Page 28 of Forged By Malice (Beasts of the Briar #3)

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Keldarion

T he mechanical lift stutters down into the darkness. I stand in my fae form beside my uncle, neither of us speaking. My heart pounds with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. I’m dressed in the heavy fabrics made specifically for the Deep Guard, which blocks out most of the cold.

I’m familiar with Cryptgarden, but the rest of the Below, I’ve only heard about in stories. Irahn’s stories … and Caspian’s.

Memories threaten to take over my mind: the feeling of nimble fingers pushing hair away from my brow, the teasing whisper. The dark hides things even a Winter prince should fear.

Gears grind and chains clink in a discordant symphony. Thankfully, Irahn begins to speak, tearing me from my thoughts. “This is a lost world, boy. In the Badlands, the elements conspire to torment both our body and soul. But it is nothing compared to the chasm. Only in our unity can we survive. Each step we take, each blow we strike, is a testament to our resolve to the realm.”

“It would be my honor to serve among the brave men and women of the Deep Guard,” I respond.

Irahn laughs, a sound as hard and grating as the gears. “Things like honor and glory have no place in the chasm. Chasing after honor will only bring you death.”

Torches flicker by as we descend. Deep Guard fae walk along wooden parapets, carrying swords, spears, bows, and knives. They’re armed to the teeth.

A strange sensation lifts through the pit of my stomach as we plunge deeper. I instinctively grasp the cold railing, seeking an anchor. Every level that goes by is marked by a jolt, a brief pause, before the descent resumes. The temperature seems to drop with each passing moment.

We shudder past a cave opening, and a roar sounds from within. I turn to my uncle, eyebrows raised. He shrugs. “One of the guards assigned to this level will handle it.”

“And what level are we going to?”

Irahn grimaces. “We’re going beyond where there are levels.”

I roll my shoulders and feel for the Blessing of Winter. A deadly sharp ice blade grows in my hand. Just in case.

One by one, the torches along the wall give out. Irahn strikes a match and lights a lantern attached to the lift. Now, there is only a dim bubble of light.

The seconds stretch into eternity. The jolts signifying various stops come further and further apart. Finally, Irahn pulls a lever; a metallic screech erupts through the air as the lift clangs to a stop on the edge of a rocky cave opening.

I blink. There’s light here, but not from torches. Ghastly green lines scar their way through the cave, leading deep into a tunnel. A green I will never forget: the same glow that came from the traitor Quellos’s crown. Was he truly harnessing the same magic that created this place?

Irahn is terrified of the monsters in this place. But I’m terrified of the magic that created it. Memories fly through my mind’s eye: green flames flashing in a purple gaze as Caspian weaves me a legend of a terrible god from beyond even our own stars. One that doesn’t just conquer cities, but entire worlds. Is this magic the same?

Irahn stretches his neck from side to side. “Won’t be long now. They don’t like the sound of the lift,” he says just as it clatters to a stop. Then he draws a broadsword from its sheath and steps into the cave.

“This should be fun.” I shed my clothing, the cold biting at every piece of exposed skin. Before I even have a chance to shift, a deafening roar echoes through the chamber.

Irahn flicks his gaze to me. “I’ve already buried my sister and my brother-in-arms. Do not make me bury my nephew, too.” Then the old fae raises his broadsword and roars back into the dark.

A colossal shape emerges from the shadows. A hulking figure of at least twelve feet, the monster’s thick muscles bulge beneath mottled gray-green skin. Its gnarled face is a twisted mask of rage, yellow eyes flickering with an inward fire.

In some ways, it’s similar to the goblins that plague our lands: the body like rotten earth, the jagged teeth, the malevolent anger in its gaze. But this creature is bigger than anything I’ve seen before. A cave troll.

A surge of adrenaline pumps through me. Tapping into my power, my form shimmers and transforms. Fur sprouts from my skin, my limbs elongate: the white wolf stands beside my uncle, hackles raised.

The troll stalls for a moment, taken aback. In its hand, it clutches a rusted claymore glowing with green light. Then it charges.

My body is the epitome of agility and grace as I run forward, drawing the troll away from my uncle. It drives down with the claymore, but I dodge, and the blade digs into the icy ground. Chunks of ice shatter against the cave wall. I strike back, jaws snapping at its forearm, tearing through sinew and muscle. Rotten blood spurts into my mouth.

The troll swipes at me with its free hand. I move, but the claws catch my haunches, cutting deep. But Irahn is there with his broadsword, slicing the back of the troll’s ankles. It bellows and wrenches the claymore loose.

Irahn and I flank the beast, and a strange elation rushes through me. I remember doing tours with him out in the wilds, fighting under his service as a young fae. The years have not dulled our coordination.

The troll swings its claymore at me again, but I anticipate its move, leaping over the blade. My uncle’s sword beams with ice magic. Like my mother, he was always adept in both blade and the arcane. He clashes his sword against the troll’s, but his magic sends a freezing burst of icicles right at the monster’s face.

Seizing the opportunity, I sink my teeth into its vulnerable leg, eliciting a roar of agony. The cave troll staggers.

My paws pound against the icy ground as I propel forward, leaping on to its back.

“Kill it!” Irahn cries. He unleashes another barrage of dagger-sharp icicles.

My fangs sink deep into the troll’s neck, severing the rotted life coursing through its monstrous veins. It gives a mammoth bellow of pain that weakens, becoming less of a roar and more of a lament. Then it topples forward.

I leap off its back, landing beside my uncle. The cave falls silent.

Irahn exhales loudly, then shakes his sword, scattering droplets of troll blood across the icy wall. “That beast of yours is quite something.”

“The beast and I are the same,” I rumble back, the wolf’s voice low.

“Come on.” Irahn gestures deeper into the tunnel. “More where that came from.”

I follow on silent paws as he leads me past the dead troll and into the cave mouth. As soon as we enter, the green lines illuminate a familiar sight.

Thorns. Thorns everywhere, overtaking the walls, the ground. Except these are all frosted over. A rough-cut path has been made through the brambles.

This chasm truly is my doing.

“That monster is only the beginning of the threats you’ll find down here,” Irahn says. “Without the Deep Guard, they’d pour up out of the chasm and make their way across the realms.”

“You see now I am capable, Uncle. Let me serve here in your stead. I will keep the monsters at bay. I owe the realms that.”

“I don’t doubt your skills in battle or even as a warden.” Irahn stops and turns to me. “But I will not take the stewardship.”

My heart hammers in my chest. “Why not?”

“You came to Voidseal to prove to me why you cannot rule. Instead, you have only shown me it must be you.”

I close my eyes. “My people would never follow a beast like me.”

Irahn places a hand beside my ear. I startle, realizing this is the first person to ever touch me in this form besides Rosalina … and him . One of the only people to ever look upon my wolf without fear. “Keldarion, nephew,” he says, “have you tried?”