The response was instantaneous and completely unexpected. Whatever he had been prepared for, it wasn’t this. The blue light blazed from his closed fist in a brilliant ball and then exploded in a swath so wide and all–encompassing that it seemed to flood the landscape for miles. When it settled, the light had formed a wide, jagged curve that wrapped the lower slopes of the Cintra. The magic heightened and clarified the faces and bodies of myriad creatures, each a point of light within the band, allowing them to take shape, giving them form and identity.
Kirisin caught his breath. It was the demon army they had feared, and it was gathered just below the Elven home city. It was thousands strong. The numbers seemed endless.
“Sim,” he whispered.
“I see,” she replied in a high, tight voice. “Call back the magic, Little K. Quickly!”
He did so, and the light of the revealing magic died at once. They were left wrapped in darkness and star glow and in disbelief.
“So many,” he murmured.
“Too many not to be noticed.” Simralin was already working the ropes, bringing the balloon slowly downward. “Something’s wrong. How can the Elves not know about them? There’s no sign of anything happening anywhere. No defensive preparations, nothing.”
“Is it possible that we’ve come too late?”
She glanced at him. “There wouldn’t be any lights if we were too late. There would be fires and screams and much worse.”
“But what are they doing?” he asked. “What are they waiting for? Why haven’t they attacked?”
She handed him one of the ropes to help her steady the basket. “Only one possible answer, Little K. Culph told you he had summoned an army that would be waiting for his return because he would have you in tow. So they’re waiting on you. They want the Elves inside the Loden and the Loden under a demon’s control.”
Kirisin felt a chill run down the back of his neck all the way to his heels, the sort you have when you’ve encountered the freakishly impossible. He stiffened momentarily, then shook his head.
“They’ll wait a long time for that to happen,” he muttered. “I can promise you that!”
Simralin gave him a doubtful glance, but didn’t say anything more.
Deep IN the FORESTS of the CINTRA, in the midst of his army, the demon that called itself Findo Gask blinked twice as he caught the first whiff of the magic’s use. At first he thought he had been mistaken, that his senses were deceiving him, but as the magic steadied and sharpened, he could feel its proximity and recognize it for what it was. The sharp old eyes fixed on a point in space, and his senses drank in the full extent of what they were experiencing. He shut out everything happening around him–the noise, smell, and movement, and the creatures that generated them–and he began to search.
Quickly, quickly…
But he wasn’t quick enough. There wasn’t enough time. The magic was there for a few seconds, tight and strong and recognizable, and then it was gone. He was unable to determine its source.
Still, a smile crossed his lips, deepening the lines of his face.
Someone was being very careful.
He rose and stood looking off into the darkness of the trees. It didn’t matter, really. He knew what was happening. He knew why and he knew how. In the end, it would all turn out the way he had planned.
The boy was back, and he had found the Elfstones. The nature of the magic he had sensed was unmistakable. Elfstone magic was distinct from any other kind of magic, different from that of the gypsy morph or the Knights of the Word. Magic was not of a single kind; if you knew it was there, you could teach yourself to identify its nature.
And this was unquestionably Elven.
So the demon that called itself Culph had succeeded in tracking the boy to the Elfstones, gaining control over the magic, and bringing both back to serve the demon cause. He wondered briefly if Delloreen had played any part in this, if she had somehow tracked the young female Knight of the Word to the Elves and dispatched her. That would have made her very happy, and he would never begrudge her happiness of that sort. On the other hand, it would be convenient for him if she had failed and was dead. Increasingly dangerous, she needed to be eliminated in any case. If the Knight hadn’t done so, he would have to.
He banished Delloreen to the back corners of his mind and pondered momentarily what the use of the Elfstones meant beyond the obvious. Why had the magic been summoned now? There didn’t appear to be any point in it.
But then it occurred to him that perhaps it was a way of letting him know how matters stood–that the boy was back and the Elfstones recovered. The message might be that it was time to prepare for the jaws of his trap to close. Once the Loden was employed and the city and the bulk of its population imprisoned, it would be time for his army to complete the eradication process.
Still, it seemed an unnecessary use of the magic. He would know that it was time to act, after all, when the city and its population disappeared. And there were other ways for his ally to inform him of his return.
Why allow the boy to invoke the magic and risk its detection?
Vaguely dissatisfied, he stood alone without moving for a long time, carefully avoided by his followers as he pondered the matter, his ancient visage dark and troubled.
SIX
“WELL, DON’T JUST SIT THERE! Tell us what happened!”
Panther was agitated, impatient. His hands gestured to emphasize the urgency of his request; his dark face was flushed. “Why aren’t you dead, Bird‑Man? We thought you went over the wall and into the light and you was dead! Now you just walk out of nowhere and look like nothing ever happened! Talk to us, damn it!”
Owl, seated in her wheelchair with Candle in her lap, smiled despite herself. It took something to get Panther this worked up and then to let it show. But the others were anxious, too. It reflected on their faces, bright and eager in anticipation of hearing a new story, this time one that Hawk was going to tell.
They were gathered in a circle in a field not far from the side of the freeway, the AV and the wagon drawn up next to them. Twilight had departed and night had settled in, a dark blanket of still air and quiet expectation. They had not started a fire or eaten a meal. There was no time for that when there was so much catching up to do. Moonlight brightened the faces of those gathered–the Ghosts and Cat on the one hand and Hawk and Tessa on the other. Cheney lay off to one side, his shaggy bulk just visible in the pale light. He had greeted them all in his typically aloof way, sniffing momentarily at Cat to make sure of her, glancing at Rabbit–which was more than enough to send the terrified feline scrambling for safety–and then slouching over to where he was settled now. As far as the big wolf dog was concerned, nothing much had changed.
But everything had changed for the rest of them, she thought. Hawk was back. The boy with the vision was back to lead his children to the Promised Land.
“Tell us, Hawk,” she urged gently.
He looked at her, a flicker of uncertainty in his green eyes, an unmistakable hesitation in his effort to respond. “I’m not sure where to start,” he said. “I’m not even sure how to start.”