“Your licorneir—” Lathaira begins but Sylcatha cuts her off.
“That was no licorneir voice I heard.” She turns her head away from her mother, and her searching gaze falls on Ilsevel. For a moment every muscle in her body tenses. She tries to sit up, reaching for a sword hilt that is not at her belt. Then her eyes widen. She breathes out a single word: “Maelar.”
Lathaira jolts as though struck. “Daughter,” she says, her voice a sharp bark, “you hit your head when you fell. You’re not thinking straight.”
But Sylcatha pushes herself upright on the bed. With an effort she holds out her hand. Ilsevel flicks me a glance and, at my nod, steps forward, extending trembling fingers. Sylcatha catches themin a fast grasp, draws Ilsevel toward her, and presses the back of her hand to her forehead. “Atha-ha il almar. Alahir al athakhelin,”she intones, the Licornyn words rumbling deep in her chest. “My blood is yours. Behold your blood-servant.”
It is a solemn vow of service, spoken, not to a lord or a chieftain, but to a sovereign. It is the very vow Kildorath and the other Licornyn warriors swore to me as their king, an oath as ancient as the foundations of our world.
Sylcatha looks up then, still holding tight to Ilsevel’s hand. “Maelar,”she says earnestly.“You saved me from hell itself. I serve you now and no other, to the end of my days.”
Ilsevel gazes down at her, uncomprehending as this stream of foreign language spills so passionately from the lips of the woman who sought to kill her mere hours ago. Meanwhile Lathaira’s eyes fairly spin in her skull, darting from Ilsevel to Sylcatha to me and back again. Then she throws up her hands in despair.
“Very well,luinar,” she growls, turning to me. “You win. Tarhyn Tribe rides with you, one last time.”
19
ILSEVEL
The fighting force traveling across Cruor’s plains is more than double in size now that we’ve joined up with the Tarhyn. A greater sense of security permeates the atmosphere with the addition of forty-odd Licornyn riders. Some of these riders look very young indeed to my eye, but their song contributes tremendously to the circle of protection when thevardimnarstrikes, and the losses are significantly less each time.
Diira and I still are not permitted to join the circle. I know Diira’s voice would strengthen it significantly, but on that point, Lathaira will not budge. She has only begrudgingly accepted the will of the gods as made known through the results of my combat with Sylcatha . . . assisted, perhaps, by the fact that her daughter has declared she will kill anyone who dares lift a finger against me. The Tarhyn chieftain shoots me many a jealous glare, but she won’t cross Sylcatha.
I am grateful. How could I not be? Now I have two loyal guards riding with me outside of the main company. Halamar on his horse rides on my left hand, while Sylcatha and her large licorneir maintain formation on my right. Neither of them is chatty company, but I feel safe while flanked by their inexplicable loyalty.
My memory is a bit hazy when it comes to all that took place in thevardimnarstrike which interrupted our death match. I seem to recall throwing myself over Sylcatha’s prone body, squeezing my eyes shut, and singing in pure desperation. The darkness descended before Diira reached me, and, for a few horror-filled moments, I thought for sure we both were lost. But then Diira’s song burst around us, the pulsing light driving back the pressure of thevardimnar.My licorneir paced toward me, still heaving with the exertion of battle. She lowered her head, and I gazed into her eyes, seeing in their depths the fiery determination which had driven her to disobey me, to carry me out of that battlefield. And I couldn’t stay mad at her. Her disobedience no doubt saved my life.
So I leaned toward her, resting my forehead against her soft muzzle. Together we sang, and our song slowly increased the radius of light around us. Sylcatha’s licorneir arrived, singing a red, furious song as she searched desperately for her fallen rider. Diira’s voice shifted slightly, assuming a threatening tone as she braced herself over both me and the fallen warrior. But the other licorneir, bleeding from several wounds Diira had dealt her, saw her rider and how I held her in my arms. Almost resentfully her song shifted, morphinginto a harmony which blended with Diira’s voice. I found space for my own voice to wind between theirs, weaving a stronger protection around Sylcatha in her vulnerable state.
So we remained, physically close and spiritually united for the length of thevardimnarassault. As our song developed, we deepened our understanding of each other, until it seemed the songs we sang were always meant to be sung together.
I consider that song now, riding between Halamar and Sylcatha and watching the rest of the company from a little distance. Even from here, I can feel the minds of the other licorneir, the incessant music which radiates from each soul. And I recall how easy it was to get into the minds of those two licorneir, to compel them according to my will. That was a spontaneous act of desperation, done without intention. A mere reflex. But what if I were to attempt it again with deliberation? Not controlling the licorneir so much as taking command. Guiding them firmly but graciously according to my will. Would they submit to me? Would I want them to?
Dangerous thoughts. Surely to command so many licorneir is a power not meant for any one person, not even a gods-gifted. And yet I cannot shake the feeling that this is what my gift was meant for all along. I feel their songs moving through me, such distant voices, each a unique, burning star joined in the complex harmony of the cosmos. No one else hears it; only me. What a chorus I could make of those voices if only I dared!
The gods never bestow their gifts without reason.
Who told me that? I can’t seem to recall. It sounds like something Faraine would say, or maybe Aurae, devout that she was. I’ve never truly believed it. My own gift was so apparently useless: a knack for instruments, perfect pitch, and a vocal range seemingly without limits . . . what was the point of it all? A clever talent, useful only for the entertainment of my father’s guests.
But what if I was meant for more?
We spent last night in the shadow of Tarh Tower and rode out before dawn the next day. Since then thevardimnarhas struck twice more. I’ve seen little of Taar. He was reluctant to leave my side following the events of yesterday, but the demands of kingship draw him ever away from me. Thevelrais strained between us, and I know it hurts him, sensitive as he is to this uniquely Licornyn magic. He will return to me as soon as he is able. Of that, at least, I am certain.
The sun is well set before we stop at last for the night. Sylcatha and Halamar remain close to me, as they have throughout the day, two silent and forbidding figures. They prepare a fire, offer me food, and crouch close by, watching me covertly with curious, wonder-filled eyes. Like I’m some sort of mystery they cannot quite fathom. It’s unnerving to begazedat like this, particularly by a woman who literally attempted to strike the head from my shoulders only yesterday.
Exhausted by the long silence, I crumble the ume cake in my hand and cast Sylcatha a sidelong glance. “So,” I say, in what I hope is a conversational tone, “have you ever . . . fought with Halamar before?”
Sylcatha glances at Halamar and frowns. Unlike most of the Licornyn I’ve met, she isn’t at ease with human languages, apparently. Halamar translates into Licornyn, and Sylcatha nods then addresses me again, stumbling slightly over the human words. “We are not enemies,” she says.
I frown. Something apparently was lost in translation. “I mean,” I clarify, “have you ridden together? Into battle. As . . . as companions.”
Halamar once more translates in his low, rough voice. Sylcatha nods then answers with more confidence. “We are not friends.”
I breathe out a blustering sigh through my lips. Well, I suppose that’s that. Sylcatha doesn’t seem to like sitting close to Halamar, and keeps the fire between them. I get the impression she is repulsed by hisvelrhoarstate, as though the condition were contagious. Her licorneir lingers close by. All the licorneir are cleaving to their riders the deeper we progress into Cruor.
A little flicker of gold catches my eye. Thevelracord lights up and tugs, dragging my attention away from the fire. I peer into the darkness, my heart suddenly light with anticipation. A moment later Taar and Elydark step into the glow of the fire. A glad cry on my lips, I leap to my feet and rush to him. He dismounts, folds me in his arms, pulling me close, without a care for any watching eyes. I lean into his chest, listen to the sound of his heart, and simply breathe in the nearness of him.
“I wish you would kiss me,” I say after some moments, the words muffled against his chest.
