“Move! Move! Move!” Elvida encouraged Raynor, leaning over his neck as if to add her speed to his own. Already the men had swarmed over Anthea’s only other hope. Leahleh collapsed, her brilliant white fur indelibly stained, her mortal agony an unignorable screech in Elvida’s mind. Even immersed in terrible pain, the Companion tossed her head toward Anthea’s still form, as if to direct Elvida and Raynor to save her Herald.
Besieged by the physical and mental suffering of Herald and Companion, Elvida felt as if her head might explode. She wished she could comfort the animal, to rescue Leahleh or at least allow her to leave the world in peace. Her death, Elvida wanted to promise, would not be in vain. Instead, she waded through the morass of anguish to bolster the Companion, to entreat her not to give up no matter how awful the pain. If Leahleh died, they would lose Anthea also.
Elvida forced the thought from her already overtaxed brain, focusing solely on her own desperate duty. As Raynor skidded to a stop, Elvida leaped from the saddle and ran to the Herald. Aided by an anxiety beyond extreme, she managed to heft Anthea’s larger still form and lug her toward the saddle. The impatient Companion barely waited until Anthea’s body reached his side before shoving his nose under her and jerking his head upward. The Herald flew toward his saddle. Elvida scrambled to her seat, barely quickly enough to keep Anthea from flying over his opposite side. She steadied the older woman, still noting the shallow breathing, the stream of sticky scarlet trickling from one ear, the total lack of response to any of this frantic movement. She, too, is nearly dead.
Raynor lurched into a run. Still trying to position Anthea on his withers, Elvida slid halfway from the saddle. Panicked, she caught a death grip on Raynor’s mane. A sword cut the left stirrup where her leg should have been, slicing a short gash in Raynor’s side. Another blade slammed against his left hind leg, jolting Raynor with an abruptness that nearly sent both women tumbling to the ground again.
Strings of mane cut painfully into the Elvida’s fingers, but she barely noticed beneath the all-encompassing waves of agony issuing from Raynor. Unable to run, he stumbled forward as Elvida clawed her way back into the saddle and steadied Anthea. She dared not look, trying her hardest to send encouragement to her mount. Raynor needed her to help him continue despite the extra weight on his back, the heavy burden of two lives relying on hooves that were no longer capable. Limping heavily, he rocked toward the cave, step after excruciating step, his pace barely faster than that of a running man. The enemy bayed at his heels, only one misstep from victory.
“You can do it,” Elvida whispered fervently. “I have faith in you, my Beloved.” She kept her attention on the warriors who, miraculously, looked to be losing ground. Raynor seemed all but motionless compared to her wildly racing thoughts and his usual speed, though he obviously moved quickly enough to stay ahead of the howling army, at least for the moment. With each step, the ache radiating from him became more intense, more excruciating, until it usurped all other thought. “You can do it, Heartsib. I know you can.”
And Raynor responded, dragging his left hind leg in a blind haze of pain.
Elvida wished she could do something, anything, to ease his burden. Her instincts screamed at her to dismount, but she conquered them with logic. Doing so assured all three of their deaths. Raynor would not go on without her, and she would never find the strength to carry a full-grown Companion. It felt like an eternity before the cave came clearly into focus, drawing slowly and inexorably toward them. “There it is, Beloved! Only a few more steps.”
Those last few seemed more like a thousand, then Raynor managed a last heave into the darkness before collapsing at the mouth. Anthea’s still form rolled gracelessly from his withers and into the darkness.
We’re safe! The thought was madness, Elvida realized with a sudden jolt of fresh terror. She alone could keep the warriors from simply running into the cave after them.
Seizing Raynor’s bridle, Elvida closed her eyes to a grim focus and pulled. His weight strained every muscle in her arms and back, but she managed to drag him away from the opening and deeper into the cave. She stood poised directly in front of him, sword readied, stance balanced, hoping no more than two men could face her simultaneously through the crack. At least she might manage to hold them off for several hours. Gripping her sword in hands gone numb, she stood bravely at the mouth, waiting for the army to arrive.
The sun sank toward the horizon, leaving the sky awash in broad stripes of vivid, rainbow hues. Though still at the cave opening, Elvida gradually lost her demeanor of crouched expectation. Gripped in arms aching with fatigue, her sword wilted to dangle at her side. The army remained a respectful distance from the cave, their campfires springing up like gloating wraiths dancing in the gathering darkness.
For nearly an hour, Elvida watched the men butcher some large animal for their evening meal, hauling hunks of glistening meat toward the scattered fires. Her own empty stomach rumbled with a desire she could not contain. She imagined the sweet, fatty aroma that would soon drift toward her on the night breeze, and her mouth watered. Then, a group of men in the center triumphantly hefted the skin of the hapless creature: huge and long-legged, white as new-fallen snow. Tabnar. Revulsion struck Elvida in a wave so strong and vile her own saliva soured to poison. Once again, she found herself vomiting, this time with an agonizing savagery. Long after she lost everything inside, she continued to heave dryly until every muscle ached and tears fully stole her vision.
It’s over. The sight of a Companion defiled in this manner destroyed Elvida’s remaining will. Staggering mindlessly deeper into the cave, she dropped her sword and crumpled to the ground. Stone bruised her knees and scraped her palms, but these superficial pains went unacknowledged. She curled into a hopeless ball, weeping so violently she could scarcely breathe. All her shortcomings paraded through her mind: her magical weakness, her gross incompetence at mental communication, her total lack of any Gift. Sharylle and Anthea had clearly picked her as their travel companion from pity alone. And choosing her for his rider would soon prove Raynor’s fatal mistake as well.
Two Heralds and three Companions. Elvida had always known her inability would get herself killed. She had never imagined she would cause the deaths of so many truly special, epically important others with her incompetence. I deserve to die. She did not seem worthy even of the same fate that would surely befall Raynor and Anthea. I deserve to die horribly.
:Stop it!: The words entered Elvida’s head like a whip crack. Shocked senseless, she sat bolt upright, the tears dribbling from her sodden, hazel eyes.
“Who—who said that?”
:I did. Raynor. You quit wallowing in self-pity or, so help me, I’ll struggle over there and stomp you to death.:
Dumbfounded, Elvida could only attempt the Mind-speech that had previously eluded her throughout her years of training. :Can you hear me, too?:
Raynor snorted loudly. :What am I, mind-deaf? Of course I can hear you.:
Elvida gathered her legs beneath her, the flow of tears ending and her vision returning in a blur. :But this is the first time . . . I mean I never . . . how come I . . . ?: She found herself incapable of completing a thought. Clearly, her newfound ability had something to do with the intensity of her current emotions. She had always believed she tried her hardest to communicate. Now, she knew, she had allowed self-doubt to hold her from truly giving it the effort it deserved. :I can Mindspeak?: