As the Dragon appears in the sky, Kim falls to her knees, beaten there not by the wind of its coming but by the sick weight of her own folly. This, then, was the reason that the Baelrath had burned at Calor Diman; this is the need it had foreseen and demanded an answer too.
But she had refused, had denied it, and so now Tabor dan Ivor will pay the price for her refusal.
The guilt is numbing and useless. Kim blinks tears from her eyes, watching.
And so, she is able to see as Imraith-Nimphais bucks Tabor free, as Teyrnon-- warned by Paul's sharp, frantic cry-- reaches out with magic to slow his fall, as Arthur Pendragon races across the plain to catch Tabor in time, followed and guarded by Lancelot, the two of them moving nearly as one.
Her tears are for another reason entirely now, as Arthur brings Tabor back to them. The boy has collapsed, she finds, but will recover in time.
They all might, now.
We have a chance.
Even as she thinks it, Kim looks up and sees the Maugrim's armies approaching. There are too many of them, she thinks, and says aloud. "There are too many."
In the silence that follows, it's Gereint who answers. "There must not be."
Arthur turns, a passion flaring in his eyes.
"You are right, shaman. There must not be." And with that, the raithen leaps forward down the ridge, bearing Arthur Pendragon, the Warrior, back to war in Fionavar.
There is silence again, and then Jaelle breaks it.
"Are we lost?"
Drawn by something she cannot name, Kim looks up at Paul, who is facing northward-- and of all of them, gathered there, it is him who answers.
"Perhaps. But there is one last random thread of hope left for us still, and I will not concede dominion to the Dark until that thread is lost."
As he speaks, her own knowledge comes sweeping over her like a wave. With only a single glance at Jen, Kim moves to stand beside Paul, looking northward as well, toward a place she has seen only in vision, so long ago.
But she had refused, had denied it, and so now Tabor dan Ivor will pay the price for her refusal.
The guilt is numbing and useless. Kim blinks tears from her eyes, watching.
And so, she is able to see as Imraith-Nimphais bucks Tabor free, as Teyrnon-- warned by Paul's sharp, frantic cry-- reaches out with magic to slow his fall, as Arthur Pendragon races across the plain to catch Tabor in time, followed and guarded by Lancelot, the two of them moving nearly as one.
Her tears are for another reason entirely now, as Arthur brings Tabor back to them. The boy has collapsed, she finds, but will recover in time.
They all might, now.
We have a chance.
Even as she thinks it, Kim looks up and sees the Maugrim's armies approaching. There are too many of them, she thinks, and says aloud. "There are too many."
In the silence that follows, it's Gereint who answers. "There must not be."
Arthur turns, a passion flaring in his eyes.
"You are right, shaman. There must not be." And with that, the raithen leaps forward down the ridge, bearing Arthur Pendragon, the Warrior, back to war in Fionavar.
There is silence again, and then Jaelle breaks it.
"Are we lost?"
Drawn by something she cannot name, Kim looks up at Paul, who is facing northward-- and of all of them, gathered there, it is him who answers.
"Perhaps. But there is one last random thread of hope left for us still, and I will not concede dominion to the Dark until that thread is lost."
As he speaks, her own knowledge comes sweeping over her like a wave. With only a single glance at Jen, Kim moves to stand beside Paul, looking northward as well, toward a place she has seen only in vision, so long ago.
To Starkadh.
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