Ailith.
Grief and horror surged through the bond between them.
He wouldn’t have wanted her to do this for himself, and although he knew that was much of it he also knew she did it too for those with him. These irreplaceable Elven lives. As much as he wished otherwise Colath could only salute his true-friend for it.
The dragon rose, shimmering in the sunlight above the killing and slaughter but Colath was free. Just barely in time. Greater numbers didn’t offset Elven speed and skill with sword and bow, as long as they could move.
They moved.
The dragon was gone, vanished into the brilliant sunlight, its job complete.
Freed, the army staggered forward, shook themselves as comprehension dawned and stark terror turned to fury. With a tremendous shout, they threw themselves against the enemy and the Elves were free on both sides.
Ailith closed her eyes in relief.
“Did you see that, Lady?” the soldier next to her asked, shaking his head to clear it.
“Yes,” Ailith said, fighting for calm, “now look in front of you, there’s a battle going on.”
Mornith gestured furiously with his sword, trying to marshal his forces as the basilisks fell. Some to mage-bolts, some to each other.
She smiled.
The goblins and trolls had recovered enough to fight although they were still rattled.
It wasn’t over yet.
In the thick of the battle as it finally found her, Ailith shouted to her people, urged them to fight.
Venting the last dregs of her fear and heartache, she fought, laying about her with her swords and a will.
She killed a firbolg and a number of boggins and boggarts.
A troll astride a hellhound rode at her. Valiant Smoke lashed out with his teeth at the hellhound as they came together, Ailith wielding both long and short swords, and took the troll’s sword on her shortsword. She saw the goblin come out of the chaos, and tried to turn Smoke, but not in time.
The thing took Smoke with a lance through his chest.
Even so that grand horse still managed to take out the goblin with one last kick.
The wound was too deep, though, piercing his brave heart.
He staggered and fell.
Ailith rolled to her feet as Smoke went down, her swords still in her hands, in time to cut a mandrake down and the troll that rode it.
She ran to him, to her horse, and spun to take the hellhound’s head.
Its rider went down with it.
Merciless, she brought her shortsword down on it.
Then turned in grief to her horse. She cried out in sorrow.
“Smoke!” she screamed.
No more would he nuzzle at her hair as if to eat it.
He’d carried her to warn Elon and found the speed later to help her save him.
All over the Kingdoms he’d carried her, even commiserated with her in his own way. Old horse. Gwillim’s words of affection.
Smoke was dead. It was more than she could bear.
It hurt and it made her angry that he’d died here in this place when he should have been up in the mountains with Gwillim fighting boggarts. Who was dead, also, a sword stuck in him so hard and so deep it had taken nearly all her strength to pull it free.
Grief horrible and unfathomable, screamed through her.
Her father, his soul stolen, suborned and named a traitor. His good name and his great love for her, her mother and his people destroyed.
Her mother, so calm and detached by nature, yet so loving in her own way. Somehow she’d found the strength to remove the soul-eater or found it and tried to run, only to lose her life at the hands of the man she’d so loved.
They’d loved and deeply, Ailith knew, she’d seen it.
Delae. Who’d loved her blindly but loved her well.
All those folk who’d served with her at Colbreath and these around her here , fighting and dying even now.
In her grief and her anger Ailith went berserk.
She killed quite a few of the enemy, exorcising her grief, her pain and fear, with her swords, releasing it on them.
There was pain as well, to goad her on.
Not her own. The wounds to those she loved.
Elon.
There was a wicked slash on his chest and one on his back.
A sword cut on Colath’s leg was deep and he’d taken an arrow in one arm.
Her heart nearly stopped when she found Jareth’s light dimmed but not out.
Jalila’s light, though, still burned brightly although she wasn’t unscathed.
Other pains tore at her, drove her on.
Ailith felt each Elven and Dwarven death, understanding now those rare times when she’d felt such sorrow move through her. It was so rare that those long-lived and hardy folk died for true that she’d only felt it once or twice in her life. Now, she felt those lives end, saw those bright and constant lights extinguished and shared the grief of their soul and true bonds as they died. Not for them the Summerlands peace at the end of their lives, or the bright Allisian Caverns of the Dwarves, but another spin on the wheel so their spirits could heal.
Her own hurts, too. Cuts, and bruises from the fall off Smoke’s back.
She fought on foot now.
A slash across her ribs as she turned to avoid the spear of a troll but not gotten entirely clear. An arrow grazed her head and the blood kept getting in her eyes. She was tired and angry and she wanted the fighting to stop. They’d killed her horse. Elon and Colath were still alive, Jareth wounded, Jalila had Elon’s back. If she could have killed Mornith with her bare hands at that moment, she would have.
Instead she had trolls and goblins and boggarts and boggins so she killed them instead. Fighting beside her people.
Elon was truly free. The battle raged on around him but with the death of Geric, the forces of Riverford scattered and either fled or turned their weapons on the true enemy, seeking to redeem themselves.
Even as he fought, the piercing pain of Elven deaths struck him like blows. Soul-bonds and true-friends were sundered, grief passed over him even in the heat of battle. Each time, he thought of Colath, across the field of battle, and Ailith, feeling their hurts and turning his mind away from the thought of a similar loss.
He looked up at that dark figure on the hill. Mornith, I’m coming for you.
This would end here, with him. For those losses, for those who had come before and for the carnage that raged even now.
Down in the mass of the fighting somewhere was Ailith. Still alive, somewhere and still fighting.
Her shoulder pained her and her ribs, he could feel those wounds, but she was alive.
Keep fighting, Ailith, stay alive.
Beyond her was his true-friend, Colath, hurt as well but still fighting, too.
Elon would end this, now.
It was enough. He wanted to take those he cared about home.
With a gesture, he summoned his core group, those Hunters and Woodsmen he knew well. He gave a glance to Jalila at his back. She nodded. Calling up one of the others who’d come, he set him in charge of the rest, with instructions to keep fighting, then to take them to Alatheriann when all this was over, if he heard no different from Elon.
With a glance, Elon looked around at his group.
As one, they looked back steadily. They knew what he planned.
With a nod, he leaned into Faer, Jalila and the rest at his back.
Let’s see if your stolen magic is proof against good Elven arrows and steel, Mornith, Elon thought fiercely as he rode for the hill.
Closing, with Mornith still unaware as he watched the fighting below.
It wasn’t without cost. Mornith had his protectors.
They fought on, all the more furiously for their losses..
Perhaps Mornith sensed Elon’s fury, his burning rage.
Suddenly he turned, a dark face in a dark cowl, as if he’d suddenly realized his danger.
At Elon’s signal his pe
ople let their arrows fly.
The Door to the South opened, another shimmer against the heat of the desert.
NO!
Elon had his sword out but Mornith was gone.
The arrows pierced only air.
The enemy was on the run. It seemed unbelievable but the goblins and trolls, firbolg and whatnot, were running. Back into the desert.
Some of the army ran after them, giving chase.
Incredulously and wearily, Ailith looked up onto that distant hilltop and understood.
Mornith was gone.
Some Elves and some of the High King’s men were there but Mornith had fled. Vanished into thin air the same way he’d appeared.
He’d run, too.
It was over.
For a moment she simply stood there in the midst of the battlefield, the dead all around her, uncomprehending, and tried to believe it.
She knew a brief moment of panic.
Elon. Where was he?
She searched through the stars in her mind, finding the ones she knew.
She would have known if he’d died but she needed and wanted to know where he was.
Frantically she sought his light among all those around her.
She nearly went to her knees when she found him.
Up on the hill, among those who’d gone after Mornith. Hoping to find Mornith and stop him once and for all. She should have known, should have recognized that it was he and Faer up there. Who else?
And the others?
Colath? Her true-friend? He was somewhere behind her.
Jareth was now somehow back behind the lines, his light dim but brightening. Itan was near him. And Olend, too. Jalila was with Elon. All alive.
If she could have wept, she would have.
Through the bond, Ailith felt Colath searching and turned his way.
Her heart lifted to see him, his fair head gleaming in the sun, so beautiful in face but more so in spirit.
Standing in his stirrups on his one good leg, Colath turned his head as he searched for Elon or Ailith, Jareth or Jalila among the milling troops as their commanders tried to rein them in, get them organized once again. He needed to see them, dark head or chestnut, one or either, alive and well.
Then he caught sight of at least one. Battered and hurt in body and spirit but alive. He rode toward her, Chai’s gait as unsteady as his own.
Ailith sheathed her swords and came to meet him.
He swung off a limping Chai, and walked toward her, hardly feeling the wound in his own thigh, he was so grateful to see her alive.
Colath’s pale eyes warmed as he saw her and he reached for her even as she reached for him.
Their arms met, clasped tightly, as they stood to look at each other for a moment.
Alive.
So short a time before it had seemed impossible. Relief shifted and flowed between them as they looked at each other.
Ailith laughed, incredulously, at the sight of him.
“Elon?” he asked.
It was only to hear his name and she sensed him. Turning a little, Ailith looked up the hill to see Faer picking his way down, Elon’s tall, dark figure astride, standing in the stirrups as Colath had, searching for them. Jalila was behind him.
“Coming.”
“The others?”
“That’s Jalila behind Elon,” she said. “Jareth, I think, has been hurt but not badly. All five, Colath. All five.”
Colath knew what she meant. They had all survived.
He looked at her and smiled. She laughed to see it.
Ailith’s heart clenched. It was so rare and so beautiful, to see Colath truly smile.
She gave him one back as much for the surprise of it.
They started walking toward Elon to meet him, although they both felt like running and would have if they could have.
Neither had the strength left for it.
Colath raised his sword and waved it so Elon could see them amidst all the other survivors who started to look at each other and realize they were still there, still alive.
It was over.
For now.
Ailith knew it was only a matter of time.
After all this, Mornith would come up with another plan. He’d waited five hundred years for this one.
Faer moved faster, in response to his rider. Elon saw the gleam of a sword. Fair and sun-touched brown hair. With Jalila at his back, Elon urged Faer on, going faster than he should have and then he was off Faer’s back and walking toward them, looking from Ailith’s face to Colath’s. There was blood on Ailith’s face but he could see her eyes light up at the sight of him. Colath limped but he lived.
With one arm Elon pulled Ailith close against him while with the other he clasped Colath’s arm tightly.
All Ailith could see was Elon’s eyes and the light in them.
Their eyes met, his, Colath’s and Ailith’s. He needed the feel of them, the strength of the bond between them moving through him with the contact.
Elon’s arm was around her so tight Ailith could barely breathe but she scarcely cared. His other hand was locked on Colath’s arm. Her free arm was clasped in Colath’s. All she wanted to do was look up into Elon’s face, to look at him, to look at Colath and to see Jalila behind them both.
That was all she wanted. Elon. Alive. His stern face lightening as his dark eyes warmed and the tension in his brow eased. Colath and Jalila close.
Clasping the arms of his true-friends tightly, Colath looked from one of them to the other, more grateful than any could say to see them alive.
His eyes went to Elon’s, then to Ailith and Jalila.
All three turned to Jalila, not to forget her. She inclined her head, her own heart too full, too grateful to see them all alive as well.
“The battle is over. Let’s leave this place,” Elon said, tightly.
He was so tired of fighting, so tired of blood and death. He looked around.
“Where’s Smoke?”
“Dead,” Ailith said, her heart aching as she pressed a hand to her lips, “a troll lance.”
In Elon’s mind’s eye he saw her pitching from the horse into the thick of battle.
His heart chilled.
Abruptly, he pulled her close and hard.
They closed around her, he, Colath and Jalila.
Not here. They needed to be elsewhere, all of them. Away from the sights and smells of battle, from the cries of the wounded that he couldn’t answer, from eyes that watched.
He let Ailith go for a moment, mounted Faer and put his hand down to her. She grasped it, raising her eyes to him as he swung her up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his back. There was something about the feel of her there that brought back memories. He remembered the journey to the Dwarven Caverns near Riverford with Ailith asleep at his back.
She wasn’t asleep now. She was alive.
Jalila leaned down and held out an arm to Colath. He clasped it first, to show her he was glad she was alive as well. Their eyes met, briefly, and then she gave Colath an arm up so he wouldn’t have to walk. Chai was limping from a cut on his foreleg.
“Jareth?” Elon turned his head to Ailith to ask.
“Chirurgeons tent. It’s not bad, I think.”
They found Jareth there. He had a knot on his head, some cracked ribs and some cuts but he and Zo were otherwise fine.
His eyes lightened to see them as they rode toward the chirurgeons tent, then he wrapped an arm around his injured ribs and ran toward them.
Both Elon and Ailith leaned down, reached for him. Their hands met, all of them looking at each other in relief and gratitude.
Urging Laes forward, Jalila crowded close so she and Colath could greet Jareth, too.
“Where now, Elon?” Jareth asked, with a grin.
Elon sighed but gave a small smile. “Have you room at your house in Doncerric for all of us, Jareth?”
His grin widened into a smile, “I think so. More than enough,
perhaps. I’d love company.”
Jareth swung up into Zo’s saddle a little stiffly but he made it.
Away.
That was all Elon wanted. Away from the battlefield, past the High King’s tent with folk who came and went.
Elon didn’t stop. The victory had been won. He was tired of it, tired of all of it, weary unto death of trying to get that recalcitrant King to see sense. Daran couldn’t understand why it was always Ailith and Colath. It was her because he could say a thing to her or Colath, do this and they did it. Take these three people and warn the northern Kings. She did it. Some still survived. Say to her and Colath, hold at Marakis with Olend and Itan, and they had held.
Daran could say to his people, do this and it would take a week of debate to decide to get it done.
Except for himself, of course, except for himself. Not now, not this time. This time Elon would claim for himself.
Let Daran handle it. He was, after all, High King and First.
Standing beside the High King’s tent, Avila waited for her first chance to speak with Daran High King since he’d returned from battle.
A group of passing riders caught her eye.
It was Jareth, of course, that made her look.
For one thing, he wasn’t wearing his robes.
She wouldn’t admit that the chafing of the collar had rubbed a harsh line across her throat. It was a fair price to pay in exchange for the recognition of status.
For another, he didn’t even look her way and it didn’t look as if he intended to try.
They were clearly riding away from the battlefield. By all rights, Jareth shouldn’t have left without checking with her first.
Elon of Aerilann was with him, of course, Jareth dancing attendance on him as if it were only right. The fair one, the one they called Elon's bright shadow, was up behind a female Elf, one of the archers to judge by her bow.
There was someone else up behind Elon. A young woman, her arms wrapped around him. That was interesting. Very interesting.
Filing it away in the back of her mind, Avila ducked into the High King’s tent in answer to his summons.
Chapter Twenty One
The Coming Storm Page 66