“Tragen!” he screamed.
The Tracker half turned, slowing only marginally, but it was enough. He caught sight of the blue fire that exploded out of the boy’s hand just before it struck him full on. The impact knocked him backward, off his feet and onto the stone flooring. Then it followed him down in a blazing arc, burning into him. Tragen screamed, thrashing to break free. But the magic enfolded him, directed by Kirisin’s rage and determination, set upon its course and unalterable. It burned through skin and scales. It burned down to the bones and then through the bones themselves. Tragen became a fiery stick man, a blackened husk, and finally a pile of steaming ashes.
When it was finished, Kirisin stood looking down at the remains, the Elfstones gone dark and cool in his hand. His face reflected the mix of horror and excitement that using the magic had wrought. Feelings he could only barely recognize as his own coursed through his body, hotter than his lifeblood.
Simralin climbed back to her feet and hobbled over to stand next to him, staring at his twisted features. “Shades, Little K,” she whispered.
ARISSEN BELLORUUS SAT SILENTLY atop the dais as healers worked on his injuries. He had been struck twice by handgun bullets, once in the shoulder and once in the side. Neither wound was life threatening. Neither would do more than cause him pain in the days ahead. Four other members of the High Council were not nearly so fortunate. Three were dead, including First Minister Basselin, and the fourth was likely to be so before the day was out. Maurin Ortish was dead, as well.
Kirisin and Simralin sat nearby, watching as Elven healers bandaged the King’s wounds, their backs to the wall, their arms wrapped about their drawn-up legs.
“He doesn’t look good,” Kirisin observed quietly.
“He’s in shock,” his sister said. “No different from you or me.”
No arguing that, Kirisin thought. Who would have believed that an attack of the sort they had just witnessed could ever have taken place in these chambers? Such things didn’t happen. Tragen had gone berserk. Or the demon had, he corrected. Gone mad. Determined to do what Culph had failed to do, to convey him to the demons and make him use the Loden to imprison the Elves. Was there ever any chance of him doing that? Any chance of making an escape from these rooms with Kirisin in tow? Clearly the demon had thought so. It would have killed everyone to make it happen.
“I should have waited,” he said. “I should have kept quiet.”
His sister looked over. Her face was bruised, and there was blood smeared on her forehead. She looked a wreck. “Let’s not revisit what you or I should have done. I probably have more regrets on that subject than you do.”
He thought about her involvement with Tragen, thinking that she must feel violated in a way he could never understand. In any case, she was right. It was a waste of time to wish that things had happened differently. It was easy in retrospect to think that he should have held off exposing Tragen until it was safer to do so.
“What do you think will happen now?” he asked.
Simralin shook her head. “What we want to happen, I hope.”
The boy nodded. His gaze wandered over the blood-drenched room. The bodies had been removed, but the evidence of their fate was still there for everyone to see. The cleanup would begin when the King gave his permission. For the moment, it seemed, Arissen Belloruus seemed intent on burning the image into his memory.
Ordanna Frae reappeared, still shaken but otherwise unhurt. He stopped in front of them. “That was very brave of you, Kirisin. To fight back like you did. Very brave. You saved our lives. I think we all believe now that you are more than capable of protecting the Elves, should it come to that.”
He moved away, joining the King on the dais, bending close to speak with him. “You were brave, Little K,” Simralin agreed.
The King was on his feet now, his healers moving away. With Ordanna Frae trailing, he walked over to where they sat, looking angry and determined. He shouted to his attendants to clean up the room, and they moved quickly to comply.
Kirisin and Simralin got to their feet at once. The King faced them, his strong features set.
“Erisha loved you,” he began, speaking directly to Kirisin. “She believed in you, and she trusted you. I know you fought from time to time, but you played together as children and have been each other’s friend since birth. You were—you are—a member of our family. I never wanted to think that you could harm Erisha. Even now, when I saw you again, come back to Arborlon, I didn’t want to believe it.”