Lance of Earth and Sky (The Chaos Knight Book Two) (12 page)

Vidarian had to shove him to get his attention, and even then Altair nearly lashed out with a talon from pure pitched reflex. “Go! You're no good on the ground!”

Altair looked as if he might argue, but another blast of energy seared between them, forcing them to leap away from each other or be torched on the spot.

Vidarian hit the ground and rolled, gripping the hilt of his sword as he used momentum to get back to his feet. He turned, and through a shimmer of heat haze saw their attacker. Behind him, the thud of wings signaled Altair taking back to the sky—and the enemy magician's arms were lifting to bring him back down.

He drew his sword, slicing an arc in the air, and with the blow sent a pulse of fire energy arcing out toward her. Her arms immediately dropped, palms flat to deflect the attack—but now Altair was safely rising, and soon would be out of her immediate range.

She wore the multicolored robes of a Qui noble, tightly wrapped underclothes covered by a short-sleeved garment that hung at her elbows and knees. Her hair, black and silken, lifted in wild cloud about her head, electrified by the bolts of energy she sent slicing up into the sky.

Vidarian spent half a precious moment looking for another attacker, but there was none—only this woman, originator of the strange blasts of not-quite-fire, was the source of the devastating assault.

She lifted a hand, fingers grasping like claws, and another punishing lash of energy swept out from her, this one finer and more controlled. Vidarian's fire wanted to leap out toward it, but he held it back, instead straining to shield himself with a wall of water.

The elements fought him, as they always did. They sniped at each other, wearing him down in the process—but at last the water soared upward, and the Qui magician's energy melted into it.

Most of the energy was absorbed, but a remaining arm of it sailed through the water, reaching. Vidarian only just raised his hand in time, letting fire leap from him out of desperation rather than finesse—and the energy, airlike, was eaten by the fire.

As he dropped the water shield so that he could see his opponent, he stared, unbelieving. There was only one explanation for such partially deflected energy, and suddenly the “strangeness” of the energy bolts made sense—

The Qui was wielding two elements simultaneously, braiding together the energies so tightly that they could only be pulled apart by a shield of an opposing element.

It should have been impossible. The Book of Sharli explicitly called it so.

While he struggled to comprehend, Altair was making his second attack, diving and shaping the weather around him into an ice storm in miniature that sliced down toward their enemy.

The Qui magician was undaunted by Altair's stoop, and retaliated with a broad arc of her fused air-and-fire energy. It melted through Altair's ice and threatened to singe his feathers again, forcing him to bank off and abandon the dive.

Vidarian ran at her, lifting his sword and calling water and fire around its blade, bending the elements to his will through sheer force.

His gambit worked; the Qui woman hadn't expected his physical assault, and now spun to retreat.

Vidarian pressed his advantage, striking out with a knifelike bolt of fire energy. The woman spun even as she ran, kicking into an acrobatic backflip that brought her hands up to easily repel his attack.

Then she spun again, this time in an arcing kick from her hip, one foot planted firmly on the ground—and with the momentum of her kick came a meteoric burst of searing, white-hot energy.

He realized too late that she hadn't been retreating—she'd been running
toward
an artifact on the ground, an amplifier—

His hastily raised shields of water and then fire were useless against the blast at this range. It rushed at him and time seemed to slow; in that bare instant he saw
into
the energy, saw how the air wove itself with fire so tightly that they seemed one. Then his feet left the ground as the leading edge of the blast lifted him—

Then, blackness.

Silence, for three moments.

Then, noise—slowly hearing returned, the muffled boom of cannon from far overhead; then sight, blurry at first, the blasting blue of the sky—

The Qui woman, leaning over him, one fist lifted and haloed with white-gold energy, a snarl on her face.

For one crazed moment he thought she was Ariadel. The dark, almond-shaped eyes, the silken hair—

“Who are you?” he choked. “Priestess—”

Her eyes widened with affront and she snarled again, the energy around her fist brightening like a small sun. “I am no priestess,” she said, words heavily accented but distinct.

A horn sounded off to the north, and the woman's face went slack with disbelief. She looked back over her shoulder, then at Vidarian, rage incandescing her expression anew—

Then she turned and ran.

Vidarian tried to get up, and a wave of darkness turned his muscles to water. He lay there on the ground, listening to the call of the armada's guns, breathing in the incongruently fresh, bracing scent of the marsh grasses, and the tang of swamp water beneath them.

Seconds, or perhaps minutes later, Altair landed beside him, hitting the ground hard. The gryphon's face passed over his body, checking worriedly for serious injury, and his wings stretched out protectively.

//
They've retreated,
// Altair said, when he seemed satisfied that Vidarian's damage was not fatal. //
The battle is won. You did well.
// This last seemed to be for Vidarian's pride, which felt about as battered as he did.

The knowledge that they'd successfully distracted the enemy magess from destroying more of the ships was cold comfort. She had brought down the
Destiny
, and what crew had been aboard—all yet unavenged. And that energy—wounded, half-coherent, Vidarian could not put it from his mind.

His body, however, had other ideas. He managed to lift his hand to brush Altair's beak as the gryphon fussed over him again, then fell back into darkness.

F
or the second time, Vidarian woke in his opulent palace room wracked by pain. A pounding ache through his entire body brought him out of a dreamless sleep, and when he opened his eyes, he wished he hadn't; white light shot to the back of his skull like a hammer blow. He cried out involuntarily, and Rai started barking from somewhere painfully close to his head.

Feet shuffled on the marble, then a muffled voice, young and high: “I could take him to the knights' training field, ma'am? They're all cleared out on patrol.”

//
Very good, Brannon. Can you manage him?
//

Then a rustling of thick paper, a drifting scent of spice-dried beef, and Rai's barking paused, then resumed, twice again as loud. Every bark lit another starburst across the inside of Vidarian's eyelids.

When the barking finally receded into the distance, Vidarian's senses cooperated enough for sight to return, first in patches: the rumpled sheets, the glass balcony door open to the air—and Thalnarra, sitting on a mat, its pleated fibers protecting the marble from the knife-sharp tips of her talons.

//
You're awake, then,
// Thalnarra said, her mind's voice pitched low and carrying notes of sage and burning hickory.

“So it…seems,” he managed, halting around a throat dry as paper.

//
It was a near thing,
// the gryphoness replied. //
The armada's healers wanted to dunk you in ice water for your fever.
//

A crawling sensation, as though thousands of spiders skittered under his skin, drove Vidarian to shiver and lever himself up in the bed. His stomach flipped beneath another wave of ache, but when it subsided, so did the “spiders.” He blinked against the light, trying to get a better look at Thalnarra—and as he forced his eyes to focus, caught the way her left wing hung lower than it should, a huge patch of feathers burned away at the elbow joint. “You're hurt—” he began, startled at the wave of distress this thought brought.

Thalnarra clicked her beak. //
A triviality. You should be grateful for it. Without it I might not have known what had hit you.
//

*
You should thank her,
* Ruby murmured, and even her soft voice set Vidarian's head ringing again. *
The healers' treatment might have killed you if she hadn't intervened. And she bears more pain than she admits.
*

“Thank you, Thalnarra.”

//
You're welcome. Now put it out of your mind,
// she admonished, shifting her wing to hide the bare skin. //
In another few days it'll hardly be noticeable.
//

“Another?” He rubbed his itching scalp, then started at the grimy state of his hair. “How long have I…?”

//
Four and a half days,
// she said, a crispness in her tone brooking no surprise. //
You've quite missed the celebration. Though I daresay there may be another now you've rejoined us.
//

“Celebration?” Still repulsed by his hair, he ran a hand along his arm, then choked with startlement when a layer of skin came off in his hand.

//
Take care. It's good for that dead skin to come off, but gently. And yes,
// she added, her voice going from hearth-gentle to sharp, bitter smoke. //
The Aloreans celebrate their victory. None alive today recall the weight of an imperial war, or else they'd mourn.
//

“What did she do to me?” Vidarian said, resisting the urge to peel the rest of the dried skin away. It was like a sunburn, but the dead skin was oddly colored, gray like ash.

//
We were hoping you could answer that.
//

Vidarian's stomach sank with a chill that momentarily blotted out his pain. A numbness in his heart showed him just now much he'd come to rely on Thalnarra's knowledge. And now—how could he explain what his attacker had done? “She…hit me. With this strange energy—it was air and fire, together.”

//
‘She’? There must have been two.
//

Vidarian stared at Thalnarra, trying to read her expression. Had she been human, knowing her personality, it still might have been impossible. “No,” he said slowly. “There was only one. She wielded the two elements together.”

//
The way that you do?
// Her voice was dubious, metallic in his mind, and the tip of her tail flicked thoughtfully. //
It's unlikely, but perhaps the opening of the gate created multi-element rogues…
//

“No, not like I do. She wielded them
together
, like they were the same element.”

//
That is not possible.
//

“I should have demanded more education from the beginning in ‘things that aren't possible,’” Vidarian growled. Thalnarra only blinked at him, unreadable.

//
You are tired,
// she said finally. //
And the battle was intense. If they had some clever way of masking the presence of another—
//

“There was no other.” And as he said it, some of the astonishment he had felt just before the battle returned to him. The implications set his head spinning.
I am no priestess
, the woman had said. If she could meld air and fire, could she also meld water and fire? Did the Qui bear the secrets to mastering his warring magics? Secrets even the gryphons knew nothing of? “They must have a technique—”

//
Technique has nothing to do with it. You are suggesting a refutation of the fundamental laws of the elements.
// Annoyance licked outward from Thalnarra's mind like flickering flamelets, and would have provoked a surge of heat from Vidarian in return, but he sternly reminded himself he owed her his life.

“I apologize,” he began, and her neck-feathers sank back down. “I've had—”

The door banged open, and Brannon tumbled in, speaking before Vidarian or Thalnarra could chastise him. “Sir Vidarian? We need your help, sir.”

//
What is it, child?
// Thalnarra said, and the concern that wafted from her voice like bread on the edge of burning told Vidarian that the boy had done much to earn her respect. She'd taken the heads off of younger gryphons for less than Brannon's intrusion.

The boy turned worriedly between Thalnarra and Vidarian. “It's Rai. It's just—you'd better come see, ma'am, sir. And hurry!”

Vidarian had fallen out of bed, not out of clumsiness, but by virtue of the nervelessness of his legs when he pushed himself out from under the heavy blankets. Blood surged through his limbs, tingling his nerves, and then he'd forced himself to his feet out of sheer will. Getting clothed was even harder—anything coarser than silk pulled at his burned skin enough to peel it to blood, and finally he threw a thick, soft woolen cloak around his shoulders and had done. Even the cool marble floor bit at his feet, and shoes were out of the question. Doubtless his appearance would scandalize any courtiers who saw him, but he couldn't bring himself to sufficiently sympathize.

He made his way as quickly as possible toward the Sky Knights' training field, even though “as quickly as possible” turned out to include several stops where his legs gave out again or his vision blackened. What
had
that woman done to him? Had he really almost died?

Thalnarra kept an agitated eye on him, surreptitiously positioning herself to his right, where her uninjured left side could quickly lean in to support him when he started to fall. By the time they closed on the corridors that led to the Sky Knights' keep, then beyond it to their training fields, Vidarian was drenched in sweat and fighting to breathe without gasping.

Sounds of a commotion reached his ears when they stopped thundering with blood: Rai's urgent warning barks, the raised shouts of knights, and the squeals of their angry steeds.

“They came back early because the eggs were hatching, sir,” Brannon explained quickly. “If I'd known—” The boy's eyes were large with agony.

“Not your fault, lad,” Vidarian said between breaths, trying to put as much feeling into the words as he could, and floundering.

//
Eggs?
// Thalnarra asked. Her voice was all thistle and hot pine sap, flickering sharp.

“Three of 'em, milady. They think one's a royal, I heard. And…” The boy trailed off, dropping his eyes.

//
What is it, child? I have told you, a gryphon-ward speaks his mind.
//

At this Brannon stiffened, marshaling himself and lifting his head. “Yes, ma'am. It's just—it's rumor, part of it.” When Thalnarra's neck-feathers lifted with the beginning of irritation, he rushed on, “The last steeds hatched haven't survived the bonding, you see. They're—willful. And they die without getting riders.”

//
You're not telling us everything, boy. What do you think is causing this?
//

“I think…” He flushed again, then pressed his lips together and threw caution to the wind. “I think they're becoming more like you, ma'am.”

//
What?
//

“Well—they're smarter, you see. And one of the squires says her steed started talking to her. No one believes her. They think she's gone off in the head. It started when the changes happened.”

Bridge for change-bringing…
The gryphon Arikaree's words echoed back to Vidarian, chilling him. And there was no doubt that Rai spoke in his mind. He hadn't lost all of his sanity yet…

*
They used to,
* Ruby mused, and Vidarian bridled, thinking she was commenting on his lost wits. *
Sky steeds. Shapechangers…
*

The opening of the gate had amplified elemental magic all over the world, and more than that, it seemed—it had awakened shapeshifters, trapped these thousands of years in single shapes, their abilities forgotten by humankind. He thought with a pang of Ariadel's little ash-grey kitten, which had abruptly—in his presence, while he “carried” a connection to the Starhunter—manifested the ability to change into a tiny golden spider. How could the presence of the chaos goddess in the world change so much?

*
‘Chaos’ is an odd way of putting it.
*

He started to argue, but there were more pressing issues than a philosophical discussion with one of Ruby's strange new fragmented memories. “So what you're saying is, three of the last sky steed eggs are hatching, the knights have come to bond new riders to the hatchlings, they'll probably kill them, and Rai is in the middle of it. Wonderful.”

As if speaking his name caught his attention, Rai's barks increased in urgency, and they hurried through the arches to the training field.

The scene that they found paralyzed Vidarian where he stood. Four full knights and their steeds stared across the field, stamping for battle. Opposite them, Rai bristled, his head low and spines lifted along his entire body, barking and snarling warnings. Behind him were three cracked eggs and three hatchlings. One had bonded to a child that crouched protectively with it, while a second, indeed a royal, struggled from its eggshell and squalled, lifting its proud black-green head. And the third was dead.

For now, the knights were holding back their steeds, hauling on lead-lines and keeping them from attacking Rai—surely for fear of their own safety, or the hatchlings', rather than any charity for the wolf pup. The steeds all fought their knights, their eyes rolling with near madness.

The knights had a boy in front of them that they were pushing toward Rai—a squire who, though he looked on the little royal with avarice, wanted nothing to do with the snarling creature between them.

“Rai!” Vidarian shouted, or meant to shout, if his throat would have cooperated. He struggled on, mustering all the authority he could. “Leave them! Come over here!”

Rai whined, his spines drooping for a moment, and his tail also, but when one of the knights took a step toward him he bristled again, lip curling up to expose what had become a set of fearsome white fangs.

//
Those creatures are exhausted, and distressed,
// Thalnarra said, her red eyes pinning as she sized up the hatchlings. //
And—the large one is fighting. She doesn't want this boy they're giving her.
//

She dies, brother,
Rai said, shocking Vidarian three times: once for his intelligence and clarity, again for the emotion that laced his words—they burned in Vidarian's mind with pain and sadness—and finally, that he called Vidarian “brother.” Then he released another surprise, filling Vidarian's mind with a chaotic series of memories heavy with sensation—the knights pushing the squires toward the hatchlings, trying to force a bond, as even their own steeds resisted them. After the smallest had died, Rai rushed in, warning them all off.