“I will make arrangements for your comfort when we reach the palace,” Brother Tye said as he guided them through a crowd of drunken ram-headed men in saffron robes. They carried bright silver cymbals in their right hands and clanged them repeatedly with the little wooden rods in their left hands as they danced and chanted a lively song.
Berrol now had James by the scruff of his collar as he piloted the whimpering vampire through the throng of jubilant revelers. Even Marla had trouble overcoming the urge to sink her teeth into one of the ram-men as the intoxicating scent of their blood washed over her.
“How far is it to the palace?” Marla asked.
“I’m not exactly certain,” Brother Tye chuckled, “I have never walked to the palace before.”
“What do you mean?” Alyss asked. Her eyelids fluttered as one of the drunken revelers caught her in a giddy hug, his furry throat only a shuddering breath away from the girl’s lips. Claude quickly freed her from the goatkin’s embrace and hustled her away.
“Brother Tye is a dragon,” Berrol said, “He only took this form at the Empress’s command, that he might better understand us.”
“Can you change back and fly ahead then?” Alyss asked, “Maybe send someone back to fetch us?”
“I’m afraid that is not possible,” Brother Tye answered. He guided them quickly into a side alley, where the cool night air smelled more of cedar boughs and less of warm, delicious blood.
“You’re stuck like this?” Alyss asked, catching her breath.
“I have not been released of my duty in this matter,” Brother Tye said, “I should not have returned to the city at all for another nine years.”
“I’m sorry,” Marla said, “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“I understand,” Tye said with a smile, “You do as you must... and I must do my best.”
“What will happen to us when we reach the palace?” Nerrys demanded as she joined James in the shadow of a vined trellis. She absently stroked the curly hair on the back of his neck as he crouched against the wall, trying to regain his composure after the scene in the street. He looked up at her with a grateful smile and then returned to his measured breathing and a studious appraisal of his silken slippers.
Brother Tye remained silent for a long moment, his eyes downcast as well. “I do not know,” he admitted at last.
“How long will it take the Emissary to fly back here from the monastery?” Marla asked.
“We cannot know,” Tye sighed, “We have but a few days at most.”
“If that,” Berrol scoffed, “He flies faster when he’s mad.”
“I have never known him to not be angry,” Tye chuckled.
“His version of happy is most people’s idea of angry,” Berrol said, “You’ve never seen him really angry before.”
“We’ll deal with the Emissary when he arrives,” Marla said, “Until then, we must make the most of the time that we have. I need to meet with the Empress as soon as possible.”
Her father gave a bitter laugh and shook his head.
“It will not be so simple,” Tye sighed, “The Empress does not often greet visitors personally, even ones as remarkable as yourself. We must make arrangements with her chancellor.”
“Burach?” Berrol scoffed, “That’ll take months!”
Marla frowned. “I just need to speak with her briefly!” she insisted.
Berrol ignored her as his face brightened with an idea. “What about Kire?” he said.
Brother Tye’s eyes widened. “The Empress’s daughter is seldom at court,” he countered, “and Chancellor Burach will take great offense if we do not speak to him first!”
“With the Emissary bearing down on us, we can’t afford to be polite,” Berrol insisted, “Find Kire and let her know what’s happened.”
“I will try,” Tye said, “As soon as I have delivered you to the palace, I will seek her at the lake house.”
“Forget the palace,” Berrol said, “I can take care of my people. You go to the lake house and find the princess!”
“But you will need me when you reach the palace!” Tye protested.
“I’m taking them to the Dead City,” Berrol said, “You can meet us there after you’ve found Kire.”
Brother Tye’s eyes widened, but he nodded his agreement.
“Good luck, old friend,” Berrol spoke in Draconic.
“And you... old friend,” Brother Tye answered in Gloaran. He turned then and raced away down the alley, disappearing in a flutter of white silk.
“Are we gonna get something to drink now?” James moaned, now leaning against Nerrys with the haggard look of a sick child.
Berrol gave the young vampire a fanged grin. “The rats of the Dead City have gnawed the bones of gods, my friend,” he chuckled, “I’ve always wondered how they might taste.”
“Rats?” Alyss whined.
“Follow me,” Berrol said as he clambered up the rough, pinkish stones of a neighboring dome. He turned to look down at them, his red robe flashing in the lantern light as he ran his fingers through his iron-gray hair.
Marla smiled to see her father at last the way she had always imagined him, and he gave her a little wink in return.
“And try to keep up,” he added with a grim smile.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Astorra
Mirion’s scream woke Garrett from his sleep. Whatever he had been dreaming, he forgot it in the sudden, bewildering rush of noise that roused him from his piney bower.
“What? What?” Garrett gasped, shaking himself free of his exhaustion. He looked around, blinking, to find himself alone in the sun-dappled sleeping area, save for Mualip’s pilfered backpack.
“What’s tha’ gad-awful racket?” a muffled voice sounded from inside the Selkie’s pack.
“Shortgrass?” Garrett exclaimed, scrambling on his knees to open the pack.
“Kin someone tell me why I find m’self in a bag o’ turnips?” Shortgrass growled as Garrett lifted the flap. His coppery hair stood out at odd angles from his tiny head.
Mirion’s shrieks of rage now drifted through the trees from the direction of the main camp.
“I guess everybody woke up,” Garrett said, scratching at his bristly chin.
“Oh, good! You’re awake!” Sender gasped in relief as he buzzed into the little clearing to find Shortgrass shaking the stiffness from his wings.
“What happened?” Garrett asked.
“It’s the girl,” the violet-colored fairy explained, “She could use another dose of the coshiela!”
“Cosheili!” Shortgrass corrected him. He squinted in confusion. “How long was I down?” he demanded.
“Ah, quite a while, actually,” Sender answered, “but...”
Mirion’s anguished cries cut him off.
“Mother o’ Mercy!” Shortgrass cried, “Are ya feeding’ her to tha boggarts?”
“The boggarts are gone,” Sender said, glancing at Garrett.
“Where’d they go?” Shortgrass demanded.
“Murderers!” Mirion screamed.
“Perhaps we should explain later,” Sender said, “I really think something should be done about the human girl.”
Garrett frowned as he began to work up the courage to do what needed to be done.
“I’ll see to her,” Shortgrass sighed, wobbling a little as he took wing.
“No,” Garrett said, “I need to talk to her.”
“I’m not certain that’s advisable,” Sender said, giving Garrett a worried look.
“I’m tired of putting it off,” Garrett said as he stooped to retrieve his sword belt and buckle it on.
Garrett made his way through the forest toward the narrow ravine where they had left the Astorrans and their horses. Mirion sat, sobbing with rage, bound to the trunk of a fallen tree, as Sir Baelan crouched beside her.
“Mirion!” Sir Baelan rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse, “Calm down!”
Mualip’s terrified face peeked from b
ehind a nearby tree against which Haven leaned with a bored look on her face, cleaning her fingernails with the point of her knife.
Mirion’s breath hissed through her clenched teeth as she strained against her bonds. Her eyes settled upon Garrett as he emerged from the trees and he flinched to feel the full brunt of her wrath now brought to bear upon him.
“You killed them all!” she screamed, “You monster! You killed them all!”
“Sir Anders and the other knights are still alive,” Garrett sighed, “They all got hit with the same spell you and Sir Baelan did. I imagine they’re all waking up right about now too.”
Mirion sobbed in frustration and then groaned as she surged forward again, trying to tear free of the ropes that held her to the tree.
“Where are we?” Sir Baelan asked as he stood up and ran his fingers through his sandy hair.
“Almost to Braedshal,” Garrett answered.
“I’ll never you let you reach the King!” Mirion shouted.
“He’s not even your king,” Garrett sighed as he crossed the clearing to crouch down a short distance in front of the captive girl, “You’re from Weslae.”
“My life for the Crown!” Mirion raged.
“Fine!” Garrett said, throwing up his hands, “Swear your life to some stupid hat, if you want, but if you think Cabre deserves to wear it, you’re crazier than you look.”
“No truer king e’er sat the throne of Astorra!” she hissed, “When you killed his father, you made...”
“I didn’t kill his father!” Garrett shouted with a voice that shook the branches of the trees. He sighed softly then and added, “Cabre killed him.”
“You pathetic little liar!” Mirion whispered, “You can’t even...”
“He speaks the truth, Mirion,” Sir Baelan said. The big knight turned and looked away from her. “He speaks the truth,” he repeated softly.
Mirion’s face drained of all color, and her accusing eyes flicked from Sir Baelan to Garrett.
“King Haerad wanted to fight the Chadiri,” Garrett explained, “He knew he couldn’t win, but he was gonna fight anyway... Cabre did what he did to save his people.”
“You lie,” Mirion rasped, shaking her head in disbelief.
“He stabbed the King in the back and let me take the blame for it,” Garrett sighed, “I was just there to ask for the King’s help against the Chadiri.”
Mirion glared at Baelan’s back, her lips trembling with rage.
“Look, Haerad didn’t do anything to help your country against the Chadiri,” Garrett said, “That’s why Max hated him... Your brother Max.”
Mirion shook her head violently.
“I know your brother, Mirion,” Garrett said as he stood to his full height again, “We all know him. Tall guy, brown hair, wants to rule the world... He thought the Inquisitor burned his whole family back in Weslae. He was at school when it happened. By the time he got home, they were already dead.”
Tears streamed down Mirion’s cheeks as she looked up at him, her lips pulled back into an anguished grimace.
“He grabbed a sword and went out looking for any Chadiri he could kill,” Garrett said, “but my uncle found him instead. He’s alive, Mirion! He’s alive, and you have to go and see him! You have to!”
“A trick,” she gasped.
“Listen,” Haven spoke up as she stepped away from her tree, twirling her knife, “I really don’t care if you believe us or not, but Garrett is telling the truth, and it’s probably a good thing that he didn’t let me kill you a long time ago, because when Max Zara sees you, neither one of you is gonna care whose side of this war you’re on... Believe me, if somebody offered me another chance to find my brother... I’d take it.”
“Sir Baelan?” Mirion whispered, “Is it true?”
The sandy-haired knight turned and faced her again with a sad smile. “I don’t know about your brother, Mirion,” he said, “but their commander is called Zara’Thul.”
“What about the King?” she demanded, “Is that true as well?”
“King Haerad would have fought,” Sir Baelan sighed, “He would have fought to the last man before bowing knee to the red god. What Cabre did... it may have saved our peoples’ lives, but at the cost of our souls.”
Mirion hung her head, slumping in her bonds. “I don’t feel well,” she mumbled and then lurched forward, vomiting up what little breakfast Mualip had been able to feed her in her somnambulant state.
“Let her go,” Garrett sighed, looking away, overcome with pity.
Haven stepped forward and neatly sliced the ropes that held Mirion. Sir Baelan lifted the girl and carried her away from the tree. Garrett watched as Mualip guided them down the ravine toward the little stream they had found in the forest nearby.
“What else have I missed?” Shortgrass asked as he hovered in the air beside Garrett.
“We found some new friends,” Garrett said.
Shortgrass gave him a suspicious look.
“They should have been back already,” Haven said as she approached. She slipped her knife back into its scabbard and wrapped her arms around Garrett’s shoulders as she whispered, “Good morning,” against his lips.
Garrett returned her kiss but couldn’t keep his eyes from drifting once again toward the far end of the ravine.
“What?” Haven asked.
“You think Mualip and Sir Baelan are all right alone with her?” Garrett asked.
“She doesn’t want to kill them,” Haven chuckled as she pulled away, taking Garrett’s hand and tugging him toward the small campfire.
“So, you’re all right with setting her free now?” he asked as he followed her to the crackling little fire she had built in the shadow of the fallen tree’s mossy roots.
Haven released Garrett’s hand as she knelt and began to lay fresh branches across the orange coals. “She’s Max’s problem now,” she said with a shrug, “As long as she doesn’t try to stick any more pointy things in my boyfriend, I don’t care what she does.”
Garrett sighed as he took a seat on a moss-covered stone beside her. He watched the steam rising from the damp branches atop the fire and wondered what to do about Mirion.
“Now about these new friends ya mentioned,” Shortgrass said as he fluttered down to warm himself by the fire, “Should I take that mean you’ve been digging ‘em outta tha ground?”
“Well, yeah... sorta,” Garrett said.
“An’ what of tha boggarts?” Shortgrass demanded, “It’s poor manners not ta put ‘em back when yer done usin’ ‘em... no’ ta mention dangerous.”
“Well, they kinda aren’t boggarts anymore,” Garrett said.
The fairy’s face went pale with horror. “Ya didn’t jus’... reave ‘em did ya?” he gasped, “I mean they’re wretched devils, I know, but they deserve...”
“No!” Garrett interrupted, “No, I didn’t... well... not exactly.”
Shortgrass’s eyes narrowed and the corner of his lip pulled up slightly.
“They return!” Sender called out as he buzzed over to the campfire.
“Good,” Garrett said, rising to his feet again see a host of pale blue wisps drifting through the treetops from the north. A moment later, he could make out the shadowy silhouettes of the ghostly goblins and trolls moving silently through the forest below.
“Mother o’ Mystery!” Shortgrass whispered as he took wing again.
The great shadowy bulk of Crookjaw’s ghost shambled forth from between the trees, and Garrett couldn’t help but take a step backward at the sight of the towering specter with fiery blue eyes.
A large azure wisp sizzled and steamed as it dropped to the ground beside the campfire, reforming itself into the glowing form of Starweaver.
The elven lord fell to one armored knee before Garrett. He slipped off his helm to let his long, ghostly hair spill down over his shoulders as he bowed his head. “Songreaver,” he said, “The city is well-defended, above and below. Your soldiers await you in a wooded ruin al
most a league from the southern wall. They remain, as yet, undetected.”
“You found the ghouls?” Garrett asked, breathing a sigh of relief.
“Yes, Songreaver,” Starweaver answered, rising to his feet again, “I approached them and explained your intentions. They seem confident that they can enter the city undetected through the tunnels beneath it.”
“Moon-hounds stupid to think they can sneak in,” Crookjaw’s ghost rumbled as he trudged toward the fire on his barrel-wide legs. Garrett couldn’t help but feel the ground should be shaking with every step of the spectral ettin.
“Dip me in honey and slap a bear!” Shortgrass gasped as the monstrous shade blotted out the morning sun with his hulking shoulders.
“Greetings, fairy,” Starweaver’s ghost said, lifting his hand, open-palmed before him, “Forgive me if we have met before, but my memory is somewhat... fragmented. I, Laasaef, Lord of Kilkaelam, welcome you.”
“Kilkaelam?” the fairy chuckled, “Well, I wish ya tha finest luck in takin’ it back, m’lord. Fer tha sake o’ tha boy here, you may as well jus’ know me as Shortgrass, humble servant o’ tha Amber Court.” He bobbed slightly as he tilted his wings forward in a mid-air bow.
“So the Court survived?” Starweaver sighed, looking relieved, “When Kilkaelam fell, I feared nothing could stop this monster from driving our people from the world.” He gestured toward Garrett with no hint of humor in his lambent eyes.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Garrett said awkwardly.
“Crookjaw,” the ettin’s ghost growled, thumping his huge chest with his fist.
“Yeah, good ta meet ya... Crookjaw,” Shortgrass added, thumping his own tiny fist against his chest.
“What did you mean about they couldn’t sneak in?” Garrett demanded.
Crookjaw turned his blazing eyes upon Garrett once again. “Humans watch,” he grumbled, “Watch tunnels under city... no sneak. You get caught easy.”
“Do you think the Astorrans are watching the tunnels more closely after the ghouls broke Lady Ymowyn out last time?” Haven asked.
“Yeah... I guess I didn’t think about that,” Garrett sighed, “but, still, it’s gotta be safer to at least try to sneak in as far as we can get.”
Trials of the Twiceborn (The Songreaver's Tale Book 6) Page 33