Page 8 of Court of Talons
“Gent,” I say the forbidden name again, my voice still far too raspy to do more than die in the dusty air. Still, the giant Divh hears me. It cocks its enormous head forward and slowly, laboriously drags one foot away from me, then the other, its talons scoring deep fissures in the earth as I stagger fifteen more steps away from it. In that one small step, it’s now well beyond the stream, back amid the shattered trees, its movements almost tentative as its huge black eyes focus on me behind a central ebony horn.
Then it drops to the ground so heavily, I’m thrown several paces, crashing to the ground in a heap. The earth shudders with the booming impact of Gent’s knees as they flatten splintered tree trunks and dig into the ruined field. The goliath lowers its head, still watching me as it stretches its thick paws forward.
All at once, I finally understand what’s happening, and a fierce, unbridled wonder sweeps over me for the barest moment, forcing back the wrongness of all I’ve seen this day.
The Divh…isbowing.
Tome.
Chapter 3
Istare, transfixed, my throat clamped tight. The Gent I knew was big, yes. Strong, imposing. But this creature’s heart thuds in his chest with the sound of war drums, its breath pushes me back with the strength of a stiff breeze as it huffs through its fangs, its chin on the ground. Its outstretched claws are only a few scant paces away from me, each razor-sharp talon as tall as I am.
Someone steps close. The priest. “Place your hand on the warrior band, Talia,” Nazar orders, his words too loud, too harsh.
“I—” Grit chokes me; I can hardly breathe. Nazar grunts and grabs my loose right hand, slapping it to my left bicep. Another searing pain jabs me to awareness.
“Send it home,” he orders. “Home, Talia. Say its name to release it back to its plane. Now.”
“Go,” I gasp, turning back to the ferocious god before us, and once more speak the forbidden name. “Go back, G-Gent. Go home.”
The words are more question than command, but a moment later, all the air in the valley is sucked away. My hooded cloak whips violently around me as the Divh—the mighty, enormous,gloriously reborn Divh of the Tenth House—vanishes into nothingness.
Nazar catches me as I sway.
“Where is your brother?” he demands.
“I—what?”
I blink at Nazar, suddenly, damningly aware of what I’ve done, the crime against my family and the Light. More than one crime, too. More than one! I twist away from the priest, hiding my bloody, burned arm.
“Nazar, you have to understand,” I begin, my teeth starting to chatter. “I didn’t mean…I didn’t?—”
“Yourbrother,” he says again.
I turn toward the jumble of rock, all that’s left of the promontory after Gent’s passage, and point.
“There,” I finally manage. “He’s… I left him. There.”
Nazar nods, then glares at me. “The horses fled into the forest in the attack, Darkwing too. The well-trained ones will still be close. Find them and wait for me.”
“But the rest?—”
His face hardens. “The rest are dead. The men. Adriana. All of them.” He lifts a hand toward the distant tree line. “Get the horses. I’ll bring the boy.”
He strides away.
I turn a half step toward the forest but don’t move at first. Instead, I stare at the ruin of the clearing.
We’d ridden into this valley not an hour earlier filled with laughter and dreams. Now the valley is strewn with bodies—known and unknown, old and young, horse and rider alike. I pick out the dark green cloaks mounded over silent forms, and my stomach churns. Anyone who stumbles upon this clearing will know that something dire has happened to the Tenth House. Something terrible and final, an arrow through our very heart.
We’ll be attacked. There’s no doubt in my mind. We’re one of the farthest houses on the eastern border of the Protectorate, cut off from the larger houses to the west by mountain and forest. The marauders and brigands have already been worse this spring than ever before. If they hear…if they somehow learn…
Bile rises in my throat, and I stagger away, not stopping until I’m back over the crest of the destroyed valley and once more in the shadow of the forest. I strain toward its embrace, seeing death in every tree, every blade of grass, and almost cry with relief when I make out Merritt’s horse—and three others just beyond.
“Darkwing,” I snap, harsher than I intend. The horse’s head comes up, his eyes rolling as I grasp his bridle. Angrily wiping away my tears, I duck under Darkwing’s head and move quickly through the forest, securing any other animals I can find—whether ours or the marauders. I try not to think about the riders of these steeds, lying somewhere in the field behind me. I pull the horses together to wait.
By the time the priest reaches me, my brother in his arms, the entire valley has fallen still. Not even the birds chatter in the trees.