Chapter 49
moving unsteadily through the tomb-like corridor, Tess listened for another roar from her shaggy friend, but none came. She swallowed through a dry throat, and began to run.
Reaching the banquet hall, she saw a long line of noblewomen at the opposite end, barring the way in with makeshift weapons. Atheonian soldiers gathered behind the wide columns, apparently preferring to goad the women than to fight.
Tess cautiously crossed the floor, passing rows of cots where the injured were laid. The servants tried to stop Tess from nearing the fight, but she pulled her arms from them, searching for Osiris. Soon, she spotted Dahly and her mother leading the small brigade from the center of the line. They swung short spades at any nearing soldier while the men teased and sneered. Then, a flock of vultures swooped through the ornate archway to the banquet hall. They sailed over the Atheonians and stretched their talons to tear into the women of Glademont.
Tess sprinted forward, scrambling for her shenìl. The vultures were already upon her sister and mother, ripping their hair and clothes. Soldiers cheered and advanced as the women ran for cover. Dahly was caught between two vultures, each gripping an arm. Lady Matilde called for help, her head under constant attack.
“Hold on,” Tess yelled as she tried to calm down enough to use the shenìl properly. The screams of the women and the screeches of the vultures completely clouded her mind, so much so that she scooped up an empty washbasin and prepared to use brute force. But then another sound rang in Tess’s ears: hooves clapping on marble. Jesse the Rushing trotted before her, tossing his creamy mane.
“Get down,” he demanded.
The stallion lowered his soft nose and issued one forceful exhale. The marble at his hooves cracked and ran in opposite directions as sparkling golden gas puffed over the fissures. The cracks ran from the floor to two columns. The columns burst, and the fragments went flying.
One by one, vultures were struck in midair by hunks of marble, beginning with Dahly’s captors. Half-dazed, Lady Matilde and Dahly supported each other and stumbled to safety. By the time Jesse was finished, not a vulture in the room was left alive.
But the remaining Atheonian soldiers did not give up. Arrows and javelins flew all around them as Tess leapt onto Jesse’s back. With her stallion’s familiar, sturdy muscles flexing against Tess’s legs, Tess regained her courage. She took up her shenìl and summoned a flame. She fluidly traced a curving path with her hands. A fireball shot from somewhere near her navel and slung in a wide arc for the Atheonians, blinding them as it passed. The fireball returned to Tess’s hands, and she readied herself for the shenìl to speak again.
But the soldiers did not recover their sight. They groped at the air, moaning in fear. Tess allowed herself to exhale. The women and the wounded were out of danger. For now. She called to her mother and sister to get the wounded out of the open and urged Jesse to a canter.
Jesse’s hooves echoed down the hall where Tess had last seen Ryon. She heard shouting and the shuffling of hundreds of feet, but not the clanging of metal or the cries of the wounded. Tess slowed Jesse to a quieter gait. She peered ahead and saw masses of shifting men, but their movements were not urgent.
Finally, tentatively, Tess and her stallion came upon the entrance hall. Bodies littered the floor, and to Tess’s horror, the majority of them were Glademontian men. The surviving men and governors were being rounded up by disorderly, sporadic pockets of Atheonians. Among the prisoners were Nory, Rette, and a very pale Sir Brock.
“Sands and Yuniparos, to me,” shouted an aristocratic-looking officer with a long twisted mustache. “Holts, report to Silverear,” he roared over the hubbub, pointing to a fat gentleman with a flushed neck.
Searching the cavernous hall, Tess observed a small black figure with amber eyes hiding behind a tapestry by Jesse’s left flank. She struggled to remember the forest creature’s name.
“Evening,” she whispered finally.
“My lady . . .” Evening slinked sheepishly out.
“Where is Osiris?” Tess felt the panic rising in her throat.
“Oh, my lady,” the fox moaned. “I fear it may be too late.”
“Where?” Tess insisted, no longer caring whether the Atheonians noticed her.
“The towhee protects his body, my lady. But we are all lost.” Evening streaked out of sight again.
“Let’s go, Jesse.”
They charged through the tangled crowd. Soldiers shouted after them, leaping out of the way and brandishing their weapons. Several javelins spun through the air, but Tess spread her arms open and a dancing fire consumed each weapon as quickly as it flew. The din in the entrance hall reached an unbearable pitch as soldiers and prisoners jostled one another, but all Tess could see was a magic shield, and the motionless furry mass beyond it.
Jesse cast an enchantment that opened a way through the skin of Profigliano’s massive bubble. As the shield closed behind them, Tess tumbled off of her steed, throwing herself onto Osiris. Blood soaked his fur, but he was still breathing. Tess held up the orbs of the shenìl with shaking hands, but the shenìl would not respond. The voice was silent, and the fire had died out.
Dropping the object, Tess tenderly took the gray bear’s heavy head in her lap.
“It won’t work,” she sobbed. “It won’t let me heal you.”
“Now, now,” Osiris answered with a breathy chuckle. “Don’t ye dare be healing me, little gem. How long have I been waiting to see King Wallis again? Ye wouldn’t be taking that away from me now, would ye?”
“Please don’t leave me.” Tess laid her face on his cheek.
“Two hundred and forty-three years . . . It were worth it just to be knowing thee. Now, with the help o’ yer mighty brother, I be finishing me oath. Glademont be safe with thee now.”
The last breath of Osiris the Defender curled gently from his soft nose in dim, golden strands. Tess shook her head and clutched at his matted gray-brown fur. She wept knowing she would never hear his thundering brogue again, telling her to protect her heart, to know her duty, to be good to her friends. She wept for a cold, empty den waiting in the heart of the Hinge. She wept for the death of Old Glademont.
Outside, the muted jeers of Atheonian soldiers could be heard.
“Tessy, deary,” Profigliano said through a mouthful of magic. “We’ve got lots more problems.” While the small bird endeavored to sustain a golden bubble of significant size, the Atheonians without had finally gathered enough hounds to begin an assault. The bubble reverberated as various bouts of red magic slammed against its surface.
Reverently, Tess kissed Osiris’s closed eyes. She rose, wiping her cheeks, and saw the other ill-fated occupants of Profigliano’s little fortress.
“By the skies, is that . . . King Nabal? Profigliano, tell me Ryon—”
“Alive,” mumbled Profigliano, straining under the weight of the onslaught. “But let’s tackle one worm at a time, don’t ya think?”
The bubble started to thin, developing worrisome splotches. Tess ran to Ryon and checked for a pulse. There was blood on his right hand, but no wound. His pulse was slow but strong. Breathing a sigh of relief and kissing his forehead, she pulled forth the shenìl and forced herself, once again, to focus on the modes of surrender.
A hound leapt atop the wavering bubble, baying and sending massive flashes of magic between his feet. The bubble groaned and swayed, and Profigliano’s black tail drooped.
“Hold steady,” Tess said. A flame burned high and white between her hands, tickling the top of the golden bubble. As it touched the dome’s surface, a bright film melted over the dome, from the apex to the floor. Profigliano’s newly fortified bubble flashed like a mirror at the Atheonians and hounds, who shielded their eyes.
“Rest, Fig,” Tess said, keeping her hands firmly in the position of the Thane’s Hold.
The towhee collapsed. Hi
s wings sprawled out on the marble and his little red-and-white breast heaved. Tess chanced another glance at Ryon. How on the continent was she going to get him out of this mess? She had failed to keep Aideen alive, then Osiris. Would she fail at saving him, too?
Commotion outside the gleaming bubble distracted Tess from her fears, and she saw through her spell the distorted image of an aristocratic man, who seemed to be arguing with the one called Silverear.
“—must make sure that he is dead, Cojab,” Silverear said, “or he’ll return to Atheos and he’ll have our heads.”
“Exactly how do you propose we get to him?”
“I don’t know, Cojab. . . . Negotiate with her! We used to be a civilized people.”
“Don’t lecture me on civilized people. I’ve been saying all along—”
Then, the shadow of a dark bird materialized on the shoulder of the one called Cojab, and the orbs of the shenìl crackled frantically over Tess’s palms. Her frightened heart sent out a single booming throb from her chest to her fingertips.
“My lords, I believe I can be of service,” Pider said.
Tess bit her lip and closed her eyes. Pider had returned. Tess knew this time he would not bargain. This time, he was out for her blood.
“On one condition,” the crow continued. “That no Atheonian come near the young woman, whatever his reason. I must be allowed to deal with her in my own way.”
“Up to his tricks,” Tess heard Silverear say as he nervously smoothed his hair against his head. But Tess knew only too well how persuasive Pider could be. She took a deep breath and waited.
“Profigliano, are you still with me?”
“Aye . . . Captain.” The towhee, still flat on his back, held up a sagging wing.
“I need you to look after Ryon for just a bit longer. Can you do that?”
“Until death, Captain. We’ll rage against the stormy seas.” Profigliano wobbled to his little feet.
A grating, screeching sound filled their magical fortress, and Tess could not help but put her hands to her ears, relinquishing her flame. The bubble started to cave. It gave like molten glass and smelled like scorched metal. The sound subsided, and Tess mounted Jesse, slowing her breathing. She waited for the bubble to dissolve, her eyes fixed on Pider.
The crow circled high overhead, red magic erupting from his beak and falling onto the last remnants of Profigliano’s shield. Jesse pawed at the floor and shook his mane. His ears flattened against his head. Atheonians and Glademontians alike looked on with horror. Lord Cojab visibly shook, calling shrilly for the army to fall back.
When the bubble was no more, Pider swung low over the heads of the Atheonian army and called out, “Remember your orders, Atheos. The girl belongs to me.”
Tess lifted her chin at the magician in disguise. She was not afraid. He could not bribe her, and he could not deceive her. His puppet king was dead, his smooth-talking sailor gone. Pider had no more tricks to hide behind. And Tess had no more doubts as to her charge. If there was going to be one thing in her life that she would do right, it was this.
For several frozen seconds, the crow’s caws echoed in the great hall as he glided high between the dark buttresses. But the next second he was dropping from the heights toward Tess, propelled by a stream of red gas.
Tess summoned her flame, but Pider was coming so fast, she did not wait for the voice to tell her what to do. Instead, she threw her hands forward to conjure a fireball. The fire flickered and turned orange, but nothing came. Pider opened his beak, and from it sprang a lightning bolt hot enough to slice through rock. Jesse reared, and the bolt struck Tess in the leg. The pain nearly blinded her, and the smell of burnt skin made her sick to her stomach. She pressed her forehead against Jesse’s neck, struggling to breathe. But the shenìl remained in her hands.
As Pider circled for a second attack, Jesse stepped backward, lowering his head. Before the crow could open his beak to cast another spell, magic from Jesse’s nostrils sent a jagged hunk of earth surging up from beneath the marble. Soldiers flew in all directions, and the crow swerved, throwing another lightning bolt, which blasted Jesse’s mound to dust.
The pain of Tess’s injury was paralyzing. She almost welcomed the darkness of unconsciousness. For the second time that night, Tess realized she might die fighting Pider. Perhaps her ladle had been poured after all.
At once, the shenìl ignited, and the flame pushed Tess back from Jesse’s neck, coaxing her to sit up. Covering her wounded leg with her cloak, Tess closed her eyes and pictured Ember’s joyful, reassuring face.
The fire sprang even higher between Tess’s hands, and she waited for her instructions. When the voice of the shenìl came, Tess kept her eyes closed and made a fluid pushing motion with her hands and torso. It was the same motion she had danced when she played Fyrian, bequeathing new breath to a bygone empress. A hot, silent wind flowed from her palms, barely palpable even to Tess. When the voice of the shenìl told her to open her eyes, Tess saw a divide blown through the crowded soldiers. A path appeared between Tess and the splintered castle doors. Squeezing her knees into Jesse’s sides, Tess raced on her stallion toward the doors. Pider reeled. Jesse and Tess passed under him and shot out of the castle.
The free air felt heavenly on Tess’s face, and she made no move to pull Jesse back. She kept her mind open to the bidding of the shenìl, and did her best not to think of what was about to happen. Jesse descended the stairs, passed through the outer wall, and crossed over the tattered lawn. The shenìl guided them through the bandits’ trodden camp, right up to the gaping crevice of Osiris’s moat.
Just on the castle side of the extinguished moat, Prince Linden and the valley creatures of the FOM formed a long, glorious silhouette against the horizon. By the purple light of sunset, Tess saw their horns and pitchforks, bloodied by battle. Their bodies stood ready as the hour they gathered at Redfoot.
Then Pider appeared. Searing lava cascaded over Linden, whose face was barely protected by a hasty spell from Currant’s mouth. The FOM divided and flanked Jesse as several sheep used their magic to counterattack the crow.
Tess held her flame high in the air. The shenìl responded immediately, and a terrible funnel of fire exploded from her hands, chasing Pider high into the twilight.
Ahead, a shepherd’s horn blew reedy and clear. In response, the Atheonians poured out of the castle, crying, “Eee-aaa-hoo!” Within minutes, the battle was raging again. Mountain rams and ewes wasted no time in bowling over soldiers, crushing weapon and bone with their impervious skulls. Ponies reared on their sturdy hooves and slung golden magic from their muzzles, ripping into a pack of hounds. Shepherd and breeder joined together and fought their way through the mob, hardened by the havoc Atheos had inflicted on their kind. Nory, Rette, and the remaining noblemen managed to free themselves in the chaos and doggedly aided the FOM, fighting with their bare fists.
None of this affected Pider. He remained focused on Tess. Lava and lightning rained down on her and Jesse. Gasping, Tess did her best to stay true to the shenìl’s direction. Whenever Pider flew near enough, Jesse would sling the rock beneath him. But nothing would abate the crow. Tess’s leg radiated pain.
Then Tess heard the distinctive barking of Colonel Regency Thorn, fast approaching.
“Guild, to me! To me!” he commanded.
Over a dozen governors bounded after the Colonel, barking and growling in his wake. Exuberantly, they formed an arc in front of Jesse’s forelegs.
“Ready your defenses,” the Colonel called.
Pider sent crackling lightning streaking into the terriers, illuminating the battle in one terrifying moment. Three were struck down before they could raise a shield.
“Cliffdwellers!” Tartan the Terrible strode into view, tossing his sharp horns in the air. “We are needed here!”
Tess felt vibrations through Jesse’s body as dozens of heavy ho
oves hurried to flank her. Pider circled overhead, spilling lava in torrents. A small army of shimmering golden horns, straight and curved, leapt into the navy sky at once. The spells chased Pider, like tongues of fire nipping at a moth. But many of the bondfellows below could not avoid the lava, and their wool was set ablaze as soon as it touched their fur. The governors hurried to save who they could. Tess’s own fire wavered as she heard the desperate bleats of her suffering friends.
“Atheos, take down these animals,” she heard Pider yell over the battle. But no man neared Tess’s stronghold. Nabal’s army stumbled in the dark, defenseless against the power of the bondfellows’ magic.
“Ponies of the plains, rise with me.” Young Abe leapt before Jesse, his long mane matted and muddied. The rest of his clan appeared with pricked ears. Overhead, Buchanan of Westbend and Cantor the falcon called to their kind, flapping in restless circles. Tess heard her heart thumping against her ribs. The shenìl told her to wait.
Down came Pider, wild and wrathful, slinging lightning, lava, and swirling red smoke. The governors snarled while the Wallatonians pawed at the earth. The ponies reared, and Tess closed her eyes. She heard the pained cries of her defenders, calls for help, and the barking of her own governor. But still she did not act.
“I surrender to your designs, Fyrian. I surrender to the shenìl,” she said. She knew Pider was almost to her. But she knew with even more certainty that the shenìl should be trusted. Her upturned hands drifted farther apart, and she opened her chest to the stars, like a dancer before her final bow.
Lava spewed from Pider’s beak, landing on Tess’s chest and spilling onto her arms.
The Colonel howled and Jesse spun about in shock. But when Tess opened her eyes and breathed, she was amazed to find she was unharmed. The lava on her chest sizzled and cooled, but she neither felt pain nor smelled the burning of flesh as before. Suddenly, something Osiris said flashed in her mind.
Fyrian's Fire Page 34