Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm (31 page)

“Magestones,” said Damaris, looking at Xain with seething fury. “You use my own strength against me. Very well, Loren of the family Nelda. It seems I cannot contest you — this day, at the least.”

“My lady—” said Gregor.

“No,” she snapped. “It is done. You are one of few enough friends I have, Gregor. I will not lose you in a fight you cannot hope to win. Get off the road, and let them pass.”

Gregor fixed Loren with a long, ugly look, as his men led their horses off the road and toward the others, still surrounded by Xain’s fires. Only when they had removed themselves did he turn his steed and ride back to his lady. Then they left the road together, clearing the way for Loren and the others.

Slowly, half expecting a trick, Loren led Midnight forward. The other mounts fell in behind. She felt prickles on the back of her neck under the Yerrin soldiers’ eyes, but no one moved so much as a muscle until they had nearly passed the soldiers by.
 

A lone footman, probably hoping to earn the favor of his lady, drew and loosed an arrow that sped through the air toward Xain. The wizard caught the shaft in a fist of air, flinging it aside where it buried itself in the dirt. With a flick of his wrist, the archer flew screaming into the air. Then the wizard’s dark eyes glowed darker, and with a clenched fist he wreathed the Yerrin soldier in darkfire.

“No!” cried Loren, too late. The man was already dead. His screams were hideous, and Loren shuddered. Xain glanced at her, and the anger fell from his face. His fist opened, and the darkfire guttered out. The soldier fell limp to the ground.
 

Gregor and his horsemen reached for their blades, but Damaris cried out again, “Stop!” She looked in disgust at the fallen archer, who lay smoking near his comrades. “I told you, it is pointless. The fool deserved his fate. Stay your hand unless you wish the same.”

The blackened body fell to the ground. Loren and the rest now stood on the other side of the Yerrin guards. She turned Midnight one final time, fixing Damaris with a steely gaze.

“Do not come after us. You know our wizard’s might. He will not hesitate to unleash it upon you.”

“Save me your threats. They are for fools who do not know their enemy’s strength. I know yours all too well, for it came from me. Everything you have came from me —
Nightblade.”
Damaris spat the word like a curse, then looked to her daughter one last time, her eyes softening. “Annis, I know you have been led astray. I know you think this girl is your friend. She is not. Ones such as you and I, we have no friends. Only family. One day you will remember this, and when you do, come home. We can never forget, but I will forgive. Always know, Annis:
I need you
.”

With that, she turned her horse and led it down the mountain road. Xain let his flames subside, and the Yerrin guards, though cautious, soon fell in to march behind their lady. Gregor stayed the longest, his ugly look fixed on Loren, but then he, too, turned to follow. And soon enough they were swallowed by the clouds.
 

thirty-six

THEY FOUND THE STRONGHOLD DRAWN up and ready to defend against them.

Albern ordered the horses to a halt out of bowshot. The bridge yawned across the chasm, stretching between mountain pass and fortress. It was empty, as was the rock shelf around it — but the walls were well occupied, with many Shades in blue and grey armed with spears and bows.

“I imagine you have some way to get us in?” Albern looked to Xain.

“That gate cannot stop me,” said the wizard. “Nor will the men on the walls. We need not fear their spears and arrows.”

“And what of Trisken?” said Albern. “You saw him when we fought in the caves. Dark magic protects him. The beast cannot be slain by blade or bolt.”

“I have neither blade nor bolt at my disposal.” Xain’s eyes flashed, and his smirk became something cruel. “But let him test himself against my flames, and we shall see if ashes can return to life.”

He dismounted and walked for the bridge. Loren and the others made to fall in behind, but the wizard turned sharply.

“Stay. I would sooner not have to worry about protecting you, as well as myself. Let me clear the path.”

Loren hesitated, but Albern spoke.
 

“As you wish.” He nodded to Loren, and they stilled their horses while the wizard walked on.

Xain reached the bridge, and a shout sounded out from the wall. Archers lifted their bows and drew. Arrows sailed through the air toward him. Though Loren knew his powers well, still she gasped and straightened in her saddle. Xain reached out, and even from behind him she could see the dark and horrible glow of his eyes. Arrows halted midflight, trapped inside a rampart of air. As he cast his arm forward, they flew back toward their enemies, raining upon them in a shower of death. Shades ducked behind the battlements, but several were too slow and pitched into the courtyard, screaming as they died.

Loren turned, refusing to look. But she could not block the sound, even when covering her ears.
 

It is Xain.
It is his choice, and I could not stop him even if I tried.

Xain came to the far end of the bridge, a few yards from the stronghold gate. Archers dared to loose another volley, but he cast it back like a wicked breeze to a fly. This time they were ready and ducked behind the battlements. The archers must have thought to keep shooting until they broke his defenses, thinking they were safe behind their gate.

They were wrong. Xain sent forth a roaring ball of flame that crashed into the gate with a thunderous explosion. It blew inward, shattering into a thousand shards of molten metal, tearing at the bodies of men gathered on the other side. Screams turned Loren’s stomach, and brought her close to retching.
 

Albern caught her eye. “What now, of your promise to not take a life?”

“It is not my doing,” said Loren, shaking. “Xain casts the flames — I would not have killed them.”
 

Loren’s words were hollow, even to her ears. Without her magestones, Xain would have no such power, not for this, and not to kill the Yerrin guard who had shot at them upon the road. But if she had not given him the stones, they would be dead. She had to remind herself: What Xain chose to do with his power would be on his conscience. And after? Loren could only hope he would remember his vow to stay true.

Shades ran down from the battlements to assemble in the courtyard, standing before the wizard in rank and file. Loren could barely glimpse them through the gate. Xain sent forth another wall of flame, as he had in the hollow when the satyrs stood before him. This time he showed mercy, and did not push it toward them. The heat poured terror enough into their hearts, and they turned to flee. She heard a crash as the stronghold’s west gate was thrown open, Shades running for their lives down the road and into the valley far below.
 

Xain let his flames die, and turned to look at Loren across the bridge.

His eyes were lit with battle-wrath. He held his arms to his sides as fire danced along them. Then he saw Loren’s face, and the anger withered with his smile. Flame guttered to sparks, then to nothing. Xain’s hands fell to his side.

“Come forth now,” he called. “But keep a wary eye still. There may be more of them skulking about.”

Albern took the lead, riding forward with an arrow nocked but held loose in his bow. Loren and Annis followed close behind, their eyes roving in the deathly silence. A hollow wind was the only sound as it whistled through the peaks. Even the rain had finally stopped, though the air still hung thick and wet, forever threatening to resume the downpour.

Loren could not forget that they had yet to see Trisken. She would have spotted him upon the castle wall, and could not picture him fleeing into the valley with his men.
 

“Beware of Trisken,” she said sharply — though part of her wanted to remain silent, as though by speaking his name she would invite his appearance. Yet still they saw no sign.

“Aye,” said Albern. “And if we see him, promise you will run. Let Xain and I deal with him.”

“Easily promised, and more easily done,” said Loren.

The courtyard was quiet but for the mangled bodies of Xain’s felled soldiers. Loren was relieved to see fewer than she had imagined, but still felt sick at the loss of lives. Whatever promises had led these men to join the Shades, she doubted they had agreed to face a wizard wroth with magestones.
 

“We know they are not keeping Jordel and Gem in the jail beside the secret entrance,” she said. “But there is another in the south wall. Let us search there.”

No one wanted to be the first to open the door leading inside, but Xain threw it open and entered as though there were nothing to fear. For him, mayhap there was not. In any case the hallway was empty, bare even of torches. The wizard threw forth a ball of blue magefire that floated before them. Quickly Loren found the jail, but the cells were empty.

“Where else would he keep them?” Loren could see the worry on Annis’s face, and knew it was mostly for Gem. “Are there dungeons below the castle, perhaps?”

“Not likely,” said Albern. “Few masons would burrow into the land beneath a fortress and thus weaken its foundation — especially so high in the Greatrocks, where faults in stone are common.”

“They might be in the great hall,” said Loren with a heavy heart; she had feared it since they came, for something whispered in her mind that they would not find their friends in jail. They had first seen Trisken in the great hall. If the foreboding in her heart held truth, it was where they would find him again.

Albern must have sensed her mind, for his face grew as grim as she felt. But he led them into the courtyard without comment, and together he and the wizard approached the wide wooden doors that opened into the hall.

“Quiet as we enter,” said Albern. “We cannot know what—”

Xain gave a snort and sent forth wind, blasting the doors open with a gust. They slammed into the walls behind, sending a thundering
boom
to echo throughout the stronghold.

“Or we could cast prudence to the winds.” Albern motioned Loren and Annis back as he sidled up to the doorway’s edge.
 

Loren crept forward, hand on her dagger, though she knew better than to draw it except at utmost need. But Xain entered without hesitation, straight through the hall. As Loren and Albern followed with caution, they saw their worry had been baseless. Trisken did not lie within, nor did any other Shade. And yet there were Jordel and Gem, hands and feet bound, sitting in simple wooden chairs facing Trisken’s throne like advisors offering counsel.

Their heads hung limp to their chests. From behind, Loren could see knots from their gags. Even at the great din from the wizard’s entrance, neither stirred. Thick blood soaked their clothing.

Loren’s heart quailed, and she felt rooted to the floor.

Annis had no such restraint.
“Gem!”
She ran forward, tears running down her face. “Gem, no!”

She came around before him, seized his face, and lifted it to hers. Fresh tears spilled as she shook him, his head flopping limply in her hands.

Gem yanked his head back and out of her grasp, shaking it with a groan, the sound muffled under his gag.

Annis hurried to remove his gag, and once free, Gem looked up at the two of them. “Why would you do that? I think my head hurts enough without your help, thank you.”

Loren came to stand in front of him, then gasped and covered her mouth. Gem’s face was purple with bruises, and a gash in his forehead stretched from temple to scalp. His arms were covered in welts, and she could see great purple splotches under his collar where he had been struck again and again.

“Gem,” cried Annis, holding his head in her arms. “Gem, Gem. We thought we lost you.”

“You did not, though you will if you keep strangling me,” he croaked. “I will kill half the kingdom for a drop of water.”

Annis hastened to fetch water from the horses in the courtyard, while Loren turned to Jordel. His head lolled like Gem’s, but she could see the rise of his chest as he breathed. He looked, if anything, worse than the boy. She grabbed the Mystic’s shoulder and gently shook him. His eyes snapped open, and he looked up, his gaze sharp as ever.

Loren quickly untied the gag, then held his stare as Albern knelt behind him to cut his bonds. “Greetings, Mystic,” she said lightly. “Your rescue has arrived — though late, for which I hope you can find forgiveness.”

“Loren,” said Jordel, his voice quiet but still strong. “How … where is Trisken?”

Loren felt a shiver down her spine, but shook it off and smiled. “Hidden in some hole, no doubt. We have not seen him, though we managed to frighten his army away.”

Albern finished with the bonds, and Jordel rubbed at his wrists, chafed raw. “What … how did you manage?”
 

He turned, his eyes fell upon Xain, and he saw the strength in the wizard’s limbs. The harsh look upon his face.
 

The Mystic’s face grew grim.

Before he could say or do anything rash, Loren laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.
 

“Tis all right, Jordel. He saved us, and you as well. Without him we would be dead.”

“You gave him more stones.” Jordel stared at Loren in smoldering anger. “Did you learn nothing from Wellmont?”

“We would be dead,” Loren repeated, more harshly. “I had a choice: trust him, or let us be a feast for satyrs and harpies. You yourself said you believed him, when he spoke of his remorse. I placed my faith in him — and you, rather than allowing our deaths.”

“A long enough time it took the two of you,” said Xain with a bitter laugh. “But fear not, mighty Mystic. The sickness has not claimed me yet, nor will I let it. I am again your puppet, as I must have been fated to be.”

Jordel met the wizard’s eyes, frowning. “Tis something I have never asked of you, Xain. I want you by my side, of your own choice or not at all. If you think I hold you upon some leash, then you are worse off than when the sickness ate at your limbs, and would do well to be quit of us now.”