Retribution, p.5
Retribution, page 5
“Um, Arthur?” Mom’s wide eyes turned in my direction.
“He’s just…trying to be helpful,” I said, reaching for the link between us. Uncharacteristically, Regis stayed silent, his bright eyes staring seriously ahead.
Sitting stiffly, Mom wrapped her fingers into his fur, careful of the flames leaping and gusting around his mane.
Ellie hid her mouth behind her hands, but I could still hear her half-suppressed giggles as she shot me a what-is-happening-right-now look from Mom’s other side.
We walked on in silence for a few minutes until the call of “Alice?” came from somewhere behind. Some half-healed wound had become infected, and so, his chin up regally, Regis carted my mother off down to the line to help.
The sun was just beginning to brighten the eastern horizon, and Ellie was little more than a shadow atop her bond. Still, I could tell from her hunched shoulders and downturned head that something was bothering her.
Over the last few hours, Regis had kept his stories mostly lighthearted, and in exchange, Ellie had told us what she’d learned about Boo and the training she’d done in my absence, but mostly she’d listened, eager to hear everything about my time away, especially in the Relictombs. She’d been a quiet and patient listener, asking a few questions but otherwise just letting Regis talk—something he could do at length and without encouragement.
“Brother?” Ellie asked after a few minutes of silence between us.
I looked at her expectantly.
She hesitated, then seemed to steel herself. “Why didn’t you come home sooner?”
My gaze settled on Durden’s broad back, which was slung with several heavy bags. The big conjurer was walking not far ahead of us, while the rest of the Twin Horns were spread throughout the train, constantly on the lookout for any approaching danger.
Although it hadn’t even been a day since my return to Dicathen, I had felt my inability to sense mana more distinctly. I was entirely reliant on the other mages to forewarn us of an approaching enemy. And, unlike the other Lances, I couldn’t even fly to scout. It was a limitation I had maneuvered around in Alacrya, but now, with many more lives than my own at stake…
Finally, I spoke up. “I did want to come back sooner…as soon as I realized where I was, but…I knew if I came back too soon, if I didn’t take my time, grow strong again….then the same thing would happen all over again. There would be no one to save me this time, and then I wouldn’t be able to protect you.”
Ellie’s body sagged in defeat, and I quickly added, “But I did keep an eye on you.”
She rose again just as fast as she had deflated. “What do you mean?”
I withdrew the djinn seeing relic and showed her, turning it so the pink light of the horizon caught on its many facets. “It uses aether. Lets me see a person, even from a long way away. It only ever worked for you and Mom, though.”
“That’s…kind of creepy,” Ellie said, her face scrunching into a wrinkly frown.
I chuckled and stowed the relic. “That’s what Regis said you’d say.” I paused. “I am sorry, though, El. For being gone so long.”
She looked past me, her gaze unfocused, then said, “I know. And…I think I can forgive you for that, but…”
I raised a brow, unable to keep a frown from my face. “But what?”
“Coming home without even bringing me a present? That’s unforgivable.” She crossed her arms huffily, like she had when she was a little girl, and stuck her tongue out at me.
Bending down, I scooped up a handful of sand and chucked it at her. She squealed and leaned to the other side of Boo, trying to use him as a shield, but not quick enough. Just like Boo had done, she shook herself to knock the sand from her hair and glared at me.
“You know, I forgot how annoying you can be.”
I gave her my widest grin. “Isn’t that what big brothers are for?”
She rolled her eyes, her mouth opening to respond, but she froze for an instant, focusing on the sky, and the lighthearted moment came to an end.
I followed her gaze to Mica, who was drifting down toward us. “Are we nearly there?”
Mica waved her hand and a stone platform coalesced out of the sand. “We’re flying ahead to scout the entrance.” She inclined her head to the platform.
I gave Ellie an apologetic smile, brushed sand off Boo’s face, then stepped on the platform.
Mica turned and sped forward, and the platform followed. We quickly outpaced the train but didn’t go too far ahead. Hornfels, Skarn, and Bairon were waiting. They had taken shelter behind a formation of sharp beige rocks that grew up from a hilltop. In a valley below them, a dark rift broke the rolling waves of tawny sand: one of the entrances down into the spiderweb of tunnels that made up the dwarven kingdom.
“What’s the plan?” I asked as soon as my feet were on the ground.
Hornfels pointed to the shadows. “Behind that door will be miles of tunnels to hide the civilians in, and a more or less straight shot to Vildorial. These smaller gates aren’t guarded, only patrolled at random, so with a bit of luck we’ll have time to get everyone inside without being bothered.”
“Then, you lot hit the city,” Skarn said, sounding even grumpier than usual.
“The Lances, he means,” Bairon confirmed. “The rest of the mages will stay and ensure the people are safe.”
Sending just the four Lances into Vildorial allowed us to keep a solid fighting force in the outer tunnels to deal with any random patrols, although the Twin Horns and other mages present in our band of refugees wouldn’t be enough to defeat a sizable Alacryan assault force.
“And you’re sure it won’t be guarded?” I asked.
“Not this far out, it won’t be,” Hornfels assured me. “There aren’t enough dwarves in Darv to guard every crack and crevice.”
“The priority right now is getting these people out of the open,” Mica chimed in. “The strike against Vildorial will need to be hard and fast.”
Skarn was scowling deeply as he tugged at his long beard. “If the dwarves fight with the Alacryans, it’ll be a damned bloodbath.”
Mica smacked her cousin’s arm. “We won’t let that happen.”
Skarn rubbed his arm and spit in the sand. “Aye. Well then. We better get moving.”
The brothers turned back toward the train as Mica, Bairon, and I made our way down the hill toward the entrance. Just inside the shadows of the small ravine, a heavy stone door was inset in the wall.
When I’d snuck into Darv during the war to search for proof that the dwarves had betrayed Dicathen, I had been able to bypass the strange magical locks with Realmheart, but with Mica at my side, there was no need.
She reached into what looked like a patch of stone, and I knew she was releasing bursts of mana in a specific pattern. Moments later, the door began to grind open.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, which is when I saw five men sitting around a table in a small carved-out room off the side of the tunnel. They hesitated for a few seconds, then leapt to their feet, sending their chairs clattering.
Mica made a quick downward movement with her hand, and all five men and the table collapsed, crushed to the ground. One of them managed to send out a bolt of sickly green energy toward us, but it only burst against the stone wall of the tunnel, pulled off course by Mica’s gravity field.
“Alacryans,” I pointed out, noting that none of the guards were dwarves.
Mica clenched her jaw, and there was a wet crunch.
“I thought there weren’t supposed to be guards?” I asked, moving forward to inspect the remains.
“Do you feel that?” Bairon asked, looking at Mica.
She glanced around, the line of her gaze tracking something invisible through the stone. Then her eyes widened. “It’s an alarm. Shit.”
She held up a hand, her wrist and fingers working in the air as if she were manipulating some complicated pieces of machinery. When this apparently wasn’t working, she clenched her fist, and I heard stone shattering inside the tunnel walls.
“Subtle,” Bairon said, moving quickly into the tunnel. “Assuming that signal reached the city, we don’t have time to wait for all the people to file in. We have to go now.”
“Varay?” I asked, looking back out the door into the desert.
“She’ll catch up,” Mica snapped, already flying away at top speed.
Bairon made to follow, then hesitated. “Can you…?”
“Go!” I urged him, God Stepping well ahead of both of them.
Tendrils of purple electricity arced off me to ripple over the smooth walls of the passage, and I began to sprint, pushing aether into my muscles to keep up with the two flying Lances, whose speed was limited in the tight quarters anyway.
The journey of miles took us twenty minutes, and we didn’t even slow down when we approached the massive stone gates that closed the tunnel off to the city of Vildorial.
A hook-nosed Alacryan mage was leaning against the edge of a small square opening. He only had time to widen his eyes as Mica hit the gates. Instead of exploding inward, however, the stone rippled out from the point of impact, turning into sand that splashed down to the tunnel floor. Several Alacryans had been standing along a rampart that ran along the back of the gates, and their screams were cut off abruptly as they were swallowed by the sand.
We rushed through the now-empty twenty-foot opening into the huge cavern of Vildorial. A wide road of reddish paving stones curved down to the right and up to the left, connecting different levels of the cavern.
Several dozen dwarves were arranged along this road, rushing into positions, shouts of alarm accompanying the sounds of defensive spells being cast.
Up and down the path, cavelike homes were carved into the outside walls, and a few doors opened as the residents stepped out to see what the commotion was.
A cheer rose up from nearby.
A dwarven woman, her fist raised in the air, was shouting, “Down with Alacrya! Down with the Vritra!” A nearby man hissed for her to be quiet, but she only gave him the back of her hand across his stunned face and resumed cheering. A few others joined in.
The dwarves’ spells and weapons alike dropped, heavy steel clanging off the stones, and the crackle of fading magic filled the air. A look of utter shock was carved into each dwarven face, surges of horror and guilt fracturing their features like tremors. Tears began to spill from wide wet eyes, and, one by one, the dwarven soldiers fell to their knees before their Lance.
The rest of us stayed silent as Mica observed her people. She grimaced, her own eyes shining with the long hurt of watching her people betray Dicathen again and again. But, as she wiped a tear with the back of her arm, her expression softened into a sad smile.
She flew up into the air, making herself more visible while also being able to look down on the terrified soldiers. “First the Greysunders and then Rahdeas…they poisoned our minds with rose-colored lies, promising us equal footing with the humans and elves—no, superiority to them. But the whole time they were doing everything in their power to ensure that they were raised up but that their people—you—remained in squalor. You have been lied to! Betrayed. The Alacryans only use you, like tools, like livestock.
“Since before this war even began, our leaders have plotted against us, convinced us to fight against each other and our own well-being. Mica…I mean, I understand. And…I forgive you.”
There was a moment of stillness and silence as all the dwarves present to hear this message struggled to absorb it. This stillness was broken a moment later when a line of Alacryan mages appeared from above, marching around a granite tower and down the curving road toward us, shields hovering in front of them.
Mica conjured her huge stone hammer, and Bairon floated up off the ground, lightning crackling around him. Varay flew in behind us, taking in everything with a single glance before landing next to Mica. The two exchanged a nod, and an icy aura leaked out to freeze the ground around Varay.
A magically projected voice boomed through the city. “Warning, dwarves. Return to your homes! Vildorial is under attack. Return to your homes!”
Before the voice had even stopped echoing, a crimson lance of energy fired from the approaching soldiers. But it wasn’t aimed at us.
I God Stepped into the path of the spell and released a burst of aether that devoured the ray before it could strike its target: the woman who had cheered at our arrival. After a moment of delay, she gasped and stumbled back against the wall of her home.
Still clad in purple lightning, I moved out into the center of the road and away from people's homes, eyeing the approaching force. There were around thirty battle groups, all hardened men and women, but I still saw more than a few fearful looks tremble across their faces. It was hard to say, but I thought some might even have been at the sanctuary during the attack there.
Spells began to fly.
“Arthur!” Varay shouted, but I held my hand up to the other Lances.
Pushing as much aether as I could manage into the barrier clinging to my skin, I let the spells hit me. Stones broke against it, fire fanned out and faded, wind dispersed. A few of the strongest spells broke through, cutting or burning me, but aether rushed through my body, coalescing around the wounds, and I healed faster than I was being hurt.
After a minute or more of constant barrage, the spellfire slowed, then stopped entirely.
The ground around me had been blasted black. The far edge of the road gave an ominous crack, and several large chunks of paving tumbled down toward the lower level of the city.
Light steam and dark smoke mingled around me, drifting up from the broken stones, obscuring me in mist.
I stepped forward.
A heavy, threatening silence hung like a storm cloud over the city. For several heartbeats, no one moved. Then, one by one, the Alacryans began to shift, looking at one another or back the way they’d come with pale faces. Shields flickered as the soldiers conjuring them struggled to focus, and the straight, organized lines of men wavered and broke apart, their strict training failing them.
I waited until the tension was nearly ready to burst apart. “Anyone who wants to live, go now. For the rest”—I activated God Step, appearing in the center of the Alacryan force and unleashing my aetheric intent—“I can offer only a quick death.”
384
WINDS OF CHANGE
CAERA DENOIR
The sun was setting behind roiling storm clouds over Central Dominion, the sky’s mood mirroring my own. It had been a tense and dull few days since the Victoriad’s incomprehensible finale.
Highblood Denoir had, expectedly, gone on full alert after the Victoriad. They had immediately withdrawn me from my post at Central Academy and arranged for the entire extended blood to return to our primary estate for an all-hands-on-deck meeting. For days, the estate had been swarming with lower-ranking cousins and vassal lords, but Corbett and Lenora were keeping me isolated even from our own blood.
It seemed like they didn’t want anyone else to ascertain the full depth of my connection to Grey until they had laid the appropriate political groundwork.
This suited me just fine. I had been unable to speak with Scythe Seris since the Victoriad, and I hadn’t heard from Grey—not that I expected to—which only led to more and more questions, none of which I had answers for.
I found myself frustrated in a way I hadn’t experienced since I was a freshly awakened teenage girl, forced to hide a power that I simultaneously wished I didn’t have but also wanted to explore and understand. Until I could go to Scythe Seris, however, I saw no better alternative than simply lying low and playing along with my adoptive parents’ wishes.
A boy suddenly appeared in the yards below my window, sprinting with all his might. Not far behind him, a slightly older boy was giving chase, a sling spinning in one hand. With a jerk, he let a projectile fly, but the younger boy dove forward, rolling under it. When he popped back to his feet, he took just enough time to stick his tongue out at his pursuer, then vanished out the other side of the frame, the older boy close on his heels.
I smiled. It was a faint thing, heavy against my cheeks, but it felt good to know that there was someone out there unburdened by everything that was happening. Even if it was only my young cousins, who were both about as intelligent as the average toadstool.
A thunderclap shook the glass of my windowpane only a moment before heavy raindrops began to patter against it. The boys began to shout as they were no doubt soaked by the sudden deluge.
Closer at hand, barely audible beneath the noise of the storm, fabric rustled.
Grabbing a silver hairpin from my desk, I spun to my feet and brandished it like a weapon, then sighed and lowered my hand.
My adoptive brother, Lauden, was leaning against the doorframe of my bedroom. His muscular figure filled the doorway in a vaguely threatening manner, although the look on his face was more amused than hostile.
He swept his carefully trimmed olive hair to the side, his smile widening. “Your senses are growing dull, little sister. If I were an assassin—”
“Then this pin would be in your eye, and your blood would be on fire,” I said coolly, turning my chin up slightly. “And I would be saved from listening to any of your didactic dithering. What do you—or rather, what do Corbett and Lenora—want?”
Lauden held up his hands as a sign of peace. “No need to punish the messenger, Caera. Your tongue is sharper and burns worse than that of a sun-scythe toad. Father would like you to be ready, that is all. We’ll be meeting within the hour.”
I set the pin down and leaned against the desk. “Within the hour. Message received.”
Lauden’s brows rose, but he said nothing else as he turned on his heel and marched out of my rooms.
“Perhaps it is a good thing my brother is an ignorant oaf,” I muttered under my breath as I followed him to the suite door and locked it.
