A Mark of Kings, page 52
part #1 of The Shattered Reigns Series
“If we have to,” he muttered unenthusiastically, looking around at the thought of the beasts. Ryn had pulled the pair out of the debris, he found, and Declan was relieved to see the two were largely unhurt. Eyera was keening near the far wall—the sound mostly stolen away by the howling of the wind—licking at a paw that hung too-limply from a raised leg. Around her, Orsik was prowling almost nervously, alternating between nudging at his sister and baring teeth at the storm that continued to rage overhead. He was favoring his left side, his right back leg apparently unable to bear his weight, and Declan saw blood slicking the grey-white fur of the male’s haunch. Ryn was still with them, and looked to be doing his best to comfort the pair. For once, not even Eyera complained about his clawed hand running gently between her ears.
They’d all survived. There was that at least. Ester was the worst off of them by far, but they’d made it. If the Queen had intended to do more damage with her trap, she had failed.
Declan felt a little of his courage return, at that.
When he’d been drenched in the drey’s blood, he only had vague recollections of the work the yr’Essels had put into his recovery, but he was sure it must have been hours. Fortunately, with Ester’s injuries being only physical, Bonner’s initial spellcrafting took a mere twenty minutes more, and when he was done he sat back with a groan that for once made him sound of the age he looked. He spent a little time like that, eyes closed and leaning back against his hands, as though trying to catch his breath, and Declan didn’t bother him. He had a better understanding, now, of the toll magic could take on one’s body. His own will was starting to tire, and if it had been two weeks prior he was fairly sure he would have long since collapsed from exhaustion while trying to keep up even those simple weaves of heat that were keeping them all from freezing.
“Right,” Bonner finally grunted, shoving himself to his feet. “She’s out of the woods. Your turn.”
With a bit more of his usual energy the mage moved around Ester and—without preamble—took hold of Declan’s head with both hands. Declan did his best not to let out a markedly-unmanly squawk of pain when the sudden pressure through his skull brought with it a wave of nausea.
“Sorry,” Bonner muttered in apology, tugging off the rest of the wrapped shirt so he could lean down and sift through Declan’s long hair to examine the spot where bone had struck stone. “Bear it for a moment, if you would.”
Declan did as he was told, though he had to work harder to maintain his grip on the magics he was upholding when Bonner’s fingers started prodding and poking. Soon after, he felt the tingling of a weave settling itself against his mind, the sensation not-unlike the occasions where Ryn had slipped his presence between Declan’s thoughts.
“Hmm. Concussed. Badly, too. Nothing to worry about, though. Ester won’t be able to move for a few hours, so you might as well sleep while you can as well.” Declan felt Bonner turn at his back. “Ryndean! Release him. I’ll see to it now.”
Declan tensed, knowing what was about to happen. Sure enough, the alien sensation of something detaching itself from his mind followed shortly. This time—instead of the fear and confusion and anxiety that the dragon had once let loose in this very manner—what returned was a throbbing, soul-deep ache that immediately had Declan’s vision spinning for a second time.
“Aaaah…!” he moaned again, bringing one hand up to his face like covering his eyes might help the pain, but before he’d done so the tingling of Bonner’s weave intensified, and much of the discomfort faded into a pleasant, empty haze. Declan breathed easier, the respite outweighing the perturbing sensation that something was being pieced back together inside his head, like a surgeon might stitch close an open wound. A minute passed, then two, and finally Bonner’s hands came away, leaving Declan with nothing but a faint echo of the nauseating throb that had sent his world tumbling.
“Thanks,” Declan said with an easing sigh, looking over his shoulder at the mage. Bonner was tired, he could tell—the cost of all this spellwork adding to the physical tax their day’s climb had claimed of them—but he waved the comment aside all the same.
“I’m going to see to the beasts. Shouldn’t take but a few minutes. Can you keep up your weaves a little longer?”
Declan’s heart skipped a beat. As Ryn’s shielding magics had fallen away, he’d lost track of his own spellwork. He reached out, through the firestone in his hand, fearing that the weaves would have fallen apart, but with equal surprise and relief he found the tethers intact, if somewhat faded. He willed them back into steadier being as he answered.
“I can. We’ll all need rest, after this, though.”
Bonner gave a bleak laugh, like Declan had made an excellent joke, and started making his way towards the warg. Left on his own, Declan forced himself to focus solely on the task at hand, on Ester’s steadily rising and falling chest he could make out through the lattice of stone, on the thrum of his own power. At some point he reached into the shell to brush free the hair that had gotten plastered over the left side of the woman’s face, stuck to the blood of the gash that was sealing slowly before his eyes. He studied her, taking her in, losing himself in the half-elf’s features.
It kept him from dwelling on the gaping maw of the tunnel beyond her, wide and waiting, like the patient gullet of a hungry leviathan eager to swallow them all whole…
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ester’s groans of tired confusion shook Declan slowly from a fitful rest. He opened his eyes, blearily registering that the stone he’d fallen asleep on was still warm. It wasn’t his magic, he knew, reaching out with his mind as he pressed himself up onto one arm. Sure enough, the flow of power was not tethered to himself, but behind him, and rolling over onto both elbows he found Bonner leaning against the nearby wall, chin lolled to his chest and eyes closed. A series of complex runes smoldered in the icy rock by his shoulder, and Declan could only assume them to be some more-lasting source of heat than his meager weave had been able to provide. Orsik and Eyera, too, were nearby, scarred chests rising and falling in near-unison while they slept curled about one another to the right of the mage, free of the gear and harnesses that were neatly piled not far away. They looked better off than they’d seemed before Bonner had finally given him leave to sleep, the female’s paw intact, while her brother’s flank no longer wept with blood.
“Declan…?”
He started, looking around again. Ester was squinting at him sidelong through the stone ribs of the healing cage, her weariness apparent, her continued discomfort spelled out in the stiffness of her neck and shoulders.
“Welcome back,” he joked with as firm a grin as he could manage, hoping she would recall. It took her a moment, but Ester eventually returned the smile.
“Oh…” she half-laughed, eyes focusing to take in the underside of the arches that curved several inches above her face. “I feel like we’ve done this before, haven’t we…?”
“Our roles were a little different, but yes,” Declan answered, pressing himself up to sit cross-legged next to her. He took in the enclosure for himself, noting that many of the runes still tremored with a faint, green light. “Looks like your father’s spells are still doing their work, so don’t try moving.” He met her eyes, feeling a weight lift from his chest when they opened a little wider for him. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m… not sure.” Ester’s voice came a little stronger, but still faint. “Everything hurts, but…” She shut her eyes tight and gave a groan, like she were trying and failing to recall something. “What happened? I remember running, then the lightning strike, but then…”
“You fell,” Declan explained gently, reaching through the stone to wipe some dried blood from the half-elf’s cheek. “We all fell.” Withdrawing his hand, he gestured upward. “Can you see the hole?”
Ester followed his finger, then nodded, promptly wincing when the motion triggered some obvious spasm of pain.
“Try not to move,” Declan reminder her softly. “You were a mess, but Bonner’s seen you right, I think. He’s sleeping now. He and Ryn managed fine, but the rest of us were in rougher shape. I think the old man will be out for a while.”
“Ah,” Ester said in understanding this time, smartening up. Then she did her best to look around without moving her neck. “Where… Where is Ryn, by the way?”
Declan paused, then cast about himself in surprise. Sure enough, the dragon was nowhere to be seen.
Given that he doubted Ryn would wander far while the three of them slept, he settled on the mouth of the tunnel on Ester’s other side.
“I imagine he’s close by,” he dodged deliberately, not wanting to alarm the woman and have her crane trying to get a peek at the passage she hadn't seemed to have noticed yet. “Probably trying to find us a way out of here. Are you warm enough?”
He was a little relieved when Ester took the bait, giving a muttered confirmation and closing her eyes again. Her brow pinched together, however, and Declan knew the woman’s discomfort to be far from over.
Pulling a glove off with his teeth, he reached through the lattice again and took Ester’s hand in his own scarred grip. She accepted it without a word, squeezing his fingers until whatever ached passed, and didn’t let go after.
Unwilling to try for more sleep despite Declan’s encouragement, the woman instead pressed him on how the warg were doing, and if they’d lost any of the gear. As the beasts were clearly on the mend and it didn’t look like anything had been lost from their harnesses in the fall, it was easy to reassure her, and they spent the next quarter-hour or so in quiet conversation. They were discussing the storm—he filling Ester in on her father’s suspicion of Sehranya’s involvement—when Ryn reappeared, climbing up out of the dark of the shaft just as Declan had expected, his claymore sheathed in one hand.
Good, you’re awake, the dragon said with a mix of surprise and relief, coming to stand over the pair of them and looking down at Ester. How are you?
“I’ll be fine,” Ester answer with a brave face, and Declan said nothing to the contrary as her gripped tightened against another wave of pain. “Where were you?”
Exploring, the dragon answered before Declan could stop him. There’s a network of caves descending north of us. I expect the intention is to force us into the mountains, rather than allow us to pass over them.
“Caves?” Ester asked with interest, suddenly a little more awake. Declan pressed her hand in his before she started looking about again.
“You’ll see what he’s talking about when you’re healed,” he said firmly, and Ester took his point, settling after straining only a little to try and peer around Ryn. When he was sure she wouldn’t hurt herself for the sake of curiosity, Declan looked to the dragon. “Find anything?”
It’s definitely not a dead end. There’s an air flow—Ryn gestured to his webbed ears, which indeed looked sensitive enough to pick up even the slightest breeze—but I couldn’t tell you if the tunnels go through the ranges, or open up further below us on the south face. I’m inclined to think it's the former, though. I couldn’t sense any passages paralleling this side of the slopes, aside from some branches off that one. He indicated the mouth across the cavern from them, and Declan only briefly turned around to glance at it.
Back isn’t an option, he told himself for the hundredth time since they’d started the infernal climb up the Tears.
“Nothing else?” he pressed, hoping he didn’t come off too anxiously. “I’d toss myself off the cliffs before I believed we’d been forced down here for little more than a detour.”
Nothing. Ryn shook his head, moving around Ester to where the warg lay beside Bonner. Orsik, hearing him approach, cracked open an eye before lifting his head expectantly, happily accepting the scratch of the dragon’s claws behind one ear. But there are miles of tunnels down there, and my magics don’t extend so well beneath the earth. I don’t know if we can trust my senses regardless, given how often the Queen and her ilk have fooled us thus far.
Declan nodded, glad he didn’t have to voice that shared opinion.
“Will our provisions last?” Ester asked, getting both Ryn and Declan to look around at her. She’d closed her eyes again, but her words were growing stronger with every passing minute. “If we have to go through?”
“Your father and I already talked about that.” Declan tried to inject some reassurance into his answer. “He says we have eight days of food at least, and more if we ration them.”
Ester grunted, face taut. “That’s less than it might seem. If we get turned around down there, we’ll be wandering around until our legs can’t carry us anymore. And that’s only if we survive long enough to lose our way.” She cracked a tired eye up at him. “I’ve heard it’s not a pretty way to go…”
Declan had no words for that, having considered the same consequence already. He’d never witnessed true starvation himself, but in Ranheln, Vasser Timoth had shared some troubling stories of sailors lost at sea in his time spent in Sethylles, rescued on a mere chance only to return home as nothing more than fleshless mannequins of skin and bone.
It was anything but an encouraging image.
“We’ll get through.”
As one, all three turned to see Bonner lifting his head from his chest, wiping his mouth with a sleeve of his colored robes and grimacing up at the greyish white of the snows still tumbling through the hole above them like the light was too bright. He’d pulled free the rest of the shirt he’d borrowed to shield his face from the elements, so when he reached up to push back his hood his bald head shown orange in the glow of the runes by his ear. He stretched, indicating with his chin the passage Ryn had been exploring as he did so.
“If there’s a current, we need only follow it. It just means we have to be careful, in case the Queen has some method by which to manipulate our direction, like she did on the slopes. We’ll at least mark our path as we move, so we can always find our way back here if need be.”
“How would that help us?” Declan asked, unconvinced.
Bonner shrugged. “Might not, and probably won’t, but having any point by which to plot our direction is better than nothing, don’t you think?”
Declan shrugged. “I suppose,” he conceded without much enthusiasm, looking to Ryn. “You think you can follow the air flow?”
The dragon looked uncertain. It’s strong up here, at the mouth. The tunnel narrows, so it’s easy to make out. If it broadens again lower down, it won’t be so distinct. If there are caverns, or any larger open spaces, I might not be able to detect it at all…
“Wonderful,” Ester muttered sarcastically from the ground.
“There are ways to mediate that,” Bonner assured them, grunting as he used the wall at his back to push himself to his feet. The sound woke Eyera, who looked up blearily for a moment, then settled her head back under the crook of her brother’s leg for warmth.
I think we would all feel better if you would tell us how before we throw ourselves down that hole, Bonner, Ryn said with just the faintest note of tired impatience, still rubbing Orsik behind one ear.
“It’s simple enough,” Bonner said with more than a hint of his typical smile. How the man could be amused by anything, given their situation, the Mother only knew. “Declan will demonstrate.”
There was a moment of silent confusion, at these words.
“Me?” Declan finally spluttered. “If you think I have a way of getting us through these damned—!”
Bonner cut him short with a single raised finger.
“Summon us up a flame, if you would. Nothing extravagant. A small one. Like a candle.”
At once, Declan understood, and the quick noise of comprehension Ryn made told him the dragon had followed the idea as well. Ester, for her part, was busy weathering another spell, her grip so tight about Declan’s digits it hurt, and didn’t look to be listening.
With his left hand, Declan awkwardly pulled the firestone from where he had stowed it in its habitual pocket. A focusing thought, and he condensed the heat within it, then allowed the energy to expand in a small burst. It took flame in his palm, licking harmlessly at the leather of his glove, and Declan weaved it into a single point at the tip of one finger, just as Bonner had suggested. The red-yellow fire burned low, but the mage’s plan was proven in a heartbeat. It danced in the wind that still rolled down the walls at them, but when the storm gave them a moment’s respite the flame flickered and bent away from Declan, shimmering in some unseen flow he couldn’t make out.
It bowed, bouncing and bobbing, in the direction of the tunnel.
“So?” Bonner asked in his ear, and Declan jumped to find the man had approached him while he’d been crafting the simple spell. “Am I not a clever man?”
“Too clever by half,” Declan muttered back, repressing a laugh and releasing the weave to stow the firestone away again. “But yes. I credit you with some fraction of brilliance, in this case.”
“Are we going to make it through?” Ester murmured wearily. Declan looked down at her to find her eyes slightly open again, her grasp relaxed.
With an actual smile, this time, he nodded at her between the stones.
It was another hour before the magics imbued in the woman’s cage ran their course—time Declan, Ryn, and Bonner put to use making what few preparations they could for their inevitable descent into the mountains while the storm continued to flash and rage high above them. The old man checked and rechecked Declan’s head, then Orsik’s and Eyera’s injuries, and when he announced them all fit to move they saw the warg harnessed again. A needless count of their gear and provisions followed—Ryn’s senses had already confirmed that nothing was lost in the fall—but it provided a good reminder of their provisions, which Bonner claimed responsibility for partitioning over the coming days. By the time this was done, the runes had finally faded from the black arches, and Ester declared herself well enough to try standing. Bonner spent several minutes pulling the stonework back into the rock from which it had come, and the moment there was space enough to do so Declan had reached down to help the half-elf up, careful to keep her steady as she found her feet. She was haler by far than the broken mess of a woman she’d been only hours before, but a long way from completely recovered, and staggered against him the moment she attempted to take a step. Deaf to all protests, Declan bent and pulled the woman’s arm over his shoulder to half-guide, half-carry her to where Eyera and her brother were sniffing at the darkness of the tunnel mouth.
