And in deflecting that unexpected side-attack, Nai- tachal's own defenses slipped. Quick as a striking snake, Carlotta let off another bolt of power, that penetrated his shields and struck him squarely in the chest.
Naitachal fell without a sound. Alaire then did the bravest thing he had ever done in his life.
He stepped between Carlotta and his fallen Master, heart in his mouth, fear screaming along every nerve, ready to defend the Dark Elf with his life.
Carlotta took one look at him, and laughed.
She made a single brushing motion, as if shooing away a fly. Alaire found himself sailing across the room, slamming into the wall so hard he saw stars, and every bit of breath was driven from his body. He slid down the wall, helpless, gasping for breath, tears of anger and frustration springing from his eyes.
"Oh, Naitachal!" Carlotta laughed, her shrill voice clearly audible over the clash of swords. "You com- plete fool! You have been away from the Dark Powers for too long! I am the Master here! I shall slay you, just as I will slay your friends, just as I slew that cretin, that oh-so-holy, ever-so-noble vapor-brained White Elf Eli- athanis -- "
Only Alaire saw what happened then. Naitachal had been broken, defeated, until the moment Carlotta spoke the name of the White Elf who had been his friend. And in that moment -- Naitachal became unrecognizable.
His eyes blazed up again, and went from fiery red, to lightless black. He rose up, his face a mask Alaire shrunk back from in terror. And before Carlotta could react, he crossed the room in a single boun And with a terrible, backhanded blow to her face, knocked her over backwards.
She lay on her back, tiny arms and legs flailing in the air in what would have been a funny sight, if Nai- tachal's unhuman expression had not sucked any touch of humor from the entire situation. And while Carlotta lay at his feet in stunned and helpless shock, he took a step backward -- and began to sing.
But Alaire knew from the first note that this was no ordinary working of Bardic Magic. In fact, no Bard in the history of the world could have produced this blood-chilling melody. For this was an unholy melding of Bardic and Necromantic Magics, a So Unmaking that was so terrible, and so powerful, Alaire cringed against the wall and stopped his ears with his fingers, weeping at the despair and fear it engendered in him.
Nor was he alone. No one else could stand against that song. Several of the guards gave up completely, and fled the scene before they were overcome. Lyam had just enough time to knock Jehan to the floor, unconscious, before he too had to back away with his hands over his ears. Kai and his father clung together, tears streaming down their cheeks with the pain the song invoked in them.
And Carlotta began to scream.
Horribly, Naitachal took that scream and incorpo- rated it into his song.
Alaire hid his face, unable to look, once the scream- ing began. It sounded as if every pain Carlotta had ever inflicted was being delivered back to her, three- fold He hoped he would never be able to remember this moment -- this eternity. It was worse than the spell that held his soul in the crystal, infinitely worse.
All he could do was to remember the song that his mother Grania had sung to him, and the song he had made of it; he clung to that song while the other went on and o And finally, c He looked up in the sudden silence. There was no sign of Carlotta, and no sign that she had ever been there, except for the tentlike garment that had cov- ered her, now lying limply on the floor.
Naitachal turned.
He gestured, and the Death Sword was in his hand again. And the inhuman expression on his face had not changed.
He doesn't know us -- Alaire thought, fear forcing him to his feet again. He doesn't remember us!
Dark Powers have taken him for their own again, just as he feared! He's going to kill us all!
He had thought that stepping between Carlott Naitachal was the bravest thing he would ever do in his life. He discovered that there was one thing braver.
He stepped between Naitachal and the rest of the room.
And as the Dark Elf's eyes focused on him, and the hand holding the Death Sword rose, he began to sing.
He started with the song of himself, but this time, he concentrated on all the things that Naitachal had meant to him, how much the elf had taught him. All the moments they had shared, laughter and sadness, defeat and achievement. As Naitachal's Song had been one of Unmaking, this was a Song of Making.
Naitachal paused. His eyes changed, going from black, to a sullen red.
Alaire continued, pouring his soul into the song, now calling on his memory for everything he had ever heard or read of Naitachal's life as a Bard -- Kevins time, to Gawaine's, to this very moment.
Reminding him how important Life and Light were to him -- and how trivial Death and Darkness were in the face of Light and Life.
He sang friendship, he sang hope, he sang joy. And then, greatly daring, he sang of Eliathanis, whose sac- rifice had saved Naitachal so long ago -- whose name had roused Naitachal to his deadly rage. He sang of all that the White Elves believed in. And he told Nai- tachal, with his music, that Eliathanis would have perished in vain, if Naitachal returned now t Dark he had rejected.
Slowly, the man that Alaire knew and respected came back to Naitachal's face -- and the eyes faded from red to deep and vital blue again.
But as Naitachal blinked, and looked down at the sword in his hand, his expression turned soul-sick and filled with repugnance for what he had done. With an oath, he cast the Death Sword from him, and it disin- tegrated in mid-air.
Time froze for an instant. Lyam, the King and Kai stared at the Dark Elf with fear and horror in their eyes. Those few guards that remained tried to crawl away.
Alaire did not consciously decide what to do at that moment. He saw only the agony in his friend's eyes, and he acted on it, with sure and certain instinct.
He walked across the room to Naitachal, looked up into his Master's eyes, and placed one hand trustingly on his arm. "Master," he said, calmly, and simply, "you yourself have taught me that there is a time for making and unmaking. There was no other choice."
The fear faded from Lyam's eyes, and Kai's.
Captain sheathed his sword, the movement dr Naitachal's gaze to where he stood.
The Captain nodded, then said, gruffly, "Some- times the only weapon you have is one you hope you never have to use. It happens. You move on, and try to make up for whatever you did, using that weapon."
Naitachal regarded him gravely for a moment, then, slowly, nodded "I cannot bring back those I slew," he said, "but at least she will no longer be working her will on the unsuspecting."
He turned to the King, and bowed gravely. "The power that moved against you is no more, Majesty, and the back of the revolt has been broken. What is your will?"
Archenomen blinked, as if astonished that this crea- ture of Power should ask him for his will. Then he drew himself up to his full height, put one arm around his son, and took on a dignity and power that Alaire had never seen him possess before. And only then did he realize how much of a shell the Archenomen he and Naitachal had seen had been.