The Dark Throne, page 27
“Except for the fact that you were mortal once, and now you bear the most powerful weapon this side of the veil,” said Vell. We passed through the main entrance of the tent, emerging into the wintry light of the Deadlands.
“Well, yes,” I admitted. “Except for that.” I blinked as I took in the three additional tents now erected around the huge stone ring where the embers of the great fire lay banked and smoldering. “Everyone’s been busy this morning.”
“One tent wouldn’t hold all the warriors in this world,” replied Vell reasonably.
“It seemed like a pretty big tent,” I said.
“A bit of workings in the warp and weft, nothing more.” Vell flicked her wrist. She led me to the smallest tent of the three, set a small distance apart from the others. Though it was plain gray on the outside, we entered a simple yet well-appointed interior. The walls of the tent were deep scarlet, reminding me of the war paint that had adorned the faces of Vell’s Three; a white bear pelt covered the ground beneath a rough-hewn waist high table, which was covered in maps. Long scarlet curtains hid what I surmised to be sleeping quarters; several compartments lined the far side of the tent, and the center curtains were drawn back. I glimpsed Vell’s armor, neatly laid on a low table, and a precisely rolled pallet atop the spotted skin of a snow-cat.
Merrick bent over the map-table, his young face tense with concentration, passing one hand over the black mirror-like surface of his scrying-stone. He didn’t look up at our approach, twisting his fingers in the air above the scrying-stone as the surface suddenly writhed with color and movement. Vell joined Merrick at the table, leaning slightly over the map, her eyes intent on the surface of the scrying-stone. The navigator adjusted the scrying-stone once more, and then gave a small sound of triumph. Vell leaned closer; I slid over to her side and gazed down at Merrick’s instrument.
“Found ‘em,” said Merrick in a slightly smug voice, the strain of keeping the scrying-stone focused weighting his words. His hair curled against his forehead, damp with sweat.
“I knew you would,” Vell murmured.
As I looked into the lens of the scrying-stone, I saw, as if from the eyes of a bird, a great host moving across a gray landscape. Banners snapped in the wind, and hooves churned the ground into dust. I leaned forward, my heart tightening in my chest—for an instant I thought it was the Unseelie host, armored in their dark colors with banners flying. But it was not the Dark Queen’s court. Beneath the lens of the scrying-stone, Malravenar’s army blackened the hills, a seething mass of gray and black and sickly green, the colors of decay and death, nightmares made corporeal. The tattered, stained banners bore the sigils of the ulfdrengr halls that the Darkness had overrun, and at the forefront I spied a blood-smeared long banner of white, worked with gold—a trophy from the Saemhradall. On other poles beneath the banners, the armored host held aloft skulls. My stomach heaved, and I pushed myself back from the table, taking deep breaths.
Vell studied the scrying-stone intently, her face hard with anger. Merrick turned the complex dials of the scrying-stone at her quiet request. His hands began to shake, even as he slid the scrying-stone over the map toward Malravenar’s stronghold.
“Show me all you can, Arrisyn,” Vell said in a steely voice, noticing his trembling.
Merrick didn’t reply, simply nodding as he took in a deep breath, sweat standing out on his forehead now. The Sword hummed a low, warning tone. I stepped over to Merrick’s other side.
Gray and Finnead strode into the tent silently, apparently summoned by Vell. They joined her wordlessly, watching the scene in the scrying-glass as it flew over countless hills, all teeming with Malravenar’s horrific creations. Merrick slid the scrying-stone across the map, his breath coming in ragged gasps now. I tensed. I understood that Vell needed to know as much information as possible about our enemy, but I didn’t remember this high of a cost to Merrick when he’d used his instruments to navigate across Faeortalam. Then a suspicion emerged into the full light of my conscious thought, and I said softly but warningly to Vell, “Are you sure that nothing can come through the scrying—”
A strangled cry escaped Merrick’s lips as black smoke boiled from the surface of the scrying-stone, whirling into a column of darkness and fire. I tackled Merrick, breaking his contact with the scrying-stone; where my skin touched his, I felt a flash of frost, as though skeletal frozen fingers wrapped about my arms. He convulsed beneath me and I rolled to my knees, my hand reaching for the hilt of the Sword. Hot wind screamed through the tent, shaking the ground beneath our feet, flames lashing out from the writhing core of dark smoke. A black tentacle emerged from the seething mass, wrapping about Merrick’s leg and dragging the unconscious navigator toward the table.
“You will not take him!” I screamed, my voice lost in the roar of the blistering wind. I drew the Sword. Its power flared, hotter and brighter than I’d ever felt it, surging down my war-markings, filling me until I felt my skin splitting. The Caedbranr’s bare blade shone as bright as a star in my fist, and I brought it down on the tentacle of darkness, severing it. The whirling column of smoke wavered, a shrill note entering its screaming winds. Shouts from outside the tent blended into the cacophony of the creature’s maelstrom.
I felt Vell’s power burst like a supernova, a cold wind suddenly springing up to tame the heat of the dark-thing’s flames; the Caedbranr pulsed with emerald fire that met Vell’s bright blaze, enveloping the whirling column of darkness. The creature—for it was a creature of some sort, though it didn’t have a corporeal body that I could see—lashed out at us. I felt the hot sting of a cut as a tentacle swept across my left arm, its dark matter as sharp as a blade. The feel of blood sliding down my arm kindled an indignant rage within me, and I added my own taebramh to the bright pulse of the Sword. With a snarl, I lunged forward and plunged the Caedbranr through the writhing pillar of black smoke. My vision exploded with white-hot light and an invisible force slammed into me, driving me to the ground.
I gasped through the sudden pain in my chest, but the Sword sent a little surge of power through its hilt into my palm. The tender skin of my newly healed scars stung, a sharp bright pain that drew me back from the brink of blackness. I blinked and dragged in a breath, wincing at the agony slicing through my ribs; but I looked about the tent, saw that the Dark-thing had disappeared. As hearing returned over the ringing in my ears, I heard Vell snapping out orders and the bustle of movement as her warriors obeyed. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, still struggling to see clearly through the wavering shadows. With a flick of her wrist, Vell sent an orb of light aloft, throwing the scene into stark relief.
The heavy table had been overturned, maps strewn everywhere, and a smoldering hole marked the spot on the largest map where Merrick had plied his scrying-glass. Merrick. My breath hitched, and my eyes found his still form even as Gray leapt lightly over the fallen table, landing unerringly by Merrick’s side. Finnead strode around the table, his eyes kindling with fury when he saw me lying on the ground.
“Did it hurt you?” he asked quickly, kneeling, the Brighbranr still bare in his hand. I swallowed and shook my head, not trusting my voice yet. He followed my gaze toward Merrick, and we both watched silently as Gray worked intently over the young navigator. He jerked, and I let out the breath I’d been holding; but then my chest tightened as Merrick cried out wordlessly. Finnead touched my shoulder and I nodded. He moved past me to help Gray. Merrick thrashed, trying to escape their hold, his face pale and his eyes wild. With an effort, I lifted the Sword, sliding it home into the sheath on my back. Then Vell knelt in front of Merrick, her two Named Knights holding him steady with a firm but gentle grip. My heart twisted at the animalistic terror written on Merrick’s face—his mind clearly hadn’t returned fully from wherever he’d been pulled by the Dark creature.
“Tess, find the scrying-glass,” Vell said, her golden eyes intent on Merrick.
I didn’t have the breath to reply, but I scoured the floor until I spied a circular lump under one of the fallen charts. I pushed myself across the tent in an awkward sort of crawl, my hand stinging sharply in protest as I grabbed the scrying-stone. It was uncomfortably warm in my hand, resurrecting my memory of the burning-hot fire of the Crown of Bones. But I shook my head, crawled back to Vell, and placed the scrying-stone in her outstretched hand.
Vell’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, and she held the scrying-stone to her lips, the glass misting with warm fog. She bowed her head, placed one palm on the scrying-stone and gripped Merrick’s shoulder with the other hand. Finnead and Gray watched tensely. One of Gray’s hands hovered near her dagger-hilt. The air in the room tightened, and Vell’s knuckles showed white as she gripped the scrying-glass. Her body jerked and stilled. I could barely breathe for the thickness of the power pressing down on us. Vell leaned over Merrick, who fell back limply, eyes open and staring. She sealed her lips over his mouth and breathed into him, something rippling through her and into him with her exhalation. Finnead caught Vell as she shuddered and lost her balance. Merrick gasped and drew a long breath; Gray pressed a hand to his shoulder and said something to him in a voice too low for me to hear. He blinked, his eyes fully present with the spark that made him our intrepid navigator.
“Vell?” My voice came out gravelly but more than the croak I’d expected.
Finnead held Vell in a strange sort of embrace, her forehead resting on his shoulder. I didn’t feel even the slightest prick of jealousy—I just wanted her to stop shuddering and answer me. Finally, with a concerted effort of will, Vell stilled herself and raised her head. After another moment she drew back from Finnead, who wordlessly released his grip.
“That took a bit more effort than I’d anticipated,” the High Queen said hoarsely, looking down at the scrying-glass in her palm. Finnead handed her a waterskin, and she gulped a few swallows thirstily. Her voice was stronger when she spoke again. “It caught hold of Merrick and used him as leverage to come through the scrying-glass. It pulled him through…though I think you tackling him interrupted the process.”
“It changed places with him,” I said, nausea rising in my stomach. I looked at the scrying-glass. “You pulled him back.”
Vell nodded. “He hadn’t yet been bound. The channel was still fresh.” She grimaced. “It felt like the burrow of a bone-rat.”
I looked questioningly at Finnead. He gave a little nod of his head that I took to mean he’d explain the definition of a bone-rat to me later. But I understood Vell’s meaning—the path through the ether had felt like a furrow gauged by a disgusting creature. I didn’t remember any particular feeling like that when I’d followed Titania’s trail to her prison—but then again, I didn’t know what had carved that tunnel.
“My queen,” said Merrick hoarsely, pushing himself upright. Gray sat back, making no attempt to assist him.
“Arrisyn,” said Vell, almost gently.
Merrick bowed his head. “I am sorry. I failed you.” A bluish pallor still clung to his skin, but it faded with every passing moment.
Vell shook her head slowly. “No. You did not fail me.” She held up her hand to silence Merrick’s half-born protest. “You could not have known that a creature lay in wait.” She paused. “I did not truly grasp the peril of what I asked.”
Merrick raised his eyes to the High Queen. “I will raise the image again for you.” His hand found the scrying-glass, lying by Vell’s knee.
Vell covered Merrick’s hand with her own. “Not today, Arrisyn. Today you have done well. You showed me what I needed to see. I will ask you to be my eyes again in time, but we will put protections in place.” She waited until Merrick nodded, and then she let him take the scrying-glass. He immediately cradled it in his palms, examining the intricate knobs and inspecting the smooth surface for damage. Then Vell turned to me. “Tess?”
I gave her a lopsided smile and a thumbs-up. My bones ached, still pulsing from the aftershocks of the tremendous power that had rushed through me.
“Take her to rest in my sleeping-quarters,” Vell said to Finnead.
“I can hear you,” I said irritably. “And you should probably rest in your own sleeping-quarters after pulling someone back from leagues away.”
“Fine. Take Tess to rest in your sleeping-quarters,” Vell amended, flashing a grin at Finnead. I sighed and shook my head, though an answering smile came to my own lips unbidden.
“As you command,” replied Finnead, raising one eyebrow slightly at his Queen’s humor but still standing protectively close. He wasn’t in the mood to indulge in the ribald teasing of the Wild Court after the sudden shock of the creature’s appearance and the fierce short battle against it. I followed Finnead toward one of the curtained compartments. He pulled aside the curtain and as I slipped inside, Kianryk barreled into the tent, followed closely by Luca. Vell spoke quickly to the ulfdrengr. Part of me wanted to know what she was saying, but weariness tugged at me. I sighed in frustration. I heard the rustle of maps as the overturned table was righted and its display restored. Someone muttered about getting a few rocks to protect the maps against any further winds of sorcery, and I heard Vell chuckle.
“We are going to set an overwatch,” Finnead said quietly, letting the curtain fall behind him. A silence too complete to be natural enveloped us. I glanced at the neatly organized setup: armor set on an unfurled white fur, clothes folded neatly to one side, a sleeping pallet comfortably composed of several thick mottled gray furs.
“Where did all of this come from?” I mused aloud yet again, my tired mind forgetting to filter my thoughts.
“Sit,” said Finnead. “Please,” he added at my baleful look. “Vell brought back Merrick, but you destroyed the creature.”
“Pretty sure she helped with that as well.”
Finnead shook his head. “She threw up defenses and then encircled the tent so it wouldn’t be able to escape. You were the one to put your blade through it.”
“Guess I’m a pretty good bodyguard then,” I said with a grin. I lowered myself carefully to the furs and then groaned.
“Are you hurt?” asked Finnead quickly, kneeling again beside me.
“No,” I said with a little breathless laugh. “You already asked me that, remember? This is just really comfortable.”
Finnead stared at me blankly, and then after a moment smiled and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m afraid I must get used to this again.”
“Used to what?” I raised my eyebrows. “A woman in your sleeping quarters?”
He chuckled. “Well, yes….although these circumstances were not at all what I had in mind.” Then he sobered. “I am not accustomed to feeling fear for another person this keenly.”
I shook my head. “Don’t let it distract you. Remember? That’s why you didn’t want to get tangled up in this in the first place.” I shifted irritably.
Finnead reached out and covered my hands with his own. I stilled.
“Tess,” he said firmly but gently, “I am not ‘tangled up’ in anything. I am in love with you, and that is something different entirely.”
I couldn’t deny the burst of warmth in my chest when he said the words, but I suppressed the giddy smile trying to worm its way onto my lips. Instead I said quietly, “I like hearing those words, Finnead. I love you, too. But as we’ve said before, we can’t let this become a distraction. The last thing I want is you putting yourself in danger because of your fear for me.”
“We are all battling against the Darkness to save what we love,” Finnead replied. He leaned closer, kissed me softly, almost chastely, barely brushing my lips with his own and yet setting fire to my blood. “I am just fortunate enough to have what I love right here, in front of me, reminding me of all the reasons to fight.”
I felt incredibly daring as I reached up and ran my fingers through his raven-wing hair. His eyes went half-lidded with pleasure, and I smiled a little. “You’re right.”
He opened his eyes fully. “Wait. Say that again, a little louder?”
I chuckled and shook my head. “You heard me.”
Brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, Finnead smiled and kissed my forehead. I leaned into him, luxuriating in the feel of his solid, muscled arms holding me. “I can’t stay, Tess,” he murmured into my hair.
I nodded, suppressed my disappointment and drew back. “No rest for the weary.”
“Isn’t it ‘no rest for the wicked’?” He raised one eyebrow.
“Either way. Accurate.” I shrugged and smiled.
“It would do you good to have a few hours’ sleep. Or at least rest for a while,” Finnead said.
“As much as I want to argue with you, I think you’re right,” I said, slipping the strap of the Caedbranr over my head and laying the Sword by my side. I pulled my boots off my feet and leaned back.
“Twice in one day you’ve admitted that I’m right,” said Finnead. “I’ll have to mark this as a legendary afternoon.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” His drowning-blue eyes gleamed. “As it happens, I have other things to occupy my dreams.”
I chuckled. “You’re ridiculous.” He stood as I laid back. I blinked up at him. “Be safe.”
He nodded. “Always.” When he left, the light in the little compartment dimmed, and silence washed over me, swaddling me in comfort. I waited until the curtain hung completely still, and then I reached over and plucked one of Finnead’s neatly folded shirts from the pile. I held it to my face and breathed in the scent of him, imagining that he lay next to me as I drifted into sleep.
Chapter 19
“Do you think she’s asleep?”
The whispered question came from somewhere up above my head.
“I would assume so, since her eyes are closed.”
The two Glasidhe failed at their attempt to be stealthy as the combination of their whispers and auras wormed its way into my slumber.
“But it is only the afternoon! Why would she be asleep?”
