Embrace the Fire Page 11

  Lianna smiled. “War is already upon you, Cedric. You've been out of touch.”

  “What do you mean? Our countries were in parley not two nights ago. Your uncle met with mine in the Crossings to seek peace.”

  Lianna shook her head. “No longer. My uncle has dispatched secret forces onto West Ashwynd's soil. It won't be long before Sebastian will feel the effects of the great Lismarian might. Anyway,” she massaged the back of her neck, closing her eyes, “what interest can it hold for you?”

  Cedric stared. “I sit a prisoner in a country on the brink of war. If someone close to me commits an act of war, I strongly suspect that I would undergo bodily endangerment. Can there be any other reason?”

  “You could wish to sell secrets in exchange for freedom.” She flipped her braid over her shoulder, her blue eyes skittering away from his gaze.

  “Would you give me the chance?” Cedric asked wryly. He raised his hands, still wrapped in chains.

  “No.”

  “There's nothing I could offer you that would convince you to set me free, or even just to remove these ridiculous shackles?”

  “When we're safely on board my uncle's ship, Cedric, I will remove your shackles. Not before.”

  Cedric huffed. “Lianna, I've pretty well accepted my fate. I know I will have to present myself in your uncle's palace sooner or later. May as well be sooner.” And then there was Ember. The Dragon had become his new goal; Commander Jerrus had said that Ember was traveling to ClarenVale. So to ClarenVale, Cedric would go, chains or none.

  Lianna broke off a small pinch of meat from her rabbit. “I'm glad you're finally coming to see reason, Cedric.”

  Cedric refused to give her the satisfaction of an answer; she baited him gleefully, and he would not play her games.

  Ashleen burst into the clearing as if a pack of Cerberuses snarled at her heels. “Up, up, get up!” she cried.

  Lianna didn't even pause to ask what was happening. She bounded across the fire and hauled Cedric to his feet, dragging him down the long heather-strewn slope toward the Channel. The water's edge lapped the land at least a fieldspan distant.

  The Pixie's grip was surprisingly strong, and Cedric stumbled as his momentum carried him farther than his shackled legs would allow. He plowed into the ground, cursing as his forehead crashed against his wrist restraints.

  With an angry gasp, Lianna yanked a key from her pocket, inserted it into the locks, and deftly twisted. The shackles snapped open, falling to the sodden ground. Cedric's wrists and ankles were free for the first time since his escape. His impulse was to charge back up the hill, but he hesitated when he saw Ashleen's grim expression.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the hillcrest, and his heart slammed into his throat. He didn't know what he'd expected—rogue Trolls, Goblins, Rockmonsters, even Nicholas Erlane himself. What he saw chilled him to his bones.

  Over the crest, creeping from the forest's treeline, a mass tinged the horizon. It grew and darkened as it overcame the hill until Cedric realized what it was.

  “Snakes!” he cried. Not just normal snakes two or three spans in length. Massive snakes that could easily swallow whole humans, even whole creatures, like Trolls or Griffons. And there weren't just a few. There were thousands of the serpents. The entire hillsides were a mass of writhing motion.

  “What's controlling them?” Ashleen asked wildly.

  Lianna's voice was low and angry. “They're under Seer Fey taibe; a 'gift' from my uncle to Sebastian. However, it looks as if Sebastian has answered with a gift of his own.”

  “Nicholas Erlane released them on purpose?” Outrage gripped Ashleen's voice.

  “We are at war, Ashleen,” Lianna snapped. “We don't throw daisies at each other across the Channel.” She pointed to a commotion in the distance. “Unless I miss my guess, that is Kandrick and his men. He was assigned to drive the serpents onto West Ashwynd's soil, but the Sirens' voices have reached their ears. The men are no longer under their own power.”

  Cedric strained his eyes. Nearly a half fieldspan from them, five figures closed in on the band of men who stood like statues in front of the serpents. The Sirens' voices couldn't be heard from this distance, but they threaded their way through the snakes as if the writhing serpents were pets.

  “Sirens!”

  “Aye,” Lianna spat. “And if their voices reach us, we will be in the same condition as Kandrick and his men.”

  She pulled urgently on Cedric's arm, but Cedric yanked it away. “We can outrun them if we head to the south!”

  Ashleen shook her head. “Nay, the serpents slither as far as the eye can see either way; we have no chance of outrunning them.”

  “There is only one chance,” Lianna said, “and I may yet save one thing I had hoped to gain.”

  “What's that?”

  “You.” She grabbed his arm and yanked him forward, across the heather, toward the water.

  “Your uncle's ship, my lady,” Ashleen reminded her. “It will be hours until it reaches us!”

  “And so we swim.”

  Cedric nearly tripped. “Across the Channel?” He knew how to swim well enough. Growing up in the wilderness, he'd taught himself, learning from the fish and eels he'd seen cutting through the water, but he had been weakened by four months in Sebastian's dungeon. The mist had thinned, and the distant shoreline looked impossibly far.

  Lianna didn't answer. They'd reached the beach. The snakes and Sirens were too close for ease of mind. If Cedric's ears caught their song, he would turn into a mindless shell, a shadow of his former self.

  Lianna stripped off her gown and tossed it aside, splashing into the surf in only her chemise and drawers. “Come on!” she shouted.

  Ashleen didn't bother stripping anything. Her soft-soled moccasins kicked the spray high. She arced her hands over her head and executed a perfect dive beneath a wave, surfacing moments later.

  Cedric glanced back once more before diving into the surf, submerging beneath the icy waters of the Channel of Lise. His heart lay behind him and destiny stretched ahead. He couldn't embrace both, not now.

  But the time would come when his heart and his destiny would be one and the same. He stretched his arm forward in a powerful stroke, kicking his past behind him.

  Chapter Eight

  Sebastian

  The smoke of a thousand campfires drifted across the Plains, the incessant drumbeats thickening the air. Sebastian stalked toward the Commanders' tent, five of his Officers and Commander Lanier following him. His jaw hurt; his hands had found no relief, and after he'd killed the siren hag, he was leery about touching anything. Leather gloves now covered his hands, but frost coated the outsides of them, and he wondered how much longer they would remain effective.

  If I ever meet that Dragondimn again... He cursed the silver-eyed lad aloud, drawing a curious glance from one of his Commanders.

  A runner-boy darted through the tents toward Sebastian and his men, halting them. The lad bowed nervously.

  “What have you to say, boy?” Sebastian's tone could cut steel.

  The boy flinched. “Your Grace, the Elvendimn scouts send word that the shores of the Camaran Sea are clear of any of the Lismarian fleet, but a missive from Commander Jerrus warns that Erlane has released giant serpents onto our lands near the Griffon Pass, though he is unclear how they were delivered. Commander Banler in the Griffon Pass has used Sirens to drive the serpents into the Channel, but he fears that he may not have corralled all the reptiles. They've taken Lismarian prisoners, one of whom was commanding the serpent force. Two Dimn have brought him to the Commanders' tent and taken the rest of his men to the gaol.”

  The boy held out a scroll to the King. Sebastian yanked it from the hand of the youth and strode the last hundred spans into the Commanders' tent.

  One of Erlane's Commanders, Kandrick, sat bound at the wrist inside the tent, flanked by two of Sebastian's men.

  “You! Are you responsible for this?” Sebastian waved the scroll.
“What is the meaning of this?”

  “Your Grace.” Kandrick's iron-colored eyes flickered beneath his bristly orange lashes. “The serpents were but a ruse, a last-ditch effort to reach you. Our plan was that I would be captured and taken into your presence so that Lismaria might offer peace to West Ashwynd before irrevocable steps are taken.”

  “A ruse? You make light of this?” Sebastian tossed the scroll onto the table in the middle of the tent. The parchment unfurled on the wood. “My Commander sends reports of thousands of these vermin loose in our country. What good are peace talks when Nicholas Erlane floods my country with vile reptiles and—”

  “Your Grace.” Lanier's voice, normally low, was sharp as it cut across Sebastian's tirade. Sebastian knew what his Commander meant. War hangs in the balance.

  Sebastian glared at Lanier. Coward. Are you so afraid to enter a war against Erlane? Lanier lowered his gaze, conquered, at least, for the moment. Sebastian advanced to the table and leaned his gloved fingertips on it, his gaze cutting into Kandrick's iron one. “Then what do you have to offer me?” His low voice threaded with danger.

  Kandrick didn't answer right away. Tension vibrated in the tent, and the distant noises of beasts and soldiers made no dent in it. Kandrick's beard hardly moved as he spoke. “Perhaps you do not know, Your Grace, but His Grace, Nicholas Erlane, has landed several thousand men and creatures onto your shores in secret over the past two months. Your position is ... more compromised than you know. My King will immediately remove these legions with your agreement to a small provision.”

  Boiling rage consumed Sebastian. He had to quell the urge to draw his sword and run Kandrick through on the spot. “He thinks I will agree to a provision when he's commanded acts of war against us? Serpents, large or small, released on our lands are no offer of friendship or peace. A secret invasion—while, I might add, we were engaged in peace talks—is a flagrant disavowal of the international rules of war. Erlane has never been anything but a lying, deceitful traitor!”

  “The provision is a minor one, Your Grace, easily managed. You really should consider the offer.”

  “What is the provision?” Sebastian spat, his hand clenched around the hilt of his sword.

  Kandrick leaned over the map of West Ashwynd spread open on the table between them. “The northeastern portion of the isle, Your Grace. He will not touch the Crossings nor even travel up so far as Oracle Rock and the Rockmonster Dwellings. His only interest lies here.” Kandrick's bound wrists rested on the table, and his finger pointed.

  Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Earlier, he offered to leave West Ashwynd alone as well as cede half of Lismaria to me in exchange for the Amulet of the Ancients. Now that he's been refused, he wishes to bargain for Dragon Hollow, the Pixie Glades, and Phoenix Port?” Sebastian stepped back, calming his rage with his curiosity. “Why?”

  “His Grace has his reasons. The benefit to you and your kingdom, Your Grace, is the safety of its citizens as the secret legions of Lismaria return home.”

  Sebastian sank into a chair near the table. His Officers flanked him on both sides. He allowed a long silence to fill the tent. The flash of Lismarian blue in the woods on the journey to the Forgotten Plains suddenly made sense. He wondered where the other pockets of Lismarian soldiers were stowed. Fury flooded him, sparking in his mind until a raging inferno fueled his anger. He kept his words tightly controlled. “I find it interesting, Kandrick, that both of Nicholas Erlane's treaty offers are heavily based on Dragons and Seer Fey. He seeks the Amulet, which was made through a treaty among Dragons, Seer Fey, and my ancestor, Aarkan the Firebringer. Since that proved impossible, he now seeks control of the area where the majority of my Dragons and Pixies dwell in West Ashwynd. Why? I can only assume he has plans for the creatures?”

  “I cannot divulge His Grace's plans. I know only that any plans he makes, he makes for the good of his people, and that he is heavily involved in—”

  “Heavily involved in crouching behind his golden throne like the usurping, traitorous coward that he is.”

  Kandrick flinched. “Your Grace—”

  Sebastian had had enough. He rose to his feet. “We are done. Parley is meaningless and bargains are useless, particularly when one bargainer bypasses the rules of parley and attacks not only my people but my person. I refuse to give up portions of West Ashwynd to the usurper of the Lismarian throne. Listen and listen well.” He glanced at Commander Lanier, at the five Officers who stood inside the tent, and lastly across the table at Kandrick. His voice sank to a whisper.

  “Let war and Dragonfire fall upon you all.”

  He turned and strode from the tent, motioning Lanier to his side. His Commander bowed, his helmet under his arm.

  “Do we know anything about where these secret legions might be found?” Sebastian asked.

  “After we were attacked in the Griffon Pass, I sent scouts all over the eastern coast and inland, Your Grace. We have identified three enemy camps in Phoenix Port, the Griffon Pass, and Siren Vale. We believe they came over in small groups, but are now amassing into larger divisions.”

  “If there is a camp in the Griffon Pass, there will be battle across the ford at the Rifted River,” Sebastian said.

  “Aye, Your Grace.” Lanier glanced behind him at the river that cut through the Plains. “We will attack that camp at first light at the northern end of the Plains.”

  Sebastian nodded. “Most of us will.”

  “To the north, Your Grace, into the Griffon Pass's forests?”

  “Aye. And may it be a rout.”

  “May the Stars guide us.”

  Sebastian shook his head. “The Stars are for old women and lisping infants. May our cunning give us the victory.”

  Lanier sketched a bow and turned to go.

  “Lanier.”

  The Commander turned. “May the Stars make you cunning.” Sebastian turned for his tent and the restless night it promised.

  * * *

  Long before the first light of dawn, Sebastian braced as the boy tightened the straps that bound his armor. The lad's movements were swift and efficient, and the job was soon finished.

  The boy turned to retrieve Sebastian's helmet.

  “From what Clan do you hail?” Sebastian asked.

  The boy nearly dropped the helmet in his surprise. “From the Pixie Glades, Your Grace.”

  “Are you Pixiedimn? That is, have you trained Pixies?”

  The boy shook his head. “Nay, my mother chose to send me to The Crossings instead.” He moved to place the helmet on Sebastian's head, but Sebastian waved it away.

  “You have healers, do you not? Among your people?”

  The boy's cheeks flushed and he stared at the ground, clutching the helmet against his chest. “Every Clan has healers, Your Grace.”

  “But yours have an extra measure of healing ability, is it not so? The Seer Fey? Are there not one or two still in residence in your Clan?”

  Sweat stood out on the boy's forehead. Sebastian surveyed the lad's expression coolly. He was fairly sure he knew what the lad was thinking. Few servants escaped the castle without telling tales far and wide of Sebastian's black temper. This was no temper; he was merely curious. Curious and tired—tired of the ice that crusted his veins and freeze-burned his skin, shooting pain to his extremities at all hours of the day or the night. Sebastian grasped the boy's chin and tilted his face upward.

  “Tell me, boy, do any Seer Fey live in the Pixie Glades?”

  Ice-crystals feathered the boy's peach fuzz. He would start to shave soon, Sebastian thought, until he turned seventeen and became a man. Only weak-minded men continued shaving after their seventeenth year.

  “I—I don't know of any, Your Grace,” the boy stuttered. The ice crystals worked slowly up the lad's jaw, and a powerful shudder ran through his body.

  Sebastian kept his grip firm. “You cannot even think of one?”

  The boy's lips were blue, and the skin beneath his nose split into cracked, f
rozen blisters. He was struggling in earnest, but Sebastian refused to release his glove from the boy's panicked face.

  A high keening wail left the boy's mouth, and Sebastian used his other hand to cuff the boy across the cheek. “Tell me, boy, or I'll send you home to your mother on a death cart.”

  “L—Lism—maria, Your Grace.”

  “What?” Sebastian dropped his glove and the boy stumbled backward, cupping his chin.

  “I—I have heard that there was a Seer Fey who lived here—not in the Glades, but in West Ashwynd—but has since returned to Lismaria. It's said she was one of the strongest.”

  “Where in Lismaria?”

  “I don't know, Your Grace,” the boy gasped, and Sebastian reached for the boy again, but the boy dodged his grasp. “I don't know where she went, but the Council of the Seer Fey dwell in the southern ridges of the Marron Mountains in eastern Lismaria. Perhaps she went there.”

  “The Seer Fey Council lives among the Marron Mountains?” Sebastian advanced on the boy who shrank backward against the table where the polishing cloth for the armor lay. “How do you know this? No one knows precisely where the Ancients have dwelt since the time of Aarkan.”

  “N—no reason, Your Grace.”

  This time, Sebastian's hands gripped both sides of the boy's face. The boy shrieked in pain.

  “Tell me,” Sebastian demanded savagely.

  “My grandmother is one of them.”

  “You yourself are Pixie?” Sebastian asked in surprise. The boy's hair was a rich brown—but so rich. He hadn't suspected since it was close in color to a human's hair.

  The boy wrenched away and fled the tent. Sebastian let him go, picking up his helmet and placing it on his own head. He sheathed his sword and stepped out into the night.

  * * *

  Sebastian sat astride his horse, careful to keep his gloves free of the animal's withers. He needed thicker gloves; the thin leather gave paltry protection from the ice, and the last thing he wanted his horse to do at this moment was scream a whinny.