THE CHOOSING

by PhyllisAnn Welsh

  As ferocious as Rendolin might be at present, Thelorin knew his brother would be the first to attempt to save the lives of the very enemy he had struck down, just as soon as the battle was over. He smiled grimly, knowing his brother would rather be healing wounds than inflicting them.

  The sounds of battle were all around. Thelorin could not tell if there were one hundred attackers or only ten. He could only see a few, but their screams and war cries made it seem like the whole Night Elf nation had arrived. It was a terrorist tactic that pumped fear through an opponent’s blood.

  He parried a wild swing from another foe and stepped smoothly in for a neat thrust to his enemy’s chest. His blade slipped into the body clear to the heart. Thelorin pulled his sword out swiftly as the dead Night Elf fell to the ground.

  He looked around to see where his men were and what the status of the battle was. It appeared that the Sea Elves were holding their own and were successful, for the time being, in keeping the enemy back. Thank the god for the training Captain Feenix had given his troops. She knew her business of war, even if she was a human—and female at that! By the god’s eyes, if she proved to be a traitor, then Thelorin would use her flesh to feed the fish.

  Thelorin called to his troops to rally for a charge. They must take the battle to the Night Elves if they had any hope of defeating them and preventing any from returning to Cragimore to report of the Sea Elves’ strength.

  From the corner of his eye he could see his brother high on the rock, his long golden hair blowing in the evening breeze as the starlight shone down, an open target for any Night Elf who was skilled with a bow. But he knew Rendolin had placed a protection spell around himself before climbing the rock, and Thelorin prayed that it would be enough.

  “Advance!”

  Putting his brother from his mind, Lord Thelorin Hiloris led his men as they swarmed from the rocks and boulders, meeting the attackers with swords, knives and arrows. Screams of rage and pain echoed off the rocks and rolled down to the sea. Blood from both sides splattered the ground, making footing dangerous. The smell of battle—blood and fear—mingled with the cries of the dying.

  His sword arm grew heavy and painful as he cut his way through the enemy. Thelorin lost track of time, or any reason for the carnage around him. His only purpose in life narrowed down to keeping the enemy from Shalridoor and preventing any from escape.

  His breath rasped in his dry throat, and his eyes grew tired from trying to see clearly in the dark. All elves have excellent night vision, but Sea Elves preferred the daylight to night. Thelorin’s enemies had no problem with night vision, and in fact, saw more clearly in the dark. If any had an advantage in this battle, it was the Night Elves.

  But the Sea Elves knew the terrain, and therein lay their hope of victory.

  While Thelorin and Rendolin led the main force against the Night Elves, a small band of warriors, led by Thelorin’s first lieutenant, Tobius, was even now circling around behind the enemy, and should engage them from the rear within minutes. Rendolin would give them the signal from his advantage high on the rock. He would be able to see when the Sea Elves were in position.

  One of his attackers managed to sneak in under Thelorin’s defense, and he felt the burn of a sword slice his left forearm. It was enough to bring his concentration back to the battle, and Thelorin quickly dispatched the opponent.

  “Hold!”

  Thelorin again called to his men. They had to hold the enemy a little longer to allow Tobius to reach his position.

  After what seemed like days, Rendolin gave the signal and the second force of Sea Elves closed in on the enemy. The Night Elves began to panic as they realized they were surrounded, and there was no escape. Their calculated war cries turned to a chaotic noise as they fought as if in a frenzy, refusing to surrender.

  Thelorin had no choice but to allow his men to kill or mortally wound them all. He knew they were under orders from Cragimore to die rather than be captured.

  All around him dead and dying elves lay, some silent in death, others writhing in agony. Thelorin wiped the sweat from his eyes and leaned wearily upon his sword. The Sea Elves had won the battle, but at a cost. None of the Night Elves were in any shape for him to question, and only one appeared to have a slight chance of survival, if his wounds were tended immediately.

  Thelorin looked around for his brother but could not find him in the confusion and carnage.

  “Delik, find the High Priest,” he yelled to a warrior who did not appear to be hurt. He watched the young elf hurry away towards the large boulder where Rendolin had last been seen.

  Thelorin turned from the sight and caught his lieutenant’s eye.

  “Tobius, report!”

  He walked to the side of the killing ground and found a fairly smooth boulder where he could await his second in command. Tobius picked his way through the dead and dying, giving an occasional command here, checking on the condition of a body or two. His lieutenant was a good commander, and Thelorin had no doubt that the report he would give him would be accurate and precise.

  “Lord,” the younger elf saluted. “We have completely destroyed the Night Elves’ attempt in attacking Shalridoor itself. The warning was given in time. However, we were not successful in capturing any for interrogation.”

  “All are dead?”

  “No, lord, two are alive still. But one is beyond the skill of any priest, and the other is close behind his comrade. If we do not have your brother cast a Healing spell upon him quickly, he, too, will die.”

  Thelorin nodded. “I have sent Delik to bring Rendolin. They should be here any moment. What is the status of our troops?”

  Tobius wiped a bloody hand across his face, leaving a smear of crimson.

  “Two dead; five wounded. It could have been much worse, Lord Thelorin.” He shook his head wearily. “Though I hate to admit it, Captain Feenix’s training saved our hides this night.”

  “My thoughts, also, Lieutenant. It appears my brother and his Bonded Mate were right when they insisted that Feenix should train our warriors.”

  His words were hard and clipped, as if it pained him to make the statement.

  He looked towards the boulder where Rendolin had stood during the skirmish, and saw the young elf, Delik, running in their direction.

  “Lord! The High Priest has been shot with an arrow! He fell from the rock and is unconscious. I do not know where the other priest is!”

  Thelorin rushed past his men and dashed behind the rocks where Rendolin lay. Kneeling among the rough and rocky ground, he checked for a pulse. It was slow and faint. A black fletched arrow protruded from his right shoulder, and blood stained the High Priest’s shirt. A trickle of blood ran from the side of his mouth, and his golden hair soaked up the bright red fluid as it dripped into a puddle by his ear.

  “Where is the other priest?” Thelorin demanded as he tried to slow the flow of blood with his tunic.

  “He was killed in the battle, lord.”

  “Mac Lir’s bells,” he swore. “Help me staunch his wounds and bind them tight. Look in his pack. Rendolin keeps his healing supplies there.”

  Thelorin gave orders as he ripped his brother’s shirt open to get a better look at the arrow’s damage.

  “Tobius, take charge of the wounded and dead. Send someone for another priest. Tell them that the High Priest is wounded and requires immediate Healing. And by all that is holy,” he added, looking up and stopping the lieutenant from running off, “what ever you do, do not tell my mother or Glenowaeli that he is injured!”

  “Too late, lord.”

  Thelorin turned to look where Tobius indicated with his hand. Making her way through the rocks and bodies, Rendolin’s mate, Korrene, hurried to reach the fallen High Priest. Her silver hair was unbound and hung in clouds around her face and shoulders, as if she were a young maiden. Close behind her was his mother, Elawae, and the Master Healer, Lord Selrin of the House of Olewis. All three wore grim expressions on their face, but Korren
e’s held fear and determination as well. The mate of his brother was a formidable personage when she chose.

  “Ren!” She pushed Thelorin aside as if he were a mere slave. “How long has he been lying here in his own blood?” she asked him without taking her eyes off Rendolin.

  The sight of this human-turned-elf always made his blood boil. Especially when she spoke to him as if he were beneath her notice.

  “I do not know when he was struck. I have been attempting to slow the bleeding while waiting for a priest.”

  She picked Rendolin’s head up and cradled him against her breast, heedless of the damage his blood would cause to her own clothing. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her pale cheeks.

  “Lord Selrin is here,” she told him needlessly. “He will Heal him.” Then ignoring Thelorin, she spoke softly to her mate. “Ren, my love, I’m here. You will be fine. Just hang on. I’m here. Stay with me now. I love you!”

  Thelorin was embarrassed by the display of blatant affection. The human had no sense of decorum. He left his brother’s side to make room for the Master Healer, and to speak with his mother.

  “Mother, how did you know Rendolin was injured?”

  “Need you ask, my son?” The petite elfin woman was still beautiful, even though she was the mother of two grown sons and the widow of one of Leondrilik’s heroes. “Korrene screamed with agony when the arrow hit Rendolin. She knew the moment he fell to the ground because the Binding Link was severed.”

  She watched with a worried look as Selrin removed the arrow and cleaned the wound.

  “Severed? Has the link been severed completely?” Thelorin was surprised at the feeling of dread and fear that filled him when he learned that Korrene was no longer connected to his brother’s spirit.

  “She says the link is tenuous and very weak,” Elawae answered without taking her eyes from the Healer’s work. “Apparently, she was able to find his spirit before it left his body completely. She commanded it to remain.”

  Elawae glanced at her eldest son with an expression of respect. “Rendolin’s Bonded Mate is a strong and determined woman. Mac Lir chose the High Priest’s mate well.”

  Thelorin nodded in agreement, but he was still not completely comfortable with the knowledge that a human was now a member of his family.

  There was nothing he could do while the priest worked on his brother, so Thelorin searched out Tobius to see how the skirmish was cleaning up. Perhaps Selrin could Heal the wounded Night Elf before he, too, died. It was imperative that they find out just how much the enemy at Cragimore knew about their return. And who had informed them of the Sea Elves’ return.

  He found his lieutenant speaking with one of the warriors.

  “Bury the dead Night Elves. Make arrangements to have our people brought back to Shalridoor.” Tobius turned to Thelorin. “The Night Elf died, Lord. There are no survivors.”

  Thelorin looked off into the night sky. The yellow moon of Carthig was a mere scratch of light in the black velvet heavens. Eon, the blue moon, would be rising soon, and it, too would only be a thin crescent. A perfect night for a raid from Cragimore. But with Mac Lir’s luck, the attackers had been defeated and Shalridoor was untouched.

  Feenix had to be returned so she could lead the attack on Cragimore. Time was of the utmost importance, especially now when the enemy knew they were back. With both Feenix gone and Rendolin injured, their chances of success had dwindled to an alarming rate. A surprise attack was their only hope of survival here on Tylana, Thelorin thought. But how? Especially if Feenix was now working with the enemy.

  Using a dangerous spell, Rendolin had established a mind link with the missing captain. He said she was inside Cragimore itself, held captive, and that she would try to learn the enemy’s weaknesses and report back to him. Now, with the High Priest injured and unconscious, how would the human make her reports?

  Thelorin did not have a good feeling about that; his natural instincts were to distrust all humans, even the Captain of the High Priest’s guard. What if she was lying to Rendolin?

  However, he had to admit Feenix had been more than helpful in training his troops and in devising the plans to attack the enemy. A tiny voice kept nagging at him, though, insisting that Feenix’s captivity was far too coincidental for reality.

  “Lord?” Tobius’ voice brought Thelorin back from his mind’s wanderings. “Lord Selrin has ordered that Rendolin be carried to Shalridoor, and my men have finished moving our own wounded and dead. All that remains is for the burial of the Night Elves.”

  “Very good, lieutenant,” he said, returning the young officer’s smart salute. “Carry on. I shall return to Shalridoor with the High Priest. Report to me when the task has been completed.”

  He walked to the group tending his brother. A litter had been found and the unconscious elf lay atop it, Korrene holding his hand and speaking low to him as if he could hear her words. Rendolin’s face was a pale blur in the evening’s limited light. White linen covered his head, and another length of cloth wound around his shoulder and chest. A dark spot stained the perfect whiteness of the bandage.

  Thelorin took his mother’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

  “He will be well, mother. Mac Lir would not dare let anything happen to his High Priest now that he has rallied our people and Bonded to the human woman.”

  “One would think not,” she replied. “However, even a god’s plan can be tampered with, my son. Let us pray that Selrin’s Healing magic will be enough.”

  Putting his arm around his dainty mother, Thelorin led her back to Shalridoor’s walls. The night was growing old. There would be no other assault this evening from their enemy. Cragimore was too far away for the Night Elves to travel in full darkness, which was imperative for them. They could not survive the direct sunlight.

  Lord Thelorin of Hiloris sighed deeply. How he wished he was back on Sasheena and free from this tangle in which Mac Lir had placed them all.

  Yes, he nodded to himself, all of their troubles could be laid at Mac Lir’s feet.

  The spark of anger that had been kindled against the god when Thelorin learned of the Binding now flared and burned hotter in the elf lord’s breast.

  What was the use of a god who led his people into tragedy after tragedy?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Put these on.”

  L’Garn tossed a pair of rope sandals at Feenix. Lala stood at the door with a bundle of clothing. It was obvious the half-elf had gotten the footwear from the old slave.

  Feenix didn’t even try to catch them. “I prefer boots.”

  “I am sure you do, Teela. However, these will have to do for now. Put them on and come with me.”

  “And if I don’t?” What demon inside her head made her say such stupid things? By the god’s left toenail, she didn’t want another wrestling match with the prince.

  “A proper slave does not question,” Lala began to lecture, but before she could swing into the rhythm of the speech, L’Garn cut her off.

  “If you do not put them on, Teela, you will have your feet ripped to shreds. It is your decision. Wear them or not. It makes little difference to me.”

  L’Garn turned away and watched as Lala packed a large leather pouch with his clothing. It appeared, Feenix decided, as if the elf-man and she were going on a trip.

  “Fine,” she said with a disgusted sigh. She sat on the stool and tied the rough shoes on. Perhaps they would save the soles of her feet, but the rope was going to rub blisters all over her ankles and heels before ten steps were taken.

  “Where are we going?” She couldn’t keep her mouth shut, could she?

  “You have a treat in store for you,” the prince answered without looking up from his chore. “We are going Atop.”

  “I can’t wait,” she mumbled to herself. Where in the great blue ocean was Atop? She thought it had been a product of Eagnad’s imagination.

  L’Garn finished fussing with the sack and issued a few orders to Lala before
looking at Feenix.

  “Follow me and do not try to escape. My men have orders to kill you on sight if they find you not in my company.”

  He stepped through the door without a backward glance, and Feenix had no recourse but to follow him through the corridors. She couldn’t walk freely since the chain prevented her from moving her arms, and as a result her balance was hampered. Because everything was so dark in Cragimore, stumbling was a real danger for her. It was like living in a world whose only sun was a single candle.

  Everywhere, shadows washed the landscape of the cavern’s interior and cast all colors and shapes in a washed-out, gray patina. How could people exist for years in this half light? Feenix felt it weigh her down with dread and worry.

  There was a hot, ravenous feel to the darkness. As she followed L’Garn through the winding corridors of Cragimore, it seemed to her that an ominous foreboding hung in the air. The deeper they traveled into the heart of the mountains, the more the sense of danger and menace grew and intensified. At first, she slowly became aware of a feeling of unease and worry. But gradually the impression grew from a tingle along her spine and scalp, to sweaty palms and a pounding heart.

  The half-elf didn’t speak while he led the way to god-knew-where, and she didn’t feel much like talking as she tried to follow without tripping and splitting her head open on the rough stone. Strange, she thought. When had the smooth, hand-hewn walls transformed into the ragged surface of natural corridors? She had to stoop in a number of places to avoid the occasional stalactite. By the god’s left toe, she wished she had sufficient light so she could see where she was going!

  Feenix walked around a bend in the corridor into another large open cavern. She blinked against the sudden light. The cave was lit by torches braced high up the cave’s walls. Noise echoed off the stone walls, and the smell of fresh-ground wheat hit her unexpectedly.