“I go alone, because I must,” he said quietly into the witch’s face, for Brielle had moved very close to him, was standing right before him, her warm breath tickling his neck.
Her reply was a kiss, a long and sweet kiss, a passionate kiss, for luck and farewell.
It surprised Belexus, but only for a moment, and then he let his sword fall to the ground and wrapped his powerful arms about Brielle’s lithe form, hugging her close, kissing her all the while, not letting go, wanting to never, ever let her go. They made love that morning for the first-and, they both feared, for the last-time, a joining that had been long anticipated by Belexus, and long feared by Brielle. When Belexus had come to her after the battle with the wraith, with Andovar dead and his own grievous wounds threatening to take him, Brielle had saved him with sympathetic magical healing-as intimate a bond as this lovemaking. She had gone into Belexus’ soul to find his emotional hurts and take them from him, to restore to him hope that he could better fight against his physical wounds. She had gone in there, to that private place, and had seen clearly his feelings for her.
She had been surprised, though she had truly suspected all along that the prince of rangers loved her. But the depth of that love was amazing to her, for he loved her as deeply as Jeffrey DelGiudice had loved her. And what had surprised her even more was her own private response. Yes, she did love Belexus, but that realization carried with it more than a little guilt, for though Jeffrey DelGiudice had been gone from her for a score of years, she had given to him her heart, and he had given to Brielle her only child, Rhiannon, the lasting love.
But when Brielle made love to Belexus that soft and quiet Avalon morning, she was able to put aside any feelings of guilt. It was too sweet, too pure, and too real to be denied. She loved Belexus and hated the thought that he would go from her now, but if he went out from Avalon and never returned without this one lovemaking, without the two of them revealing the truth of their feelings for each other, without the dropping of defenses, the ultimate joining… That, the witch could not bear.
Later that morning, she walked Belexus to the edge of the forest, the narrow trail that led onto the field of Mountaingate, gateway to the Crystals. And there she kissed him again, softly, and then spun away, twirling in the soft light of morning, her gossamer gown blurring her graceful form, undefining the lines of Brielle until she blended fully into the fog and was gone.
Gone from sight, but Belexus surely took the scent of Brielle, the taste of Brielle, the burning image of Brielle with him as he exited Avalon and started his long journey into the great and towering range.
He was far up the mountain trail, having crossed the narrow field of Mountaingate and passed under the bended telvensil trees, their silvery bark lined with streaks of white, clinging snow, before he was able to clear his thoughts of the witch enough that he might consider the path before him. His travels could well take a month and more, just to get to the lair wherein lay the mighty sword. When Brielle had shown him the image of the glittering sword, her divining had also given him an outward clue of where it might be found: a peculiar outcropping of stone which, when viewed from a particular angle, resembled the profile of an old man. If Belexus could find that ridge of stone, he would be in the vicinity of the dragon’s cave.
The Crystals were huge, though, with towering peaks, many inaccessible, and luck would have to be with him. Perhaps, he feared, the dragon’s cave had long been sealed; perhaps he would wind up standing atop it, oblivious and with no way to enter.
The ranger growled the negative thoughts away. He had to try. He owed that, at least, to Andovar, and was certainly duty-bound to attempt it for the sake of all the world. Indeed the task appeared daunting, even overwhelming, but the prize, a weapon that might rid the world of the wraith of Hollis Mitchell, was worth the try.
He was looking for speed and mobility, and thus Belexus had chosen to travel light, carrying only his sword, a pair of daggers and his bow, a pack with extra clothing, a warm blanket, and a waterskin strung about his neck and shoulder. His food, he would catch along the way, as he would build shelters from whatever material Nature offered to him. He was a ranger of Avalon, a prince among rangers, and if he had been dropped naked into the middle of the wintry Crystals, Belexus was confident that he could survive. Belexus believed that, with all his heart, and that was his greatest advantage.
So his progress that first day was remarkable indeed, ascending the southern face of the first mountain in line, passing by the entrance to the secret tunnels that snaked to the hidden valley, the Silver City of the elves known as Lochsilinilume, or in the more common tongue, Illuma. And then higher, the ranger went, seeking his first vantage point of mountain majesty, that he might lay his initial course more clearly.
He came upon a plateau on the northeastern face of the peak shortly before sunset, with the mountain range spread wide before him, mica rivers and fields of ice that gave the Crystals their name glittering in the slanting late-day rays. Belexus put down the wood he had collected on his travels, but he did not immediately start a fire, suffering the cold winds for the sake of the splendid view. He hadn’t been up in the mountains often, just a handful of times over the course of the years between the Battle of Mountaingate-wherein an open alliance and friendship had formed between the humans and the elves-and the larger war with Thalasi’s talon minions. On those occasions, he had hunted with Arien Silverleaf and his daughter Sylvia, and with Andovar. This was the ranger’s first high view of these peaks since the war with Thalasi, and now it left a bittersweet taste in his mouth, full of fond memories, but with regrets in the clear knowledge that two of his companions on those previous occasions had been lost to him forever.
The ranger leaned back against the mountain wall, eyes locked on the view, seeing the present majesty as he was imagining the past. He found peace there, a serenity against which he had to guard closely, lest he fall asleep before he set his fire, in this open exposure where the mountain night winds would not ever let him wake.
With a great sigh nearly an hour later, Belexus forced himself up and went to the wood. The wind had begun to swirl, but not too strong, and the wall of the plateau was neither flat nor even, affording some protection. Just as the ranger put flint to steel, something distant caught his eye, a soaring form crossing an open expanse in the not-quite-dark sky, a black silhouette that quickly disappeared against the dark face of yet another mountain.
Belexus straightened, then went into a cautious crouch, slipping to the edge of the flat stone, then falling flat to his belly. He peered intently out from the ridge as he slowly readied his bow. Likely it had only been a bird, a large one to be sure, but with thoughts of a dragon cave fresh in his mind, the ranger was certainly more than a bit wary!
He continued his scan for several minutes, as the sky continued to darken. Belexus blew a deep sigh; soon it would be so dark that even if the flying creature came out from behind a mountain background, it would remain invisible to him. A few minutes later, with the sky turned to blackness, he found himself faced with another decision: to retreat back down the mountain or to risk his current position, for though he would not see a flying creature’s approach, it would certainly spot the glow of his fire.
“A bird,” Belexus decided, and so he went to the kindling and struck his flint to steel, and soon had a warm fire blazing. He wrapped his blanket about him and put his back to the mountain wall, thinking to get some much-needed sleep, but he also placed his trusted sword, unsheathed, across his lap, and had his strung bow, arrow resting across string and wood, right beside him.