Age of Swords (The Legends of the First Empire #2)

There has to be another way. Oh, dear Grand Mother of All, there has to be another way.

As she sat in darkness rocking slightly and trying to find the courage to pick up the sword, she once more felt Minna. The wolf placed her head in Suri’s lap, and the mystic hugged her, burying her face in Minna’s soft and comforting fur.

—

Persephone was falling asleep again.

Whatever Arion was doing exhausted her. Just sitting felt as taxing as climbing stairs. She felt heavy. Dead-tired was how her father used to describe it, all strung out was what her mother used to say. Persephone was pretty sure she was both at once and then some. She couldn’t ever recall being this bone-weary weak. The dark stillness didn’t help. Everything demanded she surrender.

Then suddenly the weariness was gone.

Something snapped; something broke. The accompanying sound didn’t come from outside, so the barricade wasn’t breached. Persephone didn’t know what had happened, but she felt the weight fall away. All at once, she felt light, awake, and as energetic as if an adolescent again. The grogginess was gone; the stupor she had wallowed in—for how long she couldn’t tell—simply vanished.

Just in time for the end. The thought brushed Persephone’s mind with ironic—just short of insane—laughter as she first heard, then saw, the formidable stack of stones blocking the doorway burst. Rocks skipped across the floor, clacking and breaking, and the blue light of the cavern lichen floated in with the dust and debris. Following the course of one hurtling stone, which came uncomfortably close, Persephone spotted Arion, whom the stone had barely missed. Seeing the Fhrey told the story. Arion lay sprawled across the stone floor of the cave.

This is it, the end.

Somehow, Persephone had expected more warning. She figured Arion might have made an announcement or alerted them in some way. Why she hadn’t, Persephone didn’t understand. The Miralyith could have given them time to say farewell or pray. Maybe it was just a matter of Arion’s inability to hang on any longer. Or maybe the creature had done something unexpected. Persephone found it strange that in those last minutes of her life she had the time, and empathy, to feel sorry for the Fhrey. Persephone felt even a little stab of guilt for dragging her—all of them—into that mess.

Balgargarath broke into the cave, scraping through the crack on its goat’s knees, grunting as it did. The demon hadn’t changed. Twin horns twisted like knotted rope and the awful visage of its face was dominated by sharpened teeth and tiny, mad eyes.

This is truly the face of death. Does everyone see what I’m seeing, or something like it, when they die?

“Seph, get behind me.” Moya pulled Persephone back. Even then, Moya was holding firm to her role as the chieftain’s Shield.

In the face of Balgargarath, Persephone didn’t think other Shields would have stood as courageously as Moya. The Stump certainly wouldn’t have stayed at Konniger’s side, and Konniger would have left Reglan’s in an instant. Yet here was Moya, making a living shield of herself. The woman, previously known only for her good looks, remained intent on protecting her chieftain from a twenty-foot goat-legged demon. Courageous hearts weren’t banned from the breast of women.

By the Grand Mother, how I love you, Moya!

The great beast drove forward through the opening. Balgargarath drew up to its full height and roared so loudly Persephone involuntarily covered her ears. Then she, too, drew her blade. Why, in the name of the Tetlin Witch, shouldn’t I?

To their credit, Frost, Flood, and Rain lined up beside them. The first two held their swords, Rain his pickax. They all stood shoulder to shoulder, two diminutive women and three even smaller dwarfs. By accident or some act of providence, they all raised their weapons in perfect unison, as if they had trained together for years.

I’m going to die. The thought rang through Persephone. With one well-placed hoof, at least two of them would perish. She ought to be terrified, but her mind was a volatile mix of emotions, and fear wasn’t one of them. I’m not frightened. Not even slightly. She found that strange, but fear had no place once all hope had fled. Looking up at the malevolent mountain that even a Miralyith magician couldn’t stop, Persephone hadn’t the slightest thread of hope. If anything, she was exhilarated. She felt alive as if for the first time. Freed from the mire of quasi-existence that Arion’s cloud had wrapped her in, she’d burst into a state of living beyond anything she’d ever known. Her heart thundered; her breath heaved. She felt the placement of each finger on the handle of the sword, registered how it lay in her palm. She smelled the cold, damp air and heard the remaining stones come finally to their rest.

Balgargarath took a hooved step forward. Persephone and Moya both shifted their weight to their back heel, ready for the charge. Then from behind Persephone came a deafening roar.

The only illumination emanated from the two stones, and the blue light of lichen entering from the other chamber. The roar had come from the deep dark of the cave’s interior. A large, inhuman sound. In the darkness, something huge was moving.

Are there two now?

Balgargarath took another step, and this was one too many as a giant shape from the shadows flew out of the darkness and slammed into the demon with a terrible force. The two hammered the wall near the door, putting a new crack in the surrounding stone, and then they broke free of each other.

Persephone picked up the glowstone and cupped it to create a beam of light. Balgargarath faced off against another giant, this one on all fours with a long neck, tail, claws, and leathery wings.

“A dragon?” Moya said. “Where’d the dragon come from?”

Persephone looked to Arion. The Fhrey still lay on the ground; she looked dead.

“I don’t know,” Persephone replied. “But…but…I think it’s on our side.”

Moya responded with a wry smile.

The two titans slammed together again. This time the dragon raked with fore and rear claws while at the same time biting with a rack of teeth lining a long snouted mouth. Balgargarath slammed the dragon with its hooves. The sound of their clashes hurt Persephone’s ears. Balgargarath got hold of the dragon around the neck and slammed it against the wall, creating more cracks in what was previously believed to be impenetrable stone.

“Brin!” Suri screamed.

Not a shout, not a yell, this was a true scream. Never before had Persephone heard such a sound from the mystic. Moya screamed all the time, so did Brin, but not Suri. Nothing usually bothered the mystic.

Out of the darkness Suri walked toward them, covered in blood.

“Oh, Mari!” Persephone gasped.

Suri’s face was drawn and pale. She was crying, hitching, gasping for air. “I need Brin. I need Brin. I need her, right now!”

Near the door, another terrible boom echoed, followed by unworldly howls.