Letting the flow of his magic fade away to prepare to climb down, Estin realized three of the voices did not depart with it. They continued to whisper, and in the absence of the dozens of other ghostly voices that came with magic, he could finally hear them clearly.
“Son, he knows you are there!” Asrahn hissed, sounding as though she were hanging near his shoulder in midair.
From the other side, Atall’s soft voice seemed near panic. “Dad, get out of there!”
As Estin started to turn to see what they were talking about, Lihuan said, “Get ready to fight, my son. It’s too late to run, and Feanne cannot hear us call for her help.”
“Hello, rodent!” called out a man’s voice from below. “Come down and be sociable.”
Shadowy hands grabbed at Estin from all sides, yanking him away from the pillar and out into the open air above the courtyard. The moment his hands and feet were hanging free, the magical tugging vanished and he tumbled backward head over tail.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Estin drew as much of his strength as he could into a barrier around himself. He had been taught to use that spell to knock aside or soften the blow from a weapon being swung at him. Now it was his only hope of minimizing his impact with the ground. He had no time to shape it properly and instead forced the magic into existence and hurled it in the direction where he hoped the ground was.
The magical barrier exploded around Estin, and he hit the ground hard on his back, dazing him and filling his mouth with blood. He tried to roll over and found he lay in a small crater the magical bubble had created when it smashed into the stones. Looking back up at the dome, he realized that, despite all of the pain, he had just barely managed to keep from breaking every bone in his body. That fall would have killed him several times over.
Nearby was the Turessian he had seen pacing the courtyard, grinning as he fidgeted with his hands. A faint red glow filled his half-mad eyes. The man was young by human standards. Unlike the shaved heads of most Turessians Estin had met, he wore his hair unkempt and somewhat long.
Giggling, the man slid down into the broken section of stone and rushed to Estin’s side. “Estin,” the man said, putting a boot on Estin’s chest to keep him down. “I had wondered when you would arrive. Always were the stubborn one, right from the beginning. You should have stayed where you were and died with Varra. She wanted to keep you a little too badly for her own good. I would have let her keep you as a pet, though you keep surprising me.”
“Don’t be stupid, Dorralt,” Estin gasped, trying to move the man’s boot but failing. The strength holding the foot in place was at least as great as Feanne’s when she was in her lycanthrope form. “The mists will kill us all if we don’t fix the runes. Look for yourself.”
Giggling insanely, Dorralt shrugged and bent down to get his face closer to Estin’s. “Why look? I already know that. Why do you think I had you bring them into the world in the first place? You served me better than many of my children. I may have lost control over the mists’ course, but the result was exactly what I hoped for. They will sweep over Eldvar.”
“Taking you with them.” Estin dug his claws into the muscles of Dorralt’s leg, but it still would not move.
“Not so!” he replied, gesturing broadly at the sky. “I kept the temple’s runes weak enough that the mists would envelop even Turessi. They are not weak enough that the mists can find me here. Those few of my children smart enough to answer my call and return to the temple will be spared. The disgusting corpses I have been forced to use as my army will be destroyed—along with your own army—and all will forget that I desecrated their ancestors.
“Those outside the temple will not be as lucky as those of us inside, Estin. The mists will sweep Eldvar clean of those who would oppose my nation. Within minutes, they will see that they cannot get to the temple and will return to other lands to feed. They will take every user of magic in the world and destroy them. In a hundred years, the world will be relearning how to make a simple fire when I will go out and present myself as their god. I will be the savior of the world. I will do what Turess failed to do, without ever having to raise an army of my own. I will unify every land under the sun, and they will welcome me. I will redeem this world that has forgotten what we did for them all those years ago.
“Sadly,” Dorralt went on, looking down at Estin. “I need you alive a little longer. I might even keep your bitch of a wife alive a year or two, as well. You have your uses.”
Snarling, Estin swept his legs around Dorralt’s and flung himself sideways, knocking Dorralt to the ground. The man laughed hysterically, even when Estin rolled onto him and began punching at his head.
“None of this matters, Estin!” Dorralt said between cackles. “Kill me or don’t kill me. The result remains the same. I will walk out of this temple a god and you will die. Why do you keep fighting?”
Catching Estin’s arm midswing, Dorralt flipped over and pinned Estin’s wrist with one hand and grabbed his throat with the other. He stood slowly, pulling Estin off his paws with no visible effort. “I gave you chances the others never got,” he hissed into Estin’s face. His fingers tightened until Estin saw stars flashing in his vision. “I wanted to see if perhaps the prey breeds would make better servants than the headstrong predators. I had my puppets ask your precious pack to turn you over to us. Over and over, you have refused chances to join us without having to suffer the fate of those around you. Varra pleaded with me to spare you for our service, and yet here you are, still fighting.
“This is over, Estin. The world will burn, and those of us in the temple will return to rule it. I will make you one of us…not because I want you, but because you have fought me so. You will live forever as one of us, crushing the weak that refuse to join my new empire.”
“Not…happening,” Estin managed to eke out.
“Oh, they all say that,” Dorralt said, grinning with his face right up against Estin’s muzzle. “Kill a few children, burn a few villages, stab your parents in the heart…soon enough they give up and will do anything I ask. I even know how to break you, Estin. I’ve seen you through the eyes of my children so often that it is a foregone fact that you will be mine soon.”
“Good luck…with…that.”
Dorralt tightened the grip of his other hand, and Estin shrieked in agony as his wrist bones snapped. “There is no luck involved,” he went on, letting Estin’s arm drop. “I will cage your wife after I turn you into one of us, and it will be your job to watch her as she starves to death. Each day you will hate me more, but no amount of hate will ever stop the inevitable. You will watch her wither and die. Once she is gone, left staring at you accusingly, you will have little left to fight me for. After all, your children will die to the mists. Serving me will give you purpose again. You may not believe me now, but you will still serve me in the end. Once you swear your life to me, I may even be willing to kill you. I don’t tell you this to taunt you, but to let you know what will happen. I have done the same for all of my children. I will not lie to them.”
With tears rolling down his cheeks, Estin did the only thing he could. He whispered a prayer. “Kerrelin, give me the strength…”
Screaming in Estin’s face, Dorralt threw him across the courtyard into a pile of snow at the base of one of the pillars. Before Estin could right himself, Dorralt was on him again, slamming him into the pillar.
“Never bring that beast’s name up again!” he shouted, locking both hands on Estin’s throat. “She’s dead! Gone! She went to her fate screaming like an animal!”
Pawing weakly at Dorralt’s hands, Estin began to black out, only to suddenly feel the grip loosen as someone else spoke. When he looked up at Dorralt, he saw that while he continued to stare at Estin, his attention seemed to be elsewhere.
“I had wondered” came another man’s voice behind Dorralt. Estin could not see past the Dorralt’s robe, but he knew Turess’s voice when he heard it. “Kharali…Kharalin to her people. Karreln to the southerners, with their horrible pronunciation of our words. Two thousand years is not a stretch to think her name has become Kerrelin. Was this part of your mockery of my life, or a bit of humor fate has thrown at you that stings even your wounds? Do tell me, brother, did my wife abandon me or did you play a part in this? What really happened?”
Dorralt’s eyes narrowed, and he smiled down on Estin. “My dear brother has returned to try to destroy the empire he built. I swore to protect this land from any threat, and right now there is no threat greater than the isolation my people will suffer if they follow that man. Your wife is standing with him, Estin. Remember what I told you. Neither of you will escape here if this comes to a fight between my brother and I. I am a king above kings, and no one attacks a king without risk. I promise there will be death this day unless they surrender. I will ensure you see every single person’s last moments, until you plead for me to kill you too.”
Dropping Estin, Dorralt turned in place, smoothing his robes.
Estin looked past him to see a group of people enter the courtyard. Turess, Feanne, and others he had not expected to ever see again stood there, ready to spring into battle the moment Dorralt made the slightest aggressive movement.
“Your wife’s secret dies with me, brother. Shall we see if you can pry it out of me before either of us dies?” Dorralt demanded, laughing eerily.
“Weakness”
The explosion around Raeln deafened him briefly, and even as the rumbling boom came to an end, his ears continued to buzz loudly. When he looked up, the undead had been hurled back almost fifty feet in a ring around him, and Liris’s magic had faded. She lay on the ground among the undead, trying to right herself, with a dazed expression and blood across her face and robes. Judging by the crater she lay in, she had been hit incredibly hard.
Raeln stood quickly, searching the sky for the voice he had heard. Almost directly above him, a massive red dragon hovered. It flapped its wings to remain aloft, giving him a clear view of its gleaming belly as it coiled its head around to look at him. He swore he saw the creature wink at him before taking off again with two others to circle the area, diving repeatedly into the undead army, which was charging to close the gap created by the initial attack of the dragons.
“Form up!” Raeln screamed, smiling grimly as Dalania came running through the fallen undead with Yoska behind her, half-carrying Ceran. One of the other Turessians they had brought with them followed as well, though there was no sign of the others. “We’re falling back to the main force! Regroup!”
Once the others were close enough that he was sure they would not get separated, Raeln searched the horizon for his army. They were perhaps a few hundred feet away, but there were several hundred undead getting to their feet between him and them. It would be an impossible fight, but it was the only direction he could go.
A roar from above gave Raeln only a second’s warning before a dragon dropped from the sky into the middle of the undead that kept him from his army. Grinning in a way only a lizard could, the grey dragon laid its tail flat to the ground and spun in place one full revolution, flinging hundreds of undead in all directions. With the undead scattered, the dragon spread its wings and leaped into the air, leaving a nearly clear path to his army.
Not willing to second-guess a blessing like that, Raeln motioned for Dalania to go on as he went to Yoska and Ceran. Scooping Ceran up in his arms, Raeln ran toward the army, with the others falling in behind him. They skirted the few remaining undead and crossed the lines into the Turessian army, where wildings and Marakeer quickly surrounded them, creating a wall between the undead and Raeln.
With the relative protection of his allies, Raeln got to a smooth section of ground, though the army continued to push forward around him. He set Ceran down gently. Yoska dropped to his knees beside them, his hands shaking as he tried to get a look at her injuries.
Almost immediately, Raeln spotted a tear in Ceran’s robe where he could see bruised, bleeding flesh all across her stomach and chest. How she was still conscious and seemingly aware, he could not fathom. From the look of her, a giant could have stepped on her and caused similar damage. Somehow, she remained calm through the strain of breathing and kept her eyes on Raeln, pointedly not looking at Yoska, who was in a full-fledged panic, nervously searching the crowd for one of the Turessians who was a known healer.
“Can you breathe well enough?” Raeln asked, taking an offered bedroll from one of the soldiers and putting it behind Ceran’s head. She nodded slightly, wincing with each little movement. “You took that hit a lot better than I could have.”
Ceran scowled at Raeln, keeping her jaw clenched as she struggled for each breath. She then shot a glance toward Yoska and back to Raeln, giving him a slight shake of her head.
“Yoska,” Raeln said firmly, snapping him out of his panic briefly. “Go find a healer.”
“No, I think I—”
“Go!” Raeln growled, and Yoska glared angrily but got up and ran off.
“Thank you,” Ceran mouthed, her voice nearly inaudible. “Love that fool, but he was crowding me. Can’t concentrate on breathing with him here.”
“He means well,” Raeln said, looking around for a healer. They were taking far too long.
Ceran nodded. “I know he does. Does not make it easy to be in pain when your bedmate is about to cry over you. I can endure far better without him at my side. If I had to watch his face when I die, I would never face my end bravely.”
“You aren’t going to die today.”
Smirking through her pain, Ceran said nothing.
They waited patiently for what felt like hours until Yoska returned, dragging two Turessians with him. The man and woman were nearly coming to blows with Yoska, trying to get him to stop touching them. He shoved them toward Ceran angrily, ignoring their irritation. Once they saw Ceran, their anger vanished, and they hurriedly bent over her, examining her wounds.
Raeln backed away as the two healers looked her over. As one concentrated with his hand over her stomach, the other turned to Raeln. “She will live if we are very lucky. It will take time and will weaken her greatly. You may wish to go back to the warfront. This will not be done for an hour. Maybe longer. We must be very careful. Her battle is over for today.”
Nodding, Raeln got up and bowed to Ceran, who smiled back at him, though he could see she was struggling to conceal how much pain she was in. He then went to Yoska, grabbed him by the back of the neck, and physically dragged him away. The flash of a blade being pulled hardly surprised Raeln, and he caught Yoska’s wrist before the knife was fully unsheathed.
“Why are you being like this?” Yoska demanded, trying and failing to pull away. “She needs…”
“No. She needs to rest. Where is Dalania? I don’t want to lose track of anyone this close to our goal.”
Yoska scowled at him but seemed to resign himself to being manhandled. “When we come back, she said she was feeling ill. Went with the giant bear-badgers to sit down a bit while we fight the undead. She did not look hurt, so I let her go. Can you take giant hands off my breakable neck now?”
Turning them both to head toward the part of the camp the Marakeer had been claiming as their own, it did not take Raeln long to find Dalania. She stood out against the Marakeer as easily as if she had waved a lit torch for him to see. The fae-kin sat at the edge of the woods with two Marakeer standing watch over her. A dozen more remained close enough to come to her aid.
Even before he reached her, Raeln could see Dalania flinch each time a rumble or scream came from the battlefield behind him. When he got closer, he released his grip on Yoska in surprise as he got a better look at Dalania. Despite Yoska’s earlier attempts to escape, even he stared in shock.
Dalania was sprouting, for lack of any other way to think of it. Patches of her skin had broken open, and fresh branches and leaves had appeared. Even her feet had begun to bend and take on the look of roots. There was no blood showing where the fresh vines had erupted from her skin, but he could not imagine it was anything but excruciating. He wanted to run to her, to hug her reassuringly. But that was likely the last thing she wanted if it hurt anywhere near as badly as he feared.
“Dalania, what’s going on?” Raeln asked as he came up to her. Kneeling at her feet, he scanned the vines and branches, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. They did not even appear to be the same type of plant as the ones Dalania had always had surrounding her body. The new ones appeared to be from a pine, whereas the older ones were some form of leafed tree.
At Raeln’s side, Yoska looked horrified, but he kept his mouth shut and watched Dalania nervously.
Shaking her head, Dalania shrugged. “I have no idea. The fae are still whispering in my head, and it’s only getting worse. They say it’s time, but they do not say for what. I can’t feel my skin, Raeln. My head feels like it’s on fire. Dozens of voices just keep whispering about finding a certain bird and how we’re running out of time. Over and over, they tell me to find the cockatrice’s remains. I just don’t understand.”
Raeln touched Dalania’s forehead and found that instead of a fever, she was chill. Taking one of her hands in his, he examined the green stalks that came out of her flesh and found there was no sign of injury or harm—they looked as natural as the vines and leaves that had always come out of the woman’s body, aside from being a different form of plant.
“Can you hold out a little longer?” he asked, getting a vague nod in reply. “We’re almost to the temple. It all ends there. Once we take it, we’ll have every Turessian in the land ready to help you figure this out. Two or three fae can’t be a match for the entire nation of Turessi…”
“They can be,” Dalania replied, laughing sadly. “If this is the land they draw their strength from, they may as well be gods, Raeln. Even outside their lands, they are powerful. They hear everything you are saying and whisper that interfering will cause death. I can only imagine they mean mine.”
“We’ve got dragons,” he reminded her, smiling. “Let them know that our gods will stand up for you.”
That seemed to genuinely get through to her, and Dalania smiled more naturally. “We do indeed have dragons. I only hope we live long enough to find out why. Are we making headway toward the temple?”
Raeln turned slightly and watched the plains. The dragons were smashing vast sections of the undead army while his troops advanced, cutting through the remaining undead. A mile or two out, near the black stone of the temple, a line of twenty robed Turessians stood their ground, waiting.
“Another hour or two and we’ll be at their doorstep. I’ll leave a few guards with you—”
Dalania clasped Raeln’s hand more tightly than he expected, squeezing almost until it hurt. “Take me with you. I need to see that temple before this gets worse. Somehow I know I can find answers there. Whatever the fae are doing has everything to do with that building. They promise that if we can go there, their mission for me will end. The fae do not make promises lightly. It might mean my death, but it will give me the answers to what they were planning all along.”
Raeln looked up at the two Marakeer, who watched him with clear suspicion. They were far more loyal to Dalania than they were to him. That somehow made him a little happier, knowing he did not need to try to communicate with them. It also terrified him, given that if Dalania’s condition worsened, he might lose the toughest of his allies.
Glancing over at Yoska, Raeln found he was absently rubbing at the old cup that still hung from his belt. He always did that when he was scared, and this seemed as appropriate a time as any. Yoska felt helpless, that much was certain. He could not help Ceran, and he could not help Dalania…no more than Raeln could.
Taking Dalania’s hand and helping her up, Raeln led her back toward the battle. She nearly collapsed as she put weight on her warped feet, barely staying upright even with Raeln’s help. The Marakeer quickly flanked them, set on escorting Dalania no matter where he took her, from the look of things. He honestly could not object to the extra help.
They crossed through the camp and past the wounded. Off to the right, Raeln could see the healers still huddled around Ceran, which he took as a good sign. Almost as an afterthought, he reached out with his free hand to grab Yoska in case he tried to sneak off toward Ceran.
Yoska slapped his hand away, hesitated a moment, and then followed Raeln despite watching Ceran.
Though she said nothing, Dalania gave Raeln a chastising look that made him want to slink away. She was more like his sister than he cared to admit. If they lived through this, she would chide him for even trying to keep Yoska away from Ceran when she was hurt.
They passed into the back lines of the Turessians, where weary spellcasters rested in preparation for the next push forward into the enemy lines. Among them were those who were assisting the army, their families, and the ever-present ancestors that followed the army. The Marakeer generally ignored everyone except the ancestors, who they chittered at and avoided whenever possible.
Past that group, former slave-caste members and Marakeer were in constant movement. They pushed forward to the front lines and fell back as they became too wounded to fight on. Some were carried back, and the severity of their injuries determined whether they were brought into the camp or taken to a section of woods nearby that Raeln knew held an open grave. He had not had the heart to visit it yet, given what he knew of the Turessian end-of-life ceremonies. Once things were settled, he would spend a great deal of time there, learning the names of every life lost under his leadership.