ILSEVEL
Though part of me wonders if I ought to remain in the saddle, I dismount and move to stand by Diira’s head, resting my cheek against hers. After a few minutes I turn and bury my face in her mane, trying to block out all memory of this day.
It’s no use. Vivid images flash through my mind. I see the Noxaurians, rabid on virulium, charging headlong into hell. I see their demonic faces, twisted with bloodlust, emerging again from that hell as though it were a mere stroll through the garden. I’m not sure which sight was more disturbing.
How can this be the will of Nornala?I sing to my licorneir, unable to find words for the doubts in my head, but channeling them in a language of pure song.How can Licorna be made freeby such evil means?
Diira’s voice moves through my soul: light and certainty and goodness. She has no answer, only her own belief that the ways of Nornala, though mysterious, must surely come out right in the end for those who live justly, according to the convictions of their hearts.
Yes,I press, my own mortal understanding struggling in the face of such enormity,but what does your heart tell you?
I think of the mage, burned alive in that storm of disintegrating magic. Did he deserve such a fate? Even if he did, was it right to inflict it upon him? But if they had not done so, if they had not forced him to work the spell, even at the cost of his own life, theobscuriswould still stand, and the people of Licorna would face the same doom which has loomed over their heads all these years. At least now, with the ruined city on the horizon, they have a chance. They have something akin to hope.
So I hide my face and let the tears come if they must, while Diira continues to sing to me, reassuring me of that one truth which she holds dearest above all others.I will guard and protect you, my Vellara. No matter what comes. Where you go, I go. If you bid me carry you into the very maw of hell, I will obey.
I scoff softly, a smile on my lips.You did not obey so well during that duel with Sylcatha!
If I had, you would be dead.
Fair enough.I wipe the wetness from my face and plant a kiss on Diira’s broad cheek.Thank you, my dear.
She sings back to me, a questioning lilt.
Thank you for giving me a place to belong.Again the greatness of the feeling inside me defies words, but I pour it out through our connection, a complex harmony, full and resonant.I’ve never had a place before, even among my own kind, even among my own sisters. I’ve always felt as though I was carved of the wrong substance. But here, in this world with you, I know that whatever I was intended to be is . . . right. I was formed with purpose.
Granted I don’t know what purpose I can possibly serve in the upcoming battle. Today I’d felt such absolute helplessness as I watched those great forces surging forward. I’d felt as well what a handicap I am to my husband. I bite my lip, wishing I could push that feeling away. Only two more nights remain untilsilmael,the night of the new moon. Craning my head, I peer up into the sky above, but whatever sliver of moon still lingers there is hidden behind dense clouds, and I can catch no glimpse of it. I breathe out a slow sigh. “Soon,” I whisper. “Soon . . .”
Suddenly a revolting series of cries rip the night. A wild, lunatic, cackling sound, bubbling up from a chorus of manic throats. I jolt upright, turning from Diira, and peer across the Noxaurian encampment, but can see nothing save dark tents and red fires. “What is that?” I ask, breathless.
Halamar stands close by, holding his gelding’s reins. He turns solemn black eyes my way. “Hobgoblins,maelar.The Noxaurians have brought hobgoblins with them. They’ve been heavily sedated all this while, but, by the sound of it, they are now awake.”
A chill crawls across the flesh on the back of my neck. I recall those covered carts I’d seen while traveling with the Noxaur host, and my belief at the time that they contained something dreadful. “What are hobgoblins exactly?” I ask, uncertain I want to hear the answer.
Halamar’s face is set in grim lines. “Basically if there’s any dirty work the Noxaurians don’t want to do for themselves, they turn hobgoblins loose to do it for them.”
“What kind of dirty work?” I can’t imagine the Noxaurians turning up their noses at even the foulest deeds.
“Not the kind you want to know about,maelar.” Halamar casts a look over his shoulder in the direction of the noise. “You’d best mount up,” he says.
“Why?”
“Hobgoblins are notoriously unpredictable. It would be better if you’re prepared to flee.”
I don’t need further convincing. Whatever is making that barking, yapping, yowling cacophony doesn’t sound as though it would fear even a licorneir in full flame. Diira kneels, and I quickly climb into the saddle, grabbing tight to a handful of mane.
She has just risen when Taar emerges from Ruvaen’s pavilion, clutching something in his fist. He slips whatever he’s holding into a leather pouch at his belt then, aware of my eyes upon him, lifts his gaze to catch mine. “Good,” he says, “you’re mounted.” Elydark approaches, and Taar swings into the saddle. “Let’s get away from here at once.”
I’m happy to oblige. The savage sounds from the hobgoblinwagons are getting louder and more raucous by the moment. Taar leads the way swiftly through the sprawling encampment. Raw firelight punctuates the night, dazzling my vision as we move in and out of the illuminated circles. Figures lounge in various attitudes of both repose and aggression, some snoring, some snarling and fighting, just as though the threat of hell itself didn’t hang directly over their heads. They are like animals, these fae. Soulless creatures without conscience or concern.
“Half-breed!”
The shout bursts from the darkness on our left. I choke back a scream and turn in the saddle to see half a dozen reptant riders approaching from the shadows. Their riders are tall, broad, painfully beautiful, swathed in layer upon layer of fae glamour that threatens to hypnotize my mortal gaze. I dare not look directly at them.
“Shakh,”Taar hisses. “Unless I am much mistaken, that sigil on their breastplates is of House Uldreyin. Those are Lurodos’s men. This can’t be good.”
“Shall I draw,luinar?”Halamar asks, hand on his sword hilt.
“Wait,” Taar replies. “Show neither aggression nor fear. They may be only posturing.”
