The Last Larnaeradee

by Shelley Cass

  Together we backed up further, and turned to hurry into the Forest before, in astonishment, we all froze.

  The sounds of the raging beasts had been cut off the moment we turned.

  Dalin’s jaw hung wide. “Sunshine?” he gasped in shock, looking up to where golden rays streamed through the treetops as if the storm we’d been hounded by outside had never existed.

  Noal stared down at himself with boggling eyes. “I’m not drenched anymore,” he gulped. “Are we dead?”

  “No,” I commented, completely baffled. I turned us back to face the brutish beasts, and we at once could hear the tumultuousness of the outside world.

  “They can’t enter. The dark magic that made them, and the unnatural storm, don’t seem to touch here.”

  “Bizarre,” Dalin breathed. “There have always been myths about a Lady of the Forest protecting Nature here. But let’s not test it.”

  We hurried from the scene, at once enfolded again in the serene peace of the Forest, as if everything terrible beyond it had never existed.

  “Thank the Gods,” Dalin panted as we moved quickly away. “Our lives are bombarded with one uncanny occurrence after another, but finally we have a completely positive one.”

  “I thought I would never want to walk again during our final dash,” Noal winced and clutched a stitch at his side. “But I am content to put as much distance between those things and myself as possible.”

  “Are we anywhere close to the course you wanted us to take?” Dalin asked, helping me limp over a large, fallen bough.

  “We’re not at the thinnest part of the Forest, where I’d hoped we’d get to, but I’ve often wandered through Sylthanryn, and once went right through to Jenra,” I answered. “So I’m sure we’ll find our way.”

  “Well I can see why you would visit this place often,” Noal commented, brushing his fingers over the giant pollen face of a flower that was as large as his head. “Magic really must be at work here.”

  “Perhaps it’s as magical as the Willow tree,” Dalin mentioned, shivering a little at the memory.

  “It is something to take comfort in,” I soothed, clasping his hand in recognition of just how overwhelming our journey had become, and how impossible it seemed that we had suddenly found a reprieve. “After all of the signs of evil magic I’ve come across in my journeys, it’s encouraging to know that good magic does exist as well.”

  And as we stepped further into the haven of trees our hurts seemed to ebb away. The sunlight turned golden with the onset of an early summer afternoon, and I finally judged it acceptable to call a halt.

  Noal immediately dropped his packs and flopped straight down onto the grass in a patch of sunlight.

  “It really does feel safe here,” Dalin agreed speculatively. “Not like when we could feel the cold of the beasts or the rottenness of Agrona.”

  “And I simply must rest a moment, even if we can’t trust this tranquillity,” I conceded, my muscles bunching and protesting as I sank down onto a log.

  Dalin smiled then. “This will cheer you up.”

  I felt my eyes widen as I noticed that he had tied something at his hip, over his own sheathed sword, and in a moment, he held my sword hilt out to me.

  I reached for it gratefully, feeling its familiar, comforting weight fill my hand. “I had given it up for lost when the beast hurled it away,” I remarked in true delight. “I’m glad to see it again. It took an age to craft it, and it’s like a partner after all the hunts we’ve had together.”

  “Apart from it nearly spitting me when it was tossed my way, it’s one of the best swords I’ve held,” he agreed. “Especially seeing as you made it,” he shook his head in wonder.

  “Flattery doesn’t mean you’ll get a cheaper price if I forge you one,” I gave him a small smile, sheathing it as he grinned and stretched out on the grass beside my log. “But when I’ve patched up our ailments, I’ll go catch us something fresh.”

  “Thank the Gods,” Noal chirped dreamily. “A hot meal. I’m salivating.”

  ““I only have three arrows left though, so we have to be careful. I’ll need to reuse any that we shoot for catching food.”

  “You should be more careful of yourself. Your patching up might take some time,” Dalin regarded me with his serious green eyes.

  “Worse than bandages, I’ve wrecked another good white shirt,” I yawned. “I hate mending.”

  “Well, perhaps you should take better care,” he suggested, rubbing at the scar that had formed along his ear and narrow jaw line. “And not let us think you’re behind us, when you’re actually off fighting five beasts so that we get away safely while you get torn up.”

  “That’s right!” Noal piped up, dragging himself upright. “We turned around to see you getting pulled apart and there was nothing we could do about it.” He crossed his arms.

  “I apologise,” I responded calmly. “I wanted to give you both a chance. But I was fortunate to get away with only a few cuts and bruises.” I cringed inwardly at the memory of that one sided fight, and looked down at the slices that gaped in my tunic and cut all the way through the shirt into my skin. I knew without looking that my elbows, shoulders, knees, ankles, wrists and waist would be swollen and bruised, but miraculously no serious damage had been done.

  Dalin pushed a lock of dark, sweeping hair out of his eyes and rolled onto his back. “You did give us the chance we needed. But we’re meant to be a team,” he said at last.

  “I am glad to have a team,” I admitted, and went through my healer pack for a poultice to use on the chilled slits in my skin, feeling comforted by my comrades, and by the beauty of Sylthanryn itself.

  Chapter Sixty Two

  He stood with his hands behind his back, under the full glare of the burning sun. The sand at his feet shifted in the hot breeze, every grain like a burning ember. But his focus was on the Dragons, and his eyes pierced through the wavering air as it danced and melted in the heat.

  They had grown while he had kept them locked in the wastelands. They had swollen in size, pumped full of his magic, and he considered how ready they were as he watched their gleaming, greyed bodies twist magnificently in the sun.

  Darziates judged that the Dragons were prepared enough to be his next move in the war against Awyalkna while he awaited Glaidin and the Awyalknians.

  The Awyalknian forces were right now readying to march into his reach for themselves, and all he would have to do would be to seize their Palace, the other mortal lands, and then the magical ones beyond the seas.

  Domination rather than death was key. A ruler needed populations alive in order to conquer and unite.

  Even as he watched and considered, the Dragons slashed and scorched each other in a thunderous row. The creatures were definitely equipped to be his tool to demoralise the Awyalknians so that mentally they would have already lost the war before their forces finished their long march to his doorstep.

  He sent out a mental key to unlock the invisible bonds on two particularly vicious Dragons. They stopped their gnawing and crashing instantly to look about blankly, as Darziates had ensured that they couldn’t quite function independently any longer. He forced an image of the location that the Dragons were to seek, and instructions of what the two were to do into their minds. And the brutes pawed at their eyes and heads in a frenzy of pain.

  Then the creatures obediently hopped away from their companions, flapping to stretch their wings at last.

  There was a cacophony of noise from the others as the two lifted their bloated bodies into the air. Then the wasteland was swept into a sandstorm and covered in soaring shadows as the Dragons finally pushed themselves across the sky like heavy, sluggish swimmers.

  “Sire?” a shaking voice called over the dying ripples of air, interrupting his thoughts.

  He didn’t turn to face the speaker.

  “What is it?”

  “Sire … the Witch has sent me …”

  So Agrona had further damaging news that
she did not wish to convey to him herself.

  “Speak.”

  “She said to inform you that … the five failed, and, the Awyalknians are in the Forest …” there was a frightened pause. “Apologies Sire.”

  Darziates had expected this. They weren’t the most updated Evexus after all. They were weaker. But no matter, he had recently used Angra Mainyu’s help to perfect Agrudek’s creatures – beyond any of his and even Deimos’ previous models and their short comings. Darziates had only to awaken the new five that he had made, and this time they would not just be beastly imitations. They would be properly possessed by intelligent spirits of the Other Realm; poisonous demons that he had promised freedom to, once they had helped him to become ultimate King.

  Angra had certainly become more bestial while the Evexus had become more cunning, but that just made the Warlord endearing. And he would be useful for further experiments quite soon.

  “She, ah …” the man coughed. “The Witch said she would prove herself to you by breaking the barriers and going into the Forest herself.”

  Darziates would have shuddered at Agrona’s stupidity, if he were ever moved to such extremes. But he had already sent mortal troops into the Forest to capture the three. Mortals, though basic, were the only ones under his command who could enter the Forest. They were the only corrupted ones not barred by the Lady’s power, which guarded against all malevolent magical beings.

  He had known that it would be difficult to catch the three elusive children on their Quest, as this was why he had been warned to heed them at all. And they did seem to have forces in the world helping to cloak and defend them. A tree entity would not reveal herself or awaken for just a normal group of people.

  “Sire …” the servant added from behind him. “The Sorceress said that, uh,” he was nervous, “the five got a hold of the girl, but something blasted them away from her somehow …”

  He would look into who this girl was.

  “Sire?”

  “You may go.”

  “Thank you Sire!” obvious relief. He heard the servant running away, happy to be escaping with every feature intact.

  Darziates squinted up at the sun blazed sky. The foreboding shapes of the Dragons were already small in the distance, hurrying to complete their task in Awyalkna.

  Chapter Sixty Three

  Dalin

  After our first full day of marching through the Forest, Kiana was sitting by the camp fire, humming as she stitched her tattered scraps of material back into a tunic, and I let her light voice wash over me.

  She was wrapped in my cloak because hers needed fixing too. The claws of the beasts had torn through the strong fabric easily.

  “There,” Kiana stated triumphantly. “Finished.” She held up the open tunic, looking it over.

  “Not quite. You missed the slice across the back of it,” Noal observed.

  She turned it around. “Frarshk. I don’t remember that happening,” she muttered in annoyance.

  “Language!” Noal yawned at her from where he laid, waving an admonishing finger like old Wilmont used to do when I had been ‘impertinent’.

  “Perhaps you should check to see if all of your back is still attached too,” he added sleepily.

  “I hate mending clothes,” she sighed, her face crinkling with distaste, and she slapped the tunic into her lap and threaded her needle again.

  I grinned to myself.

  Despite the crescendo of events that had led to this moment, I had never been quite so content in all of my life. Away from servants, courtly scrutiny, and the weight of being measured up against my father by Wilmont.

  Soon Kiana gave a soft laugh from where she had finished her mending. I turned to see her sneaking towards Noal, who was now snoring gently.

  “What is it?” I asked, unable to see what her sharp eyes had spotted as I sat up.

  She didn’t respond, but bent over Noal silently to scoop up something that must have been creeping on the grass close to his face.

  She came to sit quietly beside me, and as she opened her cupped hands slightly we peeked down at what she had captured.

  Long, black, hairy legs with sharply spiked tips waved up out of the crack between her hands in an almost friendly fashion. Beady eyes stared up at me from a little hairy face. Two fangs glistening with poison smiled charmingly out of the darkness.

  “Granx!” I exclaimed, jerking my face away from the bulbous shape in Kiana’s hands.

  “Hush,” she told me laughingly. “Don’t wake Noal.” She didn’t look up from inspecting the deadly insect.

  “How in the Gods’ names do these Granx spiders keep finding us?” I hissed. “I thought they were meant to be rare!”

  Kiana didn’t say anything for a few moments. “It could be that this is the same Granx we keep coming across.”

  “Surely not,” I snorted. “Out of all of the things that have been following us, how did we attract a deadly spider?”

  “Perhaps she’s in love with Noal,” Kiana jested.

  Even as I watched, the Granx was trying to wriggle her way back over to Noal. Kiana gently lifted it back into her palm, getting flailing arms that were reaching to Noal in response.

  My mouth hung agape.

  “Why not? Stranger things have occurred recently,” Kiana shrugged.

  “Put it down,” I grimaced. “Aren’t you bothered that it could kill you?”

  Kiana sighed. “I’m more disturbed by the thought of what may have happened to the Willow for sacrificing herself in defending us, and if Ila and Amala are safe.”

  “I bet they’re following your trail as we speak,” I told her, eyeing the spider in her hands warily.

  Kiana laughed and stood once more. “Don’t look so worried!”

  Still cradling the black Granx she disappeared for a moment into the trees.

  I stared after her, considering the spot where her graceful, soundless form had melted into the darkness – and I didn’t hear her footsteps as she exited from a different clump of trees behind me. I started when I turned and found her sitting beside me, which made her laugh again and brought a smile to my lips.

  I didn’t mind that she laughed at me.

  It wasn’t often that she gave one of her real laughs and I liked them.

  It reminded me of my great certainty that Kiana was the cheerful young singer I’d fallen in love with when I had visited bountiful Bwintam’s festival, long before Krall’s attack.

  The festival music had been nothing like that of the stuffy balls I’d always attended under Wilmont’s displeased eye, and the dark haired singer – Kiana, had shone from the stage. At that time Kiana had beamed and laughed along with the crowd easily, and when she had sung, her voice had held her rowdy crowd in enraptured ecstasy as if enchanting everyone with a spell.

  “I still have your cloak,” Kiana said now, and she laid it out for me, close to hers.

  Taking my place beside her I slept easily, with a happy feeling growing inside of me, and when I woke that feeling didn’t go away.

  Chapter Sixty Four

  Finally in her night gown, Queen Aglaia of Awyalkna rubbed her eyes and leaned against the railing of her high up chamber balcony. She was exhausted by her task of managing the Palace, as the City within the gates was now full of refugees who had come from defenceless villages all over Awyalkna.

  But despite her fatigue she knew she would suffer another sleepless night. Her thoughts forever fixed on her husband, who had marched away with Awyalkna’s soldiers to face certain defeat. Or she was unable to stop focusing on the spontaneous Krall attacks that had left no survivors in Awyalknian villages, along with a shortage of horses and a strain on food supplies. Though despite how heavily those things weighed on her mind, she was especially consumed by thoughts of her missing sons.

  Her Prince Dalin, and her darling Noal.

  Aglaia sighed, twisting a gold band ring around her finger worriedly and looking out at the sprawling City – before the night was pi
erced by a shout.

  “ENEMY ATTACK!” the sentries from the Wall called in alarm.

  Almost immediately a great roaring sounded that was so unbelievably loud it was as if the world was collapsing in on itself.

  Aglaia gasped as her eyes discerned two massive figures blotting out the stars as they flew across the sky toward the City.

  Within moments a soldier was bursting into her room and she whirled from where she had been staring, transfixed.

  “Majesty, people are going to be evacuating to the Palace underground! You must go too!” he had to yell to be heard over the rushing sound of the monsters’ wings.

  “No. Hand me a robe!” she ordered, clinging to the balcony railing as the whole Palace shuddered.

  He was obediently helping her into her robe when the enormous body of what looked like a giant lizard with wings soared past. If she had reached an arm out, her fingertips could have brushed glittering, spiked scales.

  “Majesty!” the young soldier yelled in warning as a spiked tail longer and thicker than a watchtower lashed past, whipping across the balcony. She felt the young soldier’s arms around her as he lunged and dragged her down to the marble floor, covering her body with his own.

  The giant, horned cudgel-like tail tore right across the railing where she had stood moments before, so that all of the intricate metal was ripped away and both the soldier and the Queen of Awyalkna were nearly sucked off the balcony by the sheer air pressure.

  Only once the roaring monster had careened away, smashing into a tower far below, were they able to drag each other to safety.

  “You need to get below!” the soldier shouted anxiously, pale as a ghost.

  Aglaia saw the second monster open its cruel jaws at the other side of the City and shoot flames down upon the market place beneath as if the Gods had loosed a waterfall of fire.

  “You need to get me to the Gwynrock Gates!” she shouted back.

  His eyes were startled and wide. But he nodded. “Come on!” he held out a hand. She took it and they tore across the room and down the grand hallway, skirting around fallen tapestries, antique statues and golden ornaments.