DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (283 page)

Aydrian didn’t have time to play. He leveled Tempest at his enemy and sent a surge of energy through the graphite he had set in the pommel, and a bolt of lightning struck Tes’ten full force, lifting him from the ground and hurtling him backward to smash into a tree. Aydrian’s lightning held the poor elf there for a long moment and charred the tree behind him.

“And so you had your chance,” the young king taunted, though the elf was far beyond hearing him or hearing anything ever again. “Do you feel fulfilled?”

With a grin that was, in truth, more a grimace, Aydrian turned aside. “Juraviel!”
he cried. “I know you are about! Come and face me here and now!”

But Juraviel did not come out, as far as Aydrian could see, and as abruptly as it had begun, the fighting was over.

“They’re running off to the west!” one Kingsman cried.

“Do we pursue, my lord?” another man closer to Aydrian asked him.

Aydrian smiled and shook his head. “Let them run—all the way back to Andur’Blough Inninness. They have nowhere to truly hide.”

Soon after, Aydrian’s expeditionary force returned to the main group, bearing six dead and nearly a score of wounded, several seriously, and leaving behind the seven Touel’alfar who had fallen, all but one killed by Aydrian’s magical blasts.

When they returned, Aydrian soon learned that his encampment had not been quiet in his absence, for groups of elves had begun striking at the soldiers helter-skelter almost as soon as he had departed. The men were doing well in responding, offering batteries of archers to launch devastating volleys in the general direction whenever a tiny arrow came in from the darkness, but as yet, they had located no enemy bodies.

“Kill them as they come into view,” Aydrian said to his commanders. With Sadye beside him, the woman still obviously shaken from the fight at the copse, he went into his tent.

“They think that they can stand before me,” Aydrian said. “They still do not understand the truth of Aydrian Boudabras!”

“How profoundly you hate them,” Sadye remarked. “Back there, at the copse of trees …”

“I repaid the slavers,” Aydrian interrupted, and he motioned for Sadye to sit beside him. Then he lifted the soul stone for her to see, offered a wink, and closed his eyes, falling into the hematite, spirit-walking once more.

Drifting into the trees, he soon enough found a pair of elven archers.

Aydrian didn’t hesitate, sliding into the body of one of the elves, catching her off her guard and pushing her spirit from her body. He knew that he couldn’t likely hold out for long—the Touel’alfar were strong of will, much more so than any human!—but he didn’t need long. In control of the body for only that brief moment, Aydrian darted from the trees, waving his elven arms and crying out.

His spirit was pushed from that diminutive form, willingly so, in time for the returning elf to see the host of deadly arrows speeding her way. Any one of the ten that hit her would have slain her.

Back in the trees, the other elf was crying out for his foolhardy companion when Aydrian assaulted him as well.

But this one, more prepared perhaps because of witnessing the fall of his companion, fought back more forcefully, crying out “demon!” over and over again to warn his friends. He even managed to shout out, “Possession!”

The human archers homed in on those cries, though, and sent their arrows soaring into the trees. Ninety-nine of the hundred that came in missed the unseen mark.

But it only took one.

Weary from his great exertion, Aydrian nonetheless tried to continue, his spirit sweeping along the perimeter of his encampment.

But the Touel’alfar were never slow to react, and the young king found no others in the area.

Back in his corporeal form, Aydrian instructed his soldiers where to run out.

They returned shortly thereafter, bearing a grievously wounded elf, lying near death with an arrow through his side.

Aydrian found enough strength to use his hematite again to prevent the elf from dying.

“Keep him bound and under heavy watch,” the weary king told his men. “This one will lead us true to Andur’Blough Inninness at first light!”

B
elli’mar Juraviel and Lady Dasslerond stood on a high ridge along the mountains outside the mist-covered vale that housed Andur’Blough Inninness. The midday air was crisp and cold, a brilliant sun shining overhead. It all seemed so calm and peaceful, a moment frozen in time.

But both elves knew otherwise. Both knew that Aydrian and his army were fast approaching.

“He moves unerringly toward us,” Dasslerond remarked.

Looking at her, her eyes closed in concentration, her green gemstone cupped in one hand, Juraviel knew that she spoke correctly. He knew it anyway, for the scouts had been coming in all morning, and every subsequent report showed that the distance between Aydrian’s marching army and Andur’Blough Inninness was fast closing.

“I have ordered the skirmishers away from the humans,” Juraviel informed his Lady.

Dasslerond looked at him out of the corner of her dazzling golden eyes. “The first line of defense of the Touel’alfar has always been to strike at any approaching enemy from the shadows,” she remarked. “To wound our enemies in body and in heart in the hopes that they will turn from their folly.”

“We cannot strike at Aydrian’s flanks,” Juraviel explained, though he knew that Dasslerond needed no explanation. “We have struck at him almost continually since the open fight at the trees. He finds our skirmishers and reveals them to his soldiers, or he attacks them with his own magics. A score of our people are missing, my Lady, and I fear that most are dead or captured.”

Dasslerond closed her eyes at those burning words. The Touel’alfar were not a numerous folk in the human-dominated world, and twenty was no small number to their ranks.

“You would have us enter our valley and hide it within the mists of the emerald,” Lady Dasslerond reasoned.

“At once, my Lady.”

“Aydrian has a prisoner,” Dasslerond informed him. “The emerald of our people
has shown this to me. He scours her thoughts with his soul stone and she leads him, despite herself, to us.”

“You can hide Andur’Blough Inninness even from her, then,” Juraviel reasoned. “We must abandon her.”

Again came that cold stare out of the corner of Lady Dasslerond’s eye. For a moment, she seemed as tall and terrible as Juraviel had ever seen her, but that instant passed, leaving Dasslerond appearing diminished and shaking Juraviel’s faith in her before she ever admitted, “I cannot.”

Juraviel’s hopeful look turned to one of confusion.

“Our captive kin would demand no less of you!” Juraviel argued.

“I can leave her to her fate, though it troubles me,” Lady Dasslerond clarified. “But even so, I cannot hide our valley from Aydrian.”

Few words could have hit Juraviel as hard.

“Aydrian follows me into the magical realm,” Lady Dasslerond explained. “His power is greater than mine. He unwinds all that I weave.”

“Then we are lost,” Juraviel remarked. “Or Andur’Blough Inninness is lost. We cannot hope to fight him.”

“Hold out your hand,” Lady Dasslerond instructed him, and after a confused moment, the male complied.

Lady Dasslerond’s right hand went to her hip, drew forth her small dagger, then reached out and cut Juraviel across the palm. He flinched, but did not pull back from her.

The Lady of Caer’alfar reached out her left hand, opening it palm up and rolling the precious emerald to her fingers. Without flinching, without the slightest quiver, she reached over and cut her own palm, then rolled the emerald back into the palm, over her wound, and turned her hand over and placed it atop Juraviel’s.

“Pestiil pe’infor testu,”
the Lady intoned.

Juraviel’s eyes widened at the sound of the words, which meant, “So I give my knowledge.” This was the beginning of the transfer of Touel’alfar power, a chant which, once begun, could not be halted.

Lady Dasslerond chanted on. Her words wound and disappeared to Juraviel’s sensibilities, replaced by a sudden rush of insight as the secrets of the emerald began to unravel in his thoughts.

Juraviel closed his eyes and fell within himself. Time itself seemed to stop, or to flow at a different rate. His mind pictured places that he knew from his travels. He saw Mount Aida and Avelyn’s arm—not a memory, but a present-time image of the place! He saw Dundalis and Tymwyvenne, home of Cazzira’s people, far to the south. And he knew that he could go to these places through the power of the emerald. He could warp time and space itself within its tremendous powers.

All sensation suddenly stopped, leaving Juraviel in blackness. It took him a long while to open his eyes, and when he did, he realized that he and Dasslerond were no longer alone on that high ridge.

And he felt tired, so tired.

“Lady, what will you do?” he managed to whisper, when Dasslerond retracted her hand, leaving the emerald upon his. Truly Juraviel was glad when Cazzira moved next to him and put her arm about his waist, giving him needed support.

An honest smile warmed over Lady Dasslerond’s face, and she seemed to Juraviel somehow changed, somehow freed of her burdens.

“Aydrian has come for a fight,” she said, her voice serene, more so than Juraviel had ever heard. “I will show him the ultimate escape. Take all of our people out of Andur’Blough Inninness, Belli’mar Juraviel. Take them and your dear wife and our visiting Doc’alfar king and be long gone from this place. You have the gemstone now. You know how.”

“Lady, you cannot!”

“Do not question me, Belli’mar Juraviel. I knew the dangers of Aydrian, and it was my own folly that brought those dangers down upon us. Now I must pay for my errors. Be quick, I insist, while the resonating powers of the emerald remain with my body and soul.”

Juraviel reached up to wipe away the tears that were suddenly streaming down his face. “My Lady,” he whispered.

Smiling with absolute contentment, Lady Dasslerond turned to Cazzira. “My life has been long and fulfilling. My regret, though, is that I cannot witness the true reunion of our peoples. Brave Cazzira, bear well the children of Belli’mar Juraviel, who will this day rule the Touel’alfar. And bid your King Eltiraaz to show mercy to his cousins, who need his benevolence this dark day.”

“Of course, my Lady Dasslerond,” Cazzira replied.

Lady Dasslerond lifted her bloody hand above her head and clenched her fist. She looked at Juraviel and Cazzira one last time out of the corner of her golden eyes.

Then she threw her head back, and she was gone.

Cazzira turned her questioning stare over Juraviel, who stood staring at the pulsing emerald, feeling its transmission of power to the Lady who had been one with it for many centuries. How keenly that energy flowed now! Juraviel could feel every pulse in his own cut palm, as if his life energy and Dasslerond’s were joined in the hub that was the pulsating emerald.

Juraviel took a deep breath, steadying himself and steeling himself against the wave of regret and sadness. “We must be gone from this place, all of us, and quickly.”

“What of Andur’Blough Inninness?”

Juraviel looked up at the mountains and slowly shook his head.

A
great commotion erupted at the front of the marching army when the Lady of Caer’alfar appeared suddenly before them, literally out of thin air. Some men fell back, others charged.

But Dasslerond raised her bloody hand and reached back across the miles to the powers of the emerald. The ground heaved before her and rolled out like a wave,
scattering the charging fools and throwing many of the others back against the trailing ranks of humans.

Some warriors lifted bows and let fly, but their feeble arrows never got anywhere near the gemstone-protected Lady.

But then one man strode forward, a wry smile on his face, and Dasslerond didn’t even bother to try to throw her gemstone magic at him.

“Too long have I waited for this moment, Dasslerond,” Aydrian casually remarked. “It was your grave error in training me. You made me too strong.”

“My greatest error was in not allowing you to die on the field outside of Palmaris,” Lady Dasslerond replied. “For I erred in my estimation of your parentage. I thought Elbryan to be your father, but in truth it was Bestesbulzibar!”

Aydrian laughed at her. “Because I reject you and your wretched kin? Because I have become too great to be controlled by the Touel’alfar? You fear me and taunt me because you know that you cannot defeat me!”

“I already have,” Dasslerond calmly replied, and she lifted her hand and whipped it about, chanting as she moved and filling the air about her with the crimson mist of her flowing lifeblood.

Aydrian responded with a snarl and a burst of his own magic, lifting Tempest and surging his power through it, shooting a tremendous bolt of lightning at the slender figure of the elven Lady.

But that lightning dispersed about the wall of crimson mist, leaving Dasslerond untouched. Slowly she began to turn, keeping her hand up above her.

“So flows my blood, so flows my soul,” she intoned. “So swirls my blood, so swirls my home.”

“What foolishness?” Aydrian started to ask.

“In crimson mist and spirit wound, within my heart is valley bound.”

Aydrian began to catch on, his eyes widening, his lips turning into a snarl. “No!” he cried, and he fired another lightning bolt, the greatest blast of all, and ordered his men to charge at the elf.

But Dasslerond continued to spin unabated before him, her upraised hand winding her in a globe of unbroken reddish hue.

Aydrian’s soldiers charged, crying out for their king, but those in the front, whose weapons first touched Dasslerond’s mist, were stopped cold, their weapons and then their bodies erupting in biting red flames. They fell away, screaming, and those behind skidded to a stop.

A snarling and growling Aydrian pushed through them to face his nemesis. “What witchery is this, Dasslerond?” he demanded.

“And none shall find this secret place,” she went on, stopping her spin to face Aydrian directly. “Not a path and not a trace. And not a bird’s call from within, and not the wind’s unending hymn. Not friend nor foe shall know my home, unless the blood of my enemy mixes with my own.”