Drake of Tanith (Chosen Soul) (18 page)

Every year, The Hunt cleansed the land of every will possessing even the slightest weakness, ripping a hole in any hope the humans had begun to harbor that they might one day be free of the yolk of the Fae. And then the Hunt moved on to slumber, sated and snoring, until the final Autumn moon the following year.

Drake took a second, deep shaky breath, and felt strange inside. Empty. There was no helping it. In that moment, standing there amidst the destruction, Raven gone, his father’s decree creeping up on him, all seemed lost. He was an excellent tracker – but following a soul through a portal took vast amounts of strength and time. At the moment, Drake possessed neither.

The new footstep came light and tentative behind him, and the dark forest was suddenly cast into soft light. For once in Drake’s long life, he didn’t spin at the sound of intrusion. He didn’t reach for his sword. Instead, he turned slowly, his eyes burning, his heart heavy.

Several feet away, and casting a blue-white glow that graced the fallen woods around it, stood a unicorn. Drake’s breath caught, and his body went still. The majestic creature stood at least nineteen hands high, strong and seemingly sculpted of moonlight. Its single horn was adorned with gems of all colors and shimmered as if dusted with diamonds.

He’d forgotten about the unicorn.

It was so easy to forget – in the midst of all of the death – that almost everything the Fae did was composed of balance. Death and life. Black and white.

The unicorn watched Drake through eyes as silver and bright as his own. As it did, the forest around it began to heal. The broken branches mended and sprouted buds of new, green life. The torn ground cleared itself of the hounds’ tracks and the scraps of death the dogs had left behind disappeared. Grass sprouted along the dirt, fresh and green and perfect.

This always happened. When the master of the Hunt and his killing posse were long gone and the terrible sounds of their slaughter finally faded, the unicorn came. It was a tradition of dark and light. Cruel and kind.

Drake watched the creature work its magic, its long flowing main shimmering, its horn a bright beacon in the shadows of the overhead branches. And then he remembered.

With a piece of a unicorn’s horn, Drake would possess nearly absolute control over portal magic. He could do anything with it – even follow Raven to whatever land it was she’d been sent to. Right now.

Drake swallowed hard. Other than the occasional hunted meal, never in his life had he attacked a creature that hadn’t attacked him first. He’d captured and taken in countless mortals and immortals alike. But killing was another matter, and one belonging to a part of him that he’d left behind long ago.

But desperate times called for desperate measures.

Drake raised his arm, steadied his gaze, and wrapped his gloved fist around the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. The unicorn watched him in quiet repose. Drake felt his resolve harden against all odds, and very slowly, he unsheathed his blade.

The sound was harsh in the magical stillness. The unicorn’s head lifted ever so slightly, and moonlight struck the silver of its eyes. Again, Drake felt a lump in his throat and again he swallowed past it. But a trickle of sweat made its way down his forehead to threaten his left eye. His heart hammered uneasily in his chest. Every nerve ending in his tall body screamed in warning. This was wrong.

And it was the only way.

The unicorn would lose. It was a powerful being, but it was born of goodness and light. It was a creature of healing, and possessed no recourse for defense. It would run, and it could run fast. But Drake was faster. He was a devil who could literally blaze trails across the treetops. Nothing escaped him.

Nothing escapes me….

Drake heard himself exhale shakily and blinked. The drop of sweat slid and burned his eye.
What am I doing?
he suddenly asked himself.
What in Abaddon am I doing?

“I can’t,” he said softly. So softly. Wherever Raven was, she was being hunted by the assassins of Abaddon. There could be many reasons for this. Maybe his father figured out what Drake was doing and wanted to nip his plan in the bud. Maybe Raven’s soul had slated her to stop another god’s ascension. Maybe someone was jealous. Whatever the reason, Abaddon was throwing its worst at her and she was now on her own. It was a realization that hurt only slightly less with the knowledge that Raven Grey was a capable woman, the daughter of Malphas, with the spirit of a fighter and a soul so old, it was ageless. With luck and a lot of careful wisdom, she might survive.

It was little comfort. But despite the fear that twisted his gut for Raven and the unknown future, Drake’s will cracked. With a resigned air, he lowered his sword. The sharp tip scraped the dirt as his arm dropped limply to his side. And then the unicorn moved.

Drake froze, watching it with mixed emotions. The animal ambled toward Drake at a slow, purposeful gait. As it came forward, the ground beneath its hooves changed, cleansing itself and growing green. The air cleaned itself of the scent of destruction. Instead, it smelled like rain.

Drake held his breath as the unicorn stopped directly before him and raised its large head. The tip of its horn shimmered with magical possibility and Drake’s fingertips itched. He felt almost taunted – befuddled – awestruck and frustrated.

And then the unicorn lowered its head again, all the way to the ground, and Drake stumbled back. The tip of the beast’s horn touched the ground where Drake’s sword had been a second before. There was a brief flash, the sucking sound of magic expanding and receding, and the unicorn stepped away.

Where he’d pressed the point of his horn to the dirt, a ruby now lay. It winked at Drake, a perfectly cut gem of amazing clarity and blood red color. When Drake looked back up at the animal before him, he noticed the spot on its horn now missing one of its gems. An empty space remained.

The unicorn watched him in stoic silence. Drake felt shaken to the core.

“Thank you,” Drake said. He could hear the bone-deep gratitude in his own voice. A magnificent, innocent and kind member of the Fae had given a piece of itself to a member of Abaddonian royalty, and that left Drake otherwise speechless.

So again, he said the only thing he could think of saying. “Thank you.”

Chapter Seventeen

“I don’t bloody well believe it,” Grolsch mumbled as he shoved the last of the branches off of himself and rolled over. Loki joined him, pushing the rocks and debris aside and crawling out of the small hole he and Grolsch had used for hiding. He had to agree with Grolsch in his sentiment. He couldn’t believe they were alive either.

Everything had happened so fast, it was difficult to process. He, Raven and Grolsch had run from the clearing where Drake and Adonides were fighting. Something deep down in his bones had told him to flee – and the same had gone for Grolsch, apparently, because the two of them had taken his sister by the arms and moved with her as quickly as possible through the forest’s underbrush.

And then Drake had come. Out of nowhere, with fire on the wind, he’d descended like a monster straight out of the nine circles – and he’d taken Raven. There was nothing Loki could do. The two of them were gone from sight within split seconds, and Grolsch and Loki were left staring up at the ash-laden hole in the trees that they’d disappeared through.

And then the horn had sounded. It split the stark stillness left behind. With its first mournful, soul-throbbing notes, it sent chills through Loki’s body. It sounded familiar. As if he should know what it was. It was also a warning, pure and horrible, and when Loki turned to look up at the ork beside him, the creature’s expression confirmed his fears. Something bad was coming.

The horn sounded again and Grolsch grabbed Loki’s arm and began pulling him at a break-neck pace through the forest once more. Branches snapped before them, thorns clawed at Loki’s exposed face and neck, and his lungs began to burn from the speed of their mad flight.

The horn split the night once more, this time closer, and Grolsch began to swear colorfully. “We’ll not make it!” he bellowed, coming to a skidding stop to look frantically around. They were skirting the edge of the forest, and crags lay on one side. Broken rocks punctuated a ground of grass and rolling hills.

“What is it?” Loki asked, feeling as if he almost knew.

“It’s the Hunt, priest! It will be the end of us both!” the ork replied. Then he took off again, this time leaving Loki to follow on his own. They ran another hundred yards before Grolsch once more came to a fast halt. “There! In there!” he ordered.

Loki watched as Grolsch dove for a small hole in the crags, its edges jagged and tight. But there was enough room for two men. Just enough.

The horn blasted again and Loki froze. He suddenly felt angry, inexplicably, horribly wrathful. “Stop running and fight, ork!” he demanded, not even knowing why. He wanted to rip the large humanoid limb from limb. Then heal him. Then kill him a second time.

Grolsch looked up sharply from where he’d managed to get half way into the tiny cave. And then the ork was swearing once more, clawing his way back out again, and all but attacking Loki with his massive hands.

Loki wasn’t himself. In a real fight, at any other half-way normal point in time, he’d have gone for his bow or some other weapon. But when Grolsch grabbed him tightly and began hauling him toward the tight hiding space, all Loki could think of doing was punching him. So he did.

Grolsch’s big head snapped to the side once – twice – and yet the ork never let Loki go and didn’t stop shoving him toward the cave. “Get the hell in, you daft fucking fool!” he bellowed. Blood trickled over his fat bottom lip as he knelt, dragging Loki beside him.

By some twist of luck, a flash of reason reached Loki’s brain and he did what Grolsch told him to do. He still wanted to tear someone apart, but he managed to tamp the desire down long enough to slide feet-first into the craggy hole.

Grolsch followed, and then pulled rocks and debris in after him to close off the small entryway. Once he was finished, he used his large body to hold Loki down. Loki found it instantly hard to breathe in the cramped darkness, but was also instantly grateful for the weight. It kept him inside the hole. And he knew, deep down inside in the core of him, that if he didn’t stay within the hole, death would find him. His or someone else’s – or both.

The horn sounded once more, this time more distant than before, and Loki squeezed his eyes shut. The ork’s massive paw covered Loki’s mouth. For several moments, it was literally impossible to draw a breath. During those tense, terrifying moments, the ground shook around them. The baying and barking and howling of hounds clawed its way through the dirt and rock and scratched at Loki’s nerve endings. It actually
hurt
.

But the Hunt passed above them, the terrible rending and barking faded, and Grolsch removed his hand from Loki’s mouth.

A sharp inhaled breath lodged dust in Loki’s lungs, and when he coughed it was accompanied with a whimper. Little by little, his anger receded and fear and confusion took its place.

And now they rolled across the ground, dusted the clomps of mud and grass from their clothing, and came to their feet. Loki felt lighter – off somehow. On instinct, he felt at his back. His bow was gone. He looked down to see the broken leather strap. It had been torn from his body when Grolsch shoved him into the cave.

He turned in a slow circle, surveying the land around them. It was tossed up and shredded, no doubt ruined by the hooves of horses and the clawed paws of hounds. And there was a nasty scent in the air. It smelled like death.

His bow was nowhere to be seen. Loki ran a hand through his dirt-clodded hair and took a deep breath. He had a hard time feeling angry about this on top of everything else. He was missing a weapon – but he was alive. And from the damage left behind by whatever had passed over them, he was fairly certain that if he hadn’t been in the cave, he wouldn’t be able to say that.

“We should not have survived that,” said Grolsch solemnly as he ran his hands over his long brown hair and adjusted the massive sword at his back.
At least he still has his sword
, Loki thought rather dejectedly. But that weapon, too, had been scraped up badly by the rocks around the small cave. “The gods were with us,” Grolsch said.

Loki went still as he considered Grolsch’s words. It struck him as an odd thing to hear in that moment. With the way he’d been feeling about Haledon lately… with the knowledge he’d acquired… it just felt strange. He wondered whether it might be true. And if so, which gods?

“Now what?” Loki asked. He couldn’t help it. He had no idea where they were or what to do next.

“Now we finish what we started,” Grolsch told him frankly. “We get to Leger City and visit the temple of Magus. We’ll figure out the rest from there.”

*****

Zeta knew that he knew she was there. For the briefest of moments and for the first time in her very long life, Zeta wondered whether the man she was approaching might kill her. It wasn’t like men to want to kill Zeta. She was beautiful. Gorgeous, really. She was the princess of the elves, and as such, she possessed power beyond most people’s wildest imaginations. When men looked upon her, they saw something both furiously desirable and frustratingly unattainable. It was the perfect aphrodisiac.

But in this case… the man who stood with his back to her was an admittedly terrifying enigma. His tall, strong form was wrapped in shadow. It was something that went beyond the black leather armor he wore and the way the night seemed to have colored his hair. He was darkness incarnate. And as she lived and breathed, she knew he could hear her heart beating.

Seduction would not work here. To even attempt it would simply irritate this man. There was no room in this space between them for anything but honesty. And for Zeta, that was hard. But she wasn’t stupid.

“I know who you are, Lord Darken,” she said softly.

Darken did not move. From her vantage point, it appeared that he continued to stare into the trickling, pouring water of the massive marble fountain before him, his form utterly, impossibly still.