I dismount and move to clasp hands with the prince. “Welcome to Cruor, Ruvaen,” I say with no little irony.
He tips a silvery brow and takes a look around. From this vantage we command a view of the valley across which stands the Luin Stone. The golden glow of sunset casts it in jewel-tone shades, emphasizing the lush greenery and the bright curve of the river. “My, my,” he says, his tone musing. “Sothisis the hellscape everyone speaks of in such hushed, foreboding tones?” He turns to me again, his gaze too incisive for comfort. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
My welcoming smile turns to a grimace. “You’ve not seen thereal Cruor yet. That will come. Sooner, perhaps, than you will like.”
The prince feigns a shudder. “I shall await the experience with bated breath. But first—I have a gift for you, dear king.” With that he reaches into the front of his robes and withdraws a strange talisman of human make. It is the size of a large man’s palm, a triangle of dark gold containing a rotating sphere. Miphates’ spell-writing etches that sphere. Even now, while it lies in stasis, the spell inactive, I can feel the pulse of mortal enchantment. I know what it is; I fetched it off Mage Artoris myself in my last campaign into the mortal world.
“There you are,” Ruvaen says, plunking the evil object into my hand. “One functioningobscuris-breaking talisman.”
I take it, turn the object around. It is still as incomprehensible to me as it was when I first saw it. I glance up, catch Ruvaen’s eye. “You have a Miphato? To work the counter spell?”
“Better than that,” he replies, and takes the talisman back, hefting it in one hand. “I’ve got a fellow who will bring the entireobscuristumbling down. It’s amazing what wonders the human mages can work if one can only find their pressure points.”
There’s something altogether wolfish in his smile. I don’t want to know what pressure he applied to his human captive to learn the talisman’s secrets. While I have no love in my heart for the Miphates, I am all too familiar with Noxaurian forms of persuasion.
Ruvaen’s gaze shifts suddenly away from mine, and his pale brows draw together in a frown. “Well now,” he says, “IthoughtI felta pair of eye-daggers trying to gouge my heart out from a distance. I did not expect them to be those particular eyes, however!”
He looks directly at Ilsevel. A sudden laugh, bright as shattering stars, erupts from his glamoured lips. He turns to me again, shaking his head in wonder. “So you couldn’t get rid of her after all! Who would have thought the proud Licornyn king had a taste for human flesh? I did wonder if there was a little something special between the two of you, when you spilled my Lord Lurodos’s guts on that arena floor for daring to say boo to the lady.” He surveys Ilsevel again, taking in the mount on which she sits. “And you’ve given her one of your precious unicorns? What other wonders has the power of love wrought upon your heart, dear Taarthalor?”
“Ilsevel isvelarin-bound to a licorneir,” I snarl, wishing I could wrench the prince away and force him not to so much as glance my bride’s way. “She is one of our own now.”
“Is that so?” Ruvaen turns to survey the other Licornyn riders, including Kildorath, who has followed him out through the gate. His gaze lingers longest on that warrior’s stern face, though it would take keen insight indeed to read anything in Kildorath’s stony features. “By the looks of things, not all your people share this sentiment.”
“And are all your people in accord with every decision you make or command you give?” I ask.
Ruvaen laughs again, a wolf’s bark of sound. “Why, of course they are! They know I’ll crucify them slowly over a pit of flames if they don’t. Amazing what harmony can be wrought with just alittle threat of violence along the way.”
I know better than to believe his blithe words. Ruvaen is a prince of Noxaur only, not a king. He does not hold absolute sway over his subjects, despite all his posturing, and is obliged to play intricate games to maintain the illusion of control. I’ve seen enough to know the truth and been dragged into some of those games myself.
“So,” Ruvaen says, turning to me once more and rubbing his hands with unsuppressed delight, “are you committed to this assault on the citadel then?”
“I am.” I lower my head, looking at Ruvaen hard from under the ledge of my brow. “And I would remind you, Prince, of your solemn vow to remove your forces from Cruor directly following the fall of Evisar.”
“Oh, naturally, naturally.” Ruvaen flicks a dismissive wrist. “I have no interest in your country, good king. I want only the spellbook.”
“And you shall have it, Prince. In exchange for breaking down Evisar’s gates and slaughtering any Miphates inside, you shall have your reward.”
“Good.” Ruvaen’s eyes flash with a haunted sort of look, one I cannot quite decipher. It’s there and gone again in a blink, hidden behind glamour and smiles. “Let us bring my warriors through then, shall we?”
21
ILSEVEL
Ruvaen has brought a large force with him across the worlds into Cruor. I find it difficult to calculate the numbers, but would guess there are at least five hundred foot soldiers, all monstrous fae with beautiful faces that scarcely mask the murderous cunning which rots in the center of their souls.
Diira and I keep a safe distance from the throng, with Halamar by my side, as the Licornyn escort their allies across the valley. Taar is not far from me—he doesn’t want me out of sight even for a moment. But he and the other Licornyn must keep riding a perimeter around the fae force in anticipation of thevardimnar,which must come eventually.
A pit of horror opens wide in my soul, threatening to drag me down into it at mere sight of those horrible beings. I fight against evil memories which take me back to that dark night atthe Grimspire, when Aurae was hauled from the prison cart and, ultimately, to her death. To relive those moments is anathema—I cannot bear it. I understand why Taar needs these allies, and I know he will never break through theobscurisand deliver his people from the Miphates’ hold on his world without Ruvaen’s help. And yet . . .
“This is wrong,” I whisper. Conviction tightens like a knot in my gut, and I grip the pommel of my saddle, afraid I’ll double over and be sick.
Diira’s soul-song shivers in harmony with mine. She feels the evil of this alliance as well. But what else can be done? In her song I hear echoing memories of the last battle on Agandaur fields, when the Licornyn attempted to break through theobscurison their own. I feel all the loss and bloodshed, the shattering of so many soul-songs which she endured that dreadful day. I bow my head, tears streaming down my cheeks as waves of sorrow fill my heart in response to her song. And I try to reconcile myself to the necessity of this alliance. But it is hard. It is very hard.
Taar’s tension is unmistakable, traveling along thevelracord between us. He doesn’t trust Ruvaen . . . but he feels the very existence of his people poised on the brink. The licorneir are dying off, the ilsevel blossoms fading from the land, the very world itself disintegrating back into the Unformed, which I myself have seen. All the territory not already plagued by thevardimnarwill soon become uninhabitable without the song of the licorneir to keep it alive andfertile. This alliance, this last desperate assault is the only chance remaining to Licorna. They must break through the Miphates’ defenses, storm the citadel, and close the Rift. Or they die.
So I hold my tongue, even as Noxaurians pour through the gate in waves, filling the valley with their crashing armor and the roar of hideous reptant steeds.
I miss Sylcatha. Though she’s a taciturn companion, I’ve come to depend on her quiet strength at my side. But she, though reluctant to part from me, is required to ride the perimeter along with the other licorneir. So I ride with Halamar, keeping as far from the Noxaurians as I dare. They cast me hungry looks, and whenever I chance to meet one of their fell fae gazes, I’m faced with ravenous desire. I don’t know if they long to ravish my body or devour the flesh from my bones. Possibly both. Simultaneously.
