by Jack Conner
Calendil blinked. Damn it all, but Tiron had a point. He waved his sword about, feeling the blade cut the air, and wondering what his father would say if he avenged Lorivanneth here and now. Perhaps he never need know …
But then what of the woman, Aria? She was proud, yes, and, despite her ragged condition, and her strange eyes, Calendil glimpsed the beauty underneath. In full health and with proper clothing, she would be quite striking. Yet there was something about her … some shadow …
“And remember, I did not come here idly.” Tiron said. “I stole the Black Book from Ixa—the leader of the enemy host—and hid it. I can take you there, if you like, or draw you a map to its location.”
Calendil raised his eyebrows. He glanced at his blade, then slammed it back into its sheath. The sound startled Aria, who gasped. One of her hands reached to the hilt of a knife in her waistband, but she was wise enough not to draw it.
“The Black Book is still out of Mogra’s hands, then?” Calendil said.
“Her High Priestess Ixa had the Book, and she was able to read it directly, without needing a translator. I know not how far she was able to read into it, but she told me she’d found the location of the Black Altar, which was the main thing she was looking for. I’m sure there are other things she would have liked to have learned, however, and she will be looking for the Book—if she survives, that is. Last I saw her, she was rushing off to fight the dragon.”
Calendil allowed himself a grim smile. “Indeed? How did that battle go?”
“In the chaos, I grabbed the Book and Aria and fled, but as we turned back we saw squadrons of glarumri riddling Karkost with poisonous darts and Ixa lashing him with purple lightning. I don’t think he expected the ferocity of the resistance, and he was slowly being driven away. Also, I know he can sense the Book, and if he sensed Ixa’s host was no longer in possession of it, he may well have simply abandoned the hunt—for the moment. For he will be after the Book again, I have no doubt, once he recovers from his wounds.”
Calendil stroked his chin. “So it’s a race between three parties—us, Karkost and Ixa’s host—to see who can find the Book first.”
“You will need it if you are to reach the Altar before the agents of Queen Mogra,” Tiron said.
Calendil speared him with a look. “And only you … and presumably your sister … could draw the map that would lead us there?”
Tiron swallowed. “Yes. Again, I wouldn’t begrudge you if you took my life. Hells, I offer it to you freely. Only take Aria. Bear her away to safety. She can draw you your map. Only … she has certain …. needs. She will tell you what they are, and maybe you can help with that.”
“Needs?”
Tiron grimaced. “I will say no more. However, I will add one thing—that I will be better able to help her with her special needs than you. Slay me and you might be slaying her, as well. Even after she draws you the map, I think her death would not sit well on your Elvish sense of honor.”
Calendil brooded on it for a moment, glancing back once to see his Swan Riders still aiming their bows at Tiron. Their aim remained steady, their arms untiring. Sunlight glinted off the arrowheads.
At last, with a sigh, Calendil motioned for them to lower their weapons. Showing only slight surprise, they obeyed. Then he did the same for the Swan Riders above.
Turning back to Tiron, he delivered his doom. “You and your sister will come with us. You cannot go into the city—I will not make that mistake again—but you will come with me, under guard and as prisoners, to my mountain fortress. There we shall see what we shall see.”
So saying, he ordered them tied up and tossed on the back of two of the Swans, and then he swung astride his own mount. As he urged his steed back into the sky, he heard Tiron whisper something to Aria. At first Calendil thought little of it, thinking it merely a casual question from a concerned brother, but later he would come to know the truth of it in all its horror.
“Aria,” said Tiron. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded that she was.
And then they were in the sky, flying swiftly toward Calendil’s fortress, as the sun glimmered redly on the peaks of the Eloath, as if presaging doom for the glorious city nestled therein.
THE END
OF VOLUME ONE
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