CHAPTER FOUR
BATTLE CRY
Naga flies us right over the Amaz city as she descends at breakneck speed.
Holy Ancient One. Holy Ancient One. Holy Ancient One.
I thrust out my rune-marked forearm, desperately hoping the rune Sage placed on my forearm will spare us from an explosive death.
Pain bursts through my arm as my rune-mark makes contact with the city’s translucent dome, the dome flashing scarlet as the rune on my arm blasts out rays of emerald light.
We hurtle through the shield, the air instantly warming as Naga begins a series of complicated wing maneuvers in an attempt to slow our speed.
Chaos breaks out underneath us.
Women and children cry out in alarm and rush into nearby dwellings. Small deer scatter away from the wide central plaza as Amaz soldiers on horseback gallop in from every direction. The soldiers rapidly fill the plaza and send up a rune-amplified sound that’s so terrifying, I hope to never hear it again.
The Amaz battle cry.
It’s extreme, horrific violence, rivers of blood, bone-crushing blows and every fear that lurks inside your mind wrought into one, bloodcurdling sound.
As their unified cry grows louder, scores of rune-marked blades, axes, swords and scythes are hastily pulled out as row upon row of glowing rune-arrows are drawn back, all pointed at a single, enormous target.
Us.
That’s when I start yelling at the top of my lungs.
“Valasca! Alder! Freyja! Queen Alkaia! It’s me! Elloren Gardner! Don’t shoot!”
Vertigo assaults me as the torchlit plaza and central Goddess statue rise up to meet us, far too fast.
We’re going to crash.
I close my eyes, the Amaz battle cry searing through me as Naga hits the ground with bone-jarring force. I cry out in primal terror as I’m thrown from her back and hit the stone of the plaza hard.
Soldiers swarm around us, yelling orders to each other. I scramble toward Ariel, who is sprawled on the ground, passed out.
“She needs a healer!” I cry out as soldiers surround us, yelling out orders.
I whip my head around to find Yvan on his knees, his palms held up in surrender, blood trickling down the side of his face. Three rune-archers have closed in, their scarlet-tipped arrows drawn and inches away from his head. Alcippe is looming over him, her rune-axe raised in her fists.
Their battle cry fades, and all movement stills, as if everyone has suddenly been turned to stone. The only distinct sound left is the muffled moaning of the Icaral child.
Surrounding us are ring upon ring of Amaz soldiers, many on horseback, all with weapons drawn. Naga lays flattened on the ground with six soldiers surrounding her, rune-spears pointed directly at her neck. Her eyes are shut, her wings folded in, her posture deliberately passive.
“She needs a healer!” I cry again, cradling Ariel’s head in my hands, my voice rough with desperation. “We just rescued her from the Valgard prison!”
“What is on your back?” Alcippe demands of Yvan, her face twisted with hatred.
Yvan keeps his head cautiously down. “An Icaral child.”
Murmurs of shock go up as Alcippe jerks her chin at two soldiers. The young women draw rune-blades and sever the bindings that secure the little girl to Yvan’s back. Then they lift her off Yvan’s back and carefully cut through the twine that restrains her, the child’s untethered wings now flapping frantically. The minute the soldiers remove the cloth around her mouth, she breaks into a high-pitched, terrified scream.
The soldiers finish freeing the child, both of the women talking gently to her, trying to calm her down, but she takes one terrified look at Yvan, breaks free of the soldiers’ grip and attempts to fly away. She only manages to lift a few feet off the ground before she hurtles back down, hampered by her uncontrolled panic and tears, the soldiers rushing in to help her.
Alcippe takes in the child’s incapacitating fear of Yvan with narrowed eyes. Her expression turns lethal, the veins on her temples and neck bulging. She hoists her rune-axe higher.
“No!” I cry out in protest just as Freyja bursts through the ranks of soldiers on horseback.
“Stand down!” she commands.
Alcippe hesitates, axe still raised, her breathing heavy with rage. Yvan has moved into a crouch, his eyes pinned on Alcippe with predatory stillness.
“Freyja!” I beg. “I need to speak to Queen Alkaia. I swear to you, Naga and Yvan mean you no harm! They rescued the Icarals. Please...help us.” I incline my head toward Ariel. “She needs a healer. Please!”
“This male has defiled the Goddess’s own sacred ground!” Alcippe spits out at Freyja, refusing to lower her rune-axe. “He is an abomination! Look how the child flees from him! He must be killed!”
The two young soldiers are struggling to both comfort and keep hold of the screaming, panicked Icaral child. Freyja’s face is tense and undecided as Alcippe silently entreats her for permission to kill Yvan.
“You will all stand down,” a dominating voice calls out as hooves sound on the plaza’s stone.
Valasca rides in on her red-maned black horse, Queen Alkaia mounted behind her, Alder riding in beside them.
“Ariel needs a healer,” I cry out to Valasca, growing frantic. Valasca nods and calls out over the crowd.
“Lower your weapon, Alcippe,” Queen Alkaia says, so calmly she almost sounds blasé. “Stand down, all of you.”
Weapons are lowered as Valasca slides off the horse and helps Queen Alkaia dismount, supporting the queen as she makes her way toward us.
“But... My Queen...” Alcippe protests, her face twisted with rage.
“Patience, Alcippe.” Queen Alkaia holds up a hand. “We will deal with the male in a moment.”
Two older women with elaborate facial tattoos shoulder past the soldiers and make for Ariel, lowering themselves beside her. I move aside as the women quickly assess Ariel, then hastily pull small rune-stones from shoulder sacks to place on Ariel’s forehead, her throat, her shoulders. A scarlet glow forms, then radiates out from stone to stone, rapidly encompassing Ariel in a luminous web of light. Naga carefully slinks toward us, fierce concern in her slit-pupiled eyes.
“Ariel!” a familiar voice cries out.
Naga lifts her head as Wynter’s slim figure breaks through the crowd, her thin black wings flapping in distress. She’s garbed in a purple tunic and pants, the tunic modified slightly for her wings.
The crimson rune-web encompassing Ariel grows patchy and faded. The rune-healers mutter to each other, their brows tightly creased, one of the women shaking her head in dismay. Anguish tightens Naga’s fiery eyes as the rune-web’s light blinks out.
“I’m sorry,” one of the healers says to me, her eyes grave. “She is poisoned beyond help. There is nothing we can do.”
Naga flows in around the healers. She gently picks up Ariel, hugging her close to her shimmering, black-scaled breast, cradling Ariel’s head in one dangerously taloned hand. She draws back and looks deeply into Ariel’s emaciated face.
The dragon’s face fills with unbearable pain as she glances wildly around at all of us. She cranes her neck toward the heavens and lets loose a heartbreaking roar.
“Is she dead?” I cry to Wynter. A sob tears from my throat. “She can’t be dead!”
Wynter goes to Naga, who is now nuzzling Ariel’s filthy hair with her sharp snout. She places a slender hand on Naga’s scaled shoulder.
“‘She is not dead,’” Wynter says with effort, speaking for Naga, her own silent tears slipping down her cheeks. “‘But her life force is ebbing. She feels no pain, she is so drugged.’”
Anger flashes hot in Naga’s emerald eyes. Then, just as quickly, her expression morphs from rage to one of pure misery.
“Naga says,” Wynter continues, “‘I am leaving, and
I am taking her with me.’”
“This is a Gardnerian military dragon,” Alcippe rages to Queen Alkaia, gesturing to the Mage Council brand on Naga’s side with her rune-axe. “It needs to be killed!”
Naga’s head whips around to face Alcippe. A deep growl rumbles at the base of her long throat.
Wynter turns to Alcippe, her hand still firmly on Naga’s shoulder. “Naga says, ‘I am not a Gardnerian military dragon. I am Naga, Free Dragon of Wyvernkin. And I could scorch this entire city if I so chose. I have no quarrel with you, Free People. I am taking Ariel Haven to draw her last breath where she belongs, among Wyvernkin, her true kin. I have heard tales of wyverns surviving high in the mountains of the east. I will seek them there. The people who birthed Ariel Haven never loved her, never saw her for what she truly is. They crushed her spirit, abused her, drugged her, told her she was foul and filthy and wicked. She does not belong here among any of you. She belongs with the winged ones.’”
“Alcippe Feyir,” Queen Alkaia says after a long moment, keeping her sharp eyes on Naga. “Hand me your rune-axe.”
Alcippe complies without question, her jaw set tight. Then she strides over to where the Icaral child is curled up, weeping. She scoops the little girl up into a tight, one-armed hug and grimly walks away, cradling the whimpering child against her broad chest.
Queen Alkaia looks at Naga appraisingly. “We, the Free People of the Caledonian Lands, wish you safe travel, Winged One. Take this with you, Free Dragon.” She hands the rune-axe to Valasca, and Valasca solemnly brings it to Naga. “Bury Ariel Haven with it so that she will have it in the next life,” Queen Alkaia says with great reverence, “where she will rise in the Goddesshaven as a fierce, proud soldier.”
Naga accepts the rune-axe from Valasca as she cradles Ariel, then looks to Wynter.
Wynter sets her gaze on Queen Alkaia. “Naga says, ‘Thank you, Queen Mother. I wish Ariel Haven had been welcomed into your lands as a child. She would have been a great warrior.’”
Then both Naga and Wynter turn to me as Wynter continues to voice her words. “‘Elloren Gardner, I wanted to kill you on first sight, but you have proven yourself a friend to me.’”
Both Naga and Wynter look to where Yvan is still crouched on the ground. “‘Yvan Guriel, I owe my freedom to you, and you are my friend. The Gardnerians grow stronger, and war is coming. You must rise up to meet your destiny. You cannot fight who you are meant to be.’”
Yvan’s eyes are riveted on her, his face full of wild conflict and pain. Naga then turns to Wynter and looks deeply into her eyes.
Wynter nods, tears streaming down her cheeks. She throws her arms around Naga, clinging tightly to her for a moment, then steps back and faces all of us, her slender hand still on Naga’s side.
Naga’s wings begin to flap, and she lifts slowly into the air, Wynter’s hand skimming along her body as she rises.
“Naga says to all of you,” Wynter says, her voice choked, “‘Amazakaran, war is coming. You must fight the Gardnerians and the Alfsigr, but you cannot do it alone. You underestimate their evil. You underestimate the darkness claiming this land. Wake up now, Free People, before it is too late. In the name of Ariel Haven, who was raised in captivity, yet remained unbroken, I will return to fight with you!’”
With those final words, the tip of Naga’s tail slips from Wynter’s hand, and she flies east into the night sky, Ariel cradled against her breast, Ariel’s raven winging alongside them.
Ariel! I scream her name out in my mind, stretching it across the vast sky, my heart twisting with unbearable pain.
Ariel is gone.
Ariel, who gave her life for Wynter.
How could I have ever thought she was evil? How could I have not known the truth? Not understood? How could I have ever believed all the lies about her?
Wynter is crying softly next to me, her wings wrapped tightly around herself as we all mourn under the cold, apathetic moon.
* * *
As Naga’s form disappears into the distance, Queen Alkaia turns her attention to me. I’m sitting on the ground next to Wynter, quietly weeping, the crimson lights of the plaza’s torches casting fitful illumination over all of us.
“The male must go,” Queen Alkaia says definitively, gesturing toward Yvan, who raises his grief-stricken gaze to her.
“No.” I stand and move toward him. As if I could protect him against them.
Queen Alkaia raises her palm and gives me a fierce, narrow look. “We will spare the male’s life,” she says evenly, not deigning to look at Yvan. “This time.” She glares at me, and there’s serious warning in her gaze. Then she calls out for three of her guards. “Bring the male to the edge of our territory. Stand guard over him while I speak with Elloren Gardner. When I am done, if she so chooses, she may join him there.”
Two soldiers on horseback, one an archer, the other carrying a rune-sword, ride up to Yvan and prod him to stand up. Another older, muscular woman with a large rune-spear in hand strides toward him, as well.
Yvan turns to the queen, his green eyes blazing with emotion. “Thank you,” he says to Queen Alkaia. “For taking in Wynter and the child.”
Queen Alkaia’s face tenses, but she stolidly refuses to look at him. The soldier beside Yvan makes a jabbing motion with her rune-spear, urging him into motion.
I want to wrest that cursed spear from her hands and crack it in two.
But they’re letting him live.
It seems an extraordinarily delicate and dangerous situation.
As Yvan is roughly ushered away, I turn to Queen Alkaia, anger getting the better of me. “He saved the child, you know. Naga, too. And he tried to save Ariel.”
The queen’s guards bristle, hands tightening on weapons.
Queen Alkaia holds up a hand to calm her guard. “I know,” she says, an edge of danger to her tone, her piercing gaze unwavering on me. “That is why he is one of the only males ever to have strayed inside our borders who will live to tell the tale.”
I glare at her, anger spiking over their inflexible mores.
“You find our ways harsh, Elloren Gardner?” the queen asks with a note of challenge.
“There’s not a lot of gray area, no.”
“Perhaps,” she agrees, her eyes probing, “but this is also the only safe place on Erthia you could think of to bring the Icarals.”
She has a point. But only half of one. What if the child had been a male with wings, instead of female?
But I realize I’ve said enough. Challenging the queen further would be foolhardy and might even jeopardize Yvan’s life.
Queen Alkaia motions for people to leave, and the soldiers depart, one by one, until only the queen, Valasca, Wynter and some of the queen’s guards remain. Wynter quietly rises and comes over to stand beside me, her face slick with tears.
“Wynter Eirllyn told us much about Ariel Haven,” Queen Alkaia tells me, her expression grave.
I nod mutely, unable to speak about Ariel and keep any semblance of composure.
A voice rising in song catches my attention, and I look past the queen and spot Alcippe at the far end of the plaza, just before a dense grove of trees. The Icaral child is in her muscular arms, the child’s screams having subsided. A new sound rises from the little girl—a low, keening sound of despair.
Alcippe continues singing, her deep voice resonating on the rune-warmed air. It’s a song in a language I don’t recognize, some Urisk dialect perhaps, and it’s soothing, but sad.
As we all listen to the calming melody, the child grows quieter and quieter, then completely silent. Alcippe stands for a moment longer, rocking the little girl gently, then slowly walks across the plaza and up to the queen, kneeling down on one knee before her.
Queen Alkaia sets her gaze favorably on Alcippe.
“I have named the child Pyrgomanche, My Queen,” Al
cippe announces with some formality. “Pyrgo for short.”
“Ah, yes.” The queen nods approvingly. “It suits her well. ‘Fiery Warrior.’ A good choice, Alcippe. A strong name for a strong child. She will be a great warrior someday. She will make us all proud.”
“I will take this child under my protection,” Alcippe goes on to say with firm resolve.
The queen tilts her head in respectful acknowledgment, and Alcippe rises and carries the child off across the plaza and toward the Queenhall.
I look to Queen Alkaia, full of conflict over having argued with her. “Thank you,” I say to her, my voice catching. “Thank you for helping the child. And for sheltering my friend, Wynter Eirllyn...and for freeing all of the Selkies.”
The queen’s mouth twitches as if she’s fighting off a smile, amusement twinkling in her savvy green eyes. “I will not say goodbye to you, Elloren Gardner. For I feel certain you will be back in a few weeks, perhaps, with a few rescued Kelpies or even a couple of liberated pit dragons.”
Her smile fades, and she fixes me with an expression touched with what looks like affection. “Or, perhaps,” she goes on, more seriously, “you will let go of your attachment to the male and join us. We would welcome you gladly.”
I’m shocked by her offer.
What would it be like to learn to be a warrior? To be the strong one for once, perpetually backed up by a whole army of female warriors? To learn to use weapons? To wear clothing I could move more freely in? To be free of all the Gardnerian rules?
It’s an astonishing, mind-altering idea.
But I wouldn’t be allowed to be with Uncle Edwin. Or Yvan, or my brothers or Gareth...or any of the other good and kind men in my life.
No, I think to myself, with a twinge of regret. I could never leave them behind forever.
Queen Alkaia seems to read my mind. She frowns at me, but then her expression becomes resigned, and she waves her hand dismissively. “Go, then, Elloren Gardner. Go back to your male. And may the Goddess protect you. Ride with Valasca.” She waves the commander of her Queen’s Guard forward, and Valasca flashes me a look of solidarity. “She will bring you to him.”
The Iron Flower Page 51