“Then my king truly died on that foul day, so long ago,” Sir Baelan sobbed.
“No,” whispered a deep, chilling voice from the shadows, “He dies tonight!”
Cabre’s back suddenly arched, and he let out a stifled cry as a horrible crunching sound split the air.
Garrett stared in shock as nearly of foot of red steel emerged from Cabre’s chest piercing through his mail shirt from within. His crown slipped from his head and clanged on the floorboards beside his boots, boots now lifted up on their toes by the force of the guardsman’s blade thrust through his body from behind. Cabre’s face contorted in agony as his grinning bodyguard twisted the blade with a sickening rasp of steel and bone.
“No!” Starweaver screamed, drawing his blade and flying to Cabre’s aid.
“Away you!” hissed the second guardsman, flicking his gauntleted hand toward the ghost. A wave of invisible force buffeted Garrett’s face as Starweaver’s ghost was blasted back across the room.
“Oathbreaker!” Sir Baelan roared, his own sword in hand as he sprang toward the treacherous guards.
The first guard laughed as he shoved Cabre’s body toward the charging knight, and Baelan was forced to catch Cabre as he fell with the guardsman’s sword still piercing his bloody chest.
Garrett fumbled for his own sword, too bewildered to stop the first guardsman as he sprang forward to strike the rising Sir Baelan with a savage backhand blow. Sir Baelan crashed against the table before collapsing, senseless, to the floor.
“Baely!” Ymowyn cried, shoving past Garrett in an attempt to reach the fallen knight.
Garrett gritted his teeth, letting the fox woman safely past before lifting his now flaming blade toward the grinning guardsmen across the table. Shards of glass scattered across the floor at Garrett’s feet as Haven rolled into a crouch at his side, her knife in hand.
The man who had stabbed Cabre dropped to one knee on the bloodstained floor, and his companion followed quickly to his side.
“Hail, Songreaver!” the treacherous knight hissed, lifting his face from the hasty bow to greet Garrett with a crazed grin.
“Why?” Garrett sobbed in horror.
The second guardsman let out a snickering hiss of laughter, and Garrett’s heart went cold at the familiar sound of it.
The wooden staircase outside groaned under the weight of many feet, and, a moment later, the door flew off its hinges, roiling with rainbow flames, as a pack of Marrowvyn ghouls spilled into the room.
Warren’s eyes flashed red in the dying light of fairy fire. He saw the crumpled body of Cabre lying on the floor and Garrett standing with his sword drawn.
“Oh, I guess you won,” he said, his voice subdued as he and the other Marrowvyn ghouls rose, awkwardly from their crouches.
Mink and Luma, trailing behind, entered the room now and dipped their heads in the direction of the two royal guardsmen.
“His death is our gift to you, Songreaver,” the man who had stabbed Cabre rumbled with a voice as chilling as it now seemed familiar, “A blood-bond, from the mouth of the White Pack.”
The bodies of the two guardsmen shimmered indistinctly and seemed to grow impossibly in size as their human forms fell away.
“Raik!” Bargas exclaimed at the sight of his massive, white-furred brother who stood where the King’s assassin had been a moment before.
“Norris,” Warren grumbled with a sullen nod toward his cousin standing at Uncle Raikja’s side.
Norris snickered again with his unsettling, hissing laugh.
“Come, brother,” the eight-foot-tall white ghoul growled as he stalked toward Bargas and the other ghouls. He gave Garrett one last leering grin as he stooped in the doorway. “Let us leave the Songreaver alone with his revenge.”
Bargas frowned but followed his brother through the doorway. Norris tittered with laughter as he trailed the two elders into the hall.
“You all right, Gar?” Warren asked from where he knelt at Ymowyn’s side over the unconscious Sir Baelan.
“Yeah,” Garrett answered quietly, his sword now hanging dark and cold at his side.
Diggs gave Garrett a confused frown as Mink and Luma tugged at his fur, leading him from the room, and Scupp followed shortly thereafter, shaking her head and muttering something under her breath.
“Give us a minute, dear,” Ymowyn whispered.
“I’ll be right outside,” Warren sighed as he stood again, trailing his paw across her shoulder as he took his leave of her. He gave Garrett a hopeful look, but his smile faded quickly as he turned to go.
“Is he gonna be all right?” Garrett asked, sheathing his sword as he moved around the table. He grimaced when he saw the badly bruised face of Sir Baelan, cradled in Ymowyn’s lap.
The fox woman lifted her tear-filled eyes and nodded sharply.
“Are you gonna be all right?” Haven whispered as Garrett cautiously approached the body of the Astorran King and the weeping elven ghost that knelt beside him.
Garrett squeezed Haven’s hand, and then he knelt beside the dying boy that he had once called a friend.
“Is there anything that we can do?” Garrett asked, overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness.
“That ghoul knew what he was doing,” Haven answered quietly, “No one could live through that.”
Cabre, coughed, weakly and wetly, his breath now shallow and faint. His eyes fluttered, half-lidded, unconscious of these final moments of his life.
“Songreaver!” Starweaver sobbed, “I beg you... if it is in your power, save this boy. Please!” The ghost looked up with tears of golden fire streaming from his pleading eyes.
“I can’t,” Garrett whispered, “I can’t bring people back... not really.”
“Please!” Starweaver wept, “I can’t watch the last of my children die... You can’t ask this of me!”
“I’m sorry,” Garrett said, “I can’t.”
The ghost’s eyes went hard. “Then unmake me, Songreaver!” he hissed, “Unweave the Song that wove me, for I cannot bear this pain again... not again!”
“No!” Garrett sighed, “You can’t ask me to do that.”
“I do ask it!” Starweaver gasped, “I’ve watched my people suffer and die. I’ve watched them fade from the light. I’ve watched them being crushed and broken beneath the heels of monsters like you! You owe me this, Songreaver! You owe me an end to this cursed song!”
Garrett sobbed in frustration and shook his head.
“I would give up my very existence! I would forfeit all that I am, all that I have ever been rather than to watch another child die in my arms... these damned arms that cannot hold him... could not save him.” Starweaver stared down at his ghostly hands that passed through Cabre’s body without resistance, and his spectral shoulders shook with grief.
Garrett watched the ghost’s slender fingertips sink into Cabre’s bloodstained cheek, and he gathered the courage to do what he now knew he must.
“What would you give to save his life?” Garrett asked.
Starweaver’s eyes lifted, suddenly blazing with rekindled hope. “Everything!” he whispered.
“To the Flesh a quickening gift... ,” Garrett sighed, his hand going to the horned skull medallion upon his chest.
Chapter Thirty-three
The Dead City
“I’ve never been to Lapria before,” Merithia sighed, “This is all very exciting for me. I always meant to visit, of course, but my duties, you see... well, I suppose I just kept putting it off, until... Yes, well, we’re here now.”
Marla focused her thoughts through the fog of sleep and turned to look at the copper-scaled dragon who sat, perched atop a fallen column, overlooking the ruins. The lavender light of the twilight sky gave a shadowless, almost ethereal air to the scene of ancient devastation around her.
“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Marla asked.
“Yes, dear,” Merithia answered, “You dozed off quite a while ago, but I didn’t wish to disturb you until you’d ha
d a bit of rest.”
“Thank you,” Marla said. She sat up on the dusty stone bench outside the shadowy old temple where the other vampires had slept through the day.
“How are you feeling?” Merithia asked. Her silvery tail whished thorough the air as she uncoiled from her perch to hop, cat-like down to the cracked paving stones.
“Excited... afraid,” Marla sighed, “I don’t know how to feel, exactly.”
“There’s no wrong way to feel, my dear,” Merithia laughed.
Marla brushed her hair back from her eyes and sighed wearily. “What am I supposed to do here?” she asked.
“Follow your heart,” Merithia answered, “Trust where it leads you.”
Marla shook her head. “That isn’t good enough,” she said, “I mean, the Dragon Queen followed her heart, didn’t she?”
Merithia looked stung, her golden eyes blinking rapidly as she turned her head away.
“I’m sorry,” Marla sighed, “I just...”
“It’s fine, dear,” Merithia said with a little catch in her voice, “You’re quite right, of course. The Queen did follow her heart when she led the enemy to the Isle of the Gods... and she followed her heart when she gave her life to save the world from the results of that one, terrible, mistake.”
Marla nodded. “I just don’t want to make any mistakes,” she whispered.
“Even gods make mistakes, dear,” Merithia laughed. She turned and gestured across the tumbled ruins with the tip of her wing.
“Then what hope do I have?” Marla asked, smiling in spite of herself.
Merithia’s smile turned sad. “You are our hope, dear,” she said, “my last and only... perfect hope.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” Marla said.
“None do,” Merithia replied, “Do you think that I asked to be put in charge of overseeing the cleaning of the Grand Rookery? Do you have any idea of the kind of smells that hatchlings are capable of producing?” She pulled a disgusted face. “It was my duty... and I did it,” she said, “Quite well, I might add.”
Marla giggled.
“Yes, well, I did my duty, and you shall do yours,” Merithia stated.
“Which is?” Marla asked.
“Gather the lost children of the Queen,” Merithia responded, “Bring them together and restore the world to its former glory.”
“Is that all?” Marla said with a frown.
Merithia’s eyes went flat. “You know sarcasm is very unbecoming in a queen,” she said.
“I’ll try to remember that,” Marla sighed.
“Yes, well, I am here to help you. Any time that...” Merithia suddenly fell silent, her eyes going wide. “Someone’s here!” she gasped.
A blast of hot, stinking breath woke Marla from her dream. Her eyes fluttered open to see the looming shadow of the enormous Emissary, blotting out the red sunset that bled across the sky behind him.
“I hope I haven’t disturbed your slumber,” the Emissary rumbled in Draconic.
“Not at all,” Marla answered, her Draconic a bit shaky as she looked around at the dozen hulking forms of great, iron-scaled dragons surrounding the temple grounds. She slipped sideways off the stone bench, rising to her feet, only to give ground as the Emissary’s dripping jaws herded her toward the center of his ring of dragon guards.
“You must think yourself a clever little ape,” the Emissary hissed, and rivulets of blue-green fire dribbled from his teeth to sizzle on the dusty stones.
Marla gave him a nervous smile. She tried to take a step toward the temple entrance, but the dragon’s long neck curved around, placing those grinning jaws between her and her companions.
“You will not think yourself so clever, I think, when you face the Eater of Gods!” the Emissary chuckled.
“The Empress?” Marla gasped.
“Yes,” the dragon seethed, “You have drawn her eye, little ape, and your people shall suffer greatly for your impudence!”
“Let me speak to her then,” Marla insisted, standing her ground defiantly as the Emissary’s flared nostrils moved within inches of her face.
The Emissary drew back his head then with a vicious sneer. “A word of advice,” he hissed, “Show no such arrogance before the Cedar Throne, if you value the lives of those twisted worms that begat you across the sea... The Empress may yet choose to allow their continued existence... or she may now see the wisdom of my council and order their discordant song silenced forever!”
“I’ve met the Ender of Songs,” she scoffed in Gloaran, “and you don’t look a thing like him.”
The Emissary narrowed his eyes at the insult, but seemed unwilling to ask her to repeat it in Draconic. He lifted his head toward one of the massive steel-colored dragon guards.
“Bring the prisoner!” he commanded.
Marla glanced toward the shadowy temple entrance where her friends would even now be stirring to wakefulness.
“Let no others escape!” the Emissary growled, “I shall send word to their disposal, once the Empress has passed judgment.”
Marla’s breath caught in her throat as a steely-scaled dragon with red-gold eyes pounced from atop his pile of rubble and scooped her up in one of his black foretalons. A moment later, his buffeting wings bore them aloft into the star-flecked sky behind the lashing tail of the great Emissary flying before them.
Marla craned her neck around to watch the dragon-guarded temple recede into the night behind them. The wind whipped at her hair, stinging her eyes as she squirmed in the cold, unyielding claws of the monstrous beast.
The heat of her rage kept her warm through the soaring flight to the heart of the city, and she marveled at the beauty of the vast palace that sprawled across the wooded hillside below her. Polished golden domes gleamed in the light of a thousand lamps, and fragrant gardens cradled bubbling streams that trickled down from some hidden spring, high upon the hill. Towering cedars whispered in the wind as the dragons spread their wings and slowed their descent.
Brother Tye stood beside the shimmering golden dragon princess on the terrace below as Marla’s captor came in to land beside a great arched entryway into the palace proper.
“Is this the courtesy shown my mother’s guests?” Princess Kire demanded, a puff of golden fire hissing between her pearly teeth.
“Princess,” the Emissary answered politely, “I deliver the prisoner into your care... as commanded.”
The iron-scaled guard lowered Marla gently to the tiled floor of the terrace and bowed his long neck before the Princess as he released his grip on the vampire girl.
“Are you hurt?” Kire asked, her golden eyes full of concern for Marla.
“Quite all right,” Marla answered coolly as she straightened her silk robe, “The Emissary was simply giving me an aerial tour of the city. I found it... invigorating.”
Blue-green flames shot from the Emissary’s nostrils, but he kept his eyes on the Princess as he bowed his head again. “I take my leave now, Princess,” he rumbled, “I eagerly await the Empress’s judgment in this matter... I trust her justice will be swift and final.”
“Perhaps too final for your liking, Emissary,” Kire answered.
“We shall see,” the Emissary replied.
“Come, sister,” Princess Kire called out in Gloaran as she shifted into her human form with outstretched hand, “Let us go inside. I find the air out here too cold for my liking.”
Marla smiled at the curl of disgust on the Emissary’s face as he averted his gaze from the sight of the Princess’s new form. She moved quickly to take Kire’s hand and returned Brother Tye’s friendly nod as he fell into step behind them.
“Please forgive us, Honored Traveller,” Kire asked as she guided Marla into the warm, broad hallway of polished wooden floors and graven jade walls.
“Please call me Marla,” she replied.
“Marla,” Kire said with a gentle smile and a slight nod.
“I did not wish for the Emissary to be the one to bring you here,” Kire expla
ined, “but Mother commanded it.” She led Marla through another archway into a richly carpeted gallery with many side passages. Marla caught glimpses of rooms filled with tapestries and carvings of surpassing beauty, but the Princess did not slow her pace to appreciate them.
“Am I truly a prisoner then?” Marla asked.
“You are anomoke for now,” Kire sighed, “After tonight... you will be what my mother decrees you to be.”
“Is your mother angry with me?” Marla asked.
“I have never seen my mother angry... or sad either,” Kire answered, “Though they say that she wept when she devoured the gods.”
“You’ve never seen your mother angry?” Marla laughed.
Kire spared her a narrow glance and a frown.
“I’m sorry,” Marla apologized, “It’s just that I wish I could say the same about mine.”
“My mother cannot afford to show anger,” Kire sighed, “It is the Empress’s place to be above such base emotions. I can only hope that, someday, I too will possess such discipline.”
“It’s good to be angry sometimes,” Marla said.
“Why?” Kire asked, pausing to greet a pair of iron-scaled guards that lowered their necks and wings before her.
Marla waited until they were past the guarded archway before answering, “It feels good to let it out every now and then, even if only in private.”
“You rage in private?” Kire asked with a confused look.
“Well, I’ve put a few chips in my bedroom wall over the years,” Marla chuckled, “and my mother never found out what happened to that Zhadeen puzzle box that crossed me.”
Kire gave her a wary smile as they stopped before an enormous pair of dark wooden doors and two more hulking dragon guards.
“I hope to speak with you more of this... afterwards,” Princess Kire sighed. Marla sensed the fear in the girl’s voice as she glanced toward the great doors before them.
“I hope that we will be friends,” Marla said, taking the Princess’s hands between her own.
“I would like that,” Kire answered softly, her eyes falling.
The dragon guards lowered their heads slightly and began to chant a droning hymn in Draconic. The great wooden doors opened then with a sibilant whisper of perfumed air that spilled out like a warm breeze. Marla looked to see a long corridor beyond, filled with silver mist and colored lights, fifty feet high and nearly as wide.
Trials of the Twiceborn (The Songreaver's Tale Book 6) Page 39