Zaor fell back a step as he absorbed this wonder. "How many ships?"
"Ten. All well-crewed and heavily armed," the Gold elf said with pride. "Finer warships do not exist, on this world or any other. If the need arises, I will command the battle myself from the flagship."
"Even so, what chance have ten ships against a hundred dragons?" Zaor shook his head. "No, Lady Mylaerla must be alerted at once." He spun and stalked from the office.
"If you do," hissed the captain, "I will see you stripped of rank."
Zaor did not pause. "And If I don't," he returned with grim certainty and in a voice that rang though the corridors, "we will all be dead."
Leaving the Gold elf sputtering with rage, the Moon elf captain hurried through the halls of Lightspear Keep to the stables beyond. In the adjoining pasture awaited his horse. No common beast, this, but a moon-horse, a magical beast capable of great speed. He would have need of it, for the Eagle Hills were nearly fifty miles to the west, and too much time had been wasted on Horith Evanara's pride.
Zaor leaped upon the stallion's back and urged it forward with a thought. As he rode through the streets to the western gates, the Moon elf's gaze fell upon a round, white-marble tower, one of the finest buildings in all of Ruith. This was the Pegasi Aerie. Even now, winged horses and their riders were circling the city, landing on the flat roof of the Aerie, practicing the endless, complex maneuvers that had shaped them into a legendary defensive force.
For a moment, Zaor was tempted to stop and try to persuade the Gold elf commander into joining his mutiny. But he knew that such an effort would fail; furthermore, he doubted that a score of winged horses would have much effect upon a hundred rampaging dragons.
Zaor turned away, riding through one of the randomly shifting gates in Ruith's transparent walls. He could feel his moon-horse's relief as they left the city behind. The stallion sped toward the hills, then climbed the first rugged slope as nimbly as a mountain goat.
The Moon elf called a halt at the mouth of a cave. He dismounted, then urged the moon-horse to take refuge in the meadows to the west of the mountains. If all went as he hoped, he would not have need of such a mount in the battle to come.
When the magical creature was safely out of sight, Zaor took up a curving bronze horn that hung from a hook at the cave's entrance. He placed it to his lips and blew three quick blasts.
Before the final echoes died away, Zaor found himself gazing into two pairs of golden eyes. One belonged to Ahskahala Durothil, the other to Haklashara, the venerable gold wyrm who was her partner. At that moment, Zaor could not say with certainty which of the two was the more formidable.
The elf woman's odd, almost reptilian eyes were the only hint of color about her. White of hair and skin, draped in pale chain mail and a silver-gray tunic, Ahskahala closely resembled the spear she carried: tall, slender, lethal. There was more warmth in the dragon's amber gaze than in hers, and less menace.
The warrior listened, tight-lipped, to Zaor's warnings.
"I can meet the flight with thirty dragonriders," she said at last. "But I tell you now, it will not be enough. Most of the dragons are younglings. Even if they were not, the numbers are against us."
"Perhaps the starwing ships will turn the balance," Zaor said. Even as he spoke, he realized how hollow the words sounded.
The dragon Haklashara cleared his throat, a horrible grating sound that reminded Zaor of the first stage of a rock slide.
"What of the giant eagles that nest on the high crags?" suggested the wyrm. "Many times I have told you, elf woman, that they also might be persuaded to take on the training of you elves. At the very least, they might remove some of the burden of Evermeet's defense from the shoulders of the dragon folk!"
The elf glared at her mount. "This is not the time to sing that old song! Even if you were right-and mind you, I'm not saying you are-there is no time for it. Such birds must begin training the moment they emerge from their eggs. No untrained eagle would be able to work with an elven rider."
"Or vice versa," the dragon put in snootily.
Despite the bantering nature of this exchange, the dragon's words gave Zaor a sudden, desperate idea. He knew that all the creatures who made Evermeet their home were closely bound to the magic isle. A common eagle in defense of its nest was a fearsome adversary. Perhaps as many as fifty giant eagles lived in the mountains to which they lent their name. If he could convince these creatures to join the coming battle, they might have a real chance.
"Who leads the giant eagles?" he demanded of Haklashara.
"Hmm." The dragon raised a paw and tapped reflectively at his scaly chin with one massive claw. "That would be WindShriek, I believe."
"Do you know where to find him? Can you take me there?"
"Her," the dragon corrected. "WindShriek is a female, and as nasty-tempered as this other two-legged one before you. As to your questions, yes and yes. I know where her nest is, and I will take you there." The enormous creature slipped from the cave, sinuous as a snake, then crouched down to allow Zaor to mount his back.
"You would permit another elf to ride you?" demanded Ahskahala in astonishment.
The dragon shot a look of pure, gloating delight at his elven partner. "Only an elf who possesses the good sense to recognize wisdom when he hears it," he said slyly. A cryptic expression crossed his scaled visage, and he added in more serious tones, "And only the elf who bears such a sword."
Before Ahskahala could voice further protest, the dragon flexed his wings and leaped into the air.
The sudden rush of wind and speed nearly tore Zaor from his seat. He grasped the horn of the saddle with both hands, hanging on for his life and swearing with a soldier's fluency.
A low, grating chuckle thrummed through the shrieking wind. "Get used to it, elf king," advised the dragon. "As much as it pains me to admit, WindShriek in a dive flies even swifter than I!"
Haklashara climbed steadily until all that lay beneath them was a bank of clouds. Suddenly he curved his wings in a tight arch and spun down in a sweeping circle.
As they burst from the clouds, Zaor's eyes widened in pure panic. The dragon was hurtling with incredible speed toward the sheer rock wall of a mountain.
The wyrm's deep, booming chuckle bounced off the mountain, to be echoed again and again by the hills beyond. Just as Zaor was certain he could glimpse before him the shadows of Arvandor's trees, Haklashara wheeled abruptly to one side, then glided down to land with astonishing lightness and ease upon a large stone ledge.
The winds still roared in Zaor's ears as he leaped down from the saddle. Even so, he was nearly deafened by a shrieking cry, a scream so powerful that it shook loose rocks and sent them tumbling down the rocky face of the mountain. With a flurry of wings, WindShriek rushed at the invaders.
Zaor's moonblade hissed free of its scabbard. The elf brought the sword up in guard position and held his ground.
An aura of power, like a shining blue haze, surrounded the elf. Magic gleamed like captured lightning along the rune-carved length of the sword. Yet Zaor did not attack the wondrous bird.
Taller than a war-horse and garbed with golden feathers, the giant eagle was magnificent in her fury. Zaor only hoped that WindShriek, like Haklashara, recognized the significance of the magic sword and the destiny of the elf who wielded it.
WindShriek halted beyond the glowing aura, her wings batting wildly and her furious golden eyes fixed upon the dragon. The buffeting winds from her flailing wings threatened to sweep Zaor from his feet despite the sword's protective shield of magic.
"Why you come by my nest, dragon?" demanded the eagle in a high, ringing voice. "Bring lotsa blue magic, elf with sword. How come? You wanna steal egg, you plenty late! Eggs hatch, hatchlings now fledglings. Children not here-fly far and strong!"