R. Salvatore - Echoes of the Fourth Magic

“I need time,” he stalled. “I want to talk to Ardaz.”

“That fool is gone,” Ryell retorted. “He fled at the first signs of trouble.”

“Then I’d like to go back to my room,” Del said softly.

“Guard!” Ryell called, and Del was grateful to be able to leave so easily with the elf who appeared at the door.

The war councils stretched long into the night, for though the elves had in the past fought many a skirmish with bands of rogue talons, they were totally unfamiliar with larger-scale battles or defensive preparations. Arien and Ryell listened intently as their people presented various plans of action, and together they tried to devise one of their own. Soon they both realized that their only hope rested with the otherworldly knowledge of Billy and Del. Ryell abhorred the idea of trusting the humans again, but even he had to admit that the elves were mere novices against the trained Calvan army.

Billy felt awkward in a position of leadership, but was more than willing to help. He quickly dismissed what the elves perceived as their most feasible option: retreating to Shaithdun-o-Illume with its one, very defensible entrance. Even Arien, who had never witnessed war, had failed to recognize the gruesome consequences of a siege.

While the setting moon sent its last silvery rays into the Throne Room through a western window, the council agreed upon its final decision that the elves would make their stand on the field of Mountaingate. Billy had offered them two alternatives, a onetime confrontation on the field, or a war of hit-and-run raids, whittling away at Ungden’s troops while ever seeking higher, more defensible ground deeper in the mountains. Billy had strongly opted for the latter, believing that the elves had little hope in a pitched battle with so large a force. But the elves, especially Arien, were thinking along different lines.

They perceived their fate as sealed, the outcome of the battle as preordained, and considered it, rather, as a test of their honor. Arien gave little consideration to the short-term victory or defeat, viewing the fate of those who would stand with him against Ungden as inconsequential. His thoughts focused on the aftereffects of the clash, the safety of the Illumans who would flee into the Crystals. The purpose of opposing the Calvans was to gain the respect of the common soldiery, to show such valor as to dispel Ungden’s depictions of the elves as dangerous, murderous mutants. A guerrilla war, Arien feared, would reinforce the negative misperceptions against the elves. And it would be time-consuming. New recruits swarmed to join Ungden’s army with every passing day. In the end, Arien’s forces would lay dead or hopelessly scattered, and the army celebrating victory on the southern slopes of the Crystals would be ten times the size of the force now approaching. Still believing in its righteousness, a perspective likely reinforced by aggravating guerrilla tactics, the Calvan force would willingly continue its hunt for renegade mutants.

And so, on the next morn, Billy and a group of elves led by Arien and Ryell traveled down to Mountaingate to better organize their battle plans. In studying the area, searching for the most advantageous positions, Billy noticed a long ledge cutting across the sheer face of the cliff that bordered the field on the east, about twenty feet above the grass and nearly invisible from below, due to the coloration and shading of the rocks. Certainly an army charging into battle would pay it no heed.

“Is there any way to get people up there?” Billy, pointing to the ledge, asked Ryell.

Ryell nodded. “There was at one time a low tunnel behind that cliff wall,” he confirmed. “A split in the stone allowed entry to the ledge. It cannot be seen from this angle. But I have not traveled that path for many years; perhaps it no longer exists.”

“Ah, but it does,” Sylvia interrupted. “Oftentimes Erinel and I have tread that trail to sit upon the ledge and watch the waning sun over Clas Braiyelle.”

“Excellent,” Billy said. “A few dozen archers up there would thin the Calvan ranks.”

“You forget our number,” Ryell said. “We have not the warriors to spare.”

“And it would be not quite as great a surprise as you believe, I am afraid,” Arien said. “I considered the same plan as we journeyed down here, but it is flawed, for Captain Mitchell knows more than the way to Illuma Vale, he knows the number of our people. All of the warriors except the few I have chosen as escort for the departing host will stay for the battle, but if many of them were missing from our ranks, such an ambush might be anticipated. And if it was discovered, the Calvans could stay to the far edge of the field for their charge and use their shields to render the archers relatively ineffective, leaving the number of our people remaining to face the onslaught greatly depleted.”

“I still think we should put a few archers up there,” Billy argued. “We’ve got to weaken them before they get to us. And you’ve already told me that your people excel with bows.”

“You doubt our prowess?” Sylvia laughed. “The first you ever saw of Illuma was the arrow I put into a tree by Mitchell’s head. Would that I had aimed to kill!”

“You made that shot?” Billy said with a grin, a plan quickly formulating.

Sylvia looked at him as if she didn’t understand his surprise.

Billy pressed on. “Tell me, then, do all Illuman maidens shoot as well as you?”

“A field of battle is no place for females!” Ryell cried, guessing Billy’s thoughts and certainly not approving.

“Normally I would agree,” Billy retorted, and he turned to Arien. “Are all of your females to flee into the mountains?”

Arien’s face went grim. “They cannot,” he admitted darkly. “Our stand would then be recognized as a ploy.”

“And if we are beaten, do you really believe that Ungden will show mercy to the females back in your city?” Billy had to ask. “No way. Their only chance is for us to win, so they might as well help where they’re needed. You even said that Mitchell knows the number of our warriors. How many is that?”

“Three hundred, perhaps half a hundred more than that.”

“Against thousands,” Billy reasoned. “We need all the help we can get, Arien. Give some of your females bows and put them on that ledge. If the battle is lost, they can retreat back to the city, or along other mountain passes.”

“We’ll have lost nothing and gained, perhaps a chance,” Ryell agreed.

At length, Arien agreed as well, much to the satisfaction of Sylvia, who had steadfastly refused to flee into the mountains, but loathed the thought of sitting helplessly by as Ungden slaughtered her brethren.

Arien had a bit more spring in his stride as they returned to the city, for Billy’s strategy offered at least some hope for attaining the goals of their futile stand. Though he saw no alternatives, the decision to fight still troubled the Eldar deeply. For all of their preparations and determination, he was convinced that he was leading most of his people to their deaths in an unwinnable battle.

Del rarely left his room during the next few days. He hung a blanket over its one window, darkening it as his sanctuary against the familiar images of brutality that had suddenly sprung up all about him. He had no visitors, save Sylvia bringing him his meals, and she, incapable of understanding his torment and perceiving his behavior as a betrayal to her people, could not bring herself to speak to him.

Del accepted her coldness stoically, though it wounded him to his soul. The elves had not witnessed the world before the holocaust, and thus could not see among the implications of the coming battle the renewal of a destructive cycle that had only one possible conclusion. They were the children of dance and song and play, and in their innocence lay the hope of the world. But Del could not expect them to shoulder burdens they could not begin to recognize.