Thalya started to straighten at Amric’s shout and then went rigid, her back arching as she was lifted to her toes. Blood burst from her chest, and she looked down, eyes wide with disbelief. A thorn of steel sprouted there, glistening red. The blade was withdrawn with a jerk, eliciting a strangled gasp from her, and she collapsed to the rock. The second Elvar assassin stood behind her amid a veil of smoke. He watched her fall, a feral grin alight on his narrow face.
“Brother, I am most displeased,” he purred. “Its vulgar bellow spoiled my clean kill.”
His twin appeared next to him in a dark cloud. He cocked his head at the crumpled form of Thalya. “No matter, brother. It is a long way back to the city. We can claim them all one by one, at our leisure.” He raised his voice, calling to Amric. “Our lord Morland sends his regards. He wishes it to know that it dies tonight by his decree. By now the city has fallen, but it must understand that our lord is most thorough and cannot permit word of his arrangement with the Nar’ath to spread.”
“Our lord is wise,” the other agreed. “Witness his justified caution in that it has not only survived the Nar’ath, but sought to steal away his gift to them.”
“Morland, that snake!” Amric snarled. “So he is the traitor the Nar’ath queen mentioned. He betrayed the city and his own men, his own kind, to those monsters!”
Just then, a strangled sound resolved into an incoherent scream of loss and rage. Syth rushed toward the assassins with a wild-eyed look of madness, and the violent winds whirling around him flattened the foliage and propelled him along in great bounds.
“Syth, wait!” Amric cried, starting forward. “We must attack together, or they will kill us all, one at a time!”
Syth gave no indication he had heard the warrior. He leapt to the ridge of rock and raced along it at a breakneck pace, heedless of any danger to himself. The Elvaren roared with laughter, their faces alight with their own madness.
“Come ahead to your death, fool,” one said, beckoning with a long, slender blade. “Now or later, it is all the same. You cannot hide from us, for we will be waiting in the next shadow you fail to check. We are creatures of the night-”
A wave of blackness rose over the edge. It flowed like ink over the rock and sent sinuous tendrils into the basin. The night air thickened with sudden, biting cold. A figure coalesced there, spreading a cloak of writhing shadows. Its eyes burned scarlet and fierce, furious and vengeful. Every living creature present knew it at once on some instinctual level; this was death incarnate, merciless and ravenous beyond measure. The Lord of the Night turned the full weight of his gaze upon the assassins, and the rumbling hiss that issued forth bore not the slightest trace of humanity.
The Elvaren gaped, their eyes bulging, and they both vanished in a flash of smoke.
Syth rushed to Thalya’s side and cradled her in his arms. Halthak splashed through the shallows of the small pool at a run, and threw his staff aside as he reached her. The Sil’ath warriors arrived an instant later, watching every direction for the return of the assassins.
“She lives,” Halthak moaned as he placed his hands on her. “But there is so much damage, and she is so weak….” He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating, and Amric’s senses tingled as the healer’s magic came into play. Syth cast frantic looks from Thalya to Halthak. Her breathing was quick and shallow, coming in tiny, bubbling gasps. The flow of blood from her chest slowed as the healer worked, but did not stop, and the wound shrank somewhat but remained open.
The warrior ground his teeth in helpless fury. On sudden impulse, he closed his eyes and focused on sending energy to the healer, offering it gently for his own use. The wilding magic flared in response, and he heard Halthak gasp. The hum of the healing magic against Amric’s senses intensified.
A minute went by, then two. At long last the Half-Ork sagged back with a groan, and Amric’s eyes snapped open. When Halthak looked up, his expression was tormented.
“No,” Syth whispered.
“I am so sorry,” Halthak said. “The strike was true, she is too far gone. There is not enough of her own spark left in her to fan back into a flame. I can die with her, but I cannot save her. I have given her a few more moments, but it is all I can do.”
Syth swallowed and nodded, and Halthak fell back against the rock, putting his head in his hands. Valkarr and Sariel each gripped him on the shoulders, their faces stony as they stared down at the huntress.
Syth continued to hold her, rocking slowly in place. Thalya drew in a ragged breath, and her eyes fluttered open. They glistened like emeralds as she looked up at him. “Syth,” she breathed.
He opened his mouth to reply, but his voice cracked and the words were lost. Thalya gave a wan smile.
“I wish we had more time, love,” she murmured. “I wish we had met sooner. Much… could have been different.”
“I would change nothing, but for the end,” Syth replied.
She smiled again, this time wider. Blood seeped between her teeth. “You see? You are better with people than you are aware, Syth.”
He made a choking sound and nodded.
“I need to speak with Bellimar now, love. Something… left unfinished.”
Bellimar, cloaked in shadow a short distance away, lifted his head at the words. Syth threw a scathing look at the vampire, but Thalya whispered something to him, and he gave a reluctant nod. He kissed her forehead and stepped back. Bellimar hesitated, looking at the others, and then glided forward. As he did so, the darkness writhing about him seemed to retract, to diminish somewhat, and the slender figure that knelt at her side could almost be mistaken for the silver-haired old man he had been. The bones in his face jutted a bit too sharply, however, and the fever-bright flames of hunger in his eyes were unmistakable. There was a tremble to his movements as he took her hand, and Amric could see that he was at the frayed edge of his control as he leaned down close to her.
Her drooping eyelids flared open at his touch, and her green eyes sought his face. They stared at each other in silence, and then her blood-flecked lips moved. “Do not prove me wrong, Bellimar.”
A few droplets of blood sprayed to his cheek at her words, and Bellimar flinched as if burned. The huntress held his gaze for a moment longer, and then her labored breath left her in a long sigh. Her hand went limp in his grasp, and she was gone. Syth uttered a moan of anguish, but Bellimar remained poised over her, motionless, his eyes searching her still features. He extended his other hand and closed her staring eyes. He started to withdraw his hand, hesitated, and then drew one slender finger along her cheek and gently tweaked her chin.
“Release her, monster,” Syth grated, his voice quavering. “I will not have her defiled by your foul touch. She would never consent to become a black fiend like you.”
Bellimar did not glance at him, but he laid her hand upon the stone and stood back. Shadow gathered to him once more like ebon sands flowing into an abyss. “Calm yourself, thief,” he said. “Even if I wished it, she is beyond my influence now.”
Syth growled something at him and knelt again by Thalya’s side.
“Wilding.”
Amric turned at the single word, spoken with iron determination. He faced the old man, who had fixed upon him with an unwavering gaze.
“Come,” Bellimar said. “We have much to do, you and I, and precious little time left to do it.”
“What is your plan?” the warrior asked.
“To do the impossible.” Bellimar’s eyes were like windows into a blazing forge as he shifted them to the fallen huntress. “And to fulfill her last request.”