History of Fire Page 16

  Chapter Twenty-Two Road of Dust and Blood

  Road of Dust and Blood

  February 17th 1703

  As luck would have it, I’ve met a talented silversmith from afar, from a land I’ve never heard of. He has agreed to make a most powerful weapon to complement my family’s fire element, one I alone can wield. I was startled to discover that he even knew of our abilities, but being from a land of magic, I do not underestimate his talent for such observations.

  He called the weapon an Empyrean blade, and as far as I know, he is the only one who can make such a sword.

  ~Brendan

  The feeling of movement under me jolted me awake. It felt like I’d been thrown into the bed of a carriage or wagon, but I wasn’t sure. I tried to blink away the light, but the brightness of the day made me squeeze them shut again right away. My entire body felt like it’d been hit by a train, tossed to the side and rolled down a hill. Mentally taking stock of my injuries, I wondered just how broken I was and how it was possible I was still alive.

  Or maybe this was hell. In heaven, things wouldn’t hurt like that, right? I’d be euphoric, maybe flapping some strong, gorgeous wings. Instead I was tied at the wrists and being carried in the back of a wagon that was knocking me about so much I wanted to heave. This business of feeling like utter crap was getting old in a hurry.

  It smelled like a dirty horse and coppery, like the blood caked on my face. I blinked until my eyes focused on the world around me, finding a sobering view. I was tied to one of the supports of the wagon by a cord connected to the rope binding my wrists. Sitting up with my head pressed against the wooden siding of the wagon, I breathed slowly, hoping the dizziness would fade. I wasn’t surprised that it didn’t help.

  The wagon had a covering that kept the sun from shining right into my eyes and seemed to be used to store food and water barrels. It was half full, but I didn’t yet notice that I wasn’t alone, for I was afraid to sit up. It would definitely make me hurl, and I couldn’t even hold my head with my hands tied up the way they were. When one particular nasty wave of nausea hit me, I managed to crawl to the end of the wagon, haul my body partially over the back end until the rope that held me went taut, and threw up.

  I probably needed a doctor. The dizziness wouldn’t subside, so I hung there, peering off the back end of the wagon, catching the nasty glares of Unseelie soldiers on foot and on horseback as they avoided the puddle of puke I’d left for them to dodge. I focused on the sounds emanating from around me and caught half glimpses of the surrounding brittle woods, and a long, rocky dirt road. After a while I half dozed under the late afternoon sun blaring down on us, enjoying the heat and warmth of it on my cold soul.

  Dozens of horse hoofs clicked around me, and the smell of sweat and soot mixed along with manure and body odor made me want to stuff hay up my nose. I heard voices chattering calmly around me, as if taking a Sunday afternoon ride through the country was commonplace for treacherous Unseelie Sluagh warriors. There was dirt everywhere, on everything, even on the spindly trees that rose up around us. The land was mostly flat, but occasionally we dipped or ascended small hills. The jolting ride made my head ache like nobody’s business.

  It began to look far too familiar as the forest thickened, and the land began to smell more sweet and vibrant. It was downright beginning to freshen up despite the company of the filthy riders surrounding me.

  I slowly moved my arms up under my head. They felt numb from dangling for hours, and the pain from my injuries made me wince and want to groan aloud, but I swallowed it back.

  “Benton?” A familiar voice came from outside the wagon, so I turned my head as slowly as it would allow me. It was a relief to find Paki riding beside the wagon. He was also tied up, but anchored to the horse. He looked exhausted but in good health. At least one of us was well enough to know what was going on.

  “Paki.” I threw him a weak smile. “What’s going on? How long have I been out of it?” My throat felt like it was coated in sawdust, and my lips cracked when they moved. I wanted to sit up, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. I shifted as best I could and listened for his answer.

  “It’s been almost two days, sir.” He motioned to the burnt orange sky. “It’s almost nightfall again. The time for the dark creatures to ascend upon us.” Paki pulled at the reins of his horse to keep it even with the wagon. “Here, you need to drink.” He tossed me a canteen he’d had hung around his neck. Mighty nice of the Unseelie to hydrate their prisoners. They hadn’t seemed concerned that I might die in the wagon.

  “Thanks, man.”

  I grasped the screw top, slowly unseating it, and dumped some water on my tongue. I coughed and sputtered on it at first, but eventually got the hang of swallowing again. I finally managed to sit up even more and peered around.

  We were in a caravan of some sort with Unseelie soldiers behind and in front of us as far as the eye could see. I groaned as I spotted the approaching Scren Palace, a few miles ahead. I’d missed most of the trip but could feel every mile embedded into every crevice of my body.

  “So what’s going on now?”

  “We’re prisoners of Oran. They’re escorting us back because it allows him passage to the Scren Palace through Faerie without repercussions. He’s going to propose to the queen to unite the courts.”

  I shook my head. “Shade will never break her vows to Dylan. He’s barking up the wrong tree.”

  Paki stared somberly ahead. His frown couldn’t have been tighter if he’d just been told Oran was after his own daughter. “I’m afraid it won’t matter. It’s a fairly simple rule of the land and must be followed.”

  “Damn … he can really make her break her vows?” I frowned, fighting the hopelessness away. “Got to figure something out.”

  Paki’s liquid dark eyes didn’t look at me but instead stared at his home, the Scren Palace. “Oran can make her marry him, and he will. Faerie has laws in place to keep its integrity. Unfortunately, he’s in the right. There’s no hope.”

  I thought about his words for few moments, feeling the same despair sneaking into me, the same thing I’d felt when I had faced Seritus. I didn’t want to hear how we’d already lost this fight. We had to hope, somehow, or everything was already lost. There had to be something that could help us. Or someone.

  I scanned the endless stream of Unseelie for the Elder King Seritus. At least he seemed able to manipulate Oran a bit. I was still alive, wasn’t I? It made me wonder what his ulterior motive was. There always was one when it came to the Unseelie. There never was a straightforward faery now that I thought about it. Still, he could have had me killed when he knocked me out. But I was alive, a prisoner of the Unseelie. If he hadn’t wanted me dead, why had he steered Oran into this direction in the first place? What was in it for him?

  A flicker to my side made me glance into the forest. I could’ve sworn I’d seen something, but try as I might, I saw no other movement. Was I seeing things now? A tiny prickle of magic touched me, and I straightened up to concentrate on grasping onto it with what little magic I could wrangle. When I finally managed to lock onto it, it tightened around me and began infusing me with a thin but potent thread of healing magic.

  Small sparks of energy hummed through it and into my skin, spreading across my body like worker ants hurrying to repair the damage. My arm had a crack in the radial bone, near my wrist, where it was purple and swollen. The stream of magic pumped into it and got to work fixing the break.

  I hissed quietly as the bone snapped together and the swelling began to recede. The work it took to keep my face straight as the excruciating pain ripped through my arm while the bone regrew and straightened was enough to get me sweating. My shirt was drenched in no time, making the dirt on it dark and streaky. Still, it was hard to tell I was soaked, since I was filthy and streaked with blood and forest debris. I leaned forward, steadying myself on the side of the wagon as I felt the blood drain from my face.

  Who was providing me with this healing magic?
I laid my head against the wooden frame of the wagon and peered out from the covering into the thick of the woods, hoping to catch more than the sliver of magic connecting me to the person helping me.

  Don’t look for us, you won’t see anything.

  I jerked. I knew the voice speaking in my head right now. Sary? But how?

  Shade knows what’s going on; she’s preparing for your arrival. Nyol and Nautilus discovered you’d been taken prisoner. Braelynn and I are here to help you heal. Stay where you are, don’t try anything funny. The palace is preparing. There will be war.

  That’s just great. I cringed and sucked in a breath again as my arm finished healing and my lips began to mend. There was crusty, dried blood all over my face, and I was sure I looked frightful with my hair mussed up and my clothes torn. Still, I was relieved to hear from the Vyn princess.

  What do you want me to do? I asked her. It was weird, this talking inside my head. Now I knew how Shade felt her entire life, plagued by spirit guides until she managed to banish them. Entirely accidental, but still. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, but I managed to keep my face straight as Sary continued to talk to me.

  Just heal. We’ll figure out a plan once Oran brings you inside the gates of the Scren. Oh, try not to scream, there’s an infection in the cut on your back.

  A searing stab hit me where Seritus had cut my back. My face screwed up as I bit down on my tongue to keep from yelling out. The wound began to feel wet, like blood was pouring from it again, down my back and onto the top of my jeans. After a moment, it stopped bleeding and a cooling sensation took over, giving me relief as I panted and tried to relax. I wasn’t liking my mortal body at the moment, even if it was stronger than a regular human’s. I felt vulnerable against Oran’s army, weak and fragile. I’d been nothing but scum under Seritus’s boot when he’d smashed me down without effort. I stared ahead as my breathing returned to normal and Sary and Braelynn’s magic withdrew, leaving me pain-free for a moment, but in a sour, glum mood.

  I was going to have to up my training and fighting skills. I was good, but I was nothing compared to the stronger, older faeries. This fact alone forced me into an even crankier mood.

  Stay alive. We’ll see you soon. Sary cut me off, and the feel of her magic retreating left me empty instead of shiny and new. My body wasn’t made to be healed by faery magic, but she didn’t know that. My uncle Brendan had noted this in his grimoire, how elementals suffered from ill effects from being exposed too long to faery magic. Especially healing magic. It wasn’t lethal and wouldn’t kill us, but it took a few days to feel normal again after prolonged exposure to large doses of it. I was hating this fact right now, because my stomach was not happy, still bubbling and lurching about even though I’d had nothing to eat for over a day and had heaved out what was left of the bile and fluid in it.

  At least my pain had receded. Had to look on the bright side, right?

  Chapter Twenty-Three Return to the Scren

  Return to the Scren

  April 20th 1703

  I made a crucial error, and it has cost me my entire being. After months of trying to trap the creature in the woods lingering just within the human realm and near the border of Faerie, I finally caught her and killed her with the Empyrean blade. It cut her with fire and set her ablaze until she was nothing but ash. Yet in her death, she has cursed me.

  I feel that she has done something to alter my body’s ability to harness magic. My magic withers, and I am unable to cast the simplest of spells. It has caused my body to weaken to the point of exhaustion. My wife fears that I might not make it to the end of the month.

  What spell did she use? I must discover the origin of this curse which has rendered me powerless. It can be used to exterminate all elementals across the world. My fear is that someone has started this war against us, and if we do not find a way to stop them, my kind will, before long, fade into oblivion.

  ~Brendan

  The gates loomed above us, and I gripped the reins of the horse I now rode. After a brief stop for dinner, the legions had moved to camp around the Scren Palace before a small army entered the gates. Even though being there filled me with anticipation to see my family again, it’d been just a few days, and I didn’t want to see them under these circumstances. In no way would I have ever imagined I’d return as an Unseelie prisoner. Oran, who was now sitting on his own steed at the front of the procession, was discussing things with his servant, who in turn approached the gate to speak with the gatekeeper. The gates were laced in iron, which caused the servant agony while he stood there and breathed in the fumes from it.

  I found it stupid, really. They could have plopped me down and used me to speak to the gatekeeper without suffering any ill effects from the iron since I was human. But Oran wasn’t thinking, of course, and I’d have to figure out how to make sure it never crossed his mind that he could keep me for something other than a bargaining tool.

  Oran turned red as he yelled at his servant and proceeded to push the poor guy over with a wave of his hand. The short troll retreated quickly, afraid of his master. I shook my head. This Oran guy was malevolent and would never get my approval for him to marry one of my sisters. He was being ridiculous if he thought his antics would be attractive. He had another thing coming if he thought for one second Shade would like him. I almost laughed out loud thinking of how that would pan out.

  Shade would eat him alive. I could guarantee it. I tried to stifle my smile as the gates opened and the procession began to funnel through. Most of the army had to stay outside the gates while Oran and a few chosen ranks of guards, along with his prized prisoners, entered the palace grounds. My sister was always amicable to negotiations, but she wasn’t a fool. If Oran thought his army was safe sitting outside the walls of the Scren Palace, he was sorely mistaken. There were hidden traps all over the place which could be set off if needed. That, and Shade’s fire magic could take out an entire army in one fell swoop. I’d seen her do it before, and it was a horrendous sight.

  Soon, I’d get out of the confines of the cursed dark creature horse I was now riding whose magic felt as sickly as the Unseelie soldiers’ degenerative magic surrounding me, those who had been banished for far too long, along with the newly escaped Unseelie who’d joined Oran’s ranks. The hope of regaining their land from the Seelie was apparent in their faces. They’d enjoy wreaking havoc across the land once again. I’d die fighting if I could keep them from ruling again. Things weren’t looking too good as we entered the gates, and we were eyed with fear and suspicion by the locals, the very people my sister had sworn to protect.

  I hoped this wasn’t a trap in any way. No matter what, Shade would have to answer to the Land of Faerie, try as she might to wriggle us out of this predicament while keeping her marriage intact. The whole situation made me sick, and my impatience was winning out.

  We were immediately escorted by Nyol’s soldiers, those who had remained in the castle when we’d left for my family’s old house and Pyren. Some I recognized, some I didn’t. It made me wonder if Nyol and Nautilus had returned since my capture. I wasn’t sure how fast they’d get back since I still had the teleportation orb in my pack.

  Well, crap ….

  The realization that I could’ve teleported out of this mess made my cheeks burn. I’d been an ignorant fool, forgetting all about Camulus and the teleportation orb. It was too late to use it now; I was already back at the palace. Still, I bookmarked it in my head in case the Scren became overrun with Unseelie scum.

  When we had gathered in the courtyard of the palace, one of the goblins reached up to me with a dagger. I was about to kick him away when he motioned to the ropes. His face was expressionless, like he found all of this boring. It was business as usual for him, another boring day at the office caring for prisoners and untying them right before death was delivered.

  He had tusks sticking up from his bottom jaw, up and out of his mouth. There were even stacks of rings decorating them along with several rings han
ging from the septum of his nose. Though his attire was traditional for the Unseelie, it appeared dingy and well used. I held my breath as he cut through the ropes and tugged at me without really helping me get down off the horse. My wrists were still bound, so I had a hell of a time swinging my leg over the saddle to land on the ground without toppling over. I stumbled, but managed to stay upright without breaking my neck.

  A thud behind me followed by a yelp told me Paki wasn’t so fortunate. The goblin led the horses away to tie them up in the stable. I found Paki struggling to get up off the ground where he’d landed on his rear. Reaching over, I plucked him off the ground in one smooth pull.

  He thanked me, but stared curiously at back, apparently shocked to find me doing much better than I’d looked earlier in the day.

  “Glad to see you’re feeling much better than you did when you awoke, sir.”

  I nodded. “Must be magic, right?” I winked. “Oh, and Paki?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t call me ‘sir.’ It makes me feel like an old man or a teacher who’s been at the same school since my mother was a child.”

  He wrinkled his nose and looked terribly confused. I shook my head, breathing out as I sent a tiny string of fire magic down my arms to the wrist restraints and slowly cut the remaining rope ties with a fine sliver of fire. They should’ve thought better than to restrain a fire elemental with flammable ties. I grabbed Paki’s wrists and carefully singed a cut into his ties. The ropes fell to the ground in a scattered heap. He rubbed his wrists, looking grateful.

  “Thank you, Benton.”

  “Hey, no problem. Do you know where they stashed our weapons?”

  He motioned toward the front of the group where Oran’s lieutenants were being interrogated by Nyol’s guards. “The one with the stringy hair and long rings encircling his shoulders and arms has them. Apparently he’s not good for anything else but holding things; that pack on his back is filled with gear, including our swords.”