When we arrive in the central green, the elders have already assembled outside the Meeting House door, under the stars. The fire pit in the center of the green is lit with a great bonfire blaze, and the dancing flames light up the ceremonial robes of the elders, catching on glints of shining stones set in their sleeves and woven into their gray hair. They look strange and phantomlike to my eye, not the familiar faces I have known these many years. Licornyn riders, mounted and menacing, stand at their backs, survivors of our disastrous campaign. Kildorath is chief among them, positioned just behind Halaema.
A jolt of pure rage shoots down my spine at the sight of that man, that traitor. I long to spur Elydark forward, to compel my licorneir to run him through the heart with his horn. Fire burns deep within Elydark in response, and little flames flick along the arc of his neck. But he holds himself in check; he cannot ignite without burning Ilsevel.
We come to a halt in the center of the green opposite the elders.I raise my arm in salute. “Hail, Halaema. Elders of Licorna. I have come to face your judgment.”
“Hardly the return of a victorious king,” Halaema answers, her words like the bite of azhorwolf.
I refuse to flinch. Instead I dismount, leaving Ilsevel in the saddle. “Taar, no,” she whispers, reaching out to grab my shoulder. She does not want me vulnerable, and I am safest on Elydark’s back.
I grip her hand and murmur, “Wait here. And trust me.”
She glares fiercely into my eyes, and I hear a shudder of fear in her tight breath. But she nods and, reluctantly, releases her grip. I draw my sword from its saddle sheath, turn from Ilsevel, and approach the elders. Refusing to let my gaze stray to Kildorath, I go down on my knees before Halaema and place my blade at her feet.
“I’ve come home to confess my failings,” I say solemnly, my voice loud enough to carry across the green to where all those watching eyes stare at me from shadows beyond the bonfire’s glow. “I have failed to lead the Licornyn to victory. I have failed to breach the walls of Evisar. I am ready and willing to receive whatever punishment the elders deem fit.”
Halaema looks at me long and hard, her ancient eyes searching. When she speaks at last, her voice has lost some of its wolfish growl, but the threat remains in every undertone. “Your failure to breach the walls we can forgive,luinar.It was always nothing more than a breath of hope. Reports brought back to our ears say you did everything within your power, even going so far as to take thevirulium again in your efforts to penetrate the Miphates’ defenses. We find no fault with you,luinar . . .onthatscore.”
I swallow painfully, awaiting the fall of the ax.
“But,” Halaema continues, relentlessly, inevitably, “you abandoned your people in their hour of defeat . . . that you would leave them to the ravages of Cruor and quit this world altogether . . . and for what purpose? In pursuit of a bride who rejected you onsilmael. The very human responsible for the death of one of our own beloved licorneir. And, worse than that, the daughter of our great enemy, Larongar.”
My head comes up sharply. I stare at Halaema, disbelieving my own ears. How can she possibly know that? No one knows Ilsevel’s identity but me. Even I did not suspect the truth until Shanaera . . . Shanaera . . .
My gaze moves from Halaema to Kildorath at her back. Something inside me goes cold. “You,” I whisper. Then I surge to my feet. “You!”
Immediately the licorneir standing behind the elders burst into flame. They move deftly between the elders and me, a protective barrier. But my focus is entirely on Kildorath. I stride toward him, only to find myself looking up the length of a burning licorneir horn, aimed at my heart.
“Stand down, Taar,” Kildorath says, the soulfire of his licorneir burning in his eyes. “This is not a fight you can win.”
Elydark’s roar behind me brings my head whirling about. More licorneir close in on him, all of them burning, while hedares not ignite his flame for fear of harming Ilsevel. He throws back his head, trumpeting in fury, and carves the ground with a vicious forehoof.
“Surrender, Taar,” Kildorath says. “Surrender your bride, and you may yet find us merciful.”
“Never!” I bellow. Darting to one side, I avoid the swing of his licorneir’s horn and dive for the sword I’d placed at the feet of the elders. Raising it just in time, I deflect another blow from a second licorneir’s horn, but the impact is so great, it jars my arm, and my fingers go numb. The sword drops from my hands. I look up into the inferno eyes of an oncoming licorneir.
“Taar!”Ilsevel screams.
A burst of song erupts through the night, piercing the clamorous sounds of battle, drowning out all other perceptions. The power of a divinely-dispensed gift ripples out from my wife’s throat and floods the flaming licorneir, dousing their flame. Every one of the beasts freezes in place, their soulfire held captive in the reverberations of her voice. I stare at them, see how the connection between rider and beast is, temporarily, severed, replaced by this far more powerful, multi-stranded binding of song.
“Gods above,” I whisper, shocked, horrified.
Before I can think how to react, Halaema’s voice rings out in command: “Kill the witch! Kill the cursed Miphata!”
The next instant, three archers step out from the deeper shadows, and arrows arch over the heads of the frozen licorneir,aimed at Elydark and his rider. One arrow embeds in the ground at Elydark’s feet—another grazes his flank.
The third plunges into Ilsevel’s shoulder, abruptly shattering her song.
She cries out in pain and surprise, even as the licorneir shake their heads, song clearing from their addled minds. Ilsevel crumples over in the saddle, and everything in my body and being feels a single, absolute need.
Elydark!I sing into his mind, a roar of command.Go!
A momentary surge of resistance. My licorneir casts me a last look, hurt and fury flaming deep in his gaze.
Then he pivots gracefully, even as silver blood pours from the wound in his flank, and tears into motion. Another rain of arrows falls from above, but he avoids them nimbly, putting on speed. The licorneir all around me toss their heads, shake their horns, unwilling to follow, to put themselves in range of that commanding voice. Their riders force them into action, and they speed out through thedakathsin pursuit.
I do not stand by idly. Hurling myself at the nearest archer, I knock the man over and rip the weapon from his grasp. Virulium bubbles in my veins, whispering for his death, but I turn away and throw myself instead at the next man.
Kildorath steps in my way. He’s dismounted and stands on his own two feet before me, his sword upraised and pointed at my throat.
