Stilgan raised his sword, holding it in front of him in preparation for a strike. Meaghan stopped, giving his sword the space it commanded. She did not need to be within striking distance to put her plan in motion. She only needed to be within hearing distance.
“It's too bad you don't have your powers any longer,” she said. “A lightning bolt would dispose of me in seconds.”
Stilgan growled. “It doesn't matter. You'll be easy to defeat without it.”
She smiled and lifted her hands to show her blades. “My weapons are toys to you,” she said. “My skill is child's play.”
“And your kingdom is my playground,” he told her. “Soon, everyone will feel the pain of my control just as the Zeiihbuans have.” He arced his sword back in preparation for his first strike. “Once I dispose of you.”
“So Garon doesn't want me alive?” Meaghan asked. “I thought he had a purpose for me.”
“He wants to skewer your head on a stake as a warning to others. I'm sure he would love to drain your blood himself, but he'll be pleased enough to see you dead. Call to your Guardian, Queen. Let's see if he can extend your life past the minutes I'm going to give you.”
“I don't need him,” Meaghan said, and then responded to Stilgan's sinister smile by throwing one of her knives directly at the opening in his hood. As she had expected, he knocked her weapon from the air, and she used the time it took him to turn and flee.
His laughter echoed behind her. His feet pounded into the dirt as he used his Mardróch speed to gain on her. She wove through the streets of the village. Charred remains of huts reminded her of the damage Stilgan could do. How much had he tortured the people who lived here? Had he torn apart pieces of their village in the same way he tore apart their minds? She had seen the fear on Caide's face, the depth of his sorrow and his pain, and she knew his anguish would be the entire kingdom's if she failed. She had to win this battle. If not for her own life, then for everyone she knew, and for everyone who looked to her for protection.
She detoured to the right, down a narrow alley and then banked left at a hitching post. A breeze brought the faint smell of hay to her nose and she realized horses would be nearby. She followed the smell, looking for a stable.
Before she could find one, Stilgan's sword resonated behind her, the clang of metal on stone unmistakable. His blade had struck one of the buildings, showering clay around her shoulders and she knew he had gained too much ground. She spun around and thrust her knife toward his hood. Although she missed, he did not. His fist struck the side of her face. Blood rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away with a hasty hand and ignored the sharp ache that followed. The injury would bruise, but it would not kill her. His next strike would. He swung his sword and she dropped low, sweeping her left leg to take his feet out from underneath him. While he struggled to rise, she turned and sprinted down a side street.
The maneuver gave her a full minute of lead-time. She pushed her lungs harder and her feet faster, trying to maintain the advantage. A breeze met her again on its journey through the village, carrying with it a stronger smell of hay, and she followed it into an alleyway.
Huts blurred by, no more than cream and gray streaks at the side of her vision. Her ribs ached, but she held on to her pace. Stilgan had gained on her again. She could hear him grunting as he slashed his blade through the air while he ran, making hasty attempts at a strike. She skidded around a corner at the end of the alley and heard him crash as he attempted to follow.
A field grew near, glowing with the kiss of a setting sun, and she burst onto it. Tall grass feathered her legs. She felt hot, so she unclipped her cloak and let it fall to the ground behind her.
A barn sat in the middle of the field, a quarter of the way between the village and the cliff. She sprinted toward it and yanked open the front doors. Stilgan's sword struck wood as she charged into the barn. He dislodged it and took another swing at her head, missing as she ducked.
She ran down the main aisle, knocking over a tall milk canister as she passed. It cascaded white liquid across the ground, turning dirt into mud. Stilgan slipped, but regained his footing before he fell. She kicked the wedge from underneath the wheel of a cart. It clattered behind her and then crashed into a post. Stilgan detoured around it. Buckets of tools, hand-held plows, even a bin of half-spoiled apples did no more than stall his progress by seconds. It would have to be enough.
She reached the stalls at the end of the barn and threw the first open. Pigs spilled out, squealing in panic as they escaped in both directions, tripping over Stilgan's and Meaghan's feet. Meaghan recovered faster than he did and pulled open a second stall, weaving around a flock of sheep that cowered together, blocking the Mardróch's path. The third stall gave Meaghan the horse she needed. Sheathing her weapons, she grabbed the animal's mane and mounted in one smooth movement.
It had been some time since she rode bare back, though she had only done it twice before. Once on a dare, and once to show off in front of a crush in seventh grade. It had been difficult then, but it seemed almost impossible now. Her heart hammered in her throat and her palms felt sweaty, making her grip slick and her control uncertain.
The animal's fright drove him, sending his hooves pounding hard into the soil. She tried to direct him, to guide him toward the spot in the cliff that she had seen earlier, but he did not respond. He charged forward, showering dirt behind him, and she held on, hoping luck would be on her side.
Although the horse doubled back at first, the noise of the battle spooked him and he turned away from it, heading straight for the cliff. At the last terrifying moment, he banked and ran along the edge.
When the horse slowed enough so Meaghan could jump safely from his back, she let go. She hit the dirt with a jarring thud, and then she stumbled forward, landing on her hands. Her palms burned, but she shook off the ache and sprang to her feet. Stilgan flew across the ground after her, his rage spreading a malicious smile over his face instead of the taunting grin he had used earlier.
She yanked a knife from her belt and he responded by pulling several small knives from an inside pocket in his cloak and tossing them her way in rapid succession. She turned and ran. Muffled thuds followed her as his weapons lodged into the dirt. Stilgan's maniacal laughter came next and she spun around in time to deflect his sword. Then she attacked.
Her blade glanced off his sleeve, but she did not expect any other result. She meant for the strike to rile him further, and she succeeded in her aim. He roared as he thrust his sword toward her, but she had already sprinted forward, putting several yards between them. She fled along the cliff, her feet skittering pebbles over the edge as loose soil gave way beneath her feet.
“Meaghan!”
Her name surprised her and she controlled the urge to look for the source of it. She needed to focus. Her plan had to work.
“Meaghan, run back toward the village!”
She recognized the second voice as easily as she had the first. She ignored it, too.
“Take aim!” the first voice commanded and she cursed under her breath. Leave it to Cal to interfere. He thought he was helping, but he would ruin her plan and get them all killed in the process.
She heard a howl from behind her and guessed Faillen had hit his target. She skidded to a stop and then turned to confirm her suspicion. An arrow had pierced Stilgan's wrist. His sword lay on the ground at his feet.
Meaghan dove for the sword. Stilgan yanked the arrow from his flesh and grabbed her arm a second after her fingers closed around his weapon. His grip felt as cold and hard as steel. Blood poured from his injury and flowed over her skin, but he did not let go. Not when she thrashed, not when she hammered at his wound, and not when she tried to thrust her blade at his hood.
He grinned and then held up his other hand. A small blade sat within his palm. He swung it toward her and succeeded in slicing her upper arm. Pain seared through her and she screamed. Dropping his sword and her own weapon, she collapsed to her knees. His eyes narrowe
d, but when he let go of her wrist and she remained where she knelt, he grinned.
“So the hunted knows when she is beaten,” he hissed. “You wish to die with honor. That's commendable.”
“Meaghan! Get up!”
Cal's voice grew closer, but she drew her eyes to Stilgan's instead of responding. He lifted his sword over his head, grinned, and she had her chance. Spinning around, she planted a high kick in the center of his chest. He teetered, nearly gaining his balance, and then the weight of his sword tipped him. He tumbled over the edge of the cliff, exactly as Meghan had planned.
A split-second later, her joy dissolved when Stilgan's hand locked down on her wrist. His weight dragged her forward, and then she fell after him.
Her body twisted in air, weightless as she flew toward her death. She stared up at the sky, at the clouds playing with the stars, but she could not understand the finality of her descent—just as she could not understand why Cal's massive form tumbled over the cliff after her.
He seemed to be flying instead of falling. She watched his beard turn into smoke in the air, his arms spread out like wings, and then she closed her eyes.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“DOES SHE like anything other than carrots? Like maybe cake?”
Nick chuckled and handed Aldin another carrot stick. “She might,” he responded to the young boy's question. “But I don't think cake would be good for her.”
“Not even chocolate?”
“Especially not chocolate,” Nick said and patted Aldin on the head when the boy frowned. “But if you want cake, I'm sure we can get you some.”
Aldin turned wide eyes toward Neiszhe.
“After dinner,” she responded to his silent plea. “If you do your studies.”
“You bet,” Aldin agreed and grabbed another carrot from Nick. Equus snatched it from the boy's hand with equal fervor.
Neiszhe's laughter mixed with the patter of rain as it saturated the ground outside. Nick trailed his eyes over the landscape and felt glad he had avoided hunting duty today. He did not relish the idea of leaving the caves for anything, not even a hearty meal.
Aldin stole another carrot stick from his hand and he looked down at the boy, but then his focus shot to Neiszhe when she gasped. Her face paled and he followed her line of sight back to the forest.
A man approached, weaving through the trees at a slow pace. He hunched his shoulders, and Nick wondered if strain had dragged them down, rather than the bone-chilling saturation of steady rain.
He seemed to be alone at first, drifting through the darkness of the dreary day, but soon other figures appeared among the trees, gray ghosts disguised by the downpour. They moved toward the cave, seeing it because they had entered it before. Faillen stopped several yards away. The rest of the party stayed behind, and Nick's heart sunk.
“They can't get in,” he said.
“I know,” Neiszhe whispered. “I'll find May.”
She disappeared into the next cavern before Nick could respond. He did not need to tell her what she already knew. Cal and Meaghan had the ability to let the others back into the caves, which meant they had not returned with the rescue party.
The realization tightened a fist in his stomach, but he refused to believe the truth until he heard it from Faillen. In the meantime, someone could still gain happiness from the rescue party's return. Nick placed his hands on Aldin's shoulders, turning the child's attention from the horse to the front of the cave, and then waited for recognition. It did not take long.
“Dat!” the boy squealed as he bounded out of the cave, ignoring the rain and the puddles soaking his feet. He launched into his father's waiting hug, wrapped his arms around Faillen's neck, and laughed with a joy only found in childhood.
“You came back,” the boy's excited voice drifted through the rain. “Nick said you would. He said you'd never leave me.”
Nick could not hear Faillen's response, but he had no doubt Aldin would receive the assurance he needed. Another figure stepped forward from the rain to lift Aldin out of his father's arms and Nick knew at least one part of the mission had been a success. Aldin planted a kiss on Caide's cheek, and Nick looked away from them, toward the entrance to the inner caves.
Blackness greeted him at first, but soon his mother stepped forward. Her gaze locked with his and the grief on her face told him Neiszhe had already shared the news. May moved aside, allowing Sam and Miles past her, and then Neiszhe reentered the cave last. Her hand moved to her swollen stomach, but her eyes remained as dry as Nick's.
Sam left to greet the rescue party, returning with four people in tow. Nick had expected Talea and Artair to go back to their village at the completion of the mission, but they stood among the group. Faillen greeted Miles with a handshake.
“I'm glad to see your son has returned with you,” Miles stated, his eyes trailing from Faillen to Caide. “Although it seems not everyone made it back home.”
“You got our message about Eudor?” Faillen asked.
“Scree delivered the news,” Miles told him and focused his attention on Talea and Artair. “My condolences for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Talea whispered.
“And the others?” Miles asked Faillen. “Malaki?”
“Lost in battle protecting Meaghan.”
“Then where is she?” Nick asked, cutting through the formalities. He had to hear the news. He had to know. “Where's Meg?”
Faillen shook his head. “I'm sorry. She threw Stilgan off a cliff, but he managed to take her with him. And Cal,” Faillen hesitated. “I don't know what happened. He was next to me one moment and the next he went over the cliff after Meaghan.”
“You mean he jumped?” May asked. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You can't be serious.”
“I don't know. He was running. I think he hoped to grab her before she fell too far, but he didn't get there in time. The ground can be soft at the edge.”
“He slipped,” Neiszhe said and caught a sob in her hand. Miles put his arms around her. She turned her head into his shoulder to muffle the sounds of her crying.
Nick watched his mother's face flood with tears and saw the same moisture in Sam's eyes, but felt nothing for Cal's death or for Meaghan's.
“I have a few things,” Faillen said. He reached into his cloak and withdrew Meaghan's doll and a book Nick recognized as her Writer's book. Nick accepted both of the items. Even the doll felt heavy in his hands. “The doll was sewn into her cloak,” Faillen continued. “I wasn't sure if it needed to be protected.”
Nick nodded, though he had to force the movement. Like almost everyone else, Faillen thought Meaghan controlled her power by transferring it to the doll. Nick stared at the doll's yellow face. Faillen need not have worried. The husk did not contain her power. Nick and Meaghan had intended the ruse to draw out Garon's spy, but now that Meaghan no longer posed a threat, Garon would not be searching for her.
“The amulet?” May asked.
“She was wearing it,” Faillen said, and Nick closed his eyes. If Garon found her body, then he would have one more weapon to use against them. Nick tightened his hand around the doll and heard the husk crackle in his grip.
“I have gloves of theirs,” Faillen said. “And some other possessions on the pack horses.”
“I'll get them,” Sam said and stepped into the rain once more.
“I can't believe they're gone,” May whispered.
“I don't understand why Cal didn't teleport,” Caide said. “I know you aren't supposed to because of the Mardróch, but…”
Nick shrunk into the shadows and then left the cavern and the rest of Caide's question behind. He did not need to hear his mother give Caide a lesson on Guardian teleporting. Cal would not have been able to teleport in mid-air, no matter how desperate he became. As many a Guardian child had discovered while jumping from a roof or a tree, the power only worked on solid ground.
He wove his way through the sleeping caves, seeking the uninhabited caves beyo
nd the boundary of their makeshift town. He had traveled this path before, the day Meaghan volunteered to lead the mission. He had expected her death. He had prepared for it. But he had not expected to lose Cal too.
The thought of Cal's son growing up without a father angered him, and that anger boiled over onto Nick's memory of Meaghan. She had left too much behind, too much unfinished. Nick could take care of Cal's son as Cal had taken care of him, though he knew firsthand it would not be the same as having a father around. Nick could also sit on Meaghan's throne, but he would never be able to fill her role.
His elbow scraped a wall. He cursed and then recited the light spell so he could keep moving without injury.
He did not feel ready to lead the kingdom alone. He made a good warrior, a good protector, and those traits would serve him well as King, but he did not have the grace, kindness, and intelligence Meaghan's heritage had given her. People liked him. They always had. Because of that, he instilled loyalty in those who knew him, but he did not inspire people in the way Meaghan had. Only she could have convinced Faillen to take up Ærenden's cause, just as her mother had done with Faillen's father. And only she could have convinced a group of eight people to march into Zeiihbu to meet their deaths. Nick considered it a miracle any of them had come back alive.
He cast the orb in front of him so that it would highlight any of the pitfalls inherent to the deepest parts of the world, and followed it as it bobbed along. Occasionally, it would fizzle out and he would recite the spell to revive it.
Her selflessness had been both her best and worst trait. He loved her for it, for the way she put others first, and for how she jumped into helping others without thinking twice about her own needs or safety.
In the same regard, it made her deeply selfish. She never considered his feelings. She never once thought about how her actions would affect him, how her death would devastate him.
The thought sliced through him like a blade and it stalled his feet for a moment before he forced them to continue. He refused to allow pain to grip him. Not when the prophecy had warned him of this future.
Aerenden: The Zeiihbu Master (Ærenden) Page 38