Free Perfekt Balance (The Ære Saga Book 3) by S.T. Bende

that wench—I mean, that creature of
Ymir—going to hurt another soul.
    Especially not my friends.
    I pressed my pointer finger to my wrist and
murmured into the com. “Call Tyr.”
    And then I waited.
     
    * * * *
     
    When a
full minute went by and my arm was still just an arm, I gave up.
There was no sense in drawing attention to the com in case Runa
came back. It rang loud and clear on my end, a testament to
Mia’s älva dust-free design—the device worked even where dark magic
rendered light magic useless. My inability to make contact with my
brother must have been because of a problem on his end; maybe he
was still in the heat of his battle. I’d have to rely on my
abilities if I wanted a line out of here.
    I
grounded myself and set a protection around my aura. When it was
secure, I pushed my energy outward, searching for the mind
signature I knew almost as well as my own. All of Svartalfheim
looked the same to me, and I tore across mile after mile of
dark-sooted plain. An eternity passed as I scanned the ground for
my friends. I could have been traveling in circles, for all I knew;
the sky was the same black void as the ground. The only light
cutting through the Svartalfheim night came from the homes of the
occasional settlement, and the parliament building. Hold
on. The parliament building? If the map Tyr made us memorize after last night’s dinner
was correct, that would mean I was three kilometers due north of
our drop-in spot. If I could find the outcropping where Runa had
captured me, I could follow my friends’ energy trails until I
tracked them down.
    I pushed my energy south until I came to the
mountains. Once there, I shot over the range, intent on picking up
my brother’s blazing red energy trail of fury.
    I didn’t have to look far.
    On the cactus-strewn hill beneath me, Tyr,
Forse, and Brynn remained locked in battle with the outlaws who’d
conspired with Runa. Their auras were so dark I couldn’t get a
clear read on their strategy. The only thing I knew for sure was
that they fought to kill. Rage practically seethed from their
pores, the angry energy tainting the air with an unseemly
smell.
    All
energy had a scent. It explained why easygoing souls like Henrik
smelled like sunshine, protective souls like Tyr smelled like
redwoods, and peaceful souls like Mia smelled like lavender. And
right then, those dark elves filled the plain with the undeniable
odor of an evil soul…sulfur.
    I locked in on Tyr’s brain and entered
without asking permission, violating our self-imposed rule. The
minute I dove into his head, I remembered how complicated Tyr’s job
was. His brain monitored multiple scenes simultaneously, each scene
playing on its own screen like the inside of a mission control
room. On the right, Forse wrestled Tosk’s apparent
second-in-command—the dark elf wore an insignia on his jacket that
resembled Tosk’s. He threw Forse on the ground with the confidence
of a seasoned fighter. Forse rolled to the side, tucking his long
legs beneath him and jumping back before the second could deliver a
blow. When the dark elf crouched to attack, Forse leapt in the air,
delivering a front kick to the elf’s jaw that sent him reeling. The
second stumbled backward, howling as Forse threw a series of
punches that would have broken a mortal’s jaw. His frenzied attack
left me confident he had the upper hand, so I switched screens and
assessed Brynn’s situation.
    Brynn’s opponent was Bagatha—the white-haired
female. She gripped a thick blade in her hand, expertly deflecting
the parries of Brynn’s rapier with her much shorter weapon. Where
Brynn was the embodiment of power, a striking contrast of Asgardian
warrior and ballerina-like fluidity, Bagatha battled like a viper.
Her short, choppy strikes betrayed her rage, and each time she
advanced on Brynn it was clear she struck to kill. If Brynn wasn’t
such a seasoned valkyrie, I would have been worried. But I knew she
had this. She always