Age of Myth (The Legends of the First Empire #1)

“Seriously, Gryndal?” she asked with an incredulous look. “I’m not one of your arena opponents, and I’m not a goblin witch doctor.”

In an ominous jingle of rings and chains, Gryndal got to his feet. “You’re right. You’re Cenzlyor, aren’t you? Let’s put that to the test, shall we?”

“Let’s not. What you’re doing is crazy,” Arion said.

“You shouldn’t have interfered,” Gryndal told her. “It shows a lack of intelligence, a lack of foresight. Lothian granted me the Blessing of Ferrol. I’ll kill you without consequence, but you can’t attempt the same. Besides, on your best day I’ve always had more power, more skill—and Arion, this isn’t your best day.”

Gryndal whirled his arms as if opening invisible curtains and then made hooking gestures with all of his fingers, causing his nails to whip. A whirlwind curled around Arion, wrapping the asica around her and lifting her into the air. Arion was only a few feet off the ground when she shouted words Persephone didn’t understand. The winds died, and Arion fell, collapsing to her knees. Even Persephone could tell the tornado had been a distraction: Before Arion hit the ground Gryndal had begun singing an incomprehensible tune and working an intricate pattern with his hands. As he did, the air above the dahl changed, losing transparency. Through it, the light of the sun narrowed and was aimed directly at Arion. Seeing it, she made her own gestures, rotating her hands as if winding a rope. Gryndal threw his arm forward as if throwing a ball, and a brilliant beam of blazing white light came from the sun and fired through the distortion.

Whatever Arion was doing, she completed it none too soon and deflected the blinding flash with her hands. The white-hot beam of light ricocheted off her palms, ripping across the ground between them. It left a scorched line as Arion struggled to redirect the light at Gryndal. When the light got close, Gryndal dropped his arms and stopped singing, and the light vanished.

The two glared at each other across the zigzagging line of burnt grass. Nothing moved within the walls of the dahl. The remaining villagers watched with wide eyes and gaping mouths. No force held Persephone any longer, but she didn’t dare move. Like everyone else, she held her breath in the face of powers beyond her comprehension.

Arion was breathing hard, perhaps hoping Gryndal might yield. He didn’t. With a shout and a full-body spin that flared his golden mantle, he raised his palms to the sky, and with them rose the Killians’ roundhouse. The whole building ascended: logs, daub, and thatch roof. A number of people scattered as the Killians’ home hurtled skyward. Then, just as expected, it fell. Aimed at Arion, the house plummeted, and as it did, Gryndal clapped his hands and set the whole thing on fire.

With a punch to the air, Arion split the house in half. The divided dwelling crashed to the ground on either side of her. Both halves burst on impact, sending sparks and flaming debris in all directions.

Few things were more dangerous to a dahl than fire, and despite the obvious perils, Persephone finally found a purpose. “Bring gourds to the well!” she shouted, and ran forward as an unnatural wind blew, spreading the fire to Sarah and Delwin’s home as well as Autumn and Fig’s.

Tope Highland was ahead of her. Grabbing a jug already filled with water, he ran toward Sarah’s roundhouse.

“No!” Arion shouted in Rhunic, but it was too late. Tope threw the jug’s contents on the nearest flames, but the water never reached them. Instead, the spray of droplets froze into a hundred shards as sharp as daggers and flew toward Arion.

The flames Persephone had hoped to extinguish were snuffed out as Arion stole the heat and used it in a single bright burst that turned the ice into steam, leaving a hazy mist in its wake.

With growing anger, Gryndal darkened the sky. A swirling storm churned overhead, the likes of which Persephone had never seen. Morning turned to twilight as black sooty clouds boiled and spun. Arion moved her fingers feverishly but to no avail; instead, she staggered and cursed.

Soon lightning flashed behind the blanket of clouds. Pops of blue-white fingers flickered. Persephone felt her scalp tingle as one twisted bolt crashed to the ground right before her. Blinded, she staggered backward and fell with an undignified scream that went unheard amid the chorus of cries that erupted as bolt after bolt of lightning rained down.

Persephone cowered on the grass in terror as the world around her ripped apart in a nightmare of blinding flashes and sizzling cracks. She clutched at the grass and felt cloth strips beneath her fingers—Arion’s bandages.

Piercing the roar of thunder, Arion sang a calming song. The lightning lessened and the thunder ceased. The clouds broke, letting sunlight beam through. In the aftermath, more fires burned and scorch marks blackened the area directly around Arion, who remained standing within a smoking circle.

“Gryndal, you—” Arion started to say, but the ring-adorned god stomped the ground and threw out his arms.

Persephone saw a worrisome puzzled look on Arion’s face. A moment later, the ground beneath her began to bubble. Dirt turned to mud, and mud to tar, into which Arion sank. She started to speak and raised her hands, but Gryndal struck her with a stunning blow of wind that slammed her to the ground, where the bubbling tar gripped and dragged her down.

“No!” Suri cried.

Persephone watched as the young mystic focused on Gryndal and rubbed her hands together. Then she clapped. To Persephone’s, and certainly the god’s, amazement, Gryndal burst into flame.

Being close enough to feel the heat, Persephone retreated from the burning god. She’d taken only three strides when Gryndal put out the fire, but Suri had caught him off guard. When the flames were snuffed out, his cape and skirt were both blackened and his skin reddened.

With a horrific cry, Gryndal searched for Suri and spotted her where she had always been, just inside the wall between the gate and the storage pit. He raised his hands and began intoning a savage incantation. A blur of white streaked past Persephone as Minna launched herself at the god. Claws ripped at rings, and teeth at chains. Gryndal screamed in pain as several piercings were torn out.

He uttered a desperate syllable, and the wolf flew through the air. Minna yelped when she hit the grass.

“Halgavri!” Gryndal shouted, and shoved a palm toward the animal.

“Minna!” Suri cried as an unseen force tore up the sod, creating a deep furrow as it raced toward the stunned animal.

Raithe dove, catching Minna in his arms as he did. Together they rolled aside as the tearing force carried past, blowing open a hole through the dahl’s wall that was large enough to put a road through. Logs, dirt, and grass exploded outward and down the side of the hill, leaving a cloud of dust and a new view of the forest.

“Kill them all!” Gryndal ordered his soldiers as he winced in pain and gingerly touched the wounds on his face and chest.

The Fhrey in the lion helms drew their weapons and climbed down from the porch.

“To arms!” Nyphron ordered, and the Galantians drew their weapons and fanned out to block the approaching lion-helmed soldiers.

Metal clashed as the opposing Fhrey turned the center of the dahl into a battlefield.

Still near the well, Nyphron blocked swings but didn’t return blows. Sebek, the one with the twin swords, was less considerate. He gleefully disarmed his opponent, threw him to the grass, and then stepped on his knee, popping it. Grygor just picked up one of the Fhrey warriors and tossed him across the yard.

“Move!” Raithe ordered, grabbing Persephone’s arm and pulling her back toward the gate where Suri had reunited with Minna. As they ran, the ground began to shake.