Takala didn’t ask for clarification. Farrell felt the familiar touch of his brother’s mind and grasped the link. The last battle unfolded in Farrell’s mind as he relived what Takala had seen. He watched firsthand as Nordric and Peter defended themselves against two Chamdon.
Nordric’s final seconds felt like days as Farrell saw the unicorn turn to defend his friend. The last creature didn’t act like he should have. His heart froze as he watched Peter being shoved aside and the beast grab for Nordric’s horn.
Despite knowing the outcome, he felt a surge of hope as Grohl dove at the creature and crushed its skull—a second too late. Takala’s sharp eyes watched as the horn tore white skin and fur from Nordric’s body as it was yanked from his skull. Takala’s vision blurred at that moment and the images stopped.
When they arrived, Farrell dropped into a swirl of dust. Grateful he didn’t have to respond to Takala, he shielded his eyes as his brother flew over their friends and landed in a clear patch of ground.
Farrell glanced at Miceral, who shook his head gravely. Nordric lay on his side, his eyes glazed but blinking while Peter clutched the horn tight. He appeared to be praying.
“Is the healer on their way?” No one could heal this, but he needed one to try.
“Yes, but it will not help,” Grenda said. “A unicorn’s horn is a gift from Lenore. It is what gives us life. Without it, we cannot survive.”
“But Peter has it.” Farrell pointed to where Peter clutched at the horn, looking shocked and dazed. “Maybe a healer can put it back?”
“Perhaps a healer could help. I do not know. In all my long life, this has never happened. Always have the Muchari stood in the way of any who possessed the strength to do this. You must seek answers from another.”
Farrell’s thoughts raced so much he couldn’t focus. Who else could he ask if not a unicorn?
“Maybe the Eye can show you who can help.” Takala’s words didn’t immediately break through the fog in Farrell’s brain, but when they did, he thrust his hand into his pocket.
“Show me how to heal Nordric.” He stared into the gem, ignoring the expectant looks from those around him.
He kept his gaze steady, but just the sapphire of the stone filled his vision. “Show me who can heal Nordric.”
After several variations of the question, his frustration and anger took over. “By the Six, help me!”
Thrinton and most of the dwarves nearby turned to see why Farrell had shouted. Mother Jolella emerged from the wall, surrounded by anxious guards. Before he could ask how she walked through several feet of solid stone, she spoke first.
“Be at ease, Chosen. The Six may not take a direct hand to save Nordric. An unfortunate aspect of war is the brave die prematurely. All we can do is pray and seek to ease his passage.”
“Unacceptable.” He shook his head. “I’m owed a boon. I’ve labored long on Their behalf. The least the Six can do is help me when I need it most.”
“When you need it most, Chosen, We most surely will aid you.” The voice was warm and motherly. Everyone searched for the source, but there was no one there. “Now is not your hour of greatest need.”
The air around him shimmered, and there was a flash of white light. When it faded, Lenore stood inches away from Farrell.
“There is naught you can do for My brave servant.” She put Her hand around his and squeezed gently. “Freely Nordric gave his life to defend another in a time of war. I may not interfere.”
“How can that be fair?” Peter asked. “You’re the Goddess of Life. You can fix this if You wanted.”
“Nay, child of Our Sister of the Sea. It is not that simple. Nordric understood that war could bring injury, even this. It was a brave act by a brave servant. Taking a direct hand now will only aid Neldin. I cannot do that, not even for Nordric.”
“Take me instead.” Peter broke free of Miceral and stood before the Goddess. “It’s my fault he’s dead. Take my life for his.”
“That is a gift worthy of Arritisa’s children, but alas, I must decline.”
“But I have his horn.” He thrust it at Lenore. “You gave it to him before. Give it to him again. How can that be against the rules?”
“Child, great is your grief at the passing of your friend, but there is nothing you can do to change what is. Allow Nordric’s fate to unfold as it must.”
Lenore turned Her back on Farrell and Peter and moved to Nordric’s side. She stood where he could see Her and laid a hand on his head above his wound. Nerti reacted as if she’d been slapped, and Klissmor shook his head several times. The Goddess looked at the grieving parents and nodded once. “So it is and so it shall be.”
In response to the mysterious pronouncement, Nerti’s head drooped.
“As you command, Holy Mother,” Klissmor said.
Lenore’s feet left no prints in the sand as She walked back to Peter.
“Give the horn to Nerti’s rider.”
Peter gave Her a confused look, but the Goddess didn’t clarify. Finally he tentatively offered the object to Farrell.
“Why give it to me?” Farrell made no effort to accept the horn. “It needs to go to Nordric, not me.”
“Nordric gave his life to save his friend. Now he gives you his horn so you can save others.” She gestured toward Peter’s hand. “Accept his gift and use it well.”
Her explanation confused him even more. “How can I use Nordric’s horn?”
“I cannot say.” Lenore’s expression turned stern. “Do you reject his gift?”
“No. But . . . I . . .” Farrell stumbled under Her disapproving gaze. Lenore appeared to swell and loom over him. “Then will you accept?” “Yes, I accept.” He reached out and took the horn from Peter.
Lenore finally smiled and closed Her eyes. “It is done.”
A sense of dread filled Farrell, but before he could ask what was done, a warm breeze blew over them. It swirled about Nordric’s body, creating a dervish that forced everyone to back away. The wind built in intensity before a blinding flash forced him to cover his eyes.
When he could see again, Lenore was gone and with Her, Nordric’s body. He searched for his fallen friend, then spied Nerti and Klissmor huddled together. Nerti’s shoulders’ sagged and she leaned hard against her mate. The confident queen he’d looked to for support was gone, replaced by a shattered mother. They may have won the battle, but their loss was beyond measure.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Farrell wanted to take to the sky and kill anything that still moved. Maybe he’d find some servant of Meglar and repay him with the most drawn-out, painful death he could impose. Something. When he considered his options, the savage urges made his stomach churn. It took three tries to swallow the bile he tasted. He put Nordric’s horn in his pocket and surveyed the remnants of the battle.
The fight was truly over. True to their nature, the Chamdon fought to the last. Once the last wizard died, Agloth’s wizards killed the last few Chamdon. With the fighting over, the grim job of sorting the casualties began.
Hundreds of Ze’arderians, most in healer’s robes, emerged from the walls.
“Evidently your distant sire had a soft spot for lovers,” Penelope said as she stepped up next to him. “He gave that spell to a former student to repay Seritia.”
“Repay?” He continued to stare at the fascinating scene. “I thought Seritia required payment up front.”
“So did the wizard Breton,” Jolella said. “His gift is one of the legends of Agloth.”
He watched the healers and their helpers rush from body to body. The dead were turned facedown, the ones with without life-threatening wounds were taken away on stretchers, and the most seriously injured were treated on the spot.
“I don’t understand, Jolella. What gift?”
“Breton’s gift was a spell that allowed us to walk through the wall. It may only be used to walk from inside the city to out. It was created by Kel and cast by Breton.”
Farrell nodded. Fee
l-good stories could wait. He wanted to help, but from the corner of his eye he saw Nerti and Klissmor. His need to do something useful could wait.
“Nerti.” He struggled to find the right words. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not worthy of your apologies, Farrell. My weakness nearly killed you. I hope in time you can forgive me.”
“Stop!” He quickly got in front of her. He remembered the rage he’d been in when he realized his mother was dead. He and Sanduval had nearly come to blows when his mentor pinned him to a wall. Farrell had nearly brought the mountain down around them in his struggle to get free. “Nordric is . . . was your son. There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Had Vedric killed you because of my actions, Nordric’s sacrifice as well as all who’ve given everything to win this war would have been wasted.” She refused to meet his gaze.
“Thank you for your public forgiveness, my friend, but for now, let her be,” Klissmor said. Farrell glanced over at his friend and saw him nod.
“Nothing you say will alleviate her grief and guilt. Give her some time.”
“Understood.”
No one spoke, and Farrell was happy for the silence. He berated himself for thinking he could control the outcome of important events. Despite constant reminders to the contrary, he still deluded himself into believing he wasn’t just a pawn. Everything that happened had been, if not planned in advance, anticipated and accounted for by the Six. He wondered what Their plan would have been if he had died instead of Vedric.
A healer’s shout roused him from his self-pity. “We should help with the wounded.”
He’d said it as much to motivate himself as the others. Not surprisingly, Nerti was the first to react. She moved closer, inviting him to mount. Farrell jumped up, and once settled, he extended his hand to Peter. “Let’s go. There is nothing more to be done here.”
Peter shook his head. “I’ll walk back.”
“Sorry, but it’s still dangerous out here.”
Farrell considered forcing him if he didn’t accept. After a tense few seconds, Peter reached up and allowed Farrell to pull him onto Nerti’s back.
Miceral and Klissmor stayed on the battlefield while Penelope gave Jolella a ride back. The growing number of support personnel coming through the wall slowed their ride to the gate.
“We should do something to help get the wounded inside,” Penelope said. “If they are forced to use the gate, some will die during the long walk.” She had something in mind, but it irritated him that she didn’t come out and say it.
“You are the only one who can open a Door into Agloth, Farrell,”
Nerti said softly. “That is what she is suggesting.”
“Thank you. Can you stop here, please?”
Using the Eye to find the right location, Farrell opened a Door to the infirmary. Grenda, Penelope, and Jolella went on ahead while Farrell finished his work. He opened another Door before he reached the front gate and two more near the southern part of the battlefield. After the last one was finished, he and Peter walked through with Nerti.
Penelope walked toward him before he could dismount. Her expression showed a deep concern that rattled Farrell. Steeling himself against the bad news, he met her gaze and waited for her to speak.
“If you’re feeling up to it, I would . . . could you help with the injuries that two of the wizards from Dumbarten sustained?” She let out a tired sigh. “The healers don’t know how to treat them, and you’re the only wizard healer in Agloth. I could take them back to—”
He held up his hand. “Of course, I’ll help. Show me where they are.”
The thin smile she gave him reminded Farrell anew that even the strong have their breaking point. “Hayden’s wounds look like burns, but the healers say magic clings to his flesh.”
An elderly Ze’arderian healer held her hands over a nasty burn on Hayden’s torso. The master wizard was in great pain, and the healer’s ministrations didn’t appear to have any effect. She moved aside when Farrell walked closer.
“This wound has vexed me to no end.” She rubbed her hands together briskly. “I’ve treated many magical injuries before, and always have I been able to cleanse any lingering magic. But this—”
“How are you doing?” Farrell asked as he placed his hand closer to the wound. Hayden winced and couldn’t entirely stifle a grunt. “Sorry.”
“I’ve been better, Chosen,” Hayden said through clenched teeth.
“And you will be again in a moment.” He held his staff over the injured flesh, and the platinum end turned pale blue. A dark film leeched from Hayden’s wound and was drawn toward the staff. Hayden let out a grunt that drew the healer back to him. “Don’t touch him!”
The healer pulled her hands back as if she’d been burned. “I can alleviate his pain.”
“Your hands carry the spell. If you touch him, you’ll only reinfect him.” He ignored the woman as she jerked her hands away and stared at them. The black magic clung to the burnt skin but was slowly losing its hold. When his staff pulsed, the inky substance was sucked onto the metal cap. Another burst of blue surrounded the energy, and it fizzled out.
With his free hand, Farrell pushed a bit of healing energy into Hayden to numb the area. The man sighed as Farrell quickly turned to treat the healer.
“It’s another of Meglar’s creations. Please hold out your hands.” He raised the staff over them and drew tiny wisps of black magic from her skin. Each of these were pulled toward the metal end and burned up in the blue corona around the staff. “I’ve seen this before, so I recognized the symptoms. Only Meglar’s senior wizards are taught the spell. The effects are slow to materialize, so unsuspecting healers can be infected when they try to treat the burn. If a medic gets it on his or her hands, they will spread it to every patient they touch.”
The healer recoiled in fear. “Medics are never targeted during a war.”
“Meglar doesn’t believe the rules apply to him.” Using his wizard sight, he made sure he had gotten all the foul magic from her hands. “If you hear of anyone else with this kind of wound, summon Princess Penelope or myself. It requires a wizard to draw out the spell.”
“The blessing of Seritia to you, Chosen.”
He bowed his head and walked back to Penelope.
“It is good you recognize the spell,” she said. “I’ve not even heard of it.”
“Meglar’s been using it almost since the war began. Heminaltose noticed it first and devised the solution.” He covered his mouth to hide a yawn. “You said there was another wizard you wanted me to see if I could help?”
“Yes. Anarell is over this way.” She pointed toward an area for critically injured patients.
“Take me to her.” He didn’t know if he could help, but if she was stricken with something no one had seen before, he might be able to save her. “How bad were the casualties?”
“Relative to what happened to Vedric’s wizards, not many. Most of those lost were among the lower-level Ze’arderian wizards. Master Lefliar was also hurt, but he’ll recover. Three of his senior wizards are dead, as are two of mine.” She shook her head. “The wizard you saw with Vedric after the harpy attack—Petres—he and a trio of strong master wizards stayed hidden for most of the fight. They targeted the more powerful among us in swift surprise attacks. It succeeded to a point. Lefliar and his people took out two of them. Hayden and Tarnin, a young wizard who is related to Marisa, took out the third. The leader got into a fight with Anarell. She was . . . is my second-in-command here. She survived long enough for the others to help her. They eventually killed Petres, but Anarell is not expected to survive.”
Penelope silently led him to an older wizard being tended to by two strong healers. They shook their heads when Penelope walked up, and one said, “We have not been able to help her, Princess. We’re sorry.”
Farrell held out his hand and scanned the body. He recognized the injury, but he wasn’t strong enough to heal her. “It’s a powerful spell designed
to consume the body from the inside. I can counter it, but I can’t reverse the damage.”
The healer closest to him was a middle-aged man whose skin was covered in sweat. “If you trust me, Chosen, I can join with you, and perhaps together we can save her.”
Farrell nodded and a link immediately touched his mind. It took a few awkward missteps before the medic allowed Farrell to take the lead. As he countered the dark magic eating at Anarell’s insides, the man pushed healing energy into the now-clean areas. Once they found their rhythm together, they quickly finished the operation.
“My apologies for the difficult start, Chosen. I did not realize you were a gifted healer.”
“I’m not.” He rested his staff on the table and rubbed his temples. “I have enough of the talent to heal simple wounds. My magic makes me appear to have a stronger gift than I really possess.”
“Either way, your skill is what saved her. You spared us enough effort that many more will live because of it.” He bowed deeply. “May Seritia bless you eternally.”
He and his partner disappeared before Farrell could thank him. He yawned again but waved off any protest from Penelope. Finding someone in charge of the infirmary proved difficult, but finally he found an ancient man who directed patients and healers. Neither a wizard nor a healer, the man ordered people about with a trained eye.
Farrell offered his services, noting his limitations as a healer. Without acknowledging Farrell’s rank or position, the man sent the “volunteer” to the wing with patients without life-threatening wounds.
Despite his recent battle with Vedric, Farrell remained to help the wounded until the sun had almost set. When he had trouble focusing, he stood up, stretched, and told the lead healer in the ward he couldn’t stay any longer. The stern woman looked ready to admonish him until she turned to face him. Her eyes opened wider and she bowed.
“We thank you for your help, Chosen. Many will survive thanks to you.”
Farrell accepted the praise but didn’t respond. His failure regarding Nordric couldn’t be erased by what he’d done.
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