Will – Peace be With You
Will
Peace be With You
Will’s chest constricted as if caught in a vise, with jealousy and panic flooding his veins like poison.
His fists connected with a nearby tree, the rough bark splitting the skin across his knuckles until blood beaded in the creases.
The physical pain was a welcome distraction from the torment inside him.
Earlier Malin’s emotions washed over him, though only for a moment, through their magical bond.
She was heated, primal, and unmistakably lustful.
His stomach twisted. He closed his eyes, silently begging whatever gods might listen that she was thinking of him.
The cold reality of their separation crushed that hope like brittle autumn leaves.
Then, like a compass needle snapping north, her presence was no longer in the distant location she had been in this morning.
She was inside the Fellspire Hold. The building they were hiking toward.
She had to be safe. She had to be. The near-total silence through the bond killed him, despite her physical proximity. Their mental bond should allow them to communicate… unless their bond had been severed.
The world tilted beneath his feet. Visions of her trapped in the same torturous scenes that flashed through his mind: Malin in chains, Malin being tortured, Malin seduced by another.
He reached desperately along their bond, searching for her consciousness, but encountered only static.
Like a fraying rope where once was a steel cable.
Sweat trickled down his spine despite the mountain chill.
His breath formed ragged clouds in the air as determination crystallized within him.
Fellspire. He needed to reach the Hold. He needed to find her before it was too late.
Will caught up to Nar and Khelek on the path ahead. “You boys need to pick up the pace. I think Malin is in trouble. She’s inside Fellspire. When we get to that peak, you’ll be able to see it.” He shared what little he knew and it did spur them on.
Will’s legs burned from hours of trudging through the mountain pass.
Irritatingly, the twins looked calm and ready for more.
Wind sliced through his furs, numbing his face despite the layers.
Each step plunged him knee-deep into treacherous snow that concealed jagged rocks waiting to twist an ankle.
He would take the deserts of Sarhan any day.
When he finally crested the ridge, his breath caught.
He had seen it many times before, but the Fellspire Hold dominated the horizon.
It sprawled across the plateau. Its central tower dwarfed Media’s tallest buildings.
Black spires pierced the clouds like obsidian daggers, their matte surfaces absorbing rather than reflecting the sunlight.
The morning’s army camp looked like scattered pebbles by comparison.
“Big place,” Nar muttered beside him.
Khelek’s voice carried a note of reverence. “Your description failed to capture its true nature. This is no mere fortress.”
They descended toward the settlement that huddled outside the Hold’s main gate.
“Aldrik. Did you say this parlay was only planned a day ago? Look at those tents. How did they get them up so quickly?” Nar asked, pointing to the crimson-and-black tents erected just outside the gates, their colors stark against the white landscape.
“Fellspire mages are quite good at opulence. Almost as good as the Mellyrn Minsters,” Aldrik responded.
The sun had already started its descent, promising only a few hours of daylight and plummeting temperatures. Will ached for Malin’s warmth, both her flames and her embrace.
“Aldrik. Malin is inside the Hold. Were you aware of a change in plan?” Will asked, hoping that this was part of a plan.
The General’s lips thinned, then he answered, “I was not aware. I only know that she was following my Ael’an’s dream. Her mother must have a plan. We must trust that both women know what they are doing.”
Aldrik directed the honor guard of two hundred soldiers to halt and hold the perimeter beyond the walls’ weapon range. It would be a significant hike from the tents, but he wouldn’t put so many of his troops in danger. The four of them continued the long hike to the tents alone.
When they arrived, a steward with silver-threaded robes and a face as expressionless as polished marble ushered them into the main pavilion.
Crystal basins materialized from ornate side tables, filled with steaming water that rose from nowhere, smelling of mountain herbs and exotic oils.
The pavilion’s interior glowed with warmth from floating braziers that emitted no smoke, their golden light dancing across tapestries depicting Fellspire’s conquests.
Plush couches and chairs carved from single pieces of tasewood surrounded a table inlaid with precious metals, forming intricate magical symbols.
Aldrik’s jaw tightened as he surveyed the antechamber. “Quite the welcome,” he muttered to Will. “Nothing says ‘we’re equals at this negotiation’ like reminding us they can conjure luxuries on par with Elven quality.”
Will’s thoughts were on Malin and trying to force the soul-bond to connect.
Members of Fellspire’s leadership filtered in.
There were men and women, all with calculating eyes and practiced smiles.
Their silk robes were embroidered with runes that pulsed faintly in the magical light.
They exchanged cold pleasantries before clustering for whispered conversations deliberately designed to exclude them.
A groove formed in the plush carpet under his boots as he paced, his fingers tapping against his thigh in rhythm with his frantic heartbeat.
Seventeen steps to the eastern exit.
Twenty-two to the west.
Four guards with concealed weapons beneath their ceremonial armor.
“Sit down, Will,” Aldrik said, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re making the guards’ hands twitch toward their hilts.”
“Good,” Will replied, eyes never stopping their scan of the room.
“Why are we waiting? If they wanted peace, they’d be here instead of this theatrical delay.
” His chest ached with the knowledge that Malin was somewhere in this fortress.
What was worse was the muffled pulse of proximity through their bond, tantalizing him.
She was in the building, yet the bond wouldn’t reveal how close, as if through thick glass.
The steward returned, a sheen of sweat now visible on his previously perfect brow.
“Apologies for the delay, my Lords,” he said with a bow so precise it must have been practiced a thousand times.
“We await one of the Upper Synods. He is delayed, but his arrival is imminent. The High Leader Archon insists the full council be present for these... discussions.”
Will grunted and braced himself against a support pole. Closing his eyes, he extended his lodestone magic in tendrils throughout the pavilion. The task helped distract him from thoughts of Malin. His awareness rippled outward, mapping the space. Nothing unusual disturbed the quiet.
The guards flared first in his awareness, mere flickers of latent ability hardly worth noting. Then came the Archon, the High Leader of Fellspire, seated at the table’s head. Despite the substantial power radiating from him, the man’s withered frame was fragile enough to shatter at a whisper.
Will’s eyes tracked the empty, ornate chair at the High Leader’s right hand. “They’re stalling,” Will murmured to Aldrik.
“They are waiting for their second-in-command. The Roka Cinder. It looks like the other Upper Synod are already in place,” Aldrik corrected.
Time crawled, as Will paced. The pavilion’s atmosphere thickened with tension.
Then it hit him.
Three beings with raw power stopped outside the tent. The power was massive and almost overwhelming to his senses. One of the signatures was disturbingly familiar.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He straightened, fingers instinctively seeking his weapon.
“Your daughter is coming,” Will murmured. “She has two other people with strong magic with her.”
The tent flap parted.
Jacien entered alone, and Will’s heart fell. Where’s Malin? He was going to kill the Elf if he allowed anything to happen to her.
Beside Will, Aldrik lurched to his feet. “What in Balfel’s name are they doing here?”
Jacien merely stepped aside and looked back, waiting, revealing the entrance.
A mountain of a man entered, in a blue tunic covered by a black tailored suit that did little to disguise the warrior beneath. Attention in the room shifted, shoulders straightened, voices quieted, and eyes lowered. This must be their awaited Roka Cinder.
Will’s breath caught as recognition dawned.
Darik Tenb. He recalled him from the files from his Resistance days. With a fluid motion that betrayed his military precision, Darik pivoted and held the heavy flap aside.
A cloaked figure entered. Despite the concealing fabric, Will would know that familiar power signature anywhere.
His lungs forgot their purpose. His heartbeat thundered in his ears like war drums. Everything beyond her silhouette blurred into insignificance.
Malin.
Though the hood shadowed her face, her eyes found his through the gloom.
Will’s lips parted uselessly. His thoughts collided and scattered. How could she be here… with him?
Then Darik’s palm pressed against Malin’s lower back, guiding her forward with an intimacy that shattered Will’s composure. The memory of the lustful emotions bleeding through the bond earlier cracked his world like a dagger between his ribs.
When she smiled at Darik, white-hot fury locked his muscles. A violent, possessive tremor locked his muscles, urging him to cross the carpet and rip the man’s hand away. But such rashness would jeopardize everything… perhaps even drive her further from him.
She pivoted away from Darik, scanning the room until she found the Mellyrn delegation. Her eyes locked onto Will, and the flash of recognition that flared within her made his heart leap.
The sheer relief of seeing her alive broke through his paralysis. His knees buckled under the sudden weight of it, forcing him to take a heavy, uncoordinated step forward.
“Malin?”