Blood Bond (The Stones of Terrene Chronicles Book 4), page 24
Zebediah snickered before falling back into the silence they’d been traveling in. He finally stopped at a dead end of the tunnel and lifted his fist, slowing the men behind them. He pointed to two soldiers and then to the door ahead that Brandon could barely make out in the dim torch light. They passed by, tugging open the door and slipping through like a mischief of mice.
This was it. Brandon lifted his sword two finger widths from its sheath and let it slide silently back into place, reassuring himself that it was loose, ready.
The dark of the tunnel seemed oppressive as they waited, the steady light of their luminary crystals offering only a faint reprieve to his muted senses.
Finally, two knocks, and the door swung open again, the hinges remarkably silent despite the damp air. One of the two men motioned them forward, whispering as Brandon and Zebediah drew even with him, “Only a handful in this area, sirs.” He jerked his jaw toward the ascending stairs. “Easy to clean up.”
“Save at least one for me to talk to,” Brandon ordered.
The man nodded and took off, taking the steps two at a time. Brandon followed, palms tingling, Zebediah’s disproportionately quiet footfalls behind him, and the patter of their troop beyond.
It had been years since Brandon had set foot in any of the garrisons, yet this central garrison was as he dimly remembered: brick-worked walls, sturdy doors with large hinges, a rack of uniforms in the corner of one room, a display of swords, maces, and clubs in another room. What he hadn’t remembered, what was clearly different, were the broken window panes, letting in freezing air. The slumped bodies of days-dead soldiers, the pock-marked and singed walls of wanton destruction.
These were Doldran soldiers. His people. And while there were many bodies here, how many more had been turned?
Hatred was a flame in Brandon’s stomach, branding his insides with the desire for justice.
Red flickered in his vision, obscuring his sight. He stopped in the hallway and closed his eyes, breathing deeply in his nose and out his mouth, using the calming techniques that Finn had shown him back in Antius. He had to stay focused. He couldn’t lose himself to the berserker of before. He needed to lead his men.
The Doldran soldiers streamed out from behind him, hunting through the building to dispatch any enemy they could find. Brandon pulled out his sword and stalked through a ruined doorway, snow and ice visible in the courtyard beyond. A messenger hawk ruffled its feathers, beak burrowed under its wing against the bitter cold. Zebediah fell into step behind Brandon.
The Elph had uniforms. That’s what the freed Void Born had said. Brandon could leave the bonded. Just find the Elph. Find General Erik.
The tip of Brandon’s nose numbed in the cold, but his anger kept his core warm as he walked through the courtyard, a slurry of melted snow and blood pulling at his boots. They needed to check all the buildings here before they could go beyond the garrison, to the walls, to the mid-city. It was winter, there was a possibility that the general liked comfort and shelter. Maybe he’d be here.
Or maybe he was somewhere beyond, fighting.
Only one way to know.
Zebediah grabbed Brandon’s shoulder and pointed with his other hand to the top floor, where a man in a gray uniform glared down imperviously at them. Brandon’s pulse quickened.
It could be him.
The two of them tore into the building, the door thudding against the wall from the force of their fervor. Stairs pounded a hollow drumbeat under their boots. Zebediah deftly led Brandon through the building.
Brandon’s thoughts raced as he ran. If this was Erik, if this was the general, if they could turn him, order him to stand down, order him to re-command his troops, like Brandon had done at the Hollows, if they could turn even a fraction of the Elph army before their Coven leader arrived, maybe they could turn the tide of battle.
Zebediah halted beyond the only closed door in the hallway and looked back at Brandon, his chest heaving as he raised a thick brow. Brandon nodded, dimly noting the lack of guards or soldiers in this area. Perhaps this general was so confident in the bond that kept his soldiers under thrall, that he didn’t bother with sentries.
The hatred in his chest flared.
That general was about to learn what it felt like to be bonded.
Zebediah flung the door open and stood back, letting Brandon charge in unimpeded.
“Cease and stay where you are!” Brandon shouted. He gripped his sword, knuckles popping in protest.
The man––he had to be General Erik––froze in place, head turned partway, just enough for them to get a glimpse of his wide eyes. His hands stayed on his hips.
Brandon strode forward two steps, stopping just before a wide desk covered with an array of maps, candles, and a plate of half-eaten food. He forced his breathing to slow, to regain a measure of kingly dignity. “Turn around. Answer my questions honestly. What is your rank and name?”
Brown eyes that were almost golden flashed at Brandon, but the man’s voice didn’t waver. “I am General Erik Von Alonzo of Coven Leader Lea’s Army of Titans.”
Brandon’s brow quirked at the title of the army. “I didn’t see any titans out there.”
Erik’s grin looked forced as the bond pulled words out of him. “Looks can be deceiving when your army is human trash that will fight for their master to their death.”
Zebediah muttered something foul that Brandon silently agreed with. How dare the Elph so recklessly toy with the lives around them? Brandon forced back the desire to punch the general. He was here for a reason. “Where is the rest of your army? It seems you’re mostly alone here.”
Erik’s shoulders relaxed into a stance that came across as smug. “I sent them to crush the pitiful resistance that the other garrison was trying to hold onto. I didn’t need them here.” He looked down and smoothed the gray uniform over his chest, taking a moment to straighten a medallion hanging over his breast. “Who needs minions when your secret weapon has arrived?”
A chill unrelated to outside cold swept through Brandon, hardening the fire in his gut into a crystallized flame. He glanced at Zebediah out of the corner of his eye, his alarm mirrored in the elder Monomi.
Brandon fought to keep his volume level. “What secret weapon?”
Erik leaned forward and grabbed a slice of dried meat off the plate, and he gestured with the food. “It’s in the war room, if you want to see it.” He bit off a piece, chewing loudly.
Brandon swallowed hard. What more did the Elph have? The blood bond was powerful enough. And they’d already added ragers to their living artillery. They were already winning. What additional secret weapon did they need?
“Show me,” Brandon ordered.
Erik flashed his teeth around the mouthful of meat. “Yes, sir.”
Erik circled around the desk and eyed Zebediah on his way out the door. “Why do you need the big guy when you have the bond? You not strong enough on your own?”
Brandon bristled but didn’t respond. What was with this Elph? Were they all this obnoxious? He clearly wasn’t an enslaved human, with gratitude and respect oozing out of him, but his casual indifference rubbed Brandon wrong. Perhaps being on a higher level of the blood bond allowed for arrogance to fester?
Zebediah stayed just a step behind Brandon, his presence a steady comfort. Brandon was confident in his own abilities, but the fact remained that two were better than one. He glanced out a window, noting the Doldran soldiers in the courtyard. How was it that none of them had made it to this building yet? He and Zebediah hadn’t run that far ahead, had they?
Erik strode through a set of open double doors into a large room with an oval table in the center. A section of rope lay on the burnished wood like a hibernating snake, and a large map of Doldra covered one wall. A slender, paneled window overlooked the wide wall, separating mid-High Doldra from the lower section of the city. Chairs surrounded the table, all facing inward except one, which turned slowly from the narrow window, revealing a small, portly woman. Black hair swept to the side of her round face, showcasing bright eyes and a slender nose. She smiled broadly.
“Ah, welcome, King Brandon of Doldra.” She gestured, palm open, to the rope on the table. Her voice sharpened. “Bind the one that came with you. Erik, help him.”
Horror rose in the shape of mist in the depths of his mind, whispering as it sank incorporeal claws into his psyche, chaining him. His body moved to obey, and Zebediah didn’t hesitate to swing against Erik. Brandon’s blade rose to block the Monomi’s in a clash of metal that reverberated up Brandon’s arm.
How? Who was this that she took command of him so easily?
Was this the Coven leader who was supposed to be here in a week?
How could he free himself?
Erik grappled Zebediah, heedless of the two swords near his face. Brandon pulled back and punched Zebediah in the gut. Pain exploded across his knuckles from Zebediah’s dragonhide armor, but the goal was achieved: Zebediah stumbled, his guard momentarily lowered. Erik pounced, rope in his hands.
In moments, it was over.
Zebediah struggled between them, his hands bound behind his back, his face red with rage. “Who are you?” he ground out at the woman.
She stood, a calm air about her. She walked leisurely toward them, cheeks pink and eyes glowing. “Can’t you guess, oh, deadly Monomi?” She halted a few paces away, smirking up at Brandon. “I am Coven Leader Lea Cassner. And you played right into my hands.”
How? The two Void Born, they’d been under his control when he’d questioned them. He was certain of it. Had they been given false information before being captured? Had this Lea known he was coming out?
She reached up and touched Brandon’s cheek lightly, inspecting him with narrowed eyes. “So, you’re the berserker royal whom Sephirn wrote about. He failed to mention that you’re pretty nice to look at—for a human.” She hummed to herself, tapping her chin with a pudgy finger. “I’ll have to send a hawk back to him in thanks for such a fine war present.”
Her words held multiple layers of meaning, and Brandon didn’t want to untangle any of them. “How’d he know?”
“Like I’m going to tell you everything?” She laughed, once, sharp. “Your enemy has noticed you, Brandon. That’s all you need to concern yourself with.” Her attention shifted to where Zebediah still struggled between Erik and Brandon. “I hadn’t expected you, but I have a use for you anyway.”
Her gaze settled on Brandon’s sword, and he struggled against the bond, wanting to lurch back, to twist away from whatever she was planning. He wasn’t going to kill Zebediah. No. He’d already lost Zane. He couldn’t live with himself if he was forced to kill Zane’s father.
Lea chuckled. “Oh, Brandon. Whatever you’re panicking about, it’s not that bad. Silly human boy.” She pointed at Zebediah. “You can live,” she announced. “You will take a message to the little lordling Weston. And you will tell him this,” her lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Your berserker king has been captured and turned. Your winning tile is defeated. You have no hope. All can surrender now and be bonded under my mercy, or all can burn.”
The earlier fire in Brandon’s belly shifted into nausea that blazed his throat, filled his mouth. He gagged where he stood, the room spinning dizzily.
Rushing water sounded in his ears, drowning out whatever Lea said next, and Brandon watched with blurred vision as four men came into the room to drag Zebediah away. Defeat was a millstone around Brandon’s neck.
Lea’s face swam into Brandon’s vision and she offered a sharp smile. “This is your kingdom, those out there are your men. Your responsibility. It’s time to put them out of their misery, Your Highness.” Her smile morphed into her already-familiar smirk. “Either help capture and bring them in to be turned. Or kill them. Your choice.”
White, numbing haze swept the red of fury out of Brandon, cleared the gray of despair. He mentally detached from his bruised, bleeding heart. This was what defeat tasted like. Pure, utter defeat.
They’d gambled. And, with one move, they’d lost everything.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Weston
Weston paced. It was impossible not to.
Andre and Niles lingered by the window, giving him looks he ignored.
He needed to be out there. He didn’t really want to be out there. But he needed to be useful. But how? What if the mission went wrong? What if Brandon died? What if––
“My lord!” An attendant lurched into the room, his face and eyes red. “My lord, General Monomi is back!”
Weston bound across the room, dodging the short table, vaulting over the squat sofa, launching himself off the seat cushion, propriety-be-voided. Zebediah was back? What about Brandon?
Andre’s hands were already moving, giving silent voice to the question reverberating in Weston’s head.
The aide looked back into the hall, then pressed himself against the molded door. Zebediah rounded the corner, and Weston inspected him, head-to-toe in a heartbeat. Scuffed. Dirty. Black eye. Rubbing his wrists that looked somewhat raw.
Zebediah gave Andre a look of such heartbreak and fury that Weston’s heart sank from his ribcage to his stomach.
Zebediah heaved a sigh. “It was a trap. Their Coven leader was there, waiting for us. She turned him. And set me loose to report her message.”
Andre spun on his heel and strode away, stopping at the couch to punch a pillow.
“Let me guess. We can surrender or die.” Weston barely recognized his own voice. “What about the men that went with you?”
Zebediah ran his hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration that mirrored Zak’s mannerisms. “Anyone’s guess. Bond them? Kill them? Send them against their own families, because she’s a twisted, cruel Elph? I don’t know.”
Whales. Whales above and whales below, Void take them all. They were doomed.
Weston stared at the plush woven rug underfoot. What did this mean for those whom Brandon had freed previously? Would this revert them back to those they’d been under before? What did it mean for General Titus? For the soldiers from the Hollows? His eyes widened. What did it mean for the Void Born, Christopher?
What chance they had at any sort of victory crumbled to ash.
Odds were good that the reinforcements that were coming from the south would be from Antius, possibly with Abigail herself. Undoubtedly, she’d have soldiers who were bonded. And they were at risk, now that this Coven leader was here. Now that Brandon had been turned, and was likely to be used as the berserker he’d been.
And there were still bards with ragers out there.
Weston squeezed his eyes, trying to shut out the burning hot tears of anger.
It was all on him now.
What was left for them to do?
What would his father do?
No. Weston shook his head to himself. No more of that. He, Weston, was the ruler now. He would lead as he saw fit, and stand by his decisions as his own, for however short his rule was.
Weston opened his eyes, his heart cracking under the weight of the decision. He’d wanted to see Jade and her rescuers safely back. But now the odds of survival were too slim.
He had to cut the tie. Cut the hope of finding Jade.
If she was in the same place as the daises, as the message from the Phoenix had said, odds were that one of the three Void Born with them would die in a rescue attempt. That team alone had their one chance of breaking the bond in time to save countless lives. There was no hope here unless the bond was broken.
He met Andre’s gaze, and Andre nodded slowly, his eyes drooping at the corners, as if he already knew what was in Weston’s mind.
“Send a message to the Phoenix,” Weston rasped to the attendant that had stayed frozen in the doorway. Weston spoke clearly. “Tell them to break the bond. Now. Do not stop for anything. Break it.”
The attendant nodded where he stood, shaking.
Weston flailed a hand at him. “Go!”
The man turned, his footsteps echoing in the hall.
Weston stumbled to the couch and sank into it, the colors in the room dulled. Who knew how long it would take for the Phoenix to get wherever it needed to be? How long would breaking the bond take? What would the Coven leader do in the meantime? How much time did they all have left?
Even as he mentally apologized to Jade for abandoning her like this, he knew it’d be what she’d want. To put the people first. It didn’t make him feel any better.
“This is the end of it.” The words came out of him, surprising him. He hadn’t intended to speak what was in his mind. But the act of putting his thoughts to words helped, so he continued, “We need a gamble. A desperate gamble.” He stared at the cream-colored wall, aware of the three men coming around him, listening.
“I’m going out there,” Weston announced. He lifted a finger in Niles’s direction, forestalling any protest his bodyguard would likely make. “Every man counts. And my mother is already leading our people back home. It’s important for morale that I be seen doing what I’m asking of my soldiers, and our morale just took a direct hit. Those bards are still out there. Those ragers are as much a danger now as they were before. We need them out of this equation.”
“I am not— you are not parajumping,” Niles stated.
A broken grin lifted Weston’s lips for a brief moment. “No parajumping,” he agreed. “But we leave as soon as we can.”
Andre settled his hand on Weston’s shoulder and flicked two fingers between him and Weston. “I’m going with you.”
Weston nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Right.” Better for them to die fighting than to die in the palace, awaiting doom.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Ben
Ben leaned over the Phoenix railing, watching the snow-covered evergreens blur below their airship. Would they be able to find Jade? How would they bring her back if she was bonded? Would they have to capture her, like a dragon? A fiery Jade she-dragon? He sighed and dropped his chin. What if something had happened to Brandon down in Aerugo? What then? How would they find an already-bonded Elph friendly to their cause?
