4. Aedon
4
The gigantic trees of the living forest rustled and contorted, but there was no wind to move them. It was as if the very trees themselves were angry. Aedon knew it to be true. The forest was furious.
He dashed across the rope bridge walkways that soared above the forest floor, clinging on for dear life. The living trees, the dhiran, buckled their limbs around him, sending the walkways swinging like ribbons in the wind. Aedon was lucky he had always been a nimble elf. Even so, he struggled to keep his footing. He ducked and wove as branches tore at him with razor sharp leaves. Every splintered arm of wood stabbed at him like a jagged blade, leaving his skin peppered with nicks and grazes.
Still, it was better than descending to the forest floor. If he did, the writhing roots would rip themselves free from the earth and strangle him before they wrenched him limb from limb. Tir-na-Alathea was a special place, but a cursed one. No one left if the forest did not wish it. Luckily, Aedon had a better plan—he hoped. He chanced a glance over his shoulder and redoubled his efforts. The two elves pursuing him had murder in their eyes. He could not blame them, he supposed. The elves of Tir-na-Alathea were not the forgiving type, even though he had asked nicely. It wasn’t his fault they had refused the trade. They’d left him no choice but to take it. This was all on them—but their howls of rage told him they felt otherwise.
One hand returned to his breast, checking and rechecking that the lump was still there. That it nestled safely within the protection of his leather jerkin. He could not afford for that to tumble to the forest floor and be forever lost. He strained for breath, every muscle screaming in pain as he pushed himself harder. He was a fast elf, but this was their home. Escape was far from guaranteed. El’hari and Ta’hiir would pursue him to the death on their Queen’s orders, if that was what it took.
As though the forest itself had eyes, faces stared from within the trees, with agony carved in the flowing whorls of their rippling bark. That gave him renewed cause to flee. If he were caught, that or worse would be his fate, for those were not the trees, but the eternal prisoners of the living forest. Those who had wronged it never saw the light of day again, thanks to the magic of the wood. It was a magic so strong, Aedon had to blink back the headache that threatened to engulf him. Every pulse of anger from the forest had the very fabric of the magic of this place trying to crush him until even the air seemed to squeeze him from all sides.
There was a break in the swirling leaves ahead. Beyond it, a chink of sky and a flash of tumbling water—the falls. His escape. His eyes flicked skyward as a shadow engulfed him. Giant, eagle-like wings soared over the canopy. They were utterly silent like a hunter at night. Relief overwhelmed Aedon. He had never been so relieved to see an Aerian, particularly this legendary winged warrior, in his life. Aedon swallowed, hoping his plan would work, but there was no time for doubt. The edge of the trees approached. It was now or never.
The forest continued for many miles at the bottom of the cliff. The rumble of the water was indistinguishable from the roar of blood pounding through his ears. At the trees’ edge, the walkway ended in a balcony open to the skies. Without slowing, Aedon vaulted the slim rail and hurled himself into the abyss. His heart rose into his mouth as he fell with a soundless scream, the wind tearing at him just like the trees had done seconds before. He forced his watering eyes open. The trees below raced up to meet him. The cliff face was close—too close. Just one snag of his body on the stone and he would meet an even more grisly fate, smashing into the cliff and then tumbling to his death. His heart jerked in a frenzy of panic.
Suddenly, he was tackled from the sky. The impact knocked all the breath from his body. Stars burst in his eyes as Aedon gasped for air. Two bare, muscled arms, riddled with scars, locked around his chest in a protective cage. Aedon clutched onto the familiar, worn leather bracers, but neither relief nor safety was his yet. They still plummeted. His savior slowed their descent, his giant wings outstretched as they glided over the forest, then he pumped them powerfully, sending them up—to Aedon’s relief.
“Well met, elf.”
“Brand,” Aedon managed to croak out. His ribs felt shattered. With each wingbeat, they rose into the sky. Aedon did not struggle in Brand’s grasp. The Aerian’s grip was a vice around him, crushing Aedon to his solid, leather chestplate. It dug painfully into his back, yet Aedon relished the metal studs and hard, ridged edges cutting into his flesh. They were safety. He breathed in a shaky breath to steady himself, inhaling the scent of leather and sweat. Never had he been so grateful for that stench.
“I was scared for a moment you weren’t going to catch me,” Aedon spluttered with his first draw of breath. He tried to sound nonchalant, but he was unable to keep the tremor from his voice. The pounding of his heart continued to deafen him. He looked up. Brand’s expression was impassive, his attention on the horizon.
“I nearly didn’t,” Brand growled in his gravel voice. “The peace and quiet I’d have without you was tempting, but Erika would kill me if I dropped what you carry. I thought I’d better not.”
Aedon ceased moving. The forest was far below them now. His head swam, nausea threatening to overwhelm him as his stomach roiled. Elves were not meant to fly. Not without a dragon. He turned his head as far as he could as Brand banked higher. Now he could see them. The elves of Tir-na-Alathea. They crowded the balcony he had jumped from. From such a distance, they were too small for him to see their features in detail, but their raised fists were unmistakable.
It’ll be about three hundred years before I can set foot there again, Aedon thought with a moment of ruefulness. It was a shame. The Tir-na-Alathea elves were some of the most talented spellmakers in all of the elven kingdoms. Their wares and services were definitely closed to him now.
“You do have it, right?” Brand asked. He squeezed a little. A warning not to joke.
Aedon’s hand wormed around Brand’s iron grip, slipping under the neckline of his top. The tips of his fingers brushed against the cold, hard, crystal vial digging into his chest. It was there. Safely stoppered. A grin of triumph broke over his face. “Oh, I got it all right! Right from under their noses! They said it could not be done. Stealing from the elves of Tir-na-Alathea, escaping the living forest, all without paying the price,” he crowed. “The legendary Thief of Pelenor strikes again!”
Brand’s arms loosened. “There’s that annoying noise I was so keen to get rid of,” he threatened.
Aedon silenced at once, and his belly somersaulted until Brand’s arms tightened around him again, but he could not stop the grin that split his face until it ached. This was the best part. Forget the thrill of the chase. What Aedon loved most was the smug enjoyment of a successful mission.