When she reached the edge of the Mists, Lillis turned back to watch the battle below. The remaining warriors guarding their escape were falling fast to the ferocious maws of the darrokken, while the Mages continued bombarding the mountainside with their devastating magic. A tide of Fey warriors burst from the Mists-filled pass of the Garreval and raced across the ground at lightning speed, swords flashing silvery bright in the sunlight.

Black Eld arrows turned day to night, and hundreds of Fey went down. Kieran fell with them.

"Kieran!" Lillis shrieked as she watched him fell. " Kieran!” She started to rush towards him, but the shei'dalin grabbed her and held her fast.

"Nei," the veiled woman whispered. "You cannot go to him. He would not want it. He dies so you may live."

With unexpected strength, the shei'dalin shoved Lillis towards the shifting radiance of the Faering Mists. "Quickly, into the Mists, it's our only chance."

Lillis struggled against her hold, squirming and flailing as the tears poured down her face. She screamed Kieran's name again and again as the shei'dalin dragged her away. Before they'd gone more than a few steps, the mountain gave a groaning nimble that escalated to a deafening roar.

Kieran's Earth weave collapsed and the entire mountaintop caved in, sending shards of shattered rocks, splintered trees, and a wave of earth crashing towards the valley below. The ground beneath Lillis's feet fell away, and with a wail she toppled back into the shining white abyss of the Faering Mists.

Her last sight was of Kieran, screaming defiance as the avalanche enveloped him.

Chapter one

Fading Lands, Faering Mists.

Fey warrior, champion of Light.

Fading Lands, Faering Mists.

Leading a never-ending Fight.

Tairen Soul: Singing, soaring high

Tairen Soul: Thundering, roaring cry.

Fading Lands, Faering Mists.

Fey Warrior, fiercest of Fey

Fading Lands, Faering Mists.

Alone, leading the way.

Fiercest of Fey, by Corvan Lief, Celierian Poet

Celieria ~ Orest

Two Weeks Later

Ellysetta Baristani plunged her hands into the gaping cavity of the dying boy's chest. Her fingers closed around his heart, pumping the still chambers with desperate force as a blaze of powerful, golden-white magic poured from her soul into his.

The fading brightness of his life force tasted warm and tart on her tongue, like a sun-ripened peach plucked too soon from the tree. So young. So innocent. He couldn't have been more than fourteen. Too young for this. Too young for war. Too young to die.

Just like her sisters, Lillis and Lorelle, who'd been lost in the Faering Mists during the battle of Teleon.

"Please, my lady. Save him. Please, save my Aartys. He's all I’ve got left." The mother of the dying child stood sobbing beside the table, her eyes swollen and red rimmed, chapped hands twisting the hem of the blood-soaked apron tied around her waist. Her desperation and grief-induced terror pounded at Ellysetta’s empathic senses like hammer blows.

Not that a few more hammer blows made much difference in the emotional din swirling around the scarlet healing tents that had been erected on the mist- and rainbow-filled plazas of Upper Orest. As always when a battle raged nearby, the sheer numbers of wounded and dying warriors made it impossible for the dozen scarlet-veiled shei'dalin healers to weave peace upon them all Not even the roar of the great Kiyera's Veil waterfalls could drown out the screams of pain and pleas for mercy.

"I’ll do my best, Jonna," Ellysetta vowed. She wanted to promise to save Aartys, but the last weeks here on Celieria's war-torn northern border had taught her too well. Death, once a stranger, had become an all-too-familiar acquaintance.

Ellysetta looked up and met Jonna's eyes over the boy's limp body. The weeping mortal woman was one of the hearth witches who tended the wounded and dying. She knew death as intimately as Ellysetta now did, but that didn't stop her from fighting against it with every ounce of strength she possessed—or from begging for a salvation she knew was beyond the capabilities of all mortal healers... and all but one of the Fey shei'dalins.

Ellysetta bit her lip. Aartys shouldn't be here on her table— and she couldn't help feeling partly to blame. After all, if not for her, the Fey might never have engaged their ancient enemy in this new Mage War. If not for Ellysetta, her truemate. Rainier vel'En Daris, would never have blown his golden horn this morning to call his Fey warriors and the mortal men of Orest to battle. And if he'd never blown that blast, the sound would never have spurred Jonna's young son to snatch up his dead father's sword and rush to fight alongside the men of Orest and his heroes, the immortal Shining Folk of the Fading Lands.

Yet those things had happened. And now, here they were, a child maimed and dying, his mother weeping and pleading for his life, both utterly dependent on Ellysetta and her magic to snatch his life from the jaws of death.

"Hold his hand, Jonna," Ellysetta commanded. "Feed him your strength. Call to him. Don't stop until I tell you." And then, though she shouldn't have vowed it, she did: "If there's any way to save Aartys, I will."

"Oh, my lady." Jonna's lips trembled and tears flooded her eyes. "Oh, thank you, my lady. Thank you."

She started to come around the table, but Ellysetta stopped her. "Hold his hand, Jonna." The command came out more curtly than usual. She didn't want this woman kneeling at her feet, kissing her hem as other Celierians had done when pleading for her to save a loved one. She wasn't a goddess to be worshiped.