The Destiny Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Christine Grey

  If you fall, so do I, he answered her unspoken thought. This is my time. If not now, then never. I will not go on existing like this.

  But, how, Brin? She understood the why, it was the how that confused her.

  Do you remember the spell that I performed with Cyrus all those years ago?

  The breathing fire thing?

  Yes. It’s a tricky spell, Dearra. If I release the energy too soon, nothing much happens at all. Too late, and I would indeed destroy the enemy around me, but I would be consumed by the fire as well. It has to be perfectly timed. Even done correctly, it would kill everyone around me who wasn’t able to drop down below the fire line in time. Cyrus knew that, and he sacrificed himself because he saw no other option. I wasn’t as willing. He had to convince me, threaten me. Now? If you fall, we fall.

  Dearra saw a line of Maj up ahead. They were doing their best to fight and direct the Mirin Tor soldiers at the same time. They called out encouragement and instruction in equal measure.

  “Hold the line! Don’t let them through!” Trevor, the farmer who had so adamantly opposed their departure from Maj, ran forward to help fight back the Breken attackers.

  Darius joined him, and his sword sang as stroke after stroke fell on the warriors around him. Three Breken suddenly surrounded him. He spun in circles, striking, parrying, blocking. His sword became a blur. He felled the first opponent and shifted to try and get into a position where he could see the other two at the same time. When he stepped back quickly, one of the Breken moved to strike, losing his footing just for a moment. Darius took the opportunity, and sank his sword into the man before him. He saw the second warrior bearing down on him, and struggled to free his blade. He whirled to face the threat just in time to see Trevor’s sword enter the Breken’s back and then exit through the front.

  Trevor nodded at Darius and sprang away to engage again.

  Darius joined Dearra, and the two of them fought back to back, taking down one opponent after the other. Dearra thought that this lot wasn’t particularly skilled, and they looked quite young besides.

  From time to time, Darius or Dearra would be overwhelmed by attackers, but there always seemed to be at least three or four fairies nearby to watch their backs. Aesri was never more than ten feet from one of them at any given moment. The Etrafarians were too near their goal to allow Dearra or Darius to be killed, if they could do anything about it. Those fairies not actively serving to protect them did what they could to offer support to the rest of the city.

  There was a break in the attackers, and Dearra took the moment she was afforded to drink deeply from the skin she carried. She splashed some water on her face and used her sleeve to remove some of the sweat, dirt, and blood.

  Dearra replaced the stopper and tossed the water skin to Darius, who caught it in one hand.

  Dearraaaaaa.

  The voice inside her mind was like ice. She could feel it like a cold claw, digging its talons into her mind.

  Darius’s head snapped up at the sound that he heard all too clearly as well.

  Brin hissed at the intrusion into their minds.

  You hear me, yes? Give me the sword. It is mine!

  Never! Dearra thought.

  Brin’du Drak’Tir, surrender to me, and your people may live. I have no quarrel with them.

  What is it you want from me, witch? Brin asked. His voice was harsh and furious.

  Witch? Is that what you think me?

  The sound of laughter rang through Dearra’s mind, and then the voice spoke, and Dearra was driven to her knees by the force of the words.

  Et ego non sum anus. Et ego in aeternum. Nascitur ego sum et videbitis ultimum antequam moriaris. Ego dranconis.

  There was a swirl of white through the smoke, and she stalked forward. Her cowl was thrown back, and her eyes, ice blue with snake-like slits for pupils, seemed to pierce Dearra’s. One of her hands was scaled and clawed. She was both beautiful and grotesque at once. A mane of white hair flowed around her face. The imp that had come to Dearra’s room earlier rested on her shoulder.

  Darius moved to protect Dearra, who remained bowed and unable to move.

  Dearra! Get up! You must get up! Brin urged.

  Dearra staggered back to her feet as the effects of the witch’s words receded.

  There was a gust of wind, and a dozen Etrafarians lifted into the air, hands outstretched.

  The woman stopped, and seemed shocked by their actions for just a moment, and then shock turned to anger.

  “Soon,” she said, and disappeared back into the smoke.

  “What in Cyrus’s name is going on?” Dearra was still a little unsteady and leaned on Darius while her mind recovered from the White Witch’s assault.

  I don’t know, Dearra. I have no idea who she is or what she wants from me. Are you all right?

  “I am now, but when she spoke it felt as though I were being crushed under an immense weight.”

  “What were the words she said? Darius asked, putting an arm around Dearra.

  Aesri answered before Brin could. “She said, ‘I am no witch. I am eternity. I am born of the first, and I am the last thing you will see before you die. I am dragon.’”

  Aesri was stunned to her core. The woman had not said I am a dragon. She had simply said I am dragon. There were only two dragons that Aesri had ever heard of who called themselves thusly. Her studies led her to believe that there must be more, but she was only familiar with the two—one was kindly and devoted to Rah in all things, while the other was a deceiver who sought power, control, and absolute authority in all things. Both of them had been banished by Rah from their garden home in Etrafa thousands of years ago. They were the original protectors, Auriel and Cifera.

  “Rah save us,” she whispered.

  Dearra was about to ask what was wrong, and then the drums went silent.

  Chapter 36

  Darius didn’t give Dearra time to argue. He took hold of her free hand and started towing her in the direction of the nearest gate. He had no idea where the Breken were, but he saw very few of them, and that concerned him. It most likely meant they were regrouping. Regrouping was bad. In this case it probably meant they were about to launch a coordinated attack, in marked contrast to the wild, frenzied assault that had come first.

  The fairies had scattered as well, but Darius believed that if they got into trouble, at least one of them would show up.

  He was pretty impressed with Dearra, actually. The Dearra he’d first met on Maj was feisty, headstrong, and reckless. She could still be all of those things, but she had grown up in the two years he had known her. She was more likely to pause and consider now. Not always, but… Darius shook his head at himself. Here they were, running through the streets of the capital, and he was daydreaming.

  The sound of hooves came to them through the smoke. Darius pulled a spear from one of the bodies that littered the ground and took aim in the direction of the sound. Dearra lifted Brin, preparing her own strike should Darius miss.

  The Breken captain didn’t even have time to react. One moment the way before him was a wall of white smoke, and then, when he broke through, the spear pierced his chest, sending him flying from his saddle.

  Darius approached the skittish horse with his hands raised. “Whoa, whoa there, easy, girl.” The animal pranced nervously for a few more steps and then quieted. She had been bred to accept all sorts of noise and chaos, and she was quickly recovering from having the missile flung at her head. Darius stroked her neck and gave her a gentle pat. He sent her calming thoughts, and he tried to see if she would be willing to carry them so soon after having her previous rider so abruptly removed from her back.

  “Come on, Dearra,” he said in his most encouraging voice.

  She put on her best look of disgust. She hated horses, but she allowed him to lift her up before nimbly springing onto the horse’s back himself. He settled his arms around her protectively and took hold of the reins.

  “Hold on,” he whisper
ed in her ear.

  Dearra shivered a little at the whisper and the nearness of his lips. If that was his attempt to distract her from where she was, it worked.

  He nudged the horse’s flanks with his heels and they were off. Darius thought he knew the general direction that he needed to go, but everything was confused in the smoky haze.

  Though he held the reins, the horse responded to his every thought. He saw a line of Breken up ahead of them, and he considered that they might be in trouble, but like ants returning to their queen, they never deviated from their course, and other than a few scowls and one javelin shot their way, they were mostly ignored.

  Darius finally saw a gap in the wall and made for it at a full-out gallop. The rubble lay in a pile, no less than six feet high and at least that wide.

  “Wait! You’re not going to try and jump that! Darius! Stop!” Dearra shouted out.

  They never slowed. Dearra felt the muscles of the horse tense, then surge powerfully up and over. They landed with a jolt and she was almost jarred from the horse’s back when they landed, but Darius secured her with a tight arm, knocking the wind out of her. The next thing she knew, they were clear of the city. The sounds behind them became no more than ghostly echoes. After a while, all Dearra could hear was the sound of the horse’s hooves as she ran, and the wind created by the speed of their flight.

  After a half hour of hard riding, the horse slowed to a steady walk. Its sides were heaving, and a light foam was blowing from her mouth and nose.

  “Is the animal all right?” Dearra asked.

  “Fine. Just winded. Her previous owner had been working her hard, long before we took over ownership. She was happy to run, tired or not.”

  “She was happy to run? Talking to you, is she?”

  “In a manner of speaking. You know, it isn’t exactly like the conversations that you and I have, or that we have with Brin, for that matter. The level of intelligence isn’t the same, but I get enough. This sweet girl’s owner didn’t treat her very well. The Breken have no trouble beating an animal to train it or get it to do their bidding, but usually the horses fair a little better. Beaten too often, their spirit can be broken, and then they become useless as battle animals. If that happens, they end up pulling carts, or cooked into a nice stew.

  “The man who owned this animal was a little different. He took a sort of twisted pleasure in abusing his animals. If they were broken, it was no great loss, as far as he was concerned. He would simply acquire a new mount and begin the process again.”

  “That’s sick!”

  “No more or less than anything else in Breken society, Dearra. This mare’s been with him for a long time, but she’s strong, and she wouldn’t be broken.”

  Dearra took some time to look at the animal they rode, and when she did, she saw scars on her neck and flanks. On her face was a wound that still appeared to be healing, and Dearra thought she saw maggots wriggling near a gash on her nose. The scars left behind after the animal’s inhumane treatment reminded Dearra of the scars on Darius’s back. He, too, had been abused but unbowed. Suddenly, Dearra found herself feeling a little kindlier towards horses. She still really did loathe them, but this horse seemed much less repulsive at least, and she reached her hand forward to stroke the mare’s neck as it walked steadily onward.

  “She likes that,” Darius said. “It’s a rare thing for her to be touched without having pain inflicted.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Horse, I guess. She has no name. Breken don’t often name their animals, Dearra.

  “We can’t leave her nameless. Would she like a name?” Dearra wondered if horses even cared about such things. Maybe it was only humans who bothered with names. There was Kahn, but so far as Dearra knew, the Etrafarians had bestowed that name upon him, and Kahn was indifferent to the whole thing.

  Darius was quiet for so long that Dearra finally turned around enough to see his face. “Well?”

  “She’s thinking.”

  “Oh.”

  “She’s confused, and I’m not sure I’m making myself clear. With Kahn, it’s easier. He’s one smart horse, even if he is a pain in my backside. If horses can be sarcastic, then he is the most sarcastic horse I’ve ever communicated with. He adores Carly. The rest of us, he tolerates, in order to please her.”

  “Yes, he’s a real joy, isn’t he?” she said, agreeing with Darius’s assessment.

  “I have it! We’ll call her Towsan.”

  “That’s not a very pretty name.” Dearra scowled.

  “She’s not a very pretty horse,” Darius answered candidly.

  “Oh, I don’t know. She has beautiful eyes.”

  “Dearra! Did you just say something nice about a horse?”

  “I just said something truthful—that’s not exactly the same as nice. What does Towsan mean?” she asked, changing the subject before he could get going about what a softy she was.

  “It’s a Parsaian word. It’s what we call a horse who is unbroken, or refuses to yield to training.”

  “It’s still not very pretty. What about Towsanah. That sounds a lot more girly.”

  “But it doesn’t mean anything,” Darius chuckled.

  “Yes it does. It means, I’m unbroken, but I’m still a lady.”

  “You can’t just go around making up your own words,” Darius said.

  “Sure I can. I just did. And besides, I’m not making up words, I’m making up a name.”

  “But, Dearra—”

  Oh, Darius, just give up. Have you learned nothing after two years?

  Brin was right. Though arguing with her might provide him some amusement, it was a losing battle.

  Darius sighed, “Towsanah it is.”

  The mare arched her neck and increased her pace from a walk to a high stepping trot before settling back to a fluid walk again. After a few paces, Towsanah stopped suddenly.

  Darius scanned the horizon. “There,” he said, pointing to a hill in the distance.

  Dearra could see the mass of humanity congregated there. They were too far away to make out how many there were, but it looked like a lot.

  Towsanah gave a squeal and then began to canter.

  Dearra’s heart pounded as she prayed that those she held dear would be amongst the survivors.

  Chapter 37

  “Thank Cyrus you’re safe,” Daniel said, rushing forward to help Dearra dismount.

  “Carly and Holly?” Dearra asked. Her voice was steady and didn’t give away the fact that she was terrified of the answer.

  “Safe…as far as I know. Carly floated herself onto Kahn’s back, whispered something to him, and he was off like all the fiends of Hell were after him, which, in a way, I suppose they were.” Daniel offered a half-hearted smile.

  “What about you, boy?” he said, turning to Darius. “You look a little green.”

  “I’m well,” he said, sliding from the horse. “It’s the injury to my head. It still plagues me sometimes, and we haven’t slept in quite a while, which doesn’t help. Once I get some food and a little rest I’ll be just fine again.”

  Dearra was worried. His color wasn’t good, but then again, there weren’t many options. They could fight, or run, or die. That was it. He was being practical about it, anyway, and food and rest would likely make a big difference. She just prayed that the Breken would take a little while to regroup before pursuing them once more.

  “I have to find the king and see what our next steps will be,” Dearra said.

  “He’s at the top of the hill.” Daniel pointed in the direction of a hastily erected tent.

  “Thanks, Daniel. Will you make sure Darius finds someplace to sit out of the sun and that he gets some dried fish and bread to eat?”

  “If I have to feed it to him myself, Dearra.”

  She offered them both a grin, and trudged up the soft slope of the hill toward the king. His banners were already being erected around the tent, and she could hear them as they ruffled and popped in the w
ind.

  People were everywhere she looked. Some sat in a dazed sort of stupor, others bustled from person to person, whether it was to check injuries, bandage wounds, offer water and food, or provide an embrace or kind word.

  When she turned and looked back down the hill, she saw that Darius had already been led away to a cluster of trees where he was able to rest in the shade. Beyond him, a ragged line of survivors made their way to join with the rest. Most were on foot, but a few were hunched over top a horse’s back while someone led them forward.

  “Lady Dearra!” a small voice cried out.

  “Merry! Oh, Merry!” Dearra dropped down and engulfed the woman in her arms. She released her just as quickly when Merry yelped out in pain. Besides Daniel, Rordan’s wife was the first of her people she had seen since the battle had begun. “What is it? Where are you hurt?” Dearra ran her hands over the woman, checking for signs of injury. When her fingers probed along Merry’s left side, the source of her pain was made clear. “I think you’ve broken some ribs. Let me look.”

  Merry didn’t protest as Dearra removed her leather chest piece, and then tore the fabric of the shirt beneath. Her whole left side was colored in a purple bloom, but what was more concerning was the swelling. Her stomach protruded as though she were several months pregnant, though Dearra knew she was not.

  “Merry, where’s Rordan?” Dearra was really worried. If the injury was what she thought, she wanted Rordan to be there.