I utter no command for the song barrier to be raised. I simply straighten, gazing up to the heavens. Sylcatha, on my right hand, inquires in a low voice,“Luinar?”but I offer no reply. She turns in her saddle and bellows orders to the Licornyn riders. They are already in motion; I can feel the pound of licorneir hooves on dirt as they surround the warriors on foot or horseback. These vulnerable souls gather close to one another within the circle formed by the licorneir.
“Luinar,” Sylcatha says, “will you join the barrier?”
I hold my tongue and continue to watch the sky. It’s blue again now, but not for long. Hell is coming, soon, soon. With a short curse Sylcatha turns her mount around and rides off, joining her licorneir’s song with that of the others. I remain separate.
Vellar,Elydark sings into my head,will we not sing with them?
I feel my licorneir’s frustration with regret. But I simply cannot join the song. Instead I dismount, landing hard on my own two feet and swaying heavily as I walk away from both Elydark and my people, out into the open country beyond the rising barrier song. Elydark follows, beginning to sing his own song, forminga small shield of protection around the two of us. I do not try to stop him, but neither do I stop walking.
Suddenly my gaze sharpens. “What is that?” I ask and point.
Elydark lifts his head, looking where I indicate. A figure appears in the distance—a man on horseback, alone in the wilds of Cruor. He rides his mount with all speed toward us, but hopelessly too far off to benefit from the barrier song’s protection.
Even at this distance I recognize him. “Halamar!”
Galvanized with life such as I have not felt in many days, I spring back into the saddle, my soul aflame as I urge Elydark into motion. My licorneir sings out loudly and bursts into flame as though charging to battle, and his song blazes from his soul as he speeds across the distance.
Darkness falls.
Hell slams down upon us like a heavy hand across the world. Elydark’s song protects me, but Halamar is utterly vulnerable without a licorneir, hearttorn as he is. How long does he have? Minutes? Seconds? Is he already caught and devoured? When the darkness lifts, will I find nothing more than my faithful warrior’s eye-gouged corpse, lying spread-eagle in the dirt?
Faster, Elydark!I sing. My licorneir puts on tremendous speed. In the pitch black, however, it’s impossible to judge distance. We might very well be running in place for all the difference I can discern.
My heart is ready to despair, when out of nowhere he appears—Halamar, no longer on horseback but on foot. His mountis gone, but he is still alive, still struggling bravely forward through the very shadow of hell itself.
Elydark reaches him just as Halamar collapses to his knees. The circle of songlight surrounds him, but dark tendrils cling to his legs, seeking to pull him back into their depths. I leap from Elydark’s back, grab hold of the man, and haul him closer to my licorneir. “I’ve got you,” I growl close to his ear. “You’re safe. Hold on, my friend.”
How he summoned strength to survive even those few moments, I cannot guess. His hearttorn soul must have found some reason to resist. It’s been days now since I sent Halamar and Sylcatha to escort Ilsevel to the nearest Between Gate, but though Sylcatha returned with Ilsevel, Halamar did not. I, along with everyone else, assumed him to be lost.
He looks up at me now, his eyes brilliant with the reflected glow of Elydark’s song. “Taar!” he gasps, forgetting the formality of my title as he grips my upper arm tight. “Taar, I had to tell you . . . you must know . . .”
There’s wildness in his face, verging on lunacy. What he saw in thevardimnarwill haunt him forever. “Do not distress yourself,” I tell him. “You’ve had a near escape, and—”
“No!” His grip tightens, fingers digging painfully into my flesh. “She’s alive. She’s alive, Taar, alive!”
Something moves inside me—a trembling thread, frayed and broken, but not entirely gone. I stare into Halamar’s face,uncomprehending, and yet it seems as though all the hope of this world and any other has gathered to rest on the tip of his tongue.
“What?” I gasp, hardly knowing what I ask.
“I saw her,” Halamar continues. “Yourmaelar,your Ilsevel. The Shadow King had her, carried her in a sling between two morleth. She was wounded and wrapped in dark Miphates’ magic, but she was alive. I followed them—I could not bear to leave her, but I could not rescue her from their hands. They carried her through the Between Gate, and I lost sight of her then. I came back to tell you. I feared . . . I hoped . . .”
Whatever he may say next, I cannot hear it. Blood pounds in my ears, throbbing in rhythm with that one thought, which repeats again and again in my skull:She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.
It might not be true anymore. I know the terrible wound I dealt her. All this while I assumed she’d bled out on that battlefield, her guts spilling from her gaping abdomen. But they kept her alive—using their dark necromancy. They kept death itself at bay, returned her to her own world.
I must see her. I must find her.
Vellar,Elydark’s voice sings into my head,should you not let her go? She is back with her own people again, and—
No!I shake my head, cutting off whatever else he might say. I must find her—there is no other future for me. I must throw myself at her feet and beg her forgiveness on my knees. If that means I must die, so be it. I cannot forego this blessed chance,not when it has been delivered to me against all the odds.
Thevardimnarlifts as abruptly as it fell. The return of daylight is like the sudden burst of certainty in my very soul.She’s alive.Hell has not swallowed my world whole, not yet.
I look into Halamar’s face, squinting against the too-bright sun. “Get back to the others,” I tell him, even as I rise to my feet, drawing him up along with me. “Make for the Hidden City and tell Tassa . . . tell her . . .”
I cannot finish. I don’t know what to say. But Halamar grips me by the shoulder, gazing earnestly back at me. “I’ll tell her,” he says.
I cast a last look back at my people. The licorneir have slowed their pace, and their song-barrier drops. The fighting force looks so ragtag and forlorn. Guilt stabs my heart at the prospect of abandoning them. But it cannot be helped. I was dead and am now alive again, even as I stand in the shadow of the grave. I will not let this opportunity slip through my hands. Not while I still have breath.
