Bastion of Darkness

Chapter 21
The Call of Duty

HE LINGERED ABOVE Avalon for hours, just basking in the beauty of the forest, the purity of the place distracting him despite the urgent need for him to be on his way. Still, Del suspected that his greatest roles would be as scout and as informant, and he knew that he could catch all the others, the swift-marching elves and humans and the flying pegasus, with a mere thought.

But where to go?

And then it came to him: a call, a vision, carried on the wind by Brielle, information about Bryan of Corning and Del’s daughter, information about a march greater and more wicked than anything Aielle had ever known, and instructions about what he must do to prevent absolute disaster.

“Find Belexus.”

It didn’t take Belexus long to understand that he would not catch his father and his kin before they made the black fortress. He had flown past Arien’s force soon after leaving Avalon, Calamus rushing at tremendous speed, but as he passed over the Brown Wastes, as he saw talons turning their eyes skyward to regard the strange aerial creature, he recognized the futility of it all. Belexus was confident that he was too high up for the creatures to distinguish his identity, for them to even know that this was mount and rider and not just some huge bird. But they saw him, and marked well his passing.

Up in the empty sky, Belexus could find no hiding. His approach to Kored-dul would be well marked and oftwhispered, and the rumors would inevitably get back to the ears of Morgan Thalasi and Hollis Mitchell. Both had previously seen the ranger airborne upon Calamus-Mitchell had even chased Belexus and the pegasus-and it would not take them long to reason what this strange creature might be.

Belexus wondered if that revelation might prove a good thing. Perhaps he could lure the wraith out and test his new sword…

But what of his promise to Brielle? What of Rhiannon? Even if he defeated Mitchell, how would he ever get near to the young witch? Certainly not by alerting Thalasi and his minions of his coming!

The ranger put down on the muddy ground on the edges of a small seasonal marsh and considered his course more carefully. If he meant to go to Talas-dun without alerting Thalasi, he would have to fly in fast to Kored-dul and then ride, or perhaps even walk, Calamus along the rocky trails. He wondered if he might instead fly fast to the south, and then the west, soaring out over the great ocean and then north along the coast until he had gone right past the black castle. Perhaps he could find a less-guarded northern approach.

“We’ve got a task that’s showing me no obvious answers,” he said to the great steed. Calamus only looked at him, seeming perfectly unperturbed. The pegasus would go where he commanded, Belexus knew, even if that meant a straightforward assault on Talas-dun and all of Thalasi’s thousands.

He took some comfort in that unquestioning loyalty as he settled down that night for some much-needed rest. Long before he fell asleep, though, the difficult reality of his task came back to him, and he had to admit again that he had no answers to his dilemma.

In the end, he decided that he would fly as fast as possible to the west, trying for stealth, but not to the point where it would slow him greatly. And if any talons came out against him, he would kill them, or fly around them; and if Hollis Mitchell came out against him, he would avenge Andovar and then continue on his way; and if Morgan Thalasi himself came out against him, he would finish the Black Warlock and continue on his way.

He thought that one of those fights had indeed come to him when he was awakened from his sleep sometime later. He didn’t immediately move, other than to slip his hand over the hilt of Pouilla Camby. He kept his eyes half closed, shifting his gaze from side to side, and listened intently for any sounds, or any stirring of the alert pegasus.

Nothing was apparent, and Belexus understood that it was his sixth sense, his warrior alertness, that had put him on his guard. That sense railed him now; someone, or something, was in the area.

A snort from Calamus sent him into motion, rolling to his side, then to his knees, sword drawn and ready, eyes scanning the area. He caught some movement to the side, by a large tree, and hopped into a crouch, still glancing all about. Then, satisfied that the other areas of the camp were clear, he focused on that tree, trying to get some measure of his enemy.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” a familiar voice came, and the ranger relaxed and lowered his blade. Jeffrey DelGiudice floated into view, drifting right through the tree. “I meant to let you sleep the night,” the spirit explained. “And to watch over you.” He regarded the ranger’s alert stance, the drawn sword. “But I see that you need little watching over,” he added with a chuckle.

“Why’ve ye come?” Belexus asked.

“For Brielle,” Del answered immediately.

Belexus quickly fought down the jealous feelings that stirred within him, biting them back fully, determined not to let his pride get in the way of this all-important mission. Rescuing Rhiannon was paramount; however it was accomplished, and by whom, was not really important.

“Together we’ll get to Talas-dun, then,” the ranger reasoned.

“No,” Del replied. “I mean, that’s why Brielle bade me to come and get you.”

“What news?” the ranger asked urgently. “Is her girl safe then?”

“No,” Del answered, and then, seeing the ranger’s crestfallen expression, quickly added, “Not yet.”

Belexus breathed a sigh of relief.

“But Bryan of Corning is in Talas-dun, so Brielle says,” Del explained. “And the witch is with him, in spirit if not in body.”

“Then we should be making all haste to join the lad,” Belexus reasoned, and started for Calamus.

“No,” the spirit replied, stopping the ranger short. “Brielle has foreseen another danger, one more immediate. Arien is marching west.”

“I’ve seen as much.”

“And Benador comes from the southeast with a huge force,” Del went on.

“Ayuh,” the ranger agreed. “And they’ll be finding each other in the foothills, so’s me guess.”

“But before they get there, they’ll be fighting,” Del explained, “for Thalasi’s army is massing in those foothills. And Brielle fears that each force will be hit hard before they can join together, to the sorrow of the not-so-numerous elves, no doubt. She wants us to prevent that.”

Belexus didn’t know how to take the request. Certainly he understood the valuable role he could play in the forthcoming battle, flying high above the battlefield on Calamus, marking enemy positions and strength, but his heart was for Brielle, and for Rhiannon, and he didn’t know how he could leave the young witch in the dungeons of Talas-dun, no matter the callings of duty.

“Brielle has placed her confidence in Bryan,” Del said, as if reading his thoughts. “She would not have asked you-asked us-to detour from the course to Talas-dun if she didn’t believe honestly that Bryan would get Rhiannon out of there.”

Again, the ranger was not so sure of that. For all her love for her daughter, Brielle was an altruistic one, who always, always, placed the greater good first. Belexus understood that her choice in detouring him was based more in her fears for the coming battle than in her hopes for Rhiannon’s salvation.

“Yerself can be the scout for the armies,” the ranger reasoned.

“What do I know of tactics?” Del asked. “And what do I know of Benador and Arien? How will they-and more important, how will their soldiers-react when a ghost shows up in their midst? A ghost, they might believe, sent by Thalasi to deter them.”

The ranger glanced all around, feeling suddenly like his options were running thin. Above the pain in his heart, the mere fact that Brielle had asked him to turn away from Rhiannon revealed how important she thought his role in the coming battle must be. And in considering the scenario, Belexus could not disagree. With the pegasus, and his present position, he could get a fair measure of Thalasi’s force and inform both Arien and Benador long before they neared the battlefield. With a bit of luck, any ambush that Thalasi had planned for the coming armies might be turned back on the talons.

“Get yer rest,” Belexus said. “We’ll be up high in the morning.”

“I don’t need any,” Del replied.

“Then go and play with yer tree,” the ranger said, managing a bit of a smile.

He came in wildly, swinging and hacking with apparent abandon. But Bryan was in complete control, his every strike strengthened by rage but tempered by his warrior sensibilities. He saw Rhiannon hanging in shackles, badly beaten, but he did not let the sight truly register, did not let it bring him to despair.

He only let it cause him rage, and in the first few seconds of that charge through the door, Bryan had both the zombie guards hacked down to the floor and had put the talon jailor, the largest and ugliest talon he had ever seen, back on its heels, waving its chain and huge dagger frantically in a desperate defense.

The creature was no match for the outraged warrior, and Bryan’s powerful swings kept it backing and scrambling. It tried to retreat in an angle that would give it clear flight out the door, but Bryan would have none of that, dragging his back foot whenever he advanced, so he could change to any direction immediately in perfect balance.

In thrust his sword; the talon leaped back and whipped the chain across, and the metal links wound about Bryan’s weapon. Before the talon’s smile could ever widen on its ugly face, though, Bryan turned his shoulder and rushed in, slamming the creature hard with his shield, pinning its dagger hand in close to its side.

The talon dropped one foot back, expecting Bryan to continue his press, but the half-elf, recognizing that the talon was the stronger, did not want to play this close in combat. Instead of advancing, the half-elf dropped his sword shoulder and pivoted back across and under his turning shield, twisting the chain free of the talon’s grasp. Before the ugly creature could counter the move, before it could slip through the sudden opening for a clear slash at Bryan’s side, the half-elf snapped his blade out to the side, launching the chain across the room, then put the sword back in line with the talon.

The creature had only one recourse remaining; it darted to the side and back, nearing Rhiannon. “Yous come on and she gets sticked!” the wretched brute cried.

Hardly thinking of the movement, Bryan tossed his sword in the air, caught it in a reverse grip, and hurled it across the span. He started a rush right behind the flying blade, but no need, for the lightning-spewing weapon had done its work, driving hard through the talon’s chest, dropping it to lean against the back wall, where it slid down to the floor, down to death.

Bryan was beside Rhiannon in an instant, not even slowing to retrieve his sword.

“Ye should’no’ve come,” the woman whispered.

In response, the half-elf laughed. Not a mocking laugh, but one of the greatest relief that he had found the woman alive. He considered Rhiannon’s chains then, and looked first to the jailor, wondering if he might find keys in its pockets. That didn’t seem likely, not for so valuable a prisoner as this. He found another answer, though, and went to gather his sword, the weapon Brielle had so strongly enchanted.

“But I did not come alone,” the half-elf explained with confidence, looking from the woman to the sword, and then to the emerald amulet. Almost immediately, the blade came alive with arcs of blue-white power. A single stroke to each chain had Rhiannon free, the weary young woman falling heavily into Bryan’s waiting arms.

Holding her, the half-elf felt more warmth and more love than ever he had known, but also trepidation, for now he had to find some way to get the weakened and battered woman out of Talas-dun.

“Me mum,” she said suddenly, turning a quizzical gaze upon Bryan. “Ye’ve bringed her!”

Before Bryan could explain, or ask how Rhiannon knew, he saw the change come over her, saw her face brighten, her bruises lessen. Brielle was reaching out to her through the amulet, was sending her very life force across the leagues to her dear daughter. In mere seconds, Rhiannon stood straight and steady, the look in her eyes transforming from one of a battered prisoner to the familiar, resolute young woman that Bryan had come to know and love.

“We have to get out of here,” the half-elf said.

The woman nodded, but the expression upon her fair face was not one of a prisoner looking to take flight. “When we’ve finished,” she replied with deadly calm.

Bryan looked at her curiously.

“Thalasi’s got something,” Rhiannon explained. “Something powerful, something wicked. We’re inside, and not to get a better chance for his evil staff.”

“I came to get you out,” Bryan protested.

“There’ll be no place in all the world that’s ‘out’ if Thalasi keeps his staff,” Rhiannon replied with equal determination. “He’s bringing up the dead with it, and knowing no limits.”

A grunt from the door turned them both that way, to see two talons standing there. One shrieked and charged; the other turned to flee.

Before Bryan could even move to defensive posture, the young witch extended her arms, and from each hand came a line of flames, one enshrouding the closing talon, one reaching out to grab the fleeing beast.

Both fell dead to the floor, mere smoldering husks, a few seconds later.

“I have not used me magics in many a day,” Rhiannon explained. “I have hung on Thalasi’s wall and gathered me strength, for I knew that it was not me place to be a helpless prisoner. And not me place to run away now, with Thalasi so close, and so off his guard.”

Bryan had no arguments in the face of that determination, especially with two charred and curled talon bodies in clear sight.

Perhaps it was the workings of the Colonnae, perhaps simple luck, but the day was clear in the southeastern foothills of the Kored-dul, and unseasonably warm, affording Belexus, high upon Calamus, a spectacular view of the approaching armies. From the south came King Benador and the Warders of the White Walls, surrounded by the thousands of Pallendara’s army. From the east came Arien and the elves, no less impressive though their numbers were but a fraction of the Calvan force. From the movements of the two groups, it seemed apparent to Belexus that there had been some communication between them, for their respective courses would bring them in simultaneously to opposite sides of a strategic rocky arm of the mountain range.

The splendor and coordination of the march sent the ranger’s spirits soaring, but those hopes were tempered a moment later when he flew his mount in lower over the mountains, when he saw the specter of Thalasi’s coming force. They moved along the trails like the inevitable darkness that follows the day, carrying with them, it seemed, a tangible shadow, a visible aura of evil. Belexus noted that there was something awkward about their movements, and noted, too, that several bands skirted the main host, as if afraid to approach. He was about to take a chance and swoop Calamus in even lower when the ghost of DelGiudice came up to him with an explanation.

“They are dead,” the ghost said matter-of-factly. “Most of them, anyway. The main host are zombies and skeletons, and are led by a great evil.”

“Thalasi,” Belexus muttered.

“Mitchell,” Del corrected, and the ranger’s eyes flared, an eagerness the spirit could not miss. Nor did DelGiudice miss the fact that Belexus had angled the pegasus slightly and was now veering in toward the monstrous horde. “Go to King Benador and warn him what he faces,” the ghost firmly instructed. “The men will flee in the face of ghoulish undead if they are not forewarned.”

Belexus glared at him.

“I know your desire,” DelGiudice said sympathetically. “But right now, you appear to your enemies as no more than a speck in the sky, a great bird, perhaps. That is your advantage.”

“Ye find Mitchell,” Belexus replied, having no practical arguments against Del’s suggestions. “Ye find him and keep him in yer sights. Ye’ll be guiding me when I return from King Benador-and from Arien, if the need arises-and know ye that I’m meaning to have Mitchell’s ugly head!” With that, the great pegasus turned away in a powerful stoop to the south, and only a few minutes later, Belexus set down before the king of Calva, to the resounding cheers of the soldiers: men who knew the ranger well and who had witnessed, or heard about, his unrivaled valor and skill at the battle for the Four Bridges.

“We had word from Arien that you had gone in search of your father, and he for the witch’s daughter,” Benador said, obviously pleased to see his dear friend. As he spoke, he rushed over and clasped Belexus’ hand warmly.

“I fear that me place is here,” the ranger admitted. “For know that Thalasi’s lying in wait for ye among the rocks, a great force that will try to keep ye from gaining the mountains.”

“We expected no less,” the king replied calmly.

“Ah, but such a force as ye’d not expect,” the ranger explained. “An army o’ the dead, pulled from their cold graves by the magic of the Black Warlock.” Belexus looked about, measuring the responses from the many listeners, and was pleased to see that while his words had somewhat unnerved them, their expressions remained stoic and determined.

“Evil tidings,” Benador said. “But again, we expected no less.”

“And Mitchell’s among them so…” He paused, wondering how he might explain the reappearance of the spirit of DelGiudice. “So I’m guessing,” he finished, deciding that time was too precious now for such matters.

“I have heard of your blood feud with the fiend,” King Benador said. “I, too, wish to see Andovar avenged.”

Belexus drew out Pouilla Camby, drawing gasps of astonishment from those close enough to view the diamond edge gleaming in the morning light. “Far and wide I went to find such a weapon as could harm the wraith,” the ranger explained. “Today I pay back Mitchell for the death of me dearest friend.”

“And know that all of Calva stands behind you,” the king said.

An explosion ended the conversation abruptly, all eyes turning to the side, to a puff of orange smoke, and to the wizard, a befuddled Ardaz, wisps of smoke rising from the edges of his blue robes, emerging from the cloud.

“Greetings,” he said cheerily. “From Arien, I mean, and from myself, I suppose,” he added after a coughing fit.

“Ye should’no be using yer magic,” Belexus scolded. “Save it for Thalasi’s thousands.”

“Had to come, had to come,” Ardaz protested, moving to join the ranger, then dipping a curt bow before the king. “Saw you fly down, from the sky of course, and oh, what a sight you make! Had to know what was about,” he explained.

“Your eyes are fine then, old wizard,” the king said. “For the ranger was naught but a speck to us until he neared.”

“Ah, but I knew he was up there!” Ardaz replied, snapping his fingers. “Deductive reasoning does wonders for failing vision, you know.”

He looked all around, his eyebrows cocking curiously. “Istaahl has not joined you?” he asked.

Benador shook his head. “He remains in Pallendara, as far as I know.”

Ardaz scratched his beard, wondering what his old wizard friend had in mind. He knew Istaahl well enough to understand that the White Mage would certainly find a way to insinuate himself in the battle, but he knew, too, that Istaahl drew his power from the sea, and would be stronger in Pallendara than out here. “No matter,” he said to Benador. “Istaahl will be about, or at least, his magic will, ha, ha!”

“I have never doubted the value of the White Mage,” Benador replied.

“Nor I,” Ardaz agreed. “And he will have something good planned for Thalasi, though not good for Thalasi, if you catch my meaning, I do dare say!” He hopped about as he spoke, and on his shoulder, the shaken Desdemona gave a growl and dug her claws in for support.

Benador instructed his army to rest, then, while he, Belexus, and Ardaz moved aside to discuss the coming conflict. The ranger gave them the layout of the approaching army and some insights concerning the terrain, and then promised to guide the battle from the sky.

“Oh, Des will assist in that!” Ardaz promised, and he threw the half-sleeping cat into the air. Taken by surprise, she didn’t quite enact the transformation fast enough, though, and she hit the ground on cat paws, glowering, spitting, and hissing at the wizard.

“Oh, just do it,” Ardaz muttered.

It was a long and lonely wait for the ghost. He wanted to go down and join Belexus, but figured that he’d probably scare away half of Benador’s army! He found the wraith easily enough, even from this high vantage point, for Mitchell was a blackness quite beyond the lesser undead, and Del was seeing clearly into both realms.

But was that his only purpose in being here? He had to wonder. Had he come back to the world only to snatch the important sword from the dragon, and now to guide the players in the battle? It was a frustrating possibility for the spirit who had seen the mysteries of the universe and who had returned only to find himself helpless to aid his daughter in her desperate straits.

Del’s attention was caught by a group moving high along trails far to the side of the main talon and undead host. Curious, he willed himself to the region, and when he saw Bellerian and the rangers, he knew that he had found another way.

Among the clouds once more, the ranger took note of the movements of the various forces. He saw a flash in the east and knew that Ardaz had returned to Arien’s side. He saw Benador’s ranks re-form, lines of glittering spear tips, and then begin again their march to the north.

What he didn’t find was DelGiudice, a fact that bothered him more than a little. The ghost was undependable, Belexus believed, very unlike DelGiudice had been in life. The ranger believed that he understood the cause: These events that seemed so titanic to Belexus, to all in Aielle, seemed as minor things to the universe-wise spirit.

“Don’t ye be running off when we’re needing ye,” the ranger muttered, looking all about.

He saw a flash, as sunlight might make on a mirror, from the higher foothills of Kored-dul, followed by a second and third in rapid succession, then a pause, and then three more. Belexus knew well that signal, one used by the rangers in their scouting of Avalon’s borders, and he could guess easily enough who it was that was signaling. Down he went with all speed, taking a wide route so as not to alert all of Thalasi’s forces to the presence of the rangers.

He found Bellerian and the others in a small clearing, their faces brightening at his approach, and their horses, Avalon horses, snorting and stomping when Calamus stepped among them.

“We’ve met yer friend, the ghost,” Bellerian explained, nodding. “And we’re knowing the way to Mitchell.”

He flew along the mountain trails with ease, taking care to avoid any of Thalasi’s marching minions, particularly the undead, for he feared that they would be able to sense and perhaps even do battle with a spirit. Del had seen the black fortress before, when first he and his companions had stepped from their life raft onto the shores of Ynis Aielle, but that previous sight did little to prepare him for the awful spectacle of Thalasi’s home: a blackness deeper than anything even he, with his deeper understanding of the universal powers, could begin to imagine. He recognized that Talas-dun was somehow beyond those powers Calae had shown to him, was supernatural, and more than that, was supremely perverted, as if the most beauteous events, places, and things in all the universe had been thrown together and twisted horribly.

Still, the spirit didn’t hesitate, couldn’t hesitate, with his daughter’s life-and more than that, her very existence-at stake, and so he moved to the least-guarded spot along the castle wall and searched for a way in. He knew at once that this was no ordinary construction, was nothing built of the labors of craftsmen, for not a seam could he find, not a crack in the metallic black walls. Finally, his patience running thin, Del floated up over the wall, then down into the courtyard. He was spotted immediately, but before the talon guard could even cry out, he discerned that the interior walls were not like the outside wall, were made of bricks masoned in a more conventional manner, and he was gone, slipping through a crack into the castle’s interior. Just inside the thick wall, he paused and listened, but heard no obvious cry, and could only hope that he had been out of sight so quickly that the guard considered him no more than a trick of the morning light.

He moved with caution, but with speed as well, trying not to alert any within-for alerted talons would make escape more difficult for Bryan and Rhiannon, if they were still within the castle-but with the eagerness of a father who knows his child is in peril. He crossed through corridor after corridor, drifted up high in the ceiling shadows of rooms large and small, and gradually, as he collected his wits about him and reasoned out the situation, began to make his way downward.

The place was nearly deserted, most of the talons out on the march to meet Arien and Benador. Del did find a few talon bodies, though, in a scullery room at the back of Talas-dun, and it wasn’t hard to figure that Bryan of Corning had come this way. From the placement of the bodies, though, and the fact that the outside door was closed, Del suspected that the half-elf had hit this on his way in, and that he, and Rhiannon, were still inside. He could only hope that Bryan had found her, and that they were together, supporting each other.

And he meant to be there, too, to offer whatever help he might. He set off at once, flying faster now, using less caution.