Bastion of Darkness (33 page)

“I don’t need any,” Del replied.

“Then go and play with yer tree,” the ranger said, managing a bit of a smile.

He came in wildly, swinging and hacking with apparent abandon. But Bryan was in complete control, his every strike strengthened by rage but tempered by his warrior sensibilities. He saw Rhiannon hanging in shackles, badly beaten, but he did not let the sight truly register, did not let it bring him to despair.

He only let it cause him rage, and in the first few seconds of that charge through the door, Bryan had both the zombie guards hacked down to the floor and had put the talon jailor, the largest and ugliest talon he had ever seen, back on its heels, waving its chain and huge dagger frantically in a desperate defense.

The creature was no match for the outraged warrior, and Bryan’s powerful swings kept it backing and scrambling. It tried to retreat in an angle that would give it clear flight out the door, but Bryan would have none of that, dragging his back foot whenever he advanced, so he could change to any direction immediately in perfect balance.

In thrust his sword; the talon leaped back and whipped the chain across, and the metal links wound about Bryan’s weapon. Before the talon’s smile could ever widen on its ugly face, though, Bryan turned his shoulder and rushed in, slamming the creature hard with his shield, pinning its dagger hand in close to its side.

The talon dropped one foot back, expecting Bryan to continue his press, but the half-elf, recognizing that the
talon was the stronger, did not want to play this close in combat. Instead of advancing, the half-elf dropped his sword shoulder and pivoted back across and under his turning shield, twisting the chain free of the talon’s grasp. Before the ugly creature could counter the move, before it could slip through the sudden opening for a clear slash at Bryan’s side, the half-elf snapped his blade out to the side, launching the chain across the room, then put the sword back in line with the talon.

The creature had only one recourse remaining; it darted to the side and back, nearing Rhiannon. “Yous come on and she gets sticked!” the wretched brute cried.

Hardly thinking of the movement, Bryan tossed his sword in the air, caught it in a reverse grip, and hurled it across the span. He started a rush right behind the flying blade, but no need, for the lightning-spewing weapon had done its work, driving hard through the talon’s chest, dropping it to lean against the back wall, where it slid down to the floor, down to death.

Bryan was beside Rhiannon in an instant, not even slowing to retrieve his sword.

“Ye should’no’ve come,” the woman whispered.

In response, the half-elf laughed. Not a mocking laugh, but one of the greatest relief that he had found the woman alive. He considered Rhiannon’s chains then, and looked first to the jailor, wondering if he might find keys in its pockets. That didn’t seem likely, not for so valuable a prisoner as this. He found another answer, though, and went to gather his sword, the weapon Brielle had so strongly enchanted.

“But I did not come alone,” the half-elf explained with confidence, looking from the woman to the sword, and then to the emerald amulet. Almost immediately, the blade came alive with arcs of blue-white power. A single
stroke to each chain had Rhiannon free, the weary young woman falling heavily into Bryan’s waiting arms.

Holding her, the half-elf felt more warmth and more love than ever he had known, but also trepidation, for now he had to find some way to get the weakened and battered woman out of Talas-dun.

“Me mum,” she said suddenly, turning a quizzical gaze upon Bryan. “Ye’ve bringed her!”

Before Bryan could explain, or ask how Rhiannon knew, he saw the change come over her, saw her face brighten, her bruises lessen. Brielle was reaching out to her through the amulet, was sending her very life force across the leagues to her dear daughter. In mere seconds, Rhiannon stood straight and steady, the look in her eyes transforming from one of a battered prisoner to the familiar, resolute young woman that Bryan had come to know and love.

“We have to get out of here,” the half-elf said.

The woman nodded, but the expression upon her fair face was not one of a prisoner looking to take flight. “When we’ve finished,” she replied with deadly calm.

Bryan looked at her curiously.

“Thalasi’s got something,” Rhiannon explained. “Something powerful, something wicked. We’re inside, and not to get a better chance for his evil staff.”

“I came to get you out,” Bryan protested.

“There’ll be no place in all the world that’s ‘out’ if Thalasi keeps his staff,” Rhiannon replied with equal determination. “He’s bringing up the dead with it, and knowing no limits.”

A grunt from the door turned them both that way, to see two talons standing there. One shrieked and charged; the other turned to flee.

Before Bryan could even move to defensive posture, the young witch extended her arms, and from each hand
came a line of flames, one enshrouding the closing talon, one reaching out to grab the fleeing beast.

Both fell dead to the floor, mere smoldering husks, a few seconds later.

“I have not used me magics in many a day,” Rhiannon explained. “I have hung on Thalasi’s wall and gathered me strength, for I knew that it was not me place to be a helpless prisoner. And not me place to run away now, with Thalasi so close, and so off his guard.”

Bryan had no arguments in the face of that determination, especially with two charred and curled talon bodies in clear sight.

Perhaps it was the workings of the Colonnae, perhaps simple luck, but the day was clear in the southeastern foothills of the Kored-dul, and unseasonably warm, affording Belexus, high upon Calamus, a spectacular view of the approaching armies. From the south came King Benador and the Warders of the White Walls, surrounded by the thousands of Pallendara’s army. From the east came Arien and the elves, no less impressive though their numbers were but a fraction of the Calvan force. From the movements of the two groups, it seemed apparent to Belexus that there had been some communication between them, for their respective courses would bring them in simultaneously to opposite sides of a strategic rocky arm of the mountain range.

The splendor and coordination of the march sent the ranger’s spirits soaring, but those hopes were tempered a moment later when he flew his mount in lower over the mountains, when he saw the specter of Thalasi’s coming force. They moved along the trails like the inevitable darkness that follows the day, carrying with them, it seemed, a tangible shadow, a visible aura of evil. Belexus noted that there was something awkward about their
movements, and noted, too, that several bands skirted the main host, as if afraid to approach. He was about to take a chance and swoop Calamus in even lower when the ghost of DelGiudice came up to him with an explanation.

“They are dead,” the ghost said matter-of-factly. “Most of them, anyway. The main host are zombies and skeletons, and are led by a great evil.”

“Thalasi,” Belexus muttered.

“Mitchell,” Del corrected, and the ranger’s eyes flared, an eagerness the spirit could not miss. Nor did DelGiudice miss the fact that Belexus had angled the pegasus slightly and was now veering in toward the monstrous horde. “Go to King Benador and warn him what he faces,” the ghost firmly instructed. “The men will flee in the face of ghoulish undead if they are not forewarned.”

Belexus glared at him.

“I know your desire,” DelGiudice said sympathetically. “But right now, you appear to your enemies as no more than a speck in the sky, a great bird, perhaps. That is your advantage.”

“Ye find Mitchell,” Belexus replied, having no practical arguments against Del’s suggestions. “Ye find him and keep him in yer sights. Ye’ll be guiding me when I return from King Benador—and from Arien, if the need arises—and know ye that I’m meaning to have Mitchell’s ugly head!” With that, the great pegasus turned away in a powerful stoop to the south, and only a few minutes later, Belexus set down before the king of Calva, to the resounding cheers of the soldiers: men who knew the ranger well and who had witnessed, or heard about, his unrivaled valor and skill at the battle for the Four Bridges.

“We had word from Arien that you had gone in search of your father, and he for the witch’s daughter,” Benador
said, obviously pleased to see his dear friend. As he spoke, he rushed over and clasped Belexus’ hand warmly.

“I fear that me place is here,” the ranger admitted. “For know that Thalasi’s lying in wait for ye among the rocks, a great force that will try to keep ye from gaining the mountains.”

“We expected no less,” the king replied calmly.

“Ah, but such a force as ye’d not expect,” the ranger explained. “An army o’ the dead, pulled from their cold graves by the magic of the Black Warlock.” Belexus looked about, measuring the responses from the many listeners, and was pleased to see that while his words had somewhat unnerved them, their expressions remained stoic and determined.

“Evil tidings,” Benador said. “But again, we expected no less.”

“And Mitchell’s among them so …” He paused, wondering how he might explain the reappearance of the spirit of DelGiudice. “So I’m guessing,” he finished, deciding that time was too precious now for such matters.

“I have heard of your blood feud with the fiend,” King Benador said. “I, too, wish to see Andovar avenged.”

Belexus drew out Pouilla Camby, drawing gasps of astonishment from those close enough to view the diamond edge gleaming in the morning light. “Far and wide I went to find such a weapon as could harm the wraith,” the ranger explained. “Today I pay back Mitchell for the death of me dearest friend.”

“And know that all of Calva stands behind you,” the king said.

An explosion ended the conversation abruptly, all eyes turning to the side, to a puff of orange smoke, and to the wizard, a befuddled Ardaz, wisps of smoke rising from the edges of his blue robes, emerging from the cloud.

“Greetings,” he said cheerily. “From Arien, I mean,
and from myself, I suppose,” he added after a coughing fit.

“Ye should’no be using yer magic,” Belexus scolded. “Save it for Thalasi’s thousands.”

“Had to come, had to come,” Ardaz protested, moving to join the ranger, then dipping a curt bow before the king. “Saw you fly down, from the sky of course, and oh, what a sight you make! Had to know what was about,” he explained.

“Your eyes are fine then, old wizard,” the king said. “For the ranger was naught but a speck to us until he neared.”

“Ah, but I knew he was up there!” Ardaz replied, snapping his fingers. “Deductive reasoning does wonders for failing vision, you know.”

He looked all around, his eyebrows cocking curiously. “Istaahl has not joined you?” he asked.

Benador shook his head. “He remains in Pallendara, as far as I know.”

Ardaz scratched his beard, wondering what his old wizard friend had in mind. He knew Istaahl well enough to understand that the White Mage would certainly find a way to insinuate himself in the battle, but he knew, too, that Istaahl drew his power from the sea, and would be stronger in Pallendara than out here. “No matter,” he said to Benador. “Istaahl will be about, or at least, his magic will, ha, ha!”

“I have never doubted the value of the White Mage,” Benador replied.

“Nor I,” Ardaz agreed. “And he will have something good planned for Thalasi, though not good for Thalasi, if you catch my meaning, I do dare say!” He hopped about as he spoke, and on his shoulder, the shaken Desdemona gave a growl and dug her claws in for support.

Benador instructed his army to rest, then, while he,
Belexus, and Ardaz moved aside to discuss the coming conflict. The ranger gave them the layout of the approaching army and some insights concerning the terrain, and then promised to guide the battle from the sky.

“Oh, Des will assist in that!” Ardaz promised, and he threw the half-sleeping cat into the air. Taken by surprise, she didn’t quite enact the transformation fast enough, though, and she hit the ground on cat paws, glowering, spitting, and hissing at the wizard.

“Oh, just do it,” Ardaz muttered.

It was a long and lonely wait for the ghost. He wanted to go down and join Belexus, but figured that he’d probably scare away half of Benador’s army! He found the wraith easily enough, even from this high vantage point, for Mitchell was a blackness quite beyond the lesser undead, and Del was seeing clearly into both realms.

But was that his only purpose in being here? He had to wonder. Had he come back to the world only to snatch the important sword from the dragon, and now to guide the players in the battle? It was a frustrating possibility for the spirit who had seen the mysteries of the universe and who had returned only to find himself helpless to aid his daughter in her desperate straits.

Del’s attention was caught by a group moving high along trails far to the side of the main talon and undead host. Curious, he willed himself to the region, and when he saw Bellerian and the rangers, he knew that he had found another way.

Among the clouds once more, the ranger took note of the movements of the various forces. He saw a flash in the east and knew that Ardaz had returned to Arien’s
side. He saw Benador’s ranks re-form, lines of glittering spear tips, and then begin again their march to the north.

What he didn’t find was DelGiudice, a fact that bothered him more than a little. The ghost was undependable, Belexus believed, very unlike DelGiudice had been in life. The ranger believed that he understood the cause: These events that seemed so titanic to Belexus, to all in Aielle, seemed as minor things to the universe-wise spirit.

“Don’t ye be running off when we’re needing ye,” the ranger muttered, looking all about.

He saw a flash, as sunlight might make on a mirror, from the higher foothills of Kored-dul, followed by a second and third in rapid succession, then a pause, and then three more. Belexus knew well that signal, one used by the rangers in their scouting of Avalon’s borders, and he could guess easily enough who it was that was signaling. Down he went with all speed, taking a wide route so as not to alert all of Thalasi’s forces to the presence of the rangers.