Fireborn

by David Dalglish

  Looping down, she killed her wings, and let her momentum carry her closer. She flung herself feet-forward, heels slamming the specter’s back when he turned to run. He dropped, and Bree scissor-cut her burning blades across his neck, ending him.

  “Bree!”

  Hearing her name, she turned, saw Brad running toward her. He held a sword in his left hand. Blood covered his face and chest, and she wondered if it was his or not.

  “What are you doing?” she screamed at him. “Get out of here!”

  “I will!” he shouted back. “Once you have.”

  Bree heard another wave coming from up high, and she sheathed her swords and burst ahead, grabbing Brad by the shoulders as her wings carried both of them forward. The ground shook as a barrage of stone fell like an unreal hail, one boulder sinking a foot into the dirt where Brad had previously stood. Bree saw a Seraph and specter locked in battle simultaneously crushed by a boulder, saw another die as his head caved in from the force of an icicle’s fall. Another pass of flame, this one setting alight every overhead branch so that it appeared the midnight fire had come in the daytime hour.

  “We’re almost out!” Bree shouted into Brad’s ear. Her arms strained to carry Brad, and it felt as if her wings dragged sluggishly with every turn. Brad started to respond, but was given no chance. A blur of blue passed over Bree’s head, then a great weight slammed against her wings. She twisted, cried out. Brad slipped from her arms, hit the ground rolling. Bree shut off her wings, needing control more than speed. Her wings clipped a tree, jammed her the other way, and then she was on the ground rolling. The bending and screeching of metal filled her ears, coupled with a tremendous ache in her back.

  Screaming out her pain, Bree staggered to her feet, her entire lower back burning with pain. A glance over her shoulder showed her wings a broken mess.

  “Brad?” she called out, retracing her path. “Brad!”

  “Here,” Brad said, leaning against a tree. She rushed to him as he smiled at her groggily. Blood trickled down his neck from a gaping wound across the top of his head. “That hurt,” he said.

  “I know,” Bree said. “I know, but we have to run, all right? We have to run.”

  No one else was fighting. The world was fire and smoke, and those she could see through the haze were fleeing in all directions. Bree grabbed Brad’s hand. He held it but showed no desire to move.

  “Run,” Bree said, pulling on his wrist. “We have to run, damn it!”

  He didn’t budge an inch. Another hand grabbed Brad’s, and Bree turned to see Saul beside her. He lacked his wings, but he did wield a sword in his free hand.

  “It’s not a suggestion, you gigantic oaf,” he said, yanking Brad off the bark. “We’re moving.”

  Brad’s legs moved, his balance uneven, but it was enough. Together the three fled deeper into the forest, Bree and Saul each supporting a shoulder.

  “We have to find somewhere to hide until it’s safe,” Saul said.

  “There’s nowhere,” Bree said, glancing at Brad. Her worry grew. His eyes were never focused quite right, and it seemed an awful lot of blood covered his neck. “They’re burning down the whole forest.”

  “Then we go until we’re out of the—”

  Lightning ripped through the three of them from behind. The force sent Bree crashing into another tree, Brad to the ground. She heard the metal of her wings bending amid the ringing of her ears. Bree pushed off it, fell to her knees, and grabbed Brad by the shoulders.

  “Get up,” she said, voice hoarse and barely audible through the ringing in her ears. “Brad, get up.”

  He didn’t move. His eyes were wide, his mouth open, but he wasn’t moving.

  “Brad,” Bree said, and she clutched the cloth of his shirt, bunched it in her fists. “Brad, please, get up now, damn it, get up!”

  He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing. Bree looked up, saw through tears and smoke a specter chasing after a fleeing Saul. Looked down, saw a dead man. Not her friend. Not the joking, always ready to smile Brad. Just a dead man, heart ruptured by lightning, eyes locked open in the shock of death. Bree felt paralyzed, her mind melding into horror and anguish. She wouldn’t escape. None of them would.

  “I’m sorry, Kael,” she whispered. There’d be no rescuing him, not anymore.

  Something hard struck the back of her head, and she lurched, stomach performing loops. Hands grabbed her, rolled her onto her broken wings. A foot pressed down on each of her wrists as two specters pinned her in place. Bree cried out at the pain. Approaching through the smoke was a pale-skinned blond woman wearing the red robes of the theotechs. A smile was on her face.

  “Hello, Breanna,” she said, kneeling down before her. Her blue eyes sparkled with excitement. “I’m so very, very happy to meet you.”

  She looked to the specters.

  “Bring her to the cathedral. Save the rest for execution.”

  “As you wish, Er’el Jaina.”

  Swords cut across the buckles of her harness, separating her from her wings. Bree struggled to raise her swords, failed. A thick cloth covered her eyes, and she screamed in protest until another solid blow to the temple knocked her out cold.

  CHAPTER

  14

  When Kael couldn’t walk, which was often, they dragged him across the hard stone road. Three knights had joined the trio of theotechs, two holding the length of rope they’d tied around his wrists. Kael’s shirt was torn, his back bleeding from a multitude of cuts and scratches. Simply walking took his breath away, the aftereffects of the lightning from the theotech’s gauntlet leaving his legs rubbery and weak. Not that he didn’t try. The pain in his legs was better than the dragging.

  They were passing through the heart of Byrntown on their way to the Crystal Cathedral when his legs gave out again. His knees hit cobbles, and he cried out at the pain. One yanked on the rope, attempting to jostle him back to his feet, but it only sent him lurching forward. Hands held up, he couldn’t brace himself before his face hit the street. His forehead smacked stone, and his vision swam with color.

  “Careful with the boy,” one of the theotechs snapped. “Er’el Jaina wants him unharmed.”

  “We’re long past chance of that,” said the knight who’d yanked the rope. “He’ll be breathing. That’s good enough.”

  Kael curled into a ball, fighting to regain his composure. The world was spinning around him, the reds and yellows dancing across his sight. If he didn’t stand soon, they’d start dragging again. His back was already on fire; he couldn’t bear another mile or two of that. Breathe in, breathe out, nice and steady, but his attempt to rise was thoroughly ignored by his legs. He expected a yank on his rope, but it didn’t come. Instead, the first theotech stepped closer to the knight and raised his voice.

  “Good enough?” he asked. “Are you privy to the Er’el’s plans? Do you know what she wishes to do with the boy? Or why he’s important? Hostage, torture, experimentation, any of these for certain?”

  The red of his robes floated before Kael’s face. The knight backed down, and he cleared his throat before answering.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Then listen when I speak instead of correcting me. The boy is to be delivered unharmed. A few scrapes shouldn’t matter, but cracking his head open on the cobblestones damn well might.”

  Kael grabbed the hem of the theotech’s robe and peered up at the man. It took all his concentration, but he forced out the words.

  “Not...a boy,” he said. “You prick.”

  The theotech, an ugly man with a milky left eye, grinned as he knelt beside him.

  “Still some fight left in you even after all that?” he said. “I’m almost impressed.” He lifted his gauntlet, opening his fingers wide enough to reveal the focal point, which sparked with faint yellow light. His other hand grabbed Kael’s chin, preventing him from looking away.

  “I can flood you with pain without causing any permanent harm,” he said. “Insult me again, and I will drai
n my prism dry. It will take hours, Kael. I’ll enjoy every minute of it. Will you?”

  Kael bit his tongue, knowing any response he gave might put him in an even worse situation. Not that it could get much worse. Whatever this Jaina wanted with him, he highly doubted it was going to be pleasant. At least he might save himself a few jolts from the theotech’s gauntlet. He’d had more than his fill back at the holy mansion.

  “A wise decision,” the theotech said. He smirked as he glanced at the nearby knight. “Get the boy up.”

  Kael grinded his teeth together as both knights pulled on the rope, lifting him to his feet.

  “Keep him walking,” another of the theotechs said. “Brace his shoulders if you must.”

  Kael’s feet moved sluggishly below him as they approached Byrntown’s center square. He still couldn’t consistently maintain his balance, which forced both knights to grab a forearm and guide him along. The cobbles reflected the rippling light of the midnight fire, and Kael watched it with a growing detachment. His part in the rebellion against Center was done. Whatever he might have hoped to achieve with his life, it was over. Only the end awaited. Only the amount of pain he’d suffer mattered.

  “Hold up,” one of the knights said, stopping them in the center of the square.

  “Why must we—”

  “I said hold up!”

  The milky-eyed theotech fell silent. Kael stood still, and he forced his eyes up from the cobbles. What was going on? What bothered the knight so? All he saw around him were squat rectangular homes, plus the burning sky above. Yet all three knights had drawn their swords, and light shimmered across the surface of their golden wings.

  “We’re being followed,” the first knight said. “If we’re to have Kael arrive safely, we need to fly, and now.”

  “Nonsense,” said Milky-eye. “Who could possibly be a threat to three knights of—”

  A blast of lightning ripped through the center of their group, connecting with one knight directly in the chest. The others spun about and readied their weapons. Kael spotted a man in brown robes lying flat atop the roof of a nearby home, gauntlet held out before him, aiming for a second shot. Milky-eye responded with one of his own, striking the man in the forehead. His smoking corpse went limp, arm still hanging over the edge of the rooftop.

  Kael didn’t have the strength to run, but he’d resist any way he could. The other two knights tugged on his rope, but Kael dropped to the ground, refusing to move.

  “Get the hell up!” one shouted, kicking him in the ribs. It hurt, but Kael could endure some pain if it meant buying time for the ambushers. Shouts sounded from both up and down the road. More lightning flashed from one theotech’s gauntlet, as did thin lances of ice from the other’s. Kael watched two more men ascend the rooftops as shards of stone crashed frighteningly close by. The three theotechs scattered as they dodged, the two with gauntlets returning volleys as best they could. Craning his neck to see over his shoulder, he spotted another man in brown racing closer, a long blade in hand. He rushed the theotech who, lacking a gauntlet, instead wielded a long dagger.

  “Back to us!” one knight yelled, flinging a ball of flame at the ambusher. It clipped the ambusher’s arm, eliciting a howl of pain. Legs still kicking, he collided with the theotech. The theotech’s dagger sank deep into the chest of the man, who fell atop him. Blood poured across his red robes, the corpse pinning him to the ground. The ambushers wasted no opportunity. Kael winced as a barrage of stones smashed both bodies into a puddle of blood and gore. The knight holding his rope flicked his wrist, bathing the entire rooftop with flame, but the ambushers were already gone, sliding down the other side of the building.

  Kael watched three brown-robed men with long spears seal off the road. The milky-eyed theotech struck down one with lightning from his gauntlet, but the other two successfully flung their spears. One pierced him in the chest, the other his belly. He crumpled to his knees and then slumped forward, the spear shafts propping him up in place.

  A man and a woman, both wielding swords, rushed the last surviving theotech from another corner of the intersection. Her back was to them, but she heard their approach and turned, ice erupting from her gauntlet. The shards were thin, rapid, cutting deep into their flesh. One stumbled and fell, a pool of blood beneath her, while the other closed the distance and swung his sword at the wires connecting the theotech’s gauntlet to the pack on her back, successfully disarming her of her ice. His free hand struck the theotech across the face, sending her to the ground.

  “Damn it,” said one of the two knights holding Kael’s rope. His wings flickered as he gave himself a burst of speed, bounding dozens of feet with a single leap. A thin jet of flame preceded his landing, boring into the ambusher’s chest with enough force to deny him the killing blow. The injured theotech rolled, and the knight landed in her place, sword already swinging. It sliced cleanly through his abdomen. The body crumpled, and the knight turned to see if the theotech was all right.

  The moment his back was turned, a familiar figure burst from around the corner of the nearby home, hood off to reveal the spiderweb of scars across his bald head. Johan wielded a blade in one hand, a gold gauntlet in the other, and he rushed the knight with furious speed. The theotech saw, screamed, and the knight spun with finely honed reflexes, barely blocking Johan’s overhead chop in time. The knight’s wings flared bright, and with his greater weight and armor, he tried to bowl over the smaller man. Johan twirled, deftly avoiding the charge, and in mid-twist he lashed out with his sword. The blade jammed into the knight’s side, piercing up to the hilt through the gap in armor just underneath his armpit.

  Johan released his sword as the knight’s momentum sent his body crashing to the cobblestone. The fingers of his gauntlet spread wide, the focal point flaring red as it centered on the injured theotech. A gout of fire bathed across her, charring every inch of her body. Her dying screams were awful, but thankfully did not last long.

  “Shit,” the final knight said, and his wings flared a brilliant gold as he went shooting into the air. Kael screamed as the rope yanked him about, tightened, and began lifting him off the ground. Johan spun, another ball of flame shooting from his gauntlet. The ball slammed into the rope halfway up, searing it in half. Kael dropped to the street, landing painfully.

  Johan retrieved his sword from the knight’s corpse, then strode over to where Kael lay on his back. Three quick cuts and the ropes were off.

  “Mr. Skyborn,” he said, sheathing the sword and offering his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, and under far better circumstances.”

  Kael had to choke down a laugh as he accepted the hand and rose to his feet.

  “Better circumstances?” he asked, rubbing his painful back.

  “Indeed, better,” Johan said. “Your Seraphim defeated Center’s soldiers occupying Fort Luster, and your sister burned a scar of fire across the crawling darkness. Two victories against Center, each in their own way, and I am glad to see them both.”

  “Forgive me if I’m not up for celebrating,” Kael said. The remaining disciples gathered around him, at least nine in number. They each wore identical brown robes, and a few bore silver wingless gauntlets. “So where to now?”

  “Now we get you to safety before that knight alerts others,” Johan said, and he nodded to one of the men nearby. “Ready the wagon. The rest of you, return to your hiding places.”

  The nine crossed their arms over their chests in salute, then scattered. Johan followed the one tasked with the wagon, and when Kael stumbled after, Johan reached out and grabbed his arm.

  “Lean on me if you must,” he said. “We do not have time to tarry. The knights of Center are hornets, and your Seraphim struck one of their hives. They’ll be swarming the sky for hours, and it’s best we go far from here while they do.”

  Kael accepted his help, and they hobbled down the street. Several houses down waited a covered wagon, a lone donkey bridled at the front. The disciple sat at the front, and
he’d shed his brown robe for less incriminating plainclothes. Johan led Kael around to the back, and together they climbed inside.

  “We have a long journey, and the going will be slow,” Johan said as Kael made himself comfortable. One corner of the wagon had a blanket, and he slumped into it and wrapped it about his shoulders. The wagon shook, the wheels rattling atop the cobbles as the donkey began to pull. Hidden from the skies, Kael finally allowed himself to relax. His muscles were painfully tired, much of his body bruised or sore, and no matter what position he put himself in, the cuts on his back were a constant bother.

  “Are your injuries severe?” Johan asked, sensing his discomfort.

  “I’ll live,” Kael said. Shivering, he closed his eyes and leaned his head against one of the sideboards. “How’d you know? That I needed help, I mean.”

  “We’ve had eyes on you for a while now, Kael, and have ever since Weshern’s occupation. Your sister was a potential face of the growing rebellion, which meant you’d soon be a target for retaliation.” He heard Johan chuckle. “Though I must admit, I did not expect you to be taken while inside the holy mansion.”

  Kael tried not to let it bother him, and he knew he was being sensitive. Of course they were watching him because of his sister. Without her, he was just another Seraph.

  “I have friends in high places,” Kael said, deciding not to mention Clara by name, nor his relationship with her. He was still unsure of how Johan might view her and the rest of the royal family. Kael had a feeling it was poorly.

  “So I’ve noticed. Hopefully such friendships will prove useful during this blossoming war.”

  Kael’s turn to chuckle.

  “You’re hardly the first to think so.”

  He heard a creak of wood, and he opened an eyelid to see Johan leaning closer, a frown on his face.

  “You sound bitter,” he said. “Do not diminish yourself because of your sister. If the theotechs want you dead, then I want you alive, no matter who you are. You’re a skilled ally, and your Seraphim training makes you invaluable to this resistance.”