Ruins Falling Read online

  Graedin heaved in breaths, his arm and shoulder shaking as he held his shield. His blade shuddered in his hands. Airaine and Daireth wandered into his mind again, but he forced himself to refocus. If they were attacked again, none of them would last. They might be able to make the gate, but that was about all. Again, the children wandered into his mind, and again he forced them out, willing himself to focus, to remind himself that he had to last—he had to focus, for them. He had to make one last run, if he were to see them again.

  For what he desperately hoped was the last time, he gasped out the command to circle up. He and three of his men surrounded their wounded comrade, waiting. Wildly, Graedin searched, his whole body aching, his blood coursing through his neck and chest, down his cheeks. But as he searched, he realized the fog had thinned. How? Why was it so thin now? And how did it thin so fast? Briefly, he whirled around, and caught sight of the wall on his right. It was continuing to thin, and he could see the archers on the wall, and Earren’s bewildered expression far above.

  And then, he realized next, the raven was gone.

  He looked around. In the thinning mist, all above and around him, he couldn’t see anything. Then, there was a flash of light. The men around him gasped. One bumped into him as he pulled back. Graedin looked over, and didn’t see anything. A snarl. A hiss, then roar, as if a mountain lion were joining the fray. He forced himself to step back, forced his legs to move, to try to make himself run in a few moments. Another flash of light lit up the thick fog, and he cried out with his men. Two enormous forms were briefly lit up by the light, then gone, as if their battle was producing lightning. He couldn’t tell what the forms were—the light was too brief. Then he heard shrieking and cawing. A feral, ear-splitting snarl. Another flash of brilliant light, and two completely different forms, wrapped up in one another as they fought. “Retreat!” he shouted. His men turned and fled with all they had left across the field. Graedin screamed for the gates, and they slowly cracked as the men approached them. He pulled up, letting his men run through first, and whirled around, wondering what monster the archers would have to aim for.

  They stumbled toward the gates. They weren’t that far, thankfully. They’d only been pulled back about a hundred feet or so. But the small distance felt to Graedin like a league. He stumbled, limped, gasped his way toward the gate, wondering what would be chasing them. Wondering what creatures were in the fog. And how in the world did their battle produce light?

  “Open the gate!” he heard Earren shriek. “Open it now!”

  Graedin’s men finally ran into the iron, pounding on it as it slowly eased open. Graedin turned around, tears in his eyes again, trying desperately to lift his sword above his belt.

  But there was no monster now. None but the raven, who flew straight at him again, screaming the whole time, Die, die, die! Gripping his sword tightly, Graedin forced it up and waiting, gritting his teeth. It stretched out its claws. But then, in a flurry of black and brown and white, the raven suddenly fell to the ground fifty feet from him, feathers flying everywhere in a frenzy. He paused, following the blur and taking a moment to realize what happened.

  A red-tailed hawk lifted into the air. Below, the raven scratched and clawed its way up from the ground. It stumbled and limped heavily to its feet, shrieking again.

  The red tailed hawk glided over toward Graedin, aiming for him. But just as Graedin was ready to swing at it, it seemed to circle him slowly, to hover for a moment, before it landed almost gently on his shoulder. Its feathers were mangled and stained with blood. A leather cord hung from one of its talons. The hawk leaned forward and screamed at the raven, who cawed back.

  “Captain, come on!” someone behind him begged. “Please!”

  Graedin stepped backwards, watching as the raven hobbled after them. The hawk’s talons dug into his shoulder as it clicked its beak and seemed to hiss. But it never left his shoulder.

  Then everything turned dark as the gates swung with a mighty clang! before his face. Torchlight hurt his eyes. Men surrounded him, shouting excited words that he didn’t comprehend. The hawk’s feathers rubbed against his stinging ear, chittering, but it didn’t move. And then Earren was there, smiling broadly. He gripped Graedin’s shoulders. “We could just barely see you. I couldn’t see what was dragging you into the fog, but we all saw those huge men. And you know, now that you survived fighting men half your age, your men will expect you to keep up with their drinking, too.” Graedin scrutinized his face, watching the muscles in Earren’s features, flickering emotions fighting on his face. “You need to see this,” he finally finished, guiding him away from the men. He followed, barely hearing or seeing or understanding anything, feeling dizzy, weak. He had no idea how long it took to reach the parapets. The marshal of the night watch approached them, offering the far-sight with a smile, but lifting his hawk from Graedin’s shoulder. The bird screeched, meeting his eyes before turning back to the field, feathers ruffled again. He stared back at it for a moment, wondering at its behavior, and then looked over the wall.

  The battlefield was littered with the dead. Whenever a current of wind pushed at the now thin mist, a whole new set of bodies was released, arrows sticking out of vulnerable places. Graedin swallowed as he looked around, stunned as he briefly tried to count only those he could see clearly. So far, at a simple glance he knew he’d been outmatched by at least three to one. At least.

  “Who is stupid enough to attack Ye’shurun?” someone shouted, and men chuckled. “You’re not taking the fortress while the Sea Hawk is here!” The chuckling turned to laughter.

  “Silence!” Earren barked, turning on his heel. “At attention!” Their faces, from what Graedin could see, flickered with varying emotions from irritation to confusion. He scowled, and turned back to the field. There was nothing to celebrate. The attackers hadn’t had the armor, weapons, or machines to take over the fortress. This was something else. Something insidious.

  But if the attack’s sole purpose had been a trap, whoever had sent their army out didn’t clearly didn’t care how many died, so as long as the target was taken down.

  “Who is this?” He looked over at Earren. The man’s hideous scar made him look like he was about to scream instead of whisper. “Do you have any idea who just tried to kill you?”

  Graedin turned back, sickened at the sight, scanning among the dead. He looked up toward the tree line, looking for anyone coming out to tend to the wounded. Then he stopped. His eyes were far-sighted as it was, but as he stared, he felt he couldn’t be right.

  He lifted the far-sight to his eye, and a chill deeper than the fog seeped into the marrow of his bones. The woman stood with her arms crossed, and her black cloak, dark blue dress, and ashy-brown, tangled hair blew about her. She didn’t appear to notice the chill. She was a little thin, a little pale, to look healthy. Even so, her face would have been beautiful but for the expression on it. She was glaring straight at him, straight into his eyes through the far-sight. Briefly, she bared her teeth, her lips twitching as they pulled back. He pulled down the far-sight, unnerved.

  “What’s wrong now?” Earren asked.

  Graedin hesitated, then lifted the far-sight up again. The fog now masked where the woman had stood, but he waited. His heart pounded once, twice…six times. When the fog blew back a little, revealing the silhouette of a coyote prowling in the trees. Then it looked up, also glaring straight at him through the far-sight. After a few moments, it raised its hackles, bared its teeth in a snarl, then turned and walked into the forest. The fog veiled its hiding place, masking the coyote more and more as it walked further away, the fur fading into vague outlines, disappearing slowly.

  He stared at the fog, waiting feeling his whole body begin to tremble. The crow…the coyote…that woman…their appearances were so close together. Too close together. Were they…but if they were…if they were all the same creature…if those old legends were coming alive, again, before his very eyes…was he crazy? Like Prince Bairen claimed? Or wa
s he right?!

  “Captain?”

  Daireth and Airaine’s faces came back to his mind. Their wide, teary eyes as they begged him to write at least weekly, their arms around his neck, waving solemnly as he’d turned and walked away, leaving them alone in Ariel, yet again, though they begged him not to.

  “Graedin!”

  He sighed. “I have suspicions. But there’s only one thing I know for certain.” He turned and stared into Earren’s bewildered eyes. “I won’t escape them again.”

  For Every Scar

  “Well, I can’t avoid them forever. I’m almost out of my salve.”

  Daireth looked up away from his sketch and over at her, frowning. “How much do you have left?” Airaine sat beside him on the small bed in his room, swathed in stained gray robes. She pulled a misty glass jar out of her pocket and held it up in her pale, dry hand. A tiny dollop of creamy-white salve sat in the bottom. A gray scarf hung around her neck, and raggedy, mouse-brown hair hung over it around her shoulders. A crimson, flaky, oozy sore on her sallow skin peeked above the loose scarf. On the top of her earlobe, there was a ragged, scarred notch, like someone had tried to tear it apart, so it had healed as tightly together as possible, pinching inward.

  Daireth swallowed. Then he looked into her eyes. They were focused on the jar. About two years ago now, their friend Captain Graedin had told her, “Your eyes are as gray as a stormy sea, my dear.” That description made Daireth realize, first and foremost, how rarely he looked into people’s eyes. How bold Graedin was, too, because the old man always looked people straight in the eye. He himself had often turned away from Graedin’s searching gaze.

  And he also realized that he didn’t even known the color of his best friend’s eyes until that moment. It shamed him, first as her best friend and secondly as the artist he liked to think of himself as. So ever since, Daireth had studied her eyes as often as he dared, fearful of disturbing her, wondering what sea storms looked like, and wondering when Graedin had seen one.

  He hesitated, then murmured to her, “Did this salve help?”

  Her mouth twitched. “If by ‘help,’ you mean ‘heal,’ then no. But it made them…well, more flexible, I guess. I can move my arms without my skin tearing so much.” Daireth paused, a little startled that she’d admitted that detail to him. And horrified at the idea of her skin tearing. “You would think that as expensive as the healers claim this salve is, that it would work better.”

  “And that they’d hand it out more willingly,” he agreed. “To serious cases, anyway.”

  “I’ll have to get them after I’m off tonight. Hopefully the healers will still be there.” She put the jar aside on the table next to her bed. “I’ll probably be out by tomorrow.”

  “I can pick them up for you. There wasn’t any work for me to do with the seamstresses or tailor today, so they told me not to come in.” Airaine looked up and glared at him, but a smile twitched on her lips. He grinned at her. “Play sick. Come to the library with me.”

  “I wouldn’t dare. Not when we’re short-handed. They’d kill me.”

  “Oh, come on. Can’t you run faster than those arthritic old hags?”

  Airaine laughed, and he smiled, pleased to see her teeth. Her eyes and her smile were her features. She’d been told—multiple times—that she looked like a wicked witch from a children’s story. And she couldn’t do much to fix it. Cleaning servants usually wore dusty black or stained gray robes, and she was no exception. And she’d already done all that she could to make her hair and skin healthy, even normal, to no avail. So it wasn’t often that she displayed a full smile. When she did, Daireth and their friend Graedin were the only ones to see them. Daireth’s own smile slowly fell as he considered it. Airaine was only fourteen. She should have more trouble with pimples than…well, whatever these scars were.

  “I think I can outrun them,” she said, drawing him back from his thoughts. “The old maids, anyway. But I just can’t help but be afraid to anger them. What if they’re actually sorcerers?”

  This time, he was the one to laugh. Those creatures were a terror that they could only laugh about to themselves. Captain Graedin had told them stories about the King of Ye’shurun, and about some of the magical creatures he was friendly with. He had friends among creatures called enchanters: shapeshifters and magic-wielders who controlled the elements. They were powerful, wise, and kind, and dedicated to the same values the King was dedicated to: justice, mercy, and protection of creatures less powerful than themselves. Except a few, who had betrayed their own kind. Creatures shapeshifted into monsters, terrorizing mortal creatures and who hated all that the King stood for. Creatures who were called sorcerers.

  That sounded about right for the maids. They made Airaine’s job as a scullery maid almost unbearable. He shook his head, still chuckling at the idea. “You’re right. Don’t risk it. You’ll just have to trust me with your salves.”

  She smiled. “Thanks.” She looked down at the jar for a moment, and then handed it over. “This one smells funny, but it’s helped the best so far. I should probably go now.”

  “Oh.” He paused. “Well, I’ll leave too, then. Meet me here before curfew ends, then, and I’ll give them to you before we have to go to bed.”

  “Thanks.” Her smile lingered only briefly. “Just don’t let your uncle catch you in the halls. Don’t get in trouble on my behalf.”

  “I’ll be fine. You don’t let the sorcerers get you.”

  Her smile returned, a flash of mischief and pleasure in her eyes, like flashes of starlight in through rainclouds. Daireth grinned. But then she stood up and held a hand out to him. He forced himself to keep a brave face. He put aside his drawing, little more than the rough outlines of a unicorn and a girl, on the bedside table. “I’ll finish this later,” he told her, rewarded with another of her smiles. Then, putting his arm hand on the footboard of the bed, he pushed up as hard as he possibly could, his legs trembling. She reached beside him and put his walking stick into his hand, which he gripped quickly and leaned on heavily. “Will I make you late?”

  “Oh, no, I’ll be fine,” she said. He knew she was probably lying. But his stomach clenched even thinking about telling her to just go on. That he would slow her down.

  Airaine walked with him slowly as she led him out of his tiny room on the second story and into the stone halls of the castle Ariel. Daireth hobbled along beside her as they passed tapestries and paintings, stopping briefly once in a while to study them. Once Daireth caught his breath, he usually made a comment about visiting the next one, or how he thought the next one was nicer or brighter or more interesting, so Airaine would turn away and escort him to the next piece of art. It took ten minutes for them to reach the right staircase. Alone, she could’ve make it in about three. “See you later tonight?” she asked, her brows raising slightly.

  “Yeah. If you’re off in time, come visit me. I’ll just be drawing. Or reading.”

  She flashed him one last smile, then took off. He peered over the rail to watch her run down, so effortless. She even looked graceful this time, with her robes billowing out behind her. It was only a moment, but the sight of her graceful run made him ache in a thousand ways.

  Daireth turned and glared at the marble stairs before him. Fifteen minutes later, he stood wheezing on the landing of the third story, leaning heavily on his stick as he found a nearby bench to fall on. He glanced at the paintings nearby only briefly as he recovered. He would save that for his journey back to his room. It was better to get this over with.

  There were two healers, and their room was on this story, about half way down the southern hall. The older one, Mungro, was grumpy but reasonable, and sometimes smiled if Daireth made a cheeky comment. The younger one, Uldair, was still in his fifties or so, but he only talked with him if it was absolutely necessary. And with Captain Graedin at his side if possible. Because nobody told him no. Well, maybe the Twelve Princes did sometimes, but probably not very often. Graedin was the First Knigh
t of the Realm, and only one step below them. He could become a Prince if one of them died. So nobody else in the realm resisted him. He could be scary and very demanding if he needed to be. Not that Daireth had ever seen that But he’d heard stories about Graedin’s fierceness that made him smile.

  Daireth sighed as he caught sight of a pale wooden door with a symbol of a mortar, pestle, and plant sprigs burned into it. He had no idea why Graedin liked him so much, but he was grateful. The old man had been like a grandfather to him since he was about six. But Graedin had left on a mission two months ago. He probably wouldn’t be back for another five. He had to do this alone.

  When Daireth finally got to the door, he knocked and listened. He could hear some grumbling inside, and a moment later, the door opened. His stomach clenched. Uldair stood towering over him like a stretched out, graying raisin, whose left nostril was frozen slightly higher than his right nostril on his hooked nose. “Yes?”

  “I’m here for some strengthening teas, and medicine for my lungs,” Daireth stated, forcing himself to look into the man’s face. He studied the cleft in the man’s chin, though, nervous to look in his eyes. “And medicinal salve for Airaine Listel.”

  “Why doesn’t she pick it up herself?”

  “She works today,” Daireth replied, resisting the urge to glare. The healer always asked this, and always got the same reply. “And gets out later than you stay open. She’s almost out.”

  “She’ll need to get an examination first,” Uldair stated, lifting his chin. “And there’s a new policy—nobody picks up medicine for non-family unless there’s previous written consent. And she’ll have to get that time off approved by Steward Austerren.”

  “Mungro examined her arm last time. And he’s let me get it for her before.”