“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.