Dorian Wraith's Arc

Chapter 23 of 27

Dorian carried Beak inside and laid him on the cot by the window. Callie came in with a bowl of water and a clean cloth. She looked at the fairy's torn wing and got to work without asking questions. Dorian knelt down. "Tend to him," he said. "I have to end this before more come." Callie nodded once and pressed the cloth to Beak's mouth. Dorian stood and turned to Evander, who waited in the doorway with the dulled blade in his hand. "We go now," Dorian said. "To your father. Together." Evander did not argue. Dorian took Evander's wrist and teleported them both. In a flash of yellow light they appeared in front of the black castle, on the flagstones between two tall obsidian statues. The iron door stood open. A line of guards spilled out of it with spears down. More came from around the walls until the yard was full of them. Dorian counted twenty, then stopped counting. Evander lifted his blade. The rainbow light in it was gone, choked out by the gray powder from the fight at the cottage. "Hold still," Dorian said. He put his palm flat against the flat of the sword. He thought of Evander's mouth against his. Seven colors rolled back up the steel from hilt to point. Evander looked at him. "Thank you," he said. The first line of guards ran at them. Evander swung the bright blade in a low arc and cut through three shields at once. Light burst off the edge and knocked two more men back into the wall. Dorian raised both hands and pulled shadow up out of the flagstones. He shaped it into long, coiling forms with wings and teeth. Three dragon spirits climbed into the air above the yard, black and shining. He sent them down. They tore through the ranks, snapping guards off their feet and pinning them to the ground. Evander moved through the gaps the spirits opened. Every stroke of the rainbow blade left a wide, clean line of men behind him. It did not take long. The last guard dropped his spear and ran. Dorian let the dragon spirits thin out and fade into the stones. His hands shook. Evander was breathing hard beside him, blood on one sleeve that was not his own. The yard was quiet. Sun hit the black walls and made them shine like wet glass. The iron door swung wider. King Ambrose stepped out alone, in silver armor, no sword drawn. He looked over the field of his fallen men without changing his face. "You came," he said. "Good." Dorian raised a hand, ready. Ambrose lifted one finger. "Wait. Before you burn me down." He tilted his head toward the dark hall behind him. "There is someone inside you are going to want to see." Evander went still. Dorian lowered his hand. They followed the king in.