Throne of Eldraine Read online

  Rowan gasped. “Ayara betrayed us! She betrayed the Realm!”

  With a guttural roar, Garruk shoved through the crowd and leaped for Ayara, swinging his axe. He was too close to miss, and Ayara hadn’t heard him coming, distracted by her desire to gloat over the stag’s mortal wounding.

  The axe fell, slashing hard down across her back. But the elf queen wasn’t there anymore. A raven flapped skyward, barely avoiding the hiss of the blade.

  With a furious shout, Garruk swung around. A riderless griffin snapped to attention. It spread its wings and leaped after the raven, rising fast, ready to rake the bird out of the sky. The raven swelled outward to become an inky cloud that transformed into a drake. The griffin hooked one of its the scaled legs with a talon. With its powerful tail the drake slapped the griffin along its head so hard the blow stunned it. The griffin’s falling body tore a splintering gash through the roof of the cottage.

  The altercation had given Garruk time to get under the airborne drake, raising his axe to slice at its underbelly. But the drake whipped around and swooped out of range by plunging into the ice and lightning numbed throng. Lashing its tail from side to side, it knocked down riders and toppled mounts. Their tumbled bodies formed a barrier Garruk could not move swiftly past.

  Will watched in horror. By casting their magic in the hope of saving their father, he and Rowan had instead aided Oko.

  Garruk wasn’t beaten yet. Hundreds of crows spilled out of the branches to mob the drake, blinding it with sheer numbers, pecking at its eyes and vulnerable throat. Garruk shoved through the chaos, flinging people aside as he raced for the shapeshifter with death in his eyes.

  Rowan dismounted and ran toward the struggling drake, now pinned to the ground by the staggering number of crows. “Garruk, don’t kill him! Ardenvale knights, help me capture this wretch!”

  Will no longer cared about Oko. He slid out of the saddle. Somehow—of course—his mother had been first to shake free of her children’s magic. She knelt beside the stag, cradling its noble head on her lap. As he came up she cast him a stern look.

  “Go help your sister!”

  Rowan reached the embattled drake and grabbed its tail with both hands. What was she thinking? A drake could rip her head off in a heartbeat. Will sprinted toward her. He tried to pull ice into his hands, but he was still drained from the earlier casting.

  Garruk reached her first. The hunter loomed up beside her, his axe blade catching the first light of the rising sun with a glint that flashed in Will’s eyes.

  “Stop!” she shouted at Garruk, refusing to let go of the drake’s tail. “You can’t kill Oko. We can’t let the Realm or the Wilds think Ayara or my mother is responsible.”

  Will found a pinch of ice to cast at the drake, hoping to slow any attempt Oko would make to shapeshift again. Rowan’s hands shone as she sent a surge of lightning through the scaled body, the shock of it amplified by Will’s ice.

  The drake shuddered and twisted but Rowan did not let go as the crows flapped and cawed, more crows flying in to take the place of those shaken off, crushed, or bitten. Will dove, grabbing for one of the drake’s legs. Ardenvale knights arrived, each grabbing legs, tail, battering wings, anything to hold down the struggling beast. Some were flung aside, some torn by the drake’s claws, but even so their combined efforts were too much for it as they pinned it to the ground.

  The edges of the drake’s form frayed like cloth, as if it were starting to come apart. Where solid flesh unraveled into darkness, the knights lost their grip and stumbled. A cloud of turbulent darkness spun faster and faster until the creature lost all semblance of its old form. In a whoosh like air expelled by a bellows, the drake transformed into the elf they’d first met on Choking Drum. His face was smeared with dirt, and he bled from dozens of pinpricks on his skin where the crows had pecked and clawed him.

  Rowan still held Oko’s wrist, while Will lay on the dirt with both hands gripping one of the elf’s ankles. Garruk stalked toward them. Rowan shifted to place herself between Oko and the axe.

  “Move aside!” Garruk growled, but he did not cut her down, and of course she did not move. She would never let anyone intimidate her, not even a man who could cut off her head with a single blow. She would do what was right, just as their father and mother always did.

  She said, loudly and clearly enough for the words to carry across the glade, “We have to bring him to justice. That’s how we do things in the Realm.”

  “We’re not so different, you and I,” said Oko with a gentle smile. “I’ll not forget you saved my life, Rowan Kenrith, even though it means I’ve incurred a debt, and I hate incurring debts. But since we’ll never meet again, there’s no chance I’ll have to repay it.”

  “I haven’t saved your life. You will be brought to justice at the tribunal for your crimes.”

  “Not today.” Light glittered in his eyes like shards of metal falling through a bowl of sunlight. One instant Will gripped an ankle. The next, Oko had vanished. A drake’s sharp tooth spun in the air, shifting to become a black feather that lifted on the wind for an instant before transforming into the distinctive golden feather of a crested eagle. The spinning feather became the tine of an antler, and then it all disintegrated into sparks.

  Oko was gone.

  Rowan turned all the way around, seeking high and low for any trace of an animal moving. “Where did he go? What did he change into?”

  Garruk lifted his head to sniff at the air. Then he lowered his axe. “He’s walked out of your reach, Rowan Kenrith. But not out of mine.”

  Aelfra’s horn pierced a rising rustle of noise as the numbing power of the twins’ spells dissolved. The ringing call reverberated into the sky. Will jumped to his feet, drawing his sword. But the riders in the hunt knelt, obedient to their leader’s signal.

  His mother’s voice rang out. “Stand down, knights of Ardenvale!”

  She still knelt on the ground with the stag. Will and Rowan ran over to her, knights and even elvish hunters stepping out of their way. It was so much worse than he had feared. Blood soaked the queen’s tabard, stains forming ghastly blotches on its silver and white fabric. How could any creature lose so much blood and survive? The stag’s eyes were open, fixed on Linden’s face without fear, with total trust.

  Will’s legs grew weak. He braced himself on the well, then saw the skull and the gleaming sword, and snatched his hand away from the rough stone.

  Rowan said, desperately, “No.”

  But the word faded on the wind because it had no power. All they could do was watch.

  Linden’s gaze lifted from the stag as a figure pushed through the ranks of the silent hunt. Queen Ayara emerged from the assembly and strode to the well, bow in hand.

  Rowan and Will looked toward Garruk, who had followed them over, but he shook his head. This was really Ayara. As she halted before them Will noticed the golden broaches in the shape of goblets pinned to the lapels of her hunting jacket. The Ayara who had shot the stag had worn no such broaches. Oko had missed that detail, just as he had missed the scar over Cado’s eye.

  In a rigidly calm tone Linden said, “I did not know you partook of the midwinter hunt, Ayara.”

  “It’s not a piece of my life I share with humans.”

  “Is that why you stayed hidden in the back when my knights and I arrived?” Linden asked coolly. “Because you didn’t want us to see you?”

  “I am surprised you concern yourself with my behavior when your beloved spouse lies dying before you. If this stag really is Algenus Kenrith transformed. How can you be sure?”

  “I’m glad you asked!” cried Elowen, raising both arms with an excited smile that made Will wince at how inappropriate it was. The loremage didn’t notice. “That fellow, Oko, is not merely a shapeshifter. As I discovered myself he can shift another person into the same shape as he himself is taking if he is touching them when he does it. Isn’t that remarkable?”

  “This isn’t the time,” said Linden.


  Undaunted by the queen’s harsh tone, Elowen went on. “A spell like this will probably be broken by death. So when the stag dies, we will know for sure it is Kenrith if the animal transforms back into the man.”

  Rowan pressed her hands over her mouth.

  Will said, quietly, “Mother, you’re a healer. Can’t you heal him?”

  Ayara’s usually aloof expression was cracked with a faint wrinkle of concern, odd to see on that ageless face. “I believe Queen Linden’s magic does not extend to healing a mortal wound.”

  “It does not,” said Linden gravely.

  “How can you know the wound is mortal!” Rowan demanded. “Why is everyone just standing around as if there’s nothing that can be done?”

  Ayara’s cold gaze studied the young woman as she might study an ant. “We elves can taste dying on the air as the essence of a spirit leaks out of living flesh. You humans have not enough sensitivity to the world. Anyway, a blow inflicted by the midwinter hunt is always fatal.”

  Rowan grasped Will’s hand.

  Ayara was still speaking. “I will say this much, Linden. If Algenus must die, then I am sorry to see him go. He was fair-minded, for one of humankind.”

  As she spoke, her cousin Lady Aelfra approached with a stately glide as graceful as if her feet did not quite touch the earth. Her bearing was regal and yet the crown of flower-wrapped thorns she wore atop her black hair seemed to mock of the royal circlet Linden wore atop her own head.

  Aelfra took in the presence of a dying stag and those who grieved for it. Nothing in her expression seemed troubled by the situation. “I remain puzzled as to the identity of this stranger who stole Ayara’s face and, as you claim, transformed two humans into animals. Where did he come from? Is there a missing clan of elves hiding in the Realm? What do you know of him, Queen Linden?”

  “I don’t think he’s an elf,” said Elowen.

  “I know nothing but what Elowen has told me. He is a stranger to the Realm as well.”

  “Then what is his purpose here?”

  Rowan stepped forward belligerently. Will grabbed her arm before she could do anything rash, but he couldn’t stop her from speaking. “Oko knew it would start a war if you elves killed the High King.”

  “I am well aware he has been goading the reckless and foolish among the clans for months now.”

  “To set the Realm against the Wilds!” Rowan shouted.

  Lady Aelfra touched a finger to her lips as if to enjoin silence. Her smile was amused, touched by an edge of cruelty. “The Wilds and the Realm are already antagonists, child.”

  “But we are not enemies,” said Linden.

  Aelfra’s chuckle was bitter. “You split hairs, Queen of the Realm, but you are not incorrect. Let us not allow a stranger to dictate the terms of our relationship.”

  “What do you want, Lady Aelfra?” Linden asked in that same measured tone, although Will could not fathom how she was not sobbing and tearing at her hair with grief. The stag had begun to pant as if it were running its last chase, pursued by implacable death.

  “We live according to the law of nature. Those who die give way to those who will live, and the dying sun on its shortest day must be fed so it can grow again. Give us our blood and we will depart in peace, taking our injured with us. If the hunt does not take his blood, then the fight will go on and far more blood will be spilled in the year to come.”

  Linden said nothing, but her gaze briefly shifted to look at the bucket swaying from the rope, at the skull and the glowing sword. Will might not have noticed if he hadn’t been closely watching her, trying to understand why she was just sitting there, as if there were nothing she could do. Because this behavior wasn’t like her at all. She was the one who acted when all others lost their strength, their persistence, their loyalty, or their wisdom.

  Rowan, quivering against his grip, shook him off roughly. “You can’t mean it, Mother. There must be something you can do. You can’t let Oko win like this! You can’t let the hunt take his blood. I’d rather fight!”

  “He is already dying,” said Linden. “We do what we must.”

  “No,” cried Rowan. “No, it’s wrong. How can you just let them take him!”

  “Because it is what he would want. This is what it means to be worthy.”

  “The most powerful blood is that of a selfless ruler or an innocent child, but a selfless ruler is a far rarer creature in the world, is it not?” said Aelfra.

  Linden looked up at the tall elf. Though Linden was seated, and the elf was standing, Linden did not look cowed or diminished. Her expression had a serenity that Will envied, and that confounded him. After a moment, Linden nodded.

  Aelfra knelt, pressed a finger into a pool of the stag’s blood, and licked it off her skin. “Blood seals the year,” she said, and stepped away.

  The elves came forward in a silent stream, their numbers blurring together. Will wept beside his sister as their father’s life leached from him, drop by drop. Twilight stretched far past its normal allotment. The sun caught on the rim of the world, unable to rise until the spell woken by the hunt was brought to completion. Blood seals the year, for those who die give way to those who will live, and the dying sun on its shortest day must be fed so it can grow again.

  A heavy hand settled unexpectedly on Will’s shoulder as Garruk stepped up beside him, staring at the stag with a somber expression. With the curse lifted, the hunter’s expression had altered. Maybe he wasn’t a sophisticated, civilized man, but his face was lit by intelligence and compassion. Surely the beasts of the forest knew better than to trust the merely cruel and the casually brutal. Hunters could take selfishly and needlessly for the sport or for boasting, or they could hunt because hunting is part of the greater web of death and life. Garruk understood the wild wood, and in return the wild wood trusted him.

  The riders of the hunt fed and, one by one, slipped away into the Wilds.

  Ayara was last to kneel. By now the stag’s breathing was slow and labored, only a trickle of blood oozed from the wound. She caught a drop on a finger and lifted it to her lips.

  Still Linden said nothing, her proud head bowed with solemnity but not agony.

  Ayara stood but she did not move away. Instead she studied Linden with a narrow-eyed gaze. “I think there is something you are not telling us, Queen Linden,” she said in a familiar, almost comradely way.

  Linden did not look up but her lips twitched with a swift, sly smile.

  “I suppose I’ll find out what it is soon enough.” Ayara pulled a pair of riding gloves out of her belt and slipped them on her long-fingered hands. With a last tug, she paused to examine Garruk from head to toe. “Do I know you? There’s an energy swirling about you that reminds me of my lost cauldron, but that’s not possible. Is it?”

  Garruk looked at Will, who tucked his chin down and gave a frantic shake of his head. Even with his father dying at his feet he couldn’t help but feel a spurt of fear that Ayara would discover the truth and haul him off to Locthwain.

  The hunter met Queen Ayara’s daunting gaze. “You don’t know me.”

  Ayara was too long lived and far too powerful to find the hunter’s size and curtness intimidating. Her lips curled up with a lift of more than casual interest, one whose intensity Will hoped Garruk would not trust. “Well then, brave hunter, feel free to visit Castle Locthwain any time. If any guest can thread my castle’s maze, I expect it would be you.”

  She rode away into the forest.

  When the last snap of hoof-falls faded away, Linden raised a hand in command. The griffin knights had hoisted their wounded into the saddle and revived the stunned griffin that had smashed through the roof of the cottage. Obedient to the queen’s command, they flew into the heavens with a clamor of wings. Linden, Elowen, the twins, and Garruk alone remained with the stag.

  The sun’s rim cracked the horizon. Its bright rays lanced across the glade to gild the stag’s body. On a final exhale the animal sagged, head dropping. As its last
breath escaped, the body glimmered as with a heat distortion. The disintegrating shapeshifting spell flared. When the brightness faded to ordinary dawn light, Algenus Kenrith in his human body lay dead on the ground, an arrow sticking out of his chest, bloodstains splattered down his surcoat.

  Rowan choked and collapsed to her knees. Will was too numb to move.

  “I didn’t really believe it,” said Linden in a hoarse voice. “I didn’t want to believe it.”

  “That he’s dead?” said Elowen in a conversational tone whose breezy detachment made Will want to scream but his voice had vanished. How could his mother have sat there so calmly? Why hadn’t he protested more? If only he and Rowan had found the stag sooner. How could this have happened? How could it be true?

  “I didn’t want to believe that when I found him after all those months he was missing, he was living in a cottage in the Wilds with a woman who he’d gotten with child. Had the secrets we’d confided to each other meant nothing to him? Was the quest whose hardships we’d shared so meaningless to him that he would abandon the Realm?”

  “Ah, you’re speaking of your quest, when you and he were young. He did go missing for a long time at one point. People thought he was dead.”

  “A witch fed him a love potion that stole his memory and his heart.”

  “That’s exactly why you never eat food grown or brewed in the Wilds,” said Elowen with a disapproving shake of her head. “He should have known better. And to get her pregnant, too!”

  “What are you two talking about?” demanded Rowan. “Our birth mother was killed tragically in the Wilds, everyone says so.”

  Her eyes got wide as she looked at the skull that had a questing sword stuck through one of its eye sockets. She grabbed Will’s hand, fingers crushing his in a distraught grip. He struggled to breathe, because all at once he felt as winded as if he’d been running for leagues and leagues on a path that was inexorably leading him off a cliff.

  Linden got to her feet rather more slowly than she would have when she was a young, dashing knight. The weight of years and children and ruling lent her dignity but had leached some of her famous agility and speed. She turned to the well and its dangling bucket and grasped the hilt of the sword. With a grunt she scraped it out of the eye socket of the skull. Dislodged, the skull fell into the shaft. Will and Rowan could not help but lean over the lip to stare down. The well was dry and only about three yards deep. A skeleton lay jumbled at the bottom.