His voice heavy with sarcasm, Dragos said, “And you just thought they wanted to catch up on old times so you invited them in.”
Ferion snapped, “They came to us asking for help. One of them was suffering from an old wound that would not heal. Our best seers scanned them, but no one sensed that Amras possessed one of the Machines until he wielded it tonight.”
Pia chewed her lip as she listened, and something else slipped into place.
“I might have sensed it,” she muttered. Dragos swiveled to face her, his expression growing intent. “I picked up on something odd at supper, and I went to tell Beluviel about it earlier this evening, but something stopped me. There were several people present along with this one man who caught my attention. I’m pretty sure he messed with my head. I remember thinking he was one of my best friends when I know I’ve never met him before. He was in my dreams too.” Scorching gold eyes turned murderous. Dragos put a hand on her shoulder, gripping her tightly as she finished, near to tears. “I didn’t say anything to Beluviel that I had originally intended. I just remembered that.”
Calondir, Ferion and the other Elf were watching her closely as well. Calondir said, “Amras is one of our ancients and adept at persuasion, along with other arts. Do not take the burden of this onto your shoulders. It does not belong there.”
The muscles in Dragos’s body had coiled dangerously tight, but his hand was very gentle as he touched her cheek. She felt the brush of his Power along hers, sliding hot and possessive along her cooler energy. Coming up next to the reality of him was an intense shock to the system after the slightly unreal dreams they had shared. It felt like a feast after she had starved for days.
“I do not sense any lasting influence,” he murmured. “But I would like to check more deeply later.”
She could see out of the corner of her eye that all three of the Elves were staring at Dragos as though he had sprouted two spare heads. She had grown used to seeing that expression on other people, and she chose to ignore it. Instead she focused only on Dragos just as he focused on her, and for one fleeting, enchanted moment they shut out the entire world.
She told him, “I dreamed that I went to look out the window and saw that stars were dying. He was there and he said ‘nothing shines forever,’ along with something about paving a way to some kind of new age. This is what the Oracle prophesied, isn’t it?”
Dragos smoothed a strand of her hair back. “It sounds like it.”
It was possible that the search parties would find many more survivors than she believed they would. But even if they did, the Elves had suffered a devastating blow. More people had been asleep than had been awake. The number that might be able to cross over with Calondir and do battle to recover those who were taken would be pitifully small. They prepared for a suicide mission, and she could tell by the High Lord’s expression that he already knew it. Then those that remained would be lost, along with Beluviel and so many others.
And while the concept of the Deus Machinae was new and strange to her, barely more than a passing story, she was pretty sure that it wasn’t a good idea to let one stay in the hands of someone who could willingly cause so many deaths.
She took Dragos’s much larger, harder hand in both of hers. “You know we have to help them, don’t you?”
He turned his hand and curled his long fingers around hers, squeezing lightly.
He said, “I have already summoned the Wyr.”
He had summoned the Wyr as he raced toward a magical fire that destroyed the Elven Wood and lit the night sky for miles.
The Deus Machinae were only dangerous in proportion to the Power of those who wielded them. When they fell into the hands of those with little Power or no real understanding of what they possessed, the Machinae influenced the world in subtle ways.
The last time Dragos had seen a Machine was almost two hundred and forty years ago. Although he had not touched it, he was fairly certain it had been Hyperion’s, the god of Law. At the time it had appeared in the shape of a quill pen, and one of the most famous human lawmakers in American history had used it to sign the Declaration of Independence.
Now an Elf wielded one of the Machinae again. Only an ancient Elf with an affinity to the elements had the Power to use a Machine to such devastating effect on the environment, and he was NOT GOING TO LET THEM tear the Earth apart again.
The fire had killed the spirit of the Wood. He spared a thought for how that would sadden Pia, as he reached out to Monroe telepathically.
You will call Graydon, he said to the startled gargoyle. Tell him to halt the Games. The High Lord has been attacked, and the Elven Wood is broken. Graydon is to bring a hundred of our strongest, as fast as he can. As soon as you deliver that message, get your ass back to your unit.
Yes, sir, Monroe said. The gargoyle sounded much calmer than he had when he’d answered Pia’s cell phone. I’ll be right there.
Then Dragos raced toward the fiery horizon, willing Pia to be safe with every ounce of his energy. Even though he spoke to her telepathically, his world only settled into rightness when he laid eyes on her. She was bedraggled, sweaty and smeared with ash from the fire, but she was calm, and despite the streaks of blood on her clothing that caused his heart to pound in heavy slugs, she was unharmed.
Now as she looked up at him with such earnestness, he knew what was going on in her mind. She counted the cost of the Elves’ struggle in the lives they lost, and she responded to that loss out of compassion.
He did not share her compassion. As far as he was concerned, the Elves could keep killing each other until they wiped themselves off the face of the Earth. But she would always be finer than he was, and more generous.
His gaze shifted to Calondir. “My people will be here in just under two hours,” he said. “Accept our help or not as you choose. But you and I both know that you do not have the strength to confront another one of your ancients if he is wielding a Machine.”
He watched with interest as Calondir struggled. It was not his job to ease the High Lord’s path or make him feel better. He did not bother to point out to the Elf Lord that he had already summoned the Wyr because he was going after Amras Gaeleval whether Calondir accepted his help or not.
Like Constantine, he never pulled his punches.
“I accept,” Calondir said. Ferion and the other Elf stood beside the High Lord, their postures and expressions eloquent with bitterness and resentment, but they also clearly recognized the necessity for a Wyr alliance for they said nothing. Calondir told his two lords, “We will cross over when the Wyr have arrived.”
Just then two runners, a Wyr and an Elf, came back from the search party with a preliminary report. The loss of life was devastating but not a surprise. The big news was that much of the main building was still intact, as a group of Elves had banded together and used their combined Powers to slow the progression of the blaze.
“There are a lot of survivors,” said the Elven runner, who was a slender girl. She had a tear-streaked face and short, fluffy brown hair that was dyed blue at the tips. “There are many more alive than we had feared. Healers have set up a station in the main hall to tend to the wounded.”
The three Elven males’ expressions lightened. Calondir said, “Survivors, shelter and supplies. It is the first good news I have heard this whole gods-cursed night.”
The Wyr runner was one of the males, the magic user of Pia’s guards. He had tightly coiled muscles, strong, high cheekbones and restless dark eyes, and his spark of Power glowed steady and strong. Dragos was interested to note that the male did not look at him but at Pia when he spoke. “They also captured several of the attacking Elves and are holding them in a secured area, but they won’t let any of us near enough to examine them.”