It was a quarter moon out, a young half-moon as the elves called it, and the members of Hallien's strike force moved silently through the giant limbs of the trees. It was a pity so few mages could teleport, that gateways were so unsuited for living beings to travel through them, and that portals were so difficult to make. If any one of those things were possible, then the force could simply teleport to the battlefront instead of traveling on foot among the branches.
It was nearly moonhigh, midnight, and only the nocturnal animals were out. Mages had dispersed night vision charms to those without magic to prevent Ljósálfr from missing their footing, getting tangled in vines or branches, or otherwise jumping right into a tree trunk as might have happened otherwise. Ljósálfr, unlike Dökkálfr, were diurnal, active during the day. It was for good reason.
Eragon had tried to tag along, but had gotten shot down instantly by his father. He had made a good point that he was a target, and would likely be targeted once his father left with the bulk of Taurn Tal's troops. There had to be traitors among the civilian population, and Hallien would be leaving some troops behind. Even though Kiri was being left with Eragon, a rebel could easily be among the other Ljósálfr.
In the end, the prince had been forced to stay and provide reconnaissance and support from afar. He just wished that he could animate the trees to fight with his father's troops. Fighting a tree was extremely demoralizing. They had no nerves, and felt no pain from blood (or sap) loss, and the loss of limb (branches) had no effect on them. Once uprooted they could travel shockingly fast on the roots like a spider, and was capable of flexing their limbs to an unnatural degree. Unlike fauna, flora like the trees didn't have emotions such as fear, greed, or arrogance. They were also strong, and one hit from a branch would rupture organs and turn bones into gravel.
Even though Eragon was certain he could awaken the trees to help, the battle was going to take place in Morland. Morland was cursed ground. No plant grew within its bounds and no animal would touch the ground of lava rock or even fly overhead. Only Ljósálfr were brave, or stupid, enough to enter the territory. That meant there was nothing he could do to help his father.
Merrith, as Sana had so bluntly pointed out, was going to be one of the greatest threats and he would be in the air. Even if the trees would help, Merrith would be out of range. Hallien had also reminded Eragon of his own point that he would be a target. It was better to split the targets, and as such, split the enemy forces. Eragon had no choice but to let his father leave, watching through the trees' senses as he drummed his fingers on the surface of the crossbow.
Hallien remembered Eragon's irritation with a soft smile as he signaled with his hand. This battle was to retrieve the power of the Emerald Crown and to stop Daris, for Eragon's safety. As per his cue, his forces split into two groups. Half stayed with Hallien but the other half went off in a different direction with Myrin. Myrin nodded at Hallien once before he vanished, a movement Hallien returned.
*Father* Eragon whispered in his father's thoughts as Hallien stood on a branch and rested a hand on the trunk, speaking through the tree. *I know this is a bad time, but I need to tell you something.*
Hallien was confused, wondering why Eragon hadn't said something sooner. *Can it not wait? What is it?*
*Not what* Eragon warned him, *who.*
Hallien remained confused until he felt a presence and looked up. Magic flew to his fingers, but the curse faltered at Eragon's warning. He lowered his hand and the visitor looked down at him with a slightly amused look in her fuchsia eyes.
"Tilaria," Hallien growled.
The girl jumped down from her branch to land beside him on the limb he stood on.
"You don't look happy to see me," Tilaria observed. "I'm hurt."
*Eragon,* Hallien said in a parental voice that indicated he was annoyed.
Eragon smiled, sitting on his bed. *Um… surprise?*
Hallien huffed as Eragon filled him in about his earlier conversation with Tilaria. The other Ljósálfr with Hallien started to go into a fighting stance when they saw her, but Hallien raised a hand and they stood down.
"You have got to be kidding me," Hallien muttered when Eragon finished.
This explained why Tilaria's body hadn't been found by Sana and the other scouts. There hadn't been a body to find.
"Why don't we get your precious crown back before we start trying to kill each other?" Tilaria asked dryly. "You have an attack to launch."
Hallien sighed, giving her a scything look. She was right though, and Myrin and his group had had enough time to get into position.
"Fine," Hallien relented, "but follow my order. I have to-"
He stopped, and he and the other Ljósálfr present looked across Morland. They had felt the senselines Daris's rebels had placed around the border of the lifeless volcanic stretch snap. Myrin had moved early.
"Great," Hallien sighed. "Let's go!"
He leapt down into the battlefield, and Tilaria kept pace with him as the other attack commenced. Enemy Ljósálfr had appeared and some were already clashing with Myrin's forces. Why Myrin had struck early Hallien couldn't' guess. His misstep had given them, and the element of surprise, away.
There was a flash of shimmering blue light from the rim of the volcano as Merrith's blade-shaped wing unfolded from his back and corporealized. The majestic sight took away the breath of all who saw it. Once those wings solidified though, he beat them in a downward stroke and took to the sky.
His strike was vicious when it came only a few seconds later. One of the blades elongated into a whip and struck downward on the ground-bound forces. It was as sharp as a soul, too sharp for anything to block it. The whip-like wing tore several Ljósálfr apart, cutting off limbs and tearing their bodies into two. Merrith flicked the wing, sending drops of blood falling to the ground.
Tilaria hesitated when she saw that, letting other Ljósálfr fall into the battle. She saw what others didn't. The blood from the fallen Ljósálfr clung to Merrith's wings. Unlike normal magic, the blood was sticking to the wings. Normal magic would just slide off it like water on a duck's fathers, not cling to it like water on a cat's fur. It was affecting the wings where nothing was supposed to.
"I wonder," Tilaria said softly.
She held out a hand, calling up the blood from the Ljósálfr that had just been killed. The blood rippled like water a stone had been tossed into and then condensed into a swarm of several hundred sharpened needles. All it took was a flick of her wrist and the needles shot off the ground straight towards Merrith.
He saw the attack coming, and his wings curled in front of him protectively like a shield. As Tilaria feared, the blood magic was incapable of hurting the wings made of soul. The blood splattered on the surface of the wings like paintballs on a wall. It caused no damage, but the blood did not run off. It stuck to the surface of the wings.
Merrith unfolding his wings and they snapped back out from behind his shoulders. The movement was stressed and slow though, and Merrith made a face a he looked at his wings. He saw the blood clinging to them and beat his wings once fiercely to try to shake off the blood.
The blood didn't leave though, and he lost a little altitude. There was no pain, but the weight of the blood made his wings droop. His wings were made of pure energy and had no matter, making them the literal definition of weightless. He was stunned by how much the blood weighed, and had to burn a significant amount of energy to maintain his altitude. He had no focus leftover to interfere in the fight, still trying to clean the blood from his wings.
"I love blood magic," Tilaria said in amusement as the extra weight forced Merrith to land.
Merrith's wings lay flat on the ground, as if there were weights attached to them. His wings were weightless, and neither the wings nor Merrith's muscles were prepared for the extra weight of the blood. He rubbed his palm against the nearest wing, and although some of the blood came off onto his palm, the movement also smeared it across the surface, making the stain worse.
He jerked his head up as he sensed something an instant before it struck. It was an explosive Silver Arrow shaft. Three inches from the side of his face, it exploded. The force behind it knocked him into the hallowed out crater of the volcano, and he tumbled as he fell. His wings softened his fall, folding underneath him so it was like landing on a pillow, but their reaction was slow and the movement sloppy. Merrith's head cracked against the ground, leaving him reeling.
Daris's jaw dropped when Merrith was knocked from sight, a movement copied by several others. Sana lowered her bow, blinking in surprise. Hitting a Seraph was one thing, but to actually deal damage? The blood on the wings had slowed their movements enough that they hadn't been able to come between Merrith and her arrow in time, allowing it to pass through his defenses.
Sana summed it up in a single word, "wow."
Daris now clenched his teeth together, jaw locked as he glanced over at Tilaria. That girl had done it this time.
*Be careful* one of Hallien's mages projected through the crowd of people. *Merrith may be grounded, but he is still a powerful mage. He won't be defenseless.*
Tilaria agreed silently and decided to do something about it as she knelt. When she straightened, she held a saber she had relieved from a slain Immortal Guard in her hand. The battle continued around her as she tested the saber to make sure it was balanced. Getting killed because of a technicality like a skewed blade didn't appear to her.
Feeling the weight of a full-length sword compared to a measly dagger was comforting, and she glanced around the battle. No one had paid her much mind, leaving her free to move towards the volcano. Merrith's wings were inoperable, and Tilaria had a feeling this was not only their best chance to kill him, but the only one they were going to get. Now that Merrith knew of his wings' weakness, he wouldn't let the blood hamper him again. The sooner he was dead, the sooner the situation would stabilize and the sooner Eragon would be safe. That was Tilaria's only real concern.
Other Ljósálfr were more hesitant then Tilaria about engaging in open combat. Both Daris and Hallien's troops wore the same uniform, and neither wanted to strike one of their own men because they couldn't tell them apart from the enemy. While the combat stuttered around her, Tilaria made for the one elf she knew was the enemy.
The muscles in Merrith's back strained as he stood, blood running down from the back of his head and matting his hair, coating the back of his neck. Both sensations were alien to him. It was like his wings weren't waterproof and had just been dunked in water for how limp they were. Tilaria had given mass and as such weight, to pure energy constructs that weren't supposed to have mass.
This was probably one reason why Ljósálfr and Dökkálfr didn't get along, Merrith thought to himself as he tried to shake the blood off his wings. Half of all Seraphs were Ljósálfr, and blood magic was a magic mastered almost exclusively by Dökkálfr. Again, the abilities of the two cousin species cancelled out.
Finally, Merrith gave up and furled his wings back into the soul. That forced the blood to leave the surface of his wings and drip to the ground in rivulets. His wings furled back into his soul much slower than they would normally, and the aureole around his upper back vanished.
He straightened and stretched, arms above his head. The sounds of terras fighting and killing reached him, but what they did was of no concern to him. That blood mage peaked his interest though, and she wasn't bad. Despite being a terra, she might be worth his interest.
Merrith let his arms fall back to his side and tried to unfurl his wings. They responded sluggishly and wanted to stay furled. He wrinkled his nose, not used to this attitude from his wings. Normally they loved being unfurled, and keeping them in his soul too long caused muscle cramps and shooting pain in his back, shoulders, and neck. Never had they fought him on being freed. Never before had they been exhausted.
He scowled at nothing in particular, irked that he had been grounded so easily. Who knew his wings would have such an obvious weakness? Merrith felt a prickle of being watched, it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Wary, he turned around to see Tilaria standing on the lip of the crater. She looked bemused.
"Something wrong with your wings?" Tilaria asked him, moonlight reflecting off the naked blade she held.
"Believe it or not," Merrith purred, "yes."
It had been a long time since he had fought without the aid of his wings. This might actually be fun.
That's the problem with civil wars. It's harder to kill people that you've grown up with, eaten with, and chatted with then with total strangers that look and sound different then you.