Chapter 28 #2
The plank reaches the full length of the lowering rope, and he awkwardly climbs onto it, his bound hands gripping fast. Before they begin to heave him up, he catches my eye once more. “Please, Tassa,” he says, “don’t die with me. If ever you loved me, promise you will marry him and live.”
I firm my jaw and refuse to answer, and Halamar is hoisted from the pit in silence.
A single stake stands in the center of the green.
I have heard tell of burnings at the stake. They say many of the fae kings and queens delight in the immolation of their victims, and even humans have been known to practice this torturous form of execution. But the people of Licorna do not treat even their worst criminals so barbarically.
This green place in the heart of the Hidden City has always been one of celebration, the bonfires we light burning high in the night to summon all the people to dance and feast together.
That Kildorath would do this evil thing here, fills my heart with enough rage to temporarily deflect my own bone-shuddering terror.
He has already blighted the sanctity of the last Holy House; will he now turn our beloved home into a site of such brutal death?
Kildorath stands prominently before the stake, clad still in his father’s cloak, the chieftain’s warpaint harsh on his features.
Beyond him sit the elders in their ceremonial robes, forming a solemn half-circle.
It is strange seeing them out here in the open air rather than within the Meeting House.
At first glimpse of them, my heart leaps with hope that they, at least, will stand against this madness.
On second glance, however, I see how frail they look, how old and frightened.
They have lost their authority, and they know it.
I look beyond Kildorath, straight into Halaema’s eyes as Thuridar drags me forward. “Are you truly such a coward?” I cry out fiercely, even as I am forced to my knees. “You let him kill your luinar. Will you now stand by as your chosen chieftain commits this atrocity?”
Halaema looks back at me, her eyes nearly lost behind the heaviness of her wrinkles. Not once in all the years I have known this woman have I seen her afraid. Until now. She does not speak; she barely holds my gaze.
I turn then to Thuridar, my former weapons master, whose hand grips my arm. “And you?” I demand. “You will let this happen? You will not take a stand?”
He refuses to meet my eyes. His face is grim, and his skin has taken on a strange pallor in the eerie evening light. His licorneir stands close by, loyal always to his rider; but am I mistaken in thinking there is tension between them?
All the Licornyn—riders and mounts—are present, their numbers cruelly reduced by the violence of recent campaigns.
When I look around, I cannot see the Licorna of my childhood, when the licorneir presence was abundant in our midst, and the air fairly shimmered with the brilliance of soulfire everywhere one looked.
The soul of Licorna has gone out from this world, leeched away by fear, replaced with aggressive desperation.
I feel Halamar’s gaze fixed upon me and cannot resist turning to him, my only shelter in this storm of horror. His eyes are filled with silent pleading. I know what it is he asks of me.
My jaw hardens.
Kildorath steps forward, arms upraised, drawing all the watchful eyes of the crowd, gathered around the edge of the city green.
“Talanashta Estathanei and Halamarkareth Akkarhalathane,” he declares, “have proven traitors to Licorna and stood with the false luinar, who brought a human into our midst, desecrating our sacred spaces, and compromised our hopes of victory at the battle of Evisar. But,” he adds sharply, cutting off the rising murmurs of dismay filling the evening air, “even now will I have mercy. Even now will I pardon their iniquities, if they will but swear allegiance at the feet of the chieftain chosen by the elders and the people of Rocaryn.”
I cast my gaze around, searching for Miramenor.
Kildorath’s licorneir looms beyond the elders, as though he stands guard over their aged forms. I can hear nothing of the great, golden beast’s song, but something in his soul essence does not seem to shine as bright as it once did.
As though the inner light has been tainted.
Will he allow his rider to kill Halamar and me in fire?
Will he himself ignite the blaze? I want to believe no licorneir could be convinced to commit such an unholy act . . . but I do not know.
Our so-called chieftain draws nearer to Halamar. Though his prisoner is bound and clasped tight by two muscular guards, Kildorath maintains some wary distance. “Will you, son of Karethtar, submit to me as chieftain of the Rocaryn?”
I know better to hope any different, but my stomach nonetheless plunges when Halamar throws back his head and declares in a bold voice, “I am Taarthalor Ragnataarthane’s man. I swore an oath unto death; unto death, my oath stands.”
More murmuring erupts in the crowd. I hear sounds of weeping. The people are disturbed by these doings. Someone in the crowd calls out, “This is madness! Make an end of it!”
By the way the whites of Kildorath’s eyes flash, I suspect he knows he holds their compliance by a thread.
He turns, addressing the people. “The licorneir stand with me,” he declares furiously, his voice carrying. “They support my right to lead as the only son of Chieftain Markildor. Will you turn your backs on that which we have always held sacred?”
“Why are the ilsevels dying?” a female voice cries out, still unseen in the crowd.
“Because our people lack unity,” Kildorath answers firmly.
“The division among us sows evil into once-holy ground, and the ilsevels cannot flourish. We must be made a single tribe once more before we can be made one nation. Therefore, I will do what I must. I will root out dissention and establish order. I will make the hard decisions which Taarthalor could not.” He swings an arm as though to indicate my dead brother, whose unseen ghost seems to stand haunting at his back.
“The man who brought a human bride into our Hidden City is responsible for this poison. It was her and her curses, her Miphata spells, which have blighted the ilsevels. You know who your true enemy is, people of Rocaryn!”
He turns to Halamar again and snarls, “Last chance, son of Karethtar.”
Halamar makes no response, merely stares unblinking into his eyes. At a signal from their chief, the two rough warriors drag him to the stake, throw his back against it, and bind him fast with chaeora cords.
My courage threatens to fail me. I want to shriek, to weep, to fall to my knees. But when Kildorath’s face draws close to mine, I meet his gaze without flinching. “And you, daughter of Ashtalora?” he asks, with the faintest quaver in his voice. “Will you swear your loyalty to me?”
The fear in his gaze verges on madness. How desperately he needs me to turn my back on my brother’s memory, to side with him and, in so doing, convince his people to do the same. He’s marched to the very brink, and he knows it. One wrong move, and he will plunge.
A smile curves my lips. I will not survive this night, but something tells me, neither will he.
In this way, perhaps, I will honor my vow to kill him.
“You’re a coward, Kildorath,” I say, my voice low but clear, carrying through the horror-rapt stillness of that atmosphere.
“You always have been. I will swear no allegiance to a sniveling little worm like you.”
His eyes flare. His hand moves as though he would strike me, but he restrains himself at the last. Instead he takes a step closer, dropping his voice so that only I may hear.
“If you think I won’t do this, Tassa, you are mistaken.
You saw what happened to Taar. I am ready and willing to sacrifice everything to bring about Licorna’s renewal. Even you.”
I spit in his face. Kildorath reels back three paces, his hand shooting to his cheek as though I stabbed him.
He snarls, his eyes widening. For a moment, I see there the warring conflict of the love he once thought he felt for me with the fury and fear which dominate his every thought and motivation.
Then he growls, “She has made her choice. Bind her beside Halamar.”
Thuridar’s grip on my arm tightens. But then, through the wild hammering of my heart, I hear my old trainer’s voice growl: “I cannot.”
Kildorath’s gaze shifts from me to that of my captor. “What?” he roars. “Would you defy your chieftain? Would you join her and Halamar in punishment?”
Thuridar tilts his head forward, his eyes very hard and dark. “I will not ask my licorneir to burn innocent flesh. And I will not let you do this, Kildorath. Not while I have life in my body.”
The instant those words fall from Thuridar’s lips, Miramenor, Kildorath’s licorneir, bursts into flame.
The soulfire instantaneously eats away his flesh, revealing a strange, skeletal being beneath the flames.
A shout goes up amongst the onlookers, most of whom have never seen a licorneir in such hideous aspect.
But Thuridar’s dark licorneir erupts in flame as well and steps forward, placing himself between his rider and Miramenor.
Not once in my life have I witnessed licorneir turn on one another like this—but I see now the beginnings of what will be a terrible conflict, and those of us who stand too near will die in the ensuing flames.
The watchers on the edge of the green draw back.
Many turn and flee from the fiery battle about to take place.
“This has gone too far!” a quavering voice declares.
Halaema stands up from among the elders, supporting herself heavily on her staff.
“Kildorath,” she cries, lifting her aged hand and pointing a trembling finger.
“You dishonor your father. The licorneir are not your instruments of execution! This is not how we will have unity among—”
Whatever she might have said is broken off in a sudden blast of incinerating flame, blasted from the horn of Miramenor.
The soulfire consumes her where she stands, so hot, so abrupt, I never even hear her shriek.
Her body collapses in on itself, leaving behind nothing but a smoldering pile of charred bones.
“Stand back!” Kildorath roars to the crowd, which has surged forward in raw fury to see one of their own elders die like so. He withdraws to stand beside Miramenor, whose flame cannot hurt him. “You will all submit!” he cries out wildly.
My gaze shoots from him to Halamar, still bound to that stake. He is vulnerable—one move from Kildorath, and Miramenor may blast him to ashes the same as he did to Halaema.
With a quick dart, I grab a knife from Thuridar’s belt. He does not try to stop me, but continues to position both himself and his own licorneir between me and Kildorath. I spring on hobbled feet to the stake and set to cutting the chaeora with a will.
“Tassa, get away from here,” Halamar growls.
I ignore him. The knife struggles against the black fibers, but I’m not about to leave him.
Chaos has erupted all around us. People are screaming, running, and more licorneir light up the night until it is as clear as day.
I have no idea who stands with Kildorath and who stands against him.
It won’t make any difference to those of us who aren’t immune to licorneir fire.
Miramenor lunges forward, and Thuridar’s licorneir meets him in a ferocious clash of horns, flames, hooves.
Kildorath and Thuridar have both mounted, and, as their licorneir meet, they hack at each other with varitar blades.
The next few moments will be bloody indeed, and the stench of burnt flesh already stings my nostrils.
I manage to cut one of Halamar’s hands free. He extends it and says, “Give me the knife, Tassa, and get out of here.”
“No, you fool,” I snarl back and go for the next cord.
Before I can make any headway on the fibers, however, something strange moves in the atmosphere. It starts so low, so soft, I do not even recognize that I hear it above the screaming of the crowd, the roars of licorneir, and the clash of steel-on-steel.
But it swells, rising in both resonance and power, until it is a wonder I am aware of any other senses at all.
An overwhelming, all-consuming wave of pure sound, wild, terrifying, cacophonous, anchored by a single voice that somehow takes the wildness of the greater sound and renders it comprehensible to my mere mortal ears.
A hush falls over the city green. Even the warring licorneir dull their flames, turn their heads, gaze out into the darkness beyond the dakaths.
Something is coming.
Something huge.
Something dreadful and yet . . .
I feel the hopeful tension of the sun itself just about to burst from beyond the horizon.