A tremor shook the earth, accompanied by the deafening roar of bloodthirsty beasts. The soldier lost his footing, stumbling and cursing as Adiana slipped from his grasp. She did not feel the impact of hitting the ground, but remained limp and numb to the world around her.
The soldier recovered his balance, hauled her back onto his shoulders, and continued in the direction of Mechnes’s tent.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Portal
Eolyn searched the shadow-cloaked woods, eyes alert, breath shallow, hand firm on her oak staff.
Borten stirred at her side, rose to his feet, and unsheathed Kel’Barú. The long blade caught a sliver of moonlight.
Several paces behind them, Mage Corey and Mariel were deep inside their own dreams.
Crickets chirped their quiet rhythms, but the trees had ceased all movement. Not even the leaves rustled in the dark.
“What is it?” Borten’s whisper was barely audible.
“I’m not certain.” A feeling, like a breath of wintry air, had raised the fine hairs on Eolyn’s arms.
She remembered a time, not so long ago, when the night forest was a place of warm mystery to be explored with happy abandon. Now she had grown wary of this midnight realm whose power to conceal could favor them as easily as it might betray them.
Mist floated, delicate and gray, just past the broad trunks ahead. A hollow wind moaned through the trees, followed by the rustle of stiff bushes. The shrill call of a spotted owl pierced the heavy silence.
Borten stepped forward and assumed a middle guard, hands firmly on the hilt of Kel’Barú.
“Perhaps we should warn Corey…” Eolyn’s words stalled as the mist was set into motion, swirling in a small vortex that coalesced into a ghost-white beast.
The moment the Naether Demon took shape, it sprang upon Eolyn.
Lunging into its path, Borten swung low and sliced through the luminous flesh. Black maw contorted in an anguished howl, the demon stumbled backwards and then charged again, ripping open Borten’s leg with an ebony claw.
Ehekaht, faeom dumae!
The thunder from Eolyn’s staff threw Borten and the beast apart. Borten recovered and drove Kel’Barú into the demon’s torso. As it fell, a second demon sprang out of the shadows and pummeled Eolyn into the ground, knocking the staff from her grip.
Ehekaht, she gasped. Soeh mae.
A desperate spell invoked on instinct, but it worked. A ward sprang up. The demon raged over Eolyn like a winter storm, claws tearing at the magic shield, maw yawning like the abyss of the Underworld.
Eolyn strained against the force of its hunger, uncertain how long her power would hold. Just as she thought the ward would fail, an ancient curse thundered through her awareness.
Saenau
Revoerit
Nefau
A wave of nausea consumed her. Darkness swallowed the light. The creature tumbled away as if toward a precipice, dragging Eolyn with it. Claws tore at her skirt and then slipped away.
The forest came back into focus. Eolyn found herself on her knees, struggling to regain her breath. Borten was helping her to her feet.
Corey held her staff in both hands, aiming the crystal head at the demon as it retreated. A dark cloud flowed from the crystal, barreling toward the beasts and cloaking them in shadow. They cowered together and beat the air, filling the night with agonized howls.
“Eolyn!” Corey’s neck was strained with the force of his effort. “I need a white flame!”
Recovering her focus, Eolyn summoned the purest fire known to Dragon.
Ehekaht. Aenthe rehoert.
A shaft of light crackled from the maga’s palm and hammered into the demons, igniting them in cobalt flames. Corey and Eolyn sustained their magic as long as they could, drawing on the power of the forest. At last the demons crumpled beneath their combined fire.
“Enough,” Corey said, weariness in his voice. “It is enough.”
Eolyn released her spell. Borten strode forward with Kel’Barú, severed the demons’ heads and began to hack their bodies to pieces.
Sweat beaded Corey’s brow. He put his hand on Eolyn’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She fought to steady the tremor in her voice. “I’m winded, that’s all. Where is Mariel?”
The girl appeared and flung her arms around Eolyn. They clung to each other, Mariel weeping, Eolyn murmuring words of relief and comfort.
Corey stepped forward and squatted next to the chunks of glowing flesh left by Kel’Barú. He passed his hand over them as if studying coals in a fading fire. Vapor rose from the remains.
“As cold as ice,” he said in wonder. Then he stood and examined Borten’s arm and leg, both drenched with blood.
“It is nothing,” the knight said.
“Right you are again,” Corey replied. “Remarkably.”
“Corey, please.” Eolyn extracted herself from Mariel’s hold. “Must you be so disagreeable even now?”
“Disagreeable?” Corey arched his brow. “All I meant is that monsters of this sort, fresh from the Underworld, might carry dark magic that could seep into the simplest of wounds and kill a man. We wouldn’t want Borten to suffer a miserable death from poisoning by Naether Demons, would we?”
Eolyn accompanied Borten to a nearby fallen trunk. The knight sat down while she tore back the bloodied fabric that covered his wounds.
“Patience, Eolyn,” Corey said. “The man is still weary from battle.”
Eolyn ignored the mage. The claws had slashed deep into Borten’s flesh, but there was no sign of dark magic. The flow of blood was already beginning to slow.
“Mariel, bring a flask of water, would you?” Eolyn opened her medicine belt and set aside willow, arnica and foxes’ clote. “I must find more herbs in the morning. This is all I have, and the dressing will need to be changed every day.”
Borten put his fingers under Eolyn’s chin and lifted her face to his. “I can collect my own herbs, Eolyn, and dress my own wounds. You have the means to escape, and you should do so now. Every moment you remain here is a wager against your own death.”
“It is only another day’s ride,” she said. “Then I will fly to Selkynsen, and Mariel can—”
“What if those creatures reappear tonight? What if they come in ever greater numbers?” Borten’s tone was impatient, bordering on angry. “What if the Syrnte find us tomorrow?”
Eolyn accepted the flask of water from Mariel and began washing Borten’s wound with more vigor than necessary. “I have made my decision. I do not wish to speak about it any further.”
“Eolyn.” Corey’s voice cut sternly between them. “Stand up, would you? And step away from the knight.”
“Oh, for the love of the Gods, Corey!” She sat back on her heels. “Don’t you start with me as well.”
“I am not trying to intercede in your lover’s quarrel. Stand up, I say. Now.”
The severity of his tone sparked renewed fear, and Eolyn obeyed.
Mariel backed away a few steps, a cautious look on her face.
Borten watched Corey with a wary gaze while fingering the hilt of Kel’Barú.
The mage approached Eolyn, eyes focused not on her person, but on her aura.
“What is that?” He reached out to touch the ethereal colors that defined her spirit. “That shadow…It was not there before. It looks as if someone has punched a hole in your life force.”
His words trailed off. The mage turned back to the slain Naether Demons, now no more than a loose collection of glowing puddles that diminished even as they watched.
“And the shadow fades as our attackers disappear from this world.” He paused and frowned. “Did this happen to you last time they attacked?”
“How am I to know, Corey? I cannot see my own aura.”
“Yes, of course. But the Naether Demons can. They see it from their realm and follow it like moths to a flame, or wolves to the feast. Driven by hunger toward a power that can at last break op
en their prison of a thousand years.”
Eolyn shook her head. "You are speaking nonsense, Corey. My aura holds nothing that would not have been offered by any maga or mage in all the centuries since the Naether Demons were banished. Indeed, your magic is stronger than mine, and therefore more attractive to them, by the same argument.”
“My magic is not stronger than yours, but even if it were, that is not the point. They don’t just see you Eolyn. They are using you as a portal.”
Eolyn caught her breath. Her hand went instinctively to the silver web at the base of her throat.
“What does he mean?” Mariel’s voice shook
“Any place where souls were torn from their bodies through violence offers the Naether Demons a path into our world,” Eolyn said. “During the Battle of Aerunden, my soul was torn from my body and cast into the Underworld. Akmael restored me to life, but the breach between this world and theirs remains. It follows me wherever I go.”
“No.” Borten shook his head. “That does not make sense. It’s been years since Tzeremond cast that curse. If what you are saying is true, they would have come long ago.”
“They have not had assistance until now,” Corey said. “The Syrnte are feeding them magic, and with each meal they grow stronger.”
For several moments, no spoke.
Then Borten drew a decisive breath, rose, and strapped Kel’Barú around Eolyn’s waist.
“Borten, what are you doing?” she asked.
He took hold of the silver chain, lifted it over her head, and pressed the medallion into her palm. “Go to the King. Place yourself under his protection. There is nothing more we can do for you here.”
“But I can’t—”
“He is right, Eolyn,” Corey said. “The safest place for you is in the City, with Akmael and all his mages.”
“If I return now, I would be taking this danger into the heart of the Fortress of Vortingen.”
“We cannot be certain of that,” Corey said. “The ability of these beasts to find you may be tied to the proximity of the Syrnte. But even if it weren’t, you are not the only one who carries this burden. Akmael also descended to the realm of the dead. The Naether Demons may be stalking him even as we speak.”
Cold terror took hold of Eolyn.
Borten set heavy hands on her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze. “If the King is taken unawares, if he is slain, we are ruined. He has no heir. Moisehén will collapse into civil war, and all the Syrnte will have to do is wait until we’ve ravaged our own fields and destroyed our own people, before claiming what little remains.”
Eolyn broke away from him. “I know, Borten! Do you think I cannot see what this means? That I do not fear for our King and our people? My heart weighs so heavy, I can hardly bear it. I understand I must go back. It’s just that I…”
Her voice faltered. The memory of Borten’s kiss returned fresh as a summer breeze, painful as a twisting knife.
“I want everything to be different,” she whispered.
Borten’s expression softened. He studied her with sadness in his eyes.
“I would have a word alone with Maga Eolyn,” he said.
Much to Eolyn’s relief, Corey gave no disparaging remark or scowl of displeasure.
“Come, Mariel,” was all the mage said. “Say farewell to your tutor.”
Mariel was biting her lip and blinking back tears. She flung her arms around Eolyn. “Tell me we will see each other again. Tell me no harm will come to you.”
“Remember what I’ve taught you, Mariel,” Eolyn said, for she would not make false promises in uncertain times. “Do as Borten asks. If the year should pass and I have not returned, petition for your staff in the spring.”
“Maga Eolyn, don’t—”
“You are a maga in the tradition of Aithne and Caradoc. Dragon will look after you, and give you a tutor.”
Tears streamed down Mariel’s cheeks while Eolyn kissed her forehead.
Mage Corey placed a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder.
“When you arrive at the City,” he said, “you must seek out High Mage Thelyn. Ask him to show you the royal library, and to take you to Tzeremond’s quarters.”
“Tzeremond’s quarters?” Even now, the mere mention of that wizard’s name could make Eolyn’s heart skip a beat. “Why?”
“He had a collection of books, ancient and precious. Annals of women’s magic, works handwritten by the great wizards, magical secrets gathered from distant places. We know this library is hidden somewhere in his chambers, but we have never been able to decipher the ward. You must find the entrance, Eolyn. Instinct assures me there are weapons within that can be used against the Naether Demons.”
She nodded. “I will do my best, Mage Corey.”
“I dare say your best might save this kingdom.” Corey’s expression was a rare mix of sympathy and admiration. He paused before adding, “There is one more thing I would ask of you. Leave your staff with me.”
Eolyn hesitated. Doyenne Ghemena had once told her never to entrust her staff to another mage. “I don’t think that would be wise.”
“Borten’s sword will not help us if the Naether Demons should reappear, and the Syrnte have their own magic. I can do much without a staff, but it will be better for us if I have one.”
Eolyn looked to Borten, but he only shrugged. “It is your decision, Eolyn. I do not know the implications of leaving your staff behind.”
Reluctantly, Eolyn retrieved the staff from where it lay. Despite her uncertainty, she would go with greater peace of mind if they had this instrument to protect them.
She proffered the polished oak to Corey, who set both hands upon its smooth surface. They stood for a moment, eyes locked on each other and staff held between them, while their magic met and resonated in a low hum.
“I entrust you with this instrument, Mage Corey, that you may use it to defend those I love, whom I leave under your protection.” She pulled the mage closer and added in low menace, “If any harm should come to Borten or Mariel through fault or failure of your own, I swear to the Gods I shall kill you the next time we meet.”
He smiled. “I will miss you too, Eolyn. And do not worry about your precious knight. His selfless dedication to your well-being makes him more valuable to me than you might imagine. I promise not to hurt him. Much.”
“Curse you, Corey!” She tried to wrest the staff from his grip, but Corey held firm.
“It was a jest,” he said. “You have nothing to fear, Eolyn. Your student and your lover are safe with me.”
Eolyn examined Corey’s face and aura, searching for any sign of deception, but she found nothing. She let go of the staff and stiffened as Corey embraced her.
“Remember what I told you about the Queen. Be cautious. Be prudent.” He released Eolyn and turned to her student. “I’ve a few spells to teach you, Mariel, that you may need in the coming days. Why don’t we start your lessons now, and leave Borten and Eolyn to whatever intimacies the moonlit wood inspires.”
The two of them departed, the sound of their footsteps fading in the dark.
In the silence that followed, Eolyn could not bring herself to look at Borten. She studied the silver web in her hand, the jewel that bound her to Akmael, the gift once meant as a sign of their abiding love.
Borten stepped forward and enclosed her hands with his.
“It seems only a few days have passed since I truly saw you for the first time,” she said. “Now I don’t know if we will ever meet again.”
The thought brought on a renewed wave of grief that she warded off by embracing him, inhaling his aroma of loam and crushed leaves, now mingled with the disturbing scent of fresh blood.
Borten withdrew, his expression grave. “Forgive me, Eolyn, for never having spoken to you about your brother’s death.”
“It does not matter. Ernan chose his own fate. I have come to accept that now. And you and I, we have built a different life since then, in a new world.”
“We cannot erase the past, Eolyn. It lives with us whether we speak of it or not.”
Eolyn managed an amused smile. “You sound like my Doyenne.”
“Your brother died valiantly, determined to defend you until his last breath. I knew not who he was, only that he would slay the King if I did not stop him.”
“One of them was destined to die that day. You slew my brother and saved our King. Therefore I must forgive you in one breath, and thank you with the next.”
“That cannot be easy for you.”
“No,” she said quietly. “It is not.”
“After your brother perished, the King entrusted you to me. I remember that moment as if it were yesterday. It was the first time I ever held you in my arms.”
“Borten, please—”
“You were spent and cold, your robes charred and your skin tinged blue. You seemed more dead than alive, and yet, I thought you the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Such is the power of your magic, your valor. You were the maga who escaped all the pyres of Moisehén, and returned to challenge the Mage King. You had lost your battle, Eolyn, but you had won his heart.”
“I do not wish to speak of these things now.”
“He loved you then, and he loves you still. Any fool can see that.”
“Akmael has his queen and his kingdom. I am not bound to him.”
“He is the King.”
She bristled at the finality in his voice. “I am a High Maga. I choose the keeper of my heart. I, and no one else.”
“Do you?” He spoke as if directing the question to himself. “Do any of us really choose when it comes to love?”
“The Gods are offering us a gift,” she said, though she felt the desperation in her own voice. “To refuse would be an insult to them.”
“The Gods have given us their gift, and now they are taking it away. Fate leads you back to the Mage King. I feel it with all my heart, though it fills me with despair. There is no future for me along the path you must take, Eolyn.”
Her breath came short, and her voice shook with anger. “So that is all, then? Our companionship, our affection, our kiss? It all simply ends here?”
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