“Ah, but it does,” Sylvia interrupted. “Oftentimes Erinel and I have tread that trail to sit upon the ledge and watch the waning sun over Clas Braiyelle.”
“Excellent,” Billy said. “A few dozen archers up there would thin the Calvan ranks.”
“You forget our number,” Ryell said. “We have not the warriors to spare.”
“And it would be not quite as great a surprise as you believe, I am afraid,” Arien said. “I considered the same plan as we journeyed down here, but it is flawed, for Captain Mitchell knows more than the way to Illuma Vale, he knows the number of our people. All of the warriors except the few I have chosen as escort for the departing host will stay for the battle, but if many of them were missing from our ranks, such an ambush might be anticipated. And if it was discovered, the Calvans could stay to the far edge of the field for their charge and use their shields to render the archers relatively ineffective, leaving the number of our people remaining to face the onslaught greatly depleted.”
“I still think we should put a few archers up there,” Billy argued. “We’ve got to weaken them before they get to us. And you’ve already told me that your people excel with bows.”
“You doubt our prowess?” Sylvia laughed. “The first you ever saw of Illuma was the arrow I put into a tree by Mitchell’s head. Would that I had aimed to kill!”
“You made that shot?” Billy said with a grin, a plan quickly formulating.
Sylvia looked at him as if she didn’t understand his surprise.
Billy pressed on. “Tell me, then, do all Illuman maidens shoot as well as you?”
“A field of battle is no place for females!” Ryell cried, guessing Billy’s thoughts and certainly not approving.
“Normally I would agree,” Billy retorted, and he turned to Arien. “Are all of your females to flee into the mountains?”
Arien’s face went grim. “They cannot,” he admitted darkly. “Our stand would then be recognized as a ploy.”
“And if we are beaten, do you really believe that Ungden will show mercy to the females back in your city?” Billy had to ask. “No way. Their only chance is for us to win, so they might as well help where they’re needed. You even said that Mitchell knows the number of our warriors. How many is that?”
“Three hundred, perhaps half a hundred more than that.”
“Against thousands,” Billy reasoned. “We need all the help we can get, Arien. Give some of your females bows and put them on that ledge. If the battle is lost, they can retreat back to the city, or along other mountain passes.”
“We’ll have lost nothing and gained, perhaps a chance,” Ryell agreed.
At length, Arien agreed as well, much to the satisfaction of Sylvia, who had steadfastly refused to flee into the mountains, but loathed the thought of sitting helplessly by as Ungden slaughtered her brethren.
Arien had a bit more spring in his stride as they returned to the city, for Billy’s strategy offered at least some hope for attaining the goals of their futile stand. Though he saw no alternatives, the decision to fight still troubled the Eldar deeply. For all of their preparations and determination, he was convinced that he was leading most of his people to their deaths in an unwinnable battle.
Del rarely left his room during the next few days. He hung a blanket over its one window, darkening it as his sanctuary against the familiar images of brutality that had suddenly sprung up all about him. He had no visitors, save Sylvia bringing him his meals, and she, incapable of understanding his torment and perceiving his behavior as a betrayal to her people, could not bring herself to speak to him.
Del accepted her coldness stoically, though it wounded him to his soul. The elves had not witnessed the world before the holocaust, and thus could not see among the implications of the coming battle the renewal of a destructive cycle that had only one possible conclusion. They were the children of dance and song and play, and in their innocence lay the hope of the world. But Del could not expect them to shoulder burdens they could not begin to recognize.
Yet he had indeed expected more of Billy. If Mitchell and Reinheiser were to be the demons that would damn Aielle, then Billy Shank had become their unwitting agent, bolstering the resolve of the elves to accept the rekindled flames of war by feeding them the false hopes of futile plans.
And the sight of these doomed people rehearsing the scenes of their imminent slaughter with sharpened blades and a common, merciless grimace, revolted Del, sent him reeling to his room, the last bastion of his fleeting hopes. Even this walled womb was not impervious to the assaults of the wicked reality, for it couldn’t block out the sounds. Every so often the hollow clang of sword against sword echoed through the air and slashed into Del’s heart.
On the afternoon of the third day since his return to Illuma, Del lay quietly on his bed fantasizing that he was dancing with Brielle in the promised splendor of Luminas ey-n’abraieken. A soft knock on the door chased away his daydream.
“What?” he called defiantly.
Billy entered the room, disregarding the challenge in Del’s tone. “How’re you doing?” he asked through a strained smile.
“I’m all right,” Del replied coolly, averting his eyes from Billy’s to make a point of his true feelings.
“What are you planning to do?” Billy asked quietly, walking over and boldly sitting on the edge of the bed beside his friend.
“How the hell do I know?” Del replied sharply, and again he looked away.
“Will you look at me?” Billy scolded. “Listen, pal, you had better make up your mind soon. The Calvans are setting up camp less than three miles south of Mountaingate, and this whole damned thing is going to explode tomorrow morning.”
Del sat up on the opposite side of the bed, still looking away, and bit his lip at the grim news.
“Most of the elves are already down on the field,” Billy continued, less harshly, in tones truly sympathetic. “The rest of us are leaving in a little while.”
“It’s stupid,” Del muttered.
“Of course it’s stupid,” Billy agreed with a chuckle. “Ever know a war that wasn’t?”
Del spun on him. “Then why?” he shouted. “Can you answer me that? You’re going down there to die, Billy. To die! All of these wonderful people are going to throw their lives away. And for what?”
Billy shook his head and sighed. “For principles, damn it,” he said, rising from the bed. “You live by principles and you do what’s right. And if you die by those principles, and for those principles, then your death isn’t stupid!”
The two men glared at each other, truly at odds for the first time in their friendship.
“Never mind the Illumans, then,” Del argued. “Think about the Calvans. Your sword is going to be stabbing at men, real men, with wives and children. Not evil monsters, just ordinary, misinformed men who are doing what they’re told. How do you feel about that?”
“I feel terrible about it,” Billy replied. “Of course I do. But I’ve got no choice.”
“Oh, is that so?” Del taunted.
“Yes, that’s so,” Billy mimicked, his voice growing stronger as his anger spilled out. “You know, Del, since we got here, you’ve been living in some kind of wide-eyed fantasy world. I hate to be the one to tell you, but that’s not the way it is.”
“But that’s the way it should be!” Del snapped, and again the two exchanged cold glares.
It couldn’t hold though, not between these two. As if they had screamed out all of their rage, had cleared their differences from the air in one quick fit of passion, they soon found their familiar smiles.
“What’s wrong with us?” Del offered calmly. “What is it within our character that makes men, and now elves, fight one stupid war after another?”
“I don’t know,” Billy replied with a shrug. “I don’t want this war any more than you do, but it’s about to begin and we’ve got to fight it. What else can we do?”