by Lee Dunning
Lady Winterdawn slid down the wall. Some small bit of lingering defiance made her raise her hand and present to Lord Darson the foulest gesture she knew. His lips pulled back in an inhuman fury. He screeched and clawed at himself. Utter madness took him. “You’re not him!”
Slumped on the floor, barely propped up by the wall, Lady Winterdawn’s fading vision took in her splayed legs. Her shredded clothing left her fully exposed. Ancestors, he mistook me for Lord Icewind.
“Fuck!” Lord Darson shrieked. He paced the few feet separating them to plant a vicious kick between her legs. “Fucking slit! You’re not him!”
Lady Winterdawn’s wail of agony came out as a choked sob. She curled into a ball, a belated attempt to protect herself. First Father, please make it stop. She shuddered as another kick connected with a kidney. And then her spine. And then … the pounding stopped.
“Die, you human filth,” said a voice she knew and loved.
W’rath blinked in confusion as the tip of his dagger pierced the man’s back, not with a meaty thunk, but with a ping that shattered the human into a million glittering shards. Through the haze of ice, he spied Lord Icewind, arms wide, fingers curled in the aftermath of casting a spell. Kiat’s normally ice white skin glowed, livid with his fury. His teeth clenched, lips pulled back as if he’d gone rabid. Black eyebrows knitted together, forming a sharp ‘V’ on his forehead.
W’rath smiled. Oh, bravo, lad.
The psion sent a tendril of thought to Lady Swiftbrook. Madam, I have need of you. Bring soldiers. He included an image of his location with his terse, psychic message. He’d apologize later for teleporting away, but the cry for help he’d sensed demanded he act immediately.
W’rath strode forward to scoop up his dagger, sheathing it in the bandolier stretched across his chest. Two other blades glittered there. He kept his sword thrust through his belt. One could never have enough weapons.
Kiat stared a moment longer, his breath coming in short gasps. By slow degrees, his face smoothed until he appeared to recall the catalyst for the entire incident. He nearly tripped over his robes in his haste down the stairwell’s last few steps. He collapsed in a flounce of embroidered silk next to a female caster whose robes had nearly disintegrated from the human’s furious assault.
Even through all of the blood, W’rath could tell she bore an uncanny resemblance to Lord Icewind. A sister perhaps?
Lord Icewind made a few preemptory attempts to check on the shuddering lady before him. He settled for wringing his hands. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. His voice broke.
A pitiful moan came from the girl. Openly sobbing now, Kiat gathered her close and rose, cradling her. Despite the bruising, W’rath noted how the girl’s tear-stained face eased from terror into contentment. Interesting. Perhaps not a sister after all.
Kiat’s sorrowful gaze finally acknowledged W’rath and then slipped to the shattered remains of the man he’d frozen into a statue. His fury spent, a shadow of horror flickered across his exquisite face. The expression confirmed for W’rath the lad had never killed before.
W’rath gave a polite cough to draw Kiat’s attention from the spray of ice covering the floor. “Lord Icewind, don’t give this wretch another thought. Take care of what’s truly important.”
Kiat started to speak, but W’rath cut him off. “Go, lad. I shall deal with this mess. You did well.”
Kiat jerked his head up at that and focused on W’rath as if fully seeing him for the first time. Or perhaps he searched for any sign W’rath made sport of him. W’rath let the younger councilor see his sincerity. “Go,” he said again.
W’rath turned to greet Lady Swiftbrook as she and several First Born guards thundered around the corner. Lady Swiftbrook gasped. They skidded to a halt, taking in the blood-spattered walls, the bits of torn fabric, and the slowly melting shards of human.
“You did this?” Lady Swiftbrook choked. “You’re here less than an hour and already you’ve killed someone?”
“I’d love nothing more than to banter with you, madam,” W’rath said, “but I fear we have a much worse issue to contend with than your imagined belief in my proclivity for random murder. The man who died here was not wholly human. The demons have breached our defenses.”
A soft step drew all their attention to the stairs. To W’rath’s surprise, Kiat had returned. “He’s right,” the mage said. He stopped halfway down the steps. Blood dappled his robes. Grief pulled at his lovely face and he gestured back from whence he’d come. “Lady Swiftbrook, Lady Winterdawn is terribly hurt. I have to check on my protective spells …” His voice failed him and he covered it by forcing his feet down the last few steps. He drew a shuddering breath. “Please see to her. The wards on my room hold strong still but she shouldn’t be alone. Please.”
“The wards have failed?” Lady Swiftbrook recoiled. Her eyes tried to take in every direction, every shadow at once.
“Just one,” Lord Icewind said. “The sewers.”
“How …” Lady Swiftbrook began.
“Madam,” W’rath interrupted, shaking his head. No doubt, the horrors she’d endured during the fall of Second Home had come flooding back to Lady Swiftbrook but they did not have the luxury of engaging in such self-indulgent behavior. Even as they stood there, W’rath could smell the spreading filth of the demons.
Lady Swiftbrook shook herself, and set her face in a grim mask. “Right.” She addressed the guards. “You two come with me and help care for Lady Winterdawn. You three accompany Lord Icewind and Lord W’rath to the breach. You two return to the throne room and put our people on alert. Get word to the guards on the gates. Tell Chalice Renoir what we face. He’ll help you with the humans.” Her eyes flickered in W’rath’s direction.
He bowed. “Madam,” he said, before he swung around and headed down the hall from where he sensed the encroaching evil.
Chapter 19
Hours had passed since the last of the army marched through the cerulean blue portals and spread across the now familiar expanse of plains leading to Teresland. K’hul surveyed the blackened field of battle. He could still smell the scorched remains of grass, earth and flesh. The stench brought with it sharper memories of his failure from weeks past.
When Lady Earthfire suggested the elves set up their ambush at the site of their previous battle against Oblund, he’d fought against an irrational desire to shout her down. She was right to suggest the place. It kept the elves from the necessity of rebuilding a raised barrier from which to launch their attack. He understood the logic but returning made his gut roil.
“Ancestors, this place reeks,” Lady Earthfire said. “At least it will help disguise our scent.”
K’hul nodded. The projections of rock the elves raised the first time they warred here provided them an advantage of height and a certain amount of protection. He and Lady Earthfire stood upon the highest tooth of stone, the same spot he’d utilized while he directed the army against Oblund. Back then, Kiat raised shields about them. A different mage, one K’hul did not know, stood a few feet away.
“I need you to protect our command post and ensure my orders are disseminated to the rest of the army,” K’hul said to the mage.
“Of course, Warlord,” the Sky Elf said, bowing. “Lord Icewind made certain I understand my duties.” When K’hul continued to glare at him, the mage huffed. “I assure you, Warlord, I’m quite capable.”
From K’hul’s left, Lady Earthfire’s voice rumbled in quiet urgency. “Warlord.”
Her tone told him what to expect even before he searched the dead earth below. An undulating mass of creatures out of nightmare migrated across the black. If they noticed the not-so-natural ridge overlooking their progress, the monsters gave no sign. Thirty-seven thousand fewer than King Oblund’s army, the creatures would surely succumb within minutes to the fury of Elven magic.
The damned Exile was right. “This is a diversion,” he spat.
“Probably,” Lady Earthfire agreed. “But as
Lady Swiftbrook pointed out, they need killing anyway.”
“Then let’s trigger the trap,” K’hul said. He nodded to the mage. “Inform the commanders to obliterate the beasts.”
One moment the mage spoke quietly into the amulet at his neck and the next, the sky lit up with the blues and reds of elemental magic. As one, the migrating demons looked up in time to see death descending upon them. The entire field erupted in fire, lightning and ice.
As the magic rained out of the sky, K’hul’s eyes rolled back in his head. He thrust his hands out before him. In response, the elemental companion he’d summoned earlier tore free from the earth, sending a spray of shrapnel into the ranks of panicked demons. The elemental continued to rip free, drawing up to its full three hundred feet. The smaller companions of other soldiers burst forth from the ground and set about trampling the demons attempting to escape.
K’hul’s elemental roared and lava poured from its gaping maw. Those demons immune to its liquid fire succumbed to its crushing stride. The earth flowed like water. Even the elves felt the tremors. For the first time in weeks, a flush of confidence and power filled K’hul. The Exile couldn’t match his strength. No one could.
The mage’s short-lived scream and Lady Earthfire’s gasp provided the only warning before something hurled K’hul off the rocky pinnacle. The world rushed by and then blackness shattered his thoughts.
Lady Swiftbrook burst into the suite shared by Kiat and Lady Winterdawn. A soldier pointed her to Kiat’s bedroom where the brutalized elfess lay but the councilor shook her head and pointed to one of the female guards. “Take care of her—whatever she needs.”
The startled guard hurried to do as ordered and Lady Swiftbrook closed in on a table where a broad, flat scrying dish sat. She wasn’t a diviner but she trusted Kiat had set the thing up to keep communication open continuously. She planted her hands on either side of the dish and the water rippled as she peered beyond its surface. “Is anyone there?” she called.
The water smoothed and Lady Culna’mo’s worried face appeared. “We’ve lost contact with K’hul’s command. They launched a devastating attack against the demons and then,” She spread her hands. “… nothing.”
“Shit! Shit! Double Shit!” Lady Swiftbrook snarled and pounded the table, sending ripples through Lady Culna’mo’s image. “Something managed to slip past Lord Icewind’s wards. We don’t know the extent of the breach yet. He and W’rath went down to the sewers to investigate.”
Lady Culna’mo’s face pinched with indecision. “We have several diviners trying to scan the battlefield to see what we’re up against but so far no luck. I’m loathe to send thousands of people into an unknown situation.”
“Even with your mother there?” Lady Swiftbrook asked.
“Especially with my mother there. She’d skin me alive if I risked lives for her sake.” The First Born paused, rolling her lower lip between her teeth. Her face cleared. “Ancestors! I have an idea.”
Lady Culna’mo turned from her own scrying pool and addressed someone in the background. “Leave off what you’re doing and get me Lady Sera. I want Seer brought here. I don’t care what you have to tell her, bring that child to me.”
“Isn’t that one of the Shadow Elf girls?” Lady Swiftbrook called.
The First Born turned back. “Yes. Raven told me the child has visions about current events, regardless of distance. Something might have the power to block our scrying but I doubt they would think to protect against such an obscure psionic power.”
Lady Swiftbrook nodded. W’rath had been right to suggest the demons had laid a trap. It was starting to look like the creatures had taken it a step further and set two traps. She wouldn’t try to coerce Lady Culna’mo into abandoning K’hul’s force in favor of defending Castle Teres, especially when they had so little information. “Keep someone in communication with us,” she said, “and we’ll do the same.”
“Absolutely, Councilor,” Lady Culna’mo said. “And good luck.”
W’rath raced down the hall. To his surprise, Lord Icewind kept up, though the mage had to lift the hem of his robes to keep from tangling his legs. The Sky Elf’s distraught face kept W’rath from making any comments concerning the impracticality of the typical mage’s wardrobe.
Bringing up the rear, the First Born soldiers pounded along the stone hallway. “You should let us lead,” one of them called.
W’rath spared a glace over his shoulder at the earnest young soldiers. “If something gets past me, your job is to escape and warn the others.” He smiled at the First Born’s dumbfounded expression. He couldn’t blame the lad. He’d probably never seen what a proper psion could do. W’rath switched his attention to Lord Icewind. “Any theories on how your spells might have failed?”
Anger cut through the despair of Lord Icewind’s expression. “My spells don’t fail,” he said.
The diviner spoke with such conviction, W’rath found himself both intrigued and convinced Lord Icewind spoke true. “The fact remains, the demons managed to get past them,” he said. “You said yourself you sensed the breach.”
“Someone or something brought them down from inside the castle,” Lord Icewind said. “Think of ward magic like a sewn sack. From the outside the fabric appears smooth, the seams nearly invisible. Turn the bag inside out and the threads become much more apparent—much easier to tease apart.”
They reached the back stairwell leading into the dark of the lower levels where the dungeon lay. W’rath sped around the corner just ahead of Lord Icewind and released a psychic blast. It tore down the stairs and disintegrated the throbbing ooze clogging the downstairs’ passage. A bladder-loosening scream of challenge echoed up from the depths.
W’rath drew Shadow’s Edge from his belt, relishing the feel of it in his grasp. Let no one claim he was a bore who would turn down such an eloquently presented invitation. A feral grin lit his face as he bounded down the stairs.
Lord Kiat Icewind hurtled after W’rath, so focused on his goal even the mist of vaporized demon hanging in the air didn’t slow him. Behind him, the soldiers gasped at the ease in which the Shadow Elf dispatched the massive, gelatinous horror. They exclaimed anew, this time in disgust, as the demon’s filth settled on them in a fetid film.
The mage started the words of the same ice spell he’d use to destroy the creature who once called himself Lord Darson. He dropped the heavy folds of his robes to free his hands for the gestures needed to complete his casting, and nearly tripped and fell down the stairs. He fumed as the thread of his spell fell away. He’d failed Lady Winterdawn. Now his ridiculous vanity kept him from fighting properly.
He staggered to a stop at the base of the stairs, yanked off his robe and hurled it into a heap. Naked, except for soft gray boots, Kiat rounded on the trio of soldiers. “Give me your spare weapon,” he ordered the first one to make the landing.
“Uh, sir?” the soldier managed. He peered over Lord Icewind’s shoulder to where Lord W’rath had disappeared into the dark before returning his attention to the nude elf before him.
“Your spare sword. Give it to me,” Kiat barked. He swallowed down his rage. “Please.”
Without another word, the soldier pulled the slim sword from the sheath on his off side and handed it over to Kiat. “You could use some armor, sir,” the soldier said in a voice that suggested he harbored concerns about Kiat’s mental stability.
“Magic will provide my armor,” Kiat said. He hefting the blade and gave a nod of thanks to the soldier before trotting after W’rath. He formed the words to a spell in his mind before allowing the ritualistic chant to fall from his lips. His hands, free of all but the sword, had little trouble making the passes needed to settle a sheath of magic around his body. He cast his ice spell on the blade. Fully prepared, he stretched his legs and raced down the hall.
W’rath charged past a gaping doorway on his right. He blinked back to it and only just registered how fully he’d recovered. Without even thinking, he’d used
his powers to teleport rather than backtrack. Don’t overdo it. Ah, but it felt good.
He lunged into what appeared to be the cell area where prisoners languished awaiting their fates. Acid had burned through the iron of the bars, proving no protection for the poor wretches trapped and helpless within the cells.
Two cells down, one demon remained. It had thrust its arm up to the elbow into a legless human W’rath recognized. The mercenary, who had pulled fiends to Alassea to march to his will, now died in agony as the demon used him as a hand puppet.
Before the demon understood it had a visitor, W’rath sent a blast ripping through its skull. The corpse flopped to the floor, carrying with it the impaled mercenary. The man wailed in renewed agony. W’rath smiled. “Enjoy your suffering,” he said and exited the cell.
From behind W’rath, the man’s burbling voice called. “Gods have mercy—kill me.”
“No,” W’rath said.
W’rath popped back into the hall just as the others caught up to him. He raised an eyebrow at Lord Icewind’s unconventional mode of dress. “Grew weary of tripping over your robes?”
“Yes.”
W’rath looked the mage up and down. “Well, assuming we survive this, Lady Winterdawn has no reason for disappointment.” He turned back down the yawning hall, but not before he glimpsed a flush of scarlet rush to Kiat’s face. “Shall we?”
Lord Icewind stepped up next to W’rath. His face still burned but a steady look of determination suffused his features. “Ready.”
One of the guards started to peer into the prison. “Anyone left in there?”
“No one of consequence,” W’rath replied.
At a deliberate pace, the group marched down the last leg of their journey. Kiat sent a series of glowing ice crystals spinning down the dark throat of the hall, illuminating their way and drawing the attention of a mound of gibbering madness. The mass surged toward them. W’rath sneered and made a fist. His power pulled it into a singularity and the creature made a squelching noise as it imploded.