When the Corrax were within fifteen feet, previously designated ranks of Skaar soldiers utilized that part of their genetic makeup that allowed for it and, one by one, began to disappear. A curious shimmer rippled all along their lines, and it was suddenly unclear to the Corrax what was happening. And then, in another instant, whole ranks were not there at all. Only half of those who had been clearly visible moments before now remained, and their bodies were shimmering, too. There was a ghostliness about them, as if they were formed not of flesh and blood but of smoke and mirrors.
Although the Trolls could not see what was happening, those Skaar soldiers who had disappeared had shifted their lines left and right to come at their attackers from the flanks in a pincer movement. The Corrax experienced a few quick moments of confusion as they surged to the attack, closing on the Skaar who remained visible, and then they were being slaughtered. Real sword blades and spear points were skewering and slashing the Corrax from both sides in places where no one seemed to be, and there was nothing the Trolls could do to protect themselves. They tried to fight back, but they couldn’t find their opponents. All they could see before them were empty images; the Skaar were gone, their bodies become no more than air.
The Corrax had fought on, anyway, almost to the last Troll, because this was all they knew how to do. But it had been hopeless, and they had died still not knowing what had happened. Even those who sought mercy, falling to their knees in abject surrender, had been slaughtered. Only those who had remained in their village were spared—the old, the infirm, and the young—allowed to live so they could carry word to other tribes, in other places, about what had happened. Once it was known what the Skaar could do, the other Troll tribes would be more willing to listen to reason. The Skaar army could then bypass these tribes and move down into the Borderlands and the more valuable prizes that lay to the south, east, and west.
The Skaar had left the bodies of the dead on the field of battle to rot, refusing them burial or even the flames of a pyre to send them to whatever afterlife they believed in. Their kin and friends were not allowed to claim them. They would be ghosts abroad in the land, their spirits left to wander endlessly, their history lost with their passing. This was the fate that awaited all those who chose to stand against the Skaar. This was power beyond anything those who inhabited the Four Lands had witnessed before, and they needed to respect how formidable the Skaar were.
Kol’Dre had known the impact this massacre would have. After all, he had helped develop this approach. His was a long and storied legacy. He was known throughout the countries of Eurodia, and coming to the Four Lands had given him the chance to further build his reputation, to test himself against men and women who were ignorant of his existence. He had relished the opportunity, coveted the challenge. In the conquering of the Four Lands, he would gain new respect and perhaps elevate himself further in Ajin’s eyes.
Yet he understood the odds against fulfilling those ambitions. Any personal involvement with the princess had always been enormously complicated. A dozen years her senior and of common blood, he was not an ideal match by any measure. In fact, there was no reason for the king even to consider him as a son-in-law. None of this was helped by the fact that Ajin did not see him as he saw her. But he also understood you never got anything in this life by deciding you couldn’t have it. So he had continued to dream, determined he would find a way.
Now the dreaming was over. Now she was dead, and there could never be a way.
It was exactly as this dark realization left him bereft that he heard gasps of surprise from a few of those who had hauled him from the Keep to safety. And when Kol’Dre turned around to look, Ajin d’Amphere was walking toward him.
* * *
—
That Ajin had had been able to escape from Dar Leah was something of a surprise. Certainly, she had done everything she could to persuade him it was the right thing to do, but it was still almost impossible for her to believe. It told her something about him that left her breathless with need. Here was a man, a warrior without peer, who was secure enough in his own skin to let a woman dictate his fate. One who placed respect and the settlement of personal debts above fears that it would cost him something down the line.
Few men she had known would have been able to do this. But for the Blade of Paranor, it had been no problem at all.
She thought again about how he had fought for the lives of the two Druids on the grasslands west of the Charnals when the Skaar had attacked them. Coming over the side of his warship so swiftly and charging to their rescue. Throwing himself into a battle that he must have known he could not win and still managing to save his female companion. Nearly escaping with her into the mountains with flying skills that matched her own, downing two of her airships and very nearly downing hers, as well.
It excited her all over again, just thinking about it, and she found herself smiling, in spite of the circumstances. Then her smile vanished, washed away by her realization of the darker realities. Yes, the Keep and its Druids were gone, but she had planned to make a present of the building and its treasures to her father, and now that was impossible. Most of her advance force—perhaps all, Kol’Dre included—was likely dead, destroyed by the creature that lived in the greenish mist. It was a hard, painful reward for all of their efforts, and she could only hope that it provided an example to the people of the Four Lands, showing them what the Skaar were prepared to do in order to make a home here.
She circled the perimeter of the grounds on which Paranor had rested, unwilling to step again onto that treacherous soil without a very good reason. She trudged through the darkness, searching for Skaar survivors, but found no one. In the surrounding forests, the birds and animals had begun to communicate again as they went about their lives with the coming of morning. Insects buzzed her heated face, and in the sky the diminished moon hung low against the horizon while the stars were beginning to fade again in the lightening sky. Morning was less than an hour away.
She had wandered along the perimeter of perhaps half of the Keep’s barren grounds when she found the ragged little band of survivors and felt a small leap of joy. Even better, there was Kol, standing off by himself, staring at nothing. When the cries of the others alerted him to her presence and he turned and saw her, he raced for her, folding her in his arms with such happiness that she felt compelled to give him silent permission to touch her in familiar fashion this once.
“I thought you were dead!” he whispered, crushing her against him. “That was what they said. But I knew. I knew it wasn’t so!”
“Yes, but it will be if you don’t let me breathe soon,” she complained.
He released her at once and stepped back. “Forgive me…”
“For what?” She gripped his arms to hold him in place. “For being glad to see me alive? For letting your usual cold and tightly wound emotions get the better of you?” She reached up to touch his cheek. “My brave Kol.”