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THE ATTACK HAD COME on so suddenly, there wasn’t any way they could have been prepared for it. It started with the fire on the east side of the Woodlands. Several houses had been lit and the blaze spread so quickly, it was hard for his people to react.
But that was the least of Andahar’s worries. When the Fomorians charged into his home, his immediate worry was the gates had been breached. He hadn’t even heard the warning horn from the gatekeeper. His brother, who would have sounded the horn as soon as he knew something was wrong, had been with him and his siblings at the funeral.
If the warning horn hadn’t been sounded then that could only mean the gatekeeper was dead and never saw them coming. The Fomorian mage must have used his magic to get to the gates and break through the wards Lady Talaiel had placed to get inside.
As the enemy poured inside, killing everyone in their path, Navin shouted to Andahar he was going to check the gate. He hadn’t seen him since.
Now the newly crowned king fought for his life as well as the life of his people. Eldrin and Talaiel sprang into action. She had called her people from the sky, which was somewhat of a relief to Andahar. The Skye Elves were known for their strength. But would they get there in time?
Half the Woodlands were on fire. His people couldn’t work to put it out because they were busy trying to stay alive. The men had come out fighting with everything they had.
Andahar cut down enemy after enemy, trying to make his way to the giant tree with the spiral staircase. He had seen a lot of them ascend toward the palace. He had to make sure his people were safe.
As he fought to get to the tree, Eldrin slashed his way to his side.
“Where is Princess Laerwen?” Eldrin asked.
“I don’t know. I left her in the woods.”
“You mean you two didn’t kiss and make up?”
Andahar gave him a sour look. “Find her. Make sure she’s safe.”
“As you say, my king.” Eldrin spun and stuck his sword in a Fomorian just as he was about to attack Andahar from behind. “Are you sure I shouldn’t stay with you? You are king now.”
“Find Laerwen.”
It was the last thing he said to his brother as he made a dash for the tree. He took the stairs two at a time. Sir Drake, his sister, Randir and Hiram should all be safe inside the palace. That’s where they were headed when they left him and Laerwen in the wooded area. He had to get there to warn them.
At the top, he was greeted with several more Fomorians which he did away with instantly. Up here, the rope bridges were littered with the dead. He hadn’t found anyone—Wood Elf or Fomorian—alive yet. He pounded his way down the bridge to the palace.
Once inside, he made for the throne room and halted abruptly when he saw someone sitting on his throne. He lounged back in the oversized chair, one ankle propped on his knee as he leaned against the armrest. He held a golden goblet in his free hand and sipped casually as though he were at banquet.
“Ah, good eve. You must be the king of the Wood Elves.”
“Who the bloody hell are you?” Andahar advanced with slow steps, holding his sword pointed at the man.
Another Fomorian. But by the looks of this one, though, he seemed rather important. Not as disgusting or ugly as the rest of them. As though he were a leader. He smiled, remaining in the chair as though he belonged there.
“Who am I? My name is Cormac.”
Andahar blinked and stared at him. Cormac? The one who had worked with Lord Kieran and the Goddess of War? It couldn’t be the one and same. The man had died in the underworld. Andahar had never met him, face to face. He’d only seen him from a distance at the battle at the Stone of Destiny on the Hill of Tara. From what he remembered, this was not the same man. Could this be an imposter? Someone who could have taken on the persona of Cormac?
“Aren’t you dead?”
He laughed. A jolly, bellowing laugh as though it was the funniest joke in the Otherworld. “I was, aye.” He dropped his foot with a clomp and stood, his boots thumping on the wood floor as he walked toward him. “But thanks to some serious dark magic and a new body...well...I’m quite alive again.”
Andahar’s sword didn’t move. The tip was a breath away from the man’s nose. “I should kill you right now.”
He lunged but Cormac flashed out of the way. A wide smile spread on his face as he reappeared behind Andahar. “If you can catch me, I suppose you can kill me. Or die trying.”
Andahar snarled at the Fomorian. “What do you want? And who are you really? No one escapes the underworld.”
“But I did.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“How do I know you are who you say you are?”
“You wish for me to prove it? Very well then. You and I may have never met but we were both on the Hill of Tara. We have a mutual friend. The lovely Princess Elyne.”
“Queen Elyne,” Andahar corrected.
Cormac’s brows rose. “Ah, queen now is it? I saved her life. In return, she saved mine when she could have had me executed for my part in the war with the Fae and Lord Kieran.”
He continued to detail the battle that had unfolded that fateful day, when Queen Maeve had nearly perished and the Fae Treasured had been lost forever. Andahar stared at him, his sword point never wavering. He had the memories of the Fomorian, it was clear. He had been the only one of his race at that battle.
“How did you escape the underworld?” he asked.
“There was a mage who helped me. Brought me back from the dead,” Cormac said.
“Lorcann.”
“Ah, so you know of him.” He clapped his hands together. “Wonderful. That saves me a lot of time.”
“That’s where he’s been. He disappeared after Marath was killed.”
“I’ve heard all about Marath. Bloody fool if you ask me. But Lorcann is an even bigger fool.”
Tired of the verbal volley, Andahar pressed the tip of his sword into Cormac’s nose, pricking the flesh and beading blood on the surface. “My people are dying at the hands of the Fomorians. Now I ask again. What do you want?”
He didn’t even flinch. “Lorcann wants to destroy the Otherworld. He seems to think he can do it too. I’m here because I wanted you to know who had beaten you. Who had destroyed your clan and your people.”
Andahar snarled. “You will never beat us. You will never destroy the Woodlands or the Otherworld.”
“Is that so? Who’s going to stop us? You?”
Before Andahar could answer, Cormac put his hands up, palm out. The blast hit the king in the chest. He flew backward, his sword clattering to the floor. The force of it was so great, he ended up at the entrance to the throne room. The breath whooshed from his lungs and he gulped, trying to catch it. Cormac advanced on him.
“I don’t want to hurt you, truly. But you give me no choice. I have to defend myself.”
The pain was almost too much. He crawled toward the door, trying to get to the rope bridge outside. He hoped the Skye Elves would make an appearance soon. They needed their help.
“You don’t want to destroy us,” Andahar said, his words breathy as he gasped through the pain. He clutched his middle and dragged to a sitting position. “I know you. I saw you on the battlefield at the Stone of Destiny. Even when you were ordered to kill Princess Elyne, you couldn’t. And I know you saved her life.”
Cormac’s lips peeled back in a snarl as he stared down at him with a sort of fierceness Andahar had never seen. Even though he didn’t know this Cormac’s face, he knew what he said was true. He could read it in his expression. He could read it in his eyes and knew this man truly was who he said.
“You were forced to fight for Lord Kieran and Morrigan. For your family.”
“Do not speak of them here to me now!” His hands remained fisted. His lips peeled back from his teeth in an ugly snarl.
But Andahar pressed on. “Morrigan killed them anyway before you could get to them. Before you could save them. Why are you going along with Lorcann now? When you are nothing more than another agent of evil?”
Cormac flashed to stand in front of him before he could react. The man had him by his tunic as he pulled him toward him, their noses only a breath apart. “You dare speak of them to me. You don’t know anything about them.”
“I know they were killed. I know you mourn them.”
Andahar searched his eyes and saw truth in them. He saw the desperation and the grief. He knew deep down, the mage had never recovered from losing them.
“How many children did you have?” Andahar never looked away. He kept his gaze trained on the man in front of him. The man who still held him by the tunic. He could see sweat beading his upper lip as he stared back at him.
“Three. All girls.” Cormac shoved him away and stood up. He raked a hand through his hair as he turned away. Andahar could see his back muscles were tight with tension.
“You don’t want to hurt us. Not really. Do you?” Andahar asked. He hoped he could talk some sense into the man. Then maybe they could stop the senseless killing.
“No.” The admission was a quiet one, his back still turned to Andahar. “But Lorcann is determined.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way.” Andahar got to his feet. He scanned the ground for his fallen sword, saw it within reach. But he didn’t want to lunge for it. Not yet. He wanted to talk to Cormac. “Call off the attack.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Lorcann has their loyalty.”
“And you don’t?”
Cormac turned his head to look at him over his shoulder. “That’s right.”
“Then help me. Help us. You can help us fight against them. We can stop this madness. We can stop all of this killing and banish them back to the Sorrow Lands.”
The mage flung around, his face red with anger. “No. I will never allow that to happen again. Never. My people don’t deserve that sort of prison again.”
Andahar was at a loss. If they didn’t banish them back to the Sorrow Lands, then where? What could be done about them? The Fomorians outnumbered them all. They’d killed nearly the entire race of Fire Elves. They’d been defeated twice before but that was prior to their release from their watery prison. And now there were far more of them.
“The Unseelie realm,” Cormac said. His normal pallor had returned as he met Andahar’s gaze. “They can be moved there.”
“But the Barrier has been fully restored. And only Unseelie may enter.”
“I can enter. I did once before. Or have you forgotten?”
Andahar shook his head. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”
“I know how Lord Kieran took it down. I can get past the Barrier. And then the Fomorians can be banished there.”
“And you’ll help?”
Outside, they could hear a squawk and shouts. Cormac ran past him and to the rope bridge. Andahar heard him swear under his breath before he turned back to him.
“I will contact you again soon.”
And then he disappeared in a flash of light.
Andahar stumbled outside. Overhead, he could see the moon dragons as they flew in. The Skye Elves had arrived and already they were fighting against the Fomorians. It took a moment for him to realize they were retreating as fast as they could.
They might be leaving, but they would be back.
He scanned the treetops for his brother, for Laerwen, for anyone. But he found none of them. He started down the rope bridge, stepping over the dead, as he headed for the staircase. He needed to find them. He needed to make sure they were all right.
As he ran toward the stairs, he wondered why Cormac had spared his life. Why he didn’t want to kill him.
He hurried down the stairs and came to an abrupt halt the end of it to take in everything he saw. Some trees were nothing but burned out shells that still smoldered. His people worked to put out the flames as best they could with buckets of water. They’d managed to contain most of the fire but it still raged in some areas.
Dead littered the ground. His people, Fire Elves, Skye Elves and Fomorians. He didn’t want to know how many were lost this day.
“Andahar, come quickly,” Eldrin called. His face and hands were covered in dirt and blood. His clothes were splattered with it. By the look on his face, Andahar knew something was wrong.
“What is it?”
“Navin.”
He followed his brother to the main gate, which was Navin’s post. When he heard of the attack, he had hurried to find his men and to secure the gate. Navin was on the ground. Andahar had never seen so much blood and knew instantly his brother was mortally wounded. He collapsed to his knees beside him.
“Andahar...brother.” He reached for him and fisted his tunic with his bloody hand. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. You did your job.” The sting of tears pricked his eyes.
“Are the people safe?”
“Aye. Thanks to you.”
“I should have...never left my post. I have...failed you.”
“No, brother. You have never failed me.”
He tried to say something else but couldn’t find the strength. His eyes fluttered closed as the life ebbed from his body. He was gone. Eldrin squeezed his shoulder.
Andahar stood and turned to him.
“Cover him. I don’t want anyone else to see him like this. Is Allanna safe?”
“Drake is guarding her.”
“And Talaiel?”
“I cannot keep her from a fight. Andahar—”
“Did you find Laerwen?”
“Not yet.”
“I have to find her.” Though he had no idea where to look for her. He’d start where he left her and retrace his steps.
“Be careful.”
* * *
LAERWEN HEARD THE SCREECH of the moon dragons overhead as they arrived with reinforcements from the Skye Elves. It was a relief. As soon as the Fomorians saw them, they retreated back to the gates. It didn’t stop Laerwen from killing them. She cut her way through the ones who were foolish enough to stay and fight.
“Laerwen!”
Randir ran toward her from the way she’d come. Relief sputtered through her knowing he was safe. He was there, alive and fighting against the Fomorians. She grinned when she saw him.
“What happened? How did you get away? The mage tried to kidnap me. If you hadn’t’ come along—”
“I know. I saw. Come on.”
He took her by the hand as they started for the stairs to head to the top of the trees. As Randir cut down one Fomorian after another, a sudden flash in front of them halted their progress.
The mage again.
“Fire Elves,” he spat. “You should have died in the Hin’dar Rhule.”
“But we didn’t,” Randir said. “You failed.”
The mage lunged for Randir and planted his hands on his chest. Light burst from the touch, making Randir’s body convulse. His head fell back at a sickly angle. Laerwen screamed. She tried to attack the mage, but he had some sort of protective shield around him. She pounded against the invisible bubble with the edge of the sword but it was to no avail.
When he finally released Randir, he fell to the ground. The mage flashed away.
“Randir!”
Laerwen was blinded by tears as she dropped to her knees. His skin was sickly white as though the mage had drained every ounce of life out of him. He had two charred marks on his tunic where the magic had touched him. There was no pulse.
Randir was dead.
Laerwen covered her face with her hands. Her betrothed was gone and with him, her last hope of rebuilding her race. The sounds of battle dimmed around her. And then a hand landed on her shoulder. She looked up into Andahar’s face.
She burst into tears all over again. He said nothing as he knelt beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling him to her.
“Now I’ve lost everything.” Her voice was muffled against his tunic.
No, she did not love Randir but she did respect him. He had wanted her despite everything that had happened.
She couldn’t stop the wracking sobs that followed. She pressed her face into Andahar’s neck, letting the tears fall. For Randir. For her parents. For her realm. Her people. For everything. She could no long bear the weight of it all. She had crumbled at last, her stoic façade she’d built to protect herself completely shattered. Her life would never be the same. She would never marry Randir. She would not rule with him.
Though she would rule her people. It was time for her to stop pretending nothing had changed and embrace the truth. Her parents were dead. She was queen now. The sole ruler of the Fire Elves. The only one who could lead them back to the Hin’dar Rhule. The only one who could save her people from total annihilation.
But now she was going to allow Andahar to offer her comfort. To hold her, soothe her, console her. She was going to take this moment to grieve and allow her emotions to run through her and her tears to flow. He stroked her hair as he held her against him. She fisted her hand in his tunic, clutching the fabric in her fingers and wrinkling it against her palm.
His arm tightened around her. “Hiram is here,” he said softly into her ear.
It was all she needed to dry her tears in an instant. If Hiram was there, then there were others of her people. She could not allow them to see her as a shattered shell. She sucked in a deep breath, let it shudder out of her as she composed herself. Laerwen wiggled out of his grasp and wiped the tears from her eyes before she turned to face her advisor.
The look of sorrow, shock and grief on his face nearly destroyed her. Nearly rendered her into a mess of sobs once again. But she swallowed the lump in her throat and faced him.
There were several Fire Elves who had joined him, standing behind him. A few of the women shed silent tears while the men looked on with grief-stricken faces.
“Princess....Lord Randir—”
“You will address me as queen now. I am the last of my royal line.” She held her head up high. “Lord Randir and others died fighting for us. To save us from the Fomorians. His death is an honorable one.”
“Prin—Queen Laerwen, you have my deepest sympathies on your great loss,” Hiram said. “Lord Randir was a noble man and one who possessed great honor and fortitude. He will be missed.”
He, along with the others, lowered their heads in a silent prayer.
“King Andahar, will you assist us in the burial of our people?” She turned and met his gaze as she spoke. Even he gave her a look of sympathy.
“Aye, of course. Anything you need, you shall have it. Anything I can do to help you, my assistance is yours.”
“The Fire Elves believe that for the spirit to pass into the hereafter, the body must be burned in the fires of the Hin’dar Rhule,” Hiram said. “Surely you don’t mean to travel back there, your majesty?”
“A funeral pyre will have to suffice, Hiram,” Laerwen said without shifting her gaze to her advisor. “Is that possible, your majesty?”
Andahar never let his gaze off hers. And somewhere in those crystalline depths, she knew he could see right through her pretense of remaining strong. Mayhap it was because he could sense something inside her had changed, that she had decided to use the title she was born to—queen.
“We can assist you with that,” Andahar said. “We can set them up in the meadow on the other side of the loch.”
“Thank you. Your help is much appreciated. Come, Hiram. There are preparations you and I must make for the funerals.”
She bustled past Andahar, brushing him as she moved away. For a moment, she thought he would reach out to her but he didn’t. Even as she passed him, though, she saw the dampness she’d left behind with her tears and the winkles in his tunic from her fists.
No one else seemed to notice. Hiram fell in step next to her. The others went their separate ways to deal with their sadness over the lord’s death in their own way.
“Are you all right, Laerwen?” Hiram’s voice was soft and tentative next to her.
“I am, Hiram.”
“Lord Randir’s death is quite a blow. Word will spread quickly to our people.”
“I know,” she said. “That is why I’ve decided to take the title of queen. You were right, Hiram. It’s time I did that. I should have all along. I should have married Randir sooner. Mayhap this wouldn’t have happened.”
“You cannot look back, your majesty. It won’t bring back Randir or your parents. You must only look to the future now.”
“No. Now I will look to today. The present. Now I will harness my anger and hate and destroy those Fomorians once and for all. If it’s the last thing I do.”
“Laerwen.” His hand clamped around her arm as he turned her to face him. “Revenge is not the answer.”
“It is. And I will be damned if those Fomorians take another life from the Fire Elves. I will kill every last one of them.” And Andahar will help me if I ask him.
“There has to be another way.”
“There is no other way to fight evil, Hiram. Except with violence. See to the funeral pyres. I will be in seclusion until they’re ready.”
“As you wish.”
She walked away, leaving him there in the woods to head back to her chamber. She could no longer stop the tears from slipping down her cheeks.