The Elder Blood Chronicles Book 3 From the Ashes (23 page)

“You remind me of a caged tiger,” Charm’s
voice echoed softly from the shadows.

“What in the hell do you want?” Havoc
snapped. He had nothing personal against the rogue, beyond his
profession. That was more than enough to earn scathing words,
however. His Aunt had died to a shadow hopper and then Finn had met
the same death. He had no use for any of them, rogues or assassins.
They were all the same, clinging to the shadows, afraid to stand
and fight.

Charm dropped lightly down from the rafters
and landed in a crouch without as much as a thump of his boots on
the wooden floor. Slowly the rogue stood upright and dusted his
dark leathers. He straightened his shoulders once and adjusted his
long blond braid to where it fell straight down his lean back.
“Jala lives. I thought you would want to know. She returned from
the Darklands yesterday.” Charm’s voice was hushed and his eyes
flicked to the door as he spoke.

“And they told you to not tell me,” Havoc
surmised in a low growling voice.

“You are in penance,” Charm pointed out with
a faint shrug. Glancing over his shoulder, the rogue let his gaze
trail down the corpse that lined the wall and then turned back to
Havoc. “I told Lutheron that remorse is not a word that is found in
the Firym language,” he offered quietly.

“Flames devour the weak,” Havoc said, quoting
a Firym proverb. To his people, fire was a lifeline and a test of
power. If you could not control it, you died. It was better that
way at any rate. For a Firym to be burned and not die would be
worse than death. The shame and scorn his people would show would
be unbearable.

“They weren’t Firym,” Charm reminded him
gently.

“And they were devoured. You expect me to
feel pity for them? I have no use for any of them and I refuse to
mourn their loss. They were a waste of air,” Havoc snapped, his
anger twisted inside him just long enough for guilt to press him.
He had thought he was past that. He had let his temper rage for
days to keep that other emotion at bay. “They should have fought,”
he added, his voice cracking a bit on the last words.

“Were you any other Firym, I might think you
truly believed that, Ki’jani. Not you, though. Not the one that
washed ashes from a child’s face and promised her safety despite
the fact that she was Merrodin, a sworn enemy of your people.”
Charm’s voice was soothing and Havoc despised him for it.

Havoc felt his temper cooling further and
snapped the chains in frustration. The use of his true name had
caught him off guard. Only a few people even knew that name. “Jala
is strong. She fought. I heard her spells tearing the Justicars
apart. Jala doesn’t cower and hide,” Havoc snarled. His gaze rose
once again to the line of corpses and he spat on the floor in
disgust. “They should have fought,” he repeated in a lower voice
that held a quaver that sickened him. If his people saw him now
they would swear he was not of the ruling house. His own father
would walk away in disgust. “What the hell do you want Charm?
You’ve given your news, now leave!” Havoc snapped the chains again
and turned his back on the rogue as well as the dead staring
eyes.

“Jala is strong but I’m afraid she isn’t
strong enough,” Charm began cautiously.

“Explain that!” Havoc demanded as he whirled
to face the rogue once more.

“She fought Death and it is said that she is
dying now. The wounds she took were grievous. Vaze did all he could
for her, but there was nothing he could do against a Divine’s raw
power. I’m sorry, Havoc, I wish that I brought better news, but
Jala failed and now she is going to suffer the full extent of her
folly. Finn was raised, but Death possessed his body. Vaze had no
choice but to send him back to the Darklands in an attempt to
soothe Death,” Charm continued, his eyes searching Havoc’s face as
he spoke.

Swallowing heavily, Havoc allowed himself to
fall back against the wall. His throat grew tight and he bowed his
head as he considered the rogues words. Finn was truly dead, then,
and the little ragged girl they had found in the ashes of Merro
would be soon. He inhaled again and tried to fight back the
emotions that were swiftly drowning his anger.

“Victory is waiting for you. He says the two
of you buried Badger and it is only fitting that the two of you
bury his child. He wanted to tell you himself but getting in here
is a bit tricky,” Charm said softly.

“Damn you,” Havoc gasped as he felt the first
tear trail down his face. His grief was silenced as the chains fell
away from his wrists and clattered loudly to the floor beside him.
In complete shock he stared down at his chafed wrists and then up
to Charm who was rapidly backing away from him.

“A tear, a single tear. That’s what Lutheron
set the penance at. Let the Firym brood in darkness until he can
manage a single tear for what he has done,” Charm whispered.
“Victory didn’t actually say any of that by the way. He did mention
that you would never cry no matter what and that you would rot in
this place for the rest of the war. Vaze also said that since Jala
survived the initial fight she does in fact stand a chance,” the
rogue added as he jumped upwards and nimbly grabbed a rafter. With
a slight twist of his nimble body he disappeared into the shadows
above.

“You son of a bitch!” Havoc bellowed as he
unleashed a torrent of flame after the rogue. White hot fire washed
over the ceiling and the building began to fill with smoke. “I am
going to gut you, rogue!” Havoc screamed as he turned toward the
sealed doors of the warehouse. Drawing his hands back he summoned
the fire once more and unleashed it in a blast. The wooden doors
exploded with the violence of the flames and Havoc stalked through
them, his fury fueling his every step.

“By Fortune’s grace did he actually manage it
then?” Victory gasped. The Fae stood leaning against his warhorse
and was staring with shock written clearly on his features. Slowly
he leaned and looked past Havoc to the burning warehouse. “Damn it,
Havoc, you were locked up for burning a building down,” he
sighed.

“Where is Charm?” Havoc demanded ignoring the
raging flames at his back completely.

“In hiding for a while, I don’t doubt. I
can’t believe he managed to get you to cry,” Victory replied with a
shrug.

Havoc’s hand snapped up and he pointed a
finger at Victory threateningly. “You didn’t just say that and it
didn’t happen!” he growled, his eyes scanning for anyone that might
have overheard those damning words. Everyone in the area seemed far
more interested in the burning building however. Lowering his hand
slowly he straightened his shoulders and then slowly began to
notice Victory’s appearance. The knight was dressed for cold
weather and wore his battle armor rather than the fancy plate he
usually favored. His horse was geared fully as well with bags
bursting with provisions tied behind the saddle.

“Delvay is marching in force,” Victory
explained quietly. “You have friends there don’t you?” he asked as
he pushed gently on Avalanche’s chest. The massive white horse
backed up revealing the smaller red one that stood behind it.

Havoc smiled at the sight of his flame steed
and then looked back to Victory with a questioning look. “You hate
the mountains of Delvay,” he reminded the Fae.

“I hate my friend being locked away even
more, and I think if I leave you in the same city as Lutheron you
will end up in chains again,” Victory said with a shrug and tossed
Havoc his reins. “Honestly, I didn’t think Charm could get you out
and I thought I was wasting time here. Glad to be wrong on this one
occasion.”

“You are wrong far more often than this one
occasion,” Havoc muttered as he wrapped his reins around his hand.
His horse stepped closer and pushed its nose against his stomach.
With a faint smile Havoc ran his hand down Razor’s neck and looked
back to Victory. “Did Charm speak the truth on any of it? Is Jala
truly lying near death? Did the spell to raise Finn really fail?”
he asked cautiously unsure if he truly wanted to hear the
answer.

“Both are true,” Victory admitted with a
frown. “Vaze says if we travel to Merro we will draw attention to
her. He believes we have a traitor in the Fionaveir and says the
best way to protect her is to pretend she is dying and we don’t
care. He says if we ignore the value of her life they will as
well.”

“And what do you think?” Havoc asked watching
his friends face for any indication of his emotions.

“I think no matter how much I hate the
mountains and the rudeness of the Delvay that the battles there
will likely keep my mind occupied. I think that if I remain in this
city one more day feeling as though my hands are tied, I might turn
into a lesser image of you. I do hate the thought of cursing like a
madman while hurling magic about carelessly,” Victory replied with
a sigh. His green eyes shifted toward the Merro district and then
returned to Havoc. “I feel as though we have failed to protect her
at all. I wonder often if we should have ignored orders and kept
her with us rather than leave her at the temple. Every time she
stumbles, I feel as though it is my fault for not teaching her how
to walk in this bloody world. I need something to focus on,
Havoc.”

“I need something to kill,” Havoc growled
softly. The Fae’s words were a mirror of his own feelings, though
spoken more eloquently than he ever could have managed. It wasn’t
just Jala the words applied to, however. For him, they hit home in
two places. He had watched Finn stumble and had never once managed
to help him. “So Delvay, then,” Havoc agreed as he swung onto his
horse and settled in the saddle.

“It must be a birthright of the Firym that
allows them to bottle everything so deeply inside,” Victory mused
as he climbed onto his own horse.

“It’s what fuels our fire, Vic. Every burnt
building is a Firym teardrop. Just remember that,” Havoc said
quietly as he glanced back at the warehouse one last time. Mages
had arrived by now to quench the flames and the fires had died down
to embers.

“Then I almost feel pity for the Rivasans.
Had I suffered the same losses you have in the past few weeks, I
think I would be sobbing. If you express pain through flames there
won’t be anything left of Rivana,” Victory replied as he moved his
horse closer to Havoc’s and began the spell to transport them to
Delvay. “We should take Spell hawk rather than magic you know. With
everything in turmoil, traveling like this is risky.”

“Let them pull us out of the transport spell.
I hope they do. I’ll cry a river for the bastards,” Havoc
growled.

Merro

“I’ve done what I can for her but it isn’t
enough. She is going to lose the child and if she lives she will
never have full use of that hand again.”

The words echoed out of the dark fog
surrounding her and Jala struggled to recognize the voice. It was a
man speaking, though she couldn’t place who. Her eyelids were heavy
and it seemed too much effort to force them open. She felt the
child move inside her once more and turned her attention fully to
him. It didn’t matter who was speaking, they were wrong. Carefully
she drew on the scant magic she had managed to rebuild and wrapped
it protectively around the child.
Be strong. Grow
, she urged
him, her words sent directly to him with no need to be spoken
aloud.

“She is too feverish. Can you do nothing
about that?” Another voice, this time Vaze. She felt a hand brush
her cheek and it felt like ice against her skin.

“The wound on her side is corrupt and I can’t
get the infection out no matter how many times I heal it. That is
causing the fever and that will be what kills her if she dies. The
hand is maimed but healed and this wound on her neck is clean,” the
first voice spoke again filled with frustration.

“If we remove the child now does she have a
chance of recovery?” Vaze asked, his tone cautious.

Jala felt panic rising and retreated further
into herself wrapping everything she had around her child as if
simply her spirit would be enough to protect him.

“We won’t do that. Let her fight,” Valor
broke in, his voice firm. She felt another touch light on her face
as hair was brushed back from her cheek.

“She isn’t bloody fighting, Valor, she is
unconscious. If that would save her it is something we should
consider,” Neph snapped.

Fight for me, Valor
, Jala urged
silently. She didn’t have the strength to spare to fight for
herself with words. She could feel the corruption growing in her
flesh like tiny little daggers stabbing toward her child.
Everything she had, every ounce of magic, every drop of will had to
go to him right now.

“You don’t know Jala like I do, and you will
not take that child while I draw breath,” Valor spoke with cold
promise written in his voice.

“It’s not the child that threatens her at any
rate. It’s the wound. Removing the child would only weaken her more
at this point, and if we weaken her anymore we might as well start
digging the grave,” the unknown speaker uttered in a voice filled
with disgust. “I’ve never seen anything like that wound. When I
heal, it seems to improve for a breath and then grows worse.”

“If it grows worse when you heal it, then why
in bloody hell have you tried to heal it multiple times?” Neph
snarled. A weight pressed down heavily on her bed as someone sat
beside her and she felt the blankets pulled more tightly around
her. “Is Valor right, Jala? Are you fighting? I wish there was
something I could do for you,” Neph said softly in a voice pitched
for her ears alone.

“Maybe we should fetch Rose from Sanctuary.
She has been a healer for as long as I can remember. Perhaps she
has seen a wound like this before,” Wisp suggested and Jala could
hear the sound of the Fae’s misery in each word.