Restoration (10 page)

When I was eighteen and engaged in the worst demon battle of my short Warden's career, I had been backed up to the brink of a chasm. Wounded, desperate, facing certain defeat, I had taken the biggest gamble of my life and jumped off the towering rock face. For months I had been sensing something extraordinary in myself, a persistent burning in my shoulders and an irrational conviction that I could fall off a cliff and not die. I was never fool enough to try it in the human world. But on that day in the realm of a possessed soul, faced with a monstrous being who was about to carve out my heart, I managed to shape wings of gray gossamer out of wrenching fire and breathless incantations. From that day on, I fought winged, glorying in the wonder of it, never understanding that it was but a remnant of my true heritage. Even when I became capable of changing to any shape after my joining with Denas, I wanted only wings.

I emerged from my difficult shifting to the distant clamor of battle: screams and shouts and pounding hooves, crashing steel on steel. Behind and below and between every sound was the unceasing drone of the dying. The hot, dry wind that filled my wings tasted of blood, and the dust raised by a thousand horses dimmed the sun.

I had told Aleksander many times that my aim was not to protect his empire, only his life and his soul. My intent was certainly not to avenge his father, the tyrant. Yet if I had thought I could make a difference with a sword, I would have fought for my friend that day, duty or no, pain or no, come death or madness. But he led a few hundred reluctant warriors against a heged who'd sworn kanavar. He was going to lose, and I had to be ready to save him, whether he liked it or not.

I tore my eyes from the conflict, forcing aside the noise and the stink and my fear for those embroiled in the bloody chaos. Instead, I submerged myself in the eerie silence of sand and rock that stretched unbroken to the horizon behind me. A sorcerer cannot weave enchantments from emptiness, but must twist and knot and intertwine the fabric of the world close by his hand. My heart soon beat with the desert's slow, throbbing pulse; my senses embraced its sere touch. Seated on my rocky hilltop, I bent my mind to the work, only looking up again when I held the spell poised at the brink of thought. Timing would be everything.

As the Prince had surmised, the Hamraschi were well prepared. No less than twelve hundred warriors had flooded out of the fortress and now surrounded the royal troops on three sides. Whatever plan of battle Aleksander had set was already broken, the fighting close and confused, impossible to tell where the Prince's lines began or ended. Only the Thrid flankers held firm, preventing the attackers from completely surrounding the Prince's men. Soon even the flanks would be irrelevant because the Hamraschi would have pushed through the center, all the way to the rear of the imperial army. But in the very heart of the melee was a hard center, a knot of flying blades and wheeling horses that held unmoving while the tide of battle surged around them. That's where Aleksander would be.

I could not move too early. The cowards had already run away or surrendered. Those still fighting and those already dead deserved their chance for victory, no matter how unlikely. And the outcome had to be sealed, else Aleksander would languish forever in the realm of might-have-been. To live beyond defeat would be bad enough. So I had to sit on my rock and watch men die, their bodies trampled, their blood soaking quickly into the wasteland. It was one of the hardest things I'd ever done.

But my Warden's oath still held. No matter that my people had declared it void and violated fifty times over. No matter that I had chosen to reinterpret its meaning in light of the truth of demons. For twenty years it had been the cornerstone of my life, and it demanded that I do everything in my power to save the young man at the heart of that valiant knot, no matter that he would despise me for doing so.

The knot at the center of the fighting grew smaller. The Hamraschi tightened around the imperial troops like a coiled snake, its head raised to strike. Here and there, clusters of Aleksander's men, trapped in rings of Hamraschi, were forced to dismount and kneel upon the ground while their horses were led away, and even as I watched, the wave of surrender flowed through the imperial army. Even Derzhi warriors were not eager to die for a prince they mistrusted. The Prince's standard bearer fell, a spear tearing him off his horse as his protectors died, and the toppling Denischkar falcon was snatched away by a Hamrasch rider as his fellows cheered. He carried it back toward the fortress and threw it to the ground in front of Zedeon, who sat his horse alone before his gates, watching his vengeance bear fruit. I hoped Kiril was nearby, ready to do what was needed.

I summoned the wind and streaked toward the battle, holding my enchantments on my tongue. Aleksander was engaged in a ferocious duel with a squat warrior wearing Hamrasch colors. The Prince's white cloak was ripped and stained with blood, and his golden arm rings glinted in the sun as he swung his sword, shivering the hot air with the force of his blow. The blood-streaked Hamrasch, his left arm hanging limp, shifted back as he parried, but did not fall. The man's snarling face told me he would endure much to gain this victory. Dovat zha Hamrasch, the dead girl's uncle.

Five warriors, including the wiry Malver and the two bearded Derzhi from Aleksander's apartments, were positioned around the Prince, holding a space large enough for Aleksander to maneuver and fending off those who were trying to attack him. But their protective ring was collapsing as the imperial troops were disarmed, freeing more Hamrasch warriors to concentrate on the Prince. Even as I swooped in, one of the bearded Derzhi fell, shredded by three Hamrasch swords. I circled, and another of the five defenders, a giant Derzhi who had roared in warrior's glee with every swing of his outsize sword, stiffened as a spear point was buried in his back. The big man swung his weapon lazily and then toppled from his mount as four more spears found their mark in his massive body.

A tall Hamrasch warrior forced his way through screaming horses and crowding troops toward the Prince. Leonid. The dead girl's father paused at the edge of the chaos, watching Dovat hammer away at Aleksander, ready for his brother to yield him the final blow. I had only moments to get Aleksander out.

I spoke the first word bound to my enchantment, drew my sword, and flew in a circle about the collapsing ring, leaving a wall of silver fire in my wake. Carefully I wove the essence of the desert noonday—no illusion, but true flame—around Aleksander's protectors, trying not to harm those I was hoping to save, trying to exclude as many Hamraschi as I could, for we would have to deal with any left within the ring. As the wall of fire grew, wonder spread across that battlefield, transforming the din of battle into cries of terror. A few brave souls tried to ride through the flame, but realized quickly that it was nothing like the fakeries produced by Derzhi court magicians. The men screamed as they burned, their terrified horses rearing and causing worse havoc in the ranks.

When my circle was complete, I dived into the center, almost too late. Aleksander's beloved Musa lay dead in the center of the ring, and the Prince himself was on the ground, struggling to extract his left leg from under the fallen beast while desperately holding off a scowling Dovat with his sword. At least ten Hamraschi besides Dovat and Leonid remained inside the ring. Only their stunned confusion at the silver fire and my appearance prevented disaster, for by this time only Malver and one other man were left to aid the Prince. For the moment, they, too, held tightly to their rearing mounts, gawking at me as if the gods had suspended time.

“Look at my face, Malver,” I yelled over the roar of the flames, disabling two awestruck Hamraschi in as many swings, praying that the soldier would remember that he'd seen me in the Prince's chambers. “Get Aleksander on a horse. We're going to take him out.”

“Druya's horns, it's the Ezzarian!” The second defender, wearing the red and gold of the imperial guard, sprang to life first, driving his horse between the Prince and the stunned Leonid. Skillfully he blocked a blow from behind him, even as he dared the bewildered Hamrasch lord to take him on. As I drove another Hamrasch into the wall of flame, I caught a glimpse of the guardsman's face—craggy, intelligent, familiar, a wide and wondering expression of dawning hope on his weather-worn face. The warrior was Sovari, the longtime captain of Aleksander's personal guard. The efficient, experienced Derzhi was devoted to the Prince, and I could only imagine what threats Aleksander must have used to force the loyal guardsman into safe exile with Kiril. I was immensely thankful that Sovari had seen his duty at Aleksander's side that day. “Am I dead?” he yelled, letting a dagger fly at a huge, black-bearded Hamrasch who was aiming a spear at the Prince. “Or just seeing visions?”

I laughed and kicked the sword from a gaping warrior's hand before sweeping him from his mount with my wing. “Visions. Your aim's too good for a dead man.” The black-bearded Hamrasch toppled from his horse, Sovari's dagger in his heart.

Captain Sovari's words unlocked Malver's stupefaction. As I swung my sword at a new attacker, Malver slid easily off his mount and ran to the Prince's side, fending off a blow from Dovat that was about to split Aleksander's skull. Beneath the roar of flame and terror, I could hear Malver muttering. “Holy goddess mother protect us ... holy goddess ... holy mother ...”

Leonid, his sure vengeance cast suddenly into doubt, shook off his astonishment, bellowed at his warriors, and attacked Sovari. While Malver worked to free Aleksander, I touched earth and distracted Dovat with a slash to his legs. From behind me Malver's steady stream of invocations was replaced by a steady stream of curses, along with a harsh command. “Get me on my feet and get out of the way.” Pain twisted the Prince's voice almost beyond recognition. “I will not die groveling.”

“Get him on a horse,” I yelled over my shoulder. “Throw him over the saddle if nothing else. By the count of twenty.” My wall of fire would not last much longer. I could feel the melydda draining from me, the pain in my right side was threatening to tear me apart, and the most difficult part of the enchantment was yet to come. I disarmed the stubborn Dovat, and he slumped to the hard earth as if his sword had been the only thing holding him upright.

From behind me came an agonized groan, followed by a rasping curse. “Damn your eyes, I said on my feet.”

“I've got him up,” cried Malver.

In a way it was much easier that Aleksander was wounded. I had no time to argue with him. “Malver, follow me. Sovari, stay close and guard his back.” I took a breath, countered two slashes, and summoned the wind.

It had been waiting on the horizon at the boundary of the dune seas a league away, a roiling monstrosity of such power as could flay a man. At first, in the sudden void left by the dying of the silver flames, it sounded only like the lowest note of a droning mellanghar, a quiet rumble felt deep in the belly. But in moments it devoured the western sky, and the rumble became deafening thunder, shaking the ground beneath my feet.

“Paraivo!” Five hundred voices cried at once, and, as the first stinging sand whipped across my face, the field erupted into madness.

We had to move quickly. Holding such an enchantment more than a brief time would leave me a dried-out husk. I had thought to carry Aleksander away in my arms, but I could not abandon his two valiant defenders. They would not survive Leonid's rage long enough for Kiril to claim them when he bargained for surrender terms as I had asked him to do. Enough men had died that day. And so, with my wings spread wide to create a sheltered breathing space for those who followed, I forged a way through the raging wind.

The sand cut through cloth and flesh like slivers of glass, and threatened quick suffocation. My garments were soon in shreds, scarcely enough of my haffai scarf left to wrap around my nose and mouth. My watering eyes were narrowed to slits, and what scraps of melydda I could spare were dedicated to protecting them. I had planned to head southwest, as that would get us through the bulk of the storm soonest and keep the scouring sand between us and the Hamraschi, but I quickly forgot such details in my struggle to keep breathing and to move in any direction at all.
Gods of night and day, could you not have come up with a better idea?
I berated myself as the wind blasted through a small hole in one wing, leaving an excruciating tear. Though truly, how many things did I know to distract two armies? On further consideration, I decided I'd done well enough.

It seemed only moments until I reached the limits of my endurance. My lungs were on fire, my wings about to rip from my screaming shoulders. Red lightning threatened to crack my skull from the inside as I fought to push through the wind and hold my working together. All we needed was distance. Every mezzit was precious. A few more sweeps of the wings. A few more thrusts into the wind. A few more steps for the racing beasts behind me. At first I had been able to glimpse the dark outlines of panicked men and horses on the peripheries of my vision, but either the whirling sand was hiding them or we had made it past the boundaries of the battlefield. Enough. Let it be enough. One more breath, and then I would stop. Another. I reached down deep for yet one more, until at last I had nothing more to draw on. Then I touched my feet to earth and cut loose my tether to the wind, leaving the world enveloped in profound silence.

“How is he?” I croaked. I sat on a hill of hot sand, my forearms resting on my knees, hands dangling limp, head hung forward where the westering sun could not touch the raw flesh of my face. I had been in the same position for at least two hours, forced to hear Aleksander's muffled agony as Sovari and Malver worked on his shattered leg, but unable to help, to watch, to advise, because I was absolutely incapable of movement, reasoning, or speech. Now silence had fallen over our little patch of desert, I had rested awhile, and I was anxious to know the outcome of their activities.