Embers of an Age (Blood War Trilogy) (32 page)

Arrin began to believe the still waters of the Iron Ocean were their only hope at survival, however slim.
None among them were swimmers, a habit discouraged by the Tumult and the uncertainty of what lay within the depths of the massive ocean. While nothing lived within the rivers that crisscrossed Ahreele, there were no accounts of the oceans. If anyone had ri
sked travel upon them, they
left no records behind to tell of it
, and t
here wasn’t time to question Braelyn’s experience.

Whatever
the
choice, Arrin would need to make it soon. The low hills of the fortress Mountains were just starting to spurt from the earth. He knew they would reach the point of no return far sooner than was beneficial, but they could not slow. While the Grol forces
had fallen behind
again
, the barrage of magical energy had continued unabated.
Too many of the group had died, but to turn around was suicide.

Arrin spied the glassy shimmer of the ocean in the blurry distance ahead while berating himself for failing to come up with a solution. Then it struck him. There was a way. However slim it might be, Arrin realized he could offer the group a chance at escape. He growled as he contemplated it. Too caught up in the idea of survival, it hadn’t even been a flicker of a thought, but now it was all he could think of. If it failed, they were no worse off than before.

Giving himself no time to dispute his course, he looked to Braelyn. “No matter what happens, keep them running to the water. Swim north along the shore until the mountains hide you
and then climb them
.”

Kirah’s purple gaze snapped to his face
, a snarl pulling
her upper lip back. “What are—”

Arrin leaned in
, pulling her to a stop
. He
kissed her,
silencing her complaint as he pressed
his lips to hers with abandon. He had made his choice
and wanted no one to talk him out of it
. Smiling as he pulled back, Arrin p
ushed
Kirah into Braelyn who latched onto the Pathra
and
gave an understanding nod. Kirah hissed
in surprise
,
but Braelyn held her fast.

“Be well, Cael,” Arrin said as he darted away from the group, giving them no time
to react
.

Wide eyes watched as the group whipped past, the constant wail of artillery driving them on despite their curiosity. Arrin ran straight toward the Grol.
While it was the mass of O’hra
armed Yvir who were the threat to the beasts, it was Arrin they wanted. If nothing else, they would stop to slay
or capture
him. Either option would buy Braelyn
enough
time to get the group out of range of the Grol
artillery
, and maybe enough for them to slip away and survive.

He pulled up short before the advancing army, a flicker of a smile coloring his lips. For fifteen years he’d roamed Ahreele with no place to call home, his heart
rooted
in
the fantasy of
Lathah.
Malya’s
love
had long since moved on, their child now dead. He had lived for a dream…a dream of
dust
. At least now he could die for something.

Arrin stood in the Funeral Sands and mused at its fitting moniker.
The end had come, just as it had with his fantasi
es of love and family. He’d
no choice then, everything taken out of his hands. But here, today, the reins of his life had been returned. It was his to do with as he would.

He planted his feet as the Grol approached. The barrage of fire came to a halt as the army slowed and
stuttered
to an unorganized
stop
. Arrin’s smile widened
.
H
e cast his gaze across their shuffling ranks. For all their numbers, he saw uncertainty in their eyes. It amused him. They were still Grol…still beasts, nothing more.

Arrin drew his swords with a flourish, spun them in his hands, and
settled into a defensive posture
. He
waved his swords out before him
.

The Grol commander bared his teeth and split from his men, pressing forward. The army moved at
his back, a contingent of O’hra
wearing beasts walking alongside their leader.

“I’d heard tale you wanted me, commander,” Arrin said, casting his voice over the gathered forces. “Well, here I am.”

Without waiting for a response, Arrin charged.

Sultae watched the ragtag force
shuffle toward her across the barren soil of
Nurin
. The mass of the group were women and children
and unarmored men
, the elderly
and wounded
straggling behind, but at its lead was a band of warriors. She could feel the
glimmer
of O’hra from where she crouched in the trees, but
there was a strangeness about
its aura. The magic they carried was
different
, and it drew Sultae out.

The group stuttered to a halt as she strode from the trees, cutting a straight line toward the man at the front of the ranks. His extended chin and puffed out chest told her he was the one in charge. He dressed in silks, colored in
the shades
of the fortress people
, and she knew then they were the survivors of the Grol advance
. A shadow of a beard darkened his face, but his narrowed eyes spoke of an even deeper darkness inside.
At his wrists were bronze O’hra.
He drew his swords as she approached
:
one
was
obsidian
,
the other ice blue. They were the source of the
odd
essence she sensed. His men gathered around, drawing
blades
of a similar nature, but they did nothing to block her passage.
She could sense their arrogance.
Sultae smiled.

They were
defiant
, these Lathahns. She could use them.