Twisted Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 5) (7 page)

19

Aaric

A
aric threw the blankets off himself in agitation. He kept drifting off, but his dreams were unsettling—deep fog that obscured his vision, and a voice calling to him. He didn’t understand it. He’d had the dream every night for days.

Aaric grunted irritably, scowling at nothing. He had tried to take first watch, but Zero ignored him when he suggested he sleep, taking Fyrsil’s command to keep Aaric safe a little too seriously. Aaric could try and go after Adaryn, but knew there wasn’t any sense in that as he didn’t have the first clue where to start searching or how to get past the gates. No, there was only one thing he could do. He went outside, grabbing his rucksack as he went. Zero, sitting on the ground outside his tent, looked up at him in surprise.

“You can come with me, or you can stay here,” Aaric said, lighting a torch he pulled from his pack, “But this could be the only time I’m on a volcano and I’m going to make the most of it.”

It started to snow lightly. He set off on foot, making sure he didn’t go too far from camp. Zero, after a moment, padded after him silently. The brigand made Aaric a little nervous. He’d seen the outlaw in action, and knew he was a skilled fighter—more skilled than Aaric, anyway—and he didn’t want to have to cross swords with him. Zero made no aggressive moves however, and it wasn’t long before Aaric forgot about him.

The volcanic rock was black, pitted, and rough to the touch. When he put his palm flat against the porous surface though, he was disappointed to find that he couldn’t feel any heat emanating from it. Those Twyli had ripped it away with their magic.

“Here.” Lighting a torch, Aaric handed it off to Zero, who took it silently. Aaric yanked a knife from his pack and kneeling down, began to chip away at the rock. It would dull his blade, but what did that matter? There were plenty of knives to be found on the other side of the Dragon’s Tail Mountains, but no volcanoes, and if he were to ever go back, he wanted to make sure he had evidence. He smiled to himself, humming softly as he chipped at the rock. He scooped up some of the rock dust and pieces, and shoved them in his pocket.

He rubbed his hands with excitement and grinned at Zero. “Isn’t this exciting? A real volcano! I read about them in a children’s book my father gave to me when I was young, but I never suspected they might actually be real.”

He motioned the brigand to follow him, and they started walking along the crater’s edge. Aaric looked down at the city, miles below. He hoped Adaryn was safe. If Fyrsil let anything happen to her . . .

He walked up to a jagged rock that was taller than he was. He peered at it with narrowed eyes in the wavering light of the torch that Zero still held for him. It was nice, having an assistant. He briefly wondered if he could convince Adaryn to be his assistant in his studies. Probably not. She wasn’t nearly patient enough.

A clatter of rock sounded behind them. Zero and Aaric whirled around as one, the brigand unsheathing his sword in the same movement.

Nothing. Aaric peered into the gloom. Between the blackness of the rock and the falling snow, he couldn’t see a thing past Zero’s torch. He and the brigand waited a minute, than another. Zero walked a short way from where they’d come, head tilted slightly, listening. Still nothing.

Aaric turned back to the rock and yelled in alarm as the ground buckled and shifted beneath him. He tried to keep his footing but stumbled, falling to his knees. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Zero crouched several feet away, trying to make his way back to him. He wasn’t making much headway with the ground quaking as it was. Aaric turned, hoping to make his way back to camp, when the ground split open under his feet and he fell into darkness.

20

Adaryn

T
wo hours. I put my book down. It was filled with legends of dragons, and claims of how they had been the powers that shaped this world. I wasn’t sure how much stock I put in those tales, but it was interesting to note that some legends of the Twyli were similar to stories of the nomads.

I stood, walked over to Fyrsil, and nudged him in the shoulder. “Wake up.”

The outlaw sat up with a loud snort, blinking at me. “I thought I said two hours, woman. Not ten minutes.”

I pointed at the clock and he peered at it with red-rimmed eyes. “Oh. Well then. Time to make our escape.”

“How are we going to do that?” I asked. He had yet to tell me.

In response, the tall man walked over to the window and pushed it open, letting a chill wind blow in. It was snowing again. I looked at the folded gliders we’d brought in. “I don’t think those will fit through the window unfolded.”

“We’re not using gliders.” He walked back to the bed, stripping the sheets off, and began tying the corners together. I watched him somewhat dubiously.

“You plan to climb out the window using that?” A more alarming thought occurred to me. “You plan to have
me
climb out the window using that?”
“I’m one hundred percent confident in my sheet-tying skills,” Fyrsil replied, pulling another knot tight. “Trust me, I’m a professional. I’ve been doing this since I was a boy.”

“Escaping from your mother?” I smiled, envisioning a child-sized Fyrsil scrambling out of the top window of a leaning building in the Tyrko Ruins.

“Yes.” Fyrsil had bound all the sheets and blankets of his bed together and moved to the second bed. “My mom stuck me in timeout, once, for snitching another brigand’s silver. I tied every last scrap of clothing in my room together to make a rope and escaped before she knew what happened.”

He chuckled, recalling the memory. “Course, I received quite the spanking when I went back home that night. Didn’t stop me from escaping again though. Once you get that first taste of freedom . . .”

“Always a free spirit,” I finished. I understood what he meant. Freedom was in a magic users blood.

“That’s right.” Fyrsil had tied all the sheets and blankets together to make one long rope. Tying it off on the bedpost closest to the window, he threw the rest of it out the window, leaning out to see how far it went. “Perfect.” He looked at me. “Which one of us goes first?”

“You,” I insisted. “If your knots are as good as you say they are, then you shouldn’t have a problem.”

Fyrsil rolled his eyes and gripped the makeshift rope, lifting one leg over the ledge. My heart skipped a beat when he put his other leg over the ledge, but even fully supporting himself with the line of bed sheets, it held. His hair blew in his face and he released the rope with one hand to push the strands out of his face.

I reached out and grabbed his hand. “You’re going to fall to your death!” I hissed. “Be careful!”

“I didn’t realize you cared,” he snorted. Slowly, he began lowering himself, hand after hand, until he reached the end of the rope, then released it to drop to the ground only a couple of feet below. His pale face looked up at me. “Your turn. Hand the gliders down and put out the candle before you come out.”

Picking up the gliders, I leaned out of the window, lowering one down and then the other. I blew out the candle, swathing our room in darkness. I walked to the window and reached down, grabbing the rope. My jaw hurt, I was clenching it so hard. I gripped the sheets with my other hand and slowly let myself out the window. For one long, panicked moment, my feet dangled in thin air. I frantically kicked my feet out, and my boots made contact with the side of the inn with a thump.

“Hush, you’re going to wake the entire inn.” Fyrsil clicked his tongue impatiently.

Hand after hand, I lowered myself with painstaking slowness. My arms began to ache with the strain. I looked down, which was a horrible mistake. I was still several feet above ground. “I think I’m going to fall,” I squeaked.

“Keep going, Adaryn, you’re almost there,” Fyrsil’s voice sounded from below me. “And this is just my opinion, but your petticoats look very fancy for a traveling nomad, you know.”

“Fyrsil!” I breathed through clenched teeth. “If I ever get out of this, I’m going to—” My arms gave out and I fell. I didn’t have time to even scream before strong arms caught me, saving me a cracked skull—or worse. The outcast king held me for a moment while I tried to slow my breathing. I almost died from this fool plan of sheets and windows!

“You fit quite nicely in my arms.” Fyrsil’s breath tickled my ear. “Why don’t we forget this whole business of lost children and Aaric and run away together? You are quite fetching.”

I pushed myself away from him and he set me down. “Quite messing around,” I glowered at him. “Let’s get back to finding the girl.”

Fyrsil sighed. “So boring. All right then, let’s do this.” He set off down a side street, walking quickly. His strides were so long I had to run, lifting my skirts to keep pace.

The city was completely deserted, not a soul to be seen. The snow was a light layer on the black stone streets. The lamps still glowed, but the blue light was now muted.

Fyrsil walked the sure, swift steps of someone who knew where he was going. He never hesitated at crosswalks, and never stopped to gain his bearings. Strange for a man who’d never been in the city before. I mentioned it.

He glanced at me, disgusted, before replying, “Can’t you feel it, Adaryn?”

I frowned at him, puzzled, but then I felt it too. I hadn’t noticed it, desensitized by the constant flow of magic. There was a deeper thread of magic underneath it all. A stronger, darker magic. It confused me. How could magic be dark? ‘Dark’ wasn’t even the right word for it, but I couldn’t think of anything better to describe it. There was something wrong with the enchantment. But it was strong. The magic throbbed, like a giant heartbeat, caressing my senses, and now that I was focused on it, I was able to tell the direction from which it came. I was now able to stride along confidently beside the brigand.

We almost had a few run-ins with the night guard, but we were able to hear them marching in formation before they saw us, giving us plenty of time to turn down another street. We had to move quickly though. Fyrsil pointed out that with our tracks looking fresh, if anyone noticed them they’d be on our trail.

The source of the dark, pulsating magic led us to an impossibly tall, massive spire of black rock, the dark gates closed tight. Several guards stood outside of it, clad in black armor, holding long dark spears that glinted in the blue light of the lamps. The fortress. Dahlia, if she were still alive, would be in there.

“Let’s circle around,” Fyrsil murmured. We did so, making sure not to make any noise. Guards marched around the perimeter.

“Ready?” Fyrsil stood tense, his glider at the ready.

“Are you sure you can do this?” I asked. We would be taking the gliders on an updraft created by Fyrsil’s magic, without the aid of starting at a higher vantage point. I licked my lips, nervous.

Fyrsil shook his head. “We don’t have a choice. I will need your strength once we’re up there though. We will almost certainly need to fight, and I won’t be able to do it alone.”

“Not a problem.” I thought of the young child, and my lips pulled back in a silent snarl. I would do whatever it took to free Dahlia.

I felt the magic swell from Fyrsil, and a wild gust of wind whipped up, causing our gliders to fly up and forward. My contraption shook and shuddered and I hoped it would hold out long enough for us to escape from here.

The windows that lined the stone walls indicated the start of a new floor, and the higher we flew, the stronger the dark magic grew. I risked a glance over at Fyrsil flying next to me, but it was too dark to see his face clearly. My hands hurt from the cold and from gripping the glider’s handle so tightly, but then I felt the brigand’s magic ebb and fade, and we began descending toward an outside landing.

I was able to land a little more gracefully this time. I stumbled and ran a few steps to regain my balance, but I didn’t fall.

I turned to face Fyrsil, looking at him by the light of torches set in sconces. He looked exhausted. Dark circles shadowed his eyes but his mouth was a firm line of determination. When I asked him if he needed to rest, he shook his head. “Let’s get this over with,” he growled and stalked over to the door that would lead us indoors, leaving our gliders in the shadow of the landing.

21

Adaryn

W
e ran through the fortress, making our way upstairs. If I had closed my eyes, I would have been able to pinpoint the exact location of the dark magic. We met a few guards on the way, but together Fyrsil and I were able to take them out before they could sound the alarm.

We ran up a long, circular flight of stairs, and found ourselves standing in front of a wooden door. It was etched with runes that glowed, some kind of protective barrier magic. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to open it. Fyrsil, however, studied the runes intently. Summoning the magic, he deftly wove it, and pricking each rune, made them fade away into the worn wood. He turned to me. “I’m getting tired, Adaryn. This next battle is going to be yours.”

I nodded. I could handle that. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped inside.

The scene was straight from my nightmare. The room was circular, the floor stones polished and painted red. Candles, lit everywhere, glowed blue without a flicker. A pile of bodies lay slumped on the floor, pushed to the side of the room like broken dolls. I only had a moment to take it all in before my eyes were drawn to the center of the room where a long table with metal cuffs fastened to it stood. Three tall figures in black robes were standing at the table, one at its head and the others on either side, but I only had eyes for the small child strapped on its metal surface. Dahlia.

I screamed, unable to contain my rage. I called the enchantment, drawing as much of it as was humanly possible for me. The magic roared to life, crackling around me. I focused it and sent a lance of blue-white fire flying through the air to slam into the floor between two of the figures. Red tile and black stone chips showered everywhere. The two figures leapt back, and one of them threw their hood off. I was looking into the face of the man who’d tried to steal Dahlia weeks earlier. His yellow eyes caught the light of the candles and seemed to glow. His face looked puzzled, then a flicker of recognition crossed it.

“You came.” He sounded matter-of-fact, like he’d expected nothing less. Like our first meeting, I was struck by the thought that he looked familiar to me.

“I came for the girl.” I strode forward. “Give her to me.”

“She’s mine.” One of the other figures stepped in front of Dahlia and the iron strapped table. “I need her essence.”

“You’ll have to go through me first,” I growled. I held the magic ready, determined to kill if it came to that.

The man touched the other figure’s shoulder. “Let her have the child. We’ve drawn enough essence today, sister.”

The figure grunted in irritation, pushing back her hood. “Very well, Hydari.” I stared at them, incredulous. They were twins. They had the same dark brown hair, high cheekbones, and the same yellow, glowing eyes. The woman was slightly shorter than her brother, but still taller than me. Her eyes were locked on me. She was angry. Her hands clenched into fists and her eyes flashed.

“What is she to you, brother? And why spare the life of a Denali for her?”

The yellow eyed man, Hydari, gestured to me. “She’s one of our kind, Myyre. She wields magic.” He looked confused. “Why she has emotionally attached herself to a Denali, I do not know. But,” he waggled his fingers and the iron braces around Dahlia’s hands and feet sprang apart, “I would be interested to learn of her and where she hails from.”

“I come from over the mountains,” I said. I took a hesitant step forward, senses alert. I didn’t trust them, but then, they were magic users, and the prince had freed Dahlia of his own volition. It didn’t make sense to anger him if he was willing to free the child so easily. “I came east to find a better life.”

The prince cocked his head, considering. “What is wrong on the other side of the Dragon’s Tail Mountains?”

“Magic users are not welcome there.” I looked at Dahlia on the table. She hadn’t moved. “I came here hoping to live a life free of prejudice and judgment.” I felt my voice harden. “But you treat the Denali just as poorly as magic users are treated on the other side.”

Hydari smiled. “They’re
Denali
, not Twyli. Don’t worry about the land you left. Any persecution your people face will soon be over. The Twyli lands are expanding, and there isn’t a Denali alive who can stop us.”

I frowned at him, but before I could ask him what he meant the remaining figure at the head of the metal table spoke. “A strange one.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but masculine. “Giving the Denali child the same importance as a Twyli.” The voice was incredulous.

Myyre folded her arms and looked at me crossly. Her expression was one of jealousy, though I couldn’t begin to imagine why. Dahlia lay on her back unmoving, her little face looking up to the ceiling. I felt a tingle of uncertainty as I walked past them to reach Dahlia, but they made no move to stop me. I could
feel
the gaze of the hooded figure on me, but he was motionless as well.

Dahlia was ashen faced with fear, her brilliant blue eyes enormous. Her lips quivered. I reached out, tucking a white-blonde strand of hair behind her ear. “Shh,” I whispered. She hadn’t made a peep, but she looked terrified. “It’s all right, baby, Momma has you.” I paused a moment before scooping her up. I hadn’t called myself that before. I kissed her forehead. “Let’s go home, let’s go find Aaric.” Dahlia didn’t say anything, content to wrap her arms tightly around my neck, choking down a sob.

I turned around, and saw that the twins hadn’t moved. If they’d looked surprise to see me, they looked absolutely thunderstruck to see Fyrsil. He stood in the doorway, exhausted from expending so much magic, but standing ready in case I needed assistance. “Let’s go, Adaryn.” He jerked his head, indicating the hall behind him.

The shrouded figure stepped around the table to stand by Myyre. “Fyrsil? Brother?” The stranger’s voice sounded shocked. “How did you . . . you’re still alive?”

Fyrsil peered at him with narrowed eyes, silent. From his expression, he was as baffled as I was.

The figure pulled back his cloak to reveal a face that, while older than Fyrsil, was nearly identical in look. Graying hair at his temples, yellow eyes, and a few more lines in his face were the only differences. Fyrsil could be staring at what he would look like in twenty years. And now, with Fyrsil in the room, I could see why I thought the prince looked familiar. He stood the same way as Fyrsil, his shoulders pulled back, the same nose and jaw.

“Explain this, Father.” Myyre whirled to face the older man. “Who is this? Uncle is dead.”

“I—” The man shook his head, peering at Fyrsil suspiciously. “You’re not my brother. You’re younger than I am. Who are you?”

“I should probably be asking you the same question.” Fyrsil had smoothed his face and straightened his posture, hiding most of his fatigue. “Fyrsil is my name. It was also the name of my father.”

Hydari leapt forward with a hiss, summoning a yellow blade that glowed with a pale, sickly light. He rushed past me and swung his sword in an arch at Fyrsil.

The brigand king brought a pale blue blade of his own to meet his attacker’s and magic crackled around them. Fyrsil’s eyes were tight with strain.

“Fyrsil may have once been crown prince,” the prince spat, “but Twyarinoth is my father’s, and will someday be mine. The western lands will be mine too.”

Myyre ran toward her brother and I stuck my leg out, tripping her. She fell to her hands and knees with a startled cry, and I ruthlessly brought my heel down on her fingers. Ignoring her strangled yell, I flung a wall of fire up between the older man and myself, and hurtled toward Fyrsil, Dahlia clinging to me.

Hydari and Fyrsil were locked in combat in the doorway. I wove the magic and slammed it into the back of Fyrsil’s attacker. Hydari stumbled, nearly getting his head taken off by the brigand’s blade.

“Run!” The word rose from my throat in a shriek and I darted past him. Fyrsil snatched Dahlia from me and bolted back the way he came, with me on his heels.

“Adaryn!” the prince snarled. I felt the dark magic swell behind me. “You’ll be sorry you crossed me!”

The floor under me heaved and buckled and I fell to my knees, unable to keep my balance. I hoped Fyrsil could get Dahlia safely back to Aaric.