Jeremilan spoke first. “I’m afraid the Mages of Myrcidë must withdraw from the battle. It’s become far too dangerous, and we can’t spare a single life.”
The words sparked immediate outrage. Every eye went to Jeremilan, who seemed to further whither under the intense scrutiny.
Jeremilan had no choice but to explain, “For centuries, I have kept our presence secret from the world, yet our numbers have still remained dangerously low. Our bloodline is priceless and unique. We should never have come.”
Captain Galastad approached the situation with remarkable control and caution, given that Jeremilan had just announced his intention to commit wholesale treason, a betrayal that probably condemned the entire continent to quick and brutal murder. “Do you not understand that this is the last, best hope for all of us, including your people? Have you heard what happened to Corpa Schaul? To Frist? Standing together, we may still lose, but failure is certain standing alone. Not only will you render our situation more difficult, probably impossible, you will doom yourselves as well.”
Jeremilan drew himself up as well as he could, though it did little more than stress the huge difference between the captain’s height and his own. “We successfully hid for centuries. We can do so again.”
“No.” Weile Kahn’s single word, though soft, was emphatic. “You have a contract to honor.”
Jeremilan jerked his attention to the Easterner. “What good is a contract if we’re all dead? The agreement included a promise that we would be fully protected. We had the right to terminate the contract if any mages came to serious harm.”
Galastad asked the obvious question. “Have they?”
“No,” Jeremilan admitted. “But it is inevitable.”
Weile stepped in again, “You were unfound for centuries because you hid yourselves in magic and we had no reason to look for you. These Kjempemagiska are magical beings. If you leave, and we fall, they will hunt you down and destroy you to a man, woman or child.”
“I believe we can stay hidden.”
“I hadn’t finished.” Weile’s voice remained calm, steady. “If you leave, and I survive, I will hunt you down and destroy you to a man, woman, or child.”
A chill spiraled through Kedrin. He suspected that, if Weile Kahn wanted a man dead, his life was as good as forfeit.
Jeremilan whirled to face Weile. Even as he moved, he was suddenly surrounded by dark men in black who seemed to materialize from the shadows.
Though his gemlike eyes seemed to take in everything, the elves’ Captain demonstrated no fear. He spoke gently, as if the threat, both real and verbal, had not occurred. “I’m afraid we need every being with magical abilities to assist. It’s taxing us to the limit already. I’ve called for elfin backup, but I don’t know how many more elves we can enlist. Even if I could get all of us, and that’s unlikely nearly to the point of impossibility, we’d still be outnumbered ten to one.” He paused, allowing the effect of his words to sink in before heaping on more dire information.
No one spoke while waiting for Captain to continue, though Weile’s men did fade back out of sight. “It’s only the Kjempemagiska’s decision to focus on physical as well as magical combat that’s allowed us to keep them in check thus far. If they focused solely on magic, hit us with one mighty blast, it’s possible . . .” Captain stood still for several moments, showing no inclination to finish his sentence.
At length, Galastad prodded. “What’s possible, Captain? What would happen?”
A hint of something entered Captain’s voice. Though he could not pinpoint it exactly, Kedrin compared it to awe. “I’m not entirely sure. Two great and desperate forces of chaos slamming into one another . . . the backlash would be tremendous . . . it could . . . it might . . .” He shook his head, then lowered it in deep consideration. Kedrin wondered how long it took someone as old as the world to locate specific memories for comparison. Captain started again. “It’s liable to cause a cataclysmic explosion.”
Galastad asked the question on everyone’s mind. “How . . . cataclysmic?”
In answer, Captain only shrugged. “Difficult to predict.”
General Sutton asked the question on every mind. “What can we do to prevent it? And if not prevent it, survive it?”
Captain sucked in a deep breath. “The best thing you can do is win this war. The fewer the Kjempemagiska, the weaker their combined magic and the less chaos we need to call forth to counteract it, the safer we all become.” He looked around and, apparently noting the horror on nearly every commander’s face, he added, “We’re working on it, trying to find ways to redirect the excess energy and mitigate the damage. Believe me, the elves have more to fear from losing lives than anyone else here.” He added pointedly, “Including Jeremilan.”
Although most of the commanders did not know what Captain meant, Kedrin did. Humans, including the Myrcidians, could repopulate so long as one of each gender survived. The Knight of Erythane saw the danger in plying Captain with too many questions. “Please, accept our thanks for everything you’ve done so far as well as anything you might do to save as many human lives as possible.” Kedrin made certain to include Jeremilan with his attention and gestures. “I admit to knowing little more about magic than most humans, but I certainly know that the two of you and your followers are our only means of preventing the enemy from wiping us out with a catastrophic spell. But if you’re here speaking with us, who is monitoring the Kjempemagiska?”
“We’re fine at the moment,” Captain reassured Kedrin and the many others who had surely considered the same question. “Right now, the Kjempemagiska are using minor magics, mostly of the healing variety. If they attempt offensive types of magic, we can throw the shield up in an instant.”
General Markanyan of Pudar tossed out, “Given the difficulty we’re having, shouldn’t we reconsider blocking their healing as well?”
Sutton added, “Do we have access to healing magic, too?”
“Yes.” Captain looked at Markanyan, then Sutton, “and yes. There’s a balance, however. We’re tying our chaos energy to theirs. If we prevent them from any castings, we deprive ourselves of the same ability; and, right now, attempting to recruit more elves and securing an escape route take precedence. As for healing, many of us have that capability. However, every elf or mage we spare for healing is one less weaving the defensive net.”
Kedrin could not help running with the information. It seemed immoral to allow men to suffer and die when others might heal them. If any of his two dozen knights became injured, he would want them to get the best care possible. The agony of knowing the elves could have saved a brave warrior who died or became permanently damaged would haunt him for eternity, yet he would not risk everyone in order to demand the magical ministrations of elves or mages.
Weile called out suddenly, “The enemy’s on the move.” Kedrin turned, but the Easterner had already disappeared from sight.
Galastad raised an arm. “Meeting adjourned. Set up your forces as discussed, and may all the gods go with us.”
In the king’s quarters on the topmost floor of Béarn Castle, Tae relayed the information he had received from Mistri’s father to the king and queen of Béarn, Darris, and Seiryn, the captain of the castle guards. Imorelda perched on Tae’s shoulders, and Mistri ran around the exquisite antique furnishings squealing with delight at the sight of the carved bears. No one argued Tae’s need to return the girl to her father, only the means of doing so.
Matrinka paced, knotting her fingers in front of her. “Tae, it’s just too risky for you to go alone.”
“I won’t be alone,” Tae reassured her for what felt like the fifth or sixth time. “I’ll have Mistri and Imorelda.”
“And a Renshai,” Griff inserted for what was, definitely, the first time.
Tae’s gaze flicked back to the king. His first instinct, to argue, passed quickly. It seemed like the
perfect compromise. The presence of a warrior would ease Matrinka’s concerns, and Tae could explain away a single companion as opposed to a band of guardsmen. “Fine,” Tae said, then added quickly, “so long as it isn’t—”
“Rantire,” Griff asserted. “You will take Rantire.”
Tae glanced at Darris who was smiling so broadly he was practically laughing. “Sire, please. Name any other Renshai.”
“Rantire,” Griff explained as if Tae had not spoken, “is the only Renshai in Béarn with a weapon capable of inflicting damage on those giants. As a Renshai would rather loan out his eyes than his sword, there’s no choice in the matter. Promise you will take Rantire with you.”
Tae knew trickery would not save him this time. He sighed and nodded. Rantire was fierce, intense, and loyal in the extreme, but she was not stupid. She would not act impulsively, and her extreme dedication arose from a promise to the son of Colbey and Freya that she would keep Griff safe, not Tae. “Fine. I will take Rantire with me.”
Mistri tugged at Tae’s sleeve. “Poppy talking. Want to know if we coming.”
*Imorelda, please. Take me back to Kjempemagiska level.*
Imorelda dug a claw into the top of Tae’s shoulder but gave no other sign of reluctance. A moment later, Kentt’s mind-voice filled his head. *How much longer?*
Tae understood his impatience. *We’re leaving now.* He said aloud in Common Trading, “I need to get going. Call Rantire and have her meet me at the door.”
Matrinka seized both of Tae’s wrists and stared into his eyes. “You won’t leave without her.” It was not a question.
They both knew Tae could slip away, through any window, before Rantire could think to look for him. He looked into Matrinka’s dark eyes, so soft and kind, and knew he could never lie to her. “I will not leave without Rantire.”
Matrinka released him, and he turned his mind back to his inaudible conversation. *I’ll have a woman with me as well as Mistri and my . . . * He did not know the Kjempemagiska’s word for “cat.” * . . . pet. It’s furry, striped, and small enough to sit on my shoulders.* Tae appreciated that Imorelda did not speak the foreign tongue. Though neutral, she would not have liked his description of her. *Are you accompanied?* Tae could not believe he had not considered such a significant question sooner.
Again, Kentt hesitated. Tae wondered if he was composing a lie or simply did not wish to give away more information than necessary.
Tae pressed, *I’m coming to you in good faith, without an army at my back, though you could probably crush me with one hand. I’m returning your daughter unharmed and in good spirits after saving her from drowning. Surely, that earns me some basic honesty, perhaps even a bit of respect.*
*I’m alone,* Kentt sent.
Tae believed him. Spying often required it, even in the most dangerous situation. Even with the illusory ships as cover, Tae doubted two giants could have sneaked ashore. He took Mistri’s hand and headed out the door.
Matrinka’s voice floated through the crack before it disappeared, “Good luck, Tae. And, for once in your life, be careful.”
Warriors make their decisions on the battlefield, faster than an eyeblink; and they rarely get a second chance to be wrong.
—Colbey Calistinsson
AS THIALNIR HAD WARNED, the Kjempemagiska’s second charge focused strongly on the edges, where the plains met the forest. This suited Saviar and the other Renshai, who found themselves under unremitting assault. Flinging themselves into combat, they had nothing to lose. They either became live heroes or dead Einherjar, equally valued goals.
No longer locked with his two brothers, Subikahn drove in to attack as if born for this precise moment. His sword was a blur as he slashed, dodged, and flew in again. The disproportionate strength and enormity of the Kjempemagiska and their weapons rendered most of the disarming and parrying Renshai maneuvers unworkable, but that still left Subikahn with a repertoire of hundreds. Cut and evade, jab and spin, his body did his bidding with a speed that the massive giants could not hope to match. Many times, the curved sword swished near enough to buffet him with wind, to steal control and balance, but always he recovered swiftly, a nonstop nuisance covering his opponent with rents and tears, drawing blood in small but significant assaults.
A flash of light caught Subikahn’s attention. Though short-lived, its presence jarred. It was either something the giants had managed despite the elves’ containing magic, or an elf or mage had blundered from the cover of the forest and onto an area that currently belonged to the Kjempemagiska. Either way, Subikahn knew, it spelled trouble.
Ducking under a massive sword strike, threading between his opponent’s legs, Subikahn found himself on open ground and racing toward a second flash of light. It took more than a dozen running strides; then, suddenly, he was upon it. A single Kjempemagiska held a group of Myrcidians pinned against the brush, his curved blade speeding toward them. In a moment, it would mow down all five in one slash.
With no time to yell or even to think, Subikahn charged the monster at full speed. Strangely, as he moved faster, the world seemed to slow. The blade rushed toward the mages. Subikahn could see them flinching, their eyes closing as they prepared to die. Then, Subikahn was airborne, hurling himself at the giant without thought to his own safety or survival. His sword swept in a perfect arc, slashing through the giant’s wrist. The Kjempemagiska bellowed, changing the course of his attack in an instant, driven solely by adrenaline and instinct. With no part of his body touching ground, Subikahn became a slave to momentum. The curved sword ripped across the Renshai’s abdomen, then flew free, one of the giant’s massive hands still clutching the hilt. Blood gushed from the stump of his wrist, splashing Subikahn like an errant wave and boiling out over the cowering Myrcidians.
It was not until Subikahn hit the ground, rolling from training, that the pain caught him. The landing shot discomfort through every part, but the agony concentrated in his midsection. He clutched at the tear in his gut, only to find wet loops of intestine falling into his hands. *Fatal,* he realized, as if in a dream. He managed to scream out a single “Modi!” before darkness overtook him.
Saviar also saw the flash of light that indicated magic. Locked in mortal combat, he redoubled his efforts, gashing and retreating, seizing every opening and denying the same to his enemy. Though he no longer had the support of Calistin and Subikahn, two other Renshai assisted him. They left far fewer marks on their target, but they helped distract the Kjempemagiska long enough for Saviar to get in additional shots. Their elfin-exposed weapons did just enough damage to confuse the giant, who had, apparently, not yet figured out which of them was using the full-fledged weapon.
When the second flash came, Saviar was wedging his blade between two of the Kjempemagiska’s vertebrae. Spine-shocked, the giant collapsed. Saviar ripped his sword free and ran toward where he had seen the errant magic. To his left were the trees. To the right, he could see the distant mountains and the edge of the Kjempemagiska army. Behind him, he heard the shouts and slams of the battle over the roaring of the wind through his ears. Then, a single giant hove into sight, bellowing and staggering, sword flying from his hand. A moment later, he heard Subikahn’s cry and knew his twin desperately needed his assistance.
Saviar would not have believed he could increase his frantic pace; but, suddenly, the world seemed to gallop past him at racehorse speed. Soon, he could see a human form on the ground. Blood geysered from the giant’s stump, and the Kjempemagiska furiously waved his remaining hand at it. Whatever magic he attempted failed. His eyes widened until they seemed to encompass his entire face, and he collapsed to the ground, lifeblood pulsing into the saw grass.
It occurred to Saviar that, had the giant thought to staunch the flow with more mundane means, he might have survived the wound, terrible as it was. Now, Saviar changed his focus entirely to Subikahn; the giant was no longer a threat. He would not regain cons
ciousness before dying from loss of blood.
Saviar hurled himself on the still body on the ground. Grabbing Subikahn by the shoulders, he shook. Once, twice, then the dark eyes flickered open and looked squarely at Saviar. Alive, thank the gods. “Subi! Subi!”
Subikahn opened his mouth to speak, but Saviar put his finger to his brother’s lips.
“Don’t try to say anything. I’m getting help.”
Subikahn ignored the advice. “Listen . . .”
“No!” Saviar put his three middle fingers firmly on Subikahn’s mouth. “Save your energy.”
“Fatal,” Subikahn gasped. “Let me . . . speak . . . or I’ll . . . bite you.”
Saviar withdrew his hand. Only then he noticed the pale loops of bowel between Subikahn’s clutching fingers. Blood appeared to coat every part of him, though how much was his and how much the giant’s Saviar could not guess.
“Must know . . .” Subikahn’s nostrils flared as he sucked in enough breath to speak more than a few words at a time. “. . . your injury . . .” He made a feeble gesture toward where Saviar’s crouched legs straddled him.
Saviar could not understand why Subikahn felt the need to discuss old struggles now. “My injury? You mean the one that festered? The one that caused us to meet the mages?”
Subikahn managed a slight nod.
Saviar remembered awakening from a months-long coma caused by the septic wound and the blood poisoning that resulted. His prior memory went back to when he and Subikahn had left the other Renshai, a week or so after a battle against Northmen. He could not recall the source of his own injury, the intervening time before infection overcame him, or anything during his time unconscious. He had asked Subikahn about it numerous times but never got a worthwhile answer. Uncertain he wanted to know the truth anymore, Saviar asked guardedly, “What happened, Subikahn?”
“We . . . were . . . angry. Sparring . . .”
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