The Crimson Crown (56 page)

Wolves howled all around them, their shapes flickering through torchlight.

Amon’s eyes met Raisa’s. Making a quick decision, she shook her head. There was little chance they’d win their way out, but no chance at all if they surrendered.

Ardenine soldiers flooded into the Market Temple sanctuary from the chapels on both sides. The Wolves formed a ring around Raisa, their swords a bristling wall to the outside.

“For Hanalea the Warrior!” Raisa cried.

Overhead, glass shattered. Shards rained down on them, clattering on the stone floor.

Longbows sounded. The two Ardenine soldiers nearest to Raisa staggered backward, clutching at the arrow shafts protruding from their chests. They teetered, then collapsed to the ground. The bows sounded again, and two more fell. The Ardenine soldiers ducked back into the side chapels, under the protection of the stone roof.

Nightwalker leaned from the tall window on one side of the nave and nocked another arrow, training his longbow on Karn. Cat stood in the aperture on her other side, her longbow aimed at Fossnacht.

“Was it blades, you said?” Cat called. “My mistake. I thought it was arrows.” Her voice went dead serious, then. “Any of you flatland swine move a muscle, you’re dead.”

“How reassuring to know that I can always count on the double-cross where Arden is concerned,” Raisa said, blotting blood from her cheek. “Now, set my sister free and nobody else has to die tonight.”

Her eyes were fixed on Fossnacht. She saw his eyes shift, his expression change, and knew immediately what he meant to do. The black priest turned toward Mellony, the torch in his hand.

Everything seemed to happen at once. Cat’s bow sounded as Raisa barreled forward, slamming her fighting staff into Fossnacht with a satisfying thud and sending him sprawling. But the torch flew out of his hand, landing at Mellony’s feet. She screamed, trying to kick the flaming torch away.

Now Karn was on top of Raisa, his meaty hands around her throat while she struggled to reach her dagger. Magic stung her skin, seeping into her, undirected but stunning just the same.

Karn was gifted?

Amon dragged Karn off of her, grunting as he tossed him against the nearest wall.

Raisa heard more glass breaking. More longbows sounded.
More longbows?

Raisa rolled to her feet, sucked in a ragged breath, and croaked, “Help my sister!”

The flames had caught in the pitched wood and were already licking around Mellony’s ankles. Amon had snatched up a long branch and was desperately trying to rake burning wood away from her. But he had to turn and use his sword as Ardenine soldiers flooded back, knowing the archers overhead couldn’t fire into this melee of friends and foes.

Raisa grabbed up her staff and laid about her with it, opening a path to Mellony’s side.

Mellony was screaming, struggling to get free. Raisa stamped at the flames, but they only blazed higher, fed by the pitch-soaked wood. She drew her dagger and slashed desperately at the ropes binding her sister. They defied her small blade.

Raisa caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. Someone she hadn’t noticed before—a young man with a metal collar around his neck. He darted toward them, his hand thrust into his neckline. A wizard wearing Ardenine colors.

“Look out!” Amon surged forward, on a course to intercept him. But a massive Ardenine soldier rose up in front of him, swinging a club. It connected, and Amon went flying.

“Amon!” Raisa screamed, as a wall of flame went up with a whoosh, encircling them. She realized, to her horror, that Karn and his cohorts had laid out a second fire line around the pillar, meant to keep anyone from escaping or coming to their rescue. And this flame burned green. Wizard fire—nearly impossible to put out.

The flames exploded upward, nearly to the ceiling. They were trapped.

If Gerard Montaigne couldn’t torture her at leisure, he’d burn her alive right now.

“Lady of the Battlefield, help me!” Raisa cried, ramming her staff into the burning cordwood, trying to open space around her and Mellony.

As if in answer to her prayers, someone swarmed across the ceiling of the cathedral, swinging from one fixture to another, finding handholds where none existed. He dangled over their heads, arrows pinging all around him, then dropped to the floor next to Raisa.

It was Han Alister.

Raisa stared at him, stunned speechless. His aster-blue eyes shown out from a face blackened by bruises and soot, his fair hair glittering in the firelight. Dressed all in black, silhouetted against flame, he looked rather like a demon, raised from the dead, trading for souls on the other side.

“But—but you—you’re—dead,” she whispered to herself, touching the ring on her finger like a talisman.

“You’re on fire,” he said, and pulled her tightly against him, lifting her slightly, his hands pressing into the small of her back, her head under his chin.

It took Raisa a moment to realize that he meant
literally
on fire. She smelled burning wool as he smothered her smoldering jacket against his chest. She could feel his heart beating wildly even through the metal between them.

“Raisa,” he murmured, his voice catching. “Tell me you’re all right.” She felt the familiar sting of his magic, more faint and frail than usual.

“I’m all right,” she stammered. “I have Dancer’s armor on.”

He pulled away and held her at arm’s length, his hands under her elbows, his expression as raw and hungry as she’d ever seen it.

“Why is it always fire?” he asked nobody in particular, his voice hoarse and strange.

Raisa shook her head, speechless, while a thousand questions stumbled through her mind.

“Cut your sister loose,” he said. “I’ll keep the flame away.” Releasing hold of her, he turned, his hand on his amulet, sweeping his arm in a broad arc, driving back the flames that licked hungrily at the kindling under their feet. If it caught, they were done for.

Raisa kicked viciously at the cordwood piled around Mellony, hissing as flame burned through her trousers and scorched her skin. Mellony’s head drooped, and she slumped against the pillar. Raisa thought at first she’d gone unconscious, but her lips still moved in prayer.

Every breath Raisa took seemed to suck flame into her lungs. She hacked at the ropes, swearing. The fibers would not yield under her blade.

The ropes must be magicked, she thought, close to tears. She glanced over at Han, but he had his hands full keeping the outer circle of flames at bay.

Mellony’s cloak caught and smoldered, and Raisa frantically beat out the flame.

Mellony opened her eyes suddenly. “Cut my throat and go,” she said, her voice hollow and hopeless. “Cut my throat. I don’t want to burn to death.”

“No,” Raisa growled. “I’m getting out of here, and I’m taking you with me.”

Someone burst through the wall of flame, a tall, angular figure layered in protective magic. He hit the floor, nearly sliding into the flames on the other side.

Micah Bayar rolled to his feet with his usual grace and grabbed Raisa’s arm. “Come on,” he said, tugging at her. “I’ll shield both of us. Let’s go before Alister runs out of flash.”

Raisa stared at him.
You’re despicable. You lied to me. You told me Han was dead.

Micah looked back at her defiantly, a little desperately, as if he knew just what she was thinking.

“Please come,” he pleaded. “I’ll come back for Mellony once I get you out.”

“No.” Raisa shook her head. “I won’t leave Mellony to burn,” she said. “The ropes are magicked and I can’t cut them. You get her loose.”

Micah’s lips tightened in frustration, but he let go of Raisa and took hold of the ropes binding Mellony to the pillar. He spoke one charm after another. Nothing happened.

Swearing, he closed his hands over the knots. Finally, grudgingly, the knots unthreaded themselves, the ropes slithering to the floor like snakes.

Mellony slumped forward, and Micah caught her, lifting her.

“Take her,” Raisa said.

“I’ll be back.” Wrapping them both in a shroud of magic, Micah disappeared into the flames.

“Mellony’s free. Let’s go,” Raisa said, stepping up beside Han. He was still furiously fighting back the flames, but he looked drained, almost haggard, his gestures increasingly disorganized.

“Micah will come back for you,” he said, not looking at her. “Go with him. I’ll follow.”

“Let’s go now,” Raisa said.

He didn’t answer, and suspicion kindled in her. “You don’t have enough flash left to get through, do you?” she said. “You’re not confident you can put up a shield.”

“I can get myself through, just not both of us,” Han said. “Once I know you’re safe, I promise I’ll come.” He was usually a fine liar. It was evidence of his weariness that she could see right through this one.

Micah reappeared, his magical boundaries already fraying under the assault of the flame.

“Go with Micah,” Han repeated. “I’ll follow.”

“No,” Raisa said. “Micah, take Han now and come back for me.”

“Bayar!” Han said, his voice edged. “Make her go with you, all right? You’ve done it before. Don’t go all squeamish on me now.”

Micah looked from Han to Raisa, then struck like a snake, scooping Raisa into his arms and pressing her against him. She kicked and struggled, then felt the buzz of magic against her skin, immobilizing her.

I’m no longer wearing Hanalea’s ring
, she realized.
Micah’s wearing it. And I’m wearing his.
She looked down at her hand, then up in time to see Han’s eyes follow hers, tightening in pain.

No. Oh, no. Han must think that Micah and I
…

Micah draped his cloak over her face, and they plunged through the wall of flame. Heat seared her skin, brilliance beat against her eyelids. She held her breath to avoid sucking in flame, and then they were through, and she was gasping in great lungfuls of relatively cooler air.

Micah strode on, away from the torrent of flame that encircled Han Alister. He walked on, down the nave, as if he meant to walk right out of the temple, but came face-to-face with Nightwalker.

“Put her down, jinxflinger,” Nightwalker said. “We’ve cleared the temple, but the entire army of Arden is outside, and we need you on the doors.”

Micah seemed reluctant to let go even then, as if he knew it would be the last time he’d hold Raisa in his arms. Finally, grudgingly, he set her down on her feet and disabled the charm.

She ripped free of his grasp. “Go back after Han,” she ordered, her voice low and furious. “Do it. Now. I won’t let him burn.”

“He said he’d come on his own,” Micah said. “You heard him.”

“He doesn’t have enough flash left to come through,” Raisa said. “He’s been fighting back wizard flame, keeping me and Mellony alive.”

“Well, I don’t have enough flash left to go in and come out again, and bring another person,” Micah said. “Alister knows that. That’s why he sent me out with you.”

“You’re lying,” Raisa said, her mouth metallic with despair. “You despicable, lying, snake of a wizard.”

“It’s true,” Micah said, extending his hands, fingers spread pleadingly.

“I won’t be needing this.” Raisa tugged at Micah’s ring, wrenched it off her finger, and threw it at him. He ducked, and it hit the floor, rolling out of sight.

“Raisa,” Micah whispered, his face sheet-white. “Please.”

She opened her palm. “Give me back my ring,” she said.

For a moment, she thought he would refuse. Then he slid her wolf ring off his finger and pressed it into her hand. “I’ll go. I’ll get him out.” Micah swiveled away, disappearing into the chaos.

Cat Tyburn appeared out of nowhere. “Where’s Cuffs?” she asked, looking around. “I thought he’d be with you.”

Raisa shook her head mutely, pointing at the inferno toward the front of the church.

Just then a shout came up from those protecting the doors. Raisa looked up, half expecting to see the Ardenine Army pouring in; but what she saw instead was…water.

Water?

It had found its way under the massive wooden door, and through the tiny openings and imperfections in the door and the stonework. It advanced across the stone floor like a dark stain. Raisa heard shouts and screams and cries for help from outside the temple, layered over the sound of rushing water.

Where had it come from and how did it get here? We are blocks from the river.

“Get away from the door!” Amon shouted, and the defenders scattered in all directions.

He’s alive, Raisa thought, looking for Amon amid the tangle of people.

The door was literally bulging now, bowing inward under the weight of water. Water spilled over the stone sills of the windows, splashing onto the floor. The windows were high, so the water must have already risen against the sides of the cathedral.

With a massive crack, the door gave, bursting inward, releasing a torrent of water into the sanctuary, sluicing all the way forward to the altar. Those inside the cathedral scrambled for higher ground.

“Come,” Nightwalker said, taking Raisa’s hand. “We’d better climb.”

“It’s the Dyrnnewater,” Raisa said, planting her feet as the water rose to her knees. “The Dyrnnewater has come into the cathedral.”

“Hayden!” Cat crowed in delight, pointing. “Hayden’s calling the river.”

Raisa saw Fire Dancer, waist-deep in the Dyrnnewater, atop the Naming font to the left of the altar. He stood, eyes closed, both hands gripping his amulet, his lips moving silently, like a water god from out of the stories.

Fire Dancer. Where had he come from? Calling the river? What did that mean?

The wall of wizard flame surrounding Han Alister hissed and complained, resisting the assault of the water. Steam rose to the roof, collecting there.

Raisa splashed forward, ignoring Nightwalker’s shouted warnings. The water was at her waist now, roaring into the crypts, sweeping candlesticks off the altar. Sweeping flames away.

But when Raisa reached the pillar where Mellony had been bound, water rippled around it. Micah Bayar’s sleek black head broke through the surface. He looked around, flinging water, then dove under again.