“I know what yerself and Brielle shared,” the ranger went on. “And know the beauty o’ that; I’m seeing it in Rhiannon’s eyes and smile. But…”
The ghost lifted a hand to stop the ranger, DelGiudice at last catching on, touched to discover that Belexus was afraid that he would be jealous of the new love that had come into Brielle’s life. The spirit smiled as he considered that, for nothing could be further from the truth. To Del-who had seen the mysteries of eternity, who had felt the greater love of the Colonnae-this humanly love was not a thing for jealousy, but a thing for joy. He felt no pangs when looking upon Brielle and Belexus, unless they were from a sense of personal loss, that he could not so hug and kiss the wondrous woman. But in his heart, Del was truly glad that Brielle had found love again, and glad that it was Belexus, a man of pure heart, a man that Del loved as a brother.
“I wish that my own mortal coil was more than illusion,” the ghost explained. “I wish that my own arms could so go around Brielle, for in spite of all the greater wonders I have seen, I love her still, and ever shall. But don’t fear my reaction to your love.” He smiled warmly and winked at the witch. “I always knew that you had good taste.”
Brielle returned the smile, then looked back at Belexus, locking stares and then sharing another kiss. “Ye bring her back,” the witch said.
Belexus nodded.
“And ye make sure that ye come back to me,” Brielle went on.
Again the nod, and with not another word to her, Belexus walked to the other side of the knoll and climbed atop the waiting pegasus. “Will you fly with me?” the ranger asked Del.
The ghost considered the offer for a moment, then answered. “Not yet. I have faith that I can get to the west much more quickly than any of you,” he explained, “though of what help I might be, I cannot say. You go on, and fly fast and straight, Belexus Backavar. I will find my place in all of this, I am certain.”
“Fare ye well, then,” the ranger said. He gave Calamus a kick, and the pegasus went into a short run and then lifted off into the morning sky.
Belexus and Brielle waved, and soon the ranger was no more than a speck in the western sky, easily overtaking Arien’s procession.
“And what’re ye thinking yer place to be?” Brielle asked Del.
“I don’t honestly know,” the ghost replied. “I could work as a spy, I suppose.”
Something was bothering him, the perceptive witch recognized, and after a moment’s thought, she figured it out. “Ye’re afraid to go and see yer girl,” she reasoned.
“I’m afraid of what I might find,” the ghost confirmed. “Suppose that…” His voice drifted off to something as insubstantial as his body.
There was nothing more that needed to be said about it, for Brielle certainly understood.
“We’ll get her back,” Del promised, seeing the fair witch’s expression drop. “I know that you must feel helpless, stuck here in the forest,” he dared to say, and he wished he hadn’t when Brielle looked up sharply. Her expression was not one of helplessness, however, but one of determination.
“Not so stuck,” she said. “I gave a piece of meself to Bryan o’ Corning, Rhiannon’s friend and love, and if he gets to me girl, then I’ll be there beside him, don’t ye doubt.”
Del’s thoughts went back to the battle he had fought on the field of Mountaingate, when Brielle had been there, posing as a small horse. The witch had been pivotal in that battle, resisting Thalasi, delivering Del and the one weapon that could defeat the Black Warlock. She had found a way then to be useful, and so she would again, the ghost knew. He took great comfort in that-as he had in the passage of Arien and the elves, as he had in the flight of Belexus-knowing that Rhiannon, his daughter, had so many powerful allies on her side.
For all the days of Benador’s march, for all the long nights awaiting word of Rhiannon, Istaahl the White had sat calmly in a private place, gathering his strength, allowing the weakened magic to build strong within his weary bones once more.
He called out to the sea often, and heard its distant reply, but he came to realize that such a call would not suffice, that to truly find a weapon against the power of Talas-dun, the White Wizard of Pallendara would have to go to the source. As Brielle gathered her power from Avalon, so did Istaahl from the great sea, and so there he went, mind and soul, soaring out and diving down.
He felt the great press of the place as he descended into darkness, more fully engulfed by the watery realm than he had ever before been.
And still his thoughts dove: down, down, to the ocean floor, to the source.
And there, he studied. And there, he called.
And there, he begged.
Morgan Thalasi went out from Talas-dun that very night, his powerful staff in hand. He filtered his senses through that staff as he walked, sensing below him any remains of creatures that had gone before.
And he found them, and everywhere, and with a thought and the tap of his staff, he brought them to clawing animation, struggling, many futilely, for their bones had settled centuries before under tons of solid stone. But many more, garish zombies and white-boned skeletons, did find their way to the surface: lizards and birds, small animals and talons, so many talons.
The procession behind Thalasi grew with every step he took, winding his way through the mountain passes. He found another talon graveyard and promptly emptied it, then entered the remains of a talon village that he remembered, that had been destroyed in an earthquake a hundred years before.
Five hundred animated talon skeletons and nearly half that number of bony lizards followed Thalasi out of that village.
And so it went, through the day and through the night, and all the next and the next after that, the Black Warlock growing his power out of the very ground, robbing Death yet again. In but a few days, Thalasi’s ghoulish army easily dwarfed that of the forces coming to Talas-dun.
And with the Staff of Death in his hands, the Black Warlock found that he could control these unthinking minions as easily as he could clench his own fist.
Hollis Mitchell watched it all, and was not pleased.
Chapter 20
Thalasi’s Guest Chambers
“IF ALL THE blackness in all the world had been bunched together, then suren it’d be such an evil sight as this,” Bellerian muttered grimly as he and Bryan stared across a wide rocky valley to the black castle perched upon a high plateau overlooking the sea. Patches of fog drifted past their line of sight, obscuring the image-and both were glad for those moments, for the relief offered against the pain of merely looking upon the bastion of Morgan Thalasi.
For Bryan felt no less strongly about the sight than Bellerian, and his heart sank when he considered that Rhiannon was in there.
“We can go no further with the light on the wane,” the ranger lord explained. “We’ll set the camp about, then be out with the morn. If luck be with us, we’ll be into Talas-dun afore the setting of the next sun.”
The estimate was obviously optimistic, given the terrain, and truly disheartening to both anxious warriors, but given the trouble the group had already experienced in crossing the Kored-dul range, Bryan knew that Bellerian had to voice a positive opinion if for no other reason than the morale of the frustrated group. They had been in the mountains for several days, winding their way along treacherous trails where even the surefooted Avalon horses could barely cross. They had followed a path that seemed promising, but that had ended abruptly at a thousand-foot drop on the edge of a long ravine that they had then spent hours and hours circuiting. And always, with every step, the troupe had been aware that danger was never far away. These were Morgan Thalasi’s mountains, for centuries infected by his pervasively evil will, serving as a breeding ground for talons and the man-eating lizards the creatures often rode.