43

It took Miraveh far less time to leave the bowels of the stronghold and return to the surface. She rushed, but her mind had become clouded with competing thoughts and questions. The Hagethorn had retracted as soon as Miraveh had spoken her words and the unicorn had stood there, staring at Miraveh, not even speaking into Miraveh's mind.

She had released the unicorn as its original captors had intended, but that didn't mean the creature would feel gracious and forgiving in its new-found freedom. The unicorn had lowered its head forcing Miraveh to grip the hilt of her sword, expecting a charging attack. Her magic had returned upon releasing the unicorn, but she could tell the creature had far more magic than she.

Instead of attacking, however, the unicorn shook its head, its lank, thinning mane flapping and then the most remarkable thing occurred. The horn of the unicorn fell from the creature's forehead, dropping to the stone floor at Miraveh's feet. Then, with a snort and a stomp of its hooves, the unicorn turned and simply walked, with such grace and dignity, through a portal that opened only long enough for the unicorn to pass through, and then closed behind it.

Miraveh had spent longer staring at the twisted, nobbled horn than she would have wished to, but she feared to touch it. Taking her kerchief from inside her jacket, Miraveh laid it upon the horn, wrapping it around the faintly glowing piece of the unicorn, before picking it up. Even though she had not touched the horn, she could sense the power within. Not the dusty, dark, ancient power of the relics, but a golden, vibrant power. An uncorrupted power that Miraveh feared she would defile with a single touch.

Upon reaching the surface, she had found, not a hive of activity, but a tense, silent emptiness. The entire contingent of surviving Witches, elves and goblins were elsewhere, not far from where Miraveh stood. She took the opportunity and secreted away the horn within her pack, one end poking out of the flap. As an afterthought, she piled her bedroll and saddlebags atop it. She wasn't certain why, but she did not feel like revealing the horn's presence. Not yet.

"Finally! Did it work? Do you have relics?" Turotara, now wearing her plate armour, her heavy shield upon her arm, helmet snug upon her head, appeared from around a corner. She glanced towards the pile Miraveh had created with her bags. "What happened?"

"I released it." Miraveh rubbed her palms down the material of her leather breeches, flexing her fingers. "It had suffered long enough."

Turotara narrowed her eyes, a flicker towards the pile again and then gave a slow nod. Without saying anything, she lifted a gauntleted hand, ushering Miraveh to follow, the metal clanking as her hand waved. Turotara's armour rattled and clattered as she moved, proving that Miraveh had become lost in her thoughts as she had hidden the horn. At any other time, she could not have missed that noise.

They passed through the roughshod, ramshackle defences from the courtyard leading to the outer walls and Miraveh could see scared, wide-eyed faces as she passed. Huddled behind makeshift cover. Hands clutching hands. Arms wrapped around each other. Witches crouched with elves and goblins, united in their terror. They had all suffered at the hands of the Hunters O' The Dark and, to a one, feared the inevitable retaliation they would suffer for escaping Comragon.

"I have the strongest at the first line of defence, outside the main gates." Removing her helmet, Turotara rubbed her head, the metal of her gauntlets scraping against her short hair. Neither of them had taken the time to cut it as close as they once had. "Others are at regular intervals along the way. Sialira found an old store of pikestaffs. Most were rotted, broken, but some were useable to stick in the barriers."

"The girl, Peknida?" That question caused Turotara to turn, raising a questioning eyebrow, until she remembered the goblin's significance. "She cannot be captured. If the Hunters O' The Dark find out how important she is ..."

"She's safe. I've assigned her to water fetching duties." Turotara hooked a thumb behind her, back towards the keep. "She'll end up spending most of her time in the room with the castle's well. Thick walls and out of the way. Though, even there she may not be safe. I don't have confidence in our chances."

Miraveh didn't like that. She would have preferred the strong warrior to show confidence, whether she felt it or not. These refugees, far more than regular soldiers, or mercenaries, or guards needed to hear they stood a chance. They needed those who led them to show no fear, no trough in the surface of their features. Miraveh, Turotara, even Sialira, all needed to project an air of anticipation of victory. They needed to lead.

As soon as they passed through the broken gates, Miraveh could see why Turotara could have lost her confidence, if even only a slight. Down on the rocky plains below, Miraveh saw what they faced and she had to fight not to react. The Hunters O' The Dark had arrived, but they had not brought a small force, nor did it appear that they had finished arriving.

Even from this distance, she could see at least three portals and, through those portals, lines of Hunters were marching through to add to the great number that already stood in lines facing the stronghold. So many that Miraveh feared to even begin to count. She had thought, perhaps, they may have sent a few dozen. No more than a hundred. She had miscalculated.

There were hundreds, with more passing through the portals every moment. How the Hunters had managed to understand how to create portals so fast, she couldn't begin to understand, but they had and they had taken full advantage of their new-found ability. Miraveh couldn't help but feel their desperate attempt to escape the Hunters had given them the greatest of all weapons. The ability to move their forces anywhere in the world in an instant. The possible consequences were horrifying.

"It's because of you, you know?" Miraveh hadn't even noticed that Brothimir had unfolded himself from a pile of stones intended as a barrier. Even in her shock, she could see his eyes searching her hands and belt pouches. She knew what he looked for. "You didn't take it, did you? Then we are doomed. Oh, for certain, the power you have can cause untold damage, but with a relic? You could destroy those forces. Destroy them! How could you ...?"

"It was a living creature, not a resource!" She tore her eyes from the assembling Hunter army and caught sight of Sialira. She stood, without a shred of fear, upon a rock, gazing down at the plains below. "Turotara. Walk among the defenders. Give them confidence. Tell them ... tell them we will beat the Hunters O The Dark."

She did not believe her own words. Not even were she to take up the unicorn's horn could she hope to defeat such a force. She had seen larger armies. The Shade of Xirasir had commanded hordes of people that called the Nightmare Lands, beyond the northern ocean, their home. Yusuvur had rallied armies to her side to combat the Shade of Xirasir, but Miraveh was no Yusuvur and she had no army of her own. She had refugees. Fugitives. Ill-fed, exhausted shadows of what they once were.

Had they faced only the dozens Miraveh had expected, hoped to face, she would have thought her 'army' incapable of mounting a lasting defence. Against hundreds? They didn't stand a chance. Turotara had strode away, and Miraveh could hear her confident words of encouragement, the laughter she found from somewhere deep within herself. Brothimir stayed by Miraveh's side, but she did not want him near her. He reminded her that she had a weapon to use, but not the will to use it.

"Before I first met you, Yusuvur had said that you were of great importance. That, one day, you could change the world." Sialira had sensed Miraveh's approach. Miraveh hadn't suppressed her magic after it returned upon releasing the unicorn. "I didn't believe her, of course. I mean, I did. It's Yusuvur, she has a way of making you believe her even when she is lying."

"She lies a lot." Miraveh stepped up on to the rock, joining Sialira to stare down at the forces below. "I'm not going to lie to you, Sialira. I think we stand little chance of surviving this day."

"And then I met you. You had started working as a washer woman, of all things." She laughed, her hand rising to her mouth. She had ignored Miraveh's admission of their dire situation. "And you refused to learn! Oh, you frustrated me and you continued to frustrate me and, that is the pertinent point. You frustrate people, Miraveh. Every one has plans for you, ideas about you, things they want you to do, or not do, and you frustrate them. You refuse. It doesn't matter what it is, you refuse."

"Refusing didn't stop me following the Seeker's Urge." Miraveh looked over her shoulder toward Turotara as she checked the makeshift fortifications in front of three of Miraveh's charges. Her responsibilities. "If I hadn't followed it, we wouldn't be in this situation. Daras would be ... he'd be telling us about how successful a thief he was. He would ..."

"He would have followed you to the very end, regardless of where that took him. I think he loved me, but he adored you. Besides, one does not simply refuse the universe." Sialira inclined her head in a knowing fashion, as though bowing to creation. "You frustrate people. That's why you will win this. You will simply refuse to lose. And, let's face it, you refused the universe for some time. These Hunters don't stand a chance against stubbornness like that."

Sialira lapsed into silence, clasping her hands before her as she shifted her gaze back towards the gathering army below. She had matured so much since Miraveh had met her. More so since the loss of Daras. A gust of wind caught the hood of the young Witch's cloak and it fell back, revealing her long, shining blonde hair. A sure sign of her roots in the north of the world. Her hair billowed about her, almost making her appear like a vengeful, or loving, god but Miraveh knew gods cared little for vengeance or love.

They were mortal concerns and mortal concerns needed mortal solutions. Down below, Miraveh saw a group of three people standing before all the others, gazing up toward the stronghold. She couldn't see their faces, but she recognised the white sashes across their chests. Yaerual and his companions.

-+-

Miraveh's heart clenched and her hand fell to the hilt of her sword. With that touch, she thought of what Alran would do and knew that he would decry fighting against such a superior force, but he would also know that they had little alternative. They couldn't run, couldn't use portals to fly from the field because the Hunters could track the magical remnants. She had placed them all in an impossible situation.

She didn't need to wonder what Yusuvur would have done. The elder Witch would have planned for such a situation and would already have set those plans in motion. She left nothing to chance, whereas Miraveh left everything to chance. She reacted, instead of acted. Never stopping long enough to begin to think ahead. She was, as she knew so well, a woeful leader. Yet, looking around, she saw eyes awaiting her next decisions as though she had all the answers.

There was one answer. It lay beneath a pile of baggage and a bed roll back inside the courtyard of the keep. With that horn, she could command power enough to sweep away the enemy, but at what cost? Were she take the horn, cut it down into as many relics as she could, her entire group could have the extra power they needed. With the hundreds of Hunters O' The Dark facing them, she wasn't even certain that would prove enough to win. That, and her gut turned at the idea of breaking the horn into parts, when she could have it all for herself.

"White flag." A gauntleted hand rested upon Miraveh's shoulder as Turotara brought Miraveh's attention back to the situation at hand. "They want to parlay."

Indeed, far below, the three Hunters wearing white sashes had stepped forward, unfurling the sign for a pause in hostilities. Hostilities that had not even started. They knew they held the greater chance of victory here. Miraveh dipped her head and began to step down from the rock upon which she and Sialira had observed the army below.

Sialira's hand upon her arm stopped her and Miraveh almost pulled away, but something about Sialira's expression gave Miraveh pause.

"Do you think it's wise?" That expression spoke so many words. Fear, the strongest and Miraveh thought she understood why. Sialira had lost Daras. To lose Miraveh, too ... "You are the most powerful wielder of magic here and at least a third of their number are Karline. If it is a trap, we lose our strongest weapon."

"She's right." Turotara stared down towards the three Hunters, cleared her throat and spat. "I wouldn't put it past them. Besides, there is precedent for sending an emissary while the general remains behind."

Miraveh knew what Turotara suggested. The way she glared down the slope leading to the three Hunters showed she could hardly hold back from charging into battle alone, but she wouldn't risk that. It made sense, in one way. The Hunters O' The Dark hated wielders of magic, not unpowered warriors. Sending Turotara would not put any other Witch in peril. Then Miraveh had a thought.

"Take Brothimir." A strangled cough told Miraveh exactly what she wanted to hear. That was genuine fear from the former Hunter and, with one noise, told her that he had not lied about the Hunters not welcoming him back. "Hear what they have to say and see if we can negotiate our way out of this."

"My presence could enrage them." From the ground, looking up toward Miraveh on the rock, Brothimir pleaded with her, reaching out for her booted foot. "They would as soon kill me as speak with me. You need me. I know their tactics. I ..."

Turotara dropped back to the ground, armour rattling, and she gripped Brothimir's shoulder, turning him and pushing him towards the slope leading down from the stronghold. Several times, Brothimir looked over his shoulder, eyes wide, but he did not struggle. He did not go willingly, but he didn't run, either, showing at least a modicum of backbone.

Miraveh had not trusted him from the moment she had first spoken to him. Conniving, arrogant and weaselling all at the same time. No doubt he had the blood of many on his hands, he had admitted as such, but Miraveh needed to know whether she could come to trust him, or whether she should toss him to the wolves that were his former brothers and sisters. Turotara, she had come to trust as implicitly as she now trusted Sialira and had come to trust Daras.

She felt a light tapping upon her leg and looked down to see the face of the young goblin, Peknida. In her hand, she carried a bucket of water. In the other, a ladle, offering it up to Miraveh. Looking up as though she were gazing at a king and she nothing but a servant. Miraveh still could not believe how different the magical races were from those described in the books she had read at the Coven of Scales.

In the books, goblins were twisted creatures, black of skin, fang-toothed and foul. Elves, too, were described differently. Tall, willowy, fair of skin and gifted with innate beauty. Neither races were as described. The elves looked more akin to the descriptions of goblins, grey skinned, small, piercing eyes. Goblins had a sheen of gold about their skin, with large, expressive black eyes. Both races had long hooked noses and pointed ears, but that was where the similarities ended.

"Peknida. You should not be out here. You must ... you have to look after the water." Miraveh crouched, turning her back upon the events below, taking a moment with a girl she had avoided as much as possible. "Tell me, little one. If you thought you had a greater destiny, one that could keep the world safe, what would you do?"

"I ... Mistress ... I ..." Peknida's hand began to shake, water slopping from the ladle, and Miraveh clasped the girl's hand. Even her skin was as soft as down. She looked anywhere but at Miraveh. "I would do as the universe would have me do, mistress. Who am I to refuse destiny?"

"Who indeed." Miraveh placed a finger beneath Peknida's chin, lifting her face to catch her eyes, so wide and dark. "When this is all over, we must speak, you and I. Of destiny. And I am not your 'mistress'. I am Miraveh. Now, run along and stay hidden."

Before Peknida turned to leave, Miraveh took the ladle and drank. The water felt cool and tasted fresh. With a little work, this stronghold could live again. Not today, however. She smiled as she handed the ladle back to Peknida and watched as the girl scurried away, offering water to others as she passed them, dedicated completely to the task given to her.

"When you first told me about her, I refused to believe that the universe would choose a goblin as a Candidate to become a Pillar of the Gods. That was wrong of me." Sialira watched Peknida rush between people, her little legs moving so fast, the bucket tapping against her thighs, soaking her dress, and she looked sad for the little goblin. "Now I don't want her to be the Candidate because I think she deserves a better life. A normal one. She's so young."

In truth, Sialira was not much older than Peknida, though Miraveh knew that, with the Slumber all magical creatures had fallen into as magic had left the world and the subsequent return of magic, Peknida could, in all likelihood, have a great many more Summers than Sialira. Miraveh didn't know how that worked. The books had said that goblins were short-lived, with a pitiful, filthy existence. The books were wrong about many things and, perhaps they were wrong about that too.

Regardless, although Miraveh agreed with Sialira, she had found that avoiding destiny had a way of becoming pointless. Destiny had a way of always coming to pass, whether someone wanted it to or not. She raised herself from the crouch and stopped herself before she rubbed her eyes and the bridge of her nose. She couldn't afford to show weakness right now. She couldn't afford to look tired, or in pain. Her ribs still hurt. Her ear, not cleaned or bandaged, continued to bleed every so often, but she chose to leave that as it was. If she showed that bleeding didn't bother her, perhaps others may take confidence in her unwillingness to let her injury stop her.

So many things she had to consider, now. How she looked to others. How she acted. Too many eyes would fall upon her and the very moment she showed any weakness, it would catch in the hearts of others, growing and spreading until they became nothing more than a herd awaiting their fate. Miraveh had to look strong. She had to look confident. She had to appear ready. Appearances deceived.

"Mandelar! Get everybody into their initial positions! Make sure everyone knows which corner redoubt they will retreat to. We can't have everyone running to the same one." She hadn't acknowledged Sialira's words. Instead, she took to preparing for the negotiations to fail. "Zeyal? Zeyal! You and your elf and goblin companions should be up on the battlements! Move!"

Without a single pause, Zeyal gathered her assigned companions and began to rush back to the inside of the outer wall. Miraveh knew she had probably sent those three to their deaths, but they needed attacks to come from the higher ground. Should, when, the Hunters push through the shattered gates, those three would stand little chance of making it back to the relative safety of the redoubts within the keep's courtyard.

"I think negotiations are over." Sialira, still looking down towards the plain and the Hunter army, reached out for Miraveh. "I think Turotara just punched one of those Hunters out cold. But they haven't killed Brothimir. That's something to be thankful for, isn't it?"

Miraveh watched as Turotara and Brothimir returned up the slope toward the stronghold. Turotara taking the way ahead with long, determined strides. Brothimir skipping and jumping to keep up with the tall woman. Even so, it seemed to take an interminable amount of time for them to return and, in that time, Miraveh saw the portals, below, close and the Hunter army begin to form into ranks.

Turotara removed her helmet, tucking it under her arm as she reached the rock where Miraveh and Sialira stood. A gauntleted hand rubbed her hair once again and the burly guard grumbled to herself, holding off from giving her report until Miraveh jumped down, tilting her head to look into Turotara's eyes.

"They'll leave. They'll leave and allow everyone to go wherever they wish. They can't guarantee they won't capture them elsewhere but, for now, they can keep their freedom." Turotara looked away and then to the ground. "Except you. They can't allow someone with your strength to live. Give yourself up, they say, and you save everyone else. I'm sorry, Miraveh. I punched him under a flag of truce. I ..."

Miraveh patted Turotara upon her heavy, metal pauldron, even though she couldn't feel it. She passed her eyes across Sialira without pause and looked out towards the army gathered below. A long sigh drifted from her nose as she turned to look at those that still remained outside the stronghold's walls. Many of them still showed signs of their ill-treatment at the hands of the Hunters O' The Dark.

It wasn't even a choice.