More murmuring erupts in the crowd. I hear sounds of weeping. The people are disturbed by these doings. Someone in the crowd calls out, “This is madness! Make an end of it!”
By the way the whites of Kildorath’s eyes flash, I suspect he knows he holds their compliance by a thread.
He turns, addressing the people. “The licorneir stand with me,” he declares furiously, his voice carrying. “They support my right to lead as the only son of Chieftain Markildor. Will you turn your backs on that which we have always held sacred?”
“Why are the ilsevels dying?” a female voice cries out, still unseen in the crowd.
“Because our people lack unity,” Kildorath answers firmly. “The division among us sows evil into once-holy ground, and the ilsevels cannot flourish. We must be made a single tribe once more before we can be made one nation. Therefore, I will do what I must. I will root out dissention and establish order. I will make the hard decisions which Taarthalor could not.” He swings an arm as though to indicate my dead brother, whose unseenghost seems to stand haunting at his back. “The man who brought a human bride into our Hidden City is responsible for this poison. It was her and her curses, her Miphata spells, which have blighted the ilsevels. You know who your true enemy is, people of Rocaryn!”
He turns to Halamar again and snarls, “Last chance, son of Karethtar.”
Halamar makes no response, merely stares unblinking into his eyes. At a signal from their chief, the two rough warriors drag him to the stake, throw his back against it, and bind him fast with chaeora cords.
My courage threatens to fail me. I want to shriek, to weep, to fall to my knees. But when Kildorath’s face draws close to mine, I meet his gaze without flinching. “And you, daughter of Ashtalora?” he asks, with the faintest quaver in his voice. “Will you swear your loyalty to me?”
The fear in his gaze verges on madness. How desperately he needs me to turn my back on my brother’s memory, to side with him and, in so doing, convince his people to do the same. He’s marched to the very brink, and he knows it. One wrong move, and he will plunge.
A smile curves my lips. I will not survive this night, but something tells me, neither will he. In this way, perhaps, I will honor my vow to kill him. “You’re a coward, Kildorath,” I say, my voice low but clear, carrying through the horror-rapt stillness of that atmosphere. “You always have been. I will swear no allegiance to a sniveling little worm like you.”
His eyes flare. His hand moves as though he would strike me, but he restrains himself at the last. Instead he takes a step closer, dropping his voice so that only I may hear. “If you think I won’t do this, Tassa, you are mistaken. You saw what happened to Taar. I am ready and willing to sacrificeeverythingto bring about Licorna’s renewal. Even you.”
I spit in his face. Kildorath reels back three paces, his hand shooting to his cheek as though I stabbed him. He snarls, his eyes widening. For a moment, I see there the warring conflict of the love he once thought he felt for me with the fury and fear which dominate his every thought and motivation.
Then he growls, “She has made her choice. Bind her beside Halamar.”
Thuridar’s grip on my arm tightens. But then, through the wild hammering of my heart, I hear my old trainer’s voice growl: “I cannot.”
Kildorath’s gaze shifts from me to that of my captor. “What?” he roars. “Would you defy your chieftain? Would you join her and Halamar in punishment?”
Thuridar tilts his head forward, his eyes very hard and dark. “I will not ask my licorneir to burn innocent flesh. And I will not let you do this, Kildorath. Not while I have life in my body.”
The instant those words fall from Thuridar’s lips, Miramenor, Kildorath’s licorneir, bursts into flame. The soulfire instantaneously eats away his flesh, revealing a strange, skeletal being beneath theflames. A shout goes up amongst the onlookers, most of whom have never seen a licorneir in such hideous aspect.
But Thuridar’s dark licorneir erupts in flame as well and steps forward, placing himself between his rider and Miramenor. Not once in my life have I witnessed licorneir turn on one another like this—but I see now the beginnings of what will be a terrible conflict, and those of us who stand too near will die in the ensuing flames. The watchers on the edge of the green draw back. Many turn and flee from the fiery battle about to take place.
“This has gone too far!” a quavering voice declares. Halaema stands up from among the elders, supporting herself heavily on her staff. “Kildorath,” she cries, lifting her aged hand and pointing a trembling finger. “You dishonor your father. The licorneir are not your instruments of execution! This is not how we will have unity among—”
Whatever she might have said is broken off in a sudden blast of incinerating flame, blasted from the horn of Miramenor. The soulfire consumes her where she stands, so hot, so abrupt, I never even hear her shriek. Her body collapses in on itself, leaving behind nothing but a smoldering pile of charred bones.
“Stand back!” Kildorath roars to the crowd, which has surged forward in raw fury to see one of their own elders die like so. He withdraws to stand beside Miramenor, whose flame cannot hurt him. “You will all submit!” he cries out wildly.
My gaze shoots from him to Halamar, still bound to that stake.He is vulnerable—one move from Kildorath, and Miramenor may blast him to ashes the same as he did to Halaema.
With a quick dart, I grab a knife from Thuridar’s belt. He does not try to stop me, but continues to position both himself and his own licorneir between me and Kildorath. I spring on hobbled feet to the stake and set to cutting the chaeora with a will.
“Tassa, get away from here,” Halamar growls.
I ignore him. The knife struggles against the black fibers, but I’m not about to leave him. Chaos has erupted all around us. People are screaming, running, and more licorneir light up the night until it is as clear as day. I have no idea who stands with Kildorath and who stands against him. It won’t make any difference to those of us who aren’t immune to licorneir fire.
Miramenor lunges forward, and Thuridar’s licorneir meets him in a ferocious clash of horns, flames, hooves. Kildorath and Thuridar have both mounted, and, as their licorneir meet, they hack at each other withvaritarblades. The next few moments will be bloody indeed, and the stench of burnt flesh already stings my nostrils.
I manage to cut one of Halamar’s hands free. He extends it and says, “Give me the knife, Tassa, and get out of here.”
“No, you fool,” I snarl back and go for the next cord.
Before I can make any headway on the fibers, however, something strange moves in the atmosphere. It starts so low, so soft, I do not even recognize that I hear it above the screaming of the crowd, the roars of licorneir, and the clash of steel-on-steel.
But it swells, rising in both resonance and power, until it is a wonder I am aware of any other senses at all. An overwhelming, all-consuming wave of pure sound, wild, terrifying, cacophonous, anchored by a single voice that somehow takes the wildness of the greater sound and renders it comprehensible to my mere mortal ears.
