Chapter 29 Emory
EMORY AND VIRGIL DUCKED OUT of the way with seconds to spare, sharp talons just barely missing them. They scurried behind a spindly bush as shrieks and shouts assailed their ears, both human and otherwise.
They were under attack.
The sky was blotted out by what looked like giant ravens with feathers so black they appeared blue, beaks and talons that could rip them apart in a second, and big eyes that were entirely too alert and intelligent.
But while the top half of their bodies was ravenlike, the tail end resembled that of a snake, feathers giving way to gleaming black and blue scales, the point of the tail scored with viciously sharp, slightly hooked spikes.
One such tail arced downward through the air above Emory.
She barely avoided getting impaled, the tail landing between her and Virgil and making dust cloud up between them.
Their wide eyes landed on each other for a fraction of a second before the beast lunged for them again, great wings flapping to keep it hovering above them.
Its tail came down once more, but this time Emory had the good sense to call on her magic, an easy thing to do with the ley line crackling beneath her.
Whips of light and shadow and spindly vines extended from her hands, lashing at the beast’s tail as it tried to fly higher. The threads curled around the tail, and she pulled, forcing the beast toward the ground. It shrieked in frustration, beating its wings harder to get free.
Angry now, it lunged right at Emory.
“Look out!” Virgil shouted.
Emory fell back, her magic sputtering uselessly as the beast’s beak came for her neck.
Keiran-not-Keiran’s words rang in her ears. She was going to die here.
But the beak stopped inches from her face. There was a squelching sound and a spray of bluish-black blood as a blade pierced through the monster’s head, right between the eyes.
The beast fell limply at Emory’s feet. In its place stood a woman in golden armor pulling an actual sword out of the beast.
A warrior. Just like in Clover’s story.
Others similarly armed fought the remaining beasts, golden armor and golden swords and golden wings glinting in the sun.
Emory thought surely she must be imagining things, but as the woman who’d saved her shot into the sky after one of the beasts, there was no denying what she was seeing.
The warriors had wings. Great wings like that of a mythical dragon, nearly as big as the ravenlike creatures’.
They sprouted from their backs, accommodated by holes in their armor.
The muscles and tendons and veins seemed made of the same solid gold as their armor, but the membrane was ethereal, shining like spun sunlight.
Emory watched in awe as the woman circled one of the beasts in the sky, a dance of black feathers and golden armor, talons and swords.
The woman’s eyes flashed golden like they were the sun itself as she plunged her blade through the beast’s open beak, then sliced its head clean off, baring her teeth in a feral snarl that made her seem more beast than human herself.
A shriek pulled Emory’s attention away from the slain raven beast plummeting toward the ground, just as Nisha was pulled into the sky by another one of the monsters.
“Nisha!” Romie yelled, reaching for her with desperate hands.
One of the warriors flicked a golden dagger at the beast. It found its mark in the bird’s chest, and the monster shrieked in pain, letting go of Nisha as it tried to flap its way to safety.
Before Nisha could impale herself on the sharp rocks beneath her, a winged man caught her, breaking her fall, and deposited her safely at Romie’s side.
With the rest of the monsters slaughtered, the half-dozen winged warriors landed around Emory and her friends. The woman who’d saved Emory took off her helmet, revealing short, gray-streaked hair and sandy skin deepened by sunspots and fine lines, markers of a seasoned warrior.
She pointed her sword at Emory. “What business have you here, travelers?”
Emory held up her hands. “I—we’re just trying to find our way.”
“No one is supposed to travel in these parts without a guide to fend off the eldritch.” She eyed their strange array of clothing with curiosity. “Have you no weapons? No belongings?”
“We lost them,” Emory said. “Please, we only want to get to safety.”
The woman’s gaze caught on her tattooed hand—the dark moon wreathed in silver narcissus. An instinct Emory didn’t understand had her tugging on her sleeve to hide it.
Aspen’s words drew their focus: “That crest—you’re the draconics, aren’t you? The sacred knights who defend the land from these beasts.”
Aspen was looking at the woman’s armor with recognition that could only come from what she’d seen through Tol’s eyes. The crest was a stylized dragon curled on itself in a circle, eating its own tail.
The woman dipped her chin in a solemn nod.
“We are the Chivalric Fellowship of the Light, at your service.” Seeming to decide they weren’t a threat, she sheathed her sword.
“It’s a good thing we found you when we did.
These are strange times, I fear. May the Sun Forger protect us all from the Night Bringer’s rise. ”
Before Emory could ponder why those words made the hair on the back of her neck rise, movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention.
Two men without wings or armor or blade had joined the knights.
One was middle-aged, dressed in a hooded robe the color of sandstone that contrasted with his rich brown complexion.
The other couldn’t have been past thirteen and was dressed in a simple, belted tunic that fit loosely on his lanky frame.
He held a massive tome under one arm, and with the other he tugged at the robed man’s sleeve to whisper something in his ear.
The warrior woman raised a brow. “Does your page have something to say, Master Bayns?”
“Apologies for the boy stepping out of line, Knight Commander,” Master Bayns said with a hard look at the boy, whose fair cheeks flushed a deep pink as he bowed in apology. “He says he saw that one using… er, well, magic.”
All eyes slid to Emory. A few knights inched their hands to their weapons. The woman who had been called Knight Commander frowned at her. “Magic?” she echoed. “I saw no such thing. Is that true?”
Emory caught the subtle shake of Aspen’s head. They could rely only on the witch’s knowledge of this world at this point and hope that what she’d gleaned helped them survive it.
“I’m sorry, he must be mistaken,” Emory said with an apologetic smile. “No magic here. It must have been one of those ravens.”
She hoped none of them could feel the Glamour magic she laced through her words, willing them to believe her.
Willing them not to see the moon phase tattoos and silver spirals that marked her and her friends as other.
Darkness pressed in, the ley line trying to pull her under.
The page looked at her from beneath his lashes.
His furrowed brow made it seem like he knew what Emory was doing, but he remained silent.
“They are called corvus serpentes,” the robed man said of the strange beasts. “We will be sure to add this magic of theirs to our bestiary. Make a note of it, will you, Page Caius?”
“Yes, Master Bayns.” The boy half-heartedly scribbled something in the tome he carried.
“Come, the city isn’t far,” the Knight Commander declared.
“City? What city?” Virgil exclaimed, looking around pointedly. “It’s desert for miles around!”
“You have to know where to look, young sir.” The woman pointed toward the ridge of mountains in the near distance.
It had been cast in shadows before, but with the dim sun now higher in the sky, the light revealed a city that seemed carved from the stone itself, red-hued like the ridge it was tucked against. “Welcome to Heartstone. The draconic city of light.”
Heartstone was a fortress, but more than anything it was a work of art, a marvel in architecture, full of sweeping arches and massive pillars, buttresses and vaults carved with intricate scallop patterns that called to mind the scales of a dragon.
The city was built on three levels that rose to nearly the full height of the ridge, each level decreasing in size the higher it went: busy streets lined with markets and trades greeted them on the bottom level behind the large, carved gates that opened onto the city; on the second level were housing facilities and places of worship, an oasis of calm full of quaint gardens and fountains; and at the very top was the mighty citadel where the draconics oversaw the city and trained their young.
“Only the draconics are allowed up there,” Aspen whispered as they were led through the streets, pointing at the looming citadel.
Indeed, everywhere around them were people who appeared as human as they did, though dressed in a fashion that felt centuries behind the times.
Tunics and doublets and dresses adorned with leather armlets.
Capes and cloaks held in place with bejeweled brooches.
Men who wore bonnets and floppy hats, and women who wore circlets that cut across their foreheads and ornamented headdresses and colorful kerchiefs.
None of them had dragon wings sprouting from their backs, but then again, neither did the knights who were escorting them through the city—not since they had made their wings disappear.
It had been the oddest thing to see. Those golden, ethereal wings there one second, and gone the next. Like a candle being blown out.
“If you know so much about this place,” Emory whispered to Aspen, “that must mean Tol is here, right?”
Aspen gave her a knowing glance before clearing her throat, calling the Knight Commander’s attention. “We’re looking for someone. A draconic like you who goes by the name of Tol.”
The woman paused. “You know Anatolius?”
“He’s… a friend.”