Cathwain turned to the Elder. He took her hand and placed it over his heart, then placed his hand on hers. He lifted his other hand to the air. “May the All-Maker preserve us.” Then he turned toward the sky.
Cathwain wached her grandfather grip the spear that had served as his cane. And for a moment his old legs, rejuvenated it seemed with some of the strength they had known long ago in his youth, carried him the last few steps. Cathwain started to follow, but at the top he turned back toward her. “You have come far enough. Even if they do not care about me, they will sense you here and come. Now watch and wait. One sacrifice will suffice. Your friend will call you if he needs you.”
Trembling, Cathwain stopped with her head just above the level of the ground and watched. Slowly Chal-char walked toward the middle of the clearing and stood as he had stood times without count over the past generations. His gaze surveyed what had once been the Sanctuary of his people. The grass, so green a few weeks earlier, was now scorched with Daegmon fire. Yet peace still filled the hidden vale. Cathwain felt it deep within the rock around him. She hoped her grandfather could feel it too.
The Elder stood with his hands raised, seeming to soak in some of that peace, and the strength that upheld it. His aged voice lifted up a song of a single note. The high rock walls surrounding the hidden plateau echoed the song back.
“I am here,” he called. “I am here.”
Then he was silent.
Hidden in the trees on the far side of the Sanctuary, Thimeon watched and wondered what the Elder was doing and where the rest of his people were. Where was Cathwain? He called her with his thoughts, but she did not answer.
He did not have to watch long. From high above came the rush of wind over four huge Daegmon wings.
The two creatures sailed side by side over the protective ledges and looked down at the lone figure below them. He was not one of the gifted. Not one of those their master had sent them to destroy. Yet they could feel the strange power radiating up from him: a presence different from the gifts but just as much opposed to their master.
He will taste good, one of the creatures said.
Yes, the other replied. The master will be pleased. That old one has long opposed us. If he falls, the Ceadani will not last long.
With that, they bent their wings and began the slow circling descent into the protected place that so long had been holy. His blood will finish our defilement of this place.
Chal-char did not move as the creatures approached. His body was old but not yet frail. A strange power welled up from within. It had been given to him for a purpose, he knew. And though that purpose made him afraid, he did not listen to the fear. He had spent his life obeying another voice. And so he gripped his spear more tightly and held his ground.
A Daegmon alighted on each side of him just a dozen strides away. Or two strides for the great creatures. You are foolish, old man, one of them thought at him. Do you think the small power you possess is enough to overcome even one of us alone?
The Elder could hear their thoughts. But he did not answer.
Two hundred yards away from Chal-char and two Daegmons, Thimeon and his small company crept forward out of the shadow of the trees, ready to spring an ambush. Thimeon had put the book back in his cloak to hide its light. The others held unlit torches, waiting to light them with a quick striking on flint.
Suddenly a terrible red light lit the plain. From opposite sides, the two Daegmons had opened their mouths wide. Fire erupted on their breath. Flames engulfed Chal-char.
“Now,” Thimeon yelled.
The others broke into a run, but they were too slow. The Daegmon flames grew brighter still. Chal-char was lost in the conflagration.
Somewhere below Thimeon another figured stepped out from the rocks. He sensed who it was before he even saw her. He felt the force of her thoughts. Grandfather! Cathwain cried. He could hear the anguish in her voice, her thoughts. But he was already running as fast he could.
Still the flames burned on. Thimeon was still seventy-five yards away and the heat was nearly unbearable. His companions began to fall back, unable or unwilling to go forward. Even Thimeon slowed for a moment, fearing the heat and power of the Daegmon, and dismayed by Chal-char’s fate. Yet he did not look away. “Don’t stop,” he called, and with Dhan still at his side he rushed onward.
Then the flames stopped. The Daegmons had expended their power. Twilight was once more upon the plain.
To Thimeon’s amazement Chal-char still stood. Every thread of clothing was burned from his body, yet his skin shone white and untouched, glowing like coals from some inner light. And from that lone figure there shot an answering question at the Daegmons: Is this the limit of your power? Is this all the strength your master has to give you?
With some power of his own—power emanating from the book at his breast—Thimeon could hear Chal-char’s thoughts just as he had heard the thoughts of the Daegmons at the battle on the Plains. As he had heard Cathwain’s thoughts so many times over the past few days. As he sensed his enemy’s thoughts and intent even now.
Desperate to reach Chal-char—perhaps to save him, or at least to make sure the sacrifice was not in vain—he sprinted across the burnt grass with all his strength.
But Thimeon was too slow. Enraged, the Daegmons lunged forward toward this insolent enemy who had somehow survived their onslaught. They were upon him in an instant. The larger of the two, arriving a fraction of second sooner than the other, snapped its jaws shut to rend Chal-char’s old body. And in one bite, the Elder was gone.
Laughing, the larger Daegmon spread its wings to fly off with its prey, even as the other one angrily snapped its own great jaws inches away hoping to catch a bite for itself.
Thimeon, fifty yards away, gave a terrible shout of anger and loss. They were too late to save him. Too far away to strike a blow at their enemies. The Elder had given his life in vain.
Yet for some reason the Daegmon did not lift off the ground. It thrust its powerful wings downward sending a mighty wind outward across the parched earth.
Nothing happened. It could not move.
Sensing his enemy’s frustration, and seeing his chance, Thimeon rushed forward once more. His companions were all around him now. Dhan on his right. The duke on his left. Others coming behind.
Unaware of its own danger and unwilling to release the prey, the Daegmon gave a terrible roar and again vainly flung its wings downward .
Then the ambush was upon it. Thimeon’s blade bit home on the great Daegmon’s side just in front of its wings. From the other side Armas drove a spear into its neck with all his strength, burying the spearhead into the creature’s hide while snapping the shaft.
Compelled by some instinct, Thimeon stepped back for just a moment and pulled the ancient book from his cloak. At once, the former Sanctuary of Gale Enebe was lit with a different light, brighter and purer than the red of the Daegmon flame.
With a roar, the Daegmons realized their mistake. The smaller of the two, a few steps farther from the onrushing companions, lunged upward into the air, just missing four blades that slashed at its exposed underside.
Too late the other one opened its jaws.
And then Thimeon understood. It was no longer a body of mortal flesh the creature had held in its jaw. It was a pinnacle of rock. A boulder of solid stone vaguely in the shape of a man. Not burned by fire, but refined like precious metal. Chal-char had become a part of the mountain itself. For all the creature’s great strength, it could no more have lifted that body off the ground than it could have flown off with a mountain of rock.
Thimeon had no time to study the rock that had been Chal-char. Releasing the stone, it snapped at the nearest companion. Banthros leapt nimbly aside, avoiding a quick end. In the same motion, he struck at the creature’s jaw. His sword rang as though it had struck metal and flew from his hand.
The next instant a dozen blows struck the Daegmon’s side from a dozen different blades as Thimeon, Dhan, and the others attacked in unison. Only Corandra, Rammas, and Jhonna held back, as Thimeon had commanded them to do. Corandra held her sword, Jhonna a bow, and Rammas a spear, but they were not to enter the battle unless Thimeon called them.
The creature tried to rise with its wings but couldn’t break free from the weight of its attackers. Sword blows pounded down like hammers on a blacksmith’s anvil. Spear thrust after spear thrust jabbed at its side—no larger to the Daegmon than the quill of a porcupine to a dog but dangerous nonetheless. And in the middle of it all, Thimeon wielded his new blade—a blade forged for that enemy’s destruction. Alone of all the weapons, it seemed to cause pain to the enemy whenever Thimeon landed a blow.
Angry, the Daegmon roared an order for its companion to return and aid in the battle. But the other of its kind was already a hundred feet in the air, making its escape from the unexpected ferocity of the ambush. The creature on the ground screeched again, this time in hatred of its attackers.
It was far from defeated. Thimeon knew that. It sent its great tail thrashing around. Kachtin and Rhaan went flying. Had they been a step farther back, the tail might have gained speed enough to kill them. Instead, they landed several feet away and rolled to their feet with only bruises, while Siyen and Kayam rushed to take their places.
Again the great giant snapped its jaws. Teeth like daggers closed on Dhan’s blade, inches from his hand. The blow jerked the blade from the prince’s grip, but with that same force embedded an edge of his blade into the lower half of the creature’s mouth. In pain, it rolled to its side, shaking its head in an effort to dislodge the sword. It shook free the blade, and shook loose half of its attackers. Lluanthro didn’t get out of the way in time. His right leg bore the weight of the rolling creature.
Thimeon heard the bone crack with a sickening crunch. But before he could go to his friend’s aid, Rammas rushed in from the other side and did the first unselfish thing Thimeon had seen him do that trip. Dropping his own spear, he grabbed Lluanthro by the arms and leaned with all his might to drag him free.
Lluanthro was still pinned and did not budge. The Daegmon spun its great bulk around. Its heavy fore-claw lashed out to knock Rammas’s head loose. Instinctively Thimeon turned his head away to avoid the sight. When he looked back a split second later, the young Aënporter was rolling to his feet. Guided by some instinct—or perhaps by sheer miraculous luck—he had dodged to the side, avoiding the swordlike talons of his enemy. Even the Daegmon was slow to realize it had missed.
Meanwhile, its motion had released the pinned Lluanthro. Before it could strike again, Thimeon charged in, along with Dhan, who had recovered his blade. They struck with ferocity while the young servant pulled his master to safety.
The battle raged on. Neither Thimeon nor any of those with him could land any fatal blows, but neither could the Daegmon escape. Again and again the great tail swung around, knocking two or three of the humans backward while the hungry jaws and fore-talons made lunge after lunge.
Thimeon and those with him continued to dodge in and out, avoiding the many blows aimed at them while keeping their enemy on the move. Thrice the Daegmon opened its mouth to exhale fire, but its power had been expended, and its breath gave off only the smallest flame, while the light from Thimeon’s book only grew brighter each moment.
It became clear soon that the creature was bent more on escape than on fighting. Seizing a lull in the attack, it threw back its wings and attempted to rise from the ground, but Armas’s quick response prevented it from taking flight. Grabbing the spear that Rammas had dropped, he made a sudden lunge toward its belly. The Daegmon, on the verge of flight, spun and dropped its left wing to avoid the blow. The spear glanced off its hard side, and the duke landed fifteen feet away with another broken spear.
“The eyes,” Thimeon shouted at the others. “Go for the eyes.”
As if understanding Thimeon’s words, the Daegmon reared back on two legs, raising its head above their reach. It eclipsed them all, like the tower of some imposing castle. Several of its foes cowered back in fright. Even the officers backed away. The move, however, had left its underside exposed.
In rushed the duke with his broken spear shaft, and with him came Dhan. Thimeon darted in from the opposite side. They had time for only one blow, but Thimeon’s blade opened up a gaping wound in the creature’s armor. Then it came down, seeking to crush the three of them with its full weight. Thimeon, seeing the trap sprung, dove out of the way just in time. Dhan rolled away too, but Armas had another idea.
He lifted the spear shaft upward and jammed the butt into the ground. What his own strength could not do, the creature would accomplish.
The Daegmon came down.
The duke tried to dive to the side. He was not quick enough, and he disappeared beneath the creature’s massive bulk. But the weight never came fully down upon him, and an instant later the creature was up again, howling in agony and snapping its jaws at the spear shaft protruding from its middle, while acid blood gushed from the wound.
Beneath the beast, Armas lay on the ground unmoving. Dhan and Banthros started forward to pull him out, but before they could even reach him a shaken Duke stumbled to his feet and blundered out on his own.
“Stay clear,” Thimeon yelled, remembering the earlier death throes of another Daegmon. But as the others heeded his order and backed away, the creature saw its chance. It lifted its wings and brought them down with a rush of wind. It was airborne in an instant.
Thimeon realized his mistake. Raising his blade, he charged back in, but too late. The Daegmon was already above his reach. Then, Jhonna released an arrow, aimed—as Thimeon had told her—for the eye. She was not a trained archer, but her arrow found a mark.
Perhaps the Daegmon, occupied with other concerns, did not see it coming. Or perhaps it would not have mattered. Into the very center of its huge orb the arrow plunged, halfway to the fletching. For three more wing beats the Daegmon continued to rise. Then, without warning, it folded its wings and fell to the ground.
“Be wary,” Thimeon warned as his companions rushed forward toward their fallen foe, but his warning was unnecessary. Their enemy fought no more. From its mouth issued a long hissing laugh of contempt, and then the body died.
Thimeon stared at their dead enemy, barely able to believe they had won. Others gathered around. The prince. Siyen. Kayam. Kachtin and Rhaan. The two sisters. The duke stumbled forward. They looked questioningly at Thimeon. “Is it—?”
“It is dead,” Thimeon replied. The spirit, he knew, lived on. It could not be killed. Not by mortal humans. But the flesh was gone. For a time that spirit would be impotent. The winged shape would no longer oppress the folk of Gale Enebe or Gondisle. Hours or days or weeks. He did not know.
At Thimeon’s words, a great shout of victory erupted from his company. Armas grabbed Dhan and gave him a great hug. Corandra and Jhonna embraced in tears. All fell into each others’ arms, congratulating one another on the victory.
All but Thimeon. He turned away from the dead body of his enemy and turned back toward the new rock statue. A few dozen yards beyond it, Cathwain came rushing out from her place of hiding, tears streaming down her face. Thimeon strode over to meet her, and folded his arms around her. He held her for several minutes while she wept. He had no words that would dissuage her grief.
Finally she let go and stepped back. Thimeon clasped her hand, and for several more moments the two of them stood staring at a large rock in the middle of the field where a short time earlier Chal-char had given his last. All that remained of the Elder was a single monument of stone bearing only vague resemblance to a human form.
“He’s gone,” Cathwain whispered. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“He gave himself for you,” Thimeon said. “For his people. For Gale Enebe, and for the Ce
adani. For all of us.”
“What happened to him? How did he become—? How did—did he do this?”
“I don’t know,” Thimeon replied. “There is a greater power at work here. Greater than any of the gifts of power I have seen. Greater than the power of our enemy.”
“The power that dwells in Illengond,” Cathwain said, in a soft and reverent voice.
“Yes,” Thimeon replied. “I think your grandfather knew that.”
Another minute and Cathwain remained silent. Others approached now, quiet and sober, and gazed at the statue. The prince and Jhonna and Corandra. Then Siyen and Jhaban. “He did,” Cathwain final answered. “He felt a call to come here. I don’t think he knew how it would end. But he knew he was supposed to come. He knew his own time was over. And he knew, however it ended, that the All-Maker would be with him.”
Thimeon gazed at the rock statue. The All-Maker was with him, he thought. He almost laughed. What else could explain this?
“Will it matter?” Cathwain asked. “His sacrifice?”
“It matters to the one he served,” Thimeon replied. “No act of love is ever in vain.”
Cathwain’s voice took a hard edge. “But will it matter to the battle? Have we defeated our enemy?”
Thimeon did not answer at once. He thought about Elynna and his former companions, pursuing a Daegmon across the Plains. Or maybe they were in the Undeani mountains by now. Maybe they had already won a victory. Or been defeated. He did not know.
But then he thought about the armies of Citadel pursuing Elynna, and about the evil in Citadel. Eughbran and Golach. And especially Koranth. He thought about the Daegmon that had fled this recent battle. What he did know was that the battle still raged.
“No,” he answered. “We have not defeated our enemy.”
Around him he heard groans and sighed and gasps. And then silence. He looked down at the sword now at his side, and the book he still grasped in his right hand. And he thought about the task he still had to do.
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