Tales from the Front (Air Awakens Bonus #1) (3 page)

He was out in the open, his helm on, before Elecia could even make a sound of objection. She scowled at her cousin’s back as he began to reorganize the troops. She was loathe to agree with the girl about anything, but Vhalla Yarl may have been right about being the death of her cousin.

Elecia clasped her hands together, feeling out her Channel. She wouldn’t concede anything to Vhalla Yarl.
She’d keep Aldrik safe
, Elecia vowed,
by whatever means necessary
.

Fire roared through his veins in searing objection to the poison racing through his blood that was determined to block his Channel. Aldrik pivoted, his hand clamping firmly over another enemy’s mouth, flames erupted through the man’s chest as the prince poured fire down his throat, killing him from the inside out. Their intel had been wrong. It had been beyond wrong – it had been downright bad.

He cast an arm at the edge of the clearing, maintaining the perimeter of flame around where they were fighting to funnel enemies into only one entry. Keeping flames hot enough to sear through most stone skin was exhausting in its own right. Coupled with the exertion of battle and the frustrating limitation of the poison arrow that had managed to nick his nose mid-dodge and he was actually winded.

Exhaustion was a luxury that Aldrik had never afforded himself, his enemies certainly wouldn’t, and the prince pushed on. Ducking and dodging around swords, he quickly removed the pressure from two more, giving him a moment to survey the field. The initial attack had reduced their forces by nearly a quarter and the men had struggled to regroup.

They were supposed to have surprised the Northerners, not the other way around
.

The thought was fleeting as his eyes found Elecia. The girl could hold her own, he would’ve never agreed to her coming if she couldn’t. However, that didn’t stop fire from jumping off his fingers and arcing through the air to crackle against one of the more heavily armored attackers – one without stone skin.

A cry pulled his attention in the opposite direction and across the pass. Aldrik’s heart suddenly seemed to go dead in his chest. His father’s armor was unmistakable.

Aldrik searched frantically for her. A woman he shouldn’t have been able to find. She should’ve blended in with the other soldiers, lost in the fray.

The next time he had his Vhalla in arm’s reach he was going to strangle his infuriating woman after kissing her senseless
, Aldrik vowed.

The wind around her seemed to flash brilliantly as her magic tangled with it. It was a breathtaking sight meant only for his eyes. Something about her, her magic, his intimate knowledge of the woman, their Bond. Aldrik’s sorcery called out to her like his heart did. The girl had gone from a quiet summer’s breeze in his life to the gale that filled his sails and propelled him forward.

And she seemed determined to get herself killed.

Aldrik turned a moment too late, caught unaware by the two men who had crept up on him in his distracted state. Even surprised, he was a better fighter than most of the world. When other men had been out making friends and lovers Aldrik had been honing his magic against the whetstone of practice. The sight of Vhalla had renewed some of his strength and Aldrik fought against his enemy with vigor.

He should hate himself for the blood on her hands. But, for perhaps the first time in his life, hate could come later. He’d relish in the queen who led his people opposite him. The light to his darkness, the counterweight to all he was, the woman his dreams assured him would rise at his side to sit with him upon a golden throne.

Magic surged to him, eager to meet his joy. The sudden force of his fire surprised even him and Aldrik paused, stunned. His eyes crossed over to the opposite side of the Pass, meeting hers.
Did she know what he had just done?

Elation quickly crumbled to fear. He was drawing magic from her like a leech through the Channel of their Bond. And, for the first time in his life, Aldrik found himself afraid of his sorcery. What if he drew too much magic from her and didn’t leave her with enough? His mind raced around the question as enemies raced to meet him.

Suddenly aware of how much magic he was expending, Aldrik struggled to calculate what he may be drawing from his lady in-between sword swings and rock-hard punches. He was still maintaining the fire at the perimeter, and then what he was using to fend off his assailants. Aldrik dodged a blade, twisting to try to thwart a secondary attack. His counter was weak, restrained. If she died now, he would blame himself forever.

His distraction, his concern for her ultimate demise, was his undoing.

The enemy launched their attack before he had time to even think about what they were doing. They moved, in unison, punching for the ground instead of him. In his haste to calculate every possibility with Vhalla, he ignored the most apparent assault before him.

The rocks groaned and shuddered beneath his feet. Aldrik raced to where the Groundbreakers were standing, raced to safety. He wouldn’t make it, but he would try to catch the ledge upon which they stood.

His hands tore at the crumbling ledge. They grasped, hungry for salvation. He felt a sickening pull in his lower stomach as the world fell out from underneath him.

Aldrik was falling.

Air enveloped him from all sides, roaring through his ears. Seconds stretched into eternity as the sun stared down at him. The Mother had finally cast her fiery judgment. It was a decade late, but it finally came for him, for the crimes he had committed against his people.

And then, a Goddess of a different sort intervened.

Vhalla’s face shattered his reflection and self-loathing. Her worried eyes brought him back to reality and pushed the darkness that had been his only friend for years aside. He put that hopeful want for life in him.

“Vhalla,” he uttered, evoking all she was. If he was to die, then he would die with the taste of her name on his lips.

Aldrik reached for her outstretched hand. Salvation be damned, he just wanted to touch her once more. He wanted to soothe the fear that roared through him at the moment that would be his ultimate demise. He wanted to indulge one last thought of being together, one final dream of her and him. He wanted to pretend that the future he sought had not just been another one of his lies.

The wind rushed up around him, pushing at his back as it went to meet her. Her fingers slid through his. Aldrik didn’t even have a chance to cry out in frustration, nor at the explosion in his chest as the wind pushed against him, or speak one last word to her before it all went dark.

Fritz dragged his feet heavily along the ground. His eyes were red from smoke and tears and his heart had turned to lead in his chest.
It had gone wrong
; it had gone wrong so fast. Out of nowhere, the enemy had been upon them. They’d been warned the route was likely to still have hostile Northerners upon it. They’d been told to be on guard. But he thought the North was supposed to be weakened. There had been more bloodshed than Fritz had ever seen in his life and it painted his memories of the attack crimson.

He’d had this foolish notion that the North was like a tree after woodpeckers, picked full of holes and empty spaces by the Empire. Fritz somehow imagined that there would be giant gaps that had been long cleared by the Imperial army. Maybe it was true. But, if it was, the North was a much bigger tree than Fritz had ever conceived.

The army had been attacked shortly after dawn and they’d fought until the late light of the day. But, the continuing assault hadn’t stopped Elecia from running the moment the ledge under her cousin had crumbled. She hadn’t even jumped on her own mount. She’d stolen the one closest to her and ridden the horse hard down along the Pass and into the ravine below. By the time the army had won and made it to where Vhalla and the prince had fallen, the Western woman already been frantically at work for hours.

Elecia now rode within arm’s reach of the two mounts on which Fritz’s eyes remained focused. Each horse had a body thrown over it, lifelessly bouncing with the slow steps of the horse.
Blood
, the metallic scent assaulted his nose. The crimson life-giving liquid dripped and oozed over the haunches of the horses.

Fritz’s friend was comatose, but her wounds seemed superficial. He was actually surprised she wasn’t up and moving. But,
the prince
... Fritz’s eyes drifted over to the second limp body. Elecia hadn’t said anything and Fritz hadn’t been brave enough to ask.

Vhal would be fine. She’d recover just as she had in the Tower. But Fritz wondered, alongside every other soldier, if they were carrying the prince’s body for a grand Rite of Sunset, befitting of a fallen sovereign, at Soricium. Or, if the prince could possibly survive the state he now found himself in.

Fritz turned his attention back to Vhalla. He knew his friend had saved the prince’s life once before. Somehow, even unconscious, even bleeding, even war-torn, he’d put his coin on her over anyone else to be able to do it again.

Reale Quarn had done some horrible things in her life. She’d killed families in their beds. She’d left friends to die.

Above all else, she was a solder and she followed orders. She obliged her commanders and played the role she was meant to play. She understood her position as a sorcerer and how she factored into the plans of those above her, the role of a convenient scapegoat for the world’s horrors. A useful set of hands that were – in their eyes – soiled from birth with magic.
What difference did a little bit of blood make?

But, the conversation she bore witness to was one of the most horrifying things she’d ever heard. It conflicted against everything she believed, everything she was ever taught. It flew in the face of her most trusted ideals.

There were a few things that would make Reale go against her orders, but making every attempt to save the life of one of the two most important people in the Tower was one of those things.
This was worth treason
. And, if the way the young Ci’Dan had left the Emperor’s tent was any indication, she wasn’t alone in her thinking.

“Ric.” Reale leaned into one of the hidden tents on the perimeter of the small clearing that they had made their temporary home. The young Western man perked up at his name. “Get Brion. I need a favor.”

“What type of favor?” The man knew her too well. He read her expression with ease and it gave him reasonable pause.

“If the Tower won’t look after its own, no one will. Meet me in an hour in my tent, there’s preparations to be made.”

The men met her as requested. They came separately, as to not raise suspicion. Still, Reale kept a close eye on the movements of the camouflaged camp.

“I need you both to take watch tonight at the prince’s tent,” she ordered.

“Gladly,” Brion said without hesitation.

“Can we know why?” Ric was a newer soldier and was more likely to question.

Reale indulged him, “I have a strong suspicion that we will be sending a messenger this night.”

“To whom?”

“I will send word with her to Head Major Jax of what is transpiring here, of the state of the leader of the Black Legion.” Jax was the only one she could trust. He may be a fallen lord and a dog of the crown, but he was still of the Tower. No one held more love for its halls than the long-haired Westerner.