Free Unchained, the Dark Forgotten (2010) by Sharon Ashwood Page B

was back on his feet. The changeling circled, its gait oddly crablike. Hunched, bald, barrel-chested, it looked frail and slow. It was anything but. Now it had picked up the goblin’s knife.
    Blood stained its maw. Stewart’s blood.
    “Who sent you?” Reynard demanded, more to buy time than anything else.
    The thing hissed and pounced; Reynard ducked, bringing up the sword to block and turning into the motion. Not the most elegant move, but it put cold steel between his flesh and those needlelike fangs.
    As he planned, the changeling landed against the sword’s honed edge. For the second time that night, Reynard felt flesh give under the blade. Claws tore at Reynard, raking through his hair, down his sleeve. The changeling staggered back, wrenching free of the sword’s bite. No scream of pain this time, just a wheezing gurgle.
    Reynard straightened, raised the sword again. The changeling tripped on Stewart’s body, then fell backward.
    Reynard took its head with a two-handed blow, feeling the crunch of the spine vibrate through the blade.
    Lungs heaving, he stood a moment, half- drunk from the sheer savagery of the fight. Then he dropped the sword and pushed the changeling’s body aside.
    Mac was suddenly there, kneeling beside him. “Is that Stewart?”
    Reynard felt for a pulse, his own heart racing in his ears. Hot blood made his fingers slippery, frustrating his search. “I can’t tell if he’s alive.”
    Then he found it, weak but steady. Reynard felt a tremor down his limbs as the tension he’d been holding released a notch.
    “You saved him,” Mac said.
    “Barely,” Reynard replied.
    Mac shot him a look. “Taking on a goblin and a changeling at the same time? That was damned near suicidal, even for you.”
    Reynard shrugged, allowing himself a moment of cold satisfaction. “I knew you’d catch up eventually. Now let’s get this boy to a doctor.”

    The chambers of Miru-kai, prince of the dark fey, were farther into the Castle than the guardsmen’s quarters. The prince ran, invisible and fairy-fleet, through the darkness and torchlight. He had his prize from the guardsmen’s vault. All that remained was to avoid the fire demon and the old fox. Along the way, he met up with his guard and ordered them to delay any pursuit.
    They obeyed at once, not just because Miru-kai was their prince, but because he led them well. He never gave them instructions without a reason. The respect between them was mutual.
    That taken care of, he ran all the harder, because he was running to a problem, not away from one. Fear of something far worse than capture nipped at his heels.
    Miru-kai slowed to a princely pace only when he was through the tented encampment that guarded his territory. Behind the rows of silk structures, faded and tattered by time and war, was the cluster of stone chambers he called home. There lived the court of the dark fey.
    Outside his great hall, tusked goblins stood sentry. He waved them aside. The room was furnished with cushions and stools, a nomad’s quarters. Easily packed, quickly moved. Such was the life of a Castle warlord, where borders wavered on the edge of a sword.
    Surprised, the courtiers in the hall jumped up from their cushions, making a hurried bow as Miru- kai passed. He gave a distracted greeting, barely slowing his stride.
    His destination was farther on, in a bedchamber next to his own. A servant woman sat outside the door. When she saw the prince, she rose, curtsying low.
    “How does he fare?” asked Miru-kai.
    “There is no change, my lord prince.”
    Miru-kai nodded and passed her, entering the cool, dark room. He picked up a candlestick and blew lightly on the candle. Flame blossomed from the wick. He stood a moment, using his hand to shield the light from the figure sleeping in the bed. It was an old, old man.
    A mix of sorrow and fear twined around Miru- kai’s heart. Each breath the sleeper took seemed too loud, too wet. Age was drowning him with each tick of