Page 91 of In Darkness Forged
Tal’s willingness to negotiate suffered a swift and brutal death. A cold fury burned through the last dregs of his patience, and his outflung blade sliced cleanly through the tendons at the back of the human’s knee.
The man screamed as he fell, then staggered back up on one leg for a moment before falling again.
Aislin darted around him to slip her hand beneath Tal’s arm, her lips bloodless and her eyes haunted. “We need to go now,” she said. “Before it is too late to warn the rest of the household.”
One last time, Tal turned his gaze on the man who lay on the floor, spitting epithets, his home ablaze and his people long gone.
“If you ask me,” he said quietly, “I will carry you out of here. There is no need for this to end in death.”
“Come any closer, and I will bury my blade in that witch’s treacherous heart,” the human snarled, and this time it was Aislin who responded.
Her face was white, and tears shimmered on her cheeks, but she stood tall and shook her head with grave finality. “There is nothing more we can do for him. We must save our efforts for putting out the fire and saving those we can.”
Tal looked down into her beautiful eyes and nodded. “As you wish,” he said, sheathing his blade.
Aislin took his hand, and without a single backward look, she led him out of the great hall and into the chaos beyond.
* * *
Despite their efforts, the fire spread, and no matter how quickly they worked to draw water from the manor’s well, there was no number of buckets that could douse the leaping flames. While the stone walls would stand, the furnishings, the doors, the wood paneling, and all of the draperies were soon ablaze.
Fortunately, all lives appeared to have been spared—Tal himself had carried several frightened humans to safety before young Lord Sandric declared all were accounted for.
While Aislin helped assess the injured, Tal joined the efforts to move all of the manor’s animals to safety—dogs, cows, horses, and even a litter of kittens in a large basket. At least, he surmised, it should prove rather difficult for the humans to go on fearing someone who rescued kittens, night elf or no. In the midst of so much urgency and chaos, no one had the time to pause and be terrified by his size or his appearance. They simply handed him a bucket or a lead rope and accepted him as a part of this desperate attempt to save lives.
It was a long night, and he was already weary, but there was always a need for more hands. So he stumbled on hour after hour, side by side with humans of all shapes and sizes, until they had saved all that they could. Then, at last, they could only wait as the flames died down, the embers smoldered, and the sounds of weeping could be heard from those who had lost everything.
The manor had not simply been a home—it represented the livelihoods of an entire community, and the impact of its destruction would be felt by many. But as Tal looked out across the assorted humans gathered there, he also saw signs of hope.
A man in a torn, silken waistcoat carried a young boy in the clothing of a servant, not seeming to notice the blood seeping into his white shirt from the child’s wounds. A woman wearing an apron had her arm around a lady clad in jewels and a velvet gown, and they leaned on one another as they both cried.
Perhaps, Tal reflected, there was something to be said for beginning again on a new foundation. Perhaps, in the end, it was only through fire that darkness could be cleansed.
“There you are.”
Aislin stumbled out of the shadows to stand beside him, turning to gaze out on the flames with a troubled look on her weary face. “I never wanted this to happen,” she said quietly. “I knew Lord Dreichel was a hard, self-centered man, but I never dreamed he would do something like this. I should have…”
“No.” Tal lifted a hand to press one finger to her lips. She stilled, her shoulders slumped, and then he moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her hair. “None of the blame for this lies on your shoulders.”
With a heavy sigh, she leaned back against him and rested her head on his chest.
“I know,” she said. “And yet, how can I not wonder what I might have done differently? How did I not see that his hatred and his obsession ran this deep?”
“Because neither of those things are in your nature,” Tal replied. “You value life and have compassion even for those you do not understand. Dreichel valued only his own legacy. He had no regard for your life when this began, and so considered it entirely expendable when you had no more to give him.”
“Is that why you followed me inside? Because you knew?”
“I guessed,” he admitted. “Though I intended to do no more than watch from a distance until he threatened you.”
Aislin was silent for a moment before her hands rose to clasp his where they rested on her waist. “Thank you,” she murmured. “But I wish that you had not been forced to save me again. It seems that’s all you’ve done since we met. And I didn’t want these people to see you as a threat, but… It all went wrong, didn’t it?”
Tal tightened his hold, hearing despair and wishing his magic could banish that enemy as easily as it brightened the darkness. “Aislin, I cannot fathom how you can only see the times that I have savedyou. Do you not realize how often you have saved me, as well?”
“Anyone would have done that,” Aislin protested. “And it was only the once.”
“You are wrong,” he said firmly. “It was you who saved us in the cave, every time. Even when all logic suggested we should have been able to rely on my power, it was your courage and tenacity that pulled us through. Without you, I would be lying dead in the Darkspring.”
She made a small, dismissive sound. “But it was you who fought off the aranthas. And I thought, at the very least, I would not need you to save me here, among my own people.”