Queen of Song and Souls

by C. L. Wilson

  On the west flank, a red Fey’cha struck the holder of one of the invisibility weaves in the throat. A body sprawled in the grass, Fey in appearance, except for the scar that ran from temple to the corner of his mouth.

  “Dahl’reisen!” the lu’tan closest to the body cried. The dead dahl’reisen’s invisibility weave winked out, revealing a company of Elden archers and three blue-robed Primages. “Dahl’reisen are holding the invisibility weaves!”

  The warrior who’d slain the dahl’reisen fell to his knees, shrieking as if his skin were being peeled off his body. Fey could not kill other Fey—not even dahl’reisen—without losing their own soul in the process, but the lu’tan had bound their souls in service to Ellysetta. They could not become dahl’reisen. Apparently, however, they still felt the agony of taking a life that had once been Fey.

  “Blessed gods,” Ellysetta wept as an echo of his agony ripped across his lute’asheiva bond. Even protected by twenty-five-fold weaves, she could practically feel her soul being ripped asunder. She fell to her knees and pressed her hands to her temples.

  “Ellysetta!” Bel cried.

  «Shei’tani!»

  She clenched her jaw and fought to keep from screaming. «It’s not me. It’s Lathiel. He’s in such pain. Oh, gods, it hurts. It hurts.»

  “Fey!” Rain shouted. “Sel cha! Unless you see your target, throw black, not red! They have dahl’reisen with them!”

  Behind the slain dahl’reisen, the now-visible Elden archers fired a barrage of arrows towards the Fey, while two Primages loosed large, blue-white globes of Mage Fire as cover. The third Primage spun Azrahn to open a portal to the Well of Souls. Fey’cha rained down upon the Eld, but the Mages and most of the archers leapt to safety into the Well before the Fey daggers hit their marks.

  At the sight of the Mages, hot anger sparked to life deep inside her, and a familiar voice hissed, Vengeance. Vengeance. Make them pay for what they’ve done. She clapped frantic hands over her ears and cried, “Stop it!”

  Another demon spawned barely two man lengths from her, and two lu’tan died before her quintet vanquished the dark thing with blazing tenfold weaves.

  “Flames scorch it,” Tajik swore. “If we don’t get rid of those archers and the Mages calling those demons, we’ll all be dead inside of half a bell.”

  “If we can get rid of the dahl’reisen holding the invisibility weaves, the Eld won’t find it so easy to evade our blades.” Bel glanced at Ellysetta, then away. His eyes took on the faint lavender glow of Spirit.

  A few moments later, Rain’s voice sounded urgently on a private Spirit weave. «Ellysetta. Forgive me, shei’tani, but we need your help to locate the dahl’reisen. None of us can sense them, but you can if we lower your shields. And if you can find them, you can guide our aim so we can take them out and bring down their invisibility weaves.»

  She looked at the fallen lu’tan and the desperate battle raging around her. Once more, the familiar terrible rage rose up from within her and clawed for release. Kill them all. Shred their flesh from their bones.

  Having just felt Lathiel’s torment after he’d slain that dahl’reisen, she knew what Rain was asking her to do. Simply opening herself up enough to sense the dahl’reisen would cause her incredible pain. But that would pale in comparison to the agony the lu’tan—and she, through their lute’asheiva bond—would feel when they killed the dahl’reisen holding the weaves.

  But she also knew that if they didn’t do something soon, they were all dead. Or worse than dead. What choice was there?

  «Do it,» she said. And the wild, angry thing inside her hissed its delight.

  Rain sent the instruction to Bel on a grim private weave. «Do it, Bel.» He stifled his protective shei’tan’s instincts and braced himself for a fierce surge of Rage. Once those shields came down and Ellysetta could sense the dahl’reisen, her pain would drive him to the edge of madness. He knew it. Bel knew it. He just hoped he had strength enough to keep the tairen in check.

  Sel’dor burned in his chest, arm, and thighs where the Eld’s foul missiles had struck him, leaving the barbs buried deep in his flesh. His Fey body continually tried to heal the wounds, but the sel’dor responded by burning like acid and twisting his magic into pain. There was enough sel’dor in him now to make each breath an effort and set his teeth on edge each time he spun a weave, but not enough to stop a tairen in full Rage from changing.

  He had been hiding the truth these last weeks from Ellysetta…from everyone. Bel suspected, but then, Bel had known him too well for too long. There wasn’t much he could hide from his oldest and dearest friend.

  The bond madness had begun. The little slips of control were growing more frequent: The times he broadcast thoughts he’d meant to keep private, how quick he was to anger—and how hotly his temper burned when it came. He didn’t know how much time he had left, but it wouldn’t be long. The war would see to that. Every battle—each life he took in defense of Ellysetta and the Fading Lands—drove him that much closer to the edge of his control and his sanity.

  «Prepare yourself, Rain,» Bel warned on a private weave. « We’re lowering her shields now.»

  Rain closed his eyes and drew as deep a breath as the throbbing shrapnel in his chest allowed. Please, gods, what ever happens, don’t let me fly. Teska, don’t let me fly. One scorching of the world was enough for any lifetime.

  Ellysetta thought she was prepared to open her unshielded senses near dahl’reisen. She thought she knew what to expect.

  She was wrong.

  Dark emotions screamed down her veins, invaded her blood, ate at her body from the inside out. Despair. Rage. Hatred. Vile, virulent emotions. What ever had once been good and honorable when these dahl’reisen were Fey was utterly gone now. What remained in its place was such bitter hate that the briefest touch of her mind against it made her whole body revolt.

  The difference between them and what Gaelen had been before she restored his soul was staggering. His torment had defied description, true, but his soul had still stubbornly clung to the Light, to some concept of honor. He’d still retained the memory of love in his heart. The dahl’reisen in the service of Eld were well down the Dark Path, beyond redemption. They took savage plea sure in watching the deaths of their former brothers. They hated them for the Light that still shone within them, and they wanted to crush it, to extinguish it.

  “Ellysetta.” Bel prodded her urgently. “Ellysetta, quickly, show us where they are so we can reweave your shields. Hurry. For all our sakes.”

  She turned her head in Rain’s direction. Across the field of battling lu’tan, she could see him clearly, see the fierce determination on his face as he fought not only his enemies but also his response to her pain. She was broadcasting it to him through the threads of their bond. She was broadcasting it to the lu’tan as well.

  Gods. She pressed the heels of her palms against her temples and tried to slam her barriers back in place, tried to block out the overwhelming flood of tormented emotion.

  «Ellysetta,» Bel urged again, «I know it hurts, but we need you to concentrate on finding the dahl’reisen. Find the source of your pain, and you will find them. That’s all we need. Teska, kem’mareska.»

  It wasn’t as easy as all that. At the moment, the source of her pain was all of them. Her pain hurt Rain and the lu’tan, and their pain echoed back at her, each amplifying the other, building a harmonic of agony and despair, until she could hardly stop herself from screaming and ripping at her own skin.

  “Kem’falla.” A hand gripped hers. A cool clarity cut through the layers of pain. She opened her eyes to find Gaelen standing before her, his ice blue gaze steady and direct. “Give me the pain. Feed it to me. I’ve borne it before, and I can bear it again. You know I can. Let me bear it for you, for all of them.”

  “Gaelen…”

  “Give it to me.”

  She wasn’t certain whether she fed him the pain or he just took it. Either way, the blinding agony began to fade
. The flicker of Gaelen’s eyelashes and the tightening of his mouth were the only outward signs of his suffering.

  “Kabei,” he said. “Now, forget about the pain. The pain doesn’t exist. Find the hate. Find the bitterness, the blame. The anger towards the Fey. Find self over sacrifice. That’s how you’ll know these dahl’reisen.”

  She nodded. Concentrating was easier now, without the debilitating overload to her senses. Slowly, hesitant to open herself up to agony again, she peeled back the outer layers of her internal shields and sent a questing thread of empathic awareness outside herself. As Gaelen instructed, she tried to filter her senses to detect only the dark, selfish emotions Gaelen had described, the blame and anger towards the Fey.

  There. Her mind zeroed in on a well of bitterness and hate.

  “I see it.” Gaelen gestured to the others, directing them to the location in Ellysetta’s mind. A moment later, the foul hatred simply…disappeared. A sharp pain lanced across her senses, but it was gone almost instantly. “Well-done, kem’falla.” Gaelen’s voice sounded breathless, strained. “That was perfect.”

  “Gaelen.” She started to open her eyes and turn to him. He’d absorbed the pain of the dahl’reisen’s death.

  “Nei. I’m fine. Teska, find the next. Quickly.”

  Ellysetta’s efforts were working. The invisibility weaves were failing, and now the Fey weren’t the only ones dying.

  Rain found what hope he could in that and clung to it desperately. His breath came in ragged gasps. Fey’cha flew like lightning from his fingertips, and scores of Eld fell to his blades. Each death was a bitter, searing draft of darkness, another heavy weight slung around his neck until he could scarce move beneath the weight.

  Still, he fought grimly. Ellysetta’s life was at stake. If he didn’t fight, the Eld would take her. There was no choice but to fight. His blades flew and came back with each choked mutter of his return word, to be plucked from their sheaths and sent flying again. His vision went red and blurry as pain battered him and the Rage crowded the edges of his control.

  Mage Fire roared towards the Fey. He flung a five-fold weave in its path, and the two magics exploded with concussive force. He heard the Eld scream, “The Tairen Soul! Kill the Tairen Soul! Bring him down now!”

  Sel’dor arrows flew towards him. Savage blasts of Air and Fire knocked down and incinerated many, but his body shuddered and fire seared his veins as the longer, more damaging spears pierced his armor and his flesh. He roared and yanked the missiles free. His hand shot up, but the magic he called didn’t come. Too much sel’dor: burning, twisting acid eating at his flesh as the Rage consumed his brain. He roared again. A bloody red haze covered his vision. There was nothing in his mind now except the need to kill, to slaughter, to destroy.

  Screaming a wordless battle cry, he plunged into the midst of the Eld, meicha in one hand, red Fey’cha in the other, slashing, gutting, stabbing, rending. Blood bathed him in hot, red death, and he howled with triumph and savage joy.

  “Got him!” Tajik cried. “I think that’s the last one.” The invisibility weaves were down, the enemy now in full view.

  “Beylah sallan,” Ellysetta wept. She slammed her shields back into place while the warriors around her respun the protective twenty-five-fold weaves. With a ragged moan, Gaelen released her. He managed to add a thread of Azrahn to her shield weaves before he staggered a short distance away, doubled over, and began to vomit helplessly in the blood-soaked grass.

  “Gaelen.” She started to go to him. He’d suffered far worse than she. He’d taken the brunt of the dahl’reisen pain into himself, using his soul’s connection with hers to shield her.

  “Ellysetta.” Bel grabbed her shoulder with sharp urgency. “Gaelen will be fine. You need to call Rain. Call to him now.”

  She turned, and her heart froze. Rain stood in the middle of an Eld horde, separated from the main force of the Fey, soaked in blood from head to toe, his face a mask of gore. His teeth bared in a snarl of savage, mindless Rage while his blades hacked and slashed without mercy or surcease. An Eld soldier, little more than a boy, fell to his knees before him, clearly pleading for his life. Rain’s sword swung and the boy’s head flew from his shoulders.

  “Rain.” Ellysetta gasped in horror. “Oh, dear gods, Rain.” Then her eyes caught sight of the three Primages gathered behind him, of the growing ball of Mage Fire gathering above their hands. Horror turned to terror, and she screamed a warning: “Rain! Look out! Fey! Ti’Feyreisen! Ti’Feyreisen!”

  The Mages prepared to launch their Fire.

  A sudden streak of light zipped across Ellysetta’s vision. The Mage Fire winked out as the three Primages clutched the blazing arrows embedded in their chests. Their bodies shuddered and began to glow, as if lit from within by the light of the Great Sun. Shrieking, they burst into flames.

  More streaks of light flew across the night sky, and more Eld wailed as they lit up like candleshades and burst into flames.

  “What is that?”

  “Not what. Who.” Bel’s grim expression lightened with the first signs of genuine hope, and he pointed to a line of warriors who had appeared in the distance, surrounded by a faint golden glow. “The Elves have come.”

  With their invisibility weaves gone and the sun-bright arrows of the Elves dispatching Primages and Eld soldiers at a swift rate, the Eld fled in full retreat. Azrahn weaves opened portals to the Well of Souls, and those lucky enough to be near one as it opened ran for the relative safety of the Well. The rest of the enemy force died beneath Fey and Elvish firepower.

  Even before the enemy was gone, Ellysetta was racing across the field towards Rain. She summoned her full strength of shei’dalin’s love, gathering as much power as her body could hold and more, spinning it in weaves of peace and love that she flung towards Rain.

  «Shei’tan!» The first slight touch of his mad, ravaged mind made her weep. There was nothing of her beloved Rain left, nothing of his gentle Fey heart, his guilt and grief, nothing of the Fey who wanted to be better than he was. There was only Rage, a savage bloodlust, a driving need to kill and destroy.

  Tears trembled on her lashes and spilled down her cheeks. Nei, she wouldn’t accept that. She couldn’t. «Rain, shei’tan, ku’ruvelei. Come back to me, beloved.» Along every thread of their bond she called to him, spinning love and peace and compulsion.

  For once, at least, the savage sentience in her own soul was quiet, and though she didn’t know why, she was grateful for the small reprieve. She’d reached Rain’s side. “Shei’tan.”

  He spun to face her, blades clutched in his hands and raised in threat. Droplets of the wet blood drenching his steel flew off as he whirled, and splattered across her face and neck.

  She flinched but stood her ground. “Rain. It’s me. Ellysetta. The battle is over, shei’tan. We are safe. The enemy is gone. Sheath your blades, shei’tan, and come back to me.”

  There wasn’t an inch of skin or a fingerspan of his steel that wasn’t drenched in blood and gore. His hair hung wet, thick with blood. The fierce blaze of his lavender eyes was filled with tairen power and unfocused Rage.

  This was the savage side of his tairen that he’d tried so hard never to show her. The side that had no mercy. The side that could kill without remorse. The wildness that lived in every tairen. The same wildness that lived in the tairen part of her.

  It frightened her, but she stepped closer to him, her hands outstretched. “Las, beloved. Las.” She sang to him across the threads of their bond, spinning weaves of love and warmth. “Come back to me now. I need you, and so do the Fey.” She spun images of the Fading Lands, the tairen kitlings, Amarynth blooming in Dharsa, the pair of them locked in an embrace, everything they stood to lose if they lost the war with Eld.

  Gradually, the wild whirl of his eyes began to slow and his breathing grew deeper, less ragged. She reached for his hands, gently pried the blades from his grip and dropped them to the ground at their feet. She raised his bloody hand to her
face and pressed it against her cheek, then laid her own against his.

  He blinked, and a pinprick of darkness formed in the whirling brightness of his eyes. A pupil that expanded slowly, growing and lengthening as awareness returned and Rage faded. His eyes focused, fixing on the bloody hand cupped against her cheek, the spatter of drying scarlet across her face. “Ellysetta?”

  He frowned and pulled his hand from her cheek. He stared at his bloody palms, his armor coated in gore. His lips pressed tight, but even that could not stop their trembling. “Nei. Ah, nei. Did I…” He glanced around, horror stamped on his face.

  She caught his hands. “Only Eld, beloved. None other.” She knew without words what he feared he had done: that he’d slain Fey again in his madness as he had the day he’d turned Eadmond’s Field into the Lake of Glass.

  His face crumpled. “Ellysetta.” He fell to his knees and the tears he’d once lost the ability to shed poured from his eyes. His body shuddered in an outpouring of grief and shame.

  And she did the only thing she could: She held him, and loved him, and crooned songs of peace and forgiveness to his ravaged soul.

  Eld ~ Boura Fell

  Vadim Maur called the tendrils of his weave back into himself and breathed in short, quick pants. Sitting for bells on end while his consciousness traveled outside his body to coordinate and oversee the attack had drained him.

  Tremors shuddered through his frame, and muscles knotted in painful lumps beneath his skin. As he rubbed at the worst of them, something wet trickled down his arm. He opened his eyes and pushed back his sleeve to find that several new, gaping sores had opened in his deteriorating skin.

  Vadim grimaced and dabbed at the suppurating skin with his sleeve hem. Such was the price of weaving magic when the Rot had you in its teeth. The stronger the spell a Mage wove, the weaker he became. The weaker he became, the faster the Rot consumed him.