Chapter 36 TAAR
TAAR
“Pour out blood unto me.”
The voice of darkness blocks out all song, catching it in its depths and rendering it null.
There is no room in this space of violence and rage and pulsing hunger for the light of soulfire, for the glory of songlight.
And yet . . .
And yet a delicate filament winds its way through my mind.
A single strand, so bright by comparison to the hideous darkness, my awareness cannot help being drawn to it.
A voice calls to me along that thread, a faint vibration which my ears can only just discern.
A voice I have not heard in far too long.
Taar.
Taar.
For a moment I see her before me—an angelic being, shining with brilliant light.
Small, perhaps, but fiery, valiant, appearing to my eyes as though through parting clouds of black, poisonous fumes.
At the sight of her I feel a surge of raw hatred, and I do not know if it belongs to me or to the force moving through me.
I know only that this song, which sings of my salvation, is the last thing I want.
My heart longs for vengeance, for blood spilled at my feet, bathing my hands, my face.
Then it longs for death and, ultimately, damnation.
Ah, yes! That is what I crave more than anything now.
“Give me to drink, Taarthalor.”
I draw back my sword. Even in madness, the skill of my arm remains. My first blow is blocked, my second is countered, but the third strikes home, drives deep into that angelic being. Cutting off that hateful song. The hot gush of life goes out from her, flowing over me like a flood.
Then, just for a moment, a voice sings into my mind: Ilsevel!
It isn’t my own voice—it belongs to another. And yet, somehow, it is closer to me than my own skin. A voice of soul, twined deeply with mine, but set apart from this madness pulsing through me.
Vellar! What have you done?
I blink, confused. Red, searing light erupts on the edges of my vision, driving back the suffocating darkness.
I shake my head, and my gaze seems to clarify.
I see, not an angelic figure standing before me, but a woman.
Her eyes wide, staring into mine. Her mouth parted in a silent scream of shock, of pain.
My sword protrudes from her gut.
“T—Taar?” she whispers, a little, shuddering breath.
And in my mind, my own voice answers: Zylnala?
A roar of pure fury draws my gaze. I turn to see my enemy bearing down on me.
The black haze returns, clouding my mind.
I yank my sword free, leave that woman to collapse into her agony, and turn to defend myself.
Even as virulium pulses through me, even as that little space of understanding resists, screaming: No, no, no!
What have you done? What have you done? Ilsevel! Zylnala!
Noxaurian monsters surround me, eager to swarm my enemy, to tear him apart.
The Shadow King retreats and crouches over the body of the fallen woman, a protective wall against that flood of menace.
I melt into the fray, vanishing amid the berserker madness.
Though the darkness still urges me to fight, to rend, to tear and destroy, a strange, cold numbness takes over my limbs. In another moment I’ll collapse.
A strong hand grips my arm. “Luinar!” a voice barks close to my ear. “You’ve got to come away. The day is lost; you are not safe here.”
I turn, violence still in my veins, my teeth bared. The face before me seems to belong to a stranger, but when I blink, recognition returns. “Kildorath?” I gasp.
“Come away, luinar,” my warrior says again, dragging me with him, hewing at Noxaurians as he carves a path back to the compromised barrier. “We need to get you out of here, now.”
Red flame bursts on the edge of my vision.
Elydark, freed of the chaeora nets, appears before me, his soul burning like the star he is.
I cannot think, cannot even in that moment rejoice in my licorneir’s liberation.
The virulium is seeping out from me now, even as that voice in my mind claws to reclaim its hold.
“Give me to drink, Taarthalor. Pour out blood unto me . . .”
Somehow I mount the flaming beast. Turning, I look back through flickering tongues of flame and see the Shadow King, bearing a slight burden as he runs for the broken citadel gate.
“Zylnala,” I try to whisper. Black bile pours over my chin.
Then Elydark’s muscles surge beneath me, and I’m carried away from the field of battle, Kildorath on his licorneir at my side. My mind sinks into the yawning black, and I know no more.