“Myern!”
He paused to look at Merrith. “Send a message to Kai and tell him to follow.”
“You shouldn’t go alone. This could be a trap,” the tavern keeper said.
“Maybe.” A slow, humorless grin twisted Lyr’s lips. “But once I find him, he won’t live to regret what he catches.”
Hands clasped, Kai and Arlyn walked along a path on the back edge of the gardens. To the left, the trail leading to the portal stretched into the distance. Another, smaller path forked off to the right, and in easy silence, they took it. Arlyn smiled. Their mission might be important, but the day glowed with promise. There weren’t even lingering clouds from the storm that had blown through a few hours before dawn. The relentless heat of summer had also dimmed a bit.
“Fairies, huh?” Arlyn asked, giving Kai’s hand a quick squeeze.
His brow furrowed. “I told you about them, didn’t I? You saw my glass sculpture.”
“Yes, and it is beautiful.” Her smile widened at the memory. He’d been unpacking some of the glass figures he’d created, a complete surprise to her. Her brash bonded, a patient artist. “But I don’t remember if you said much about the fairies themselves. Just that most creatures like them remained in dimensions closer to Earth.”
“That’s right.” With a gentle tug, he brought them both to a stop. “But most of the ones who are here aren’t really citizens of Moranaia. They have their own leaders and laws.”
Arlyn frowned. “And my father just lets them stay?”
“In return for asylum and the use of the land, they guard that segment of the border. And they help the Myern when necessary.” Smiling, Kai ran a finger along her cheek. “Nervous?”
“A little.”
“Just be sure to stop at the perimeter and wait for permission to enter.”
Arlyn pulled them into motion again, her pace faster this time. With a chuckle, Kai followed her eager steps. What could she say? It wasn’t every day a person got to see a myth. Then her lips twisted up. She was half-myth herself. Ah, perspective.
As they approached the end of the path, the trees thinned to reveal the gleaming water beyond. A fine mist rose in lazy tendrils from the surface despite the growing heat of the day. Arlyn halted just before the end of the trail, but there wasn’t a living creature in sight. Were they in the right place?
Then three fairies darted above the surface to hover over the mist, and all she could do was stare.
All three were about a foot in height and pale-skinned. The female in the center had dark blue hair that flowed around her gauzy dress like water, and the other two, both male, wore shades of green and orange. All three stared in silence, their faces inscrutable, before the female in the center shook her head.
The fairy’s lips moved, but the voice seemed to come from all around them. “Not yet. You will have need of us, but not now. Return only then.”
Before the echoes of the strange voice had faded, the fairies were gone. The mist floated above the still water as though it were never disturbed, and no sound was left but that of the forest. A trickle of dread skipped through her as she turned to Kai. “What did she mean by that?”
The worry in his eyes rebounded through their bond. “I don’t know, but it didn’t sound good.” He sighed. “Well, onward to Oria, I suppose. Maybe we’ll have better luck with Moren.”
Chapter 13
The sun had already risen over the tops of the trees as Lyr climbed up the eastern slope of the valley. His fury burned hot, but his steps fell silently. Though the chances were small that he’d catch the assassin sleeping, it was possible if he moved carefully. Merrith had said the man spoke in broken Moranaian, a clear sign of an outworlder, so the assassin might not have adjusted to their thirty-hour days.
The fiend could only have come through the portal.
Kai’s brother, Moren, had claimed that their father had followed the orders of another, one he’d been unable to uncover. But from another plane? There were plenty of worlds that could be reached through the Veil, but few of them were inhabited. It could be no coincidence that this was occurring at the same time as the energy poisoning affecting so many realms. If Lyr could find the source, then perhaps he could solve all their problems.
There were few good places to camp on this particular hill, the lack of water only one of the problems. The forest here was largely untouched, the ancient trees and undergrowth allowed to run wild. Though the inhabited lands appeared uncultivated to some, they were carefully maintained as such. Not here. The homes of Telerdai stretched to the north across the base of the valley instead. If the assassin was hoping to be undiscovered, he had chosen a good location.
After an hour of climbing rocks and giant tree roots, Lyr stopped to rest. Sweat poured from his back onto the boulder he’d found to lean against. Though the season of Toren was nearing a close, it was as hot as the solstice at noon. He longed to strip off his tunic, but he could leave nothing traceable behind. He’d even dissipate every droplet of sweat from the rock with a spell before he moved on.
He might feel numb most days, but he had no wish to die, either.
Lyr was methodical in his search, but by midday, he’d found no sign of anything save the daeri that grazed the hillside in herds. He peered down into the valley below, the village all but invisible from this height if he hadn’t known where to look. He settled in the lee of two massive trees for another rest and tried to ignore his stomach’s rumbling. His rage might have settled into simple anger after the long search, but it had only left room for other sensations. Like hunger.
Where was Kai? He and Arlyn should have returned some time ago from Oria, but so far, Lyr had not detected his friend. Not even Kai could have tracked him through these woods. Lyr knew every rock and tree from his boyhood years of exploring them. Did the delay spell more unpleasant news, or had Merrith’s message gone awry? Either way, it looked like he was on his own.
With a sigh, Lyr shoved away from the tree. There were few favorable places left for the intruder to hide, and one in particular stood out—the hidden grove. As he turned to head toward the clearing near the summit, he palmed a knife in his left hand and made sure his sword was loose in its scabbard. He might not be able to feel the assassin with his usual senses, but he would do his best to be prepared.
Kai walked through the portal and stepped to the side so Arlyn could follow. He had enjoyed seeing his brother, a relationship finally possible between them with their father dead, but the day had otherwise been a waste. The earth-healer he’d remembered from his childhood had died six years before—and not of natural causes. Another attrition caused by Allafon.
Arlyn laid a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m just…” Kai ordered his muscles to relax, but they seemed disinclined to listen. “We lost a day trying to find out what happened to the healer just to hear of her murder. Let’s just say I’m relieved to not really be of Allafon’s blood.”
She sighed. “I hate having to tell laial. He was so hoping that this part, at least, could be solved easily. I’m worried about him.”
“As am I.”
Dreading the coming discussion, Kai trudged toward the study in silence. It was an hour or so before the evening meal, and the halls were empty. Kai had no idea where Ralan might be, but he hoped it was with Lyr. Who knew if the prince had foreseen this news? Kai would rather report it only once.
But when they entered the study, it was empty. He glanced at Arlyn in concern. “Did he say he was going out? He told me to report to him here.”
“No.” She rushed toward the desk as though she’d somehow missed seeing him. “This is the time of day that he typically reviews estate accounts. Could he be training? Checking on Grandmother?”
Kai searched along the mental link, his key to the estate, and was further alarmed to find no sign of his friend. His energy was completely absent from Braelyn. “He’s not here.”
“Yeah, I know.”
&nbs
p; “No, search along the estate key. He’s completely gone.”
His mental conversation with Ralan was even less productive. The prince hadn’t seen Lyr all day, and if he knew why, he refused to say. Kai’s chest tightened. His friend clung to habit tightly, any deviation fairly unusual. Could the assassin have come without anyone the wiser? Just as he turned to search his friend’s room, Koranel entered.
“Lord Kai, is all well?”
“Have you seen the Myern?”
Though he looked taken aback by the abrupt question, Koranel shook his head. “I have not. But I do have a message for you.”
Kai grabbed the paper from his hand with unseemly haste, caring little for what the other thought. He broke the seal so quickly that the paper tore, forcing him to slow down. But when he finally read what was inside, he cursed. He cursed long and hard.
“What is it?” Arlyn asked, even as she reached for the paper.
“It’s from Merrith, the tavern keeper. He spoke to Lyr just after I left this morning. There was a suspicious person at the tavern looking for supplies last night, and Lyr went after him. Alone. He wanted me to follow when I returned.”
“Damn,” she muttered in English before scanning the paper as though he’d missed some detail. “Damn, damn, damn.”
“That was hours ago now. I have to head out at once.”
“I’m going with you.” Arlyn grabbed his arm. “But before you rush off, might I recommend we get our weapons?”
Kai grinned despite himself. “I knew there was a reason we bonded.”
It was almost evening before Lyr reached the summit. The large clearing a half mark behind him had been empty, leaving only a few small pockets near the top of the hill to search. It was beginning to seem that the stranger’s words to Merrith had been a diversion at best or a trap at worst. But the search was nevertheless gratifying, something more active than the endless negotiations in his study.
Lyr slowed as he approached the next clearing. This one was difficult to reach, the entrance hidden between two downed trees the size of a house. The walls of the clearing were bound in boulders taller than a man. As a child, he’d pretended it was a fort. But it was a lonely fort, his invaders all invisible. There had been few other children near his age even in a relatively large settlement. The cost of longevity was often loneliness.
Vines draped over the small opening between the disintegrating tree trunks, but he knew better than to enter there. It was the most obvious point, the one most likely to be guarded. Instead, he followed the edge of the tree trunk on the right. The wood had long crumbled into the suggestion of a tree, the wood near to compacted earth by now. As a child, it had been fresh, the trees only fallen a few years before. But when he climbed over the heavy trunk, he found that the secondary entrance between two of the back boulders was still there.
Lyr flattened himself against the cold stone and peeked into the gap. Flowers twisted gently in the evening breeze, the only sign of movement. But something felt…off. The insects still buzzed and the birds still called, but their songs sounded tentative. Like they, too, were unsure of the safety of the place. Soundlessly, he pulled his sword free and readied his knife in his other hand.
Though he cast his energy in a wide search, he found nothing. He slipped between the boulders and crept closer to the clearing. Nothing but swaying flowers in the center. But as he neared the edge of the stones, a mound near the far edge took shape. The remains of a camp fire? Lyr stilled everything—his body, his energy. This had to be it.
Without warning, the intruder appeared, his cloak falling free. Lyr caught a glimpse of dusky skin and black hair before the other strode forward, sword in hand. The steel blade of the man’s weapon wasn’t much better for Lyr than cold iron, but at least it wouldn’t shred his shields or drain his power so long as it didn’t make contact.
If it did make contact, well, he’d be prepared this time for the loss of power.
Lyr sprang into motion, his quick, sharp movements designed to mask his intentions as he met his attacker in the center. Metal connected with enough force that a lesser warrior might have lost his grip. Lyr merely pushed the other’s blade aside and slammed the pommel of his knife into the assassin’s exposed shoulder. With a hissed breath, the man danced back.
“Who sent you?” Lyr asked in English.
His opponent laughed as he recovered, spinning into another blow. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Choosing this clearing? No.” Lyr smiled as he parried. Then he ducked into an opening and cracked his foot into the other’s knee. “But one can hope.”
Whoever the man was, he had a talent for fighting. Though he stumbled back, almost dropping from the kick, he managed to dodge Lyr’s return blows. Perhaps a hint of combat magic? He spared a moment’s attention for a quick scan and smiled again at the result. The assassin did have the ability, but he lacked control over the magic. Perfect.
“You might stand a chance if you’d been properly trained,” Lyr said as he pushed his opponent back and ducked in to slice at his waist.
“I have been trained,” the assassin ground out, spinning just in time to avoid a wound.
“Not fully, I’m afraid.” Lyr feigned a look of sympathy. “Who taught you?”
The other man only grinned. “Not stupid, remember?”
The hair on his arms rose when he sensed an object hurtling toward his back, and he shifted to avoid it. A costly move. His opponent slipped beneath his guard and sliced a line across his right rib, the contact with the metal sapping Lyr’s magic until little remained. He cursed and darted back. Turning himself to face both threats, he watched the cloak fall off another. Two of them. Foolish, foolish, foolish of him not to consider the possibility.
“Ready to give?” the first assassin asked with another laugh.
Though blood flowed freely from his side, Lyr’s eyebrow rose. “For this scratch?”
Lyr swung into action, going on the offensive despite his missing magic. He might have been caught by surprise by the loss of power during his practice session with Teyark, but he’d prepared himself for the possibility in the interim. Magic was, after all, only a bonus. And he would fight—he’d never let himself be captured again.
For a while, the second man merely watched the renewed battle, his stare unrelenting. In fact, he seemed to hold no weapon. No scabbard or bow. If he was a mage, he was a useless one. Another frown pinched Lyr’s brow. He could sense that they weren’t entirely human. Didn’t they realize the steel had rendered his magic useless? A mage would strike with impunity.
His opponent grinned. “Come now, is this all? I hope my own bastard father has more power than this.”
“Power isn’t everything,” Lyr responded.
The assassin snorted, his expression twisted into disdain. It was all the distraction Lyr needed. He shoved his sword forward faster than thought. The blade pierced the man’s stomach and twisted through, severing the spine. The assassin’s dark eyes widened, and the air whooshed from his lungs. Lyr heaved his arm back, jerking the sword free, as the man fell into a heap.
Out of the corner of Lyr’s eye, he caught the quick shift of cloth as the other man hid once more. Miaran. He cast his senses out as best he could with his magic so reduced, but he didn’t have the skill to break the spell imbued in the cloak. He shifted restlessly, ready for the slightest hint of attack. Then the first man let out a groan, and Lyr glanced down.
The assassin’s dusky skin had gone gray—half-Dökkálfar?—and his hands pressed uselessly against his open wound as he writhed in pain. He should finish him off now, granting some mercy. Not even an assassin deserved to waste away in the slow, miserable death that kind of wound would bring.
Lyr sheathed his knife and crouched down, balancing his sword with both hands for a quick, precise blow. He paused to scan the clearing. Still empty. A shudder rippling through him at the necessity, he took a deep breath and prepared to plunge his sword into the assassin’s heart.
>
A presence flared to life behind Lyr, shrieking through his shaky combat senses. His magic tracked the motion as the second man struck, plunging his knife around to slip into the soft spot beneath Lyr’s left lung. Lyr twisted to the side, but he didn’t have time to completely dodge the blow. The blade sliced into his abdomen and then slashed up his chest until it tangled with his pendant.
Letting his cry of pain turn into a bellow of rage, Lyr slammed his elbow into the assassin’s stomach. Before he could bring his sword around, the man retreated with a breathless chuckle. Lyr tried to turn so he could trace the assassin’s movement, but the world pitched around him as his magic drained away.
The knife must have been iron.
Lyr toppled over. Great Gods, the agony… His body convulsed as the iron burned through him. He lifted his free hand to the wound and hissed as his fingers found the dagger tangled in his necklace. Trembling, he grabbed the hilt and pulled it free, then used his last bit of strength to toss it away.
A thunk against flesh and a cry of pain gave some satisfaction amidst the pain.
“Fucking elves.” A voice muttered from above. “Now I have to haul Beckett back before he bleeds out. Should’ve brought a damn healer.”
Lyr shifted to his back, looking for the source of the voice, but his vision grew hazy as the iron drained his energy. Light. A shifting blur. Then even that cut off, and soft fabric brushed against his flesh as it settled around him. He lifted his hand to pull the cloth from his face, but he was too weak to shift the flimsy barrier.
“Be a good elf and stay here to die, okay? You’re invisible now. You’ll be bones before they find you.” Then a muffled chuckle. “My best kill yet.”
The cloak. Miaran. His whole body chilled as he realized the stranger was right. No one had been able to detect the assassins under these cloaks. Lyr’s people would never find him. His eyes slipped closed, and the ground grew sticky with his blood. With each gasping breath, his chest burned as the flakes of iron left behind by the knife dug deeper.
Sundered Page 12