Lord's Fall (21 page)

Somebody better think of something fast.

Until that happened, she patted Dragos soothingly on the chest.

“Now, honey,” she said. “You’ve got to stop getting so worked up, or you’ll have a heart attack when you hit middle age.”

ELEVEN

D
ragos’s fierce gaze came back down to her, and everything he had ever promised her was there in his eyes.

I never stop thinking about you. You’re with me everywhere I go, but I miss you when we’re apart.

I’ve already shown that I will kill for you. I would also die for you.

You make me laugh. You make me happy. You’re my miracle and my home. If you as much as twitch, I get a hard-on.

I will always come for you, always want you and always need you.

As she remembered every word, she saw past those promises in his gaze to what lay underneath them. He had been so afraid for her it had driven him away from the Games and into possible war.

“Dragos,” she said, very low. “They’re just scared of you. I don’t fully understand what happened, but I believe Calondir didn’t do this. And when I told him you were coming and asked him to stay, he did.”

The feral vibration underneath her palm stilled. That had to be good, right?

Still holding her, he stood upright. Her legs loosened from around his waist, and as she landed on her feet, he swept her gently behind him and held her there.

Oh no. That had to be bad.

“Lower your weapons now,” Dragos said to Calondir. “My mate is present.”

Pia fisted a hand in the thin silk sweater that stretched across Dragos’s wide back and held on to the material tightly. The tension between the two demesne rulers reverberated with the memories of ancient confrontations and unresolved grudges, but she couldn’t keep intervening every time they were rude to each other. At some point Calondir and Dragos had to be the ones to take the next steps.

“And my consort has been taken, along with many loved ones,” Calondir said, his voice ragged from smoke but still filled with Power.

Along with many loved ones? Pia’s fist tightened as any sympathy she felt for Calondir evaporated. They were all under a lot of strain, and now was probably not the best time to parse his words, but damn, that was cold. She didn’t need to hear details, explanations or an apology for misspeaking. He said that in public, and nothing else mattered. She was on Beluviel’s side and ready for divorce court.

Calondir had continued. “I do not have time to fight with you, Cuelebre. Ferion, have your men put up their weapons and go look for survivors. We must gather the largest force we can and prepare to cross over quickly if we are to have any hope of recovering them.”

As Pia peered around Dragos’s arm, Ferion gestured and the Elves lowered their bows. Dragos’s hold relaxed, and she stepped around to his side. She said, “You too, Eva.”

To Captain Psycho’s credit, she didn’t try to argue, nor did she look at Dragos. Instead she said, “Ease up, kids.” The other Wyr relaxed and unloaded their crossbows.

“Spread out,” gritted Ferion. “Comb the area for survivors.”

“Go help them,” Pia told Eva. At that the other woman did hesitate, turning to face her. Pia said telepathically,
You’re not needed here at the moment.

Eva’s gaze flickered to Dragos. She said to the group, “You heard her. Let’s go.” The unit joined those who were gathering at one end of the clearing and after a quick consultation, the whole search party dispersed into the Wood.

Ferion stayed with Calondir, along with another tall, Powerful Elf. They bristled as Dragos strode forward. Pia followed more slowly, concerned about further confrontation and taken by the differences between Dragos and the other males.

Dragos’s Power was a roaring inferno that eclipsed the others. Calondir and his two companions were some of the most muscularly built males she had seen among the Elves, but they looked willowy against Dragos’s broad bone structure and raw solid strength. They would need an army to even think about trying to take Dragos down, and at the moment they didn’t have one. Also, as Calondir said, they didn’t have time. She let herself relax slightly.

Dragos stopped several feet away from the other three males, his hands planted on his hips. Ignoring Ferion and the other Elf, he said to Calondir, “Who was it this time?”

For the first time since Pia had seen him, the High Lord looked vulnerable as he took a deep breath and straightened, visibly bracing himself. “Amras Gaeleval, one of the Guardians that closed the Numenlaur passageway after the war. He came with two others.”

His voice heavy with sarcasm, Dragos said, “And you just thought they wanted to catch up on old times so you invited them in.”

Ferion snapped, “They came to us asking for help. One of them was suffering from an old wound that would not heal. Our best seers scanned them, but no one sensed that Amras possessed one of the Machines until he wielded it tonight.”

Pia chewed her lip as she listened, and something else slipped into place.

“I might have sensed it,” she muttered. Dragos swiveled to face her, his expression growing intent. “I picked up on something odd at supper, and I went to tell Beluviel about it earlier this evening, but something stopped me. There were several people present along with this one man who caught my attention. I’m pretty sure he messed with my head. I remember thinking he was one of my best friends when I know I’ve never met him before. He was in my dreams too.” Scorching gold eyes turned murderous. Dragos put a hand on her shoulder, gripping her tightly as she finished, near to tears. “I didn’t say anything to Beluviel that I had originally intended. I just remembered that.”

Calondir, Ferion and the other Elf were watching her closely as well. Calondir said, “Amras is one of our ancients and adept at persuasion, along with other arts. Do not take the burden of this onto your shoulders. It does not belong there.”

The muscles in Dragos’s body had coiled dangerously tight, but his hand was very gentle as he touched her cheek. She felt the brush of his Power along hers, sliding hot and possessive along her cooler energy. Coming up next to the reality of him was an intense shock to the system after the slightly unreal dreams they had shared. It felt like a feast after she had starved for days.

“I do not sense any lasting influence,” he murmured. “But I would like to check more deeply later.”

She could see out of the corner of her eye that all three of the Elves were staring at Dragos as though he had sprouted two spare heads. She had grown used to seeing that expression on other people, and she chose to ignore it. Instead she focused only on Dragos just as he focused on her, and for one fleeting, enchanted moment they shut out the entire world.

She told him, “I dreamed that I went to look out the window and saw that stars were dying. He was there and he said ‘nothing shines forever,’ along with something about paving a way to some kind of new age. This is what the Oracle prophesied, isn’t it?”

Dragos smoothed a strand of her hair back. “It sounds like it.”

It was possible that the search parties would find many more survivors than she believed they would. But even if they did, the Elves had suffered a devastating blow. More people had been asleep than had been awake. The number that might be able to cross over with Calondir and do battle to recover those who were taken would be pitifully small. They prepared for a suicide mission, and she could tell by the High Lord’s expression that he already knew it. Then those that remained would be lost, along with Beluviel and so many others.

And while the concept of the Deus Machinae was new and strange to her, barely more than a passing story, she was pretty sure that it wasn’t a good idea to let one stay in the hands of someone who could willingly cause so many deaths.

She took Dragos’s much larger, harder hand in both of hers. “You know we have to help them, don’t you?”

He turned his hand and curled his long fingers around hers, squeezing lightly.

He said, “I have already summoned the Wyr.”

•   •   •

H
e had summoned the Wyr as he raced toward a magical fire that destroyed the Elven Wood and lit the night sky for miles.

The Deus Machinae were only dangerous in proportion to the Power of those who wielded them. When they fell into the hands of those with little Power or no real understanding of what they possessed, the Machinae influenced the world in subtle ways.

The last time Dragos had seen a Machine was almost two hundred and forty years ago. Although he had not touched it, he was fairly certain it had been Hyperion’s, the god of Law. At the time it had appeared in the shape of a quill pen, and one of the most famous human lawmakers in American history had used it to sign the Declaration of Independence.

Now an Elf wielded one of the Machinae again. Only an ancient Elf with an affinity to the elements had the Power to use a Machine to such devastating effect on the environment, and he was
NOT GOING TO LET THEM
tear the Earth apart again.

The fire had killed the spirit of the Wood. He spared a thought for how that would sadden Pia, as he reached out to Monroe telepathically.

You will call Graydon,
he said to the startled gargoyle.
Tell him to halt the Games. The High Lord has been attacked, and the Elven Wood is broken. Graydon is to bring a hundred of our strongest, as fast as he can. As soon as you deliver that message, get your ass back to your unit.

Yes, sir,
Monroe said. The gargoyle sounded much calmer than he had when he’d answered Pia’s cell phone.
I’ll be right there.

Then Dragos raced toward the fiery horizon, willing Pia to be safe with every ounce of his energy. Even though he spoke to her telepathically, his world only settled into rightness when he laid eyes on her. She was bedraggled, sweaty and smeared with ash from the fire, but she was calm, and despite the streaks of blood on her clothing that caused his heart to pound in heavy slugs, she was unharmed.

Now as she looked up at him with such earnestness, he knew what was going on in her mind. She counted the cost of the Elves’ struggle in the lives they lost, and she responded to that loss out of compassion.

He did not share her compassion. As far as he was concerned, the Elves could keep killing each other until they wiped themselves off the face of the Earth. But she would always be finer than he was, and more generous.

His gaze shifted to Calondir. “My people will be here in just under two hours,” he said. “Accept our help or not as you choose. But you and I both know that you do not have the strength to confront another one of your ancients if he is wielding a Machine.”

He watched with interest as Calondir struggled. It was not his job to ease the High Lord’s path or make him feel better. He did not bother to point out to the Elf Lord that he had already summoned the Wyr because he was going after Amras Gaeleval whether Calondir accepted his help or not.

Like Constantine, he never pulled his punches.

“I accept,” Calondir said. Ferion and the other Elf stood beside the High Lord, their postures and expressions eloquent with bitterness and resentment, but they also clearly recognized the necessity for a Wyr alliance for they said nothing. Calondir told his two lords, “We will cross over when the Wyr have arrived.”

Just then two runners, a Wyr and an Elf, came back from the search party with a preliminary report. The loss of life was devastating but not a surprise. The big news was that much of the main building was still intact, as a group of Elves had banded together and used their combined Powers to slow the progression of the blaze.

“There are a lot of survivors,” said the Elven runner, who was a slender girl. She had a tear-streaked face and short, fluffy brown hair that was dyed blue at the tips. “There are many more alive than we had feared. Healers have set up a station in the main hall to tend to the wounded.”

The three Elven males’ expressions lightened. Calondir said, “Survivors, shelter and supplies. It is the first good news I have heard this whole gods-cursed night.”

The Wyr runner was one of the males, the magic user of Pia’s guards. He had tightly coiled muscles, strong, high cheekbones and restless dark eyes, and his spark of Power glowed steady and strong. Dragos was interested to note that the male did not look at him but at Pia when he spoke. “They also captured several of the attacking Elves and are holding them in a secured area, but they won’t let any of us near enough to examine them.”

Pia turned to Dragos quickly, who said, “I no longer sense the Machine in the area, so I assume Gaeleval crossed over to your Other land.”

“Yes,” Calondir said. “He took Beluviel and the others.”

“Now that he’s no longer present, I want to know how much of his beguilement has lingered on the captives,” said Dragos. That was just one of many questions to which he intended to find answers. He also still wanted to know how Gaeleval had traveled to reach the Elven demesne in the United States, and he was very interested in finding out what happened in Numenlaur before Gaeleval left. Dragos looked down at Pia. She was as filthy as all the others, and she was the most beautiful, most precious thing in the world to him. He told her, “But first, I want to make sure that you are clear of any influence. I do not like how he was able to enter your dreams.”

Her lips tightened and she nodded.

Calondir said nothing, either in acknowledgment of what Dragos had said or in negation. Instead the High Lord led the way through the decimated Wood to a building at the top of a waterfall. One side of the building was charred and shattered glass lay all around. Braziers lit the open area and bodies lined one end of the clearing, covered in blood-spotted sheets.

Dragos noticed that a few limp and unmoving head snakes from a medusa trailed out from under the corner of one of the sheets. Elves weren’t the only ones who had died here tonight.

Pia averted her gaze from the sight, blinking rapidly, her eyes reddened. Dragos put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close against his side.