She turned her face to Airgiod, to shadows Fionnghuala held at bay. "Begone," she said, powerful in this place, a voice so still the breeze might have drowned it and so sure it could be heard through thunder. Light shone about her; it reflected in the waters, moon-cold and having the sun about it: elvish armor, elvish weapons.
Duilliath advanced, and summoned other allies. From Dun Gol they came, streamed through the hills on horses fleet as nightmares. But there was worse than Duilliath; there was the Voice that moved them all, and that was what she sought, to keep its attention on herself, to threaten with what fading might she had, so long as it should last.
She swung up to Fionnghuala's back. The elf horse trembled, threw her head.
Now the whisper reached her, as it reached the drow, coming softly through ghostly trees. It sang battle-joy and madness, tempted to glory and abandon—but that too was temptation, calling her forward as the grove called her to return, to wrap herself in safety, to fall asleep with it when the end should come.
So they had erred once, to turn to the dragons in their wars, the ancient, the long-remembering; and this one was oldest, most persua sive, having spells within his voice.
This one they had never tamed. This one had seduced them. Fol low me, it had said, drive out Men, yield nothing. Remember pride. Take what is yours. I am power, more than all my kind; listen to me. Listen.
"Not I, old Worm," she answered it. "Come find me if you can ... if you can break my binding."
The dark rider was there again before them, as he had been since Hlowebourne, in this day that was no day, with the sun wrapped in cloud. They had gathered what of their folk they could, and now they came southward, daring no pause now, for the Bradhaeth came behind them; Damh's horsemen scoured the land and columns of smoke went up from steadings all about the hills.
But that rider was no man of Damn, no Man at alclass="underline" Beorc knew him for what he was; and doubtless Rhys did. As for Owein and Madawc, they lay dead beyond Hlowebourne ford, and Blian had fallen with them, with no few others in that hail of Bradhaeth ar rows. So it was not surprising that this rider had joined them, went with them, behind, before them.
My lady foreknew this, Beorc thought, not for the first time; and now he dreaded worse, that all else she had foreseen might have fallen on Caer Wiell, Donnchadh moving up the dale with fire and slaughter.
Rhys said no word. The small man's lips were set and hard; he had no curse for the enemy, no threat but his look, which was black and baneful. From wildness he had gone to a fey dark rage, and never spoke, not since Owein fell beside him.
But now the rider paced close beside them, a shadow on the day, darker than the southron banners.
"You!" Beorc cried, having had enough and caring nothing whether others thought him mad. "Be off with you! We have no more to give you!"
He could not see the face; but he saw others looking, saw haggard southrons half-draw swords, letting them fall back in uncertainty; but Rhys reined aside, his blade full-drawn; and then he stopped cold, for other riders waited in the shadow of the trees beside the road. His face went gray. The sword-point wavered.
"No," Beorc said. "Rhys, stay back."
"It's Madawc."
"Caer Wiell," Beorc said, "Rhys, Caer Wiell. Remember."
The southron backed his horse. Its ears were flattened; its eyes were white-edged, its nostrils wild: it fought the rein and shied, stum bling in exhaustion. The column broke in rout; the day dimmed; the rain broke on them in heavy spatters as they ran.
Still Death stayed with them; and their horses that had leapt for ward in panic ran now with strange slowness. Hounds coursed beside them, loping dark shapes; in the hills the Bain Sidhe wailed. Death rode next to them, the black horse showing bone dimly through its shadow flesh: the rider turned his cowled head, almost, almost facing them.
"Death," Beorc shouted at it, rash in desperation, "do you make bargains?"
"Sometimes."
"Then give my lord back to us!"
"Would you find him?" The pace quickened, and somehow their horses kept it. The way darkened still, into night and terror. "Then follow: my way, iron can pass. You should remember that, Skaga's-son."
"Beorc!" It was Rhys' voice behind him. "Beorc—gods—"
"Do not falter," the dark rider said beside him, and sped then before them like some eclipse of light and life. "Caer Wiell stands empty; your lady has gone before you to find your lord—Would you have battle? I shall give you that: blood and vengeance!"
Beorc followed; he kept the shadow before him, heard the baying hounds, and Blaze never faltered, dodging along a track of dead trees and desolation, under a moon red and leprous. No stars shone in this night. No wind blew but carried despair with it.
"Beorc—"Riders overtook him, his own folk, Rhys, riders shining with pale banners which were the black banners of the sons of Dry w, the darkest hue of the world above made pale by this night.
White things fluttered; something deerlike raced beside them, pur sued by the likeness of hounds.
"Stay," voices whispered from the trees, the thickets. "Ahead is pain and wounds. This forest is less dire than the way ahead."
"Your lady will join you here," whispered others. "Your lord has thrown away his chance of worlds to come. Turn aside, follow no more. There is peace in darkness."
"No!" Beorc cried, a voice that had carried across battlefields, but here it seemed wan and weak. "Pay no heed to the voices!"
Then other riders joined them, pale-faced, on horses that moved with soundless stride.
"Madawc!" Rhys cried. "Owein!" A third came close.
"You see I did not leave," Blian Cein's-son said, riding by them.
And others were there, a shadowy band of riders; a plain-faced man rode at their head.
"Ruadhan," Beorc named him.
"You cannot pace us now," Ruadhan said. "We go ahead of you. Look for us at Aescford."
The riders passed them then, pouring ahead of them like shadows in the dark.
Lord Death stayed before them. From Caer Wiell folk rose a shout that shook the shadows. "Follow!" Beorc cried; "Follow!" Rhys shouted. They knew their way now; a madness had fallen on them, that they raced side by side, given a second chance, a hope, a tryst there was no failing.
Before them in the night were fences, sheds, a rambling house with its windows still alight, under a huge old tree. A heron watched them ride by, solemn sentinel along a streambank, water glinting in the starlight—for here were only scattered clouds. Ahead of them the Gruagach slid off his pony and the two ran side by side, the pony jogging, the small Sidhe capering and dancing as if walking were too ordinary for him.