The Coming Storm (88 page)

It was beautiful, golden, its scales glittered in coruscating rainbow reflections. The enormous wings unfolded as its sinuous neck reached, yearning for clear blue sky, it’s spirit longing to be free, finally and at long last freed from the bounds of the earth.

A dragon rose up in the sky, magnificent majestic, glittering.

Was it
? Ailith’s vision blurred as something  rushed in to fill the vacuum within her.

Her back arched, she was lost in it.

Whatever it was, it was glorious and beautiful, even as it cried out in ecstasy, in glory. It was free, finally free.

It screamed in triumph.

That sound, more felt than heard, resonated through her.

It was real enough for the basilisks.

Their ancient enemy appeared to rise up in their midst.

Instinctively, they turned on it, screaming their terror, defiance and fury. Nerve-shattering shrieks rent the air as they attacked to defend themselves. Lashing through the illusion they struck at each other.

Their gazes were removed from those below.

The trolls and the goblins spun, terrified by what they saw reach for the sky above them.

There was no question Jareth was in dire straits. Whatever struck him had knocked him for a loop. Which might have been his saving grace but even he was smart enough not to look a basilisk in the eye. If he could look anything in the eye. He shook his head to try to clear it and struggled to free himself from whatever pinned him to the ground.

His vision cleared enough to see a troll’s axe rise above him, just prior to coming down to chop off his head.

Frantic, he struggled to free his arm from the weight that trapped it. If he fired a mage-bolt now, he’d likely take off his own foot.

Beyond, he could see the twining, serpentine trio of basilisks, their eyes whirling as they picked their prey from among those enraptured before them.

A whisper of magic came, soft, as sweet as springtime and as fresh, drawing  Jareth’s gaze upwards.

The troll followed his gaze.

Oh, Ailith
, Jareth thought, in wonder and sorrow.

It was astonishingly, gloriously, beautiful.

In all his life he’d never seen anything like it.

A dragon, golden and magnificent, reached for the sky, its scales gleaming in the sunlight as its wings strained, beat.

Rainbows danced across his vision.

His arm free, Jareth drove his sword into the fascinated troll.

He glanced over to where Elon was and knew the reason why Ailith had done what she did as he saw Riverford bearing down on Elon’s trapped forces. A quick glance to the other side confirmed that Colath was caught in the same trap.

Layers on layers for Mornith, freezing the front lines and trapping the Elves in a vise.

Jareth shot a glance backward across the field of battle, his height an advantage.

There was Ailith astride Smoke, her pale face calm and resolute. Her body quivered as power raced through it. She’d made her decision.

It was glorious, beautiful.

And then the dragon was gone.

The army was moving.

He looked back once more and caught a glimpse of Ailith one more time as she turned to her people and waved them on into battle.

She disappeared among them as they surged forward with a roar of righteous fury.

Avila almost fell, staggering backward as she gaped. Following her gaze, Daran turned and looked.

Up.

A dragon with golden scales rose into the sky, its magnificent wings spread.

That wasn’t possible, dragons were a thing of legend, something from stories.

It was beautiful, though, astonishing.

Somehow he knew it wasn’t real, it was merely a ghost of itself. It wasn’t another monster come to terrorize his forces. Still, it was a wonder.

The basilisks turned on their ancient enemy, screaming in fury and terror. They clearly didn’t know it was an illusion as they struck and instead killed each other.

Daran looked at Avila. Her face was blank, stunned. She hadn’t expected this. She didn’t know anything about it.

It didn't matter to Daran, all that mattered to him was that it was working. He wanted to cheer. Freed of the basilisk’s stare, his army moved.

With a shout he was on his feet and running for his horse to urge them on. To take advantage of this miracle.

The power of it, though…

A rush of magic touched him, soft, familiar and known. As warm as her heart and as effervescent as her soul, it brushed over Elon’s skin like a gentle caress.. He closed his eyes against the stab of pain and fear, knowing what it was she did, for who, and why.

Ailith. No
.

Through the bond, a hum of grief and terror, for him, for Colath, for Jareth and Jalila, for his people, for all those they knew and loved, for all the ones who had died and were dying even now.

Despair but not defeat.

She would use the only weapon she had left, other than her swords.

Taking a chance, to do what needed to be done.

Elon was caught between his fear for her and the desperate need to save his people from certain death.

She did what she did for no other choice. How could he deny or fault her for it? He couldn’t.

Then he saw it, the dragon, magnificent and golden as it rose up between the basilisks, reaching for the sun.

It was the truest expression of her spirit, beautiful, fierce and determined, seeking the light.

The basilisks turned on the enemy in their midst.

With a shout of rage, freed, the army moved.

Those under attack on the flanks turned to defend themselves from the forces that had turned on them.

Free. He and his people were free.

Now he had a chance to fight, to defend and perhaps to end this once and for all.

Thanks to Ailith.

His people were already wheeling around, now that they could move.

With Jalila at his back, Elon called up a core group of his people and pointed at the banner.

Riverford’s banner.

“I would be there.”

Heads turned. They looked at him, faces still but eyes resolute and angry.

They knew the trap that had been set and what its goal had been. He shouted the same at those of the race of men around him, who had watched, helpless, as the traitors slaughtered their own people.

A roar of fury rose up. They formed a wedge around his people to drive them through.

Geric, startled, saw them coming, saw who led them and smiled.

They met, he and this man who wore the face of Ailith’s father, who had done so much harm to her, had murdered her mother and tried to deliver her into Tolan and Mornith’s hands. Who’d disowned her, cast her out from her home and all she knew.

Whoever he’d once been, that man had been good with a sword, and had skills stolen magically from someone who had been very good. Geric the man, though, hadn’t been a swordsman. Ailith’s gift with the sword had come from her mother’s people.

Stolen skills couldn’t offset natural ability, muscle memory and the song of the swords.

A slice from Geric’s sword managed to penetrate Elon’s guard and he saw that which had once been Geric smile. The tip of the man’s blade sliced across his chest. It was a chance blow, not planned, Geric’s muscles not remembering. All unknowing though it left Geric’s side open and Elon drove his shortsword in it, thrusting it up and up to take his heart.

That which had once been Geric stopped smiling in shock, looked down at the sword thrust in him and died, releasing the spirit of he who had once been Geric. It soared for the sky, for the Summerlands and the one that awaited him there.

Those of Granite Heights were almost on him. Colath looked around in impotent fury.

His people were so tightly packed together they couldn’t even dismount. There was a push from those behind, desperate to escape, against the immovable mass of those before, with Colath and his people trapped between them.

A trap.

It had sprung and he was well and truly caught.

If I die here then I die fighting
, Colath thought and pulled his swords.

When the last of those between them were gone there would be a moment when they might be able to move enough to at least charge back, not sit here with their backs to the enemy to be slaughtered.

Colath felt the magic on the air and his heart nearly stilled. He knew by the feel of it from whence it came.

Ailith
.

Grief and horror surged through the bond between them.

He wouldn’t have wanted her to do this for himself, and although he knew that was much of it he also knew she did it too for those with him. These irreplaceable Elven lives. As much as he wished otherwise Colath could only salute his true-friend for it.

The dragon rose, shimmering in the sunlight above the killing and slaughter but Colath was free. Just barely in time. Greater numbers didn’t offset Elven speed and skill with sword and bow, as long as they could move.

They moved.

The dragon was gone, vanished into the brilliant sunlight, its job complete.

Freed, the army staggered forward, shook themselves as comprehension dawned and stark terror turned to fury. With a tremendous shout, they threw themselves against the enemy and the Elves were free on both sides.

Ailith closed her eyes in relief.

“Did you see that, Lady?” the soldier next to her asked, shaking his head to clear it.

“Yes,” Ailith said, fighting for calm, “now look in front of you, there’s a battle going on.”

Mornith gestured furiously with his sword, trying to marshal his forces as the basilisks fell. Some to mage-bolts, some to each other.

She smiled.

The goblins and trolls had recovered enough to fight although they were still rattled.

It wasn’t over yet.

In the thick of the battle as it finally found her, Ailith shouted to her people, urged them to fight.

Venting the last dregs of her fear and heartache, she fought, laying about her with her swords and a will.

She killed a firbolg and a number of boggins and boggarts.

A troll astride a hellhound rode at her. Valiant Smoke lashed out with his teeth at the hellhound as they came together, Ailith wielding both long and short swords, and took the troll’s sword on her shortsword. She saw the goblin come out of the chaos, and tried to turn Smoke, but not in time.

The thing took Smoke with a lance through his chest.

Even so that grand horse still managed to take out the goblin with one last kick.

The wound was too deep, though, piercing his brave heart.

He staggered and fell.

Ailith rolled to her feet as Smoke went down, her swords still in her hands, in time to cut a mandrake down and the troll that rode it.

She ran to him, to her horse, and spun to take the hellhound’s head.

Its rider went down with it.

Merciless, she brought her shortsword down on it.

Then turned in grief to her horse. She cried out in sorrow.

“Smoke!” she screamed.

No more would he nuzzle at her hair as if to eat it.

He’d carried her to warn Elon and found the speed later to help her save him.