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

“Never mind.”

“Moya? Moya?” Persephone called.

“Still here,” the woman said with a labored breath. “Got him that time, didn’t I?”

“Roan? Brin? Suri?” Persephone called out, and in turn they all answered that they, too, survived whatever it was that had happened. Arion was the only one who failed to speak, but Suri declared her no worse than before.

Persephone spotted the muffled light of one glowstone buried under debris, and crawled to it. Digging the stone out, she held it up. The room was still there although a scorched spot marred the floor where Balgargarath had been. Smeared marks of blackened stone flared out in all directions from that point. Everything else in the room was plastered against the outer walls, including each of them.

Persephone noticed a throbbing in her head. She reached up and felt a lump on the back of her skull. She must have hit her head on the floor or wall, but had no memory of doing so.

“Suri, can you make a fire?” Persephone asked.

A short pause, a faint humming sound, a clap, and then a bright flame appeared. The brighter light revealed the rest of the cave. Everything that had been in the middle of the cavern was scattered, thrown away in equal measure from the center point that had been Balgargarath. Brin had an ugly cut across her forehead that bled into her eyes. Moya, who still held on to the bow, sported a scrape on one cheek and a set of bloody knuckles as if she’d been in a fistfight. The three dwarfs and Roan had only minor scrapes. Being so far away and close to the wall, Suri and Arion showed no injury; Persephone knew better.

The dragon was still there as well. In the light of Suri’s fire, she turned around three times before lying down. The great beast tucked her serpent tail around herself and lowered her head between two great claws. Her open eyes focused on Suri.

“You did it,” Frost said to Moya. “You killed Balgargarath.”

He spoke in a disbelief mirrored by his fellow Dherg. “That creature has denied us access to our hallowed halls, our first and most ancient home, for six thousand years. Warriors, great heroes, and kings fought with magic swords and armor and died trying to do what a small band of witches did with sticks and a string.”

Moya bent down and picked up one of the practice arrows that had been gathered with the rest of their things near the side of the Agave. “You really want to call us names while I’m holding this?”

Flood took a step back and held up his hands. “Good witches…of course. Wonderful, wonderful ones, really. Witches don’t have to be bad, right?”

Moya stared at the dwarf for a moment, pursed her lips, and nodded. “Fine.”

Persephone knelt beside Suri and Arion. “How is she?”

The Fhrey looked better than she had. Some of her color had returned, and the bleeding had stopped, leaving only the telltale sign of a dried and flaking crust on her upper lip. She was breathing easily, eyes closed. Suri held Arion’s bald head in her lap, stroking her gently, not unlike how she used to pet Minna.

“I took too long.” Suri sucked in a ragged breath. “I just took too long, and now they’re both…” She shook her head rather than finish.

Persephone took Suri’s hand and gave it a strong squeeze. “You saved us. You know that, don’t you? We’d all be dead if you hadn’t.”

“She saved us…” Suri looked up across the room at the dragon. A hand fluttered to her mouth.

“Yes,” Persephone agreed. “You’re right, of course, but you did, too. You need to remember that.” She watched the mystic struggle to breathe. “You know, I remember seeing a white wolf throw herself at another wolf, a bigger and meaner one, because that other animal was going to hurt you. I think, Suri…I think if you could have explained what you were doing, Minna would have agreed. She was a very wise wolf.”

Suri cried.

—

They ate what food they still had and prepared to leave the cave that had been their refuge for…

Suri had no idea.

She didn’t care.

The others struggled with complications arising from the fact that Arion was still unconscious. The little men suggested leaving her and coming back with more help. Brin offered to stay. She wanted more time with the tablets. Persephone refused. “No one is remaining here. No one left behind.”

Suri sat in the dark, watching them pack. Persephone and Roan gathered their things into bags and a pile. Brin struggled with the tablets, but the stones were heavy and she could only manage to take a few. Moya rounded up the arrows and practiced with the bow while two of the three little men worked on constructing a sling to carry Arion using Persephone’s breckon mor. Rain, having found his pickax, went out to clear a path to the stairs that the dwarfs referred to as Death by Steps.

Suri watched the activity in the privacy of the dark beside the body of a wolf. After seeing her sit down next to the still form, the dragon left the Agave and went out to the lichen-covered cavern.

“I’m sorry,” Suri said.

She had spoken to Minna every day since the white wolf came into her life. They’d held endless conversations concerning the stars and the flight of bees, but now this was all she could think to say. Other words refused to come, her throat tight. She brushed her fingers across the familiar fur.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

Suri’s hand found a paw. Her lifelong friend lay beside her, and in the dark, she could imagine Minna was only sleeping, except for the limpness of that foot. Her sister, companion on countless adventures, wasn’t sleeping. Minna was gone.

“I’m sorry,” Suri whispered, rubbing her thumb along Minna’s leg.

She stayed with her in the dark until Persephone called for them to leave.

Suri stood up then, and raised her hands. She placed them together palm-to-palm and began to slowly rub them in a circular motion, moving them faster and faster.

“I love you, Minna. I always will.”

In the quiet of the cave, the loud clap caught everyone’s attention and they all turned to see the burst of fire erupt where once there had been the wisest of all wolves.

—

Death by Steps was, as one might imagine, a steep and endless series of stone blocks. Suri, who was used to trotting up cascades, shouldn’t have had trouble bounding up the steps, but she was tired. No, more like drained, as if some part, an important part, had been poured out. The others needed to pause frequently, and on one occasion, they fell asleep. Suri sat in the dark on the bottom step behind them, her legs curled up, arms folded—so cold without Minna. She laid her head down and closed her eyes.

“You need to be careful,” Tura had said. The old woman was crouched on the floor of their home, sorting the ripe berries from the green. “That’s a wolf pup.”

“She’s cute,” Suri said.

“She is now.”

“You didn’t leave me in the woods.” Suri tried to steal a berry and got her hand slapped.

“That was different.”