Chapter 6 Landon #4
The footsteps draw closer. Voices carry through the tunnels now, calling to one another as the warriors coordinate their search.
I make my decision.
I reach for Dorcha through our bond. She is far away, but she feels me immediately and answers with a surge of alertness. I send her images, Elle’s face, the underground stream and the cave beyond it, followed by a simple command.
Find her, take her and fly her to safety.
“This is stupid,” Elle whispers. “You’ll die.”
“Maybe.”
“I still don’t understand why,” she insists.
“Neither do I.” I glance toward the approaching footsteps. Maybe some foolish part of me thinks that saving one person today will balance out all the people I couldn’t save yesterday.
Dorcha’s presence grows stronger. She’s coming fast.
“When she arrives, you grab on and don’t let go. Understand?” I wait until her eyes meet mine.
The informer nods weakly.
I stand and draw my blade. The shadows respond, eager and hungry. Unlike the vampire Arescaine, who calls upon the shadows effortlessly, I have to focus to make them move for me.
“What will you do?” she asks.
“Give them what they came for.” I walk back into the tunnel. The footsteps are close now. I let the shadows fall away and allow them to see me.
“Here!” someone shouts. “The Herald!”
They come running.
I call my shadow lynxes from the darkness. Two smoky forms gather beside me, their eyes bright in the gloom.
The first warrior rounds the bend. I lower my blade and charge.
The tunnel erupts into chaos. Steel rings against stone.
Fire magic flashes blue in the dark, forcing me back as heat scorches the air around me.
My shadow lynxes spring forward and vanish again, striking from angles the warriors cannot predict.
I dodge one blade, parry another and slash across a knight’s shoulder.
The strike sends him reeling into the wall.
I keep moving, drawing them farther from the cave and Elle. But there are too many of them, and the tunnel works against me. There is no room to maneuver, no space to vanish fully into shadow.
A sword catches my flank. Pain explodes through my side. I stumble, teeth gritted. I barely twist away before the follow-up strike can open me from hip to ribs.
Above us, outside, I feel Dorcha descending. She finds the cave opening, the underground stream’s exit. Her confusion ripples through our bond. I send her the image again.
The girl from the Court of Nightmare. Grab her. Fly.
Dorcha understands. She’s a good girl. The best.
I keep fighting, making as much noise as I can, giving them a target too tempting to ignore. It works. Every shout, every burst of shadow, every scrape of steel pulls them toward me and away from the cave.
Then a warrior slams into me from the side. We hit the ground hard enough to drive the breath from my lungs. Before I can recover, two more are on me, then another. Weight crushes me into the stone. I can’t breathe or get leverage. Someone pins my sword arm. Another drives a knee into my spine.
One of them raises a blade.
Then the pressure vanishes.
The warriors scramble off me, stumbling backward and staring past my shoulder. I turn just in time to see the tunnel behind us giving way. Stone crashes from the ceiling. Water bursts through the ruptured rock in a violent surge as the underground stream changes course.
Dorcha.
She must have triggered the collapse. The warriors scatter, shouting as floodwater roars through the passage.
I run too. The tunnel branches ahead. I take the northern path, upward, toward air and sky and freedom. Rock crashes behind me. Water roars through the collapsing tunnels. The ground shudders beneath my boots.
I burst out into moonlight, gasping. We’re on a hillside, far from the tavern. Trees crowd around me, their branches black against the night sky.
I look up at the beat of wings and see Dorcha banking east. She flies low and fast, a dark shape against the stars. A limp figure hangs from her claws, dark hair streaming behind her.
Relief hits me so hard it nearly drops me to my knees. She survived. Elle survived. Dorcha is carrying her toward the destination I gave her through the bond. I watch until Dorcha becomes only a shadow moving across the night.
Then I collapse against a tree, bleeding and exhausted.
The warriors will keep hunting me. But at least I chose right.
I saved someone.
I look around at the forest. Silver light spills between the trees, turning the undergrowth ghostly and still. The night should feel peaceful here. Instead, the quiet seems unnatural, as though the whole forest is holding its breath while the world prepares to tear itself apart.
I stand, wincing at the pain in my side. The wound isn’t deep, but it needs cleaning.
Torvan chose his duty tonight. Thanatos warned me he would do the same. I try to picture Finnbheara raising a sword against me and cannot.
He’s my brother.
My mind turns to the coming war, to mammoths and mage warriors and dwarven weapons perfected for slaughter.
I think of Rhianelle in Aelfheim, the mate bond pulsing warm in my chest.
I need to warn her.