No torches were necessary on the shelf except on the darkest of nights, for even by the stars, the abundant mica reflected enough light to see by. On a night such as this, with a clear moon rising, the ledge gleamed bright with ghostly silver.
As Del stood mesmerized by the beauty before him, an old man came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. At first Del didn’t recognize the man, for though he wore a hat and robe similar to those of the wizard Ardaz, he had a long white beard, bushy eyebrows, and flowing white hair that trailed well below his neck. A large raven perched comfortably on his shoulder. It was Ardaz, of course, as Del realized when the wizard pointed to his beard and winked.
Astounded, Del gave the beard a slight tug, and the wizard cackled with amusement and twirled away to greet the others as they exited the tunnel onto the shelf. Del gave a laugh of his own and followed, glad that Ardaz had come, and wondering what manner of magic the wizard had used to gain the ledge before them. Perhaps he had been a bird, like the one now perched on his shoulder. Or maybe he had a broomstick, like some witch of old Halloween tales.
When the last of the council group had exited the tunnel, Arien sat down with his back against the mountain wall and bid them all to sit in a semicircle about him. The Eldar hardly noticed as the others sorted themselves out, his eyes transfixed on the southern gap in the mountains and his mind drifting back across the centuries. He had been the firstborn of the second generation of Illumans, the first elf born of elven parents, and the first child born in Illuma. He remembered the time when he had stepped out onto the shaithdun and first viewed Loch-sh’Illume. Through this same gap in the mountain wall, young Arien Silverleaf had also seen the wide southlands that day and had realized that there was indeed much more to the world than Illuma Vale and the Crystal Mountains surrounding it. His father came to him then and told him of mighty Pallendara, the city the elves call Caer Tuatha, and of wondrous Avalon, Clas Braiyelle, and of all the wide lands in between.
Shaithdun-o-Illume became a special place to Arien. So much so that when Tivriasis, his wife and the mother of Sylvia, passed from this world, he found his solace here. The song of the stream caught Arien’s soul that night, its joyful melody so akin to the notes that had guided the life of the elven maid who had been his mate. Thus Arien named the stream in her memory, and on that same night he began the tradition of Luminas ey-n’abraieken.
Arien smiled as he thought of the times long ago when he, Tivriasis, and Ryell had stolen out of Illuma and journeyed to the wood of Avalon or to the northern fringes of the Calvan plains. But those were safer times, the days of Ben-rin and his heirs. Now, with Ungden the Usurper on the southern throne, no Illuman dared leave the mountain refuge.
The smile left Arien’s face. Calvans, Ungden’s scouts, had camped right on their doorstep. Even beautiful Illuma, Lochsilinilume, sanctuary of the elves of Aielle, was threatened. Sanctuary, Arien pondered, or prison? He turned to Ardaz, who had sat down beside him.
“How long shall I live, my friend?” he asked softly. “Shall it be long enough to enjoy the day that I might visit Pallendara? Or swim, perhaps, in the sea?”
It brought a tear to the wizard’s eye, for Ardaz, above all others, understood Arien’s frustration. The question was rhetorical and unanswerable, for Arien was the eldest of the elves, the first of his kind that the wizards had blessed with the gift of longevity. At this moment, propped as he was against the mountain wall, Arien seemed very old indeed to Ardaz. Since Ungden had assumed power, Arien had been under a terrible strain, and like a caged animal, he was losing his spirit, slipping slowly into a state of lethargy that Ardaz knew would bring about his passing. Even Luminas ey-n’abraieken brought only temporary relief. Other elves showed these symptoms of mortality as well; Ryell, ever walking a line of rage and frustration, perhaps foremost among them. Oftentimes Ardaz would sit at the entrance to his tower home of Brisen-Ballas, looking down upon the secret vale, crying for the Children of the Moon. They deserved a better fate, this kindly race that offered nothing less than true friendship. They could bring so much to the men of Aielle, enrich their lives so. If only …
“If only they would give you a chance,” he mumbled to Arien. The Eldar, preparing to address the council, didn’t hear him.
Although it was Arien’s place to open the council, an angry Ryell spoke first. Impatient and hoping to preserve at least part of the celebration, the volatile Illuman wasn’t waiting for anyone.
“How do you know of the spies, old man?” he snapped at Ardaz. “Or is this another joke of yours?”
Arien did not scold his friend, for he understood that Ryell desperately needed to feel the freedom of Luminas ey-n’abraieken. As with Arien, dancing on the shelf in the moonlight was Ryell’s greatest joy, a release from the constant pressures of the enemy to the south, and he didn’t like having it taken away.
“No joke,” the wizard solemnly answered. “Though truly I wish it was, I wish it was. No, no.” He pointed at Del. “Just after you left, I began to summon a whirlwind to clean up the mess. Of course you know that Desdemona here, trusting me implicitly as always, flew right off.” He gave the raven a sarcastic snarl, and Del sat confused, for he had met Desdemona as a cat. “She zipped away and I called up the whirlwind. No problem.” He snapped his fingers indignantly at the raven; then under his voice so that only Desdemona could hear, he added, “The leaves will grow back.”
“Now where was I? Oh, yes. As I was putting my clothes back on, Des came flapping back in a frightful tizzy and told me that there were Calvans coming through the southeast pass into Mountaingate.”
“A bird!” Ryell cried. “Our celebration has been stopped by the cackle of a bird!” He jumped to his feet and looked south to the blackness of Mountaingate. “I see nothing down there, old man. Where is the fire of their camp? Do they enjoy the darkness?” But even as he spat his sarcasm, the light of a campfire sprang up on the dark field. Ryell nearly tumbled from the ledge when he saw it, and the others jumped up, gasping with astonishment. Only Arien, never doubting the word of the wizard, was not surprised.
“It seems you owe the bird an apology, Ryell,” the elf-lord said coolly.
“They have never come this far before,” Ryell said, his tone now subdued. “What does it mean?”
The Eldar, determined to maintain a calm demeanor, answered grimly, “It means that Ungden has a clue to our whereabouts, for he certainly believes that Illuma is more than a legend. Or it means nothing at all. We cannot be sure.”
“Oh, yes, we can be sure, Arien,” Ardaz said. “Des here listened to them. They search for us and they know we are nearby.”
Del studied the wizard carefully. Something about him had changed. He had seen the wizard’s serious side once before, when they spoke of Brielle earlier in the day, but this was something more profound. Before, Ardaz had been energetic, almost frantic, yet despite all of his jumping around, he seemed a fragile old man. Del had even worried that he would hurt himself. Now that fear was gone; the wizard emanated strength, an aura of supernatural power about him. Before, Ardaz had seemed foolish, but now there was no mistaking the knowledge in his eyes. Deep knowledge, understanding beyond what a mortal man could know. Suddenly, the truth about Ardaz, and the implications of Calae’s fanciful tale, dropped their full weight upon Del. This man before him was a wizard, one of the Four trained by the Colonnae in the first days of Ynis Aielle. This man had been alive more than twelve centuries, and had known that other world before the holocaust! In the shock of his revelation, Del nearly blurted it out loud.
“Then we are lost,” moaned one of the other elves above the grumbling.
“Nay,” retorted Arien sternly, and the group was silenced by the firmness of his tone. “We are not lost. Even should the Calvans discover the tunnel entrance, they will never find the passage through the underground maze.”
“But if they do find it,” Ryell said in a grim voice, “we have barely three hundred spears, while Caer Tua
tha alone can raise thousands.”
At the far side of the gathering, Hollis Mitchell listened with mounting interest, intrigued by the thought of a war. Given time and the proper opportunities, he would rise to power over these primitive folk, he believed. His knowledge of weapons alone could determine the victor in this sword-wielding world.
“Must there be a war?” he asked, entering the debate with characteristic impatience.
“A war or a slaughter.” Ryell muttered.
“If Ungden finds us,” Arien said, “he will destroy us. His anger is rooted deep in his past. In his eyes, because we are different, we must die.”
“Sounds familiar,” Billy whispered, and Del offered him a resigned nod.
Mitchell rose and strutted to the center of the council circle. “You are not lost!” he proclaimed loudly, throwing up his hands as if he was some savior sent to deliver the Illumans. “In my world, we had ways and weapons with which a few could defeat many!” He paused, awaiting their enthusiastic cries for him to continue.
But he didn’t get what he expected. While most of the second-born sat stunned, Ardaz’s face went white with horror and Arien leaped up in a burst of rage.
“Silence!” the Eldar commanded. Mitchell stood a half foot taller than Arien, and was twice the slender Illuman’s weight, but in his anger the Eldar towered over the captain. “There is no place for your weapons or your ways in Aielle!”
“Let him speak!” Ryell demanded. Arien spun on him, his face twisted with disbelief and renewed fury.
“Perhaps there is some value in what he has to say,” Ryell said, not backing down.
Arien remained unblinking.
“We face extermination!” Ryell roared, as if that alone was justification for his position. “A tyrant is Ungden! We are more worthy to walk this land than he and his miserable humans! What of our birthright?”
Arien glanced around, well aware that this speech wasn’t for his benefit—Ryell knew well that he would never sway him on this matter—it was for the ears of the other second-born, who were as fed up as Ryell with hiding in fear. Lochsilinilume was no dictatorship; the will of the council could force concessions from the Eldar.
Several conversations began all at once and it quickly became apparent that the council would be hopelessly divided by Mitchell’s hinted proposal. Arien looked to Ardaz for advice, and the wizard returned a stare, resolute and uncompromising, confirming Arien’s instinctive feelings and fears.
“No!” Arien declared flatly. “And I’ll hear no more of this. I shall not start a war. Nor shall I bring back the ways of man before e-Belvin Fehte! Have you forgotten the tales of horror? We are morally bound by the simple fact of our existence, by all that Aielle is supposed to be, never to repeat those errors.”
“If we are found,” offered one of the second-born.
“Then we will do what we must!” Arien snapped.
“Then it will be too late,” Ryell muttered.
Mitchell backed away from Arien’s anger and rejoined his companions.
“Captain,” Del gnashed through gritted teeth, trembling with a rage of his own. “We weren’t brought here to start a war.”
“No,” Reinheiser interjected, “but have you considered that perhaps we were guided to this place to ensure that the right side emerges victorious? The conflict seems unavoidable.”
Though honestly concerned that Reinheiser might be correct in his observations, Del was even more worried about which side Mitchell would consider “the right side.” The captain’s goal, he knew in his heart, would be personal gain, and not the welfare of Ynis Aielle.
And, despite his reservations, Del remained convinced that they could find a better way. He detested war and all the evil and pain it wrought, and understood at that moment, the greatest moment of crisis in his entire life, that if he couldn’t stick by his principles and ideals in this dangerous time, then they were nothing more than useless rhetoric. Del believed—after witnessing the devastation beyond the golden sheet, he had to believe—that reason, and not violence, was the only useful step toward resolving a conflict.
“There must be some other way,” Del said to the council. “An envoy to show Ungden that we pose no threat to him and are willing to live in peace with Calva.”
“Not a chance, my boy.” Ardaz replied. “No, no, that would never work. I knew Ungden’s ancestor, and he was just as unbending as this stubborn fool. The Usurper’s mind cannot be changed. I was in Caer—hu, Pallendara the night Ungden stole the throne. I bear witness to the blood of his methods and the evil of his heart. Believe me in this, there is no chance for peace as long as Ungden rules in the city.”
“Indeed, Ungden has proven himself a serpent with every act,” Arien agreed.
“And there may be an even greater evil behind his throne, I fear,” Ardaz mumbled under his breath.
The uncomfortable silence that followed remained unbroken for a long, long while. Arien weighed his thoughts carefully, for he knew that all of Illuma would depend on him for guidance.
“Sylvia, and Erinel,” he said finally, “lead our guests back to the city. Quarter them in my house, and there,” he instructed the men, “you shall remain. The debate before us is for the ears of the council alone. We may not return before dawn.”
The six stood up to leave. They all had questions or suggestions on their minds, but Arien had made it clear from the tone of his voice that it was not their place to speak. They all bowed, except Mitchell, and turned toward the tunnel.
“There’s a torch for you within the tunnel,” Ardaz said. Sylvia nodded.
Perplexed, Reinheiser stopped and studied the wizard. The physicist knew his own prowess in observation, and he knew there had been no torch in the tunnel other than the Staff of Light. That staff had gone back to the city with the line of elves, and no one had been near the entrance since they all arrived on the shelf.
Yet when they entered the tunnel, a torch was indeed lying on the ground in front of them. And when Erinel picked it up, its tip magically burst into flame.
Del wasn’t surprised.
* * *
The private council began as soon as the group departed, with much talking and bickering, for there remained two very different viewpoints on what course of action to take. Ryell and his supporters wanted to listen to Mitchell’s plans and waylay Calva’s forces quickly, defeating Ungden before he could truly organize against Illuma. The other view, championed by Arien, held to the hopes of avoiding war for as long as possible at any cost, hoping for relief from within Calva; perhaps an uprising against Ungden. A heated and angry debate ensued, but in the end very little was resolved. Finally, as the sky brightened with the approaching dawn, Arien called an end to the discussions.
“It seems we are divided,” he said. “Hopelessly divided, for the present, at least. Therefore, as the Eldar, it is my decision that we shall stay hidden and wait until we know more of the situation before us.” This brought grumbles from Ryell’s group. “And none,” Arien continued above the murmur, “save those sent out on missions for this council, shall leave the city.”
“And what of our guests?” Ryell prodded. “They are men, after all, and I do not trust them.”
Ardaz shifted uneasily and stroked Desdemona, who had transformed into a black cat again.
“Yet you would trust the one called Mitchell to lead us against Calva,” Arien replied sharply.
“I wanted only his plans to defeat Calva,” Ryell retorted, “that we could study and learn from them. I would not entrust him with leadership.”
Arien closed his eyes and sought the feelings within his heart. He felt that he must bide his time and react to things as they happened, for he simply did not know enough yet to act boldly, and a rash decision certainly could destroy them all.
“Of our guests,” he commanded, “they shall be given all the comforts we can provide.” The grumbling began again. “But,” Arien added to quiet the complaints, “they shall not be
allowed to leave their rooms, and guards shall be set outside their doors.”
He looked around the council, his eyes alone showing him to be set in his decision, and at the same time begging approval, relief from the tremendous pressures of leadership.
“Agreed,” the others answered.
“It is a wise decision,” Ryell added.
Ardaz thought so, too, except that he knew a voice from a wood called out to the one named Del. The wizard feared the voice, for he did not understand why it beckoned so, and he knew, too, that its call would not go unheeded.
“Then, as we are agreed, let us end this council and return to the city,” Arien said. “And let us hope,” he added grimly, “that the Usurper’s eyes remain blind to our home.”
Chapter 16
Patience
DEL WASN’T TERRIBLY upset when he awakened at mid-morning and found that he would not be permitted to leave the room. His sleep had been filled with dreams of Avalon, and now a fantasy of dancing with the fair Brielle in a moonlit field haunted his every thought. His surroundings, inasmuch as they were not Avalon, seemed irrelevant, and one room would do as well as the whole city.
Billy, though, took the news hard. From the outset of this adventure, he had adopted a stoic attitude. Even when they had first emerged from the depths of the sea and found their world apparently destroyed, Billy had shrugged it off with grim resolve, wearing grudging acceptance as his shield, though he realized that the fine edge of discipline necessary to maintain stability could cut both ways. He could defend against depression, but to do so in a situation as unpredictable and uncontrollable as this, he had to also avoid the emotional highs, false plateaus ringed by sheer drops. Up till now he had kept that edge, even in the face of Avalon’s magical allure.