The Iron Sword (The Fae War Chronicles Book 1) (40 page)

I reached within myself, to pull up a thread of
taebramh
—and to my surprise a gleaming blue-silver glow greeted me, burning brighter than my white fire ever had. I drew out a small spark, and it turned into a stream as I let it flow down my arm and into the trunk of the river-tree.

“Sword of Greatest Power,” I said, “heed your rightful Bearer.” And I willed the Sword to come to me, to break free of its secret sleeping-place where it had slumbered for centuries. For a moment the night held its breath. Everything was suspended. Then the world exploded into shards of silver light. Faintly, as if from a distance, I heard Vell gasp and Beryk bark. I felt the tree drawing me in, the Sword pulling me toward its dark chamber. My hand disappeared into the trunk of the tree, sliding incorporeally through the wood. The invisible current swirled around me, pushing me farther into the tree until my entire arm had been swallowed. I realized the Sword was not going to stop—it was going to use its siren-call to draw me down to its resting-place deep within the heartwood of the river-tree, where it had lain for four centuries and which it was loathe to leave for the bright open world.

“No,” I said, digging my heels into the hardness of the root beneath my feet. “You will heed me. I command you by my blood, and by the blessing of Gwyneth, your last Bearer!”

The pulling paused, as if the Sword had heard my words. I sent my own rope of power deep into the river-tree, feeling through the age-rings that told of drought and rainfall, sun-soaked summers and harsh winters. I burrowed through the trunk until I felt something different, something cold and smooth and harder than mere wood. A thrill shivered through me as I wrapped my power around the hilt of the Iron Sword. For a moment, it fought me, refusing to move. Then, as it felt my
taebramh
, it acquiesced, drawing its own power back into itself, allowing me to draw it toward the surface of the trunk as though I was drawing it out of its sheath. The river-tree trembled as I wrapped my fingers around the hilt of the Sword, my arm still shoulder-deep in its trunk. I steadily pulled the Iron Sword from the womb of the tree, stepping back slowly. The hilt emerged, the emerald gleaming like an eye opening on the world for the first time. The blade sang as I drew it free of the tree, awakened from its sluggish slumber by the caress of the fresh night air and the feel of my warm pulsing skin upon its hilt.

I felt the earth shift slightly beneath me, and the ground gave up the battered leather sheath. Still holding the Sword in one hand, I picked up the sheath, dusted it off as best I could, and slid the blade into it, silently apologizing for cutting it off from the fresh air so soon after its rebirth. The Sword itself didn’t seem to care, its power thrumming through the sheath. I discovered that if I pushed at the Sword’s power a bit with my own, I could mold and shape the Sword’s aura. The river-tree groaned heavily.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” I said to it, but I had a feeling it was mourning the loss of its secret charge. Then I took a moment to consider the Sword. I contemplated simply moving my own sword to the other side, and adding the Sword to my belt; but then I remembered Gwyneth’s words:
Just the idea of the Sword is often enough
. So though I’d never worn a sword on my back before, I fastened the blade as Gwyneth had worn it, fumbling for a moment with the unfamiliar straps. The sheath fit perfectly along my spine, although I was sure the Sword had been longer than my torso when I’d held it bare in the moonlight. Its power thrummed into my ribs, vibrating through the base of my skull and down into my hips. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, and the blue-silver fire beneath my breastbone pulsed with every thrum.

My exhaustion fell away from me. I knew I was still tired, but the heady power of the Sword pushed it beneath the surface. I grinned as I turned and walked back along the tree-root. Vell stood a small distance away, looking at me with her impenetrable golden eyes.

“That is the Iron Sword, isn’t it?” she asked me, a trace of awe in her voice.

“Yes,” I said simply.

“So you
are
the true Bearer,” Vell said. She shook her head. “You were right, Beryk, I should have taken that guard up on his bet.”

“What bet?” I asked indignantly as we began moving in the direction of the path.

“There were rumors spreading like wildfire through camp, right before the Vaelanmavar arrested you,” she said. “Some said you were a spy for Malravenar, and others said you were the true Bearer, a descendant of Gwyneth herself.” She grinned. “Some even said you were both.”

The Iron Sword pulsed angrily at the mention of Malravenar, and at the suggestion that I was a spy. I smiled a little at its possessive indignation. “I’m sorry you didn’t make a few coins off me when you had the chance,” I said. Wisp landed on my shoulder, tugging at my hair.

“Tess-mortal,” he said. “We cannot get so close to you anymore, not with the Great Blade unleashed. But we will follow at a distance.”

“Hold on, Wisp,” I said. I drew in the Iron Sword’s power. It was like flexing a newly discovered muscle, or one that had not been used in a very long time. I held tight until the Sword’s power nestled along my ribs, below my own pulsing well of bright fire.

“Better?”

“Much improved,” Wisp said happily, settling onto my shoulder.

“Now,” I said, “how are we getting to the battle?”

“Well,” Vell said, “you’re getting there the same way you came here.” Beryk looked at her intently, his ears pricked forward, and she murmured something to him softly. He whined deep in his throat but walked over to my side.

“Does he grow on command?” I asked wonderingly. This time it was unmistakable: Beryk’s head reached just below my shoulders, his legs almost as long as my own.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Vell said, grinning. “It’s not half as strange as a mortal that melts into trees.”

“Not my fault, but all right,” I replied. I had to jump a little and pull myself up to swing my leg over Beryk’s back this time. It was hard without stirrups, but I didn’t have to hook my toes over his back to keep my feet from hitting the ground. “You’re coming, right?”

Vell grinned predatorily, her white teeth gleaming in the darkness. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Beryk’s muscles bunched beneath me and I barely had time to grab two handfuls of fur before he shot forward, racing back toward the forest. A wild joy rose within me as he ran, the new weight of the Iron Sword upon my back, its power pressing against my ribs like a lover’s embrace. I threw back my head and let out a fierce challenging cry, my voice rising up into the blackness of the night as we raced toward battle.

Chapter 32

W
e flew through the forest, swift and silent as shadows. I urged Beryk on, my heart racing as I heard the sounds of the fight ahead. Wisp launched himself from my shoulder, streaking up into the canopy of trees overhead with Flora close behind him. A snarling growl rumbled in Beryk’s chest as we drew closer. I glimpsed dark forms and flashing blades through the trees. A gibbering toad-like creature leapt into our path, and Beryk barely broke stride as he clamped down on the misshapen creature with his jaws, crunching its bones with his sharp teeth savagely. I felt no revulsion, only a hard sort of triumph, as the wolf tossed the corpse of the toad-thing away.

I drew my plain blade as it became clear that Beryk intended to barrel into the battle with me on his back. I let the power of the Iron Sword mingle with my own
taebramh
, and silvery blue fire flowed down my blade, illuminating the forest fiercely. Beryk howled as we burst through the last trees, his voice rising above the din of battle, wavering like a banner in the night air.

The battle had transformed the clearing around the barracks into a nightmarish landscape of flashing blades, dark forms leaping like grossly twisted shadows, howls and snarls clashing with the shouts of the Sidhe soldiers, and the cries of the wounded and fallen. The archers used flame-arrows, working in pairs: one archer set the arrow to the bow, the point wrapped in an oil-soaked rag, drawing back calmly and aiming for a dark creature. The second archer touched a flame to the arrow, and it burst into flame just as the first archer released it, whistling through the air in a bright streak before embedding itself in the writhing form of a troll.

At Beryk’s fierce howl, a strange pause fell over the battle as the Sidhe turned as one to face what they thought to be a new foe. Beryk knocked aside a smaller troll with one swipe of his forepaw, gathered himself and with a mighty leap cleared the lines of the dark creatures, landing in the midst of the Sidhe defenders. Even as they raised their swords, their pale faces shining in the fleeting light of the fire-arrows, Beryk wheeled and charged into the thickest knot of enemies. I gripped his back as tightly as I could with my knees, grasping the fur at his neck with one hand and wielding my blade with the other. The Sword, in its sheath at my back, pushed at me as it sensed the enemy, asking to be released. I soothed it with a thought, telling it that we would bide our time; we would strike when the time was just right.

Beryk darted forward, clamping his jaws on the neck of a cat-clawed creature. He tossed it to the side and while it tried to understand the blood spurting from its neck, I took off its head with a swipe of my blade. The feel of my blade sinking into flesh and bone vibrated up my arm and shook me down to my soul, but I pushed aside the feeling and thrust my sword through a bellowing troll, silencing its war-cry. We cut a swath of destruction across the clearing, Beryk using his teeth and his claws, and me using my sword, the Iron Sword still trembling with anticipation, its power quivering within me. A huge
garrelnost
roared its challenge to Beryk, its rider wearing a crown of bone and teeth, a small skull capping the pommel of his blade.

The battlefield did not clear before us, like in so many war movies I had seen, but an inexorable force pulled me toward the bone-crowned rider. The evil radiating from him sucked at the power of the Sword, trying to stifle it. I cut down a troll and another toad-like creature as Beryk slashed his way through a small knot of club-wielding trolls. One of the ugly creatures managed to smash its club down on one of Beryk’s front paws, and the wolf snarled in pain and fury. He killed the troll savagely and then I slid from his back and fought on foot beside him, battle-fury making the stiffness in my legs barely noticeable. Black gore slid in rivulets down my sword. For a heartbeat, I glimpsed Ramel, fighting with his sword in his left hand, blood striping the sleeve of his sword-arm. I opened my mouth to shout to him but more creatures pressed in on me, wielding crude blades and clubs and maces. A massive creature with protruding eyes swung his club at me, and I leapt to the side, the spike-studded weapon barely clearing my chest. The creature bellowed, showing a mouthful of glistening teeth, row upon row of them stained with gore. Its small eyes burned with malice as it grasped its club with two hands. I shifted my weight warily, eyeing the creature, watching for an opening to swing my blade.

Snarling, the creature swept its club at me with deceptive speed. I jumped to the side, thrusting my blade at its side, feeling my sword slide into flesh. But the creature swung its weapon again with inhuman alacrity, and I barely blocked the stroke, my arm going numb from the impact. My sword sheared in two, the blade breaking, leaving me holding a shard attached to the hilt. The creature grinned and advanced on me. I darted toward it, stabbing it in its club-arm with the remnant of my sword. It growled in irritation, plucking the sword from its shoulder as if brushing away a fly.

I drew my dagger, looked at it and then at the hulking creature bearing down on me. It swiped viciously at me again and I dove to the ground, the wind from the club washing over the back of my neck. The Sword’s thrumming increased to an insistent, bone-aching hum. I clenched my jaw and scrambled away from the creature, stumbling to my feet.

Reaching over my head with my left hand—my right arm still stung from the blow that had shattered my sword—I drew the Iron Sword from its sheath, unleashing its power. I put some of my own
taebramh
into its energy, and I could feel the power rolling over the battlefield like thunderclouds, weakening the Sidhe fighters and the enemy alike. The creature paused, a look of confusion on its ugly face. Hoping that the Sword would heed my markings, I sent out a flood of blue-silver sparks. They burst from my palm like a swarm of fireflies, and I willed them to mark the Sidhe and the Glasidhe, to differentiate the enemy from the Dark Queen’s forces. I felt the sparks latching onto the Sidhe soldiers—one settled on Ramel’s copper-gold hair, and another marked Donovan’s forehead. I let go of those small bits of my
taebramh
as they fulfilled their purpose, the Sword’s power drawing away from each marked soldier. My
taebramh
insulated them from the Iron Sword, a marking of fire rather than blood to protect against fury from the sky.

The Iron Sword felt light in my hand, the emerald in its pommel gleaming in anticipation as it sensed the battle still raging about us. Beryk circled behind me, his heavy growl and gleaming teeth holding several smaller trolls at bay while I faced the club-wielding giant. Its small eyes stared at the Sword and then at me. The Sword’s power quivered overhead, awaiting my command, gathering its strength to strike.

“Not so much of a bully now, are you?” I said, grinning.

With an incoherent snarl, the giant lunged at me. The Sword flared as I countered its club, slicing through the heavy wood easily. Breathless with the power of the weapon in my hand, triumph rushing up within me, I thrust the Iron Sword into the giant, my head barely reaching its stomach as I lunched forward. Blue flame shot down the blade and the creature screamed horribly as the fire consumed him, licking hungrily over his skin. I pulled the sword back and stood, watching. The flames roared and the giant shrieked, falling to the ground and writhing as his flesh burned.

I turned, small flames still licking the edge of the Sword. The smaller trolls that Beryk had been holding at bay gibbered in fear, scrambling over each other as they ran, four-limbed, into the darkness of the wood. The blue light from the giant’s burning corpse lit the field with an eerie glow. The Sword nudged at me, and the image of the iron circle came up in my mind. Then a ring of blue flame replaced the iron circle. I looked down at the weapon in my hand, knowing suddenly that the gleaming of the emerald in the pommel was much more than just light playing off the jewel.

“It seems only fair,” I said to it. “Let’s give them a taste of their own medicine, shall we?”

In answer, the Sword roared with blue fire, power crackling and snapping through the blade. The blue fire—the Sword’s power, mixed with a bit of my own—leapt through the grass without burning it, racing out to encircle the clearing. The fleeing trolls had made it into the forest but a tendril of fire rushed after them, enveloping them in a furious column. Howls and cries of despair rose from a few of the creatures, and a shout of triumph and recognition went up from the Sidhe as they saw me, the Sword blazing in my hand.

The bone-crowned rider on the giant
garrelnost
turned his beast toward me, raising his own black blade in challenge. Beryk came up beside me, snarling at the
garrelnost
. For a terrible instant, I remembered another
garrelnost
, brave Kirby clinging to its throat. But the Sword flared in my hand, its power expanding against my ribs. I took a breath and set my jaw, striding forward.

This time, I was not standing in the dusty Texas heat, watching helplessly. This time, I was not armed only with an iron horseshoe. And this time, I would be the one sliding my sword into the beast, dispatching it with one clean stroke after I killed its rider.

The dark rider dismounted, sliding down from his mount with boneless grace. His face looked like a man’s face, but as he turned his gaze on me his eyes were black as the night surrounding us, his skin gray with the pallor of death. The Sword called out silently, sending a ringing dare to the notched black blade in the rider’s hand. The
garrelnost
advanced a step behind its master, and Beryk walked just behind me.

The bonfire blaze of blue flames roared higher around the clearing. Scant steps separated us, and the dark rider stopped a few swords’-lengths away, considering me with his eerie black eyes. The
garrelnost
slavered and snarled at Beryk, who stood like a wolf carved of obsidian just behind my right shoulder, his golden eyes riveted on the
garrelnost
, calm and resolute.

“You challenge me, young mortal?” the dark rider said. His voice slid through the air like a snake, thick with evil intent.

I held up the Iron Sword and regarded him silently, every muscle in my body stretched taut with tension.

“Answer, or you will die much more painfully,” the rider said.

The sounds of battle floated around us as I lifted my chin and smiled at my enemy. “I thought it was a rhetorical question. But yes, I am challenging you.”

“Your blade will not protect you from the Dark Lord’s power,” the rider said.

The Iron Sword blazed with hot blue fire in response, the air thickening with its energy. “Well, let’s see about that,” I said as the Sword’s surge of power spurred me forward. Beryk leapt past me, launching himself at the
garrelnost
, which jumped to meet him in mid-air. The two huge beasts collided in a rush of snarls and growls and flashing claws, dirt flying into the air as they landed heavily, digging a furrow into the earth with their weight.

The Iron Sword met the dark blade of the rider with a great bell-like sound that vibrated through my bones. My head barely reached the dark rider’s shoulder and I used all my speed to dodge a thrust of the dark blade. But there was a new notch on the black sword, still glowing with blue fire, and the Iron Sword gleamed fiercely, its edge unmarred. As I blocked another hideously strong sweep of the black blade, whirling away to thrust at the rider’s side, the Sword pushed at me. It asked me to release its full power, to let it descend furiously on the enemy as it had in the days of my ancestress. I tasted power in the back of my throat, power struggling its way up from the fire behind my breastbone. It lined my mouth with sweet promise.

I dodged and danced away from the dark blade, sweat prickling my brow, the wound on my cheek beginning to pulse painfully with each heartbeat. The hulking rider advanced on me, his strength undiminished. I thought of the raw power of the Sword, and Gwyneth’s warning that the idea was often enough. But it seemed I had no choice—the dark rider’s forces had trapped the Sidhe with their iron, and I had trapped the creatures with my blue-burning fire. If I did not end it, they would tear each other to pieces, and any victory would be hollow, soaked in the blood of many lives.

“Only if you don’t touch the marked ones,” I gritted out, cutting another notch into the dark blade with the Sword. I felt the Sword flare eagerly in reply, the emerald shining in one brief flash. I threw myself to the ground, the black blade sweeping over my head, and rolled quickly as the dark rider buried his sword where my head had been just a second before. “All right,” I gasped, and as I sprang to my feet I ripped away the barrier holding in the Sword’s power. A short breathless cry escaped my lips as the ancient power slammed through me like a sledgehammer battering against the inside of my ribs.

The blue fire blazed green, the color of the emerald, absorbing the rush of mind-numbing power streaming from the Sword. The green wall of fire roared higher, and higher, eliciting cries of despair from the dark rider’s forces. The dark rider gave a wordless roar of fury as he saw the power of the Sword, and raised his dark blade for a powerful blow. I dodged, tossed the Sword into my right hand and slid the blade beneath his guard, thrusting it into his chest. The emerald-green fire burst from the Sword, blackening the edges of the terrible wound. Snarling even as black blood bubbled from his lips, the dark rider raised his blade to strike. I pulled at the Sword but it refused to come free, the fire still licking hungrily at the dark rider’s body.

A shining silver blade flashed behind the dark rider, slicing through the arm holding the dark blade. I stared at Finnead in surprise. A smudge of blue fire burned on his brow and behind him I saw Molly, wielding two blades. On her head, there was not just a spark, but a crown of blue fire—my
taebramh
had made certain that she would not be harmed.

The dark rider fell to his knees, emerald flames enveloping him like a ghostly shroud. I pulled the Sword free with a heave, and it blazed in triumph. The wall of emerald fire, taller now than the trees surrounding the battlefield, crashed down like a tidal wave. Many Sidhe fighters dropped to their knees and covered their heads, but the thundering wave of power separated cleanly about each and every one of them as it crushed the dark creatures. For a moment, the battlefield remained awash in emerald fire, the Sidhe looking about in awe and confusion. And then the Sword slowly gathered the remnants of its power back to itself, drawing it up through the blade, into my arm, back into the space below my
taebramh
. I gazed at the Sword, watching as the rivulets of emerald fire slowly faded to white, and then to a silvery blue.