The grass . . . the grass of this field, which ought to be trampled down by the battle which took place here . . . is covered, every inch of it, with blooming ilsevel blossoms. I can no longer hear their song, not without my gods-gift. But I see their fiery hearts burning bright, and I know they sing, whether or not I hear it.
Taar catches his breath. “Heileth Nornala!”he murmurs, and it sounds like a prayersong.
A shout breaks the stillness in the air. We both turn just in time to glimpse Tassa before she throws herself into her brother’s arms, pounding his back with her fist, speaking in a rapid stream of Licornyn, her voice broken with weeping. Halamar follows close at her heels and, after a moment of shyness, embraces me as well. “Maelar,” he whispers into my ear, “my eternal thanks to you.”
I look over his broad shoulder and see Sylcatha, along with the surviving warriors of the Rocaryn and Tarhyn Tribes. Close at hand, sadly, lie some of our dead . . . but I notice, through my tears, that their eyes are not gouged out. They died in battle, but they were not claimed by thevardimnar.Ilsevel blossoms bloom thickly all around them. Somehow I know their souls are at peace.
Minutes later, more licorneir appear, coming through the ruined city, many of them carrying riders on their backs—the Rocaryn children and the elderly, who did not fight with us. The hobgoblins must have perished, I suspect, in the final fall of thevardimnar,for I see no sign of them, only the children, slipping from their licorneir and rushing to the arms of their parents. The wild licorneir are there too. They gambol out into the field of ilsevels, their voices ringing with delight.
But one voice trumpets far louder than all the others. A song so brilliant, it shocks me to the core. I whirl and see a mighty red licorneir galloping at top speed, his hooves tearing up ilsevel petals in his wake. Elydark—his soulfire burns so bright, I have to shield my eyes.
Taar, slipping free of his sister’s embrace, runs to meet his licorneir. He throws his arms around the great beast’s neck, and they stand together, apart from the rest of us, sharing a song meant just for the two of them.
Tears course down my cheeks at the sight.Diira,I think, and tilt my head back, gazing up into the blue, blue sky. Then I gaze deeper still, beyond the veil, to where the stars shine bright. AndI could swear I hear the triumphant song of a million licorneir, raining down on us from above.
Mahra rests her muzzle against my shoulder.My children are glad,she sings into my heart.All heaven rejoices at what has taken place here this day.
I close my eyes. Then, parting my lips, I let a little trill of song escape my tongue. Just a weak little thing, sung with my true voice and without the augmentation of a gods-gift. Hardly impressive: thin, and a little off-key. But the emotion is there, true and vibrant, resounding from the depths of my head.
“Diira,”I sing softly.“I am here. And I love you . . . always.”
A moment later Taar returns to me, takes my hand. I stand with him, blinking in the light of the sun and the soulfire of the liberated licorneir. Somewhere beyond him, the deep voice of Sylcatha bellows in Licornyn, a word I do not know: “Eltavel! Eltavel!”
The cry is taken up by other voices—men, women, and children alike. Sylcatha drops to her knees, and the others do the same, all the Rocaryn and Tarhyn Tribes. They hold out their hands in a gesture of reverence, and their voices are like a song: “Eltavel luinar i-Licorna! Eltavel maelar i-Licorna!”
I turn to Taar, squeezing his hand. “What do they say, warlord?” I ask.
The lines around his eyes crinkle gently, even as a single tear escapes. “They say, ‘Long live the king and queen of Licorna,’” he replies.
39
TAAR
“You better not laugh when I come out,” Ilsevel calls from the other side of the curtained door. “I’m warning you.”
I chuckle softly. “It would be a brave man indeed who dared laugh at you, myzylnala.”
“I mean it! Tassa insisted this is the ceremonial garb I’m supposed to wear, but . . . but I think she might have lost her mind. If you make fun of me, I’ll make you pay for it, I swear!”
“I have no doubt you will look very beautiful,” I reply.
The only answer I receive is some low muttering about ‘land whales,’ whatever that means.
Another chuckle in my throat, I turn to look out the doorway of mydakath, taking in the sight of the Agandaur fields spread before me on this clement evening. In the six months since theclosing of the Rift, the Hidden City has relocated from the fringes of our world and moved to this strip of country outside the ruins of Evisar. I can see the old city itself from this vantage. It looks strangely peaceful, despite its decrepit state. We found it to be purged of hobgoblins following the last fall of thevardimnar, but the city is still far from habitable. I have crews working to clean it out, but I’m not certain when my people will be ready to take possession, if ever.
In the meanwhile, it is a relief to dwell among thedakaths, which are familiar to us. Though we were sad to leave Elanlein behind, despite the evil which poisoned its walls, the fields around us abound with ilsevel blossoms, stretching as far as the eye can see.
Cruor—Licorna—is beginning to heal.
Tarhyn Tribe has joined us here, swelling our ranks significantly. Envoys have been sent to the other tribes, and though there is still resistance from some of the chieftains to accept Ilsevel asmaelar,Sylcatha’s word carries weight. There’s also the added fact of Ilsevel’s bond with Mahra. None of the chieftains are eager to take a stand against the mother of all licorneir. In time I believe the people of Licorna will be truly united once more.
Sylcatha and her warriors have been hard at work tearing down all the mage posts between Evisar at the Between Gate. I myself, soon after the purging of Evisar, traveled to the Between Gate and channeled the power of kingship in my blood to block the way between this world and that of mortals. It was a tremendous act ofmagic, which drastically depleted both me and Elydark. It would have been easier to accomplish were I still bonded to Onoril.
But I am glad that Elydark remains myvelarin. I could not be bonded to both simultaneously, and I could never have given up Elydark.
“Brace yourself, warlord,” Ilsevel’s voice speaks abruptly behind me. “Remember, one laugh out of you, and I’ll make you pay.”
Stifling a smile, I turn to face my wife. My heart leaps straight to my throat then plummets to my gut in a pool of molten lava.
