Elven Fury (Agents of the Crown Book 4) Page 24

  But maybe the elves were out of arrows. He made it to the far side without being shot at. He scrambled up the slope, glancing around to get his bearings. He’d traveled farther downriver than he wanted, and he had to sprint around torn-up brush and over downed logs, hoping the elves were still in the same spot. Hoping Lornysh was still alive.

  Jev glimpsed Cutter and a couple of the soldiers also risking the swim, but he couldn’t stop to wait for them. The roar of the water had died down, and he heard the clashing of swords up ahead. The elves had moved from the crest of the valley wall and disappeared into a thick stand of shrubs. Jev let the sound of the fight lead him to them.

  From the rapid-fire clangs, it seemed that a dozen men must be battling, but Jev knew it couldn’t be more than three, Lornysh and those two elves. The third elf was unconscious from Cutter’s hammer strike, and Jev had shot the fourth in the hand earlier. He hoped that would make it impossible for him to swing a sword or draw a bow.

  As Jev crept toward the stand, the leaves shuddered and shook. He spotted the hammer on the ground near the unconscious elf and snatched it up, remembering Cutter’s promise that it would thwart a magical barrier.

  With the axe in one hand and the hammer in the other, Jev slipped into the bushes. He spotted Vornzylar and Lornysh as Lornysh darted back from a barrage of thrusts and slashes, almost tripping over a root in his haste to get out of the way. He blocked Vornzylar’s attacks, but he winced as their blades met again and again, as if his old injury—or some new one—was hampering him.

  Jev circled, hoping to get to Vornzylar’s back, but movement stirred at the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he ducked.

  An arrow buzzed over his head and embedded itself in a tree trunk. Jev jumped up, spinning as the second elf, the one with the thorny sword, sprang over the brush toward him.

  The glowing green blade slashed toward his face, grasping vines writhing like tiny snakes. Jev whipped Cutter’s hammer up, praying for accuracy with the unfamiliar weapon, a weapon that wasn’t as long as he was accustomed to for fighting.

  The elven blade clanged against the hammer’s handle. A jolt ran up Jev’s arm, jarring his elbow painfully, but the hammer deflected the sword without breaking. The elf’s eyebrows flew up. He must have expected the tool to break.

  Hoping to take advantage of his opponent’s brief surprise, Jev leapt in, swinging the axe at his chest.

  His enemy sprang back, leaping a head-high bush as if it were a flower, but he landed awkwardly. Jev lunged around the bush and swung both weapons at the same time, aiming for different targets. The elf gyrated and twisted, evading the swipes and launching a thrust of his own, but the attack wasn’t as fast as Jev expected, and he had no trouble blocking it.

  Blood smeared the side of the elf’s head—he looked to have been gouged by a bullet. Despite his mighty leaps, he also seemed to be favoring one ankle. Normally, Jev wouldn’t find it honorable to battle a wounded opponent, but the elf was attacking him on his land. And all those injuries would do was even the odds.

  “We’re coming, Jev,” came a bellow from downstream. Cutter.

  The elf glanced in that direction and barked, “Reinforcements,” in elven to his comrade as he parried another attack from Jev.

  “Finish him!” Vornzylar snarled back, not glancing over. He battered Lornysh with blows like storm clouds pouring down boulder-sized pieces of hail.

  Lornysh parried each blow, but his leg buckled, and he went down to one knee.

  Jev roared and lunged at his own foe, knowing he had to get him out of the way before he could help Lornysh. Knowing, too, that the elf had been ordered to kill him.

  He attacked faster than he ever had, chopping with the axe and smashing with the hammer. The elf had only one blade, and though it whipped about so quickly it blurred, he struggled against Jev’s angry onslaught. He backed away as he parried, and his shoulder clipped a trunk. The elf came down on his injured ankle, and it twisted, giving way.

  Jev sprang, using the hammer to knock the elven blade out of his foe’s hand. The sword’s glow and magical vines disappeared as it flew through the bushes. The elf tried to roll away, but he was hemmed in by trees and brush too stout to push aside.

  Jev lunged, pressing the axe against the side of his foe’s throat. “Yield,” he ordered, though he was tempted to simply crack the elf over the head, caring little if he lived or died, not when Lornysh was still battling his nemesis ten feet away.

  The elf curled his lip. “To a human?” he asked in his own tongue. “Never! You are a plague upon the earth, and I will not let you sully my death by bowing to you.”

  Before Jev could reply, the elf whipped a dagger out of a belt sheath.

  Jev stepped back, readying his weapons to block an attack. But the elf sneered defiantly and swept the blade across his own throat from ear to ear.

  Stunned, Jev gawked as his enemy slumped to the ground, his life’s blood spurting from his arteries.

  The clash of blades drew him from his shock. He sprinted through the brush to find Lornysh and Vornzylar facing each other in a tiny clearing. Drawing upon some deep reserve, Lornysh had found his feet again and kept parrying, but his movements were slower than Jev had ever seen. Blood streamed from a cut lip, and he barely got his blade up to deflect a swing that would have cleaved his skull in half.

  Jev advanced from behind, choosing the hammer for his weapon. He raised it, his eyes locking on the back of Vornzylar’s head.

  The elf must have heard or sensed him, for he started to turn, but Lornysh sprang at him, thrusting with his blade. Vornzylar was forced to whip back around to parry the fiery sword. Jev leaped in and slammed the hammer at the elf’s head.

  Vornzylar almost jerked away in time to avoid it, but the hammer struck the side of his head hard enough to stun him for an instant. Jev swung again, cracking him like the gong in the Air Order Temple. The hammer flared with silver light as it crunched through the elf’s skull. That surprised Jev, and he jerked the weapon away, grimacing as the hammer’s head caught on bone. He’d swung hard, but he hadn’t thought a blow with a blunt weapon would penetrate the elf’s skull.

  Vornzylar’s sword dropped from his limp hand, and his knees buckled. As he fell, he continued to glare at Lornysh, not even glancing back at Jev.

  “You die dishonored,” he snarled. “Traitor.”

  He reached up to touch his head, seemed surprised when his hand came back bloody, then crumpled to the ground.

  “It is you who die, old friend,” Lornysh said, his shoulders slumped.

  Vornzylar’s eyes closed, and he did not answer.

  Feeling queasy, Jev looked down at the bloody hammer. He hadn’t meant to kill the elf, but maybe it was for the best. Lornysh hadn’t been able to do it, and if they’d let Vornzylar live, he might not have left Lornysh alone until he’d managed to kill him.

  “I’ve always wanted to believe elves were wiser than humans,” Lornysh said, kneeling as he caught his breath, “but I fear that’s not true, that longevity and time don’t impart as much wisdom as one would hope.”

  “It’s disappointing that wisdom is in such short supply among all the intelligent races in the world,” Jev said.

  Foliage rattled as Cutter pushed his way into the clearing. He frowned at the dead elves and then at the weapons in Jev’s hands.

  “If you wanted to use my hammer, you should have asked.”

  “Sorry.” Jev wiped off the blood and offered it to him. “I found it lying on the ground and assumed you didn’t need it anymore.”

  “Well, I don’t since it looks like you finished off all the elves.” He glared grumpily at them as he accepted the tool—the weapon—and thrust it through his belt.

  “One remains living somewhere. The one who was shot earlier. He may flee now that Vornzylar is dead.” Lornysh stood and stepped forward, gripping his side, then bent to pick up Vornzylar’s fallen blade. As with the other magical sword, its glow had disappeared once it fel
l from its owner’s hand.

  “Is it dangerous if someone finds one of those swords and picks it up?” Jev imagined children from the villages coming up here to treasure hunt after the flood receded, leaving debris from wherever in the mountains the elves had sourced that water. “Someone who’s not an elf?”

  “Not now that the owner is dead, no,” Lornysh said. “By elven custom, the blades belong to whoever killed the wielders, though their magic will remain buried in the sword and inaccessible to someone who isn’t elven. Still, they are fine weapons.” He flipped it to hold the blade and offer the hilt to Jev. “Do you want it?”

  Jev shook his head. “You’re the one who battled him. I just snuck up and cracked him in the head.”

  “I already have a kisyula sword.” Lornysh shifted his hand, offering it to Cutter.

  “Don’t look at me. That thing’s taller than I am.”

  Twigs snapped as the soldiers approached.

  “I can ship it back to his family.” Lornysh lowered the blade.

  Jev walked into the brush to retrieve the other sword, the vine-spurting one. He touched it, half-expecting some magical power to zap him. But its owner was definitely dead, and the blade lay quiescent. He picked it up and rejoined his friends.

  After facing off against that elf—and that sword—twice, Jev wouldn’t mind claiming it for himself. Less as a war trophy and more as a useful tool. He’d found a surprising number of reasons lately to set his pistol and rifle aside and use a blade.

  Cutter looked at the sword. “Maybe Master Grindmor can make the magic inside it activate to your touch.”

  Lornysh appeared skeptical, and Jev decided not to pin his hopes on that.

  “Would I have to prove my adequacy to her before she would try?” Jev asked.

  “Likely.”

  Lornysh’s eyebrows twitched. “Wouldn’t Zenia object to that?”

  “She—” Fear slammed Jev in the gut as he remembered the unknown trouble at the castle. “We have to check on her. On my family. Everyone.”

  Not waiting for a response, he sprinted for home.

  Zenia couldn’t breathe. She grasped at the air around her throat, as if there were hands she could physically pull free, but there was nothing she could grab. On her knees in front of the elf warden crushing her with his magic, she couldn’t do a thing.

  Heber’s men threw themselves at the other two elves, but nobody disturbed her assailant. Nearby, Rhi was knocked against the wall and dropped to the walkway. Unconscious? Dead?

  Her dragon tear offered to help again, offered to knock away her attacker. Zenia was tempted, just for a moment, so she could draw in a single breath of air. But she implored the gem to keep funneling all its energy into the glowing structure.

  Another elf leaped through the portal, and she feared many more were on the way. If she did nothing else, she had to blow it up.

  Energy rolled through the air like heat waves, flowing from her dragon tear to the portal. The rim glowed such a fierce red that it had to be close to exploding. Unfortunately, Zenia’s head felt like it would explode too. Her lungs spasmed, trying to suck in air, but her throat was entirely constricted.

  The female elf cried something in her own tongue. Zenia’s attacker glanced aside, and for a heartbeat, the power constricting her throat lessened. She managed to get in a half gasp of air, but he turned immediately back to her. His gaze locked onto her dragon tear, and she realized the elves had figured out what she was doing. What it was doing.

  Behind them, the portal quaked. The earth trembled under their feet. Zenia knew her dragon tear was close to destroying the thing, but the elf lunged for her, fingers reaching not for her neck but for the gem. She could see in his eyes that he meant to tear it off and hurl it into the pool.

  A shot rang out.

  Her attacker stiffened, his head jerking up. His hand never reached her chest. For long seconds, he stood frozen, eyes full of shock. Then he pitched over backward, collapsing in front of Zenia.

  Heber knelt behind the elf, a thin trail of smoke wafting from his pistol.

  “The heart, woman,” he growled at her. “If you’re going to shoot an elf, you shoot him in the heart.”

  “I’ll try to remember,” Zenia rasped, her throat raw.

  Her entire body ached. She didn’t know if it was from the elf’s attack or from the energy the dragon tear was sapping from her. As she looked around the chamber, she sagged, feeling defeated even though her life wasn’t in immediate danger. Rhi was down. Only two of the castle guards remained up, battling a male elf in front of the portal. The rest of the defenders were crumpled and unconscious—or dead—on the walkway. Some floated in the water.

  The female elf stared over at Zenia and Heber, and her eyes locked on the dragon tear. She lifted her sword and sprang toward it.

  As Zenia started to roll away, knowing she couldn’t possibly escape, a final burst of energy poured forth from the dragon tear.

  Light flashed and a thunderous boom echoed from the walls. Shards of something—metal—flew in a hundred directions, pelting the stone ceiling and walls. A piece gouged into Zenia’s cheek.

  A blast of energy came from the portal, knocking her against the wall again. Splashes sounded as others were thrown into the water.

  All light vanished from the underground chamber. Even Zenia’s dragon tear grew dark. Still. Dead?

  For a few seconds, the only sounds were of people breathing, along with a few limp splashes from the pool. Then the earth shook again, and rocks started falling.

  Zenia envisioned the ceiling tumbling down.

  A hand gripped her. In the dark, she had no idea whose it was, but she was hoisted into the air and draped over a hard shoulder.

  “Rhi!” she shouted, fearing her friend would be left behind.

  Rocks slammed down. One struck whoever held her, and the man staggered. He recovered and felt his way along the walkway and the wall.

  “Get out of here,” he yelled. “Everyone, now!”

  It was Heber.

  Someone else shouted in elven. Heber cursed and walked faster, Zenia bouncing on his shoulder.

  Lights appeared somewhere ahead. Not magical glowing lights but simple lantern light. As soon as she started to feel relieved, swords clashed.

  “Get her,” Jev barked. “Don’t let her—”

  A pained grunt sounded as more rocks slammed down. One clipped Zenia in the head. She twisted out of Heber’s grasp. He cursed but let her go. As men rushed into the room carrying lanterns, half clambering over fallen rubble, Zenia spotted Rhi. She was in the same spot she’d been crumpled in before and wasn’t moving. By the founders, she couldn’t be dead.

  “Jev,” Zenia yelled. “I need your help.”

  She tried to call upon her dragon tear, but it was as if she wore a lifeless rock around her throat. It had used all its power to destroy the portal. What if she’d permanently burned it out and had forever lost the soul linked to it?

  “Coming,” Jev called. “I see you. Father, two elves ran by. Go get them before they can hurt anyone.”

  Jev rushed into the chamber as Heber and his surviving men pushed their way out.

  “It’s Rhi.” Zenia pulled a chunk of rock off her friend’s unmoving back, not caring about the elves that had gotten away. If Rhi was dead because she’d leaped in front of Zenia multiple times to protect her…

  She found Rhi’s throat in the poor lighting, praying to the Blue Dragon that she would find a pulse.

  “She’s alive,” she blurted.

  “I’ll get her.” Jev touched Zenia’s shoulder, then gathered the unconscious Rhi into his arms.

  “Thank you.” She patted him on the back, surprised that his clothing was soaking wet. “That’s not blood, is it?” In the dim light, she couldn’t tell.

  “No, I took a swim. I’ll explain everything later, but we did kill Vornzylar, and Lornysh is all right. Injured, but that’s his new normative state.”

  Zenia
grunted, her entire body aching from the battering she’d taken, her throat bruised and raw. “I can empathize. Maybe later, we can—”

  Shouts and a bang drifted down from somewhere above them, muted by the layers of rock.

  “Never mind,” Zenia said, trailing Jev toward the exit.

  “Hold that thought. We’ll find some time for recuperation later.”

  Zenia, worried for his family and the people who lived in the castle, didn’t say anything. She was fairly certain only two elves had slipped out, but she knew firsthand how much trouble two of those wardens could cause.

  “I had no idea this was down here,” Jev said as they wound back through the dusty passageways. “I knew about the dungeon. Vastiun and I used to play down there when we were boys.”

  “A natural recreation area.”

  “We thought the old torture implements were particularly delightful.”

  “Boys are ghouls.”

  “Sometimes, yes.”

  More shouts drifted down from the courtyard, and Jev picked up his pace as they passed through the dungeon. Heber and his men must have already chased the elves out because Zenia didn’t see anyone else in there.

  A faint tingle emanated from her dragon tear.

  She grasped it, relieved it had come back to life but worried it was warning her about something. Magic being used in the courtyard? Or was it simply letting her know it was there for her if she needed it?

  She thought she sensed weariness in the gem, or the personality linked to it, and she tried to let it know it could rest, that she wouldn’t need to draw upon it again. She hoped that was true.

  The clang of steel rang out in the courtyard.

  Jev sprinted up the last of the stairs, past the kitchen, and through the main hallway. He laid Rhi down in an out-of-the-way alcove behind an urn that had been knocked over, then drew a sword that Zenia didn’t recognize and sprinted out. She followed, fearing they would have to battle those two elves again.