Chapter 22 TAAR #3
Halaema looks at me long and hard, her ancient eyes searching.
When she speaks at last, her voice has lost some of its wolfish growl, but the threat remains in every undertone.
“Your failure to breach the walls we can forgive, luinar. It was always nothing more than a breath of hope. Reports brought back to our ears say you did everything within your power, even going so far as to take the virulium again in your efforts to penetrate the Miphates’ defenses.
We find no fault with you, luinar . . . on that score. ”
I swallow painfully, awaiting the fall of the ax.
“But,” Halaema continues, relentlessly, inevitably, “you abandoned your people in their hour of defeat . . . that you would leave them to the ravages of Cruor and quit this world altogether . . . and for what purpose? In pursuit of a bride who rejected you on silmael. The very human responsible for the death of one of our own beloved licorneir. And, worse than that, the daughter of our great enemy, Larongar.”
My head comes up sharply. I stare at Halaema, disbelieving my own ears. How can she possibly know that? No one knows Ilsevel’s identity but me. Even I did not suspect the truth until Shanaera . . . Shanaera . . .
My gaze moves from Halaema to Kildorath at her back. Something inside me goes cold. “You,” I whisper. Then I surge to my feet. “You!”
Immediately the licorneir standing behind the elders burst into flame. They move deftly between the elders and me, a protective barrier. But my focus is entirely on Kildorath. I stride toward him, only to find myself looking up the length of a burning licorneir horn, aimed at my heart.
“Stand down, Taar,” Kildorath says, the soulfire of his licorneir burning in his eyes. “This is not a fight you can win.”
Elydark’s roar behind me brings my head whirling about. More licorneir close in on him, all of them burning, while he dares not ignite his flame for fear of harming Ilsevel. He throws back his head, trumpeting in fury, and carves the ground with a vicious forehoof.
“Surrender, Taar,” Kildorath says. “Surrender your bride, and you may yet find us merciful.”
“Never!” I bellow. Darting to one side, I avoid the swing of his licorneir’s horn and dive for the sword I’d placed at the feet of the elders.
Raising it just in time, I deflect another blow from a second licorneir’s horn, but the impact is so great, it jars my arm, and my fingers go numb.
The sword drops from my hands. I look up into the inferno eyes of an oncoming licorneir.
“Taar!” Ilsevel screams.
A burst of song erupts through the night, piercing the clamorous sounds of battle, drowning out all other perceptions.
The power of a divinely-dispensed gift ripples out from my wife’s throat and floods the flaming licorneir, dousing their flame.
Every one of the beasts freezes in place, their soulfire held captive in the reverberations of her voice.
I stare at them, see how the connection between rider and beast is, temporarily, severed, replaced by this far more powerful, multi-stranded binding of song.
“Gods above,” I whisper, shocked, horrified.
Before I can think how to react, Halaema’s voice rings out in command: “Kill the witch! Kill the cursed Miphata!”
The next instant, three archers step out from the deeper shadows, and arrows arch over the heads of the frozen licorneir, aimed at Elydark and his rider. One arrow embeds in the ground at Elydark’s feet—another grazes his flank.
The third plunges into Ilsevel’s shoulder, abruptly shattering her song.
She cries out in pain and surprise, even as the licorneir shake their heads, song clearing from their addled minds. Ilsevel crumples over in the saddle, and everything in my body and being feels a single, absolute need.
Elydark! I sing into his mind, a roar of command. Go!
A momentary surge of resistance. My licorneir casts me a last look, hurt and fury flaming deep in his gaze.
Then he pivots gracefully, even as silver blood pours from the wound in his flank, and tears into motion.
Another rain of arrows falls from above, but he avoids them nimbly, putting on speed.
The licorneir all around me toss their heads, shake their horns, unwilling to follow, to put themselves in range of that commanding voice.
Their riders force them into action, and they speed out through the dakaths in pursuit.
I do not stand by idly. Hurling myself at the nearest archer, I knock the man over and rip the weapon from his grasp. Virulium bubbles in my veins, whispering for his death, but I turn away and throw myself instead at the next man.
Kildorath steps in my way. He’s dismounted and stands on his own two feet before me, his sword upraised and pointed at my throat.
“Stand down, luinar,” he says.
I bare my teeth in a snarl. “I am your luinar no more, Kildorath. You have broken faith with me, with every vow you ever swore.”
He looks stricken, but his sword does not waver. “I do what I do for the sake of all Licorna.”
I open my mouth to respond, but warriors—my comrades, my friends, my brothers and sisters—close in on every side. Unarmed, I turn to face them. Roaring with rage, with heartbreak, I lunge forward, intending to die upon their swords.
Someone strikes the back of my head, and I know no more.