26. Declan

Chapter 26

Declan

I reined in my horse and sheltered my eyes as Saltstone came into view over the horizon.

Rings of barricades well beyond the palisade made of logs and pikes aimed sharp points outward. Between each ring, the land was marred as if some monster’s nails had gouged deep ruts in the earth. The walls surrounding the city now stood more than twenty feet high.

One guard tower had always stood vigil beside each gate. Now, towers dotted along the wall as far as I could see. Navy banners with gold trim snapped in the wind high above each tower.

Someone had been very busy.

After our summoning at Grove’s Pass, órla had suggested we Travel to Saltstone to cut out a month of travel and avoid running into the massive army headed toward the capital. Unfortunately, as with my attempts at Telepathy and Dream Walking with Ayden, I was unable to Travel much further than a few hundred yards. I wondered if my magic needed some sort of recharge, or if it was struggling to adapt to the mainland, but órla offered a simpler explanation.

“Your emotions are interfering with your Light. I can see it dimming with each stride. When we stood amid the dead of the town, it appeared as a candle flame struggling to stay lit,” she said as we approached one of the many farms that began only a few miles outside the mountain village. “Your magic will strengthen when you regain your will.”

“My will isn’t the problem,” I said more defensively than intended. “I want to see Ayden, to know he lives and . . . is all right. I want to be comforted and . . . dammit . . . I just want to see him.”

The way my voice choked off was all the confirmation either of us needed to validate her point. My head hung as we walked endless miles.

The first farm we reached had been decimated, its crops pillaged and buildings burned. Fortunately, one a bit to the south had been spared. An ancient woman and her teenage son welcomed us with wary eyes. I wondered why the boy had not heeded the call to arms, but órla insisted their hospitality deserved better than a challenge. The woman offered us a meal and a bed. We enjoyed the former but waved off the latter. There was too much daylight to waste on rest. We did, however, manage to convince the woman to sell us a horse, making the stop far more valuable than her meager vegetable stew.

Our journey shortened by the addition of a mare, a new hope of beating the Kingdom army to Saltstone bloomed in my chest.

That was a little over a month ago.

While our journey passed with relative ease despite having to travel in a wide arc around the road the enemy surely traveled, haunting dreams of sightless eyes and defiled corpses kept spirits low.

It was a somber trek.

As I drew near the outermost perimeter of the capital, a horn sounded, bright and clear.

One long blast, then a short one.

“What do you think that means?” órla asked from her perch on my shoulder.

“No idea, but you might want to speak in my head from here on out. I’m not so sure they’ll appreciate a talking owl as much as the folk on Rea Utu.”

“Ridiculous people.” She rustled her feathers in obvious irritation.

I chuckled, a first hint of good humor in far too long. It felt right somehow, and a knot in my chest began to loosen, if only a little.

The massive new gates ground open, and two heavily armored men rode equally armored horses to the inner perimeter and stopped. Each carried a crossbow now leveled at my chest.

“How can we help you, sir?” one of the men asked in a tone both commanding and courteous.

I met his eyes from across the barricades. “I am Declan Rea, Ranger of Melucia, son of the Mages’ Guild. I have come to report on the fall of the Rangers and to help with preparations. I need to speak with the Triad at once.”

The men looked at each other, then back at me. “If you’re not a Mage, we can’t let you pass. I’m sorry.”

They turned to leave.

“Say it, Declan. Declare yourself. It is time.”

I shifted in my saddle, uncomfortable with the words we’d rehearsed so often on the road. The soldiers were near the gate when I mustered my courage.

“Wait.”

The men turned.

I stood in my stirrups, tossed back my cloak, and revealed my tunic. “I am Ranger Declan Rea. I have ridden from Grove’s Pass with vital information for General Vre and Arch Mage Quin.” Sensing my need, the tunic flared from dark green to brilliant gold. The Phoenix blazed even brighter.

The guards shielded their widened eyes.

Men called from their perches in the towers.

The guards’ crossbow remained aimed in our direction as a look of impatience entered his eyes.

“Let me show you how to do this, dear Declan. You have so much to learn.”

“What are you—?”

She launched herself into the air, and a brilliant, shimmering aura bloomed around her. She soared above me, then dove to land on the barricade before the guards. The glow around her intensified, forcing the men to turn aside. Her magically enhanced words thundered across the field, and the guards’ eyes flew wide again, even as they strained to look up.

“I am órlaith, Daughter of Magic. This man speaks true. By the magic of the Phoenix , I command you to stand aside.”

The guards’ horse reared, and the men fought to stay ahorse.

For countless generations, stories of Mages and magic had been woven into tales told to children in their beds. The name órlaith had never entered my bedtime stories, but the Daughter of Magic filled many of them. It didn’t matter if the child was from the Kingdom or Melucia, one of the small border nations or among the island tribes, everyone knew some version of her legend.

Everyone knew she wasn’t real, just a story passed from mother to daughter, father to son—even the armored sons who clung to their saddles, trembling in her presence. Their expressions said they thought she wasn’t real, but she was sitting—no glowing , right in front of them.

Then she used the phrase reserved for kings and queens.

No one swore by the Phoenix.

Not only was it heresy; it was illegal.

One of the guards startled back, blinked twice, then turned to the men inside and yelled, “Open the gate. Send a rider to the Triad. Now!” He turned back toward órla, leaped from his horse, and dropped to one knee.

She said something I couldn’t hear. A moment later, the man was on his feet pulling the barricade aside with trembling hands. Three more guards helped clear a path, their eyes darting between the barrier and órla the whole time.

“What would Ayden think of all this?”

“He would love how the men bow and scrape. You try to ignore that he is Lord Byrne.”

“He isn’t Lord anything yet.”

I’d tried using Telepathy to reach Ayden since we split up. Each night, I tried entering his dreams. After witnessing the carnage of Grove’s Pass, I wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms. Unfortunately, without the magnifying power of the stone circle and the Well, my magic failed to touch his mind.

I searched the wreckage of the town for hours but found no sign. He could’ve been buried beneath the rubble of the headquarters—or any of the other burned outbuildings, but I clung to hope that he somehow escaped and would appear before me with a lopsided grin and cheeky remark.

Spirits, let it be so.

I tried to suppress the gnawing in my gut that whispered he’d been captured—or worse—but it whittled away at my confidence with each stride.

More guards appeared. Their faces bore the terrified excitement of a child sitting atop a horse for the first time. Most snapped to attention and tried to avoid eye contact with órla or me. A few dropped to their knees and pressed foreheads to the ground.

órla’s giggle flooded my mind.

“I think they believe I’m real again. This part never gets old!”

“This part? You mean returning and no one believing you’re real? How many times have you made a surprise return?”

“Oh, a few. Every time it’s the same. It only takes a century or two for people to turn me into folklore. That is flattering, but still . . . Then poof . Here I am. All glowing and wonderful. I love that ‘Holy Spirits’ look they always give me. I mean, technically, I am a holy spirit. Really, Declan, you should try it sometime. It’s a lot of fun.”

I couldn’t suppress a boyish grin. “Let’s win the war first. We can think about pulling magical pranks afterward, okay?”

By the time our conversation ended, a path had been cleared and a row of guards lined either side with swords and pikes raised in salute. The gates opened wide, and a distant horn sounded five long blows.

“Five? What do you think that means?” órla asked.

“Given the honor guard formed here, I’m not sure I want to know. Let’s get this grand entrance over with.”

She flapped her way to my shoulder, dropping her magical aura as she landed.

“Thanks. The glow was a bit much.”

“Says the guy in the glow-in-the-dark underwear.”

“Hey! It’s a holy tunic!”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s underwear.”