by Ben Hale
Her gaze met his, her blue eyes glistening. “Because I love you Taryn.”
Taryn was stunned, and it took him several moments to respond. “You . . . love me?”
Her lips tugged into a familiar smile. “Yes Taryn.”
Like lightning to his mind, he saw all the things Liri had done for him, or said to him. All the sideways looks, all the soft expressions, all of them flashed through his mind in a deluge of happy moments. She had always been there for him, encouraged him when he needed it, raised him up when he was weak, and given advice when he didn’t know what to do. She had helped him find Siarra, and had risked her life on countless occasions to protect him. In that sudden, glorious second, he realized he couldn’t imagine his life without her.
“I love you too Liri,” he said, the words coming out clear and strong, reflecting the glowing he felt in his heart.
She grinned and scooted closer, snuggling into his chest. “I thought so,” she murmured. “But you made it hard to be sure.”
He chuckled and gently moved her golden hair behind her pointed ear. “I’m sorry about that. I never was good at figuring women out.”
She burst out laughing and sat up. Reaching around his neck, she kissed him soundly, causing his heart to accelerate and heat to flood his frame. When they parted, she said, “I’m just glad you finally figured it out.”
“Me too,” he chuckled, pulling her close so her head rested against his chest. “But I couldn’t have done it without you.”
For several minutes the two sat, relishing the closeness. But the moment could only last so long, and Taryn found his mind returning to the dilemma ahead of them.
“What happened after I left?”
She gave a deep sigh before responding. "You missed Jack's tirade."
He arced an eyebrow.
"He just exploded," she said, her lips twitching into a grin. "Yelling that Siarra couldn't do it, that is wasn't right. She wouldn't budge, so he fell silent. But you should have seen the anger on his face. He was livid.
"After that Royl accepted the plan, and they began discussing specifics. At first, Jack was adamant about going with Siarra, but she argued that she would fight much better alone. In the end, he insisted to be included with the group that drops the road after the army leaves the citadel. Apparently, the fire giants that found us in the trap are the best of the clan with machines, and the two of them are going with Jack to drop the bridge.
"Once the plan was in motion we separated to prepare. Captain Arrow and his men set off to gather their gear. Trin and Mae disappeared, and last I heard Jack and Siarra were still fighting." She cocked her head to the side and grinned. "They are such an odd pair. The entire world trusts her—and distrusts him."
He let out a bark of laughter and asked. “What about Trin and Mae? Where are they going?”
“The two of them are going with us into the city. There is a single doorway that leads to the bottom two levels. If we can make it that far, they will watch our back while we go further.”
“Why won’t any giants come with us?” Taryn asked, confused. “I’m sure we could use their help.”
Liri shifted to face him. “Because the route we are going to take isn’t possible for the giants.” Using her hands to demonstrate, she shaped the hanging city and pointed at the three chains that held it. “Under each chain is a secret path, designed as an escape route for the dwarves. It’s tall enough for a human . . .”
“. . . but not a giant,” Taryn finished, imagining a giant trying to squeeze onto such a path.
She grinned back at him. “After the fiends in the outer fortifications are drawn down into the valley, the rest of the giants will strike the city, attacking it from all three approaches. Once they have the city forces occupied, the four of us will take the escape path to get in. It will then be up to us to find Draeken. When we reach the door to the lower levels, Trin and Mae will hold it in case they discover our presence.”
“What about you?” Taryn asked with a light smile.
“What did you expect? Of course I go with you.”
He forced a smile, his throat tightening as the image of her dead on the steps flashed across his mind. In his gut he knew those steps were in Xshaltheria. He felt a sudden urge to ask her to stay behind, but then he realized he would have to admit what he had seen. Afraid to say he had lied, he asked, “And Captain Arrow?”
“They will follow us as far as the chain, and help us clear any remaining fiends in the shorter tunnels. Then they will hold position there, preventing any from following our trail. Royl expects there to be enough fiends that a rear guard will be necessary, and it was decided they needed to keep them from coming in behind us. As an added precaution, two fire giants are being sent to seal the other escape paths. Our way in will be our only way out.”
He sighed, and finally asked what he knew they were both avoiding. “What about Siarra?”
“All of us will go to the parting of the tunnels together," she said, her tone quiet. "From there we will separate, with each of us going on different paths. Trin and Mae will go with the two of us on the eastern route to where it enters the city. Jack and the two engineers will take the southern corridor to where it intersects with the road. Then the fire giants will ascend to the surface to play their part. Last, Siarra will use the western tunnel . . . alone.”
Taryn blew out his breath. “There is no other way, is there?”
She shook her head, her eyes somber. “I don’t think so, and I know Siarra wouldn’t have suggested her part if she could think of anything else.”
“That’s true.”
“Besides,” she said, her eyebrows rising, “we aren’t likely to survive anyway.”
Taryn couldn’t help the laugh from bursting out of him. Then the image of her death once again cooled his thoughts. Looking into the eyes of the person he loved, he vowed to never leave her alone on those steps.
“Let’s go find Siarra,” he said. “I should spend some time with her before we go.”
Liri nodded, a soft smile playing across her features. “The fire giants will be preparing all night. If we leave by early morning, it is half a day's journey to where the tunnel is caved in. The intersection is only a short distance beyond that.”
Taryn took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So tonight we prepare and tomorrow we get into position. Then we strike on the morning of the seventh day.”
Liri’s smile became sad. “Then the war will end . . . one way or the other.”
Day 6
Chapter 23: Healing
“Loose a volley from the longbows,” General Deiran ordered, squinting at the diseased figure of Plague coming towards them, “And summon more magi.”
“Its power is stronger at close range general,” Daq’s voice said, his youthful voice betraying his fear as he passed on Braon’s message. “So keep your infantry back.”
Deiran nodded without looking at his Link. He’d heard about what the fiend general had done to the Lake Road. He hoped they would have greater luck today.
The massive portcullis at the base of the First Pillar had given way a few minutes ago, and shortly afterward the fiend army had withdrawn. He suppressed a shudder. The only reason he could think to withdraw once you had breached a citadel . . . was because you had something worse to send in.
The nausea had already begun, even with him standing a hundred paces from the revolting fiend. Forcing bile down, Deiran watched as a wave of arrows streaked towards it. Barbed shafts pummeled the figure, with not a single miss from the renowned elven archers.
Plague came to a halt when the first arrow struck, waiting until the last one entered his flesh. In the silence that followed the shrunken form shook itself as if shedding a heavy cloak, and the arrows slid free. The clatter of them falling to the floor echoed throughout the cavern, and a moment later Plague resumed his slow pace forward. Reaching the shattered portcullis, he stepped through.
“Braon said the arrows wouldn’t
work,” Daq said.
“I know,” Deiran replied, swallowing against his churning stomach. “But it was worth a try.” Turning to another elf beside him, he said, “Have the water and light magi hit it with everything they have. Then order all infantry to retreat behind the next gate.”
The captain nodded and slipped out of view. A few seconds later a line of mages hurried to the front of the line. A moment later light and water exploded from every direction. Bright light beamed and focused, striking the fiend until it almost disappeared. Water drawn from the small streams narrowed and picked up speed, rising into the air and streaking towards the light enveloped figure. As the water tightened, its power increased dramatically. Deiran knew from experience that such a powered beam of water could cut stone.
Powered water sliced into the figure at the same moment the light magic diminished, and Deiran unshielded his eyes to watch. Focused water lanced through the figure, splitting its flesh with ease. Guided by the powerful mages, the water beams crisscrossed Plague until the cavern streams sunk low in their carved channels.
Deiran held his breath, both to fight the nausea and in hope as he saw Plague stumble from the great gashes in his form. A cheer rose from the ranks of elves as the creature fell onto his hands and knees. The attack had caused its skin to mottle even more, and some of the sores on his skin had burst, causing yellow pus to trickle down its skin.
A moment later the cheering died as Plague began to rise. He climbed to his feet, whole once more, albeit with yellow scars where the water had cut him. Deiran felt his heart stutter to a stop when the figure began to walk toward them again.
Numbly he issued orders to have everyone fall back to the tunnels. Blocked by many strongdoors, gates, and other barriers, the corridors were designed to defend the retreating elves until they reached the Second Great Hall, situated directly above the first. He only hoped it would slow Plague enough for Braon to think of something.
He fought the wave of sadness that washed over him as he called for a full retreat, glancing back one more time at the advancing figure of the disease riddled fiend . . .
Then Plague stopped and made a motion with his hand in his direction. Confused, Deiran stopped and opened his mouth to speak to Daq—but then he looked at the young telepath. The small boy lay shivering and clenching his stomach. His forehead burned red with fever, and his skin had darkened.
In an instant Deiran understood three things. Plague knew who Daq was, and what he could do. He was also targeting him specifically—and that if nothing happened, the boy would die.
He didn’t hesitate.
Before he’d consciously had the thought, he stepped between Plague and the dying youth—and immediately felt the brunt of Plague’s attack. His stomach heaved as he dropped to his knees, vomiting. Heat blossomed throughout his skin, searing his arms to the point of blistering. In seconds his vision began to darken and spot red.
Arms reached for him, attempting to pull him out of danger but with a bellow of rage he shook himself free. “Get the boy out of here!”
Feverishly he struggled against their grip, until finally he caught sight of Daq being rushed away by several elves. His small form hung limp, but the color had returned to his face. A surge of triumph flashed through him, knowing he had thwarted the evil fiend’s design—but the prolonged effect of the disease magic had taken its toll.
His strength waned, leeched away by the encroaching darkness, overcoming his sense of victory. Fevered and sore, coughing and retching, Deiran succumbed.
His last thoughts were of his wife and unborn child.
***
“That thing nearly killed Daq!” Thacker shouted. “What are—”
“—Stop,” Braon said, hating himself for not having the time to comfort a worried father. “I know you are worried about your son, but if we don’t act fast the entire city will be lost.”
“But—”
“Not now!” Braon said, forcing an edge into his voice, hating himself even more when he saw the fisherman’s wounded expression. “We have to know what is going on.”
The telepath almost didn’t answer, but after a moment his shoulders slumped. “All I caught were images of Deiran stepping in front of Daq right before he lost consciousness.” His voice carried no emotion, and Braon almost winced at the curt tone.
“Send a message to Reiquin to wake up Newhawk and tell him to get down there.” He paused, seeing the crestfallen expression on the man. Although he could never admit it, he knew how he felt. Without a Link, especially in the city, they would be vulnerable. He also hated the fact that he was more concerned with the war than his friend’s son.
Then a thought occurred to him and he asked aloud, “Who is our best healer that is close to Daq?”
At the same time, Rokei and several other soldiers answered, “Aléthya.”
Braon caught Thacker's eye and allowed a small smile. “Have Newhawk and Reiquin pick her up on the way.”
Thacker’s lip began to quiver and wetness to gather around his eyes, but Braon turned away, unable to bear it. Biting his lip against the overwhelming emotion, he swept the flickering map from one end to the other. Unfortunately, Azertorn was not the only hole in their defenses.
Their line was buckling.
And the enemy knew it.
***
“Aléthya!” someone shouted, their tone laced with alarm.
She looked up from the soldier she had just healed, surprised. She had just awakened from some much needed sleep, even if it was only four hours.
“You are needed immediately!” the voice said, and she finally managed to see a blue armored soldier standing in the doorway, craning to spot her in the overflowing room.
She glanced at Taneel, sensing his eyes on her, but he just shrugged.
Sighing, she stood and worked her way through the room until she stood in front of him. “Call me Thia—.”
Without a word, he grabbed her arm and yanked her into the darkened street. Annoyed at the rough treatment, she began to wrench her arm free—but then she saw the phoenix. Massive and shimmering red, the bird stood as large as a dragon and just as fearsome. Sparks flew from his wings and tail, and when he tossed his head, flames arced down his back, passing around the single passenger.
Before she could ask what was going on, the solder thrust her towards the bird, and a moment later the druid known as Newhawk yanked her up to sit behind him. The next moment, the phoenix dropped from the ledge and glided over the once beautiful gardens at the base of Le Runtáriel.
Seeing their destination to be a door leading to the Second and First Great Halls, she blurted, “Couldn’t we have just walked? It’s not very far.”
“No time,” he shot back. “A fiend called Plague entered the city. He attacked one of our Links.”
Despite herself, she asked, “Who?”
“One of the telepaths we have been using to communicate with Commander Braon.”
“Oh.”
“He’s only eight.”
“Oh,” she said. “Then take me to him.”
He glanced back at her with a weary grin. “We are on the way now.”
Then the enormous bird back winged and landed next to the open door. In another instant they had dismounted and were hurrying into the crowded tunnels. On every side, injured elves huddled or lay sleeping, leaving thin walkways in the once broad corridor.
Aléthya swallowed at the sudden catch in her throat. Her people littered the ground, injured and suffering. Trapped in her tavern-turned-healer-station, she had almost forgotten the enormity of how many were suffering. With an effort she fought the mad desire to rush to each one and heal them. There were simply too many. Focusing instead on the boy she was being sent to aid, she asked, “What have the other healers already done?”
“I don’t know,” he said, pulling her through a door and picking up speed as they began the descent towards the First Great Hall.
“Have they tried to—?”
; “I don’t know!” he said, but his voice was more worried than irritated. He glanced back at her. “I know just as much as you. We are being sent down to help. You to heal the boy, me to assume temporary command until Keiko or Lokan can get here.”
Temporary command? . . . “Does that mean that General Deiran . . .?”
His glance said it all, and she would have stopped in her tracks if she hadn’t been pulled by Newhawk. Deiran had been a legendary general, and his fall would be a great loss for the elven people. Then they reached the bottom of the lowest cavern and Newhawk turned down a corridor that led to the First Great Hall. Despite their haste, they both pulled up short at the sight before them.
Two hundred paces down the straight corridor, a portcullis barred the way. Although not as thick as the one in the First Pillar, it still presented a formidable block to the solitary figure on the other side. Ragged and revolting, Plague oozed green and yellow from several sores, and its head looked squashed, like a vegetable that had been left in the sun. Its skin blotched black and faded yellow, and it stood as if it was about to collapse.
A tug on Aléthya’s arm pulled her from looking at the figure behind the gate, and she turned to see Newhawk looking at her, his skin tinged green as he swallowed. “They didn’t want to move him too far. He is two doors down on the right.” He pointed to the correct door and began to move towards it.
She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but then realized that every soldier around her had the same symptoms. White hands clasped their weapons, or clenched their midsection. With an iron will, others suppressed the convulsions that led to vomiting, but the smell led her to believe that some had not succeeded. Still others coughed and their foreheads burned red with fever.
Working her way past them, she asked, “What is wrong with them?”
Newhawk pointed down the corridor. “It’s one of the generals of Draeken, and he uses disease as a weapon.” His arm swept across the corridor, indicating an invisible line a hundred paces from the creature. Not a single elf stood past it. “Proximity seems to enhance its power.”