Now, at least, Talas-dun was in sight, but there was no clear trail to get to the place, and Bryan feared that they might spend several days simply looking for the correct approach. And each of those days, the young half-elf knew, Rhiannon would remain in the dark one’s clutches.
Bellerian kept on speaking of his plans, but Bryan was only half listening-a fact that was not lost on the ranger lord. Thus, when the rangers awoke the next morning, Bellerian was not surprised to find that the young half-elf had stolen away in the night, though his Avalon horse remained tethered beside the others.
“We can find his trail,” one of the other rangers said to Bellerian.
The ranger lord thought that over for a minute, then shook his head. “He’s gone by ways our horses canno’ follow,” Bellerian reasoned, and he was not upset-though surely concerned-by the thought. He and his kin had delivered Bryan in sight of Talas-dun, but the rest of the trek was better made by the half-elf alone. The score of rangers could not storm the castle with any hope of success, of course, and a path of stealth was better accomplished by one than by twenty.
“Then what’s for us?” the ranger asked.
“Others will be along, unless I miss me guess,” Bellerian reasoned. “Benador’s sure to come, Arien as well. And by the time they get near to Kored-dul, we’ll have all the region scouted.”
The ranger nodded, then ran off to rejoin the rest of the troop, informing them of their new mission.
Bellerian watched them at their hasty, practiced preparations, secure in the knowledge that his rangers were the best scouts in all the world and that when Benador, or Arien, arrived, the rangers would be able to give them a complete report on the enemy’s strength and whereabouts, and on the best passes for their approach.
The ranger lord’s gaze inevitably shifted back across the misty valley, to the black heart of the mountains. Bryan had done well in slipping off in the night, Bellerian knew; the young half-elf had absolved the rangers of a duty that was better left unserved. If Bryan had announced openly that he planned to go on alone, Bellerian would have had a hard time in convincing some of his more headstrong proteges to agree-might have had a hard time agreeing, himself. And even if they all did come to consensus that Bryan’s choice was best, then every one of the proud rangers would carry a heavy heart, beset by the knowledge that they had sent a warrior who was not one of their own to attempt this most dangerous and important mission.
No, Bellerian understood, young Bryan of Corning had done him, and all the rangers, a great service by setting off alone, in the dark of night. No easy path, that, in the dreaded Kored-dul, and such a display of bravery gave the ranger lord hope. Now he held faith in the young warrior. Still, it pained the old ranger that he was not beside Bryan of Corning, and that his son was not there. For forty years, Bellerian had lived in the shadows of Brielle’s enchanted forest, and now, when she needed him most, he wanted nothing more than to aid her. But he could not; he was old and he was crooked with a wound from a whip-dragon, and he could not climb steep mountain walls, or castle walls.
“Fare well, young Bryan,” he said into the wind. “Bring her back to her home, for Brielle’ll not survive losing her daughter dear.”
“They are yours,” Morgan Thalasi announced to Hollis Mitchell, quite unexpectedly.
The wraith glanced down at the courtyard and the open region surrounding Talas-dun, the whole of the place filled with thousands and thousands of gruesome standing corpses and animated skeletons, mostly talon, but with hundreds of animals in the mix.
“You are my general, the conqueror, and to you I give this army,” Thalasi explained.
“To command at your will?” the wraith asked suspiciously.
“To command at your own,” the Black Warlock replied, and then, with a wicked grin, he added, “So long as your desires and my own are one and the same.”
Mitchell marked well that threat.
“Take them,” Thalasi instructed. “Go out from Talas-dun with your army, my general. Meet King Benador and Arien Silverleaf on the field and let them see their folly!”
Mitchell did not immediately respond to the battle cry. “Perhaps our stand would be all the stronger if made here,” he reasoned.
“And perhaps our enemies will learn the truth of our power and turn away before they ever reach the place,” Thalasi countered. “Perhaps Belexus will not come.” He knew that bait would prove too much for Mitchell to ignore.
“Look at your thousands,” Thalasi added. “The humans and elves cannot resist us.”
Mitchell did look out at the standing throng, so perfectly disciplined, mere weapons for his will, extensions of his very thoughts. Then he looked back to Thalasi and came to share the Black Warlock’s confident smile.
And then they went out, a great black wave, and all living things fled before them. And Mitchell had started the march with a mere thought, a telepathic call that the zombies and skeletons could not resist.
After they had gone, flowing like black lava from Talas-dun, Morgan Thalasi gathered his talon commanders and sent them, too, and nearly all of their warriors, out into the field, to flank the army, to watch over Mitchell, and to join in the joy of slaughter.
While the night had been difficult for Bryan, it had gone much better than he ever would have hoped. He had encountered no enemies-none that had seen him, at least-as he nearly blindly picked his way among the boulders and scrub. Instead of traversing the valley, the young warrior had crossed it up high, hugging its western wall, and now he was halfway up its steep northern face, climbing hand over hand, finding holds on juts of barely half an inch, then using his strong muscles to twist his agile body ever higher. When the sun came up-and again, it was a sun dimmed by the perpetual gloom of Kored-dul-Bryan noted that he was nearing the top of the cliff face, fully five hundred feet above the rocky valley floor. The young warrior was no stranger to mountains, having spent many weeks in the Baerendils south of Corning hiking with his father. He knew better than to keep looking down, and focused instead on what lay above him, and soon enough, he was over the lip of the nearly vertical climb.
Talas-dun was not in sight from this vantage, for the ground continued to slope upward, winding among pillars of wind-blasted, gray stone. Anxious, Bryan was off in a slow trot, and he was soon enough berating himself for that eagerness.
He scrambled up a series of narrow and high natural stairs, each about chest height above the previous. The sides were fairly enclosed by rock walls except for a few narrow breaks, almost like the corridors of a castle. Bryan hardly noted them, except to quickly pass them by, until he came alongside one in which a large lizard was resting.
The half-elf cursed himself silently and rushed on, leaping the next stair at a full run, and then the next, and the next. The lizard had seen him, though, and the vicious and ever-hungry creatures could run nearly as swiftly as a horse, and on sure, sticky feet, well-designed for travel in the rocky mountains. Four steps up, Bryan could hear the slapping lizard feet right behind him, gaining on him by the moment, and he had to turn and fight. He scrambled to the back end of the step as he swung about, forcing the lizard to climb before it could attack. Across whipped the elvish blade, the fine sword his father had given to him, scoring hard on the pointy end of the lizard’s nose, cleaving through scales, right to the creature’s teeth. The stubborn thing came on anyway, putting its hind claws on the lip of stone and propelling itself forward, maw wide, front claws slashing.
Bryan leaped and rolled over backward on the next higher step, landing on his knees and coming ahead once more fiercely, slashing his sword, left and right.
The lizard, surprised by the sudden move, by its own clean miss, lunged off balance, smacking against the riser of stone with only its head and neck going over, with no defense, no chance to do anything except catch Bryan’s sword with its face.