The Elf Messiah - Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Leading the defense of the retreating Illuminar, Brinn noted how the goblins and wolf-riders pursuing them struggled in the re-growing tangle of evil trees. What had blocked the Illuminar’s retreat moments ago was now an obstacle to their adversaries. Only the winged gargoyles above them moved unhindered, though they may have preferred the trees below to the unending barrage of arrows from the Illuminar troops on the ground.

“Find Commander R’ille!” Brinn ordered a soldier. “She leads our people behind the pillar of fire. Find her and tell her that the enemy’s pursuit has stalled.”

Brinn watched the soldier depart, and then mentally kicked himself. He forgot R’ille had the use of her Kalláh. She could simply ask it to tell of Brinn’s progress and the answer would instantly come. She already knew what he had just sent a soldier to tell. Brinn simply shook his head with a laugh and went back to fighting.

R’ille led her people westward at a pace no mortal could have ever endured, covering ground in three days that would have taken the Avanyar three weeks to cross. The majestic draft horses that pulled their wagons were unable to match the pace, and the Illuminar turned them loose into the wild woods, abandoned the wagons, and carried their stores on their backs. They passed far beyond the western borders of their realm and into a land seldom explored. three

Brinn’s division backed its way through the forest protecting the rear flank as the Illuminar journeyed westward. Their losses continued to mount, but protecting a single rear flank was far easier than defending three different sides. Retreating through the trees, Brinn devised an effective strategy. Scores of Illuminar would stand and fight, then swiftly fall back past a line of fresh troops that formed at their rear. In this way Brinn’s troops found some rest between engagements while the hordes of the Demon Lord pursuing them were constantly pressed.

Though Brinn’s losses were grave, the evil hordes suffered far worse. Almost all of the gargoyles were lost to the arrows of the Illuminar. Three Nil'Ganash were down, the others driven high into the air where they wheeled about, staying well out of range while trying to find a weakness in the line that retreated westward. One Nil’Ganash flew far ahead of the retreating Illuminar and was not seen again.

The thunderstorms had ended at sunset of the third day, replaced by a steady rain that kept the Illuminar wet but did little to slow their progress. They were able to find some respite from the rain by walking in the heat of the flaming whirlwind that led them westward through the thick tangled growth of fir, oak and vine. The heat of the fiery pillar served to dry, if only for awhile, the wet clothes of the Illuminar host.

On the dawn of the fourth day of leading her people behind the pillar of flame, R’ille noticed the rain clouds overhead beginning to dissipate. Almost immediately, the fiery pillar began also to lessen in size. She thought it was because of the diminishing rain clouds, but as the firestorm burned itself out, R’ille saw the real reason for the fire’s demise. The forest the fire fed upon was ending.

As she led the Illuminar out of the forest, R’ille came to a narrow strip of short grass that ran from the woodland’s edge right up to the rim of a vast precipice that stretched north and south to both horizons. It was as if she had come to the very edge of the world. Crossing the golden grass, R’ille walked to the edge and looked down into depths that were lost to shadow. As she looked out across the yawning gulf, Tiela rose behind her, and the growing light of the sun moved slowly across the void until, at last, its fingers reached out to something that appeared as if by magic. Opaque light fell upon distant crags that materialized out of nothing, rising out of the shadowy void.

Illianor. Sanctuary.

““Behold; the strait of Illianor!” R’ille said as she turned to the masses of Illuminar gathered around her at the edge of the chasm. This was where she had been leading them.

“We are trapped!”

It was Lorelai. “First we are pinned against the walled forest, and now you drive us to the edge of a sheer cliff! What will come next?” She pointed to the distant crags, growing in the light of the sun. “If that is Illianor glimmering in the distance, it must be at least 3 leagues away. We have no ladders to descend to the bottoms of these cliffs, and no boats to cross the strait—”

“Lorelai,” R’ille interrupted. “Why won’t you have faith? Do you think Ár-Ádun would bring us this far just to abandon us?” R’ille tried to reassure Lorelai, but her own faith was shaken by the immense view. She had never before actually seen the cliffs where they now stood, nor seen Illianor itself. Now that she was witnessing for the first time the immensity and sheer depth of the strait of Illianor, she understood Lorelai’s frustration. Everyone knew the sailor’s tales of old describing the un-climbable cliffs that lined the strait of Illianor. R’ille saw that they would be unable to descend the cliffs where they now stood, and guessed that they would be unable to climb those on the other side leading to the top of the island of Illianor, across the strait.

“You ask us to have faith,” Lorelai said, trying to sound as if she spoke for those around her. “You ask us to have faith in a Creator that has allowed us to be driven to the brink of extinction? I’m tired of placing my faith in empty promises. Do you all not agree with me?” Lorelai turned, hoping the gathering Illuminar were rallying to her. They weren’t. They stood silent, apprehensive, as if standing at a crossroads and unsure of which way to turn. They looked first at R’ille, then back at Lorelai. The crowd remained silent.

“What would you have us do?” R’ille asked Lorelai. “If I am wrong, what other option do we have? Turn back? Turn back and die for certain?”

The crowd looked at Lorelai, but she had no answer. Her lower lip quivered, sucking the venom from her angry eyes. “Bah!” she spat in frustration, and stormed off into the crowd, who turned its focus back to R’ille.

“Let us rest, she said to those gathered. Rest, while I think of a plan.” She turned away from the crowd and looked out over the void.

The crowd began to disperse after several minutes when R’ille offered nothing more. They set up camp on the edge of the cliffs and held their breath while R’ille tried to figure out their next move. She just stood in silence, alone with her thoughts.

How would they now get across, she wondered? After following the tornado of fire in a pouring rain for three days and nights, R’ille had hoped for more than to be confronted by an impassable chasm. Her faith was beginning to weaken. Had she done the right thing?

“Take some food,” a warrior said, handing her some dried fruit and a strip of roasted bison meat. It was Dártan, fresh from Brinn’s side to report on the battle lines to the east. He paused to get a bite as well before returning to the fighting.

R’ille chewed in silence as she thought back about how she and the Illuminar had come to this place. “We cannot escape the fact that the Demon Lord has slain our king and escaped captivity to begin this genocidal attack upon us,” she said at last. Dártan just nodded and let her speak. “When our land was overrun, it was I who convinced the people that our only hope of survival lay in leaving our homelands. It was I who implore that we must retreat to a place free from the reach of the minions of the Demon Lord. It was I who convinced everyone that Illianor was to be that place; that Illianor was to become our Sanctuary. Was I wrong? Am I a fool?”

“No, mi’lady. I do not think you are a fool.” Dártan looked at her directly. “Your husband is a loyal friend, and the most cunning soldier I have ever known. The light of Varnn shines in his eyes, and he has always known the favor of Ár-Ádun. Thus, I do not think it was by folly or chance that he chose you to marry those many years ago. How I rejoiced when the two of you were united. Brinn chose wisely then, and I choose wisely now. I choose to follow you, mi’lady.”

R’ille took Dártan’s hand in gratitude. “Oh how I wish Brinn were here now. My doubt clouds my judgment.”

“Do not doubt mi’lady. Your Kalláh has revealed the Creator’s promise of a sanctuary free from the pain and suffering of the Demon Lord, and you have shared this promise with our people.”

R’ille looked unconvinced.

“The rest of us lost the gift of the Kalláh long ago; everyone except you. Yet, still we remember its power and truth. You have given us something to hope for. The people believe in you. You revealed Ár-Ádun’s promise of sanctuary, and that we would find it on Illianor. So we have followed. And we follow you still.”

“Thank you, Dártan. Your words bring comfort.” She was silent for a time. “I know you must return to the battle,” she said finally. “I send you with words of love and comfort for my beloved Brinn. Will you tell him my thoughts are of him?”

“I most certainly will, although he knows it already!” Dártan laughed, and he departed from R’ille. The Illuminar leader turned back to the chasm before her and thought about what had led them here.

At the fall of her brother the king, the Illuminar had begun the retreat westward. A few among them had protested, Lorelai being their chief. Their first plan had been to head toward the quays of Aqualondë to board ships for Illianor, but that direction had been cut off by the three-pronged attack of the Demon Lord. His forces had attacked Aqualondë from the sea, while at the same time swarming out of the southern Hotlands and charging from the east down the passes of the Iron Teeth Mountains. The Illuminar had been forced to retreat northwestward, which was in fact almost a direct line toward Illianor, but there was the matter of the Illianor Strait.

During their flight, the Illuminar had spent most of their time just trying to survive the journey, leaving little time for discussion about how they would cross the strait when they reached it. In fact, R’ille had deliberately avoided that question. It had been enough to figure out how to survive the evil swarm that had driven them from their realm.

Some had doubted the plan to flee to Illianor, R’ille knew, but in the end it had been the only direction they could go. And so they had headed, or been driven, it now seemed, toward the Strait of Illianor and the mysterious, unexplored island beyond.

R’ille looked at the deep chasm before her and thought about the history she knew of this place: The Strait of Illianor. Illuminar sailors had long ago discovered these sheer cliffs lining the northwest edge of their realm, along with the island that had split apart from the land and had drifted over the course of millennia to lay now three leagues off the coast. R’ille knew the stories of Illianor. Sailing completely around her had taken over a week, they said, yet no cove or beach existed where they could set foot upon the island. On every side they had discovered the same sheer walls as were on the mainland. Like the cliffs where R’ille stood, it was said that the sides of the island reached straight up for almost six thousand feet, and from that time until now no Illuminar had found a way to scale those walls. What lay on the top was a mystery. The ancient sailors had named her Illianor, which meant “like heaven”, for it was a sanctuary untouched.

R’ille knelt, eyes closed, and in her mind searched through the sailor’s legends for clues to solve their dilemma.

You must use Illinzor!

Her concentration was broken moments later by the arguing of a large group. All around her, Illuminar had begun shouting and arguing about what their next move should be. They, too, knew the legend of Illianor and its un-climbable cliffs, though few had ever actually seen them. Now they were here, having come through the forest to stand at what seemed like the edge of the world. Some of the Illuminar were starting to doubt R’ille’s plan. Like R’ille, they were looking across an impassable chasm to a mysterious and unknown land where tall white peaks jutting upward from a distant haze were the only feature that could be glimpsed. As she listened, R’ille understood that many were beginning to feel reluctant about leaving their beloved land behind. Their reluctance was buoyed by the fact that it didn’t appear that leaving was an option anyway; they saw no way across the chasm.

R’ille remained silent for now while the elders continued to argue their options. Illuminar children milled about playing games, oblivious to the crisis looming before them all. Several of the youngest picked up pieces of quartz from the edge of a crystal outcropping that jutted out over the chasm. The children threw the shards out into the void and waited for them to hit the ocean. They heard no splashes in return.

“What of the Avanyar, our allies and friends?” some among the adults wondered, arguing against attempting the impossible crossing. “Do we flee our realm and leave the mortal ones behind to face the wrath of the Demon Lord alone?”

“How do we cross?” others questioned.

“If only we had the Corrinnan, the winged horses!” several lamented.

The land beyond is a sanctuary. If you wish to leave this land and flee, you must use the enemy’s weapons. Using Illinzor will allow you to cross. Illinzor will bring Illianor within your reach.

R’ille took out the green wand of Earth and studied it. Strange runes littered its surface, but she didn’t know what her Kalláh meant. She finally spoke, trying to calm the group. “We must trust in the Creator’s plan. Ár-Ádun will show us a way. Beyond lays Illianor. My Kalláh tells me it is to be our sanctuary. A way across will be revealed! This is our key!” She held up Illinzor. Many scoffed. Her words were of little help. The arguing continued, and the Illuminar were unaware that the Demon Lord was about to spring his final trap.

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

“Ash za gâza?” wondered Legion.

What is this?

The leader of the Nil'Ganash eyed the tornado of fire for a moment, and then gave an order to Styxx, flying beside him.

“Kurash id ara.”

Extinguish that fire.

Styxx gestured with the wand of Water and sent fresh torrents of rain down upon the burning whirlwind that was clearing a path for the Illuminar through the forest. It was useless. The flames seemed to lick upward to defy the downpour. The fire could not be quenched. With another wave of his wand, Styxx sent still more torrents at the firestorm, but with a hiss they vaporized into clouds of steam.

What is the source of this fire, Legion wondered? He watched Styxx work, concerned because the flames seemed to work against the wand of Water. That could only happen the Illuminar were controlling the flames with Arazor, using it to fight off the other wand’s magic. But that was impossible! The Nil'Ganash were in possession of all four of the Zori. Or were they? Zirnach and Grawl were down, but surely they held their own against the puny Illuminar! Still, Hood should have reported back with the status of those two by now.

“Where in Shaitan’s breath is Hood?” Legion shouted in the common tongue, suddenly much more alarmed. Looking over the few remaining Nil'Ganash that flew above the Demon Lord’s army, his concern grew. He’d not only lost Zirnach and Grawl, but now Hood was also missing, and Hood was in command of Arazor, the wand of Fire!

Frustrated, Legion ordered Styxx to keep trying to quench the fire, and then he flew down to the rear of his battle lines and landed near a squad of gargoyles replenishing their arrows. Towering over them, he looked like evil incarnate, his violet skin and black hair dripping onto his long black cloak. He flashed his yellow fangs in a snarl. “Bring me a wounded body of the enemy,” he ordered. “Alive!” Animating their wings of stone, the large group took off in flight, glad to be able to depart from the angry presence of their captain.

Legion pulled his black cape over folded wings and knelt in the muddy turf. He looked up angrily into the cloudy sky drenching him with rain. “Curse that fool Styxx. Must he send the rain upon our side of the battle as well?” Throwing his dripping locks back from his face, he drew forth from a black scabbard a long serpentine sword and traced a large pentagram in the mud. The group of gargoyles returned as he finished, landing near, grasping a badly wounded Illuminar soldier in their clutches. The soldier was bleeding from dozens of deep wounds and gashes, but the rain was washing the blood away as quickly as it appeared. Legion motioned, and the gargoyles dragged the soldier to the center of the pentagram.

While the gargoyles held the Illuminar before him, Legion watched as the soldier’s wounds closed up and healed. “The Illuminar’s regenerative power,” he muttered under his breath, and then barked out a jealous curse. That skill, perhaps above all others, was why the Nil'Ganash hated their opposites. The Demon Lord had created Legion and his kin with no such ability.

Legion spat in the immortal’s face. “Feel the cold chill of a Nil'Ganash blade in your belly,” he snarled in the common tongue, and with a sudden thrust of the serpentine sword, stabbed the warrior clean through.

The Illuminar winced for a long moment, and then looked up and met Legion’s smiling gaze. His blue eyes revealed the pain he endured, but showed no hint of fear toward his mortal enemy. The held each others gaze for a long moment.

Legion’s smile vanished.

The soldier clenched his lips in a tight line when Legion withdrew the blade, and then the Illuminar closed his eyes, as if summoning a power from within. Though it took slightly longer because of the Nil’Ganash’s poisoned blade, in a matter of seconds, the stab wound sealed itself and healed completely. The warrior opened his eyes and spoke to Legion in his own tongue, something Illuminar almost never did.

“Ni huish lamat na, Shaitanazh.”

I do not fear you, Nil'Ganash.

Legion only smiled.

“I do not fear you,” the warrior said again, “not even should you threaten to sever my head from my shoulders.”

“Who are you, immortal one?” Legion asked mockingly, answering in the common tongue. “Tell me your name.”

“I am Bellanar, herald of the king.”

“Your king is dead.”

Bellanar looked at Legion, the light in his clear blue eyes undimmed. “The Illuminar live on.”

“You will not,” Legion said idly as he looked away. Then, with a sudden swipe of his blade, Legion decapitated the Illuminar, along with the heads of two of the gargoyles that held him. The gargoyles holding the prisoner had unfortunately been too close to the warrior, but Legion hadn’t cared, even though he knew his enchanted blade would cut through their stone necks as easily as the neck of the Illuminar.

The other gargoyles released the warrior and recoiled from their leader, fearful of losing their own heads in the wrath of his anger. Legion ignored them, showing no remorse whatsoever as three heads and bodies tumbled to the ground in the center of the pentagram. The gargoyle bodies dissolved into piles of powdery stone. Only the warrior’s corpse remained. Legion watched as the blue fire in the warrior’s eyes dimmed and finally went out. Kneeling, he reached down and touched the soldier’s blood as it pooled on the ground. He licked his fingers. The blood tasted salty, but Legion also felt a sudden surge of power course through him for an instant before fading.

“Ah, I have ever loved the taste of immortality.”

The body of the Illuminar warrior bled out on the wet ground, and the power imbued by the Creator to the most ancient of races was absorbed into the earth.

That power had given the Illuminar, alone among all living things, immunity against both disease and old age. Though the passing of centuries might wear down the stone-walled gardens of their halls, their bright upturned faces had welcomed the light of each new day with a look unchanged from the day before. That power had kept them young and in the prime of life, had kept them exactly like the day they had reached adulthood. Though years passed, that power kept their laughter full of the joy of youth, their skin smooth and unwrinkled, and their tall frames toned and sculpted. Only in their eyes was their gift of immortality revealed, for in those deep pools of brilliant blue, alongside the bright innocence of youth, a piercing gaze revealing thousands of years of wisdom and knowledge was seen.

Since the dawn of time, the Illuminar had stayed ageless because of their miraculous regenerative power. A broken bone from a fall, a serious gash from a wild animal, these injuries healed within minutes, demonstrating what was most assuredly the greatest of all the gifts received from the Creator. Indeed, the Illuminar had not known death until the Avanyar, the race of men, went against their counsel and opened the gates of the Demon Lord’s realm, releasing evil into the world. Even the power of the Illuminar could not withstand the cruelty of the Demon Lord.

Legion savored the blood of the dead warrior. It would provide the power to summon the Demon Lord, but the Nil'Ganash took a few moments to feed on the excess. Blood was the essence that sustained his race. His eyes glowed eerily as he grew drunk from the power of the blood. For a moment, he descended back into the bestial savagery of his demonic origin.

A huge troll, wearing dirty leather armor, approached. It was a commander of the wolf-riders.

“Master, the enemy is getting away through the trees!” it said, its frog-like mouth spitting out the words through crooked teeth. “They retreat like the wind, following a trail opened up by that wretched pillar of flame. Their rearguard fight like no Illuminar we have ever faced. One named Brinn leads them.” It subconsciously brushed away the wolf hair that littered its arms and torso. “We are losing ground on the narrow pathway they make in the forest, and the trees are re-growing, slowing us even more!” The goblin’s yellow eyes flared. “We cannot bring our superior numbers to bear—”

The eerie light in Legion’s eyes faded as intelligence returned. “Silence, fool!” he said as he licked the last drops of blood from his fingers. “All that is about to change.”

Standing over the fallen Illuminar body in the pentagram, Legion held his arms out from his sides and began to chant in the hell-speech of his kind. Above the pelting of the rain, his guttural growls echoed in the grey light of afternoon.

“Shaitan, neg Lach, Ni halla nil Lazn ach cor panazh … Shaitan, neg Lach, Ni halla nil Lazn ach cor panazh … Shaitan, neg Lach, Ni halla nil Lazn ach cor panazh.”

Lucifer, Lord of darkness, I call upon my master with an offering of blood, he said, over and over again.

The chant droned on. The wolf-rider backed away in fear at the display of awesome power, then turned and fled. Legion stepped out of the pentagram that ran red from the fallen Illuminar and watched above it as a black mist began to form.

“Anh shûannich ne hu na?”

Why do you interrupt me?

The voice came from the black mist that coalesced before Legion. The voice was calm, but edged with malice and cruelty. Red eyes appeared within the mist, and they looked over the Nil’Ganash as they addressed him. “I have many souls yet to gather from the slaughter of my enemy. Is there something you wish to report?”

Legion bowed his head and dropped his arms slightly, palms turned outward in a display of reverence. He answered the Demon Lord but dared not meet his gaze. “Master, the Illuminar have a new weapon: a pillar of fire that consumes the trees made to block their escape. We are hard pressed to continue our pursuit—”

“You fool!”

Silenced, the Nil'Ganash winced at the venom in his master’s words. He feared for a moment that he would be reduced to ashes where he stood.

“You had them trapped,” the black mist noted. “They were on the verge of annihilation. How could you let them get away?”

“We—”

“Silence!”

The black cloud of mist seethed and boiled. “What of the four wands of Power? Do they not aid you in the annihilation of the Gathâni? I created them for just such an occasion as this. Do your minions not use them well? Speak, slave.”

The answer to the Demon Lord’s question was something Legion was reluctant to give, especially because he guessed the Demon Lord already knew the answer. But failure to respond to the Demon Lord’s question would mean sudden death.

“Zor-Nîm, the wand of Water, is there,” Legion answered, pointing westward at a Nil'Ganash above the battlefield. “Styxx wields it and commands a torrential rain to hamper the enemy’s retreat.

“And Maladzor, the wand of Air?”

There was silence.

“Illinzor?”

Again, silence.

The voice grew more intense, and thunder rumbled as it spoke.

“Arazor?”

Legion said nothing. He decided he was going to die anyway.

“Speak, Nil'Ganash, or feel my wrath.” The mist took on a sharper edge, and the red eyes burned through Legion as he cowered before the Demon Lord.

“I, I fear, Lord,” Legion stammered, “that several of the Zori have been lost. The fool Grawl flew too low attempting to hinder the retreat of the Gathâni. I sent Zirnach to retrieve him, but I fear he and Grawl both fell to the arrows of the Enemy. Hood was sent to learn their fate. He has not been seen since, and I fear he, too, is dead.”

“What proof do you have that the wielder of Arazor, my most powerful wand, has been slain?” The mist seethed. The smell of brimstone and scorched flesh lingered on the wind.

“The Gathâni have broken through the forest barrier that Grawl created to block their escape,” Legion finally answered. They now move westward behind a tornado of fire which rebuffs our attempts to snuff it out. The whirling flame acts as if it were something deliberately created by the Gathâni. It aids them by attacking the magic of the other wands. I fear the Gathâni wield Arazor.”

“The enemy has taken Arazor from you?”

“Not from me Lord! Hood lost it, and probably paid with his life. But now I think it is being used to defeat our snares–”

“Witless demon-spawn!” the Demon Lord retorted.

Legion closed his eyes and waited for the blast of fire that would end his life. It didn’t come.

“You fool.” The mist ceased to rage. “You let a little tornado of fire turn the tide? No matter if they wield Arazor; it will avail them not. Child of darkness, you forget that fire is my domain.”

A finger of flame licked outward from the black mist and scorched the violet skin of the Nil’Ganash. Legion’s eyes burned with hatred toward the Demon Lord, their lavender glow lighting up the Nil’Ganash’s face. But he remained silent and powerless. He was a servant, and this was his master.

“They cannot wield my wands of Power,” the black mist surmised as if speaking to itself. “If they try, they will fail. They will find that they cannot direct and control such power. In their hands, each wand’s power acts only against the others. The Immortals are doomed. Such is the fate of fools who try to control the elements of this world without worshipping the lord who rules those very elements!”

The ground began to tremble as the mist roared. “I am ruler over the things of this world!”

The red eyes turned back to Legion. “Continue your pursuit of the Gathâni. They evade you but for a little while longer. Soon they will encounter an obstacle that even their tornado of fire will be useless against. They are approaching the cliffs that overlook the western ocean. Drive them over those cliffs and let them plummet to their deaths.” The mist laughed softly, though Legion heard only pain. “I have souls to gather,” it said abruptly, and began to dissipate. “Call me when you have them trapped; when their doom is nigh. I wish to be present so that I may enjoy that moment.” The darkness faded, the red eyes last to disappear.

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

“What are you doing, R’ille?”

The question came not from Brinn, but from the leader of a group of Illuminar under gold banners that were just now arriving on the scene. It was Lorelai, one of the king’s handmaidens. Though slighter in stature than R’ille, she shared the same timeless features, except her hair was wispy and thin, and great dark circles lay under her eyes. She was a worrier. Like the king and many of the Illuminar, she had long ago forgotten the Creator.

“What are you doing?”

“What am I doing? I’m going to save our people,” R’ille answered her. “I’m going to quench this fiery ball above us, and then find a way through this accursed forest that hinders our flight.”

“It is hopeless!” Lorelai wailed. “The Demon Lord has escaped our captivity and murdered our king! Now he directs his forces toward our annihilation! We are doomed!”

“Get a hold of yourself, Lorelai! Believe in the Creator. Believe in the grace of Ár-Ádun.”

Lorelai just shook her head. Too often did R’ille invoke the name of the Creator, and it was not lost on Lorelai that that name had long ago ceased to bring aid to their people.

“We are not doomed,” R’ille said undeterred, for unlike her kin she had not lost faith in Ár-Ádun. “My brother the king is dead at the hand of the Demon Lord, but Kinirath’s slaying may yet lead to the Demon Lord’s undoing, for now I am the leader of our people. As leader, I am turning us back to Ár-Ádun at once.” She turned away from Lorelai and faced the trees that loomed dark and foreboding before her, their branches low and menacing.

The late king’s handmaiden was speechless. She didn’t understand. What could R’ille possibly do that would change their impending doom? Not far away, Lorelai could still hear the clash of weaponry as troops continued trying to hold off the Demon Lord’s army.

Brinn also wondered what R’ille was going to do, though he did not share the handmaiden’s feeling of hopelessness.

“R’ille, what are you going to try?”

“I don’t know,” she answered her husband. “But I must do something.”

You must use the enemy’s weapons.

“R’ille, what is it you hear?” Brinn had seen her cock her head ever so slightly and knew that she was listening to her Kalláh, which only she could hear. He wished he could hear it too, but his momentary feeling of sadness at having lost that gift gave way to the pride he felt that she, at least, still possessed it.

“My Kalláh tells me to use the enemy’s weapons, but I’m not sure I understand.” R’ille said, turning back toward Brinn. “You see, I’ve already used them once today. I used a goblin’s torch and a gargoyle’s arrow to bring down the Nil'Ganash that you just finished off. I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to do.”

The enemy’s weapons. You must use them.

“There it is again. I must use the enemy’s weapons. Could it mean what I think it means?”

You must use the Zor.

“R’ille,” Brinn spoke softly, and he held something out to her.

She looked, and was startled by what he held in his outstretched hand: A blue wand. She looked down at Arazor in her own hand, and then looked back at Brinn.

“I took this off a dead Nil'Ganash,” Brinn said. “I think you’re supposed to have it.”

“A blue wand? Could it be? Yes, my Kalláh confirms it. It is Maladzor, the wand of Air.”

Suddenly R’ille knew that the plan she had considered moments ago was exactly what she was supposed to do. “Am I to use these wands?” she asked, to be certain.

Yes. Her Kalláh also said something else. Do not reveal that you also hold Illinzor, the wand of Earth.

Obeying her Kalláh, she remained silent about the wand tucked in her cloak, taken off the Nil'Ganash that Brinn had shot out of the sky. She took the blue wand from her husband, and then turned and faced the gathered Illuminar.

“For too long we have believed in our own might and glory as the reason for our achievements in this world.” Then she turned directly to Lorelai. “Did we really believe we had the strength to conquer and enslave the Demon Lord himself? Don’t you see it was all a trick? By attempting that folly we brought Lucifer right into our midst, where he used his cunning voice to sow the seeds of our own destruction. Now my brother is dead and Lucifer turns his armies upon us seeking what has ever been his goal: our extermination.” She turned toward Brinn. “This folly ends right now.”

“What do you mean? What are you going to do?” It was Lorelai again.

“Turn the Demon Lord’s own weapons against himself.”

“But—”

“I don’t have time to explain, Lorelai. We are being slaughtered!”

R’ille turned away and, taking the red and blue wands in each hand, began to pray.

“You’re going to use those?” Lorelai pointed to the two wands that R’ille held. “You cannot use the Zori. For an Illuminar to attempt such a thing would be disastrous!” Lorelai half turned to plead her case to those around her. “It is said in the lore that only one who has given his soul to the Demon Lord can wield a wand of the elements. Anyone else would fail the attempt because the wand would simply use its power to seek out and subdue the power of the other wands.” Lorelai turned back to R’ille. “If you try to use them, instead of controlling the forces of nature, they will simply destroy each other’s magic!”

R’ille ignored her and continued to pray, stepping closer to a large fir that loomed over her from the edge of the forest conjured to block their retreat. “Ár-Ádun, forgive us!” she said as she held Arazor above her head. “Save your chosen people! We repent and remember you in our time of need! Save us from the wrath of the Demon Lord!”

She stabbed the red wand toward the branches of the great evergreen, then fell to her knees, head bowed. “Forgive us,” she whispered.

Brinn wanted to approach his wife, but decided it would be best to just remain where he was. He silently joined her in prayer.

Nothing happened at first, and the sounds of the battle continued to rage beyond the gathered Illuminar, along with the roar of the fiery ball above, all of which brought a heightened fear to those who watched R’ille. Suddenly, a tongue of flame leapt out from the ball of fire overhead and touched, just for a second, the evergreen. A wisp of smoke rose from within its branches. The first flames licked into view, and in minutes the tree was engulfed. Those gathered stepped back from the heat, save R’ille, who continued to kneel in prayer.

The rain that fell from the clouds overhead intensified but fell useless upon the giant burning tree. Its flames soon grew to a staggering height.

“Look,” marveled Brinn. “The wand of Fire attacks the forest created by the wand of Earth! Arazor’s fire is destroying Illinzor’s trees!”

The Illuminar around R’ille cheered, but when she opened her eyes and saw only one tree on fire, R’ille was dismayed. Burning down one tree at a time would never open a path fast enough to escape.

R’ille then took the blue wand Maladzor into her left hand, raised it, and aimed it at the fireball above her head. Saying nothing, she just pointed and waited. At first, nothing happened. But then, in seconds, something miraculous occurred. The fireball above began to be buffeted by gusts of wind.

The flaming orb flickered about, and then grew in intensity as if trying to avoid being snuffed out. The winds just increased in response. A strange swirling started, and then the ball of fire grew into a great cone, the point of which settled near the heads of the gaping onlookers. As they watched, the wind and flame formed a giant tornado of fire. R’ille took both wands now in her right hand and gestured toward the forest. The tornado above them began to move, drifting downward until it settled upon the burning tree, which seemed to add to tornado’s power. The flames of the tree joined with the flames of the whirlwind, and resulting conflagration began moving on a westward course, away from R’ille, consuming each tree it touched in a fiery display. As it moved, it cleared a path, leaving a blackened trail behind. Though seedlings began to sprout again from the charred ground, they seemed to grow at a much slower pace.

“R’ille,” Brinn smiled as he stood alongside her. “I don’t know how you did it, but your fai­th has saved us again.”

“Hurry! We must follow the path that has been laid out before us. We must follow the pillar of fire!”

R’ille took off after firestorm, gesturing for Brinn and the others to follow. Brinn grabbed her arm and stopped her. “R’ille— ­­"

“The golden banners of the king’s guard are leaderless,” R’ille countered, before Brinn could finish what he was trying to say. “I must lead them, and all of our people, on the path behind the fire. Brinn—”

“I know what you’re thinking, R’ille, and you’re right. I hate the thought of leaving your side again, but it is the best plan.”

He stepped back from his beloved, held up his Nyakil, and announced in a loud, heralding voice. “Lead on, R’ille! With your banners of silver, lead our people to safety. Let the golden banners come after, following their new leader. The emerald banners of Brinn will come last, and protect our retreat!”

He then rushed forward, stole a kiss from R’ille, squeezed her hand, and headed back toward the battle line.

Give him Arazor.

“Brinn, wait!”

He turned.

“Take this,” she implored, and pressed the red wand into his hands. It stung him for a second when it touched him.

“I don’t even know how to use it, R’ille. It looks like you’re the one who was meant to have it,” he said, cocking his head toward the fiery pillar she had created.

“Take it. My Kalláh is telling me that you are to have it. I don’t know why. Maybe it will protect you somehow.”

“Okay; anything for you.” He smiled at her, and stuffed the wand into his right hip boot. He kissed his wife again and moved outward until he disappeared among the others.

R’ille watched him go with sadness. She had the nagging feeling something was going to happen to him. She could ask her Kalláh, but she didn’t want to know the answer. Shaking off the feeling, she turned to the Illuminar around her. “Follow the flames! A way has been opened!”

The other Illuminar raised a shout at R’ille’s words and followed as she led them into the gap in the forest. First went the silver banners of R’ille’s troops. Next, went the lumbering wagons filled with food and other supplies. Behind went the children, followed by the golden banners of the king’s guard. At the back of the host, the emerald banners fanned out to protect the retreat into the trees. Brinn smiled as he watched R’ille’s banners heading down the path. “Shore up that line, Illuminar!” he said as he turned back to the battle.

He smiled as his Nyakil sang. The Illuminar just might survive this day. “Hold fast!” he declared, cheering on his troops, “The grace of Ár-Ádun shines upon us still!”

Chapter Two

Chapter Two - The Zori

Under silver banners at the southern end of the battle, R'ille was ordering troops off the frontlines to address the forest barrier that slowed the retreat. Tall and lithe, with the light of Tiela reflected in her wet, golden locks, she had seen twelve centuries of the Demon Lord's deceptions, but the conjured forest was a new one. "How can we defeat this devilry?" she wondered. Suddenly, something crashed behind her, and R'ille dove for the soggy grass as she went for her Nyakil. Something big had fallen from the sky and just narrowly missed her; it impacted the battlefield so close by that R'ille was splashed with mud and water.

It was a Nil'Ganash. R'ille instinctively brought up her blade to ward off a crushing blow, but none came. She froze in a guarded stance, every muscle as taught as a spring as adrenaline coursed through her veins, readying her to strike. It took several seconds for her brain to process the level of danger. Then, slowly, she exhaled. Her sapphire eyes studied the creature beyond her outstretched sword, and she realized the violet fiend was not standing ready for battle but instead lay crumpled in the mud. Whatever evil life the twisted body contained was now gone.

"How--"and then she saw them. Silver fletching from two black shafts protruded from the Nil'Ganash's chest. "Illuminar arrows," she noted aloud with satisfaction. R'ille knew now that the Nil'Ganash hadn't died upon impact. It was dead before it ever hit the ground.

Almost immediately, the carcass began to smoke as the creature dissolved into a pile of ashes. An acrid, sulfurous smell wafted to her nostrils amidst the swirling rain, but R'ille brushed it away. She stooped and dared to reach into the smoldering pile of clothes. A moment later she brought out the two black arrows; their shafts had broken, probably on impact. She looked carefully at the silver scrollwork on them and gasped, recognizing Brinn's mark. As she rose from the pile and stowed the broken arrows in her quiver, she looked northward for her husband's emerald banners. Her thoughts went out to him. "By the luck of the Creator, husband! You brought down a Nil'Ganash!"

A sudden shot of liquid fire streaked by R'ille's head, and she returned her attention to the battle at hand. Fighting raged all around her, though the combatants seemed to be giving a wide berth to the place where the Nil'Ganash had fallen. As she brought up her sword to renew her part in the fight, she heard her Kalláh.

Look at the Nil'Ganash.

She glanced again at the pile of smoldering clothes and something else caught her eye. On the ground was a strange wand. It was brown with green undulations, as if leaves were falling on brown earth. A sudden jolt of pain coursed through her hand when she picked it up; she almost dropped it. She quickly stowed it in her cloak, afraid of what she might have found.

R'ille rejoined the fight, dispatching wolf-riders and goblins in merciless fashion with her black Nyakil. Between blows, she directed her troops to bend their defensive line westward toward the edge of the trees, which formed the southern end of a great half-circle around the remaining Illuminar. "Join with the gold banners," she commanded the troops at the northern end. The gold flags were nearer now, marking the center division of the defensive line. Beyond were the emerald flags of her husband. She recognized from the close grouping of the three colors that the tight defensive arc they had formed was collapsing inward toward the center.

Suddenly, her Kalláh screamed again.

The enemy's weapon; you must use it!

She ignored the voice and looked for Brinn.

"Aieee!"

R'ille turned at the howl and saw that one of her troops was engulfed in flame. The soldier fought bravely, but he couldn't put out the fire. The scene was grisly. His clothes seemed to fuse to skin that bubbled and blackened as it disintegrated into a charred mess. His immortal body tried to regenerate new skin to replace his burned flesh, but the pain of the blaze was more than he could bear and he succumbed at last.

R'ille turned away, horrified, and then remembered that a similar shot of flame had narrowly missed her just moments before. She realized burning blasts were raining down all around her. She looked up into the wet sky expecting to find a gargoyle shooting flaming arrows but saw something else instead. There was a Nil'Ganash flapping above her--directly over the spot where the other had dropped from the sky only moments before. He had some sort of small weapon in his hands. R'ille guessed that he was searching for his fallen kin and, arriving too late, was now trying to exact revenge for the loss of his comrade. He gestured with whatever it was he held and a bolt of fire shot from it. Another Illuminar soldier burst into flame.

"Lucifer's breath," R'ille cursed. "He wields Arazor, the wand of Fire!" She felt for the green wand stored in her cloak. "That means this, too, is a wand of Power. But which one?"

Another wave of goblins charged. R'ille drove her blade through a wart-faced leader, but her main concern was still the Nil'Ganash. "The enemy is using a wand of the Elements against us. What next? Each time we think we've defeated what they throw at us, a more terrible attack takes its place." She dodged another fiery bolt from the sky and swung at the head of a nearby wolf. "Goblins, wolf-riders, gargoyles with burning arrows, and now we face a Nil'Ganash using the wand of Fire," she said with dismay. She lunged at the wolf-rider falling from his headless steed. He thrust his spear at her heart but she turned it aside and cleaved into his neck, sending him to hell.

"Earth, Fire, Air and Water!" she cursed. "The Zori, the four Wands, are perverting the elements to be used for ill by the servants of the Demon Lord!"

She suddenly thought of the forest that blocked their retreat. "Of course! It's probably the work of Illinzor, the wand of Earth!" Her Kalláh confirmed it.

Another charging wolf-rider jabbed at her, but she sliced the shaft of the spear in two and dodged the wolf mount as it rushed passed and ran straight into the swords of the Illuminar behind her. A blast of fire struck the ground where she had been standing just seconds earlier. "The wand of Fire and the wand of Earth--at least two wands were being used against us," she surmised. Another goblin fell with a cloven head. R'ille guessed as she wrenched out her sword that, more likely, all four Zori were in use. She brushed the constant rain from her eyes and cursed the torrential downpour. "The work of Zor-Nîm, the wand of Water, I'm sure of it."

R'ille knew that the Nil'Ganash, high priests of the Demon Lord, were the wielders of the Zori, the wands of Power. They roamed far and wide across the great lands of her realm and beyond, past the lands of the Avanyar and into the unexplored regions of the world. They spread terror and fear everywhere they went, feasting on the blood of their victims. "But never before have so many Nil'Ganash gathered at one time," R'ille said with a start. "And I have never heard of all four Zori being used in one battle!" She ducked a swipe by a goblin blade and leapt aside as its wielder burst into flame from a direct hit of fire meant for her. "In fact, before today, Illinzor had only been a rumor. No one had ever actually seen the wand of Earth in use!"

R'ille continued to battle as she weighed what this meant. "Are all four wands being used against us?" she asked her Kalláh.

No. Not any longer.

"How many are still in use against us?"

Two.

"Which one do I hold in my cloak?"

You hold Illinzor, the wand of Earth.

The reply was short and frightening. "What do I do with it?" She wondered aloud. "How has it come to this?"

"We were fools."

The voice came from Reyna, fighting next to her. "You know the answer to that question, R’ille," she said flatly. "We basked in peace and prosperity for years assuming the enemy vanquished forever. While we feasted and slept for millennia, the Demon rebuilt his hordes in secret. Your brother, the king, should have destroyed the Demon Lord when he had the chance."

"Well, he didn’t, and it cost him his life," R’ille said gravely. She looked over her people and knew Reyna was right.

"Look what we’ve become," Reyna continued, hewing the legs from a lunging goblin. "We were the most powerful and prosperous race in the world; now we’re a retreating rabble of mere thousands."

"Reyna—"

"We lived in magnificent castles surrounded by thriving cities and tilled fields; now we cower in wool tents."

"Enough! There’s no use in crying over our lot," R’ille said as she ducked a spear from a wolf-rider. "You’re only going to get yourself killed." While R’ille cut down the wolf, Reyna dispatched the thrower, adding emphasis to her thrust through the brute’s dirty jerkin to indicate she disagreed with R’ille’s last comment.

R’ille returned only a smirk; after all, Reyna was right. We all hate the Demon Lord for what he has done. When would it all end? The first doubts of survival crept into R’ille’s mind. She wondered if their plan to retreat to a hidden sanctuary wasn’t suicide. She, after all, was the one who volunteered that plan.

Reyna dispatched a hairy goblin. "Do you doubt the voice of your Kalláh?" she asked, seeing the look that clouded R'ille's face.

R’ille just shrugged. It was her Kalláh that had suggested the retreat to Illianor. "No, Reyna, I do not doubt it. Had we stayed, we would have suffered certain defeat." She cut down another wolf-rider.

"You know where I stood on this decision," Reyna argued. "Retreating to Illianor meant abandoning our allies the Avanyar."

R’ille disagreed. "We had no choice. What help are we to our friends if we are extinct? To escape to Illianor is our, and their, only hope."

R'ille fought on in silence. Would they even reach Illianor alive? Her doubt grew stronger. Trust the Creator, she told herself. She dismissed her negative thoughts with a silent prayer to Ár-Ádun.

A nearby goblin carrying a smoky torch and a curved scimitar laughed as he saw two more Illuminar combatants set ablaze by fiery blasts from the Nil'Ganash. His wicked grin remained on his face as his head rolled to the charred grass, separated from his body by a blinding swipe of R’ille’s blade. The goblin body fell forward with a lurch, and R'ille, without realizing it, grabbed the torch from the dead thing's hand as it fell. Her Kalláh gave a command.

Use the torch.

R'ille was the last of her kind with the gift of hearing the Kalláh, which the Illuminar called 'the inner voice'. It was a gift of the Creator, meant to guide them with truth. She prepared to wield the torch as her Kalláh commanded. She didn't know exactly what she was supposed to do, but she knew further guidance would come.

"What are you doing?" Reyna asked between sword strokes, ducking a fiery blast from the Nil'Ganash above. Reyna had seen R'ille pick up the goblin torch.

"Following my Kalláh," R'ille answered.

An arrow of flame will bring down the Nil'Ganash.

The command didn't make sense. Only a Nyakil or a weapon of silver would kill a Nil'Ganash. The fiend overhead was out of reach of her black sword and she didn't have any arrows. "An arrow of flame will not kill a Nil'Ganash," she stated matter-of-factly. Her response to her Kalláh sounded like doubt, but her actions indicated no such thing. She was only stating the facts as she knew them, accepting that her Kalláh knew much more. Without hesitation she set down the torch and sheathed her sword, preparing to follow the guidance to come.

Reyna raced to R'ille's side to protect her, wondering what R'ille's Kalláh was commanding. R'ille removed her longbow from her back.

Find a fallen gargoyle.

R'ille removed her longbow from her back. Near her, among fallen enemy and Illuminar alike, R'ille spied a dying gargoyle lying crumbled and broken with an arrow protruding from one eye. She rushed to it and pulled the arrow out, but its point was only sharpened iron, not tipped with silver filigree like those reserved for the Nil'Ganash. She cast it aside, turned the creature over, and from the dying thing's quiver drew out one of its oily, rag-tipped arrows. With a last gasp, the gargoyle died, and its body dissolved to powdery stone. Returning to the torch on the ground, she held the tip of the arrow in the flame and set it ablaze. Nocking it, she took aim at the Nil'Ganash and let fly.

For the third time in the battle, a Nil'Ganash fell to the field. This time, though, the thing lived. The arrow had only caught his clothes on fire. He thrashed about trying to quench the flames as he plummeted in a fiery freefall. He finally gave up and fiercely pumped his wings to arrest his fiery descent. He landed in a crouch, then rose up and stood before R'ille and Reyna, snarling as he ripped off his burning cloak and black leather armor. The flaming garments fell to the ground, and the fiend stood half naked before the two revealing a violet chest that was rippled and muscular. His fanged incisors glistened in the wet air. He was Hood.

"Baz ach ara, Gathân," he cursed, seeing the bow in R'ille's hand and the torch at her feet. Burn with fire, Illuminar.

R'ille recognized the words even as the Kalláh translated, for all Illuminar knew the Demon Lord's tongue though they did not utter it aloud. She answered him in her own language, her fierce blue eyes blazing. "Illindul no'or a niodin hennet, Nil'Ganash." Looks like you are the one who's burning, Nil'Ganash.

The fiend knew enough Illuminar to get the message. He regarded with disdain the two Illuminar who bravely stood in challenge before him. "Shûan azh Arazor," he chanted menacingly, aiming the wand of Fire at R'ille's chest. Die from Arazor.

R'ille dropped her bow and drew her Nyakil, but before she could do anything else, Reyna rushed the fiend.

"Ara laset," Hood sneered. Fire comes.

Reyna was almost to the Nil'Ganash, Nyakil high in her raised hand. The violet fiend's next words were the last she ever heard.

"Shûan ach Shaitan Ara!" Die from Satan's fire!

Reyna erupted in a blaze of molten flame and fell to the earth just a yard from her enemy. Dropping her blade, she clenched her fists but made not a sound as the light of immortality in her eyes went out.

R'ille was shocked by the sudden, violent death of a friend who had lived for almost two thousand years. She stood frozen in place, staring at the charred flesh of her comrade.

The Nil'Ganash repeated his curse. "Shûan ach Shaitan Ara."

R'ille grew angry. Enough of this, she thought to herself. She looked at the purple fiend. "Ni alán mier no," she said, answering his curse. I do not fear you.

The Nil'Ganash laughed at her and began waving the wand above his head, preparing to strike. "Arazor zan kurash na, izzal!" Arazor will kill you, slave.

She felt for the pouch at her side, but it was empty. All of her Limnos spheres were gone. Louder than the voice of the Nil'Ganash was the voice R'ille heard in her head; the voice of her Kalláh.

Run!

She hesitated. "I cannot let this Nil'Ganash go free."

Defend yourself with your Nyakil, but you must flee!

Before her Kalláh could finish, a blast of red fire shot from the Nil'Ganash's wand. R'ille reacted instinctively, bringing her Nyakil up to ward off the blow. The blast struck the sword like the crack of a lightning bolt, but the blade seemed to absorb the energy of the spell. It glowed for an instant, sizzling as the raindrops hitting it were vaporized, and then the blade faded to its normal black.

Run; your blade will not survive this magic for long!

Hood stepped forward with a grimace, his yellow fangs bared in a display of hatred for his mortal enemy. He had never before seen an attack by Arazor turned back. Undaunted, he gestured again, and another blast of fire hurtled toward R'ille.

"Shûan!" Die!

R'ille dove out of the way to avoid the killing shot but was not fast enough to escape it entirely. The fiery streak grazed her as it passed to explode on the wet prairie behind her. She winced aloud in pain at the blistering streak that it left on the back of her hand. She rolled back to her feet and changed tactics, charging the Nil'Ganash in the hope of getting too close for him to be able to use his wand again. Another bolt of fire came, which she caught with the blade of her Nyakil. The crack as it struck the blade was deafening, and the blade glowed longer this time. R'ille was knocked from her feet. Hood cautiously moved toward her, thinking the fight was over.

R'ille couldn't breathe. She lay sprawled upon the field, her face just inches from the dark, charred face of Reyna's corpse. Then, her left hand felt something hard, and R'ille realized it was Reyna's Nyakil. It gave her an idea. Abandoning her previous plan, she scrambled to her feet--grabbing Reyna's sword as she did so--and turned and ran from the Nil'Ganash, dodging more of his fiery bolts as she fled. The blister on her hand started to heal but was taking much longer than she was used to, and it still burned. "Curse that unholy fire," she spat between breaths. She looked back as she ran: the Nil'Ganash was not far behind.

R'ille was pushed westward by Hood, who repeatedly fired blasts from his red wand. R'ille ran in an erratic, zigzag pattern to avoid the molten missiles, but was driven away from the front line of the fighting and back through the throng of her kin, until she found herself pinned against the impassable snarl of trees. Several more times she stopped fiery shots with the two swords, and now the weapons glowed with a redness that did not fade.

Sometimes Hood's fire bolts found other Illuminar, who went down in agonizing screams. Sometimes his missiles found those on his own side, but he simply tossed aside the burning troll and wolf carcasses he torched by mistake and continued to pursue the Illuminar that defied him. He chased R'ille with a blind hatred, ignoring the other Illuminar through which he moved. He could have taken many of them down as they ducked aside in fear, but right now he only wanted one.

Finally, the last of the Illuminar host parted before the oncoming Nil'Ganash; Hood found nothing between him and his quarry. "Cathâ zanna pesh, izzal?" Now where will you run, slave?

R'ille had stumbled over an exposed root and lay at the foot of the wicked forest, unable to rise before Hood was upon her.

Hood stopped, but instead of sending another blast directly at her, he began to wave Arazor in a curious circular motion above his head.

"Cath na shûan," the Nil'Ganash snarled with a wicked smile. Now you die.

As R'ille rose to her knees to defend herself, a blaze of fire erupted from Hood's raised wand, but instead of shooting towards her, the blast rocketed upward and began to circle and swirl overhead, growing larger and larger until it became a ball of seething fire. It hovered above both predator and prey, burning like a tiny sun.

"Cath na shûan," the Nil'Ganash snarled again, and he drew back the wand to cast the ball of fire onto R'ille.

With the two outstretched Nyakils glowing red before her, R'ille awaited the blow. She did not fear death; she felt only remorse at the thought of leaving the land where—for two thousand years—she had walked, and lived, and loved. She wished she would have the chance to say goodbye to her beloved Brinn. Then, suddenly, R'ille saw him. Brinn! Appearing out of nowhere as if by magic, he was suddenly there, standing directly behind the Nil'Ganash. R'ille was confused at first, for Brinn seemed to be ignoring the threat that loomed over her. He stood unmoving, as still as a statue, eyes locked with hers. Time seemed to stand still.

"Help me, beloved," she whispered.

He didn't move.

A blood-curdling scream arose from the edge of the wild forest. It echoed through the Illuminar remnant and coursed out over the field of battle. Both Immortal warrior and enemy alike paused in the midst of their warring, startled by that anguished cry. R'ille's eyes snapped from her husband's face to the source of the scream. She was shocked. It was coming from the Nil'Ganash looming over her. Her eyes saw the quivering black lips. Her ears hurt from the sound.

Movement from his chest caught her attention; she dropped her gaze and discovered the reason for his tormented cry. She stared wide-eyed as a Nyakil blade pushed outward a full three feet from the Nil'Ganash's chest. The violet-winged fiend still held Arazor up in his right hand, but grabbed at the black blade with his left in an attempt to stop its outward movement. R'ille's eyes went back to those of the Nil'Ganash, and he held her gaze for a moment before his purple orbs rolled back in their sockets and he fell forward upon his face. The red wand tumbled from his grasp and landed at R'ille's feet. She looked up from it to see Brinn pulling Yllirin free from the back of the Nil'Ganash.

"Sorry I'm late, R'ille," Brinn said, smiling at her. "I got here as quickly as I could."

R'ille burst into tears. "Oh, Brinn," she stammered, the usual strength in her words lost for a moment in the relief at Brinn's arrival. The roar of the fireball conjured by the Nil'Ganash moments before still hovered above them, drowning out her words. "You're just in time," she shouted with a laugh, wiping away the tears. She realized, then, why Brinn had seemed to unwilling or unable to help her a moment ago: It had only been an illusion; a trick of her mind, freezing the moment of her impending doom in reaction to facing the finality of death.

That fate, she escaped.

Her rescuer came and hugged her and R'ille quickly recovered her composure. Other Illuminar began to gather, avoiding the spot where the dead Nil'Ganash smoked and turned to dust. There was little time for a reunion between Brinn and R'ille however; they needed to deal with the huge conflagration that still swirled just above their heads.

You must use the enemy's weapons.

R'ille knelt and picked up the reddish wand at her feet, feeling for the second time a jolt of evil power run through her. The wand was strangely heavy and was covered with arcane symbols and demonic runes.

You must use the enemy's weapons.

She studied the thing that had very nearly caused her death. Instead of fearing it, she began to find her faith being restored. Her hair clung to her face in the torrential rain, but her fierce blue eyes were undimmed. She had faced death and lived. She began to conceive a plan. She wasn't sure if it was what her Kalláh meant, but, trusting the voice, she decided to act.

Brinn stared at the red wand in R'ille's hand with a questioning look. He looked from it to her, and watched as she held it up and studied it. He knew that look. She was going to try to use the wand!