Elon tried to find room enough to turn Faer but the other horses around them hindered him.
He saw the banner turn.
Riverford’s forces shifted. They weren’t enraptured. They’d been warned.
As one they smashed against the forces of the army in front of them, with no doubt of their intentions.
His people. Trapped by the crush of the army around them.
He shouted at some to turn their fire on Riverford. It was a slim chance but it might slow those who closed on them. There was no escape. Their only choice was an impossible one – to cut their way free by slaughtering those poor innocents around them , or die.
They couldn’t kill those people, not in honor.
He’d been trapped, deliberately, by Mornith and Geric.
They’d known he would take one side or the other.
The other.
Colath! His true-friend.
Alarm raced through the bond.
Ailith, sensed it, too.
Looking across the field of battle, still now and mostly motionless, Elon saw the banner there turn as well as those there forced their way through their frozen companions toward Colath and the Elves there.
His vision had been made real.
Elon looked around, trying to find an honorable escape.
There was none.
Behind him was Geric and Riverford’s forces. Too many for his people. He saw it and knew it.
Ailith. To know her father had done this.
Elon had no illusions. What was now Geric wanted him dead and it looked likely to be, unless he could find a way through or their arrows prevail.
Ailith, I am sorry.
Colath.
Those two held the back of his mind even as he tried to find a way out.
Helplessly, Daran High King watched from his place on the heights as their forward advance turned from victory to defeat in seconds. He could only watch, stunned and helpless as disaster struck. Although he ordered the reserves forward, they couldn’t penetrate the tight mass of the forward advance.
Basilisks. He knew of them only from legend. He had no experience with such and had considered some of the tales he’d heard to be an exaggeration. It was only luck that he hadn’t been looking in that direction. Elon had warned him, knowing how Daran felt about magic. He’d discounted it.
The effect was this. His forward advance was halted and his forces were being slaughtered to a man and woman.
Then he saw the banners turn, Riverford and Granite Heights, one on each flank.
Geric had specifically asked for the position.
Now Daran knew why as he watched in horror as both fell on the troops beside them, turning traitor.
He’d known Elon had misgivings about Riverford but those he’d discounted due to Elon’s relationship with Riverford’s errant daughter.
Now, watching, he realized it had been far more than that.
It was clear from where he stood what the goal of the two traitor Kings was – the Elves, trapped now by the frozen troops around them.
His best and most efficient fighters were helpless and about to be slaughtered.
Turning, he shouted furiously at Avila, who averted her eyes from the huge swaying lizards.
“Do something!”
Avila looked at him. She knew she’d made a mistake, a terrible one. Against all advice she’d put her people at the front. Elon had told her to scatter them throughout the army. At the time she’d been furious at the idea that he thought he had the right to tell her what to do with her wizards. Her wizards. That despite knowing as she did that Elves had long experience in the wars of men and these creatures.
Now, she would pay the price for her ignorance and spite.
If nothing else, she hated him all the more for being right. She’d wanted to win this war for Daran, put her people in the forefront and turn the tide herself. Proof that wizards deserved a place on the Council. That she did. Despite Elon of Aerilann.
Now, even her people were dying and she knew it.
She dared not let Daran see how badly she’d miscalculated.
“We’re doing all we can,” she said back, firing mage-bolts at the things.
She knew she was too far away to be effective. She knew it but didn’t want Daran to know it.
Daran wasn’t blind, or stupid. Those firing closer at least caused the creatures to flinch.
Ailith was desperate, frantic. She knew Elf lights and Healing from Elon and the Elves but that was no help to her. She knew earth and iron from the Dwarves. Scanning the ground she knew she could open it up but it would swallow the innocent as well as the guilty. She couldn’t do that.
No. Wait. Otherling magic beckoned her. She went back.
There was something there, something deep in the earth, something her magic recognized. Bones, old bones. Bones so ancient they dated to the time before men had first come to these shores, to the time when the Elves and Dwarves alone had ruled here.
Of the ancient hunter of basilisks until men had hunted them to extinction.
A creature the basilisks wouldn’t like.
Tangled up in those bones was an indomitable spirit, trapped within the earth it longed to be free again, to soar up into the bright clear sky. To find release. To go home.
It would be an act of desperation and it would be unmistakable.
Wild magic.
If she used it, they couldn’t fail to notice. There would be repercussions.
Before her there was slaughter, growing closer to her own frozen troops. She looked down at the wide-eyed face beside her, the expression in his eyes revealing his helpless terror as he stood frozen and staring.
A glance over her shoulder gave her truth.
Elon.
She caught only a brief glimpse of his tall, dark figure, looking around desperately, trying to find a way out of the trap that closed around him. Her heart wrenched.
She looked the other way.
Colath. His fair hair glinted in the sun as, ensnared, he, too, sought a way out.
On both sides Riverford and that other banner drew closer to the Elves.
Behind Colath, the forces of Granite Heights turned to slaughter their companions, a sea of helpless fighters. It chilled him, the callousness of that act. A helpless fury burned cold in his chest. There was no escape for him or his people. All that remained for them was to fight as best they could, outnumbered by the forces that closed on them. He ordered some of his people to turn their arrows on the soldiers of Granite Heights.
He looked across the field of battle, seeking a brief sight of those he knew and loved.
In the far distance he could just glimpse Elon, his true-friend, rendered as helpless as he. That was where he should be, guarding Elon’s back, fighting at his side.
He wasn’t. Jalila was. He sensed her strong spirit and was grateful that she fought where he wasn’t.
Between them, Ailith’s distinctive chestnut hair shimmered sparks of red and gold in the bright morning sunlight. He felt her growing despair through the bond they shared, as he felt Elon’s.
Colath straightened. All he and they could do was fight and try. That he would do.
Turning in his saddle, he drew his swords. He wouldn’t surrender his life easily.
There was one chance and only one.
Forgive me, Elon, Ailith thought. I have to do this. I can’t let you, Colath and your people die. I can’t.
It wasn’t in her.
She bowed her head. Jalila, watch his back.
Jareth was out there somewhere. Olend and Itan. She could see Olend’s banner across the battlefield as his people trying to break through to take on the basilisks. His people knew those creatures. Even he couldn’t get past the enraptured army.
Forgive me, Elon. I couldn’t bear it if you died. If Colath died. Our friends. Or any of these others. They are all my people. But most especially, you and Colath. And you.
The oddest silence had fallen in the midst o
f the battlefield.
In the distance, there was laughter.
Mornith, on the hill, was laughing. She could hear him clearly.
Unbelievably, Daran High King heard cold and bitter laughter above the sounds of the slaughter. In despair and fury he looked up at the cloaked figure on the hill, at that dark and dreadful thing that stood there. Laughing at the butchery that went on below him. At his victory. The taste in Daran’s mouth was that of bitter ashes. He clenched his fists in helpless fury and grief.
This couldn’t be his legacy. It couldn’t end this way.
That laughter infuriated her. Anger and grief lashed at her. It roared. Power leaped to answer Ailith’s raging grief.
Laugh?
Laugh at this, Ailith thought, in furious horror and defiance. Impotent despair tore her heart to shreds. It burned like acid in her chest with the raging power of her grief. Her breath came short as it rose up in her throat to choke her.
Wild magic. She could feel it strain at her will.
It had found a way to answer her heart’s desperate need. An ancient spirit called to her, cried out to be free, even as the magic within her wept for release.
And so she released it.
It surged through her in a great rush, poured out of her, raced out of her like rain in full spate to soak into the earth along with the blood or all those that had been spilled there. Her body sang with the power of it and she screamed as it reached for the sky…
Deep in the earth, something awakened and something was released.
It screamed its defiance, an echo of her rage, taking her heart with it.
It was beautiful, golden, its scales glittered in coruscating rainbow reflections. The enormous wings unfolded as its sinuous neck reached, yearning for clear blue sky, it’s spirit longing to be free, finally and at long last freed from the bounds of the earth.
A dragon rose up in the sky, magnificent majestic, glittering.
Was it? Ailith’s vision blurred as something rushed in to fill the vacuum within her.
Her back arched, she was lost in it.
Whatever it was, it was glorious and beautiful, even as it cried out in ecstasy, in glory. It was free, finally free.
It screamed in triumph.
That sound, more felt than heard, resonated through her.
It was real enough for the basilisks.
Their ancient enemy appeared to rise up in their midst.
Instinctively, they turned on it, screaming their terror, defiance and fury. Nerve-shattering shrieks rent the air as they attacked to defend themselves. Lashing through the illusion they struck at each other.
Their gazes were removed from those below.
The trolls and the goblins spun, terrified by what they saw reach for the sky above them.
There was no question Jareth was in dire straits. Whatever struck him had knocked him for a loop. Which might have been his saving grace but even he was smart enough not to look a basilisk in the eye. If he could look anything in the eye. He shook his head to try to clear it and struggled to free himself from whatever pinned him to the ground.
His vision cleared enough to see a troll’s axe rise above him, just prior to coming down to chop off his head.
Frantic, he struggled to free his arm from the weight that trapped it. If he fired a mage-bolt now, he’d likely take off his own foot.
Beyond, he could see the twining, serpentine trio of basilisks, their eyes whirling as they picked their prey from among those enraptured before them.
A whisper of magic came, soft, as sweet as springtime and as fresh, drawing Jareth’s gaze upwards.
The troll followed his gaze.
Oh, Ailith, Jareth thought, in wonder and sorrow.
It was astonishingly, gloriously, beautiful.
In all his life he’d never seen anything like it.
A dragon, golden and magnificent, reached for the sky, its scales gleaming in the sunlight as its wings strained, beat.
Rainbows danced across his vision.
His arm free, Jareth drove his sword into the fascinated troll.
He glanced over to where Elon was and knew the reason why Ailith had done what she did as he saw Riverford bearing down on Elon’s trapped forces. A quick glance to the other side confirmed that Colath was caught in the same trap.
Layers on layers for Mornith, freezing the front lines and trapping the Elves in a vise.
Jareth shot a glance backward across the field of battle, his height an advantage.
There was Ailith astride Smoke, her pale face calm and resolute. Her body quivered as power raced through it. She’d made her decision.
It was glorious, beautiful.
And then the dragon was gone.
The army was moving.
He looked back once more and caught a glimpse of Ailith one more time as she turned to her people and waved them on into battle.
She disappeared among them as they surged forward with a roar of righteous fury.
Avila almost fell, staggering backward as she gaped. Following her gaze, Daran turned and looked.
Up.
A dragon with golden scales rose into the sky, its magnificent wings spread.
That wasn’t possible, dragons were a thing of legend, something from stories.
It was beautiful, though, astonishing.
Somehow he knew it wasn’t real, it was merely a ghost of itself. It wasn’t another monster come to terrorize his forces. Still, it was a wonder.
The basilisks turned on their ancient enemy, screaming in fury and terror. They clearly didn’t know it was an illusion as they struck and instead killed each other.
Daran looked at Avila. Her face was blank, stunned. She hadn’t expected this. She didn’t know anything about it.
It didn't matter to Daran, all that mattered to him was that it was working. He wanted to cheer. Freed of the basilisk’s stare, his army moved.
With a shout he was on his feet and running for his horse to urge them on. To take advantage of this miracle.
The power of it, though…
A rush of magic touched him, soft, familiar and known. As warm as her heart and as effervescent as her soul, it brushed over Elon’s skin like a gentle caress.. He closed his eyes against the stab of pain and fear, knowing what it was she did, for who, and why.
Ailith. No.
Through the bond, a hum of grief and terror, for him, for Colath, for Jareth and Jalila, for his people, for all those they knew and loved, for all the ones who had died and were dying even now.
Despair but not defeat.
She would use the only weapon she had left, other than her swords.
Taking a chance, to do what needed to be done.
Elon was caught between his fear for her and the desperate need to save his people from certain death.
She did what she did for no other choice. How could he deny or fault her for it? He couldn’t.
Then he saw it, the dragon, magnificent and golden as it rose up between the basilisks, reaching for the sun.
It was the truest expression of her spirit, beautiful, fierce and determined, seeking the light.
The basilisks turned on the enemy in their midst.
With a shout of rage, freed, the army moved.
Those under attack on the flanks turned to defend themselves from the forces that had turned on them.
Free. He and his people were free.
Now he had a chance to fight, to defend and perhaps to end this once and for all.
Thanks to Ailith.
His people were already wheeling around, now that they could move.
With Jalila at his back, Elon called up a core group of his people and pointed at the banner.
Riverford’s banner.
“I would be there.”
Heads turned. They looked at him, faces still but eyes resolute and angry.
They knew the trap that had been set and what its goal had been. He shouted the same at those of the race of men around him, wh
o had watched, helpless, as the traitors slaughtered their own people.
A roar of fury rose up. They formed a wedge around his people to drive them through.
Geric, startled, saw them coming, saw who led them and smiled.
They met, he and this man who wore the face of Ailith’s father, who had done so much harm to her, had murdered her mother and tried to deliver her into Tolan and Mornith’s hands. Who’d disowned her, cast her out from her home and all she knew.
Whoever he’d once been, that man had been good with a sword, and had skills stolen magically from someone who had been very good. Geric the man, though, hadn’t been a swordsman. Ailith’s gift with the sword had come from her mother’s people.
Stolen skills couldn’t offset natural ability, muscle memory and the song of the swords.
A slice from Geric’s sword managed to penetrate Elon’s guard and he saw that which had once been Geric smile. The tip of the man’s blade sliced across his chest. It was a chance blow, not planned, Geric’s muscles not remembering. All unknowing though it left Geric’s side open and Elon drove his shortsword in it, thrusting it up and up to take his heart.
That which had once been Geric stopped smiling in shock, looked down at the sword thrust in him and died, releasing the spirit of he who had once been Geric. It soared for the sky, for the Summerlands and the one that awaited him there.
Those of Granite Heights were almost on him. Colath looked around in impotent fury.
His people were so tightly packed together they couldn’t even dismount. There was a push from those behind, desperate to escape, against the immovable mass of those before, with Colath and his people trapped between them.
A trap.
It had sprung and he was well and truly caught.
If I die here then I die fighting, Colath thought and pulled his swords.
When the last of those between them were gone there would be a moment when they might be able to move enough to at least charge back, not sit here with their backs to the enemy to be slaughtered.
Colath felt the magic on the air and his heart nearly stilled. He knew by the feel of it from whence it came.
The Coming Storm Page 65