Crown of Crystal Flame (26 page)

A sixth, dark rope joined the rest.

Azrahn.

Rain’s gut clenched. He spun instinctively towards Ellysetta, saw the six-fold weave surrounding her unconscious form, saw the scars on the faces of the Fey surrounding her.

It wasn’t Bel who’d come to their rescue.

It was
dahl’reisen.

His hand instinctively reached for his Fey’cha belts, but his steel still lay in a heap on the ground near the portal to the Well of Souls. Before he could make a move to recover his blades, a massive concussion shook the ground. Rain dropped to his knees as Mage Fire exploded harmlessly against one of the six-fold weaves.

More
dahl’reisen
added their weaves to the others. Power swelled until the very air crackled. Clouds boiled in the sky. Rain glanced back in time to see the Primage feed power into his shields in a desperate, doomed attempt to save himself as thirty-six
dahl’reisen
interwove their magic into a single, enormous rope of energy. It blasted through his shields like fire through paper, incinerating him in a single fiery flash.

The doorway to the Well of Souls collapsed. The feeding demons howled in fury as the closing door sucked them back into their world.

Abrupt silence fell over the Eld forest.

The
dahl’reisen
paused briefly to gauge the remaining number of enemy, then continued methodically exterminating the Eld. They made short work of those who fled and the few who remained to fight, and slit the throats of the still-groaning Eld wounded as they began dragging Eld bodies into a large pile and retrieving Fey’cha.

“Fire the bodies quickly.” The order came from behind Rain’s back. The speaker’s voice was harsh and gravelly, and it held the unmistakable ring of command. “Jaren, you and your men send our fallen brothers back to the elements. Others will come. We must leave.” The
dahl’reisen
obeyed without hesitation. The pile of Eld corpses burst into flames. The half dozen dead
dahl’reisen
who’d not been consumed by Mage Fire were gathered and laid out in a line. Six-fold weaves enveloped the bodies, then blazed bright. When the magic died down, the bodies of the slain
dahl’reisen
were gone.

Rain turned to the speaker, a tall dark-haired warrior with a thick scar that curved across his throat up to his left cheek. Rain did not recognize him, but that wasn’t so surprising. Before the Wars, Fey had numbered in the hundreds of thousands.

“You will come with us,” the
dahl’reisen
told Rain.

Rain glanced at the
dahl’reisen
still ringing around Ellysetta. Had these men who walked the Shadowed Path rescued them only to turn around and imprison them again?

“The woman and I are heading for Orest,” Rain told him, then cursed himself for the useless attempt to hide Ellysetta’s identity. He’d already shouted it to them all.
Fey, to the Feyreisa! Protect her!

One of the
dahl’reisen’s
dark brown brows lifted in a mocking gesture almost identical to the one Gaelen so enjoyed using. “Your sense of direction is somewhat lacking, Tairen Soul. This is Eld.”

“We were… diverted.”

“You are both wounded, and I imagine you would like to be rid of that Eld jewelry before continuing your journey.” The
dahl’reisen’s
nose wrinkled with distaste as he touched the
sel’dor
manacles welded in place around Rain’s wrists.

Rain met his gaze steadily. “You know I cannot allow any of you to touch her.”

The mocking brow arched again. “You believe you could stop us if we were determined to do so? Sel’dor-pierced and shackled?”

“I would die trying.”

“Still so noble. Still so bloodthirsty. How many souls weigh on your own, Rainier vel’En Daris?”

“Millions,” Rain answered flatly. “And you?”

“Not so many as that. But enough to leave me with this.” He touched the scar on his neck and cheek. “Strange, is it not, that I should be the one banished.”

“We suffer and survive our sufferings as the gods see fit.”

“Ah, of course. The will of the gods.” He tired of pricking Rain’s honor. “You will tend your mate, Feyreisen. We who are the Brotherhood of Shadows do not touch Fey women. She will be safe enough, but with your permission we will weave Spirit upon her to keep her from waking. In her current condition, our proximity would be too harsh a torment for her to bear.”

Knowing he had little chance, Rain agreed, and one of the
dahl’reisen
spun a dense Spirit weave over Ellysetta. Rain watched closely to be sure there was nothing in the weave but patterns to make her sleep.

“Once we reach our village, we will remove your shackles,” the
dahl’reisen
leader said as the other man finished the weave and stepped away. “There are women with healing talent who will see to you both. We will—” His voice broke off. He lifted his head with sudden alertness, his shadowed green eyes growing darker. “More Mages have arrived. Blue robes, by the feel of them—and many of them. We must cross the river quickly.”

Only then did Rain scent Azrahn on the wind, so faint he might never have detected it without the
dahl’reisen’s
drawing attention to it.

“The Eld are using the Well of Souls to travel,” Rain told the
dahl’reisen
leader. “They’ve planted white stones throughout these woods to open portals to the Well at will.”

“The
chemar,”
the scarred warrior murmured.
“Aiyah,
they are a disturbing new development. The Eld only recently began using them, and they stink of witchcraft. We have destroyed all those between our position and the river. But we appreciate the warning.”

Rain eyed the other man with speculation and an unsettling sense of confusion.
Dahl’reisen
walked the Shadowed Path. They were corrupt and untrustworthy… and yet there was something about this man… “Do you have a name?”

The
dahl’reisen’s
eyes flickered with surprise. Fey did not ask
dahl’reisen
their names.
Dahl’reisen
were the dead—
nei,
worse than the dead, they were the dishonored.

“I am Farel.”

Celieria ~ Orest

The sky over Orest was on fire. The screams of tairen and dragons rent the air. Great jets of searing flame and smoke boiled like demonic thunderclouds, turning the sky a sickly orange. Hundred-fold weaves kept the flames from burning most of the city, but the ramparts of lower Orest were scorched, parts of the stone walks littered with the seared rubble of bowcannon and the smoldering heaps of ash that had once been men. Two dozen bowcannon were still operational, surrounded by thickets of dense, protective weaves that the Fey opened to let the cannoneers fire, then sealed again once the shot was off.

The tairen darted in and out of the Faering Mists using the magical barrier for cover, soaring out to launch an attack and draw the fire of the dragons so the cannoneers could load and launch their ice shot, which exploded on the slick, superheated dragon scales like water dropped in a vat of hot grease. Three of the great beasts had fallen, their broken, bloody carcasses draped over the city’s walls and rooftops, but the victory had not come cheaply.

“My Lord Teleos! Look!” One of the general’s aides pointed to the east. An army was marching towards Orest, banners waving the familiar blue and gold of Celieria and an equally familiar gold gryphon on a field of red. “It’s Lord Polwyr!”

Teleos fixed Fey eyes on the approaching army, and the tension in his gut didn’t ease until he saw the familiar face of his neighbor and friend, Griffet Polwyr, heading up the column, riding his favorite white warhorse. “Thank the Bright Lord. He must have seen our signal fires. Quickly! Open the eastern gates and wave him in. Tell the cannoneers keep those dragons off him while his men cross the field.”

Eld ~ The Heras River

A fog had moved in, blanketing the Heras in thick whiteness. Long black barges emerged from the mist as the
dahl’reisen
band approached the banks of the river. Dark sails snapped in an unnatural wind, and the shallow boats skimmed rapidly across the swirling current, steered by an unseen hand. Along the Eld shores,
dahl’reisen
slipped like shadows through the trees, their numbers—nearly five hundred strong—moving swift and silent.

Still holding Ellysetta, Rain struggled to keep up, and his steps fell heavily on the ground. With more Mages advancing rapidly on their heels, Farel had barely taken the time to strike the chains off the manacles clamped to Rain’s ankles so he could run rather than hobble to the river’s shore. His gait was awkward, the barbs from the
sel’dor
missiles shredding his flesh with every step. His body poured constant energy to heal the muscles even as they ripped against the barb’s sharp edges, and the pain was so consuming, he’d had to separate his mind from his body.

As they hurried down the steep hillside to the water’s edge, the black boats beached themselves on Eld soil. The
dahl’reisen
leapt aboard without pause and pushed off.

Rain had to admire the practiced economy of motion. These
dahl’reisen
moved like a swift, honed blade, each man acting as a seamless part of the whole. Even without their impressive invisibility weaves, they could no doubt strike without warning and disappear before anyone could summon a defense.

He clambered aboard the last boat and took the seat Farel indicated. Ellysetta’s head lolled back against his arm, her bright hair spilling down to the boat bottom in a fall of wild spirals. Her lips were parted, her breath whispering through in shallow gasps. Around him,
dahl’reisen
cast furtive glances filled with curiosity and longing and envy. How long had it been since they’d seen a Fey woman? Since they’d stood even half a league from one?

He drew Ellysetta more closely against his chest. His flat gaze met the others, warning them off as the boat pushed away from the shore and turned, heading for the other side.

“You are the Brotherhood of Shadows,” Rain said. “Did Gaelen vel Serranis send you to rescue us?” Of course, it had to be Gaelen. The reckless, rock-headed
lu’tan
would have done anything to save Ellysetta, even send
dahl’reisen
for whom coming within a mile of a Fey woman was an act punishable by death.

Farel’s eyes flickered. “What do you know of Gaelen vel Serranis?”

“I know he leads a band of
dahl’reisen
he calls the Brotherhood of Shadows. He came to Celieria several months ago with reports of Mages returning to power and the Eld gathering an army.”

“You cannot have captured him. You would have ordered his death for approaching his sister.”

“Aiyah,
I would have.”

“Yet he still lives.”

“He does.” Rain was not about to tell the
dahl’reisen
that Ellysetta had restored Gaelen’s soul. They might be Gaelen’s comrades, they might have rescued Rain and Ellysetta from certain doom, but they were still
dahl’reisen,
Fey outcasts who had chosen life on the Shadowed Path over
sheisan’dahlein,
the honor death. They were what Gaelen had been before Ellysetta restored his soul, honor-lost warriors capable of committing the most heinous of all Fey crimes—even murdering a Fey woman. Rain had not forgotten that Gaelen had originally come to Celieria City to kill Ellysetta because he believed she was Vadim Maur’s daughter. Instead, Ellysetta had restored Gaelen’s soul, and he’d bloodsworn himself to her protection.

“You confuse me, Tairen Soul.”

Not half so much as I confuse myself.
Rain sighed and pressed his lips to Ellysetta’s brow. She had entered his life and tilted all his certainties into questions.

“We would have saved her regardless of Gaelen’s commands,” Farel announced abruptly. “She is Fey. We may have lost our path, but we still own enough of our souls that we would not have allowed a
fellana
to fall into Eld hands.”

Rain looked up. Farel was watching Ellysetta. There was no mistaking the helpless adoration, the naked longing. No Fey woman had ever claimed Farel’s soul, yet still he could not help but love them. It was plain on his face that even now, even
dahl’reisen,
he remembered the dreams of every Fey boy and man for a truemate, he remembered the untarnished beauty and limitless love of Fey women. He might want to blame them for his banishment, but he could not.

“Beloved of us all,” Rain said quietly.

“The gods have mercy upon us.”

With another man, Rain would have laughed at the familiar rejoinder. But he could not laugh with a
dahl’reisen
whose only hope of mercy had perished long ago.

The boats reached Celierian shores under the protective blanket of mist, and the
dahl’reisen
disembarked as quickly as they had boarded. As the last man leapt to dry land, the boats dissolved and shrank, becoming the fallen trunks of trees littering Celierian shores.

“The Mages will likely follow us,” Farel said. “And not necessarily by the river. We slay them where we can, but the Eld have thoroughly infiltrated the borders. The north belongs to Eld, and only now does Celieria begin to know it.”

“So Gaelen warned us months ago, but few believed him.”

Farel nodded, but this time silenced any bitter reply he might have made. “Gaelen told us to keep you safe until he arrived, so you’ll be coming with us.”

To one side, a
dahl’reisen
emerged from the mists leading a black
ba’houda
horse. “Can you ride, Tairen Soul? It’s either this or we carry you and your mate on a pair of litters. We cannot afford to let you slow us down.”

“I can ride,” Rain said. Flamed if he would let some
dahl’reisen
cart him about like a decrepit mortal. It wounded his pride to allow Farel’s men to lift him into the saddle, but better that than allow the
dahl’reisen
to touch Ellysetta. When the
ba’houda
actually moved, more than his pride hurt but he gritted his teeth and bore it, clasping Ellysetta tightly against him as they galloped through the Celierian hills.