Halamar must have lied. When I asked him if the pain was worth it to have known that bond with his licorneir, he’d answered yes. But he was a damned, dirty liar. I wish I’d never felt this bond. I wish I’d never loved her or anyone. I wish . . . I wish . . .
Light enters the shadows of thedakath.I peer through slitted eyelids, see the towering silhouette of Halamar as he kneels at my bedside. “Time to go,maelar,” he says softly. “Word has come: the Shadow King has entered Cruor. He wed the mortal king’s daughter and has allied himself with our enemies. He is marching this way even now with a great host. You must be gone from here before he arrives.”
Those strange words somehow get through the cloud inmy brain. The Shadow King? He . . . married the mortal king’s daughter? But that’s not possible.Iam the mortal king’s daughter; I am the one my father bargained away to a monster in exchange for troll warriors to fight his battles for him.
But I am dead—officially speaking. So whom did the Shadow King wed?
I try to protest, try to form words of argument. Nothing coherent will pass my lips. Besides it doesn’t really matter. Halamar lifts me up like a straw doll. I think vaguely that his arms are not as comfortable as my husband’s. Only that’s not a thought I care to indulge, and I stifle it at once. He bears me out into the too-bright light of an overcast day, and I feel a strange sense that time has passed without my knowledge. How much time, I cannot guess. Days perhaps. Even weeks.
Sylcatha is waiting for us, her big licorneir kneeling beside her. “Maelar,” she says in greeting, offering me a solemn bow.
“I am not yourmaelar,” I snarl back, lifting my head from Halamar’s shoulder. “I never was.”
Sylcatha bites her lip. “I am to escort you back to the human realm,” she says simply. “Will you ride with me?”
The human realm. So I’m getting my wish. Tossed out of Cruor, back to my own world, my own kind. Disposed of and forgotten. As it should be. Am I grateful? Relieved? Angry that Taar did not fight for me harder? No. I feel nothing. Whatever is happening happens only to this meat-sack in which my spirit is trapped. Itdoesn’t really matter. If Taar wants to toss me away, well, I tossed him first, didn’t I?
Halamar places me on the back of Sylcatha’s kneeling unicorn. I grip the pommel as Sylcatha takes her place behind me, and the beast rises. There’s tumult all around me, movement and energy flowing through the encampment. Some sort of big, tactical play is in the works, but it doesn’t concern me. I only come somewhat awake when an ugly roar rumbles in the sky overhead. Twisting in the saddle, I look up just as a shadow passes over me. My heart drops to my stomach. A giant! One-eyed and hideous, with warthog-like jowls and great yellow tusks protruding from its sagging lips. It must be forty meters high! And naked save for a tangle of beard spilling out over its breast and hanging down over a bloated gut. A massive war hammer swings from the end of its long arm, passing over the heads of all those in the encampment. For a moment I think we are being attacked.
But the giant passes on by without a spare glance from its single blood-shot eye for any of us. Its gaze seems to be fixed on the ruined city and the far-off tower. There are others as well; two more that I can see. All marching with that same, focused intent. A great storm of magic whirls in the air above the citadel, whorling in many hues as the trapped mages mount their defense.
The siege is progressing. The Noxaurian camp is apparently empty, but even from this distance, I can see signs of movement around the citadel. They are seeking a way through the last of theMiphates’ defenses. I wonder how long it will take.
I wonder if Taar is out there.
Hastily I stifle that thought and turn away—away from giants and sieges and battalions on the move. It is all part of a drama in which I have lost interest. Let them tear out each other’s throats if it gives them pleasure. What has it to do with me?
Sylcatha urges her licorneir into motion. Halamar follows close behind, and we make our way through the Licornyn people, even as they arm themselves for battle. I keep my gaze fixed firmly on my hands, which grip the pommel of the saddle in front of me. I feel antagonistic gazes upon me, as the Licornyn watch me go. Whispers of “drothlar”and “cursebound” punctuate the air. And who knows? Maybe they were right after all. Surely that bond I shared with Taar was nothing more than a curse on both of us in the end.
There’s a strange ache over my heart, right in that place where thevelraonce anchored, and an uncanny emptiness in the air where the shining cord used to wind on its way to connect me to another soul. Gone now. Gone and good riddance. I won’t let any lingering thoughts ofhimdraw my gaze back, searching for one last glimpse of his face.
I slip into a space of timelessness, wandering in and out of thought as I slump back against Sylcatha’s hard breastplate. I’m only vaguely aware when we leave the encampment and cross the fields of Agandaur. Halamar and Sylcatha speak only rarely, and I do not bother trying to discern their words, which onlyadd to the dissonance in my mind.
We leave behind Agandaur and pass out into still wilder regions, territory that is vaguely familiar to me now that I’ve traveled through it twice. Unless I’m much mistaken, we are making for the Luin Stone and the same gate by which I first entered this world.
A long, low note of song rolls across the lonely country, touching my soul. I shudder in recognition.Mahra.She’s calling out to me again, calling out in that voice which is the mirror of the broken song in my own head. Her song has always chilled me, but so much more so now that I understand it. Now that I, like she, am hearttorn.
I hear you crying,she sings in a multitudinous voice of pain, like a blast of wind sweeping through the land.I hear you, little one.
So what? I hear her too . . . I’ve heard her all along. What good does it do any of us, being heard? We are still alone in our brokenness, trapped where none can reach us. I hunch my shoulders, tuck in my head, trying to block her out.
But she continues to sing on the edge of my awareness:I hear you . . . I hear you . . .
Thevardimnarstrikes. It’s almost a welcome relief. Sylcatha’s licorneir, Kyrsidar, stops, stands her ground, and begins to sing. Lightsong pours from her horn and surrounds us, including Halamar and his horse. I close my eyes and endure it. Hell presses in, but even hell has lost its bite. I almost wish the darkness would creep through the barrier and drag me out into its depths. At least that would be something, some change to the monotony of thisbroken discord. But the licorneir sings on, her song bright and strong and true and hateful to my heart.
Thevardimnarpasses. The sun returns.
And so we continue.
I lose track of time. We stop once, maybe twice. Food and drink are pressed into my hands. I may have eaten something, or I may have crumbled theumecake into crumbs and left them scattered in the dirt. Halamar and Sylcatha exchange short words in worried tones, but I pay them no heed.
Hours pass. At some point I raise my head and see the Luin Stone far ahead of me, the last broken remnants of a once-great statue. Beyond it, I know, lies the valley with a river running through it, across which stands tall cliffs and the Between Gate, which is our destination. My heart stirs . . . not with hope or excitement, merely with the prospect of change. I’ll be away from this world soon. Perhaps then the memories will start to fade, the broken song will not be so loud.
“Maelar,”Sylcatha says suddenly. She’s refused to stop using the title, no matter how many times I’ve told her not to. I’ve given up protesting. “Maelar,I need you to hold tight now.”
“What?” I raise my head, speaking dully. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“We must flee. We are being pursued.”
