Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
X ylie’s scream echoes through the tunnel; it hasn't fallen silent before someone else’s cry joins hers. “ Ayc! ”
Lora.
He can’t respond. The force of the wraith took Ayc to the ground, and now its jagged teeth chomp inches from Ayc’s throat. Ayc braces one hand on its forehead and the other on its lower jaw. His thumb slides into the thin, rotten flesh of the wraith's cheek. The foul smell twists his stomach along with the panic.
The wraith’s hands claw at Ayc’s leather, scraping at the fabric but not penetrating. Ayc can only see the darkness of the wraith’s eyes—nothing but seemingly endless, black holes.
Of all the ways I thought I’d die, Ayc thinks absurdly, being mauled by a skeleton is not one of them!
Peregrin lunges and sinks a knife into the wraith’s skull. It only turns to snap at Peregrin, who reels back, and then returns to gnashing at Ayc’s throat. Saga growls and lunges for the creature, but Tavish yanks back on the leash.
A flash of metal tears through the air, coming far too close to Ayc’s hand. The sword parts the wraith’s cervical vertebrae, severing the connection between body and skull. But the creature doesn’t halt. Its claws still scrape, and its jaw still snaps from the skull Ayc holds in his hands. Ayc chucks the head one direction and then kicks into the spoiled flesh where its abdomen should be, thrusting the body away from him. It lands in the bog pit and disappears beneath the mud. A skeletal hand shoots up, clawing at the air, before sinking.
Xylie shrieks again and stomps on the wraith’s skull, over and over again. Each kick shatters bone until the corpse is nothing but fragments. Lora looms over Ayc, still clutching one of her swords. She offers her other hand.
“Thanks,” Ayc says, panting, as he accepts her offer.
She yanks him upward and then shoves him back toward Bronwen. “Stay in the fucking shield!”
“If the dragon didn’t know we were here before,” Tavish says, his fists clenching on Saga’s leash. “It does now.”
Saga growls, ears pinned back.
Peregrin snaps, “We’ve got more company.”
Past Lora, Ayc can see the shadows moving, materializing into more wraiths. The dozens of undead are worse than he ever imagined from the stories. No one knows quite what they are, though theories and myths abound. Some say they are ancient undead cursed by dark magic as punishment for evil crimes; others say that they are souls unable to find eternal peace who clawed their way back to corporeal lands. Ayc only knows that they are the most terrifying thing he’s ever seen .
Their teeth snap together; their voices chant his name until it blurs into chaotic noises. Xylie clamps her hands over her ears and whimpers. The air chills to the icy bite of a winter storm. All six of their breaths turn to clouds before their lips.
“Might I suggest we run?” Ayc yells.
Clustered together within Bronwen’s shield, they race down the tunnel. Peregrin takes the back, moving as fast as their legs will allow, but pain surges through their face at each step. Ayc offers his arm. Peregrin takes it. They move faster together, but not fast enough.
The wraiths chase them. Their hands claw at the shield. Bronwen throws a hand behind her as she runs and a pulse of light breaks from the field. The wraiths scream and stumble back, but more take their place. A few move alongside them and keep pace, claws scraping against the field. The tunnel before them splits into three, but they don’t reach the split before Bronwen reels to a halt and forces everyone behind her to stop. Two wraiths now loom before them on the path. Their teeth gnash together with the sound of cracking bone.
Xylie scrambles through the pack on her side and draws out a bottle of green liquid. She steps around Peregrin and Ayc but remains within her shield. She heaves the jar over the heads of the first wraiths and into the center of the mass. It explodes in a blast of light. The wraiths shriek as they are set ablaze. They run in mindless circles, looking like matchsticks of green flame. But this only renews the franticness of the dozens who remain. Their skeletal hands scratch down the sides of the shield.
Lora swings her swords through the barrier and departs heads from the bodies of the two in front of them. But more replace them. Ayc releases Peregrin and draws his own blade, but his friends are too close to allow him to swing effectively with the large blade. Tavish barely restrains a snarling Saga. Peregrin holds a knife in their hand, but the short blade will do little to stop the undead.
Sweat shines off Bronwen’s face, and a drop of blood trails from her nostril. A hole appears in the shield. A skeletal hand snakes through and grasps at Peregrin’s face. With a flick of their knife, they slice the hand from the wrist. Panting, Bronwen utters a breathless spell and the hole seals. The severed hand creeps along the ground toward Ayc’s foot, its fingers moving like spider legs, before Saga pounces upon it. With a strangled cry, Tavish yanks it from Saga’s mouth and heaves it into the face of another wraith, where its fingers sink into empty sockets.
The shield flashes once, as though in warning. Lora stops her swinging to look at Bronwen, and Ayc can read it on both their faces. Time is nearly up. They are surrounded, hopelessly outnumbered, and their only shield is fading. Ayc positions himself before Xylie and Tavish and tightens his hold on his sword. The fear trembles through his arms, but if he’s about to die, he’ll die fighting.
A roar ricochets through one of the tunnels ahead. The stalactites shudder above them. The wraiths fall silent, their skulls and black holes for eyes whipping toward the sound. A four-beat rhythm picks up, each beat rattling the walls: the footsteps of a dragon. The wraiths whine in alarm and flee back down the tunnel, toward the entrance.
“Behind the stalagmites,” Lora commands, pointing her sword at a cluster along the wall. “Go!”
They race behind the wall of stone and drop to the cave floor, moments before the rumbling footsteps arrive. The shield flutters and then strengthens again. Ayc stills his breath as he peeks through the crack between two stalagmites. The dragon fills the entire cavern, the horns scraping against the stone above them. The dragon inhales, seeming to suck all the air from the cave. The wraiths’ cries intensify as they flee faster. When the dragon exhales, the roar comes with fire. Ayc flings an arm around Xylie and pulls her head into his chest. The fire doesn’t break past the stone they hide behind, but the heat still singes at his hair, his skin.
“ Get out! ”
The voice comes from within the roar—deep and rumbling, but also touched with a lilt that rings of something feminine.
The dragon charges. Ayc can't see it happen, but the whole world trembles with the movement. Xylie shifts out of his protection to stare through the cracks. Ayc looks, too, just in time to see the wraiths departing the cave, racing back to wherever they were before they followed Lora and her Five into the cave. When the dragon reaches the cave entrance, it vaults into flight.
Ayc almost pities the poor wraiths who are facing that dragon. Almost.
For a moment, everything is still. The only sound is their panting breaths and that distant drip, drip, drip .
Then Xylie flaps her hands, stimming excitedly, before her fingers form words, “It was even better up close!”
Ayc almost laughs, but his heart still pounds too hard. There’s something profoundly different about his friend, if that’s her thought at a time of mortal peril. And he hopes she never changes.
“Well done, Bronwen,” Lora whispers farther down, the quiet of her voice loud in the stillness. She crouches over where Bronwen has collapsed to her knees. “But you have to drop the shield, now. You’ve used too much power.”
The trail of blood on Bronwen’s face now reaches all the way to her chin, but she shakes her head and holds the shield.
This time, Lora adds a growl of thunder to her voice. “Drop it, Bronwen!”
With a gasp, Bronwen releases her power. The wall around them disintegrates, and she presses the heels of her hands into her temples. She shudders, her breath still coming in gulps. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, friend,” Lora says, putting force behind her words. “You just saved all our lives.”
“But if the wraiths or the dragon come back?—”
“Hush. We’ll worry about that when we come to it.”
The gentleness Lora wields toward her First contrasts her mother so greatly that Ayc stares at her until she pushes to her feet. Ayc peeks through the gap in the stone, but he sees nothing. The air is warmer than before. The dragon has scared away the wraiths—for now.
“Let’s go.” Lora vaults over the wall, and everyone begins to follow, except Bronwen. She continues to sit with her head in her hands.
As the others round the wall, Ayc crouches down at Bronwen's side. He swings his pack off his shoulders and retrieves one of his pain relieving tonics. He uncorks it and extends it toward her. “Here, take this.”
“Are you dealing in opium?” she asks, glibly.
“Yes, it’s quite lucrative. Maybe, we should go into business together. ”
A breath of laughter vibrates her lips, as she takes the vial. She swallows it down. “By the divine,” she sighs softly, blinking at the bottle. "That’s the best tonic I've ever had. It's damn near magical. Did you make it?"
"No, Xylie did."
"Xylie," she repeats. She brings the vial back to her nose and sniffs. A bit of awe shines through her eyes. "She's brilliant."
"The best," Ayc agrees. He stands and offers his hand. She tucks the vial into a pouch at her side and takes his hand. He hauls her to her feet, and together, they round the stalagmites to where the others wait.
“Sorry,” Ayc says. “I needed a minute. Turns out almost getting your face chewed off doesn’t sit well with me.”
Unconvinced, Lora looks to Bronwen. “Are you well?”
“Yes,” Bronwen says. “I think I can put up the shield, again.”
“Save it until we need it. We’ll have to use it to get back to the boat, at least.” She faces the three tunnels. “Now, Tavish, which way do we go?”
He points to one, and they start moving again. They weave past bog pits and avoid stumbling over great grooves left from the dragon’s talons. Soon, the tunnel splits into two once more, and Tavish directs them to the left. Ayc thinks he hears the wraiths whispering his name or snapping their teeth. But the air is not frozen. It is only his anxiety playing games with him.
“ What did you hear?” he signs to Xylie, trying to distract himself.
Her shoulders sag at the question. Her hands tremble as she signs. “ I heard my parents screaming.”
Ayc’s hands hover uselessly in the air, unsure what to say. With all he’s suffered, he knows words are useless in the face of such tragedy.
She spares him by asking in return, “What did you hear?”
“My name,” Ayc signs back. A partial truth.
“Look,” Bronwen says, pointing ahead of them. “Light.”
A faint red glow breaks from the darkness a dozen yards ahead.
“It’s there,” Tavish says, excitement creeping into his tone. “That’s where the treasure is.”
Ayc releases a breath, but quickly sucks it in, unsure whether to be relieved or afraid. Lora picks up her speed, narrowly darting to one side to avoid tripping into yet another bog pit. The light grows larger, revealing an arch bathed in red as the tunnel opens into a wide chamber. Lora raises a hand in a signal to stop.
Ayc has heard a lot of stories about dragons and their caves. Some say they are collectors of treasures and that they sleep on piles of gold. Perhaps that’s what he is expecting as they enter, but instead, there’s almost nothing at all. The wide chamber has walls that are curved and smooth, except for a few deep gouges left by claws. Small boulders form a circle in the middle of the chamber. Each one glows a soft red as though fired to give off heat. In the very center sits another stone as large as both of Ayc’s fists, but this one is as dark as a moonless night, except for the green veins that weave through it.
“Is that—” Ayc begins.
Xylie claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with delight.
“A dragon egg,” Lora murmurs, awe tinting her tone. Then she whips around to face Tavish, whose mouth gaps open. “Is the treasure a dragon egg? ”
“I—I’m—” Tavish audibly swallows. “I’m just as surprised as you.”
“But I don’t understand,” Bronwen says. “It’s supposed to be a priceless treasure.”
Xylie signs, and Lora translates, “Dragon eggs are extremely valuable in the right market.”
“Who buys dragon eggs?” Ayc asks.
“Drakr,” Peregrin replies. “Gryphons bond with their riders, and sometimes, though more rarely, dragons do the same for Drakr. But the Drakr government and armies don’t find it necessary for the dragons to be willing. They will find, steal, or purchase the eggs and then break the dragons from the time they are born. They don’t have many in their armies, but a few dozen is far more than I wish they had.”
Fuck. Of course Ayc remembers the tales of Drakr having dragons, but he tries not to think about it. The only thing more frightening than the idea of Drakr is the thought of a Drakr riding a dragon.
“ We can’t take the egg,” Xylie signs to Lora.
Lora’s lips form a thin line. She says nothing.
“ We can’t sell it and risk the innocent creature getting into Drakr’s hand.”
“The mother dragon will hunt us into oblivion if we take it,” Peregrin says as they shuffle back a step. “Facing a dragon is one thing. Facing a furious mother attempting to save her offspring? I’d rather not.”
Ayc is with Peregrin on this. Not just because, Peregrin, as usual, makes a tremendous amount of sense, but because something feels wrong about taking an unborn baby from their mother who is clearly devoted to protecting it.
“We came all this way,” Bronwen murmurs. “We have to take it. Don’t we?” But she sounds uncertain .
Lora drags her bottom lip between her teeth, the only sign of her uncertainty. Ayc silently pleads that she has enough empathy that they’ll turn and walk out of this place without touching that egg.
“Well, Loraphne,” says a voice from behind Ayc, one silky and all too familiar, “if you’re not going to take it, then I’ll help myself.”
Ayc whirls around. He sees only shadow in the tunnel behind him. And then Marcellus appears, pulling the hood of a bright blue cloak off his head. Who needs a divina gift when, with enough money—no doubt stolen from the tithing of his pious people—one can buy a cloak enchanted with invisibility?
Behind him, his Five appear, dropping their own hoods. And then more behind them, until almost a dozen fae stand before Ayc. All males, of course, wearing bright blue robes, and a variety of weapons. They fill the entire passageway, sealing off the path out of the chamber. The rules of the Trials are clear: no one can help but the Five, but clearly he’s shattered that number by far. Perhaps, the six Ayc saw earlier are completely different people meant to be a distraction. Maybe, this group has followed them from the moment they stepped onto the isle.
Lora pushes through her Five, elbowing in front of Ayc to position herself before them. Ayc shifts to the side, and the chamber catches his attention. From the corner of his eye, he studies the abundant shadows that remain despite the red light. Perhaps, it’s time that he uses his trick for something useful.
“Why does it not surprise me that you are breaking the rules of the Trials?” Lora demands .
“I follow only the will of the divine,” Marcellus says. “I do not answer to rules of men.”
“Convenient, isn’t it?” Bronwen scoffs. She draws her staff from her back and grips it tightly. “When you claim to be the only one to know the divine’s will. Perhaps, rather, you knew you couldn’t win without treachery.”
Ayc backs up into the chamber slowly. Both sides are too focused on each other to notice him. He undoes his bracelets and slips them into his pocket.
“Does it look as though I am not winning?” Marcellus holds up his arm and pulls back his long sleeve to reveal the chronicler. Three of the seven gems glow—purple, royal blue, and teal. “I don’t see a single one on yours.” He chuckles. “This can go two ways. You can step aside. Or we can kill you and your Five. I promise, it makes no difference to me.”
From his position in the shadows, Ayc sees Xylie reach into her bag. Peregrin unleashes a dagger. Tavish fists his own cutlass and coils Saga’s leash around his other hand. Saga bares his teeth. Now invisible, Ayc draws his blade.
“Two of my Five are divina,” Lora says, her hands falling onto the hilt of her swords, telling Ayc she has every intention of fighting. She’s simply stalling. “Would you truly risk your divine’s wrath?”
“Perhaps, I will show them mercy. But you, Loraphne?” Marcellus drags his gaze up and down her body, in a predatory way, like he’s trying to strip her bare. Lora doesn’t flinch, but rage boils in Ayc’s blood, tinting his vision in red. “I’ll quite delight in killing you.”
“Speaking of divina,” says Marcellus’s First, Erech, the burly one with more weapons than seems practical. “Where did the human go? ”
Bronwen and Xylie whip their heads around and search the chamber, their gazes passing over Ayc twice before they swiftly look back.
“Showing himself for the coward he is,” Marcellus says, sounding bored. “Spare the human and the blind one. Kill the rest.”
A hiss of metal-on-metal echoes through the tunnel as weapons are drawn. Xylie steps forward and thrusts a handful of silver powder into the air above the Lux Aesters’ heads. They fling up their arms to shield their faces as the powder rains down upon them. But nothing happens. The silver powder merely glistens over their cloaks.
“What was that, you little witch?” Erech snarls. He lunges for Xylie, his ax held high. Xylie scrambles back, but Lora effortlessly catches his ax between her two blades.
“It doesn’t matter,” Marcellus says, stepping aside to make way for his men behind him. “Pull up your hoods, and kill them. I’ll get the dragon egg.”
As Erech disentangles and aims another swing at Lora’s head, Marcellus yanks up his own hood, a movement echoed by the rest of his party. The fabric of the cloaks disappear, but the powder remains visible, sparkling in the red light, outlining their bodies. Their weapons, too, are visible, seeming to float in the air. Imperfect invisibility. Not as good of a trick as Ayc’s own.
Marcellus growls in rage as he realizes what Xylie has done. Peregrin aims a dagger, but the Marcellus-shape darts out of the way. The knife finds a mark behind him. Blood joins the floating powder, suspending in air before it crumples in a puddle.
Bronwen, Lora, and Peregrin surge forward to meet the Lux Aester blades. Xylie drags Tavish and Saga with her a few feet away, where she seizes three vials from her bag and shoves them into his arms. She draws her bow and aims an arrow, while Tavish issues Saga a command. When Saga fixes their eyes upon the battle, Tavish heaves the vial into the crowd, toward the back of the Lux Aester. A puff of smoke arises around them. There’s coughing and sputtering and screams.
Ayc has been standing still for far too long. He starts toward the smoke, when a sparkle of movement breaks from the frenzy. Marcellus whips down his hood as he charges into the chamber. Two others follow him, fully visible as well.
Marcellus searches the chamber but doesn’t stop walking. “Where are you, human? Don’t you want to face me like a man?”
Ayc waits until Marcellus and his men march past him, and then he strikes. Peregrin has taught him well. He knows exactly where to land a blade to end a life and where to land one to ensure they are merely incapacitated. It’s as though Peregrin knew one day Ayc might be in this situation, choosing whether or not to take a life. And Peregrin knew he would choose mercy.
The sword cleaves through the side of the fae’s thigh, and Ayc’s arms shudder as the blade grinds against bone. The man screams as he tumbles to the ground. Ayc steps back into the shadows, disappearing once more, before Marcellus and his follower reel around. His follower stops to render assistance to the injured fae. He throws back the torn cloak, and a wave of nausea surges through Ayc’s gut at the gaping flesh and the pool of blood. Marcellus spares the fallen fae only the briefest glance, before he keeps walking, though now he watches over his shoulder as he goes, studying the darkness where Ayc hides.
Ayc inhales through his nose, forcing away the nausea, considering his next move. Marcellus vaults over the fire-hot stones and reaches for the egg. He jerks his hand back, narrowly avoiding the arrow that sails past him. His eyes blaze a molten silver, and he locks them on Xylie, who faces him from across the chamber.
Marcellus draws the sword at his hip and storms back toward her. “I will kill you, bitch.”
He makes it only a few steps, when Ayc leaps the stones and blocks Marcellus’s path, reappearing as he enters the light. “I don’t think so, High Prick Marcellus.” Ayc drives his sword down, aiming for Marcellus’s shoulder.
Marcellus blocks the attack easily, their blades clashing. “It’s High Priest Marcellus,” he says through his teeth.
Ayc shrugs. “Close enough.”
Ayc slams his boot into Marcellus’s gut. Marcellus stumbles backward, eyes widening in surprise. Then he drives forward and unleashes a flurry of attacks that Ayc meets, blocks and parries. The muscle of Ayc’s back snarl at him, but he shoves the pain back behind the mental wall and focuses on the rage. He hates this man, hates the way he treats the people who serve him, the way he threatened Xylie, the way he looked at Lora. It narrows Ayc’s focuses and builds heat in his blood and behind his eyes.
Marcellus falters and blinks in surprise. “What?”
The brief hesitation allows Ayc to slip his blade beyond his defenses. Marcellus darts to the side, but the metal slices through the fabric of his cloak near his shoulder. Marcellus bares his teeth. His canines have sharpened, looking bloody in the crimson light .
“Forget what I said before. I’m going to?—”
“Kill me,” Ayc finishes for him and fakes a yawn. “Yeah, yeah.”
Screams erupt at the entrance of the chamber, where the frenzy is being fought. Lora, Peregrin, and Bronwen scramble backward into the chamber, their mouths forming a single word, but they are drowned out by a roar that shakes the walls. For the first time, fear flashes across Marcellus’s face.
“Oh, good.” Ayc grins. “Mama’s back.”