Page 82 of HeartTorn

While she speaks, four other figures appear in the doorway behind her: undead with blank faces. They were too far away to hear my song before. But now?

“If I present you to Morthiel,” Shanaera continues, “he will be so grateful. And gratitude is a useful tool, as I’m sure you know. So why don’t we find a way to make this situation rather more tenable to all and sundry?”

I look at her again and see the un-song whorling through her spirit. Whatever she might once have been, whoever the woman was that Taar loved, she is long gone. Which is why I feel no compunction about what I do next.

GO!I sing.

A burst of soulfire explodes from my chest, my throat, my heart. Diira’s power surges through me, lashing out in tongues of purple that touch each of the empty souls in that courtyard. Including the four standing directly behind Shanaera. The undead lurch toward her from every angle. The four at her back grab her arms and yank them back before she can make the killing stroke.

Shanaera is no mean warrior, however. She wrenches her sword arm and lashes out at the dead. One blow strikes off two heads, which roll down the front steps even as the headless bodies disintegrate, By then, the other undead have crowded in. They hurtle bodily at the two figures holding Taar’s arms. His captors scream in horror as they are overwhelmed, torn to pieces. Taar shakes himself free and stands apart from the fray. His eyes flash to meet mine for an instant.

Then he throws himself at Shanaera.

She sees him coming. She sees something in his face and, perhaps for the first time in a very long while, she is afraid.

Springing free of the swarming dead she flees across the far side of the courtyard, shouting commands as she goes. The four dead unicorns, having risen once more, lumber into motion, galloping after her. Elydark, still raging, bears down on one of them. His horn pierces its chest, and it utters a terrible screech before disintegrating in a burst of black motes like ash. Diira takes down another with a similar blow, but the other two reach their mistress. Shanaera swings up onto the back of the larger, faster beast and bows low over its neck as it carries her from the yard.

“Vulmon, Elydark!”Taar bellows, and his unicorn lopes to his side. Arm muscles rippling, he heaves himself into the saddle, and the two of them race after their prey.

“Taar, no!” I cry and take ten running steps after him before coming to a stop. There’s nothing I can do but watch him disappear, chasing after her. After Shanaera.

Leaving me behind.

38

TAAR

Elydark hits his stride as we leave the courtyard behind. His speed is tremendous, all that power which was trapped inside during the hours of his bondage suddenly expelled in a rush of flame and fury. I mold my body to his, and we become one being of pure, rushing wind.

Shanaera is in my sights. Her undead mount is a massive thing. Even in life it was no match for Elydark’s speed, and now? We will run them down; I am sure of it. We will draw alongside them, and with a single slash of my blade, I will end the life of this abomination who wears the face of the woman I loved.

She looks back over her shoulder, strands of straggled hair whipping across her dead eyes. Though there are still many lengths between us, our eyes meet in a moment of electric connection. I feel her fear, her pain, her rage, her sorrow. I feel the roiling burn of virulium madness, the source of both her death and her ongoing existence in this hellish state.

But I feel as well, in that brief exchange, the heart of the woman she once was. The valiant warrior, willing to give up everything for the cause she believed in. Even me. Even her own soul. I gnash my teeth. She cannot be allowed to go on like this. I owe it to the Shanaera I knew to put a stop to this curse, to set her free.

But then thevelraburns up my arm.

Stop!I cry to Elydark through our soul-tether. My licorneir comes to a halt, tossing his head, tearing at the earth with desire to continue the chase. I keep him at bay and gaze out across thedistance as Shanaera, facing forward once more, urges her beast up a grassy incline. She reaches the crest just as the sun drops below the far horizon. There she pulls up her licorneir and looks back again. For a moment I see her silhouetted against the twilit sky.

Though I am probably imagining it, it seems as though she smiles in sudden triumph. She knows my weakness. She knows I cannot be far from Ilsevel. She only had to race me to the end of thevelra, no farther.

“Shakh!”I curse, even as Elydark paces beneath me. The temptation is strong to drive him forward, to continue this pursuit. But already weakness trembles in my limbs. If I go on, I risk too much. More than I am willing to lose.

She turns the dead licorneir’s head about and vanishes over the hill. The second licorneir, which kept pace at her heels, trails behind. I remain where I am a few minutes longer, watching that empty space on the horizon, while the sky overhead deepens, and the stars begin to shine.

At last, with another curse on my lips, I turn Elydark’s head around and urge him back to Rothiliar House.

The shamblers have gathered beneath a tree on the far side of the courtyard. All the life and spirit which had flared inside them at the summoning of Ilsevel’s song has vanished; they are once more dead things made animate by dark magic. All wearing the faces of my friends.

I dismount Elydark and stand for some moments at his shoulder, my hand resting against him for support. We exchange song without words. There are no words for what I must now do. Then, stepping forward, I proceed to decapitate the dead ones. They make no protest. They do not even lift their sightless eyes to meet mine. Each stroke is followed by thethunkof ahead falling. The bodies disintegrate before they hit the ground, leaving behind nothing but motes of darkness and the last red gleams of residualnecroliphamagic.

When my task is done, there is no pile of corpses left in gruesome testimony of what took place here. It is as though the evil wrought by the Miphates was nothing but a nightmare, and now I stand in the waking world, beneath a star-strewn sky. With a sigh I lower my sword arm and tilt my head back, letting starlight bathe my face. For a long moment I stand like so, simply breathing. And that act is in and of itself a prayer of thanksgiving.

A gentle lilt of song draws my attention. I turn to see Elydark, standing with the dappled licorneir who Ilsevel rode in on. Is it Nyathri? She feels familiar, but also different. Some vital change has taken place, as it always does when a newvelarinbond is formed. Elydark touches her neck softly with his nose, singing to her in a language not meant for other ears. Their souls glow, luminous in the deepening gloom. I cannot help a small half-smile at the sight.

Finally I turn and face the house. Face the front steps where a slender figure sits with her arms wrapped around her upraised legs and her chin propped on her knees. Watching me. Her brow is fixed in a stern little knot that makes my heart ache.

I approach her slowly, though thevelraurges me to run. Somehow I know I must not rush whatever moments come next. Ilsevel sits up a little straighter as I draw near but does not rise. She merely watches me until I stand several steps down from her, our faces level.

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