The only impediment to our progress has been thevardimnar.When the telltale black lightning foreshadows the coming of hell, we are obliged to stop, to form a protective circle around our very youngest and most vulnerable riders. They are strong, and their songs are profound, but I will not have their innocent eyes gazing into thedarkness of Ashtari. Mahra’s song is so brilliant, and the conjoined harmonies of a thousand licorneir form such a barrier, the children remain unaware of the horror pressing in close around them.
I wonder sometimes if I should not have brought the little ones on this ride. However, I also know: This is the end. One way or the other. Their world will be saved or utterly destroyed. Best to have them present, alongside their mothers and fathers and grandparents. Best to let their small voices join in our chorus, for theirs is a power unique in its purity, a profound harmony which mingles with the songs of licorneir in a way adult voices never could, no matter how strong thevelarinbond. We must keep our children close.
But they will not follow us into the coming battle.
With the black lightning tearing across the sky, we have mere moments now before the Hand of Darkness slaps down across the world. In those moments, I gaze out across the landscape where, so recently, Ruvaen’s mighty host of rabid Noxaurians swarmed. They, with all their strength and ferocity, were unable to breach the walls of Evisar. Why should I, with only a handful of warriors, think I can do any better?
But I knew even then that the alliance with Ruvaen was wrong. Nornala’s desire is to restore Licorna to the Licornyn—I must believe that. But the Goddess would not see Her holy ends accomplished through such evil means. No, that endeavor never could succeed.
And this? I cannot know for sure. But the pulsing unity of the song ringing out on every side of me fills me with confidence.
Only one small part of my heart hesitates, a line of bitter chords playing amid the symphony:Taar.
He should be here. He should be mounted beside me on Elydark, his soul singing with mine. Were he here, I would not doubt our victory, for he was always meant to save his people. How could Nornala have planned it thus? How could She have let Her devoted son fall to the virulium, to torture and death? Taken from the song before it even had a chance to rise in its full power.
I touch my heart where thevelracord remains, though I can no longer feel Taar at the other end of it. He is dead. Gone from this world. I must go forward in his name, carry his song with me into battle. And I must hope against hope that thenecroliphonmages have not brought him back, writhing with un-song. If they have, will I find the courage to do what I must? Will I be able to kill him again and liberate his soul from a decaying cage of death?
Vellara,Mahra sings into my soul, aware of the turmoil within me.Be of good courage. Nornala is with us—our song is true.
I have to believe. There is nothing else for me now, only belief that I can see this through. That this song my soul even now sings was divinely ordained from the moment of my christening, when the gods themselves poured out their gift upon me.
Thevardimnarfalls. Darkness so profound, horror made manifest. But the licorneir are prepared. Already the unbound licorneir have circled our young and our fragile riders, fortifying them with their song. Those bonded souls within the inner circlesing on, their harmonies radiating a tremendous light. I feel the power of those voices moving through me, and I send it back out into the herd, into the tribe, magnifying their multi-hued light a hundred times over.
Warriors of Licorna,I sing out, sending my voice without words but resonant with meaning into the minds of all those souls gathered here.Our way lies through the city, and it is perilous. Hobgoblins infest the streets. The children must stay back, but they must continue to sing. Their song will strengthen us, as we progress toward the citadel.
Riders urge their mounts into formation on either side of me. I see the surviving elders, long past their days of prowess, their old bodies renewed with song, their tired limbs calling to mind the nearly-forgotten strength they once knew. There are youths as well, those trainees who had not yet been deemed worthy of a bond, all quick and keen with theirvaritarblades, but unprepared for what lies ahead. Surviving warriors from the recent campaigns ride with us as well, but nowhere near as many as I would like.
Halamar guides Miramenor to stand beside Tassa’s tall licorneir. The two riders and their mounts together make a formidable front. The harmony shared between Halamar and Miramenor stands out from the rest, a lovely refrain, riddled with cracks and broken places which each individual voice fills with new song. Tassa’s song, by contrast, is fierce—as fierce as the mount she rides, and full of the wild joy of a dream, long sought after, finally fulfilled.
Another song hums on my right hand. Familiar—achingly so. Turning, I see an unmounted licorneir, big and red and hearttorn, prepared to meet the fate which lies before him.
Elydark,I sing, reaching out to him, not with Mahra’s song, but my own. A personal connection, an understanding of his pain, which no one else in all this company can share.
He looks at me,velrhoarfire flashing in his eyes.Maelar,he sings back.
Then he faces forward, faces the city. He knows as well as I what fate Shanaera had planned for his dead master. If there is any way to prevent it, he will see it done, or die in the attempt.
Turning from him, I urge Mahra out before the formation. Her powerful light pushes back the darkness of thevardimnaras we pass before our gathered company, looking into each of their fierce faces in turn, both young and old. This, I know, is what Nornala ordained—not ravening mercenaries, spitting demonic bile. This song, this unity, this glorious joining of voices into a great, symphonic whole.
I doubt Evisar has ever faced so fierce a foe.
Warriors of Licorna,I sing out again, Mahra’s power surging through my spirit.Will you ride with me now? Will you drive your enemies from this world, once and for all?
It is Tassa who responds first. Drawing hervaritar, she whirls it above her head and, even as her spirit sings with her licorneir, her voice erupts in a ululating Licornyn battle cry. That cry istaken up by every voice present, both the warriors and those we leave behind. The licorneir, the bonded and thevelrhoar, erupt in full battle flame. All Agandaur shines brilliantly, as though thevardimnarwere not even now engulfing us in its darkness.
I turn and face into that darkness. The ruined city and the citadel are obscured from my sight, but I know where it lies, just on the other side of hell. I join my own voice with the Licornyn battle cry, my gods-gift enabling me to mimic the sound exactly, in perfect pitch.
Then with a surge of muscular power, Mahra leaps forward, leading the way.
We charge over the barren fields, crossing the space where theobscurisspell once stood. Overhead and on all sides, I sense that rippling, like a dark membrane through which enormous hands try to press. A presence lurks so near, just on the other side of the thinnest veil, eager to burst through, eager to devour us all.
And yet we ride, undaunted, our voices raised in song. Soulfire pours out from Mahra’s eyes, through volcanic cracks in her flesh, rippling over me in a wild frenzy of heat. I lean into that flame, bolstering my courage with every thudding heartbeat.
The light of the licorneir abruptly illuminates the ruins of Evisar City. I have just time enough to catch my breath before we are plunging into those labyrinthine streets. Mahra’s hooves echo loudly against broken paving stones. Her light casts the hollowed buildings and gaping doorways into strange contrasts of shadowand brilliance, but somehow I feel the presence of hell far deeper here, as though the evil of thevardimnarhas permeated every groove and secret cranny. Mahra navigates the streets easily, leading the licorneir through highways and byways she recalls from years ago. I need do nothing but cling to her back.
Hobgoblins appear. First in the tail of my eye, mere flickers of violent movement. My heart lurches. These creatures care nothing either for thevardimnaror the beauty of the licorneir’s song. They are too utterly evil, beings warped in their very core. In the flashing soulfire light, I glimpse slime pouring from slitted nostrils, gleaming from sagging jowls. Hairless bodies clamber from rooftop to gable, jattering and yodeling in their hideous language. A foul stench fills my nostrils, yanking my mind back to that dreadful night when they swarmed my Diira, when they ripped her apart, and I could do nothing but cower in her blood.
The memory is so stark, my song falters, choked in my fear-tightened throat. The joint song of the licorneir dims in response. The hobgoblins, sensing opportunity, close in. One leaps from a shadowed doorway, slavering mouth spewing slime as its long-fingered paws reach for my neck.
