The Chosen Soul (29 page)

prison. She was bewildered by the harsh, dark landscape, horrified by what followed

closely behind.

“You can’t escape me… I’m right behind you… Just ahead of you… Watching

you…”
He did not let up, his words were relentless, his power inescapable.

Raven headed directly into the thickest part of the forest. Again, laughter followed

her, and again, Cruor whispered promises in her head. Her fevered mind worked

frantically. She thought of Loki, wondered where he was. She thought of the bounty

hunter, wondered if he was dead. She felt her skin burn and sting where the thorns and

brambles relentlessly pricked and scraped, marking her as an intruder in the woods, a

scrambling, stammering prey in a forest full of predators.

She cried out as a root suddenly wrapped completely around her ankle and she fell

forward into a bed of soft, fallen leaves. The dense ground covering cushioned her

impact, but she barely noticed. She quickly looked back to see that the tree root was

unwinding from her leg, moving of its own accord, animated and very much alive.

Her eyes grew wide and more terror gripped her heart.

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“Killian Wood is elven territory. This forest has been tended by our kind for

thousands of years.”

Raven gasped and turned around, scrambling back on her hands and knees. She

looked up to see Cruor leaning easily against a tall tree, his gaze turned upward as he

casually perused the canopy of foliage. Even dressed in black as he was, he seemed to be

a mere extension of the forest around them, at peace and ease with his surroundings.

Cruor looked down at her then, and his expression was unreadable. He slowly

pushed away from the tree and began to walk toward her. “The forest can sense that you

are not human. It’s curious…”

She backed up as far as she could and found herself flush with a hard tree trunk. He

came to stand directly in front of her and then knelt so that he was on her level. Raven

flinched when he slowly reached up and pulled a stray leaf from her long, tangled hair.

He twirled the leaf between his fingers and then reached for her face. She shut her eyes

tight, fearful of his touch. She felt the back of his gloved hand gently brush her cheek.

His touch was cool where it trailed along her cheekbone and down her jaw line.

“The forest tasted your blood,” he said, and she opened her eyes. His fingers came

away, the leather covered in red. She’d been scratched and scraped in multiple places

upon her exposed flesh by the foliage of the forest. “But you heal even as we rest here.”

She looked up into his eyes to find him peering down at her with an expression of

wonder. His brow drew together and he blinked several times rapidly as if hit with a

sudden realization.

“You are, by far, the most beautiful woman I have seen in my long life, Raven,” he

said as he gazed down at her. “A more fitting receptacle for the Chosen Soul surely does

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not exist.” His expression turned into one of deep disappointment then. “It is truly a pity that you must die in order to join your soul with mine.” He shook his head slowly.

Tears slid from her large dark eyes and trailed down her cheeks, their saltiness

burning where they met with the wounds that had not yet healed. She barely heeded the

pain. A kind of numbness was setting in, and she almost welcomed it.

Cruor said nothing more for the longest time. And then he sighed, long and slow, as

if truly disappointed. She watched him through her tears as he rose then, never taking his

eyes off of her. “The fact of the matter is, Raven, I can not take your soul without your

permission. It is the one soul I need to attain that which I’ve strived for. And it is the one soul I can not steal.” He turned from her then and she laid her head back against the tree

that held her captive. She felt so weary…

“Therefore, I’m prepared to offer you a covenant of sorts.” He moved to the large

tree that he’d been leaning on previously, and ran his hand along its bark. He seemed to

be thinking several things at once. Almost distractedly, he continued. “If you give me

your soul, I will spare your brother’s life. When the others die, he shall live.” He turned slowly to face her once more. “He and whatever petty human he feels he loves. They’ll

live to raise a family, grow old together,” he paused, his expression at once appearing

bemused, and then he closed his eyes and continued, “all of that nonsense.” He waved his

hand dismissively, turned away and began to pace through the leaf-strewn clearing.

“I know you can’t possibly care as much for any other mortal in this realm, Raven.

They have brought you nothing but pain. I can feel it within you. You carry the Spring’s

eldest soul. Its bodies have died many times,” again, he paused, his distant expression and sapphire eyes reflecting an emotion that Raven could not quite identify, “in many

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different ways,” he continued. “And you are, by no means, unfamiliar with the pain of

slaughter. Humans can be so cruel…” He glanced at her, and the strange distant

expression disappeared, to be replaced with a coldness she could actually feel upon her

skin. “But your brother, you love, and so, for you, I will allow him to go on.”

He turned toward her then, and gazed down at her with a hardness and determination

she hadn’t seen before. He strode purposefully in her direction. She stiffened,

instinctively pulling against the strong roots that held her fast in place. Her breath

quickened. He knelt before her. “You have until midnight to decide at which time I will

kill him. And every hour after that, I will kill another. A child. An innocent…” His eyes

found hers and locked them in their indomitable sway. “Your parents.”

Her eyes widened.

He watched her in silence. And then she flinched when he cupped her cheek with his

hand once more. She froze beneath him as he closed his eyes and very slowly began to

lower his lips toward hers as if he would kiss her.

At that moment, the sky tore open and lightning crashed to the ground, splitting the

tree across from them in two. Cruor reeled back away from Raven, spinning as he rose to

his feet. At the same time, the tree roots that had held Raven’s wrists let her go and

receded into the ground. A half second later, another bolt of lightning split the night and Raven covered her ears, ducking her head instinctively.

When she raised it again moments later, it was to find the Elven Prince and a

regiment of elven soldiers standing across the clearing.

His eyes were on Cruor.

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Astriel was dressed in leather and dark metal armor, a long sword in his hand. The

soldiers behind him had drawn either sword or bow, and all were posed to fight.

Raven could barely believe what she was seeing, what was happening. Was she to be

saved from one crazed elf by another?

Astriel spoke then, his tone low, deadly, unmistakably furious. But his words were in

a language that Raven could not understand.

Cruor’s gaze narrowed, his sapphire-blue eyes flashing, his arms out at his sides. He

answered, in the same melodious language, and Raven held her breath. She was no

linguist, but the exchange had sounded very much like a challenge to her.

At that moment, yet another blast of light tore a hole through the darkness. It was

accompanied by a warm gust of wind that knocked the leaves from the branches and sent

the dead foliage on the ground swirling in a crackling vortex. Everyone in the clearing

covered their eyes. The burst of sunlight grew stronger, blindingly bright, and then began

to recede. The wind died down.

Raven moved her arm away from her face. In the wake of the light and wind stood

her brother, a glowing, pulsing axe in each hand.

Raven rose to her feet, ignoring her weakness, and lunged toward her brother.

Cruor had her in his arms before she’d taken two steps. He grabbed her by the wrist

and twisted her arm behind her back painfully, pulling her up against his chest. He

brought his lips to her ear. “Remember my promise, Raven. I can kill him now rather than

later.”

She cried out as he twisted her arm up higher, using her pain to emphasize his threat.

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A low growl emanated from the surrounding forest. Cruor stilled. Raven searched the

shadows. Nothing moved.

“Let her go, mage.”

Raven turned her head to the sound of the voice, as did everyone else. Shadow

separated from darkness, and Drake of Tanith stepped into the moonlight. His mercury

gray eyes found Raven instantly, and she locked gazes with him. Raven felt an

inexplicable rush of relief at the sight of him alive. It was as if she’d been waiting,

holding some sort of breath deep down within herself, and could now release it.

He gripped a shining, iron dagger tightly in one hand. The contingent of elves to his

left eyed the weapon warily. Astriel looked from Drake to the dagger in his gloved fist

and smiled a slow, knowing smile.

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The Chosen Soul – Chapter Twenty-Two

Cruor’s gaze slid from the elves to Loki to Drake, and he smirked. “I think it’s time

we take our personal business somewhere more private, Raven,” he whispered. He began

to chant the words to a transportation spell, but before he could finish, Astriel exploded

into action, his tall form blurring as he raced for the Death Mage, his sword

simultaneously pulling back in preparation for attack.

Cruor took a quick step back, pulling Raven with him as he did. His free hand rose in

a defensive movement, and a shield of hardened air formed between them, solid as stone.

Astriel skidded to a halt just short of slamming into the invisible wall. He lowered his

sword slowly and narrowed his gaze at the Death Mage.

And then a deep, booming voice rang out from behind him.

“Potui Sanctum Dilucesco Flamma Concremo Moenia!”

Astriel, Cruor and Raven were each thrown back violently as the wall of air between

them was hit by an intense wave of energy and a blast of pure white light. Raven landed

half on the ground and half on her captive as they hit the dirt and fallen leaves several

yards away. Once again, the wind was knocked from her lungs, and stars swam in her

vision. Nausea roiled up in her gut as they rolled to a stop. Cruor rose, brutally yanking

her up with him, and was on his feet almost instantly. Raven hung limply in his grasp, her

body holding on to consciousness by a thin thread.

Through a blurred and rapidly distancing perception, she heard her captor begin

another enchantment, his words rolling across her skin like slightly charged tentacles. She knew he was once again attempting to transport them somewhere else.

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Astriel jumped to his feet and rushed the Death Mage, even as his soldiers raced to

do the same. Drake was beside him in an instant.

Cruor’s form began to shimmer and fade, Raven’s along with him, just as Drake and

Astriel came within fighting distance.

“Capesso Concipio Belua Maleficus Attineo!”

Raven moaned when she felt Cruor’s magic ripped away from her and her form

solidify once again. With what felt like the last of her conscious strength, she raised her head slightly and peered at the scene before her through the wings of her long black hair.

Drake and Astriel were nearly upon them.

And her brother was glowing. She stared at him, certain now that she was already

comatose and dreaming.

Loki’s eyes burned bright white like the sun, mid-summer. His strawberry red hair

suddenly shone as if it were on fire, and a warm wind blew through the small clearing,

sending the air rippling about him in waves of impossible heat. His skin had lightened to

a pale luminescence and gave off a radiance like the inner most flame of a candle.

Raven’s brow drew together.

And then Drake was wrenching her from Cruor’s grasp as the Death Mage and

Astriel paired off on one another.

The Death Mage made a decision, letting her go as he retreated once more. He did

not move fast enough, though, and the Prince’s sword slashed downward across his body,

slicing deep into his left bicep and chest. Cruor hissed in pain and momentarily lost his

balance, stumbling from the impact of the injury. Astriel was upon him again, bringing

his sword back up with intent to carve his opponent from the groin upward.

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Cruor wasted no time attempting to dodge the second attack and, instead, spoke an

unintelligible series of lightning-quick arcane words. As the Prince’s sword sliced

through the air, Cruor’s form shimmered and faded, only to solidify moments later, a few

yards away. The wounds that had been etched into his arm and chest were entirely healed.

Raven watched none of this, though. Her mind was spinning inward, tumbling end

over end, sweet oblivion welcoming her with its painless, dark embrace.

“Raven, look at me.”

She heard his voice, soft, low, gentle.

It seemed to be calling from across an ocean, carried to her on that perfect caress of a