R. Salvatore: The Witch_s Daughter

Rhiannon walked up to pat the horse on the flank and whisper something soothing into the beast’s ear. The horse relaxed visibly, and then Rhiannon, to the amazement of the rangers, undid the mare’s girth and started to slide the saddle from her back.

“Won’t be needing it,” the young woman assured them, and as soon as the saddle fell free, she slid easily onto the horse’s back.

Belexus looked to Brielle for answers, not wanting to start an argument about the wisdom of riding bareback over such distances.

“She won’t be needing it,” Brielle echoed. “She’s the horse’s assurances that it won’t be letting her fall.”

Belexus and Andovar exchanged shrugs. Given the company assembled to see them off, how could they begin to argue?

The four riders broke out of the southern edge of Avalon later that afternoon and crossed the ford to the Illume-lune River before nightfall, setting a camp on the flat top of a huge, wide stone.

“Yer place,” Andovar remarked to Ardaz while the wizard cooked the meal. “The Justice Stone.” The ranger turned to Rhiannon and Belexus. “Here it was that Ardaz saved the elves, the Night Dancers of Lochsilinilume, in the dawning of their race.”

“He took them to this place under the guise of execution,” Belexus explained. “But only a trick, he played, and then the Night Dancers were hidden away.”

“I have heard the tales,” Rhiannon replied. “Ye saved them all, did ye, Uncle Rudy?”

“Shhhh,” Ardaz sputtered, but too late.

“Uncle Rudy?” Belexus and Andovar chimed together, putting a deep blush into the wizard’s cheeks.

“Rudy’s his real name,” Rhiannon went on, enjoying the game. “Rudy Glendower. And me mum’s his sister, Jennifer Glendower.”

“Names from another time,” Ardaz said dismissively. “Before the dawning of our world.” His eyes glazed over in distant memories. So very distant, a time across the span of twelve centuries.

“So Ardaz ye be,” Belexus agreed, bowing to the wizard. “The Silver Mage of Lochsilinilume.” He turned back to Rhiannon. “Owing are the elves, and us all, to the likes of yer uncle.”

“And sacred is this place,” Andovar added, “to all the elves, and to all the goodly folk of Aielle.”

“Dark days, brrr!” the wizard shuddered, remembering that grim trip to the Justice Stone, but he shook the evil thoughts away and grinned anew. “But no need of such wicked memories,” he proclaimed. “All turned out for the best, I do dare say. It always does, you know, always does.”

“And the road is clear before us,” Belexus was quick to add.

They ate a tasty meal-wizard enhanced-and better still for the fine tales they exchanged. Then they stretched out and watched the twinkle of the stars appear against the blackening canopy of the Aiellian sky.

Rhiannon fell asleep a short time later, pleased by the new friends she had made that day and thinking that adventures far from home might not be such a bad thing after all.

They made North Ridge, the northernmost of the Calvan farming villages, two leisurely days later. Spring was in full bloom now, and the sun and gentle southern breezes graced the little troupe. They meandered along their course, in no hurry at all to arrive at any particular destination, and determined to enjoy the sights along the road as they went.

“Problem with humans,” Ardaz was quick to say. “So busy rushing to get from place to place that they forget about the lands in between.”

“Humans?” Belexus replied. “What are ye then, a talon? And what are we three, by yer reckoning?”

“Oh, I did not mean…” Ardaz bumbled. “I mean… I am a wizard, after all, and have lived long enough-too long, some would say, but I don’t listen. Where was I? Oh yes, I have lived long enough to throw away some of the faults.”

“And what’re ye saying of us, then?” Rhiannon balked in feigned anger. She managed to slip a wink at the two rangers.

“Well, I mean you three…” Again Ardaz found his tongue twisting in his mouth. “You’re rangers, and different from most, I do dare say. You walk in Avalon and have learned the truth of pleasures that others might miss. And you”-he grabbed a handful of Rhiannon’s raven hair and gave a playful tug-“you’ve grown under the shadow of that most marvelous, most simply marvelous, forest! The daughter of Brielle would not miss a wildflower beside the road because her eyes were looking farther down it! No no no! We all know better, that we do. We know to enjoy what we might when we might.”

True enough. It was exactly these lands “in between” that came to thrill Rhiannon and the rangers. They became great friends on the empty road, particularly Andovar and the young woman, the ranger trading tales to Rhiannon in exchange for the secrets she knew about the ways of the plants and animals they passed. Ardaz, too, grew especially interested when Rhiannon shared those bits of her understanding of nature, knowledge too vast for her young years. She was indeed the daughter of the Emerald Witch, though the wizard suspected that she might claim a similar title for herself in the near future.

And Andovar was interested in everything Rhiannon did, in every graceful move, in every wood she spoke, and in every one of the countless careless laughs that came so naturally from her.

“It seems that I might be protecting the lass from me own companion,” Belexus remarked to Ardaz one sunset as Andovar and Rhiannon walked off toward a high ridge together, hand in hand.

“Protecting?” laughed Ardaz. “Oh, no no no!” The wizard watched as Andovar draped an arm comfortably across the young woman’s shoulders, and she willingly snuggled up to him.

“Well, maybe watching,” the wizard conceded.

The next day, they passed another of the common villages, little more than a cluster of farmhouses surrounded by a low wall. Belexus kept them close to the great River Ne’er Ending, thinking it was wise to travel the less populated western fields first before springing the grandeur of mighty Pallendara on his newest traveling companion. Ardaz readily agreed with the course, as did Andovar, knowing that the smaller villages would be less imposing to Rhiannon until she became more familiar with the ways of the settlements.

“Donnings Down,” Ardaz said, recognizing the next town they crossed through. “And after Donnings Down is Torthenberry.”

“Where ye leave us?” Belexus asked, obviously disappointed. The wizard’s tales had been the best of the lot, and few could steal the tedium from a long road as well as Ardaz.

“I meant to go there, I think I did,” Ardaz replied. “But too long we’ve wandered. Too, too long, I do dare say. Why, May is blooming upon us. No, I have to go now, straightaway.”

“What could be so important in the empty east?” Andovar asked, obviously as unhappy about the parting as the others.

“The east?” Ardaz echoed, not seeming to understand.

Rhiannon smiled at his expression, recognizing the fairly common glazed look in the wizard’s eye.

“Ye’re going to the east, so ye said,” Andovar tried to explain.

“Who said?” the wizard demanded.

“Ye did yerself,” said Andovar. “To some ruins. The meat of a farmer’s tale.”

“I did?” Ardaz’s face crinkled in confusion. “Of course I did not! Oh, why do you try to confuse me, you nasty boy? But why would I want to go there, if it is so empty, after all? Or are you just trying to get rid of me?”

“No, never that,” laughed Andovar, familiar enough with the wizard’s forgetfulness to let the issue drop. “Ride along with us, then, for as long as ye wish.”

“Well, how can I do that?” Ardaz demanded. He looked at Belexus in sincere concern. “The boy’s bitten,” he said with a sly nod at Rhiannon.