there, once. He'd been following the track of a deer and found himself, unexpectedly, on the plain of Shadow's Fall. There was no marker to warn the unwary, but he'd known where he was. Even so many centuries later, under a blanket of pure white snow, there was death in that place. He could almost feel the soil of the wounded land under his feet.
The meadow stretched out before him now; he recognized the shapes of the peaks that surrounded it. There was no snow on the ground to hide the shape of the bodies littering the ground.
"There, there they faced the hosts of the Shadowed and fought. The sky grew black and blood drenched the ground." Tier smelled the bitter scent of old blood and almost gagged at the familiar odor of war.
"Bodies piled and the battle raged around them for days. And nights."
His cell rang with the sounds of battle, and he realized he'd forgotten how overwhelming it was: the clash of metal on metal and the screams of the dying.
"The Shadowed's creatures needed no sleep and they fed upon the dead. The Army of Man fought on because there was nothing else to do; they fought and died. But not so many died on the third day as had fallen on the second day. By the fourth day it seemed that the evil host was thinning, and hope rose among the ragged band - and for the first time they drove the host back."
Tier found that he had to stop to catch his breath, and slow his heartbeat. In his pitch-black cell he saw a red-maned, scarred warrior with his axe held wearily against his shoulder, waiting for Tier to continue telling his story.
But it was too real now, and the words were gone, lost in the desolation of the long-ago battle.
"And hope flooded the Army of Man for the first time," said the other, in a voice as ragged as Tier's.
"But even as they cheered, the skies darkened, though it was yet midday, and another assault began." The words were Tier's again, though they seemed oddly unreal compared to the scenes that unfolded before him.
It was hard to breathe, the air was so foul. Red Ernave's hands were weary from the endless fighting. His axe laid into a creature that looked as if it had once been a wolf before the Shadowed's magics had gotten to it. It died hard and Ernave had to hit it a second time before it lay still.
He found himself on a small rise without an immediate opponent. He took the chance to rest briefly and ran his gaze over the fighting - and saw the Shadowed for the first time since the battle had begun.
The Shadowed was less than he'd expected. A full head shorter than Ernave and half his weight, he looked no more than a lad. He bore more than a passing resemblance to Loriel - though her eyes had never been so empty. The Shadowed smiled, and Ernave, who had thought he was tired beyond fear, found that he was wrong.
A voice beside him said, "I'm here."
It was Kerine, the scrawny Traveler who was now their only wizard. He'd staggered into Ernave's encampment several winters ago and been a thorn in Ernave's side ever since.
"It only needed that," said Ernave sourly.
Surprisingly the wizard laughed. "When the Shadow one is dead, I'll wash my hands of you, you hard-headed bastard. But from this moment until that we are brothers, and I'll stand with you. It'll take more than that axe of yours to kill the Shadowed."
Ernave said, "Come then, brother," and cut a path through the battle to the Shadowed.
The Nameless King fought alone. His own creatures granted him a wide berth - as if there could only be so much evil in one place and the Shadowed's presence made all other dark things unnecessary.
Ernave approached from the side and swung, but the king's shield intercepted the blow. Ernave's axe sank through the thin metal outer layer into the wood underneath and stuck.
Ernave jerked his axe hard and forced the Shadowed two wild steps to the side before he slipped his arm out of the shield's straps.
Ernave slammed the shield into the ground, splitting it as he would have a log so that his axe was free. It was a swift and practiced move, but he just barely managed to bring his weapon up to parry the king's strike.