by Anthea Sharp
“There is probably nothing,” Ondo said, grimly bending to his task.
“Aye. But we must look.”
Mara turned away from the gruesome sight of the person she had killed. Yes, it had been to save her own life, but it still shook her deeply.
“Once again, I have failed you,” Bran said, his eyes full of self-recrimination.
She met his gaze. “You can’t be all places at once. And, as you can see, I can protect myself.”
“I do not want you to have to.” He cupped her cheek briefly.
“I know.” She managed a wan smile. “We’ll just keep muddling through.”
It was all anyone could do, she supposed. At least they were together.
Ondo straightened from checking the body.
“Nothing to identify it, Commander,” he said.
“Disappointing, but not unexpected.”
Bran motioned for Ondo to grab the body’s feet, and together they moved it to where the dead Voidspawn lay. Mara followed—not too close, but near enough so that Bran would stop fretting.
Once the bodies were magically ablaze, she turned to her husband.
“How far are we from the gate?” she asked in a low voice.
He peered into the depths of the Darkwood for a moment, eyes narrowed. “Less than a turn—provided we are not set upon again.”
She looked at the small group of fighters. How many more attacks would they be able to face before their strength flagged and they began to fall? Dark Elf warriors were hardy, she knew, but they could not fight endlessly.
“Hestil?” she asked.
From the shadow that crossed Bran’s face, she knew that his second was too far away to aid them.
“Given the choice, I would wait for her, but…” His gaze unfocused for a moment, then snapped back to her. “The Void is at the gate.”
30
A look of anguish crossed Mara’s face. Bran wished he could gather into his arms again, murmur reassurances into her hair—but there was no time. His sensing had shown the remainder of the Voidspawn gathered at the gateway to the mortal world, along with an oily black shadow that could only be the Void shard.
The enemy might not be strong enough to crack open the gate. But he could not take that chance.
“Ride!” he called to his warriors, then boosted Mara into her saddle.
The formation was not pretty as his small troop raced through the forest. But despite navigating thickets and fallen logs, the party kept Mara safely in the middle, surrounded on all sides by keen-eyed fighters.
There was little time for speech, not that there was any need for elaborate planning. They would charge into the clearing holding the runed gateway and battle whatever Voidspawn were present.
As for the shard, all he could think of was to focus the might of his magebolt upon it, in hopes he could incinerate it to nothingness. If that were not enough, he must then draw upon Mara’s wellspring.
And if that was still not sufficient?
He thrust the thought away and bent low over Fuin’s neck, urging his horse to greater speed. The glowing bells of qille flashed beneath his mount’s hooves, and the radiance of the doublemoon fell in shafts between the trees.
The sensing he had cast thrummed with danger, and with gut-wrenching dismay he realized that the Void had begun to cast its malignant magic over the gateway.
With every breath, his urgency grew. The fabric of Elfhame shivered under the Void’s assault.
“Faster!” he called.
Their pace was already reckless, but thanks to the doublemoon, there was enough light to avoid the tangling briars and treacherous dips. Mostly. Mounts still stumbled, and even surefooted Fuin had a moment of unsteadiness—but they could not slow.
The brightness increased, and Bran glanced up in surprise to see dozens of glimglows streaming overhead. Their light evened out the crooked shadows and illuminated obstacles in the path ahead.
Mara rode slightly behind him, and he glanced back every few paces to make sure she was not falling behind. She stared up at the glimglows in wonder, then met his gaze, her eyes wide.
Whatever impulse had called them forth, the glowing sparks continued to light their way until, ahead, the huge trunks of the Erynvorn thinned.
Without slowing Fuin, Bran drew his sword. Around him, his warriors followed suit. Nehta grasped her spear tightly, teeth bared, and Brethil nocked an arrow to his bow.
They burst into the clearing housing the gateway.
Fewer than a dozen Voidspawn clustered around the standing stones marking the gateway. Two of them were the hulking lumberers, however—the most formidable of the Void’s creatures.
Three gyrewolves turned, snarling, and launched themselves at Bran’s party, while the spiderkin spread out, skittering to position themselves at intervals around the gateway. Bran’s warriors slowed to meet the enemy, and Bran pulled Fuin to a halt, his attention fixed on the gateway ahead. Mara drew up beside him, her breath coming in small gasps.
The space between the stones glowed, and Bran’s heart clenched. Slowly, the Void was forcing the gate open. A shadowy presence hovered over the stones, and he felt its malignant intelligence as it tried to insinuate itself into the mortal world.
“No!” Mara cried.
She flung out her hand and cast coronnar at the darkness.
It flinched as the fire flew at it, then somehow opened itself and extinguished the blaze of blue flame, sucking it down into the icy blackness of the Void.
Mara stretched her fingers out to cast again, but Bran caught her hand.
“Do not spend your power recklessly,” he said. “It will only devour whatever we send at it.”
“But—we drove it out once before,” she said, her eyes wild.
“It was weaker then—don’t you sense its renewed strength? I do not know what will stop it now.”
“We will,” she said grimly.
About them, his warriors fought. One of the wolves was dead, and a spiderkin as well, but his troops were hard-pressed. Avantor sang a continuous song of healing, keeping the worst of the injuries at bay—but his power would run dry soon, and the odds were still against them.
The gateway flickered, and Bran glimpsed the fierce light of the mortal world beyond. Strangely, the landscape was covered in white, as though a blight had settled. Had the Void already begun to sap the human world’s strength?
One lumberer broke off its attack and, ignoring the arrows Brethil sent after it, shambled to the glowing gateway. The darkness roared soundlessly, and between one moment and the next, the lumberer passed through into the mortal world.
“Stop!” Mara called, too late, and urged her mount toward the gate.
Bran chased after, dimly aware of his fighters redoubling their efforts. A spiderkin skittered forward to block his path.
He reached deeply into his wellspring, bringing all his fear, all his determination to the fore.
“Coronnar!” he yelled.
The spiderkin ignited, spraying its toxic blood in a wide arc.
Bran ducked, cursing as a few specks spattered his hands. He hastily wiped them on his cloak, then veered Fuin around his downed foe.
Ahead, Mara dismounted beside one of the tall stones marking the gate. A dark tendril lashed out at her, but she stood fast, summoning turma.
The shield blazed with light, and the Void shard recoiled. Even under attack, though, its magic held the gate open, allowing a gyrewolf to dart into Mara’s world. Bran slipped nimbly from Fuin’s back and joined his wife, sword raised.
“Bran.” Her voice was heavy with heartbreak. “They’re getting through.”
The remaining gyrewolf made a dash for the gate, but Nehta sprinted forward. With a mighty throw, her spear went through the creature’s shoulder, throwing it off course. Three of Bran’s warriors sprang forward, and the malignant shard of the Void howled as the wolf perished under their blows.
That victory was offset by a spiderkin scuttling furiously toward the gatew
ay. Bran lunged in front of it, landing a blow to its carapace. It let out a chittering cry, then gathered itself and leaped over him. He stabbed upward, felt his sword connect, but even as he ducked away from the toxic blood, the spiderkin passed through the gate.
“We will fight them on the other side,” he said. Under no circumstances could he allow the threat of the Void to run loose in Mara’s world. She had helped him save Elfhame—a debt that he could never repay. But he could try.
Mara stared at him, tears tracking down her cheeks. “You can’t cross. I saw a vision… you were attacked by humans. I must go alone.”
“Never.” He would save her world—even if it meant his death.
The Void pulsed overhead, and he knew that he must forge his own way through the gate. To pass through the sticky blackness of the Void would be sheer folly.
“Edro!” he shouted. The clean blue light of his magic sliced through the doorway, opening a thin path for him to follow.
“Bran, no!” Mara reached to stop him, but he stepped into the whirl beyond her grasp.
He could feel the clash of his own power against the Void—a humming instability that vibrated through his bones. The gateway wavered, threatening to disintegrate and trap him between the realms.
Then he was through. The cold air of the mortal world pierced his lungs, and he blinked, closing his inner eyelids against the painful brightness.
Light flashed, and with a thunderclap, the door between the worlds closed—leaving Mara on the other side.
31
“Bran!” Mara cried as the gateway clapped shut.
She threw her hands up, ready to call upon the rune of opening, when Ondo thrust her aside.
“Back, my lady!” he cried, raising his sword to defend her against the huge Voidspawn lunging toward them.
She took a single step, then summoned a ball of flame to fling against the lumberer. It staggered, but continued to attack. Overhead, she was aware of the pulsing black blot of the Void shard.
Whether it was gathering itself to attack them, or to reopen the gateway, she did not know. Her heart squeezed tight in her chest, but she could not voice her sobs.
Bran.
She must believe that his death by human hands was not imminent. Her vision had shown a full-leafed forest, at night, and she clung to the fact that she’d glimpsed a daylit winter landscape through the portal.
Nehta joined the fight, nimbly wielding her spear, and slowly she and Ondo beat the lumberer back. In the corner of her vision, Mara saw the last spiderkin expire, and then the rest of Bran’s fighters rushed to help them battle the lumberer.
With a sound like metal scraping on stone, the creature shivered, then folded in on itself and collapsed.
The black cloud of the Void shrieked.
Not only at the demise of its minions, but at the swarm of glimglows descending upon it. One of Bran’s archers shot an arrow at the Void, but it passed through the oily shadow, doing no harm.
Despite Bran’s earlier failure with casting magic against the thing, Mara took a deep breath and spoke the rune of fire.
“Coronnar!”
She poured her heart, her love, her fear into the spell, blasting the darkness with light and power. The warriors shaded their eyes, and the glimglows whirled like a golden vortex about the fragment of the Void.
A dark malevolence pushed back, and she felt the drain upon her wellspring as she continued to channel fire through her outstretched hands. Behind the Void shard a vast hunger seethed, driven by a malignant intelligence.
“No,” she said fiercely. “This realm is mine, and you may not have it.”
The darkness shuddered, and she redoubled her efforts. For Anneth, for her sisters, for the beauty of both their worlds, her magic blazed. And, most of all, for Bran. Her beloved. She would not let his world fall, even as he protected hers. Together, they would vanquish the dark.
The Void shard withered under the onslaught, the darkness dimming until, with a last shrill screech, it was gone. A moment later, Mara’s spell winked out.
She swayed, feeling like a vessel with all the water poured out. It seemed her wellspring was not inexhaustible after all.
“Mara!” Avantor was at her side in an instant, propping her up.
Ondo took her other arm, and she sagged between them.
“I must go to Bran,” she said, her voice a hoarse croak.
Avantor glanced at the portal, then back to her, his expression tight with worry. “The gate is closed.”
“I will reopen it.” Even as she spoke the words, she knew they were foolish. She had not the strength to cast a wisp of foxfire, let alone open the gateway back to the mortal world.
“He will come back to you, my lady,” Ondo said.
“The vision.” She looked at Avantor. “In the Room of Reflection, I saw Bran attacked in the mortal world. We cannot wait.”
“You must,” Avantor said gently. “You are in no condition to work magic.”
“How soon?”
“One sleep, at least.”
She sighed, her head heavy, as though she wore a crown of iron. “I will rest for one night only. And then, will you help me open the gate?”
“I will,” Avantor said.
“As will I,” Ondo added.
“All of us,” Nehta said, clearly having overheard. “We cannot leave the commander to battle the Voidspawn alone in the mortal world.”
The other fighters nodded in agreement. No one pointed out that by the time they opened the gateway, Bran might well have been defeated.
No. Mara refused to even consider it.
“Sit.” Avantor guided her to a moss-covered stone at the edge of the clearing.
She stumbled to it without complaint and watched in a daze as the Dark Elves burned the Voidspawn corpses and made a hurried camp just within the shelter of the trees.
In the center of the clearing, the two gateway stones stood, silver runes shining in the light of the setting doublemoons. Had the day run already?
She blinked. and ate the stew Ondo brought her. Blinked again, and crawled into the shelter of her tent. The bedding smelled like Bran, and she wept into the starlit dark.
Bran stared at the closed gateway for one stark moment. Then he whirled, sword raised, to meet the leaping attack of the gyrewolf. He beat it back with magebolt and blade, drawing upon all his formidable skill. Thankfully, the spiderkin had crawled some distance away, writhing in its death throes.
Of the lumberer there was no sign, but Bran did not have a moment to spare wondering at its fate. Twisting, he parried the savage snap of the gyrewolf’s jaws. The power of his wellspring faltered, already depleted by opening the gate and crossing over. Gritting his teeth, he reached deep and flung a last, mighty bolt at his foe.
The gyrewolf collapsed mid-leap, the red light fading from its eyes.
Panting, Bran turned in a slow circle. The clearing stank of burned fur and spiderkin ichor, but both the Voidspawn were dead.
The lumberer, though—where had it gone?
Ice crunched beneath his boots, and he glanced down, perplexed. In Elfhame, the mountains at the far edge of Rowan bore frost, but the cold stayed in its place and did not venture forth into the summerlands of the courts.
At least the frost bore the sign of the lumberer’s passage. The brushed trail led into the forest. Bran cleaned his sword on the dead gyrewolf’s body, then headed into the trees of the mortal Darkwood. Their trunks grew thinner than those in his realm, their reaching branches not quite as majestic.
A cold wind stirred the branches, and a dark shadow seemed to flow past. Bran glanced up, unable to suppress a shiver. Had that been the Void shard, loosed into the mortal world? If so, it must be seeking the last of its creatures.
Despite the weariness wrapping him head to foot, foreboding pushed him forward. The intense brightness of the mortal world faded, and he sighed in relief as dimness descended. Small creatures chirped and rustled, seemingly unconcerned b
y his passing. There were no flowers, as he was used to in the Erynvorn. Only frost-edged leaves of darkest green, and brown tangles of dormant thickets.
Too late, he realized he had lost the lumberer’s trail.
Exhaustion dragged at his limbs and blurred his vision as he scouted back and forth. Finally, he admitted defeat, if only temporarily. He must rest—but on the morrow, he would find and dispatch the creature, and return to Elfhame.
As he slipped into slumber, however, his fate whispered that it would not be that simple…
32
To Mara’s dismay, it took two more days for her wellspring to regenerate to the point where Avantor agreed to attempt opening the gateway. In truth, though, she’d barely had the energy to argue with him. The first palemoon had slipped away in slumber, and it was only on the second that she roused enough to mark the passage of time.
The bustle of the camp around her had increased so much that she poked her head out of her tent in alarm. Ondo sat cross-legged just outside. He looked up in relief when she spoke his name.
“What is happening?” She gestured at the commotion.
“Hestil has arrived,” he said.
“Finally.” Mara scanned the camp. “Could you bring her to me, please?”
“I will send for her,” he said, clearly unwilling to leave his post. “And Avantor, as well.”
She nodded, then ducked back inside to make herself presentable. Urgency simmered just under her skin, but she was now clearheaded enough to know that they must make plans.
No matter how much she wanted to go charging back into her world to find her husband.
There was just time enough for her to settle outside with a cup of hot tea before Hestil arrived.
“My lady.” The hard-faced warrior made her a bow. “Avantor has told me what happened. We owe you another great debt, for vanquishing the Void once more. It is my deepest regret that I was too late to join the battle.”
“But not too late to help open the gateway,” Mara said. “I am going after Bran.”