The Revenge of the Elves (38 page)

Chapter Fifty-seven

A limb was torn from her body but still she felt it there, still she sensed it. She searched for it everywhere and at times she forgot it was gone at all.

A lone figure emerged near the main gates. His swagger, the lope of his walk, the angle of his chin, all made her smile. She watched his every move. He tossed his head to the left and the right, he folded his arms across his chest. His sword hung on his left hip, unlike the other soldiers of Eleutheria. But he was always different, always his own man. With her handkerchief, she rubbed the mist off of the window and pressed her face to the glass. His cape lay over one shoulder and his auburn hair was tied back and clasped with the iced-leaf she’d given him. So handsome. So strong. So beautiful.

You’re home. I’ve missed you, Kalon my darling. I knew you’d return.

He’d come to her in her dreams. She’d mentioned it to Whitestar but he’d brushed it off, said they were only dreams. He never loved him as she did. Not as she did. His heart belonged to his daughter. But it was Alemar who ruined Kalon. She turned the people against him, forced him to run away. He had no choice. But she never gave up. She knew he’d come back. And now he had.

She watched him walk to the gates.
He’s coming to me.
Her pulse quickened. The clasp on his hair glinted, his eyes sparkled.
My son. He’s home.

She threw a shawl around her shoulders and raised it over her hair, then ran out of the room, down the steps arid into the courtyard. Keeping her head low, silent in her slippers, she crossed the narrow plaza. Breathing heavily, she hastened down more stairs to the main gates. The street was empty and she ran unnoticed to the small doorway beside them. The guards were with the army in Concordia, their posts deserted.

She ran to him.
My son! So beautiful, Kalon!
He was handsome, healthy. Alive. She’d waited for this moment. Longed for it. She buried her face in his chest.

“Take me to my father,” he whispered, his lips immersed in her hair.

Chapter Fifty-eight

Bethany clenched Sevilla’s hand until it hurt.

“What is it sister? What’s wrong?” Bethany’s chamber was dark and Sevilla had dozed. The elder sister’s chilled grip startled her.

“We were wrong,” Bethany whispered, her voice weak, “
I
was wrong, dreadfully wrong.” A dry cough wracked her frail body.

Bethany’s fingers went limp and Sevilla quickly lit a candle on the bedside table. “Wrong? Wrong about what?” Sevilla asked. She reached for a glass and held it to Bethany’s lips. She lay against the pillows, her mouth half open, her eyes red and glassy, and took a tiny sip.

“You must relax, sister. Don’t try to talk.”

Bethany pushed her hands into the mattress and tried to sit up. “No,” the words were barely audible. “Listen to me.” Bethany coughed again, wheezing between the spasms.

Sevilla fidgeted nervously. She was no healer. “Let me fetch Violet. She’ll relieve your discomfort.” She started to rise but Bethany grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t leave. Not now.” Her face was etched with lines and her skin was gray and pasty. She collapsed against the headboard.

A bony finger beckoned to Sevilla. She leaned in close to Bethany’s mouth. “I’m dying. Violet can’t heal me,” the old woman panted, her breath hot against Sevilla’s ear. “Tell the others we were wrong. ‘Our actions speak words’. We were noble, but we were wrong. Tell them.” She closed her eyes.

“Please, Bethany, let me get Violet. She can help. She’ll…” Sevilla backed away.

Bethany’s eyes flew open. “No. There’s no time!” Her breath came in fits and spurts. “Listen to me.” She raised one hand and waved Sevilla closer. “The sisters of the sacred place know not what they do.” Bethany’s hand dropped to her side. Sevilla’s face was blank. “The Tomes. The passage from the Tomes. Do you remember it?” Air bubbled through her parched lips. “We sent the map to its doom when we should have sent it somewhere safe!”

“But what of our purpose changing? We all agreed it was time to relinquish the map?” This time Sevilla didn’t move. Fear kept her rooted in place.

“Yes, but not time to destroy it. That was Oleander’s request, not ours.” Tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. “The truth is hidden by the action of the Lalas.” She found the strength to keep speaking. “What appears a betrayal,” she repeated another line of the poem. “Oleander seemed to want the Dark One to find the map though he pretended otherwise, and Ormachon gave the location of the heir’s brother away!” It took too many words. Her body lurched forward and she reached for Sevilla’s arm. Clutching it, she spit blood on the wool blanket.” Sevilla couldn’t budge. Bethany’s grip was secure. “Davmiran must hear this. He must. Bring him to me,” she pleaded, her mouth running red with froth.

Sevilla was more concerned with Bethany’s health than with what she was saying. Understanding the great books wasn’t one of her strengths. She left that to some of the other sisters. “Why would the trees want such a thing?”

Bethany ignored her words. “If the boy knows, he can avoid further errors even more critical.” Her eyes widened. “He must leave here! But he needs something from us first. Don’t let him go without it! We must find out what it is and give it to him.” She looked past her into the dark of the room.

“Let me get Violet. Please. You can tell this to her,” Sevilla pleaded.

“Go if you must,” Bethany’s strength was giving out. “But send the boy to me.” She released her arm and lay back once more. “Quickly,” Bethany whispered.

Sevilla found Violet only a few yards down the hall. “Sister!” she called. The urgency in Sevilla’s voice sent Violet running. “Bethany needs you.” She held the door open for Violet and then flew past her in search of the heir.

Bethany took her last breath before Violet reached her side. Her mouth and eyes were open as if she were trying to call out, and she clutched a small copy of the tomes to her chest.

Violet closed her eyelids with the tip of her finger. She laid her hand over Bethany’s face and felt the warmth escape. Her body grew cold. She heard shuffling at the door but didn’t look back.

“We let her die alone. I shouldn’t have left the room when I did,” Violet sobbed. “I went into the hall for just a minute. Sevilla was with her. I never thought….”

“She didn’t die because you left her,” Emmeline said from the doorway. “None can predict when death will claim a soul.”

“I was her healer. She was my responsibility,” Violet replied.

A few of the other sisters had gathered in the doorway.

“What’s happened?” Gretchen asked, her robe only halfway on.

“Bethany’s dead,” Violet said.

Gretchen’s eyes clouded over. “Who was with her?”

“No one. I was in the hallway. Sevilla came to get me before she ran off herself,” Violet replied. “Bethany was alone.” She raised her hand to her forehead.

Footsteps clattered down the hall. Breathless, Sevilla pushed her way in, her eyes flitting from one person to the next. She led Davmiran by the arm.

Emmeline grasped her shoulder. “You’re too late.”

Sevilla dropped down beside the bed and took Bethany’s hand in her own. Tears ran down her cheeks. Davmiran stood behind her.

Gretchen bent down beside her and spoke in her ear. “What were her last words, Sevilla?” she asked softly. “She was troubled earlier. Did she reconcile her thoughts in the end?” Gretchen stroked her back gently.

Sevilla brushed away the tears with the side of her sleeve. “Didn’t she speak with Violet?” she asked, surprised. “She was alive when I left the room.”

“When I entered, she was already dead,” Violet confirmed. “She must have died as you came to get me.”

“Think, Sevilla. I know it’s hard at this moment, but her words are fresh now. Later it may be more difficult,” Gretchen urged her.

Sevilla straightened up. Her face was strained. She had to remember. “She was very upset.” She took a calming breath. “She said we’d made a terrible mistake and that we shouldn’t have sent the map off with Tamara to be destroyed. She wanted to talk to Davmiran. She insisted.” Sevilla placed Bethany’s hand on the bed. “I went to fetch him,” she apologized, the tears flowing faster down her cheeks.

Emmeline brushed Sevilla’s hair with her hand. “Is there more, sister?”

“Yes.” She looked down at the floor. “She said we must question both Oleander’s and Ormachon’s actions with regard to the map and their seeming betrayals. She said there was a deeper meaning to what they did and if we can determine what it is, then we can prevent the worst from happening.”

Emmeline folded her arms across her chest. “It may be too late to save the map.” She looked sideways at Gretchen.

“Was that all she said?” Davmiran asked.

Sevilla jumped. He was suddenly right beside her. “She quoted a few lines from the Tomes. ‘What appears a betrayal’ and ‘the sisters of the sacred place know not what they do’“ She looked at him but his expression revealed nothing.

He glanced at the small window in the wall. “Tamara will be here soon,” was all he said.

“Ring the death bell, Sister,” Gretchen directed Violet. It was an honor to ring it for another. “The others will know to join us here when they hear.” Violet hesitated beside Bethany’s bed, then turned and walked out. “Stay by her side Sevilla. You were a railing upon which she leaned and took comfort these last days. She would have wanted you here.”

Sevilla straightened her shoulders and sat on the side of the bed. Leaning, she drew the blanket over Bethany’s fragile body, leaving only her arms and head exposed.

The bell tolled from the tower, one chime for the eldest.

Tamara heard the gong resound. She stood still, waiting for it to ring again. Reaching for Conrad’s hand, she grabbed it and held her breath. Her mind raced. One is Bethany, two is Gretchen, three is Emmeline, four is…

The echo faded. Silence. Only one ring. Bethany was dead.

Why just as I return?
Her eyes welled with tears.
What am I thinking? A sister’s dead and I’m worrying about myself!

Aside from Harlan, they hadn’t heard a single human sound since they’d entered the woods, and this is what welcomed them home. Conrad respected her silence and waited for her to speak first. Harlan paced in a small circle beside them.

“Bethany, dear Bethany.” Tamara grimaced and swiped at the tears on her cheeks.
I wanted to talk to her. She knew so much. I wanted to ask her about…
She frowned again and pulled away from Conrad.
She’s dead and I’m still thinking of what I want.
“We have to get back to the Tower,” she said to Conrad. Her body was poised, insistent. Conrad didn’t argue.

Tamara dropped his hand and ran ahead. They were not far, the sound of the bell made that clear, and she grew more anxious the faster she ran. The shard jabbed against her side and she reached for it to shift its position. She couldn’t let go.

The trees ended near the main gate. The Tower rose behind it. She stopped and stared. It was blurry, hard to see. She rubbed her eyes but it didn’t help. A green hue enveloped the area. The shard was in her fist and she raised it, opening her palm. It throbbed like a heart, like it was still alive, and took on the color of whatever it was that surrounded the Tower. A shower of green sparks flew from her hand. It pulled at her with such force that she had to dig her feet into the soil and force herself to stay upright. With each new pulse, a wave of energy rolled from her toward Parth. The first wave touched the barrier surrounding the Tower and it sparkled and darkened. The next wave darkened it even more. It wasn’t green any longer and she couldn’t see through it. The next wave hit, and then the next and the next. Power arced from her hand. The ground vibrated, trembled through her legs, rattled her teeth. In a soundless burst of green light, the barrier split apart, raining tiny fragments upon everything. When they settled, the Tower stood before them, clear as day.

She put the shard back into her pocket and walked home.

The bell rang once. “Bethany’s dead.” Robyn gritted his teeth. He’d hoped to speak with her again. Now that was impossible. “She knew her days were numbered.”

“With a little more time, she would have figured out what was troubling her. She was diligent. Persistent. The books are long and deep. So few alive today know as much about them as she did.” Cairn said.

“Where’s Dav? He must know by now.”

“He was in his room an hour ago,” Cairn replied.

Robyn shifted uncomfortably. He’d missed an opportunity that wouldn’t come again. “We should speak with the sisters who were with her in the end.” He admired the old woman. She was gruff but smart, and wasted no time on trivialities. She wasn’t a woman who feared speaking her mind. More important, she’d understood the way the books spoke.

Filaree sat with her hands folded in her lap, her back slumped against the chair. She was tired. Her work with Davmiran was grueling and her work with the sisters was no less so. “We all fight our battles so differently,” she said. “Her demons were words. Just as unpredictable and frustrating as people.” She pushed herself upright. “Let’s go. The boy shouldn’t be alone.”

As they were halfway down the hall, the corridor trembled. Robyn’s wards flared and he ran for the steps, the others right behind him. Filaree’s hand rested on the hilt of her sword, her muscles tensed. They reached the ground level in minutes. Robyn unlatched the heavy door and shoved it open. The sun blinded them.

It was too bright. Different. They walked across the courtyard with their hands shielding their eyes.

“It’s gone!” Robyn looked all around. “Sidra’s shield is gone.” Calyx bellowed in the background.

“Visitors,” Cairn said, already poised, his breath slow, his mind focused.

Filaree drew her sword. “I’m going to Dav.” She turned and ran for the Tower.

Robyn’s arms floated down by his sides, his eyes half open. The bell began to toll again. “Tamara’s back.”

Chapter Fifty-nine

“What’s stopping her?” Dustin asked. The Forsaken strutted and pranced before the walls. Calipee was silent. The enemy stood like statues, motionless, left arms high, all clutching black daggers.

His own soldiers awaited the signal from below, waited for the assault to begin. Armor jingled, weapons clanked. Nervous coughs, whispers, the burping of the bubbling oil, urgency, anticipation, anxiety… fear. The sun’s final rays blinked out and blackness engulfed them.

“Light the fires!” Calipee shouted in the gloom.

The cauldrons burst into flame up and down the walls, illuminating the ramparts. Shrouded in colorless capes designed to conceal, the light bounced off the soldiers standing upon the walls, obscuring them from those below.

The enemy stood in place.

“What are they doing?” an aide asked. “This isn’t a siege.”

Calipee watched. “They await her word.”

She pranced back and forth before the main gates in a series of tight figure eights. Calipee watched. She pulled up beneath him, her horse on its hind legs. Its hooves clattered to the stones. She dragged her cowl from her head, let her black hair hang loose. Her eyes blazed.

“My Lord sends his greetings,” she moved her lips and the sound echoed everywhere. “He regrets he is not here, but he’s attending to other matters.” She smirked as if this war was too trivial for her master’s attention.

“We have no interest in what Colton needs or wants,” Calipee yelled down. His voice was steel.

“It is not what he wants, Baron, that brings me to your miserable city. There is nothing here that is of interest to him.” She searched the battlements and the soldiers standing behind them. “Where is mighty Promanthea now? Where is his noble Chosen? Did they abandon you as they have abandoned your earth?”

“What do you want?” Calipee ignored her words.

“To show you how futile this is.” She spread her arms out wide. “Surrender!” she said, “and you will have peace.”

“Your peace? Colton’s peace? Go back to your master. Tell him our answer is no.”

“He doesn’t care about you,” she laughed. “You are nothing. Nothing.”

“Then why are you here?” Calipee asked again.

“For revenge,” she hissed. “Where is your son, Calipee? And the one who promised me he would be here?”

Calipee turned, knowing whom she meant. Dustin retreated, his face bloodless. There was no place for him to hide. Calipee stared at him. “It was you,” he whispered, his eyes sad. “Why? Why, Dustin? What could she have promised you?” He motioned to his guards to restrain him and turned away. No answer would have mattered.

He confronted her again, his chest drawn up, his face frozen in a grim frown. “Do what you must, Forsaken, and we shall too!”

“Give me the traitor,” she demanded.

Baron Calipee motioned to the group of archers standing by the balustrade beside him. All at the same time, they loosed a volley of arrows at the raging woman. She raised her black sword and the fletchings burst into flame, the shafts veering off harmlessly into the night sky.

“You think me so easy a mark?” she laughed. “I am not here to do battle with you. Give me the traitor,” she repeated.

“Even a traitor will find refuge here from you.” Calipee pulled his sword from its sheath. “You amass an army at our walls. You lay siege to our city.”

“Ah, my soldiers,” she said. She drew a slender dagger from her belt and raised it to Calipee. Her eyes flared. She brought her arm back and hurled it at the head of one nearest her. It pierced its skin above its left eye and sunk deep into its flesh. The warrior’s body collapsed upon itself and fell to dust before them all, leaving a pitiable mound of rubble on the ground.

Calipee looked to his aides. Confusion spread among the ranks.

“My master does not care about you,” she repeated. She raised her other arm and savage magic exploded from it. Writhing black fingers curled up from below and arced up over the wall toward Dustin. The guards scurried to the sides as they encircled him, searing his flesh and lifting him from the battlements. A putrid trail of oily smoke followed his body and by the time it reached the ground before the Forsaken’s feet, it was an unrecognizable mass of charred flesh.

“He doesn’t even care about your son,” she laughed, sidestepping Dustin’s corpse. “He never expected him to come to your aid. A Chosen,” she mocked. “His sense of honor, his morals…” She couldn’t control her excitement. Her arms flailed in the air and barbs of power traced through her ranks, cutting her own soldiers down, turning them to rubble.

Her face twisted. Her features blurred beneath the fire and then sharpened again. She swung her sword and sliced another of her warriors clean through at the waist. She jumped from her horse and slashed at the others closest to her, raw power lashing out. Each of them suffered the same fate. Each one. Each and every one.

“Would you care to try this yourself,” she cackled, twirling before them. “Are there no bold defenders here in Concordia?” she mocked them, spinning around and shooting death from her fingers. “Come now, must I do this all by myself?” She drew an additional knife from her belt and hurled it at another nearby soldier. Without flinching, it collapsed upon itself, no shrieks, no pain, no cares. None around it even noticed what had happened. “Please,” she urged them above. “I won’t stop you.” She spread her arms out, inviting their attack.

Calipee looked at the other commanders who were as astonished as he was. “What madness is this? Trickery, sham…” he muttered.

“They will attack soon. Her weapons are endowed with the Dark One’s power,” a lieutenant said. “Ours won’t do the same thing.”

“None of you will test your mettle against my army?” she jeered. “Not one?” She waited, her arms steaming, billows rising around them. “You force me to do this alone, when I thought you would take such pleasure in it! If only your son were here,” she mocked. “But then I would need a different army.”

“My son would never betray the heir,” Calipee shouted, defiant.

A soldier unloosed his siege bow from its strapping. With a whir, an arrow sped toward a line of her soldiers. It struck one hard and went half-way through its body. With its left arm still in the air, it imploded.

“You can’t kill what was never alive!” she shouted, her body shimmering. She raised her black sword above her head. It glowed crimson and sparks flew from it, savage and virulent. Her eyes were empty orbs. She swung the blade in a half-circle and shards of power showered the army. A red blanket descended on her troops and they dropped beneath it.

“They’re not real,” Calipee staggered. “They were never here to battle. Why then?” Calipee asked. “Why?”

Only when the plain of Concordia was brown with the dust of Colton’s army and none remained standing, did she look up once again. Her head lolled on her shoulders, drunken, drugged, and her body sparked like a dying fire. Vapor poured from her lips. “It is not your city I want, Calipee, but your spirit.” Her arms flew into the air. “Like bees to honey, your allies flocked to your side. How noble,” she laughed again. “How selfless of the three Kingdoms, to leave their cities unprotected.”

With the tip of her sword, she drew three circles in the air. Three huge spheres materialized and hovered before the defenders.

“Behold, the Revenge of the Elves!” she shrieked with delight.

Images formed inside them, chambers within the royal houses of Crispen, Eleutheria and Seramour.

Calipee’s face went ashen. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. The armies watched in horrified silence.