Pia chewed her lip as she listened, and something else slipped into place.
“I might have sensed it,” she muttered. Dragos swiveled to face her, his expression growing intent. “I picked up on something odd at supper, and I went to tell Beluviel about it earlier this evening, but something stopped me. There were several people present along with this one man who caught my attention. I’m pretty sure he messed with my head. I remember thinking he was one of my best friends when I know I’ve never met him before. He was in my dreams too.” Scorching gold eyes turned murderous. Dragos put a hand on her shoulder, gripping her tightly as she finished, near to tears. “I didn’t say anything to Beluviel that I had originally intended. I just remembered that.”
Calondir, Ferion and the other Elf were watching her closely as well. Calondir said, “Amras is one of our ancients and adept at persuasion, along with other arts. Do not take the burden of this onto your shoulders. It does not belong there.”
The muscles in Dragos’s body had coiled dangerously tight, but his hand was very gentle as he touched her cheek. She felt the brush of his Power along hers, sliding hot and possessive along her cooler energy. Coming up next to the reality of him was an intense shock to the system after the slightly unreal dreams they had shared. It felt like a feast after she had starved for days.
“I do not sense any lasting influence,” he murmured. “But I would like to check more deeply later.”
She could see out of the corner of her eye that all three of the Elves were staring at Dragos as though he had sprouted two spare heads. She had grown used to seeing that expression on other people, and she chose to ignore it. Instead she focused only on Dragos just as he focused on her, and for one fleeting, enchanted moment they shut out the entire world.
She told him, “I dreamed that I went to look out the window and saw that stars were dying. He was there and he said ‘nothing shines forever,’ along with something about paving a way to some kind of new age. This is what the Oracle prophesied, isn’t it?”
Dragos smoothed a strand of her hair back. “It sounds like it.”
It was possible that the search parties would find many more survivors than she believed they would. But even if they did, the Elves had suffered a devastating blow. More people had been asleep than had been awake. The number that might be able to cross over with Calondir and do battle to recover those who were taken would be pitifully small. They prepared for a suicide mission, and she could tell by the High Lord’s expression that he already knew it. Then those that remained would be lost, along with Beluviel and so many others.
And while the concept of the Deus Machinae was new and strange to her, barely more than a passing story, she was pretty sure that it wasn’t a good idea to let one stay in the hands of someone who could willingly cause so many deaths.
She took Dragos’s much larger, harder hand in both of hers. “You know we have to help them, don’t you?”
He turned his hand and curled his long fingers around hers, squeezing lightly.
He said, “I have already summoned the Wyr.”
? ? ?
He had summoned the Wyr as he raced toward a magical fire that destroyed the Elven Wood and lit the night sky for miles.
The Deus Machinae were only dangerous in proportion to the Power of those who wielded them. When they fell into the hands of those with little Power or no real understanding of what they possessed, the Machinae influenced the world in subtle ways.
The last time Dragos had seen a Machine was almost two hundred and forty years ago. Although he had not touched it, he was fairly certain it had been Hyperion’s, the god of Law. At the time it had appeared in the shape of a quill pen, and one of the most famous human lawmakers in American history had used it to sign the Declaration of Independence.
Now an Elf wielded one of the Machinae again. Only an ancient Elf with an affinity to the elements had the Power to use a Machine to such devastating effect on the environment, and he was NOT GOING TO LET THEM tear the Earth apart again.
The fire had killed the spirit of the Wood. He spared a thought for how that would sadden Pia, as he reached out to Monroe telepathically.
You will call Graydon, he said to the startled gargoyle. Tell him to halt the Games. The High Lord has been attacked, and the Elven Wood is broken. Graydon is to bring a hundred of our strongest, as fast as he can. As soon as you deliver that message, get your ass back to your unit.