Chapter Three Shadow Hive

Sparrow Trillium

Unknown location

Unknown time after Xishlon

“Thierren!”

Sparrow screams as she’s dragged away in a net of vines by her tormentor from the Fae Islands—the vile Mage Tilor—into a wall of silvery mist surrounded by an arch of Shadow runes.

As the silver closes in around her, she cries out, overtaken by the sensation of her Shadow-grayed body being sped through the mist so fast she might come apart, before she just as abruptly slows and Tilor yanks her into an alabaster cave. Her gut clenches in terror, and her back scrapes against the cave’s rough stone as she clings to a sliver of hope that Thierren, her Level Five Mage love, survived Vogel’s destruction of Noilaan and will come after her.

“Thierren!”

she screams again, and Tilor spits out a jeering laugh. He turns and slides his glowing gray-eyed gaze over her bound form, his strength seeming enhanced as he pulls her forward.

Sparrow looks frantically around the torchlit tunnel, her pulse jumping in her throat as she’s hauled into an impossibly gigantic alabaster cavern. Its pale reaches seem to stretch up forever, and horrifying masses of multi-eyed, gigantic wraith bats hang from its walls.

Tilor drags her into another tunnel cut into the cavern’s white stone, its walls lined with rows of nightmarish multi-eyed scorpios as big as men. The mantis-scorpion creatures’ gray bodies are stretched out and distorted, smoking runes marked on their thoraxes, their lethal-looking stingers quivering at the ends of raised segmented tails. With pulse-quickening uniformity, the scorpios’ grotesque masses of eyes snap toward Sparrow, their chilling gazes full of predatory interest, and her panicked mind turns over why the stone of this mountainous interior is the alabaster hue of Spine stone . . .

Her lungs seize as certainty slams through her.

They’re in the Western Realm. That arch of Shadow runes Tilor dragged her through that made her feel as if her body was about to be pulled apart into a million particles of static . . .

. . . it was a runic portal.

A strangled cry bursts from Sparrow’s throat as she realizes that Thierren is leagues upon leagues away in the Eastern Realm, if he’s even alive. As she’s being forced through the interior of one of the Western Realm’s Spines. The Northern Spine or the Southern Spine, she doesn’t know which.

Fearing she’ll retch, she takes in the full nightmare as they emerge into another mammoth cavern.

A gigantic hive lines the walls, like a magnified hornet’s nest. Men are emerging from the hive cells, the Mage soldiers amongst them moving freely, their irises ringed with Shadow, their fastlines emitting tendrils of Shadow corruption. Keltish, Alfsigr, and Urisk men seem to be contained in one area, the non-Mages tethered to their hive cells via chains made of Shadow runes attached to the runic collars encircling their necks, their expressions deadened, their eyes fully gray. Slaves to the Magedom, Sparrow intuits, her alarm mounting. Slaves to Vogel’s Shadow power.

Sparrow’s last image of Thierren invades her mind—Thierren in his Vu Trin uniform, surrounded by dead dragons and slain Mage soldiers, screaming her name as Tilor flew her away on dragonback.

Desperation storming through her thoughts, Sparrow’s mind careens about.

Is Thierren even still alive? And Effrey . . . did the child get to safety? Or is the entire East now in Vogel’s grip? Even Elloren Gardner with her Black Witch power was easily bested by Vogel’s Shadow, her mind consumed by it. And the portal Sparrow was dragged through . . . was there a time lag like most portals have? How many days have passed since Xishlon?

Sparrow’s thoughts shut off as she’s yanked sideways, a cry of protest erupting from her throat as she’s towed into yet another curving tunnel then dumped in front of a small, Shadow-barred cavern, two Mage soldiers with gray-rimmed eyes bracketing the entrance.

“I’m housing her here,”

Tilor tells the soldiers, motioning toward the cavern, his tone shot through with arrogance. The soldiers stare at Sparrow’s bound form with leers so chilling, her skin crawls.

“She’s mine,”

Tilor snarls. “Vogel gave her to me.”

The guards’ hungry looks turn to ones of resignation, and Tilor’s aggression recedes, his expression morphing to smugness. “I’d like some privacy,”

he gloats, glancing pointedly at Sparrow, his teeth bared in an excited smile.

Sparrow clenches her fists, desperate for the dagger Tilor confiscated from her with a chiding laugh.

The soldiers dip their heads deferentially, casting quick looks of envy toward Sparrow before they stride away from the cell.

“One more thing,”

Tilor calls after them, and they pause and turn, the tunnel’s silvery torchlight flickering over them all. “If you hear her scream, ignore it.”

The words slide from Tilor’s tongue like he’s tasting them.

Sparrow grows light-headed as another wave of fear sweeps through her. Smiling, Tilor lifts his wand and murmurs a spell, and the cell’s Shadow bars turn to mist.

Sparrow breaks into futile revolt, kicking and struggling against her vine bindings. Tilor strikes with frightening speed, his booted foot slamming into her side with brutal force, the wind propelled from her lungs as she contracts with agony.

Vicious anger streaks across Tilor’s face as he drags her into the cell and dumps her in a corner. He lifts his wand, and gray vines spring from its tip and tether her to the floor.

Sparrow begins to sob. Thierren, is all she can think, screaming his name in her mind. Thierren!

Murmuring a spell, Tilor points his wand at Sparrow’s torso, and her bindings dissolve.

He steps back, expression excited, and a harder slash of terror knifes through her as she realizes he wants her to try to flee. Wants her to fight him.

Shivering with both rage and fear, she rises on unsteady legs and readies herself to do just that, balling her fists, clear she’s about to be horrifically abused but determined to inflict at least some small measure of pain in return.

With a growling cry, she launches herself at Tilor, going straight for his eyes. He anticipates her and counters in a blur, a gasp tearing from her throat when she’s grabbed and effortlessly hurled at the wall behind her. Her back collides with stone, and she plummets to the floor in an aching heap.

“You little. Urisk. Whore,”

Tilor growls as he paces in front of her, then raises his wand and murmurs a spell that sends an uncomfortable tingle over Sparrow’s skin. “You don’t deserve to be covered in Mage-sanctified Shadow,”

he sneers.

Sparrow glances down to find tendrils of smoke rising from every speck of her exposed skin, her Shadow-gray coloration morphing back to its natural lavender. Trembling, she readies herself once more to claw his face.

He stares her down, his gaze flicking lasciviously over her from head to toe. “I wanted to be the first to fully possess you,”

he drawls, a ripple of outrage crossing his features before his green lips inch up into a lewd smile. “But I imagine Thierren Stone has already broken you in.”

A snarl rises in Sparrow’s throat, but she swallows it back, noticing Tilor has not replaced the prison cavern’s bars. Seizing her chance, she bolts toward him, knocks the wand from his hand, and dives toward the exit.

Tilor’s unnaturally strong hand clamps around her arm, her trajectory painfully halted as the world swings sideways. Crying out, she’s hurtled back into the cell, her back and head slamming against stone once more, stars exploding in her vision.

Tilor levels his wand at her.

Shadow vines burst from its tip, netting her to the cavern wall. Murmuring a spell, he flicks his wand, and the netting wrapped around her wrists and ankles spreads out, splaying her arms and legs apart.

Her breath comes in short, desperate gasps. Tilor’s eyes spark with glee as he sheathes his wand and saunters forward, his leer slithering over Sparrow’s beautiful Xishlon dress. Her rageful tears come faster as she chokes on the memory of how she fashioned this dress for her Xishlon night with Thierren, handcrafting every one of its multitude of violet-silk flowers.

Tilor reaches toward Sparrow’s chest, and she lets out a growl of protest, her skin crawling as he fondles the petals of one of the small violets, then yanks the flower from the fabric and tosses it to the floor before running his hand territorially over her breast and squeezing tight.

White-hot fury shocks through Sparrow. She sucks saliva into the center of her mouth and spits at Tilor’s face, her heart pounding with rage as she drowns in the certainty that her life is over. But she’ll go down fighting.

Tilor’s eyes ignite with rage. In a blur, he raises his fist.

Sparrow jerks her head back against the stone, sure she’s about to be punched with bone-smashing force, just as a hooded figure darts into the cavern and launches at them both.

Blood explodes from Tilor’s neck, a knifepoint appearing through his throat’s center, and he lets out a gurgling groan. His eyes bulge and his body shudders, more blood spraying over Sparrow. A flash of blue light detonates from the blade, exploding Tilor’s neck in a larger splash of blood and gore, and his head falls off as his decapitated body crumples to the ground.

Sparrow blinks away blood and spits gore from her lips as she stares, in dazed shock, at the gray-hued, point-eared, sharp-featured young woman before her. Amaz runic tattoos mark the woman’s face, her garb that of a Mage soldier, a dark Gardnerian military cloak fastened over her shoulders, hood raised. There’s a charged blade in her fist, its runes glowing bright emerald green.

“Who are you?”

Sparrow rasps as the Amaz raises her blade and deftly slices through Sparrow’s bindings, freeing her.

“Valasca Xanthrir, at your service,”

the Amaz answers before she sheathes her blade and lowers herself to Tilor’s decapitated, bloody corpse. All business, she yanks off his cloak, weapons, and clothing and hands his garb to Sparrow. “Put these on,”

she directs with warrior calm, narrowing her dark blue eyes on Sparrow. “Be quick about it.”

“H-h-how did you get free of the Mages?”

Sparrow sputters as she yanks off her dress and throws Tilor’s tunic and pants on with quavering hands.

Valasca cocks a rakish brow as she gathers Tilor’s wand and weapons. “I’m the former head of the Amaz Queen’s Guard. It’s not a position given to the untalented.”

She shoots Tilor’s corpse a disgusted look. “I saw him drag you past.”

Sparrow gapes at her. “But . . . but all the soldiers . . . their magic . . .”

Valasca’s eyes fill with a sly light as she pats her sheathed blade. “Ah, well, it seems the Crows made a rather large mistake. They dumped this Amaz Ash’rion blade they stole from Elloren Gardner within my sight.”

She lifts a palm marked with a gray rune. “Varg-infused retrieval rune. I spelled down its green glow so it would look vanquished.”

She grins at Sparrow, who notices a multitude of Mage blades sheathed in Valasca’s belt and another pushed into the side of her boot, along with two wands. “And, turns out,”

Valasca continues, “Mage wands can be used as runic styluses with some spell modifications. And I happen to be a rune sorceress.”

She winks at Sparrow. “I’ve a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Sparrow’s mind whirls. “You know Elloren?”

Valasca spits out a laugh as she finds places to sheathe Tilor’s weapons and hands one of the blades to Sparrow. “It’s a bit of an involved story.”

“I was with her in Valgard,”

Sparrow confides as she takes hold of the weapon.

Valasca looks at her closely, one brow cocked. “She told me about you. Sparrow Trillium, is it? The seamstress?”

Sparrow nods and sheathes the blade through her belt, then pulls Thierren’s bloodied cloak over her shoulders.

“Well, Sparrow Trillium,”

Valasca says in an overly polite cadence, “would you like to stand here and continue these introductions, or would you rather get the hells out of here and kill a few Mages while we’re at it?”

Sparrow gives her a grim look. “There’s a huge army out there . . .”

Valasca huffs out a breath, rolling her eyes. “Yes, we’ve terrible odds. I’d say the whole of Erthia has terrible odds at the moment.”

Her dark eyes take on a battle-fierce light, her lips lifting. “I believe in being ridiculously feisty in the face of impending doom. Are you with me?”

Rebellion coalesces inside Sparrow, sparking hot. “I’m with you,” she vows.

Valasca shoots her a more lethal grin. “Well, then, I suspect we’ll get on just fine.”

“I need to get back East,”

Sparrow blurts out. “There’s a child there who’s family to me . . . Effrey. I don’t know what happened to him. And I need to find Thierren Stone. He’s joined the Vu Trin.”

Valasca cocks a black brow, obviously catching both Thierren’s blaringly Gardnerian name as well as the ardent emotion Sparrow can’t keep from her tone when speaking of him.

“Well, Sparrow Trillium,”

Valasca says. “I wouldn’t mind getting back to my Great Love, Ni Vin, either, but our allies and all of our loved ones are currently clear across a desert from us.”

Valasca gives her a pointed look. “It’s you and me, Urisk.”

An icy wind blasts into the cavern, hurling both Sparrow and Valasca off their feet and slamming their bodies into the wall beside them, groans forced from both their throats. Icy cages slam down around them, the cold stinging Sparrow’s skin as their wrists are pinned to the wall with frigid ice shackles.

Fallon Bane sweeps into the cavern, her black cloak flowing behind her, and Sparrow’s lungs seize. There’s a thick commander’s stripe marking Fallon’s Level Five tunic, and she has a black dragon talon pushed through her long tied-back tresses.

Fallon’s green eyes glare hate at Valasca before she casts Sparrow an incredulous glare, recognition lighting her features. “You again?”

She spits out a disgusted sound before turning back to Valasca. She jabs her wand into Valasca’s throat, forcing her chin up. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you, Amaz,”

Fallon hisses. “Did you really think I’d let such a valuable runic sorceress escape?”

She leans closer, baring her teeth. “Especially one who killed my brother?”

Valasca’s mouth tilts into a chiding grin. “Truth told, Sylus proved to be a bit of a lightweight.”

Painfully cold hoarfrost forms all over the cave as Fallon jabs her wand harder. “Well, I’m not,”

she snarls. “Don’t underestimate me, Amaz.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Crow,”

Valasca bites back before swiftly murmuring a spell under her breath.

Glowing emerald runes flash to life on Valasca’s forehead and the center of her neck, and Fallon’s eyes widen. An explosion of raying, green power detonates from the runes, and Fallon is punched from the cave cell by an invisible pulse of magic, her wand blasting from her hand, all the ice in the room instantly shattering, including Sparrow’s and Valasca’s frigid shackles. Sparrow teeters and almost loses her footing while Valasca unsheathes her Ash’rion blade in a blur and slides her fingers over its rune-marked hilt.

A thin bolt of green spears toward Fallon’s wand, and it explodes in a flash of verdant fire just as bootheels sound and a wand is tossed to Fallon from the hallway’s side. Fallon deftly catches it before casting Valasca a look that’s so malicious, Sparrow’s skin breaks into gooseflesh.

Mages run into view, wands raised, as Fallon growls out a spell along with them and Valasca points her blade toward them, rapidly conjuring a translucent emerald shield-wall into existence before herself and Sparrow.

Multiple blasts of gray Mage power slam against the shield, and Sparrow flinches, Fallon’s wintry blast punching a frosty concavity into Valasca’s barrier that Sparrow fears will break clear through it. But the barrier holds, icy fractures spiderwebbing over the shield’s expanse.

Growling out a curse, Valasca points her blade downward. A bolt of green light blasts from it and smashes a sizable hole straight through the stone floor in a spray of rocks that Sparrow has to shield her face from.

“C’mon!”

Valasca cries as she grabs Sparrow’s arm and hurls her into the hole.

Sparrow tumbles into its darkness and lands on another stone floor in a painful heap.

Valasca drops down beside her, the small, rocky space instantly lit up by the glowing green runes on Valasca’s blade, revealing a tunnel before them. Valasca angles her blade upward and murmurs another spell. In a burst of jade light, green-crystalline stone forms across the hole above, sealing it shut.

Fallon’s muffled roar of fury sounds through the stone as Valasca lifts her blade once more and murmurs another spell. Large Varg runes spring to life on every surface of the cave, just as an explosion detonates above them, shaking the ground beneath their feet.

Sparrow frantically takes in the icy spiderwebbing cracks forming all over the barrier above them.

“Might be a good time to make a run for it,”

Valasca prods.

They break into a sprint through the narrow tunnel and round a bend, where Valasca pauses to conjure another green glass barrier behind them. At the same moment, a larger ground-shaking explosion sounds from the direction they came from.

“Where are we?”

Sparrow pants as they launch into another sprint.

“Welcome to the Smaragdalfar Resistance’s Sublands,”

Valasca jauntily replies, the two of them racing through another curving, Varg-rune-marked tunnel and into a larger cave. “We’re just below the Northern Spine. And we need to get to the Resistance’s Subland base of operations under Valgard. We don’t have much time.”

Another explosion sounds, and Sparrow raises her hands to shield her face from a spray of rocks and stones. Spitting out a string of curses, Valasca grabs firm hold of Sparrow’s arm and yanks her sideways, veering them down a side tunnel.

Sparrow turns her head, and fear constricts her throat as Fallon Bane drops down behind them, ice blasting into being on the cave walls surrounding her and swiftly rippling in their direction. Fallon’s murderous green eyes zero in on them, and she raises her wand.