“With Crookjaw’s help, you get in, no problem,” the ettin chuckled, “Get out still alive... yes problem.”
“Your people can help us with the guards in the tunnels?” Garrett asked hopefully.
“We are but shadows of ourselves, Songreaver,” Starweaver said, “We can, at best, delay and distract, perhaps long enough to allow you to penetrate the city’s defenses, but within those walls stand thousands ready to resist you, and we can only accompany you so far.”
“What do you mean?” Garrett asked.
Crookjaw snorted and shook his head. “Chanted walls,” he hissed.
“Chanted?” Haven exclaimed.
“The inner keep has been warded, Songreaver,” Starweaver said, “Silvered runes and ancient spells guard the walls. Our kind can not enter within.”
Shortgrass hissed a number of words in fae that Lampwicke had never taught Garrett.
“So, does that mean that no fae creature can get inside the keep?” Haven asked, “I mean, what happens if we try?”
Shortgrass pointed toward a large, mossy boulder nearby. “Push that stone up tha hill with yer face for a bit, an’ maybe you’ll have some idea,” he raged.
“I can break spells,” Garrett sighed, cutting off Haven’s retort, “It’s what I do.”
“Maybe you can break it!” Haven said, “I mean you’re pretty good at breaking vampire spells and fairy spells, but we don’t even know what kind of magic it is.”
“Magic’s magic,” Garrett said with a shrug, “I’ll deal with it when we get there.”
“No!” Haven insisted, “That’s too big a risk to take! We can’t just charge in on the chance that you might be able to break this spell. If we get there, and you can’t break it, we won’t even be able to get to Cabre.”
“It still wouldn’t stop me... or the ghouls,” Garrett said, “Marla told me that ghouls aren’t fae, and who knows if it would even effect you at all?”
Haven’s eyes flashed, and Garrett immediately regretted having mentioned Marla.
“You’d face Cabre without me?” she whispered.
Garrett winced and looked away. “Only if I have to, Haven!” he sighed, “We’ve come too close to doing this to just walk away now! We have to try, Haven. Can’t you see that?”
“No!” Shortgrass cried as he fluttered to Haven’s side, “I didn’ come all this way jus’ ta see ya lost into some chanted silver box!” His tiny eyes blazed with emotion as he spread his arms as though to bar Garrett from proceeding any further.
“Cabre is in that keep,” Garrett said, “and I have to face him!”
“You are not going anywhere I can’t reach you, Garrett!” Haven shouted, “Never again!”
Garrett clenched his teeth together in frustration and looked away, suddenly noticing the approach of Sir Baelan to his right. The Astorran walked a bit stiffly, still recovering from his long sleep, but his strength seemed to have returned. He paused and knelt a few feet away from the fire.
“May I speak, Deathlord?” Baelan asked.
“Yeah,” Garrett said waving for the knight to join them at the campfire.
“My lords,” Sir Baelan greeted them, bowing to the assembled fae. His wary eyes still lingered on the towering ghost of Crookjaw as he turned toward Garrett again. “I would ask a favor, regarding the girl Mirion.”
“What do you need?” Garrett asked.
“Release her,” Baelan answered.
Garrett frowned and looked at Haven.
“Just let her go, Garrett,” Haven sighed, “It’s over... just let it all go.”
“I want to,” Garrett said, “but she’ll run straight to Cabre and tell him everything as soon as we let her go.”
“It doesn’t matter now, Garrett!” Haven said. She stepped forward and put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s over.”
Garrett shook his head, pulling away as he turned his back on her. “What was it all for then?” he demanded, “Why did Sir Jons have to die? Why did we even come here if I just run away now? I have to face Cabre, Haven! I have to! It’s like a rat gnawing at my insides, and I can’t get it out. I can’t live the rest of my life like this. Don’t you understand?”
“Of course I understand, Garrett!” she yelled, spinning him to face her again, “You don’t think I know what it’s like to have something like that inside of me? You were the only one who could help me get it out... Just let me help you!”
“I’m so close...” Garrett whined, giving her an anguished look.
“Cabre has no one to help him!” Sir Baelan shouted, drawing everyone’s attention.
The Astorran knight sucked a breath through his teeth, his eyes on the crackling fire at his feet. “The same thing inside you now gnaws at his heart,” Baelan said, his voice grown cold and quiet, “It kills him, day by day, and there is no one there to help him face it.”
Garrett furrowed his brow.
Sir Baelan met his gaze again with a grim smile. “Do this thing for me,” he said, “Free Mirion, and I will bring Cabre to you. Neither one of you can live with this stain on your honor... nor can I.”
“But Mirion will tell them you’re with me,” Garrett protested.
“That will not matter to Cabre,” Sir Baelan said, “He will come when I send for him, just the same. If he does not... the boy I knew is already dead.”
“What’ll you tell him?” Garrett asked.
Sir Baelan laughed silently and looked away. “The truth he needs to hear,” he answered sadly.
*******
Mirion sat astride her horse, hollow-eyed and silent as Haven led her down the tangled deer path toward the forest’s edge. Haven had not bothered to tie the girl’s hands this time. It would be, perhaps more merciful if she were to try something, and then Haven could end her pain.
A low branch roused Mirion from her bleak trance as she ducked low to avoid it. She coughed hoarsely and then cleared her throat before speaking.
“He doesn’t even have the courage to do it himself,” Mirion scoffed.
“You think I’m going to kill you?” Haven chuckled.
“Why not?” Mirion rasped.
Haven guided the horse down a sandy gulley into a shallow ravine as she considered the question. At last she spoke again.
“You’re family now, I suppose,” Haven chuckled.
Mirion said nothing.
“Garrett doesn’t have much family left,” Haven said, “He lost his parents and his brother to the Chadiri... same as you, I guess. Max is like a brother to him now, and Garrett wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.”
Haven thought for a moment before adding, “Knowing Garrett, I doubt he’d kill you even if you weren’t Max’s sister, but I don’t expect you to believe that. Just accept that you’re not going to die today and tell yourself whatever you have to about the reasons.”
Mirion snorted scornfully.
Haven led Mirion’s horse through the water to avoid a patch of brambles that blocked their path, and its iron-shod hooves clacked loudly as they sank into the stony bed of the stream. Haven hopped lightly across the dry tops of exposed rocks to keep her boots dry.
“Where is Sir Jon’s sword?” Mirion demanded as they reached the broad bank on the opposite side of the stream.
“Probably with your friends back at the keep,” Haven answered, “We didn’t bother grabbing it when we ran. We’d have been better off leaving you with it as well.”
Mirion fell silent, and Haven continued downstream, grateful for an end to the conversation.
Mirion began to cry.
Haven pushed on through a fragrant cedar bough that had apparently grown across the path just to spite her. At last the girl’s stifled sobs grew unbearable.
“What?” Haven sighed as she stopped walking and turned to face the Astorran girl with hands raised in exasperation.
Mirion hunched in her saddle, shaking with grief and biting her lip to hold in the low wail that now ebbed from her throat. She rocked back and fo
rth with her arms crossed over her chest, clawing at the ragged shoulder seams of her stained tunic.
“We don’t have time for this!” Haven growled, reaching for the horse’s reins again.
Mirion pressed her knee into her horse’s flank and the beast suddenly sidestepped Haven’s reach. The Astorran girl seized the reins and wheeled the warhorse around with surprising speed.
Haven snapped her head back to avoid the horse’s kicking hind hooves. Flecks of cold mud spattered Haven’s face as one of the horse’s hooves missed her cheek by a thin inch.
Haven spat a curse as she recovered into an undignified scramble away from the horse. Mirion turned her mount and galloped upstream a short distance before yanking the horse’s reins around to face Haven again. The girl’s eyes widened in wild rage, and her clenched teeth glistened as she hissed a wordless battle cry. Shattered stones and frothing water flew from the pounding hooves of the warhorse as it thundered down the gulley toward Haven.
Haven snatched her knife from her belt as she sprang onto a dry, flat rock in the middle of the stream. She dropped into a feral crouch as she faced the charging Astorran.
Haven dove to the right at the last moment, seizing the rider’s tunic in her free hand as she galloped past. Mirion gave a single startled cry before Haven slammed her down hard into the gravel streambed.
The Astorran came up, coughing water as she swung her fist into Haven’s stomach.
Haven huffed for air, giving ground as her feet slipped across the wet gravel. Icy water splashed around her ankles. She still had Mirion by the shirt, and recovered quickly, pulling the soaking Astorran close with the point of her knife now pressed into the hollow of the girl’s throat.
“Do it!” Mirion screamed.
“Why?” Haven demanded, “Don’t you have the courage to do it yourself?”
“Just do it!” Mirion sobbed as she fell to her knees in the frigid stream. She looked up at Haven with a look of empty resignation.
Haven released her fistful of tunic, and Mirion slumped down, burying her fingers in the gravel as the clear waters of the stream churned around her.
Haven retreated a few paces to the safety of the bank as Mirion’s horse returned, nickering angrily. She dried her knife on her sleeve before returning it to its scabbard. She muttered a curse as she looked down at her sodden boots and then lifted the hem of her cloak to wring out the soaked fabric. At last she gave up and unclasped the brown cloak, draping it over her arm as she began the walk back to camp.
She paused, just before entering the woods again and looked back. Mirion was still on her hands and knees in the streambed. The Astorran girl ignored her horse’s attempt to rouse her from her stupor with a gentle nuzzle.
Haven looked down at her sodden cloak and sighed. Glancing around, she found a fallen tree with two protruding branches and hung her cloak up to dry. She rubbed the mud from her face with her damp sleeve and then made her way back toward the stream.
“You’re gonna make yourself sick,” Haven said as she took a seat on a sunlit boulder at the edge of the stream.
Mirion showed no sign that she had heard.
“I mean, I know you think you’re just going to sit there until you freeze to death,” Haven said as she perched on the rock with her arms wrapped around her knees, “but it’s too warm today. Eventually, you’ll just get miserable, and then you’ll catch a cold.”
Mirion swayed a little as she bowed her head even lower. The stream’s current now tugged at the tips of her long brown hair as it hung down over her face.
“I’ve never had a cold myself,” Haven mused, “but they can be pretty nasty from what I’ve seen. It might even kill you if you don’t take care of yourself, but it’s not a very pretty way to die. Do you really want to cough your lungs out on the road to the afterlife? I’d think you’d prefer something more storybook, like jumping off a cliff into the sea or walking into a lake... Come to think of it, I don’t know why you humans think that drowning is such a romantic way to go either. I mean, I guess it’s because no one else has to watch how awful it really is to die like that.
“Maybe that’s it,” Haven continued, “All those storybook maidens, pining for their lost loves are too inconvenient for everybody else. I mean, once she’s lost her prince, what good is she to anybody? Everyone just expects her to do the decent thing and go drown herself, out of sight somewhere, so they can just write a poem about her and be done with it.”
“You took everything from me,” Mirion whispered.
“You’ve still got your horse,” Haven said with a shrug.
“Burn in hell!” Mirion hissed, her wet hair framing her bloodshot glare.
“What else did you have, really?” Haven asked, “Another man’s sword, another woman’s man? All we took from you were your illusions.”
“He was beautiful!” Mirion sobbed, “He was beautiful and pure, and you took him from me!”
“He wasn’t yours to begin with!” Haven shouted as she shifted into a crouch atop her rock.
Mirion’s reddened eyes fell again.
“But I was his,” she whispered.
“Convenient for him,” Haven noted.
“Don’t you dare...” Mirion spat as she scrambled to her feet again, wobbling a little as her boots shifted in the gravel beneath her.
“Are you gonna spend the rest of your life defending a dead man’s honor?” Haven asked.
“Sir Jons’s honor needs no champion,” Mirion shouted, “you Gloaran guttersnipe!”
“What did you just call me?” Haven laughed.
Mirion stood, dripping for a moment before answering. “I don’t really know what it means,” she admitted, “I heard Jons say it once. I always wanted to call someone that.”
Haven smiled and looked away before speaking again. “Listen,” she sighed, “I’m sorry about the way things turned out... I know you loved him.”
Mirion let out a whimpering breath. “What am I supposed to do now?” she asked.
Haven squinted up at the sun above the gap in the trees. “You choose which way to ride,” she said, “Ride north and stand with Cabre... borrow another sword and go on defending another man’s honor, or you could ride south and find the Gloaran camp again. Go to the necromancer in charge and tell him we sent you... Tell him that you’re Max’s sister. Find what family you’ve got left in this world, and maybe find a reason to live.”
“Is he really my brother?” Mirion asked.
Haven scoffed. “You’re just as crazy as he is,” she laughed, “I’d say there’s a pretty good chance you’re related.”
“What’s he like?” Mirion asked, the hint of a smile on her lips.
“Unless the Chadiri can find a way to stop him, he’s going to rule everything from the Faewood to Kriessland one day,” Haven said with no trace of humor in her voice.
“I barely remember him now,” Mirion said, her teeth starting to chatter as she shivered in the breeze.
“Come on,” Haven said, standing up to reach out an imploring hand, “I’ll help you build a fire before I head back.”
Mirion led her horse to the edge of the stream, and Haven helped her across the muddy patch of reeds to the dry bank. The Astorran girl appeared lost in thought.
“Whom do I contact, if I choose to ride south?” Mirion asked.
Haven smiled. “Remember the big guy with the tattoos?” she asked.
Chapter Thirty
The Dead City
Marla traced the chiseled curves of the ancient stone with her fingertips. The moonlight illuminated a carving of countless woodland creatures, their bodies contorted in a wild dance around some great stone figure at the center of the broken temple wall. Whatever god or goddess had been the focus of their worship, Marla could not tell, for its image had been gouged away by enormous raking claw marks. The temple beyond lay roofless and smashed as well, as did every shrine in this once splendid city of the gods.
Marla felt a distant ache of sadness, as
if she had suddenly rediscovered some favorite childhood toy, only to find it irreparably broken. She stepped away from the wall and breathed a weary sigh.
“So, you can get us home again, whenever you want?” Alyss asked. She gave Marla a tense smile as she stroked Zizi who lay, curled around the girl’s neck.
“What are you worried about?” Marla laughed.
“Well, for one thing, my mother has probably heard about our disappearance by now,” Alyss said, “She’s going to be worried about us, and, when my mother gets worried... well, it’s never a good thing.”
“We haven’t been gone that long,” Marla said as they continued their stroll between the broken monuments to the dead gods of Lapria, “and we need to know who these people are and if they will help us.”
“I’m not saying that we shouldn’t investigate,” Alyss said, “I just want to know that we have an escape plan, if it comes to that.”
“We’ll be all right,” Marla laughed.
“Tye has been gone an awfully long time,” Alyss said, “What if they arrested him?”
“He hasn’t done anything wrong,” Marla said, “None of us have.”
“You don’t know that!” Alyss scoffed, “You don’t know what kind of laws they have here. For all we know, it may be a crime just to be in this part of the city. I mean, why isn’t anyone else here?”
Marla paused to look at a dry fountain and the moss-stained statue of a faun that lay broken in its basin. “It hurts too much to be here,” she whispered, “This was once a place where people laughed and sang and danced for the joy of creation. Now, there are only memories... sad memories.”
“You’re doing it again,” Alyss chided.
“What?” Marla asked.
“You’re getting all Dragon Queeny again,” Alyss said, “like you’re going to go off and sit around on an island by yourself and feel sorry about everything for a few thousand years.”
“I’m just saying that it’s sad here,” Marla said, “You have to admit that this place was once beautiful... and now...” She gestured toward the ruins with an open hand.
“Yes, very sad,” Alyss sighed. She reached up and snapped her fingers in front of Marla’s face. “Now come back from your sad place long enough to answer my question. Can you get us out of here quickly, if we need to run?”
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