But he hadn't dropped his sword.
Kellen flung his leg over Shalkan's back.
"Come on," Kellen said. "I need to find a horse."
"You're welcome," Shalkan said.
* * * * *
JERMAYAN flung himself onto Ancaladar's back and the great dragon leaped from the walls into the storm.
"The stones!" Jermayan shouted. "We must get to the stones!"
He clung tightly to the saddle. He had not used the straps. There was no time.
Idalia had substituted herself for the sacrifice.
In midair Jermayan felt the tide of magic reach him, as vast and overwhelming as a crashing ocean wave. It filled him, filled Ancaladar, restoring all that had been taken from them, and more.
He had the power to destroy those who had taken his love, his life, from him, and he used it.
* * * * *
VESTAKIA had been beneath the walls of the City, among the supply wagons. The proximity of so many Demons was constant agony, but like everyone else among the Allies, she had a job to do.
She and several others cooks and wagon drivers, laundresses and carpenters those who could neither fight nor heal took charge of getting the Allied wounded into the City. If they could make it to the rear of their own lines, Vestakia and the others would bring them the rest of the way. Carrying them if they had to. Guiding them through the rain-lashed night to the safety of Armethalieh's walls if they could still walk.
Often someone went inside with one of the injured.
Vestakia never did. She did not dare. Just as she had not dared to take her rightful place among the Healers within the City walls.
The Armethaliehans would only see her appearance, not who she was.
But this, too, was vital work, for many wounded would have died at the edge of the battlefield without the help of Vestakia and the others to get them to safe haven.
She was certain that this wasn't what Kellen had intended for her to be doing. Kellen had expected her to find someplace safe to hide until the battle was over, Vestakia suspected. She knew he thought she had already done more than enough.
Well, so had everyone here. Jermayan. Idalia. Cilarnen. Kellen himself. Not to mention hundreds of people whose names she didn't even know. She would not ask for special treatment, though right now all she wanted to do was lie right down in the cold mud and sleep until everything was decided, one way or the other.
In her mind Vestakia could feel her father so close now! and feel his certainty of victory. The fear he had felt before was gone, replaced by lust. Not even to kill, but to destroy, to obliterate.
To taint.
Suddenly there was a rush of air above her head. She looked up.
Ancaladar leaped from the walls of the City in a rush of wings.
She was staring after him in confusion when the world dissolved in light.
It was as if in that one brief moment Vestakia was a child again, warm and safe and loved. Held in her mother's arms, too young to understand the curse of her Demon appearance, too young to understand the tragic price Virgivet had paid to win Vestakia her human soul. All her pain and weariness was gone, washed away by the light.
And when it faded, the touch of her father's mind was gone as well.
Gone.
Vestakia stood in the cold mud, gasping in surprise and wonder. She touched her own face with trembling fingers, as if to assure herself she was still real.
He was gone.
She was certain of it.
It was as if a poison-filled wound had suddenly been healed. Even the memories of what she had gained from the Demon Prince's thoughts were dim and fading quickly, as if it had suddenly become impossible even to think of him.
Then a sudden gust of cold wind sprayed her face with rain, and a shout from the battlefield recalled her to herself.
There was still work to do.
There would be time later for joy.
* * * * *
S AVILLA stood over the Stone of Sacrifice, the broken blade in her hands. She looked down at the body of the small mortal female.
All her plans, ruined.
All around her the proud Endarkened groveled upon the ground, writhing and whimpering in pain. The bolt of pure Light that had been released when she had plunged the knife down had killed half of them where they stood, and weakened the rest nearly to the point of death, draining them of power and magic. They moaned and cried like lost children, their howls of agony rising above the howling of the storm.
Only she stood unscathed.
He Who Is had been sealed away from the world more thoroughly than ever before. Any who dared attempt to call him across the Veil again would be met with the fury of a cheated god.
Even his beloved perfect children.
She shrieked her anger and despair to the sky, her body vibrating with the agony of the backlash of the spell. But she would not yield. How could this have happened? How?
"Kill them all!" she howled.
Her Court, not understanding yet what had happened, cowered back from her wrath. She reached for the neatest body, dragging the Endarkened to his feet. His yellow eyes were clouded with pain; his wings drooped limply. She dug her talons into his throat, wishing it was Zyperis's. Black blood oozed around her fingers, and the Endarkened whined.
"Go," she growled, her yellow eyes burning into his with the force of her rage. "Kill the Lightborn."
A few of them moved too slowly! to obey.
"Queen Savilla!"
She looked up.