Page 17 of Revenge of the Elf Lord

The emblem at the middle of each rectangle was intricate but masculine. Two long swords with filigreed etchings down their centers crossed behind a golden helmet. Matching etchings were on the pointed cap and down the nose guard. What looked like vines twisted behind the weapons of war in a larger circle, and ancient Elven symbols scrolled within the vines.

The script resembled some he had seen in the tomes in his father’s laboratory, but he had no idea what any of it meant, nor did he care. He only wanted to deliver the girl to her parents and return to tracking his stepfather, who wouldn’t remain in Niflheimr for long. He kicked himself for his weakness and should have ended it years ago instead of putting Haman into stasis.

His gut tightened, and an urgency pushed him to leave the room. Never ignoring his intuition, which had been a hard-learned lesson during the Elven conflict, he turned, ready to push Shalendra and Castien back through the door, when the entire room erupted in a horrible cacophony of shrill screams and thunderous war cries.

He met Shalendra’s wide-eyed gaze. “What’s happening?”

“You were right. It’s a trap,” he snapped, not caring how harsh he sounded. His only thought was leaving before the fighting began. A loudwhooshwhizzed by his head as a long spear embedded into the wall in front of them.

Turning, he realized what he’d thought were decorations were actual shields. The first one straightened, the shield rising to reveal the Dwarven warrior wielding it. When the last shield rose, a room full of soldiers was revealed.

“I don’t want to stay here,” she said with a slight wobble.

“Ashia can’t help,” Castien whispered.

“But we can,” a male voice growled behind them.

A dizziness swept over him, locking Cyran in place. A black mist appeared, hovering just over the stone floor and covering their feet. It wound around their legs, inching up their bodies. A heaviness settled in his chest and shoulders like a heavy cloak as he gasped for air.

He instinctively reached for Shalendra, pulling her to his right side. With his other hand, he grasped the dwarf’s shoulder and held tight as the room spun, the shields turning into a swirl of bronze. What light remained faded, swallowing them in a sea of blackness, and a fiery pain seared his left side.

Moments later, a cold wind hit him in the face, stealing his breath when his body suddenly stopped. Using the toe of his boot, he pushed downward, thankful when the tip touched something solid. He blinked, and wherever they were seemed a bit lighter.

Their surroundings continued to brighten, revealing various shapes. He glanced along the horizon, but nothing looked familiar. The rolling contours morphed into hills, and a mountain range appeared in the distance, the tips disappearing in thick clouds.

A purplish hue tinted the sky. The orange sun peeked out from between the two tallest pyres. The moment it crested, golden light bathed the countryside and glistened over the nearby stream, which sparkled as if a million diamonds filled its depths.

Remembering the strange voice just before they’d apparated, he turned and met the gray gaze of the first man. Tall, with short black hair, the man sported a long, gray leather coat. The silver Celtic torque adorning the man's neck drew Cyran's attention. With an obsidian stone at its center, the design was elegant, with masculine lines as the metal swirled in a never-ending triquetra.

Cyran turned to the next man, and his brows rose in surprise. Equal in height to the other, this man’s head was shaved, and his skin darker. His black eyes had a depth, like fathomless pits seared into one’s soul.

Cyran forced his body to remain still, but he had an almost uncontrollable urge to run away. Strangely, the man had faint blue hieroglyphs tattooed on his forehead and the hollows of his cheeks.

“Are long leather coats a requirement?” Cyran tried to ease the oppressiveness with a slight grin, switching to his smart-ass self. “I guess only style is important since yours is gray and the scary-eyed dude’s is black. More importantly, why are we here?”

The bald man’s brow rose, and he glanced at his partner. “Scary-eyed dude? Maybe I should have a cartouche with that name instead of my own?”

The other man chuckled. “I don’t think that would be as impressive as the name Osiris is. Everyone recognizes that name.”

“Excuse me, did you say Osiris?” Shalendra tried to peek around Cyran’s chest, but he stepped with her, keeping her hidden. She punched his bicep, but he didn’t flinch. She punched his side again, her blue eyes spearing his. “Would youpleaselet me move, you big brute?” Her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of their surroundings. “Wherearewe? Who are you? Why did you save us?”

Osiris grinned at her, but the other guy laughed, which sounded more evil than pleasant. “No one here has anything to fear from either of us, although Arawn does tend to piss people off. Celts are not known for their civility.”

The Egyptian god smiled at her. “As you already know, I am Osiris, and we are in a long-forgotten realm in the Everafter—the Egyptian underworld where I rule. We were sent by your mother to make sure you were safe. I’d say our timing was spot on, don’t you?”

Arawn nodded, his smile disappearing as he turned his gaze to Shalendra’s. “That’s true. I’ve also been told I have a caustic personality and need to try to be nicer to people.”

He gave Osiris a quick sideways glance. “That is why I make a perfect death realm leader, although a few spirits are trying my patience. All the nice, quiet ones are taken, leaving me the whiny, annoying ones to deal with.”

Osiris’s black brow rose. “Now, who’s whining?”

“So you are both death realm leaders?” Castien's whispered tone demonstrated his awe and fear at facing the imposing gods. He nudged Shalendra. “This can’t be good to have two here at once. I’m not ready to die.”

She gave him a funny look. “You realize our pantheon is Norse, and Hel isn’t here. You’re fine.”

“Well, technically, the Elven world is an in-between place, so it depends on the beliefs one has,” Arawn interjected. “If you follow the Egyptian gods and goddesses, Osiris takes your soul. If you follow Celtic beliefs, I will welcome you with open arms.” Arawn leaned toward Osiris. “At least I would have a few spirits in Otherworld to rule.”

Osiris nodded. “True. I never thought I’d say this, but I miss holding court and listening to the complaints of souls.”

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