Realm Of Blood And Fire (Book 3) (3 page)

He drew energy from the ground, creating the dragon scales he had learnt at Vellonia. He covered his fac
e with the scales then pasted an image of the dullgra
y
of the stone floor onto them. Not sure if it had worked, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer so extended his head past the safety of the wall. The door was shut. Stopping the drawing of energy, he listened, but no sound reached him. While deciding whether to approach the door, the rattle of a handle alerted him. Quickly reinstating his bubble of silence, he ran back the way he had come and didn’t stop until he’d reached the king.

***

With a sense of déjà vu, Arie donned his yamuk-skin coat and climbed onto the saddle on Zim’s broad back, Astra mounting behind him. The moon, a few days after full, brightened the field in which they gathered and lit King Edmund’s face so that Arie could see the lines of worry on his brow. The king and Agmunsten were saying good-bye, while Arcese and Warrimonious rubbed noses, the moonlight glittering on their scales and causing phosphorescent speckles to ripple over their bodies. Arie watched the display and smiled, joy filling him.

The prophecy stated that all of Talia must be united to defeat the gormons, so the realmists were leaving for Zamahl—a country that had kept to itself for as long as anyone could remember.

King Edmund and Arcese stepped away from the dragons. Edmund spoke. “Stay safe and keep me informed.”

Agmunsten climbed on
Warrimonious’s back and gripped his scales. “Will do. By the gods’ graces, we’ll see you soon. Arie and Astra, make sure you’re holding on. Is everyone ready?”

A chorus of agreement, and the dragons drew Second-Realm power to assist takeoff. Arie held Zim’s scales
, and Astra embraced Arie’s waist. When they were safely gliding toward the ocean, Arie spoke into Astra’s mind.
Will the Zamahlans help us
?

I have no idea. It depends who’s in power. I haven’t had much contact with
anyone from Zamahl since I left. If it’s Ruler Pemel, we are more likely to, but if High Chancellor Calinsar has managed to get his grubby hands on the leadership, we’re in trouble. We may not come home at all; I’m considered a deserter. No one is allowed to leave Zamahl.

What! That’s just wrong. And what do they do to deserters
?

Astra’s strained laugh was more of a snort.
Imprisonment and death.

Arie considered her words, the exhilaration of being back in the air forgotten.
If only the wishes of a twelve-year-old could save the world,
he thought.

Vowing to go down fighting, as Boy had, Arie took a moment to remember his friend while Zim flew them into the unknown.

Chapter 4

Arcon and his party had left The Isle of the Dead Souls the morning after Bronwyn and Blayke had completed their second activation of the amulets. Unfortunately, for Arcon, they were traveling by boat—not his preferred mode of transport.

Although they were finally near the mainland
, Arcon wouldn’t be happy until he had immovable earth under his feet. The realmist leant over the railing and vomited into the water.

Avruellen, in
a freshly laundered white shirt and black fitted pants, watched her brother from a few feet away, her fox Flux sitting by her feet.

Why don’t you go and comfort him?
her creatura asked.

Don’t be ridiculous, Flux. I don’t want to risk a face full of windswept sick. Why don’t
you
go and comfort him?

I’m not his
sister or his creatura. It’s not my job. Where is Phantom, anyway?
The fox looked up and saw the owl perched on the tree-trunk-sized boom holding the mainsail.
Hey, stop preening yourself and help Arcon.
Flux’s tongue lolled out in the semblance of a grin.

There’s nothing I can do for him. He knows I’m here, caring from afar.

Arcon looked up, his blue eyes like sunken pebbles wallowing in the algae-green depths of his skin. “I appreciate everyone’s concern and will be sure to remember to return the favor next time one of you needs my help. Now, if you’ll excuse me….”

Arcon retched, a force of sound that had Flux turning his head away. Avruellen put her hands over her ears to block the noise as Arcon’s breakfast vigorously disavowed itself of a place in his stomach, each weighty plop bringing fish to the surface to share in his reluctant generosity.

The fish followed them for the next ten minutes, nibbling at the trail of Arcon’s half-digested food, until the boat pulled up alongside the wharf at Carpus, which was eerily empty. Bronwyn, Blayke, Avruellen, the creaturas, Corrille, and Toran, the new recruit from The Isle of the Dead Souls, stood on the deck, wary in the unusual silence. Even though Arcon was hunched over, he opened his mind to the Second Realm and drew power, just in case. Avruellen sensed the subtle pressure change and reached for her own power.

Grabbing ropes and dropping sails, the crew
jostled past and bumped into the realmists, brushing them aside, as they moved to lay out the gangplank. Arcon, ignoring the heaviness in the air that screamed trouble, disembarked with the longest, fastest strides he could manage and swore never to get on a boat again.

Flux, now standing next to Avruellen on the dock, waiting for the bags to be unloaded, sniffed the air. He picked out three scents, none of them welcoming.
Av, I smell carrion, fresh blood, and something else I’ve never smelled before. It’s like a stagnant swamp mixed with sulfur. My fur is standing on end. I don’t like it. We need to be very careful.

“Okay, Flux.” Avruellen turned to her companions. “Everyone, Flux has just given me some news. We need to tread very carefully on our way to the
inn. We’re going to get our horses and leave as quickly as possible. Stay together.” Privately, to her brother, she said,
If anything happens, defend Blayke, and I’ll protect Bronwyn, if she needs it. If we have to sacrifice anyone, let it be Corrille and Toran. I would hate to see anything happen to that young man, because he seems nice and Bronwyn likes him very much, but our children are more important.

I hear you.

Bronwyn shouldered her pack and drew her sword. “Auntie, is it okay if I hold some of the power, just in case?”

“Yes, dear. You don’t need to ask. You know the risks and you know what danger outweighs that now. It’s time you took responsibility for yourself.” Bronwyn’s mouth fell open as Avruellen led the way off the dock. Had she really just said she could make her own decisions?
I never thought I’d see the day
, she thought as she drew power from the Second Realm’s symbol-flecked darkness.

Corrille clutched Blayke’s arm as they walked. He held both power and sword. “It’s too quiet,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb the silence of the
wharf. As they walked, he noticed two other ships tied to the pier—empty. No sailors loaded or unloaded cargo; there was no one cleaning the decks, no merchants with fancy coats strutting around watching their money being made. This was supposed to be one of the busiest docks on Talia, but not today. Even the seagulls stayed away. Blayke wished they had too.

Arcon, Phantom perched on his shoulder, led the way up the hill to the
town, Avruellen and Bronwyn close behind, Sinjenasta protecting their backs. Everyone’s eyes scanned the surrounding shrubbery, looking for hidden danger.

As they reached the top of the rise and started on the sandy road into town, Flux’s ears lay back against his head, his hackles
raised. Flux’s low growl reached Avruellen, and she tensed. They stopped when the first house came into view.

Nothing.

A northerly wind blew in their faces, whipping sand around their legs, sighing through the long grass that bent, throwing invisible arms to the south. Arcon stopped and held his hands up. Everyone halted. Sinjenasta and Flux padded to stand on either side of the realmist, noses poised to steal any scent they could from the breeze.

Arcon looked up as a shadow darkened the main street. A black smudge of cloud covered the sun
; similar dark shapes quickly approached from the north, pushed in by the ever-increasing gusts. Flux and Sinjenasta edged forward until they were level with the first house, the realmists close behind. Sinjenasta spoke to all the realmists.
I smell gormons.

Lightning flashed. Bronwyn, staring at the window of a house to their left, saw red eyes shine through the glass pane. Opening her mind fully, she drew from the Second Realm. With static lifting strands of her hair, she held her hands in front, as if she were holding a ball. Silver light filled the space between her palms. She shoved her hands
forward, and the shining orb shot toward the house.

The energy exploded into the cottage. Timber splintered outwards
—igniting—glass shattered, and pieces of roof speared into the sky. Two creatures, aflame and screeching, stumbled toward them. Arcon shot successive fireballs from his palms. The immature gormons fell to their knees, their skin hissing and crackling. “Run!” Bronwyn shouted, sprinting toward the inn, and hopefully to their horses.

The clouds layered themselves unnaturally
, one atop the other, dimming the light—it was as if dusk had fallen. Avruellen, running to catch up to her niece, shouted, “What in the Third Realm were you thinking? Have you gone mad?”

“No, Auntie
!” Bronwyn shouted back, turning her head without slowing. “You know gormons prefer to come out when it’s dark, especially before they’re adults. If we don’t hurry, we’ll be overrun.”

Ten feet from their destination, two hunched
-over, but hulking, creatures scuttled out of the inn, blocking the realmists’ way. Bronwyn stopped, relieved to see Sinjenasta step in front of her, and, out of the corner of her eye, she could just make out Arcon to her right.

The gormons slowed, advancing warily.

The clouds, not content only to darken proceedings, opened up. Cold pellets of hail, some as big as a panther’s paw, pummeled them from above. Visibility reduced to almost nothing, and Bronwyn strained to see through the maelstrom—she knew the gormons were there, but it was impossible to see them. Her eyes wanted to shut against the tempest, and she tried to protect her head with her arms, but the ice battered her, one larger chunk cracking into her wrist. She swore.

She smelled them before she saw them—a warm, sickly breath of stale air washed up her nose. Too late, Bronwyn realized the gormons were
only inches from her. Sinjenasta leaped for one of the seven-foot beasts. Bronwyn screamed as the panther’s powerful legs torpedoed him toward the gormon’s spike-studded throat. “No! Sinji, no!”

The gormon, who could see better in darkness than they, swiped a clawed hand at Sinjenasta.

The sound of the deafening storm retreated as Bronwyn desperately focused her attention on coalescing a spear of ice, which she aimed at the monster. She couldn’t use lightning because if the gormon touched Sinjenasta at the wrong moment, he would be fried too. Within a second, she had released the shard, which caught the gormon’s arm, just as one of its claws touched Sinjenasta’s fur, pinning its forearm to its shoulder.

A
piercing wail rent the air.

The giant cat sunk his long fangs into the gormon’s throat as it lashed out with its free arm
; its brother attacked from the side, slicing a chunk out of Sinjenasta’s side.

Arcon, master of the f
ireball, spun one out of Second-Realm power and launched it at the second gormon, which caught fire, the oil on its hide igniting in a gush of flames despite the rain. It staggered, bellowing an ancient curse, and Arcon and Bronwyn thought they heard the name “Drakon.”

Sinjenasta’s grip on the gormon’s throat was slipping, undermined by the gormon’s blood and
the rain, and his side burned as if someone had stuck a scorching branding iron in it. Dizziness threatened, and he almost let go, but he would suffocate this monstrosity if it was the last thing he did.

Bronwyn
created another shard of ice and let fly. It sped silently, pushing its round cousins out of the way as it neared the target.

The gormon’s deadly hand was on the panther’s back
, its claws sinking through fur then flesh. Sinjenasta’s blood streamed down the gormon’s arm to its elbow and then the ground, where it was carried away with the torrent of water. As Sinjenasta’s jaw relaxed and the gormon lowered an ugly head to take a bite, Bronwyn’s spiky pillar of death pierced it between its red eyes.

Jolted back, it froze, Sinjenasta sliding off its claws to collapse onto the sodden ground. The gormon fell
backward, and Bronwyn heard the crack when it fell on its tail, breaking it.

With Arcon at her side, watching for more enemies, Bronwyn ran to Sinjenasta. She knelt in a cold stream of water and put her hands flat upon his side, using
Second-Realm power to delve inside and see what was damaged. The panther’s blood was warm under her palms, the tears hot on her face.

His eyes remained closed at her touch.

To Bronwyn, the labored rise and fall of Sinjenasta’s chest felt more like the last pained half flutter of a butterfly’s wings rather than the beat of an eagle in flight. As her awareness sunk through pelt, muscle and bone, she found torn veins and an artery that leaked his life in ever-decreasing spurts. Channeling the power, she knitted the torn vessels together, cell by cell, and when she had erased every tear and slash, she melded the rents in his skin—the only proof that he was ever injured was the bald patches where his fur had been torn away.

Bronwyn felt a light touch on her shoulder. “You’ve done your best. There’s nothing else to do but wait for him to regain his lost blood. He may not wake for a while. But he’s still alive.”

Were Arcon’s last words a question or a statement? She put her head on her creatura’s chest and listened. The faint thud of his heart was not her imagination. When she smiled, tears salted her tongue. Sitting up again, she shouted to be heard over the downpour, “Now what? Where is everyone?” The hail had stopped, replaced by pouring rain, and she could see, maybe, twenty feet away.

Arcon, while careful to keep watch for gormons,
leaned down to Bronwyn to be heard. “I sent them ahead to grab the horses—if they’re still there. We might have a long walk ahead of us. Looks like we’ve stumbled into a nest of newly arrived gormons. Maybe they’ve eaten the horses—who knows. Those gormons were almost fully matured. We’re lucky we had this fight today and not in a week. They’ll be much stronger then.”

“How can you tell?”

“The transparency of their skin and their size. I studied the books at the Isle of the Dead Souls. They were rather helpful. I’ll just find out where your aunt is. Hold on a moment.” Arcon, straining his eyes through the downpour, hoping to see any enemies before they were too close, sent a mind message to Avruellen.
Where are you? Is everyone okay?”

We’re all safe, but it’s not good news. Blayke and I killed one gormon and we’ve discovered only one horse in the stable. We’re just
leaving now, but we’re taking it slow, letting Flux sniff out our path. We’ll meet you at the north end, where we came in when we first met up. Are you and Bronwyn all right?

We’ll be fine, but Sinjenasta was almost killed defending Bronwyn. He’s still alive but barely hanging on. Can you bring the horse here
? I think we’ll have to put him on it.

Not the safest idea, but okay. We’ll make our way back. Be there soon.

With one hand on the panther to feel for every rise and fall of his chest, and the other ready to throw Second-Realm power if necessary, Bronwyn turned her head from looking out for gormons to Sinjenasta.  Her awareness was drawn tight, her eyes open as far as they would go. She could feel a mild throb at the back of her head—the beginnings of a headache—and realized she was clenching her teeth.