“ ’Twas yer own strength,” replied the witch. “A lesser man’d not have made it to me wood.”
“Surely it was the both of you,” Arien Silverleaf said. “And such strength we shall need often in these dark times. And wisdom. The song to Andovar will run through many more verses, for long were the feats of that ranger. Let us enjoy its completion, then find our place of council.”
“Is there word o’Ardaz?” Bellerian asked.
Brielle shook her head. “Billy Shank set off on Calamus this morn in search o’ me brother,” she explained. “But I fear that he is at the far end of the world and will not return to us for many days.”
“But he will return to us in time,” Arien assured them. “None have come to know the value of Ardaz more than the elves of Illuma, and ever will we trust in him to arrive when the hour is darkest.”
“So he will,” Brielle agreed, and then they fell silent to hear the continuing song. The elves had known Andovar only briefly, but their melody captured the spirit of the slain ranger so completely that Belexus found himself walking in dreams beside his lost friend.
It went on for more than an hour, and then the four of them moved to a more private meadow for their council, joined by Sylvia, Arien’s daughter, and by Ryell, the elflord’s closest adviser.
“We have heard the tidings of war,” Arien began. “And though they ring out far to the south, in the kingdom of man, their cry to the ears of Illuma is not diminished. We have come to know King Benador and his people as friends these last twenty years, and we will not forsake them in their dark hour.”
“Still, we fear to leave our homes,” Ryell added. “If the talons are on the march, might they not strike north as well? What protection would Illuma Vale find if our people are all away in the southland?”
“Yer fears are known to me,” said Brielle, a bit uncomfortable with the gathering. Such politics were not usually the way of the Emerald Witch, but with Morgan Thalasi at the head of this invasion, these were not usual times. “We will address them before the council is ended. But first we should be hearing the words o’ Belexus, for he alone among us has fought in the southland.”
Then Belexus recounted his tale, from the rout in the western fields to the mad rush back to the river to the defense of the Four Bridges. All but Brielle blanched when he spoke of the Black Warlock, denial clear upon their faces. But Brielle dashed their hopes that the ranger might be mistaken in his guess.
“With me own eyes I have seen the specter of Thalasi,” she assured them. “In the body of Martin Reinheiser, and even more powerful than last we knew.”
“But Reinheiser is dead,” Ryell argued. “He fell over the cliff to Blackamara. And Angfagdul”-he used Thalasi’s enchantish name-“was slain on the field of Mountaingate.”
“A wizard is not so easily slain,” Brielle reminded them all. “The Black Warlock has returned. I have battled with him meself.”
“Then the talons have a powerful leader,” Arien lamented, knowing beyond those flickering hopes that their cause was even more desperate now.
“Two leaders,” Brielle corrected. “Another of the ancient ones walks Aielle.” As soon as the others took the time to consider Brielle’s words, they understood who she was referring to. There had been only four ancient ones, and now two-Billy Shank, off on his quest to find the wizard Ardaz, and Martin Reinheiser, the embodiment of the Black Warlock-were accounted for. If Jeff DelGiudice had somehow returned to Aielle, he most surely would have fought on their side. That left only one.
“Mitchell,” growled Bellerian. “Suren that one’s a scourge on the world.”
“And more so now,” Belexus added. “No man is he, but a spirit o’ the netherworld, an undead thing of great power. ’Twas he who killed Andovar, and nearly meself.”
The words hung in the air like the weight of doom, bowing heads in dismay.
“But we are not lost!” cried Sylvia, Arien’s fiery daughter. “Never before in all the world have the men of Calva and the elves of Illuma joined together against an enemy. And three wizards fight on our side.”
“Truth in yer words,” Bellerian piped in. “The Black Warlock has found himself some mighty foes indeed. He’ll not be likin’ the reception we’ll be givin’ to him when he tries again to cross the bridges.”
“But can we go there?” asked Ryell, ever the pragmatic one. “What force does Angfagdul hold in reserve in the Crystal Mountains, ready to fall upon the northern fields when the elves and the rangers have gone to the south?”
“Not to fear,” said Brielle. She stood and walked to the center of the group. “Istaahl of Pallendara and meself have fought with Thalasi these many days, and it is our belief that the Black Warlock has erred in his attack. He did not get across the bridges quick enough, afore all the wide world learned of his presence.”
“A ruse?” asked Bellerian.
“Nay, too many are with him,” Brielle replied. “Thalasi did not figure on the resolve of the Calvans.”
“Or on the presence o’ yer daughter,” Belexus reminded her.
“Me hopes are that the Black Warlock has not yet come to understand the power of Rhiannon,” Brielle said grimly. Every minute of every day, the witch feared for her daughter, so exposed right beside the Black Warlock’s army. “ ’Tis me feeling that Rhiannon’ll have more to say in this war.
“But the bridges have been held,” the witch continued, “to the rage o’ the evil warlock. Thus he has summoned the wraith of Mitchell, and more tricks he’ll suren find. But Morgan Thalasi canno’ go north, not nearen me domain, or south, where Istaahl holds the sea. He has committed his forces to the bridges, to the heart o’ Calva, and if he means to turn his forces aside, he’ll find them slowed and cut down by meself and me friend in Pallendara.
“But neither can we leave our domains,” she explained. “The Black Warlock is strong indeed, and he does not end his assaults on Avalon and on the Tower of Istaahl. Even as we sit here speakin’, the White Mage o’ Pallendara fights off another o’ Thalasi’s attacks.” The others, having witnessed many strange storms raging over the western borders of Avalon, understood her reasoning and the seriousness of her words.
“It is only our closeness to our places of power that gives us the strength to keep Morgan Thalasi away, and so are we trapped here,” Brielle explained.
“At least until Ardaz returns,” Arien remarked. “The Silver Mage might turn the course of battle.”
“He might indeed,” agreed Bellerian. “But we must fight without that hope. With or without the aid of the Silver Mage, the Black Warlock and his pig-faced army’ll be driven back to their holes!”
A determined chorus of agreement sprang up among the fearless assembly. All of them had known adversity in their lives-the elves had lived with it for centuries-and they would not surrender, whatever the odds. And none in the world so enjoyed fighting talons as the grim Rangers of Avalon.
“To the south, then!” cried Ryell. “King Benador is in need!”
“Aye,” said Brielle. “Away ye all should go. Winter’ll be no friend to the Black Warlock with his rabble army; the stalemate works against him.”
“So he has created a new leader to get him across the river,” Belexus agreed, painfully aware of the power of the wraith of Hollis Mitchell.
“His hopes are to find the walls o’ Pallendara afore the season’s change,” Brielle reasoned. “Me thoughts say he’ll strike out hard afore many more days have passed.”
“Then he shall strike out against the army of King Benador, the army of Arien Silverleaf, and the warriors of Lord Bellerian!” Sylvia growled. “And woe is to him!”
“To the south, then!” cried Ryell. “And to the side of King Benador!”
All of them, Sylvia and Ryell included, had their doubts about the certainty with which the rallying words had been spoken. But none of them would speak those doubts aloud.
Now was not the time for the weak of heart.