The Dark Throne, page 13
“Now is the time of broken breath and spilling sweat and the sweet taste of an enemy’s death!”
Finnead and Gray began to beat their shields with closed fists, and the Seelie warriors followed, a drumbeat of war-fervor counter to the pounding of my heart in my ears. Vell strode down the center of the Great Hall, drawing the rest of us after her. I walked beside Calliea, whose gaze was fixed on the gleam of Vell’s crown ahead of us. We flowed down the Great Hall like a tide, the Seelie warriors now beating on their shields as well; I saw Kianryk weave his way down the far side of the Hall. When he reached the great doors to the courtyard, the great tawny wolf raised his head and howled. I jumped in surprise as Calliea threw back her head and howled in answer, her voice bright and high and eerily close to the wolf-song. Suddenly it sounded as if there were a whole pack of wolves in the Hall, howls rising above the beating of the shields as we spilled out of the doors and down the steps, and I saw Vell laughing fiercely as she leapt up onto a beautiful faehal, its coat a dappled reddish roan. Scores of faehal awaited their riders in the massive inner courtyard, their coats gleaming in the high noon sun, already saddled and provisioned as if by the working of some invisible servants. Beryk danced about the faehal’s hooves, then stood before Vell’s mount in view of all the assembled warriors and gave a great deep-throated howl that swallowed all the other sounds. In the shuddering silence that followed, Vell raised one gauntleted fist, and shouted, “Skynd vid veidr!”
Finnead stalked before the High Queen’s mount, translating her words, a fierce stranger. “Now we go to the hunt!”
Vell’s face was alight with fierce joy, the words of her native language knifing through the air like arrows. “Skynd vid dyr storr!”
“Now we go to the great beast!” Finnead shouted, his face almost unrecognizable to me, his voice strong and raw with an echo of the blood-thirst brightening his eyes, spilling over into him from the queen to whom he was now bound.
“Skynd vid drahg!” It felt as though we all understood her, the tide of battle-joy still rising, anticipation suffusing the very air we breathed.
“Now we go to the kill!”
“Fyldgra dreki a hylgrind!” Vell’s voice rang against the walls, against the shields of all the assembled warriors.
“We will track the dragon to the very gates of death!” Gray yelled, her green eyes alight as she circled her Queen’s mount opposite Finnead, one bright head and one dark, like the sun and the moon about the earth.
“Brejda sverd eda hefja skjoldr!”
“Draw your swords and raise your shields!” roared Luca, appearing suddenly from the mass of waiting faehal, raising his own round shield, his golden hair braided tight against his head, runes painted down his neck, looking more rugged and alive than I’d ever seen him. He wore two broad swords in plain black scabbards, one on each side, and bore a massive axe strapped to his back. An answering roar swelled from the ranks of warriors, raised blades flashing in the sun. The auras of hovering Glasidhe sparked and crackled with energy above our heads.
“Vedga manlig eda araed!”
“Fight with valor and courage!” shouted Finnead.
“Sja dagr syna myrkyr inn daga gyr!” Vell held up her hand before one of her warriors translated. We collectively held our breath, every gaze fixed on the snow-luminous face of the vyldretning, the golden crown shining on her brow. Each word punched through the air of the courtyard, slicing through our bated breath. “For this day, we show the darkness that the dawn approaches!”
As if from one throat a battle cry erupted from the fierce painted Sidhe, and we surged forward toward the faehal. The wolves howled. Nehalim appeared in front of me, his dark liquid eyes gazing at me with patient intelligence. All around me the Sidhe warriors leapt onto their mounts, strapping the huge dragon-spears to their saddles, checking girths and reins and sliding hands along their mounts’ supple necks, whispering words in the Sidhe tongue to the faehal’s swiveling delicate ears. Among the faehal, I sighted a few with wings lashed to the traveling packs across the back of their saddles, the delicate bespelled frames laid one on top of the other and wrapped carefully in oilskin.
A flash of pain in my hands cut through the rush of adrenaline as I gripped the edge of my light saddle, and I grimaced, measuring the pain of that simple grip against the fact that I hadn’t even pulled myself onto Nehalim’s back. I hesitated, glancing over to where Vell sat easily on her mount, flanked by Finnead and Gray. I saw Finnead say something to Gray, eyes glinting from within the darkness of his war paint, and Gray laughed, her teeth white and fierce. I suddenly felt very small and stupid, not even able to mount my own faehal, standing next to my magnificent steed wishing like a silly girl that Finnead would glance my way. Then my cheeks burned. Perhaps it was better that he didn’t see my weakness. I flexed my hands, bit my lip at the sharp twinge, and pushed down the worry that I would reopen the wounds in the center of my palms.
“Here,” said a voice in my ear, low but still audible above the exultant sounds of the Wild Court preparing for the hunt. I turned my head, startled out of my thoughts, and found Luca very close, his body almost touching mine in the joyful chaotic crush of the courtyard as riders jostled for position and called war cries to each other. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that he had his hands laced together, ready to boost me onto Nehalim. I tilted my head back, acutely aware of his impressive height. My eyes traveled over the handsome ruggedness of his face, his full lips all the more sensual for the hard line of his jaw and the glint of blonde stubble on his skin.
“Who braided your hair?” I blurted. I wanted to cover my face with my hands, but my hands hurt. The filter between my mind and my mouth apparently malfunctioned when Luca was this close, probably because of the electric current jumping between us.
But Luca shrugged and said, “One of the women, I do not remember which one. Would you like to braid my hair before the next hunt, Tess?” His ice-blue eyes glinted.
“I can’t braid like that,” I said dumbly. I swallowed and took a deep breath. Filter on, filter on…I’d been able to function perfectly normally around Luca before this moment, hadn’t I? Perhaps you didn’t like him quite so much then as you do now, said the little voice that hid in the shadows of my mind.
“The only way you will learn is by practicing,” countered Luca. “So I think that would be a very good skill for you to have.”
I had to smile. “You’re conscripting me to be your hair-braider, is that what’s happening?”
He grinned. “Indeed, I like the idea of your fingers running through my hair.”
My cheeks heated even as I tried to smile to cover the warmth rising in my body. “What was it you came over here to do, exactly?”
Luca offered his hands again. “Even the fiercest of shield-maidens are allowed to accept a bit of help when they have healing wounds.”
I opened my mouth to say that I was just fine, I’d manage on my own, but his earnestness stopped me. Luca didn’t offer his help out of condescension or some misplaced idea that women didn’t belong in the hunt; he saw me as a fellow warrior who could use his strength for a moment, and he freely offered it. I nodded and placed my foot in his hands. He boosted me onto Nehalim’s back without even a breath of effort. He mounted his own faehal beside Nehalim and I could feel him watching me as I gathered the reins. I knew that Nehalim would carry me safely whether I held the reins or not; but all the same I gripped them carefully, managing to keep the pain to a dull twinge. Almost without thought, I drew twin sparks of taebramh from the well behind my breastbone and sent them down my arms, soothing my aching hands. I checked that my plain blade laid comfortably against my leg—I’d normally strap it to the saddle, but I didn’t want to deal with the buckles, and I’d ridden before with my sword at my hip.
Nehalim raised his head and snorted as Kianryk wove between the two mounts. I glimpsed silver Rialla slip out the gate of the courtyard with Beryk, and Vell touched her heels to her mount’s sides, following the wolves, Gray and Finnead on either side of her. I glanced at Luca as we began moving forward, our faehal following their kin of their own accord. Luca was already looking at me, and he held my eyes with his own gaze for a long moment, anticipation suffusing his face. He grinned, and I grinned in reply, and we urged our faehal to a quicker pace as we passed through the gate and flowed out of the Hall of the Outer Guard in the long line of warriors riding out to hunt Malravenar’s greatest, darkest beast.
Chapter 10
Our shadows raced alongside us, skimming over the ground, and the contingent of Glasidhe warriors raced above us, small comets shooting through the bright blue of the noon sky. We rode through the silvery trees of the fallow orchard, the scent of ripened fruit hanging sweet in the air. I remembered walking through this orchard when we’d first arrived at the Hall of the Outer Guard, Calliea leading us through the trees in the night, Tristan drawing a rune on the beautiful white gate of the Hall. I glanced at Luca and he gave me a slight nod; somehow I knew that the memory of our arrival, sweat-stained and battle-worn, sat at the front of his mind as well. My hands stung as a raw wave of sorrow flashed through me—Murtagh had followed us through this orchard, through that gate; and perhaps there would be those among us now who would never see these trees again. But I took a breath of the sweet-scented air and reminded myself that Murtagh gave his life to fight against the very darkness we rode out to kill. Now in the bright shadow-dappled light, our faehal cantered down the aisles of the orchard and the Glasidhe wove through the branches of the trees at dizzying speeds. So much was different and yet the trees still stood in the same straight rows that had emerged ghost-like from the darkness during that first night.
The Sentinel Stones flared ahead of us as Vell passed, sparks rippling through the air between the great obelisks, flashing brightly for the High Queen, and fading with each passing rider. I took a deep breath and tried not to flinch at the strange feel of hands gliding over my skin as Nehalim carried me past the Stones. The Sidhe warriors hoping to return as a part of the vyldgard rode in a pack, weaving their mounts about each other, eyes bright with anticipation. We settled into a traveling pace, quick but sustainable for both rider and mount. I saw Calliea racing her faehal against a Seelie warrior with blue-dyed braids, both of them crouching skillfully on the backs of their fleet mounts and riding with wild abandon, threading through the loose formation, the tall grasses bending and parting from the wind of their passing. Now and again a ripple sketched the movement of one of the wolves, bounding about the edges of the main body of riders. A sense of electric excitement hovered over the company, a sort of collective feeling that swept over us all, and I looked at Luca with raised eyebrows. Nehalim closed the distance between us without even a twitch of the reins, even as I drew in a breath to speak.
“It’s strange,” I said above the pounding of hooves and the occasional jubilant war cry. “I’ve thought of the Sidhe as so…proper, ever since I’ve been in Faeortalam!”
Luca grinned. “Perhaps all they needed was an excuse to let their inner wildness show.”
“They came to you, didn’t they, asking about how to dress, and the customs of your people,” I said.
“Yes. Chael was not very approachable, and the vyldretning had other responsibilities,” he replied. “It is good to see war paint again. It is not the same, but it is a way to honor our dead.”
I winced. Luca certainly didn’t mince words—there was no euphemism, no phrase dancing around the hard truth that the ulfdrengr were a people exterminated by the evil seeking to rule the Fae world. “Are there any more who might have survived?”
Luca flexed his scarred hand. “I don’t think so. I survived because…” He shrugged. “I was given a strong body by the gods. But my mind was weak.” His eyes darkened and his faehal tossed its head as his grip on the reins tightened. “They recognized that. My body survived all their tortures, but they broke my mind.”
“I didn’t mean to dredge up the memories,” I said, pushing down my own memory of Luca as I’d first seen him, scarred and emaciated, the cursed dagger bound cruelly to his hand, its hold on his mind painful yet not absolute.
“It is the truth of what happened, and no amount of regret can change it,” he replied with that bold honesty.
“You kept fighting it,” I reminded him. “I don’t know whether you remember, but when you first attacked us, you told me to kill you.”
A humorless smile turned up one side of his mouth. “I should have done it myself, but…” He shook his head. “I hoped Kianryk was still alive…so to kill myself would have been to kill him.”
“But you still told me to do it.”
He nodded. “Yes. I would’ve been able to reunite with Kianryk in the great halls of the gods, knowing it was not by my hand that he died.”
“I’m glad I didn’t kill you,” I said. “I’m glad that Vell has other ulfdrengr to help her build her Court.”
“It will still be a challenge, I think, to create something new from what once was, and those who wish to be different than what they are now,” Luca said. He smiled. “Is that the only reason you are glad you didn’t kill me?”
“Well, now I have new employment as your hair braider,” I pointed out, “and that’s a great opportunity I would’ve never had otherwise.”
Luca laughed and I grinned. The Sword’s low hum vibrated along my spine, comforting in its familiarity.
“I’m going to add that to my official titles,” I continued, encouraged by the sound of Luca’s laugh. “Tess O’Connor, Bearer of the Iron Sword, Descendant of Gwyneth, Defender of the Fae and Braider of Ulfdrengr Hair.” I grimaced. “That sounds a bit ridiculous, doesn’t it?”
“Marked by the White Wolf and Painter of Battle Runes,” suggested Luca. He raised one eyebrow. “I’ll add to your responsibilities and you can have a more dignified title.”
“Painter of Battle Runes,” I mused, letting my burgeoning smile play on my lips. For once I would not be embarrassed about my attraction to Luca. He was my friend, a battle-tested warrior who had fought beside me, and we were riding out on a hunt again. His easy forthright manner made our attraction seem as natural as the wind sweeping over the rolling hills and the brilliant blue of the sky overhead. My attraction to Finnead seemed tangled and complex in comparison, but the brightly burning desire that the dark-haired Knight inspired within me seemed to make me forget my misgivings whenever he was near.
“I will have to teach you runes as well,” said Luca.
“Naturally,” I agreed with a smile.
“Battle runes and braiding. It will be a rigorous course of study,” he continued, eyes glimmering in humor.
“I’ll do my best to be a good student,” I replied. He chuckled and we both leaned back in our saddles, letting the sound of thundering hooves fill the air about us.
We rode through the deepening gold of the afternoon, our fleet mounts’ long strides devouring the rolling hills. A part of me felt more at ease, now that I was on the back of a faehal, riding once more toward the unknown. As the shadows deepened about us, Farin swooped down from the formation of Glasidhe flying above the main body of riders. She landed on my shoulder in her customary position, but I could feel the difference in the weight of her slight form: she carried daggers and a quiver of arrows at her hip, and wore her own perfect miniature breastplate, shining like a coin in the late afternoon light. After she steadied herself with a hand on the curve of my ear, she said, “The Sidhe scouts will probably meet us tonight. They have been riding hard toward the Queen. Merrick has been busy with his maps, guiding them back from seeking a dragon!”
“Merrick?” I said in slight surprise. Now that I thought of it, I hadn’t seen our intrepid navigator since I’d awakened in the Hall.
“Of course. He is the best navigator and so naturally the High Queen wished the best to find this dragon for her.” She patted my ear. “Though the scouts are on swift steeds and read their maps well, we can fly faster, when it is called for!” I heard rather than saw her fierce grin.
“I had no doubt,” I said seriously. “The Courts wouldn’t ask your service as scouts and messengers if you were not swift.”
“Swift and dangerous!” Farin said, brandishing one of her daggers for emphasis.
“Indeed,” I agreed. I smiled. “I’m glad you’re with us, Farin.”
“I could not pass up the chance to take part in a dragon hunt!” the intrepid Glasidhe warrior replied, as though this was a perfectly logical conclusion and needed no further explanation.
“Who were the Glasidhe scouts? Are they still with us?”
“Glira was one,” said Farin. “Though she does not like the finer arts of killing beasts, so she stays with Lady Lumina and rests her wings.”
“I met Glira in my world, before all this,” I said musingly. “She has a particular fondness for chocolate.”
Farin snorted. “Greedy little glutton, of course she does. How she is so fast when she eats as she does, I do not know.”
“Farin,” I said in mock reproach. “I thought you always spoke courteously of your kin.”
Farin giggled into my ear. “She is my distant kin and therefore I am allowed to speak most discourteously of her if I wish!”
I laughed. “Oh, so that’s how it works, does it?” I glanced up at the glimmering formation of Glasidhe warriors, but to my disappointment I didn’t see a red hawk flying among them. “Forsythe isn’t with us. Did Flora come?”
“She stays with her brother and the queen, except when given orders otherwise,” Farin said, settling herself on the ledge of my collarbone and dangling her feet against my breastplate. She leaned back on her hands, flicking her wings idly.
“It sounds as though Forsythe’s injury changed them both,” I murmured.
“He very nearly died, and was crippled for a long while, from what I am told.”
“And Wisp?”
“He is the most skilled Walker among us. Lumina desired him to remain with her.”
