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Chapter Fourteen
“Shit, Ecaeris,” Leongrad defended my injured side. “Fall back and seek a healer.”
“I can still fight with one arm, and spell cast,” I dismissed the suggestion. “I am fine.”
“You have a -ing arrow through your shoulder!” he replied.
I saw the flash of dragon scale overhead as Aurien cut through the night sky, and the screams of the enemy soldiers beneath his fire. We were at the castle walls, the chemin de ronde thick with soldiers, arrows falling swift and fast. I threw up a ward, and the arrows suspended just above Leongrad’s head. He looked at me, wide eyed.
I heard my name yelled behind me and recognised the voice as Akyran’s - he was fighting his way through to me. I turned, instinctually, centuries of training responding, and plunged back through our soldiers, to come to his side. He caught me and hunched over me as a volley of arrows struck into the shields of the soldiers that guarded his person.
“Ecaeris,” his face was shadowed by his
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The forest had been planted by the Fae although it was no longer held by them, and the trees were thickly trunked and gnarled of roots, though thinly dispersed, the humans having taken the smaller trees and bushes to burn in their fires or build their ugly little houses with. The undergrowth was deep and spongey underfoot, fetid with rotting leaf matter and bat guano. More strongly, the smell of the creature seemed to steam in the night. The smell was difficult to place, a little like citronella, but more acidic, singeing the hairs in my nostrils and itching the back of my throat with its wrongness. Phantom caught my eye. His white hair and skin glowed in the night as if the man were a fire-fly, lit with an inner luminescence. He tugged the hood up over his hair, seeking to disguise himself, but the man had never been meant for the shadows – before the curse he would have glowed amongst others of mankind for his beauty, and now he glowed for its corruption. H
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A skeleton rat skittered across the road before me, disappearing into the shadows. I paused, surprised that one still survived. Vienthrey was frosted as I strode through streets that layered memory of war against present time. There was no sign of the war that had waged here now, it existed only in my mind’s eye. The streets were all but empty, the residents seeking the shelter and warmth of their homes as day turned to night. There was a storm coming, the clouds over the city were heavy. The cobblestoned streets were slippery with ice underfoot, and the chimneys in all the houses streamed smoke. I heard the dragon roar and lifted my face to the sky to watch Aurien wing in towards the inner courtyard. Getting a last flight in, I thought, before he became snow-bound by the storm. The tavern was easily found, the light and revelry from within spilling out as a man left. He looked at my company with alarm, glanced over his shoulder at the occupants of the tavern
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We continued our journey in the morning and were met by the Lord Leongrad himself. He looked at me, startled, before throwing open the carriage door, entering without ceremony, obviously pleased to have his wife home. I heard his exclamation and laughter as he met his latest son.The Lady of Arden Retis was taken inside to be tended after her on-road delivery, and I took advantage of the household’s disruption to fill my saddle bags with supplies, whilst the cooks were feeling generous, celebrating the birth.“Ecaeris,” Leongrad stopped me in the bailey. “You are welcome to stay,” he held the bridle of my horse. “You don’t have to rush off.”“Thank you, but I’ll go on to Reknoc,” rather than stay with the woman who had been my husband’s mistress. “Queen Diandreliera asked me to speak with you about the increase in monster activity. She is of a mind to find the source and try to bring i
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The bedding tangled at my feet annoyed me. I was cold and it was frustrating that succour was so close, and yet unattainable. Someone applied a wet cloth to my forehead. The water running down my face burned like acid. Dark hair fell across my face as the bedclothes were drawn up over me. “Akyran?” “No,” Daerton was amused. “But you can call me that if it makes you feel better.” “F-k you,” I said without heat. Everything ached. I shook with the cold. Fever, I assessed. A bad one. “Oh, come now, princess, is that any way to speak to your devoted nursemaid?” “Am I dying?” “Not on my watch, Ecaeris,” he promised. “Go back to sleep.” Dreams and nightmares interspersed with moments of lucidity. I could hear the echoes of my screams in the room, and found my bedside crowded with people: Fae. Their hands were linked, murmuring incantations. My mother was amongst them, and Daerton, looking exhausted, stood at the foot of my bed
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I cast the portal and walked through into Nerith. It was evening, and people were closing shop and heading home for the night. My arrival drew attention, and they stopped to watch me with the wary belligerence of a people who had known trouble for quite some time. Three armoured Dark Elves, patrolling the streets, paused, and turned back to intercept me. Young Elves in fresh armour, still shiny and unmarred by battle, on patrol because of their freshness. Their hair was braided back on the sides, forming the centre into a mohawk, and they wore the half face helms strapped over, shielding their eyes, and providing a nasal guard. The tips of their ears were capped with elaborately worked earrings. “Fae mage,” one of them said, evaluating me. “That I am,” I agreed. “What are you doing in Nerith?” There was no hostility in the tone, she was simply performing her duty in enquiring. “Seeking audience with Akyran.” “Prince Akyran,” she correc
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“I have a good healer,” he led me through the ground floor of the castle. “She’s normally in the kitchens.” “In the kitchens?” I repeated. “Apparently they’re the perfect place for brewing up potions. You would know. You’re a mage.” “I have never willingly stepped foot in a kitchen in my life, except to steal food or wine. Any potion that requires cooking, just hasn’t had someone motivated enough to work around that aspect.” We stepped down three steps into the kitchen and stood for a moment overwhelmed by the activity and heat within. The kitchen was rawer than the part of the castle we had previously been in, the stone less finished, less regular in cut. The walls were grimed with smoke, and the floor worn uneven. Light entered through a series of small windows set high on the walls, open to let in the air, and the door to the kitchen gardens, which also stood ajar. A chicken pecked in the open doorway, ignorant to the massacre of its ilk wi
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