Page 12 of HeartTorn (WarBride #2)

TAAR

I crouch over Ilsevel as the blast of soulfire rolls toward us, a wave so hot, I fear it will rip the flesh from our bones.

At the last second Elydark’s song surrounds us in a glowing shield of protection. The fire breaks against it and does not touch us where we lie. My arms around Ilsevel, I open my eye partway to see my licorneir standing between us and the velrhoar one. That skeletal being throws back her head, screaming to the heavens above.

Then, without a last look at the broken rider lying on the ground at her feet, she turns and races off into the wild, trailing the flame of her torment behind her like a streaking comet.

I remain where I am, my arms around Ilsevel, covering her with my body until the last of that flame fades into the distance. Dropping my head, I breathe out hard. The weakness which took me at our parting was so great, I feared I would not find the strength to gather myself and follow after Elydark and Ilsevel. If the vardimnar had struck, I would have been lost for sure. As it was, I felt the broken, evil magics of the battlefield trying to work their way through my compromised defenses.

But the velra drew me straight to her. The more I staggered after it, the more viciously it pulled, until I could hardly say if I propelled myself or was carried by the strength of that spell-cord.

And when I saw her—standing there before the flaming unicorn, about to be impaled through the heart—it was as though some new spirit was born inside me. A spirit of power and rage which took control, body and soul, and hurtled me headlong to her defense, heedless of all danger or consequence.

Her name ripped from my lips, again and again, as though I could pull her back to me, but she did not seem to hear. The hearttorn licorneir held her enthralled in some hypnotic spell. At the last possible second, my sword arm fell in a desperate swing. The ringing contact with that horn was just enough to break whatever hold the licorneir had over Ilsevel, but the blast sent us flying. Did that rough impact shatter every bone in her body? I tried to take the brunt of it, holding her close and angling my body so that my shoulder struck the ground first. But I had little control as we rolled.

“Ilsevel,”

I say, my voice rough as I brush dirt from her pale face. There are a few scrapes and bruises, but a quick exploration with my hands reveals no broken bones. Her neck and spine seem to be intact, her skull spared any fractures. But she is so still, so cold. “Ilsevel,”

I say again, patting her cheek. “Can you hear me?”

Elydark’s shadow falls across me. Vellar, his voice sings into my head, did you hear it? Did you hear the song they shared?

I turn my head sharply, scowling up at my licorneir. What were you thinking? You took her away from me! Did you not know what danger you’d put us both in?

Elydark drops his head. For possibly the first time in his existence, my licorneir looks ashamed. Forgive me, Vellar. I heard Nyathri, and I—

A jolt shoots through my body. I sit upright, turning to look behind me, back to the place where that hearttorn licorneir had stood. Nyathri? I’d not recognized her, burning and broken as she was. Of course Elydark would know her by her song, which I could not hear. But if that was Nyathri, then . . .

I’m on my feet the next moment, abandoning Ilsevel where she lies. Despite the tightening of the velra, which does not want me to leave her side again so quickly, I press on, recovering the ground over which we’d been flung, my footsteps falling hard. I feel as though I carry a great weight on my shoulders. It only grows with each step I take nearer to that broken corpse, who lies with arms outspread beneath the twilit sky.

Ashika.

I stand over her, stare down into her dead face. Her head is half-severed from her shoulders, only hanging on by a few tendons, the spine completely broken. Her hair is matted with blood, her face drained of all life and vitality. And yet I still see her as I once knew her—my friend, my comrade-in-arms. Quick and wily Ashika, always keen to dash ahead on fleet-footed Nyathri, scouting out dangerous terrain and bringing swift reports. She was a seasoned warrior, one I was glad to have by my side on this campaign. She and her licorneir were as bonded as two souls can be.

My knees quake. It’s all I can do to stay upright, to keep myself from collapsing beside her corpse and gathering her in my arms. She would not like such emotive displays, however. I can almost hear her laughing voice in my ear even now: “Have a little dignity, luinar! For my sake if not your own.”

Elydark paces heavily to my side and bows his neck to hang his nose over my shoulder. I lean against his cheek, taking momentary comfort in his presence, in the knowledge that he and I have not had to face the torment of velrhoar. If only I had been quick enough to deal a death blow! In my fear for Ilsevel, I had been concerned only with preventing that flaming horn from piercing her breast. If I had realized, if I had known . . .

I shade my eyes and look out across the lonely landscape. She’s gone—Nyathri has vanished into the wild lands of Cruor. Her hearttorn state will make her vulnerable to the vardimnar. She will become as corrupt as Mahra and the other hearttorn licorneir who roam these lands, a lost and damned soul, forever separated from the light of Nornala and her eternal home.

Elydark’s song rumbles low and wordless in my chest. He was always drawn to Nyathri. There was a time when I wondered if the two of them might even form a bond of their own. Now that chance is lost, even as Nyathri herself is lost to the darkness which consumes her.

I’m sorry, my friend, I say.

As am I, he replies heavily. I forgot myself and left you vulnerable. It was wrong of me. It will not happen again.

I forgive him, of course. We all do mad things in the face of heartbreak. It doesn’t make our bond any less true.

I look down at Ashika’s corpse once more, then turn slowly, searching the battlefield for others. There’s no denying what took place here: my people, continuing their journey to the Hidden City as commanded, were set upon by Shanaera and the Crimson Cloaks. Taken by surprise, they fought valiantly and . . . what? Did any of them survive? Or were they all slain like Ashika, only to have their corpses hauled away to be experimented on by necroliphon mages? I force myself to look at Ashika’s wound again, her half-severed neck. Was this gruesome end ultimately what spared her the fate of her comrades? Was her corpse simply too damaged to be useful to the death mages?

I harden my jaw. They cannot all be dead. My warriors are fierce and dauntless, a force to be reckoned with anywhere in the Eledrian realms. Even taken by surprise, they would have fought valiantly. Surely some of them escaped.

“We must hasten on,”

I say firmly. “We must find our people.”

I do not say it, but no doubt Elydark hears the guilt ringing through my spirit. I should have been with them. I should have warned them, protected them. I should have died with them. There will be time enough for guilty wallowing later. Right now I must focus on what is and what can be done.

What of Ashika? Elydark asks.

My heart twists. I would like to sew her up in her cloak, lay her across Elydark’s flanks, and bring her back to her family for proper funeral rights, as befits a Licornyn warrior. But my licorneir, strong though he is, cannot bear two riders and a corpse all the long way across Cruor.

We will sing the song of parting here, I say, and do what we can for her soul. Then we must leave her to the grace of Nornala.

Elydark shakes his head, unhappy with this plan, but unable to offer an alternative. I set to work at once, arranging Ashika’s remains into a more peaceful pose. I close her eyes, use two stones to weigh down the eyelids, and angle her head so that the gash in her neck and shoulder is not quite so obvious. Crossing her hands over her chest, I bind them with a bit of twine to hold them in place. She looks almost peaceful now. At least there are no carrion birds left in this land to desecrate her body further. Perhaps she may rest easy here, until the goddess comes to claim her soul.

I wish I had ilsevel blossoms to lay upon her chest. Instead I simply sprinkle some of the dried petals from my pouch across her bloodless face, into the hollow of her throat, down to her stomach. As I do this, I begin to sing the song of parting—a song I have sung too many times over the years. A song I never had a chance to sing over Shanaera. “Alahir Nornala, rautha-almar. Alahir se Ashika, nei-almar lyar.”

Behold, Nornala, your warrior.

Behold Ashika, your daughter brave.

Elydark joins his voice with mine, his resonance a deep, droning support to the melody. I lean into his song, drawing strength from it, even when sorrow threatens to choke me with strangling fingers. I close my eyes, allow the song to move through me as it should, envision it pouring from my lips in a stream to cover Ashika, the only shroud she will ever know.

“Licor neir-nalas korval ei sonaum,”

I sing. “Son elthari heileth ei idoroth.”

The songs of your Star Children will wake her no more.

Nor shall her friends cheer her from beyond the grave.

The words are ancient and yet new each time I’ve sung them—words I hope never to sing again, knowing always that I will have to, until the end of my days.

Another voice joins in. At first I hardly realize it, so subtly does it find its way into the harmonies of Elydark’s resonance. There are no words, but I feel a deepening of tone, of meaning, followed by an upward pull. It’s like my spirit, trapped here in this world of dirt and blood and despair, is beckoned suddenly to lift its gaze, to look upward into a brightness and bigness it had all but forgotten. I almost resist—part of me doesn’t want to remember, wants to remain here where the grief is thick and clinging and all too familiar. But that new voice continues to ascend, higher and higher, and I cannot help but go with it.

The final words of the death song fall from my lips. My part of the melody trails away softly, while Elydark and the other voice continue to hold their two-part harmony a little longer. For a few stolen moments I allow my soul to rest suspended in their song, carried above mourning into the vast reaches beyond hurt, beyond time, beyond decay and loss and heartbreak.

Slowly I open my eyes. Ashika’s face fills my vision. For a moment I see it as it once was—alive and full of life, courage, good humor, and eagerness for adventure. I half-expect her to look up at me and smile as she once did, to wink and tell me not to be so long-faced, for all will turn out right in the end.

I blink. The image fades. I see only the gray cheeks and two stones covering those sunken eyes. She is gone. But perhaps, by the grace of that song, her soul has found the path which will lead her home.

Someone kneels beside me. A quick glance sideways, and I almost choke on an inhaled breath. Ilsevel. She has folded her hands like mine and bent her head, looking for all the world like a solemn Licornyn mourner in her borrowed gown and her free-flowing hair. Was that her voice—that miraculous, gods-gifted voice—which joined with mine and Elydark’s? Her lips are still now, her eyes closed. But I can feel the vibration of song in her soul, not unlike a licorneir’s. So strange. And so very beautiful.

She opens her eyes at last, her dark lashes lifting as her gaze slips sideways to catch mine. She looks frightened, as though she expects me to reprimand her. When I say nothing, however, she looks down at Ashika’s still face once more. The muscles in her throat tense as she swallows. Then: “Was she a friend of yours?”

“Yes,” I reply.

“Was it . . . Shanaera? Who did this?”

“I believe so.”

“And the rest of your people?”

“I don’t know.”

She nods. Her folded hands drop into her lap. We remain like so for a time, neither moving. Finally she draws a long breath and lets it out in a gusting sigh. As though giving into an impulse, she reaches out and takes hold of my hand. It’s such a simple gesture, and yet the moment her fingers wrap around mine, fire roars across my skin and bursts in my head like a storm. I’m so stunned, I can do nothing but stare at those small, white fingers, so delicate, so unscarred. The hand of a lady who has known nothing but soft living and indulgence. But there is strength in that grip of hers.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

I meet her eye again. “What for?”

“For your loss.”

“It isn’t your fault.”

Even as I say the words, I regret them. If it weren’t for Ilsevel, I would have been with my people when they were attacked. I would have fought with them, protected them. Ashika might still be alive had I not allowed myself to become distracted by this warbride of mine.

She seems to read my thoughts. Her brow puckers, and she sucks in both lips, biting down hard. Then she nods, releases my hand, and looks down at Ashika’s face once more. “I’m still sorry.”

But her sorrow cannot undo what has been done. Neither can my guilt.

Aware of that cold place on my hand where her fingers had gripped, I force myself to my feet. “Come,”

I say. “The sun will set soon. We must be away from this evil place before we stop for another night.”