All the ilsevel blossoms are dead. Up the hillside, through the halls and passages of Elanlein, and here in the great Moon Chamber. Their delicate petals have all withered away, and theglowing hearts at their centers are rendered black lumps without song. It is as though they could not look upon the horror which took place here and survive.
I stand before the blood-stained altar slab. The same slab on which they once bound Nyathri when she lay in hearttorn torment. And here are the chaeora cords, just as they used to bind her. Only this time, they bound my husband—held him in place while he struggled and slavered, rabid on virulium. Before plunging a blade into his heart.
If it weren’t for Mahra’s song wrapped tight around my soul, I would collapse. A wild frenzy of grief builds inside me, seeking to burst from my chest like a parasitic vine and overwhelm all that once made up my selfhood. I stand there, leaning heavily forward, my hands pressed against the black stain on the altar stones. Taar’s blighted blood. I feel his final, fear-filled moments. The pain, the throbbing, maddened heartbeats, just before virulium swallowed him in darkness, and he knew no more.
I lift my head at last. It feels like a leaden weight on my neck, but I force myself to look up, to meet Tassa’s gaze. She stands across from me, her face like stone. “Tell me what she said,” I whisper in a voice I scarcely recognize as my own. “Shanaera—tell me her words. Exactly.”
Her skin looks unnaturally pale in the light of the tear-shapedlicathalantern she carries. Her lashes lower, her eyes focused on the black stain where my hands even now press. “She said he wasluinarof Licorna still. She claimed he would rule longer than any otherluinarbefore him.” She swallows with difficulty, and the words cut like knives across her lips. “She said she had seen it and would make it come to pass.”
I can hear Shanaera’s voice in my head, a hiss of poison moving through the corridors of my mind. “She means to bring him back,” I say. “She means to make him like her.”
Tassa looks sick. “There must be some way to stop her.”
My hands form fists, knuckles pressed into the bloodstained stone. “We’ll ride out in pursuit. Immediately. We’ll catch them before they ever reach Evisar and save . . .” I stumble over the words, but manage to push them out, “. . . save his body from desecration.”
But Tassa shakes her head. “Shanaera has too great a start on us. We’ll never overtake her.”
I don’t want it to be the truth. I want to scream my denial, to call Mahra to me, to set out on my own even now, and ride down those cursed dead. Instead I close my eyes, lean into the licorneir song as it flows through my heart, my veins. How many times in my life have I acted on impulse, only for others to suffer for my lack of forethought? I owe Taar better than my worst inclinations. And I have a task to accomplish here; a task which I must see through.
“We will find them,” I say firmly. “We will find Taar, and we will unmake whatever it is they have made ofhim.”
“Even if we could catch them, we don’t have enough Licornyn riders to match Shanaera’s undead force,” Tassa says.
“I know.” Bowing my head over the slab, I breathe out a long exhale. Then, straightening, I back away from the stone, hands still clenched tight, and pull my shoulders straight. “But soon we will have a force greater than anything Cruor has ever seen. And with that force, we will take back Licorna for the Licornyn, once and for all.”
My teeth clench in a terrible smile. “It is high time, Talanashta, that you formed avelarinbond.”
Her eyes, so dark and stricken with sorrow, take on a sudden keen light.
The rising sun gleams across the fiery flanks of a thousand licorneir, gathered on the open plains beyond Elanlein, where Diira and I once rode together. It is a profoundly beautiful sight—more so to my eyes, which can perceive the unique colors of the song they sing. But even ordinary eyes cannot help but be awed by so great a congregation of these glorious beings.
The Rocaryn Tribe gather among the trees. Some are too frightened to emerge. Others stagger forth, blinking in the dawnlight, their eyes wide and filled with wonder, as though they’ve wandered to the edge of heaven itself. There are fewwarriors left among the tribe. So many died on campaign over recent years, including the assault on Evisar. Most of what remain are either too young, too old, too crippled, too frail. Babies clutched in the arms of weary mothers, tots clinging to the hands of aged grandparents.
But they are all of them Licornyn. They were all touched by Nornala’s grace. Every soul here cries out with a wordless hunger for that connection which is their birthright.
I survey the sight before me from astride Mahra. The people on one hand, the licorneir on the other. I feel the way their different songs pull toward each other, longing for harmony. And I know, in a way I couldn’t have understood before, that it was never the warlike prowess of the riders which made the Licornyn so formidable. It was always this song—this strange licorneir symphony, born in them through the blood of Mahra and Onoril, who first bonded with themaelarandluinarof this world.
Onoril is gone, as is the lastluinar.But the power of those ancient days lives on through me, through Mahra. Power enough to break the vicelike grip of Cruor, to deliver this world from the Hand of Darkness? I don’t know.
But I will give my last breath to find out.
I do not speak the Licornyn language, so Halamar stands beside me, his voice bellowing out the interpretation. “People of Rocaryn!” I say, and wait for Halamar’s echoes to fade before continuing. “I have summoned you here to give you all a chance.Any soul here who wishes to form avelarinbond may step forward. The licorneir will choose, and the bond formed will last through this lifetime and beyond. It is both your solemn duty and your right, but as yourmaelar,I will not force this choice on any of you.
“Know this, however: those who form the bond will ride with me and Mahra. Ride in pursuit of the dead, who have taken the body of yourluinarand mean to desecrate it.” My voice breaks. I take a moment to compose myself, drawing on Mahra’s song for support. “We will not let that desecration take place.”
When these last words are spoken by Halamar, his voice is nearly drowned out in the shout that goes up from Rocaryn Tribe. My throat thickens. These are the very people who, in their fear, turned Taar over to Kildorath and Shanaera. But he loved them . . . so I will love them. And I will give them this chance at redemption.
At first no one steps forward. Though they long for the licorneir, fear still holds them at bay.
Then one figure strides forth. Bold and tall and clear-eyed—Tassa. Of course Tassa. Everyone there knows how hard she fought to make herself worthy of a bond which never came. Now, before this host ofvelrhoarlicorneir, she sees once again a hope she thought had been taken from her forever. Whatever else may come, she will not miss this chance.
She stands in the space of empty ground between the people and the licorneir. And there she waits . . . and I, from Mahra’s back, hear the song going out from her, searching for a harmony whichshe does not know but which she will recognize if ever she hears it.
I hear it before she does. From the depths of the herd, one broken song sings out brighter than the rest. The pain of loss is still violent in this licorneir’s soul, but she pushes forward nonetheless, drawn by a compulsion she cannot resist. She is a large, dappled beast, with a horn much notched from many battles. Scars pattern her flanks and shoulders, each a badge of honor ferociously earned. She pushes her way through the herd, and they part to make a path. Soon she stands before Tassa—and I hear at once how well the two of them are matched. The black flame soulfire of the hearttorn licorneir reaches out to the vivid flame of Tassa’s song. They twine together, the one blending into the other, becoming a new hue for which I have no name. Suffering and loss, love and hope, all mingled in triumphant chorus.
Tassa stretches out her hand, places it on the licorneir’s forehead, just below the horn’s base. The licorneir stands still a moment. Then, extending her muscular neck, she touches her muzzle to Tassa’s forehead, a startlingly gentle gesture. They stand like so for a shining moment, and my gods-gifted perception watches the aura of light and music surrounding them as thevelarinis formed.
With a glad cry, Tassa springs suddenly forward, grabs a fistful of fiery mane, and leaps onto the licorneir’s back. The beast rears, roaring in triumph, a distinctly licorneir sound, more tiger than horse. When her forehooves hit the groundagain, she whirls and, with Tassa clinging to her back, they set off at a furious gallop, through the licorneir herd and off across the plain, heading for the Morrona.
