The Last Talisman (36 page)

Day after day as she trained with her teacher, she realized more and more that he had become a father to her after all this time. Livon had raised her, had trained her to wield a sword, had pointed her down the path she'd follow in life, but it was Ido who'd taught her what it really meant to fight, who'd shown her what a true warrior was, who'd rounded out her character, made her whole. Nihal sensed that this revelation was not a betrayal, but an honor to the memory of her father.

At the base, too, Nihal was reunited with her armor. Ido had kept it in mint condition for her, unsullied by a single speck of dust. As she lifted the trunk's lid, the black crystal shone forth, gleaming as brightly as it had on the day the dwarf gave it to her.

Nihal's heart ached at the sight of it. She remembered Laio's words, spoken with his last few breaths:
What I truly wanted was to make it to the very end with you, to help you suit up for the final battle
. All the times he'd tightened her straps before she took to the field came flooding back in her memory.

As soon as she took the black crystal armor in hand, Nihal knew exactly what she had to do. It was time to put the decision she'd made in Seferdi into action.

The symbol of Nammen's rule, the crest she'd seen in the royal palace, was still deeply impressed in her memory. It was divided into two sections. Depicted in the upper section was a tree, half of it flourishing with leaves, the other half barren. In the lower section was a celestial body, half moon, half sun. The crest represented the unceasing flow of time, in part because Thoolan, Time, was venerated above all in the Land of Days, and in part due to the dual nature of the half-elves, born from the fusion of men and elves.

Nihal brought her breastplate and an image of the crest to Makrat, to the very same armorer who'd worked on Ido's sword. The symbol, she explained to him, was to be engraved above the dragon design in a white so strikingly bright it would stand out dramatically against the black of the crystal.

Two days before the final battle, the armorer returned the breastplate to Nihal. The crest had been etched in with great skill. Most importantly, he'd made the engraving in the brilliant white Nihal knew would be visible for miles, exactly as she'd wanted.

On the day she crossed into the Great Land to recite the final ritual and activate the talisman, the Tyrant would see the crest emblazoned on her chest, and in that moment, he'd understand, he'd know that all the cruel, brutal acts of his forty years in power had not been forgotten and that in the end, he'd pay for his wicked deeds. Nihal wanted him to know that her race still survived, that he'd failed to eradicate her people, that after everything, it was a half-elf, risen from the mouth of hell, to end his reign of terror.

Fixing her gaze on the crest there on her breastplate, Nihal knew she was ready at last. That the final battle had begun.

37

The Cry of the Final Battle

At long last, it was the eve of the final battle. All during the week, the troops had gradually made their way toward the edge of the Great Land's border. That evening, the evening of December 21, the area bordering the Tyrant's territory was one long line of battle encampments. In the morning, the entire army would be deployed. Not a single inch of the border would be left undefended. Wherever the enemy turned, there would be soldiers, raring and ready for battle.

The decision was made to send Nihal across the battlefront with Oarf, escorted by Ido and Soana.

“I don't want to sneak undercover into the Great Land, like some thief,” Nihal had said during the last meeting. “I want to go in with dignity. I want everyone to know I'm there. I want the Tyrant to see me approaching in the distance. I want his stomach to bind up in knots as he wonders what I've come for, to feel terror in the face of his fate.”

The generals had objected, advising a more cautious mode of action.

“The talisman is our only hope of salvation. If you're killed before reciting the spell, it will mean the death of all of us,” Nelgar had argued, trying to reason with her.

Nihal shook her head in complete confidence. “When my city was destroyed, I watched from the roof of the tower as the enemy approached. I'll never forget the terror I felt that day, the terror that all my people felt, looking on as death crept toward us. What I want now is for the Tyrant to feel that very same terror.”

“It's sheer madness. You're just asking to get yourself killed,” came Raven's reply.

“I'll go with company,” Nihal explained. “Soana and Ido will come as my escorts. Ido can protect me with his sword, and Soana will erect a force field around me, at least until I've completed the ritual. At that point, the barrier will dissolve and the fight will be on. At last, I'll find myself face-to-face with the Tyrant.”

The assembly knew there was no shaking Nihal's determination. With great reluctance they accepted her proposal.

A dense and frigid snow ushered in the evening. It fell dreamily and incessantly, a blanket of soft flakes. Nihal was in her room in Ido's house, and she couldn't sleep. When she'd first arrived at the base, they'd offered her her former lodgings, where she'd lived a few months before her induction as a knight. But the moment she'd set foot inside, Nihal had known she'd never be able to live there. There were too many memories. All was exactly as she'd left it, including Laio's bed, where she thought she could still see the imprint of the squire's small body upon the mattress. Ido's house, she'd decided in the end, would be a far better idea, plus there she'd have the comfort of her teacher's company.

Nihal sat perched on the edge of her cot, her armor laid out before her. If Laio were alive, he'd have been there beside her, polishing her weapons. Now that duty fell to her. She picked up her sword and began cleaning. It was no longer the fine, flush blade it had once been, but was marred with the signs of countless battles. There were nicks and dings she'd never be able to fix, though it was as sharp as the day she'd first laid hands on it, newly forged by Livon. Her sword was tired, just as she was. It had fought too many battles, tasted too much blood, and it was time to lay it to rest inside its sheath. With any help from the gods, its day of solemn rest would come tomorrow, along with Sennar's lips.

Sword ready, she turned to polishing her armor, though there really was no use, as the armorer had returned it to her in sparkling condition. But to take it in her hands was to meditate on the battle, to immerse herself in its moment. For the first time in her life, Nihal felt reluctant to fight. It seemed more of an odious chore. Of course, a part of her yearned to challenge the Tyrant, to meet him face-to-face, to finally understand what it was that had driven him all these years to kill and enslave. And perhaps, came the chilling thought, perhaps what she still desired in some dark corner of her heart was revenge. To wash away the blood spilled by the Tyrant with his own blood. But then she thought of Sennar and her thirst for blood and revenge faded. In its place, only love remained, an aching need for him and for a peaceful life at his side.

What astonished her above all was that she now felt an acute fear of death. It had never come to her before, though in the past she'd wished for it, a thousand times she'd begged for it. When Ido's lesson had at last gotten through to her, that to transform herself into a living weapon was no way to become a Dragon Knight, Nihal had begun to desire the fear of death. But that sly friend would never pay her a visit. She'd felt it just once, on the eve of her first battle, when she'd passed the trial and moved on to the second phase of her training as a Dragon Knight. The battle in which Fen lost his life. Nihal smiled bitterly to herself, understanding that she'd come full circle. Before her first-ever battle, she'd been gripped with fear. Now, before what may be her last, fear had come knocking again.

She set down her armor and stared at the snow falling outside the window. She knew she needed sleep, but it seemed impossible. She'd done nothing but wait and prepare for this moment for three years. And now the final battle had arrived. How could she possibly rest?

As she undressed, she stumbled upon the dagger. The blade was well hidden in its sheath. No light filtered through the leather casing. Her sole purpose, her sole reason for fighting the next day, was inscribed in that dagger. If she were to discover that Sennar had already been killed, she'd have nothing left but hate. This time Nihal wanted nothing but the desire for peace to drive her toward the enemy.

She gripped the dagger and mustered the courage to draw it.

Sennar, where are you? I need you, your words, your voice. I need to know you're still here, that I still have a reason to fight tomorrow.

Terror gripped her thoughts, together with the haunting voices of the spirits still trapped in her mind. The cacophony swelled. When the door opened and footsteps approached, Nihal heard nothing.

Only when Ido set a hand on her mess of hair did she shake from her nightmare. Nihal threw her arms around him and pressed herself to her teacher's chest.

“Are you afraid?” Ido asked.

“I'm afraid Sennar is dead. If he's gone, what point is there to all this, to anything I do?”

Ido went on calmly stroking her hair. “I know it's hard, but you can't let yourself think about it. It accomplishes nothing. And it certainly won't help you prepare for battle. If you really want to know the truth,” he said, looking her in the eye, “the dagger's right there next to you. All you have to do is look.”

“And if I find out that he's dead? I'd lose the strength to fight tomorrow,” she replied.

“Then all you can do is hope and believe. Sennar loves you, and he'd never go down without a hell of a fight,” the dwarf assured her, smiling.

With Ido at her side, Nihal gradually regained her calm.

“I'm afraid, too,” he said with a sigh. “I've always told you that fear is a soldier's friend. But she's a dangerous friend, difficult to keep in check. I felt it, too, this time, the fear of death. I could sense it creeping up at my side. And the truth is, I think I've grown to like this mess of a life. I like it a hell of a lot.”

Nihal gazed up at her teacher. Ido hardly ever allowed himself to set aside his customary brusque and cantankerous facade.

“I don't know if I'll make it out of the battle alive,” the dwarf continued. “Tomorrow, I settle things once and for all with Deinforo, and there's no guarantee that I'll be the one who comes out on top. Which is why I'd like to tell you something that I've kept from you, and from myself, for far too long.” He stammered, and Nihal could sense his embarrassment. She knew how hard it was for him to share his emotions.

“The redemption I've been struggling for on the battlefield for twenty years has never come. What I used to be, what I did under the Tyrant's command, can never be erased. I chased that feeling of release for years without ever grasping it. And then you came along.” The dwarf cleared his throat. “At first I saw you as just another burden. The last thing I wanted was a student, never mind a half-elf.” Ido looked her in the eye. “But the truth is that you're the best thing that's happened in my life, Nihal.” Again, he went silent, lowering his eyes. “You've given me so much. You've given me the chance to redeem myself more than I could have done through any battle or victory. Once, when we were arguing, I told you you weren't my daughter, that it wasn't my duty to let you in, to let you know me deep down. I was wrong. You're like a daughter to me, and I'm proud of who you've become.” Ido stopped speaking and sighed.

Nihal wrapped him in a hug and held on tight. She had a father again, at last. “I'll always be so grateful for what you've done for me.”

Ido coughed, trying to regain his composure. “Have faith tomorrow,” he said to her. “Think only of the mission at hand. You have to believe, deep in your heart, that what you desire can truly become a reality.”

Leaving her alone with these words, Ido turned and left the room.

Before long, Nihal drifted to sleep, the dagger still clutched in her hand. Her last waking thought was of Sennar.

Slowly, solemnly, the camp roused itself from sleep just as dawn's harsh light broke the horizon, casting an aura around the dark, looming figure of the Tyrant's Fortress. By the time the sun peeked out from behind the bare branches of the surrounding forest, the troops were ready to mobilize.

Ido came to Nihal in her room.

“Let me help you get your armor on,” the dwarf offered.

Nihal shook her head. “This armor belonged to Laio. He was the only one who could rightfully suit me up. I'll take care of it myself this time, to honor his memory.”

Ido nodded, though he stayed by her side, helping with the last few latches she couldn't reach. Outside, all was still. Once Nihal had finished, she turned to help Ido. Then, together, they grabbed their swords and set out.

The sun rose in a leaden sky. The air was frigid. A thick blanket of snow covered the earth, squeaking and crackling beneath their boots. Oarf awaited his knight's arrival at the center of the practice ring, as powerful as ever. Nihal knew she wasn't alone when she saw him spreading his enormous wings in pride. She closed her eyes and her heart eased into a deep calm.

The march began, and with the sun still low on the horizon, the troops arrived at the border. They halted. Thousands of soldiers who had traveled from every corner of the Free Lands were arrayed along the enemy confines. A mile off stood the enemy, a mix of Fammin, men, dwarves, and multitudes of the dead, all observing the arrival of adversaries, most likely wondering what they intended.

The closer she drew to the Great Land, the more Nihal could feel the amulet's power. Beneath her armor, beneath the crest of Nammen, it beamed in its full splendor.

Raven directed his dragon to her side. It was the first time Nihal had ever seen him on his dragon, a powerful beast, pale green, a thousand battle scars revealing its age and experience.

“It's my duty as commander of the troops to lead them into battle with a speech. What I'd like is for you to do the honors this time. If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be here right now,” said the Supreme General, and with a sweeping gesture he invited her to address the army stretched out before her.

Nihal flushed red and glanced back at Ido. The dwarf smiled. Hesitant, she pushed forward, searching for the right words. Her thoughts were muddled, her emotions running high. The only thing clear in her mind was Sennar's face. She lifted her eyes and saw the countless soldiers staring back at her, waiting.

She took a deep breath. “Today is an important day, the most important in our history. Today, peace is within our grasp. Many of us know only war and brutality. For years, we've done nothing but fight. Today is our chance to bring down the tyranny of hate, to resurrect the peace we've all been yearning for. Many have suffered these past years. I am a half-elf. My race paid the highest price in this war. My people were wiped from the face of this earth. And that is why we must fight. Against hate. Against cruelty. Against this senseless murder. If we want it badly enough, this will be our last battle, and the blood spilled today will be the last to stain the earth. From tomorrow on, all will be changed. Each one of us is ignited by a cause; in each one of us, there is a flame, a reason to fight, a reason to live. Today, we must unite in a inferno, all of us burning for the cause of brotherhood. And when we strike the enemy, we must strike not in the name of revenge, but in the hope of peace.”

Nihal ceased speaking. Meeting her gaze, Ido smiled and nodded, and she knew her teacher had understood. Those words held the sum of Nihal's journey.

Silence fell over the troops until, passing like a spirit from soldier to soldier, multiplying among the army's countless divisions as other generals and knights finished their own speeches. And then an immense cry rose up among the army. Not far in the distance, Nihal could see the troops of Zalenia, lead by a proud general on horseback, clad in the light armor of his homeland. As the soldiers cried out, the howl of the entire army flared up into a single voice, from the farthest corner of the Land of the Sea to the Saar River delta, from the farthest stretches of the Land of the Sun to the edges of the desert. At the sound of this cry, fear gripped the enemy's heart for the very first time.

Nihal pulled down her helmet and called for Soana to join her atop Oarf's back. As they made ready to leave, Ido and Vesa at their side, Nihal felt a strange premonition and turned to her left.

There, on a cliff, she noticed a lone figure. A demonic figure. An old, hunched woman, her tattered clothes and long yellow hair waving in the grim dawn air.