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

“What’s the big deal?” Flood made a disparaging sound. “It was just an animal.”

Persephone whirled on him. “Don’t say that again! Not ever. Do you hear me?” She flashed a glare at the rest of them. “Not any of you.”

“You’d be taking your life in your hands, that’s for sure.” Moya was nodding. “If Suri hears you say that, you’ll be a grease spot.”

“That’s not it at all.” Persephone lowered her voice but not her tone; if anything there was more heat in her words, more condemnation than ever. “That wolf…Minna…she meant everything to Suri.” Persephone fixed each of them with a hard stare. “If it were just the two of them down there, if just Suri and Minna were trapped in that cave, they’d both still be there. Suri sacrificed Minna for us. Don’t you ever make her regret that. Do you hear me? Even for a minute, or Mari help me, I’ll…” She continued to stare until she had garnered a nod from everyone, short of Arion, who still lay unconscious in a sling that looked very much like one of Roan’s hanging chairs. Then Persephone took a breath and calmed down. She shrugged. “And there’s what Moya said, too.”

Persephone looked back down the stairs. The glowstone below didn’t give off enough light for her to see clearly.

“Suri’s been known to forget about time,” Moya said. “Her idea of a little while could range anywhere from a minute to a month.”

“Let’s give her a bit longer,” Persephone said.

After another few minutes, she called down. “Suri?”

Silence.

She got up and walked to the edge of the stair. “Suri, we really should be pushing on.”

More silence, but she could see the glowstone right about where she’d left it. Fear gripped her stomach as she descended the stairs. As she got closer, her eyes told her what her heart already knew. The glowstone was still there but Suri wasn’t. She picked it up, panned it around, but still nothing.

“Suri!” she shouted. Her voice echoed. “Suri, can you hear me?”

The panic in her voice brought others. When they reached her, Moya had her sword out, as did Brin and Roan.

“Suri!” Persephone yelled once more while pulling her own sword. “Suri, where are you?”

Persephone’s voice bounced back, and then…

“Lost another little one?” A voice came out of the dark, speaking skewed Rhunic, a cold haunting voice with a rasp and a high, taunting lilt. “It’s ours now. We have the small one in the dark where you can’t find us. Your dog is gone, and you can’t track where we are.”

The voice was right. Persephone struggled to determine where the voice came from; echoes confused her. The words came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“Suri can do magic,” Moya whispered to Persephone. “She can defend herself, right?”

Brin overheard and looked at both of them, horrified. “She needs to make sounds. To do her singing. And she needs her hands to wiggle her fingers. It covers your mouth and holds your wrists with long, clammy hands and a grip that’s so strong. You can’t get it off.”

Persephone took a step, but didn’t know where to go. The stone floor spread out into darkness in all directions, running under a forest of pillars that eventually disappeared into the dark.

“She has a lovely face,” the voice teased.

“Oh, dear Mari.” Brin shuddered.

“Suri!” Persephone screamed.

The only answer, besides the echo, was a horrible little laugh.

Persephone looked to each of them, but there were no answers to be found, and no time to find one. “Let her go! Let her go, or we’ll kill you. We’ve already killed Balgargarath.”

Another chilling laugh. “You are all flies in my web. All little children to be swallowed. Please come look for me. Come into the dark and search for—” The voice paused.

They waited.

Then a wind rose, blowing so hard that Persephone had to steady her stance.

From beneath, they heard a rhythmic beating: thrump, thrump, thrump.

This was followed by a crack of stone that jarred all of them off their feet. Persephone fell, her sword and the glowstone clattering onto the floor. She felt the spray of pebbles and finally heard a deafening roar. She knew that roar. Trapped in the Agave, she’d heard it over and over, until it had hurt her ears. Then she heard a scream, a high, raspy, gurgling scream. This was followed by a snap, crack, crack, and snap as if someone were walking over brittle branches on a cold winter’s day. The screaming stopped. The thrumping of the wings halted.

Persephone had the presence of mind to scoop up the glowstone. Cupping it, she searched the area. Across the vast room, the light revealed the dragon lying down, tail curled, head tilted. They rushed down, crossing the room until they spotted Suri. She stood beside the dragon, rubbing the bridge of its massive snout.

“Good girl,” Suri said. “What a good girl you are.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


Aftermath




The seeds of unrest in Estramnadon were planted long before Grandford. By the sound of things, they had grown ripe and were harvested prior to our first real battle.

—THE BOOK OF BRIN





Mawyndul? stood bewildered beneath the great painted dome of the Airenthenon. Outside, he heard explosions. The prince wasn’t alone. Huddled around the walls, the other members of the Aquila cowered in terror. The gallery had emptied. The Miralyith who had filled it joined with Gray Cloaks who had waited outside. That’s where the battle raged, on the front steps of the Airenthenon.

They planned it.

The Gray Cloaks were trying to kill the fane.

Makareta planned to kill my father.

Mawyndul? was still trying to make sense of how any of it could be real when he heard someone crying. Hemon of the Gwydry huddled beneath one of the stone benches, staring at him in horror. They all were. Even Imaly watched him with concern as she sat with her back propped against the wall where she had been so inelegantly tossed by Makareta. The Aquila’s Curator clutched one arm, and there was a patch of blood staining her forehead. Only an abrasion, a scrape, but it looked terrible. Mawyndul? hadn’t seen many wounds. Blood bothered him, and, once again, he remembered Gryndal’s beheading.

Is that what they are doing to my father?

Mawyndul? started toward the doors.

He managed to take a total of two steps before the building began to shake. He staggered as the ground shifted, tilting and rocking. Hunks of plaster and stone broke free from the ceiling and fell, smashing with great bursts of white where they hit the marble floor. The fluted stones that formed the pillars of the colonnade moved, shifting out of alignment, making the dome itself slide. Larger parts of the ceiling fell, exploding on the floor—lethal hail.

One of the councilors screamed as part of the gallery balcony collapsed. Mawyndul? thought the councilor had been hit, but only two tri-legged braziers were crushed.

Mawyndul? was terrified.