But the woman had fallen to her knees beside the red-hair, and she was rocking and weeping and chanting in a broken voice,“Elfeya falla, Elfeya falla….”The imprisonedshei’dalin’s shaking hands hovered over the dying Fey’s body. For a moment, Melliandra could have sworn she saw a weak golden glow around the healer’s hands, but then the woman cried out and snatched her hands back to her chest.
“Ninnywit. You can’t weave with those bands on,” Melliandra chided. Not even the red-hair—who was as powerful a healer as any ever seen in Boura Fell—could work the sort of significant healing magic required to snatch a life back from the jaws of death when bound by so muchsel’dor.
As she hurried to the woman’s side, she dug a grimy hand into one of the hidden pockets she’d sewn in the folds of her skirt. Questing fingers brushed across a hard wad of bundled fabric. She pulled the bundle free and quickly unwrapped the layers of cloth to reveal a selection of crudely cut metal keys strung on a strip of braided leather.
The keys were copies of the ones she’d lifted from theumagiguards in charge of Master Maur’s most important prisoners in the lower levels. A bit ofsomuluspowder blown into one of the guards while he was sleeping had enabled her to relieve him of his key ring. She’d made an impression of the keys in a small clay tablet and returned the originals to his keeping before he woke from the drug’s trance.
For weeks, she’d used every opportunity to scrape and file bits of broken blades and dinner knives into keys that matched the impressions she’d made, taking care to tuck all thoughts and memories of her activity in that part of her mind she’d learned to shield from the Mages. She hadn’t finished copying all the keys yet, but she had managed to complete the one used for most of the lockable prisoner restraints.
Luckily for this newestshei’dalinprisoner, Master Maur had chained her in a set of those manacles rather than the magic-soldered ones that could not be removed by any means but Mage weaves.
“Let’s hope this works,” she muttered to herself as she fitted the crudely carved key into the keyhole and twisted.
For one tense moment, the key didn’t turn, but after a bit of jiggling, the manacle on theshei’dalin’s left wrist gave a quiet snick. Theshei’dalinhissed as long, sharp spikes ofsel’dorslid out of her wrists, leaving round, ugly boreholes that filled rapidly with blood when Melliandra removed the black metal bands.
The same key worked to release theshei’dalin’s ankle restraints as well, but none of the ones on the strip of leather fit the collar around the woman’s neck.
Melliandra cast a quick, grim glance at the body of Lord Death’s mate. She’d seen death before, too many times to count, and she knew the red-hair’s soul had already slipped free of her body. A few moments more and only the gods would be able to call her back in anything but demon form. “We’re out of time. You’ll have to weave with that on.”
The dark-hairedshei’dalindidn’t waste time on conversation. She simply dropped to her knees and laid her palms on the dead woman’s chest. Her hands began to glow.
Melliandra knew the effectsel’dorhad on those of Fey blood. There was enough Fey in her own bloodline that she couldn’t touchsel’dorfor long without feeling her skin begin to burn. And she knew that for pureblood Fey, the black metal’s touch felt like boiling, corrosive acid poured over their flesh. The sensation was even worse when they spun magic.
Despite the heavysel’dorcollar that must have felt like a yoke of fire around her neck, the dark-hairedshei’dalinmerely clenched her jaw and kept weaving until the weak glow Melliandra thought she had seen became a plainly visible orb of warm, shining, golden light.
«Her mate holds her to the Light, but she is passing through the Veil.» Theshei’dalin’s voice tolled in Melliandra’s head, powerful, resonant. She was speaking Feyan, but Melliandra had spent enough time around Master Maur’s Feyan captives to understand her. «She has descended too far into the Well for me to follow. I cannot save her.»
“But you must!” Melliandra protested. “If she dies, he dies. And I need him. He’s my only hope.”
Desperate, unthinking, she grabbed theshei’dalin’s hands and held them against the gaping wound on the dead woman’s bloody chest.
“Save her!” she commanded. “You must save her! Youwill!”
Without warning, the world shifted beneath Melliandra’s feet. Energy shot up from her belly and roared through her veins, throwing her so off balance she nearly toppled face-first onto the hard, cold stone floor of the cell. Almost instantly, a familiar sentience turned her way.
“He knows we’re here!” Melliandra snatched her hands back from Lord Death’s mate, grabbed the other healer by the shoulders, and flung her towards the shadowy corner of the cell. “Don’t move! Don’t speak!” She threw herself in the opposite direction, turning quickly so that her eyes were focused on the rough, carved surface of the black,sel’dor-veined walls. She raced to stuff the memories of her plans and activities behind the invisible barriers in her mind. She barely managed to shove the last thought into hiding before she became aware of the oily darkness, the oppressive pressure of another will bearing down upon her own.
She stared at the black wall and filled her mind with dull, lifeless thoughts of drudgery and subservience.
«What are you up to, umagi?»
The question surprised her. Usually, when the High Mage’s mind scoured hers, his will felt like a thousand prying fingers, poking, prodding, ransacking her mind. This time, however, he felt much weaker. Perhaps Lord Death had been more successful than she’d thought.
As quickly as the thought bloomed, she buried it. «I was sent to collect a corpse, my lord.»
«Something happened, umagi. Show me.» The press of that icy black mind grew heavier, more insistent. Weaker or not, the Mage was still a powerful force, and she could not resist his will.
She turned slowly, keeping her eyes lowered, and let her gaze drift up the red-hair’s body until it came to rest on the faint rise and fall of the woman’s bloody chest, where the gaping wound from the executioner’s blade was already beginning to close.
«I was sent to collect this woman’s body,» Melliandra repeated, «but she isn’t dead, Master Maur.»
Eld ~ Boura Fell
“Enough.” Vadim Maur gave the healer kneeling at his feet a shove and pushed himself to his feet. Tremors shuddered through his frame. Lord Death’s scorching had nearly killed him, and the magic he’d expended to save his own skin had almost finished the job.
A large, loyal brute of anumagistood like an obedient dog beside the chair the High Mage had just vacated. “Lord Death’s mate is alive. Take this healer to her now.” The words came out garbled. His lips had burned away in Lord Death’s fire.
The brute bowed and grabbed the healer’s arm in one meaty paw.
