The Iron Sword (The Fae War Chronicles Book 1) (42 page)

“She speaks the truth, Uncle,” Molly said in her clear, beautiful voice.

I glanced at her in surprise.

“Well,” the Vaelanmavar said, his voice low and venomous as he took a step away from me, “if the mortal bitch speaks truth, then you are of no use to me.” He drew the Mavarbranr in one smooth motion and swung it in a deadly arc, straight toward Molly’s neck. I leapt forward, but before I touched him with the blazing Sword, the clash of another blade meeting the Mavarbranr rang out. Molly knocked the Mavarbranr aside, the second of her twin blades glimmering in her hand, her stroke stopping just short of the Vaelanmavar’s neck. I rested the Iron Sword against the other side of his neck.

“Drop your sword,” I told him softly.

The knight snarled in helpless fury. He started forward half a pace and Molly cut a thin line along the side of his throat. Dark blood slid down his neck, and he froze. I slowly circled him until I stood next to Molly.

“Believe me, they are serious,” Ramel told the Vaelanmavar.

The Vaelanmavar’s one eye glared at me spitefully. “You’ve threatened to kill me twice now, mortal, and yet here I am.” His mouth twisted in a sneer.

“Don’t push your luck,” I replied grimly, and the Iron Sword blazed, energy crackling down its length and hitting the Vaelanmavar like a sledgehammer. He staggered backward and went to his knees. Ramel seized the back of the knight’s shirt and hauled him up.

“I do believe that the attempted murder of a guest of the Queen, not to mention your own blood, is quite enough to arrest you,” Ramel told the knight. Molly sheathed one of her long blades and stepped forward, wresting the Mavarbranr from her uncle’s hand with surprising force, her beauty laced with deadly rage. Ramel bound the knight’s hands behind him. Beryk growled in satisfaction.

“Take care of Emery,” Ramel told me. I nodded, and he shoved the Vaelanmavar forward roughly, marching him back toward the barracks. I saw Donovan walk over to Ramel, sword drawn, joining the escort.

“Good riddance,” Vell said. She spat to the side, glaring at the Vaelanmavar’s diminishing form.

“He was going to kill me,” Molly said, a tremor in her voice. I slid the Iron Sword into its sheath. “He was my only family, and he was going to kill me.” I stepped forward hesitantly.

“You did what you had to do,” I told her gently. A few tears ran down Molly’s cheeks, and then her mouth twisted in anger. She sheathed her blades, her hands trembling.

Then she stepped forward and knelt in front of me. But hers was not the stance of a knight pledging honor to his liege; it was the posture of a prisoner, resigned to the blade of the executioner. She pulled aside her dark hair, baring her neck.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, transfixed.

“My uncle arrested you in my name,” she said quietly. “You may arrest me. Or you may kill me. Whichever you judge proper.”

I fell to my knees in front of Molly, both of my hands going to her shoulders. “Don’t you remember me?” I asked fiercely, my voice breaking. She looked at me dazedly. “We were like sisters. I could never…I could
never
….” I trailed off as Molly frowned.

“I know…I should,” she said with difficulty. Then she shook her head. “But I cannot remember you. I am sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “It’s not your fault.”

“I have no one now,” she said.

I sat back on my heels. “No,” I told her. “You have me. Even though you don’t remember me, Molly, I remember you. You were the reason I came to this world in the first place, to make sure you didn’t get into too much trouble.” I glanced around the battlefield and smiled a little. “I guess you should have been the one making sure
I
didn’t get into too much trouble.”

Vell knelt beside Emery, her deft fingers examining Ramel’s work. Emery looked at me for reassurance. I touched Molly’s arm and went over to him, kneeling on his other side. Molly followed me slowly. Between Vell and I, with a few curses on Emery’s part, we eased him back into a sitting position.

“Thank you,” Emery said to Molly, “for…what you did…during the battle.”

After a moment, Molly replied, “You are welcome. I would hope that someone would do the same for me.” The hint of a smile turned up one corner of her mouth, and there again—it was just a flash, just the barest glimpse, but I saw a trace of the Molly I had known.

Despite his slender build, Emery was deceptively heavy. Vell and I managed to get him standing between us, his arms over our shoulders. We took a few shaky steps forward, Emery panting at the movement; then with a small groan he went limp between us. We eased him back to the ground. I stood with my hands on my hips, trying to estimate the distance to the barracks.

“There you are, little one,” rumbled a voice behind me. I turned just in time to see Beryk leap on Kavoryk with a bark. The giant man wrestled with the big black wolf as though he were playing with a puppy. He said something in that wild Northern language. Beryk rolled off the huge man, panting, his tongue lolling out happily between his teeth. Vell rolled her eyes as he trotted back over to her.

Kavoryk stood and dusted himself off, his massive bulk throwing a long shadow in the strengthening light. “I tried to find you before the battle,” he told me. “I went to the prisoner tent, and you were not there.”

“I escaped,” I told him with half a smile.

“Ah.” He nodded sagely. “But I tore the tent down, and freed your knight.”

“He’s not my knight,” I muttered, feeling a blush staining my cheeks. “But thank you for helping him.”

Shrugging his huge shoulders, Kavoryk said, “I gave my word. And you have shown that you are a better fighter than any of us, so I am glad I gave my word.”

Emery coughed a little, opening his eyes. He grimaced. “Sorry,” he rasped. Vell leaned over him, checking his bandages.

“I was not a help to you during the battle,” said Kavoryk, “so I will be a help now.” He strode forward and leaned over Emery, murmuring something to the knight. After a moment, he scooped up the wounded man, his huge hands amazingly gentle. With no more effort than if he were carrying a young child, Kavoryk carried Emery toward the barracks, Vell striding along beside him. I caught Molly’s eye and we followed in the giant man’s wake.

Chapter 33

T
he rest of the morning passed slowly. After Kavoryk settled Emery in the infirmary, I spoke with Eamon and Allene. Though Malravenar’s creatures had far outnumbered the Sidhe fighters, the company had fought admirably, sustaining only a small number of serious casualties. They told me grimly that the number of dead was greater than the number of seriously injured—the Shadow-servants’ brutality ensured that few survived a grievous wound. The healers worked busily, but they were not overwhelmed. Molly stayed to help with simple tasks such as cutting bandages, her eyes distant as she worked. I went back out onto the battlefield to help with the grim task of clearing the dead.

“At least we don’t have to worry about the enemy dead,” Vell said. Beryk sniffed one of the piles of ash and gave a disdainful growl.

We carried the bodies of the dead to the center of the clearing, laying them side by side. We washed the blood from their faces, closed their staring eyes, straightened splayed limbs. There were eleven still bodies. I paused for a long few moments when I recognized one of the dead: Moryn, the young guard who had lent me his whetting-stone, one of the first nights after I’d come to the barracks. Aching sadness tugged at my heart as I gazed down at his pale, cold face. He still looked so young.

“Only the war dead are honored with pyres,” Donovan explained to me quietly as the Sidhe went into the woods, returning with long branches and deadwood. Vell and I joined them. They stacked the wood in an intricate pattern, building the pyre next to the bodies, and then we lifted the dead onto it. The Iron Sword, still sheathed on my back, began humming a sad, slow song as we carried the last one to the pyre. The Sidhe took up the song as we stepped back.

The words of the song were in an ancient tongue, and I didn’t understand them as they were spoken, but the Sword gently sent me the meaning of it all. The song spoke of life, and death, and the beauty within them both; the great mystery of what lay beyond life, and the sorrow of those left behind. It was a haunting melody.

Finnead stepped forward, a brightly burning torch in his hand. He slid the torch into the base of the pyre, and we all watched as the flames took hold. The bright noon light threw the faces of the dead into sharp relief, and I looked away as the pyre burned higher, dark smoke curling into the cloudless blue sky.

We stood silently by the pyre until it collapsed upon itself, and the flames died down to embers, and then we walked silently back to the barracks. I blinked against the bright sun, blaming it for the tears stinging my eyes.

Flora and Wisp descended on me as I was walking back toward the barracks.

“You were magnificent,” Flora told me, glowing bright with pride as she hovered in front of me.

“You were the best of all the fighters, and the dark ones will fear you!” Wisp crowed, turning a somersault in mid-air.

Flora flew a little closer to me. “Are you not pleased by the victory?”

I blinked tiredly. “Of course I’m…pleased. But…” The side of my face was beginning to ache again, fierce sparks of pain radiating from the wound. I sat down under one of the trees by the barracks, relishing the cool shade. I unbuckled the Iron Sword from my back, resting the sheath across my lap. “It’s hard to be happy about a victory when we just lit a pyre, Flora.”

Flora’s glow dimmed a bit. “Yes. That is true. But if you had not arrived, many more would have died.”

I leaned my head back against the tree-trunk, closing my eyes. “I know. Saying that over and over again, though…it’s like I’m trying to convince myself that I did enough…I could have escaped earlier…or….”

Despite the dull throbbing pain of my cheek, my exhausted body demanded sleep. I slid into light slumber, the Sword across my lap. I felt one of the Glasidhe land delicately on my shoulder—Flora, I thought, from her careful movements. Then I heard someone approach the tree, and I opened my eyes, struggling to fend off sleep.

“You are exhausted,” Kavoryk said, a strange kindness in his low rumbling voice. “Come now.” And with me clutching the Sword to my chest, he lifted me easily, carrying me into the barracks just as he had carried Emery hours before. Someone had spread a few blankets in the corner of the first room, by the fireplace. Kavoryk set me down gently. I rolled onto my uninjured side and promptly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, hands still wrapped around the Iron Sword.

It seemed like only a few moments later that someone shook my shoulder gently. A cold damp nose nudged my arm. I sat up with a groan, opening my eyes to find Beryk sitting in front of me, and Vell kneeling beside him.

“The Vaelanbrigh is going to be addressing everyone in this room soon,” she told me quietly, settling herself cross-legged on the floor. I started to yawn and quickly stopped, gasping as pain seared across my left cheek.

“Can I check that?” Vell asked. I nodded and she reached for my face with one hand, turning my chin to get a better view.

“Should I get Eamon or Allene to take a look at it?” I asked, trying not to move my lips as I spoke.

Vell shook her head, golden eyes still intense with concentration. “It looks to be healing well. Being Bearer should help you heal up faster. Or at least, that’s what the Northern legends say.” She grinned briefly.

“I bet I still look like the bride of Frankenstein,” I muttered.

Shrugging as she sat back, Vell said noncommittally, “It is a rather tough-looking line of stitches, if I do say so myself.”

I smiled on the side of my face that she hadn’t sewn back together.

Flora and Wisp dropped a cloth bundle in front of me. Flora alighted between Beryk’s ears again. It seemed the wolf enjoyed her company.

“We got you food,” Wisp told me seriously.

“Thanks,” I said gratefully, devouring the bread and cheese as my stomach rumbled.

“That was impressive,” the Glasidhe said, peering down at the crumbs left on the cloth.

Sidhe began filtering into the room, sitting cross-legged on the floor in small groups. Beryk placed himself directly in front of me—he was larger than a moment before, shielding me from the probing gazes of the Sidhe soldiers. I smiled my lopsided grin at him gratefully, running my hand over the soft fur of his neck.

The room was full when Finnead entered, with Donovan and Ramel flanking him, and Allene following just behind them. I noticed her watching Finnead carefully, and I guessed that she hadn’t wanted to let him out of the infirmary, or he hadn’t let her treat him as long or as thoroughly as she’d wanted. I turned my gaze to Finnead as he walked to the front of the room, but there was no stiffness in his lithe gait. The Sidhe remained sitting. The Vaelanbrigh arrived at the front of the room, and silence settled over the group. Ramel came over to me and gave me his hand, helping me stand. Beryk stood as well, staying by my side. Vell watched Ramel with hawk-like golden eyes.

“We have honored our dead,” Finnead began, his blue eyes heavy, “and we will continue to honor them, by carrying on their fight.” He paused, looking at me. “And if it had not been for the Bearer of the Sword, many more of us would have been laid on that pyre.”

The silence in the room sharpened as all eyes were turned upon me. I kept my gaze on Finnead, waiting for him to go on. The Iron Sword sent me a wave of reassurance, stifling my embarrassment.

“The Iron Sword has returned to us, wielded by one of the last Bearer’s blood,” Finnead continued. “And I pledge the Brighbranr to its service.” He drew his sword and held it out before him, much as Gwyneth had held the Iron Sword out to me. I drew the Sword, and touched it to the Brighbranr. The Brighbranr flared, and a high clear note sounded, and then the room was filled with the hiss of every other blade being freed from its sheath, the Sidhe standing as one. I moved through the room, touching the Sword to each blade, and when I had finished they were satisfied, sheathing their swords.

“Now, we shall prepare to return to Darkhill,” Finnead said. “We are at war, and we must regroup with the rest of the Queen’s forces.”

After Finnead finished speaking, the group slowly dispersed. A few of the fighters bowed their heads in my direction, touching two fingers to their foreheads in gestures of respect. Unsure of the proper response, I nodded to each of them. Eventually, only a handful of us remained in the room: Finnead, Donovan, Ramel, Vell, myself and, to my surprise, Molly.

“What will you do with the Vaelanmavar?” Molly asked Finnead.

Finnead studied her for a long moment. “He shall be taken back to Darkhill, to be judged by the Queen.”

Molly nodded, glanced at me, and left the room.

Donovan sat down heavily in one of the chairs by the fireplace. Finnead remained standing, staring into the fire. Ramel took the seat next to Donovan, and ran his hands through his hair. Vell stood with her hand on Beryk’s head, rubbing slow circles in the wolf’s fur with her thumb.

“Well,” she said, “what are we going to do now?”

“Return to Darkhill,” Ramel said, but there was something of a question in his voice.

“Mab still thinks I’m a traitor,” I said. I shook my head. “I can’t go back. Not now, at least.”

“I’m sure that the misunderstanding could be resolved,” Donovan said reasonably. “Especially now that you are Bearer.”

“Going back and putting myself under her power again, especially with the Sword, doesn’t strike me as the best thing to do.” I thought of the smoking ruins of the Saemhradall, and the fear in Titania’s voice as she had faded from my last vision. “The Seelie Court has been attacked, too. Titania is a prisoner.”

“You would help them and not us?” Donovan asked sharply.

“I never said that,” I replied. “There’s no reason at all I can’t help you both. In fact, I think that’s part of my duty, as the Bearer, isn’t it?” I paced the room restlessly.

“If you go to the Seelie Court, Mab will think you even more of a traitor,” Ramel said.

“If the Seelie Court falls, then I don’t know if even I can save the Unseelie Court,” I countered. The Iron Sword hummed in agreement.

“You have the most powerful weapon in our world.” Ramel was uncharacteristically serious as he watched me pace.

I stopped and looked at him. “And Malravenar is the most powerful evil your world has ever known.” I took in a breath. “I have to go to the Seelie Court. And then, if I can’t free Titania there, I’ll go to the Deadlands to face Malravenar.”

“You can’t go alone,” Vell said. “I’m coming.”

I nodded, smiling gratefully.

“I’m sure Kavoryk will come, too,” she said.

“I will come,” Finnead said.

We all stared at him.

“What?” I said. Ramel and Donovan were speechless.

“If you have the Vaelanbrigh of the Dark Court among your escort, they might be apt to take you more seriously,” he explained calmly.

“I have the Sword,” I said.

“But you don’t have Court manners, and you don’t have Sidhe blood.”

I blinked. “All right, then.”

Ramel stood, his chair scraping along the floor noisily. “Who will take the Vaelanmavar back as prisoner, if you’re going with Tess?”

“You, of course,” Finnead replied smoothly. “And with the blessing of the Ancient, you or one of the other young knights might take his sword and his title, once Mab sentences him.”

Ramel sat back down, looking dazed. Donovan lost his amazed look, and instead gazed at Finnead thoughtfully. Finally he nodded.

“I trust you will tell the Queen that I still carry her honor high in my loyalties,” Finnead said to them. Donovan nodded again. Ramel ran his hands through his hair.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Vell said with a grin, Beryk giving a yip beside her. She turned. “I’ll go fetch Kavoryk. He’ll be excited, too.”

I couldn’t help but smile as the Northerner walked quickly from the room, a new bounce in her step.

“It is decided,” Finnead said with a note of finality. He looked at me. “It’s a long journey. We should start as soon as we can.”

I said, “I’ll go get Kelath ready.” As I walked to the door of the barracks, the Iron Sword hummed upon my back, eagerly anticipating the beginning of our first adventure together. I touched its hilt as I walked into the sunshine, its power singing in my blood.

I was the Bearer of the Iron Sword, and I knew my journey had just begun.