Crown of Crystal Flame (27 page)

Every so often, a small squad of
dahl’reisen
would peel off from the main group and lope away in some different direction. Decoys, Rain presumed, sent to befuddle any followers and to erase the signs of passage of the main party. The
dahl’reisen
operated with impressive precision. Which wasn’t all that surprising since all
dahl’reisen
were seasoned Fey veterans with many centuries of training and warfare beneath their belts. Once, they had been among the best warriors of the Fading Lands.

Rain was grateful for the
dahl’reisen
weave that kept Ellysetta unconscious. Between the
sel’dor
in her body, his own burning pain, and the presence of the
dahl’reisen,
she would have been screaming in torment. And with his arms around her—his body pressed against hers, their shared pain would have formed an agonizing harmonic.

Rolling farmland ended at the edge of a deep wood, and the
dahl’reisen
came to a halt. Rain’s innate tairen sense of direction and long-forgotten memories pinpointed their location. This was Verlaine Forest, the deep, vast woods in northwest Celieria. Legally, the forest was part of King Dorian’s family holdings, but in reality Verlaine Forest belonged to no one. During the Mage Wars, Fey, Celierians, and Elves alike had found refuge here amongst the trees, using the forest as a base from which to launch attacks against Eld. Dark, bitter battles had been fought all around the forest’s edges, terrible magic released in and around its ancient borders, but the Eld had never conquered the dark Verlaine, nor penetrated its deepest interior.

Farel approached and laid a hand on the neck of Rain’s mount. “You’ll have to run from here. Not even
ba’houda
will enter this wood. Do you have the strength to carry your
shei’tani
and still keep up?”

Rain arched a brow. “You just lead us to safety. I’ll find whatever strength I need to follow.”

The corner of Farel’s mouth lifted. “Then follow, Tairen Soul.” He turned and plunged into the dense, dark forest of the Verlaine.

Rain adjusted Ellysetta in his arms, set his jaw, and ran.

Eld ~ Boura Fell

“Escaped? What do you mean my prizes have
escaped?”

Primage Vargus stood before Vadim Maur, shaking like a leaf in a hard wind. “The
dahl’reisen
were using their invisibility weave—the one that renders them completely undetectable. They came in such numbers, with no warning, and they destroyed all the
chemar
in the area so we couldn’t flank them. We searched for them, but found no sign of their tracks. We can only assume they’ve crossed the river and taken refuge in the Verlaine by now.”

Vadim paced, the hem of his purple robes swirling around his feet with each brisk step and sharp pivot. He’d been waiting impatiently for the arrival of Ellysetta Baristani, and when she had not been delivered to him within one bell of her capture, he’d gone looking for an explanation—and found Vargus in the war room, sweating a river as he tried frantically to coordinate a doomed search for the missing captives.

“We did at least recover the Tairen Soul’s blood, Most High.”

Vadim stopped abruptly in a billow of purple velvet. “Did we?”

Vargus nodded. “Quite a lot of it. Enough for Primage Grule to ensure that the next time the Tairen Soul flies near Eld will be his last.”

“See it done.”

Vargus bowed and exited the room.

Vadim began to pace once more. The
dahl’reisen.
They’d been a thorn in his side for centuries, slaughtering his
umagi,
foiling the raids he sent to bring back the magical offspring from the breeders he’d released into Celieria in the hopes of creating a greater and more powerful pool of prospective breeders. He’d captured a number of the
dahl’reisen
over the years and added their gifts to the bloodlines he was creating. For that usefulness—and because he hadn’t wanted to tip his hand to the Celierians—he’d never sent a large enough force into Celieria to kill them.

But now—incredibly—it seemed the
dahl’reisen
had joined forces with the Fey.

And that was an alliance he could not allow.

Vadim wrenched open the door to his office and barked a curt command to Zev.

“Summon the Mharog.”

Melliandra leaned close to the bars of Lord Death’s cell and spoke in a low voice. “Remember I once asked you if you could show me how to unravel a ward?”

Lord Death’s head was bent over his bowl as he scooped hot stew into his mouth. At her question, his glowing green eyes looked up, pinning her. “I remember. I also remember telling you it takes magic to unweave magic.”

“What if someone just recently discovered they have magic? Could you teach them how to use it?”

His eyes narrowed. “I used to be a
chatok
… a teacher. But learning magic takes time.”

“What if you don’t have much time?”

“That would be unfortunate. Instruction cannot be rushed.”

She took a breath. She couldn’t believe she was about to suggest this. “What if you didn’t exactly instruct?” She swallowed, and forced herself to spit it out. “Mages control people. They make them do things, even magical things.”

“Mages do many things Fey do not. Controlling others through magic is one of those.”

“Yes, but could you if you had to?”

Lord Death’s brows drew together. “What are you thinking, child? What are you asking me to do?”

“There’s an important battle coming. The High Mage is planning to personally oversee it. He’ll be leaving Boura Fell. It would be the perfect time to get your things.”

The Fey set down his bowl and gripped the cage bars.

“When?”

“In a few days. Like I said, there’s not much time. That’s why I need to know, if I can bring you someone with magic, and I show you the wards that need to be unraveled, can you—I don’t know—spin a weave of some kind to control their magic so they can unravel the wards?” “Who is this magic user? How do you know you can trust him?”

She bit her lip. Once her secret was shared, it could never be unshared. But then, she’d already shared other secrets with this Fey, ones that would be far more perilous to her if he ever revealed them.

“Her, not him. The magic user is a girl. And I know I can trust her, because she’s me.”

Celieria ~ Orest

“I am very glad to see you, my friend.” Teleos clasped Griffet Polwyr’s forearms. The neighboring Border Lord’s men had been deployed in lower Orest, while the nobleman himself had been escorted to the command center in Upper Orest.

“And I you, my friend. I saw the signal and the fire in the sky”—he jerked his chin towards the tairen and dragon fighting claw and fang overhead—“and thought you could use a hand.”

Despite the grim circumstances, Teleos laughed. “You thought right. I’ve never been happier to see your ugly face.” He and Griffet had been friends since they were lads. Griff’s second son bore Dev’s name.

A sudden cry rang out over the Warrior’s Path.
«Portal opening near the south gate! Fey to your posts! Sound the alarm!»

The bells of Lower Orest began to ring. Teleos swore. A single portal had opened a mile east of Lower Orest, well out of cannon or weave range. A score of Eld soldiers emerged, racing north and south, and in their wake, dozens and dozens of other portals opened. Elden warriors and Mages poured out in a thick, black tide. Behind them, a second row of portals spewed batteries of bowcannon and siege weapons.

“Looks like they mean to take her this time,” Dev said.

Griffet moved to Dev’s side. “They do, my friend,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, but they do.”

“Griff?” Dev turned in time to see his friend’s eyes turn to bloody black horror. The sickly sweet ice of Azrahn washed over him. “Ah, no.” Dev’s mournful whisper ended on a choked grunt. His breath fled his lungs in a sudden, agonized gasp and pain doubled him over as the blade in Grifet’s hand slid under the scales of Dev’s armor and sliced through his belly, driving up towards his heart.

Celieria ~ The Verlaine Forest

For most of the day, Rain and the
dahl’reisen
picked their way through the Verlaine’s heavy underbrush and dense stands of trees, pausing only a few times for brief rests. Progress was slow until the daunting thicket of the outer forest gave way to an older, deeper wood where small, persistent saplings and evergreen molia bushes vied for survival alongside great, densely needled conifers and thick, gnarled oaks. Twilight descended, and the forest gloom became an impenetrable darkness. Rain’s eyes adjusted automatically, his elongated Fey pupils opening wide to let in every hint of light. Where mortals would be blinded by darkness, Rain and the
dahl’reisen
had the clear vision of cats hunting in the night.

A loud scream rent the air. Rain jerked to attention.

“Lyrant,”
Farel said. “The forest is full of them… along with other vicious, Shadow-spawned creatures created and loosed upon it by the Mages.”

They ran deeper into the forest, and Rain began to spot the shadows of
dahl’reisen
sentries perched high in the branches above. He knew there must be conversations flying over private Spirit weaves, but the
dahl’reisen
were too disciplined for him to detect the barest hint of it.

They approached a deep thicket draped with thorny, flowering sago vines. Except for the faintest glow of a privacy weave and the fact that the
dahl’reisen
sentries now allowed themselves to be visible, Rain would not have given the thicket a second thought.

“We’re here,” Farel said. The vines parted as Farel approached, and he ran through the resulting tunnel without slowing. The
dahl’reisen
guards watched silently, their faces inscrutable, as Rain and Ellysetta passed by them and followed Farel through the opening.

They emerged from the long tunnel at the edge of a village. A remarkable, unexpected, secret village—large enough it could nearly be called a city—hidden in the heart of the Verlaine.

Rain looked around with a mix of shock and admiration. He had not expected something so large, nor so impressive.
Dahl’reisen
Earth masters had done their work well. Cabins nestled amongst the trees, integrated with an almost Elvish flair so that they were scarcely distinguishable from the forest as they hugged the thick trunks and perched high in the heavy branches. Vine bridges draped from tree to tree. Rope ladders and hanging wooden stairs that could be raised or lowered at will granted access to the buildings overhead. Round, illuminated orbs hung from the tree branches, casting a golden glow upon the city in the trees and the forest floor below, where well-worn paths bordered carefully tended gardens.

Villagers rushed out to meet the returning raiders. Among them were several dozen more
dahl’reisen
—some in full leather and steel, others looking incongruously like Celierian townsmen in tunics and breeches—numerous mortal men and women, even elders with wrinkled skin and whitening hair. And there were children, scores of them, varying in age from the smallest babe still suckling at its mother’s breast to tall, stripling youths on the cusp of adulthood. Rain stared at the children in wonder, seeing more than one Fey face among them. They all watched him with a mix of intense curiosity and deep-rooted wariness.

As the
dahl’reisen
entered, the villagers moved forward. Women opened welcoming arms and clasped suddenly weary-looking
dahl’reisen
to their breasts. Small children cried
“Gepa
!” Father! Several women gave choked cries and rushed to clasp the hands of the wounded, while others waited and stood in grief-stricken silence as Farel’s warriors delivered unto them the steel and
sorreisu’kiyrs
of the fallen.

Watching them, Rain’s throat grew tights. He remembered countless similar scenes from his own childhood. Happy homecomings when his father, Rajahl, had returned safely from battle. Bitter homecomings when Rain himself had brought the wounded and as many dead as he could carry back from a particularly bloody clash with the Mages.

He had never dreamed to find such warmth… such love… in a
dahl’reisen
village.

A tall woman in dark skirts approached Farel. She was young despite the wealth of startling white hair she wore tied back with a simple band. Her face was barely lined, her eyes large, clear pools of misty gray surrounded by thick black lashes. Rain estimated she had seen no more than thirty mortal years. She paused at Farel’s side and clasped his hands, staring up into his eyes. Though they did not embrace or speak aloud, Rain guessed this was Farel’s chosen companion.

The white-haired woman released Farel’s hands and accompanied him back to Rain and Ellysetta.

“This is Sheyl,” Farel said. “She will tend to you and your mate once we rid you both of the
sel’dor.”
He led Rain over to a smith’s forge built in a small clearing off to one side of the village. Six
dahl’reisen
followed—to guard the villagers from the Tairen Soul, Rain supposed—but the others dispersed, moving as far from Ellysetta as they could, some even leaving the village altogether.

The smith was not
dahl’reisen,
but neither was he wholly mortal. His muscles were thick as a Celierian’s, but his eyes were pure Fey, pale, crystalline blue and glowing with latent magic. He turned to Rain, a folded wad of leather in his large hand. “If you will allow me, Feyreisen, I’ll remove that collar. You can lay your mate on that cot in the corner, then come sit on this bench.”

Rain hesitated, searching the man’s gaze for any hint of treachery. When he found only sincere compassion, he nodded and laid Ellysetta gently on the clean bedding. A blanket had been folded neatly at the end of the cot, and he draped it over her before returning to straddle the bench near the forge.

The smith tucked the wad of leather between the collar and Rain’s neck, then slipped a small steel plate between the leather and the collar.

“Turn your head away.”

Rain obeyed, and someone—he couldn’t tell if it was the smith or the
dahl’reisen
—summoned a five-fold weave. The dominant thread in the weave was Fire. He could feel the concentrated heat of it. Cooling Water and brisk Air kept the heat from penetrating through the leather or spreading through the rest of the collar. The five-fold weave went suddenly ice-cold, and a sharp blow made Rain flinch. After repeating the process another five times, the despised collar fell away.