Crown of Gold and Ruin, page 39
Diana slammed hard into someone’s towering, warm body, her face crushing into a velvet doublet in the haste of her collision before she stumbled away—even then, long white hands came to steady her arms and she glanced up hurriedly.
“Taliesin?” Di blurted, shock pulsating through her.
The Erzul growled menacingly.
The Frenalin prince smirked down at her, snow netted in his platinum hair, looking as unruffled as he had long ago in the royal ballroom. “We really do need to stop meeting like this, my dear.”
* * *
Jaden was going to die.
His eyes were closed and his ribs were shrieking. And yet the Erzul’s blade never entered him. Jaden warily cracked an eye open, and saw, to his shock, the Erzul frozen mid-strike. From the plaster at the back of its head, a throwing axe protruded. Oily fluid flowed out of its maw, and the Erzul fell with a thud, its red eyes staring at Jaden like two curses.
Upon a far battlement stood a huge warrior, both hands clutched around the handles of silver axes. With a deafening war-cry, he leaped through the scattering snow-flakes to land with a bang in the midst of the fight.
Jaden’s first thought was Gwyn. But then he saw the grizzled gray hair of the newcomer, and the brown, weather-beaten skin, and knew this was someone else.
He struggled to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in his ribs, and went to grab Goldfire from the snow. As he turned again, ready to fight, he saw there was no need. Another axe had scissored through the snow to sink with a wet noise into the back of another Erzul’s head—the one that had been advancing upon Jaime.
Jaden watched their savior engage the remaining Erzul in a furious whirl of night-black sword and dancing axe, and when he had made certain this would keep the Erzul occupied, he ran to where Diana had lain and found it empty, a river of sticky dark blood leading deeper into the fortress. Into the snow were pressed footprints. Diana’s small ones, and—huge, misshapen, heavy ones, tracking after hers. Jaden glanced back wildly: only three Erzul in the yard.
“Another one we did not see.” Jaime’s ragged voice confirmed Jaden’s suspicions. “And she is …” he coughed, “weaponless. Wounded.”
A shadow darkened the desperate Jaden’s view. Trystan and Scythe flanked him as the warrior who had saved them strode to Jaden, who immediately flung out Goldfire. Jaime was already racing away in search of Diana, and Jaden was about to follow and solve the mystery of the newcomer later.
They were all surprised when their savior fell to his knees in the snow and swung an axe around so Jaden could grasp its worn wooden handle if he so wished.
“My king,” the large, grizzled warrior said in a gruff voice, “allow me to make my oath of allegiance to you, the rightful Lord of Eria, and grant me the honor of riding with you. I have traveled far to reach you, Your Majesty, for I once rode beside your father and was the general of his armies. My name is Agrenost Halfhand.”
21
Wholly Ice and Steel
Taliesin’s magic rearing up around Diana smelled like blood and underwater rivers. The very air crackled around her as the Frenalin raised his arms, the Erzul marauding towards them with sword ready. She knew when the magic leashed out, for Taliesin buckled slightly, a flush rising in that porcelain face. She had not known that magic use cost Frenalin their strength.
The Erzul screeched, its sword clattering to the ground, and fell backwards with an echoing thud, its plaster-head slamming so hard that bits of white and black scales fell out to pepper the snowy stones underfoot.
Diana stared as Taliesin lowered his arms, then drew a long, glittering scimitar from his belt, scissoring it towards the Erzul in a whirl. The blade landed clanging on the stones, as the Erzul skittered backwards on those iron boots, and then leaped to its feet, leering at them.
Taliesin muttered words in a strange, fluting tongue under his breath, words that could have been swearing or a spell. But the Erzul turned after a few frozen moments and began plodding away through the heaped snow and skulls. It disappeared behind a far, blood-streaked wall with only a single glance back with its hideous visage.
The Frenalin turned his crystalline pale blue eyes on Di, gleaming with what could have been malice or amusement. “Hello again, sweet human.”
Di’s shoulder flared, and she pressed her fingers into the wound in a vain attempt to halt the biting pain, but they were immediately drenched with redness.
“Oh no,” Taliesin said in a voice that did not really seem that concerned. “That looks nasty.”
“Yes, it does,” she snapped, glaring at him. “Thank you for helping me, though I don’t know what you are even doing here, Taliesin. But I will go back to my brother now.” She started slowly backing away from him, watching his face as he studied her with eyes that had now become solemn, calculating.
He went to pick up his scimitar from the snow, reddish claws protruding from his pale knuckles. His beauty was vivid in the stark winter light as he said, “You know, Princess, my home, Teralen, is very close to Faneia. Just two day’s ride into the Hornvales.”
She cocked her head, and this gesture alone sent arrows of agony racing through her. “What do you want, Prince of Frenalin?” she hissed.
“I will heal that wound, if you come with me to break that mage-blight on your arm.”
Her breath rushed out of her in a gasp.
“My brother, Cintran, and I specialize in these kinds of magic, and we both abhor when those evil things are used against spell-weavers. Blights were a curse devised by our grandfather millennia ago to kill mages, but the truth is, that little tattoo has the power to diminish even a Frenalin’s magic. So, we hate it, and …” he paused for effect, “Cintran knows how to remove it.”
“You will heal my arm, and in return your brother will break my mage-blight?” She furrowed her brows. “That seems like I gain in both ways. What reward do you want?” Any human knew Frenalin did not offer gifts without demanding a price in return, and in the ballads and stories, those prices always left the human desperate, crawling, poor, or eaten. She stared at Taliesin’s elongated canines as he snarled a grin at her, weapons for eating flesh like hers if the tales told true.
“By the Goddess, do stop looking at me like that,” Taliesin chuckled. “You are probably thinking I want to eat you, are you not?” he sounded almost resigned. “You know those are what you humans call old wives’ tales. Human flesh is much too stringy and tasteless to really appeal, sweet thing. We Frenalin only dine on humans if it’s an emergency, or we are starving. Which, lucky for you, I am neither at the moment.”
She gaped at him, and he laughed, though she sensed those broad shoulders were tense as he glanced about the courtyard, probably scouring for more Erzul.
“Besides,” he continued, “your mage-gift is much too precious for me to simply gorge on you like that.”
She had had enough. “What do you want in return?”
He stroked his chin, where platinum blond stubble had formed, as if he had spent nights in the wilds instead of in the lap of luxury in the royal quarters of Teralen. It looked quite ordinary against his unearthly pale eyes and sculpted cheekbones. “Someone has become quite feisty these past few weeks. I want you to come to Teralen with me, Diana. And to prove my goodwill,” he shrugged and pointed a long finger at her, “I will heal that wound. For we cannot have you losing too much blood and going weak on us. That would rob all the fun from the matter, wouldn’t it?”
She drew back, instinctively, as his sharp-edged magic cascaded around her like wings. Some moments past, and she doubled, pulse racing and vision swimming, as an intense sensation ripped through her. It was neither agony or relief, just a numbness that consumed her. Glancing down at her shredded shoulder, she saw her very flesh knitting back together, and her gorge rose at the whiteness of bone visible before blood covered it. She nearly fell to her knees in the snow, and suddenly Taliesin was there beside her, clutching her arms to keep her from falling flat into the stones and breaking her nose.
“Feeling better?” he asked in a superior tone as she gazed at him in awe, the pain receding to the far distance as she studied the porcelain skin of his face. Dark circles had appeared, and the flesh beneath those extraordinary cheekbones had sagged, slightly.
“The magic costs you strength,” she realized, even as her body felt whole and remade.
“It was not always the case,” he replied. “But—”
“DIANA!” a voice bellowed from the other side of Faneia’s courtyard, and both Diana and the Frenalin prince whirled as Jaime came skidding through the snow, bleeding from claw-marks to his neck and chest. His face blanched in shock as he witnessed Di standing there with a Frenalin’s arms steadying her, the Erzul nowhere in sight.
* * *
Jaden grasped the axe handle and stammered out his agreement, watching as the Halfhand, once the Lionsbane’s closest companion and Flavian’s general, rose to his full height, towering above all of them. He had huge bulging muscles and wore finely crafted but well-worn leather armor and dark iron vambraces on his wrists that left Jaden wondering how he managed to lift his arms at all. His features were craggier than those of the mountains rising around them, his graying hair close-cropped so the shape of his skull was visible. He had so many scars: puckered marks of fierce battles, all of which he had undoubtedly won. He bore many weapons, axes aside, and there were two-bladed daggers and maces buckled to his thighs and a monstrous greatsword strapped to his back.
But the general’s defining feature was the one that had gained him his legendary name. His left hand lacked four fingers; only the index finger remained, surrounded by four ugly stumps.
They were all staring at him, until Jaden felt compelled to say something. “Thank you for seeking me out, General Agrenost. But right now, there is another Erzul after my sister,” he said. He hefted Goldfire, ducking around Agrenost’s bulk, and began skidding for the path the blood trail left—Diana’s blood, he thought frantically—around the side of Faneia’s main hall.
He nearly crashed into Jaime, who was returning, his face pensive, his hands in his pockets.
“Where is my sister?”
“Jaden.”
He spun to see Diana emerging from the shadow of a fire-blasted pillar, blood retched all over the left side of her gown, flanked by the Frenalin prince Jaden had last seen herding his sister to a more private location from the royal ballroom. Taliesin smirked in greeting. Agrenost swore fiercely at the sight of the creature and came to Jaden’s side, two axes in hand.
“I do wish everyone would calm down,” Taliesin drawled.
Jaden ran to Diana, and grabbed her arm, examining her shoulder, and found pale, unmarked skin, save for the blood splatters drying in the cold gusting breeze that swirled around ruined Faneia.
“You know, brother, if I had still been wounded, that would have hurt,” she huffed.
“You were wounded,” he replied, relief clashing with suspicion as he took in Taliesin’s dancing icy eyes. “How did—”
“Prince Taliesin has healed me,” she said, raising her brows for emphasis. “The last Erzul ran from him. And now, Jaden, I need to tell you something, so I need you to calm down. Jaime, as well.”
“You want us to calm down?” Jaime’s voice was quiet, but angry. “The Erzul could have run because it was afraid of Taliesin, or because it had orders to do so Taliesin could win your trust and hand you over to Durran Lionsbane. Does it not also strike you as odd that the very night before the sack of Elenon, this creature comes and befriends you and tests the limits of your mage-gift, as if he were going to report it to someone?”
“He makes excellent points,” Jaden said, tugging Diana behind him. She yanked out of his grip and glared at him.
She said, “Can you please listen to—”
“Frenalin cannot be trusted, Princess,” Agrenost rumbled. “They are creatures who serve darkness, who dine on—”
“Rhea and Terai save me,” Taliesin interjected, looking exasperated. “First of all, stop calling me a creature because it is frankly hurtful.”
Jaden rolled his eyes.
Taliesin continued: “Secondly, I am not in league with the Lionsbane. No Frenalin are, I can promise you that. Do you, Jaden Blacknett and court, know that Frenalin are the only race that has repelled the gifts of alliance given by both the Lionsbane and the Winter King to all others? From the naga to the river-wraiths to the eolindel, many segments of each species have allied with Thrain Arthorn ever since his reign began, decades past. For promise of gold and gifts, they bow down to that icy human monster up in Isbandrim. But not Frenalin, Jaden Blacknett. Never will you find Frenalin in league with Thrain Arthorn.” His saber canines flashed against his lips.
“Thrain Arthorn. Again and again his name chases us,” Jaden mused. “Always Thrain Arthorn, the Winter King. Who am I fighting, is it the Lionsbane, or this unseen, ever-present enemy who all other enemies claim to be working for?”
Diana watched this exchange with an unreadable gaze, but from the tapping of her foot against the cobblestones, Jaden knew she was impatient. Annoyed.
Taliesin cocked his head, his platinum hair concealing one razor-edged cheek, in response to Jaden’s demand. Surprise colored his perfect features. “You truly do not know? I would say the entire broken empire is fighting Thrain Arthorn. He has been trying to gain control of this continent since the time King Flavian was a peasant. And now, obviously, he wants the children of the King of Gold. The Lionsbane is in league with him—indeed, Arthorn must have orchestrated the very destruction that befell your quaint little kingdom. He has done so to many lands in the past, though not on such a grand scale.”
Jaden reeled as the Frenalin’s words claimed him, dizzying him.
Jaime spoke, “This may all be true, even the fact that Frenalin do not ally with Arthorn, but what is it you want with Diana? You have wanted her since before Elenon’s fall. Most likely you want her for your own, to possess the power of her mage-gift as the Lionsbane tried to possess it. So how can we trust you?”
“He has saved my life, twice,” Diana replied. “And you are all missing the point.” She grabbed Jaden’s sleeve. “Taliesin claims to know how to break the mage-blight.”
“Does he now?” Jaden said, studying the inhuman prince, who darted out his tongue to wet his lips. “Well, break it then, Taliesin, and we will be on our way. After all, there most likely still Erzul wandering the area, so we must make haste. Please,” he added as an afterthought.
Taliesin chuckled like this was the most hilarious, bizarre thing he had heard. “One cannot just break a mage-blight whenever one so pleases, king-ling. It requires complex spells and rare ingredients, and a very powerful spell-weaver to channel the power to break it. And I am not the one who will be performing this spell; it will be my brother, Cintran, the Lord of Teralen.”
Agrenost actually laughed aloud. “Cintran is one of the vilest of your kind still left south of the Ralunth Swamps. He plays sport with people, with lives. Teralen is a horror story told to children at night, where the deepest evil creeps, and no human ever comes out alive. Most likely they are eaten. The idea that Cintran would break the princess’s blight just like that is ridiculous. He would keep her as a slave for the rest of eternity as payment. Or worse.”
“Please do not so blatantly insult my family and home, whoever you are,” Taliesin admonished, smirking. “And also, for the last time, I am not going to eat anyone. I have more style than that.”
Agrenost ignored him and turned to Jaden. “We need to leave this cursed place, King. At once, and enough wordplay with this creature.”
Jaden studied the long-lost general, and then the languid Frenalin. Jaime was pacing in front of Faneia’s great hall, looking suspicious and aggravated, while Trystan and Scythe had taken perches on a nearby battlement, and were both surveying the area for hidden Erzul and helping bind up each other’s wounds.
“Diana, what do you say?” Jaden asked his sister, who was gazing at him and willing him to understand. “Do you want us to head to Teralen? You know that is not possible, as we cannot trust the Frenalin and we have to regain Eria. We must win an army, we—”
She stepped up to him and placed a hand on his chest. “Yes, brother, that is what you must do. But please, let me tell you something. All of you,” she said, glancing around the courtyard.
Jaime came closer, his eyes darkened. Behind him, a white raven was circling like a hawk.
“I will tell you what I think,” she said. “We will make a decision, and then we must leave Faneia, for more Erzul cannot be far behind.”
Jaden stroked a hand through Di’s hair as he had often done when they were children, more to calm himself than her. “Then tell me, sister.”
“I trust Taliesin. I know this seems a ridiculously dangerous and needless gamble we—I—am taking, but I trust him. He cautioned me to save Elenon the night of the fall, and if I had been faster, perhaps I could have. The guilt of this still courses through me, as does the guilt when I am useless in a fight, when I get in the way. Swordplay is not my forte and you know it, as much as you have been trying your hardest to drill it into me.” Diana sighed. “I want my power back more than anything else, brother, and I want it to help you retake Eria. But more than that, I want it for myself. I want it, and I trust Taliesin and his brother to help me regain it. So I will go with him.”
“Are you an utter fool, girl?” Agrenost Halfhand demanded. “They will lock you up and take you apart, piece by piece.”
“You are very annoying,” Taliesin told him.
“You want to go to Teralen?” Jaime demanded of Diana with utter incredulity. “Alone, with him, to the heart of his territory? Are you mad?”
She glared back at him. “Yes, I want to go to Teralen, but you might wish to listen, Velazaan, before you leap to conclusions.”
His cheeks flared hotly in response.
