There were three corridors. Three choices. If she chose the wrong one, she would be stuck in this labyrinth forever, or at least until she bled to death. She limped to the entrances, sniffing the air before each carefully. There was no trace of Channon. For all she knew, her instinct that had told her Channon was on this island could prove wrong. She could not believe that. She could not give up, not when Channon could be close by. They were no longer separated by worlds, only stone, and she would reach him.
Rayna had only one idea, and it was a poor one–poor because it was unlikely to work. Even if it did, it would probably bring all of Hell’s guardians straight to her. But it was all she had, so before she could rethink it, Rayna threw back her head and howled. To a Fenearen, the meaning would be clear: Where are you? She howled as loudly as she could, trying to force all her pain, her fear, into the sound. She closed her mouth, though her howl echoed all around. Once it faded, silence hung over the cave. She waited, not daring to breathe. Whatever monsters lurked within these caves knew where she was now, so she could not wait long. She sniffed each corridor again, hoping for some sign of Channon, when she heard it.
A whimper; that’s all it was. An echo of a whimper, really. But it was enough. Rayna limped through the center entrance, following the sound. She moved along the narrow passage, hoping that she had not imagined it. Each time she rounded a bend and Channon was not there, her hope flagged. But there was no point in turning back. Rayna forced herself to take deep breaths despite her pain and her broken nose and the sulfuric tang of the air. Then, suddenly, there was another scent. Blood. Beneath that, the scent of leather and pine. Her pain faded as Rayna stumbled down the corridor. She careened around a corner, finding herself in another cave. There was no glittering green mica here. A solitary candle stub flickered with odd purple fire. It was a cramped space, six tail-lengths wide. Water dripped in the otherwise silent chamber, and the scent of blood and fear poisoned the sick air. But she was not alone.
A figure, gaunt and tall, sat chained to the opposite wall. His head slumped forward as if asleep, but his arms were forced wide, pinned to the stone above him. His hair was so dirty and matted it would have been impossible to tell its color even in the light, but she recognized the Fenearen leggings, torn though they were. His shirt was gone, his skin bruised and bloodied. If it weren't for his rasping breaths, she might have thought she was too late.
“Channon?” Tears blurred Rayna’s vision as she stumbled toward him.
He did not lift his head, but an odd sound, like cloth ripping, came from his hidden face. It took Rayna several moments to realize he was laughing.
“Channon?” She stepped closer, falling to her knees to see under his tangled hair.
The laughter ceased as he raised his head. Swollen cuts and bruises coated his cheeks, leaving his eyes no more than slits. Rayna gasped, and he smiled, though it must have been painful.
“Come to admire your handiwork, demon? In her form again?”
“What? Channon? No, it’s me, Rayna.” She cupped his brutalized jaw. “I’m here to save you.”
For a heartbeat, he seemed to melt into her touch. Then with a terrible snarl, he snapped his teeth at her hand. She yanked it back, falling with the force of it, not able to contain her cry of shock. It was as if he had gone rabid. The eyes that stared at her from between bloated lids were not the sweet cornflower blue of her best friend. Even in the cave's darkness, they flashed with rage, with some internal hellfire burning behind them that made them unrecognizable. He leaned as far as his chains would allow, until he hovered above her, head tilted to the right.
“I’m done with your games, demon. Take what’s left of my flesh, just don’t make me look at her.” He thudded against the wall with a rattling clunk. His head dropped between his knees.
Rayna crawled toward him. She would not let fear stop her. Not now. “It really is me. You have to believe me. There isn’t much time, Channon, please!”
He spoke in a muffled growl. “If you are who you say you are, prove it. The key’s there,” he flicked his wrist toward the opposite wall, “free me, if you are who you say you are.”
Rayna’s heart leaped. She stood, hurrying to the other wall, skimming the slick black stone until she found a golden key hanging next to the passage from which she had entered. Hands shaking, she grabbed it and returned to Channon. He still did not stir, though she knew he had heard her. She unlocked one cuff, and his arm dropped with a grunt. She unlocked the other, smiling for the first time in what felt like centuries.
His right arm did not fall. Instead Channon raked his claws across Rayna’s face. She tumbled backward. Her vision was so bloodied and the pain so shocking, she could not tell whether he had only slashed open her cheek, or taken an eye as well. Part scream, part howl escaped her as she hit the ground. Channon’s weight pressed into her, and she knew he would tear out her throat just as if she were a deer, and her jugular would pump all its life into this place of death. His claws pushed into her throat, right above her frantic pulse. Her hoarse voice struggled for words, but found only whimpers. Channon’s fingers twitched, and she was sure this was it.
Instead, something hot stung her cheek. It was a tear. Channon was crying.
“Why don’t you fight back? What is this?” Sobs choked his words, and the weight lifted as he rose and backed away, leaning against the cave wall again. His whole body quaked with gasping breaths.
Rayna rolled onto her feet, gasping herself. She wiped the blood from her face. Both of her eyes were intact, though four long scratches bled and burned her left cheek. The last cut across the corner of her lips hurt when she opened her mouth. She spoke anyway.
“It’s really me, Channon. Rhael hexed you, and… and I’m here to rescue you.”
“It can’t be you. I’ve been down here so long, everyone I used to know is dead and burnt and ash on the wind. They told me. I am alone forever now. No friends, no family, no pack, no… Rayna.” As he said her name, it was if he saw her for the first time since she had entered his prison. His gaze focused on her as more tears streaked the dirty, rusty cast of his face. “It can’t really be you. You’re a mirage, a glamor stolen from my memories sent to torture me with hope, but it won’t work. So leave me alone.” His head fell between his shaking knees.
“I’m not, Channon! It’s me. I swear on my mother, Mya Eliona.” He did not stir, so she continued. “On my father Aquillo Thamot, on Bayne Aruthult and Silverine Eliona who raised me, on Roxen Dament, who taught me the songs of the forest birds, on his mother, Thera Dominina, who told us stories and healed our hurts.” She babbled the words like a desperate prayer, but with each name, Channon raised his head until he was watching her, chin propped on his kneecaps. “I swear on Gar, Ash, Pike, River, Lark, and all the Trues we love. I swear on Coer Vantergard, Mina Tsanclar, Lonian Kemar, Kellan Kemar, and Laera, all the people who helped me get here that you don’t know about yet. I swear on all the gods and heroes that I am who I say I am. I swear it, by everyone I love, but most of all, I swear it by you, Channon Lyallt.” She grasped his hands now, and he let her.
“Channon, son of Lyall and Amberine, who died of the winter fever when you were eleven summers old. Channon, who always lets me win games, even when he knows I cheated. Channon, who always finds something to smile about.” She kissed his knuckles. “Channon, who walks me to my den every night, even if we’ve been arguing. Channon, who loves me enough to tell me when I’m wrong.” At some point, her arms circled him, and she whispered in his ear. “Channon, who fought the Overlord of Maenor to save me. But now I’m here to save you.” She pulled away enough to read his face in the darkness.
His blackened eyes were closed, but the tears fell anyway. He swallowed, and slid his chin over her head. “Ray…?”
She nodded and leaned her forehead into the groove beneath his shoulders. It was deeper now, but familiar nonetheless.
“It’s me, but we have to go now, before it’s too late.”
&
nbsp; They stood, using each other and the wall for support, turning toward the exit. But before they could shuffle toward it, Rhael Demetrian strode through the corridor, entering the cell. Rayna thought she had no screams left, but she was wrong.
Part III
The Better Killer
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gar skidded around a turn in the path and leaped behind an oak. Heartbeats later, Maenoren scouts ran past him, torches blazing. He should have been more careful. Of course the Maenorens would keep a battalion near the Alvornian border to cut off any Fenearens seeking help. He might slip past them, but a larger group wouldn't stand a chance. With the Maenoren army amassing to the north, the ocean to the west and south, and this battalion to the east, the Southern Densite was trapped. Bayne was right: the only way out was to fight. Gar had to find help.
After the men had disappeared, Gar moved forward again. If he ran all night he could reach the Alvornian border by sunrise. He would have to be more careful. He kept to the shadows, avoiding any stretches of path. He left tracks in the light snow and cold muck, but that he could not help. Even on horseback it would be difficult for any Maenoren to catch up to him. He could scent no trace of Da’ Gammorn in the currents, and his spirits warmed as he trudged through a valley filled with deeper snow.
As he moved toward the sea and Alvorn, the snow cover dissipated into slush. Exhausted, Gar watched as the first pink slivers of day glowed above him. The scent here was old and stale. No wolves had marked the borders now that most of the Trues were dead or crammed around the Southern Densite. Still, he stopped, searching for signs of sentries. Bayne’s confidence that the Alvornians would never hurt a wolf seemed weak and faraway as he stepped forward. Although he could not see or scent anyone, he knew they were close, downwind, watching his every ear flick. As his heart battered against his chest, he sat down and took the one tactic he knew the Alvornians would understand.
Gar bayed into the chilled morning, his breath swirling in beat with his call. The Alvornians would recognize the old custom of Fenearens and True Wolves alike howling for permission to cross another's lands.
When he had finished his song, six warriors appeared beside the frost-covered banks to his right. They held daggers and bows, and Gar's ears flattened.
Jayden halted his sentries. As a lieutenant in the Alvornian Army, he knew how to remain calm under pressure, but a chill ran up his spine as the huge brown creature with pointed ears and an intense yellow-green gaze crossed the border.
“A wolf? Perhaps a refugee?” Winiam, Jayden's friend and soon to be brother-in-law, suggested as his fingers strayed from his bow.
“Could be. It looks like he has a message strapped to his neck band.” Jayden pushed his long brown hair behind his ears. The wolf came closer, stopping before Jayden. Using its teeth, the creature retrieved the message and raised its muzzle toward him.
Jayden knelt, hoping his sentries did not notice the trembling in his hands as he reached for the parchment. “It's addressed to General Pheros.” He stood. “We ought to bring the letter and the messenger to Sinthahelm.”
“How are you going to tell it that?” One of sentries asked. “We can't speak to wolves.”
Before Jayden could respond, Winiam came forward. “Wolf?”
The beast’s ears pricked. It must have understood they were trying to communicate.
Winiam held out his hand. “Wolf, please follow us.”
Jayden gripped Winiam’s shoulder. “Don’t get too close; it might bite.”
“You have this in hand, then, Lieutenant?” Another sentry asked.
“Yes. We’ll take him to Sinthahelm. You return to your post.” The sentries saluted Jayden. With the wolf at their heels, Jayden and Winiam started east.
They walked briskly among the leafless beeches and yellow birches. A half-league later, they reached the wide, rushing Laureline river. Ice chunks slid across the crystalline surface, and the wolf paced the bank, panting and whining.
After a moment, Jayden understood the wolf’s reaction. “Wolves have an instinctive fear of deep water. Perhaps we should find a shallower spot?”
“Actually, I have been working on something, Jayden.” Winiam walked out until the water was to his waist. He extended both his arms and began whispering.
The wolf looked up at Jayden, who tried to ignore the creature’s stare as he watched his friend. The water around Winiam swirled and then receded. The wolf’s ears perked. Jayden heard the river whispering to Winiam, and suspected the wolf could as well.
“I don’t believe it, Winiam! You've been holding out on me!” Jayden ran out into the now shallow section of river. “I had no idea you could utilize such advanced Amne Vena.”
“I have been practicing, but wasn’t sure it would work.” Winiam smiled shyly. “It's all right, wolf, you can cross here.”
The wolf flew across the river, obviously dubious of Winiam’s bit of sorcery. Winiam followed once Jayden had crossed. As soon as he stepped from the river bed, the water crashed back to its place, frothing violently.
Although it took most of the day, they led the wolf to the gates of Sinthahelm, their home, a city of water. Canals, creeks, and ponds coated the landscape, with buildings constructed on the many small islands and banks. The western gates gleamed in ivory glory beyond the bridge over the deep moat surrounding the city of islets. Jayden allowed the wolf to pass first. The animal did so slowly, his gaze trained on Jayden.
“I don’t think he trusts us, Jay,” Winiam pointed out as he walked onto the bridge.
“He has no reason to. We are not allies anymore,” he said as they reached the gates. Two water wheels turned behind the city's walls, holding the gates closed. Together, Jayden and Winiam closed their eyes, whispering to the water, willing it to flow in the opposite direction. It obeyed, pulling the thick, whitewood gates back with a creaking groan.
Winiam led the way over the many bridges and creeks to a larger island near the center of the city. After coaxing the skeptical wolf onto a canoe, they reached a large, partially walled marble structure with plants growing on the stone. They passed over a stream that continued through the edifice undisturbed and into a raised pond. Beside it, a beautiful, black-haired girl filled a vase.
“Ahem.” Jayden strode forward.
The girl looked up, her brilliant blue eyes sparkling. “Jayden!” she cried. Running forward, she threw her arms around him and kissed him, before backing up and striking him hard in the face.
“Lurenia!” He recoiled, rubbing his cheek.
“You said you and Winnie would be gone a few weeks. It has been more than a month!”
“It was my fault, sister.” Winiam stepped forward sheepishly. “I'd asked to extend our time at the border.”
“You should have written me! I have been worried sick about my baby brother,” she said, squeezing his cheek. He pulled away, scowling.
“We must see the general.” Jayden moved aside so Lurenia could see the wolf.
“Oh my!” She ran toward their beastly companion. “He’s cute!”
“Careful, Luri,” Jayden cautioned, “he is a True Wolf. We don’t know how tame he is.”
“Oh, he wouldn’t hurt me.” She knelt beside the wolf. His eyes narrowed, and he sniffed her. But Lurenia’s cool lilac scent seemed to calm him. He bowed his head to her.
“I am Lurenia,” she said, placing her hand on her chest. “It is lovely to meet you, Wolf.”
“Luri, we need to take him to General Pheros. Is he here or not?”
“I'm here,” a potent voice pronounced from the bottom of a nearby spiral staircase.
“General.” Jayden and Winiam bowed in unison. Lurenia stood and curtseyed.
“I see we have a messenger.” Pheros stepped from the shadows. A breeze blew through the dwelling, rustling his waist-length hair.
“Yes, sir, he was at the border. There is a note on the band around his neck.” Winiam's tone matured as he addressed the general.
“Would you like us to leave, sir?” Jayden asked.
“No. I need to see the Priestess.”
“Why?” Lurenia asked.
Pheros chuckled. He was as used to Lurenia’s constant questioning as Jayden was. “The Maenoren Resistance, a rebellion against Rhael, has joined the Fenearen forces. Bayne hopes this will encourage us to change our mind about providing aid.”
“And will it?” Lurenia asked, turning to the wolf with a pitying smile. How she could look at something so powerful and deadly with such an expression, Jayden did not know. But he loved her more because of it.
Pheros gave his own pitying smile. “I doubt it, but I must consult with Priestess Marielana regardless.”
“But it might change things?”
Winiam flushed, obviously embarrassed over his sister's questions, but Pheros nodded.
“Perhaps. Find a resting place for this wolf. I will see Lady Marielana.” They bowed again, and Lurenia led the wolf to the pond to drink. The general bowed his thanks and walked out.
Pheros moved through Sinthahelm. The whitewood bridges and marble arches marked his progression through the city. It was early evening, but at this time of year, most of Sinthahelm’s residents would be inside their pavilions playing a game of shell-swap or finishing the day’s chores. His city was the image of peace, safety, and serenity. But it was an illusion, a reflection in a pool that could be easily dashed.
Fenear would fall. Marielana had seen it in visions. Even if the Alvornians sent every one of their thousands of soldiers, Rhael would still win. Except then, no one would be left to protect Alvorn, or Soulous, either, since the peaceful farmers had no real military of their own. She had said, cruel as it was, they would leave their longtime allies to their fate and fortify their own borders.
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