Many of the horses were running, terrified by the arrows, the screams and the stench of blood and death, only to be shot or captured. Just as Corisand turned to flee, an arrow whistled past her, missing her by a hair’s breadth, and buried itself in Valir. The chestnut stallion went down, thrashing in agony. Before she could move, he had drawn his last breath.
Nothing could have prepared her for what happened next. As Valir died, knowledge exploded through Corisand’s mind. In one astounding instant she knew her people’s history and her own identity. Her world, her life, her reality were all smashed into a million pieces, and reassembled in an entirely new pattern. Shock turned her muscles to water, and before she knew what was happening, she too was down on the muddy, bloody ground beside her dead companion. All this time, he had been Windeye of the Xandim - and now his mantle had passed to her.
But there was no time for Corisand to come to terms with her new identity. The humans had brought off their attack with such speed and unexpectedness that it might have succeeded, save for one thing. These slaves were runaways from the Wizards. They did not understand that Phaerie magic was different from that of their former masters, and they had no idea of the awesome powers they were about to unleash. Corisand, still blinded by shock, did not see Hellorin stagger to his feet. Despite his terrible wounds, he was drawing on every last scrap of his immense vitality and force of will to keep going, just a little longer. In a voice like a thunderclap, he roared out a word as old as time, and the surrounding woodland came to life. The earth shook, and a sinister wind moaned through the branches as the trees awoke. Then, across the chaos, the Forest Lord struck back.
His inarticulate bellow of rage and grief broke through Corisand’s absorption in her own plight, and she opened her eyes to a sight that would burn itself upon her memory to the end of her days. In an eyeblink Hellorin grew from normal size into a towering colossus who blotted out the stars. A blast of magic exploded through the clearing, radiating outward from the immense form of the Phaerie Lord, its force enough to uproot bushes and tear the branches from trees. Even the surviving Phaerie were knocked off their feet by the force of the onslaught, and the humans at whom it was aimed stood no chance. Now it was their turn to cry out, as each one found themselves encased in a column of vivid green radiance that seemed to rise up out of the ground.
The emerald light flared - and all at once the undergrowth where a pack of wild humans had lurked was filled with statues, as each and every one of the rebels was encased within a sheath of stone. Every last detail was clearly etched, including their faces, which bore expressions of such agonised horror and fear that Corisand was certain they must have had time to realise exactly what was happening to them. Were they still alive, encased in their prisons of stone? She had a feeling that it was so, and though she did not feel like wasting pity on them, she could not help but shudder at the cruelty of such a fate.
Hellorin’s eyes flashed beneath his lowering brows. Clearly, he was not finished yet. Clouds rolled up, mountainous, black and menacing, and blotted out the stars. Thunder reverberated through the treetops. Lightning splintered in a searing arc from sky to ground; sizzling blue-white bolts that leapt from one petrified human to the next, linking them all, for one blinding instant, in a net of fearsome elemental energy. One by one, the stony figures exploded in a cloud of dust that blew away on the shrieking wind, leaving not a single trace of their passing.
The wind dropped, as suddenly as it had risen. With it went the massive bank of darkest cloud, rolling the storm away to the south until the sky was clear and the stars shone forth once more. Hellorin dwindled back to normal size. As his wounds finally overcame him, he swayed and toppled like a mighty tree, his hand reaching out across the intervening distance, towards the body of his son.
With a desperate effort, Tiolani wrenched herself loose from the grasp of her brother’s dead hand. She averted her eyes from Arvain’s face. She couldn’t look at him, because if she saw him lying there, pale and still, not breathing, she would have to face the fact that he was dead, and she just couldn’t do that. Not yet. With a gargantuan effort, she managed to haul herself out from under his heavy body, but when she tried to get to her feet, her legs would not support her. Instead she crawled across on her hands and knees to where her father lay, all the while muttering to herself in a low voice. ‘No, he can’t be, it can’t be true, he isn’t dead, he can’t be dead too, he can’t be . . .’ It was like a charm, or a spell to make Hellorin hold on to life. He would have to be alive. She wouldn’t accept any other alternative.
Events seemed to happening so slowly, with the smallest thought, the slightest movement stretching out into hours. Only now was she aware, at the edge of her vision, of the other Phaerie who had survived the massacre. They were just beginning to move and struggle to their feet, as though time was being drawn out for them in the same unnatural way. Nevertheless, Tiolani was the first to reach her father.
So many shafts had pierced him - how could he still be alive? Yet, as she lifted his head, Hellorin coughed, and drew a rasping breath, and suddenly time snapped back to its normal course. She became aware that other Phaerie were arriving, older and more experienced in such emergencies than she, surrounding her, kneeling by her side, and by that of her father. The Tiolani who had set out on the Hunt that evening would have been content to take a step backwards and let the others deal with the situation; to surrender to her grief and let herself be comforted. But in a few short moments, everything had changed. Her mother had died many years ago, her brother had perished tonight, and Hellorin was badly, perhaps mortally, wounded. She alone was left of the Forest Lord’s line.
There was no time to waste. Each shuddering gasp her father gave sounded as though it might be his last. Tiolani took a deep breath and cast quickly back in her mind to her lessons in magical lore, so recently ended. Finding the spell she needed, she raised her hand and let the power channel through her mind. A silvery-blue light shimmered into existence around Hellorin’s body as she activated the spell that would take him out of time. Blocking out all distractions, she poured every ounce of herself, every bit of strength and will and determination she could muster, into the magic to boost her power, adding some of her own life force into the spell to bolster the fading vital spark of father’s being.
Only when he was completely surrounded in the magical light, and the spell was sealed in place, did Tiolani allow herself to slump, exhausted, over Hellorin’s body, taking great, ragged gulps of air which made her realise that she had forgotten to breathe while casting the spell. But it would be all right now. Her father was safe for the moment, taken out of time, his life preserved until he could be returned to the city and tended by the most skilled of healers.
Tiolani had forgotten the presence of the others until she felt a hand on her shoulder. The dark-eyed, gaunt-faced Phaerie with the saturnine expression was Cordain, her father’s Chief Counsellor and oldest friend. ‘Well done, Lady,’ he said. ‘Your swift action may have saved his life.’
The Forest Lord’s daughter shrugged the hand away and got to her feet, looking at Cordain with eyes as bleak and cold as winter. ‘Don’t just stand there. Have my father borne back to Eliorand with all speed.’ For a moment her voice faltered, but she took a deep breath and hardened her heart. ‘And find others to bring my brother and the remainder of the fallen home. We will not send them to their rest in this wild and dismal place.’