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He fleetingly wished he could get his hands on one, but it would be an impossible task. No one, save Toroth himself, accessed the king’s hoard. He dismissed the idea as soon as he thought it, though a small part of his mind continued to mull over the prospect, reluctant to give up so easily, for Dimitri had often found there was a way to achieve anything. It just required ingenuity, determination, and more than a little measure of luck sometimes. Yet, perhaps this was a match for him. Dimitri did not like to chance failure, or Toroth’s cruel ruthlessness.
Clouds scudded across the moon once more. The runes faded before Dimitri’s eyes, but they were etched into his memory, and his heart burned with a fire of hope that he had never allowed to grow so much before. Now it was stoked, he could not bear to let it die.
The spymaster, the forgotten son, the outcast… He did not know how he would make it come to pass, but he vowed he would. This was the moment he had waited for all his life. He could see the stars aligning now, almost in place, dancing together. Dimitri looked into Saradon’s violent gaze. I am going to finish your work. I am going to take down the king. I am going to break the wheel.
11
AEDON
“They’re here,” Brand growled. He crouched and drew his huge blade with a quiet hiss. Erika, Aedon, and Ragnar spread out to form an arc, each drawing their weapons. A frisson of fear mingled with excitement rushed through Aedon, and he bounced upon the balls of his feet as he rode it, allowing himself to soak it into his veins and take its power for his own. The sharp edge of those wild feelings would see him through this. Never did he feel more alive than when he sliced into them.
The canyon was the perfect place for an ambush. The only pass through the peaks to their destination. The elves of Tir-na-Alathea knew it as well as they. Aedon felt them skulking nearby, but their magic flowed strangely, warped by the cliffs that hemmed them in. He could not pinpoint it—or them. Unease stirred, disrupting that current of lightning sharp focus within. “Be careful. They have wards up. I cannot tell where they are—or when they will strike.”
Granite cliffs soared on either side of them, reaching up into the mountain mists. The eerie silence held, only broken by the ragged tear of their breaths and each step crunching upon the rocky track. Aedon’s gaze darted around, flitting from one point to another. His companions sought for any trace of their pursuers too.
He reached inside his breast and offered the small, cloth-wrapped prize to Brand. “You keep it. If all else fails, take to the skies.”
The hulking Aerian grasped it and tucked it inside his clothing for safekeeping. “We ought to keep moving. No point sitting here like lambs waiting for slaughter.”
They moved swiftly and quietly, loping through the canyon. The scattering of pebbles dislodged with each step seemed painfully loud. But when it came, the attack was silent.
“Unh!” Brand staggered forward with the punch of the impact through his wing. The aerian spun, roared, and charged the familiar male elf swinging down the cliff toward them. Ta’hiir. He had a bow in one hand and a quiver of arrows strapped to his hips—the match to the one piercing Brand’s feathered wing. Behind Brand, Aedon slid to a halt. Aedon saw the bloodlust already running in Brand’s eyes, for his friend acknowledged no pain from the shot. Without stopping, Brand snapped the shaft of the arrow and tugged it free. He did not so much as glance at the blood pulsing from the wound and blighting his golden brown feathers. In one fluid movement, he swept his blade at the elf just as his assailant landed on the ground before them.
Ta’hiir dodged the blow. His sister, El’hari, following closely behind him, parried it. Her slim blade skittered across Brand’s thick steel, sending it slightly off course—enough to strike the stone beside her with an almighty crash. Then she was off. Aedon’s attention followed her as he wrenched his dagger free, already calculating how best to disable her. The end of the canyon was so close. If they could just make the break of the pass…
Brandishing her twin blades, Erika gave chase, though she was no match for the elf’s speed. Ragnar drew back his axe as Ta’hiir rounded on Brand once more. Just as Ta’hiir’s magic began to cripple Brand, forcing the giant almost to his knees, Ragnar threw the axe. Ta’hiir leapt out of the way, cursing. The blade bounced harmlessly into the dust—but it had done its job of distracting him and freeing Brand from the magical assault. Ragnar ran for his blade, pulling his remaining axe from his belt loop.
Aedon followed Erika. Two each against two. Better odds, at least. He did not slow as Brand fell to his knees. The Aerian crashed to the ground, leaving Ragnar, the slow and combat-shy dwarf, facing the fresh-faced and brutal Ta’hiir. The faster Aedon took out El’hari, the faster he could help. Aedon sent his magic shooting after El’hari, pulling her inexorably toward him.
The distraction was enough. Erika pounced upon the she-elf. She gathered El’hari’s mahogany hair in her fist and yanked it with relish. El’hari screeched and fell, but at the last second, pitched her weight and sent Erika tumbling instead. Erika crashed to the ground, rolled, and leapt to her feet, but El’hari danced around her, nicking her with cuts and grazes that Erika was not fast enough to dodge. Aedon joined the fray with a howl, barging El’hari aside with a shoulder. She faced him with a snarl, her teeth bared.
“Don’t give me the aleilah, thief. I want to take it from your hot, fresh corpse!” She launched herself at him.
Breathing heavily, Erika threw herself back into the fight, but with a thrust of El’hari’s clawed hand and a burst of magic, she sailed through the air, landed with a thud, and was still. Aedon swore. His blade parried El’hari’s, barely able to keep up with her speed. He knew he was no match for her in hand-to-hand combat. As they danced through the canyon in a deadly give-and-take, Aedon caught a glimpse of Brand’s hulking form still on the ground, and Ragnar weakening as he tried to keep Ta’hiir at bay.
No! Why wasn’t the Aerian up and fighting? Aedon could not pause to give in to the crushing worry that punched him. Poison. The arrow had to be poisoned. The forest elves were too strong. If he did not act, they would all be dead, their promise broken, and the alailah lost to the Tir-na-Alathea elves once more.
“Is this the best you have for me?” El’hari laughed. Her taunts stung, but he could withstand them. It was the smug glee in her amber eyes that he despised. “Weren’t you one of Pelenor’s finest? Not so fine without your dra?—”
“Do not utter her name!” Aedon thundered, giving in to the magic that was his greatest secret. The inferno consumed him with a roar that drowned out all other sound as the floodgates within him opened. Raw power coursed through him as the magic burnt its way out, blasting the elf before him. Through a golden haze, he saw her alight and fleeing before he turned his attention to her brother. Ta’hiir wheeled on him. His eyes widened with fear, and he fled after his sister before the fire consumed him too. Utterly spent, Aedon collapsed to his knees, his breathing ragged. Ragnar staggered over and helped him to his feet.
“Quickly, Aedon. That was a pretty show, but we cannot be sure they will not come back. You must heal Brand. That arrow is tainted.”
Aedon dragged himself to his feet as Ragnar rushed to Erika’s side, pulling her onto her back and resting her head upon his legs. Erika stirred under Ragnar’s ministrations as he treated her concussion, though he could not fix the sting to her pride. Aedon bent over Brand. He trembled from head to foot with the exertion of drawing upon the old magics without the strength of his former dragon companion to bolster his control. He pushed the ache from his heart at the familiar feel of her magic coursing through him. There was a reason he did not call upon it save for in the gravest need.
It was just as he surmised. Malevolent poison from the arrow oozed inexorably through his companion. The very feel of it left a stinging tang upon Aedon’s tongue. With slow, deliberate magic, he drew the poison out of Brand’s wound, painstakingly pulling it through each blood vessel until the Aerian’s blood ran clean. Finally, Brand’s shallow breathing strengthened and colour returned to his dark face. Aedon sealed the wound. A bare patch of skin amongst the feathers on Brand’s wing remained—the only indication he had been injured.
Brand groaned. Slowly, he pushed himself into a seated position. His wings slumped to the side of him, like a giant cape, as though he did not have the strength to lift and fold them away. “You cannot keep doing that,” Brand mumbled at Aedon as he tried to recover his bearings.
“I know. It really takes it out of me. If only I had more strength to draw on,” Aedon said. He smiled half-heartedly, unable to shake the unease that came from seeing his strong brother in arms so roundly beaten. “At least it got us out of that bind, though.”
“No more,” Brand growled at him.
“Bu—”
“No. More,” the Aerian snarled through clenched teeth.
Aedon gritted his teeth as well. “A thank you would be nice. I know what is at stake. If I cannot use the least of my old skills, what good am I?”
