by Keri Arthur
“You're still putting a whole lot of faith in the capabilities of one sword.”
“The wind is, not me.”
“So why doesn’t she know more about the sword?”
“That I can’t say.” He motioned with his chin to the trays. “Eat. You need to replenish your strength.”
I ignored him. “Has Marttia contacted the king? Divona needs to be aware—”
“There have been communications. I get the impression they didn’t go well.”
I snorted. “In other words, the king doesn’t believe this problem to be Divona’s. We need to get there—”
“Until we know more about the bipeds and their intentions—”
“I think their intentions are already pretty clear.”
“We cannot risk returning to Divona as yet,” he continued, ignoring me. “Right now, we have nothing more than the whispers of the wind and the destruction of one Skaran settlement. Cannamore’s court will need more than that to back the removal of a king.”
“Cannamore’s court is unlikely to ever back me against the king, no matter how much evidence we gather.” And the more time we wasted here, the greater the danger.
And yet, Donal was right. To have any hope against the bipeds, we needed to know more about them—where they came from, what they wanted, and, most importantly of all, what they were truly capable of. Until we had a clear idea of at least the latter, there was no point in making any attempt to reclaim the sword.
Which didn’t ease the frustration or the deep need to reclaim what was mine sooner rather than later.
“Your time will come, Princess,” Donal said softly. “In the meantime, you need to eat and regain strength.”
Because you’re going to need it. He didn’t say that, but the words nevertheless seemed to hover in the air. I slid a plate toward him. “Only if you share. I have a healthy appetite, but there's no way I'm going to finish all this.”
“I'll eat what you can't finish.” Amusement creased the corners of his eyes. “And you have no idea how pleased I am to hear your appetite is healthy.”
“I was talking about food.”
“Oh, so was I.” But the innocence in his expression was totally spoiled by the wicked glint in his eyes.
I shook my head and got down to eating. Donal kept me company for the rest of the afternoon, only leaving to grab some sleep—at my insistence—once darkness had fallen. The doctor came in not too long after that, ran a medical scanner over my shoulder, and declared the bones had healed sufficiently to begin light duties. The healer then appeared not long after. He manipulated my shoulder for several seconds and then grunted, looking less than pleased. He motioned me to sit upright and then, after placing his hands on either side of my shoulder, closed his eyes. After a few seconds, his hands warmed and pressed heat into my skin, making the muscles tingle and twitch. He was accelerating my naturally fast rate of healing.
By the time he'd finished, his face was ashen and his hands were shaking. Healing magic took a fierce toll on those capable of using it, which was why most only lasted between ten and fifteen years in the business. The magic they used to heal others couldn’t be used on themselves, and that meant most were faced with either giving up their profession or a shortened life span. Thankfully, given what was coming at us, healing magic was one of the few magics that weren't scarce in Cannamore.
“Don't push yourself for the next couple of days.” His voice held a deep note of exhaustion. “The muscles have knitted together rather nicely, but it'll take another day or so before the new connections will withstand abuse.”
“It's not like I abused it this time, healer. I was shot.”
He dismissed the comment with a vague wave. “Indeed, but the advice remains the same.”
I nodded. “Thanks for your help.”
With a tired half smile, he spun and left. No one else came into the room; after eating my evening meal, I drifted off to sleep.
Morning brought more food, and then a nurse appeared, dumping fresh clothes on my bed before escorting me across to the shower—where she stood, refusing to leave while I turned on the taps. Donal appeared just as I stepped under the water and laughed at my obvious annoyance.
“It's standard practice in most hospitals.” He dropped the toilet lid and then sat down. “But I'll make sure she doesn't fall, Mary, if you want to move on.”
“You sure, m'lord?”
Donal nodded and she bustled away. I raised an eyebrow. “M'lord?”
He shrugged. “She found out who I was and refused to call me anything else. Not right, she claimed.”
“She and my maid have a lot in common then.” I switched off the tap and caught the towel he tossed me. “Why are you here?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you always think I have a motive for seeking out your company?”
“Because you quite often do.” Apart from his presence here yesterday afternoon, that was. That had been nothing more than a desire to keep me company, and one I'd appreciated more than he’d ever know.
“Sad but true, although hopefully, that won’t always be the case.”
“Let's worry about surviving the present before we start even thinking about the future.”
But even as I said that, I couldn't help doing it. Whether it be a short-term fling or something infinitely more, there was a deep, altogether too-long leashed part of me that hungered for the possibilities in the offering.
Even if those possibilities had only vaguely been acknowledged, at least on my part.
I tossed him the wet towel and then padded across to the bed. He didn't move, but his gaze once again pressed heat into my spine.
Once I'd pulled on underclothing, I reached for Marttia's gossamer armor and put it on. It sat so lightly on my skin that I couldn't help but hope she hadn't overstated its capabilities. I finished dressing and then turned around—and caught the glimmer of desire in his eyes a second before it disappeared. I'd seen the same look in many an eye over the years, but this was the first time it didn't fill me with dread.
“Where to now, highlander?”
He pushed up and walked toward the door. “Marx wants the two of us to run a check through the Wild Lands.”
I frowned as I fell in step beside him. “Why? I can ask the earth that question without us risking life and limb.”
“Yes, but the earth cannot tell you whether the dead areas are a result of their ability to restrict her or their drawing her heat to create their tunnel.”
True enough. “And our scout teams?”
“Have all been assigned to the wall instead. It's not worth the risk of life given the bipeds now know we have weapons that can shatter their body armor and are likely to attack in greater numbers to counter that.” His expression was grim. “At least you and I have a means of either stopping or escaping such an attack.”
“My ability to stop them is dependent on how much heat has been drawn from the earth.”
“Yes, but the lava-based deadness does not affect the wind.”
Which was at least something to be grateful for.
“And remember,” he continued, “the bipeds attacked the Skaran encampment without using their tunnels or magic. The barrier only appeared after the destruction, and was done more to hide it—and them—from our eyes.”
“It'll take more than an advance party of a couple of hundred bipeds to destroy the garrison walls.” And yet I had to wonder if it was true given the weapons they had at hand. “Besides, won't the wind alert you to their presence?”
“Only if they're moving above ground.”
We left the hospital and strode across to the armory. I was handed a pulse rifle and issued two ammo clips that attached to my belt rather than across my back. The docs had obviously relayed the order I was not to be weighed down. Donal was fully kitted up.
Marx was waiting for us at the exit tunnel. “How you feeling, Nyx?”
“Fighting fit, Captain.”
He grunted but
refrained from saying the obvious—that I'd need to be. “While we need some idea how far away the bipeds are, I don't want either of you taking any risks. At the first sign of movement, I want your asses hightailing it back to the garrison.” He glanced at me, his expression steely. “Is that clear?”
Hightailing it back wouldn’t give us the answers we needed. Wouldn’t give us a timeframe with which to work. But all I said was, “Yes, Captain.”
He studied me for several more seconds, disbelief evident, and then swung around and motioned the guards to open the gate. Once we'd left the tunnel and crossed over the metal bridge, I bent and pressed my fingers to the ground. What happens with the deadness?
It marches two ways.
So they're tunneling toward us now?
Yes.
Can they tunnel into the city itself?
No. The chasm is too deep.
Which was at least something. How close to the Wild Lands are they?
They approach the Quaih River.
I swore softly and repeated the information to Donal. He didn't look all that surprised. “In what direction?”
The deadness extends in a direct line from the Skaran encampment, came the answer.
And the bipeds? Can you feel their weight anywhere else?
They have not shifted from their protected area.
I frowned. Surely it would have made more tactical sense to move to the Skaran encampment, given the large cavern would have protected them from sunlight and kept them out our sight?
And the tunnel we saw being created in the Skaran’s cavern?
Its deadness will link up with the wider one in their own lands within a couple of days.
Was that why the bipeds who'd attacked the Skaran hadn't moved? Were they waiting for reinforcements? Or did they simply believe that, while we were now aware of their presence in the Skaran encampment, we didn't know about the assault party hiding beyond its boundaries?
I rose. “Do we continue? The earth has told us more than we'll probably ever see.”
“Maybe,” he agreed equably, “but it never hurt anyone to double-check information.”
I glanced at him. “Do you ever double-check the wind's information?”
“Probably not as much as I should.” His amusement was evident. “If I had, I might not have ended up in the cell with you.”
“So despite your protestations to the contrary, you did have an inkling Lady Vivian was married.”
“As I said, I chose to believe the lady.” He shrugged. “I had no idea she was Divona's version of a floozy.”
Never a truer word had been said, I thought in amusement. Marriage certainly hadn't curbed Vivian’s enthusiastic pursuit of pleasure, though whether that was due to Lord Brannon failing to keep her satisfied or simply a desire for more than he could ever offer, I couldn't say. I'd never really had much to do with either of them—something that would change if I ever gained control of the throne. Lord Brannon was the man currently in charge of the treasury and, by all accounts, pretty canny when it came to all matters money.
Of course, that sort of cunning wasn’t going to be of much use to anyone if we couldn’t stop the bipeds here at Rodestat.
We moved through the Wild Lands in silence and, eventually, the earth's rage-filled tremors gave warning that we were nearing the tunnel's location. The only trouble with that was the fact it wasn't just close to the Quaih River—it had crossed it and was now in the Wild Lands.
Either the bipeds had an unending supply of mages capable of using and shaping the earth, or it didn't affect them the same way as it affected me.
We continued on; the earth lost her voice but gained an even deeper sense of rage. Eventually, her hostile trembling stilled; we were in the dead zone, and above the actual tunnel.
There were no obvious signs of either and no certainly no sign of the bipeds themselves.
I bent and pressed my fingers against the ground. It was not only silent, but very, very cold. It might well have been ice under my fingertips rather than ground that only hours ago had held heat and life.
I looked around; the nearby trees looked drained, their leaves hanging limply and more gray than green. It was almost as if ash had covered them.
Was that what the bipeds wanted—or even needed? They were creatures who lived in the ashes of a volcano, after all. Perhaps the vibrancy of other life—these trees, the Skaran, and us—were an affront on their sensibilities.
I rose. “What now?”
“We follow the line of deadness to the edge of the forest and see what the rest of the bastards are up to.”
“What, isn't the air speaking to you or something?”
“She's being cryptic again.”
“Does she not understand the severity of the situation?”
He glanced over his shoulder, amusement evident. “Considering she's been warning us of approaching doom for months, she certainly does. But not even she, despite being everywhere, can always see everything—especially when they’re underground and she’s being restricted by magic.”
We moved in silence and the trees quickly gave way to the grasslands that rolled to the river and the Skaran settlement beyond. There was nothing and no one visible. The entire area was empty and the only sound to be heard was the rustle of grass. But that grass was brown—life had left the soil, and now everything that had depended upon it was dying. The river itself seemed unaffected, but I guessed that was unsurprising. Even if the ground were icy enough to freeze water, gravity and the constant push of the warmer waters from upstream would keep it at bay.
We crossed the river and walked up the gentle incline. I was sweating by the time we reached the top, but that was more a result of the day's heat than overexertion.
Below us lay Skaran encampment, but it was once again untouched by any sort of death or destruction, despite the rotten scent that now clung to the air. The bipeds had raised the damn shield again.
“Why would they even bother?” I accepted the water bottle Donal handed me and took a long drink.
“They've obviously got something they need to hide.”
“It can't be their presence—they know we know they're here.” I swapped the bottle for a strip of jerky and then added, “They also know we're capable of getting through that shield. Besides, if they were so damn worried about discovery, why haven't they got guards posted?”
“That would be our immediate response to an incursion by an enemy, but they may not think the same way we do.” He glanced at me. “Shall we move on?”
“I don't know why you bother to keep asking that question when you already know the answer.”
“It's always better to ask rather than presume.”
“In many situations, I'd agree. This is different.”
“As someone is rather fond of saying, the point remains.”
I nudged him lightly and then headed down the hill. The knife once again let me know when we got near the barrier; I drew it free and sliced open a peephole.
And saw what the bipeds were concealing.
They were constructing tubes.
Hollow tubes.
The type that had spat the stone-melting globules at us, only much, much bigger.
I swore softly and stepped to one side so Donal could have a look.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered.
“I don't think the captain's idea of running water down the walls will work against cannons that size.”
“No.” He looked at me. “We need to get hold of one of them.”
I blinked. “In case it’s escaped your notice, those things are huge.”
“Not those ones but one of the smaller ones. They're obviously built along the same lines, so if we can dismantle it, figure out how it works, we might be able to counter it.”
“If we had the time, and I'm thinking we don't, given how fast their tunnel is moving.”
“Yes, but even if Rodestat falls, we'll need a way of countering their weapons if the rest of Cannamore
is to have any hope.”
I hesitated, and in that moment, the decision was taken out of our hands. A gong sounded, and a dozen bipeds swung around and ran straight at us. I stepped to one side, keeping the knife pressed against the barrier and the window open. Donal fired. Several bipeds went down, but the rest kept coming.
Then a globule whizzed through our window, missing Donal's face by mere inches.
“Time to retreat to wind zone,” he said.
I didn't argue. I just closed the window and ran as hard as I could for the base of the hill. The screams grew louder; I looked over my shoulder and saw the barrier shimmer as several bipeds crashed through it. They'd obviously adjusted their magic.
Globs of yellow-green began to chase our heels, sending acid-like droplets spraying through the air. The gently stirring wind kept the worst of it away, but the occasional droplet broke through and hit my boots. Whether it burned my skin as easily as it burned the leather, I couldn't say. I was too busy concentrating on simply keeping ahead of the bipeds to worry about such a thing.
The wind grew stronger as we raced up the hill, hitting our backs and forcing us into greater speed without ripping us up and away. I had no idea what Donal was waiting for, but I trusted him enough to keep my questions to myself.
Something whooshed through the air and I instinctively ducked. A sword soared over my head and burrowed into the ground several feet beyond me. The wind ripped it out, twisted it around, and flung it back. I had no idea if it hit anything. I simply didn't want to look. It was bad enough that I could hear the rasp of their breathing; I didn't need to see just how close they were getting.
The roar of the wind increased until it felt like we were standing in the eye of a storm. Donal stopped and swung around. I immediately did the same.
The wind had swept the bipeds off the ground and was shaking them violently from side to side. Weapons clattered to the ground—swords, knives, and hollow tubes. Donal flicked a finger and a sliver of wind wrapped around a tube and carried it over to us. He grabbed it and then released the bipeds. They plummeted to the ground, hitting hard enough that I not only heard bones breaking but also saw it.
None of them moved.
They weren't unconscious. They were dead.