functioned. At best it would be a suicide run.
Which was exactly why he was there.
The small, dark shapes flying toward him got larger, closer.
To the south of him, the sunlight touched the rock formation called the Sleeping Dragons. One faced north, the other south. The Khaldharon Run ended there and the mystery began, because no one who had entered one of those yawning, cavernous mouths had ever returned.
Several miles south of the Sleeping Dragons, the sun kissed the Black Mountain, Ebon Askavi, where Witch, his young, dreamed-of Queen would have lived if she'd never met Daemon Sadi.
The Eyrien warriors were close enough now for him to hear their threats and curses.
Smiling, he unfurled his wings, raised his fist, and let out an Eyrien war cry that silenced everything.
Then he dove into the Khaldharon Run.
It was as exhilarating, and as bad, as he'd thought it would be.
Even with Craft, his tattered wings didn't provide the balance he needed. Before he could compensate, the wind that howled through the canyon smashed him into the side
wall, breaking his ribs and his right shoulder. Screaming defiance, he twisted away from the rock, pouring the strength of the Ebon-gray into his body as he plunged back into the center of the wild mingling of forces.
Just as the other Eyriens dove into the Run, he caught the Red thread and began the headlong race toward the Sleeping Dragons.
Instead of cutting in and out of the looping, twisting Winds within his range of strength to make a run as close to the canyon center as possible, he held to the Red, following it through narrow cuts of rock, pulling his wings tight to arrow through weatherworn holes that scraped his skin off as he passed through them.
His right foot hung awkwardly from the ripped ankle. The outer half of his left wing hung useless; the frame snapped when a gust of wind shoved him against a rock. The muscles in his back were torn from forcing his wings to do what they could no longer do. A deep, slicing belly wound pushed his guts out below the wide leather belt.
He shook his head, trying to clear blood out of his eyes, and let out a triumphant roar as he gauged his entry between the sharp stones that looked like petrified teeth.
A final gust of wind pushed him down as he shot through the Dragon's mouth. A 'tooth' opened his left leg from hip to knee.
He drove into swirling mist, determined to reach the other side before he emptied the Jewels and his strength gave out.
Movement caught his eye. A startled face. Wings.
'Lucivar!'
He pushed to his limit, aware of the pursuers gaining on him.
'lucivar!'
The other mouth had to be… There! But. .
Two tunnels. The left one held lightened twilight. The right one was filled with a soft dawn.
Darkness would hide him better. He swung toward the twilight.
A rush of wings on his left. A hand grabbing at him.
He kicked, twisted away, and drove for the right-hand tunnel.
Past the teeth and out, driving upward past the canyon rim toward the morning sky, pumping useless wings out of stubborn pride.
And there was Askavi, looking as he imagined it might have looked a long time ago. The muddy trickle he'd flown over was now a deep, clear river. Barren rock was softened by spring wildflowers. Beyond the Run, sunlight glinted off small lakes and twisting streams.
Pain flooded his senses. Blood mixed with tears.
Askavi. Home. Finally home.
He pumped his wings a last time, arched his body in a slow, painfully graceful backward curve, folded his wings, and plummeted toward the deep, clear water below.
The wind tried to rip him off the tiny island that was his only resting place in this endless, unforgiving sea. Waves smashed down on him, soaking him in blood. So much blood.
The words circled him, mental sharks closing in to tear out another piece of his soul.
Gasping, he choked on a mouthful of bloody foam as he dug his fingers into rock that suddenly softened. He screamed as the rock beneath his hands turned into pulpy, violet-black bruises.
Nooooo!
*I loved her!* he screamed. *I
The words leaped playfully over the island, slicing him deeper and deeper with each pass.
Pain deepening anguish deepening agony deepening pain until there was no pain at all.
Or, perhaps, no one left to feel it.
Surreal stared at the dirty, trembling wreck that had once been the most dangerous, beautiful man in the Realm. Before he could shy away, she pulled him into the flat, threw every physical bolt on the door, and then Gray-locked it for good measure. After a moment's thought, she put a Gray shield on all the windows to lessen the chance of a severed artery or a five-story uncontrolled dive.
Then she took a good look at him and wondered if a severed artery would be such a bad thing. He'd been mad the last time she'd seen him. Now he looked as if he'd been sliced open and scooped out as well.
'Daemon?' She walked toward him, slowly.
He shook, unable to control it. His bruised-looking eyes, empty of everything but pain, filled with tears. 'He's dead.'
Surreal sat on the couch and tugged on his arm until he sat beside her. 'Who's dead?' Who would matter enough to produce this reaction?
'Lucivar. Lucivar's
Surreal patted Daemon's greasy, tangled hair, unable to think of one consoling thing to say. Lucivar had been important to Daemon. His death mattered to Daemon. But even thinking of expressing sympathy made her want to gag. As far as she was concerned, Lucivar was also responsible for some of the soul wounds that had pushed Daemon over the edge, and now the bastard's death might be the fatal slice.
When the sobs diminished to quiet sniffles, she called in a handkerchief and stuffed it into his hand. She'd do a lot of things for Sadi, but she'd be damned if she'd blow his nose for him.
Finally cried out, he sat next to her, saying nothing. She sat quietly and stared at the windows.
This backwater street was safe enough. She'd returned several times since Daemon's last visit, staying longer and longer each time. It felt comfortable here. She and Wyman, the Warlord Daemon had healed, had developed a casual friendship that kept loneliness at bay. Here, with someone looking after him, maybe Daemon could heal a little.
'Daemon? Would you stay here with me for a while?' Watching him, she couldn't tell what he was thinking, even
Eventually, he said, 'If you want.'
