“You abandoned your squad!” Althahk shouted at him.
Osha ignored this and pointed down at Magiere. “I must take her north to the light while she still lives. The majay-hì demands it!”
The commander barely noticed the black-haired woman leaning unconscious against Osha’s right leg. A puzzled, confused scowl turned to outright fury.
“We have dead and injured scattered everywhere,” Althahk snarled. “And more if we do not stop it ... and you deserted!”
Osha realized there was nothing he could say that would accomplish what he needed. Then his frantic, wandering eyes fixed on Althahk’s mount. Froth-covered and stained in sweat and blood, En’wi’rên snorted over and over, watching him.
The Shé’ith did not see their horses as mere mounts but as their allies, their battle mates. Could she possibly understand what the commander would not?
He had never learned enough about her kind, but he had no other recourse.
“Please,” he begged. “I must do this ... as the majay-hì commanded.”
That did not even make sense to him. How could anyone—even she—understand what he asked? Or understand how different Chap was from even his own Fay-born kind?
En’wi’rên whinnied—and then bucked and twisted violently.
Althahk’s eyes snapped wide. He dropped his sword to grab for the saddle’s front edge.
Osha almost backed away, but he would not leave Magiere undefended as the horse pranced wildly. The commander’s furious shouts were impossible to follow in his strange dialect. En’wi’rên did not relent until ...
“Bithâ!” Althahk shouted, over and over.
En’wi’rên settled. With a final thrash of her head and a sharp snort, she looked to Osha, and he stared back in disbelief.
“Very well,” Althahk snapped. “Osha, get the woman up and over, behind the saddle.”
Osha quickly put his hands beneath Magiere’s arms. As he lifted her up, he could not help a last glance at En’wi’rên. It was a struggle to get Magiere draped over the horse’s haunches, even with the commander’s help, but as Althahk reached behind himself to grip hold of her belt, Osha stepped back, at a loss.
There was no space for him to mount as well.
“Grab the stirrup’s strap!” Althahk ordered. “And run with her!”
Osha took hold, and En’wi’rên lunged.
Chap’s claws scratched hard ground as he ran for Wynn’s light. The closer he came, the more he squinted, until he finally could not look at it at all. He heard other paws coming toward him, but when he glanced ahead, he almost blinded himself again.
The sun crystal had never been that brilliant before.
Those other paws grew closer.
Shade caught up on Chap’s right side, and he conveyed a message to her with as few words as possible.
—Osha ... Magiere ... behind ... bring—
Without answering, Shade veered off, and he ran onward.
Something broke the light’s glare, and Chap looked ahead. A tall figure in a long dark robe stood too close to the sun crystal to be an undead.
Chap slowed, panting as he approached.
Even with his hood pulled forward, Chuillyon had to squint amid the bright light as he looked down at Chap in stunned silence. Somewhere beyond the tall elf was Wynn with her staff and Wayfarer as well. Chap could not help wondering again how the staff’s crystal had been made so brilliant this time.
Chuillyon crouched down, cocking his head slightly.
—We ... must go to ... Leesil—
Chuillyon’s eyes widened at that demand, hearing the words in his head. In puzzlement, he looked up beyond Chap, perhaps to the mountain.
—Where ... did you ... hide ... the sprout?— ... —We must ... take ... Wynn ... and go there ... now—
“Does Leesil still carry his branch?” Chuillyon asked.
—Yes—
While reaching for the pocket of his robe, Chuillyon answered. “Then we can reach him from here. I have already retrieved the ...” He faltered, looking up.
Chap heard hooves pounding closer behind him, and he spun around.
Khalidah faced Leesil as he heard Beloved speak again.
—Open the anchors and break my bonds. Unmake me and unmake existence. My kin will pay, and I will be free. End my bondage—
Is this what his god thought to do, to unmake existence and be free? That would not happen, though certainly Beloved would die. Any nonsense concerning “kin” meant nothing. A new master would take Beloved’s place, no matter how many else died for him to become a god.
The lines, symbols, and signs of sorcery took shape in Khalidah’s sight.
He turned on Leesil first.
Ghassan heard every word within the prison of his own flesh. He heard the very thoughts of his captor. Wild fear grew in his effort to understand what was about to happen.
The Enemy sought to die and spoke of “kin,” and Wynn had let slip enough references to orbs—the anchors. Perhaps some of that had come from the majay-hì they called Chap. A few times Ghassan had seen strange things concerning that one.
Then there was the other black majay-hì called Shade.
Two descended from a Fay-born race, one little renegade sage, a half-blood, and a dhampir—half-undead—had sought out the orbs. A fallen Lhoin’na sage who traveled via the gift of a fabled tree, supposedly as old as the world itself, had joined them. And along the way there had been too many tenuous connections he had overheard in his prison as those with Khalidah sought to recover all of the anchors ... of Existence.
Ghassan knew theories of the Elements—and there was one orb for each. If they were “anchors,” and even one was opened to free what it anchored ...
Existence itself—everything—would end.
Ghassan had failed so many times against the specter, even to the loss of his own flesh. It had kept him alive within it merely as a resource, if needed. And he knew what had happened to all other such hosts it had taken.
He could not defeat Khalidah, but he would not need to do so.
Leesil heard every hissing whisper of the Enemy, as if those words had been spoken aloud to echo through the cavern. He was left at a loss for their meaning, and he second-guessed opening the orbs, one or all.
Why would something that thought itself a god want to die? Why would it want them to kill it? While Ghassan appeared lost in some seething thought, Leesil looked from one companion to another. There was only one that he could trust now.
Chane hadn’t heard the whisper—because of his ring—and didn’t know what the Enemy wanted.
“Chane,” Leesil whispered, “don’t let ... anyone ... anyone ...”
Suddenly, his voice failed, and he couldn’t make a sound.
Chane stared at him. “What? Do not let anyone what?”
Leesil tried to answer but couldn’t. Both his hands opened of their own accord, and he dropped his winged blades.
He felt a weight lift from around his neck, and as his hand came up, he was holding Magiere’s thôrhk. He didn’t even know he’d removed it until he saw it in his hand. He tried to turn but couldn’t.
He could see Chane looking away, looking at something beyond him, and still he couldn’t turn his head. Instead, he faced the orb chests in the cavern’s entrance. As he took a step toward them, he saw Ore-Locks doing the same. In panic, he struggled to look for Brot’an, and then ...