Chapter 2

Tarsidian recalls dying and then feeling Serena's arms around him, bringing him back to life. He is in pain and unable to move, being dragged by Serena and two cavaliers. They are accompanied by Sir Taxini. Tarsidian learns that they survived the battle and are now being pursued by Flyborn. They take refuge in a copse of trees and then a fountain, where Marcus reveals an illusion that leads to a hidden passage. Tarsidian jokes about his weight, but also feels the loss of his friend Jack. Chapter 2 The last thing Tarsidian remembered was dying. He recalled in vivid detail being too scared to look down at the carnage of his body, afraid he'd see his intestines spilling out of his belly. Dying the glorious death he'd sought his whole life, it seemed somehow hollow, lonely, and detachedly terrifying. And then he'd felt her arms around him. His whole life had been waiting for that, to feel the warmth of her body against his, the touch of her fingers through his hair, and her breath at the back of his neck. Serena. Life had poured back into him. And now, jumbles of thoughts and visions careened past his mind's eye, too fast to fix onto. There was an intermittent buzz flickering through his body like an electrical short. All systems offline. He tried to move. Failed. Where am I? Where is Serena? His thoughts kicked up from the trenches of his trance and sprung upward to the surface of his mind. When he got there, he was greeted by an angry volcano. No, it would appear Tarsidian was not dead after all. The pain, or rather the agony, that pulsed from his side and stomach was white and searing. But the return of his senses also came the unmistakable hellish sound of a thousand whales floating on the embers and char-filled smoke that slipped into his nostrils and mouth. The Drin. Tarsidian broke the seal of gum that glued his eyes shut and opened them. At first all he saw were triangles and rhombuses of fractured light, but slowly the shapes coalesced into Seranat, the grizzled sergeant cavalier who gripped Tarsidian's right foot with both hands and pulled, while Seraluvian, the sleek, dusky-hued archer cavalier, had his other. Both were struggling with Tarsidian's considerable weight. Now that he was somewhat coherent, Tarsidian could feel the whispering scrape of grass and pebbles against his armor beneath him. He was being dragged. He tried to resist, to at least stir, but his body felt as if it were encased in amber. Only his eyes worked. A glance ahead revealed Serena's unmistakable frame, leaning heavily on, in this light, what looked like a god. Sir Taxini, captain of the guard of a kingdom that hadn't existed for half a millennium. A man whose heart and will had been so pure that even the necromancer Almitra had been unable to claim him. And for five hundred years he'd stood as a pillar of stone in the bowels of the world ridge. Until Tarsidian and the other chardin, along with Donovan, had freed the cavaliers in the path of Almitra. The former statue looked otherworldly in the dawn, gold hair streaked with blood and sweat over green armor that, although was ancient and out of fashion, was gloriously impenetrable. Taxini's blue eyes were rimmed with dark circles, but were very much alive, sharp. In the dictionary, under the word hero would be a picture of Sir Taxini, captain of the guard of his majesty's royal cavalry, right there on the page, complete with a damsel in distress on his right arm. Serena as a damsel in distress. He really must be delirious. Tarsidian studied the two of them through his molten pain and felt his stomach sour. Hand in glove, him with his comic book square chin, golden hair and piercing blue eyes, her with her exquisite beauty, alabaster skin and hair the color of ripe blackberries. He was even an inch taller than her, which was rare for men and Serena. Tarsidian tried to move, but again was punished by a supernova of pain. They must have heard him gasp because suddenly both Arnott and Eluvian were staring down at him, both in surprise and something else Tarsidian didn't much like. He's awake, Arnott whispered. Before Tarsidian could draw a breath to reply, Serena was beside him, her face in his. Tarsidian, she said breathlessly, her voice thick with emotion. Even her stale breath smelled like heaven. He winced while trying to answer, but before he succeeded, she put a slender, albeit grimy finger on his lips. Don't speak, you're injured. How did we survive, he asked, ignoring her instruction. She gave him a reproachful look, but glanced up at Arnott and Eluvian and then back at Sir Taxini, who waited patiently at the fore, weary, bloodstained, but alert. We found you among the wreckage of broken Drinian bodies just outside the west wall, Taxini whispered. It was as if a mountain had crashed from the heavens and scattered your enemy around you. Your deeds will live in legend for eternity. If there is an eternity. The screams of the dying city were all too real, even in the distance, and in the brief silence that followed, the wails of the helpless were all that could be heard, whisked by a hot breeze. Where are we now? Somewhere northwest of the city, Serena said. And our destination? The grave, if you don't keep your voices down, came a completely new voice, one which Tarsidian also recognized, a voice that somehow managed to give him a spark of comfort despite the dire nature of their situation. Decanus Marcus Arcadius, the same young legionnaire who'd led them up from the road of New Rome, from the deep south, just north of the Pass of Almitra. Everyone down, Taxini whispered fiercely. Because Tarsidian was already down, he could see the cause for Taxini's alarm, a pair of Flyborn soaring the distance like apalap— Motherfucker, I did it again—like apocalyptic monsters hunting for fresh meat. Their bat-like, leathery wings were distinct and unmistakable, even in the rising sun. In the First War, the Flyborn had acted as reconnaissance and controllers for the death squads of the soldier Drin on the ground below, directing the slaughter and capture of the fleeing survivors. It was probably the stick he'd heard cracked. The Drin might be many things, but there were no rangers. The forest was as alien to them as the bowels of the world were to Tarsidian. Plus, it was morning now, and though the sunlight couldn't actually hurt them since they'd passed through the Pale Gate and acquired their black shells of protection from the sun, they still hated it. Too bright, a price paid after dwelling for millions of years in the Underworld. Like rabbits in a thicket hiding from a falcon, the five of them crouched motionlessly in the copse of trees Sir Taxini had had a good sense to halt in. When the two Flyborn passed, Tarsidian pointed at Arnaut and Eluvian, who still had Tarsidian's legs in their hands, and motioned them to release him. The two cavaliers obliged and very slowly eased Tarsidian's boot tails to the ground. Tarsidian began to sit up. Sir Tarsidian, please, you are too injured to walk. If I can breathe, I can walk, Tarsidian responded. He took three quick, shallow breaths, slid his heels to his rump and pushed off his hands. Arnaut and Eluvian quickly gripped his shoulders and helped him rise. The pain was considerable. Once the sparkles faded from his vision, details he'd missed of the world popped out to him, the first being Serena herself. Her ordinarily porcelain skin was more than just pale, it was downright wan, chalky instead of creamy. Her armor had new notches in it, it was caked with blood, dirt, and splattered with dark sludge. She tried to turn away so he couldn't get a good look at the unmistakable rust stains crusted over the sigil of the Everwillow emblazoned on her sapphire blue breastplate. I'm afraid to look, he said. How bad am I? Serena kept her face inscrutable, glanced down, and then back up. Nothing you can't handle, she said. The only thing that gave her away was the slight clenching of her jaw. Perhaps we could reacquaint ourselves and be merry after we're safe, yes? Marcus asked, appearing from beside a twisted hemlock not a dozen feet away. Sir Taxini looked quickly, and they were rewarded with a glint of metal in the crimson horsehair crest that adorned the helmets of all legionnaires—Deaconess Arcades. The young man was sunken-eyed and grime-smeared, but other than that seemed to be intact. His sword was drawn, and his attention seemed to be focused more on what was behind them. This way, he said in a low voice, licking cracked lips. His eyes darted to the sky. Serena slid her right arm around Tarsidian's hips and held him. Can you walk? Of course, he said, and took his first step through the galaxy of agony surrounding him. Quickly, Marcus whispered, I see the trees stirring, and the forest is quiet. Into the fountain. The fountain? Yes, the fountain. It was simple yet graceful. A pewter-gray griffon and rider with a stream of blue water splashing out of the griffon's beak into a marble basin. It babbled happily, in an obscene contrast to the horror of a dying city not more than a couple of miles away, an oasis of serenity against the backdrop of a thousand screams. Marcus led the way and stepped into the gurgling fountain. To Tarsidian's surprise, Marcus did not get wet. Instead, he walked right into the griff rider, as if he were stepping into a mirage, and before their eyes he began to lower into the middle of the pool, right through its bottom. An illusion so vivid it had fooled Tarsidian's senses. He picked out the distinct sound of boot soles on ladder rungs. Will you be able to climb? Serena asked him. The mere concept sent a battalion of sweat bees to the edge of his hairline. I don't think so, he said grimly. I think you're going to need to carry me. She blanched, swallowed, but nodded. Okay, she said. Tarsidian felt rather than saw the quick exchanges of alarm, and for good reason. He weighed three hundred and four pounds, dripping wet. Three-fifty, plus his armor and gear. He let her steel herself for the exertion and then smiled. Just kidding. Her jaw dropped. She punched his arm. You jack, she whispered fiercely. Somebody has to crack the jokes, he said with a shrug, though he couldn't bring himself to say, now that Jack was gone. The pain in his belly didn't even come close to how much he missed his best friend. Might as well be me. Sir Taxxony stepped into the fountain next, his blue eyes somehow amused and disapproving at the same time, and then disappeared into the griffon like Marcus had. Again, there was the sound of boots on ladder rungs. What Tarsidian really would like to have done was simply feather fall down wherever this passage led, but even that little bit of magic casting would summon every warlock within a five-mile radius. Magic was like sonar, it left a signature. The dryn were just waiting for some unsuspecting wizard or sorcerer to announce their presence, huddled in some hole and in need of some light. Tarsidian waited for Arnott to go, then Eluvian, and then Serena herself, but she refused. You first, she said. No, you first. I will not be argued with, Tarsidian longshadowed, and if we get caught out here because of your stubbornness I will kill you myself. She smiled sweetly. Compelling argument, he said, and walked into the water, doing his damnedest to ignore the pain. There was no water, just air, no different than the dawn he'd just been standing in. Once inside the griffon, the illusion was dispelled. Tarsidian could see a dark tunnel yawning below him. He could smell dank soil and wet rock. Wherever they were, it was a long way down. It was going to hurt a lot.