.” He spoke in the tenor of a serpent, smooth and teasing. “How ashamed, to see what you’ve been reduced to. My brother in arms. My once companion. My endless quarrel.”
“Reduced?” Elanil spoke with a voice that seemed augmented by some spell, or a trick of the wind, though Linn was the only one in present company who could call herself master over that art. “I am just as I have always been, dark one,” she sneered, spittle leaking from the corner of her mouth.
“Your knights are almost spent.”
“My knights attend me.”
“Your palace echoes with the silence of empty corridors.”
“My palace is the jewel of the north, and a herald of things returning to the way they should have been all along, before you started the war that’s consumed half the world in its ugly throes, and swept all these wayward children up into it.” She swept her hand out to indicate Linn, Baas and Misha.
“Ah,” he said, seeming to have come to something. “Then you have forgiven yourself.”
“There is nothing to forgive!”
“Is there not?” Valour’s voice rang out like a crack of thunder splitting the bright afternoon sky. Linn’s heart began to ram itself against the walls of her chest. Baas set his feet and raised his shield just a bit higher, the strange blue creature watching him all the while as the green focused on the Sage and her guardians. “Do not think to judge yourself innocent of our shared sins, Elanil,” he said, voice dripping with disgust. “The others are dead and gone. The Twins were a scourge on every land they visited. My Landkist saw to their end. The Sage of Balon Rael, your most bitter foe, was undone by greed. The Fox and the Blade went on their own terms, and with more honor than you or I will be able to muster before the end. The Eagle had grown fat on fell corruption in the southern nest of his—”
“A corruption you sent!”
“Aye,” the Eastern Dark said, nodding quickly. “Aye. A corruption I sent, to cleanse the world of our fell stink, of our rot. To stop what’s coming.”
“To save yourself!”
Linn didn’t like the manner the queen had taken on. She was angry, and she was afraid. The Eastern Dark, though outnumbered—at least in terms of appearance—was the picture of icy calm.
“Do you deny it?” Elanil stepped forward and Tundra reached hesitantly as if to hold her back from the chasm.
Linn found herself caught up in the Sage’s response, eager to see how he would answer the charge, though she knew she couldn’t trust it even if he said what she wanted to hear.
“We are not long for this world, Elanil,” he said, sidestepping the question, though saying enough in Linn’s estimation. “Let the children take it over. Let us spare those among us, if we can. Let us settle things between us, so that the river of time might flow on in this realm and forget our ilk ever walked its ways and dug its deepest wounds.”
The queen looked as if she might leap across the gap then and there, knock the dark mage down and rend him apart with nothing but her bones and fury. She straightened, once more at ease, or seeming it.
“You’re too late,” she said. She spoke as if the rest of them weren’t there, and though Linn did not know of what she spoke, the implications washed her with a knowing dread.
“What have you done, Elanil?”
“I have made a choice, Ray Valour. A choice that will save the world, or doom it.”
Linn recalled the prince lying in his forever chamber beneath the lake of Nevermelt in the queen’s courtyard. She remembered the feeling of cold that the place had emitted, like life turned around and made bitter. She felt foolish wondering who should be believed between a queen from the oldest sagas and a skulking sultan of darkness, crawled out before the end of things.
“Trust me,” Valour said. “You cannot control it. The World Apart is teeming with power, but it can only be guided, directed, never controlled.”
“You would speak—”
“From experience,” the Sage said. He turned toward Linn and the others once more. “Look at these lands,” he shouted, sweeping his arms out. “A frozen sea that frothed and churned not so long ago. A land full of glittering towers and archers to man them, lanterns swinging on silken threads to call its banners home.”
“War comes to all lands,” Elanil said.
“You Landkist of the Valley know the truth,” Valour said, taking a step in their direction. Linn felt Misha’s heat redouble. It was beginning to make her sweat. “The World Apart is coming. But we can stop it. Together, we can.” He jutted a thumb at his chest. “I am your enemy. I always will be. It’s a title I’ve earned and one I wouldn’t shed. Fear made a bastard of me. Hate a coward.” He took the same hand and pointed a finger at the silver-armored Sage across the way. “Ask your queen why the shadows grow so long in the east. Ask her why the ocean waves cease to crash. Ask her where brave Galeveth is buried.”
Linn knew the answer to the last. If she hadn’t, she’d likely dismiss everything the Eastern Dark had said. As it was, she didn’t know what to think.
“Maybe Kole was right,” she whispered. “Maybe they both have to die, to stop what’s coming.” Baas turned to glance at her from the corner of his eye. He raised his shield higher still, slid his foot back, boot scraping across the salted surface.
“Stop the endless riddles, at least,” Misha shot back.
“You are being used, children of the Valley,” the Eastern Dark intoned. “You are being lied to, sapphire souls,” he said to Tundra and Gwenithil. “For the root of her power is no longer bound to the world, but to the same place I got mine. She calls to it still, and it will be the death of you all, and the end of any new beginning that might have been for those who would come after you.”
“Who are you using, Valour?” the queen spat. She pointed at the blue creature, who dipped a bow.
“I am Myriel.” She indicated her sickly companion. “This is Martyr.”
“Names to trust,” Misha quipped. She leaned toward Linn. “Are we on the Witch’s side, or the embodiment of the worst evil our people have ever known? The one who would have taken every Ember child and lined them at his door, if only to delay the coming of the night?”
The Eastern Dark’s eyes locked on the Third Keeper of Hearth. “Those days are distant, now. Plans I set when I could not bring my fellows to heel. When I could not get them to come together—”
Elanil laughed a wicked, maniacal laugh. “Lie, Valour. Lie, lie, as you have always done. You were going to use the Embers, as you have always used your tools. To save yourself. To keep you going. To endure the darkness you called in the first place.”
“I made them strong,” he said. “In that Valley of theirs. I made them bright and bold and terrible to behold to the denizens of the realm you would call to bring back a fallen lov—”
“That you did,” Misha said, stepping forward, spear held out horizontally before her. “We’ve grown up on stories of you. Wicked
stories. Things to make us scared in the nights even when the Dark Kind weren’t enough. I’ve thought of killing you a thousand times. I’ve thought of burning you away, watching your ashes drift on the winds.”
“You are on the wrong side, bright one,” the one known as Myriel said, her voice a warning. “In this, you are wrong.”
The Eastern Dark eyed her, unmoving.
“Bright and bold are busy elsewhere.” Misha ignited her spear. It crackled red from haft to tip. “Call me ‘Terrible.’”
There was a pregnant pause as the split companies eyed the Ember, judging her intent and her resolve. Linn had no doubt of both. She inched backward and raised her bow in front of her chest, trying to keep Baas and his shield’s bulk in front of her, more as a ward from their probing eyes than for the protection it afforded.
Tundra stepped in front of Queen Elanil, the air around his golden greaves shimmering as he formed today’s weapons of choice: twin discs with shining sharpened edges. Tundra gripped them on natural handles his fingers made in their backs. His face took on a sheen that stung to look upon as he coated his form with that near-impregnable armor. It seemed he was the only one who could change the ice to his will. Perhaps their lost captain could have, but she was gone.
As Linn hoped, Misha set her spear into a slow spin. The flames shifted and danced as the speed picked up, and then they began to whip and gutter as Linn closed her eyes and focused on the air around them, calling more of the icy wind.
“So be it.”
Linn opened her eyes as she heard the words escape the Eastern Dark’s mouth.
There was a crash that rattled their jaws and made their knees shake as the ground shifted beneath them. Linn thought it might have been Baas, until she remembered that there was no earth below their feet. It could have been the Frostfire Sage, but Elanil had not moved, nor raised a hand in threat. All nine pairs of eyes shifted to the east, and there, Linn saw a plume of white smoke with orange motes rising from another trench farther along. There was another crash, this one lighter, its source farther away, and the smoke from the blast came up farther still, so that the others had to squint against the day’s glare to see it.
Kole and Jenk had found the allies of the Eastern Dark, then. Linn’s heart quickened, and then caught.
“Back!” Baas screamed, and Linn frowned in confusion as Misha raised her spinning spear above her head. Linn followed the direction of the Riverman’s gaze, and the shield he raised like a ward against the sky itself.
Linn saw the one known as Myriel too late. She had leapt skyward, impossibly high. Higher than an Ember. Near as high as Linn could soar. She came down like a lightning strike, pounding the ice, and the impact of her landing caused an explosion that turned all of the elements Linn and Misha had gathered into a chaotic and deadly torrent. Myriel glowed blue as she struck, forming a crater whose impact blasted Misha’s fire back toward Linn. Linn panicked and tossed her bow aside, smashed her palms together before her and unleashed the wind that was under her command. The blast hit Misha’s flames and stoked them higher, blowing them white-hot as they climbed up and fanned out.
After the flames died around her—some still clinging bitterly to debris mortal fire would not have been able to ignite—Linn found Myriel staring at her from her crouch in the shallow pit. She bared her fangs, her red eyes turned white. Her skin, which had been blue, now glowed and sparked like lightning, bolts jumping from the tips of her splayed fingers and dancing across the loose shards in her jagged bowl.
Misha slid to the right, away from the crater the stranger had made. She came dangerously close to the edge of the gap, but managed to keep hold of her spear as she tottered on the edge. Linn saw loose ice spill like dislodged gravel into the chasm and wondered how far it went. Embers were strong and Rockbled doubly so, but the fall might be deadly for either of them if it went far enough.
Baas raised his shield just in time to escape the bulk of the blast, but even he went tumbling back. He rolled head over heels and landed with his feet under him, one hand flat on the salt. Myriel chose him.
“Baas! Up!”
Linn raised her right arm over her head, palm up, and flexed her core, feeling the wind rebel as she tried to call it too quickly. By the time she had summoned a roiling ball of icy air and salted shards above her head, Myriel was already moving. Linn shot her hand down and blasted the place where she’d been, but she was fast, streaking away like the light she commanded.
Misha shot past her in pursuit, the flames along the length of her spear guttering as she passed through the trailing vapors Linn’s torrent left in its wake. Linn winced at the coming collision as Baas set his feet and brought his shield in front of his chest, bracing for the impact. Misha was fast, but there was no catching the blue streak that was Myriel.
As the fierce, glowing warrior neared the Riverman, she slid to a halt just before him and leapt. Baas was quicker, though. He spun as she flipped in the air, head down, and came down on the other side on one foot and one knee. When she lanced her sparking fist forward, Baas had his shield around. The meeting produced a concussive blast that made pops in the air, as if the very atmosphere had been stung by invisible wasps. Baas was ready this time, yet still he slid back, off balance.
Myriel was not done. Instead, she launched a series of punches and kicks, each one cracking against that great, weighty shield, no doubt scoring it, as Linn could see bits of gray stone breaking off and flying through the air. A kick landed on the Riverman’s midsection. He grunted and fell to one knee and Linn sprinted and snatched up her bow. She ensnared the wind that passed her by, whipping her hair back and stinging her eyes, and forced it to trail her like a cloak.
Misha got there first. The Ember leapt up over the unbalanced Baas and came down with a slash that split the ice where Myriel was. The red-eyed beast slid to the side, narrowly dodging a cone of flame that scorched a melted trail that raced halfway back toward the crystal palace before it died against the underside of a mountainous frozen wave.
The Ember recovered with impressive speed, her flaming spear arcing across her body to cover her center, where Myriel had been closing in. As the blue demon—and it was a demon, no creature of the world they knew—slid once more, Baas’s shield nearly flattened her in place. She dodged that, too, and on it went, Misha’s crescents of orange flame corralling while Baas’s shield defended them both.
Linn sank to one knee, bow angled before her. She breathed in, scenting the ash and smoke from the clash. She had nearly forgotten the others before she heard a scream. She looked toward the Sages and found them standing in much the same positions they had been, with Elanil and Ray Valour standing on opposite sides of the breach, eyes locked and dispositions difficult to read.
Behind the queen, Tundra stood, chest heaving, blue-white discs held out to his sides. The green-skinned and bone-covered one known as Martyr stood before him. Linn saw red blood running down his legs. The knobs of bone that had jutted from the caps of his knees had been ripped away. The ice was covered in red, but he seemed unbothered. And then she saw the bone-handled blades he clutched. The handles were white—the missing pieces he had pulled from his own body—while the blades were short and black and sticky.
Behind Tundra, Gwenithil struggled to stand. She was on her back, one conjured shard at her side. As she rose to a sitting position, she brought a hand up in front of her eyes. Linn saw blood on the back of it, but the cut on her arm seemed small.
“Up, Gwen,” Tundra rumbled as Martyr began to pace in front of him. “Together.”
Gwenithil tried. She gained her feet and fell again, and Martyr’s face broke into a toothy lion’s grin.
“Poison,” Linn whispered.
Martyr charged in and Tundra met him with all the ferocity Linn would have expected. His lead shield cracked the surface of the ice as his follow-through nearly took the demon’s head from his shoulders. Martyr slid on his knees, passing under the blow and spun as he did. He brought one
black knife around and slammed it in against the side of Tundra’s knee, but his wrist twisted, hand turning as the armor Tundra called turned the weapon aside.
Linn saw the film flash and shimmer as Martyr’s blade struck, and Tundra roared as if in pain, twisting around and swiping. He looked like a bull trying to flatten a mouse. He was strong and durable, and his armor was true, but Linn got the impression that it was Tundra who was being hunted as Martyr came up and set to circling once more.
“Gah!”
The sound brought Linn’s attention back to her friends. Misha was staggering back, her spear going wide as she clutched her armored chest with one hand. Linn could see blue sparks dancing down between the open ridges, and the Ember’s teeth were gritted against the pain. Myriel angled in for another blow, but Baas shouldered into her from behind, sending her down in a spill.
Linn thought she might regret the choice, but the others seemed to be in direr straits. She pushed a blast of wind down, allowing it to sweep the dusted salt around her. She stopped it from running too far and set it to spin, breathing out and making herself lighter. She thought of being weightless, like a leaf drifting on the wind, and began to rise. She pushed harder and flew, twisted in the air and angled herself so she was looking down at the fight between Tundra and Martyr. She saw the green demon dodging the Blue Knight’s discs with ease. Saw Tundra’s armor flashing and fading with each blow he received between the chinks of his golden, jeweled armor.
She angled her bow to the east, exhaled hard and shot the better part of her buoying wind toward the other side of the gap where the Eastern Dark stood. He didn’t so much as look in her direction, just raised a hand and called up a dark flame, black and red that mixed like oil. As the comet of frost and salt struck the sprouting nugget of shadowfire, the shelf exploded, the area where the Sage had stood reduced to a crumbling wall of ice.
Linn began to fall faster and called up more wind from above, sending it down below her to ease her fall. She landed on the ice and slid a short distance, watching the billowing smoke. Queen Elanil stared as well, unmoving. She did not raise a victory cheer, nor did she lament.
The Frostfire Sage (The Landkist Saga Book 4) Page 56