Bastion of Darkness tcoya-3

by R. A. Salvatore

  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.

  Chapter 22

  Enemies Met

  “CAN YOU USE it?” Bryan asked, stringing his short bow.

  Rhiannon shrugged and eyed the weapon fearfully. “I’ve not been trained in fighting arts,” she explained, and it was obvious from her hesitant, even disgusted, tone that she didn’t want to be so trained at that time.

  Bryan didn’t press the point-in their weeks together as the war had raged down by the Four Bridges, he had come to know Rhiannon’s value, and he didn’t doubt that she would find some way to be of great help now. Up to this point, the half-elf had preferred his sword to his bow, but now he sheathed the powerful sword and took up the bow, for he didn’t want any talons to get anywhere near the young witch.

  “Take this, then,” he offered, drawing a dagger from his belt.

  Rhiannon shook her head vigorously, and again, Bryan could not find the heart to argue with her.

  They went up the stairs quietly, Bryan holding his bow ready. He only had half a dozen arrows with him, not wanting to trek to Talas-dun overburdened, and he meant to make every shot count. He glanced back over his shoulder at Rhiannon often, hoping that she had some magic left in her.

  On what Bryan figured to be the ground floor of the castle, the pair exited the stairs. “A large place,” Bryan whispered. “Where do you believe we will find Thalasi?”

  Rhiannon hardly heard him, for she was silently searching for an answer to that very question. She closed her eyes and let her mind go out, trying to sense the tangible evil aura that surrounded the Black Warlock. “Up,” she said at length, recalling the image of the fortress. “Talas-dun’s got three tall towers, and he’ll be in one o’ them.”

  Bryan didn’t doubt her, but that did little to offer any guidance in the maze of corridors and spacious rooms. They moved along with all the speed Bryan dared, figuring that sooner or later, they would find some clue. Around one corner, Bryan came upon a heavy curtain, set, it seemed, in the jamb of a portal. The half-elf edged the tip of his set arrow to the side of the curtain and pushed it back just a bit.

  He saw the back of a talon, no more than three paces away. He drew his bow, but too late, for the brute happened to glance back, and came on with a howl. Behind it, in another large chamber, several other talons grabbed up their weapons.

  The ugly beast slapped the curtain aside, coming straight in. It doubled over almost immediately, as Bryan’s knee came up hard into its groin. “I need you!” the half-elf cried to Rhiannon, and instead of going after the closest talon, he skittered out to the side, dropped his bow in line, and let fly for the group coming in behind.

  The arrow had barely left his bow when it split apart, becoming two arrows, and then those split again into four, four into eight, and eight into sixteen before the missile arrow had crossed a quarter of the room. The group of talons, coming in a bunch, halted abruptly, throwing up their arms in pitiful defense as the enchanted swarm overwhelmed them, dropping them to the stone.

  Bryan didn’t see any of it. As soon as he had fired, he fell back to one knee, hooked the tip of his bow under the shoulder of the stunned talon, then came up in a halftwist, flipping the talon over. The talon, skilled and agile, dipped its shoulder and executed a perfect roll, coming back to its feet and turning about, its heavy axe trailing, going up, up over its head in a wide arc.

  Bryan started for his sword, but stopped as the brute charged right in. The half-elf brought his bow out horizontally above his head, hooking it under the blade of the axe as the talon chopped for his head. A twist and thrust of his hands sent the axe flying out to the side, and he punched out-left, right, left-slapping alternate ends of his bow against the talon’s face, forcing the creature back, but doing no substantial damage.

  The talon shook its head and started right back in, axe whipping across, the brute apparently determined that the half-elf would not get any opportunity to draw out that crafted sword. The ugly creature skidded to a halt, though, as a wall of flames appeared suddenly in front of it.

  Rhiannon, still recovering from her trick with the arrow, couldn’t hold the magic for more than a split second, but that was long enough, for when the wall came down, and the talon stubbornly came on, it found the half-elf ready, sword in hand.

  Across whipped the axe, and Bryan easily hopped back out of its reach, then stepped ahead and poked his sword, nicking the talon. Outraged, the brute roared and came in hard, a second sidelong swipe, this time over-extending its reach to catch up with the retreating half-elf.

  Expecting that, Bryan didn’t retreat, but came straight ahead instead, sword leading. He accepted the hit of the axe handle against his hip; the enchanted chain mail handled the blow easily enough. The talon’s armor was not so fine, though, and did little to stop the progress of Bryan’s sword as it burrowed through.

  Bryan hooked the arms of the dying beast and held them tight so that the talon, in its last spasms, couldn’t begin another attack. They held the pose for a long second, and t
hen the talon slid backward off the blade, dead. Bryan spun about, pulling the curtain aside once more, so that he could see into the chamber; and he nodded with satisfaction, for all seven of the talons lay still in a deepening puddle of blood. The half-elf wasn’t as pleased when he retrieved his bow, though, to find that the fine wood had cracked, either in blocking the axe or against the talon’s hard head.

  Rhiannon took it from him and bade him to lead on with all speed.

  “They’re knowing about us now,” she commented. “Or soon to be, and we’ve no’ the time to fight with Thalasi’s minions.”

  They hadn’t gone fifty feet when they heard the howls of discovery behind them, cries of warning that soon echoed throughout Talas-dun, that soon enough fell to the ears of the Black Warlock.

  Bellerian pointed to a large rock set about halfway down the rocky arm of Kored-dul. Even from this high vantage point, the rangers could see the forms moving about the area, the armies coming together, the battle about to begin.

  “There’s the wraith, so said DelGiudice,” Bellerian explained. “Guiding his wicked minions. We can get down there.”

  “No,” Belexus replied. “I alone can get down there, and swiftly, on Calamus.”

  Bellerian wanted to argue, but he knew that Belexus would not be deterred. “Fare well, me son,” he mumbled, even as the eager ranger climbed back onto Calamus’ back and lifted into the air.