Chapter 32
ILSEVEL
Black lightning ripples out from Evisar Citadel, spreading across the sky.
I have never seen it so clearly, the way it originates from the citadel tower. When we came this way before, my eyes were not filled with Mahra’s light and Mahra’s song, and I could not perceive the world as clearly as I do now.
Though we are miles distant, still on the fields of Agandaur beyond the city ruins, I cast my gaze ahead and see the very cracks in the stones which compose the tower itself, feel the way the foundation shakes as a tremendous surge of power erupts from inside it.
And the lightning—it originates from the tower.
I know it at last for what it truly is, for what it has been all this time.
Un-song. Rippling un-song, tearing across the atmosphere of this world, ripping away the defenses of licorneir music, which envelops this world.
Making the path clear for hell itself to enter in.
Mahra comes to a halt at the head of our great company.
Both mounted and unmounted licorneir alike form lines on either side of her, stretching across the expanse of Agandaur.
Most of those riding with us today have never seen Evisar, never looked upon the ruins of their king’s city.
There is a deep solemnity to the song vibrating through their hearts, from the oldest rider to the smallest child.
They understand—whether consciously or not—that here lies the origin of their world’s torment.
But they have survived the journey across Cruor. Though they are afraid, their courage has only grown as their souls bond ever more tightly to the licorneir they ride.
We have crossed the landscape at tremendous speed, despite our numbers.
All of the Rocaryn Tribe—men, women, elderly, and children alike—wrapped in the songs of their licorneir, which sustain them, filling them with energy sufficient for any mere physical body.
The song channeled from Mahra through my gods-gift is stronger, more intense than anything the Licornyn riders have known for many years.
They need no food, no water, not even sleep.
The only impediment to our progress has been the vardimnar.
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 the darkness 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 the velarin bond. 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 the velra cord 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 the necroliphon mages 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.
The vardimnar falls. 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 circle sing 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 their varitar blades, 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, velrhoar fire 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 the vardimnar as 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 her varitar, 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 is taken up by every voice present, both the warriors and those we leave behind.
The licorneir, the bonded and the velrhoar, erupt in full battle flame.
All Agandaur shines brilliantly, as though the vardimnar were 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 the obscuris spell 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.