The Unfinished Song - Book 6: Blood (46 page)

He watched his men scramble in the ravine below to catch it. Like rats on a rafter, they wriggled one at a time up the rope.

“We are seen!” Hawk warned.

Vio turned around and lifted his ax just in time to meet the downward stroke of a Vyfae warrior. Two others engaged Hawk, who turned into bird again to fight back, talon against talon. More of the winged men flew past them to harry the warriors trying to ascend the rope. Vio cursed silently. The men were at their most vulnerable. Vyfae tore them off the rope. Most of the men could not even see the fae. They fell screaming to their deaths never knowing what killed them.

He dropped his ax and took his bow from across his back. Arrow by arrow, he took out the glowing scoundrels, who turned to rock and plummeted into the ravine when they died. Hawk destroyed even more of them, slashing them with his beak and talons. Recognizing him as the greater danger, the Vyfae converged on him, a flock of them against his majestic but solitary strength, until they had ripped one of his wings.

Hawk keened in avian agony and changed back into a man, falling, falling…

Vio dived over the edge of the cliff. He swung in a huge arc that swept him past Hawk, whom he plucked from the winds.

Vyfae attacked Vio and his prize, but the rope kept swinging, and he used the momentum to kick one attacker in the face. He spun around on the rope as the pendulum zenithed and swung back the other way. Another Vyfae smashed into him, trying to claw his throat with her talons, and Vio was handicapped by supporting Hawk. He kicked her too, though the motion sent the whole rope gyrating in crazy circles. He saw the rock wall close in, and landed on it running, then flipped in the air. Hawk slipped from his hands and began to fall again.

Vio let go of the rope, narrowed himself into a straight line so that he fell faster than his spy, and caught the other man again, as the rope jerked painfully around Vio’s waist.

Another Vyfae snatched Vio by the shoulders and flew with him, even as he held on to Hawk. Vio used one hand to slash off the talons of the Vyfae. It screeched and, though the talons did not unclench from Vio’s shoulders, they were no longer connected to anything. Vio’s rope swung wildly again in the other direction.

Warriors of his army were clambering over the cliff edge by now. From the top of the cliff, the Tavaedi archers with Orange Chromas could aim at their leisure upon the Vyfae. They called out directions to the archers who could not see the foe directly. Soon, no more Vyfae filled the sky.

Vio’s rope stopped swinging, but someone was tugging it upward. His arms ached from holding the rope, and holding Hawk.

I no longer have a younger man’s stamina
. Vio remembered ruefully how, as a youth, he had once spent a whole day and night hanging on a rope beneath the clanhold of an enemy. Today, even a small passage of morning, and a few swings, had taxed him to the utmost of his strength. Even so, he urged his weeping limbs to hold on for a while longer.

Danumoro and his men pulled Vio, and Hawk, up to the promontory. Hawk groaned. His arm bent at the wrong angle, and his eyes were white with pain, but he was awake.

“Thank you, Maze Zavaedi,” Hawk said, staring at him with respect that bordered on awe. “I’ve saved men from falling before, but I have never myself been saved from a fall by a man with no wings!”

Danumoro grinned and slapped Vio on the back. Vio tried not to wince. He had to rise to his feet without showing how much his body hurt; his men needed to see him as invincible, no matter how vincible he knew himself to be.

“Behold our Zavaedi!” Danumoro cried. “Behold the hero of the Rainbow Labyrinth!”

The septs of warriors raised their spears, cheered, and chanted his Shining Name. “Maze Zavaedi! Maze Zavaedi! Maze Zavaedi!”

He looked into their faces. He saw young men, men in their prime, and some, like him, past their prime, but too proud to bow to age; among the Tavaedies, there were a few women as well, as tough and proud as their brothers and husbands. These were his people, who had followed him across desert and mountain, to fight by his side. Warmth filled Vio, and he wasn’t ashamed tears pricked his eyes. They thought they cheered for him. They would never know he only had the strength to go on because of them.

Only when the cheering ended and the men began to focus on their preparations for the next battle, did Vio surreptitiously rub his aching arms. The hardest part was yet to come. Danumoro met his eyes, and they exchanged wry smiles. Danu was the one man Vio’s charade could not fool. No words were needed between old friends.

Danumoro examined Hawk’s arm. It was broken, but there was no time for Healing
tama,
so Danu prepared a sling for it. The War Leaders and Sept Leaders called out the names of their men, for many septs had become separated during the climb. They regrouped and prepared for the final assault. Vio stood before them. He forced himself to look in the eyes of those who might not see tomorrow’s dawn.

“Warriors of Rainbow Labyrinth! Our enemy is right over that hill! Let us go claim what we came for! Blood! Honor! Victory!” He raised his arm, never mind sore muscles, and pumped the air with each word. “Ayahu!”

“Ay! Ayahu! Ay Ayahu!” they shouted and ran toward the final battle, with Vio running in front of them all.

Dindi walked to the edge of the chasm. Xerpen walked by her side.

“One more thing,” he whispered. “I don’t think you’ll be needing
these
.”

He flicked her back. The feather-light touch burned like a strike of lightning, followed by a tear that seemed to wrench her flesh from her bone. She staggered from the pain. He grabbed her and held her up; otherwise she would have fallen to the ground and curled up in a ball, weeping. She would not weep in front of him, or at least she blinked back her tears as best she could.

“What have you done?”

He showed her an opal, as shimmery as a rainbow pearl, which sat in the palm of his hand.

“Your wings, my dear. If you fall, you will feed the Black Well. You will not fly away from this duel.”

As if she could have. She had never even learned to use them. Yet she felt the loss as an ache inside, as a barren woman might mourn the children she discovered she could never have.

“Do not think you can refuse to fight,” Xerpen warned Dindi, though he locked his gaze on Vessia, who watched from the center of the plaza with the other Aelfae. Cruel delight curled his lips. “
He
will not let you.”

Dindi lifted her chin. “I have no intention of refusing this fight.”

She stepped out onto the Bridge of One Thread.

Umbral stood at the edge of the abyss between two of the world’s tallest mountain peaks. Between them was a single strand of silk as slender as one filament in a spider’s web. All around, the horizon was ringed by other peaks, tipped in snow. The air was thin and scratched his throat; it tasted acrid. The stench reminded him of an untended wound turned putrid, but he had no time for nausea. The ravine below him plunged into darkness, a dark which was alive with malice, which crawled and pulsed, and watched him with a thousand black eyes, black upon black upon black. The wind grabbed at him like claws from the abyss, seeking to pull him down into the abomination. The noise whistling in his ears was the high-pitched scream of a madman.

He stepped out onto the single silken thread bridge. He defied the fall, the wind, the howl of the darkness. On the far side, his opponent stepped out onto the thread at the same time. Across the wide chasm, they both sidled forward, toward the fateful clash.

His adversary was the woman who had toyed with his love, who had lied to him and duped him, and turned him over to the Enemy. She sought the destruction of all that he was sworn to protect. She had betrayed him to torture and damnation. The part of him driven mad by pain slathered for revenge. But it was the small, quiet, residue of sanity in his mind that told him revenge was not the only reason he fought. He fought to save all humanity from the wicked fae. To save the world, he must kill Dindi.

Even if he still loved her.

Dindi recognized murder and madness in Umbral’s eyes. Black wisps of pure power were wrapped like straps around his body, holding the multitude of weapons he had taken from the blindmutes and Vyfae. He wore nothing else except a loincloth and flexing muscle.

Even before he reached her, Umbral threw three daggers at her, forcing her to duck, flip, and fall, catching the Thread with one hand on the way down. She swung around and landed back on her feet just as he tossed a spear toward her heart. She caught the spear in both hands, bobbing her head under the stem as she transferred the forward momentum into a twirl.

They met in the center of the bridge, which swayed because of the wind. His spear crashed down on her, and she repelled the attack with the spear she’d caught. The clatter of stave on stave followed as he used his superior strength to batter her with sheer force, and she used her greater flexibility to dodge and deflect. She flipped backward along the thread to gain space and enough breath to speak.

“You don’t want to do this, Umbral!”

Contempt shone from his eyes. He didn’t bother to reply, only closed the space with a twisted leap and a powerful blow that almost knocked her into the abyss.

“You don’t even know who you are!” she shouted at him. “Or whom you truly serve!”

“I know whom
you
serve!” he spat.

“Never, Umbral. Never
him
.”

“Last night, I saw you snuggle up to him; today, I watched you beg to fight for him; and you dare tell me you are not his tool?”

She blushed pink, and he smiled coldly, taking her shame as an admission of her guilt.

He tackled her, distracting her with a blow from his spear, then seeking to drive a stone under knife her guard, but she twisted into his grapple and danced right over his back. She flipped three times in the air, swung on the Thread on her drop and was on her feet again, cat-like, in the blink of an eye. Her feet were bare; she felt the sliver of the Thread bisect her heel with slight pressure, and she clutched it with her toes. It bounced gently with the movement of the combatants, and swayed in the wind. Umbral whirled and charged her again.

“I serve the
Aelfae
,” she insisted. “What you saw wasn’t what you thought you saw.”

“I don’t care.” He pulled out a second spear and began twirling both of them as he advanced on her. “Lady Death commanded me from the start to kill you and, if I had obeyed her, I would never have fallen to the Enemy or endangered the world. It’s your fault, Dindi. You are as much a danger to the world as Xerpen, and now you must die.”

His blows, delivered in a two-fold onslaught, came too fast for her to evade completely. She cringed and backed up while he bombarded her with blows, jolt after jolt upon her spear. Vapor from the Black Well thickened around them. Each breath burned her throat. She glanced up into the sky just as the moon took the first bite out of the sun.

The eclipse is beginning…

“Umbral, we’re running out of time!”

“I loved you, Dindi,” he said without inflection and without ceasing to fight, “I still love you, despite everything. But it was always going to come to this. I am the blade made to destroy you. I am going to kill you.”

Xerpen leaned forward, thrilled by the duel that unfolded under the reducing sun. To seal his spell, he needed to offer the triple sacrifice: the lamb, the ewe, and the ram; the child, the maiden, and the warrior. The girl with Aelfae blood would serve as the maiden. She wouldn’t come back to life, as Vessia would have, but so what?

After suffering three days of torture, including a night in Zithra-Lume’s Abyss, then fattening up again on the same power and pain, Umbral fought like a rabid beast. She stood no chance. If, however, she surprised Xerpen and won the duel…

He shrugged. That would suit just as well. His curse would be fulfilled. Either way, Xerpen would step in and dispatch the victorious warrior, completing the third sacrifice and unleashing darkness upon all Faearth. Many would weep and gnash their teeth at the dark, not understanding it was but a sloughing of sphacelus, a necessary prelude to the New Day.

Overhead, the moon gnawed the sun to a crescent. Xerpen raised his feathered staff and lowered it thrice. Eagle Lords pulled flint knives from their belts and started to saw the ropes that held the leaning cages full of slaves.

“Stop!” cried Vessia. “What are you doing? You said you would spare the slaves if the girl won the duel. The fight isn’t over yet!”

Xerpen regarded the woman with pity. He thought he had cleansed her of the weakness she’d acquired from too much time with humans, but it was clear that the rot had reached the core. She could no more see past the shadow to the Light of the New Day than the dullest mortal.

“The sacrifice must unfold during the dark of the sun,” he explained, as if to an imbecile.

“No!” She grabbed the staff out of his hand and waved it, with some message of her own, for the other Aelfae loped across the plaza to engage the Eagle Lords in hand-t0-hand combat. The human Tavaedies fell or fought, but could not complete the cutting free of the cages. Xerpen checked the sky. The sun was still a slimming crescent, but time was dear. He needed those sacrifices offered to the Black Well.