Rise (5 page)

Cian fetched a torch from one of the sconces that framed the manor’s door, and Bosque took it from her. His gaze lingered on the dancing flame. Cian gasped when Bosque thrust his hand into the fire. He didn’t flinch as his skin crackled and sizzled. When he pulled his hand free, the flames crawled over his blackened fingers like a living glove.

Making a fist, Bosque swung his arm in several arcs. His fiery hand left a trail of flame and smoke. Rather than dissipate, the flames formed a circle, swirling crimson and gold, shimmering with heat.

With fingers still alight, Bosque pointed his hand at the center of the blazing ring. His words were strange, rasps and clicks syncopated over the low bass of his voice.

Eira squinted at the circle of flames, confused by what she saw, for she could swear that within the fiery ring lay the black depths of a tunnel. As she peered into the dark core, something winked at her, like the flicker of a candle in a draft. Then two small points of light caught her eye. Then three. The tiny dancing flames grew larger, taking form as they drew closer.

Cian gave a cry, and both sisters jumped back as fiery bodies leapt from Bosque’s circle.

Alistair stood his ground, but his eyes were wide as he watched three shapes circle Bosque. Though flesh and blood had been traded for fire and smoke, there was no mistaking what these creatures Bosque had summoned were. Wolves.

Where fur should have been, flames licked the bodies of the beasts. When they opened their mouths, plumes of smoke spewed out. With each step, they left charred paw prints on the earth.

Bosque lowered his flame-covered hand, and the wolves approached. With tongues of fire, they licked his fingers, showing submission. Only when Bosque’s hand no longer burned did the wolves step away and return to circling the tall man.

Eira glanced at Cian, who was staring at Bosque’s hand. Eira knew why her sister was riveted. The blackened skin, burning for so long, had healed, leaving no trace of damage.

If only you knew that Bosque’s power to heal also saved your life,
Eira thought.

That secret Eira withheld for safekeeping. She hoped to win Cian over without relying on the fact that her sister owed Bosque her life. But if need be, Eira would reveal that truth in time.

“Your hounds, my lord.” Bosque smiled at Alistair.

“What are they?” Alistair breathed. The wolves’ fiery bodies were reflected in his gaze.

“Lyulf—loyal and ferocious, a precious resource drawn from my homeland. The fire and flesh with which I summoned them gives them purchase on this world,” Bosque told Alistair. “But they can’t survive here without a constant source of heat. You must act quickly, lest you lose them.”

“How long will they last?” Eira broke in. “A few hours’ head start is nothing to scoff at.”

“Indeed,” Bosque replied. “And none of your horses will bear the company of the Lyulf.” He turned to Alistair again. “Thus, I have another gift for you, my lord.”

There was no fiery circle called for this time. Bosque reached into the darkness itself, and where there had only been shadow, the shape of a horse materialized.

The stallion—if it could be called that—was familiar to Eira. Bosque’s steed had always put her mare, Geal, on edge. The horse was eerily beautiful, but frightening. Eira didn’t know if she’d be eager to claim the shadow steed as a mount.

Alistair, however, gazed at the horse with eyes that swam in dark dreams of possession.

“He will carry you, and the wolves will run at his side,” Bosque told Alistair. “You will move through time in a way that the horses of this world cannot. It will be an exceptional hunt.”

Despite Alistair’s apparent confidence, Eira asked, “Your stallion will obey him?”

Bosque stroked the shadow stallion’s nose. “The horse does my bidding. He will listen to the boy.”

At a gesture from Bosque, Alistair strode to the stallion’s side. Without further command, he climbed into the saddle and took the reins. The horse stood calmly, barely giving his new rider notice.

“Once I put the wolves on Lady Morrow’s scent, they will be off,” Bosque said to him. “And the horse will follow the wolves’ trail. Do not lose your grip on the reins or attempt to stop him and dismount. The means by which you travel puts you at risk for being forever lost, should you stray from the intended path.”

Alistair blanched, causing Eira to smile. Though she wanted the young knight to be courageous, his quick sense of mortal peril re-assured her that he wasn’t simply a brave fool.

“If I can’t leave the horse,” Alistair said with hesitation, “how will I fight?”

“Leave the fighting to the wolves,” Bosque answered. When Alistair looked away, Bosque continued. “They will know to leave Lady Morrow unharmed. Your task is to collect her while the Lyulf engage her fellows. You must play Hades to her Persephone.”

A brief smile crossed Alistair’s mouth. “Very well.”

Cian stepped forward, shaking her head. “Do you send your wolves to kill, then? What of mercy, of prisoners to question?”

“You already have a prisoner to question,” Bosque answered. “Do you wish to show mercy to such a small band of traitors?”

Cian broke his gaze, casting a pleading glance at Eira. “Do you wish to send monsters after your fellow Guardsmen? You would give them this doom?”

“I would remind you that they are no longer our fellows.” Eira gave her sister a steely gaze. “And did not your own blade offer Fitch the same justice that I send after his collaborators? Lukasz and his followers chose their own fate. Mercy cannot be granted when it is not deserved.”

As the two sisters faced each other, both of them stonelike in anger, Bosque dangled Ember’s pendant from its chain. One by one, the three wolves came to him, sniffing the gold and ruby necklace. Satisfied that the Lyulf had her scent, Bosque tossed the pendant to Alistair.

“Keep this with you,” Bosque ordered. “If the wolves and your mount halt and look to you for instruction, it may mean they need to take the scent again.”

Alistair nodded, though he regarded the fire wolves with wary eyes.

“If they come close, you’ll suffer burns,” Bosque told him. “But I can heal you upon your return. It’s unlikely that you’ll need to call them to you. Rarely do Lyulf lose a scent, and then only if the one they seek is warding their hunt by spellwork—but this night the prey does not know of the hunter’s approach.”

“Yes, my lord.” Alistair slipped the pendant into the pocket of his cloak.

“The night wanes,” Bosque said to him, ignoring the still-silent sisters.

When Eira finally sighed, turning away from Cian to answer Bosque, Alistair and the wolves were gone. Only the lingering shimmer of heat and acrid perfume of smoke remained.

“EMBER, YOU MUST WAKE.”

Barrow took both of her hands and pulled Ember to her feet before her eyes were fully open.

“Of course,” she said drowsily. “How long should I let you rest?”

“I wish I’d woken you for that reason,” Barrow told her. “You’ve slept barely an hour, but something is amiss. Look to the west.”

Ducking out from under the cloak of pine trees, Ember searched the valley floor. Where the glen curved sharply, putting the path they’d taken out of sight, a haze of rust infused the heavy mist. The strange light shifted, its hues bathing the dark hillsides in copper and bronze.

Ember would have named the colors a harbinger of dawn, but morning came from the east, and the east was presently at her back.

“What is it?” she asked in a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Barrow answered. “But I dare not hope for something good.”

Without speaking further, Ember and Barrow sought the horses, who were dozing nearby.

Barrow patted Toshach’s neck. “I’d wanted to give you more rest, but I’m afraid we can’t wait.”

Toshach whickered and stood patiently as Barrow put on the bridle.

Ember was already astride Caber when Barrow mounted.

“We’ll stay off the path,” Barrow said, “keeping the cover of the forest if we can.”

Ember looked at Toshach, and Barrow answered her question before she asked it.

“I’d like to start at a walk,” Barrow told her. “Whatever those lights are, they’re still well behind us. If they gain too much ground, we’ll have to run and hope for the best.” He rested his hand on Toshach’s shoulder. The stallion snorted and tossed his head.

Barrow laughed, reaching up to scratch Toshach’s ear. “I know you’d be happy to run, old boy. But the harder we press you, the longer it will take to recover from your injury.”

Caber was restless as well, keeping Ember busy as he pranced and tried to catch the bit in his teeth.

“You were sound asleep a few minutes ago,” Ember chided the young horse. “Settle down.”

Caber continued to snort and shake the reins as Ember gripped them, but the riders set out at a fast walk. The horses threaded their way through the forest’s edge so the strange lights in the west remained in partial view. Every few minutes, Barrow turned in his saddle, frowning.

“It is getting closer,” he said. “But I can’t make any guesses at what it is.”

Putting his heels to Toshach, Barrow brought them to a trot. Ember’s pulse sped, jumping in her throat each time she glanced over and saw the grim set of Barrow’s jaw.

He turned in the saddle again, and the sudden sharp intake of his breath made Ember turn as well.

The lights had cleared the glen’s curving shape. Though her vision was partly blocked by tree trunks and branches, Ember’s mouth still went dry at what she saw. Rolling down the valley floor was a thundercloud, its black shape like roiling smoke, the darkness broken by flashes of lightning that exploded in the colors of flame and blood.

The storm cloud moved with impossible speed, racing toward them.

“Run!” Barrow shouted.

Toshach leapt forward, his hooves tearing into the ground. Given free rein, Caber bucked once for good measure and then broke into a flat run. The two horses galloped side by side.

Ember kept her eyes ahead, too afraid to look back. She knew the cloud was getting closer because she could hear it. But the storm cloud didn’t thunder after them—the noises within it could only be called snarls.

Barrow urged Toshach to a breakneck pace. Caber’s ears flattened as he stretched his neck forward to match Toshach’s stride.

The horses both squealed when, from very close behind, there came a howl, long and echoing through the glen. One wolf’s cry was joined by two more. Toshach’s eyes rolled, showing their whites. Caber jerked his head down sharply, ripping the reins from Ember’s hands. She grabbed his mane, reaching for the flapping leather cord.

Before she could grasp it, Toshach gave a loud bellow. With horror, Ember turned to see Toshach falling. Barrow could do nothing as the stallion fell to his knees. The force of their pace sent Toshach somersaulting, rolling over onto his neck, back, flank. Ember screamed as Barrow was pinned between horse and earth. Dragging his rider along, Toshach skidded over the ground, at last coming to a stop.

The sound of the other horse’s distress brought Caber’s head up, and Ember threw herself forward, grabbing the reins and wheeling him around. When the stallion saw what was coming for them, he reared, striking the air with his hooves. Ember grabbed the pommel, managing to keep her seat as she stared in disbelief.

The storm cloud had slowed, but only because it was upon them. Shapes were forming within the swirling smoke and fire. Wolves—and behind them, a dark horseman.

When Caber’s feet returned to the earth, she forced him to the spot where Toshach struggled to his feet. Barrow lay on the ground close by, unmoving.

“Please don’t run from me,” Ember whispered to Caber as she jumped from her saddle. She wouldn’t have blamed the young stallion for fleeing. Ember’s every bone shrieked at her to run. And she did run, but it was toward Barrow.

Before she could get there, a flaming creature burst from the cloud. The wolf was made of fire. Ember didn’t know how it could be possible, but her eyes told her the beast was real, her nose breathed in its scent of char, and even at this distance, her skin felt the touch of its heat. Entranced by the sight, Ember failed to watch her step and, catching her foot on a root, she stumbled. Expecting this sign of weakness to lure the wolf to her, Ember rolled to a crouch, drawing Silence and Sorrow from their leather sheaths.