by Kara Jaynes
Fyrsil arched an eyebrow. “Close, but not quite.”
“Where am I off?” I tilted my head in puzzlement.
“My father was a Twyli.”
“What?” I reached up, gripping matted strands of my hair in amazement. “Matias, you can’t be serious.” The old name slipped out in my shock.
Fyrsil smirked, pleased at my reaction. “I’m completely serious.” His smirk turned to a puzzled frown. “All I know though, is what my mother told me of him. She said he’d traveled through the mountains alone, and started his band of rogues in the Tyrko Ruins. That is all he told her. I don’t know why he left.”
“None of the brigands knew anything else?” I asked, and he shook his head. “So do you look more like your mother or father?”
Fyrsil chuckled, amused by the question. “My mother was a tiny wisp of a thing, with large brown eyes and light blonde hair, so I’m going to guess my father. Why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” I admitted. “I just like to know those sorts of things.”
He rolled his eyes and I laughed. “Thank you for allowing us to stay for the night,” I said. “But we need to move on.”
“Where to?”
I opened my mouth to speak when I noticed Aaric and Dahlia had woken and were walking toward me. “We haven’t quite decided,” I admitted. “Aaric and I haven’t come to an agreement yet.” I smiled warmly at Aaric as he came to sit beside me, and smoothed Dahlia’s hair out of her face. Aaric was probably right. While I wanted to help the people here, I also wanted to keep Dahlia safe. Maybe we could go back to my clan.
13
Aaric
“So why did you come here then?” Adaryn asked Fyrsil. “To learn more about your father?” She now held Dahlia in her lap, and was running her fingers gently through the child’s hair, detangling it. Spectacles perched on his nose, Aaric scribbled in his book, reminding himself to buy a brush at the next village they came across. Adaryn’s hair was a hopeless rat’s nest, but the girl’s white-blonde hair looked fine enough that it would brush a little easier.
“Not in particular.” Fyrsil looked up as a young, willowy woman glided over with a tray of hot drinks. He took one from the tray and continued speaking. “After my escape from Sen Altare, I hid myself in the Tyrko Ruins. Many of my men, when they discovered I had escaped, came and found me. Their loyalty ran deeper than I realized, but I shouldn’t have expected any less, I suppose. We’re a close-knit bunch, us outlaws.” He gave Adaryn a roguish smile, ignoring Aaric’s glower. The brigand woman holding the tray walked around the morning campfire and handed a mug to Aaric. He thanked her and took it, smiling at the tendrils of steam rising from the dark liquid. Breathing in the rich aroma, he pushed down the wave of disappointment he felt discovering it wasn’t coffee.
Fyrsil noticed his expression and grinned. “They don’t have coffee on this side of the mountains. Can you believe it? Chocolate is almost as good though. Almost.”
Aaric took a tentative sip. Fyrsil was right. It was quite delicious. Adaryn tried to gulp hers and choked in her haste to swallow when it burnt her tongue.
“We stayed in the Tyrko Ruins for a while,” Fyrsil said, “but after being a king for over ten years, it didn’t have the sense of home it once held for me.”
“So why not Harbor?” Aaric asked sipping his drink slowly. “Seems like that'd be closer than coming all the way over here.”
He frowned at the twin withering looks both Fyrsil and Adaryn shot him. “What?”
“Harbor is closed to magic users,” Adaryn explained. “I would have thought you knew that already.”
Aaric shrugged. “I’ve never been there.”
“I decided to take my chances and travel east,” Fyrsil said. “And if I learned anything about my father, so much the better. Though with things as grim as they are, it might’ve been better to stay in the Ruins.”
Adaryn shook her head. “I don’t know how you can say that,” she protested, her arms going around Dahlia. “These people need us, Fyrsil. We could possibly be the only two magic users who aren’t with the Twyli.”
Fyrsil grimaced. “I help the Denali—that is what the non-magic users are called here—” he interjected, “because we are paid handsomely to patrol the perimeter of their remaining stronghold and keep it safe. They’re desperate, and pay in gold.” He shrugged. “Whether they live or die is really no concern of mine. Gold holds value anywhere you go, you see. When I’m no longer needed here, I’ll move on.”
“Why haven’t you gone to Twyarinoth,” Aaric asked, “if you despise our kind, so much?”
“Because of what they do,” Fyrsil said irritably, as if explaining something obvious. “Even a hardened brigand such as me can’t stomach the way they warp the magic.” He grinned. “And I’ve slaughtered enough of them that I don’t suspect they’d be very welcoming toward me if they knew how many of their kind I’ve killed for gold.”
“What do they do?” Aaric asked. Fyrsil and Adaryn exchanged looks. They must have already discussed this.
“Let’s talk about that later,” Adaryn said firmly. She looked pointedly at the child.
“Attack!” someone yelled. “We’re under attack!”
“What in blazes?” Fyrsil stood, his expression incredulous. “It’s broad daylight!”
Several figures darted into the camp, slashing and hacking with long blades, some of magic and some of steel. They swarmed over Fyrsil’s men, shrieking war cries in a tongue that was unfamiliar.
Aaric leapt to his feet and grabbed Dahlia, throwing her over his shoulder. “To our horses!” he bellowed at Adaryn. The nomad woman’s face had gone white, but without any hesitation ran to where Sorrel was tied at the pickets.
Aaric followed, unsheathing his sword with his free hand. He needed to get his wife and Dahlia out of danger. Fyrsil had sprinted to meet the danger head-on, face contorted with fury, lightning crackling from his upraised hands.
Something whistled past Aaric’s ear and fell on the ground. A dart of some sort; the liquid that coated it stained the snow a dark blue.
Aaric set Dahlia down in the snow. “Run to mother,” he said before he could catch himself, and the toddler turned and struggled through the drifts toward Adaryn.
Aaric turned to face whoever had thrown the dart and nearly got his head taken off by the horizontal swipe of a blade. He threw himself backward, and did a quick roll, leaping back onto his feet, sword up on the defensive. He could have groaned with frustration; his attacker was a woman. An angry woman, face contorted with blood lust, a wild light in her pale blue eyes, but a woman, regardless. Aaric defended himself from her onslaught. Skies above, but she was fast. She nearly skewered him through his middle. He stayed on the defensive, unable to bring himself to fight back. He couldn’t kill a woman. He wouldn’t.
A ball of fire streaked past Aaric’s head from behind him, slamming into the woman. She screamed in pain and rage as the fire took hold of her clothes and flesh. She dropped her weapon and rolled on the ground, trying to put out the flames. Aaric looked behind, and saw Adaryn, anger etched in her features, the magic roiling around her hands and wrists in its intensity. She obviously had no such qualms about harming another female. She ran to him and tried to pull him to the horses. “I’ve put Dahlia on Sorrel. We need to go, Aaric!”
Aaric nodded, and after one last look at his attacker—the flames were still going strong, he didn’t think she was going to make it—ran after Adaryn.
They got to the horses, and Adaryn gasped with shock to see Sorrel’s saddle empty. “No!” She frantically looked around her. “No! Where is she? Where’d she go? Dahlia!”
Several figures ran out from the trees by the horses, bearing down on them. Adaryn faced them with a snarl and raised her hands. Magic exploded from her fingertips, rolling in waves over the approaching Twyli. Some were caught in the flames, others ducked to evade it, or cancelled it out with magic of their own, and advanced. Fyrsil ran past them to meet the closest Tw
yli, magic against magic.
Adaryn joined him, her face a mix of anger and frustration. Aaric sighed with exasperation—he hated fighting—and leapt into the fray, silently thanking Bran for his combat lessons.
Aaric fought against a tall Twyli. They scuffled, meeting their blades several times before the Twyli stumbled and slipped in the snow. Aaric felt relief that his opponent was male as he thrust the sword through the man’s chest, all the way up to the hilt.
Yanking it free, he turned just in time to see another Twyli kick out, causing Fyrsil to stagger. The Twyli raised his sword for a killing blow, only to get a face full of blue fire cast from Adaryn. Fyrsil regained his footing and slew the Twyli.
The battle seemed to last a lifetime; Aaric’s limbs felt like lead, and his breath came in gulping gasps, but just when he thought it’d never end, the fight was over.
The remaining Twyli melted into the trees, leaving their wounded and dying. One of Fyrsil’s men, the man with pale eyes, ran around the site, stabbing each of the fallen Twyli in the heart. Dead or alive, it didn’t seem to matter to him. He stalked over to a fallen Twyli by Fyrsil, raising his blade to strike.
“Wait.” Fyrsil spoke, and his servant lowered his blade immediately, stepping aside. Fyrsil bent down and rolled the Twyli over. It was clear the Twyli didn’t have long to live. The snow around his body was stained red with his blood. He coughed, looking up at Fyrsil. “Master?” he gasped, his eyes wide with shock. He blinked and gave a rattling gasp. It took Aaric a moment to realize he was laughing.
Fyrsil knelt down, grabbing the dying man by the arms. “Why did you call me that?” he said, urgency in his tone. “Who do you think I am?” But the Twyli didn’t speak again. Fyrsil let him fall, wiping his hands on his trousers. “That was odd.” He tried to sound lighthearted, but his face was troubled.
“No!” Adaryn staggered through the snow to Aaric, her face was flushed and tear-stained. “She’s gone, Aaric, they took her!”
“Who?” Fyrsil asked, confused.
Adaryn looked at him and her face crumpled. She sat in the snow, crying. “Dahlia!”
Aaric spun to face the horses, and his heart sank seeing the empty saddle of Sorrel. Dahlia had been captured.
14
Adaryn
“I hate myself.” I’d stopped crying, but my head ached from the tears I’d shed. I was riding Sorrel, gaze riveted to the ground several paces ahead of me. I was following the tracks of the remaining Twyli party that had attacked us. A quick scan among the horses told me that Dahlia hadn’t dismounted herself. There had been, however, prints of larger feet in the snow, leading up to and then away from Sorrel. A Twyli, as none of Fyrsil’s men had seen Dahlia during or since the attack.
“Don’t take it so hard, Adaryn,” Aaric said gently, riding next to me. “We were attacked. You can hardly be blamed for what went wrong here.”
I shook my head, a lump forming in my throat again. I swallowed, blinking furiously. “I shouldn’t have left her. When I saw she was gone I shouldn’t have wasted time helping Fyrsil.”
“I’m right here, you know,” Fyrsil said dryly, riding a few feet ahead of us. He turned in his saddle to scowl at me. He’d pulled his black hair back and tied it with a strip of leather. “Guess I never did thank you for helping me, sand cat.”
“If you want to thank me, help me find the child,” I snapped, and he turned back to look forward again, raising a hand in a peaceful gesture. “Calm, Adaryn. We’ll find her, provided we catch up to them before they reach Twyarinoth.”
“How quickly will they travel?” Aaric asked Fyrsil. He reached over and patted my knee in what he probably hoped was a comforting manner. It didn’t help. Much.
“They move fast,” the brigand king said. He was watching the trail as closely as I. He’d left his men behind to continue protecting the city of Bleaksdale, only bringing the man with the strange eyes. His name was Zero. He followed us like a silent hound, scanning the woods for danger. Fyrsil continued. “But we’re a party of four, and we’re right on their tails. It’ll be a tight race, but I think we can do it.”
I nodded, even though Fyrsil couldn’t see me. We had to overtake them. We had to.
Aaric took a deep breath and watching me, hesitated a moment before speaking. “What happens if we don’t reach them in time?”
I gritted my teeth with the effort of keeping my tears from falling again.
“You know that as well as I do,” Fyrsil said. He might as well have been talking about the weather, his tone was so casual. “The child dies. They’ll take her life to fuel their magic.”
“They must be very powerful,” Aaric remarked. He pulled a crumpled notebook from his pack and started to write. “Doing this to as many people as they have.”
“The boost of magic doesn’t last,” Fyrsil replied. He scanned the sky ahead of us. We’d been traveling for several hours, and the winter sky was beginning to darken. “That’s why they are constantly on the hunt for unprotected Denali. They need fresh lives to keep their power at its peak.”
“Why children?” Aaric’s nose wrinkled in puzzlement. “Why didn’t they take someone older, like you or me?”
“Because,” Fyrsil’s voice took on a tinge of annoyance. He was getting tired of questions. He didn’t know Aaric well enough to know the inventor never ran out of questions. “A child’s essence is stronger.” He reined his horse to a halt. “We’ll stop here for the night.”
“No!” It was an effort not to shout. “We can’t stop now. We haven’t caught up with the Twyli yet!”
Zero had already jumped off his horse and was clearing the snow under a tree to pitch a tent. I shook a finger at him. “Get back on your horse!” He didn’t even glance in my direction, continuing his work. “Zero!” He slipped his rucksack off his shoulder and started rummaging through it.
“We need to stop and rest, Adaryn,” Fyrsil explained. “If we dash headlong after them we risk breaking a horse’s leg. Not to mention they’ll have someone keeping watch to alert them even if we were to attack.”
“If we don’t continue,” I countered, “we won’t gain any ground and they’ll beat us to the city.”
“It’s a risk we’ll have to take.” The outcast king would not be swayed. I wanted to strangle him. “If we lame a horse, we won’t stand a chance of catching up to them.”
“Fine.” I slipped down from my horse into the snow. I trudged past Zero, giving him the full force of my glare. The fool man didn’t even look up from his work.
Aaric started picking up branches and twigs. “We won’t need those,” I said. “A fire may alert them.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right,” Fyrsil said to me. He’d sat on the blankets Zero had unpacked, content to let his servant do all the work. “If they find out we’re here, best case they will increase their speed and beat us to the city. Worst case they’ll come back and kill us.”
Aaric helped me set up our tent and lay our fur blankets inside. After that we huddled together for warmth at the entrance. Aaric pulled some food from our supplies, stale bread and cheese, and handed some to me. My stomach clenched at the idea of food, but I took some bread and nibbled it anyway; I would need my strength.
“How do you know so much about the Twyli?” I finally asked Fyrsil.
The brigand king yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “Anyone will talk if you hurt them enough.” He headed for his tent, leaving Aaric and I alone. I shuddered. Fyrsil definitely had his own moral code. I didn’t like the Twyli, but torturing someone into talking seemed wrong.
“How are you feeling?” Aaric asked gently.
“Will we be able to save her?” I mumbled, feeling the all too familiar lump form in my throat.
“Of course.” Aaric put his arms around me, drawing me to his chest. I let him, drawing comfort from his closeness, breathing in his masculine scent, the hint of coffee gone.
“I should have watched her more closely,” I said, pressing m
y face against his jacket. “But when I saw that crazed Twyli woman attack you, I couldn’t help myself but go back to help.”
He ran a hand gently through my hair, being careful not to tug any matted strands. “Get some sleep, love.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ll take the first watch.”
I nodded and crawled inside our tent, wrapping myself in the soft, warm furs the clan had given to us as a wedding gift. I was so tired. My head felt like it was made of straw, and my eyes felt like they had sand in them, but sleep wouldn’t come. I tossed and turned, my mind dwelling on Dahlia and whether she was all right. It hurt to think of her in the clutches of those who meant to take her life. I didn’t think she was dead, not yet, anyway. They needed her “essence,” whatever that was, and Fyrsil had told me after the skirmish that they would take her to Twyarinoth for that. If I could just get her back before we reached the city, everything would be okay.
My eyelids drooped, and I found myself drifting in and out of sleep.
15
Adaryn
The dreams I had were strange: Fyrsil standing in thin air, looking down at a massive, dark city. It somehow belonged to him, but it wasn’t Sen Altare. Aaric, talking to an enormous, winged creature with shimmering blue scales. The strange Twyli I had spoken to back in the village beckoning me into a deep fog. Dahlia, strapped to a strange table, unable to move, her eyes filled with terror. Dark figures bent over her. The last image jolted me awake, and I lay there shivering and sweating.
Aaric’s slumbering form lay next to me. I’d slept longer than I had realized. I pushed the covers aside and crawled to the tent opening and outside, careful not to wake Aaric.
Zero was leaning against a tree. He glanced over at me for a moment, then went back to scanning the trees, shrubs, and everything in between.
I rubbed my arms, trying to keep warm. “Is it just me, or is it colder on this side of the mountains?”
He ignored me. I gritted my teeth, irritated. “So you can’t talk, huh?” I marched over to stand beside him. “Why not?” I asked, before it occurred to me that if he really couldn’t talk, he wouldn’t be able to answer that.