Erik smiled, appreciating her faith in him. “But still, it should have been done.” He planted a kiss in her palm, then retreated to their bedroom.
In the back of the walk-in closet was a hidden door, one that opened into a secret room. Here Erik stored the treasures he’d gathered over the centuries of his life. The room was defended with locks and dragonsmoke, secured against both men and curious Pyr, even though the most precious prizes were not to be found in this small room.
Erik knew that Eileen and his daughter Zöe were the true gems in his hoard.
Still, there was enough in the small space to make him feel his life hadn’t been wasted. There were piles of gold and silver coins, most old enough to be worth more as relics than for the weight of precious metal in them. There were gems and jewels, swords and blades, armor for both men and dragons. The room wasn’t small, but it was so packed with riches that there was only a small place to stand in the middle.
He considered the broken Dragon’s Egg, the large obsidian scrying stone that had been destroyed in the loss of the Wyvern, Sophie. He ran a fingertip along one jagged edge, remembering its discovery and knowing this loss had been another of his failures as leader of the Pyr. To lose both the stone and the Wyvern had been a serious blow to his kind.
But on this day, he’d come to apologize, not to brood. He moved coins and small chests aside, revealing a long box that had been hidden at the back of the hoard. He could almost feel the presence of Thorvald as he opened the case to reveal the gleaming sword within.
The Avenger of the Aesir.
Lost, broken, found and repaired.
But still not where it should be.
Chapter Nine
The Avenger of the Aesir was a long and heavy sword, so massive that only a man of Thorolf’s large stature could wield it. The blade was forged true and etched with runes to bless and protect whoever carried it. The hilt was bronze, simply designed, for it stole no attention from the pommel. That disk had been impressed with the most powerful rune known to Erik and his kind, the Helm of Awe.
The Helm of Awe was an insigil, a composite of individual runes resulting in an amulet. The Helm of Awe was a circle, with eight lines inside it, two intersecting crosses. In that, it looked like the points of a compass. Each arm terminated in a fork, and each had three crossbars halfway down its length. Erik found his fingertip tracing the incised line of the insigil, as if to draw protection and strength from it himself.
There was a dent in the pommel and several deep scratches in the hilt. They were all the evidence that remained of Thorolf’s rejection of this duty. They’d been buffed out by a master swordsmith but had been impossible to completely remove. Erik supposed the blade had to carry the mark of Thorolf’s refusal to be his father’s son. He hadn’t been surprised that after Thorolf and Thorvald parted, Thorvald had hunted the world for the missing blade.
He certainly wasn’t surprised that Thorvald had found it.
Although Erik had taken the blade in trust, and though he’d known the location of Thorolf for centuries, he’d never thought Thorolf ready for the responsibility of this blade and its burden. In a way it made sense that Thorolf had refused the task: he seemed incapable of fulfilling it, and no Pyr courted failure. Even when Thorolf had reappeared during Erik’s own firestorm, Erik had been disappointed by the other Pyr’s state. In fact, he’d been annoyed that Thorolf could have wasted so many centuries so frivolously, but Thorolf had shown little sign of changing his ways.
Or learning much of anything. Niall had tried and made some progress, but there was always another party—or another woman—to distract Thorolf from any serious study.
Finally, Erik had hoped to provoke the other Pyr into becoming the dragon his father would have wanted him to be. He’d rejected Thorolf and dismissed him. He’d hoped that the other Pyr’s newfound connection with his fellows and his hatred of Chen would have motivated him to work for a reconciliation. He had hoped that if nothing else, Thorolf’s firestorm would have prepared him for this duty.
Instead, Erik’s tough love had made the other Pyr vulnerable. Thorolf had been trapped and enchanted by Chen, turned against his kind when the Pyr hadn’t been there to defend him. Now, Erik’s promise to Thorvald could never be fulfilled.
Worse, the prophecy would never be fulfilled.
And the Pyr would be exterminated.
Erik had failed spectacularly.
“You never showed me that one before,” Eileen murmured from behind him. Erik barely glanced over his shoulder. She shouldn’t have entered his hoard without express invitation, but he supposed none of those old rules mattered much any more.
He lifted the sword from the case, struck again by its incredible weight. He had to support the blade on his palm to hold it horizontally when he turned to face Eileen. At his gesture, she stepped into the hoard, glancing about herself before bending over the blade. She lifted a finger as if to touch it, but her hand hovered over it. “These are runes carved into the blade.” She glanced up. “Can you read them?”
“Blessings and protection spells,” he said with a shrug, his gaze falling upon the Helm of Awe.
Eileen followed his glance. “But this one in the pommel is important.”
“The Aegishjalmur is the old name for it,” Erik said. “The Helm of Awe.”
Eileen looked at him, hard. “That’s in a story.”
Erik watched her with a smile, loving to see her mind at work. Eileen’s specialty was comparative mythology and she knew thousands of stories. He waited while she sought the right one.
It didn’t take long. She shook a finger at him. “Sigurd,” she said with satisfaction. “The dragon slayer.”
“He killed the dragon Fafnir to claim the Helm of Awe,” Erik said. He nodded. “Fafnir, the first dragon shifter.”
“A man turned to dragon to defend the golden treasure that was more important to him than anything else in the world,” Eileen said. She touched the pommel. “And Sigurd fought for this sigil because it gives power in battle, making the bearer invincible.”
“Giving the bearer the power to conquer with both physical and psychic force,” Erik agreed, eyeing the sword.
“And you have this, why?” Eileen asked. “Because you Pyr took it back?”
“A Pyr had this blade forged and used this ancient symbol to imbue it with power.”
“Who?”
“Thorkel.”
“Father of Thorolf?” Eileen guessed.
“Father of Thorvald, father of Thorolf,” Erik corrected. “At Thorolf’s birth, Thorvald was told that the Pyr would need to be saved, and that his son would be the one to save us, with this blade.”
“I’m guessing there’s a reason why you have it and not Thorolf.” Eileen’s fingertips fell to the dent in the pommel, and Erik wasn’t surprised that she’d noticed it, much less that she’d guessed the blade and its burden had been rejected.
“The story is not mine to tell,” Erik admitted.
“Thorolf must have had a good reason to turn his back on all of you,” Eileen mused.
“Thorvald died estranged from Thorolf,” Erik said, not really answering her. “I think it broke his old warrior’s heart to lose his only son. He entrusted the blade to me on his deathbed.”
Eileen folded her arms across her chest and studied him. “And now that you think Thorolf is lost, you figure you’ve failed to keep some promise to his dad.”
“Clearly.”
“Maybe he’s not completely lost yet,” Eileen suggested. Erik shook his head, but she continued. “Maybe this is his test, and your faith in his survival is necessary to his triumph.”
Erik stared at her in dismay as he realized her implication. “I can’t take the blade to him! I can’t imperil it!” Eileen held his gaze, untroubled. “If I refuse to put the Pyr in danger, why would you imagine I would sacrifice this blade, too? It’s our last hope.”
Eileen watched him with care. “But if the final battle is lost,
you’ll all be exterminated right? And if Thorolf is the one who’s supposed to avenge you, that seems unlikely to happen with the blade locked away here. You could end up being the reason he fails.”
Erik didn’t like the sound of that. He turned to put the sword back in its case. “I don’t think you understand,” he protested. “We could lose everything.”
“No.” Eileen interrupted him firmly. “I don’t think you’re seeing the situation clearly. It looks to me like you’ve got nothing left to lose.”
It was shocking to hear his worst fear given voice, and given voice by his mate. Erik looked at the blade, his gaze lingering on the Helm of Awe, then at his love and partner. “Losing it could make things worse.”
“Nothing could be worse than losing the Pyr,” Eileen argued with conviction. “You’re the basis for a thousand human stories. You’re the truth that our myths have their toes in. We are human because of our stories. If we lose our stories and their roots, the human race you’ve vowed to defend will be lost, as well.”
Erik had never thought of it that way before.
“If you act as if you believe you’ll win, then you will triumph.” Eileen reached up and touched her lips to his, her gaze searching his. “It’s a case of making the future you want. Think of this as the darkness before the dawn.”
“You think we’ll survive.”
“I have complete faith,” she said, smiling so that Erik believed her. “Every good story includes a test, and a moment when it looks as if good can’t possibly prevail.”
“Unless those in the story believe in their success.”
“Exactly.” She smiled as she unfolded a sheet of paper, then turned it for him to read the text. “This fax came for you earlier, from Lorenzo.”
“I thought the fax was for you.”
Eileen shrugged. “Oops. I guess I thought the moment wasn’t right.”
“A union of five will tip the scale
When the moon aligns in Dragon’s Tail;
This Pyr alliance can defeat the scheme
And cheat the Slayer of his dream.
Fulfilling a pledge long been made
Will put darkness in its grave.
Know Pyr and Slayer can share one curse:
A vulnerability wrought of their birth.
Keep the pledge and defeat the foe,
So the Dragon’s Tail brings triumph not woe.”
This Pyr alliance was underlined, then in Lorenzo’s writing, there were the names of four Pyr, including his own. Lorenzo. Erik. Thorolf. Brandon. It looked as if another hand had added Brandon’s name as well as Marco to the list. There were check marks beside Lorenzo and Marco’s names and a question mark beside his own.
Erik recognized that three of the others had been targeted by Chen. It was personal.
“Looks like there’s hope after all,” Eileen murmured.
Erik looked at the sword, determined to see it as an opportunity and not a failure. To his surprise, he was able to do it. He felt lighter and younger, energized by a new optimism. He had to join the others in Bangkok as soon as possible, and he had to take Thorolf the means to triumph. “How am I going to get this sword through airport security?”
Eileen only laughed. “You’ll find a way. You always do.”
* * *
There were more details than that to be arranged before Erik could leave. He knew he couldn’t take Eileen and the children with him, as carrying them into what would surely become a battle would only make them vulnerable. His departure, however, might leave them vulnerable here. He marched out into the living room with the sword in its case, planning quickly.
Eileen clearly anticipated his concern. “I’ll stay behind the dragonsmoke barrier with the children,” she said. “We’ll be fine.”
“No.” Erik shook his head. Jorge and Chen couldn’t cross his dragonsmoke barrier without permission, but they both had the ability to spontaneously manifest elsewhere. They could manifest inside the protective barrier of dragonsmoke. “That’s not good enough.” He closed his eyes and summoned Donovan, Quinn, and Delaney in old-speak. It wasn’t a command, but a request for their counsel, for they were the three Pyr closest to Chicago. He would have liked to have commanded all the Pyr to defend his mate and lair, but he had surrendered authority to Rafferty.
“The sound of subway trains when there aren’t any,” Eileen said, her hand on his arm. “What did you say in old-speak?”
By the time Erik sat down in front of his laptop, Donovan had already set up a Skype conference call and Delaney was signed in. Quinn joined them a moment later.
“Counsel about what?” Donovan asked, his manner wary.
“I’ve been trying to call you,” Quinn said. “But Eileen said you couldn’t be disturbed. Sara and I remembered part of the prophecy.”
Erik interrupted him. “I have it,” he said. “Lorenzo sent it to me.”
“Lorenzo?” Donovan echoed.
“I felt the firestorm,” Delaney said. “Whose is it?”
“First, I no longer lead the Pyr,” Erik admitted, noting their surprise. “I surrendered command to Rafferty, who has taken Sloane to Thorolf’s firestorm. Niall’s also on his way there. He’s probably already arrived.”
“Then Thorolf’s turned up again,” Donovan said with excitement. “That’s good news.”
“Not really. Something’s very wrong with him. He’s turning Slayer right before our eyes.”
“Sloane wants to heal him,” Quinn guessed.
“I fear it’s a trap, set by Chen,” Erik admitted.
“The firestorm could be his chance,” Delaney said immediately. “That’s why Rafferty wanted to help him, I’m sure.”
The firestorm had healed Delaney, destroying the Dragon’s Blood Elixir in his body. He’d been forced to consume it and it had begun to turn him Slayer, but Ginger and the firestorm—and Delaney’s own will—had allowed him to push back its darkness.
Erik realized that his concern was based upon uncertainty as to Thorolf’s will. He’d never seen that Pyr really try to achieve anything. In contrast, Delaney had struggled mightily against the Elixir and only just defeated it.
“Chen has to have a weakness,” Delaney said. “There has to be something we can use against him.”
“That’s what the prophecy indicates,” Erik said and read it to them. “I think an alliance of those with an affinity to air can defeat him.”
“What about the second part, about each of us having weakness in our past?” Donovan asked. “That has to be important, too.”
There was a beat of silence, because none of them knew much about Chen’s past.
“He has a brother,” a fifth voice contributed. It was a familiar voice but not one Erik expected.
Delaney’s expression turned to one of shock. “Marco! When did you get here?”
“It doesn’t matter,” the Sleeper of the Pyr said in his characteristically calm tones. He always sounded on the verge of sleep. “The brother is his weakness.”
Erik wasn’t convinced. “But I can sense us all, whether Pyr or Slayer…” he began.
Marco shook his head and smiled. “There are enchantments that take dragons out of your sight. Chen did the same to Thorolf.”
“But where is he?” Donovan demanded, just as Delaney jumped.
“Gone again,” Delaney said, then shook his head.
“We have to trust that it will become clear,” Quinn said.
“I have to take his father’s sword to Thorolf, to give him a chance,” Erik agreed. “But I have the children here as well as Eileen.”
“We’re on our way,” Quinn and Donovan said in unison.
“We are, as well,” Delaney agreed. “But I’ll leave Ginger and the boys at your place. I’m going to Thorolf, to help him any way I can.”
“Don’t imagine you’re going anywhere without me,” Ginger said, appearing behind Delaney. “Thorolf’s mate might need some help, too.”
* * *
&
nbsp; Thorolf’s mate didn’t think she needed help.
She certainly wasn’t happy, though.
On the upside, Thorolf was gone from the sanctuary. Chandra’s thoughts cleared immediately with the absence of him and the heat of the firestorm. She’d been angry with Thorolf and the firestorm hadn’t helped her to decide how best to proceed. She supposed that thumping him and chucking him out of her sanctuary hadn’t been the best choice, but to finally be so close to completing her quest, after centuries of preparation, and to be cheated of victory in that last instant had infuriated her.
She shouldn’t have talked to Viv.
She should have executed her immediately.
She considered that she’d been impulsive and passionate again, acting more like a dragon than a goddess. She refused to think that the firestorm was changing her. She was immortal. She didn’t change. Ever. And she wouldn’t for an annoying dragon shifter—even if his kisses made her forget everything she knew to be true.
She wouldn’t even consider that satisfying the firestorm might be worth it.
On the downside, Thorolf was gone. Chandra wasn’t entirely sure where he would have ended up after her forced eviction, because she’d hurled him out while distracted by the firestorm. Now that she could think straight, she feared that she’d put him in more danger again. She felt badly about that. That was the problem with trying to do two things at once. Without perfect concentration, complications happened.
She was never going to have perfect concentration so long as the firestorm burned. Even now, it tingled at the edge of her consciousness, as if it would guide her directly to Thorolf. Satisfying the firestorm would solve that, but at the same time would be breaking her oath.
Chandra had a feeling she was going to be choosing between better and worse instead of right and wrong for the foreseeable future. She didn’t have to like it. Compromise wasn’t one of her skills, but the firestorm might teach her to do it better.
She was standing in the familiar jungle of Myth, not far from the temple filled with skulls and ghosts. All around her on the ground were shards of the mirror she’d created to trap Tisiphone. The mirror was broken to thwart her victim’s escape from it, and the force of that magic had been easily put to work to expel Thorolf. Piggybacking the magic had seemed like a good idea at the time—when the firestorm had been addling her thoughts—like killing two birds with one stone. She liked that Thorolf’s collision with the mirror had broken it.