Lord's Fall by Thea Harrison
He strode to the heart of the Elven camp. “Get Calondir,” he said to the first Elf that came toward him. The Elf took one wide-eyed look at him and spun away. Moments later, Calondir shoved out of a tent and hurried toward him, buckling on his sword as he approached and followed by Ferion and a few others.
Dragos told the Elf Lord in a preemptory tone, “Gaeleval slipped past our defenses. Somehow he got to Pia in a dream, and he might have gotten to others. Now he’s sent Numenlaurians to scale the bluff. I’ve told my people to knock them back for now, but there’s no more time to fuck around. We can’t put this off any longer. We have to go after him, Calondir.”
Calondir studied him with an inscrutable expression. Then the Elf Lord said abruptly, “I understand.” He said to the others, “As heartsick as this makes all of us, we must find where he is keeping our people and concentrate our efforts on them. After that, we will help who we can of any Numenlaurians that survive.”
“None of this is going to come easy,” Dragos told him. “Bayne said Gaeleval’s keeping the strongest back and sending out battle fodder to climb the bluff. Your people are the strongest. They’re certainly the healthiest. That means he’s holding them close. They’ll be wherever he is, because they are his best defense.”
The hollows around Calondir’s eyes grew deeper as his face tightened, but he nodded. “Above all else, we have to make him stop using the Machine. Will you allow me to ride with you once more, so that we can hunt him together?”
He ground his teeth. “Yes, of course, but we must do it now.”
Calondir turned to Ferion. “Keep the fight defensive, and don’t hesitate to do what you have to do to protect yourself.”
“Yes, my lord,” Ferion said. He said very low, eyes pleading, “But I would come with you.”
“No, Ferion,” Calondir said, just as quietly. “You are my heir. You know that we do not fight together.”
Dragos had had enough. They were idiots if they hadn’t already said everything they needed to say to each other before now. “Get out of the way,” he said to those that hovered nearby. As soon as they were out of the way, he shifted and expanded. The dragon looked down at the Elf Lord. “Come.”
Calondir leaped onto his back, and Dragos unfurled his wings. He took one moment to look over the encampment for one last glimpse of Pia. She was just outside their tent and tying on a cloak, and she paused as she caught sight of him. She looked calm.
She blew a kiss subtly, pressing the tips of her fingers to her lips and releasing them a few inches toward him.
The dragon smiled. Then he crouched and launched into the air. When he had cleared the trees, he wheeled and flew toward the Numenlaurian army in the valley.
• • •
Pia watched Dragos soar into the air. She fought the panicky compulsion to call out to him and try to coax him into returning. He wouldn’t, nor should he. Talking to him now would only distract him from what he needed to do.
Eva and the psychos stood in a circle around her. She turned her attention to them. They watched her, ready for orders.
“I have no idea,” she said irritably, unintentionally echoing what Dragos had said the night before. She looked at Hugh. “Except for you. You need to stay with me and be ready to shapeshift at a moment’s notice. If Dragos or one of the sentinels gets hurt, and I tell you to take me to them, you will take me. No hesitation.” Eva had started to protest, and Pia turned to stare the other woman down. “No arguments, no back talk.”
Eva’s face compressed. She looked ready to explode. “Jesus Christ and all his hairy-assed apostles,” she hissed. “Hugh can only carry one person at a time.” She turned to Johnny. “Find me another avian fighter who’s strong enough to carry me, and make it snappy.”
He looked from Eva to Pia, backed up a few steps and whirled to spring away.
Pia rubbed her face. Most of the camp had raced along the path to the bluff, and the noise level had increased from that direction. Shouts and curses echoed as sharp as gunshot reports against tree trunks. She pinched her nose. The sounds dug into her gut and strung out her nerves. It was even harder to listen to because she couldn’t see what was happening.
“Crossbow,” Eva said quietly.
She threw up her hands. “Fuck you.”
Despite her reaction, she spun and reached into the tent for the crossbow and the bolts. Then she hesitated as she contemplated her pack. She hadn’t been able to eat the night before and she hadn’t eaten this morning either. Nerves might have her stomach tied in knots, but she also felt lightheaded and hollow.
She spat out another curse, snatched up her pack to find a protein bar, tore it open and jammed it into her mouth. With the way her luck had been going lately she was probably going to hork it all back up again, but she had to try to get some nutrition down.
When she turned around, Johnny jogged back on the path from the bluff. A large familiar figure ran beside him.
Graydon.
Another shock rippled through her as she caught sight of Graydon’s expression. His face was set in such savage lines, she almost didn’t recognize him. Pia broke through the circle and ran toward him, her heart in her throat. “Is everything all right?”
“I don’t know rightly how to answer that, cupcake, because it’s a hell of a mess.” He hugged her tightly. “Numenlaurians are climbing the bluff, and we’re shoving them back and trying to grab any kids that make it to the top. There’s too many of them, and we’re making plans to fall back. The High Lord’s home might be burned, but the cliff is too steep to be scaled there, and that area is still the most defensible place around. Other than flying, the path is the only way you can get up there, and we can defend that in shifts.” He cocked his head at her. “Heard you wanted to nail down a ride?”
She shook her head a little. “Only as a contingency. Can you be spared?”
“If you’re needed,” he said to her in a low voice as he squeezed her arm. “That will be the only thing that matters.”
They exchanged a sober glance, then Pia turned to look at the others. She paused, struck by the frustration she saw in their faces. Miguel was still with the other magic users, but James, Andrea and Johnny all stood tensely, their gazes drifting in the direction of the bluff. Only Hugh and Eva kept their attention squarely fixed on her and Graydon.
Well, Eva had said most of them would not choose to make the switch with her into bodyguarding full time.
Graydon tapped her chin, and she looked at him. He was frowning. “We should be proactive and make the shift over to the cliff now. That way we’ll be out of the way when the others fall back. Not only is it safer, it has a clear view of the valley. We can track events from up there.”
She nodded. “Strike camp,” she said to the others. “The sooner you can haul our stuff up the path, the sooner you can be free to join the fighting.” She said to Hugh, “Forget what I said earlier. Eva will stay with me, and Graydon can carry the both of us. You’re free to do whatever you think is best.”
Hugh said, “I’ll help strike camp, then I’ll come find you.”
“Great.” When she turned back to Graydon, he had already shifted. In his gryphon form, he was as big as an SUV, the tawny gold of his feathers and fur an oasis of warmth and color in the pallid cold day. He arched his graceful eagle’s neck and fixed a keen gaze on her and Eva, who wasted no time and leaped up on his back.
Pia stared at Eva and Graydon in resignation. Oh man. She might have known that sooner or later she was going to have to ride on somebody’s back without a seatbelt. Eva held out a hand. As soon as she took it, the other woman yanked her up.
“Giddyup, cowboy,” Eva said, smacking Graydon on the shoulder.
“Wait, try to up easy . . .” Pia started to say, at the same time Graydon sprang into the air. Shit! She clamped her legs and held on t
Cold seared the skin on her hands and face and burned in her lungs. As unsettling as the passageway blaze had been, she had gotten used to the warmth that it threw into the surrounding area. She coughed and wheezed, struggling to adjust.
As soon as Graydon reached the bluff, he wheeled to follow the path as it wound up toward the burned shell of the building on the cliff. Pia forgot to worry about an unsettled stomach as, for the first time that morning, she caught sight of what happened below.
When they had first arrived, she had only taken one look into the valley before she had turned away. Now the sight struck her again like a blow.
Gaeleval’s “army” was large enough that the valley floor seemed to undulate with movement as Numenlaurians pushed forward to climb the bluff in a mindless wave. Working together, the Elves and the Wyr shoved away those who reached the top, striking them with the flat of their swords so that they fell back to the valley floor. They disappeared, trampled underfoot by more Numenlaurians who pressed forward to begin the climb.
As she watched, some of the Elves on the bluff lunged forward to grab at one of the smaller figures that reached the top. It kicked and fought as they dragged it away from the edge. They must be trying to save one of the children.
Over the brawling mass, the dragon flew, sleek and dangerous with his gigantic wings outspread. Calondir, the High Lord rode at the base of his neck, a bright, shining splinter of silver against the dragon’s bronze hide. Dragos coasted a thermal, his triangular horned head lowered. He appeared to be searching for something. She guessed that they were hunting for Gaeleval.
Pia glanced back the way they had come, where the psychos had already grown small and antlike as they tore down pup tents. Beyond the camp, the inferno in the passageway towered above the trees.
Then the flames died down.
Just like that, from one moment to the next, the fire in the passageway disappeared as if it had never existed.
What did that mean? Had Gaeleval finally reached the limit of what he could do?
Even as she wondered, a hurricane of wind howled through the valley.
Out of nowhere, a colossal force slammed into them. Graydon coughed and clawed at the air as he struggled to remain upright. Pia screamed, clutching him with both arms and legs, as Eva grunted and slid down his back.
The wind was vicious, like a living creature. It tore at her hold on Graydon and raked at the skin of her face. Between her legs, she felt the gryphon’s powerful body straining against a force that literally shoved him sideways. The ground tilted and raced up to meet them.
As Linwe had said, the most Powerful among the Elves could take an affinity to air and create a storm the size of Hurricane Rita.
And those ancients who were especially gifted had an affinity to more than one element that tended to be compatible with each other.
Like fire and air. That sort of thing.
Ancient and adept, Gaeleval was nothing if not gifted.
At the last moment, Graydon managed to yank up straight enough so that he took the brunt of the impact with the ground. He plowed into the rocky path, and as he struck, the landing knocked both Eva and Pia off his back.
It could be worse, it could be worse, it could be worse, Pia chanted in her head, even as she tumbled head over heels. She struck the trunk of a tree bruisingly along her left shoulder. It knocked the breath out of her, and her arm went numb. Cursing, Eva skidded on the ground beside her.
It could be worse.
Graydon had been cautious. He had flown low over the path. They hadn’t been that high off the ground.
Not like Dragos and Calondir.
Pia dragged air back into her aching lungs and screamed again as she scrambled onto her hands and knees. She raked the sky with a frantic gaze.
A rotation of air had formed around the dragon, a visible dark funnel cloud constructed with hurricane force winds. Dragos’s long body stretched, tail lashing as he fought to gain purchase.
Elsewhere, the gale had flattened everyone else. The bluff was cleared of any climbing Numenlaurians. Elven and Wyr fighters at the top of the bluff were crawling away from the edge. Sharp cracks of sound, like the percussion of modern artillery, sounded as trees snapped at the trunk.
Graydon lunged for Pia and covered her with his massive lion’s body.
Are you all right? he asked telepathically.
Yes. She grabbed for Eva’s arm and dragged the other woman underneath the gryphon’s protection. Are you? Can you fly?
Not in this, cupcake. None of us can get off the ground and hope to stay aloft.
She could feel Graydon’s lungs working like bellows and the tension in his muscles as the gale threatened to send him crashing into the trees. On the high ground of the path, they were exposed to the worst of the wind that howled with an eerie sound like a thousand banshees. He crouched lower over the two women, his huge claws digging into the rocky ground for purchase.
Eyes streaming with tears, her terrified gaze went back to Dragos. This gods-damned gale threatened to flatten Graydon while he was on the ground. She couldn’t imagine how Dragos had managed to stay in the air.
Even as she wondered, the funnel cloud took hold of the dragon and spun him in a circle.
A gleaming sliver of silver fell from his back. The dragon lunged to grab at it and missed. The bright silver streaked toward the earth like the fall of a god’s tear.
Calondir.
She saw the very moment Dragos lost control. It looked as if an invisible hand lifted him up and flipped him over so that he turned completely upside down. He twisted in midair, like a gigantic cat trying to land on its feet.
One of his massive, powerful wings snapped like a twig. Suddenly he plunged downward in an escalating spiral.
Then the sound of the dragon’s body as it struck the valley floor rolled through the air like thunder.
SEVENTEEN
No, nothing did shine forever.
Everything, even the universe itself, would end eventually.
The wind died down as suddenly as it had sprung up. It was no longer needed.
Dragos sprawled on the valley floor. Calondir lay nearby. The Elf Lord’s head angled toward him, one arm flung out. The fingers of his hand curled over his palm as if he cupped something immeasurably precious. His face appeared young and peaceful, wiped clean of grief and stress. He looked like he had fallen asleep.
Dragos tried to move, and jagged pain tore through him. He felt as if someone had embedded shards of glass throughout his body. Mentally he assessed the damage. Broken neck and back, shattered ribs, and one broken wing.
It would take a lot more than a fall like that to kill him.
It would probably take all of the enthralled Elves who gathered around to gaze at him with empty eyes. He flexed the talons of one paw, but he lacked the ability to lift his front leg. His ribs had punctured one of his lungs, and he couldn’t draw in a deep enough breath to spit fire. He needed time to recover, time to whisper a beguilement to combat Gaeleval’s control over the Elves that drew close. Time that he didn’t have.
Beluviel walked into his line of sight. She was filthy and wore a torn, silken nightgown, and she carried a sword encrusted with dried blood. Barefoot, she left tracks of bright red in the snow, and long, tangled dark hair fell about her blank face like a shroud.
She knelt on one knee beside his head. “You should have listened to me when I warned you, Beast,” she said. “I really am the Bringer of the End of Days.” She stroked his snout gently, then braced one hand on him while she raised the sword over her head, angling the sharp tip toward one of his eyes.
A mountain fell out of the sky, and agony exploded as pieces of it landed on him
Graydon had plummeted with killing speed, shapeshifting into his human form even as he slammed into Beluviel and knocked her away from Dragos’s head. The tip of her sword sliced the corner of Dragos’s eyelid as it flew out of her hand. Pia and Eva, who had been riding on the gryphon’s back, tumbled onto Dragos in an uncontrolled tangle of arms and legs.
A steaming trickle of blood from the cut slid down the side of his face. More agony, as Eva unceremoniously rolled off of him and leaped to the ground, drawing both swords that had been strapped to her back. She lunged to engage the Elves that crowded close, her dark features lit with ferocity.
Pia scrambled over the mound of his shoulder and slithered on her stomach headfirst to land in an awkward heap on the ground just under his chin. She wore her armor, he noticed with satisfaction, and she carried her crossbow slung over one shoulder along with a belt of bolts.
Dragging herself to her knees, she screamed at him, “Where are you hurt?”
He coughed, and that was agonizing too. He told her telepathically, Neck, back, ribs, wing.
“Goddammit,” she said. “The only other two times I did this there was an actual wound.”
What did she mean, the other two times? She had healed him once when they had run from the Goblin army. Who else had she healed?
I am actually wounded, he told her, bemused.
“That’s not what I meant,” she snarled. “I meant the wounds were on the surface and visible.”
She looked and sounded demented. She yanked a crossbow bolt out of the belt and raked the tip of it down one of her forearms, from elbow to wrist. Blood and Power poured from the deep cut. Then she turned and jammed her entire arm into his mouth.
He gagged as her elbow hit the back of his tongue. I am overwhelmed by your bedside manner.