Two of the slavers had stepped forward, taken hold of one of the male gnomes, and were swinging him over the burning bags. The more he screamed the closer to the fire they lowered him.
Then his clothing erupted into flames, and, laughing, they dropped him in.
Shailiha turned desperately to Celeste. "Can you kill them?" she whispered urgently.
At first a look of concern came over Celeste's face, but then she nodded. "I can try," she said. "But I cannot be sure I will not kill some of the gnomes, as well!"
"Better that only some of the gnomes die quickly at your hand, than all of them die that way!" Shailiha responded. She looked down in horror to see that the two slavers were dragging another screaming gnome-a female this time-toward the burning bags.
"When you see me coming out of the woods at their right, stand up and do your best! Then run down the hill as fast as you can, continuing to kill any of them that might have survived! I'm sorry, but that is as much of a plan as I have, and there is no time!" Silently she drew her sword. "And whatever you do, try your best not to kill me!" Before Celeste could say anything more, the princess was gone, crawling off to the right through the grass.
Celeste raised her head up a bit. She tried to follow Shailiha's progress, but the brown leather of the princess' jerkin made her blend in with the surroundings. And then, finally, Celeste saw her, standing just inside the edge of the woods at the bottom of the hill.
Her chest heaving and her palms wet, Shailiha stood with her back against a tree, her sword held upright as she tried to steady herself. Slowly, silently, she turned her head to look.
The two demonslavers were laughing and swinging the screaming gnome over the fire as the others cheered them on, and it seemed that they might drop her in at any moment. Embers were already teasing the hem of her dress and threatening to burst it into flames. Looking up at the ridge, Shailiha caught a sliver of Celeste's red hair just over the tops of the swaying grasses. Thinking of Tristan and Morganna, she closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her courage.
And then, her sword held high, she ran out into the glade.
Celeste acted immediately. Standing straight up, she raised her right arm and pointed her fingers. A magnificent azure bolt shot from her hand in a continuous stream, just as it had yesterday in the courtyard with her father looking on. The bolt screamed down over the grassy field, straight toward the demonslavers taunting the gnomes. Continuing to sustain the bolt, Celeste ran down the hill as fast as her legs could carry her.
Sawing into a group of slavers, the bolt exploded. Dozens of slavers flew into the air, their torsos blown apart, organs and blood splattering all over the glade. The surviving slavers scattered, looking around for the source of the magic. Still running down the hill, Celeste manipulated the bolt by turning her hand, trying to avoid the gnomes and kill the straggling slavers. Many of the horrible monsters went down.
But not all of them.
Screaming, Shailiha ran at the first of the two who had been torturing the gnome. A surprised look came to the slaver's face. Then his white eyes went wide with horror as he realized he was already too late. With a single, perfect stroke, Shailiha took his head off at the shoulders. Blood erupted everywhere and the scalded gnome went flying, landing to one side in the grass.
Just as Tristan had taught her, she wasted no time gloating over her victory and instead spun on her heels like a dancer, searching for the other slaver. But she was not as experienced as her brother, and she was too slow.
Had her sword not already been raised she would have died there and then, as the second slaver's blade came singing down at her. The two swords clashed together, sparks flying from their razor-sharp edges, and the princess immediately knew she had lost the upper hand. Turning, she backed up on the balls of her feet as quickly as she could to afford herself some maneuvering room. But her opponent was just as fast.
The tall, white-skinned monster slashed relentlessly, raining down blow after blow, forcing her to keep backing up. She nearly panicked when she felt the heat of the fire licking at her back and realized she had nowhere left to go. As the monster's blade came whistling through the air yet another time, she knew she had only one option left.
Raising her sword with both hands, she purposely fell to one side before the roaring fire. The monster's blade flashed over her head, its edge coming so close that she felt it tearing through the ends of her long blond hair. Just as her right hip touched the ground she brought her blade around with all her strength, slicing through the slaver's calves. Screaming wildly, he fell to the ground next to her.
Coming quickly to one knee, Shailiha raised her sword high and rammed its point straight down between the slaver's eyes and out the back of his head, impaling his skull. She stood, put one boot against his face, and pulled back hard on her sword, freeing it. Blood dripping from her hands and blade, she quickly looked around.
Dead slavers and gnomes lay everywhere. Celeste's bolts had ceased, and an eerie quiet descended over the glade, punctuated only by the snapping of the fires and the somewhat more subdued crying of the surviving gnomes.
Turning frantically to search for Celeste, the princess found her alone at the edge of the glade, her right hand still outstretched. The tips of her fingers were badly scorched.
Before her knelt three demonslavers-apparently the last of those remaining alive. Disarmed, their weapons in a pile a short distance away, they glared up defiantly with a hatred that made Shailiha's blood run cold.
Shailiha walked to Celeste and gratefully placed a hand upon one of her shoulders. "Are you all right?" she asked. Without taking her eyes off the slavers, Celeste nodded. "If any of them make the slightest move, kill them all," Shailiha said sternly.
One corner of Celeste's mouth turned up. "Love to," she answered, her eyes never wavering.
Shailiha walked back to the site of the battle. Some of the survivors had begun to gather up their dead and wounded, while others remained bent over the victims' small, broken bodies and sobbed. It seemed to Shailiha that the wailing might never stop. Another group of survivors had formed bucket brigades, and they were furiously working on the fire. She was heartened to see that some of the homes might be spared, after all.
Seeing her coming, some of the stunned gnomes stepped tentatively forward. A few of them fell at her feet, kissing her bloody boots. Some others wrapped their arms around her legs, weeping openly. As the gnomes gathered around her, Shailiha lowered her head.
Looking at what was once Tree Town, she saw that the houses that had been set alight were all but gone, the charred ash of their remains cradled strangely in tree branches that stretched forth like dark, skeletal fingers. But about a third of the houses seemed to have been spared, including Faegan's mansion. About a dozen of the canvas bags that the slavers had been burning remained untouched. She turned back to the gnomes.
"I am Shailiha, princess of Eutracia," she said loudly. "Some of you might recognize me from the last time I was here. Tell me, does Lionel the Little still live?"
At first no one spoke, no one moved, and Shailiha's heart fell. Then the crowd parted slightly to allow an old gnome to pass through. His head was bald and shiny, with a single island of gray, wispy hair growing in the center of where his hairline used to be. Sharp, highly intelligent-looking eyes stared back at her. He was dressed in dark, torn trousers, a matching shirt and vest, and upturned shoes. He came to stand before the princess and bowed his head briefly.
"I am Lionel," he said. "On behalf of all of us, I would like to thank you for what you have done, I would," he said oddly. The gnomes standing around him buzzed with agreement.
With a bloody hand, Shailiha reached beneath her jerkin and retrieved both the letter Faegan had written, and the list Abbey had provided. She gave him the letter first.