"… Cerelinde!"
"They're going to stand," Peldras said somberly. "For the Lady of the Ellylon, they're going to stand their ground."
Something that might have been a laugh or a sob caught in Carfax's throat. He rocked back and forth in the saddle, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, unable to express the futility of it all. So many assembled, so many dying! And to what purpose? None. There was nothing here but a failed gambit. The agonizing cries of the wounded and dying on both sides of the battlefield scourged his soul. In anguish, Carfax of Staccia committed his final betrayal. "She's not there," he gasped. "She's not even there!"
The Ellyl touched his forearm, frowning. "What are you saying?"
"Oh, Haomane!" Fianna cried. "No!"
Too late, too late for everything. Far, far above them all, the dragon folded its wings and dove, dropping like a falling star. Its jaws stretched wide, opening onto an impossible gullet. Smoke trailed from its nostrils. Plated armor covered its breast, a nictitating membrane protected its eyes and its foreclaws were outstretched, each talon like an iron spike, driving earthward.
Whatever resolve Aracus Altorus had instilled in Haomane's Allies shattered.
Crying out in fear, vast numbers of the Pelmaran soldiery fled like leaves blown before a gale, carrying ill-prepared Midlander forces with them. Here and there, pockets of Vedasian knights gathered, seeking to rally around their standards, and the archers of the Rivenlost kept their line intact.
But it was the Borderguard of Curonan that held steadfast in the center.
At the last possible moment, the dragon's wings snapped open, membranes spreading like sails to brake its dive. Arrows and spears clattered from its impervious hide. Its neck wove back and forth like an immense serpent's, fire belching from its open maw as it swept low over the field, cutting a swathe through Haomane's Allies, not discriminating between nations and races. Everywhere, Men and Ellylon gibbered and wept, cowered under shields, died screaming and scorched. The dragon's claws flexed and gathered, and bodies dangled from the clutch of its gleaming talons as it soared upward; dangled, and fell like broken dolls as the talons released.
Somewhere, Aracus Altorus was shouting, and the surviving Border-guard answered with grim determination, gathering tight around him. In the smoke and chaos left in the dragon's wake, the Beshtanagi forces spread out and advanced, closing in on the far-flung edges of their attackers' forces, driving toward the center with desperate urgency.
Their numbers were few—but they outnumbered the Borderguard.
A lone figure stepped forth beneath the dun standard to meet the onslaught.
"Blaise!" Fianna spurred her mount unthinking, guiding it with her legs, her Archer's hands reaching as she sped across the battlefield, dodging around unmounted Beshtanagi wardsmen. Oronin's Bow was in her hand, her hand reaching over her shoulder. Light spilled from her quiver as she grasped an arrow, an ordinary arrow, fitting it to the string. The black horn bow sang a single, deadly note as she loosed it, and a wardsman fell, clutching his chest where an arrow sprouted. "Blaise!"
"Fianna!" Starting after her, Carfax felt the Ellyl's grip tighten on his forearm. "Peldras, let me go," he said, trying to pull away. "She's like to get slaughtered out there without armor or a guard!"
"Peace, Arahila's Child. I seek only the truth." The Ellyl's grip was gentle, but surprisingly firm. His deep gaze searched Carfax's face. "Will you withhold it while people die in vain?"
Above the battlefield, the Dragon of Beshtanag circled low, harrying fleeing soldiers and driving them back onto the battlefield as it came in for another pass. Fire roared, and cries of agony rose; a din of chaos and anguish. Somewhere, Oronin's Bow was sounding its single note, over and over. On the outskirts of it all, Carfax met Peldras' gaze. "Can you stop the fighting if I tell you?"
"I don't know, Carfax of Staccia." The Ellyl did not flinch. "I fear it may be too late to sue for a truce. But if the Lady Cerelinde is not here, I will do my best to carry word. Perhaps some lives may be saved, and Fianna the Archer's among them."
It was too late, after all. Too late for everything.
"She's in Darkhaven," Carfax said simply. With those few words, he surrendered the long burden of his loyalty and knew, in doing so, he accepted his death. When all was said and done, it was a relief, an unspeakable relief. He should have died with his men. He wished that he had. There was no honor in a life foresworn. It would be good to have it done. "Your Lady Cerelinde is in Darkhaven. She was never here. It was a trick, all a trick. General Tanaros was supposed to lead the army through the Ways and fall upon you from behind. Something went wrong. I don't know what."