Battle: The House War: Book Five (10 page)

She could see and feel sunlight, broken as it was by leaves that also grew toward its touch. It was time, she thought, for night to retreat; to surrender its indigo to the pale purple and pink of morning light. It was time, now, for azure to reign in the skies above the forest. She couldn’t call day; no more could she call earth, wind, or water. But she could welcome it. As if she were leaf, she lifted her face, seeking the sunlight that would deny the night the demon lord kept wrapped around him.

When she opened her eyes, she had to squint; the whole of the clearing was bathed in a brilliant, pale light. It wasn’t white, would never be white—that was a Winter color, harsh and lifeless. This light looked like burnished silver. She stood in the center of its gentle brilliance and watched it as it spread in all directions, rippling across the familiar forms of standing trees, undergrowth; changing the color of pillars of moving stone and new-turned earth.

The light was not kind to Avandar. In the pale brightness, he was ashen, the skin beneath his eyes, dark. But his lips were curved in a cold smile as he lifted his face.

There, above them both, the demon lord was caught for a moment in spokes of light that passed through his wings as if they were blades. Celleriant was likewise illuminated, but the Summer did not cut or burn him; the wind carried him, and he drove his blade into the demon’s leg. Or he would have, had the red shield not blocked his sudden thrust. Even injured, the demon lord was fast.

And if Celleriant’s blade had not struck home, the
Kialli
was wounded; the light burned; smoke streamed from his still-perfect skin. The pillars of stone stretched and thinned as they reached for the demon, and even in his obvious pain, he broke them. Not with sword or shield; those were reserved for Celleriant; he kicked them and they shattered.

What
is
he?
Jewel asked the distant Winter King.

He is firstborn, Jewel. Among the
Kialli
, he is Prince.

He’s like Ariane?

No; she is Queen, and she is other. But even Ariane would find such a foe difficult. Viandaran is correct; he is beyond us.

The wind buffeted his injured wings; the earth attempted to break him; Celleriant harried him with ferocious concentration. The only thing that had done notable damage was the Summer light. It had not, however, destroyed Darranatos; nor did he seem intent on destroying himself. He was angry, yes; he roared and the whole of the forest shook.

But only when Meralonne APhaniel arrived did the demon lord take the risk of exposing his back. He wheeled, turned, and dropped in a short dive that ended with Jewel.

It should have ended her life, but the trees surrendered whole limbs in a sudden converging of branches; he broke them all, but they slowed his fall enough that she could dive toward the burning tree. It was an instinctive reaction. The fire with which she’d cloaked herself had saved her once; she wasn’t certain it would save her again—but she had time to think this only after his sword pierced earth—and stayed there. He could not easily withdraw it.

Nor could he easily avoid the twin blades of Celleriant and Meralonne, who took advantage of the opening to thrust swords through his back. Blood, dark and only barely red even in this light, darkened their swords as they were withdrawn; he had the strength of earth, and the strength to bind those blades. Jewel knew it, and didn’t question the knowledge.

He tried, once more, to dislodge his own weapon; earth flew in a wide circle—but it did not surrender blade. His hands, straining around the sword’s hilt, were bleeding. Twice more, two men struck, but not a third time; he snarled, roared; his sword disappeared as he released it.

And then, wings flagging, he revealed a whip of fire; with its many tongues he attacked not Celleriant or Meralonne, but the air which carried them. She heard the wind’s sudden anger and realized that the fire was not natural—if demonic magic could
ever
be natural—but wild. She did not hear its voice. The wind did, and the earth, and their voices were as clear as thunder. They had been kept from warring with each other by the skill of their summoners—but the fire was one foe too many.

Avandar’s jaw tightened; Jewel saw his fists clench. She heard Meralonne’s cry of warning and she cried out, wordless, as her own hands curled into fists. The trees had been broken and burned by the demon and his great wings, and they had suffered in silence; this fire enraged them. It was almost as if—as if—

She shook her head and lifting her hands, pulled the trees’ branches up toward their trunks, skirting fire as the wind tore it into many smaller pieces—none of which guttered. They were driven to earth and bark; they were blown toward the trailing length of her hem. In each case, they began to burn. But this close to earth, these small fires could not survive; the earth swallowed them whole. Jewel almost fell into the pit that opened beneath her burning skirt; roots caught her legs as she stumbled, leaving bruises.

The earth closed like a giant maw. She could live with the bruises; she was certain she wouldn’t have survived the earth.

Day gave way to dusk. Had she summoned Summer? No, she thought, as the season slipped away. She had drawn it from the memories of these standing giants with their roots in the deep earth and their crowns in the wind. But it was not Summer in this forest, and the trees wailed as it slipped away, as if it might never be Summer again.

“Meralonne!” she shouted.

But he knew. As Celleriant continued to harry the injured demon, Meralonne put up his sword and stepped back; the wind drove his hair as if it were snow. He spoke, his voice resonant and clear, and as he did, she saw again the golden, glowing light that had once saved The Terafin’s life. It encircled the demon; the demon roared.

“Illaraphaniel, you will die for this.”

The mage did not laugh, as he might once have; nor did he frown. “I will not die here, Darranatos. Not so far from my home, and not in this season. If you wish my death to be at your hands, you must find a different battlefield; you will not have victory here.”

The Summer light intensified, hardening around the demon lord as if it were shell.

Jewel knew it wouldn’t last. It caused pain, yes, but it could not destroy the creature Meralonne had called Darranatos. As if he’d heard the thought, he summoned not dusk, but night. It came like a flood, filling all of the space that existed between his body and the summer shield of the mage’s construction.

“Illaraphaniel!” Celleriant’s sword passed through the barrier. It slowed in its sweeping arc, and then passed through the night as well; black clung to the edge of his blade as he cursed. The demon had fled. With him went fire, or rather, fire’s sentience; what remained, the earth smothered.

Meralonne descended. His eyes were silver. “So,” he said softly. “Sigurne was correct.”

Jewel didn’t ask him what the guildmaster had said. She was staring at the
Kialli
-shaped darkness that lay beneath a thin, thin sheen of Summer light. “You’re not—you’re not just going to leave that standing there, are you?”

Meralonne reached into his robes and produced a familiar pipe. “No. I will destroy it, with your permission.”

The Winter King came to stand by her side.
Be cautious, Jewel
.

The mage lined the bowl of his pipe, but his eyes never left her face. He was waiting for her answer—and waiting with an uncharacteristic patience. “Why is my permission required?” she finally asked.

His smile was slight, sharp; it acknowledged a hit. “Ask your companion,” he replied, nodding not to Celleriant, but to the Winter King. The Winter King lowered his tines in what Jewel assumed was a gesture of respect.

It was both that, and a subtle threat.

I’m not sure Meralonne understands subtle threats.

Lord Celleriant had set aside both sword and shield in the aftermath of the interrupted battle; he joined Jewel just before the cats—all three—flew down in a loud, messy rush. They did not knock Jewel over, but it was close. She turned to Shadow immediately.

“Why are you here?” she demanded.

Shadow hissed.

“I mean it, Shadow. There was a demon here—”

“I
know
that. It was a
big
demon.” He glanced at Snow and Night, who were now standing to the left and right of him. And two steps behind. “
He
told me you were
alone
. He didn’t mention the
ugly
one.”

She cleared her throat loudly. Shadow’s belly reached for ground, and his ears flattened. His lips, on the other hand, pulled up over teeth that were already too prominent. “We have a guest,” she told him evenly.

“Guest?
What
guest?”

“Behind you.”

Shadow moved his incredibly flexible neck to look over his shoulder at Meralonne APhaniel, whose pipe remained unlit. The mage was staring intently at the cat.

“They came with the forest,” she told him, folding arms across her chest.

Snow, however, sauntered over to the mage, pausing a few yards away. It was, for a cat who assumed ownership—or at least superior power—over everything, significant. “I
know
you,” he said.

The mage said nothing. After another moment, he lit his pipe.

Night, not to be outdone, approached Meralonne as carefully as his brother. Only Shadow remained where he was, although he rose and turned toward the mage. “Don’t let
him
destroy the shadow,” he said.

“Why not?”

“It is not
his
forest.”

“I’m not asking him to claim the forest. I just want to get rid of the—”

“Yes, yes.” Shadow stretched his forepaws, his back sloping, his wings rising. “
We
will
eat
it.”

She raised a brow. Before she could speak, Meralonne removed the pipe’s stem from his lips. “It is not impossible for them. How did they come to be with you?”

“They came, as I said, with the forest.”

“They are dangerous.” He blew smoke rings in the direction of the cats. “Have you bound them to your service?”

Shadow hissed. Snow and Night, however, growled.

“No.”

“Unwise.”

“Do not attempt to eat him,” she told the cats severely. “I need him.”

“You
don’t
. No one needs
him.
”

Meralonne surprised her; he smiled. “No, indeed.” He pointed with his pipe hand. “That tree, Terafin, I do not recognize.” He meant the tree of fire.

“The demon today wasn’t the only demon to walk in this forest,” she replied with care. The dense, standing darkness bothered her far more than the tree. “He brought fire with him.”

“And you retained it?”

She nodded.

To her surprise, Meralonne turned to Celleriant. “Did you recognize the demon to whom she refers?” He didn’t ask Celleriant if he had been in the forest at the time of the demonic attack; he assumed it.

Nor did this seem to surprise—or concern—the Arianni Lord. He nodded. “Lord Ishavriel,” he told the mage. “Of the Shining Court.”

A silver brow rose; for the first time that day, Meralonne smiled. It was a Winter smile, at home in his angular face. “You witnessed the birth of this tree?”

“I did.” Celleriant’s smile now matched Meralonne’s.

“
Can
we?” Shadow asked, as if neither man had spoken.

“Can you what?”

He hissed and shook his head at the sheer stupidity of the question. “Can we
eat
it? Or will you wait until it dies of
boredom
?”

Still hesitating, she nodded. The cats turned as one from Meralonne APhaniel, and leaped toward the darkness. The Summer light didn’t stop them.

“No, wait—be careful—don’t jump—” She might as well have told them not to breathe, speak, or fight. They hit the darkness, claws extended, and passed right through it. Unfortunately, they didn’t come out the other side.

“They were never terribly bright,” the mage said, pipe once again trailing smoke. “And they were always the antithesis of caution.”

Jewel could barely find voice to answer. “Where did they go?”

“Who can say, with cats? There is a reasonable chance they will return. Look.”

She couldn’t look away. The patch of darkness, through which nothing could be seen, began to change shape; it grew shorter, squatter; it pressed against the containment of Summer magic as if seeking escape. It shrank.

That was the good news. But when it was smaller than the size of a single cat and the cats had failed to emerge, she approached it; she couldn’t quite stop herself. The Winter King, however, could. He was there, his tines between Jewel and what remained of the demon lord’s passage.
Do not touch it.

She turned to Avandar, wordless.

“In my opinion, you would be well quit of them should they fail to emerge. They are quarrelsome, difficult beasts; it is in their very nature to cause damage and trouble if not carefully supervised. They have not,” he added, in case it was in doubt, “been carefully supervised for the entire duration of their stay.”

“They’ve killed no one.”