R. Salvatore - Bastion of Darkness

And that word carried on wintry winds, to the anxious ears of the witch of Avalon, and she followed its trail, backtracked its course to find the half-elf lying cold in the snow, Death hovering about him. Only the greatest warmth in all the world could have denied that looming specter, and indeed, Brielle of Avalon was the greatest warmth in all the world. Death did not tread close to the Emerald Witch, and she would not let go of this young hero, not while he held information about her daughter that she so desperately needed to hear. She gathered Bryan up in her arms, used her magic to make herself and the half-elf something less than substantial, and let the wind carry them back across the miles to Avalon.

“You will take all of your soldiers up high,” the Black Warlock instructed his talon commander, a muscular brute named Kaggoth. “To the battlements, to the parapets, to every ledge and every window of every tower. The zombies will hold the low ground about the courtyard.” Thalasi was agitated, for he knew that Mitchell approached Talas-dun, with more than a few talons scooped up in his black wake, and the Black Warlock knew, too, that the wraith could prove to be his greatest ally, or his deadliest enemy.

Thalasi’s trepidation was not lost on Kaggoth, no stupid creature by talon standards. “You fears it?” Kaggoth dared to ask.

All of the Black Warlock’s worries came out in a sudden, angry rush. “You dare to question me?” he roared, and Kaggoth shrank back, only then realizing the deadly mistake. The other talons in the throne room scrambled for cover. By the precedents set in Talas-dun, Thalasi should have lashed out magically then and reduced the upstart talon to a pile of unrecognizable gore; the Black Warlock knew that he should do so, as he had on those few occasions when talons had shown less than absolute loyalty in the past. A sudden mighty stroke would obliterate the upstart and thus cement the unquestioning loyalty of the others. He should have done that-every creature in the room, Kaggoth included, fully expected him to-but he could not waste even the slightest of his less-than-considerable magical powers on a mere talon. Not with the likes of the wraith approaching.

“Wretched beast,” Thalasi scolded instead, trying to sound ferocious. Out of the corner of his eye, Thalasi noticed that the other talons relaxed just a bit, even dared to come forward, and so, just as a precaution, he willed a handful of zombies, who had been standing impassively behind one of the room’s huge tapestries, to move defensively near to him.

“I am considering whether or not to have my pets here dismember you,” Thalasi said calmly to the talon commander. He brought a finger up to stroke his chin, to appear thoughtful, to make Kaggoth sweat.

Kaggoth instead glanced around at the other talons, noting the tiny nods of support. Perceptive Thalasi saw those movements, too, and he realized that if he set the zombies into motion, the talons would take up Kaggoth’s cause and he would have a major fight right here in the throne room. “Perhaps I will overlook your impudence this one time,” he said. “We are all on edge after what has happened. As to your question, no, I do not fear the wraith. Not while I possess this.” He held up his black-burnished staff, the Staff of Death. “But I do maintain a healthy respect for a creature as powerful as Hollis Mitchell. Take your soldiers up high, and keep them up high. Too many talons have died already. I see no need to risk any more while I have the command of a zombie army.”

Kaggoth eyed him for a long while, confused, suspicious, then nodded and turned to go.

“And,” Thalasi called abruptly, stopping the talon in its tracks and turning it about to face him, “if you entertain thoughts of allowing the wraith to do battle with me, in the hopes that perhaps Mitchell will destroy me, then know that your hopes are foolhardy at best and surely misguided. I am Morgan Thalasi; do not forget that! And even if, by some wild chance, your hopes came to fruition and Mitchell proved the stronger, then consider what life you might know under the rule of the wraith. Or your unlife, I should say, for Mitchell will not suffer you, any of you, to live, and will surely tear your spirits from the realm of Death and hold you undead under his power. I could do the same, do not doubt.” He flashed that awful staff again. “Yet I am a merciful lord. So go, Kaggoth, and remember your allegiance.”

Kaggoth nodded again, slowly, deliberately, then motioned to two nearby talons, his lieutenants, and exited the room.

Thalasi breathed a sigh of relief and leaned forward in his chair, considering the forthcoming scenario. He did well to keep his talons up high on the walls, so he believed. It was possible that Mitchell would be able to exert considerable control over the undead soldiers; perhaps the wraith would even prove strong enough to wrest their blind allegiance away from Thalasi. But Thalasi and his talons would then hold the high defensible positions, and the loyalty of the talons would be unwavering when faced with the choice of Thalasi or horrid Mitchell.

But how confusing it had all become! And how pitiful! Only a few short months ago, the Black Warlock had been on the verge of conquering the world, and now he feared losing even Talas-dun, his last bastion, the heart of his power. Mitchell was coming in with many talons in his wake, so it had been reported, and Thalasi did not know if that was a good thing or a bad. Did the presence of talons, a race aptly nicknamed the children of Thalasi, mean that the wraith was returning as an ally? Or did it portend disaster for Thalasi? For if Mitchell turned against him, not only might he be able to wrest away the zombies, but he would have a considerable talon force of his own.

If that was the case, Thalasi wondered if he could hold out against the wraith. He looked to the Staff of Death again, his most powerful of creations, and hoped that its powers had not too greatly diminished, as had the Black Warlock’s own.

Truly she was exhausted after the tremendous expenditure of magical energy, but Brielle would not slow her efforts to breathe warmth back into the cold body of Bryan of Corning. She spent days with him in the heart of Avalon, tending him, warming him, coaxing him back to life, and finally, after nearly a week, the young half-elf opened his weary eyes.

“Rhiannon,” he said at once, a clear note of alarm in his voice.

Brielle, despite her fears for her daughter, quieted him, knowing that he was not yet ready. Patience, she told herself. That would be the only way to get the whole story, and get it correctly.

By that night, Bryan was much stronger, and awake again. And when he told her, her worst nightmares came true. Bryan feared that Mitchell had caught Rhiannon, and had either killed her or taken her captive, and when Brielle considered the sensations that had come to her that night nearly two weeks before, she knew that the young half-elf was correct. Mitchell had not killed Rhiannon, of that the Emerald Witch was certain. If Rhiannon died, Brielle’s heart would feel it, no matter how many miles separated them. But he had taken her, or was herding her, chasing her, else she would have surely returned to Avalon.

The Emerald Witch stood silent in a field later on that clear evening, looking up at the starry canopy of Ynis Aielle. She had to regain her strength, after the flight to Bryan and the many hours of magical tending, and then she had to look far and wide, had to call to her animal friends to act as spies, had to search to the ends of the world until her dearest Rhiannon was found.

But in her heart, she already knew.

Brielle understood where the horrid wraith, Thalasi’s pawn, would take so valuable a prisoner, and she knew, too, that that place, the black fortress, was beyond her powers.