Fallen Embers (The Alterra Histories) (9 page)

She drew back from him, though her hands lingered upon his own. Then, slowly, they broke contact, fingertips separating, never to unite again. She did not weep, but stood dry-eyed and forlorn, praying that this would not be her last sight of him. She summoned her courage and her hope, speaking to him for the last time.

“You’ll come back. You
have
to come back. You promised to return the banner, and I know you will. Wrothgar will not prevail—you won’t let him. Keep safe and accomplish your purpose, but in the quiet moments, keep me in your thoughts and I will comfort you. I will sing to you on starry nights and think of you always. One day, we will be together again. I will take comfort from your thoughts as well, should you choose to send them. I will always love you, Rain. Farewell.”

He did not reply to her; his expression said all that was needed. He was pained beyond words at her parting, but hope surged in him also. Perhaps the fates would reconsider, and he would prevail, and they would be together again. He had managed to put Shandor’s vision out of his mind for many months now, and he shook it off once again, dreaming of a happier outcome. If it were not so, at least he would have the memory of her brave face and her hopeful words to sustain him.

She turned and left him standing alone in the early light of dawn. Swinging aboard Angael, she raised her right hand in farewell, then placed it over her heart. He did the same, his jaw set, his eyes calm.

Only after she had left his sight, and he had returned to his chamber, did he allow his pain to show. There was no one to witness it. He closed his eyes, and felt the flames in his flesh, and knew the truth.

IV

Rain looked out over the choked, poisonous ruin that had once been the greatest realm of Light ever to stand in Alterra, wondering whether the conflict he was now engaged in would ever end. Over five years had passed since the day he had bade farewell to his only love, and he wondered about the futility of the struggle his armies had engaged in. At first it seemed as though the conflict would be relatively brief, with Wrothgar’s forces falling back before the onslaught of the Elven armies. But Rain had known better. When they drew near the ruins of Tal-elathas, everything changed.

Bad things had happened here once—terrible things. They left their signature behind in the remnants of the greatest glory the Elves had ever wrought, now twisted and rotten and mired in Darkness. What had once been the center of enlightenment was now a breeding ground for ignorance and filth. No Elf could draw near it, let alone lay eyes on it, and not be disheartened.

The juggernaut of Ri-Elathan’s army had slowed to a crawl.

He stood now with Magra on a ridge overlooking the battle-plain surrounding Wrothgar’s fortress, which the Elves had been besieging for several years now. The old walls of Tal-Elathas had been rebuilt, and the old gates remained impenetrable. Yet the King knew that, if he could just rally his people, he could overcome Wrothgar’s defenses in one final push.

“The enemy is weakening,” he said to Magra. “The walls are all but breached already. We have taxed them hard of late, and they will fall if only we can find the strength to take the battle all the way to the heart.”

“I know,” said Magra. “But our forces are weary and dispirited. You cannot ask it of them now. Let them retreat for a while…Wrothgar’s strength cannot grow beyond these walls if we close the net around him.” His hair, like weathered gold, blew back from his battle-scarred face in the stinking breeze.

“If we allow our people to retreat, we will have no net to close,” said Rain, looking out over the fetid, suffocating smoke and ash that hung over the horizon. “They will not survive here much longer, and Wrothgar knows it. Another winter would finish us. He knows we must retreat, or strike now with everything we have left. But if we retreat, we are doomed.”

“Perhaps not,” said Magra, alarmed at the resignation in the King’s eyes. “Perhaps we can rally and try again. We have damaged Wrothgar enough that he won’t be able to get up to much, at least for a while. I fear what lies in that fortress. I’ve seen it before.”

“I know,” said Rain. “You stood beside my father.”

“Yes…and I watched him fall. It is my greatest shame that I could not aid him.” Magra held back the rest of his thoughts then. There were some things he would not share—even with his closest friend. “Just think on what I have said. It has been a long time indeed since our people have seen the stars.” With those words, he turned and left the King in solitary contemplation.

Rain remembered his last sight of the stars. Nearly two years earlier he had stood in this very spot, reaching out with longing arms toward the heavens, praying for any hopeful sign. The sun never shone here, nor did the stars or moon. The oppressive clouds, filled with smoke and poison, never lifted from the bones of Tal-elathas. He had looked up, heartsick and weary, and closed his eyes
.

He heard her song…it had somehow managed to reach him through his despair. Her visions filled his mind as well—an indigo field filled with silver lights so bright that he gasped in surprise and delight. Here, at last, were his beloved stars, millions of brilliant jewels that filled his spirit with joy. He imagined Gaelen standing beneath them, singing a beautiful song of hope and love, and of longing. The wonderful vision could not last, but when it faded he did not despair. He treasured the memory of it. Unfortunately, though Gaelen had no doubt tried to call to him many times afterward, he could no longer hear her.

Standing there, remembering that vision of hope and love, Rain knew what he had to do.

He called together the captains of his armies to make plans for the final assault. “Wrothgar has been emboldened by our reluctance to act,” he said. “We must put everything we have into one last push forward. We will breach the walls and deal with whatever lies within. If Wrothgar himself comes forth, I will meet him. In fact, I’m
counting
on it.”

At first, the assault had gone relatively well. The Elves had surmounted the walls of the ancient city, swarming in with their spirits high, as the remaining hordes fell back before them. But then, just as they thought the battle might be won, Wrothgar sent forth his loathsome Bödvari. A pall of terror fell over Ri-Elathan’s army, and this gave courage to the dark legions, who now surged forward again.

This cannot stand…they cannot withstand their own fear,
thought Ri-Elathan. All around him were the reminders of defeat—Aldamar, his father, had fallen not far from this place. The rule had then fallen to his brother, Iomar, who had ordered what remained of the Èolarin people to retreat into the mountains, but he and his loyal guards remained to the last.

As I will remain…to the last
.

He called Lord Wothgar out to face him, hurling insults and derision, finally invoking the name of Aincor Fire-heart, a name Wrothgar despised above all others. Aincor had been famous for mocking Wrothgar, and had led the small, elite force that had nearly destroyed him in the First Uprising.

“Come out and face me, you great, spineless coward! The soul of the Fire-heart laughs at your weakness! I doubt he even broke a sweat when he dealt with your pitiful uprising. Where are the rest of your Bödvari? Send them forth! I don’t want to have to deal with more of them later—I would get rid of them all at once. Come forth yourself, if you have the stomach for it. Your shadow does not frighten me! Come forth, if you would prevail!”

Wrothgar’s laughter, disturbing and vile, filled the ears of everyone present. It echoed from the walls, it welled up from the bloody ground, it slid down from the mountainsides.
You foolish, foolish creature, you simply have no idea. You are not Aincor Fire-heart, and neither is anyone else in your pitiful ranks. Apparently, I didn’t do a thorough enough job eliminating your line the last time. Now I shall enjoy dispatching you as you deserve, for your kind has troubled Me quite long enough!

Twenty Bödvari materialized in a deadly circle around Ri-Elathan, driving his defenders back with disheartening ease. Then they parted, allowing Wrothgar himself to face the Elven-king. Wrothgar rarely took physical form, but when he did, there was little doubt that anyone who faced him in combat would need more than weapons and courage. They would need an army—an army now held at bay. Rain gritted his teeth, his dark eyebrows lowered over flashing grey eyes.
He looks exactly as he did in the Stone.

There was only one choice—one fate—open to him now. Or was there?
Why must things go as I have foreseen? Why can I not challenge the vision, change my fate, by defeating my enemy?

Rain remembered what had he had seen before. He had decided to cast his sword aside and engage Wrothgar with hands alone. What if he changed the rules of the game? Why could he not prevail? Surely the death of Wrothgar would bring about the same end…

He gripped his sword-hilt with both hands as Wrothgar flew at him, leaping aside and swinging with all his might. The sword found its target, but Wrothgar’s armor held. The impact knocked them both from their feet. They leaped up at once, and the Black Flame charged again, again meeting Ri-Elathan’s blade. This time, the shock that slammed up the Elven-king’s arm threatened to break it
.

It’s no good…the sword will not pierce his armor. It is as I feared—I dare not try again. Yet I have taken some of his strength
…

Both combatants grappled now with bare hands. Ri-Elathan flared up like a star, blinding Wrothgar, who bellowed in agony.

He did not cry out like that in my vision,
thought Rain, charged with renewed hope. His Light flared even brighter, as Wrothgar continued to bellow in pain. The Bödvari quailed back from it, and Rain could just barely make out the form of Magra swinging his blade at one of them. It struck the astonished Bödvar and took it down, nearly sliced in half. But the others turned their fire on Magra, and he fell back, screaming, his right arm enveloped in flames.

If my strength holds, I’ll finish him,
thought Rain, grinding his teeth even harder and crying out with effort. He called upon every scrap of will, and Wrothgar’s features began to waver and grow thin, shrouded in a caul of blue-white vapor.
He’s afraid of me. NOW I’ll have him!

But the Lord of Black Flame called upon his own weapons, and they were formidable. Despair, Guilt, Hopelessness…they ate away at Ri-Elathan’s Light, sapping his strength. It took far more energy to maintain courage, to hold hope, to stand forth righteous in the face of terrible trial. Rain’s Light waned with his strength. The moment the King realized that he could not prevail, Wrothgar’s victory over him would be assured.

Wrothgar’s fury could not be overcome, and Rain knew that his choices had run out. The only fate—the only choice now—was to die screaming. There would be no love, no children, no life for him.

Gaelen…I’m sorry, my love
.

Though he did not stop fighting, he turned his head to the left, exposing his right shoulder to Wrothgar’s blade-like teeth, which were already dripping with eerie, black flames.

Rain fought until the very end, even as he had done in the Stone, for he would show his people what they had to do. When death ripped his spirit from his body at last, he cried out to Gaelen in the Greatwood.
Galen…Gaelen! My heart is torn from me…I cannot stay with you, my love! I am sorry…I cannot stay with you. Oh, my love…

Wrothgar roared in triumph, raising Ri-Elathan’s ruined body high over his head. With a contemptuous, oily laugh, he flung it over the heads of the Bödvari, where it landed, still smoldering, at Magra’s feet. Magra was stunned for a moment, oblivious to the pain from the demon-fire, remembering the fate of Ri-Aldamar. Now he stood over the body of yet another High King, and such fury kindled in him that he brought forth his own Light without thinking, though he had not thought he had the strength to do it. He threw his head back and roared in grief and rage.

“Come on! We can finish this now!” He cried. “Will you let your own fear leave this most valiant soul to lie here without avenging him?
F
ollow me
!
” He charged forward, and every Elf remaining alive on the battle-plain charged with him. As Shandor had foreseen, Ri-Elathan’s death—his indomitable courage—had inspired them.

Though they took down many in the forefront of the charge, the Bödvari could not withstand the unified onslaught of enraged warriors for long, and they either fled or were slain. Magra and his followers stormed forward to meet Wrothgar himself, their Light so bright that the Black Flame could not stand before it. Wrothgar’s strength, which had been so taxed by Ri-Elathan, would not allow him to prevail over such a host. As he always did when facing certain defeat, he vanished in a cloud of terrible, choking vapor, leaving his armor and his armies behind.

In the Greatwood realm, Gaelen Taldin had fallen to her knees, unable to breathe. Nelwyn had reacted with alarm, calling her name over and over, but Gaelen did not hear—she heard only the anguished cries of her beloved Rain.