So must his men have felt, when they died.
He lay prone, lacking the strength to move, All he could do, he had done, whether she knew it or not. No matter. He had not done it for her, but for her smile, and a memory of what might have been. She was close; so near, so far. The heels of her boots were inches from his open eyes, cracked and downtrodden. How many leagues had they traveled together? He could see every shiny crease worn in the leather. He might have loved her if she had let him. It would have spread balm on the aching wound of his betrayal. But it was not to be, and all he could do was die for her sake. It would have to be enough, for there was nothing else left to him. Between them lay the man she loved and protected. Blaise's calloused hand was outflung, open, as if to reach in friendship. His closed lids fluttered and his fingertips twitched.
There was another sound. The dragon's roar.
It hurt Carfax to move his head, but he did. Enough to see the black horn of Oronin's Bow silhouetted against the sky and the blazing shaft of the Arrow it held taut. Enough to see the tension in her body as the stooping dragon began its last dive, growing from a dwindling speck of brightness to a massive comet. Fianna's legs were trembling, though she had her feet firmly planted. He saw the strong muscles of her calves quivering in fear. But she was the Archer of Arduan and her arms held steady. In the midst of chaos and battle, she held. Even in the face of the dragon's dive, as its wings shadowed the sky and its gleaming talons threatened to gouge the earth.
Even when its jaws gaped wide, revealing the depths of its impossible gullet, and fire spewed from the furnace of its belly. With tears on her face, she held her ground, shoulders braced, a shaft of white-gold fire blazing in the arc of horn and hair circumscribed by her hands. As he watched, her lips shaped a single, desperate prayer and her fingers released the string.
The Archer of Arduan shot the Arrow of Fire.
Trailing white-gold glory, it flew true between the dragon's jaws; flew true and pierced the gullet, pierced the mighty furnace of its belly. There was an explosion, then; a column of fire that seared the skies, while Men and Ellylon flung themselves to earth, and from somewhere, a cry, a terrible descant like the sound of a heart breaking asunder.
Dying, the dragon fell.
The impact made the mountain shudder.
Once the tremors faded there was a great deal of activity. Crushed Men screaming, defeated Men surrendering. Hailing shouts, and orders given crisply. Ellylon voices like a choir, intermingled with the sound of horns. A name uttered in a futile paean. None of it had anything to do with him. Carfax closed his eyes, and did not open them for a long time. It would have been better not to know. Still, he looked. Near him, so near him, a massive jaw lay quiescent on the scree, attached to a sinuous neck. Twin spirals of smoke trickled from bronze nostrils, wisping into nothingness in the empty air. The massive body lay beyond the bounds of his vision, broken-winged. Life was fading from a green-gilt eye. "I'm sorry," Carfax said; or tried to say, mouthing the words. There was no strength in his lungs to voice them, and his eardrums were broken. "I'm sorry."
Distant shouting; victory cries.
In a green-gilt eye, a dying light flickered, and a faint voice spoke in his mind. This battle is not of your making, Arahila's Child. You played your part. Be forgiven. And then words, three words, wrested forth in an agonizing wrench, one final throe before the end. Lilias! Forgive me!
Not for him. No matter. It was enough.
Carfax sighed, and died.
* * *
TWENTY-SIX
« ^ »
THE CRASH SHOOK THE VERY foundations of Beshtanag.
Brightness, fading. All the brightness in the world. Kneeling on the terrace, Lilias bent double and clutched at her belly, feeling Calandor's death go through her like a spear. Her throat was raw from the cry his fall had torn from her and her heart ached within her, broken shards grinding one another into dust.
Whatever scant hope remained, his final agonized words destroyed.
Lilias! Forgive me!
Calandor! No!
She clung to the fading contact until his mighty heartbeat slowed and stopped forever. Gone. No more would the sun gleam on his scales, no more would he spread his wings to ride the drafts. Never again would she see a smile in the blink of a green-slitted eye. Her heart was filled with bitter ashes and the Soumanië was a dead ember on her brow, scraping the flagstones as she rocked in her grief, pressing her forehead to the grey stones. For a thousand years he had been her mentor, her friend, her soul's companion. More than she knew. More than she had ever known. "Calandor," she whispered. "Oh, Calandor! Please, no!"
In her mind, only silence answered.
Huddled over the flagstones, the Sorceress of the East grieved.