The Wizardwar - Elaine Cunningham [89]
"What's not to love?" she muttered.
"Yet he would run himself to death if I needed speed, and there is no horse alive that I'd rather trust in battle. Cyric is capable of a deeper, more profound loyalty than any creature I know. Any, perhaps, save one."
He slapped the stallion's rump and sent it running off into the mist. "You followed me into Akhlaur's Swamp and fought the laraken, though you had no way of knowing it would not leave you an empty crystal shell. You are here in this place because your friends and your Halruaa were threatened, and you gave yourself in their place. You and Cyric are two of a kind, Tzigone."
"Well, a girl can't hear that too often," she said dryly.
"There is nothing more powerful than friendship-and no friend I would rather have," he said earnestly. "That power has a magic of its own."
Tzigone's eyes brimmed. She dashed away tears with the back of one grubby hand and pointed. Matteo turned. The mist parted to reveal a mosscovered, conical hill. A shimmering oval beckoned them.
Her face froze, her smile shattered. He followed the line of her gaze. A swift-darting swarm approached, a small army of dark fairies apparently bent upon holding their captives in this misty netherworld. There was no way the two friends could reach the portal in time.
Matteo pressed one of his matched daggers into Tzigone's hands and drew his sword. They hardly had time to fall into position, back to back, before the dark fairies fell upon them.
Tiny knives flashed, too fast for the eyes to follow. Matteo felt the stings, shallow and taunting. His sword flashed out again and again, trying in vain to drive them back, and he moved his dagger in swift, complex defensive patterns.
So quick were the fey monsters that they easily darted in and back, working around each of his strokes and lunges, stabbing at him again and again yet always keeping beyond reach of his blade. Pain flooded over Matteo, but pain more like intense sunburn than anything a knife might inflict.
He glanced down. His white garments were flecked with blood from hundreds of pinpricks, and his forearms appeared to be covered with a fine rash.
At this rate, it would take a very long time to die.
He felt Tzigone step away from him, and quickly he moved back into position, determined to keep her back covered.
"Let me go," she insisted, circling around as if to evade his protection.
Matteo easily moved with her, his sword and dagger flashing. "Forget it," he informed her curtly.
She hissed in exasperation and spun, nearly as fast as the fairies, delivering a sharp kick to the back of Matteo's knee.
He only faltered for a moment, but that was enough for Tzigone. She darted away. The Unseelie folk followed her like vengeful shadows.
Before Matteo could regroup, a flash of power lit the misty realm. He threw up one hand to protect his eyes.
When he could see again, he stared in astonishment at the charred bodies of several of the dark fairies. The rest had scattered-or maybe this was the sum total of their attackers.
The dark fairies were smaller than he had expected and so strangely beautiful that he almost regretted their fate. A terrible keening song rose from beyond the mist as the Unseelie folk bewailed their dead.
"They can die here," he marveled.
"So can we," she retorted as she scanned the mist for the next attack.
"You didn't by any chance bring iron with you?"
"Basel said it can't be done," he said in bleak tones. "Iron weapons won't cross over the veil."
Tzigone's eyes narrowed as she considered this. "Not if you follow the rules, it won't. Call Cyric again."
"I didn't call him the first time."
"Sure you did. You're better at it than I am-that was the most convincing illusion I've seen yet."
"That's impossible! I'm a jordain!"
Even as he spoke, Matteo realized the truth of her words. He could see magic in this place, sense it in a way that powerful wizards and elven magi were