Page 28 of Bonds of Blood
I was younger, then, when I stumbled into a patch of vine-like abominations. They reached with appendages that had evolved as tendrils, but moved with the agility and skin-crawling slickness of tentacles. I remembered running as fast as my feet could take me, terrified by the thought of capture, restraint, of the tiny suckers at the tips of each of those tendrils draining my blood and my life force.
No one knew of my private terrors, save perhaps my sister Yvette. To lose my life was one thing, but to lose my mind and my freedom was another entirely. The sweat on my back ran cold as the chains approached, green and gleaming, writhing precisely like those horrible tendrils.
My heart raced with the fear of it, knowing how quickly and completely Baylor Wilde’s chains could work their dark magic. But they only probed limply at the air some distance away from my face, as if stopped by some invisible force, rendered impotent.
Suddenly I had a reason to smile.
I reached to my side, clenching my fingers and urging the nearest of the trees to lend me their strength. A flurry of leaves zipped through the air, each one aimed at Baylor’s throat. He twisted away, roaring in anger, a massive column of rock erupting from the ground to protect him.
“It should have worked,” he shouted. “My pact with Marina gave me power over him, some fragment of it passed through his blood. But why not his servants?”
“His friends,” I shouted back. “And in my case, his lover. Don’t you forget.”
My best guess was that the strength of the eidolon’s pact diluted as it passed down a generation. Perhaps it was never meant to work this way to begin with. Surely it was written in fine print somewhere in one of the summoning spells. Otherwise a summoner could claim entire dynasties of creatures for themselves.
How odd that Baylor had never figured that out. Perhaps he was banking on some flimsy glimmer of hope that siring an eidolon’s son would be enough to grant him control. Lochlann and I were a mirror of Baylor and Marina, except that I loved Lochlann as much as he loved me. For the briefest moment I considered the benefits of distracting Baylor Wilde by regaling him with the lurid details of just how hard and how often I loved his son, but that was far too vulgar, even for me.
I brought my arm to the other side, capturing the arc of my leaves as they drummed uselessly into the enormous rock he’d conjured, as harmless as drops of rainwater. I missed the first time. I wouldn’t miss again. I waved my hand, orchestrating a second angle of attack.
The column of rock blinked.
“Golem!” Namirah shouted, her voice turning into a hungry roar as the transformation took her. I caught her out of the corner of my eye, transformed into a lioness, one of her favorite forms.
The golem raised its arm, blocking the second series of cuts I’d hoped to make across Baylor Wilde’s throat. Ember pelted the golem with a salvo of tiny fireballs, aiming for its eyes. It bellowed and clawed at the air, protecting its face and attempting to swat at the fire sprite.
Bruna grunted as she hurled a phial at the creature. Glass shattered, the liquid darkening its body, then rapidly freezing into solid ice, fracturing its hulking form. I called on a hail of sharpened leaves to assault the golem, chipping away shards of frozen rock. Namirah growled as she leapt clear across the oasis, slashing at Baylor’s chest and sending him sprawling on the ground.
The golem vanished, Baylor’s concentration disrupted as he bayed in agony. A glisten of red. Excellent. The first cut of many. We’d have to work together to truly cut him down and set Satchel and Lochlann free. Fortunately, the four of us worked quite well together.
“How very, very annoying,” Baylor said through gritted teeth. He stood back up, clutching at the wound in his chest, crying out as his hand blazed with terrible green fire. Some sort of perverted healing spell, perhaps?
But when he reached out again, it was to wield Lochlann’s medallion. Its four gemstones shimmered in the light, those same four lumps of elemental essence that Locke and I had found together. These gemstones were our memories.
He held it between us like a talisman, as if this thing would protect him from us. I was much more interested in how we were meant to protect ourselves from the medallion.
“At least this works as I’d hoped,” he said through hoarse laughter. “Claiming ownership of the amulet is enough to exert authority. The genie in the lamp. King Solomon and his ring. Guardians! Come forth and defend your new master.”
Wind whipped through the oasis, accompanied by the rustle of leaves and branches, the gurgle of water, the flapping of great wings, and the piercing cry of a majestic bird. All of Lochlann’s guardians called out at once. The four of us fell back, wary and weary, yet unwilling to leave without our friends.
The good thing was how familiar we were with Lochlann’s guardians. It would be embarrassing for me and the others to admit that we didn’t know how to counter each of the elementals in turn. This would go well, possibly. The pain would be fleeting. Mostly.
I launched a new barrage of bladed leaves straight toward the kraken, hacking at its tentacles and rubbery hide with ease. I looked away, unable to stomach the violence required to dismiss one of Lochlann’s guardians. I prayed that the guardian would sense the apology in my heart. With a wet gurgle and a bubbling, plaintive cry, the kraken succumbed to its wounds and vanished.
Bruna swung a full leather belt of potions above her head, winding up before she hurled the entire thing at the phoenix. Before the great bird knew what had happened, a dozen freezing potions had splashed across its feathers, dousing its fires and killing it utterly.
Transformed into a hawk, her beak and talons gleaming with empowered magic, Namirah scarred the great ancient tree’s face with a crosshatch of deep, painful gouges, its sap dripping so freely that it clogged its eyes, its mouth. Again and again Namirah slashed into its bark until the sap flowed like blood, until the tree stopped moving completely.
Even Frederick the harpy did not recognize us, eyes aflame with Baylor’s green fire. His wings were very quickly aflame as well, set ablaze by a fresh pelting of fireballs courtesy of Ember. The harpy cried out in anguish, stuck between avenging himself by crushing Ember like a bug or dying a horrible, fiery death. He chose correctly, twisting in a spiral before vanishing in a cloud of burning feathers.
That was easier than expected. Perhaps even too easy, in fact. “Is that all you can muster?” I called out. “Is that all you’ve got, oh grand summoner?”
Baylor scowled. “I could call on my personal complement of eidolons to terrify you, princeling whelp. To rip you limb from limb.”
I didn’t answer, studying his face as I searched for the truth. He couldn’t call on them. Not now. He’d been too weakened by his wound, or too sapped of energies from the continuous effort of seizing the oriels, and then his son’s mind. Or perhaps maintaining his control over Lochlann was too taxing on his essence, preventing Baylor’s more dangerous feats of summoning.
“But worry not, Prince Sylvain. I have just thought of a more satisfying way to conclude this confrontation.”
He tugged on the chains still wrapped around his hand. Wordless, unspeaking, Lochlann fell to the ground. A beast. A pet. A dog.
