“Thank you,” she whispered, and the sprite absent-mindedly nodded as she silently watched the exchange; eyes filled with worry.
A howl of pain erupted from the cougar and she watched in horror as the cat’s body began to show signs of plague and decay. The body was constantly shimmering, as if fighting it off, but more and more yellow pus began to ooze beneath the fur. Amysta wasn’t sure if she should interfere and Willow didn’t even know how that was possible. The only way to prevent what was happening was to kill the girl from long range, and she knew that her mother would never sanction such an action.
She looked at the sprite and felt a certain amount of peace instill itself within her mind. This was what the fairy had warned her against. In just a few seconds, Trek would be dead or dying and Pestilence would rise again.
A choice had to be made.
She had been told that if she sacrificed herself that she could save the little girl the Phoenix had corrupted, that in doing so, she could ultimately save them all. After all, once this plague began to spread amongst the people it might very well destroy everything in its path. Bella had become the harbinger of death and a sacrifice had to be made in order to stop her. That—had fallen upon her.
Thinking of her time spent with Revan, studying the ancient book Nimue had given her, she recalled the last spell they’d been practicing and knew that if done right, it might put an end to the evil magic that transformed the young maiden into such a horrific creature of death.
Trek suddenly went limp, shimmered back into his natural form, and was thrown effortlessly aside by the young armored women beneath him. A large claw mark was etched down the girl’s cheek as she forcibly rose to greet them once more.
“Your pet fairies are nothing compared to the magic of the Phoenix. They will fall, as will you all; to be ground beneath her boot,” Pestilence snarled at them, the hideous transformation complete, as nothing remained of the girl that was. “Now, where were we? I think we were about to embrace—isn’t that right, Mother?”
Glancing to the west, she sent a silent message to her husband, her love flowing out of her, as she stepped forward and faced the awaiting Horseman.
The girl’s eyes flittered her way, not expecting her to interfere, and the corner of the girl’s mouth lifted with surprise. “Aww, you want to go first? I promised War that I would dispatch you quickly, but I got side-tracked by the family reunion. But hey, I made a promise, why not see it through?”
She said nothing as she stepped into the open arms of the Horseman’s embrace, the evil magic immediately starting to work on her. There was a gasp of horror from the Elven Queen and she forced it out of her mind, focusing intently on what she was about.
With both arms gripping the young girl, she whispered, “tanka harwar.” Opening her heart, she let every ounce of magic summoned flow through her and into the girl she was embracing. Her arms held the armored figure tightly as the white magic attacked the black essence of the Horseman, working its way through and around the permeating darkness.
“What are you doing?” came a horrified whisper in her ear, then an open mouth scream began as Pestilence realized that she was under attack. She tried to wiggle free of their embrace, but Willow held on as tightly as possible; refusing to let the young girl go.
The plague was starting to weaken her body but there was nothing she could do but allow it to continue, to accept her fate. She was unable to let go and flee; having to hold the girl to her as the magic continued to sweep through them. Gripping the Horseman tightly, she chanted a low prayer that she had learned from the book of magic and added strength to the already writhing magic surrounding them.
“Do not interfere!” came the stern voice of the fairy and the realization that Amysta must have attempted to separate them.
“She’s pregnant, you little gnat! She’s going to kill the baby!” Amysta’s voice screamed in panic.
The thought had crossed her mind as well, but what choice did she have? It was their lives against those of how many innocents that would be murdered by the Horseman’s plagues? Was it really a question of what mattered more?
Submitting herself completely to the magic, she let it take everything she had, as it wound its tendrils around the struggling girl; incapacitating her. The white light increased in intensity and even through her shut eyes, she was blinded by the glow. Weaker by the second, she held on with the last bits of her fading strength, feeling the diseases working through her and slowly eating her into nothing. She had the briefest thought of her soon to be mourning husband and sent a silent I love you upon the wind.
Then she collapsed onto the cobblestones below; dead before she even hit the ground.
A young elven girl stood shaking in the storm, her youthful appearance restored, her armor gone. She was in white robes, her former full brown hair streaked with white, tears falling in streams from the corners of her eyes. Lips trembling, she looked at the dead pregnant woman at her feet, then lifted her eyes to the Elven Queen paralyzed nearby. “Mommy?”
II
“Get off me!” Tristan bellowed, as soldiers refused to let him close to where the queen and her daughter were embracing; the body of his wife lifeless at their feet. “I will kill you all if you do not let me go! I swear it on my ancestors!”
Kylee had her hands on his shoulders and was adding to the others that were keeping him at bay. “You can’t, Tristan. You can’t.”
“How dare you?” he roared, struggling against their grip. “That’s your sister over there, your niece! How can you just stand there?” He was losing his sanity the longer he struggled, his heart torn asunder with the pain it was enduring. The ranger’s eyes reflected his anguish and he felt bad for his actions but couldn’t help it. The love of his life had just died, and his soul was breaking into pieces.
Her eyes misted over, and a tear streaked down her cheek.
“Sir, she has been riddled with the plague. We cannot allow you to approach. You might infect others. We need to quarantine and sterilize!” an elf commander informed him, nodding at another soldier who was approaching with a torch.
Purity slipped free of its bindings and flashed into view, breaking the hold the men were exerting over him. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you torch my wife!”
“What’s going on here?” a voice commanded to his rear, and he jerked his head in that direction, eyes red, swollen, and full of hate.
Erik was striding into view, Merlin at his side. The two figures looked weary, their armor bloodied, their faces drawn with exhaustion mixed with some unknown source of excitement. The stern commanding voice of the Elven King snapped the soldiers together and they stopped trying to force him away.
The storm overhead was starting to lift, the winds were backing off, and the rain had begun to slacken in intensity. A ray of sunshine struck them, and he glared up at the sun, pissed that it had dared intrude upon his devasted state.
They came to a halt at his side, eyes glaring at the men before them. “Explain yourself,” the king commanded of the man barring their approach.
“My Lord, we have a plague victim that must be dealt with. We cannot allow anyone to approach who might spread the contagion. Your wife and daughter must be quarantined as well, I’m sorry, Sire. This has been ordered by the Council and I must abide by their wishes,” the elf stated firmly, eyeing the newcomers with challenging eyes.
“Wife and daughter? Bella?” Erik suddenly asked, working to look beyond the soldiers barring his path.
“Erik, we’re here, she’s safe,” came the queen’s voice and he saw the look of surprise flashed across the man’s face.
Erik’s brows drew together as he faced off against the soldiers. “I am your King and I’m ordering you to withdraw, or I’ll let my friend here have his way with you. I will see my wife and daughter.”
“My Lord,” the elf protested, fidgeting. He was not used to defying his King’s orders but he looked steadfast in his resolve nonetheless.
Seeing an opportunity to fulfill his duty without enraging his sovereign, the elf finally relented and ordered his men to part; allowing the mage access to the three figures beyond.
He looked through the gap and saw his wife laying on the ground, her body at a weird angle, the rise of her chest absent—his heart broken in two. Just behind them hovered the queen and her daughter, the younger girl’s head buried in her mother’s chest, tears streaming from her eyes. He wanted to hate her, but the sorrow filling the girl’s visage was too much to be ignored.
A sprite flew to his side and he glared at the fairy. “You knew this was going to happen! That’s why she’s been so distant, so reserved. You told her of this and what, she just did it? What have you done?” he thundered at the smaller woman.
Shirl flinched under the onslaught. The ranger moving to glare at her kept Shirl’s eyes frantically searching for what to say. “A sacrifice had to be made for the good of all,” the fairy managed after a brief pause, face fearful of reprisal.
“Was it really a choice or did you back her into a corner?” came the ranger’s voice; hate dripping off every word. Albino eyes widened as the top of her tattoos drew together, her face filled with anger. “Why her? Why not any of us? Why did it have to be her?”
“There was no other,” Shirl responded after a moment’s hesitation; fearful for her life.
Erik was bursting with excitement mixed with sorrow at the scene beyond and he hated the look of elation of the elf’s face. His daughter restored to him or not, Tristan’s wife lay dead at their feet, all for the sake of saving that girl from the Phoenix. Why did he have to suffer for another man’s happiness? What made Erik so damn special that he had to lose everything he ever cared about and the future he thought assured would happen?
Nimue had lied to him. There would be no future with Willow, no family to grow old with. His sacrifices, his journey, the growth he had experienced; it had all been for nothing.
“It’s safe,” Merlin called to them and the soldiers parted as both men and the white-haired elf surged forward. Erik ran into the awaiting arms of his wife and daughter as Tristan skidded to his knees next to his wife, the mage hovering overhead.
Pulling her to him, he felt all the anguish and pain burst free and flow unending forth. A howl of rage escaped unbridled as he hugged her tightly against his chest. Kylee was kneeling across from him, eyes bursting with tears, a hand on Willow’s arm. “What have they done to you?” he wailed at the heavens. “Take me in her place! Please? God please? Let me die for her, let her live!”
Cradling and rocking his beloved, he let all of his grief consume him; anger and sorrow intermixed until one couldn’t be distinguished from another. Through his tears, he looked upon the mage and felt hate fill his heart. “Why did you have to enter our lives? We were happy! We would be together and planning our lives, and none of this would have ever happened! Have you ever thought that maybe this army marched here because we got Excalibur? That you are the trigger behind all of this? That your meddling is why all those that have perished today are lost to this world? Are you so self-absorbed that none of the people that die in your crusades matter?”
“Tristan,” Kylee comforted, reaching for him, but he shook it off.
“No, he’s right,” Merlin stated, grief plain on his face as he looked down upon them. “If I had not approached them, they would be happily married and living in Griedlok even now. The army would not have marched on Forlorn, and neither one of them would be here. I cannot deny that; it is the truth. However, they would have marched eventually and today would have ended with the total destruction of the Wood Elves. With Forlorn and the other elven cities destroyed; she would have marched her armies south and Griedlok would have fallen regardless. You are correct, by not meeting me, you would have gained another year, maybe—but the end would have been far worse than what is taking place now.”
He would not be talked down. His wife’s head in his arms, he continued to rage against the mage, prepared to strike the man with all the hatred coursing through his veins. “You can’t know that. You have said so yourself—choices are what direct the future. There are a million things that could have happened between now and then to divert the Phoenix from her path. This didn’t have to be one of them!”
The mage frowned, eyeing him closely. “You are talking through grief, unable to see the full picture of what is going on. I understand that, but you need to hear me. Had we not arrived here at this moment—in this way, things would have turned swiftly against us and none would have survived the year. The Phoenix would grow more powerful with every victory and the southern lands would have been dead or enslaved by the following fall. There is no stopping her unless we destroy that infernal book once and for all. And to do that; we need Excalibur, and for this battle to have taken place.”
“So, my wife is just another sacrifice in your crusade? Just like Jared, Tuskar, or Riska?” he thundered back.
Another figure strode into view and he saw his grime covered brother march into view. “And Bordin,” John added, coming to stand with them.
“What?” Kylee asked in shock, her eyes darting towards the Human King.
“I’m sorry,” John said in a lower voice. “I did everything I could, but I could not save him. Your father has fallen.”
The ranger tried to look impassive at the news, but he saw something naked in those eyes; sorrow welling up within.
“Kylee?” came the voice of another elf rushing into view. It was the man from the previous night and Tristan growled audibly at the interruption.
The ranger drove herself to her feet and flung herself into the awaiting elf’s arms, sobs escaping from her as she allowed the man to give her comfort. He looked battle-worn and exhausted, barely standing as he tried to hold her, and Tristan’s mind sneered at them unwillingly as his fingers stroked Willow’s hair.
“Tristan,” Merlin’s voice interrupted his thoughts, pushing to be heard. “Do you not understand what is happening? The orcs have risen against their masters! Kore defeated Famine and word of his heroic deed spread like wildfire through the enemy ranks. The slaves rebelled, inspired by Kore’s bravery, and took an axe to the whipmasters driving them forward. They made up a very large portion of the enemy army and it is still ripping itself apart even now! The horde would be in full retreat if another army hadn’t arrived behind them, cutting them off. The Dark Elves have left their caves and Melissa is out there right now, decimating what remains of the Phoenix’s forces. Don’t you understand? We won!”
“How can you say that? This isn’t a victory! Look at what we have lost! What have we gained from what we’ve sacrificed? A few more months? A year? Then we will be back here once more, and how many will have to die then?” he returned, anger continuing to rise. He could give a rat’s ass what was going on out there; all he cared about lay dead within his arms.
Thoughts of joining her quickly surfaced and he had to constantly fight the urge to end his existence as well.
“The Phoenix will be hard pressed to make another move for quite some time; we dealt her a serious blow. She will not be able to put together another force so quickly. This is our opportunity to strike! To attack her while she’s vulnerable! Don’t you understand? Her own army has turned on her!” Merlin continued, dismissive of his words, and angering him further.
“Tristan—” Erik began, finally letting go of his family and coming to stand at his side.
He was cut off as a trembling began flowing across the earth and they all fought to keep their balance from the sudden onslaught. He rocked with the motion, unable to resist, as he came to realize the source of the vibration
was coming from between his thighs and not from without.
Looking down upon Willow, his breath caught, as a white light swarmed around her body; enveloping her. Before all their eyes, her corpse lifted sharply into the air, and hovered five feet above the ground. The earth ceased it’s shaking as Willow’s limbs twitched, her head rolled, and her body spasmed within the magic’s grasp.
Shirl flew into view before the suspended girl, her face intent, her mouth working soundlessly as words of a spell ushered forth.
A dark figure rose from the cobblestones and his blood pumped furiously in response; his body preparing to strike if any should dare interfere with whatever magic was taking place. Cloaked in black, the jackyl looked upon them, then at the writhing girl hanging before him. “My master recognizes the sacrifice made and has ordered Charon to refuse her admittance, in accordance to with the terms of the deal struck. Our business is finished,” the specter told them firmly, then quickly departed as if he had never been.
The white light shone even brighter, but Tristan didn’t care. He looked upon the face of his beloved and his breath caught as her eyes flew open and looked down upon him like an angel descending from the heavens above.
Epilogue
She hovered over the Pools of Ognar, taking in the events happening in the east, and felt unbridled anger seething through her pores. The fact that her army was practically destroyed, while not totally unexpected, was still a shock to her. She had emptied the Deadlands and thrown the majority of her forces into her campaign, and now the stragglers were slowly making their way home; as if she’d let them live long enough to make the effort worth it.
“You should have let me lead them instead of that pathetic idiot,” Sir Liadric remarked, standing over her shoulder and watching as his army perished. She had supplanted him with Clint against the knight’s strong advice to the contrary, and found her loyalty misplaced. She had thought that the man would be able to stir up her enemies; she didn’t foresee him forsaking command in order to exact his pound of flesh.
The New Age Saga Box Set Page 91