The Demigod Proving (62 page)

Eagle-face hit the ground a moment before Athanaric, and lifted off backward, swinging his sword as he did. Athanaric—not seeing what happened with Naresh and Cuchorack—landed where the man had jumped from—he would have crushed him if he hadn’t leapt backward—and parried the blow as he, too, lifted off. The man flew away, just out of reach, applying Flux to pitch from side to side. Athanaric kept with him, sword ready to slash the moment the man came within reach.

Eagle-face’s eyes became panicked as he touched down. He tried to switch his path, to duck forward under Athanaric as he landed; but either his luck or an Ichor store had run out, for he didn’t move fast enough to escape, and Athanaric’s feet caught him in the chest, crushing him into the ground with a crunch of bones and squish of flesh. His head cracked against a rock in the dirt, and his eyes went blank. The soul rose out of his body, a formless mass glinting in the sunlight.

Athanaric turned to look at what had become of Naresh and Cuchorack. Naresh had fled south, toward the Hasuken army, pursed by Cuchorack. The draegon half leapt, half flew over the ground, flapping his tattered wings with little effect. He would not catch Naresh before the Godslayer reached the army.

“Cuchorack, return to me,” Athanaric said.

A shout arose to his right, from a distance, but his fine-tuned hearing caught it with clarity. The sound bore so much agony and rage that it distracted him from the pleasure of his kill, and he looked toward where Calla and Leenda struggled.

And his heart dropped.

Wrend soared through the air toward Calla and Leenda, his sword poised for the kill. The scream came from him, and it tore at Athanaric’s heart to hear that noise from his son. But equally distressing, Calla had no idea that he headed for her. Teirn did not grace the scene.

“Calla!” he shouted. His voice could reach that far, but Wrend moved so fast—he’d obviously figured out how to use Flux—that his warning couldn’t possibly reach her in time.

Chapter 81: Never again

I knew in that moment that I could never kill another person.

-Wrend

Leenda couldn’t breathe. She could only move her legs—but not enough to do anything against Calla.

Goat guts!

The rock she lay on, bent over backward, had several jagged points that dug into her spine and inflicted considerable pain as she tried to push off of them and throw Calla. But Calla held her down with Flux, and strengthened her hands and legs with Thew, to prevent Leenda from pulling her off or yanking the hands away from her neck. She clenched and bared her teeth, and her eyes bulged. Against the vibrant blue sky, she was almost nothing more than an angry shadow.

Leenda had thought for a moment that she had Calla, that she’d defeated her; but in an unusual surge of Flux, Calla had flipped her around in the air and slammed her down into the rock. The impact had made her vision go black and sparkly. Before she could recover, Calla had straddled her and grasped her neck. Leenda couldn’t fathom how much Flux the woman had to be using now. In three surges, each larger than the last, Leenda had almost depleted her remaining store trying to get Calla off.

It would be nice to have one last look at Wrend before she died. He was such a handsome man. Even in a human body. His eyes shone with such determination and intelligence.

But Calla gripped her so that she couldn’t turn her head.

How long had it been since she’d taken a breath? A minute? Three minutes? Fifty years?

Would Krack mourn her death? Would he even wonder about it when she didn’t show up at the lair? He was a good draegon, all things considered. She couldn’t blame him for what he’d become. He’d spent the last few years raising himself, after all. He’d lost his father, and his mother had left him with an aged, tired draegon. What a fool she was. What a goat-gutted fool.

Above the pounding in her head, a scream pierced her ears, long and drawn out, and very near. For a moment she thought it came from Calla, but then realized that it grew louder as the person screaming drew nearer.

And Wrend arrived.

He had a sword in his hands but it missed Calla, and his body rammed into her. He grunted and Calla screamed, and the two of them tumbled to Leenda’s left.

Leenda could finally breathe.

She inhaled through her mouth, simultaneously relieved that her lungs could fill, and terrified that Wrend would break his neck as he reeled through the rocks and sagebrush. She rolled to the side, off of the rock, and staggered to her feet. Her neck throbbed and a cloud shrouded her mind, but she could breathe.

Calla screamed. She lay in a tangled mess in the dirt as Wrend found his feet. Her dress had settled to the ground around her, concealing her legs; but her feet stuck out from the hem at such unusual angles that something had to be wrong with her legs. Both of her hips or knees—or all of them—had broken or dislocated.

Wrend stood above her, looking down at her, his body heaving. He held his sword in both hands.

“Are you hurt?” Leenda said.

Her voice sounded scratchy and distant. Spots still filled her vision.

He didn’t seem to hear. The sword slipped from his hands and fell into the dirt. He spoke to Calla.

“He’s dead. He’s dead because he couldn’t disobey you.”

Leenda glanced back up the hill. Teirn lay in the dirt, his body bloated and disfigured. She looked away and pushed the nausea down.

“You killed my boy?” Calla said.

She tried to adjust her position on the ground, as if wanting to try and stand, but winced and sucked in a sharp breath as her body’s movement shifted her hips and legs.

“You killed him.”

“He killed himself,” Wrend said.

Calla began to wail and curse, and Wrend looked down at her with a hard face. Why he hadn’t killed Calla, Leenda couldn’t guess. She surely deserved it, but for some reason he’d pulled his blow, and spared her life.

Leenda stepped to his side and touched his arm.

“Are you hurt?”

He gave her a sardonic smile as he spread his arms wide.

“My body hasn’t taken a wound.”

His tone didn’t reassure her. His body was fine, but his heart wasn’t. But she couldn’t dedicate the energy to analyze it; her head throbbed too much.

“Come on,” he said, looking away from her and taking her arm with one hand. “We have to get away from the Master.”

Still gasping for air, she followed his gaze. Immediately, the fog lifted from her head. Of course it did. Athanaric on Cuchorack, lumbering over the desert ground and foliage toward them, would bring anyone back to their senses.

Chapter 82: God rage

The wrath of god is a terrible thing. Do everything within your power to avoid it.

-Calla

Wrend led Leenda as they fled over the desert toward the butte. He took her hand and started off, slow at first, as she took several moments to recover her breath, but then faster.

“Where are we going?” she said.

“No idea. Any suggestions?”

“Far. Far away.”

They lifted off of the ground, and Wrend applied Flux in a forward and upward direction, in the center of his balance. His leap—also supplemented with Thew—lifted them over a boulder surrounded by bushes of poison sage. Beyond that, they flew over a handful of yucca trees. As their shadow passed over a rock, a lizard sunning itself slithered to safety. Wrend’s motion produced more Flux than he'd ever discerned. It emanated from his body in fast, irregular waves of white, and he harvested them so his store of Flux remained almost constant. It almost seemed he could fly perpetually once he lifted himself off of the ground.

Leenda squeezed his hand tight. Whether to keep herself from letting go, or in a gesture of affection, he didn't know.

“I see you finally figured out Flux,” she said.

Moving almost parallel to the ground, he dared a grin back at her. The motion changed his center of balance, and he tottered until he corrected the exact place of binding and could focus on Leenda. Her hair whipped out behind her. Smudges of dirt covered her face, and her undershorts and blouse hung in tatters. Red finger marks striped her neck. But she smiled at him, a satisfied glint in her eyes.

“You always were a quick learner,” she said.

About a hundred yards back, Cuchorack clambered over the rise where Teirn lay, flapping its wings as it ran, but failing to lift off of the ground. It seemed handicapped, as if its wings were broken. Athanaric sat in the saddle, his head low to the draegon's neck. It seemed that all of the others that had come to parley were dead or gone. Athanaric bent low from his saddle to look at something on the ground, and raised his head to the sky. His mouth gaped. A moment later, the sound of his scream echoed off of the butte cliffs, and through Wrend's heart.

The butte loomed, and now that they ran near its base, it approached quickly. They landed in a patch of dirt bordered on one side by black boulders, took a handful of steps to change direction, and lifted off again, moving along the cliff base. The air felt cooler in the plateau’s shadow. The wind stronger. The black boulders piled atop each other in layers at the cliff base, and the ground sloped upward at a sharp angle.

“Should we go up top?” Wrend said. “It seems like Cuchorack can't fly.”

“Athanaric can use Flux to follow,” Leenda said.

“At least he'll have to leave Cuchorack behind.”

They landed on a black boulder. She grunted and took a several quick stutter steps to prevent herself from falling—nearly pulling Wrend down in the process—and jumped again.

“I guess it can't hurt to try,” she said. “You lead.”

He guided their path up to another boulder. They landed on its edge. By the time they crossed it in four steps, they had halted and turned to face the cliff. Dizziness assailed Wrend as he looked up. Beyond three or four layers of boulders, the red dirt was nearly perpendicular. If he had time, he could probably climb it by crawling up on his belly, but as it was he would have to jump from one small outcropping to the next. It would take a precise application of Flux.

Behind and to their left, Cuchorack roared.

“You can't escape,” Athanaric shouted, fifty yards back.

“Go,” Leenda said.

She let go of his hand and jumped.

He followed, leaping almost straight into the air. He applied Flux in an up and ever-so-slightly-forward push, so that he landed twenty feet above, on the next boulder up. By the time he bent to jump again, Leenda had already lifted to the next level.

“Be careful,” she said. “There's a wind, there.”

He jumped again, lifting over the boulder. The strength of the wind surprised him. It pushed him back, away from the stone. He applied an extra surge of Flux to land on the rock, then jumped again, finding that the higher he went, the stronger the wind became. It blew in unpredictable directions, so he had to constantly adjust his trajectory.