31 Sealed in Gold #2
Antal and Ixli shared a stunned blink. She palmed the stone. “How…”
“I’m the best damn Void smuggler in the Season-Locked Planes!” Fionamara said. “Thank you. Appreciated. Now go!”
Ixli squeezed energy into the stone, then vanished.
Fionamara held her hand out to Antal. Her pleading eyes were fit to ruin lesser men.
“This time?” she said. “Together?”
The words had scarce left her lips before Antal scooped her into his arms, carrying her with him into the teleport.
This time, together. Ixli needed Fionamara’s help more than his.
Fionamara said nothing more, just held him tight and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.
The scent was as hard to chase as ever, the aedari fleeing fast. Antal only had to track the general direction, a tease of blistering sun on Autumn air.
Then Ixli’s whistle rang out like a beacon.
He pushed faster through the canopy, teleporting from limb to limb and down a rocky ridgeline, honing to the summons.
The aedari’s wings shined gold through the trees. Ixli had it on the ground, her binding cord finally lashed around its arm, glowing red as she clenched the other end in her fist. Both combatants fought one-handed, lashing out with spear and sword.
Antal pressed a kiss to Fionamara’s temple.
“Go,” he said. “Make me proud.” As if she could ever fail to do so.
He tossed her as they hit the ground, onto her feet and straight into a sprint. Fionamara joined the fray with a snarl. Antal skirted the edge.
“Ixli!” He held out his hand.
And grabbed the binding cord from her.
The length was woven of conductive metal, a bite against his knuckles.
But it was energy that would keep the aedari grounded.
Antal gripped tight and Shaped a current into the cord, willing the energy to condense, harden, a physical anchor to stop the immortal from dematerializing.
The aedari yanked back, its strength absurd, but Antal dug his feet into loam and held his ground.
Ixli, freed of the cord, drove her spear at the aedari.
She was tireless, agile, striking with the grace of an asp. At the aedari’s other side, Fionamara held her own like an uncaged tiger, snarling and pressing every advantage. With Antal holding the binding cord, it was two on one, the aedari fighting single-handed.
Antal saw it start to buckle.
This legendary beast, the bane of the Shattered Planes, flagged beneath the onslaught.
Its parries slowed. Its golden wings flared erratic movements, the throes of a cornered animal.
The binding cord burned as Antal held it, the aedari straining against the tether with a surge of its own golden magic, a smell of ozone as Antal’s knuckles singed.
Even with their advantage, his false heart stuttered when Fionamara charged the aedari head-on. The immortal raised its sword.
Then, she vanished.
The aedari swung, lurching as its sword cleaved air instead of flesh. Its eyes shot wide as it staggered, off balance.
Ixli surged into the opening, her spear a comet.
The aedari jerked sideways, Ixli’s energy blade missing its throat, burying in its chest instead.
It cried out in its language. Its wings flared, raking burns down Ixli’s arms. She didn’t withdraw, spear through her quarry’s sternum, pinning it in a kneel.
Fionamara reappeared in a snap of cold. Sword raised.
“Strike hard!” Ixli shouted.
And she did.
Fionamara brought her sword down on the aedari’s neck with the force of an avalanche.
Crimson energy hit reinforced immortal skin, a hammer to a cinderblock.
The air crackled. Hissed then shrieked with warring currents.
Her blade stalled at the spine, golden energy writhing from the wound, the aedari shouting as its wings thrashed.
Ixli pressed all her weight against her spear, holding it down. Antal gripped the binding cord until he feared it might cauterize his fingers. Fionamara gritted her teeth, pushing her sword with both hands.
Until she finally cleaved through.
The sound was instant, an ear-shaking snap as golden energy lashed out of the aedari in sunlight fractals. Antal staggered at the impact. The jolt shuddered the surrounding trees, a reek of burnt honey in the aftermath.
The aedari’s head hit the ground.
Its body slumped.
Its wings crackled out, leaving a perfect impression of feathers scorched upon the leaves.
The forest went quiet. Blissfully dark, as Antal sank to his knees. Beside him, more weight hit the loam, a hiss as Ixli withdrew her spear and dropped to a kneel. An emphatic umph as Fionamara, breathless and wild-haired, fell back on her ass.
They all sat silent.
All staring at the severed head, golden blood spattering leaves.
The deadliest creature in the Shattered Planes—reduced to a heap on the ground.
“Is he… dead?” Fionamara said at last.
Merciless Void, it looked dead. The aedari’s sword lay on the ground, back to unlit metal. Its blood glowed in the dusk light, dim as the fireflies.
“Will he reincarnate?” Fionamara asked. “Like a daeyari?”
Antal shook his head, numb, the answer a recital. “Daeyari are Void-wrought. Upon death, our energy returns intact to the abyss. But aedari bound themselves to the Planes. When their physical bodies are broken, their energy untethers, and they…”
A pause.
“Explode?” Fionamara finished.
Antal nodded. His history lessons had no doubt used a more eloquent word than explode, but for the immortal life of him, he couldn’t think of such technicalities now. Not with a dead aedari at his feet.
And certainly not when Fionamara tipped her head back, a decidedly maniacal laugh splitting the night.
“We fucking did it!” She laughed, a sound to strike terror in the fiercest immortal—to stir something decidedly warmer in Antal’s heart.
An aedari, dead.
It was ludicrous to think. Ludicrous to see all three of them alive, Ixli iron-wrought as ever as she inspected her fallen prey. Fionamara with that indomitable look, a gleam in her eyes that made Antal want to devour her whole.
He laughed with her.
“We did it,” he voiced in a hush.
Ixli scowled. “There’s still a second one. It fled in the opposite direction, probably too fast to leave a scent, but we could still search the area—”
“Oh, who cares?” Fionamara said. “Let that cowardly bird run. We’ll track her down again, now that we’re learning their tricks. For now, we got one.”
Ixli considered, tail swaying against the leaves.
“We… did,” she said.
Her laugh started soft, light as early snow. Growing bolder. Louder.
Until they were all laughing. Together. A cacophony wreathed in Autumn leaves, an impossible victory sealed in gold.
“You’re fucking brilliant with that spear,” Fionamara told Ixli. “A menace. An artist.”