* * * * *
JERMAYAN saw the Demon Queen below him, saw Idalia's lifeless body spread upon the flat stone.
A bolt of golden fire leaped from his hand toward the Demon Queen.
Shields flared around her as she countered his attack, and he saw her smile, anticipating victory.
But he did not falter.
Change and change, as the Demon Queen's shield passed up and down the harmonics of magic, attempting to turn itself from a defense to an attack. But each time she changed her shield, Jermayan changed his attack, occupying all her energy with countering him. She had to devote all of her power to her defense; there was nothing left over for her to mount an attack in turn. She spread her wings and vaulted into the sky; to attack, to evade; it did not matter. Ancaladar danced upon the storm like a hawk. Wherever she went, he followed.
And at last very quickly, in the end her defenses fell.
The Demon Queen, Leader of the Endarkened, ignited in a flare of light. She was consumed utterly, beyond any possibility of rebirth.
When her acolytes upon the ground saw that, they began to run.
Jermayan and Ancaladar followed.
* * * * *
HE didn't even know the name of his horse. He'd found it running loose on the battlefield, and he'd needed a horse. But the tide of battle was turning.
His Command Staff was dead or scattered. Redhelwar was on his left flank, pulling the remains of the Centaurs together, trying to get them into some kind of order. He'd ordered Belepherial to look for the unicorns. Some of the Enemy was running, and he wanted the unicorns to follow.
If any of them were left.
A Coldwarg alone, wounded, but still dangerous staggered toward him. Its back was stickered with Elven arrows, and foam drooled from its jaws, but it gathered itself to leap. His mare swung sideways, staggering a little with exhaustion, and Kellen struck, ending the beast's life.
They'd held.
It was after midnight. The world was still here. The Wards were back in place around Armethalieh. It was time now to take the Delfier Shrine.
* * * * *
IT was dawn by the time Kellen and his force reached the Standing Stones.
The storm had passed. The sun had risen. The sky was bright and clear.
He'd left two-thirds of the surviving army under Redhelwar to guard the City and gone on toward the Place of Sacrifice. All they were doing now was hunting down what remained of the Demon Prince's army. They'd seen very few of the Enemy, and only in small groups; easy to kill. They took no prisoners, left no one alive.
Vestakia was still alive, safe among the supply wagons. He'd had a report. The Elven Knights moved at a slow walk. They had been fighting since noon of the previous day, and both Elves and horses were exhausted.
The long heavy rain had washed away all trace of snow. There'd been a ground fog earlier, but as the sun had risen it had lifted, and now only a thin mist remained. Visibility was limited, but not too bad. The mist leeched color from the world not that there had been much to begin with. The ground was black with mud and ash. The trees were black with char. The air was white. Only the sky was blue.
But it was a blue sky Kellen had not been certain he would live to see yesterday.
They had met the Demon Army and broken it completely.
Their own force had been nearly destroyed. Less than a quarter of those who had begun the fight still lived. But they had faced an army twice their size Demons, Coldwarg, Deathwings, creatures out of Kellen's darkest nightmares and held. Had killed everything that came at them until the few the very few survivors had run.
They had kept He Who Is from entering the world.
Armethalieh was safe.
He hoped they'd be grateful, and wondered if they would be. Or if they'd still think this was some sort of complicated Wildmage plot. Probably, Kellen thought tiredly, since everyone Armethalieh had sent to the battle was dead.
Well, my friends are dead, too.
Riasen. Menecherel. None of the Unicorn Knights had survived the night's battle.
He'd finally gotten a report.
Keirasti. He would miss her calm wisdom, her rough humor.
Isinwen. Reyezeyt. None of his own troop had survived the battle. He had been in command of all, and had made the Enemy pay as high a price for every life he had been forced to spend as he could, but they had still died.
Wirance. Catreg. The Demons had known that the Wildmages posed the greatest threat to them. They had fought savagely to reach them across the battlefield. And for their part, the Wildmages had spent their lives not recklessly, but with full intention and a kind of joy, knowing that their lives were a gift they gave to their comrades in arms, a gift to the future, a gift to hope.
But they were still dead, and he would miss them.
He would miss them all. No victory could sweeten the bitterness of that loss, only soften its horror.
As they came closer to the Standing Stones, Kellen smelled… flowers?
The ground was covered in flowers.
He dismounted.
"Wait here," he said.
He walked forward.
Before the battle, this had been the heart of the Delfier Forest, and like the rest of the forest, it had been reduced to burnt trees and ash.
But here, new life was beginning. He could see the shoots of new growth springing up out of the forest floor, among the flowers. Vines twined around the dead husks of trees, unfolding even as he watched. There were flowers everywhere.
When he got closer, he saw Ancaladar.
The black dragon's scales glittered in the morning light, as radiant as they had been the first time Kellen had seen him.
Ancaladar lifted his head.
Kellen stopped.
Jermayan was kneeling at the center of the Standing Stones. They were wreathed in flowers, overgrown with them.