Breaking Into The Light E-Book

Cynthia A. Morgan

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

The Reviled are the enemy. They embody brutality in every form. The Fey of the Light know only too well how savage the Dark Fey can be and daring to think otherwise invites tragedy.

Gairynzvl was once one of the Reviled and lived the riotous life of all Dark Ones, but his acceptance by The Fey of the Light has changed all that. Now, he is opposing The Reviled by returning into their dark realm and rescuing childfey. The actions taken by him and his band of Liberators are not only changing lives, they are fulfilling ancient prophecies and proving long-accepted beliefs inaccurate.

Those who have lived in the Light all their lives are suddenly faced with unavoidable questions. How is peace achieved? Can Light unite with Darkness? Can all the atrocities the Dark Ones have inflicted really be forgiven? 

The Fey of the Light have a deadly choice to make: ignore the emerging truth or risk the tranquility of their realm and go to war to offer the Reviled a chance to change.  

Leseprobe

Breaking Into The Light

Dark Fey Book III

Cynthia A. Morgan

Copyright (C) 2016 Cynthia A. Morgan

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2020 by Next Chapter

Published 2020 by Next Chapter

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

For those who Bear the Integration.

Prologue

Cowering childfey scattered at the uproar, screeching in terror and running in all directions. Two Fey of the Light followed after them, attempting to guide them back into one group. As they rushed in chaotic directions, a single crimson arrow shot out of the fissure into the center of the cavern, skittering across the floor near the feet of a fair shefey who shook her head vehemently; then stooped to collect a glowing lamp before she ran towards one of the clusters of childfey. Several other arrows shot out of the dark corridor and the shriek of a youngling pierced the darkness when one of the blood-stained arrows found a victim. The heart-breaking cry was echoed by sadistic Dlalth laughter, but peering from the shadows, crimson gazes narrowed with anger and regret.

“Shields!”

One of the fighting Fey of the Light shouted in a commanding tone to his comrades who gathered on either side of the narrow aperture from which the crimson arrows flew and, holding their broad shields at the edges, these malefey managed to cover a large portion of the crevice, thwarting the rain of crimson death, but, while this ploy effectively blocked the Reviled's ability to kill from a distance, it also enraged them. Mutters of vulgar Dlalth filled the darkness; then viperous laughter, as one of the subordinates was hurled through the obstructed opening.

This commotion caused the one named Gairynzvl to turn his head and he watched a the Fey of the Light drew his sword to severe the Legionnaire's head from his body after he tumbled through their barricade of shields. Curses in Dlalth rebuked this vengeful act and, with terrifying growls and hisses, the Legionnaires rushed one after the other into the cavern. They were greeted by the keen edges of Fey Guard blades and the skirl of metal upon metal rang throughout the shadows. Bright Celebrae turned fierce in anger and obscenities in Dlalth echoed round the chamber, muffling the whispers that discussed the unanticipated battle.

The one named Gairynzvl turned back to stare at the Great Gate rearing up to a height of a dozen feet or more before him. It was fashioned in one immense piece of ironwork; its bars twisting, curling and forged with razor-sharp blades protruding from any accessible handhold. It did not have a lock upon it, which could be undone by magic. It was constructed to stand as an impenetrable barrier between the realm of the Reviled Fey of the Uunglarda and the free lands under the sovereignty of the Fey of the Light. Behind him, weaponry clashed and screams reverberated; arrows tainted by the blood of former victims shot through the darkness, and childfey shrieked in terror as Dark Ones harassed those who had broken from the huddled mass protected behind the expansive wings of one of the malefey. The glimmering light from the lamp the Fey of the Light carried with them blazed outward, illuminating all; including a peculiar ripple of reflected blue-white light that dropped fleetingly from the ceiling or snaked behind Legionnaires. Unobserved by any of the struggling Fey, this blurred reflection of light latched onto Dark Ones unexpectedly, leaving broken bones and slashed throats in its wake. Then one of the fey warriors shouted in Celebrae.

“Cruciavaeryn!”

The Demonfey at whom he directed this spell howled in agony and crumbled to the ground, scrabbling in excruciating pain. The spell-casting Fey Guard then snatched another by the collar of his coat, yanked him backward brutally and repeated the incantation another time, his cerulean eyes glowing fiercely in the strange light of the lamp.

The dark gazes that watched locked in astonishment at this unpredicted development, but those waiting in the deep shadows did not intervene. The one called Gairynzvl glared viciously at the Demonfey causing calamity all around the chamber before raising his hands to take hold of the iron bars of the gate, in spite of the painful razor-sharp blades pressing into his flesh. Growling in rage, he shook the gate mightily.

Dlalth whispers went unheard amidst the turmoil echoing round the Gallery of the Great Gate; but, although they debated the results of the battle, no endeavors were taken to assist either side, even as the heavy gate rattled loudly; even as cries pealed from every direction. Those watching awaited the outcome while Gairynzvl leaned backwards, beating his wings prodigiously and pulling harder than before; utilizing all his body weight in a fearsome hauling, reverse motion as he shook the gate with every measure of strength he possessed. Unifying the forceful thrashing of his wings with the powerful wrenching of his body, his actions intensified in an increasingly wrathful frenzy. Screaming against the pain of the blades burying themselves in his hands, he shook and hauled upon the Great Gate until a thunderous sound pierced the mayhem resounding through the cavern.

Once again, the watchful gazes locked with astounded curiosity.

The sound they heard was both hollow and heavy, and its echo caused Gairynzvl to stop and gaze upward, watching the top of the gate as it leaned perilously inward while the heavy wrought-iron groaned with a tremendous noise. Releasing the torturously inlaid ironwork, he scrabbled backward; beating his wings to speed his escape as the gate pitched forward under the force of its own inertia, unhinging the bolts connecting it to the walls on either side as it fell. The cacophonous din it created when iron met black stone rang through the cavern with a deafening intensity and the horrendous crash caused many of the Dlalth to howl in alarm and race away into the shadowy fissure from which they had issued while those that lingered were dispatched by the Fey of the Light with startling efficiency.

The three Demonfey inflicted by the spell-caster's incantation screamed in unrelenting distress, but the fair Fey of the Light would not allow any of the others to mercifully execute them and his pitiless attitude caused several of the Watchers to gape in disbelief. Fey of the Light were purported to be patient and compassionate, filled with mercy that they were eager to extend, but the ruthless ferocity of these warrior Fey of the Light was entirely unforeseen.

“Freedom awaits!” The one named Gairynzvl called ….

Chapter One

Sparkling snow drifted downward quietly through the vast, reaching arms of the forest giants stretching overhead. The elder tree-spirits listened in the ethereal hush to the sounds of playing childfey as if such sounds had not been heard for countless spans of time. Like the contemplative evergreens, many of the Fey who had gathered in the clearing near the base of the mountain stood equally enthralled by the sounds. The wintry chill of the bright morning did little to impede the youngling's enthusiasm as they tumbled and sprawled in the powdery snow and as they scooped up great handfuls to enjoy the fresh, clean taste or to toss piles of its downy opalescence into the air and watch it with beaming smiles as it fell, sparkling, downward. As they squealed and giggled with infectious exuberance, some of the adult Fey watching their antics reached to dry unanticipated tears or hugged each other with swelling emotion at the blissful sight while others rolled and played in the snow right beside the little ones. Yet, when a fierce Fey Guard adorned with blood-spattered, golden armor alighted beside the Liberator whose hands bled from some nameless, horrifying injury, the jollity that made the bright clearing smile noticeably diminished.

“What defense can we offer against a legion of Dark Ones?” Mardan asked after he heard Bryth's announcement that the Reviled were coming and turned aside from watching a group of younglings to stride purposefully back to the place where three of his fellow Liberators stood. The malefey considered their options. They could protect the childlings by concealing them in the nearby woodland village that was ensconced deep in the embrace of towering evergreens. They could guard the aperture from which they had just emerged. Its narrow dimensions were easily defendable and could be blocked until reinforcements of Fey Guards arrived. If they were fortunate, some of the resident malefey might consider joining their ranks to offer some measure of resistance against the threat of attacking Dark Fey, but the grim reality of their situation overshadowed even their best attempts at optimism.

They had all sustained injuries during their battle before the gate. Not one of them had escaped unscathed, but Gairynzvl was beyond offering any form of opposition should a battle ensue. His strength had been depleted in his efforts to gain their freedom, in spite of the Quiroth that had briefly aided him, and the severity of the injuries to his hands left him incapable of even holding a weapon, let alone wielding one in battle.

“We must see to the safety of the childfey and the villagers, and someone must go to the Temple to alert the Elders and the Fey Guard,” Bryth recommended in Gairynzvl's conspicuous silence, adding with an equally assertive tone when he saw him waver with noticeable fatigue, “And you, Fierce One, must allow the Healer to tend your injuries.”

Mardan nodded, turning to call to their ministering comrade who had finished aiding Reydan and was now stooping to gaze with unmistakable concern at the small shefey held in Rehstaed's strong arms. His examination, however, was cut short when, summoned by Mardan's urgent appeal, the golden-haired Healer turned from the pair and approached Gairynzvl. He visually inspected his condition even as he crossed the short distance between them.

Their Leader stood with alarming unsteadiness, trembling from head to toe to wing-tip and staring out over the bright clearing with an increasingly vacant expression. The snow he absently held had turned deep crimson and dripped through his weakened grasp to stain the snow at his feet. His nebulous wings pitched downward in an obvious indication of exhaustion and his typically sharp gaze had become glazed and unfocused.

Hurrying his pace, Evondair gestured for Mardan to steady their friend even as he wiped away the snow he held in order to inspect his wounds more closely. The revelation of the deep lacerations crisscrossing his hands caused all three malefey to grimace in dismay. Mardan and Bryth exchanged a profoundly concerned gaze as the Healer looked up into the pale glimmer of their friend's glassy stare. As he assessed his condition, Ayla returned from the midst of a group of shefey who had gathered around a few of the childlings, her anxiety more than apparent. At her approach Mardan turned abruptly towards her and stretched out his wings to obstruct her view before she could see the full degree of Gairynzvl's wounds.

“You cannot help him presently, Ayla.” Mardan's soft tone did not diminish the firmness with which he spoke. She stared up at him defiantly, preparing to rebuke his protective actions, despite the fact that they spoke volumes about the seriousness of the situation. Glancing around his broad wings repeatedly, she pointed out that she might be able to lend him strength, but when the Celebrant-turned-warrior insisted that she return to the childfey and organize their retreat to the woodland village, she decided not to argue with him in front of so many others.

“See to the childlings and their safety. Please, Ayla, we must get them as far from danger as possible.” His tone was milder and although mute amber locked fleetingly with unyielding cerulean, she nodded in spite of her intense desire to be of some assistance and turned back. She glanced over her shoulder more than a few times as the malefey gathered once more around the former Dark One and spoke with lowered voices.

“I need not say it; I am certain you realize I cannot tend his injuries here. He must be returned to the Temple Healing Wards where the surgeons can properly cleanse and close these lacerations before their effects are lasting,” Evondair clarified what they had already guessed and, as if to confirm his assertion, Gairynzvl's eyes closed unexpectedly. His wings fell lax, his head tilted backward slowly, and his entire body would have followed that motion had Mardan not been holding onto him. Bryth lent further aid and the two malefey managed to keep him upright while the Healer drew a bottle of Quiroth from his medical pack and attempted to administer it, despite his patient having lapsed into unconsciousness. As he struggled to get some of the liquid into Gairynzvl's mouth, he spoke in an urgent tone to the malefey gathered round them. “He is going into shock from the loss of so much blood. We must hope the Quiroth will fortify his strength while we bind his hands tightly to stop the bleeding. Then we must hasten him to the Temple.”

Listening keenly to the conversation of the malefey from her place amidst the gathering of shefey she had temporarily rejoined, Ayla turned back with determination. Undeterred by Mardan's imposing presence because he now stood holding up their leader, she returned with palpable resolve. Reaching out with her hands even as she came closer, not only to negate any verbal opposition they might attempt to interpose, but to reach for Gairynzvl's hands, she ignored their protest.

“Ayla, you must see to the safety of the childfey,” Mardan insisted as firmly as he could manage to sound, but she shook her head with resolve.

“I can attend to them once this is accomplished. I have been given this gift in order to help others, not only when it is convenient and safe to do so, but whenever such assistance is needed.” Her single-mindedness silenced any supplementary arguments any of them might have thought to make, but she continued unwaveringly. “I have spent too many years being afraid and living in protected isolation; it is time I play a part!”

Stepping back from her, Evondair smiled at her tenacious declaration and stooped to collect clean bandages as well as a small vessel of salve from his pack while she gently took hold of Gairynzvl's hands. She could not keep from shuddering at the sight of so much blood and the deep wounds left by the razor-protected bars of the gate, but she held onto him tenderly and began to center her thoughts towards him.

In the chaos of the battle and closing herself off from her empathic abilities, she had been only minimally aware of how much he had done to save them; of how much he had sacrificed. Now, at seeing the visual evidence of his actions, she could not hide the predictable response such evidence prompted. Although she clenched her teeth against the rush of poignant emotion that sought to overtake her when she opened herself to him, she could not contain the sob and gasp of dismay that touching his pain produced. An intense wave washed over her, filling her with panic and dread, as well as a strangely euphoric sensation brought on by his unconscious state, but she did not relinquish her hold upon his hands or disengage herself from his essence. Mardan hissed under his breath at her intercessorial actions, but could not deny his concern for the well-being of their friend and, as a result, tempered his reaction in spite of her apparent distress.

“Playing a part does not mean sacrificing yourself to the cause. We need you to help move the childfey to a safer location, so, please Ay, do not over-extend yourself,” he cautioned and, at hearing the others agree with his admonition, she nodded before closing her eyes. She could still hear them as they spoke quietly about how they would transport him to the Temple and about the impending battle with the Reviled, but their voices became muffled as she slipped beyond the present moment into the realm of Gairynzvl's being.

The rapid beating of his heart resounded through her, as did the shallow echo of his breaths, but the closeness of his consciousness reassured her in spite of the fact that he was drifting incoherently. After her initial assessment, she opened herself more fully to the unrelenting waves of severing pain that radiated from his hands upward through his arms, across his chest, tightening like a manacle over the nape of his neck and piercing into his mind again and again like a blade. At connecting with his inescapable pain, she could not restrain the cry that slipped past her clenched teeth any more than she could keep tears from running down her cheeks. Her body instantly began to shake and her own heart pounded under the distress of the trauma he suffered. Little wonder his mind had detached itself and released him from such torment! Baring her teeth against the shocking sensations, Ayla felt his hands move in her own and she realized that Evondair had begun his ministrations.

He applied the salve first as evenly as he was able and the perception of the cooling balm made her sigh, giving her a moment to collect her mental acuity in order to direct it back to Gairynzvl. She was briefly able to bolster his strength, but when the Healer laid the first length of cloth across his deep lacerations and encircled it around his hand tightly, the intense stinging it produced nearly caused her to fall in a swoon.

Sounds of retreat filled the quiet grove and the rush of feathers and footsteps drew her attention. It was a welcome distraction from the onslaught of his unremitting pain. Opening her eyes, she watched through tears as childfey were scooped up and carried away into the sheltering eaves of the forest; as malefey clustered in groups discussing the prospect of lending aid in the imminent battle, and as the remaining Liberators collected their scattered weaponry. Fighting to ignore the jagged, stabbing ache permeating every fiber of her being, she closed her eyes once again, drew a substantial breath and then concentrated with all the strength of mind she possessed in order to quell the trauma they were both experiencing.

Perhaps it was the Quiroth Evondair had forced Gairynzvl to drink, rather than her own skill, but as the bandages grew tighter and the hurt should have grown more unbearable, she found it, somehow, easier to ward away. Breathing deeply, slowly, restfully, she pushed aside the pain and centered her thoughts on the lush calm that surrounded him and in that place of serenity where peace seemed to flow over them like tranquil waters and delicate birdsong echoed, she was finally able to ease their mutual distress.

“While the rest of you were idling, I scouted the area.” Ilys's sharp tone broke through the hush into which she had fallen and Ayla opened her eyes to find herself lying on the snow beside Gairynzvl at the feet of the other Liberators. Uncertain how long she had slipped into the unconscious quietness surrounding him, she blinked woozily and struggled to right herself as she listened to the conversation going on above her.

“Healing injuries and determining our safest course of action hardly falls under the term 'idling.” Evondair rebuked her accusation with startling aggression and they glared at each other while the others watched in amazement, but Ilys laughed impishly, shrugged, and continued.

“I discovered the Temple is only a league or two from here, although getting him to it might be a challenge as the surrounding area is heavily forested and deep in snow. This also seems to be the only village for miles, so, my question is: who shall take Gairynzvl to the Temple and who shall remain to fight?” Redirecting the course of their conversation in order to escape the piercing stare the Healer had fixed upon her, Ilys listened to them debate for a moment, then turned aside as a distant peal of discordant horns echoed from beneath the mountain.

“The fastest alternative would be to fly, of course, but two malefey would be required to carry him and we cannot spare anyone,” Bryth stated the obvious, unsure about the best course of action to take and he looked to Mardan for his input. The Celebrant-warrior shook his head as his gaze moved beyond them to the mountainside when the sound of horn calls rang into the bright clearing.

“No we cannot spare any malefey. What we require is a cart,” he paused, listening keenly to the horn calls before continued. “Do you hear those horns as well? We might be forced to wait until after the battle to take him to the Temple.” He mused aloud as he gazed fixedly at the base of the mountain, but in the silence that met his words, while the others listened as well, Evondair rebuked his suggestion with an insistent edge to his characteristically gentle voice.

“That would be unwise. His condition is perilous; I would not recommend delay. If needs be, I shall take him on my own, however difficult it may prove.”

Several shaking heads answered his objection, including Rehstaed's, who had given the care of the little shefey over to several of the retreating villagers in order to take his place at the side of his comrades. “We canno' spare you, 'ealer; regardless o' the Fierce One's condition,” he retorted with determination as he girded his weapons round his hips and across his shoulders. “If we are t' defeat those comin', we'll be needin' each one o' us 'ere t' repel them; an' perhaps more.”

The others agreed, though Evondair continued to shake his head resolutely. They debated several moments longer until their indecisiveness made Ilys flex her dragonhide wings sharply and hiss at them with exasperation. “Oh, for the wit of the Ancients! You dither like oldsters! None of this will help. Make up your minds you pack of squabbling ravens!”

Turning with a harsh stare none of them could interpret, Evondair moved to stand within inches of her and glared down into her upturned face while he spoke with a low and alarmingly menacing tone. “Nor shall your belligerence, sheDemon. If you desire to continually sow discord, then return to the Uunglarda where such a demeanor is appreciated.” He hissed at her with atypical hostility and they glared at each other once again, their wings arched in defensive postures. Ilys leaned closer to him, her bright blue eyes narrowing in a challenge yet, before either could rebuke the other a young, beautiful shefey stepped closer to the group and spoke unobtrusively.

“Forgive my intrusion, but if your friend requires the attention of the Temple Healers, perhaps you will allow me to transport him there?”

Chapter Two

She stood an average height for a shefey, several inches over five feet tall, and her lissome frame was delicate and graceful with an uncommon double pair of diaphanous wings that spread wide in opposing directions like a butterfly's. Translucent lavender in hue, they took on an icy sheen near their tips, while the deep, forest green near their base seemed to be reflected in the snowy- jade of her eyes. She smiled at them amiably, her cheeks and nose blushing pink from the whispering chill of the winter breeze in spite of the fact that she wore a woolen cloak over her warm winter dress and similarly woolen leggings, as well as boots that came up over her knees. A muffler of soft wool was twisted stylishly round her neck to ward away the winter wind and mittens of the same delicately knitted threads protected her small hands. Her most striking feature, however, was not her twin wings or the lovely wrappings of skillfully worked wool she wore, but her uncommonly short, tousled, bright blonde hair.

Evondair turned away from his confrontation with Ilys slowly, forcing himself to quell the antagonistic emotions she stirred within him as he took in the aspects of the unexpected stranger. His viridian gaze became a surging sea of indistinguishable emotion. The youthful shefey returned his stare ingenuously, waiting for some manner of response from the group who had, just a moment before, been arguing amongst themselves vociferously; however, when none of them spoke and when Ilys hissed sharply and trudged off, muttering in Dlalth as she went, the young stranger tried again. “The village owns a domesticated Hasparii, trained to pull a cart. If your friend needs the care of the Temple Healers and none of you are able to take him, I will be happy to transport him there.”

Smiling at her unanticipated generosity, those standing around Gairynzvl nodded, gladly accepting her offer as a solution to their predicament. Thanking her hurriedly, they continued their preparations for battle; cleaning blades in the snow before sheathing them; tucking bandages into clothing; girding themselves with weaponry, and moving back towards the place beneath the mountain from which they had emerged. That dark yawning portal now echoed with the raucous calls of enraged Dlalth and the harsh noise spewed into the bright, clear Jyndari daytide.

As they departed, Ayla got to her feet and brushed the snow from her clothes while speaking quietly with the youthful stranger, who, in turn, asked if she was feeling better. Ayla gazed at her curiously. “I am. I suppose I touched his unconsciousness too closely, although it has never happened before that I, too, would slip into that state.”

The stranger smiled, but shook her head and offered an ambiguous explanation by saying that it was she who had helped ease them both into a more restful place. Before Ayla could inquire further, however, Evondair stepped forward to thank her more directly. “It is very kind to offer your assistance to us.” His rich, smooth-as-honey, tenor voice drew the shefey's attention away from Ayla, as did his genuine smile and guileless viridian gaze. Turning toward him, she smiled modestly and continued inquisitively while he stood gazing at her.

“Did…did you really rescue these younglings from the Child Wraiths?”

He nodded. “We did, following him.” His gaze dropped to take in Gairynzvl's condition briefly, unable to disguise his concern. “It is imperative that he is seen by the Temple Healers. I cannot help him any further here.”

Responding to the honest apprehension she could plainly distinguish in his tone, Ayla stooped and laid her palm against Gairynzvl's cheek as she closed her eyes once more in order to sense his condition. From the distance, another round of threatening horn calls assaulted the bright morning, the sound sending a noticeable shiver through the shefey who gazed after the retreating band of warriors who trudged through the deep snow towards the mountain from which they had come. Her evident fear compelled Evondair to step closer to her as he spoke in a softer, more reassuring tone. “Do not worry. The Reviled cannot cross over into the Light. We are safe for the moment and shall assemble our defense in order to protect the childfey, as well as the village, by the time the sun falls behind the forest fringe.”

She returned his encouraging smile and nodded before she gazed down at Gairynzvl who lay unmoving at their feet. His unique, nebulous wings were nearly invisible against the brilliant sheen of the snow, but the wrappings Evondair had secured round his hands were already stained with scarlet hues. Realizing they had little time to enjoy polite conversation, she stepped back and prepared to set off. “He is sorely injured. Will the Temple Healers really be able to help him?”

Evondair agreed they would, but did not mention the fact that, he too, was a Temple Healer. Instead, he inclined his head subtly and offered their appreciation. “We are grateful for your aid, but how shall I thank you?”

Again, she smiled and the tips of her wings curled downward diffidently. “I am Kaylyya Synnowyn and am happy to help.” Answering his query genially, she smiled and glanced downward demurely when he introduced himself.

“I am Evondair and am very pleased to have met you, Kaylyya Synnowyn.” Unsure how to respond to his unspoken, yet evident overture, she continued by saying she would return with the cart quickly so they could get underway. She then turned to step lightly through the snow before springing into the air amid the graceful flutter of her wings as she headed towards a large complex of barns and fenced in pens set under the eaves of the forest several hundred yards away. He stood watching after her, his thoughts twisting into an unforeseen haze, but his trance was broken when Reydan nudged him. Nonchalantly handing the Healer his sword and shield with a wry grin, he indicated that he would await the shefey's return in order to help lift Gairynzvl into the cart.

Behind them, where the portal exposed by the Great Gate's falling melded two opposing realms into one, the shadows beneath the mountain heaved and hissed with the threatening vocalizations of the Reviled. Crimson stained arrows shot from the darkness, seeking any who might be unfortunate enough to find themselves in their trajectory, yet these tactics could be little more than intimidation; a warning of the conflict to come when the light diminished. The Liberators knew this and stood on either side of the yawning portal, making their presence known by creating a game out of knocking aside with their swords as many arrows as they could and by returning the insidious calls from the presently thwarted Demonfey. Tauntingly, they issued brash invitations for the Cursed Ones to come forth; fully cognizant of the fact that they could not bear the brilliant light filling the clearing, yet jeering at their cowardice.

“It is a treacherous game we play,” Evondair noted as he stood beside Reydan, both malefey wordlessly observing the derisive bantering going on while standing over their fallen comrade in the silently descending flurries that had begun falling. Turning to glance behind him with a combination of impatience and curiosity, Evondair's questing gaze came to rest upon a sight he had never seen before and he could not keep from turning his head to one side in wonder while simultaneously jostling his friend to look as well.

Coming towards them through the powdery snow was a deep chestnut-colored deer, which stood easily six feet high at the shoulder. He was harnessed with light leather tack to an elegantly designed cart constructed of wood, which was carved with intricate designs and fashioned with runners, instead of wheels, to negotiate the deep snow of Jyndari winters. The massive Hasparii tossed his head exuberantly in the newly falling snow, displaying his breathtaking rack of exquisitely twisting antlers that stretched to a breadth of nearly four feet from tip to tip. The two malefey who stood watching in awe-struck silence could not contain their smiles at his demonstration and, as he pranced towards them with a high-spirited gait, they stepped aside to make way for the monarch of the forest with observable reverence.

Kaylyya brought the cart to a halt beside Gairynzvl and the enormous beast stood towering over them, blowing into the brisk air with anticipation to be underway. Wasting little time, the malefey lifted their friend carefully and laid him on the bed of the cart upon a pile of recently sheared sheep's wool she had placed there to ward away the winter's chill. Covering him with the supplementary blankets she had collected to keep him warm on their journey, Evondair found himself distracted by the lovely stranger and more than a few times had to refocus his attention to the matter at hand. When they finished bundling Gairynzvl against the cold, the Healer stepped back to consider his condition and bent over him to listen to the sound of his breathing and assess the rhythmic beat of his heart.

It was weakening. Shaking his head with dissatisfaction, he turned to fix an intense gaze upon those gathered near the base of the mountain before he looked back at Kaylyya. “It is unlikely he will awaken before you arrive at the Temple; however, he has lost a great deal of blood and, if he wakens, he will be confused and could become combative. Is there anyone who could travel with you to guard you against such a danger? Perhaps someone with knowledge of the healing arts?”

She thought briefly, but shook her head. “Many of the malefey are gathering what weaponry we have to aid you in your attempt to repel the Child Wraiths. Others will be protecting those who cannot fight and the younglings you brought with you out of the Uunglarda. There is only one shefey in the village with healing skills, but she may be needed here after the battle.”

Evondair nodded with understanding, but frowned and turned to address his concerns to Reydan. “Gairynzvl's condition requires the attention of a Healer far more than you, here, need my dubious skill with a blade. Besides, the battle will not commence until the light fails, by which time we should return with reinforcements.”

Comprehending the course of his argument, Reydan nodded; then glanced over his shoulder at the other Liberators waiting for them. “Agreed,” he said simply, holding out his hand. “I would not see you go unarmed, but your shield and sword may prove more useful here, in the hands of one of the villagers, than lying in the bed of the cart unused.”

Evondair concurred, taking his armaments from the back of the cart where he had laid them, but as the Healer willingly turned over his weaponry, Kaylyya reached down for something at her feet. The Healer shook his head and spoke with a resolved tone, “The others may not understand, but I cannot abandon one so gravely in need of my skills, no matter the cause.”

Nodding, Reydan took his weaponry in one hand and reached to lay his free hand upon his friend's broad shoulder. “Go quickly and safely. We will await your return with the Fey Guard.”

They bid each other safety and good-fortune and Ayla leaned into the cart to place a gentle kiss upon Gairynzvl's pale cheek and whisper softly to him. Unsure if he would perceive her thoughts in the depths of unconsciousness, she concentrated to make the communication as potent as her limited telepathic skill permitted, but his lack of any manner of response brought the sting of tears to her eyes. Forcing her predictable emotion aside, she embraced him as she was able, pressed her forehead to his and whispered her love for him before drawing back.

Kaylyya watched them quietly, but when Evondair turned to look up at her in a silent indication of his readiness to depart, she held up a sheathed dagger and extended it towards him. “We do not go unarmed. It is the only weapon I own, but, should we need it, you will certainly be able to wield it far more effectively than I.”

The malefey exchanged an approving glance before Evondair moved to the side of the cart, took the offered weapon and secured it between the several belts he wore. Spreading his wings wide then, he utilized a single wing beat to intensify the upward motion of his leap into the cart, landing beside his unconscious friend even as he folded his expansive wings once more behind him. Settling down on the bed of the cart and drawing his cloak around himself, he was unaware of the admiring smile Kaylyya could not quite conceal as she snapped the reigns lightly over the massive Hasparii's withers and whistled a sweet, clear note to encourage him to set off.

The shushing sound of runners through snow swept away into the depths of the forest as they moved off into the distance and Reydan turned to join his friends. Those malefey of the village who intended to add their strength in the defense of their woodland home followed behind him, while the remainder directed shefey and toddlefey towards the many warm and inviting homes beneath the eaves of the forest waiting to receive them. Flurrying snow fluttered down on the grove from a crystalline sky and, for the briefest moment, the only sounds to be heard were the scrunch of snow underfoot and the twitterings of winter birds from the trees.

Then the unmistakable clangor of combat rang out from the shadows of the mountain; the skirl of blade upon shield, as well as the distinctive 'thun' of arrows flying from bows, although none of these missiles came shooting out of the portal into the sunshine. The Liberators gazed at each other with confusion as Dlalth curses emanated from under the mountain and those closest to the open portal leaned precariously closer in an attempt to see beyond the swirling blackness of the void into the realm beyond where a battle was being waged.

“Ready yourselves!” Bryth called from his vantage point closest to the chasm while he watched through the haze as vague shadows and indistinct figures lurched against each other, backing towards the opening as if they were being driven out of their own domain.

“Raach!” A fierce Dlalth curse echoed from the wavering maw of the portal; then a dozen or so Legionnaires tumbled out in what seemed a reverse crossing, though they flailed their weapons wildly at whatever drove them. With the first touch of Light, they scrambled to find shadows in which to protect themselves and Bryth stepped back in astonishment, realizing the Reviled were not issuing forth in full attack, but rather, in defense of themselves.

Once on the Jyndari side of the portal, they could not escape the bright, winter sunlight and instantly began to howl under its searing effect, but, regardless of their mishap, Mardan growled vengefully and rushed forward with his blade raised aggressively. Rehstaed followed closely, his own blade swinging in a precisely controlled arc to dispatch as many of the yowling Underlings as he could. Discordant peals of Dlalth horns pierced the shadows of the portal and rang out into the bright clearing another time. It was a bizarre overture to even more Legionnaires stumbling backward through the crossing, their weapons raised against whoever or whatever forced them to cross rather than in any sort of offensive posture against the Fey of the Light. As they stepped into the Light, several subordinates clamored off into the closest dusk created by the overhanging forest, but these were pursued by villagers armed with shovels, hayforks and scythes and their fates were soon after betrayed by the echo of screams.

The Fey of the Light defended their side of the portal against this peculiar act of crossing until the sounds of combat no longer issued from the opposite side. Every one of the Legionnaires who crossed over was eliminated; save one, who was disarmed and restrained for questioning. With Reydan holding one arm and Rehstaed the other, they dragged the scrabbling Reviled One into the full shimmer of the noonday sun. Mardan stepped in front of the panting demon-spawn, grasped his collar tightly and raised his free hand over his head in a threatening posture. “Tell us why you crossed into the Light or I will cast the Spell of Inflicted Pain upon you and leave you to die in agony!”

Cerulean fire pierced the deep crimson of the Dark One's eyes, but he spluttered in Dlalth as if he had no comprehension of the common tongue. Tightening his grip, Mardan arched his wings in a daunting display of bristling feathers. “Tell us, you filthy blaylscith!” he growled menacingly, but, again, the Dark One only babbled incomprehensibly. Drawing a deep breath, Mardan shook his head and prepared to cast his spell, but Bryth stepped behind him to grab his hand firmly, distracting him long enough to keep him from delivering the lethal incantation.

“Wait.”

Mardan glared over his shoulder at the Fey Guard captain and hissed in reply. “Why?”

“Look at him, Mardan. He is barely older than the childfey we just rescued.”

Mardan turned back to stare at the thrashing Demonfey with loathing, his brilliant blue gaze filled with revulsion as he looked upon the pallid-skinned, blood-eyed, filth-covered Fey before them who writhed under the radiance of clear, bright light and spewed out Dlalth curses in a frenzy of speech that left him frothing.

“Perhaps he does not remember our language,” Bryth suggested. Then with an astonishingly compassionate tone that caused the others to stare at him in surprise, he continued more thoughtfully. “If what Gairynzvl told us is true, only the Ancients know what must have happened to him.”

Mardan considered as he watched the gray-mud splattered Demonfey hiss and flail unceasingly. “What, then, do you suggest we do with him?” he ground out, clearly unwilling to offer mercy, but uncertain enough to debate the issue.

Bryth stared at the young Legionnaire as well, his gaze taking in the length of the spines protruding from his wings, which he could easily use as weapons despite the fact that they had taken his sword from him. “I am not certain,” he paused, speculatively; then he and Mardan locked gazes. “But do not cast your spell.”

Glaring at the Dark One another time with evident disgust, Mardan released his grasp upon his grime-smeared collar and dropped his free hand to his side. Then, seeing the layer of filth left on his skin from the Reviled One's encrusted clothing, he bent down. “We cannot let him go. He would only attack one of us at the first opportunity,” he advised while he brushed his hands through the snow to cleanse them. Agreeing, Bryth turned in one direction and then the other, searching the clearing with a sudden purpose of action. “Where is Ilys?”