For the second time that night, the bells were sounding. There would be few elves to answer that call, Kai Terindor thought as he limped toward the glowing embers of the funeral pyre.

His helm was gone, as was his hair. It had burned entirely off, leaving only a greasy ashy smudge on his scalp. A sword-sized blade of thick glass protruded from his side, sending radiant agony through him with every lurching step. He was badly burned, sorely wounded, but he was Rhunvala and yet a long way from death.

The tank had been between him and the fireball, so although the explosion had shattered the tank with enough force to drive the glass shard into him, the fluid had absorbed most of the flames.

He'd thought that only dragonfire could damage the black metal of his armor, forged in the heart of the earth, cooled in the River of Time, and enchanted in the Temple of Kaledhol. But the strange magical fire proved strong enough. His breastplate was warped, bumping against the spear of glass and causing it to slice back and forth in the wound.

The Kai unbuckled the breastplate and let it fall. The chainmail beneath was largely undamaged, except for the hole in the side.

With a sudden coughing roar, the building caved in upon itself and sent a gout of orange and purple flames billowing skyward. Some brave survivors had started toward the building intent on rescue, but now scattered with cries of alarm.

Kai Terindor made his way toward them. He opened his mouth to shout a command, and threw up a glut of blood. He doubled over, and a new agony ripped through his side.

Something popped inside of him, felt more than heard. His innards felt flooded with ice water. Years of discipline kept him from screaming, but as he gasped huge breaths and fought to stay conscious, he wondered if he could have screamed, even if it was allowed.

A young elfmaid came hesitantly to him, and stayed at a respectful distance until he had mastered his pain enough to look at her. He recognized her as the daughter of one of his men, but could not remember her name.

"Rhunvala?" she asked. "To help thee is there aught?"

It was greatly daring of her to speak to him. Unseemly, almost. But she was strong in her faith as a soldier's daughter should be, obedient to her betters, and wouldn't know that the Kai had only moments ago sent her father to a singularly ugly demise.

He noticed even through agony's veil that she was quite pretty, with raven-black hair and eyes as deeply amethyst as Marona's hair had been. Well-formed she was, also, of a woman's shape despite her lack of years.

The girl drew back under his scrutiny, then struggled visibly for courage and stepped forward again. She hesitantly reached for his arm to support him as he forced himself to stand upright.

"Permit me thee to help, milord," she urged. "Something, there must be, that can a mere girl do!"

He nodded brusquely. "The men assemble, all that are left." His voice was a weak whisper.

The girl nodded, released him, and turned to go. He suddenly remembered her name.

"Tilanne," he called hoarsely.

She looked back.

"Dead are they. Marona, the wizards, the soldiers, all." He broke into a coughing fit and felt the point of the shard scrape horribly against bone. He sank to his knees.

Tilanne bowed her head, tears shining unshed in her eyes. She was strong, brave. He evaluated her again. Yes. For all that she was a girl, she would serve well. She, at least, had held her wits.

"To me, child," he whispered. "No time is there for me. My orders to thee I shall give, and to the rest thou shall give." His vision blurred. He saw two Tilannes, then three. Blinking, he shook his head to clear his sight.

As he looked back up at the girl, he saw a huge figure emerging from the wreckage of the building. The firelight glinted on battered armor, picked out the device of Steel on the shield.

"Thy bidding, milord?" Tilanne asked, overcoming how startled she must have been by his declaration that she should deliver his orders to the rest of the Morvalan.

"In the name of the Torments!" he swore, seeing not only the orckin but the Alvalan that had thrown the deadly spell. "Immortal must they be!"

He grabbed Tilanne's wrist as she turned to see what had disturbed him. "To me listen, girl. Tainted is this place. Betrayed, have we been? Mayhap. No longer stay here may we. Another time, another age. Tell them, thou must, one and all. To me swear it."

"Swear do I," she said. "But to me obey, my words heed? Merely a girl am I, not even of thrice ten years!"

He pulled her down so she knelt next to him. What he was about to do went against the Code, but time was short. He pulled the black metal chain from around his neck. The ruby basilisk swung back and forth. Tilanne's eyes followed it, awed.

"Wear this, and follow thee they must. If brave and strong of heart thou art, then keep it and all that with it goes. Kor Tilanne."

Tilanne stared at him, mouth open. He looped the chain around her neck and slid the ruby down the collar of her tunic.

Terindor slowly got to his feet. He had neither helm nor shield, but his sword was still at his waist. He drew it. "Sword of my father, and my grandfather before him. Steeped in the blood of a thousand foes. Tonight fight together do we for the last time." He touched the blade to his forehead and kissed the cool steel.

The orckin was approaching the gate. Terindor stood as straight as he could, forgetting his wounds. He would die in battle, as would his foe. Such was the right of a fighting man.

(continued in Dark of the Elvenwood; order your copy now!)

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