The Awakening (The Dragon Heart Legacy #1) - Nora Roberts Page 0,136
plots and plans in the black god’s mind, he could better defend Talamh, and all in it.
But though the power of the spell was great, so great it all but burned in his blood, he could see only shifting shadows in the dark, only hear mutters and murmurs, and once the horrible cry of the tortured and damned.
It weighed on him as he unwound the spell, as he closed the circle.
If he couldn’t penetrate the dark, if this remained out of his reach, he’d have to risk more spies of his own.
And not all came back.
He called his dragon, intending to fly out over the water and let the remnants of the spell still echoing inside him quiet.
Instead, he flew through the portal, then high over the trees to the cottage, to Breen.
Enough distance, he thought. He’d burn off the spell and his failure inside her, and sleep.
Only a single light burned in the window, one below her bedchamber, when he landed. He told himself to leave her be, to let her sleep. But he walked through the fluttering pixies and opened the locks and the door with a wave of his hand.
He stepped through, glanced back at Cróga. “Go rest where you will, mo dheartháir. I’ll make my own way back.”
The minute he closed the door, he felt her.
Sleeping yes, but with visions that brought fear and pain.
Tossing light ahead of him, he raced for the stairs and up. He found her shuddering in bed, her eyes wide and glazed. The dog stood on the bed beside her, and whined in distress as he licked her face.
“I’ve got her now, friend. I’ve got her. But bloody hell, she has to go through it. Visions come for reasons.”
He knelt on the bed beside her, smoothed back her hair. “But you’re not alone now, mo bandia.” He reached for her hand so she’d find comfort when she came through it.
And found himself ripped into the vision with her.
The world, his world, the heartbreaking green of hills and fields burnt to black, with the smoke rising so thick it blocked the sun and sky.
Gray, all gray, and the stench of it like death.
Lightning, black as pitch, ripped through the smoke to turn the house of the farm entrusted to him, to his family, to smoldering rubble.
Through the blasts and roars, he heard the screams of the dying, the keening wails of the grieving. Bodies—men, women, children, animals—littered the ground with pools of their blood seeping into the scorched earth.
It ripped his heart, ripped it into pieces that would never, never be mended.
He drew his sword, pulled up his power, a power now so fueled by rage and grief, the steel in his hand pulsed red. He sliced through a demon dog who’d stopped to feast on what had been a young faerie.
Pushing himself through the smoke, he cut down a dozen with blade and fire and rage. And still they came. He fought his way to his sister’s house, where even the flicker of hope died. Nothing remained but a tumble of blackened stone.
He stood, a man of power, a man of duty, and screamed out in fury that would never cool, in grief that would never rest.
Still, he could feel dim flashes of light as others fought with what they had left in them. He called his dragon, but already knew Cróga would never come to him again.
The severed bond, another grief, another fury.
Cróga was gone, as the farm was gone.
Without horse or dragon, he’d never reach the Capital, and his mother, in time to launch a defense. Even if the Capital still existed.
He pushed his way back. If Marg lived, if he could find Breen, they could join power and find a way, there had to be a way, to save what was left.
He nearly stumbled over an old couple, elves, grievously wounded, curled in each other’s arms.
He tried to heal the woman first, but even as he spread his light through her, her eyes dimmed and died. When he turned to the man, the old elf shook his head.
“No. My life mate has gone to the gods. I choose to go with her. They came so fast, and the dark with them. Go, go and fight, Taoiseach. Save us.”
He ran, sword slashing, power sweeping.
And hope flickered again. Though the gardens had withered black, Mairghread’s cottage stood.
“Breen!” He shouted for her as he ran toward the cottage, and she stumbled out of the smoke.