“This is your leader,” Reks said, raising his voice so that it would reach the ears of all the sylphs. “This man who would kill an unarmed, injured, innocent woman. I only came to see my sister. A brother has the right. And yet we were imprisoned upon our arrival, when we had done nothing wrong. Now, the General, your fearless leader, threatens our lives.” Reks' silver eyes pierced the General with such sharpness that had his gaze been a knife the older man would have died immediately. “You took my father, my sister and my wings from me, I’ll be damned if you’ll take anything else.”
A roar sounded from the surrounding area as what seemed like hundreds of Arvels flooded the circle of Sylphs. At the same time fire flared from Sylvan’s hands and she threw the flames into the faces of her captors. Rian and Vaughn scuffled with their own guards, overtaking the surprised Sylphs easily.
An arm circled Serra’s throat and hauled her to her feet. She clutched at the band of steel, trying to dislodge it from her windpipe, gasping for air. “Stop!” Henrick screamed. “In the name of the General of Brencis, I order you to stop!”
No one seemed to pay him much mind and the sounds of fighting continued around them. Reks climbed slowly to his feet, snow clumped on his black pants where his knees had pressed into the ground. “Let her go.” He said softly, his voice dangerously low.
Henrick laughed, pulled back on Serra’s neck even more. “I don’t take orders from you. I report only to the General.”
Reks motioned around them. “Do you see the General anywhere? He left, Henrick, left you here to die. And for what? For him? For his new regime that has no room for questions? We were friends once, you and I. Not long ago.” Reks took a step toward them. “Let. Her. Go.”
Henrick tightened his grip, brought his knife around so that it was poised over Serra’s heart.
“Say goodbye, Reks.” He said.
It was the fastest shift Serra had ever completed. In less than a second she was on the ground, once again in her cat form. She heard, rather than saw, Henrick fall, knew that he had plunged the knife into his own chest.
She felt a brief wave of grief that her actions had caused the loss of a life, but she quickly hardened her heart against it. He had fully intended to kill her.
Reks looked down at her. “Are you okay?”
She mewed once and turned her attention to what was going on around them. Sylvan was cornered by three Sylphs. Serra recognized one of them as the woman who had thrown her into her cell. Serra ran to help her friend, shifting seamlessly into an arvel as she moved. She pounced on two of the Sylphs, knocked them to the ground. One of them cried out and tried to fly away, but Serra gripped his ankle with her mouth and pulled him back down to earth. She shook him from side to side, until she was certain that she had not killed him, but that he would not be getting up again.
She turned eager to continue the fight, but it seemed that the skirmish was finished. She watched as other arvels pulled their victims into the surrounding trees, while the few sylphs who had managed to live, escaped to the city above.
Serra limped to where Henrick lay, his blood steaming gently in the cold as it pooled around his still form. She intended to take her clothes into the barn to shift back to her human self and get dressed once again. Only there were no clothes. She searched the entire area, nothing. Where had they gone?
Reks approached her, placed a hand on her large white head. “You shifted your clothes with you. You might want to go into the barn and try to shift into them again.”
She nodded once, and limped into the open door of the stable. She was exhausted. Shifting while she was injured was not the wisest thing she had ever done and to do it so many times in one day seemed to have drained her of what little energy she had left. Still, she took a deep breath and shifted one last time, telling herself all the while that she wouldn’t shift again for at least a month or until her arm healed.
The transition came slowly, much more slowly than any in the past, but eventually she emerged from the barn fully dressed, to find her companions waiting for her in the middle of a pack of arvels. As she approached, the large cats licked blood from their chops. Serra’s stomach turned at the thought of those massive jaws ripping into the flesh of their victims.
Rian and Vaughn helped her into the saddle, while Sylvan said, “I want to look at your arm, but I think it should wait until we get away from here.”
Serra couldn’t have agreed more.
Chapter 25
SERRA
They rode for what seemed like ages before they stopped to rest. The arvels stalked around the perimeter of the camp and Sylvan had never moved faster when putting up her protective spells. Serra’s arm ached fiercely in the cold. She avoided looking at it, as the sight of her bone sticking up through her skin sent a fresh wave of nausea rushing over her.
Serra’s arm ached fiercely in the cold. She avoided looking at it, as the sight of her bone sticking up through her skin sent a fresh wave of nausea rushing over her.
When Sylvan nodded that her spells were in place, Serra didn’t move from the saddle. She watched from her perch as the others began scurrying around, laying out food, bedrolls and a fire. She swayed, watching their harried movements. They made her dizzy.
Vaughn looked up from his task of putting more wood on the fire to make it into a steady warm flame and saw that she was still sitting atop Shadowdancer. Leaving the flames to lick hungrily at the damp wood, Vaughn moved to Serra’s side.
“Let me help you down,” he said softly.
She nodded and collapsed into his arms, allowing him to pull her from the saddle, gasping as the movement sent a sharp pain through her. He cradled her against his chest as he carried her to the nearest bedroll, trying not to disturb her injured arm. He pulled back after he had laid her down to examine the bone that protruded from the skin. “Sweet Gods,” he murmured before calling out. “Sylvan, Serra needs you now.”
Reks was beside Serra before the dryad had made her way through the camp to Serra’s side, his face worried as he looked down at her. Sylvan gasped when she saw the damage. “Serra, why didn’t you say something sooner?”
Serra gritted her teeth as Sylvan carefully prodded the bone, but couldn’t answer.
“Can you fix it?” Reks asked.
Sylvan sat back on her heels, shaking her head. “I don’t know how to fix this. I can’t force bone back under the skin.”
Vaughn looked grim. “I can. Give her some of your numbing potion and bring the disinfectant salve.” Serra watched as Vaughn found a clean patch of snow and began to use it to scrub dirt and blood from his hands. Sylvan returned with her pack of healing supplies and poured numbing potion over Serra’s arm.
Immediately, the constant ache from her throbbing arm abated and for the first time in what seemed like forever Serra could relax.
“Give me the disinfectant.” Sylvan handed the red bottle to Vaughn. He poured a liberal amount onto his hands and rubbed it in, while calling. “Rian, we need you over here. I need you and Reks to hold her.” They nodded and placed hands on her shoulders, applying slight pressure. “Serra, this is going to hurt like hell, even with the numbing potion. You will most likely pass out. Don’t fight it okay? You’ll be better off if you do.”
Serra nodded, her heart beating fast.
“Okay. On the count of three. One. Two.” He jerked her hand hard. Serra heard the crack and grind of bones settling back together, and screamed in pain. Then her world went black.
She awoke early the next morning to find her arm in a new splint, the flesh the bone had punctured mending nicely, though it ached dully. She suspected that Sylvan had helped the healing process along quite a bit despite that she had once said that bones were harder to mend with magic.
She felt warm and a weight over her, breath on the back of her neck. She rolled slightly and found Reks, his arm wrapped around her, holding her close.
She took a moment to watch him as he slept. She wanted desperately to run her
fingers over the scar that bisected his eyebrow and down his cheek, to press kisses to his lips but feared she would wake him and wanted to let him rest. Gods knew they all needed that.
Serra carefully moved Reks' arm off of her tucking it under his blankets. He murmured and sighed, but didn’t wake. She sat up cautiously and looked around. The rest of her companions were asleep, curled in their bedrolls to escape the cold of the winter around them.
The fire had been reduced to coals during the night and Serra moved to put more wood on the fire, hoping that the warmth of the flames would scare away at least part of the chill.
Outside the barrier of Sylvan’s protection spells, fat flakes fell from the sky, piling up around the circle of spells, creating snowdrifts that had already reached a foot in height. Beyond that at least thirty arvels of every color, paced, sat or lay keeping watch for any attacks from above.
One arvel, white with eyes the color of sapphires, sat facing toward the companions her long tail twitching back and forth as she watched them sleep. When she saw Serra move toward the fire, the arvel stood and entered the camp to sit on the opposite side of the fire from her.
Serra regarded her closely. Reks had said they had nothing to fear from the arvels, that he had long ago become a friend and companion to them, but that didn’t mean that the arvels would extend that protection to the rest of them.
When the large white cat made no aggressive move toward Serra, she began to relax, although it was disconcerting to have those sapphire eyes follow her every move as she pulled her blanket over her shoulders.
Serra had grown so accustomed to the silence of the early morning that when the arvel spoke, she jumped slightly.
“You are a shifter, no?” The arvel’s voice was low and rolling like a purr. Serra didn’t answer right away. “You are a sister.” This was not a question, but rather a statement.
Serra looked up startled. “I have no sisters. I was orphaned as a baby.”
The arvel’s large head moved back and forth. “No, you are a sister to us.”
“Pardon?”
“Once long ago, we were able to shift from cat form to human form. Over the centuries we have forgotten how. You will show us, teach us, no?”
It was Serra’s turn to shake her head. “No, I can’t teach you. I’m sorry. I don’t know how I do it myself. It just kind of happened one day.”
“You will show.”
“I-I can’t.”
“You will show, now!” Although she kept her voice low, there was anger lacing the arvel’s voice. Remembering the vicious jaws pulling the sylphs into the forest the day before, Serra decided that it would be better to explain how she felt when she shifted, rather than to be attacked.
“Alright, I can’t show you. My arm is broken and if I shift it undoes any healing that has taken place. But I can tell you how it feels. I just concentrate really hard on what I want to shift into. It helps to have a specimen available to look at.”
“Specimen?”
“Say I wanted to shift into a horse, it helps to have a horse right in front of me to look at.”
The arvel nodded. “Yes, I understand.”
“So, I concentrate and then it sort of just happens, as if my body wants to shift. I suppose I was born to. You on the other hand haven’t shifted in generations. I don’t know if it will work.”
The arvel nodded that she understood, her sapphire eyes never straying from Serra. Beside her Reks stirred, noticed that she wasn’t still in the circle of his arms and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Resi!” He said in surprise when he saw the arvel. “What are you doing?” His silver eyes focused on Serra. “Are you alright?”
She held up her arm to show him the splint. “Much better.”
“The Shifter will show how to shift. She will teach.” Resi said, her wide blue eyes focused on Reks. Reks shook his head.
“No. I already told you she can’t show you. Your situations are entirely different. You have to figure out how to do it yourself, like Serra did.” He patted the Arvel’s big head and she butted against his palm affectionately.
Their conversation had caused the others to waken and stir. Within moments they were packing, eager to leave the mountains behind and with them the sylphs and their deranged leader.
Just as Sylvan took down their protective barrier, the sound of heavy wing beats filled the air. The Arvels were immediately at attention, roaring at the sky and the four dark figures that soared high above them.
But these sylphs weren’t dressed in armor or carrying heavy swords. Instead their clothes were ragged as though they hadn’t received new ones in a very long time.
“It’s Mikhail!” Serra shouted, to be heard above the sound of the arvels. “Don’t attack, it’s Mikhail.”
The arvels quieted and Mikhail and the other rebel sylphs swooped down to land in the center of the pack, next to the companions. Not one of the sylphs looked comfortable at being in such close proximity to a group of beasts that had been their enemies for as long as they could remember.
The large cats licked their chops as the sylphs landed, pacing around them as though waiting for the signal to pounce.
Mikhail did his best to remain calm. He strode forward and held out his hand to Reks. Resi growled low in her throat. The Thief Lord silenced her with a look.
“You are hard to find, my friend, very hard to find.” Mikhail said, settling his grey wings more comfortably on his back. Now that they were in daylight, Serra could see the lines on his face and the grey at his temples that she had not seen before. His cheeks were sunken hollows, partially hidden by the grey beard that covered the lower half of his face. Bushy grey eyebrows perched over brilliant blue eyes.
“We have come to offer you our services in the upcoming battle you are sure to face.” He looked at each of the companions in turn. “You freed us from certain death. Those of us who weren’t to be executed would have died of starvation in those cells. We wish to repay our debt to you.”
Rian spoke up from behind Reks. “We welcome any help, so long as you understand what we are up against.”
Mikhail nodded. “We have heard rumors that the death muxins of the old tales have been raised.”
“They aren’t rumors.” Reks said grimly. “We’ve seen them, fought them.”
Mikhail looked surprised. “Truly? Then we will need more help. Many other Sylphs have fled Brencis, afraid of the General’s new laws. They’ve taken refuge in the mountains. We’ll find them and join you later. Where do you journey to?”
Reks pointed down river. “We head south. Follow the Lynse and you should catch up to us.”
Mikhail nodded and glanced over his shoulder to where his companions stood. As one they rose into the sky, stirring snowflakes with their wings.
The drop in temperature had caused the snow to turn brittle, almost ice-like. With each step the horses took, they sank into the snow, which now reached to their bellies. The companions were forced to stop every so often to pull their mounts through the deepening snowdrifts. Serra felt useless during these times. Her injured arm made it impossible for her to pull on Shadowdancer with any sort of force, and so one of her friends would pull their own mount through the snow, then to back track and help Serra.
The arvels had it much easier. For animals that were the size of horses they were much lighter. They balanced on top of the snow, deftly running back and forth to help herd the horses and the little pack mule along.
Serra wondered if it wouldn’t be faster to build a raft big enough for all of them and to just sail down the river. When she mentioned this however, Vaughn just looked at her like she was crazy. “Do you have any idea how long it would take us to build a raft that big? A week at least. If we continue on we’ll have reached the foothills by then and with them a village where we can buy supplies.”
After the third day, the arvels left them, retreated into the mountains to rejoin their pack. Reks said that the large cats were certain
that they weren’t being followed by the sylphs who still pledged their allegiance to the General.
As the journey continued, tempers grew shorter. The camaraderie that they had felt upon surviving the battle with the sylphs evaporated. Serra and Vaughn grew reserved, choosing not to talk to anyone for fear of exploding at them for some small infraction.
Reks stalked around camp, slamming things around and frequently looking back the way they had come. Serra knew he was thinking about his sister and couldn’t blame him for being upset. She tried to not take it personally when he snapped at her. He was always quick to apologize, pressing kisses into the palm of her hand or against her temple when he thought no one else was watching.
And Rian and Sylvan turned to what was plainly becoming their favorite pastime, baiting each other.
“I think,” Sylvan said her voice very matter of fact. “We should go see Mistress Wylda while we are in the south. She is the most powerful known mage in the south, she might be able to tell us something else. And it will allow us to stick to the plan we started with.”
“Sylvan, you have really got to get over this whole following a plan thing. I thought Dryads were supposed to be easy-going and relaxed, one with nature, go with the flow.”
Sylvan tapped her chin. “Funny. I thought princes were supposed to do more then go to taverns and drink their responsibility away, but that’s all you did for the first eighteen years of your life.”
“For your information, I didn’t start going to the taverns until I was thirteen.”
Sylvan snorted. “And that makes such a difference.”
As the argument continued the pitch and meter of their voices grew until Sylvan was shrieking at Rian about how much of a loafer he was and Rian was shouting at how stupid Sylvan was because she simply could not accept that sometimes plans changed.
A low rumbling filled the air. Serra, Vaughn and Reks looked up at the steep cliffs that rose around them. The snow had fallen up there creating huge drifts on every overhang and cliff edge. Most of the under snow was frozen, creating a smooth layer of ice. The snow that had recently fallen sat precariously atop this slick surface.
The Caste Marked Page 25