by C. L. Wilson
Rain nodded in weary acceptance. He should have been glad for both the vindication of his suspicions and the unmasking of Eld’s servants in Celieria, but he wished he’d been wrong. Not for the sake of the greedy fools who sold their souls in exchange for wealth and power, but for the ones, like Ellysetta and her friend Selianne, who’d been Marked against their will.
“And Orest?” he asked. “What news from our friends there?”
“Not good.”
Bel’s expression went grim. “Orest fell last night. Lord Teleos was nearly slain, but the Fey got him through the Veil and to the shei’dalins in time for healing. The Fey managed to evacuate the upper city and part of Maiden’s Gate, but the rest…” He shook his head. “All told, we lost at least two thousand Fey and another five thousand Celierians—along with two of the tairen.”
“And the Eld?”
“Six of the dragons went down. We estimate we took out two companies of Elden soldiers and about two hundred Mages.”
“Four thousand men and two hundred Mages. And we lost seven thousand?”
Bel nodded. “Polwyr and his men opened portals all over the city. The fezaros came riding through with that potion of theirs again, and the Fey were so busy fending off demons, Mages, and darrokken and evacuating everyone they could through the Veil, they didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.”
Seven thousand lost. Seven thousand. When the allies didn’t have two thousand to spare.
Farel’s four hundred bloodsworn dahl’reisen had just become even more valuable to Rain than before. To him and the Fey.
He shared a troubled gaze with Ellysetta. He wasn’t sure how well her quintet would take the news about the dahl’reisen lu’tan—especially Gil and Tajik. He didn’t even want to think about the reaction of the other Fey. The ones who’d broken with Tenn and the Massan to support him might well reconsider their decision when they found out what he’d done.
«You know we have to tell them about Farel and his men,» Ellysetta said on a private weave.
«I know, and we will,» Rain replied. Just as soon as he could muster the courage to do so.
The conversation was not going to be a pleasant one.
“You let dahl’reisen bloodswear themselves to your shei’tani? Have you lost your mind?”
Rain and Ellysetta both winced at Eimar v’En Arran’s outrage. He was taking the news much worse than Ellysetta’s quintet had done earlier.
Once the lu’tan got past their initial shock, they had appreciated the benefit of ensuring that the dahl’reisen would not harm Ellysetta and could not fall farther into Shadow. Just to be sure, however, Rain had sent Gaelen and the rest of Ellysetta’s primary quintet on ahead, to meet with Farel and determine if the lute’ashieva bonds would indeed hold strong against the temptation of a restored soul.
“The dahl’reisen saved our lives,” Ellysetta told Eimar. “Many of them sacrificed themselves so Rain and I could escape the Eld. They aren’t the honorless rultsharts you believe them to be.”
“They walk the Shadowed Path!” Eimar exclaimed. “They chose it!”
“They didn’t choose it!” Ellysetta retorted. “At least not the way you mean. They simply chose not to die. They suffered so much in defense of the Fading Lands, they lost the ability to feel anything but pain and anguish. And even then, they chose to stay alive, to suffer unimaginable torment so they could defend the very people who reviled them.”
“Bah!” Eimar shook his head, making the crystal bells in his hair chime. “They had an honorable choice—sheisan’dahlein—and they did not take it.”
“Rain and I had a choice as well—to weave Azrahn or let the tairen die. Did we choose wrong, too? “
The Air master scowled. “That was different.”
“Not according to Tenn and the rest of the Massan,” she reminded him.
“Those villagers you met on your way from the Garreval—those are the families of these dahl’reisen,” Rain said. “Among them is a Celierian-born woman who truemated the son of a dahl’reisen. Truemated, Eimar. And they have children—including a daughter who possesses Fey gifts.”
The first appearance of doubt eclipsed the outrage on Ei-mar’s face. “That’s impossible.”
“So I always believed, but I was wrong. We Fey have clung to our honor, and our women are barren. These dahl’reisen have clung to their lives, despite their dishonor, and their women bear young—even young capable of truemating. We need to know why, Eimar.”
“You don’t need to let them bloodswear to the Feyreisa to figure that out.”
“Nei, I don’t,” Rain agreed. “But we’re also in a war, and we’re short on blades. The dahl’reisen leader, Farel, has asked to meet with me and Ellysetta this afternoon. With the shei’dalins and the other Fey here, Farel and his men aren’t sure how best to honor their lute’asheiva bonds. They will not come near the other fellanas, but they cannot go far from Ellysetta. Farel also tells me there are other dahl’reisen who wish to bloodswear themselves to Ellysetta and fight openly for the Fading Lands once more.”
Eimar spread his hands. “What do you want from me?”
“I sent Ellysetta’s quintet on ahead to meet with Farel and observe the other dahl’reisen who wish to bloodswear to my mate. If, after their evaluation, her chakor has no objections, Ellysetta and I will travel to the dahl’reisen camp to accept the other bonds. I want you to come with us. I want you to see these dahl’reisen for yourself, then tell me whether or not you can fight alongside them.”
Celieria ~ Dahl’reisen Camp
Stiff wariness infused the warriors of Ellysetta’s primary quintet as six dahl’reisen stepped out of the forest and into the open fields of Celieria. Bel, Tajik, Rijonn, and Gil watched the scarred Fey with undisguised distrust, while the dahl’reisen returned their gazes with defiance mingled with faint hints of shame.
“Which one of you is Farel?” Bel asked.
“I am,” said the dahl’reisen with dark brown hair and a scar that curved across his neck and up his cheek.
Gaelen had shown Bel an image of Farel before they left camp. The dahl’reisen who had stepped forward was indeed the one shown in Gaelen’s weave. “I am Belliard vel Jelani, Chatokkai of the Fading Lands.”
“I know who you are, Belliard vel Jelani.”
Bel’s brows arched. “We have met?”
“Nei. A friend showed me your image once.”
“I didn’t know dahl’reisen had friends,” Gil said in a cold voice.
Farel gave a bark of humorless laughter. “And here I thought, as bloodsworn defenders of the Feyreisa, we might meet in peace.”
“This is peace,” Tajik said in a cold voice. “You’re standing before us, and we’re letting you live.”
“A mercy most apprecia…” Farel’s sardonic reply hung in midword as Gaelen released his invisibility weave and appeared at Bel’s side. “… ted.” The last syllable of the word dropped from Farel’s mouth into a stunned silence. Farel swallowed. “General.”
“I’ve asked you repeatedly to call me Gaelen.”
Farel’s face went blank as he looked at Gaelen surrounded by the other Fey. “You are… with them? But you are—” His voice broke off.
Bel saw the dahl’reisen’s eyes narrow as he scanned Gaelen’s face, then saw those same eyes go wide in sudden, shocked understanding.
“Your scar… it’s gone!”
“Aiyah,” Gaelen confirmed.
“And… the rest? “
“Gone as well. My sister Marissya says my soul is an unsullied as an infant’s.”
Farel’s throat moved on another heavy swallow. “But how is such a thing possi—” He looked up, his eyes filled with certainty. “The Feyreisa.”
“Aiyah,” Gaelen answered. “Which is why, my friend, I must ask if there are any of you—either those who have already sworn their bonds, or those who wish to—who might break it if they discovered she can do this?” He pointed to his unscarred
face.
With Steli and the other two tairen flying overhead, Rain, Ellysetta, Eimar, and the Fey lu’tan ran north along the edge of the Verlaine towards the dahl’reisen camp.
Bel and Gaelen had sent word of their findings earlier in the dahl’reisen camp. There had been a handful of questionable dahl’reisen among Farel’s assemblage, but Gaelen assured Rain they had been dealt with. Rain didn’t ask how, and Gaelen didn’t volunteer any more information, except to say there was no chance they might harm Ellysetta or the Fey, now or in the future.
A mile before they reached the camp, Xisanna and Perhal flew ahead to make certain all was well, while Steli landed and stalked protectively behind her adopted kitling, ready to scorch the first threat that reared its head.
Farel and Ellysetta’s primary quintet were waiting to greet them at the curve of the last hill. The moment the Fey rounded the last hill and stepped foot on the field where the dahl’reisen had gathered, they froze in their tracks.
“I don’t believe it,” Eimar whispered.
“I had no idea there could be so many,” Ellysetta breathed.
“Nor did I,” Rain said in a hoarse voice. He swallowed to moisten his dry throat and gazed across the vale with stunned eyes. Stretched out before them, more than a mile in every direction, were row after row of tents. An entire army—a very, very large army—was camped at the edge of the Verlaine Forest.
Not just a few hundred. Not even the few thousand Rain had suspected there were.
Tens of thousands.
“So tell me, Farel,” he rasped, “exactly how many blades do you count in the Brotherhood of Shadows?”
Beside him, Farel smiled. It was the first genuine smile Rain had ever seen on the dahl’reisen’s face. The warrior cast a proud gaze over his assembled brothers. “Dahl’reisen? Thirty thousand. Sons of dahl’reisen? Another forty.”
Rain almost choked on his own tongue. Gods save him. Seventy thousand.
Seventy thousand.
Twice the number of all the Fey still living.
Rain’s stunned gaze traveled across the seemingly endless sea of warriors, the outcast sons of his homeland. And he saw the pride on their scarred faces, the renewed light of hope shining from eyes that had been dark with shadow for centuries.
“They all wish to serve the Fading Lands,” Bel said. “All thirty thousand dahl’reisen have asked to bloodswear themselves to Ellysetta, and fight on her behalf to regain some part of their honor as you allowed Farel and his men to do. Their sons have offered their bonds as well.”
“I will accept dahl’reisen bonds,” Ellysetta said, “but not the bond of any Fey who still has a chance to find his truemate.”
“Some might argue that sons of dahl’reisen are not Fey, Ellysetta.” “They’re Fey enough.”
Bel smiled. “As I was saying, even the young ones are good fighters. The dahl’reisen have taught them well.”
Eimar couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Bel? You truly approve of this? You trust these dahl’reisen?”
Bel shrugged. “Two nights ago, I would have called Rain a fool for allowing dahl’reisen to bloodswear to the Feyreisa. But today… well, today, he and the Feyreisa are alive because of them… and I”—he lifted his hands in a dazed gesture—“I learned that I have a nephew. My brother Ben, didn’t die in the Wars as I thought. He joined the Brotherhood of Shadows and mated a Celierian woman. They had a son before he died fighting the Mages.”
Bel turned his head towards the dahl’reisen horde, where a young, unscarred warrior stood talking with his brothers. As if sensing Bel’s gaze, the warrior glanced up. Apart from a brief, darting glance from Rain to Bel and back, no expression crossed the young warrior’s face, but he put a hand over his chest and bowed slightly in a Fey gesture of welcome and acknowledgment.
“His name is Beren.” A faint, melancholy smile curved the corner of Bel’s mouth. “He has Ben’s eyes.”
“Bel… kem’jeto.” Rain was at a loss for words. He remembered Benevar vel Jelani, Bel’s older brother, and how Bel had idolized him. The pain of his loss had honed Bel to a razor-sharp blade, and he’d become a deadly terror on the battlefields throughout the remaining months of the Mage Wars. “My sorrows for your brother, but mioralas for his son.” Rain clapped a hand on Bel’s shoulder. “With joy, I celebrate this new warrior of the Jelani line.”
“Beylah vo.” A brief silence fell between them, then Bel admitted in a low voice, “You know, Rain, if I’d known Ben was still alive… I think perhaps I would have traded my own honor to be with him… to spend the years with him.”
“Perhaps that’s why he never let you know.”
Bel, the most honorable Fey Rain knew, nodded sadly. “I wish he had though, Rain.” He met his best friend’s gaze. “I really wish he had.”
Rain looked out across the seemingly endless sea of warriors, the outcast sons of his homeland. Many of them banished for weaving Azrahn—the same crime for which he and Ellysetta had been banished, a crime he was beginning to think wasn’t half so evil as he’d been raised to believe. And instead of looking upon them with revulsion and dread—instead of seeing their scars and reviling them for their dishonor and the threat of Shadow that hovered over their bleak lives—he saw Fey. Warriors, brothers, friends. Fey whom someone like Bel had once known and loved.
And for the first time, he accepted the possibility that here, in the most unlikely place and from the most unlikely quarter, he had just found the allies he’d been looking for.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Celieria ~ Dahl’reisen Encampment
Ellysetta thought bloodswearing thirty thousand souls would have taken much longer than it did, but Farel and her quintet had already decided how to handle it. They divided the dahl’reisen into blocks of five hundred and each block swore their oaths simultaneously. Ellysetta’s existing lu’tan stood amongst the groups to ensure that every dahl’reisen made a proper and complete oath.
What to do with the massive pile of thirty thousand bloodsworn Fey’cha became a subject of heated debate, but in the end, both Fey and dahl’reisen lu’tan agreed to weave a new suit of armor for Ellysetta, this time using only a small button of metal from each bloodsworn blade. The remaining, unused portions of the Fey’chas were buried in the Verlaine, under a thirty-six fold protective weave, to be retrieved and taken to a place of honor and safekeeping after the threat of war had passed.
To say that Ellysetta and her quintet were happy with the decision to bloodswear the dahl’reisen was stretching the truth, but as Tajik said with a sigh as they prepared to leave, “War is a strange thing, kem’jitanessa. I’ve seen bitter enemies fighting side by side, because they hate the thing they’re fighting more than they hate each other. Sometimes, you have to take your allies where you find them and hope for the best.”
She laid a hand on his arm. She knew how difficult it was for him to overcome a lifetime of revulsion for the warriors who walked the Shadowed Path, but he had not been among them. He had not spent time with them as she had, nor seen the love and vulnerability in their eyes when they were safe in the circle of their families, nor felt their shame at having fallen from the honorable path of the Fey warrior.
“They saved my life, kem’melajeto,” she told him gently. “They saved Rain’s life too.” She looked at the assembly of dahl’reisen, the scarred faces filled with purpose and determination rather than shame, and at the larger gathering of their sons and grandsons, fine, fierce young warriors who’d never learned that they were suppose to revile the scarred, soul-shadowed Fey instead of love and honor them. “I think they may just save us all.”
Watching her, Tajik shook his head, a peculiar half-smile on his face.
“What is it?” she asked.
“You just looked very Elvish just then. And very like your mother.” He glanced back at the dahl’reisen camp. “I hope you’re right, Ellysetta. I hope they do save us. But I’ll settle for just knowing this wasn’t the biggest mistak
e we’ve ever made.”
Celieria ~ Allied Encampment by the Verlaine
With fifteen bells of hard travel lying between the Fey army and Orest, Rain and his generals had agreed to spend one final night camped beside the Verlaine and set out before sunrise.
As he and Ellysetta retired to their magic-warded tent for the night, Rain shed his steel and spun his war armor to the stand in the corner. His bones warmed as the Shadar horn added its power to his weave.
The tiny boost to the magic made Rain go still.
He closed his eyes, fingers curling in loose fists. Earlier this evening, he’d spun that same weave without the Shadar horn supplementing his control. His condition was deterio-rating—and much more rapidly than he’d hoped. How long did he have? Days? Bells? Did he even want to know when there was nothing he could do about it?
He blew out the candle lamp. His elongated pupils reacted to the loss of light instantly, lengthening and widening, adapting like a cat’s to the tent’s dark interior. That much of him, at least, still worked as it should.
Naked, his skin glowing silver in the dark, he glided on silent feet towards the sleeping pallet. Ellysetta pulled back the coverlet and when he crawled in beside her and lay down, she scooted closer, snuggling against him and putting a hand over his heart. The instant her skin touched his, the tension in his body began to fade. Her love and concern washed over him, enveloping him in a haven of peace and comfort. With just her touch, she calmed the crying madness in his soul and filled the cold, empty places inside him with light and warmth.
His arms closed around her, holding her tight. “I was afraid I’d lost you,” he confessed in a low voice. “When I saw you slay that Mharog.” Even the memory of it made him shudder.
She pressed her face against his throat. “I thought I’d lost you, too. It didn’t matter what happened to me then.” Her voice became nearly inaudible as she added, “Or so I thought.”
He brushed her soft, curling hair back off her forehead, stroking the smooth satiny skin. “What do you mean?”