The Coming Storm (83 page)

Desperately she pressed her hands flat again, willed the door closed.

More pain as the blade sunk deep.

Lost it again.

That whispering voice, a sound that wasn’t a sound, like a thousand voices all speaking at once.

Mornith
.

She shivered at the pain , at the draining, at the terrible weakness that drew on her.

Her fingers scrabbled in the dirt as she tried to keep contact, to drive Mornith back and hold him at bay.

“You will tell me,” the wizard said.

Elon leaped down the stairs to hit the floor running. The pain hit again, nearly crippling him, slowing him but not stopping him.

It was a scene out of nightmare.

Torchlight flickered on the walls, casting monstrous shadows. Rich and coppery, the too familiar scent of blood filled the air.

It was as if part of the far wall had melted into a shifting kaleidoscope of color that shimmered like oil on water and the dark on dark shape of Mornith stood within it to feed on Ailith’s pain. Madness and hate poured from that figure but worse than the scent of blood and the terrible pain, was the feeding, knowing as Elon did what it felt like to feel one’s life force being sucked away.

Bound spread-eagled, Ailith writhed on the floor in agony, a dark figure crouched over her. Torchlight glinted off the steel in his hand. The others, masked and faceless, stood in a circle around them, watching intently.

Memory mixed with true vision as Elon ran, his swords now in his hands.

The man assigned to guard, distracted by the scene in the center of the room, reacted too late to stop him.

With Colath at his back, Elon spun and took the guard’s head nearly silently. The dead man fell away as Colath engaged the next and Elon ran toward the figures in the center of the floor.

As soon as they saw them, heard them, the men drew weapons and fanned out to defend their wizard.

That one looked up and snarled to see them.

Itan, on Elon’s heels with Olend and Jareth beside her, almost stopped, shocked and stunned by the utter wrongness of what she saw as she entered that chamber.

A wavering image on the wall, a Door, and what stood within it, the dark wizard and his men and what they had done to Ailith.

Even Jareth was shocked. He’d never actually seen this when Elon and Colath had been taken, only the aftermath.

Discordant magic raised the hackles on his neck, prickled at his skin.

For the first time, he saw Mornith, that dark wizard, a greater darkness within the cowl that pulsed and radiated hate from the glittering red orbs deep within it.

Instinctively revulsion washed over him. Unconsciously he reacted to the goad of dark magic and called up his own.

Lightning crackled.

He glanced to his side, to see the same sick horror mirrored in Itan’s dark eyes. That lovely face was set, grim and determined. She nodded sharply, and conjured fire.

Intent on his feeding, Mornith’s shadowed eyes with their glint of red madness shot up as he felt their magic come. His head snapped around.

Even as his head turned, Itan reacted, somehow knowing the danger of that deadly stare, and opened sent mage-bolts flying. Beside her Jareth did the same.

Fire and lightning arced toward the Door.

It disappeared and their mage-bolts shattered uselessly on stone.

Whatever these masked men were, they weren’t swordsmen.

Elon and Colath each got one on the run then split to take the next two.

Coming behind them Olend caught the last as the man’s paralysis at the shock of their arrival proved fatal.

There was only the wizard now.

His eyes on Ailith’s figure on the floor, Elon saw she was bound and secured there, hand and foot. The dark figure was bent over her. He saw the blade fall and then rise, the metal dripping. Her struggles weakened, drained even further by her desperate attempt to keep Mornith out.

A Dark wizard. Blood magic.

That dark figure looked up and his hands rose in a gesture Elon knew all too well from watching Jareth.

With Ailith’s swords in his hand, Jareth threw them like a spear, a javelin.

For all that they were neither, they were well made, well balanced. They flew straight and true and that one stumbled back with Ailith’s swords buried in his chest.

The light that flickered around his hands snapped and crackled and the mage-bolt died aborning, flashing back on him.

Mage-lights flared to light the room as Elon cut the ropes on Ailith’s wrists, looked down at her face. Her eyes were huge in a bone-white face and locked on his.

Colath got the ropes on her ankles, his jaw tightening as he saw what they’d done to her.

Itan gasped.

Swearing softly, Jareth pounded a pillar.

His eyes shocked, Olend let his sword dangle from his fingers.

There was a great deal of blood. It was everywhere.

Ailith’s steel-blue eyes were fixed on Elon as he untied her.

She was so white, so very pale.

“Elon.” A whisper.

She was fading.

Ailith could feel it herself. Cold seeped into her limbs, it took root there as darkness hazed her vision.

Her eyes dimmed, fluttered closed, so the chestnut lashes feathered almost too brightly against one pale cheek. Looking at her, Elon felt as if the knife had pierced him, his heart, and it bled even as she did.

Elon slid an arm carefully beneath her shoulders and cradled her in the curve of it.

Crouching close beside him, Colath’s heart wrenched to see Ailith so limp in Elon’s arms, her face so pale, her lively eyes shut.

True-friend
. He feared for her and looking to Elon, saw the same fear mirrored there.

So many places hurt inside her it seemed to Ailith as if it were all one. The darkness tried to take her, to swallow her up, but she didn’t want to go.

It would be easy, so easy, to let go. There would be no more pain.

She was cold, so cold but she heard the ringing. The swords were singing.

“Elon,” she whispered.

“Here,” Elon said, in answer to her as gathered her into his lap, held her, reached for the harmony that was Ailith only to feel it fading, slipping away from him.

That knife in his heart twisted even as he poured strength and Healing into her, called her back.

Elon. Heartache and pain.

Ailith pushed back the darkness, fought it.

Elon, Elon was here and Colath with him. The swords were ringing.

A sound, barely a breath. “So cold, Elon.”

Elon’s eyes went to Colath and saw the same concern there but also the steadiness on which he’d depended for so long. Elon took a deep breath.

Wordlessly, Colath sank into the merge with him to lend his strength.

Drawing on that strength Elon found the harmony, the part of their melody that was Ailith, her life, her joy and began to Heal it and her. So many. Finding the damage, finding all the places where the blade had pierced her and repairing each.

Ailith was cold but there was warmth against her, a familiar touch, the scent and feel of Elon. His familiar harmony. She’d missed him so much. Now he was here.

She felt the warmth as it gathered deep within her and spread, along with the sense of him, his strong but gentle Healing, his bright strong spirit. She smiled. Colath was there, too, so steady, so sure, near, through the bond. She was so tired but they were here. Reaching through the bonds, she sought Elon and found him. Something within her eased. Not alone. There was Colath, her true-friend, and she held the thought of him close. She couldn’t leave him or them alone.

Elon felt Ailith open heart and soul to him, as her eyes opened and met his, welcomed him, as he felt her reach for him through the bond as she’d reached for he and Colath in her nightmares. He dared not falter now. The bond between the three of them strengthened, hummed. Colath lent his strength as Ailith reached out in spirit to touch them both.

Pure spirit. Merging, joining, as her wounds healed.

The scene on the floor was too heartbreaking for Jareth to bear. He’d never seen anyone so white, so completely limp. The blood on her clothing was starkly red.

Helpless to do anything else, for something to do he walked over to one of the dead men and pulled off his mask. Another. They were faces he knew, if only in passing.

He swore softly.

“They’re from the garrison. How did we miss them?”

He pulled open their shirts. Nothing. No soul-catchers.

The one with Ailith’s swords in him was a different matter, though.

Just touching him was revolting, Jareth could feel the corruption within him, the dark magic within the dead man slowly dying with him.

Jareth gathered Ailith’s swords, held them in his hand as something like grief moved through him and yanked them free.

His eyes stung.

A sense of fading magic as the last of it leeched away.

“A wizard. No soul-eater on any of them.”

“They wanted to be trackers,” a soft voice whispered, breaking that terrible silence.

Jareth spun and looked into Ailith’s eyes.

For a moment their eyes met and held. She smiled a little and the warmth there nearly destroyed him.

Held safe in Elon’s arms, Ailith looked to Colath as he took her hand, willed her strength. His hand tightened on hers. She smiled.

It was enough.

She was still impossibly weak and so very tired. Everything inside her seemed to tremble and quiver.

In one smooth movement Elon lifted her in his arms and stood.

Those steel-blue eyes focused on him for a moment, she took a breath and then her eyelids slid shut.

For the first time since he’d known her she seemed fragile. It was a shock to realize, to remember, that she always had been.

She was so still, so limp and pale.

Colath was beside him at guard.

No one would reach either of them while Colath was there, Elon knew.

Following, Jareth carried Ailith’s swords in his hands. No one spoke.

“In the morning,” Elon said, “we’ll talk.”

His eyes grim, Olend said, “If you have need…”

Taking a breath, Elon nodded. “I know, my friend.”

Jareth looked at the still figure in Elon’s arms.

In all the time he’d known her, he’d never seen Ailith this quiet, it would have been impossible for him to imagine it. Not Ailith, not with all that vibrant life in her, not with her ready smiles and wry grins.

He looked at Elon.

“It will be well, Jareth,” Elon said, softly, seeing the fear and concern in his friend’s eyes. “She lives. She needs rest and strength only. Go on, we’ll speak in the morning.”

Relief. With a nod, Jareth handed Ailith’s swords to Colath.

Moving ahead, Colath flung open the doors to Ailith’s room.

Elon settled on her bed with the wall at his back and Ailith in his lap. She was still far too cold, too fragile.

She slept, peacefully. And safe.

He’d done all that he could. He looked to Colath.

Their eyes met over her head. Between them, there was no need to speak.

Pulling a chair close, so he would be near at hand, Colath put his, Ailith’s and Elon’s swords aside to sink into it gratefully. He put his feet up on the bed.

The bond between them hummed.