R. Salvatore - Echoes of the Fourth Magic

“I’m glad you’re back,” Billy said to Del. “I only wish that Ardaz were here, too. With his tricks, I think we’d have a chance.”

“Ardaz hasn’t returned?” Del asked with surprise.

“No,” Billy replied. “But Arien is sure that he’ll be here when we need him.”

Arien wheeled his horse around and faced them. “Even if the wizard does not come,” the Eldar growled, his face stern and uncompromising, “we will teach the humans respect for our people. The might of justice flows through our veins.”

“A comforting thought,” Del said a bit sadly. “But I’d rather be dancing on the shaithdun.”

Helpless against the relentless assault of Del’s chiding, the Eldar could not deter the smile that softened his grim features. “Come,” he said. “We must find a horse for you.”

Arien led them to the base of the cliff on the western edge of the field, where Erinel stood, hands on hips, defiantly eyeing a white mare. He turned when they approached and smiled broadly.

“DelGiudice!” he called happily. “Your return brightens this cursed morn!”

“Do you have a horse for our friend?” Arien asked.

Erinel’s smile disappeared. “I am truly sorry, but I forgot to keep one for him. We sent the remaining horses running into the foothills after the last of our people were outfitted. Perhaps we have time to find another.”

“What about that one?” Del asked blankly, his attention held by the sheer beauty of the small mare.

“That one?” Erinel laughed. “She will take no rider. Several others had the same idea, but she quickly dissuaded them.” He displayed a bruise on his arm and laughed again. “She rewarded my futile efforts to bridle her.”

“Then whose is she?” Del asked.

“I do not know,” Erinel replied. “I have never seen her before this morning. She must have strayed from the Calvan camp, though, for she is too well groomed to be wild.”

“She’ll let me ride her,” Del declared as he started toward the mare.

“Be wary!” Erinel called after him. But even as he spoke, the mare nuzzled her nose in Del’s neck. He stroked the pure white coat with equal affection.

“How did he do that?” an astonished Erinel asked. All about them several other elves who had witnessed the small mare’s antics stared in disbelief.

“She will take no saddle,” Erinel called to Del.

“Doesn’t need one,” Del replied, and hopped up on the mare’s back. “You won’t let me fall, will you, girl?” he asked softly as he patted the strong neck.

Some of the elves began to chuckle and Erinel blushed deeply. “Or a bridle!” he insisted stubbornly.

In response, Del grasped the mare’s snowy mane.

“Will you allow this?” Erinel asked Arien. “He is an inexperienced rider and she is obviously unpredictable.”

Arien studied the mare’s reactions to Del’s petting. “She is his to ride,” he replied. “It is not our place to interfere with their love.” With a knowing laugh, the Eldar spun his great mount and sprang away to check on other matters.

Barely minutes later, the watchman’s horn sang out and all the elves and two human allies turned their eyes to the south.

Like an endless swarm of insects, the Calvan army spilled onto the field, stretching across the breadth of Mountaingate. They formed into ranks several deep, as still more soldiers appeared through the mountain pass.

“We’re going to die,” Del stated through his gasps.

“Easy, buddy,” Billy said to comfort him, but Billy, too, verged on panic. The force facing them, uniformed in black and silver, marched in a manner precise and disciplined, was fully mounted, and already ten times the size of the elven army.

Finally, mercifully, the procession ended and the Calvans held their positions in patient silence, thousands of spear tips motionless in the air.

Ryell walked his horse over to Arien. “Five thousand?” he whispered.

“Perhaps,” the Eldar answered. He looked around at his disheartened troops. They had known from the beginning that they were doomed, but had held out hope for some sort of miracle. The sight of this huge force arrayed against them brought home the full impact of their hopelessness. Yet they had a mission to accomplish, a duty to their kin who had fled into the mountains that would give meaning to their deaths. Boldly, Arien took command. “Form a line!” he shouted.

Barely three hundred strong, the elves heeded the order of their Eldar. And when they had completed their formation, Arien drew Fahwayn from its scabbard and walked his horse the length of their rank to address each of them individually, reminding them of their purpose and rallying them around the basic precept of justice that had dictated their stand on this field. Del noted hopefully that the face of each elf brightened as Arien rode past.

Still, Del wondered how that could make a difference against the overwhelming odds they faced. He took his place alongside Arien and Ryell in the middle of the Illuman line and kept quiet his doom saying.

But, distinctly, he heard Ryell mutter, “Twenty to one,” and Arien, intent on his personal preparations for what was to come, did not reply.

Then a fanfare of trumpets sounded from the Calvan lines, and Ungden, Overlord of Pallendara, Commander of the Calvan Empire, made his grand entrance onto the field, bedecked in plated armor, shining golden in the dim light of the cloudy day, and a great gem-covered helm with feathered plumes. His mount, a fine white gelding, pranced gracefully in white-furred boots and wore similar shining armor.

A score of the Warders of the White Walls surrounded Ungden protectively with their own white chargers, well muscled, finely bred stallions specially trained for the elite guard of the Overlord. The Warders wore their traditional white uniforms and skyblue cloaks, with white-plumed helms and shields adorned with a gauntleted fist clutching a sword above four bridges and four pearls, the original standard of Pallendara.

Some traditions even the arrogant Ungden did not dare to challenge.

Del grimaced in anger when he recognized the two riders within Ungden’s protective circle. Mitchell, his chest puffed out in gloating pride, rode at the Usurper’s right. Reinheiser followed, continually looking from side to side as if he was searching for someone.

On the ledge overlooking the field, Sylvia notched an arrow to her bow as Ungden’s entourage moved to the center of the field in front of the first rank of Calvan soldiers. The Usurper was within her range, though his fine armor would probably deflect any arrow at this long distance. Her shot would have to be perfect to penetrate. And if she missed her mark, the plans for an ambush would be ruined.

“Stay your hand,” came a voice behind her. “Ungden is too well protected for any such attempts.”

Startled, Sylvia spun around and, seeing the speaker, obediently lowered her bow and ducked back to the safety of the cliff wall.

Ungden absently waved a gloved hand, and a standard bearer rode out from the Calvan ranks toward the elven line. He crossed the narrow field at a gallop and, spotting Arien’s arrayments, pulled his horse up a few yards in front of the Eldar, his wide-eyed amazement in confronting the legendary night dancers at odds with the deadly serious business of the day.

The Calvan studied the elven forces for a moment, noting their number, and addressed Arien with arrogant confidence. “Do you speak as leader of your people?”

Grim-faced, Arien did not reply.

Undaunted by the imposing stare, the soldier continued, addressing them all. “Night dancers, heed my words!” he called. “While it would be but a small task for the army of Pallendara to defeat you by the sword-clearly, you cannot hope to win-it is not the wish of the Overlord to see you destroyed. Lay down your weapons and accept Ungden as the true and sole king of Ynis Aielle and your lives will be spared.”