“Are you truly Larongar’s daughter?” she asks in a voice of stone.
I swallow painfully, but force myself to give an honest answer. “Yes.”
Her eyes narrow. She studies me closely, every idea she’s formed about me over the last few weeks coming suddenly into conflict with this revelation. I glance at Halamar, wondering what he thinks as well. There is no conflict in his gaze, however. Only thatsame, silent, heart-broken certainty.
Sylcatha curses again at last and draws her shoulders back. “Very well,” she says. Then adds, “Maelar.”
I could sink to my knees and kiss her boots, so relieved am I to hear that word spoken, however little I may deserve it. Shanaera’s sword is suddenly much too heavy. I let it fall from my grasp and lie in the dirt at my feet. I’ve been little better than a living corpse myself these last days, possibly weeks. How long has it been since this brokenvelrhoarsong relentlessly lashed my insides like a cat-o-nine-tails? How long has it been since I broke faith with my husband?
“Tell me the truth,” I say, turning to Sylcatha. “Has Taar taken virulium from the Noxaurians?”
She doesn’t answer. But the telltale drop of her chin to her chest makes my stomach knot. I turn to Halamar instead. “Tell me,” I say again, more firmly this time.
“Yes,” he replies, his voice devoid of emotion. “He took virulium when he fought to save you from the hobgoblins. I believe he has more on him, but, as far as I know, he has not taken it again. Yet.”
“Not yet,” I echo in a whisper. My head bows, suddenly heavy with all the broken dissonance of the song that was once so pure, so sweet, shared between me and my husband. That song is over, never to be reclaimed. We cannot go back from where these choices have led. My vows are broken, thevelrasevered. But . . .
But maybe I can stop him. Maybe I can still prevent him frommaking a terrible mistake, from returning to that darkness which I fear will claim him forever this time. If I can save him, if I can do this one good thing . . . maybe it will make up, at least in part, for breaking his heart.
I straighten up, turning to Sylcatha. “We’re going back.”
She lifts a brow. “I have orders from myluinarto escort you safely—”
“Skewer your orders,” I snarl and march toward her and her licorneir. “Yourmaelarcommands you: Take me back to the citadel. Now.”
32
TAAR
The trolde warband swarms the giants like a flock of harpens. Led by their king, they are vicious, fearless in the attack. The monstrous morleth dodge blows from swinging war hammers, and brutal trolde blades slash at the giants’ green-gray flesh. Though each cut is small compared to the vast size of the giants themselves, they are soon distracted from their task of assaulting the gate and struggle to defend themselves.
They won’t last long. Not against so many foes. We must do something to help them, or our greatest weapon against the Miphates’ spellwork defenses will be lost.
“Kildorath!” I cry. “Lathaira! Summon your riders and follow me!”
Elydark bursts into battleflame and leaps forward into the fray. I hear the thunder of hooves as the others follow after. Not all of them, of course—we cannot leave the bulk of our host undefended, knowing full well thevardimnarcould fall at anytime. But a contingent of twenty or more licorneir race down from our held position, passing into the throng of rabid Noxaurians on our way to the barrier spell. In a frenzy of excitement at sight of the Shadow King and his warriors, the dark fae have all taken virulium, and madness sweeps through their already disordered ranks. They lunge at our mounts, but the soulfire blaze of the licorneir drives most of them back again. Others, too mad and filled with bloodlust to think straight, throw themselves at us, and I am forced to swing my sword, severing heads and limbs as we cut our way through their midst.
The barrier spell looms before us, invisible but potent with pulsing energy. I can feel how that energy has been compromised with the giants’ breakthrough. My licorneir have nearly pushed through before—maybe now they can succeed.
Eight of us reach the barrier, while the others continue to fight their way through our lunatic allies. Lathaira is on my left hand, Kildorath on my right. Our licorneir bow their heads, their horns pressing into the spellwork, which sparks violently in response to their touch. Surges of magic react to the song and flame which Elydark brings, and I glimpse concentric circles of scribbled spell-writing flash into sight and ripple away, one after the other. The spells are still powerful, but they are not as strong as they were. The muscles of Elydark’s neck and shoulders strain as he takes a step, then another, pushing deeper, deeper into the spell.
A sudden roar draws my attention back to the drama at thewalls. The giant hammering at the very gates of the citadel swings his great hammer, misses his mark. I see the Shadow King’s morleth bank and dodge. But then the giant’s hand flies out, and this time, the morleth is not fast enough. That great green palm smashes into the morleth, which immediately vanishes back to its own dimension, leaving its crowned rider to tumble through the air and hit the ground hard.
Even as I watch, the giant’s huge foot rises, falls. Comes down hard on the spiked armor of the fallen king, crushing him deeply into the soil. Surely that must have broken every bone in his tough trolde body. But no!Shahkinghells, the moment that foot lifts away, the Shadow King pushes up out of the dirt, shakes himself off, and stands, still gripping his sword.
The next moment he takes off running after the giant. My disbelieving eyes watch as he springs from the ground, clambers up the fleshy calf and knee, catches hold of the edge of a ratty old loincloth, and uses it to hoist himself higher still, up into that snarled tangle of beard.
A burst of light and a scream on my left hand drags my attention from the battle taking place. Heart leaping, I turn, gaze through the flickering of my own licorneir’s flames to where Lathaira’s licorneir’s light suddenly douses. For a moment I can’t discern what’s happened; all is pure confusion to my eye. Then I see it—the black fibers suffused in strange, silvery spell-light, fallen across both licorneir and rider, pinning them to the ground. Morlethflash by overhead, and I see more nets dropping on other licorneir.
Gods-damn us all! The Miphates have armed their trolde allies with chaeora nets, the same as Shanaera used to pin down and kill the wild licorneir. The fibers, woven of corrupted ilsevel blossoms, work a powerful counter-magic, dousing licorneir soulfire and reducing them to shriveled husks.
I want to leap from Elydark’s back and run to help Lathaira. She scrambles beneath the net, struggling to get free. Her strength is compromised with her licorneir’s fire snuffed out. She can neither angle her sword nor break the fibers with her hands. Three huge, stone-armored trolde land their morleth nearby and move in toward her, swords drawn. Before they reach her, however, rabid Noxaurians swarm in, clawing and tearing, gnawing at their armor with their bared, black-dripping teeth. Bless the damnable fiends! At least they give Lathaira half a chance.
The world shakes. I look through the barrier again to see the giant collapsed, a crystal sword protruding from its eye. The Shadow King leaps free of his prey, shakes himself off, as though he slays giants like this every day. He bellows in his harsh, troldish tongue to morleth riders overhead, who leave him and move in to focus their efforts on the two giants remaining.
“Elydark!” I shout, seeing an opportunity before me while he stands there, momentarily isolated. “Elydark,vulmon!”
My licorneir puts on a surge of power. The spell-barrier resists, but with a last burst of song and flame, we pass through.Immediately the screams of the rabid Noxaurians are dulled. There’s still plenty of noise from the bellowing giants, but it’s almost a relief by comparison.
