The elvish blade stabbed repeatedly, sinking into muscle and flesh, but so, too, raked the great claws, tearing deep lines, severing the tendons controlling that arm.
Tiel'marawee was there in an instant, her sword flashing, and De'Unnero had to leap away. But now they lined up one against one, for Ni'estiel could do little more than roll about in agony and cry out for Tiel'marawee to flee.
"Yes, do try," the tiger said, and both elves stopped short, eyes widening in shock.
Then the tiger began to transform, first its head and then its torso, though the limbs, except for one arm, remained feline.
"What manner of demon is this?" Tiel'marawee said, and on she came, thinking to catch the creature in mid-change and score a deadly strike.
Too quick for the obvious move, De'Unnero sent his still-feline arm swinging across to intercept the sword, accepting the pain of the solid hit. Then out snapped his human arm, just missing a solid and devastating connection on Tiel'marawee's face as the elf spun away.
"Very impressive," the monk's now-human face said. "All that I would expect from the legends of the Touel'alfar."
"Who are you?" Tiel'marawee asked, her tone indicating that she was in control now. "What dactyl demon has arisen this time to bring grief to the world?"
"Demon?" the Bishop echoed with a chuckle. "Why, my dear, tender little elf, you could not be further from the truth. Do you not recognize Marcalo De'Unnero, the Bishop of Palmaris?"
Tiel'marawee blanched. It seemed impossible, ridiculous, and yet she found that she did not disbelieve him. "And thus your Church names the Touel'alfar as enemies?" she asked bluntly, trying to remain calm, though her composure frayed as she glanced over at Ni'estiel, who was now lying still, obviously near death.
"I name anyone who befriends the outlaw Nightbird as an enemy of the Church!" De'Unnero growled at her.
That set Tiel'marawee back on her heels once more. "And so you convict and execute without trial," she replied.
"That is my prerogative," the Bishop answered, and his powerful tiger legs sent him soaring forward.
She was ready for him and leaped straight up, flapping her wings to bring her above the Bishop. Then she dropped, like a bird of prey, sword stabbing like a talon.
De'Unnero hit the ground and rolled, swinging his arm frantically to intercept her blade. These elves did live up to their legend! He batted the sword and tried to grab it, but Tiel'marawee was already moving to the side, landing a dozen feet away and coming around in perfect balance to meet any forthcoming attacks.
"Well done," the Bishop congratulated, standing straight as a man once again, his legs reverting to human form. He dismissed the gem magic altogether then, and showed Tiel'marawee that he was completely human now.
"You err, Bishop of Palmaris," Tiel'marawee said. "Do you mean to start a war with the Touel'alfar? We are enemies beyond your comprehension, do not doubt."
"I tremble, good elf," De'Unnero replied. "And in truth, I might heed your words and see if a bargain could now be struck, except ..." He paused and laughed aloud.
"Except that I am intrigued by your mastery of the sword, and your movements so lithe and balanced," he finished. "And now I must learn the extent of that skill." With that, he fell into a fighting crouch, legs apart and balanced, arms swaying and crossing defensively in front of him. He carried many wounds already —blood shone in the moonlight against his bare skin—but though her enemy was merely human, Tiel'marawee understood that she had to be cautious. This one was quick and balanced, and too strong. She would wait him out, let him tire, let his blood continue to flow from those wounds she and Ni'estiel had given him.
A gasp for breath from Ni'estiel reminded her that she did not have the time, though, and so she came on in sudden fury, sword stabbing straight ahead.
Tiel'marawee miscalculated.
The elvish fighting style featured straight-ahead thrusts, sudden bursts that moved the tip of a slender elvish sword many feet forward in the blink of an eye. But De'Unnero's style, the open-handed maneuvers of the Brothers of the Abellican Order, was also a straight-line form, and so he crossed his forearms before him and brought them up in a gentle, but perfectly timed manner, lifting Tiel'marawee's sword high with only minimal damage to himself.
That left her open to a counter; she knew it and tried another lightning-fast defensive dodge.
De'Unnero's open palm crashed against the side of her cheek, stunning her, stealing her strength so completely for that instant that her sword fell from her grasp.
"Flee!" Ni'estiel cried in a voice filled with blood.
The word caught in Tiel'marawee's mind and stuck there, her legs and wings pumping hard to get her away. She hated the thought of leaving her companion, but understood, as elves always understood, her duty to the greater cause of the Touel'alfar, a demand now that she survive to bear witness, to tell Lady Dasslerond of the Bishop and his Church.
Her speed amazed De'Unnero. Moving away and up into the air, she would have gotten away cleanly except that the Bishop called upon his gemstone again and leaped at her with the power of a tiger's legs, grabbing her with an arm that once again bore the paw and claws of the great cat.
He caught her on the side, just below a wing —and only good fortune kept those claws from tearing the wing in half and dropping Tiel'marawee back to the ground. Tiel'marawee cried out in agony, but kept flying upward, knowing that to be dragged down was to be killed. A great patch of her skin from hip to knee tore away, but then she was free to fly, higher and higher, going to a tree branch, but then pushing on without hesitation, forcing herself to focus on the one mission before her: to get back alive to Nightbird.
Deeper into the stone went De'Unnero, thinking that as the tiger he would pace her and catch her and devour her.
She fluttered through the trees; he raced along the ground, leaping up whenever she swooped lower to dodge a branch or to find a foothold. Tiel'marawee tried a different tack, landing on a high branch and pulling her bow around, then launching a stream of small arrows at the tiger. She scored hit after hit, even as the tiger scrambled away, but though more than half her quiver was empty, she realized that she had done little real damage to the creature, that its wounds seemed to be healing almost as fast as she was inflicting them!
This was not a mystery to Tiel'marawee, who knew of the gemstones and understood that this man had used one to transform himself into the cat and was using another one to heal.
The one thing her volley had done was buy her some space. She put another arrow into the bushes where the tiger had disappeared, then rushed away, hoping that the cat would stay hidden long enough for her to get far, far from the spot.
And Tiel'marawee needed that, she realized, for her torn leg had gone numb, and the blood flowed freely. She felt cold at the edges of her small body, and her peripheral vision showed only darkness as death crept closer and closer.
She stumbled and toppled, tried to catch herself by willing her wings to beat furiously. But then she was down on the ground in a heap, trying to orient herself enough to get back up in the tree. But it was over, she realized, when she saw the tiger steadily approaching. Even if she managed to right herself and leap high, the cat would spring and catch her in mid-flight. Now she was to die, and a great sadness washed over her for the centuries she would not see, and even more for her failure to warn her lady, for the coming tragedy might well overwhelm the fragile world of the Touel'alfar.
The cat charged. Tiel'marawee closed her golden eyes.
She heard a last growl, then felt a rush from the side —powerful, thun derous. She opened her eyes to see the tiger spinning away. Powerful legs, equine legs, tore the earth next to her; Symphony neighed loudly, urging her up. When she could not find the strength to mount, the horse came down low.
The tiger leaped ahead, and so did Symphony, taking a vicious swipe on the flank. The chase was on. Tiel'marawee held on for all her life as Symphony thundered through the trees, cutting close corners.
De'Unnero gave good chase, but only for a short distance, for the cat could not match the pace of the great stallion. So the Bishop tried a different tack. He came out of his tiger form and sent his thoughts to the stallion through the hematite —and found an easy connection through the turquoise that was set in Symphony's breast.
He thought he had them both —and what a sweet meal they would make!—but Symphony was no ordinary horse, was possessed of an intelligence beyond his equine form. All De'Unnero received as a response to his call was a wall of anger.
Frustrated, the Bishop turned and ran for Ni'estiel, hoping that the fleeing elf might be foolish enough to turn the stallion around and try to rescue him.
Tiel'marawee knew her duty and, besides, she wasn't even in control of the horse; Symphony moved of his own will.
The sight of Ni'estiel, still alive but delirious from pain and weakness, brought a wicked smile to the Bishop. He shifted back into his tiger form, smelled the blood, and fell over the semiconscious elf in a tearing and biting frenzy.
Bradwarden found the stallion, sweating and exhausted, but still moving purposefully toward the encampment some time later. Tiel'marawee lay unconscious across Symphony's back, the horse working hard to keep her there.
"By the god Dinoniel," the centaur muttered, seeing the garish wound. He immediately pulled the magical red band from his arm, the elven healing band that had kept him alive for weeks when he was trapped beneath the rubble of Mount Aida, and tied it tightly about Tiel'marawee's arm, though he had no idea if the magic would work on wounds inflicted before the armband was placed on the victim.
He was relieved to see the blood flow slow a bit, but he seriously doubted that any healing had come in time to save the poor creature. He lifted her from Symphony's back, cradling her in his strong arms, and headed for the camp, the stallion at his side.
Elbryan's feelings upon seeing her came as a mix of agony and amazement
.
What creature could have done this to a Touel'alfar? And even more disturbing, where was Ni'estiel?
"She's said not a word since I came upon her and yer horse," Bradwarden explained. "Me thinkin's that Symphony pulled her from whatever enemy found her."
The ranger looked to his horse, found that connection through the magical turquoise set in Symphony's breast, and nodded his head. And then his fears grew as Symphony imparted the image of a great and powerful cat, one that matched perfectly the description Roger had given him of the cat that had murdered Baron Bildeborough.
"Oh, if only I had stolen a soul stone from the abbey!" Brother Viscenti lamented as he and the others came upon the scene.
Elbryan, too —and not for the first time—regretted that he had not accepted that one stone from Pony when she had turned her road to the south.
"Will she live?" Roger asked, as Brother Braumin, skilled in healing arts even without gemstone aid, moved over the elf, trying to make her more comfortable. Not understanding the nature of the armband, he started to untie it, but Bradwarden and Elbryan quickly corrected him.
"She's looking a bit better," Bradwarden offered hopefully.
"But her wounds are from the claws of a cat," the ranger explained. "Dirty wounds."
"A cat?" Roger asked, eyes widening.
Elbryan looked at him hard and nodded. "A great orange cat, striped in black," the ranger explained. Roger's knees weakened and he nearly toppled, except that Brother Castinagis was at his side, supporting him.
"Like the one that killed Baron Bildeborough," the ranger confirmed.
"Bishop," came a weak voice from below, as Tiel'marawee tried to explain. "Bishop . . . tiger."
Elbryan bent low. "Bishop?" he asked, but Tiel'marawee's eyes had closed once more and she lay very still.
"De'Unnero," Brother Braumin explained. "The Bishop of Palmaris. He is known for the use of the tiger's paw, a potent gem that can transform an arm into the powerful paw of the great cat."
"More than the arm," Roger insisted.
"He is here?" the ranger said incredulously, looking up to scan the forest as if he expected the tiger to leap out at them at that very moment.
"And we canno' be doubtin' his reason for comin'," Bradwarden remarked.
"He's searching for us," Brother Braumin reasoned. "We have brought danger to you by asking for your help."
The ranger shook his head. "I suspect that I am more his target than you and your friends," he stated.
"Any Pony more than yerself," Bradwarden added, a particularly unsettling thought for Elbryan. If De'Unnero had come out here looking for him, did that mean that the man had found Pony in Palmaris, had perhaps tortured her into revealing his whereabouts?
"I must find him," Elbryan said suddenly, still staring into the forest, his fears for Pony and his unborn child growing.
"I'm thinkin' that he's to find yerself soon enough," Bradwarden said dryly.
"What do we do?" asked Brother Braumin.
"We keep goin' the way we're goin'," Bradwarden answered before the ranger could interject his thoughts. The centaur was wise enough to understand that Elbryan was thinking of his lover then, and was likely thinking of turning back for Palmaris. And that, to Bradwarden's thinking, would be a tremendous mistake.
"Ye told me yerself just this night that the elves're with her in Palmaris," he said to calm the ranger. "Suren they're to protect her as well as ye could."
The ranger wasn't so sure of that, wasn't sure that the elves, given their obvious negative feelings about Pony's learning
bi'nelle dasada,
would even want to protect her. He shook that thought away, though, and reminded himself that the Touel'alfar, however different their viewpoint might be, were not enemies but allies.