Inferno of Darkness (Order of the Blade) Read online

  Someone moved behind her, and she spun back to Rohan, who had risen to his feet. Despite Dante’s claim, she could feel the darkness of his soul, and she stepped backward, holding the dagger higher. “We don’t have time for this,” she shouted at him. “Dante’s your friend! We need your help! Don’t you feel anything toward the man who helped keep you alive through a century of hell?”

  Rohan went still. “I feel enough,” he said, his voice like the edge of a cold knife cutting across her mind.

  “Do you? Then help us!” She ignored Dante’s restraining hand on her arm. It was just too much to deal with, the idea of losing him, of losing it all, of failing on so many levels. “Just help us!”

  “Wait a second.” The fiery warrior hadn’t moved, though the fire on his flesh had thickened, raging off him. On his arms were the black Calydon brands in the shape of an ancient sai. His eyes were glittering with anger. “Who tried to kill you?” he asked her, his voice low with fury, laced with deadly intent. “Who was it that almost killed an innocent? A woman?”

  Chills rippled down her arms at the intensity of his expression, and the rawness of his face. There was so much anguish and torment in his eyes that his entire body was trembling. “I—” She paused in her answer, suddenly unsure what the truth would unleash from this warrior. Her gaze slid inadvertently to Rohan, then back to the younger warrior. “Why?”

  “It really was him?” Zach spun toward Rohan, and a fireball appeared in his hand. Rage flared in his eyes, outrage that seemed to scream through the night as he reared back to whip it at Rohan. “You bastard! You killed an innocent—”

  Rohan pointed his index finger at Zach. Blue light exploded from his finger and smacked Zach in the chest. The warrior flew backward and crashed into a tree. “Shut up.” He turned back to Elisha, ignoring the younger warrior’s groan of pain.

  “What is wrong with you?” Elisha snapped at Rohan as she started to run toward the downed warrior, but Rohan caught her arm and jerked her back.

  “The queen’s darkness must be stopped,” he said, his voice biting and relentless. “Dante must destroy the sword. It is the only way.”

  “Let her go.” Dante jumped between them, the sword of the queen’s darkness pointed at Rohan’s neck. “Don’t touch her.”

  Elisha’s heart began to thunder at the raw intensity of Dante’s voice. His body was rigid and tense, his eyes blazing with anger that was on the edge of taking him. “Dante,” she said softly, fighting to keep the panic out of her voice. “It’s the sword, turning you against him—”

  “No. It’s the fact he’s hurting you, and he won’t back off.” He glanced at her. “You come before the veil, Elisha. Always.”

  Her heart softened at his words, at his commitment. “Aren’t you supposed to be a warrior?”

  “Yeah. I’m your warrior.” And with those words, he wrapped his free hand around hers and turned to face Rohan, his sword still at the other warrior’s neck. “But I’d sure like to save the world, too.”

  She was too tired to fight him anymore, too exhausted to play the martyr and tell him to let her die. She didn’t want either of them to die. She wanted it all to work out, somehow, someway. “Rohan,” she whispered. “Help us.” She knew that the darkness of the nether-realm flowed strongly through him, strong enough that he might indeed have a way to help them, if he chose.

  For a long moment, none of them moved, then finally Rohan released her arm and held up his hand in a silent statement that he would not try to hurt her for now. “Those runes are barely working,” Rohan said softly. “They’re not going to hold.” His gaze went between them. “The pull between the two of you is too strong. You’re going to trigger the sheva fate.”

  “It will hold.” Dante lowered the sword from Rohan’s neck, but kept it pointed at him. “If I destroy the sword, Elisha will die. How do we stop that?”

  “There’s no way to stop it, Dante. You’ll die the minute the flames take you. You won’t be able to destroy it.” Elisha’s fingers tightened around the Blade of Cormoranth as the truth hit her. If Dante had no chance of destroying the sword, then she couldn’t let him go in there. She looked down at the blade, and shook her head. How could she kill him? How could she stop him? “There’s no way you’ll survive the fire long enough to make any choices, even if there are any,” she whispered. “Rohan doesn’t matter.”

  “No? I say there’s a way.” Dante looked past her, still clasping her hand. “Zach,” he said to the warrior who was still sprawled on the ground, his hand pressed to a blue, glowing gash on his chest. “Can you protect me against the fire? Create a shield to allow me to climb up there?”

  “Us,” Elisha corrected, her heart leaping with sudden adrenaline. Was there really hope? Between all of them, could they do it? “You need me. You’ll never find the inferno on your own.”

  Dante glared at her. “I won’t endanger you—”

  “It’s not your choice. I care about this world, too.” She looked at Zach, at the fire still pouring from his body. “Can you do it? Can you help?”

  He looked at the mountain, and for a brief second his eyes seemed to glow red, reflecting the flames. “If I don’t, what happens?”

  “The queen’s darkness will be unleashed into the world, and then will infect it with its poison.” Dante said. “It will destroy this realm.”

  “And curse it,” Rohan added.

  Zach’s face darkened with the anger she’d seen earlier. “And innocents will die?” He asked the question of her, as if he didn’t trust the men.

  “All of them,” she whispered.

  Soul-deep pain flashed across his face. “Fuck that.” Still crumpled on the ground from Rohan’s attack, sudden energy seemed to leap through him. “You tell me what you need, and I’ll make it happen.” He surged to his feet, staggering slightly. “No more death,” he growled. “No more innocents die. Ever.” Fire began to lick at the ends of his hair, flickering violently.

  Dante looked at Rohan, his jaw tight with determination. “We can get in. How do we protect Elisha from dying when I destroy the sword?”

  Rohan looked back and forth between them. “After you sever the veil, I will hold it together to give you time to destroy the sword.”

  Elisha frowned at him. Yes, she knew that he carried with him some of the energy of the nether-realm, but holding the veil together was different. “That’s impossible. No one can do that—”

  Rohan swung his head to look at her. Slowly, he raised his right hand. Crackles of blue electricity seemed to leap across his palm. He reared back and hurled the light at the burning mountain. The light hit the peak, and an eerie wail cut through the night, as the mountain screamed its pain. The lava turned blue for a split second, before reverting back to orange and red. “It is what I do, princess.”

  And then she knew. She could hear it in his voice. Even if there was a way, he was not going to save her life when Dante destroyed the sword. He didn’t want her to live. He would hold the veil closed to protect his earth, but he would not save her life.

  Dante swore and caught her arm, apparently drawing the same conclusion. “There has to be a way to save her,” he said. “What is it? You know all about the nether-realm and the queen’s realm. What is the key?”

  Rohan’s head bowed, as if he were looking at Dante’s cursed foot, then slowly he raised his head again. “There is no key,” he said quietly. “The choice must be made. Sacrifice one innocent for the greater good, or save one innocent at the cost of all others.” His gaze seemed to bore into Dante. “Will you sacrifice one innocent to save the others? Act for the greater good? That is your father’s legacy, Dante, his words, the mission of the Order of the Blade as it was meant to be. Will you fulfill your birthright, or will you save one woman and destroy the earth?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Dante’s skin went cold at Rohan’s challenge. It was a brutal cold that went right to the marrow of his bones. Sacrifice Elisha to save others? Sacrifice t
he world to save her? Neither was okay. Neither option was acceptable. “No,” he said. “No! There has to be another way—”

  The mountain exploded with another loud roar, and suddenly his hand burned with fire. A fierce, raw rush of power flooded him, and he involuntarily turned toward the mountain. Fire tumbled toward him, catapulting down the rocky sides. The sword began to pull at him, dragging him toward the fire. Unable to stop himself, he took a step toward the peak. Then another step. Swearing, he dug his feet into the earth, but his head was pounding with visions of death, destruction, and power. He went down to his knees, struggling to resist the pull, his body screaming with the effort of fighting the summons.

  Elisha knelt in front of him, clasping his face with her hands. “Dante, look at me.”

  “Elisha,” he croaked, searching her face. He saw the haunted depths in her eyes, the love shimmering on her face, and he knew the truth. He was not the man he needed to be to make this right. He had to spare them all the burden of who he was. “Use the dagger,” he gasped. “Use it on me now. I won’t let myself destroy you.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “You would die rather than save the world?”

  “I won’t be my father,” he gritted out. “Innocents won’t be sacrificed.” With his free hand, he slid his fingers through her hair, pulling her so his forehead was against hers. “One life is never less worthy than the other. I can’t sacrifice you—”

  “If you choose for me to live,” she said, her body shaking, “then you have made the choice of sacrificing millions of innocents to save one. Either way, you have to sacrifice someone.”

  “No!” Anguish tore through him, and he gripped her more tightly. “You can’t die!”

  Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “If I use the dagger on your successor, it will eventually kill me. I will no longer be here to protect the sword. I die either way, Dante, but if you fight for this, if you destroy the sword now, then it can end. Then my death is not in vain.”

  “Fuck!” Denial raged through him, anger and outrage that his father had won, that his father would still have a son who would take an innocent life for a greater purpose. “I can’t do this—”

  “You are not him,” she whispered, holding his face, her violet-blue eyes searching his. “He killed for his own pleasure. For his own power. He sacrificed innocents, but not for a noble purpose or the true greater good. You are not him, Dante.” She placed her hand over his heart. “You are good and pure, and your choice is beautiful. You must do it, and you know it, but it will never, ever, make you your father.”

  Dante locked his hand behind her head and dragged her to him, slamming his mouth over hers. He needed to kiss her, to hold her, to lose himself in her one last time. She was right. He knew she was. Sacrifice millions just to save one woman would be the selfish choice his father would have made. But to let her die… His throat tightened and he pulled back. “I love you,” he said hoarsely. “I love you, Elisha. With all that is left of my soul, whatever that is.”

  She smiled. “I know you do, Dante.”

  “We must go,” Rohan interrupted, his voice tense with urgency. “It is time.”

  Dante looked up at the warrior who had helped him survive so much. “What about our child? What will happen to him if Elisha dies now? If I die? Does his spirit have enough of a grip in this realm to survive without us?”

  “No. Not by himself.”

  Jesus. His child would die, too? A new wave of grief seemed to consume him. He looked at Elisha, and tears were streaming down her face, tears blackened with the soot that was drifting down from the mountaintop. She swallowed, then spoke, her voice trembling. “I’m not carrying him in my body,” she said. “If he needs us, then it’s only on a spiritual level. Since he came from both of us, either one of us surviving will be enough. He doesn’t need me. Just you.” She held his face, her hands shaking. “You must survive, Dante. You’re the only one who has a chance!”

  Dante shook his head, memories of his own mother dying flashing through his mind. “He will not grow up without a mother—”

  “I have to die,” she interrupted. “You don’t!”

  “What about my foot? Aren’t I dying, too?”

  They both looked down, and he saw that the curse had been working its way up his leg. His calf was twisted and mangled, and his knee was turning black. “I’m dying, too, Elisha.”

  She gripped his arm in sheer terror. “One of us must find a way,” she whispered urgently, her voice thick with tears. “One of us must! For him!”

  He had a sudden vision of Elisha dying, of their son fading into nothing before he was even born, and anguish ripped through him. Dante wrapped his arm around her and crushed her against him, fighting against the sudden pain in his chest. Pain so intense that it felt like a thousand knives were carving his heart out of his body. This was what his father had warned against. This kind of pain. This kind of emotion. It made a man weak. Vulnerable. It would force him to make the wrong choices, choices based on his heart instead of his mind. He needed to be the steely warrior, to hide the pain, to focus, to clear his mind so he could see his path. He fought it back, struggled to contain it, but it wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t get the pain out of his chest. He couldn’t rid his mind of the visions of Elisha and his son dying—

  There was a sudden scream, and Elisha was ripped from his arms. He opened his eyes to see her being dragged backward toward the mountain, her fingers cleaving claw marks into the parched earth. She screamed his name, her eyes wide with fear as she was torn away from him.

  “Elisha!” He lunged to his feet and raced after her, but the faster he went, the faster she seemed to go, staying just out of his reach. “Elisha!” he bellowed.

  “The call of the queen’s darkness is too strong,” Rohan said as he caught up, running hard beside Dante. “It’s summoning the sword, but since Elisha is from the same realm, it’s taking her as well. It’s calling back everything from that realm.”

  “Well, fuck that!” Summoning all his strength, Dante lunged for her and caught her wrist. The moment his fingers closed around hers, he was dragged off his feet, tumbling over the rocky terrain as the sword dragged them both up the mountain toward the raging fire.

  Elisha’s fingers wrapped around his, and she met his gaze as he righted himself, fighting for footing. His bare feet sliced over the rocks, and he swore as his cursed foot smashed into a sharp boulder. Ahead of them, the towering wall of fire got closer and closer, until the air was so hot that his flesh burned. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw that Zach and Rohan were far behind, unable to keep pace with the pull of the darkness dragging them forward. “Zach!” he bellowed. “Get your ass up here!”

  Elisha’s feet touched the fire, and she screamed in pain.

  There was a roar of outrage behind them, and suddenly a massive black and orange fireball tore past them and exploded around them. The flames of darkness shrieked in outrage and drew back, opening a path for them. Another human-sized fireball rolled past them and then exploded just in front of them, disgorging Rohan and Zach into the fiery inferno.

  Zach spun around and thrust his palms into the air. “This is for my family,” he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the raging din. Fire exploded from him, springing up in violent rages all around them until the four of them were encased in a raging bubble of safety, as Zach’s flames built a protective wall between them and the assault from the queen’s darkness. The pull of the mountain suddenly ceased, unable to penetrate the wall of fire that Zach had built around them.

  “Shit,” Rohan stared at him. “I didn’t think you could do it. That’s impressive as hell.”

  Flames were dancing in Zach’s eyes. “For my family,” he repeated. “No one else dies.” His words were thick with anguish and grief, twisted by the deaths of those he loved. The agonizing emotions were giving him power beyond what he should have been able to do.

  Zach was not a cold, reserved, stoic warrior like Dante’s fath
er had recruited for the Order. He was damaged, exhausted, grieving, and full of hate for those who had stolen what mattered to him…and that had made him powerful enough to hold off the queen’s darkness.

  Had Dante’s father been wrong? Were the warriors the Order needed actually the fucked-up, damaged men who had suffered so much loss that they bled their suffering into their every move? Was that what it took to resist the allure of power and be immune to corruption? Was the secret to be driven by a past so terrible that nothing else mattered but surviving and fixing that nightmare?

  Dante looked at Elisha, who had fallen to her knees, gasping for air. Her face was covered in soot, her hair singed on the ends, and her fingers still clenched around the hilt of her dagger. Fierce protectiveness surged through him. Was she his answer? Was she what would give him strength, like Zach’s family had done for him? Was he supposed to feel the grief of losing her and let it consume him? Or was his father right? Did he need to stay logical and focused in battle? Which was it? Which was it?

  The flames around them rose higher, and Dante felt the mountain begin to call him again, a fierce, pulsating summons.

  “I can’t hold it much longer,” Zach shouted. “We gotta keep moving!”

  Elisha was dragged a few yards across the ground, her fingers gripping the dirt as the queen’s darkness began to call her again. She looked up at him. “Find a way to live,” she said. “You must!”

  “Elisha!” Dante lunged for her, but his fingers closed on empty air as she was ripped off the ground and yanked through the wall of flames, disappearing from sight.

  ***

  There was no longer a choice to be made. There were no longer multiple options. There was no longer the opportunity for a clear, concise strategy. The moment Dante saw Elisha sucked into the vortex of darkness, his entire soul screamed for her, and all that mattered was getting her back.

  “Elisha!” he bellowed as he lurched to his feet. “Take me, you bastard,” he shouted to the sword. “Take me!” And with that, he dropped all his resistance to the weapon. The moment he stopped fighting it, its power swarmed through him, like a violent poison slicing away at his very soul. His will seemed to be sucked out of him, replaced by a compulsion to accede to the call of the sword.