by Cassia Meare
He frowned.
"It was the price, Delian," she said. "I can freely use the grimoire, and I know I can still do much with that. I can still help find the hekas."
"She didn’t even leave you Protection?"
"A few times. And she left me creation." She tugged at his arm, since he seemed disposed to turn back and have a word with Sigrit. "Delian, I shall be all right! You’ve taught me to fight, haven’t you?"
"Promise me," he said, taking her hand, "that you won’t try to fight. No mortals here, and no creatures. Promise me, Elinor. I’m serious."
She smiled. "You are calling me Elinor, so I know you’re deathly serious."
He put his forehead against hers. "Promise me."
"Delian," she said tenderly, "do you think I would ever knowingly cause you grief? Worse, that I would let you believe it was your fault?"
"Then promise," he insisted.
"I swear by my honor and the love I bear you." They stayed like that a moment and broke away as she repeated, "Come. She told me it was there."
Elinor pointed toward a light at the end of the hall, where a door stood open. Beyond it, a bridge connected the tower to the next one. The sun was at its zenith — perhaps not as high or hot as it should be, and not as brilliant, but the day was beautiful and calm. And they were bound for deep darkness, at least for a bit.
In the next tower, they could only descend steps — flights and flights of them at sharp angles to each other, until light became scarce and they found torches on the wall, already lit. Delian passed one to Elinor and took another.
The walls now had etchings on the stone. Delian waved the light over them. The etchings showed different battles, and Elinor recognized the emblems of the princes at the head of their armies.
"Fun times, fun times," said Delian.
She suspected they were now below the earth. The landscape changed from the smooth stone of the tower to rough-hewn rock, as if they had entered caves. A chasm yawned to their right, and before them great stalactites dripping from high ceilings to form uneven columns. It was like a cathedral made by nature, with shafts of light entering from a mysterious source.
The path narrowed, and they almost had to squeeze into a passage. A scuttling above made Elinor cringe — she didn’t want to look, but she heard Delian’s sword hissing as he unsheathed it.
"Is it very bad?" she asked.
"Not very," he said. "I've seen worse going around Saturday nights." He sounded calm, which made her open one eye.
Only for her blood to get chilled at the sight of an enormous creature straddling both walls with long legs. It was part praying mantis and part scorpion, with spindly limbs and hard scales over its belly, and a long spiny tail hanging above their heads, lashing back and forth as if deciding whether to grab or stab them. The end of the tail hovered close and opened like a red mouth full of teeth.
"She mentioned the creatures would behave," Elinor managed to say, feigning courage.
"This one had better," Delian said, holding her with his left arm.
The thing only glared down, its face made more horrible by the fact that it was almost human.
They passed, and Elinor stopped glancing over Delian’s shoulder after a while.
"Look," he said.
She did. An enormous helmet had been carved on the rock, by men or magic. The open visor worked as a door, which must mean they had reached their destination.
But something inside the chasm on their right might have other ideas. There was a murmur, a shifting, a huffing — and then a growl and a loud breath.
Then a puff of fire.
Delian pushed her against the wall and covered her body with his as a giant head reared. Green eyes narrowed, nostrils flared and jaws the size of a house opened, showing sharp, curved teeth. With a shriek, the creature turned up its head and let out a roaring flame into the void. Elinor closed her eyes against the yellow brightness of fire and hid her face against Delian’s chest to escape the heat.
But the fire was gone as suddenly as it had started. She peeked in time to see the head disappearing once more as a tail took its place, whipping the air for a second before it, too, was gone.
"Dragon?" she asked when she recovered her voice.
"Yep," Delian said, turning to look at the chasm.
"I thought you got rid of them all," she remarked. "All the fire ones."
"Apparently not," he said, and shrugged. "It can stay down here or join its cousins in the sea. All the same to me."
They reached the visor and stepped through.
"This thing never ends!" Delian cried in annoyance.
For now they were in something like a crypt, with carved arches, columns and smooth walls. In the center of the space, an altar. Elinor ducked as a large, winged thing flew low over them. Looking up, she spotted others. They weren’t similar to any bats she had ever seen; more like a mixture of bat and bird, with scalloped wings and pointed beaks.
Delian pushed one aside with an impatient hand. "Piss off, thingy!"
Three doors opened around the altar, one immediately behind it and one to each side. Delian moved toward the right and shone the torch inside. His yelp of surprise mixed with joy startled Elinor.
"Come look at this, Lady E."
She ran on tiptoes to him and gave him the satisfaction of gasping aloud. The chamber was a veritable treasure trove of war, filled with Stonemount steel — from swords, daggers and axes to lances, javelins and maces. But the greatest beauties were the armors and shields, flashing even in the dim light of the torches.
There must be thousands of armors.
"Only for men …" Delian muttered. He turned and leapt past the altar to the other side. "Come and see this!"
Elinor followed. More weapons, and here the armors were clearly made for the female body. Boxes sat on a shelf of rock.
Delian looked at the third and largest door, behind the altar. "They’re near."
At a more solemn pace, they walked together to the opening. And as they crossed the large doors, they found … nothing.
Just more boulders forming the biggest cavern yet — although it was hard to believe anyone had ever been there; the space was made of primordial rock.
"What the devil—" Delian said under his breath.
"Shh-h," said Elinor. "Don’t say that name."
He narrowed his eyes at her, right before widening them when the ground began to rumble, then shake.
"Uh-oh," said Delian, looking down as if he expected cracks to appear.
Elinor, however, was looking at the walls. They had begun to glow a light orange that turned into red — and then deep red.
And slowly, as the cave heated without burning them, they began to make out shapes — like human bodies mummified and encrusted in the rock. The red glow intensified until one of the shapes tore away from the wall and rolled down to the ground, where it shone incandescent for a second and began to break apart. An arm emerged, then a head, then a body. A man wearing only breeches sprang up, tall and strong, and surrounded by smoke as if he had been cast in fire.
"Sethe Tayne," Delian said softly. His eyes sparkled. "Why not start with the best?"
The knight looked around as other shapes began to fall from the wall.
"Ngrayne Vili," Delian whispered at a beautiful woman with violet eyes and hair of rose gold rising in her chemise from a smoking piece of rock. "Legendary."
Shapes kept separating from the rock, falling and revealing more and more knights, men and women. They were so many!
The first ones — the best of the best — had stopped looking around, and now they turned to the two people standing at the edge of the cavern: the people who had summoned them. Sethe was the first to react, muscles working as he moved forward. Ngrayne followed him, and the others followed her.
They stopped before Delian, and in a smooth motion they knelt, bowing their heads.
"My prince," said Sethe.
It was wonderful to see Delian’s smi
le.
"This is more like it," he said.
***
In the two chambers, men and women found their armor. Metal clanged, swords and daggers hissed, leather strained, buckles rang. There was little conversation.
The knights had been brought back from the dead, and yet had needed no great explanation.
"Your Lord Protector needs you," Delian had said. "I need you."
And that had been enough. The knights had been brought back with purpose, with strength and will, as Sigrit had promised. They had joined their princes’ cause without hesitation.
"Old times, good times," Delian muttered in approval as he watched them getting ready. He sighed. "When there was honor."
"Lord," one of the knights cried. He was already fully armored and held up a breastplate. It bore the crowned horse, Delian's sigil.
"What’s this old thing doing here?" Delian asked fondly, taking it from the man. "Is the rest there as well?"
Two other knights appeared, bearing the back and legs of his armor. They helped Delian dress. He could not stop smiling.
"Lady?" a voice called from the other chamber.
Fully armored, Ngrayne Vili stood there, also holding a breastplate. She did not know who Elinor was, but it seemed enough that she should be with their prince.
"Will you honor me by wearing one of mine?"
Elinor hesitated. "I—"
"Go on, then," Delian said with a wink.
"You said I wasn’t to fight."
"For show, innit?" Delian said. "A bit of the old Joan of Arc—"
"That foul French witch?" Elinor thundered.
Delian waved an impatient hand. "Damn it, you know what I mean. If not her, then Bootylicious."
"Do you mean Boudicca?"
"Yeah, her." As Elinor moved toward Ngrayne, he added, "Your people are in an alliance with the French now, Lady E. And you’re a witch yourself."
She scowled at him over her shoulder.
"Diversity!" he cried as she disappeared into the chamber.
What a hypocrite, she thought, when he was dying to carve werewolves and evil angels into pieces. She smiled at Lady Ngrayne and stripped to her chemise so as to be fitted with a tunic, chain mail light as gossamer and a full armor of steel so pliant it followed her body rather than imprisoned it.
"There," Ngrayne said with a smile.
The lady knight opened a box lying on the shelf. It did not contain a dagger, as Elinor had thought, but a diadem of gold with sapphires, emeralds, and rubies.
"Your hair is long," Ngrayne said. "This will keep it in place."
She placed the diadem on Elinor’s head, pushing her hair back with it. A full-body shield hung on the wall, and Ngrayne, her eyes generous with understanding, pulled Elinor to it.
The breath caught in Elinor’s throat as she saw her own image. Was it truly she? That knight, shining from head to toe — was that truly Elinor of Woodbrooke?
Of what do you dream? Nemours had asked her.
Elinor’s eyes filled with tears as she thought … Of this. Of this…
And Delian’s were no less moist as she left the chamber and he saw her. He was too moved to speak; he only nodded. In one hand he held his own banner. He opened the other hand, and a cloth rolled down to show Nemours’ panther, white over black.
"Let’s get to that battle," he said.
35
The worst thing would be to watch and do nothing.
But as he stood on a hill in Ashrock, scanning the horizon, Nemours knew that he could not fight, and neither could he use magic.
No immortals would fight on the opposing side. Sefira, it seemed, had not yet been brought back, or she would be there already — and Ahn had never wielded a weapon in her life except, as he had lately learned, hypocrisy. It would be dishonorable for him to fight mortals, although he would have dearly loved to kick a couple of behinds.
As for magic, Aya’s prohibition and his own dislike for it had kept him from mastering most spells. Ahn might use magic if she began to lose. But if she or her acolytes summoned winds, darkness, tempests, he could counter all that. Kid stuff.
Although she could do darker things as well, if she lost all fear of Mother. There were very dark things he could do, if he lost all sense. These things were the nature of the Originals, and once unleashed, their force could not be contained. They would run their own course.
No one coming yet. Nemours could see far, and sentinels had been posted along the way. Messengers had already come the previous day to say that ships from the Echo had moved up the east coast a while ago, probably carrying soldiers from the Midlands, and Serle was going up the west coast with his forces and those of Rosy Marsh. If they took Allseas Harbor, which had remained neutral, some of their troops would probably join the fray here, whereas others would keep on going to Lockland Port to keep Tinashe and his troops tied up.
On a hillock across from Nemours, Nyree sat on her armored horse, also waiting for a sign of the enemy. Tinashe’s vassal houses of Ashrock and Aeolholt had brought their thousands, now lined below. They had all painted a streak of blue across their faces, Nemours’ color.
Of all the forces at Nemours’ disposal, five thousand stood in the field, between heavy cavalry, light cavalry, infantry, and archers. Two thousand were under Tinashe's orders, guarding the east coast, and two thousand had to patrol the west coast to avoid enemy troops disembarking and marching up to Highmere. A thousand troops in the city should be able to hold it, at least until the battle of Ashrock was decided and he could return.
Tayne alone might arrive with five thousand of the best fighters in the world to oppose them. Bad odds, yet, knowing that ships had moved against them, Nemours could not leave the coasts unprotected.
But where, for the love of hell, was Delian? He had disappeared on the eve of battle, and Nemours, connected as he was to Elinor, could not find them. Which meant they had gone beyond Witchsweep.
There was only one thing they could try there which would be of any use and explain Delian’s absence at such a critical moment. Something very unlikely.
"Come back," Nemours muttered.
Delian would not fight mortals any more than Nemours, but he could organize the lines and direct attacks. Nemours depended on his brother’s abilities in the field, and on the fact that the troops loved him. Above all, Elinor should be safe with Sibulla at High Hall, and should never have gone anywhere near Sigrit of Inön. The sorceress was the most deliberate and cunning of creatures, and if she decided to cast such a powerful spell on their behalf, she would exact a heavy price.
Nemours’ horse moved under him and snorted. It was getting impatient. Azure, on the other hand, sat quietly, narrowed eyes on the horizon like her master’s as she sniffed the air. The animals wanted battle, but Nemours did not. At least he kept wishing that something would happen to avoid it.
Again, he glanced at the lines. He thought of Feroz Tinashe in his armor embellished with flowers and fruits to represent his rich land — laughing and saluting as he rode away to face whatever came his way. A good man, that. A good warrior, and honorable.
Since after Ahn’s Abuse against Tayne, the knights on Nemours’ side believed they were fighting against tyranny. Against the high-handedness of an immortal while enjoying the protection of another. There was no turning back, no asking their prince to let another world die instead of their own. They were fully committed now.
Ahn had done wrong — but she would not be the first leader to get away with it. Even to flourish because of it.
Still, if a battle was inevitable, it would not take long to start. And it should be decisive, or innocents would suffer. Enemy soldiers would loot and pillage for food and destroy everything on their path. Lawless scum, like the pirates of the Echo, might even rape women.
The horse shifted again, sensing Nemours’ anger. He would make a crater where the Echo was and kill them all if they dared. He came from chaos, after all — and he had always kept it at bay.
/>
He was paying the price of fairness, of honor, and others were paying it with him. But only up to a certain point. Ahn must know that even she would be swept away if she provoked him too far. The problem was, everything would.
His eyes returned to the horizon as Azure stood and let out a low growl. Dust. Circles of dust, still miles away.
"To your horses," he called.
The knights mounted with such quiet discipline, they hardly caused a stir below. Nemours ordered the archers to their positions as well. The infantry filled the rows behind the light cavalry.
The ground began to rumble, and Azure’s fur stood on end, her short wings opening very slightly in a reflex. Thousands were coming.
Tayne's heavy cavalry finally appeared, and it was splendid. Knights and horses fully armored in pure Stonemount steel, with red plumes on their helmets and red fur around their shoulders.
Nemours looked hard at their banners just before Nyree left her hillock and rode down, then up toward Nemours. She had seen what he had seen: the standard the enemy was bearing. It wasn’t Tayne's eagle.
"My prince," she said, excitement in her voice, "they are carrying white flags."
"Yes," said Nemours, and spurred his horse. Nyree followed him down to the plains.
He rode toward the mass of knights. They had stopped, and only the standard-bearer kept riding, beside a knight whose magnificent breastplate sported the burning eagle. As they got closer, his visor opened to show the austere, noble face of Danek Tayne.
The old soldier dismounted, as did Nemours and Nyree. Tayne advanced, his legs bowed after a lifetime on the saddle, his body leaning to the right, toward his sword arm. Before they reached each other, Tayne stopped, inclined his head, and knelt.
"Lord Protector," he said. "I am myself again."
Nemours smiled, breaching the rest of the distance. As Tayne rose, the prince placed a hand on his shoulder.
"And you are welcome," Nemours said.
36