The Witch's Daughter (6 page)

Belexus and Andovar exchanged shrugs. Given the company assembled to see them off, how could they begin to argue?

    The four riders broke out of the southern edge of Avalon later that afternoon and crossed the ford to the Illume-lune River before nightfall, setting a camp on the flat top of a huge, wide stone.

“Yer place,” Andovar remarked to Ardaz while the wizard
cooked the meal. “The Justice Stone.” The ranger turned to Rhiannon and Belexus. “Here it was that Ardaz saved the elves, the Night Dancers of Lochsilinilume, in the dawning of their race.”

“He took them to this place under the guise of execution,” Belexus explained. “But only a trick, he played, and then the Night Dancers were hidden away.”

“I have heard the tales,” Rhiannon replied. “Ye saved them all, did ye, Uncle Rudy?”

“Shhhh,” Ardaz sputtered, but too late.

“Uncle Rudy?” Belexus and Andovar chimed together, putting a deep blush into the wizard’s cheeks.

“Rudy’s his real name,” Rhiannon went on, enjoying the game. “Rudy Glendower. And me mum’s his sister, Jennifer Glendower.”

“Names from another time,” Ardaz said dismissively. “Before the dawning of our world.” His eyes glazed over in distant memories. So very distant, a time across the span of twelve centuries.

“So Ardaz ye be,” Belexus agreed, bowing to the wizard. “The Silver Mage of Lochsilinilume.” He turned back to Rhiannon. “Owing are the elves, and us all, to the likes of yer uncle.”

“And sacred is this place,” Andovar added, “to all the elves, and to all the goodly folk of Aielle.”

“Dark days, brrr!” the wizard shuddered, remembering that grim trip to the Justice Stone, but he shook the evil thoughts away and grinned anew. “But no need of such wicked memories,” he proclaimed. “All turned out for the best, I do dare say. It always does, you know, always does.”

“And the road is clear before us,” Belexus was quick to add.

They ate a tasty meal—wizard enhanced—and better still for the fine tales they exchanged. Then they stretched out
and watched the twinkle of the stars appear against the blackening canopy of the Aiellian sky.

Rhiannon fell asleep a short time later, pleased by the new friends she had made that day and thinking that adventures far from home might not be such a bad thing after all.

    They made North Ridge, the northernmost of the Calvan farming villages, two leisurely days later. Spring was in full bloom now, and the sun and gentle southern breezes graced the little troupe. They meandered along their course, in no hurry at all to arrive at any particular destination, and determined to enjoy the sights along the road as they went.

“Problem with humans,” Ardaz was quick to say. “So busy rushing to get from place to place that they forget about the lands in between.”

“Humans?” Belexus replied. “What are ye then, a talon? And what are we three, by yer reckoning?”

“Oh, I did not mean …” Ardaz bumbled. “I mean … I am a wizard, after all, and have lived long enough—too long, some would say, but I don’t listen. Where was I? Oh yes, I have lived long enough to throw away some of the faults.”

“And what’re ye saying of us, then?” Rhiannon balked in feigned anger. She managed to slip a wink at the two rangers.

“Well, I mean you three …” Again Ardaz found his tongue twisting in his mouth. “You’re rangers, and different from most, I do dare say. You walk in Avalon and have learned the truth of pleasures that others might miss. And you”—he grabbed a handful of Rhiannon’s raven hair and gave a playful tug—“you’ve grown under the shadow of that most marvelous, most simply marvelous, forest! The daughter of Brielle would not miss a wildflower beside the road because her eyes were looking farther down it! No no no! We
all know better, that we do. We know to enjoy what we might when we might.”

True enough. It was exactly these lands “in between” that came to thrill Rhiannon and the rangers. They became great friends on the empty road, particularly Andovar and the young woman, the ranger trading tales to Rhiannon in exchange for the secrets she knew about the ways of the plants and animals they passed. Ardaz, too, grew especially interested when Rhiannon shared those bits of her understanding of nature, knowledge too vast for her young years. She was indeed the daughter of the Emerald Witch, though the wizard suspected that she might claim a similar title for herself in the near future.

And Andovar was interested in everything Rhiannon did, in every graceful move, in every wood she spoke, and in every one of the countless careless laughs that came so naturally from her.

“It seems that I might be protecting the lass from me own companion,” Belexus remarked to Ardaz one sunset as Andovar and Rhiannon walked off toward a high ridge together, hand in hand.

“Protecting?” laughed Ardaz. “Oh, no no no!” The wizard watched as Andovar draped an arm comfortably across the young woman’s shoulders, and she willingly snuggled up to him.

“Well, maybe watching,” the wizard conceded.

    The next day, they passed another of the common villages, little more than a cluster of farmhouses surrounded by a low wall. Belexus kept them close to the great River Ne’er Ending, thinking it was wise to travel the less populated western fields first before springing the grandeur of mighty Pallendara on his newest traveling companion. Ardaz readily agreed with the course, as did Andovar, knowing
that the smaller villages would be less imposing to Rhiannon until she became more familiar with the ways of the settlements.

“Donnings Down,” Ardaz said, recognizing the next town they crossed through. “And after Donnings Down is Torthenberry.”

“Where ye leave us?” Belexus asked, obviously disappointed. The wizard’s tales had been the best of the lot, and few could steal the tedium from a long road as well as Ardaz.

“I meant to go there, I think I did,” Ardaz replied. “But too long we’ve wandered. Too, too long, I do dare say. Why, May is blooming upon us. No, I have to go now, straightaway.”

“What could be so important in the empty east?” Andovar asked, obviously as unhappy about the parting as the others.

“The east?” Ardaz echoed, not seeming to understand.

Rhiannon smiled at his expression, recognizing the fairly common glazed look in the wizard’s eye.

“Ye’re going to the east, so ye said,” Andovar tried to explain.

“Who said?” the wizard demanded.

“Ye did yerself,” said Andovar. “To some ruins. The meat of a farmer’s tale.”

“I did?” Ardaz’s face crinkled in confusion. “Of course I did not! Oh, why do you try to confuse me, you nasty boy? But why would I want to go there, if it is so empty, after all? Or are you just trying to get rid of me?”

“No, never that,” laughed Andovar, familiar enough with the wizard’s forgetfulness to let the issue drop. “Ride along with us, then, for as long as ye wish.”

“Well, how can I do that?” Ardaz demanded. He looked
at Belexus in sincere concern. “The boy’s bitten,” he said with a sly nod at Rhiannon.

“But enough,” the wizard said, rising straight in his saddle and pulling out a long oaken staff. “I’ve business in the east, of course—and no tricks by you!” he added quickly before the flustered Andovar could put his thoughts in. Ardaz mumbled some arcane chants into his horse’s ear, and the beast perked up, snorting anxiously to be off at a gallop.

“Good-bye and farewell!” Ardaz said to the three. “A busy summer sits before me.” He stopped and snapped his fingers as if he suddenly remembered something, then reached under his robes.

“Grrr,” came a muffled reply to his intrusion.

“Oh, silly puss,” Ardaz huffed, rubbing the newest of many scratches on his hand. He reached back into his robe more forcefully and pulled Desdemona from her catnapping slumbers. “Go now!” he demanded, and to the astonishment of his companions, he threw the cat high into the air.

Desdemona shrieked in protest, but her cry was transformed into the excited caw of a raven as the cat shifted into her avian state and flew off ahead of the wizard.

“Got to light a fire under them sometimes,” the wizard explained to the others.

“She likes her sleep,” Rhiannon agreed.

“But she likes the adventures more,” Ardaz replied. “You just have to remind her of that sometimes.”

High overhead, Desdemona squawked out a complaint at the wizard’s delay.

“Well, good-bye again,” Ardaz said to them. “And have a fine summer. I will return to the north before winter. Or maybe I won’t. One can never tell about such things. But I will return, I do dare say.”

“With new tales to tell?” Rhiannon asked hopefully.

The wizard put his arms out wide. “One never knows
when one might walk into a tale,” he said, and he kicked his horse off into a blinding run that seemed impossibly swift.

In the springtime sunshine on the peaceful Calvan plain, none of the group, or the wizard himself, could have guessed how prophetic those final words would prove to be.

T
HEIR ROAD TOOK
no definitive course, meandering east away from the river, then north or south to whatever community they could find, only to return eventually to the riverbank. Gradually they moved farther south, but spring was still in the air and they had no need to hurry. At Rhiannon’s request, they spent an entire week in one village, just talking to the farm folk and learning their ways. With her knowledge of nature, Rhiannon had more than a few bits of good advice for them.

And then they went on to the next town, and the next after that, truly an easy-paced holiday. Belexus approved of the comfortable pace; he saw Rhiannon reveling in the many meetings and budding friendships, and he saw something deeper, something wonderful, growing between the witch’s daughter and his ranger friend.

Surely Andovar cared not where they were or where they were going. All that came to matter to him was that Rhiannon was by his side, sharing his adventures and widening his smiles.

And Rhiannon, Belexus was observant enough to know, felt the same way.

*   *   *

They rolled down from the rocks of the Kored-dul like the black clouds of a thunderstorm. Ten thousand strong and hungry for blood came the army of Morgan Thalasi. The master himself led the march, borne in a pillowy litter by four of his largest talon soldiers.

Rain greeted the army as it came down from the mountains onto the dreary beaches of the western shore of Aielle. Unbothered, the single-minded force trudged onward. They would leave the beaches soon enough and turn inland, where their feast awaited.

The master had promised.

But as the group prepared to camp that first night down from their rocky homes, they were met by something more tangible than a gloomy weather front. Facing them, fanning out to encircle the front half of the vast camp, loomed a second army of talons, larger than the force that had accompanied Morgan Thalasi.

    Rhiannon continued to become more and more comfortable with each village the threesome crossed, and now she was fully at ease with the strangers they met on their way. The little troupe had been out of Avalon for the better of two months, riding that meandering, though generally southern, course along the edge of the great shining river. As summer came in, though, their excursions to the east grew less frequent, for Belexus had some definite goals in mind for this journey—and he had promised Brielle that he would return Rhiannon to Avalon soon after the summer’s wane. So he set the pace a bit quicker and kept the course straight along the line of the River Ne’er Ending.

Fully pleased in her dealings with other people, even in large numbers, Rhiannon wanted to press right on to Pallendara, the greatest city in all the world. But Belexus held fast
to his plan that Pallendara would serve as their final stopover as the season turned to autumn before they turned back toward home. The ranger wanted to cross over the famous Four Bridges and view the western fields, lands he had never journeyed to before.

The green fields of the season’s crop waved in warm breezes over the tilled soil of the wide Calvan farms. Herds of cattle and sheep grazed lazily, for not even the onset of summer could shake the beasts from their perpetual lethargy. Farmers and shepherds greeted the northerners at every stop with friendly smiles and invitations to dinner.

The region had known peace for many years, no monsters threatened the borders, and strangers were a welcome sight. Indeed, the small company could have dined as guests of one farmer or another for every night since they had crossed into the more populated farmlands. But they politely declined more often than they accepted. Their friendship was newly formed, fresh and exciting, and ultimately private. While they enjoyed the company and stories of the Calvans, they enjoyed each other and each other’s stories—a supply still far from exhausted—all the more.

“We’ll be finding more of the same across the water,” Belexus explained to Rhiannon. “The towns’re bigger near the Four Bridges, and scattering out wide far, far to the west.”

“And how far to the west will ye be taking me?”

“Corning,” the ranger explained. “Fair-sized and the second city of Calva.”