“We must go,” the Sha’ree told him, the tone of her voice demanding.
Arrin waggled a finger at her. “I’m not going anywhere. The wall to the Crown still stands and I intend to hold it for as long as it takes so that at least some of my people might make it to safety.” He turned to Malya. “Go, damn you. Go.” He grasped Maltis by the shoulder and shoved him toward the princess. “Get her and her family to the tunnels.”
Maltis met Arrin’s cold stare and nodded. He motioned for Malya to follow him, but she resisted. The commander latched onto her arm and pulled her away toward the streets that led to the royal quarters. Barold raced to his side to assist as Malya shouted her disapproval.
Arrin ignored her and turned to Kirah. “Take your people and go with the commander. I promised your father to see you safely home, and I would keep my word.”
Kirah shook her head, the fur of her mane dancing wild. “No. Show us how to use the relics. We would fight alongside you.”
“No, sister, we cannot,” Waeri shouted. “Lathah is lost. Our people will need every warrior to defend Pathrale against the Grol horde once they are done here. This is a losing battle.”
“You must all flee,” Zalee growled, moving between them. “There is more at stake than just Lathah or Pathrale. The whole of Ahreele stands to be lost if we hesitate here.”
Arrin spun on her. “The Grol take Ahreele and you as well.” The collar at his neck cast off a brilliant green, its heat warming his throat. “I care not for your war save for the suffering it has brought upon those I care for. I came only to see my family away from here, my people safe, but that has been cast to the wind by the machinations of fools.” He stepped in close to the Sha’ree, meeting her glaring pink gaze. Despite his fury, tears ran free from his eyes. “It is enough that I must give up hope for my unknown child that lives somewhere in the chaos below, but I will not surrender its mother to the cruel mercies of the Grol, as well.” He spit. “Do as you will, Sha’ree, but my stand is here.”
Zalee stood her ground. Her stare bore into Arrin’s skull, but he would not be moved. After a tense moment, she gave him an acquiescent nod and gestured toward the bodies of the royal guard as she drew back a few paces. “I will not disguise our need for one such as you, Arrin Urrael. The path ahead requires a warrior of great skill to win through and time is against us. We need your sword. If you would but agree to help, I would see to it myself that the princess and her family are carried from this place, as far away as Ah Uto Ree, if necessary, so as to assure you of their safety. I give you the word of my people.”
Arrin looked out over the burning walls of his homeland, the smoke whirling before his eyes, the vicious growls of the Grol thick in his ears. No matter how hard he tried, he could see no hope in what he intended. His child was gone from the world amidst the fall of Lathah and there would be no peace for his guilt and shame. He had failed, once more. All that he loved was gone. He had only the sour memories of what once was to sustain him. They were but weak embers against the blizzard of despair that wailed in his heart.
Despite it all, there was a single coal that simmered inside him. Its burning heat spoke its fury amidst the sorrow, pleading to be set loose upon the world to salve the ruin of his love. He looked out at the Grol army once more as it ran through the streets of his beloved city. He knew somewhere in its wake was his child, either dead by fire, or tooth and claw, but dead nevertheless. He would never know his offspring, would never be given the closure of commending its body to the ground, to know its name so that he might honor its memory in truth.
He had given his life to the dream that he would one day hold his child in his arms and now that dream was naught but ash, its memory bitter in his mouth. For all that Olenn had kept him from it was the Grol that buried the last vestiges of his hope. All that remained of his child was Malya. If he could do nothing else with his life, he would be certain she survived.
His vision blurred by tears, he turned to face the Sha’ree. “See the princess and her family, Maltis and Barold, along with the Pathran emissaries, to safety in Pathrale and my sword is yours. I will hold the Grol for as long as is feasible to give you more time, and then follow behind, on my word.”
Zalee bowed deep. “Then we are agreed, Arrin Urrael.” She turned to the Pathra. “If we are to be free, we must go now.”
Kirah shook her head. “I would stay.” She looked to Waeri. “Take our people home, brother. I will follow soon.”
Waeri growled but moved to embrace his sister. “You are a fool, Kirah, but you are our father’s fool, and I would expect no less of you. It would serve me better to wish a mountain to stand aside than to convince you of the folly of what you choose. Come home to us, sister.” He broke away and went to stand alongside the Sha’ree.
Arrin went to the Pathra and pulled a pair of bracers from within the bag that held them. He gave his thanks to the warriors and bid them farewell. “We will seek you out soon, Waeri, your sister and I.”
The Pathra each embraced Kirah as they passed, the Sha’ree urging them to hurry. Moments later, they were gone, following in the path of Malya and the commander. Only Arrin and Kirah stood amidst the bodies that littered the courtyard, Lord Xilth having succumbed to his wound and gone silent.
Arrin handed the bracers to Kirah. “There is little time to teach you their use, but what comes naturally should be sufficient for our needs.”
He watched as she slid them onto her wrists, the metal seeming to shrink so that they fit her snug. Her eyes went wide, Arrin understanding her awe as the tendrils of the Sha’ree magic burrowed inside her to make the bracers one with her flesh. She wobbled and threatened to fall as Arrin grasped her arm to keep her standing. After a moment, he felt her strengthen and released his hold.
She looked at him with wonder on her face. He could see the wound at her cheek knitting itself together. She seemed not to notice, her eyes having dropped to look upon the glow of the bronze bracers.
“I feel as though the sun burns within my veins.”
Arrin watched her, remembering the moment he first donned the collar. “You will grow accustomed to it soon enough.”
“I would have it linger,” she said, her eyes drifting up to meet his, a broad smile gracing her lips.
“For all the magic’s glory, Kirah, it is but a tool. It will not keep those you love from harm or keep the demons from your dreams. Mark these words, if you would remember nothing else.”
Arrin glanced back to the city below, the Grol eating at it from within. “We have but a short while to prepare. Pay heed so that we might both be true to our pledges.”
The sounds of battle echoing through the blood-stained streets, the cries of the dying thick on the fetid breeze, Arrin did what he could to ready Kirah for what was to come. He feared it would not be enough.
For all his courage, he felt the weight of his promise upon his shoulders. He had sworn to defend Ahreele, giving his life to the Sha’ree, and to return Kirah safely home to the arms of her father, but as the masses of Grol made their way through the fallen city, he knew no certainty.
Dread had cast its shadow over him and he felt its chill. He drew his sword and loosed a scream at the gathered Grol that battered at the gates to the Crown. If death had chosen this day for him to die, Arrin swore it would cost the beasts dearly.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The roar of the ocean long lost to the haze of the desert sand, Braelyn came upon the source of the flickering light that had lured her into the golden depths. Even when night had blanketed the sky in darkness, there had been a glimmer of illumination that drew her on until dawn had lighted her beacon once more. For all its willingness to be found, it had not been an easy journey.
The serpent-beast had been only the start of the terror that had followed her along her desperate path. Where once thick rivulets of sweat soaked her clothing as fully as the ocean had at her arrival, she stood now as dry as the unidentifiable bones that littered the sand. Not even the cool whispers of her blade could ease the sweltering heat that clung to her in lecherous embrace, its touch sparing no part of her flesh, no matter how sacred.
Her protective cloak had been torn away, leaving her head exposed, and dragged into the depths of the earth by a creature she could not even begin to describe, its deformities so bizarre as to defy the clarity of words.
Dozens of others, more closely related to the serpent, had struck at her as she trudged across the desert terrain, bursting from the ground with little warning, each determined to end her life. She battled through, drawing
