Strength seemed drain out of her through the soles of her feet.
“None can,” Colath answered, as he eased her down to the ground, wrapped his arm around her. “Even Healers need Healers, else Elon would have Healed himself before, with the drows. Given enough time, his magic would have done it for him. Even with so terrible a wound the healing would have taken a great deal of time. Once we’re adults, even grievous wounds will heal… ”
The truth suddenly dawned on him as if he had been drenched in ice water.
“You’re Elven. You’ve just reached your majority, your magic hasn’t fully taken hold yet. You’re still vulnerable.”
She could die.
It struck him like a blow.
She could die from this. Truly. Not passing into the Summerlands, but truly die.
He couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t let it happen. This was Ailith and he was fond of her. That moment when he, she and Elon had sparred, had melded, merged. Like Elon she was now another piece of his soul, a part of him. A true-friend, like Elon, however impossible that was. Newly-bonded and she didn’t know.
“Borrow my strength,” he said, suddenly.
Looking up at him, her eyes filled with pain, she said, “What?”
“Borrow mine,” he repeated, insistently. “You can. You can Heal, so you can borrow. Healers do it all the time when the need is great. Do it, Ailith. You must.”
Looking up at him, she could see the determination in his pale eyes.
“I don’t know how and what will it do to you?” she whispered.
The pain was bad but the growing weakness was somehow more terrible. Even more horrible was the cold that crept into her limbs. It was growing harder for her to breathe.
He shook his head. “Nothing. I’ll be a little weaker, that’s all. You must, Ailith, or you might die.”
The pain was intense but the coldness seeping through her made her know the truth of it. The weakness and the cold.
Or he might. He might die. Elf or man, she knew he couldn’t go on alone, while he didn’t.
The Rift was a maze, a fracturing of the earth like a poorly fired pot with the glazing crazed in a hundred different directions. Even an Elf would have a hard time navigating it. That was why she’d had to be the one to go, she knew this place from the days when she’d visited Raven's Nest as a child. If she died, he must face the goblins and trolls alone in here. They would get through the rock fall eventually, she hadn’t meant it to hold for long, since they would have to return through here. If he went on, alone? One wrong turn and he’d be lost. There were dozens of wrong turns, some that turned back on themselves. All it would take was one. The odds were against him, it would only be a matter of time.
She couldn’t do that. Not lose Colath, who’d become another part of herself. A choice, between an untried magic or Colath lost in the Rift.
The weakness and pain made her sick and dizzy.
“Do it, Ailith.” Colath took her hand, skin to skin, so she would know, so she would feel it as their people did.
She smiled, faintly. “If it means so much to you.”
Gravely, he looked at her. “It does.”
Over the years there had been little need for magic such as this. He knew such sharing could be done, the Healers in Aerilann had done it when he’d returned from the Borderlands. With Ailith, though, he didn’t know what to expect and so he braced himself.
There was no need.
It was like that moment during the forms, he and she and Elon but gentler, easier. A knowing and a sharing, a warmth. This, not shared between three but just two, knowing now where they fit together. Ailith, her true self, not the regal woman of Raven’s Nest’s throne room but the one who’d stood in the doorway of the ruins, the one with the quick smile, the one who stood at his back no matter what came and would never give up.
True-friend, his true-friend, like Elon.
Ailith knew that as well of him, of Colath, with his warrior’s heart and his determination, the beauty of his face concealing his sheer resolve. There was that of Colath, that he would keep moving, keep fighting until his very last breath.
Reaching out, she sought the harmony that was Colath, her friend, another part of her soul. Strength flowed into her, his strength and then, to her surprise, another’s.
They both felt another drop into the Healing.
Elon. His soaring spirit, his indomitable will, with his poet’s soul and his Healing magic.
The other part of themselves.
Somehow, from so far away, he reached out to send Healing.
Ailith felt that familiar harmony and opened herself to it without thinking and the three of them settled into it as they had when they’d done the forms. It flowed through Colath, eased into her, filled her with a warmth that pushed back the deadly seep of cold.
For all the pain that stabbed at her, it was joyous to feel Elon there, too, part of them once more.
Colath felt Elon’s presence through the bond between them and then Ailith opened. He felt the energy move through him, between them, his strength, with Ailith channeling them, and Elon’s Healing. He looked at her, knowing where they fit with each other and Elon. At peace with it.
The deep pain faded. Ailith could feel the wound knit and then close. With a sigh tinged with regret, not for the loss of the energy but for the loss of the sharing that passed between them, she sent silent thanks through the bond between them and reluctantly let it go.
At her look Colath nodded gravely and then wrapped a hand around hers to help her to her feet. He was a little weak but not much. She, who’d lost so much blood so quickly, was the weaker.
Already, they could hear the sounds of rocks being moved on the other side of the fall, torn down and thrown aside hastily. It wouldn’t hold long.
Worried, Colath looked at her.
“I’ll manage,” she said, with a lift of her eyebrow. Her eyes were determined.
“I know,” he said, as they mounted. “We ride, hard.”
The horses would do most of the work.
Up on the ramparts Elon heard the roar of the trolls and the goblins as they came but his eyes were on the two riders that raced for the Rift. It would take some time before the trolls and goblins hit the walls in earnest. He’d come here to see better, to know Colath and Ailith had reached the canyon safely. He willed them faster, if intent would help. It was close, so close. He saw the hail of arrows fall around them and then he felt it. Pain, an echo of another’s. And then sharper, piercing. A breath of magic. Ailith. The bond that had begun to be forged between them in the forms shivered. As he feared, her life was in the balance. A cold chill settled around his heart. He couldn’t lose her, couldn’t lose Colath. And Colath would die, too, if she did, if he was forced to defend her. There was nothing Elon could do for them. They were too far away and he had his responsibilities to the people here.
Below, he saw and heard the goblins and trolls hit the wall. He gave the signal. Flaming arrows arched out over the second ring wall, pierced the thatched roofs and the poured oil on them. Mage-light flared as Jareth helped fire the lowest ring of the city. The Guards, Hunters and Woodsmen had worked with dispatch, as had every man or woman that owned a wagon. Fire bloomed and spread with a will, smoke filled the air. It would be long time burning, would buy them precious time to set their defenses. Some of the goblins and trolls would find their way through the flames but the second ring and third rings were already evacuating and crowded into the first, into the large lands and estates of the rich and the titled. Those people poured into the castle proper, their wagons loaded with their most precious possessions, Doril somehow finding a place and a space for them.
In the distance, a life trembled and then somehow there was a merging. Elon felt it, over the long distance.
Below, the fires burned.
If they didn’t succeed, he would have lost those two now closest to him. His oldest and dearest friend and Ailith.
They would lose everything.
<
br /> He reached out. Never in his life had he tried to reach so far but never had he been received so well. He might have been standing beside them. Like hands clasping, they reached for each other, drew themselves together. A flow, a circle. Colath lent his strength, Ailith the merge and he the Healing. Ailith’s joy, Colath’s determination, his will. The wound was deep and it chilled him to realize how close she’d been but he felt wholeness come. Knowing it was done, he felt her reluctance to end the connection and shared it, but honor and duty called and she wouldn’t deny them. Nor would he or Colath.
Below the battle had begun in earnest, as archers on the second level – Jalila leading them – peered through the smoke to pick off any goblins or trolls who reached the top of the outer wall.
Jareth came up beside him. “What are our chances?”
Folding his arms, Elon looked out over the mass that surrounded the walls, crowded toward it. Then he looked toward the Rift.
“If they get through and can get help back in time, it’s possible.”
Jareth hesitated. “Did they make it?”
The last he’d seen the two horses raced into the Rift with a number of trolls and goblins behind.
Elon nodded. “Yes.”
“And Jalila?”
Tipping his head below, Elon said. “On the second wall.”
Below them someone wailed that they were all going to die. The poorer people of the villages hadn’t carried on so and they’d seen this for many more nights. Elon shook his head.
Westin had fled, had taken his family into his chambers and locked the doors. He wasn’t a warrior, he’d said, he was a leader of merchants. Even his son hadn’t protested. Without a word they’d simply ceded command to Elon and left him to it.
He saw Aranoc and Gwillim coming up the steps, treading heavily. Along the walls, Guards stared down at the chaos along the outer wall below and listened to the blood-curdling screams of the goblins.
“They made it,” he said, answering the question before either asked it.
Neither asked how he knew nor did he elaborate.
Aranoc looked down at the burning first ring with something like sorrow.
“How much more will we lose?” he said.
“The second ring most certainly,” Elon replied. “We’ll have to make them fight for every inch of the first ring, and fight hard. Diminish their numbers. That will fall to the archers. But in the end, we’ll fight, hand to hand. Then the second ring. Probably around nightfall. If we lose the third ring we’ll be in dire straits. That must hold until help arrives. Pull the archers, have them concentrate on the gates. If the gates fall it will be a flood. Then have them hold as long as they can. Set other archers to give those who protect the gates cover against any that might come over the walls. If a single gate falls, pull them all back quickly. We dare not lose even a single one. If anything survives the fire the trolls and goblins will wreak havoc because that’s their nature. That will take time.”
“What do we do until then?” Gwillim said.
“Wait, save our strength while we can. For now, it’s a war of attrition, to whittle them down as much as we’re able. Every shot must count. Then we wait. The battle will come to us soon enough.”
The trolls and goblins had the advantage, since they had only to follow their trail through the rift. Ailith knew the way but it was a game of memory. Wisely, Colath stayed silent, allowing her to concentrate. Otherwise, he stayed on her tail and kept his bow strung and ready. Each time he saw a glimpse of goblins or trolls and he had a good shot, he took it.
Above them the sun had begun its downward arc but the rift widened and he had hope. The towering cliffs above them opened and spread. He saw the split of the exit ahead and glanced behind. A mass of trolls and goblins pursued them now in earnest.
He looked ahead.
There was something about this. Suddenly, it clicked. He’d simply never viewed this place from this direction.
“I know this place. Lothliann isn’t far.” Colath looked at her. “Our Hunters and the Woodsmen will come. Some of our people might as well.”
“To help Men?” Ailith asked.
“For Elon’s sake and Jalila’s and because I ask it. Some may come to fight goblins and trolls. Those creatures are known for treating our people less kindly even than men, those rare times when they’ve been able catch us. Lothliann has had much trouble with such, so close to the border.”
Exhaustion barely covered describing how Ailith felt, she quivered inside, her muscles twitched randomly. She glanced behind her. It seemed as if the goblins and trolls exploded out of the mouth of the Rift.
“Go then. I’ll lead them away.”
He gave her a look.
“You don’t want to lead them to Lothliann but if they follow me to the garrison it will go far toward substantiating my demand for help.”
Another glance behind him. “No more arrows, Ailith?”
She smiled. “Not if I can help it. Go. Elon and Raven’s Nest need all the help we can bring.”
Leaning into Chai, he urged her to more speed.
Ailith cast about for the garrison, the stars in her head a guide. A large number of people in a small location. She hadn’t been there before, there’d been no need. They used to run the Rift for the challenge, she, Aranoc, Evin and one of the cousins, when she was younger and Aranoc a Guard officer, before the relationship between their Kingdoms had cooled. Behind her the goblins let out a blood-curdling cry. There, one set of stars grouped outside another. A town, with the garrison outside it.
Now the goblins were in full cry. Smoke needed no urging, stretching out with open fields before him. It would seem they were following Colath for a short time until he disappeared behind the trees ahead. She they could see. With luck, they would follow only her.
She pulled her bow just in case, held an arrow loosely in place, uncertain whether she could keep her hands steady enough for a good shot.
A rolling hill, at the crest of it was the garrison, a small walled fort.
Smoke seemed to know where they needed to go, he never broke stride just turned in that direction. She sagged in the saddle, gathered what strength she could. Those on the wall saw them come, then the goblins breasted the hill behind her and she heard the alarm bells ring.
The gates flew open before her even as arrows took flight over her head from those on the wall above her.
The gates slammed shut behind her.
The garrison commander came out at a run, half dressed in a brightly colored Elven-silk shirt, pulling on his uniform jacket over it and her heart sank.
Who was this coxcomb with his fancy clothes? What manner of man did Daran name as commander these days? A second son, the spare heir of some heartland King?
Probably.
Drawing herself up to her full height, she leveled a gaze on him she hoped would sear him to the skin.
“I’m Ailith, daughter and heir of King Geric of Riverford and all its domains and I call aid for Raven’s Nest, it’s under attack,” she shouted, her voice pitched to carry even above the screams of the trolls and goblins beyond the walls.
“What?” the commander said. “What is it you say? Who are you and what are you doing bringing trolls here?”
“I say again, I am Ailith, heir to Riverford, calling aid for Raven’s Nest, which is under attack by what you see outside your walls. Are you the Commander here?”
The ululating cries faded, as the soldiers of the garrison cut the goblins and trolls down.
Straightening himself unsteadily, the man nodded. “I’m Belac, son of Boren, King of Westland and Commander of this Garrison. This is a garrison of the High King’s army, we can’t simply go haring off at your word, Ailith of Riverford.”
The scorn in his voice told her much.
A girl barely of age, her limbs those of a child, came out in his wake, her eyes huge and frightened.
Westland. A small kingdom north of the High King’s seat. A second or third son
, then, the garrison command a sinecure.
In the doorway behind him a woman, slightly above medium height, stood with her slender, muscular arms crossed. She looked with displeasure at Belac from behind his back. Ailith saw the eyes of the men cut to her. Here then was the true leader of this Garrison. Belac, however, was the named Commander, that one’s hands were tied.
Not for long.
“Do you say then that as the nearest garrison you won’t serve the people you’ve sworn to protect? Do you deny aid to those in dire need at Raven’s Nest? You see behind me what I’ve escaped, will you leave them to their fate?”
Her voice echoed off the walls. She was finding her second wind. Or third, perhaps.
The woman behind Belac stiffened and straightened. She knew where Ailith was going with this. Their eyes met over Belac’s shoulder.
“I say,” Belac said, “that we can’t go on only your word.”
With a flip of her wrist, Ailith tossed him her warrant, the gold coin with its crown regnant around the tower signifying her rank. It fell at his feet. He looked at it sourly and bent to pick it up. He would never hold one except for this, unless his siblings all died. He knew it, bitterly. She held out her hand for it. He handed it back sullenly.
“I say you can. Belac, son of Boren the King of Westland, Commander of this Garrison, are you saying you won’t abide by the terms of the Agreement or the will of the Council? Does the King’s army not serve its people, as decreed by that Council? Do you defy both King, Council and the oath you took?”
His gaze shot to hers.
If he did, he would lose this command and any other like it. Whether he was suited for the position or not, he would find nothing else that would supply such uniforms as would impress young girls.
“I know each line of the code of the Agreement,” she said, coolly, “shall I quote you the ones you violate?”
She did, unlike many noble sons and daughters. Her father had made her learn it and repeat it. Every line. Plus every new one issued.
Turning Smoke’s head, she faced the men and women on the walls and along the front of the barracks. Most of them were pointedly not watching but all were listening.
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