The Stone Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 3)

by Carol Beth Anderson

  Nora’s entire group was armed. Kebi carried her bow, Sarza her knife. They each had two loaded guns, but they’d agreed to injure, rather than kill, when possible. Above all, they’d do everything they could to avoid killing Ulmin. Regicide was no way to establish goodwill with the public. And while Nora hadn’t said it aloud, she wasn’t sure she could handle another parent’s death, even knowing who he’d become.

  Waiting was torturous. But it wasn’t long before hoofbeats—many more than before—reached Nora’s ears. The riskiness of what they were about to do slammed into her, and she gulped down several panicked breaths.

  When the orsas had nearly reached Nora and her friends, she slapped Vin’s side. He and Gild lifted into the air. They each flew in a large half circle at top speed. Streams of orange fire exited their mouths, creating a flaming fence around the king and his people, crossing the road and extending into the grass beyond. Cries rose up from the mounted guards, and orsas bellowed as they stopped, crashing into one another, sending some of their riders tumbling to the dirt road.

  The fiery circle had a diameter of about thirty mets. Taking advantage of the chaos within, both dragons landed in the circle, releasing their passengers and rising back into the air. Shots sounded, but both dragons escaped.

  Nora pointed a gun at the guard nearest her, who was sitting atop his orsa, mouth gaping at the flaming fence. She shot him in the hip. He cried out, falling to the dust. Nora held back a grimace and looked for another enemy.

  It was time to take her father down—and take his crown.

  25

  I knew I couldn’t avoid seeing Ulmin forever, so I agreed that he could visit me today. It was a bad idea. Now we’ve had our first kiss and our first fight.

  As always, my face wouldn’t let me hide what I felt. As soon as we were on the back patio together, Ulmin asked me what was wrong. Somehow I ended up accusing him of faking his feelings to make the best of a difficult situation. I took my fear and turned it into fact, then threw it in his face.

  He denied it. And if he’d just stayed calm and assured me he cares about me, I think I would’ve been okay. But instead, he got as angry with me as I was with him. He told me the reason he’d waited so long to kiss me was because he was afraid I’d hurt him, and now I’d proven him right.

  It was a quiet fight; we didn’t want to be overheard. But it’s amazing how much soft words can hurt. I don’t really think he was faking his feelings, and I know I don’t want to hurt him. But now we’ve both said cruel things, and we can’t take them back.

  -Letter from Ambrel Kaulder to Dani Kaulder

  Dated Barna 10, 180 PD

  Five civilians and a princess against thirteen royal guards and a king. It sounded bad.

  But Nora’s team had two dragons on their side. In Krey’s mind, that definitely improved the odds.

  The dragons’ roles were simple. Vin would fly just above the combatants, depending on his thick skin to protect him as he breathed well-aimed fire at guards. His goal would be to debilitate, rather than kill. Gild would fly high above, using her excellent sight to monitor the battle. From that perspective, she could guide Vin to where he was needed most. She was vulnerable to gunfire and stone missiles, but she might be able to dive in and help once most of the enemy was out of the fight.

  Meanwhile, Krey and his friends would do their best to disarm and subdue the guards, then capture the king. Carrying him, they’d escape on dragons.

  Krey had known the plan wouldn’t be as simple as it sounded. Fights were never clean and easy. The first seconds of the confrontation confirmed it.

  Flickering firelight illuminated the king’s guards, some of whom had fallen from their orsas, as they scrambled to surround their monarch. Krey would have to be careful with his gun. One errant shot could kill the king.

  A flicker of motion caught Krey’s eye. His instincts told him to dive low, thus avoiding the swipe of a knife. Krey lunged and connected with the guard’s leg. The man went sprawling, his knife flying from his hand.

  Krey was about to shoot him in the leg when he saw another guard taking aim, this time with a gun. He rolled, getting off a shot that hit an orsa instead of the guard. Krey shot the orsa again, this time on purpose. The beast fell on the second guard, pinning him down. Krey spun, looking for the first guard, but he’d gotten away.

  Nearby, Kebi fought with a guard, attempting to push him away with her bow. Now would be a good time for a dragon to help us out, Krey thought. Vin was overhead, but he wasn’t breathing any fire. Krey immediately saw what was wrong. With friend and foe so close together, even Vin’s excellent aim might hit the wrong person.

  Those thoughts went through his mind in a half second, even as he leapt to his feet and dashed to help Kebi. He didn’t make it. He spotted a guard taking aim at him. A quick spin brought him behind an orsa.

  Krey slipped into the calm, eerily focused mindset he’d found during the militia battle months ago. Everything was chaotic and quick, but his reactions sped up too, his mind and body working in sync. Seeing that the guard aiming at him had gotten distracted, Krey ran to Kebi, taking down her guard by slamming a pistol against the man’s temple.

  The fight couldn’t have been going for longer than ninety seconds when Krey heard the king’s voice. He was shouting at his guards not to use their guns unless they had to. Was he afraid to get shot himself, or did he still have some measure of concern for his daughter? Maybe both.

  The gunshots slowed, but didn’t stop. Despite the close quarters, Vin got in a couple of well-aimed spurts of fire, taking down two more guards. The sight sent hope surging in Krey’s chest.

  But Nora’s team was taking casualties too. The guard must’ve injured Kebi before Krey got to him. She was on the ground, moving, but no longer fighting. Nora, who was still on her feet, had blood pouring down the side of her face.

  Krey circled around an orsa and spotted a female guard facing away from him. He put her in a headlock. As he waited for her to lose consciousness, he spun around, lest anyone else attack him. His eyes fell on Joli, just as a thin, short stone spear shot into the back of her shoulder, penetrating deep. With a cry, she fell.

  Behind her, Ulmin stood, hand raised, an insane smile stretching his mouth open.

  Krey dropped the female guard, hoping she was unconscious. He lunged toward the king. Another guard, whose firelit eyes held the glaze of mental slavery, tackled him. By the time Krey escaped from the man—he wasn’t even sure how he’d done it—there was an orsa between him and the king.

  Nora had no idea if they were winning. She hadn’t brought down any guards since that first one. She’d been injured by a good, old-fashioned punch to the face. Her cheek was bleeding, though her adrenaline kept her from feeling any pain.

  Mostly, she’d woven in and out of huge, skittish orsas, trying to avoid injury and find an opportunity to contribute to the fight. Preferably without dying. A blast of fire caught her eye. Thank the stone, Vin had managed to aim at a guard, whose forearms were now flaming. The woman dropped to the ground with a scream.

  Nora’s single second of preoccupation allowed a large, male guard to swoop in and grab her, binding her arms to her body. Panic and anger sent strength through her limbs. She kicked backward, her boot connecting with his leg. He continued to hold on, dragging her toward the center of the fight.

  No, no, no, it can’t end like this!

  It didn’t. A punch sounded, and the guard grunted and toppled. She fell on top of him, then pulled away and swiveled to take in her surroundings, swearing to herself she wouldn’t get distracted again. But she broke her vow immediately when she saw who’d taken down the guard.

  Ovrun.

  He grinned and disappeared behind an orsa.

  Nora ducked behind another orsa, peeking to take in the scene at the center of their makeshift fighting ring.

  Her brief thrill at seeing Ovrun disappeared in an instant, replaced by cold fear. At least six guards were surrounding her fa
ther, fighting ferociously against Nora’s people. Her team had started this thing outnumbered. They’d agreed that they had to get the upper hand right away if they were to win. That hadn’t happened.

  The king’s guards, who’d started out shocked by the sudden attack and dragon fire, were now focused. Some fought with clear-eyed, intelligent fierceness, others with the fearless actions of the mind controlled. Vin’s attacks were sporadic and mostly ineffective. Nora didn’t think there was any way to reach her father now, but she had to try. She rushed out, gun in hand, to join the melee.

  Zeisha could see nothing through the flaming wall the dragons had created. But she didn’t need to see, she needed to listen.

  The voice that guided her, the one she heard more than ever these days, told her the fight inside the flames wasn’t going well.

  I want to help.

  An image entered her mind: the old man she’d known as the Anya, creating a fence of swirling dirt. Certainty filled her heart. She needed to do something similar, though less drastic. Why, she didn’t know. But she had no time to question it.

  She sprinted to the tall fence of flames and knelt as close to it as she dared. She placed one hand on the ground and raised the other into the cool air. Her unique magic flowed from her heart, to her hands, to the ground and air. It traveled underneath and through the flames, into the circular battleground. She couldn’t see what she was doing, but she sensed it. The dirt under the feet of the combatants stirred to life, rising in fine clouds.

  At the same time, she sent a burst of magic through her raised hand, guiding the dirt to fly around haphazardly. Immediately, the people inside began to cough. The sound made Zeisha frown; she’d never before used the Well in a harmful way.

  The voice in her heart told her all was as it should be. There would be no lasting harm.

  Zeisha nodded and sat back, letting the Well continue its work.

  Sarza’s knife was more useful than a gun in such close quarters. At the start of the fight, she’d gotten engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a guard who was as well trained as she. They were still going at it, so evenly matched that neither could get the upper hand. She’d taken a cut to her forearm and given the guard one on his bicep, but they could both still fight, even with blood dripping from their wounds.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw a second guard aim a gun at her. Cursing, she threw herself to the ground, eyes still pinned to her original opponent’s knife. Just as she hit the dirt, intense pressure overtook her brain. Not now! Desperate to get away from her enemies, she scurried and skidded between an orsa’s legs, somehow reaching the other side of the beast without getting trampled.

  Her vision began.

  It was a potential prophecy, and thank the stone, it was short. Sarza came back to herself with a gasp—and drew in a mouthful of fine dust.

  She coughed hard. Swirls of dirt were all around her. She closed her eyes reflexively, but not soon enough to keep the dirt out of her eyes. The noise of the fight had mostly stopped, replaced by coughs.

  The dust didn’t surprise her. She’d seen it in her vision. Now she had a choice—keep fighting with the others as best as she could, or follow a far more dangerous path.

  Sarza had never minded a little danger.

  Eyes barely open, she untied one of her boots and yanked it off. Next was her sock. She slid it onto her hand, just as she’d seen herself do in the vision.

  Then she ran, one foot bare, the other booted, through distracted guards and allies, until she reached the center of the mass of people. Through her squinting eyes, she saw Ulmin Abrios, bent over, coughing.

  As if in a dream, Sarza slipped her sock-covered hand into the front pocket of the king’s pants. He reached out to stop her, but she punched his arm hard.

  Still coughing, she pulled a small rock out of his pocket, thankful for the sock protecting her hand. She had no idea if touching the stone would kill her or increase the strength of her prophetic gift. Neither option appealed to her.

  A single step, and she was out of reach of the coughing king. Several more steps, and Sarza reached the other person she’d identified in her vision: Krey. He was rubbing his eyes with one hand and coughing hard, like everyone else.

  Embracing the burn in her eyes and the rebellion of her lungs, she pulled the sock off her hand, turning it inside out so the object she’d just stolen was now captured within it. She spoke, voice eerily calm, in Krey’s ear. “The stone’s in your pocket.” Cough. “Don’t touch it.”

  The second the sock left her hand, she turned. This was the moment where the vision had stopped. The king was distracted by dust. Maybe she could use her knife to subdue him. Coughs racking her body, she reached into her pocket for the bag of shield fuel. The premonition that had led her to remain unprotected was gone. She wasn’t about to let the king take her mind.

  Just as she pulled out the bag, sudden, piercing heat entered her back. The bag of fuel slipped from her fingers. Her brows drew together, her mind growing fuzzy. Had she gotten stung by something? A female guard was standing next to her, coughing and staring right at her, her hand reaching out as if to touch Sarza’s back.

  Then that same heat—along with shocking, agonizing pain—reached the front of Sarza’s body too. She looked down. Something sharp was pressing against the front of her shirt.

  Her addled mind whispered one word: Knife.

  She fell to the ground.

  As soon as dust rose into the air and started flying around, Nora knew it was Zeisha’s doing. Immediately, coughing replaced most of the fighting.

  Vin! Gild! Nora called in her mind. This is a good time to attack! Then she remembered they couldn’t hear her. Hopefully they could see through the dust, with their excellent eyesight.

  She coughed harder, tears streaming from her squinting eyes. A guard, hacking like his lungs were falling apart, lurched toward her. She sidestepped him, and a flame shot down from the sky, igniting his arm. If Nora hadn’t been coughing, she would’ve laughed. Dragons were amazing.

  Avoiding another coughing guard who was still trying to fight, Nora wove her way through people and orsas toward her father. At last, she saw him—just as a guard nearby stabbed Sarza in the back.

  “NO!” Nora screamed.

  Her father, who was coughing as hard as anyone else, turned her way. With a wide grin, he lunged for her.

  Gild dove at a steep angle, golden skin glimmering, fire aimed at the king’s arm. Ulmin leapt back, avoiding the attack. But Gild was flying too quickly to pull up immediately. Nora ducked, lest the dragon’s strong front claws scrape against her head.

  Her father didn’t seem to have that fear. The same wild smile on his lips, he reached up. Despite the dust in her eyes, Nora saw her father’s fingertips brush against the shimmering scales of Gild’s foot. The dragon froze in midair, just above the king.

  Tears falling down his wrinkled cheeks, Ulmin spoke between coughs. “This creature is mine.”

  Dread burst open in Nora’s chest, shooting panicked energy into her limbs. Gild’s head turned downward, her mouth opening wide. Following the line of the dragon’s gaze, Nora saw Krey. She didn’t have to be a seer to see the future—Gild, now under the control of Ulmin, would incinerate Nora’s best friend.

  Hacking harder than ever, she charged toward Krey, knowing she wouldn’t get there in time.

  A mass of shimmering, dark scales slammed into Gild, sending the golden dragon crashing into Ulmin. He fell to his knees. In the flickering light of flames, Nora saw Vin grab the larger female dragon’s neck within his sharp front claws, pulling her up and away from the fight. Fire streamed from Gild’s mouth, dissipating harmlessly into the air.

  Nora rushed forward. This was her best chance to get her father, while he was huddled in the dirt.

  She didn’t get the chance. Gild broke free, diving toward Nora, who threw herself down. Above, Vin latched onto Gild’s long neck yet again, yanking her away. A guard launched himself at Ulmin,
protecting the king’s body with his own.

  All at once, a strange wind drew the dirt away. The battleground went dark. From her position on her belly, Nora looked around, panicked. The wall of fire was gone.

  Then it hit her—Zeisha must have used the dirt to squelch the fire. That meant one thing. The voice within Zeisha, the power behind the Anya’s magic, had determined it was time for this fight to end.

  And they’d lost.

  Nora shook off her despair and stood, crying, “Retreat! Retreat!”

  She ran, stepping on fallen bodies, hoping none of them belonged to Sarza, who might already be dead. The thought brought a painful lump to her throat, but she kept running anyway, shouting in a strained voice, “Retreat!”

  Someone next to her cried out and fell, and despite the lack of words, Nora recognized the voice. She halted. “Krey!”

  “Go!” he grunted. He was obviously fighting someone, though all Nora could see were dark, moving silhouettes.

  She aimed a hard kick at what she hoped was a guard’s butt or, better yet, his groin. The man let out a low, choked groan and toppled off Krey. Nora couldn’t help but grin. “Come on!” she said, somehow finding his hand in the dark. She pulled him up, and they ran together, dodging orsas and a few guards.

  As she ran, Nora cried out for Ovrun, desperate to find him so he could escape with them. Krey joined in calling for him, but he didn’t respond.

  Above, both dragons roared. Their flames briefly lit up their own fighting forms and the still-chaotic landscape below.

  Nora and Krey had to fight their way out; now that the dust was gone, the remaining guards were determined not to let them leave. They’d just broken free from two guards when something massive struck the ground nearby with a crash that shook the dirt beneath Nora’s feet. One of the dragons must’ve fallen.