FORBIDDEN TALENTS

by Frankie Robertson

  Celia suppressed a snicker.

  A little way beyond the warded passage, Fender asked her to do another Finding to tell how close they were. Her Talent sprang to life before Eksa and Fallir grasped her shoulders.

  “We must be very close,” Eksa said when she told them. “We’re inside their inner wards.”

  “But those were the first ones we found,” Utta said.

  “They’re over-confident if they didn’t guard the way better than that,” Fallir said. “That could be to our benefit.”

  “Or you missed some,” Fender said.

  “I missed nothing,” Fallir declared.

  “Eksa is right,” Celia interrupted them. “We are close.”

  “I should go ahead to scout,” Utta said. “We don’t want to stumble over them.”

  “Not alone you’re not,” Ragni said.

  “I’ll go, too,” Celia said. “The way could still branch again.”

  Fender groaned. “Then I’m in, too.”

  “And me,” Rovdir added.

  “No. We need to move quietly,” Fallir said. “You mortals are as clumsy as a Kaldeer in rut. Eksa, Treskin, and I will go with the women.”

  Rovdir said nothing, but Celia could imagine his mutinous expression.

  Fender grasped her shoulder. “Be careful,” he whispered.

  They held hands as Utta led them down the passage. It branched only once, but Celia easily determined the correct way. They found no more wards. Soon Utta halted, and Fallir breathed in her ear, “We’ll go on alone. Stay here.”

  Celia didn’t hear them leave. There must be enough light now for them to see by. Light her eyes couldn’t detect. She nodded as Utta took her hand. Hel’s bells, I hate the dark.

  An eternity later, the three Elves returned and they all made their way back to the rest of the group. They described the layout of the cavern ahead and made suggestions for deploying their forces. Celia was amazed that Rovdir and Fender agreed readily with the Elves’ plan. She certainly didn’t.

  “You can’t be serious. Do you really expect Utta, Tiva’ti, and me to just hide while you take all the risks?”

  “Yes, I do,” Fender said. “It’s risky enough just being here. You did your part, and you did it well. Now it’s time for you to stay out of our way.”

  Astonishment washed over her at Fender’s blunt tone.

  “He’s right,” Tiva’ti said.

  “No he isn’t,” Celia whispered fiercely. “I can help. I’m good with a bow. He said so himself.”

  “One, you can’t shoot into a melee where you might hit your own men. Two, you bear Lord Dahleven’s heir. It’s more important you protect him, than us,” Fender said. “And three, you promised to obey my orders.”

  Celia gritted her teeth.

  “We’ll wait,” Tiva’ti said leaning close to Celia’s ear, “until we’re needed.”

  The men and Elves left them just where the light grew enough for Celia to see dimly. The Elves went first, quickly and silently, followed by the men who moved as quietly as they could. Celia readied her bow. A few moments later the sound of battle cries and blades ringing echoed back to them.

  The clamor made Celia’s skin feel too tight. She’d heard such sounds before, and remembered the bloody aftermath. She didn’t want to smell death again. Didn’t want to see faces twisted in agony. She shut her eyes, but that didn’t banish the memories.

  A roar snapped her eyes open again. It sounded like a tiger’s snarl crossed with an alligator’s hiss.

  “Now. They need us.” Tiva’ti hurried forward.

  When she reached the opening, Celia took in the scene like a snapshot. Only the near end of the cavern was lit by glow globes. On a wide, stage-like ledge across the far side of the room stood a female Elf with red scars on her neck and hands. Two stone-warriors guarded her. Edelstena, no doubt. Several bodies lay nearby, and beside her, a bloody man hung suspended within a granite ring set inside a larger, five-sided frame. On the broad floor below, the Light Elves fought four stone-warriors. Shards of rock lay scattered at their feet. To the left, a little apart from the others, Ragni and Che’veyo stood side by side, chanting. To the right, Dark Elves were pushing the other men back, toward a giant beast. It roared again, and lunged at the end of a fine silver chain. Celia couldn’t imagine how the delicate tether held it.

  “A firedrake,” Utta said. The fear in her voice told Celia all she needed to know. “They have no shields. They’ll be burned to death.”

  The huge creature shimmered red and gold and black like a salamander on steroids. Its neck was long and thick with sinuous muscle, but its head looked more like a warthog’s than an amphibian’s.

  Tiva’ti stood off to one side, away from the fighting, but where she had a clear view of the battle.

  Fender sliced through the hand of the Dark Elf he fought, then turned his attention to the firedrake. And the firedrake turned its attention to him. It opened its mouth to spit.

  “No!” Celia cried, and took aim.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  WHEN HE HAD time for a meal at all, Dahleven tried to eat with his men; seeing him shovel down the same meager rations as theirs seemed to boost their spirits. He was on his way to the men’s mess when he heard the distant ring of swords clashing down the hall.

  Alarm jolted down his spine. Odin’s Eye! Had the walls been breached? He changed course, running toward the sounds of battle.

  “To me! To me!” A woman’s voice shouted above the clanging of metal on metal.

  Angrim! He heard footsteps pelting down the hall after him and looked quickly over his shoulder. Five armsmen also answered her cry.

  Dahleven leapt down a half flight of stairs and rounded a corner just in time to see an Elf thrust a blade into her belly. She screamed and sank to the floor.

  Baruq had said the Elves had sworn not to harm mortals directly. Apparently their oaths mean nothing.

  Two other Elves faced off against three guards who fought the Elves back away from Angrim and two fallen men.

  “Take one alive, if you can,” Dahleven shouted, but he brought his own sword down in a lethal arc aimed at the neck of the one who’d stabbed Angrim. The appearance of the Elf flickered for a fraction of an instant, but remained the same. The Fey must have tried some glamour. One of the men behind him shouted in fear, but Dahleven only grinned and his swing didn’t waver. The Elf barely had time to be surprised before his neck was severed.

  Dahleven looked up. The other Elves fled, bolting through the escape tunnel at the end of the hall. His men dashed after them.

  “Hold!” Dahleven called them back. “We can’t fight on their ground. Double the guard here and on the other bolt-holes. Pull men from the walls if you have to.” He turned back to the wounded. The two men were dead, but Angrim moaned and tried to press her hand against her wound. Blood soaked her tunic and seeped between her fingers. She needed a Healer familiar with treating battle wounds. “Get Ghav. Bring him to her quarters.”

  He lifted her with ease. “I told you not to engage. You don’t follow orders very well.”

  She gasped as he picked her up. Her brow furrowed with pain, but she managed a tight smile. “Never have.”

  He tried to be as gentle as he could, but Angrim winced with every step he took. He was grateful when she passed out. Her blood soaked the front of his tunic by the time he laid her on her bed.

  He held her hand while putting pressure on her wound with the other. This is the real reason women shouldn’t fight. They were more than brave enough, but seeing them bloodied was more than a man should have to bear.

  Her eyes fluttered open. “Don’t be angry with me. I didn’t have time to run.”

  “Excuses, excuses.” His tone softened. “I’m not angry at you. But you are a contrary woman.”

  The corner of her mouth curved slightly. “I would have given you strong sons.”

  Dahleven swallowed and forced a smile. Even if she lived, the wound she’d taken wo
uld likely keep her from giving any man a child. “Brave warriors all, I’m sure.”

  Ghav limped in and stopped, staring at the blood drenching Dahleven’s clothes. “My lord!”

  “I’m unhurt. It’s Angrim who needs you.”

  Ghav came forward and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. The lines of pain in her face eased somewhat under the Healer’s Talent.

  Dahleven gently withdrew his hand from hers. “Let me know how she fares,” he said softly.

  Ghav nodded absently, already fishing in his pouch for the herbs he needed.

  Dahleven was nearly back to his quarters and a change of clothing when a messenger intercepted him. “Lady Gudrun needs you, my lord.”

  Mother? She was a Kon’s wife and wouldn’t summon him from the command of a siege unless it was important. A chill dread wrapped itself around him. He started to go directly, then caught sight of the messenger eyeing his blood-soaked clothes. It wouldn’t do to scare his mother. He hurried to his quarters. Making quick work of changing clothes, he ran to Neven’s rooms.

  The faces of the guards to either side of the heavy door were rigid, but their eyes gave the news away, preparing him. Even forewarned, the sight of Gudrun and his sisters dressed in gray mourning garb fell like a blow. The face of Neven’s normally stoic chamberlain was rigid with grief.

  His father was dead.

  *

  Celia held her shot as the firedrake snapped its heavy jaws at Fender, apparently oblivious to the shafts already lodged in its chest. She couldn’t loose her arrow now without risk of hitting her friend. He danced back, taking a swing at the beast’s neck. His blow didn’t connect. Tiva’ti wavered, then steadied herself. The creature opened its mouth again, then turned aside at the last moment. A gout of flame shot upward from the maw of the firedrake, toward the crenated ceiling.

  Tiva’ti staggered and Celia ran to support her. The Tewakwe woman was trembling, her face tense with concentration, and she waved Celia away.

  Fender took advantage of his opportunity. He lunged forward, and with a great two-handed thrust, plunged his sword into the beast just behind its left shoulder.

  The firedrake bellowed. Celia watched, horrified as the creature swung its head around, rattling the silver chain that tied it to the wall. “Look out!” But her voice disappeared into the noise.

  The monster hit Fender in the chest, sweeping him off his feet and into a wall, just out of reach. He slumped there, motionless.

  Fender! Cold fear shook her even as she loosed an arrow. That slender chain would never hold the beast.

  She could not watch him die. She readied her bow for another shot.

  Tiva’ti moved first, arms outstretched, shouting, “Stop!”

  The firedrake focused glittering black eyes on her, then turned and prepared to flame Fender.

  “STOP!” Tiva’ti’s voice was firm, commanding.

  The firedrake froze in place, blood flowing from the wound where Fender’s weapon still pierced its side.

  Rovdir drew his bloody blade from the chest of a Dark Elf and turned to attack the beast. With a yell he charged and sliced at its neck, opening a long gash in its glistening black and crimson hide.

  The firedrake roared and turned to face the new threat.

  Tiva’ti trembled and collapsed. Celia guided her gently to the ground as the firedrake let loose a spurt of flame. All the combatants drew back from the heat. Rovdir’s screams echoed off the stone, sending daggers of horror slicing through Celia’s heart. The beast bellowed again, baring a mouthful of jagged teeth, then it bent and its massive jaws crunched the armsman’s smoldering flesh. The raw shrieking stopped. The firedrake shook Rovdir once and dropped him, then started toward Tiva’ti. It had taken only a step when an arrow sprouted from its eye.

  Utta nocked another arrow. It wasn’t needed. The firedrake collapsed as if in slow motion, falling first to its chest and then sprawling forward almost at their feet, its neck bent at a strange angle by the fine silver chain.

  Baruq recovered first from his surprise and slashed the legs of one of the Dark Elves while dodging his kicks. Masale rounded on his opponent with a stunning blow from his bladed club. He followed through in a wide arc and smashed the face of another Dark Elf.

  Shouts drew Celia’s attention to the where the Light Elves fought with the stone-warriors. Eksa and another Light Elf were down, and a third was backing away, one arm hanging uselessly at his side. Piles of rubble marked what was left of two of the stone-warriors.

  Beyond the chaos of stone-warriors and Elves, Edelstena stood on the stone dais with a knife in one hand and a silver staff in the other. Her lips were moving, but in the din Celia couldn’t hear the words. The witch pointed her curved silver blade at Che’veyo and Ragni where they stood together some thirty feet away from her. Shadows seemed to twist and drip from the point of the blade, running toward them.

  Celia blinked and rubbed her eyes. They weren’t shadows. They were tiny creatures that changed their dark shapes as they curled and eddied across the floor.

  The first reached Che’veyo, just stopping short. It hopped and jumped as if frustrated by an invisible barrier. More of its shadowy kindred flowed up and around Che’veyo and Ragni in a circle, but none of them seemed able to penetrate the invisible shield.

  Celia picked up her bow. With a thrum of her bowstring, she loosed an arrow at Edelstena, but the missile curved harmlessly away from her target.

  Che’veyo dropped to his knees. The tiny monsters threw themselves frantically against whatever held them at bay, piling up on each other like some foul snow drift.

  Saeun released a strangled cry and ran forward.

  With a twisted smile, Edelstena turned to the man hanging beside her in the five-sided frame. A swift slash with her blade opened the artery in his leg. Blood spurted, but Edelstena avoided the gore, keeping her purple and black robes pristine. Her victim shrieked and bucked against his restraints.

  Edelstena wiped the silver dagger clean on the man’s bare shoulder, carelessly inflicting more shallow cuts before sheathing her blade. Then she dipped the end of her silver staff into the man’s pooling blood. Raising the rod over her head with both hands, she began to chant. The runes carved in the stave began to writhe, crawling over the surface like frantic serpents. Edelstena’s voice rang sharply through the chamber in counterpoint to Ragni and Che’veyo’s deeper tones. A silvery disc began to form in the larger frame behind the bleeding man. It looked a little like the surface of Saeun’s scrying bowl, before the vision formed. It was beautiful, mesmerizing. But then it lapped against the back of the man hanging within and he began to scream in terror.

  *

  Blood dripped from Ragni’s hand as he grasped the shard of crystal that was his talisman as a Priest of Baldur. Though he could barely hear himself, he chanted the words of the Confinement Ritual, indifferent to the pain where he’d cut himself with his silver knife. Power swirled around him like bees buzzing, crawling under his skin, gnawing at his bones. Beside him, on his knees, Che’veyo continued to recite his own ritual words and shake his feathered rattle, protecting them, keeping Edelstena’s creatures at bay. Dread weighed like stone in Ragni’s chest. They hadn’t been able to stop the witch from opening the portal. But then, they hadn’t offered a river of blood as she had.

  They still might be able to close it. He focused his attention, his magic, on the shining disc, trying, impossibly, to not be distracted by the man screaming in its center.

  Why doesn’t someone send the poor dog to Valhalla? But all their forces were fighting for their lives, or had lost their struggles. Even if they could act, would the man’s death close the portal, or hold it open?

  His eyes strayed to the bodies lying discarded on the dais. That’s where our missing people went. At least some of them. He glanced briefly at the firedrake. Sacrificed for Edelstena’s magic.

  Saeun ran past and up the rough cut steps to the ledge.

  No! Saeun had nearly died
in her vision. Ragni’s chant faltered, and the screaming stopped. The disc now filled the frame completely. The man was gone.

  I can’t stop! I must not! Somewhere, he found the strength to remain where he was, to continue the ritual, though every bit of him yearned to go to Saeun. Ragni panted with effort as the shimmering disc grew incrementally brighter. The crystal in his hand glowed and grew warmer.

  A stone-warrior lunged at Saeun. Ragni closed his eyes, then opened them again when no scream followed.

  Two of the Light Elves vaulted onto the ledge and began whittling away at the stone-warriors guarding the witch. They danced and struck swiftly with their Khryss blades, staying away from their large foes’ lithic reach. Saeun was almost to Edelstena.

  The portal flickered, reflecting the light from the glow globes like quicksilver. He wrenched his attention back to the ritual. He couldn’t stop for her. He couldn’t help her.

  Ragni trained his eyes and focused his will on the coalescing portal. Something was trying to come through. Something large.

  Light began to escape from between his fingers as the glowing crystal in his hand grew painfully hot. He couldn’t stop. It would all be for naught if the way to Muspell was allowed to open.

  At the edge of his vision he saw Saeun move, but he didn’t look. All the force of his strength, all the power of his magic, was narrowed down to one thing: closing the portal.

  *

  Saeun darted across the wide ledge. The stone-warriors lunged for her, but she dodged and evaded their grasp. She was dimly aware of the battle following her up onto the dais, but all her attention was on Edelstena.

  The Elf woman’s voice rang in Saeun’s ears. Each ritual word slid over her skin, stinging as it passed. Saeun slowed as her gift for scrying drew her to the shining disc. Beside Edelstena, the silver surface of the portal shimmered with a vision of destruction and bloodshed. It pulled at her, compelling her attention.

  This isn’t right. Her magic had always been under her control. Saeun stopped in her tracks, powerless to look away. Frozen with horror, she stared as scenes of carnage unfolded in the surface of the disc. Giant beasts destroyed armies, firedrakes burned villages, stone-warriors crushed children.