Understood what?
Oh, my dear Erienne, we aren't letting you into her mind to save her.
Hirad barely blocked the blow, the sword point nicking his right cheek to give him a cut to mirror the one he already sported. He lunged forward, his speed surprising the Dordovan in front of him who leapt back, his blade coming across his body to knock Hirad's aside.
Behind, they massed still and The Raven had nowhere to run any more. With Denser and Ilkar unable to cast, there was no backup and he felt himself tiring too quickly. Beside him, The Unknown grunted with every blow. One of the Protectors was down, another two plus Aeb were already carrying injuries, and the Dordovans were rotating their attackers where they could, keeping fresh while they wore their opponents down.
Hirad looked for a gap and hurried his sword in an upward arc, his enemy swaying back to dodge the blow. The man came in quickly and Hirad dropped to his haunches, the blade whipping over his head, coming up as he brought his own weapon down, clattering it through the back of the soldier. He dropped. Hirad backed up. He looked again over the heads of the enemy, trying to gauge their numbers. Too many. Too damn many.
“Unknown?” he said, using a two-handed grip to deflect a lunge to his head. He steered the enemy weapon aside and thrashed back quickly, his opponent stepping smartly back to evade.
“Keep going,” said The Unknown, though his breath was short and there was desperation in his voice. “Believe.”
Beside The Unknown, Aeb clattered his axe into the chest plate of a Dordovan and he crashed backward into his companions. Hirad's opponent was knocked off balance and the barbarian seized his chance, whipping his blade into the man's throat, seeing it torn out to spray blood high. The victim fell choking, hands dragged him aside and yet another moved up to take his place.
Something had to give. Hirad, his arms aching and lungs burning, roared to clear his head again and swore that it wouldn't be him.
Darrick was in no mood to wait. They were behind the fight, looking at the Dordovan forces pushing inexorably on. He could see Hirad's sword rising and falling, blocking and sweeping. But he could also see the direction of the battle, and his friends would die.
“Call them off,” he said.
Vuldaroq said nothing.
“Ren, I think we should get their attention. Fire until they notice you.”
Ren sighed, stretched her bow and let go the arrow, seeing it slam into the back of a Dordovan neck. The man pitched forward into those in front.
“Call them off,” repeated Darrick. His sword point dug a little deeper and his free hand rested on the arrow once more. “If my friends die, so do you. I promise you.”
Ren fired again, another soldier fell and those at the back of the line were turning quickly. Some of them advanced. Ren nocked another arrow and bent the bow. Darrick moved his blade to Vuldaroq's neck and held up his free hand to keep the Dordovans back.
“Your move, fat man,” he whispered. “Either we all live or we all die. Choose.”
Hirad could see movement at the back of the Dordovan press but couldn't see exactly what had caused it. Men were moving away and the shouts of encouragement had turned to those of warning. The pressure eased.
“Come on Raven!” he yelled, and though only The Unknown stood by him, the Protectors took up the invitation. They pushed.
Hirad thrashed his blade into the chest of his enemy, bending chain mail links in and winding him. The soldier couldn't raise a block and Hirad slammed his sword right to left and down into his stomach. Beside him, The Unknown overheaded, his blade clanging into a helm and stunning his opponent while Aeb's blade whispered through the air as it had all day, its point tearing the throat from an enemy.
There was shouting from ahead, urgent and quick. He thought he heard the order to disengage and the Dordovans paced back. He made to move in to keep up the attack but Darrick's voice stopped him.
“Hirad, hold!”
Confused, Hirad backed off.
“Cease,” said The Unknown. The Protectors stopped immediately.
The Dordovans retreated into the dining room. There were still twenty of them, maybe more. Hirad, breathing hard, sweating and glad for the break, saw them part and then, through them, came Vuldaroq, Darrick's blade at his neck and Ren by him, bow flexed and ready.
Hirad smiled and was about to speak when Erienne came to, screaming.
She surged out of Lyanna's mind, murder on her lips. She had to warn Denser, had to let him know somehow. But the tendrils were snatching at her and with every passing heartbeat the monster invaded her, leaving Lyanna to die. For even as it fed on her, it sustained her while she gave it strength, like a parasitic host. Keeping her alive it leached all it could from her before discarding her for another. And the Al-Drechar weren't prepared to take the chance of losing what they had nurtured within her daughter and they were transferring it to another, more able host; and the match was perfect.
She clawed toward consciousness, fought the monster which locked on to her, suffusing her mind, showing her miracles, showing her power. She didn't want any of it. She wanted her child alive.
Her eyes flashed open, her heart trip-hammering in her chest. She looked down at Lyanna. The child was still, so still. A scream erupted from her lips and she was massaging Lyanna's arms, her chest, her back, urging her to breathe, for her pulse to beat and for her lips to move and her lungs to drag in air.
She could dimly sense Denser talking to her, calling, crying, shouting. There was a cacophony in her head. She put Lyanna on the ground, shaking off the hands that clawed at her, her mouth meeting her daughter's, breathing into her again and again.
But there was nothing but the roaring in her own head and the whispering that she was too late. She raised her head slowly, wiped the stray hair from Lyanna's beautiful face, saw her tears drip on those perfect cheeks and brushed her trembling fingers across her blueing lips.
“My poor little girl. I'm so sorry.”
Denser's arms were around her. Silence beat at her ears and the roaring died away.
“Let me go,” she said calmly.
He relaxed his hold. She shot to her feet, dragged the knife from her belt sheath and dived at Ephemere, plunging the blade over and over into the Al-Drechar's chest.
“Murderer!” she cried. “Murderer!”
Strong arms pulled her away. She fought against them.
“You killed her, you bastards!” she raged. “Fucking bitches, you killed her!”
She almost broke free but more hands held her arms down and the dagger was prised from her grasp. Denser's face came close to hers and he put a hand to the back of her neck and pulled her toward his heaving shoulders.
“They killed my baby,” she whispered. “They killed my baby.”
And then there was darkness.
Hirad was shaking. He didn't understand. Lyanna was lying dead on the floor of the kitchen and Erienne had torn the chest from Ephemere while the other Al-Drechar looked on, too dazed or weak to do anything about it. The Unknown had dragged her away and Aeb had taken the dagger from her.
He turned, bloodied sword in hand. Ilkar was sitting slouched, semiconscious. Darrick had marched Vuldaroq into the midst of them, the Dordovan soldiers falling back, looking to their wounded and casting wary eyes at the Protectors, the only men still ready and willing to fight.
Hirad heaved in a breath. Denser was crying, Erienne in his arms. He had retreated with her to a chair and sat there, oblivious to everyone around him. The barbarian turned to Darrick who was holding his sword still at Vuldaroq's neck.
“Thank you,” he managed, though it felt like utter failure.
Darrick shrugged. Out in the dining room, the Dordovans stood in a confused silent group, covered from the kitchen door by Ren and Aronaar, who had moved back from the ballroom.
“Hardly matters does it?” said the General.
Hirad shook his head. He looked down on Lyanna's still form and over at the hideous bloodied
mass that had been Ephemere. Flanking her, Myriell and Cleress sat, eyes closed, each with a hand covering one of their dead sister's.
Vuldaroq cleared his throat. “Would you mind moving this?” He waved at Darrick's sword point. “For rather obvious reasons, I no longer represent a danger.”
“Hirad?” asked Darrick.
“Whatever,” said the barbarian. “We can't kill him, so we might as well let him go.” Darrick sheathed his sword and Vuldaroq relaxed.
Hirad looked at The Unknown. The big man's gaze was locked on the body of the child.
“Unknown?”
“All for nothing,” he said. “Poor little mite. She never stood a chance.”
“But we had to try,” said Hirad.
“Always doomed, wasn't she?” The Unknown pointed at the Al-Drechar. “And they knew it.”
“What now?” asked Hirad.
The Unknown looked up, his eyes moist. “First, I suggest the Dordovans pick up their wounded, bury their dead, and leave. The battle is over. Then, I really haven't got a clue.”
Movement at the periphery of Hirad's vision had him spinning. A man, if you could call him that, shoved his way to the front of the Dordovans massed around the kitchen door. He had one hand to his head from which blood dripped steadily. He was swaying on his feet, blood ran from a badly bandaged wound on his leg and his eye was unfocused.
“Selik,” grated Hirad. He hefted his sword. “One man who doesn't get away alive.” He crossed the space quickly and raised his sword to ready. “Defend yourself. I'd hate to cut down an unarmed man.”
Selik dragged his sword from its sheath and waved the Dordovans away, nodding.
“You I can take.”
But The Unknown stepped in between them, facing his friend.
“No, Hirad,” he said. “The fight is over. It would be murder.”
Hirad looked at him, his blood boiling for him to strike the Black Wing down, but The Unknown held his gaze and spoke softly.
“Hirad, we have a Code.”
“Yes,” said the barbarian. He put up his sword and pointed a finger at Selik. “One day, The Unknown won't be there and I'll be waiting. Remember that every day when you wake up.”
Selik spat on the dining room floor. “Honour. It'll be the death of you, Coldheart. Now, Vuldaroq, when are we going to leave this bastard island?”
“Come walk with me, Hirad,” said The Unknown.
It was late in the afternoon and so much had changed. The Dordovans had gone back to their ships, taking their wounded and Selik with them. Whether the Black Wing made it to Balaia was a matter of some conjecture but Hirad rather hoped he did. He wanted the satisfaction for himself.
Ilkar was once again watching over Thraun and he remained a mystery. Soon, they would have to wake him and see if he was either man or wolf inside the hybrid body. Denser had taken Erienne out into the gentle sunshine and had laid her on a grass bank near some of the ancient graves to sleep under a WarmHeal spell. It would do nothing to ease the agony of her mind, but it gave her body respite from the trauma. And Darrick walked alone, no doubt picking over the holes in his tactics and wondering whether anything could have been made different. Elsewhere, the six surviving Protectors, including Aeb, conducted ceremonies for their dead.
The Unknown limped beside Hirad as the two old friends wandered out through the rubble of the house and down the path toward the beach.
“How will she cope do you think?” asked the big man. “Either of them for that matter.”
“Erienne?”
“Who else.” The Unknown fell quiet for a few paces. “Losing a child, however it happens, must be a devastating blow. But it's happened to Erienne twice. First the twins, now Lyanna.”
“We'll be here,” said Hirad.
The Unknown smiled. “I know but she'll need so much more. Imagine. All her children are dead. Her spirit will be shattered. Her belief in herself as a mother gone. I doubt it's something she'll ever really come to terms with. Lyanna was her world.”
“Denser's the key, isn't he?” said Hirad. “He's the only one that can really share her grief or understand what she's going through and make her believe in herself again.”
“And he'll need our help too. This is going to be a difficult time. Mostly for Erienne and Denser but we're all going to need patience and tolerance in abundance. You included.”
“Point taken,” said Hirad.
The friends walked on, Hirad seeing a faraway look in The Unknown's eye. He didn't think the walk had been just to remind him to keep his temper.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Can you feel those who need you most?” asked The Unknown.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, do you know inside that they are alive and waiting for you?” explained The Unknown.
Hirad shrugged. “I guess so. Put it this way, if Sha-Kaan was dead I would feel it.”
“So he isn't?”
“No,” said Hirad shaking his head. “In fact, he might even enjoy this climate for a time. Heat and humidity. Much more like home.”
“I hope so.”
“You're thinking about Diera and Jonas, aren't you?”
The Unknown stopped and rested against a fallen tree.
“I just want to know they're all right.”
“Well, you'll be home soon enough.”
“No, not soon enough,” said The Unknown. “Soon enough is now, today.”
Hirad walked on, hearing the big man limp after him, his left leg dragging a little.
“And you expected to feel them inside you?” he asked after a pause.
“I suppose so,” said the Unknown. “Silly, isn't it?”
“Not at all.” Hirad put an arm around his shoulders. “They'll be fine. Tomas will have looked after them.”
They rounded the right-hand corner and crunched across the sand. Myriell was standing there, Ren by her side, looking out to sea. She turned as they approached.
“So, Raven men,” she said, her voice tired and weak. “Why so glum?”
“We aren't used to failing,” said Hirad.
“Failing?” replied Myriell. “Who says you've failed.”
“Lyanna is dead,” snapped The Unknown. “We came here to save her. We failed.”
“I understand how it looks to you,” said Myriell. “And I understand Erienne's reaction. It saddens us too that we have lost two sisters. But Lyanna was a very special child and she will never truly be gone. Only her body is at rest.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Hirad. “You killed her, didn't you?”
“She was dead already,” said Myriell. “You have to believe that.”
“It's Erienne you have to convince, not us,” said Hirad.
“I know.” Myriell's eyes glinted with sudden energy. “But you have to understand that you haven't failed. Far from it. You mark me well, Raven man. You have just secured this world a saviour. And this world will need a saviour, believe me.”
“I don't get it,” said Hirad.
“Erienne,” said Myriell. “What she now carries has to be kept safe. It is fortunate the Dordovans thought their job done with the death of poor Lyanna. The One is a power that cannot be allowed to fade from this dimension, not yet. It isn't easy to describe in words you would understand but the fabric of magic and of the dimensions is strained, out of alignment with the natural order, and the One is the binding. Until that fabric is settled once again, the One is critical to everyone, even those that believe it an evil force.”
Hirad frowned. “So if Erienne dies, the world dies with her?”
“Oh, there would doubtless be a new order but the chaos that would reign across Balaia and interdimensional space would seem like the end of the world to those who witnessed it. Keeping the One in existence for now is infinitely preferable, believe me.”
“Oh, I see,” said Hirad.
“You don't, but you will,” said Myriell, smiling. “Now I wonder if you two youngsters
will carry me back to the house. I'm feeling very tired.”
“Youngsters?” said Hirad. “She can't mean you, Unknown.”
“Remember what I told you about my fist?” said The Unknown.
They picked the old elf up and chaired her from the beach.
Once again there are people who have helped smooth the writing process and supplied the right answers when I needed them most. Thank you to Alan Mearns for providing a vital missing link during a walk to the pub in Killarney; to Lisa Edney, Deborah Erasmus and Laura Gulvin for the words they gave me; to Dave, Dick, George and Pete who keep on fighting the good fight on my behalf; and to Simon Spanton, whose support and insight have helped me through what at times was a very difficult year.
JAMES BARCLAY is in his forties and lives in Teddington in the UK with his wife and son. He is a full-time writer. Visit him online at www.jamesbarclay.com.
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