Jonmarc loosed his hidden quarrel, and Carina felt Malesh's pain as it tore through the vayash moru's heart. Carina's screams echoed in the rock chamber as the wild energy of the Flow whipped around her. Fire engulfed Malesh, and Carina felt her skin burn and blister.
It took all of Tris's will to focus on the blue glow of Carina's life thread. Just when he thought the pain would overcome him, he felt Carina's healing magic as a cooling presence along the pathways of power. The chaos of the Flow was beginning to coalesce, and the inchoate energies torn asunder by Arontala's betrayal were weaving together into a seamless whole. Tris watched in awe as the strands of power blended together and the pain gradually subsided. Power from the healing river of energy surged into him, giving him the energy to sustain the link.
Suddenly, Tris felt as if his chest had been pierced by a sword. Panic overcame reason and he fought for control. Gasping for breath, he realized that he felt Carina's pain. Linked to her life force, Tris tried to blunt the worst of it, taking what he could onto himself until he cried out and every muscle strained. A searing wave of fire engulfed them. Tris could feel it consuming Carina, hear her screaming. Carina's life thread flickered wildly, slipping away. Tris wrapped his power around the dimming thread, drawing heavily from his own life energy until he felt both of their threads weaken.
The Flow roiled. Power beyond his imagining surged around them, lifting them up like an ocean wave. Tris redoubled his grasp on Carina's life thread and felt the Flow shift. Like a storm surge, the Flow rushed back, and Tris felt his whole body burn with wild magic as the Flow channeled its power through him, making their life threads glow brilliantly.
The Flow had become a maelstrom, howling like a blizzard wind. Carina felt her life force flicker wildly. Then she felt Tris wrap his power around her, supporting her with his magic and his own life energy. She knew Tris was tiring quickly, and she drew on Tris's power in the hope of sending one final burst of healing energy into the Flow.
Time meant nothing suspended in the infinite currents of the Flow's power. Gradually, the violent reds and oranges faded to more subdued hues of yellow and pink, and then calmed to the blue-green of the clearest ocean. The energy drew back from Carina and Tris. The Flow swirled around them as powerful as the tides. As the tempest subsided and the currents of the Flow became quiet, Carina felt Tris gently withdraw his power. The Flow became a sparkling curtain of light once more, and Carina realized she was lying on the floor of the shattered vault as the world grew dark around her.
In the darkness, she could still feel the Flow sustain her. An ethereal music called her back from unconsciousness, and Carina could feel the Flow all around her. Gone was the raging storm. The energy that pulsed around her was soothing and gentle. The magic of the Flow suffused her body, warming her. Gradually, the music faded. Carina drew a deep breath and opened her eyes.
She was in her own bedchamber, surrounded by her friends. Taru sat on the edge of her bed holding her hand as the others looked on with worried expressions. Raen glowed dimly in the corner, and at the edge of her senses, Carina could hear the ghost girl singing nervously to herself.
Tears glistened in Taru's eyes as she smoothed back the hair from Carina's face. "It worked," she said. "The Flow is healed-and so are you."
The memory of what she had witnessed through Malesh's eyes returned to Carina vividly enough to take her breath away and she began to sob. "He's dead. I saw him die."
Taru took her by the shoulders. "What are you talking about?"
Carina looked up, struggling to breathe through the tears. "Did you see when the light flared?"
"Yes, but-"
"The bond Riqua said was between Malesh and me, the bond between maker and fledgling, it was real. All of a sudden, I saw through Malesh's eyes. He was in a temple, with candles all around and a stained glass image of the Dark Lady. He and Jonmarc were fighting, and I saw Malesh sink his teeth into Jonmarc's neck. I feltit. And then, Jonmarc struck Malesh through the heart and I felt that, too. Malesh fell against the candles and he burned, and-Goddess help me!-I burned with him."
Taru and Riqua exchanged glances as Lisette gasped. Royster paled at the description and ran to thumb through a worn book on the desk. "What happened then?" Taru asked quietly as Carina struggled for control.
"Tris hung on to me and supported me with his magic. And then the Flow surged. It seemed to know... know what was happening." Carina turned to look at Riqua. "You were right about the bond."
Riqua's expression softened. "I am so sorry."
"The Flow is healed," Carina murmured. "Maybe now, Tris can win the war." She looked back to Riqua. "I saw a temple to Istra. It had a large stained glass portrait of the Dark Lady. Do you know where that temple is?"
Soberly, Riqua nodded. "In the hills, several candlemarks' ride from here. It's a sacred place for the vayash moru, for all who worship the Dark Lady. For Malesh to desecrate it with battle means that he really did mean to make the offering to Shanthadura. He thought the old legends were true, that he could become the consort of the Goddess. And for him to get that far means Gabriel and the vyrkincould not protect the temple. I'm afraid this evening's victory comes at a tremendous cost."
Carina bit back tears. "We don't dare send Kolin to Wolvenskorn after what happened last time, not with the mob at the gates and no idea where Malesh's fighters are. At dawn, I'll have Neirin see if two mortal guards can slip through and find out what's happened." She paused until she found her voice. "At least... perhaps they can bring back the bodies."
Chapter Twenty-three
A panoply of colors and images that defied description danced through Tris's mind as he remained locked in the connection with Carina and the Flow. Time and place became meaningless as the cosmos seemed to bend around him. Gradually, the brilliant display faded and along with it the light that shone from Carina's thread. The Flow was whole, and Carina's life energy was stable. Completely weary, Tris withdrew his magic, following his own glowing life strand back to consciousness. He came to himself with a start. The candle in front of him burned steadily, barely lower than when he had begun the working, but the runes on the sword at his knees were blazing with cold fire.
Shaking from the exertion, Tris climbed to his feet and raised the sword, dismissing the wardings. He could hear Fallon chanting as she, too, released her warding. Only then did Tris realize that Coalan was also chanting, and he smiled tiredly as he recognized the words to a prayer very young children learned to banish shadows from under their beds. Coalan stopped suddenly, as if he only then realized they could hear him.
"What? It's the only chant I know," Coalan said defensively as Fallon helped Tris to a seat.
"Did it work?" Fallon asked anxiously. Tris could feel her magic wash over him, assuring her that he was undamaged. "Something happened, that's for sure."
Coalan pressed a glass of brandy into Tris's hand, and Tris downed it to steady his nerves as the aftermath of the powerful working gave him the shakes. After a moment, he found his voice and told them as best he could what had happened, finding that words were insufficient to fully describe the experience. "Thank you both," he said, setting the empty glass aside. "But Fallon and I had best get back to the fight."
"Are you up to it? A working like that should have you flat on your back."
Tris managed a wan smile. "Thank the Flow. I could feel it healing Carina-and it seemed to know that I was fading, too. It healed both of us. To tell you the truth, other than being a bit shaken, I feel better than I have in weeks." He sobered. "Which is a good thing. Once Curane's mages realize that the Flow is healed, I'm afraid they'll make a final strike with everything they've got left. We breached the wall in several more places. Their line can't hold much longer. One way or another, this ends tonight."
Before half a candlemark had passed, Tris and Fallon rode back to the front lines. In the torchlight, Tris could see the pounding Lochlanimar had taken. Two more sections of the outer wall had fallen, and the Mar
golan forces now held a position closer to the fortification than before. The night smelled of pitch and smoke as the trebuchets lobbed large, tarred bundles of straw into the air which archers set afire in flight with flaming arrows. They streaked across the clear winter night sky like comets, landing between the inner and outer walls.
Around them, teams of men maneuvered catapults over the frozen ground for a better shot at the inner walls through the gaps in the outer fortifications. Once those inner walls were breached, Senne's soldiers were ready to storm through, along with the remaining vayash moruand the legion of ghost soldiers that were Margolan's own battle dead.
Tris sent out his magic to touch Tabok. Are you in position?
Aye, Tris heard the ghost's reply. Mohr's been tearing the place apart, throwing whatever he can move. He drove soldiers out of one wing of the castle by hurling pots and pans at them. And he flooded the cellar with wine and ale by popping the corks and splitting the barrels.
I don't know when I'll need you, so be ready for the signal.
As you wish, my king.
The spirits from the necropolis beneath Lochlanimar did not speak in words, but the images they sent as their restless energies swept through the the walled keep told Tris that they, too, were committed to ending the battle this night. Fallon, Vira and Beyral, the remaining mages, were ready to join their magic with Tris's for a last salvo. Tris looked up as a horse and rider came up beside him and he recognized Soterius.
"You're not supposed to be out of bed."
Soterius gave a harsh laugh. "Neither are you."
"Shows how well we listen."
"Is everything in place?"
Tris nodded. At ninth bells, the final full press to take Lochlanimar would begin. Tris knew how badly his own forces were stretched, and the ghosts within the stronghold had informed him that Curane's resources were even thinner. Whichever side survived this night would take the victory, and Tris could only guess how high the cost in blood would be.
"Where do you need me?"
Tris met Soterius's eyes, and knew that his friend was well aware of how much was at stake this night. "Senne's covered the front press. Rallan has the rear and west. The mages and I will also be at the front-the ghosts say it's closest to the mages' workshop, and we'll make the best strike against them from that angle. That leaves the east without a senior officer. We've got several catapults in place, lobbing whatever we can burn over the walls."
Soterius smiled tightly. "Then that's where I'll go." He paused. "Be careful, Tris. Out of all of us, you're the one who has to make it home in one piece."
Tris clasped his forearm. "I intend to bring as many home with me as I can. Watch your back." Soterius nodded, and rode off.
A sense of foreboding washed over Tris as the candlemarks passed. Curane's response to their attacks had been muted at best, without the all-out counteroffensive Tris expected. There could be only one reason: Curane was saving his waning resources for a final strike. And knowing Curane, Tris feared that the traitor lord would not hesitate to sacrifice his own people in a doomsday maneuver.
The winter night was filled with the squeal of trebuchet wheels and the shouts of soldiers. Torchlight and bonfires cast dancing shadows across snow fouled with soot and blood. The hard-frozen ground allowed them to move the huge war machines with relative ease, although heavy snow made it slow going. At the gates of Lochlanimar, a new battering ram swung from its frame, beating a steady, pounding rhythm that seemed to reverberate in Tris's bones. Hewn from the largest tree to be found within two days' ride, it was plated with as much scrap iron as could be spared, and a metal roof cobbled together of leather and steel shielded the soldiers beneath it from a rain of flaming arrows and boiling water.
In the distance, Tris heard the camp gong strike nine times. Just as he wheeled his horse to confer with Fallon and Beyral, he felt a pulse in the currents of magic. It didn't come from the direction of Lochlanimar, and it didn't come from the Flow. Images filled his mind, brief flashes that were there and gone, and Tris knew with cold certainty that they touched the part of his mind that had made a bond with Kiara.
Tris glimpsed Bricen's hunting lodge. He felt Kiara's fear and glimpsed the same damashqiblade that he had seen in his dreams, only this time, it was stained with blood. An instant of vertigo washed over him, as if his magic were pushed beyond reach by wormroot. He heard Kiara scream and saw her fall backward. Instinctively, he reached for her, but his power dissipated in the Nether. The image winked out, leaving Tris gripping the reins of his horse white-knuckled, as his vision returned and only the battlefield lay before him.
"Are you all right?" Fallon had ridden up beside him.
Tris turned toward her, ashen. "Kiara's in trouble. I felt it in the soulbond we made. If my power can reach Dark Haven, why can't it reach Shekerishet?"
"The Flow doesn't run beneath Shekerishet as it does beneath Dark Haven. Its power spreads wide, but it is strongest in its course, like a river. The next nearest energy river runs through Isencroft and down into the Southlands through the far west corner of Trevath. Shekerishet's site was chosen for defense, not for magic. Even the Flow has its limits," Fallon said.
Tris struggled to gain control of the panic that roiled within him, fear that had nothing to do with the battle. I don't care what Crevan says. I don't care if the rumors are true. She's my wife and she's carrying my child-and I love her. I swore I would defend her and I've failed.The vision eluded his attempts to see more. He stared bleakly down at the rebel stronghold. I may save my kingdom and my crown tonight, but if Kiara dies, I don't know if I have the will to carry on. Goddess help me! The crown drains everything, and gives nothing in return.
"Look there!" Fallon's cry shook Tris from his brooding. Just outside the front gate of Lochlanimar, a whirlwind of fire began to coalesce, growing quickly from swirling sparks into a howling vortex.
"Fire Elemental," Tris breathed. He could hear Senne and Rallan shouting for retreat above the panic of men and horses already stampeding toward the rear, fleeing an enemy no courage could stand against. Tris met Fallon's eyes.
"No," Fallon said, wide-eyed. "Even you can't hold that off alone."
"We have no choice. See if you and Beyral can conjure up some kind of barrier to shield the men. Although, if it reaches the camp, it will have already gotten past me, so-" The rest went unspoken. If it reached that far, a rout was certain.
"The Lady's hand be upon you," Fallon said, raising her hand in blessing. Tris dug his heels into his horse's side and urged his mount forward at a gallop as his soldiers ran past him for their lives.
The Elemental was moving slowly but gathering power. It had more than doubled in size since it appeared, and Tris could feel the blood magic that conjured it even at a distance. When his panicked horse would take him no further, Tris dismounted and let it run. On the blackened and trampled plain of battle, Tris stood alone and awaited the firestorm.
It was easier than he thought to silence his emotions. Battle coldness filled him, focused on his mission, indifferent to his own survival. Tris raised the sword he brought with him from his earlier working, the sword once wielded by Bava K'aa. It thrummed in his grip, resonating with his magic. The runes along its blade flowed with inner fire as Tris began to chant a warding. Elementals were difficult to conjure and draining to maintain. The longer he could keep the Elemental from destroying his troops, the greater the strain on the mages sustaining it. He hoped he had the strength to outlast Curane's mages.
Tris raised a double warding, one layer of protection around himself and another curtain of power to keep the Elemental from moving past him toward the camp. Though invisible to others, he could see the shimmer of power in the cold winter air. It seemed thin protection against the rapidly growing wall of fire that was rushing across the battlefield. The Elemental moved relentlessly, its flames so hot that the wagons and war machines exploded. The Elemental moved through a haze of steam, vaporizing the snow with a loud hiss a
s it scorched the ground beneath it.
Tris felt his heart pound as the wall of flame grew closer. His training had been admittedly lopsided; skewed toward defeating a single powerful opponent. Now, he was painfully aware of the gaps in his magical education. He braced himself and focused all of his will and his magic on his wardings as the fire engulfed him.
Flames licked at the blue-white dome of his shielding, crackling against his power. Tris had to avert his eyes as the ball of fire became both sky and horizon. Despite his protections, the temperature within his warded dome began rising quickly. The Elemental's fury pounded at his protections, requiring all of his concentration to hold the magic in place. Raw, unreasoning power battered his defenses, and Tris remembered what Soterius had told him about the air Elemental he had once faced. Nothing, not even the Sisterhood, could turn an Elemental until it was recalled by the mage who sent it.
Sweat dripped from Tris's face and he loosened his cloak, letting it fall from his shoulders. His shirt was soaked, and his mouth was dry. He might die from the heat within his own wardings before the flames could take him, Tris thought, struggling to keep hold of the magic. The Elemental was straining his wardings, and Tris knew he could not hold them indefinitely. His head ached from both the heat and the stress of magic. He gritted his teeth and drew from his life force, doubling the effort. If his defenses failed, the Margolan army would be completely destroyed, overtaken by the unyielding flames before they had a chance to flee.
The sword thrummed in his hands, and Tris shielded his eyes, looking down at the blade. Amid the maelstrom of magic, the runes on its blade flared brighter than ever, and Tris remembered the words Taru had spoken when she gave it to him at his coronation. This was the sword of Bava K'aa. You may find it harbors a vestige of her power, as well as her memory.Wary of the sword's unknown abilities, Tris had not carried it into battle before this. Its runes had eluded even Royster's attempts to translate. But now, as he felt his strength fading, Tris grasped the sword tightly, and let his power course through it. As he did so, the runes seemed to rearrange themselves until the fiery writing appeared as Margolense, written in fine script.
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