Billy Shank watched the gathering dawn. Beside him, the great Pegasus grazed calmly. They had stopped only a couple of hours before, the urgency of their mission overruled by a needed rest. But already Calamus had regained his strength, and when the lord of horses saw Billy approaching, he stamped and agreed that it was time to depart.
Then they were up on the breezes again, climbing high into the morning sky, and all who saw them in their flight, mostly simple farmers of Calva’s northern fields, looked upon them in amazement, not understanding the drama of the quest but well aware that this spectacle was merely an extension of the growing conflict along the river.
The world had changed so suddenly.
Billy kept the southeastern line of the Crystal Mountains to his left, cutting a course for the Great Forest, the largest woodland in all Aielle, where he would begin his search for the missing wizard. His only hope, Aielle’s only hope, was that Ardaz would spot the Pegasus high up against the sky and reveal himself. The wizard had said only that he would be out beyond the Elgarde River, out in the uncharted wild lands, and Billy knew his chances of finding Ardaz’s exact location were slim indeed.
But he had to try. Once again Ardaz had become a critical player in the hope of the world.
Out beyond the Elgarde, beyond the Great Forest, in lands unknown to the Calvans, to the Illumans, even to the wizards of Aielle, Ardaz picked his way among the rubble and tunnels of a deserted town. He had suspected all along that there were others in the world beyond its known borders, races not Calvan, Illuman, or talon, and now he had found his proof.
The wizard danced happily through the ancient ruins, thinking it grand that there was apparently much more to be learned about the world. His eyes did not turn back to the west.
He did not hear the call of Brielle and Istaahl, and could not know that the Black Warlock once again walked Aielle.
They rode out of Avalon with the rise of the next sun, to the blast of horns and the pounding thunder of hooves. On came the elves of Illuma, five hundred strong, their sleek steeds adorned in shining armor and draped in lines of jingling bells. Arien Silverleaf led the way, his silvery armor and shield glistening in the morning light, and his magical sword, Fahwayn, held high above him.
And beside the Eldar of Illuma rode Bellerian, the Ranger Lord, leading his own column of grim-faced, mighty warriors. Though they were but fourscore strong, none who had seen the Rangers of Avalon in battle underestimated their value.
Belexus waited at the edge of the wood as the column passed, the fair witch at his side.
“So grand the preludes seem,” Brielle remarked, but there was not a hint of awe in her voice. She understood the end result of such a charge. She had witnessed it before, and she knew that the grime and blood and tears would dull the shine of weapons and armor, and that the mournful cry of a funeral horn outsounded the eager blare of heralding trumpets.
“We go because we must,” Belexus replied. “We growl and shout and prance with our steeds because to do else would beat us before we e’er faced our enemy.”
“But ’tis a sadness to know where the path will take ye all.”
“Ayuh,” Belexus agreed. He looked Brielle straight in the eye, his expression a mixture of tenderness and unyielding determination. “But sadder still would the endin’ be if we ne’er trod that path. Were that it could be otherwise, me Lady, but the Black Warlock must be stopped and pushed back from the lands of Calva.”
“And so he shall!” Brielle replied, her face brightening a bit. She reached out to run a smooth hand gently over the ranger’s firm visage. “Know that I’ll be lookin’ for yer return, son o’ Bellerian.”
“And know that I shall return,” Belexus assured her.
Brielle’s concern did not diminish. She knew the vendetta that the ranger carried with him, and knew that he could not defeat Hollis Mitchell. “Ye mean to find the wraith?” she asked bluntly.
Belexus looked away, unable to deny the question that rang out more as an accusation.
“Before, I have telled ye that the thing is beyond yer knowin’ and yer power,” Brielle said to him. “All me fears for ye are suren to come true if ye go against the likes o’ the wraith o’ Hollis Mitchell.”
“Andovar will be avenged,” Belexus said grimly.
“Not to doubt,” Brielle agreed. “But not by yerself, not now. Ye have no’ the weapons to strike the wraith. Not yet.”
“Then when?” Belexus snapped, a sudden fire in his pale blue eyes. “Give me the weapons, Brielle. Grant me the power to avenge the death o’ me friend!”
Brielle shook her head helplessly. “I know not o’ them,” she admitted. “Nor even if they exist at all.” Belexus started to turn away, but she grabbed his elbow and forced him to look at her. “The wraith is but a tool o’ the Black Warlock,” she said. “Stop Morgan Thalasi. Crush his wretched army and drive him back to the west and ye’ll find yer revenge.”
Belexus had no choice but to agree-for now. He had fought the wraith, had seen the hopelessness of the battle all too clearly. “Find me the weapons,” he pleaded to Brielle again, and he swung up in the saddle of his mount, ready to join the column.
“The day will come,” Brielle promised. “But remember yer cause above yer vengeance, son o’ Bellerian. More’s at stake then the fire in yer blood.”
“I know me duty,” answered Belexus, “to the rangers, and to the good folk o’ the world.”
“And come home again,” Brielle said softly. “To Avalon, where ye belong.”
“And I’m knowin’ me duty to Brielle,” Belexus continued. “I shall return to walk by yer side in Avalon, me Lady, and suren ’tis that very thought that’ll carry me through the trials o’ battle.”
He kicked his powerful steed into motion and bounded off across the southern field.
Brielle could only watch him go and hope-for Belexus and for all the world.
And then she had to go again, for another storm had risen from the wastelands beyond the western borders of Avalon. Morgan Thalasi had come calling upon her forest once again.
Chapter 20
Teamwork
RHIANNON HAD NO trouble at all as she continued to make her way through the seemingly endless talon lines, though she did not know whether her inconspicuous movement was a matter of the talons’ inattentiveness or an unconscious effort on her own part, using her magic to disguise her flight. However she managed it, the young witch finally got beyond the southern fringes of the talon encampment and was cutting a southwesterly course toward the Baerendel Mountains before the night was halfway through.
She had a general idea of where to find Bryan, but the land seemed vast indeed and the mountains held innumerable hiding spots, and the witch’s daughter grew concerned with the wisdom of her decision. She could take care of herself, she knew, with or without the young hero, but without Bryan’s understanding of the landscape, Rhiannon believed that she would be of little help to any refugees wandering out alone in the Baerendels.
But Rhiannon found the answer to her dilemma early the next day. A bluebird fluttered down to her as she slept on a mossy bed, recognizing her as a friend. When Rhiannon opened her eyes, she saw the thing hopping along the length of her arm, its head cocked as it stared into her face.
“A good mornin’ to ye,” the young witch said with a sincere smile, glad to be greeted by so friendly a face.
The bird chattered a response and Rhiannon’s eyes widened. She could understand it!
She had talked to birds, to all the animals, back in Avalon, but she had thought it a blessing of her mother’s enchantment, not an ability of her own.
“So it’s me own magic,” she pondered, tapping a finger on her pursed lips. And then those lips spread into another smile as Rhiannon came to understand the implications of this particular ability. “Go get yer friends,” she whispered to the bird. “I’m needin’ to talk to ye all.”