Alliance (31 page)

T
HE
CONNECTION
with Lerran severed as quickly as it had appeared; the elven cuffs only sustained the link for a few moments. Nykin caught movement out of the corner of his eye and smiled grimly as Selene and Kalesh lined up beside them.
“Are they ready, Fimor?”

“On your orders, Nykin.”

They were about a hundred feet directly behind the men pushing the battering ram along the ground. Perfect.

“Now.”

Fimor dipped his head, flattened out his wings, and shot toward the ground with Kalesh right beside him.

“Aim for the ram itself, tell Kalesh to take out the soldiers behind.”
Fimor hit the ram halfway along, a massive jet of orange flame erupting from his mouth and setting the whole thing alight. Nykin heard the screams from behind them, signaling Kalesh had hit her mark. They flew up, circling around for another pass, and the lowland archers turned their bows on them.

Nykin ignored the arrows that shot past them. They had to destroy that ram before it got anywhere near the gate. He tried not to think how many of them might be lodged in Fimor’s thick hide.

The second burst of fire caught the wheels of the ram, licking at the ropes holding it in place, and Nykin breathed a sigh of relief when the remaining men trying to move it all fled to avoid being set on fire. It turned out to be only a temporary reprieve.

Kalesh and Fimor climbed out of range of the archers’ arrows as the sound of an explosion echoed through the sky.

“What in the name of the Gods was that?”
Nykin stared in disbelief as Fimor turned back toward the palace. Thick dust clouds covered a great chunk of the north wall, and a good many of Seran’s soldiers now headed that way. Nykin saw Eldin and one of the other riders heading toward it, flying low to the ground and trying to push the men back with their flames before retreating again.

“Look.”
Fimor flew closer as the dust began to settle, and Nykin saw the huge, jagged hole in the outer wall.

Before Nykin could answer, he felt Lerran’s presence in his mind again.

“They destroyed it, just like the bridge. Check the rest of the wall.”

“Did you hear that, Fimor?”
Nykin didn’t know if it was possible to connect to both Lerran and Fimor at the same time, but Fimor answered that he had.
“Do you know what to look for?”

“I do not, but I imagine killing anything near the wall will suffice.”

Fimor’s voice had a hard, cold edge to it. Nykin very rarely heard him sound like that, and he realized Fimor hated taking lives as much as Nykin did. The soldiers attacking Torsere were doing as their king commanded, the same as he and Fimor. But neither of them had a choice.

He swallowed down the unpleasant taste it left in his mouth and scanned the length of the wall as Fimor flew alongside it. More of the riders were defending the hole in the wall, circling around and taking turns to swoop in and unleash their fire. It seemed to be keeping the majority of the lowland soldiers at bay, and the Torserian Guards would take care of the rest.

“There!”
Nykin strained to see what was happening.
“There’s a group of soldiers moving toward the wall.”

“I see them.”
Fimor dived low, coming at them from behind. It didn’t matter what they were up to, Fimor unleashed his deadly breath over them, scattering some and scorching others. Whatever they’d been carrying had either been abandoned or had gone up in flame with the rest of them.

Nykin saw another of the dragon riders returning to the Eyrie.
Gods
he hoped none of them were too badly injured. Torsere appeared to be holding its own at the moment, but Nykin was well aware of how quickly that could all change. Especially with the witch… and where was she, exactly? Nykin had been so focused on protecting the wall, he hadn’t given a thought to her whereabouts.

He’d been expecting her to at least throw some sort of magical attack at the dragons, but they’d seen nothing. Ryneq’s gut feeling that they were missing something popped to the forefront of his mind.
“Where’s the witch, Fimor? I expected her to attack us as soon as the barrier failed.”

“As did I.”

“Can you sense her?”

“Very faintly, Nykin. It’s as if she’s
—
”

“Nykin!”
Lerran’s frantic voice interrupted them, and Nykin’s stomach dropped.
Oh Gods, no. “Seran and the witch have breached the palace. Ryneq has ordered all riders back to the Eyrie
—
it’s time to leave.”

The connection broke before Nykin had a chance to reply, and he let out a yell of frustration.
No, no, no.
It couldn’t have come to this. Deep down he’d never thought they’d have to leave the palace, and the reality was a harsh reminder of how desperate the situation had become.
They could all die.
The dragon riders were going to leave them all behind, and Nykin felt sick at the thought.

“Nykin.”
Fimor flew as fast as possible in the direction of the Eyrie, the remaining dragons doing the same around him. Obviously Fimor had relayed Lerran’s message while Nykin had been trying not to panic. He needed to focus more.
“Eldin has ordered all dragons to the caves. The elves should be waiting or on their way as planned. It’s one elf per dragon, as soon as you are both strapped in, we are to leave for Alel.”

There were ten elven guards, not including Faelon, Lerran, Avelor, and Glaevahl. That made fourteen altogether. There were enough dragon riders to carry them all, as long as none of them were seriously injured.

“Fimor, are all the dragons and riders fit to fly?”

“I believe so, but it’s hard to connect with everyone talking at once. You are not the only one wanting to know what’s going on.”

Nykin could imagine. Not everyone had a cuff connecting them to the elves. He would be panicking too if he hadn’t heard the order directly from Lerran.

They were almost at the caves. Fimor circled around until he located an empty one and then dived inside. He skidded to a halt, kicking stones up as he scrambled to find purchase. Nothing like the smooth landings Nykin had come to expect.

Avelor appeared in the entrance to the cave looking ashen and out of breath.

“Where are the others?” Nykin asked as he unstrapped himself and slid off Fimor’s back. He yanked out the arrows from Fimor’s hide, silently apologizing for being so rough, hurried over to the side of the cave and grabbed the bag and strap left to one side. He’d left his own bag in one of the other caves, but one of the riders would bring it. He recognized this one as Selene’s and smiled a little as he slung it over his back. She’d be glad he had it.

“They’ve already gone. Glaevahl and I are the last. I just helped him onto Vashek with Eldin.”

“And Ryneq?” He’d thought they’d at least have a chance to say good-bye, but the look on Avelor’s face told him otherwise. Nykin swallowed down the crushing disappointment, climbed back up onto Fimor’s saddle, and held out a hand for Avelor.

“I’m sorry, Nykin. Lerran sealed off the entrance to the Eyrie after we climbed the steps.” He took Nykin’s outstretched hand and gracefully climbed up to sit behind him.

Nykin handed him the leather strap and told him to fasten it securely around them both. He tried not to think of Ryneq sitting behind him only a few days earlier, but the image wormed its way inside his head before he could stop it.

It hurt.

Nykin rubbed his chest, wanting to ease the ache he felt at leaving Ryneq to the mercy of Seran and the witch.

Fimor turned to face the mouth of the cave, and Nykin checked that Avelor was ready.

“Nykin. Tell Selene there’s a letter in her bag.”
Lerran’s voice sounded in his head, startling him a little. Nykin wanted to ask why Lerran didn’t tell her himself, but he didn’t get the chance.
“Tell her I’m sorry, and I hope she understands.”

Oh Gods.
Lerran had stayed behind. When Avelor said he’d sealed off the Eyrie, Nykin had assumed he meant with all the elves safely inside. All but one, it turned out. Selene would be crushed. Nykin dreaded seeing the look on her face when she realized Lerran wasn’t with them.

Fimor leaped into the air, and Nykin felt Avelor’s arms immediately wrap around his waist.

“Sorry,” Avelor shouted, but only clung tighter as Fimor flew up to join the others already high in the sky.

“It’s fine.” Nykin might have found it funny any other day. “Get as comfortable as you can. It’s a long ride to Alel.”

Avelor loosened his hold a little when Fimor leveled out, and Nykin looked around at the riders surrounding them. Eldin and Vashek hovered at the back of the group, checking that all the dragons were out of the Eyrie before bringing up the rear behind Nykin.

He leaned down to adjust the strap on his right thigh as Fimor suddenly lurched to the left and a crackle of red fire shot past them.

“Hold on!”
Fimor hissed, diving sharply as another jet of fire flew over the top of Nykin’s head.

Nykin clutched the edge of Fimor’s saddle, craning his neck to look back at the Eyrie. He couldn’t see anything, but the red traces continued to flash through the air around them. The other riders all scattered. Most were safely on their way to Alel—only Nykin, Eldin, and three others remained in the witch’s range. “I thought you said Lerran sealed off the Eyrie?”

“He did!” Avelor shouted back. “It should have held her for longer than this.”

Fimor dropped and banked to the left, forcing Avelor to plaster himself to Nykin’s back.
“Hang on, Nykin. I’m going to try and outrun her spells.”

Nykin looked down at his hands, clenched so tight on the edge of the saddle the knuckles were white, and had to hold in a burst of hysterical laughter. He doubted he could pry his fingers open if he tried.

Another flash of red light, and the roar that split the air was so loud Nykin’s first thought was that Fimor had been hit. But they were still flying, so it couldn’t be them. “Who was that?” Nykin asked, frantically looking round at the other riders. Fimor let out a wounded noise at the same time Nykin spotted Vashek hurtling back down toward the landing caves, a huge tear in his wing and a black scorch mark down his chest.
Gods be merciful.
Nykin looked on helplessly—Eldin and Glaevahl hunched almost flat to Vashek’s back as the dragon tried desperately to keep them airborne.

“We have to help them!” Nykin yelled, watching in horror as two figures appeared at the mouth of one of the caves. Another arc of red magic hit Vashek in the tail, spinning him and sending him careening into the nearest landing cave, two along from where the figures stood watching. “Now, Fimor!”

“There is nothing we can do.”

“What do you mean? We can’t just leave them there. She’ll kill them.” Nykin’s heart beat loudly in his ears, each pulse making his head pound, and he wanted to scream when Fimor refused to turn back.

“Nykin, Vashek’s injuries are already fatal.”
Sorrow laced his words, and Nykin’s chest tightened painfully as their meaning sank in.
“There is no saving either of them now.”
Mournful cries echoed around them as the other dragons realized what had happened, and Nykin struggled to blink back tears.
“Eldin’s last order stands
—
all riders are to continue on to Alel. You are the lead rider, now, Nykin.”

“But what about Glaevahl?” Nykin winced when Avelor tensed behind him. He may not be able to hear Fimor’s side of the conversation, but Avelor wasn’t stupid.

Avelor’s chest pressed into Nykin’s back as he let out a deep sigh, and when Nykin glanced back over his shoulder, he saw Avelor clutching a silver pendant. “I fear it is too late for Glaevahl also. I can no longer feel his magic.” He lifted the pendant as though that would explain what he meant. “He has cut himself from the rest of us, and he would only do that if he were near death.”

Nykin tried to connect with Lerran, frantic to find out what was going on down there, but nothing happened, no matter how hard he concentrated. “Avelor, the cuff isn’t working.” He steadfastly refused to think the worst.

“If the witch recognized it for what it was, she might well have disabled it.” Avelor still had hold of the silver pendant. “I can feel his magic, Nykin. He is very much alive.”

It didn’t necessarily mean Ryneq was too, but Nykin chose to believe it did.

A heavy silence settled as Fimor raced through the sky, leaving the Stone Palace and the Eyrie behind.

It took all Nykin’s concentration to hold on to the saddle. He felt numb. Eldin had been the lead dragon rider for many years. He’d been there when Nykin bonded with Fimor, and Nykin couldn’t accept that Eldin was going to die. It refused to sink in, and he didn’t want it to because that meant it was real.

“Can you hear Vashek? Are they still alive?”
Nykin slumped back, and only Avelor’s steady weight behind him kept him upright.

“For now.”

“What’s happening?”
There had been no more spells fired into the air. Either the witch’s magic had run out, or she was otherwise occupied.

“You don’t want to know.”
Fimor growled, waves of anger seeping through the bond until he reined it back in.

Nykin shivered, trying in vain not to think about what Fimor chose to shield him from.

He felt more than heard Avelor take a deep breath behind him, and then he gave Nykin’s waist a gentle squeeze. “We will avenge our people, Nykin.” Avelor’s voice had an edge to it, turning his words into more of a promise than a threat. Glaevahl was an elven elder. Nykin couldn’t imagine the effect his death would have on the people of Alel. “We will return here and kill the witch for what she has done.”

Nykin put one hand on top of Avelor’s. “Yes, we will.” He cast one last glance back at the fading mountains of Torsere and prayed there’d be something left to come back to.