He gripped Terrek’s belt in reflex as Duncan sidled beneath him and reared. With a soft curse, Terrek pressed the animal’s neck with his hand until the gelding, his ears laid flat, dropped with a thud to paw with his foot.
The six ponies balked between the shafts attached to their sleds, their short legs stamping while several neighed. The restless wind shifted, bringing with it the tang of thawing meat. Gaelin gagged, for the stench brought to mind the cabin on Mount Desheya, the buzzing insects, and Seth Lavahl. He pressed his nose to Terrek’s back, the leather scent of the commander’s jacket serving to mask the smell.
Corpses littered the streets, their shapes blurred by the recent snowfall. Glancing above him, Gaelin cringed at the sight of even more dead, the frosted protrusions of human limbs poking from the city’s wreckage. He focused on the heart of the square where someone had draped children, their motionless bodies grotesque to behold, over the broken outstretched wings of a bird’s statue.
Terrek lifted his leg over Duncan’s left shoulder and dismounted. For a moment, he pressed his forehead against his horse’s muscular neck and then pushed away fiercely.
“Camron!” With a snarl, Terrek sprinted up the stone stairs of an enormous building, his guard, Deravin Silva, leaping to his side as together they charged through the open doorway.
Left alone on the gelding’s back, Gaelin nodded his gratitude as Caven Roth guided his stallion in close to snatch Duncan’s reins. “What is that?” Gaelin asked, jerking his head at the lofty structure. Hunching under the gray blanket he had shared with Terrek, he hugged the fabric to his chest, watching the warriors dash at the hungry birds.
Roth glared, his brow furrowed as he surveyed the entrance that had swallowed Terrek and Silva. “The museum,” he said. “Camron’s favorite place to be. It has treasures, or it did have. I’m sure they’re destroyed now. Erebos’s creatures can’t stand anything beautiful. I’m surprised the great hall stands at all. I’ve heard tell from Camron that—”
A roar cut him off, a guttural sound more animal than human. Turning, Gaelin saw Terrek stagger from the museum, his bright sword tipping upward in his grasp while he caught his balance above the stair. Then, with a rapid pounding of footsteps, Silva dashed out a moment later, his torn white sleeve dripping with blood.
Before Silva could dodge, a tall armored figure, her blond braids flying, sprang from the doorway and pounced on him. Clenching a massive sword, she seized the middle-aged guard, howling again as she dragged him off his feet.
“Avalar!” Oburne shouted and bolted up the steps. “Avalar Mistavere!”
The warrior froze, Silva dangling from her fingers, his throat a hairsbreadth from her blade’s keen edge. Panting, the imposing creature leveled a scowl at them.
Gaelin, staring at the giant, dropped off Duncan to follow Oburne. He stumbled, awed by the comparative height of the stranger to Terrek standing beside her. Stopping to eye her glittering breastplate and mail, Gaelin found his gaze descending to her fur-wrapped boots, the thin strips dangling at the ends and flapping in the wind.
She’s been sleeping, he guessed, discerning lines on her left cheek. And crying, too, he thought, taking in the splotches under her eyes when she tipped her head.
“Easy does it, Avalar,” Oburne said, and Gaelin, standing in his shadow, heard how soothing he made his voice. “Take a look at the one you hold. He is no dach and he hasn’t any magic. He’s a warrior. You share a common foe.”
The giant regarded Silva, giving him a light shake as she twisted her grip to get a better view. “So he is,” she said at last. With sudden care, she placed Silva on the flat stone above the steps and bowed before him. “Pardon me. It seems I have erred.”
“An understandable mistake, Giant,” said Oburne. He stepped up next to Silva. “Back away,” he told the warrior. “Do it now!”
“Lieutenant,” Terrek asked while the guard complied. “Who is she?”
“Old magic in the flesh,” said Oburne. “Her people are filled with it.” Oburne halted before the giant, his brown eyes flashing at Gaelin. “Keep that staff away. Stay where you are, Lavahl.”
Trembling, stunned by the size of the creature towering above them, Gaelin obeyed. He stood rigid, feeling like an intruder, a spectator the giant strove to ignore. As she examined Oburne, her eyes went wide and she lowered her sword. “Jahn Oburne. You joined my father to defend the Northian tribes. I have seen you on my uncle Kurgenrock’s ship.”
“Yes, Avalar,” Oburne acknowledged. “When the Sundor Khan threatened my village, your father and his warriors helped us. Now we honor his name. Grevelin Mistavere’s a legend among my people.”
Terrek straightened and sheathed his weapon. “Why did you tell Gaelin to stay back?” he asked Oburne. “What is it about Mornius?”
“Think about the story you told Lavahl after the battle at Heartwood, Commander. How the land was ruined by the warders.” Oburne nodded to the giant. “What in all sails are you doing so far from home, my dear? Are you injured? Did Erebos’s priests have their staves when they attacked you?”
The giant glared. “Men in black robes blasted the city with their magic,” she said. “They tried to enter the museum, for they knew I was here. But then I heard the wind come shrieking from over the mountains, and they could not approach.” She wheeled to confront Terrek. “You are his leader?”
Terrek returned her stare. “Yes, I am called that, and I try my best to guide my father’s men. That includes my guard, whom you injured.” Terrek’s voice hardened. “So tell me what you are, friend or foe.”
“I’m fine, Terrek!” Silva called out from behind Gaelin. “The tip of her blade caught my sleeve. That’s all. Just a scratch.”
The giant inclined her head politely to the guard. Then, puffing out her chest, she focused on Terrek. “I am Avalar,” she announced, “the only child of Grevelin Mistavere, who is Leader Second to Trentor Govorian. I am no enemy of humans who reject magic. But I am very tired.”
Terrek frowned. “That much is plain. You have death and battle all over you. But please, can you tell us what happened here?”
Avalar studied her weapon. “They surprised us on the ninth day after I began learning the Talhaidor,” she said. “I was training with the Masters in the square when they came, a great wedge of blackness.” She motioned to the distant peaks. “Then they were here, swooping in under the domes. I fought with one of their leaders on these steps, but my strength did not suffice. A second man attacked me and drove me back, for I was but one giant!”
Avalar rubbed at her eyes. “I did what I could.” Her voice thickened in her throat. “I saved the treasures stored within . . . trinkets and baubles, but none of the hearts who cherished them most.”
Reaching out, Oburne caressed her bloodstained knuckles. “Avalar, you’re a novice fighter,” he said. “For your first battle, you did very well. You claimed your position and held it. But, Giant, you must go home. There is a new kind of magic here. If it touches you, we’re dead.”
The giant shuddered and drew back her arm. “I know of this new magic,” she said, her lips curling with distaste. “I know of Sephrym, and the perilous might of the three warders he struck down. The power I battled on these steps, however”—she tipped her head to indicate a glimpse of red under the snow on a nearby step—“was from this world; it was human-tainted, so I smote it with my sword. As I would crush any human with magic. Any humans who would dare . . . What they did to my people, I would gladly slay—”
“If you stay here, you might get the chance,” Oburne cut her off, risking a glance at Terrek. “She is old magic in physical form, Commander. The living Circle protected by the elves. We must keep her safe.”
“You shall do no such thing!” Avalar said. “I am no child. It is my duty to safeguard you.” With a sigh, she sat heavily on the topmost stair, placing her massive weapon by her outstretched leg.
Gaelin, standing several steps below, felt invisible as the giant l
ooked past him, her blue eyes appraising the warriors in the plaza below. “My leader, Trentor, refused when I begged him to let me voyage here,” she said. “And thus, I followed my heart and the demands of the blade that sang to me when I was little. I knew I needed greater skill to offer Redeemer, so I came first to Tierdon for the Talhaidor, the Swordslore.”
Watching the giant, Gaelin sensed a heaviness upon his heart and the ripples of tension from his staff. An angry heat was mounting under his ribs as the restless wind brought reminders of Tierdon’s dead. He pressed his fist to his chest and opened his mouth, struggling not to vomit. Death was everywhere he turned. His distress pricked at the warder in his staff, prodding the sleeping Holram awake.
Gaelin, seeing the giant’s gaze shift to him at last, tilted his head to hide his face. If Holram rouses, he realized, she will know I have magic. He clenched his fists. If the warder discovers those murdered children— “Terrek!” Gaelin blurted. “I have to leave!”
Terrek whirled, and with three long strides, reached his side.
“It’s Holram,” Gaelin said. He reeled when the world slanted to the left, and reaching out, seized Terrek’s arm. “He senses the dead! If he wakes, I would lose myself, and if the giant saw . . .”
“Understood. Oburne!” Terrek said over his shoulder. “I’m taking him to that clearing we found in the forest. Stay here and help the men gather the fallen, as many as you can find. We can’t leave them like this. And take care of that giant. We owe her. She defended my brother’s city.”
Gaelin tottered stiff-kneed down the stairs, clutching at his staff to keep its heel from banging the stone. He fixed his gaze on the twisted metal framework atop Tierdon’s shattered walls, the blue-white fields beckoning beyond.
Abruptly Terrek released him, pausing to rub his eyes. Gaelin yelped as he tripped and stumbled over the bottom stair, careening into Silva beside the horse. As the guard caught him by his elbow, Gaelin spotted the blood on Silva’s sleeve. Before he could think, the warder in his staff yawned mightily, its great mane flaring, and a gentle pulse of healing light encircled the injured guard.
Gaelin heard a howl from above and the chink of steel.
“Behind you!” Oburne shouted.
Gaelin whirled to see Terrek leap to his defense, his body braced to deflect the giant’s charge. She threw him aside, then plunged at Gaelin as he toppled onto his back, her fingers ready to kill.
“No, no!” Oburne rushed down the stairs as Terrek clambered erect and yanked out his sword. “Terrek, no, don’t hurt her!”
Looking up, Gaelin met the giant’s glare. She was straddling him, her hands poised to rip out his life. Yet she hesitated, her gaze shying from his staff. Beside her, Terrek bent close, his expression grim as his blade pressed against her throat.
“Move away, my dear,” Oburne’s voice said. “Please, Avalar, or he’ll kill you.”
“It was my father’s,” Gaelin told her with a glance toward Mornius. “It’s one of the three you mentioned—one of the warders trapped here. He chose me, even though I killed a man.” He nodded at her stare. “This is a special place, this city. I . . . don’t belong here.”
“It’s not your kind of magic he wields, Avalar!” Oburne hurried to her opposite side to clasp her wrist. “He doesn’t touch the Circle at all. Trust me, he’s just a healer. Avalar, forbear!”
The giant broke from Oburne’s grasp and staggered back, her fingers throttling the empty air. Oburne turned to Terrek. “Get him out of here!”
“Gaelin.” Terrek slid his sword into its scabbard and stepped quickly to Gaelin. “Let’s go.”
Gaelin lurched dizzily to his feet and accepted Terrek’s aid, allowing his friend to help him mount the nervous Duncan. Then Terrek, walking in front, led him on the gelding through a patch of sunlight.
“Commander!” Roth hastened over, leading his steel-gray stallion. He tipped up a painting he held and pointed. “See the man’s face? I saw this in the gallery and recognized the jacket. That’s Camron with the giant!”
Terrek squinted at Avalar standing rigid as she scanned the mountains. “Yes, very nice. Now return it to its place, Caven. Enough has been taken from Tierdon.”
Roth grimaced. “But I thought you’d want his picture, since—” He sagged, and Terrek clapped his shoulder, gripping hard until he nodded. “There’s something else,” Roth whispered. “There’s a dead little girl in one of the rooms. The giant fixed a bed for her.”
“Was she wounded?” Terrek asked. “Perhaps Avalar was tending her and she—”
“No, I saw her wounds,” said Roth. “The child was dead long before she was ever brought there. Terrek—” He drew a sharp breath. “These people have been like this for days. What if the giant’s not . . . What if her mind is injured?”
“Then we’ll deal with that if or when it becomes a problem,” Terrek replied. “People in distress do peculiar things. Now put that artwork back where it belongs, Lieutenant. It isn’t yours.”
Sighing, Roth moved to obey.
“Get the men to scavenge for wood!” Terrek called to Vyergin. He stopped next to the captain’s gelding, peering up at his second-in-command. “Have them check the arena first. It’s the one building here that isn’t made of stone.” As Terrek paused to twist Duncan’s reins in his hand, Gaelin glimpsed the damp sheen around his eyes, the shimmer of grief on his face.
Vyergin leaned over with a creaking of his saddle. “Oburne and I will take care of it,” he said in a gruff voice.
Terrek grunted. “I’ll get the camp set up first, but then I’ll need to search for my brother. If you happen to locate Camron’s body, send me word.”
Gaelin ignored the stifled murmur of sympathy from the scattered men. His attention had followed Roth across the square to find the giant abandoning her study of the mountains. Turning, she stared at Terrek, tears brimming in her eyes at the mention of Camron’s name.
Chapter 14
GAELIN FACED TIERDON’S distant ruins and shivered as the silence dragged out, as the sky darkened to velvety black and the starlight shimmered a pale blue.
Terrek remained frozen, the vapor from his breath the only indication Gaelin had that his friend still lived. Gaelin frowned at a fiery burst from across the drifts. He saw another flash, yellow glints stabbing through the city’s wreckage. Wiping his eyes, he spied flames in the gaps between the shattered buildings, lashing outrage at the sky through the mounting smoke.
“Gaelin.” Terrek’s voice was very soft. “Please go.”
“But, Terrek, I . . .” Gaelin stumbled back. Aching under his ribs, he turned and then hesitated at the sight of a faraway structure through the haze. The edifice sat high atop the cliff beyond Tierdon, its jagged towers resembling teeth behind a section of crumbling wall. Dazed, he rubbed at his chest, sensing the warder from his Skystone move to occupy his body—a pressure tapping urgently beneath his bones.
Opening his mouth at the pressure in his throat, he peered at Mornius’s gem above his shoulder, its multicolor flashes matching the rhythm of his heart. “But why can’t I help you search?” he asked Terrek. “The giant’s here in camp now, so wouldn’t I be safer with you?”
Terrek lowered his head, and Gaelin waited. The echo of Terrek’s request repeated in his ears until at last he forced himself to cut with his knees through the windblown powder. Directing his gaze to the trees around their tents, he aimed his weary frame at the glimmers of the camp’s six fires barely discernable among the clustered men.
His steps quickened when he entered the forest, finding much of the winter’s accumulation cradled in the branches overhead. Pausing, he squinted through the fog. Beyond the trees, he saw splotches of light, the perimeter fires marking the camp’s border, with the warriors’ misty shapes huddled around them.
Gaelin rubbed his beard. He was no fighter, and while the men were polite enough, he sensed how he made them uneasy. Holding himself friendless and apart, he stared at the smallest fire, a c
ozy blaze just a few strides away. “They’d make room,” he whispered, “but I don’t think they’d welcome me.” His teeth gritted, he wheeled from the light. I’m not like them and they know it. He sighed, his attention straying to his staff. They don’t have you.
Shuddering from the cold, he pushed through the icy brush toward the cooking fire at the center of the camp, and there, by the crackling flames, he glimpsed the giant who wanted him dead. She crouched with Jahn Oburne standing next to her urging her to eat. Her head was up; she was glaring at him through the trees.
He averted his gaze, hugging Mornius to his chest as the cold chilled his bones. Again he surveyed the perimeter fires, hearing the soft murmur of the warriors talking. Torn by indecision, he grimaced at the figures by the closest little blaze. The men were dipping rags into a pot of steamy water—to cleanse away stains from Tierdon’s dead.
He flinched when Avalar surged to her feet with her fists clenched—to scowl at him as she edged around the fire. Wavering in the shallow snow, he turned stiffly and watched her come. Gone were the tears and streaks of blood on her face. Her forehead gleamed in the light of the flames, her damp hair pulled back and woven into several blond braids. His body rigid, he stared at the darkness beneath her furrowed brows. She’s beautiful, he thought before the giant, advancing toward him, moved beyond the firelight.
Her silhouette, blocking the blaze’s reassuring glow, parted the fog and grew larger as she came, a tall black figure reminding him of the bear who had reared up before him on Mount Desheya.
As she passed between the trees in front of him, Gaelin heard a hesitation in the crunching of her footsteps—the giant muttering to herself as she exhaled. Struggling to hold his ground, he cast a desperate glance at Jahn Oburne. The lieutenant, watching by the fire where the giant had left him, glowered fiercely as though his trust in her was absolute.
Gaelin toppled backward as the giant neared, his staff tipping from his fingers and flipping sideways. She’s so big! he realized, his mind registering how, body and shoulders, she was taller even than Oburne. What’s to stop her from killing me? he thought with a groan.
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