Del found the elven camp astir in the north, though no signs of the Calvan force were yet apparent in the south. Slowly, head down, he walked across the field, indulging himself as he went with one final fantasy of the way he wished things could be.
The clear note of the watchman’s horn announcing his arrival brought the weight of reality back upon his shoulders.
Two horsemen trotted out toward him from the chaos of the bustling camp. Billy Shank rode in the lead, outfitted in chain-link mail and a shining shield and sword, but the other rider, so marvelous, dominated Del’s vision. Arien Silverleaf, unmistakably the elf-lord of all Illuma, paced his steed easily. He wore a forest-green cloak pulled back from his shoulders and a light green tunic woven of some fine material. Under the sleeveless edges of the shirt, Del saw closely meshed links of shining mail, much finer than the heavy rings of Billy’s armor. Arien wore no helm, but a silver gem-studded crown with a golden inset of a quarter moon, the symbol of Lochsilinilume. Strapped to his left arm was a polished shield bearing the same emblem, and sheathed on his hip in a gem-encrusted scabbard hung a broadsword unequaled in workmanship by even the crafted weapon Calae had given to Del. Its hilt gleamed all of silver, and intricate carvings resembling the head of a dragon adorned the pommel, inlaid in gold all down the neck to the crosspiece of the weapon.
“I didn’t realize that your people kept such weapons,” Del remarked.
“Gifts from Ardaz, mostly,” Arien explained, tightening his heels to calm his spirited steed, a great muscled stallion, its coal-black coat glistening from the wetness of the morning mist and from the sweat of its own tense anticipation. “And some of our own making.” He smiled at Del’s unyielding sarcasm. “The mountains are wild and dangerous even now, friend DelGiudice. Would that we could hang these devices above a mantle and use them only to enhance fanciful tales!”
The Eldar’s face turned serious again as he grasped the hilt of his sword. “This is Fahwayn,” he told Del. “The Silver Death.” He drew the sword from its scabbard slowly, reverently, and raised it high above him. It gleamed brightly and sharply, in spite of the dim light. “It was forged with great care many years ago when Aielle was young,” he said, and he lowered the sword and ran his hand along its polished blade, absorbing the sensations of unrivaled craftsmanship and magic, that they might invoke images of the past and allow him to wander back to the security of his memories of the early days of Illuma.
With sudden and frightening speed, Arien thrust the sword above him. It shimmered with power, and extension, the focal point of the strength that was Arien Silverleaf. The great stallion, caught up in the ire of the elf-lord, reared, and Arien cried aloud, “Bayr imine eyberg ai’l anais I Sylv Fate-aval!” He looked at the startled men and cried again with equal fervor, “By their own wickedness do they bring the Silver Death upon them!”
His burst of energy satisfied by the proclamation, Arien flashed a calming smile to the astonished gawks of Billy and Del and dropped Fahwayn to his side, swinging the blade in a slow arc. “At times when talons were abroad, her cut was smooth and sure,” he remarked. “But now she sits awkwardly in my hand. I have no thirst for the blood Fahwayn shall spill this morn.” He sheathed the sword with a sigh and turned his steed back to the encampment.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Billy said to Del. “I only wish that Ardaz were here, too. With his tricks, I think we’d have a chance.”
“Ardaz hasn’t returned?” Del asked with surprise.
“No,” Billy replied. “But Arien is sure that he’ll be here when we need him.”
Arien wheeled his horse around and faced them. “Even if the wizard does not come,” the Eldar growled, his face stern and uncompromising, “we will teach the humans respect for our people. The might of justice flows through our veins.”
“A comforting thought,” Del said a bit sadly. “But I’d rather be dancing on the shaithdun.”
Helpless against the relentless assault of Del’s chiding, the Eldar could not deter the smile that softened his grim features. “Come,” he said. “We must find a horse for you.”
Arien led them to the base of the cliff on the western edge of the field, where Erinel stood, hands on hips, defiantly eyeing a white mare. He turned when they approached and smiled broadly.
“DelGiudice!” he called happily. “Your return brightens this cursed morn!”
“Do you have a horse for our friend?” Arien asked.
Erinel’s smile disappeared. “I am truly sorry, but I forgot to keep one for him. We sent the remaining horses running into the foothills after the last of our people were outfitted. Perhaps we have time to find another.”
“What about that one?” Del asked blankly, his attention held by the sheer beauty of the small mare.
“That one?” Erinel laughed. “She will take no rider. Several others had the same idea, but she quickly dissuaded them.” He displayed a bruise on his arm and laughed again. “She rewarded my futile efforts to bridle her.”
“Then whose is she?” Del asked.
“I do not know,” Erinel replied. “I have never seen her before this morning. She must have strayed from the Calvan camp, though, for she is too well groomed to be wild.”
“She’ll let me ride her,” Del declared as he started toward the mare.
“Be wary!” Erinel called after him. But even as he spoke, the mare nuzzled her nose in Del’s neck. He stroked the pure white coat with equal affection.
“How did he do that?” an astonished Erinel asked. All about them several other elves who had witnessed the small mare’s antics stared in disbelief.
“She will take no saddle,” Erinel called to Del.
“Doesn’t need one,” Del replied, and hopped up on the mare’s back. “You won’t let me fall, will you, girl?” he asked softly as he patted the strong neck.
Some of the elves began to chuckle and Erinel blushed deeply. “Or a bridle!” he insisted stubbornly.
In response, Del grasped the mare’s snowy mane.
“Will you allow this?” Erinel asked Arien. “He is an inexperienced rider and she is obviously unpredictable.”
Arien studied the mare’s reactions to Del’s petting. “She is his to ride,” he replied. “It is not our place to interfere with their love.” With a knowing laugh, the Eldar spun his great mount and sprang away to check on other matters.
Barely minutes later, the watchman’s horn sang out and all the elves and two human allies turned their eyes to the south.
Like an endless swarm of insects, the Calvan army spilled onto the field, stretching across the breadth of Mountaingate. They formed into ranks several deep, as still more soldiers appeared through the mountain pass.
“We’re going to die,” Del stated through his gasps.
“Easy, buddy,” Billy said to comfort him, but Billy, too, verged on panic. The force facing them, uniformed in black and silver, marched in a manner precise and disciplined, was fully mounted, and already ten times the size of the elven army.
Finally, mercifully, the procession ended and the Calvans held their positions in patient silence, thousands of spear tips motionless in the air.
Ryell walked his horse over to Arien. “Five thousand?” he whispered.
“Perhaps,” the Eldar answered. He looked around at his disheartened troops. They had known from the beginning that they were doomed, but had held out hope for some sort of miracle. The sight of this huge force arrayed against them brought home the full impact of their hopelessness. Yet they had a mission to accomplish, a duty to their kin who had fled into the mountains that would give meaning to their deaths. Boldly, Arien took command. “Form a line!” he shouted.
Barely three hundred strong, the elves heeded the order of their Eldar. And when they had completed their formation, Arien drew Fahwayn from its scabbard and walked his horse the length of their rank to address each of them individually, reminding them of their purpose and rallying them around the basic precept of justice that had dictated their stand on this field. Del noted hopefully that the face of each elf brightened as Arien rode past.