She squinted at her swords lying on the ground. She lunged for them, but Gweld leaped between her and the weapons. She pulled a belt knife and danced on the balls of her feet.
"Not a good choice, Limbreth. Don't remember when we first met? I know far more moves than you'll ever learn. I disarmed Athson without a thought, and you as well." Gweld motioned behind Limbreth. "And he'll die in moments, so say your goodbyes while you can."
Limbreth adjusted her stance and turned her head so she had both the elf—dragon, whatever—and Athson in her peripheral sight. Athson croaked something.
"You'll not have him. The prophecy will take you." She edged toward Athson.
The downed ranger's words touched her ears. "Not for him. Need sword."
Limbreth whistled to her horse. Time to change the balance. The white warhorse responded and lunged at Gweld.
The elf half-wheeled toward the approaching horse and opened his mouth. Flame spewed at the animal. Limbreth's horse squealed, reared on hind legs, and surged from the glade. It almost ran into one of the mages, a woman, but veered from the green nimbus around her at the last moment. The mage never moved.
Gweld grimaced at Limbreth. "You delay me with your antics but not the outcome. Death comes for him now, and all help is accounted for." He motioned to the occupied Withlings and the Bane, which lay on the ground with an unseen force withholding it.
Limbreth eyed her surroundings for the first time. Spark. That must be Spark holding the Bane down. She'd not noticed it in the shade of the tree. She eased away from Gweld—Magdronu in truth, then, after that fiery display. "You'll not have him. The prophecy will take you."
Magdronu laughed. "Really? All is in my favor now."
Limbreth shook her head. "Your armies have lost. Corgren is dead at the hands of Tordug. Fitting, now that I think of it."
At the shrine, the male mage groaned. "Corgren dead?"
Gweld's eyes never left Limbreth, but he spoke to the mage. "Just finish your incantation, Paugren."
So, the brother, he looked like Corgren. Limbreth flexed her hand. "I will defend Athson with my life. Your armies will not have Auguron this day either." She'd save Athson yet. Surely there was time. There were Withlings here to help.
Magdronu motioned with the bow. "Your little games as an ax-maid of the death-grip won't help you. It's just an old injury, nothing more. Those fool dwarves know nothing and speak of empty valor. Such will your efforts be today, Limbreth." Magdronu advanced a few steps.
Limbreth backed toward Athson. Her foot kicked something. She glanced down and snatched up Athson's blessed sword. She grinned. "The balance shifts. Your fire is of no use against this blade." She'd defend Athson now. The blade's edges flashed blue and red, and its runes shined in the sunlight. Limbreth switched her stance and nudged Athson behind her with a boot. She drew the sword back low behind her leg, ready to sweep it upward against any attack from Magdronu. Her grip locked with a jolt of pain. "The grip is on me, dragon. You'll not disarm me again."
Magdronu hefted the elven long-knife and opened his mouth. Flame gathered in the depths of his throat.
The Bane sat up.
Limbreth gasped and her eyebrows climbed. What? Something dragged the sword behind her, not around to block Magdronu's fire.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Athson's sword gleamed in his face. He reached for it. Break the curse. His hand missed twice, but he grasped it on the third try. The flat of the blade, he needed that. He pulled the blade with the last of his fading strength.
Magdronu opened his mouth wide. Heat glowed behind his teeth.
Spark released the Bane and raced toward Magdronu. Limbreth gasped, but she didn't release the blessed sword.
Athson twisted the blade and aimed the flat toward the arrow. The arrow's vanes wagged with the movement of his chest as he gasped for breath. Darkness ringed his vision. He tugged the blade again and tapped the arrow.
The arrow and the blessed sword flashed with white light in Athson's eyes. Something howled. Was it him? He released the blade, and his hand flopped across his stomach. An immense weight lifted from his mind. Athson had never known it existed.
Spark leapt between them and Magdronu, his momentum carrying him past the line of attack where none ever arrived. Athson squinted. The arrow was gone, but the pain of his wound remained, and his breath faded.
Magdronu writhed on the ground and howled in agony. The elven figure crouched on hands and knees, then bounded impossibly high into the air. Magdronu whirled into a black knot with a roar. Wings unfurled as the horned and scaled dragon stretched higher past the treetops, clawing at the air.
Athson watched as the dragon strained for the heights of the sky with agonized roars and fled on the winds. "Pain. The broken curse brought him anguish."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Limbreth covered her face as dust rose in the frantic escape of the dragon. She coughed, then whirled at Athson's muttered words.
The Bane thrashed into ash.
The man, he must be Paugren, slumped to his knees in agony, his voice choked with grief. "Corgren! I got you into this and he's gotten you killed." He looked to the nearest woman who trembled and shrank from Zelma's singing. "I'll never follow the Dragon again."
At his words, the other two women shrieked and shifted their hands to cast spells.
Limbreth raised Athson's sword. He'd blocked magical attacks before, back in the mountains. She hoped she could as well.
But one of the remaining sisters waved her hands and backed away. "Esthria, that dog's after me! Help!" But she spoke a few words of a spell and disappeared in cloudy embrace of dragon's wings.
The remaining mage grimaced. "You first, Paugren. For your treachery now. Then these others."
"No! Esthria, don't! It's over!" The woman nearest Paugren lunged between him and her attacking sister as Esthria released flames meant for Paugren.
The flames slammed the defending woman to the ground and engulfed her in hungry tongues of heat.
"Cass! You fool! What have you done?" Esthria stood with shock etched on her face.
Paugren lunged to put out the flames with his cloak but they singed his face and hands in the effort as Cass screamed.
Limbreth advanced toward Esthria, the blessed sword raised to fend off magic.
Esthria retreated, "Stay away or I'll kill you!" She lifted her hands but in that instant, she whirled and danced away from something unseen.
Limbreth paused. Spark. It had to be him.
Esthria screeched a few words and cast a baleful glance to Limbreth and the others as the magical wings of her spell closed around her and whisked her to some distant locale.
Limbreth sighed and lowered the sword. She turned to the scene of the charred mage, Paugren attempting to help and Athson lying upon the ground. So fast did those flames consume her. But Limbreth recovered her wits and scrambled to Athson's aid.
"I've got the giant." Howart rushed to Ralda, who lay unmoving.
Beneath Limbreth, Athson lifted one hand, his eyes barely open. She grabbed his hand and knelt over him. "Help!"
Zelma crouched and began a prayer. She kept praying even after Athson’s grip loosened in Limbreth's hands and his eyes closed. Zelma never stopped praying, her voice rising and falling, until Athson gasped and his eyes fluttered open.
Limbreth had seen Hastra draw someone back from the doors of death at Huffer's Post, but she still gaped at the work of a Withling. She stared at Zelma.
The red-haired Withling sighed and sniffed. "That's twice today already, Athson. Don't make it a third." She wiped her cheeks. "I don't know how Hastra put up with you so long, but you might just be worth the trouble."
He chuckled weakly. "Just glad Limbreth got me the sword."
At her sudden tears, Limbreth wiped her cheeks and nose with her sleeve. She laid the sword aside. "How did you know?"
"Eloch. Maybe Hastra. Or Apeth." He stared at the morning sky. "Apeth and Hastra both reminded me the arrow
wasn't for Magdronu before they died. Maybe they realized it was for me and just didn't have the breath to say it. I realized it when Eloch spoke to me and I heard. My family were avowed to Magdronu and broke their vow." He swallowed, his voice still weak. "They deserved death as traitors. Their curse was mine. The arrow was for me. But I was given the sword, Cursebreaker, to overcome the curse. It broke Magdronu, though. All his broken magic is agony to him and his followers."
"Will he die?" Limbreth's awe of Zelma's miracle faded, and her heart slowed in her chest. What would she do with Athson now? Did she trust him? She didn't know, but he lived still.
Zelma shrugged.
Howart approached, his face downcast. "Magdronu will retreat to wherever he wills, lick his wounds, and seek to regroup."
"Ralda?" Athson pushed his way up and collapsed, his face pale.
Howart shook his head with a frown. "He was dead when I got to him. Wouldn't come back no matter how I prayed."
Athson groaned. "Oh no. He just wanted to make sure no one else died when he could help."
Tears welled anew in Limbreth's eyes, and a sob shook her body. "I guess he's with his brother now. Did all he could."
"Shame he had to fight Magdronu to see his brother." Athson took a deep breath. "I tried to wave him off." He peered intently at Limbreth. "Hey, you came back for me."
Limbreth nodded through a fresh wave of tears and sniffed. "I did." She still didn't know why, but she had done it. And good thing too.
"Magdronu said his trolls were taking the bridge." Athson held her hand and squeezed.
"No." Limbreth shook her head. "Tordug killed Corgren and held the gates until Makwi came and took the bridge back with the rangers. That's when I arrived with the Grendonese cavalry and what dwarves I had rounded up on the road."
Athson's eyes flared wide. "You brought an army?"
"I guess I did." She shrugged, and then her thoughts formed into certainty. "I did. We relieved the bridge, and the rangers came across and routed the trolls. Tordug died, but he won back his honor."
Athson flopped an arm over his eyes. "Not him too!" He released a ragged sigh. "It’s just three left, then, that set out form Marston's Station last fall. Four, counting Magdronu. But he doesn't count."
Limbreth shook her head and pushed her braid over her shoulder and out of Athson's face. "No, he doesn't count." Her heart wrenched for Athson, betrayed by an enemy who had falsely befriended him for years and played his curse against him. It had almost killed him several times, not to mention her.
"What of the Bane?" Athson lifted his head to search the area with his gaze. "Spark had him. There's Spark." He pointed, his arm drifted with weakness.
Limbreth shrugged. "Gone with Magdronu, faded to ash." She looked to Zelma. "But how?"
Zelma sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I don't know for sure. Perhaps it was tied to Athson's curse somehow, maybe fed off it."
Howart cleared this throat. "Uh, what do we do with this one? Cass is dead and Paugren's burned?" He stood near the disconsolate wizard.
Nearby, Paugren wept for his dead brother and his wounds. "You have nothing to fear from me. I'm done with Magdronu even if it kills me. I'm done." He grimaced at his pain or Cass who lay seared to death, maybe both. "Why did she do that?"
Limbreth looked to Athson, Zelma, and Howart in turn, until Zelma spoke up with a sigh. "We'll hold him in the city and let Eloch inform us what to do." She eyed Howart. "He deserves much for his crimes over the years."
The gaunt Withling nodded.
Zelma stood and so did Limbreth, but Athson couldn’t make it off the ground. Limbreth offered her hand to pull him up.
He shook his head. "I think I'll need a cart. My head's spinning, and I'm done fighting my head." His hand found the blessed sword, and with it, he found the strength to rise to his feet and lean on Limbreth. He offered a tremulous smile at the sight of Ralda and shook his head, slumped, then fought his way to his feet. "I guess we better go get help and find my mother."
Limbreth called to her horse which returned nervously while Zelma gathered the spear with Athson's family banner.
Athson made it as far as the graves of Heth and Cireena, where Limbreth had met him. She stayed with him as he sat against a tree and waited for Howart and Zelma to bring help. Limbreth sat beside him and held his hand. When a cart rolled into sight with Howard, Zelma and his mother aboard. A troop of rangers following with arrows nocked on their bowstrings.
Athson turned to Limbreth. "I'm sorry I didn't fight for you at the Funnel. I know you don't know what to do about me, but thanks for coming back." He leaned into her and released an exhausted sigh.
Limbreth kissed him and said, "No, I don't know what to do about you, but I want to find out. And you're welcome."
He grinned at the sun and struggled to his feet with Limbreth's help. He hugged his mother when the cart arrived, and they rode back to the city. Along the way, he gazed at the sky, then Limbreth, and said, "I've never seen such a colorful sky. Now I know why." He touched the tear in his ranger-green shirt. "It's all gone. It's all gone. That curse."
He smiled and slept peacefully on the short ride.
EPILOGUE
The following weeks both drifted like a leaf on the wind and raced by like her horse in a cavalry charge for Limbreth. Athson soon regained his strength and began his courtship with sincere apology and discussion. Yet other necessities required their attention as the dead were buried.
Since he claimed a brotherhood with Athson, Ralda was buried in a plot near Heth and Cireena with honors and ceremony by the elves for his ill-fated stand against Magdronu. Messages of the news were sent to Ralda's people. Athson wrote the words for his head-stone, "A faithful friend and brother."
Limbreth's heart threatened to seize as the Withlings completed a simple ceremony of prayer to Eloch.
Athson walked with her from the fresh mound of soil and watched his feet. At last, he said, "I never had a brother and now I've lost one. I understand Ralda's struggle."
Grief froze any words of comfort on Limbreth's tongue so she held Athson's hand.
Dwarves constructed a memorial tomb for Tordug near the bridge, his deeds and honor as "wizard-slayer" chiseled into the stone. Limbreth took part in the burial ceremony after some coaching from the dwarves. She saluted as an ax-maid with the death grip but her hands trembled less from effort and more from withheld sobs. Afterward, she left with Athson and said, "I'll treasure my real father from now on. I've lost someone like a father and I dread the death of my own and regret my angry words with him all the more."
Athson stretched his arm over her shoulders and gathered her close as she walked in a grim daze to The Broken Bow Inn where she remembered Tordug with a toast of ale with Makwi and other dwarves.
The elves honored Hastra with a long procession, at the end of which her burial concluded by Ralda, her head-stone reading, "What was needed, was given." With this last burial, neither Limbreth nor Athson spoke any words for a long while as they stood near grieving Zelma who knelt by the fresh grave.
After a time, Zelma found words, "She was the best of us, I think. She bore the burden personally for all those who died at Withling's Watch. She foresaw it in a vision. I think it haunted her and drove her all the long years since."
Later, Limbreth ate with Athson at a small gathering hosted by Sarneth. She barely tasted what she ate but paused at a sudden thought. "Odd that our first meeting was where so much happened, where our friends have been buried."
Athson shook his head. "Not odd, just the right time or else we would never have gone there at the end to stop Magdronu. The place was planned even then." He didn't eat much either and soon left with Limbreth.
With each burial of a companion, grief and pride mingled in Limbreth's thoughts. But with the end of sorrowful tasks and the arrival of early spring, the immediate grief dwindled to a gray sadness in the background of Limbreth's mind and her sleep improved. She noted even Zelma's drawn expre
ssion softened and her reddened eyes were less of a frequent sight.
Athson grew warmer as he moved his mother into the previous home of Heth and Cireena for those weeks of recovery. There, he welcomed Howart and Zelma who offered training to him as a Withling. After some weeks, the three Withlings concluded as one, much to Limbreth's surprise, that their path lay in Hart where they intended breaking Rok's power and that of Magdronu's cult. Likewise, they recruited, Enlath the ranger weapons-smith, into their order and planned to rebuild their old home far away after they settled the old feuds between Hart and Rok into which Magdronu rooted his cult.
As Limbreth observed a change in Athson, her fondness for him grew, yet her misgiving lingered with the memory of her fall at the Funnel. When the day of his departure arrived, she rose in the dim light of morning to say her farewells to him, the other Withlings and Danilla, her heart heavy as she chose another path with the homeward bound Grendonese guard.
Limbreth arrived in the yard behind the ranger stables and kicked the dirt at their feet where she and Athson stood in the lingering morning dusk. Her breath caught at a lump in her throat. She brushed a stray strand of hair over her ear and lowered her gaze. "I'm still not sure how I feel after everything."
Athson touched her cheek and drew her gaze to his. "I understand your hesitance. But you did ride through an army of trolls to get to me."
"I did do that, didn't I?" She smiled, laughed, and added, "Makwi will be composing that verse for a long time."
Athson laughed too. Their laughter faded after a moment. "Look, the point is, my failure at the Funnel is my own, part of a bigger scheme of shadow in my life that no longer exists. You came back for a reason, though."
Her mixed feelings still fluttered in her head no matter what her ride into battle meant. "You need to go, if you're to start east with that troop of dwarves. I'll work through it." It was a long ride to Grendon. "I still need to answer to my father." Her stomach suddenly felt like she'd eaten nothing for breakfast. But it was a long ride, and facing her father lay weeks away. "I'm not sure what to tell him about me, who I am now, or about you."
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