Because their mothers were elsewhere…
He ran back outside and grabbed the nearest Elf he could pull from the fighting. “Go—run—tell Redhelwar. All the adult females are somewhere else. They aren’t in the caverns.”
He saw the Elven Knight turn away to carry his message, and raised his sword, covering the warrior’s retreat.
—«♦»—
THE Winged Gods had warned them centuries ago that this day would come, and so, against the Time of Testing, they had prepared, digging their long tunnels deep into the rock, preparing weapons, making all ready.
When the day came that the Hated Ones summoned the Brothers into the night to die, the Sisters were ready. They gave their last orders to their young.
They went to the tunnels. And there they waited, knowing they must not dig their own way to the surface until they knew all was lost.
But all was not lost.
The last of the Brothers came for them, just as the Winged Gods had promised that they would. They brought them into the terrible cold bright world of the upper air, promising them blood and meat enough to atone for the death of every cub. With weapons in hand and death in their hearts, the Sisters and the Brothers hurried toward the place where the Hated Ones made their home.
—«♦»—
THE Unicorn Knights were working a wide circle through the heart-forest, carefully searching for anything out of place, while the regular cavalry patrolled the city just outside its boundaries. Despite the fact that there had been no attack— nor was likely to be one—neither group was less than alert. Elves were a patient people.
“Centaurs coming,” Gesade said, sniffing the wind. “A day or two, I think.”
“It will be good to have the reinforcements,” Petariel said. “And good of them to travel so far from their farms in winter. We must make them welcome.” Gesade sniffed again. “The wind’s wrong, but… Something. Let’s go look.” Unicorn and rider trotted off along their assigned path through the snowy forest.
—«♦»—
VANDELT and Merchan had been partners rather longer than the usual pairing among the Unicorn Knights; a little over a century now. Vandelt had never found the Elf to whom his soul could bond, and Merchan simply said that Vandelt was incapable of managing without him. Vandelt might have been Captain of the Unicorns if he’d chosen—he’d certainly been a Unicorn Knight longer than anyone else currently serving among them—but he was far more interested in his garden, and he was quite willing to admit that he had no interest in command. Let Petariel have that honor, with Vandelt’s great goodwill.
But he had seen his fragile and delicate garden at Deskethomaynel turn to dust in the Great Drought, and he was as willing as anyone to strike out at the servants of those who had killed his beloved plants. And he was by no means stupid, merely unambitious.
So when Merchan warned that someone was approaching from the direction they had been set to watch, Vandelt blew a warning immediately, even before he rode out to investigate further.
It did not save them.
The arrow took Merchan squarely in the chest. It did not penetrate his armor, but it clung, and it burned. Vandelt could smell the stench of burning fur, see the shimmer of heat, and see wisps of smoke as the padding beneath Merchan’s collet began to kindle.
But of their attackers, he saw nothing.
“Run, Merchan!”
The unicorn turned, heading back toward their own lines. Vandelt raised his horn to blow a second, more urgent warning, but it was too late. Merchan had only gone a few yards before a net fell over them from above, tangling them in its meshes and sending Merchan crashing to the forest floor.
Before Vandelt could cut them free, the Shadowed Elves dropped from the trees, long knives flashing in the weak sunlight. Merchan and his rider died within seconds of each other.
The Shadowed Elves cut the ring of burning metal carefully from the unicorn’s body, handling it with tongs, and spiked it to the nearest tree.
Then they moved on.
—«♦»—
“KELLEN says that something’s wrong.”
Idalia passed Vestakia into the hands of the waiting Healers, who would take her back to the temporary camp a mile away as quickly as possible—distance was truly the best remedy for what ailed her; that, and a great deal of rest—and turned back to the Elven general.
“He will have given you all the information he had, of course,” Redhelwar said imperturbably.
“Well, his precise words were ‘tell Redhelwar something’s not the way it’s supposed to be,’ if that helps. He couldn’t tell me more than that. He did try.”
“I know Kellen. He will have—” Redhelwar broke off, looking past her. He’d looked grim a moment before. Now he looked appalled.
Idalia followed the direction of his gaze. A single Elven Knight was running toward them from the cavern mouth, running as if more than his life depended upon it.
He slid to his knees at the feet of Redhelwar’s bay destrier.
“A feint,” he gasped. “The females are not there. Kellen said—the females are not in the caverns.”
“But the children were,” Idalia said with sudden bleak understanding. “They left them behind, so Vestakia would have something to follow.”
Redhelwar barely moved. His voice did not waver.
“Dionan, tell Jertnayan what Tildaril has said. Request him, if it is possible, to find where the females have gone.”
Dionan rode away immediately to where Jermayan and Ancaladar waited on the cliff above the cavern entrance.
“Padredor, I leave this secondary camp in your keeping. Guard it—and Vestakia—well. When the others return from the caverns, tell them we proceed as planned,” Redhelwar continued.
“Yes, Redhelwar,” Padredor said. Whatever might be happening elsewhere, the caverns must still be scoured.
“Tildaril, Idalia, I thank you both for your warnings. When you see Kellen next, tell him he did all that anyone could ask of him. I must return to camp. If the females are gone, we must look to the location of the next attack.”
He turned and rode away.
Yes, Kellen has done all that anyone could ask of him—not that he’ll believe that, Idalia thought with a resigned sigh. She went to fetch Cella for the ride back to the nearer camp. Her tools were there, including her favorite scrying bowl. Perhaps she could see something useful.
—«♦»—
VANDELT’S warning had not been in vain, for it was heard and relayed across the forest by a dozen horns even before he was struck down. But it had been a warning only: the Unicorn Knights were still not sure what they faced as they rode toward Vandelt’s patrol area.
“I smell blood—and smoke,” Gesade said, alarmed.
Suddenly she leaped forward. A net fell to the snow in the place where she’d been.
“Above!” Petariel cried.
Unicorn Knights fired into the trees as their mounts dodged madly, evading nets, spears, and deadly fragile bottles of acid. A few bodies fell, but not enough—and from their concealment in the trees, Shadowed Elf archers were returning fire, with the terrible poisoned arrows that the Elves had learned to fear.