The Dark Throne (65 page)

Nehalim and I plunged into the melee. I thrust my blade through a troll that wore a necklace of bones, and Nehalim wheeled to trample it with his hooves, dancing back as the creature thrust with its short sharp tusks in its death throes. A Valkyrie arrow punched through its eye, abruptly stilling its thrashing.

The dust and blood and turmoil of the battle wrapped around me, strangely familiar. Luca leapt down from his mount with a roar, his axe beheading the ogre threatening the fallen vanguard warrior. Without direction from me, Nehalim charged through the tumult to his side, and we fended off a few smaller creatures as Luca heaved the dazed fighter upright. A Valkyrie flew low and circled us, providing a scarce moment of reprieve. I reached down with my left hand, sword still held in the other, and with a push from Luca, the warrior gripped my hand and leapt up behind me on Nehalim.

“Hold on,” I shouted above the screams and shouts.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, Bearer!” came the terse reply and an arm around my waist.

“Through! To the other side!” yelled Luca, astride his own
faehal
again, gore spattered across his pale skin. I raised my blade in agreement. The warrior behind me kept clear of my sword as we plunged through the maelstrom, switching his weapon into his left hand so he could still fight. My focus narrowed to the creatures in our path. I didn’t try to discern what the creatures were—some I’d seen before, but most were new to my eyes, strange combinations of misshapen limbs and cruel eyes. All I really cared about was avoiding their teeth, claws and blades, and thrusting my own sword into them. Gore ran in dark rivulets down the silver length of the blade that bore the names of our dead. I saw Vell, her eyes alight with battle joy as she cleaved a creature in two, snarling in triumph as the wolves took down another ogre as fluidly as if they were hunting a deer.

“Through!” came the cry to the vanguard, taken up by more than just Luca; they wheeled their mounts and followed us, leaving some of the Dark creatures shrieking in confusion, encircled completely by the Sidhe warriors.

With jarring suddenness, we emerged beyond the battle, the army now flowing completely around the remaining Dark creatures. I glanced down the front lines and saw a few other knots of Dark creatures, enveloped by the Seelie and Unseelie ranks. I didn’t know whether the creatures had tried to flee or if there had been separate groups, and I found I didn’t care. I stared down at the viscous black blood dripping slowly from my blade, watching it slide down the silver metal and trickle onto the bare gray ground. The air moving in and out of my heaving lungs suddenly sounded loud to my own ears as the shrieks of dying creatures and shouts of warriors receded farther and farther away. I shook myself and began to search through the ranks of fighters, my eyes passing quickly over each figure. I saw Vell, speaking to Gray with a bright grin, and Luca dismounted beside me, watching the extermination of the last few Dark creatures as he wiped the blade of his axe clean. My ears caught a distinctive accent, and I twisted in the saddle, turning toward the sound. With his Southern twang as a guide, I spotted Duke, and silent Jess—and I breathed a huge sigh as I saw Liam, blood-spattered but apparently unharmed, inspecting a gash on Quinn’s arm.

“Well-met, Lady Bearer,” said the fighter behind me as he dismounted, landing lightly on his feet.

“You should be thanking Luca, not me,” I replied with a smile, motioning toward the
ulfdrengr
.

“Oh, I shall,” came the reply, and with a little bow the warrior strode toward Luca.

I slid down from Nehalim’s back and quickly examined him. Blood stained his legs and belly, but none of it was his. I patted his shoulder. He snorted and pranced a few steps, as if to express his enjoyment of the battle. Smiling, I tugged a spare cloth from my pack, carefully wiping the length of my blade clean. I wondered briefly if I’d have to add any names to the sword, but then I sheathed it and mounted again, my heartbeat finally slowing to a reasonable cadence. I idly rubbed at a drop of black blood that had spattered onto Nehalim’s neck as he walked over to Liam, picking his way over the decimated remains of the Dark forces. The four men had dismounted, their
faehal
watching them with liquid eyes.

“Thought we’d seen some uglies in the mountains but whew, we got a real twisted mastermind here,” said Duke, shaking his head as he crouched by the corpse of an ogre, squinting as he inspected its mottled green and gray skin. He lifted the ogre’s ugly lips with the tip of one of his knives, examining the stained, tusk-like teeth with clinical interest.

“Yeah, well, doesn’t seem like most of ‘em are smart enough to wear armor,” replied Jess. The inspection of Quinn’s arm had been passed to the oldest member of the team, but he pressed the bloody handkerchief back over the wound after just a momentary glance. “Duke, stop poking at the dead monsters and get over here and do your job.”

“Aw, rub some dirt on it and shake it off,” Duke said nonchalantly, but he obediently stood and made his way over to Quinn.

“Everyone else good?” Liam asked.

“Check,” said Jess after he’d inspected himself, patting a particularly large patch of blood on his leg to make sure it didn’t conceal a wound he hadn’t felt in the rush of battle.

“I’m solid,” said Duke, tilting his head to one side as he peeled back the sodden cloth over Quinn’s arm.

“Tess?” Liam turned toward me.

“All good,” I replied. “Sorry, didn’t know I was included in that question.”

“Of course you’re included in that question,” Liam said, giving me a one-armed hug after I dismounted again. I pulled my healing kit from my pack.

“What do you need?” I asked Duke, peering over his shoulder. “I don’t know how long we’ll be stopped. Probably only for a few more minutes.”

“That’s fine, I only need three or four minutes,” the wiry Southerner replied. “Gonna put in a few stitches, brother.”

“Do what you gotta do,” replied Quinn, who was a little pale beneath his tattoos. The gash stretched from his left shoulder to his elbow, and it still bled sluggishly.

“Clean cut,” Duke announced after a close inspection. “Nothing in it that I can see.” He wiped away a trickle of blood with the handkerchief. “Don’t suppose you have steri-strips or Neosporin in that kit of yours.”

I chuckled. “No, but I have a needle and thread, and I can make an antiseptic salve while you stitch.”

“Old school. I like it.” Duke grinned as he accepted the offered needle and thread, his calloused fingers surprisingly nimble as he slid the thread through the eye of the needle on the first try.

“That’s because you’re not the one who’s gonna look like Frankenstein in a few minutes,” Quinn muttered.

“Don’t be a baby,” admonished Duke. “Least it didn’t slice through any of your tats.”

Quinn narrowed his eyes at the shorter man in reply but held his arm out forbearingly. I turned my attention to mixing the herbs for the salve, first rinsing my hands clean and scrubbing them dry on one of my spare shirts.

“Here,” I told Jess, handing him the little bowl from my healing kit. “Hold this.” He didn’t seem surprised and obediently held the bowl while I sorted through my vials of powder. I tipped a few different ones into the little bowl, carefully replacing the seal atop each vial. After adding a splash of water, I mixed the salve with my fingers.

“Perfect timing,” said Duke in satisfaction, snipping the threads of the last knotted stitch with the little scissors in his multitool.

“Not bad at all,” I said, surveying the neat line of stitches.

“I know, right? Almost like I have training or somethin’.” Duke grinned at me.

“This might sting a little,” I warned as I carefully daubed the salve onto the angry red line of the wound with two fingers. Quinn just shrugged with his other shoulder, watching the Valkyrie fly overhead. I finished applying the salve, tossed Duke a roll of clean bandages, and cleaned out my little mixing bowl, checking to make sure everything was in its proper place before I rolled up my healing kit and slid it back into my pack.

A Valkyrie landed gracefully a short distance from us, the backdraft from the
faehal
’s wings sending whorls of dust across our boots. Niamh hopped down from her winged mount, rubbing its neck and inspecting a bent pinion feather on one of its gleaming wings. Escaped curls of her white-gold hair created a halo around her head, but her flushed cheeks and disheveled braid only added to her impish charm as she turned toward us.

“If you had been a little quicker, that troll’s blade wouldn’t have caught you,” she said to Quinn, eyes glimmering.

“Well, we can’t all be avenging angels raining death from above,” he replied, an answering gleam in his brown gaze. Duke finished bandaging his arm and gave him a pat on the back, turning away with a barely concealed smile.

“What is an
angel
?” Niamh frowned. “I do not believe we have these creatures in our world.”

Liam and Jess followed Duke’s example, retrieving their
faehal
and following me back toward the front ranks of the army. I swallowed a laugh as we walked away, imagining Quinn’s reply.

“Will he be able to use the arm?” I asked Duke. “It didn’t look too deep, but…”

“He’s a tough bastard. It’ll hurt like hell, but he’ll use it all right.” Duke patted his
faehal
’s neck, glancing at Liam after my brother cleared his throat. “What? She’s just as grown-up as any of us, shouldn’t need to pussyfoot around her afraid of using a word that’ll offend her.”

I smiled. “Liam’s just overprotective.”

“You don’t say,” drawled Duke. He glanced at me in admiration. “You can hold your own as well as any of us.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Well, you’re a girl,” Duke said. My brother rolled his eyes and Jess shook his head. I had a feeling this was a common topic of conversation.

“I’d think you’d be grateful for the change in scenery,” I said, remembering my conversation with Liam in the ether. He must have had the same thought, because we caught each other’s eyes and had to look away, clamping down on laughter.

“Oh, I’m
very
appreciative,” said Duke. “But you can’t blame me. Not like there are sword-slinging ladies in our world.”

I made a considering noise. “I think they just don’t sling swords. But they’re probably around. Maybe you just haven’t been looking in the right places.” I smiled.

“If you know of a magical club of lady warriors back through that portal, please just show me the way.” Duke widened his eyes.

“It’s hard to stay irritated at you,” I commented.

“Welcome to our world,” said Jess, just as Duke said, “It’s part of my Southern charm.”

“I don’t know whether
charm
is the right word…”

I felt strangely content as we made our way back to the front lines, walking with Liam and bantering with his teammates, stepping over dismembered Dark creatures like they were just features of the landscape. The Sword laughed a little, sending that prickling vibration down my spine and through my ribs. I even appreciated that, letting the feeling wash over me. We mounted our
faehal
again under the waving banner of the Wild Court. Elwyn sat on her mount beside Vell, a long gash down the side of her face; but the commander of the southern vanguard seemed not to notice her injury, speaking animatedly with the High Queen.

Vell glanced over at us and then frowned. Elwyn paused. “Did one of the mortals fall in battle?”

“No,” I replied, “Quinn is just, ah, having a conversation with Niamh.”

Vell raised one eyebrow and smiled slightly. “I see.” She turned back to Elwyn, who promptly continued her report.

I glanced around the High Queen. Gray spoke to one of the other warriors from the southern vanguard. And then I caught Arcana staring at me. The Morrigan sat motionlessly astride her
faehal
, her dark hair bound back in a simple braid. A copper spark slid past her slightly parted lips.

“She’s not creepy at all,” deadpanned Duke, following my gaze. I blinked and forced myself to look away. I thought I saw a small smile on the Morrigan’s face when I broke the stare.

“That’s not her real body,” I said quietly.

“So…is she dead?” Duke frowned.

“I don’t really know,” I answered honestly. “I don’t think she’s dead, but she’s a spirit that inhabits that body. A fragment of a much larger power.”

“Are you sure I’m not just hallucinating all of this?” Duke asked rhetorically. “Maybe we got blown up and I hit my head really hard and I’m in a coma.”

I shrugged. “Hard to prove otherwise beyond what I’ve already showed you, if that’s what you really think. But this is a pretty realistic hallucination, isn’t it?”

“True.” Duke gripped the haft of his axe. “Plus I think if I dreamed up a world, it would be a little bit different than this. Beer and four-wheelers and girls in bikinis, know what I mean?”

“You sound like a Southern cliche.”

“No need to be jealous.” He grinned. “This is more of Quinn’s fanboy dream than mine anyway. He’s into the whole nerdtron comic book superhero thing.”

I smiled. “Being a comic book nerd isn’t so bad.”

“Comic book,” repeated Wisp, swooping down to land on my shoulder. “I have heard this term before, Tess-mortal, though I have not had the chance to study them extensively.” He gave a little bow to Duke, who saluted him with two fingers; and then the Glasidhe continued, “I come bearing news. There is to be another council, probably tomorrow.”

“The final planning council,” I said.

“It will be most grand!” asserted Wisp. “The Three Queens, and the Bearer, and a Seer!”

I wondered silently about the queens’ expectations of Liam, but the blare of the white horn interrupted my thoughts. Nehalim tossed his head, as if to say that it was past time we got moving again. I guided him over to Vell’s side as the army slowly rolled into motion.

“Welcome back,” I told Elwyn as I passed her. The white-fair commander grinned.

“I hear you’re the one to be congratulated on the rescue of the Seer,” she said.