In the springtime sunshine on the peaceful Calvan plain, none of the group, or the wizard himself, could have guessed how prophetic those final words would prove to be.
Chapter 4
The Western Fields
THEIR ROAD TOOK no definitive course, meandering east away from the river, then north or south to whatever community they could find, only to return eventually to the riverbank. Gradually they moved farther south, but spring was still in the air and they had no need to hurry. At Rhiannon’s request, they spent an entire week in one village, just talking to the farm folk and learning their ways. With her knowledge of nature, Rhiannon had more than a few bits of good advice for them.
And then they went on to the next town, and the next after that, truly an easy-paced holiday. Belexus approved of the comfortable pace; he saw Rhiannon reveling in the many meetings and budding friendships, and he saw something deeper, something wonderful, growing between the witch’s daughter and his ranger friend.
Surely Andovar cared not where they were or where they were going. All that came to matter to him was that Rhiannon was by his side, sharing his adventures and widening his smiles.
And Rhiannon, Belexus was observant enough to know, felt the same way.
They rolled down from the rocks of the Kored-dul like the black clouds of a thunderstorm. Ten thousand strong and hungry for blood came the army of Morgan Thalasi. The master himself led the march, borne in a pillowy litter by four of his largest talon soldiers.
Rain greeted the army as it came down from the mountains onto the dreary beaches of the western shore of Aielle. Unbothered, the single-minded force trudged onward. They would leave the beaches soon enough and turn inland, where their feast awaited.
The master had promised.
But as the group prepared to camp that first night down from their rocky homes, they were met by something more tangible than a gloomy weather front. Facing them, fanning out to encircle the front half of the vast camp, loomed a second army of talons, larger than the force that had accompanied Morgan Thalasi.
Rhiannon continued to become more and more comfortable with each village the threesome crossed, and now she was fully at ease with the strangers they met on their way. The little troupe had been out of Avalon for the better of two months, riding that meandering, though generally southern, course along the edge of the great shining river. As summer came in, though, their excursions to the east grew less frequent, for Belexus had some definite goals in mind for this journey-and he had promised Brielle that he would return Rhiannon to Avalon soon after the summer’s wane. So he set the pace a bit quicker and kept the course straight along the line of the River Ne’er Ending.
Fully pleased in her dealings with other people, even in large numbers, Rhiannon wanted to press right on to Pallendara, the greatest city in all the world. But Belexus held fast to his plan that Pallendara would serve as their final stopover as the season turned to autumn before they turned back toward home. The ranger wanted to cross over the famous Four Bridges and view the western fields, lands he had never journeyed to before.
The green fields of the season’s crop waved in warm breezes over the tilled soil of the wide Calvan farms. Herds of cattle and sheep grazed lazily, for not even the onset of summer could shake the beasts from their perpetual lethargy. Farmers and shepherds greeted the northerners at every stop with friendly smiles and invitations to dinner.
The region had known peace for many years, no monsters threatened the borders, and strangers were a welcome sight. Indeed, the small company could have dined as guests of one farmer or another for every night since they had crossed into the more populated farmlands. But they politely declined more often than they accepted. Their friendship was newly formed, fresh and exciting, and ultimately private. While they enjoyed the company and stories of the Calvans, they enjoyed each other and each other’s stories-a supply still far from exhausted-all the more.
“We’ll be finding more of the same across the water,” Belexus explained to Rhiannon. “The towns’re bigger near the Four Bridges, and scattering out wide far, far to the west.”
“And how far to the west will ye be taking me?”
“Corning,” the ranger explained. “Fair-sized and the second city of Calva.”
“Seven thousand strong,” Andovar added. “But o’ the same flavor as the smaller towns. We’ll make the bridges this very morn, and Corning in two days.”
“How much farther could we go?” Rhiannon asked. “The land’s seeming so wide.”
“Another week of hard riding’d bring us to the western-most borders of Calva,” Belexus replied. “Hardy towns of hardy folk. To go beyond them’d be folly.”
Rhiannon seemed not to understand.
“The dark lands,” the ranger continued. “Home to talons and lizards and beasts darker still. Not for the wise.”
His grave tone passed beyond the young woman. Growing up among the flowers of Avalon, Rhiannon could not understand such evil notions as talons.
Not yet.
“We’ll be wandering about Corning for a week or more,” said Belexus, and he cast a wry glance at the innocent witch’s daughter. “And then ye’ll be seeing Pallendara.”
“Caer Tuatha,” Rhiannon said, using the elven name for the great city. “Istaahl and Uncle Ardaz have told me such grand tales of the place. Suren she’ll be a fine sight if only half their spoutings run to truth.”
“More liken that Pallendara will outweigh the most wonderful o’ their tales,” said Andovar. He had been to the white city only twice since his childhood, but the image had stuck in his head vividly. Pallendara was the only true city of Ynis Aielle, a place of towers and markets, and minstrels-a thousand minstrels! It rested at the tip of a narrow harbor, and the sails of a hundred boats rose up along the sea wall like the bare, jutting tops of a wintry forest.
“But first to Corning,” Belexus reminded them, not wanting their visit to still another splendid place lessened by thoughts of what was yet to come. And as the small troupe passed the crest of a hill, off in the distance, shrouded by the morning mist that rose off the river, stood the unmistakable shapes of the Four Bridges of Calva, structures that had spanned the great river for centuries, before the elves or even the talons had walked the land.
They kicked up their horses with the bridges in sight, galloping the mounts down from the rise and across the last expanse in a wild rush.
Belexus and Andovar, as skilled as any horsemen in all the world, would never have believed it, but Rhiannon, whispering compliments into her sleek mare’s ear, got there first.
A short distance to the south lay the fairly large community of Rivertown, but Rhiannon hardly noticed the place. Before her loomed the Four Bridges, ancient and legendary, arcing pathways of solid stone. The young woman could sense the magic that had created these structures, could feel the song of wizardry humming still in their mighty stones. They were all of the same size and design, and four carts could ride abreast across any of them without nearing the solid stone banisters.
And these railings were perhaps the most special of all. Bas reliefs lined every inch of them, scenes depicting the birth of the new race of man, cradled in the arms of the angelic Colonnae, and images of the rise of Pallendara.
Belexus and Andovar had never before crossed the bridges and were no less enchanted than Rhiannon when they caught up to the young woman.
“They’ve more tales to tell than Ardaz himself,” Belexus proclaimed. “So long they’ve stood.”
“Ayuh,” Andovar agreed. “ ’Twas here that the Black Warlock first fell.” He led Rhiannon down to the southernmost structure. A shining black plaque had been cut into the stone at the entrance to the bridge, commemorating the exact spot where Ardaz, Istaahl, and Rhiannon’s mother had teamed together to defeat the Black Warlock in an age long past.