by Aire, D. H.
Raslinn added a word of warding into his chant, which should easily block a thrown blade. His eyes widened as the blade sailed undeterred, then he choked. Uncomprehending, he looked down at the knife sticking from his chest.
The door splintered but still held under the ogre’s battering. The ogre redoubled his efforts to break it down at last.
The staff flared pure incandescent white as the goblin mage sank to his knees.
‘George!’ staff mentally shouted through their link.
“Je’orj!” Fri’il cried in the distance, lost and far away.
Save her! the Summoning willed. Do what you must!
George’s hands trembled as he grabbed at Fri’il’s hands as the tip of the blade clove her heart. Blackness welled around them as white flame fought against it.
Blood fountained as George cried, “No!”
Raven stared as the two of them were engulfed in the heatless white flames.
Concentrating, George plucked the knife out and dropped it to the floor as he concentrated and healed Fri’il’s gaping wound. Yet he could feel the threads of darkness taking Fri’il’s soul as the light burned around them, unable to cast the darkness away.
It fought him while Fri’il fought him out of despair. The darkness was filling her soul. Her heart stopped, her gaze went glassy and she fell slack in his arms.
George heard himself shout, “No! You shall not have her! She is mine!”
He pulled her close and kissed her, breathing life into her as he willed her heart to beat. His breath poured into her stilled lungs, then he drew back and took another deep breath.
“Breathe, Fri’il!” He felt no return of his resuscitation. She lay lifeless in his arms, bathed in light. He kissed her again and again in silence.
Moments passed that seemed a lifetime. He felt her heart beat gently and she gasped a breath and inhaled. Her eyes opened wide and glowed with white fire. Her arms went around him and the darkness fled from her spirit in anathema.
Raven gaped as the darkness flowed to the floor, then pooled around the dying goblin. Raslinn stirred and gasped in horror as it claimed the soul of the one who summoned it and vanished, Raslinn with it.
Staff blazed, its light reflected in George’s eyes as he held Fri’il close. She blinked, then returned his kiss and in delight knocked him backward on the bed.
The bar to the door shattered and Se’and and Cle’or quickly edged past the tiring ogre. Raven shook her head at the gaping faces, and picked up Fri’il’s fallen dagger to cut the final binding from her oblivious foster father’s leg.
“Mmmm,” “Hmmm,” the unintended audience heard as they stared at the sudden lovers.
Balfour said, “Ahem, well, there must be someone around here who can use a healer, so if you’ll excuse me.”
Me’oh chuckled as she followed him.
“Well, Se’and, it looks like we’ve got ourselves a proper Cathartan lord,” Cle’or muttered.
“Uh-hmm,” she replied as Raven looked up and saw Thomi’s mother hastily covering her son’s eyes yet again.
In the fortress’s courtyard, Se’and confronted the prisoners, which offered her a much needed distraction, uncertain about how she was feeling. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
The surviving Niota guards were all old men, who blinked at her as if waking up from a dream. She knew that she had fought young vigorous men, but obviously Raslinn had been a truly powerful weaver of illusion.
The whole keep was in shambles. She listened half-heartedly as Thomi told the raggedly dressed refugees that Raslinn was dead.
“He will haunt our lives no more!”
“But what are we to do now?” a woman asked.
Thomi sighed as Walsh ambled to his side. “We have a choice. We came here for refuge. We can either stay or go back where we came from.”
Balfour came over and said, “I would not advise returning to the Crescent Lands. Fenn du Blain controls both Gwed and Trelor. His people are raiding the lands below.”
The crowed greeted the news with horror. Thomi put his hand on Walsh’s now healed arm and said, “Then we stay.”
“But this is Imperial land, the elvin lords rule!” a man shouted.
Walsh growled, “Thomi lord here!”
Thomi looked up at his friend in surprise.
No one chose to argue, however, and the ogre smiled.
Cle’or watched the scene with interest as Walsh turned around as if listening to something.
Wonderful, Cle’or thought, I hear an exultantly laughing old elf everywhere I go. I wonder what he’s hearing.
The ogre was nodding thoughtfully. “Thomi…Lord Niota.” He bent and bowed to the boy.
Raven curled up licking her paws at the top of the stairs that led to the guestroom. Bright white light shone through the edge of the blanket that now served as the room’s door. She paused, trying to decide if there was any danger in the sounds coming from the bright room but decided to heed Cle’or’s warning not to interfere.
She shook her head and hoped that if this was any indication of what might happen when she found a mate, she would not have to scream so.
“Father?” his daughter muttered beside him as she sensed him stir. “Father?”
The aged elf lay in a cocoon of darkness, which was keeping him alive only moments from death.
Highmage Alrex felt his Summoning exult. It offered him only glimpses of what it learned. The man was in the Empire at long last and fate was binding him to this world whether he willed it or no.
And apparently the man was quite stubborn, which might actually help him survive what was to come. He only hoped the man would live to reach him. The Empire was not for the faint of heart, particularly not for a human, even when that human was obviously a mage of great power and skill.
“Father?”
“Wina,” he muttered ever so faintly.
“Father!”
“Listen, Wina. He comes.”
“What? Who comes?”
So much he needed to say but could not. But this? How could a father not tell his daughter this?
“Bal-four,” he whispered before he husbanded what life he had remaining.
Carwina gasped. Her father said no more. He didn’t need to. She rose and stalked out of the room. The servants fled as she began breaking things with abandon.
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Author Biography
D.H. Aire has walked the ramparts of the Old City of Jerusalem and through an escape tunnel out of a Crusader fortress that Richard the Lionheart once called home. He’s toured archeological sites that were hundreds, if not thousands of years old… experiences that have found expression in his writing of his Highmage’s Plight Series. D.H. Aire’s short stories and a serialized version of Highmage’s Plight have been featured in the ezine Separate Worlds and appears in their first anthology, Flights of Fantasy, Vol. 1 (available on Smashwords.com). The author is originally from St. Louis, Missouri and currently resides in the Washington D.C. metropolitan area. He has an active sup
port site for his story at www.dhr2believe.net.
Malachite Quills presents the high fantasy story Stolen:
There are strange beings in the woods, and young Rioletta Eris has seen them. Many doubt her story, but Rioletta eventually realizes she has opened the door to a secret history.
When Rioletta is about to join the Council of Sorcerers, she is set an unusual task: solve the mystery of her childhood abduction. She’s forced to face facts that don’t fit with her strict traditional upbringing: animated leaves that seem to be stalking her, a creepy changeling made of twigs, and a best friend who turns out to have practiced the Forbidden Skills. When a coup in a nearby village leaves an entire Council missing, Rioletta and her forbidden knowledge may be the only key to their rescue.
For a century, the Councils have relied on their charter to save them from the disaster that ruined their cities. Have they been on the wrong path all along?
Malachite Quills presents the new young adult mythological fantasy Telemachus and Homer:
For every boy who grew up in his father’s shadow and every girl who has been underestimated, there comes a time to look within themselves to see if they have the strength to meet the challenges of the lives. For Telemachus this time arrives soon after Odysseus returns from his twenty year absence, when Telemachus comes to appreciate that his own life needs to be about more than waiting for his father to guide him. On the verge of embarking on an adventure, he learns that his community has been threatened and realizes that he does not know how to help. Swallowing his pride, he recognizes that Homer, a young blind woman is a necessary ally. Homer, like Telemachus, has something to prove, for although she is respected for her knowledge, she feels unfairly defined by her community. Together, as the people of Ithaca’s last hope, they begin their quest.
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