Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

For a long time, Brinn slumped against the sword in his belly; white-hot agony burned in the center of his mind. Finally, slowly, the pain diminished, coalescing into two concentrated spots of pain; one running through his stomach, the other radiating outward from his left breast. When he found the strength to open his eyes, Brinn saw only the blackened and blistering scar on his chest and the trickling of blood from his belly. A dark red line of caked fluid ran down his breeches and into a dark red pool at his feet. He felt light-headed. The pain from the branding upon his chest was excruciating. He tried to clear his head. His ears still rang from the echoes of tramping iron shoes. He remembered now the whips the passing trolls had used on him, cutting his battered body even more. Those hurts ached dully behind the greater pain from his belly and chest, but he lacked the power to even heal those smaller welts.

Suddenly an image formed in Brinn’s mind. He saw his beloved R’ille again, and heard the words she spoke as she gave up her soul in the attempt to save his life. That memory brought new strength to his battered form. He could not let her sacrifice be in vain.

With tremendous effort, he raised his head and looked through sweaty blonde locks to see the end of the enemy line marching up the span. Legion was last, bringing up the rear. Seeing his mortal enemy brought more strength to Brinn’s limbs. He raised his arms behind him until his wrists rubbed against the protruding tip of Yllirin. He rubbed the chains that bound him against the blade, but the iron links would not yield. He knew only one choice remained. He moved his left wrist to the blade’s edge and began a sawing motion against it. He slammed his head back against the wooden stake; eyes closed tightly, tears running from their pinched lids. He cried out as he continued rubbing his wrist against the blade.

Moments later, the Nyakil severed his hand at the wrist. It and the chain fell to the ground behind the stake. Brinn brought his right hand forward, along with the bloody stump of his left and found the hilt of the Nyakil against his belly. He pushed against the pommel with his palm and the stump of his other arm. He cried out from the pain, but felt Yllirin begin to move backward. Inch by inch, be pushed the sword away, using thrusting the weight of his body, he lunged away from the stake and all the way to the hilt of the sword. After several more tries, at last, sword and body fell free of the post.

As Brinn lay in the dirt, he grasped his blade and withdrew it from his body. He crawled to the back of the post and retrieved his hand and held it to his bloody stump. Closing his eyes, he willed the healing power within to ignite. Now that the Nyakil was no longer in him, his healing power rose up and flooded his stomach and limbs with a healing force. Bone and muscle, sinew and skin began growing together, and in a moment his body was whole again. A white scar ran the circumference of his left wrist, but his hand worked. His stomach wound closed, and no scar could be seen. Only the pentagram brand remained. The skin was healed, but in an ugly scar, and the pain of that wound radiated still. No healing power could quench that fire or cover that scar.

Brinn staggered to his feet, the world around him swimming. He tried to focus on the departing image of the Nil'Ganash, and he stumbled toward it, finding himself stepping up on to the crystal span. Something against his right leg burned. His strength was giving out, screaming for sleep; for rest. He fell once more to his knees. His adversary was getting away. He screamed at the departing form.

Legion turned at the sound and saw that the Illuminar prisoner was somehow free from the stake and had reached the beginning of the crystal bridge. He couldn’t help but smile malevolently as he imagined the unbearable pain of that feat. He watched the Immortal stumble and fall to his knees, relishing for a moment that the Illuminar was too weak to do anything to stop the enemy marching toward Illianor. Still, Legion was torn. He wanted to be there when his master began the slaughter of the Gathâni, but he didn’t want to leave the prisoner loose. He paused, watching the Immortal and considering his options.

The burning at Brinn’s right leg was worse. He tried to stay focused on the Nil'Ganash at the top of the span but the pain at his right leg commanded all his attention. “What in curses is that?” he muttered aloud. The pain was nothing compared to what he had endured in the last hour, but like the buzzing of a sand-biter fly, Brinn couldn’t ignore it. He reached down to the source of the pain, and was shocked at what he felt. Tucked down inside of his right boot was some kind of stick. The Zor! The wand of Fire! His mind grew clear with the revelation.

Brinn was instantly lucid. Arazor, the wand of Fire was still tucked in his hip boot, where he placed it after R’ille gave it to him. How had his captors missed it? They had relieved him of his Nyakil immediately upon capture, but had never bothered to check for anything smaller than a dagger. It was a tragic mistake that Brinn sought to use to his advantage. He drew out the wand and pointed it at Legion. The surge of power in his hand was electrifying. His alertness was fading again and he couldn’t stay focused. He fell forward on his face, unable to stay upright.

Legion scowled when he saw the wand.

“Ach sada ara’i la Shaitan!”

By the fires of Lucifer!

Legion couldn’t believe it. He never thought to look for a wand on the prisoner, assuming the Illuminar would have used had he possessed it. Now the Nil’Ganash’s next move was plain: Retrieve the wand.

“Uzzan!” Legion said, mastering himself.

Fool!

The Gathân was obviously too weak to use it, and powerless to harm him with it anyway. The Nil'Ganash walked back toward the downed Immortal. Pleased with the thought of recovering another of the master’s wands.

Brinn lay upon his side, the wand in his outstretched hand. He found he didn’t have the strength to rise. He tried to remember how R’ille had called forth the power of the wand, but the answer was lost to him.

“Ár-Ádun, help me!”

His sight was beginning to fade. He was losing consciousness. Now all he could see was the wand in his hand, just a few feet in front of his eyes. What was that, he wondered? Something was happening where his hand lay. He shook his head and focused, and saw that where the wand touched the crystal bridge, a small liquid pool was forming. Of course! Brinn remembered Lorelai’s words to R’ille:

“… only one who has given his soul to the Demon Lord can wield a wand of the elements. Anyone else would fail, because the wand would simply use its power to seek out and subdue the power of the other wands!”

That was it! The wand was reacting to the object created by another of its kind. The wand was melting the bridge! It was subduing the magic that had created the bridge, subduing the magic of the wand of Earth.

With almost the last of his strength, Brinn raised the red wand and stabbed it down into the crystal span. Instantly, it reacted against the magic of its sister wand, and started turning the crystal span to liquefied glass. The wand erupted into flame and fed upon the crystal, melting it. The fire spread instantly, and there was nothing that could halt the cancelling effect of the red magic. Brinn turned and rolled off the span onto the edge of the cliff just before the space beneath him melted away, falling in diamond-like drops into the void below.

He raised his head and saw the Nil'Ganash running toward him. He saw him flap upward on giant black wings as the span beneath his feet melted away. Beyond the violet fiend, the first of the Demon Lord’s troops began plummeting along with the molten glass, their screams fading as the fell into the abyss. Brinn saw the Nil'Ganash turn in horror to see his army plummeting to their deaths. He heard the Nil'Ganash scream in horror at the loss. He was too weak to feel elation, too weak to even care. He felt his life slipping away.

On the opposite side of the chasm, R’ille and the rest of the Illuminar prepared for the assault by the Demon Lord. Just before the black figure stepped off the bridge, a rumbling began. R’ille thought it was some other arcane magic being thrown at them, but then she heard the screams. They were faint at first, but rose in intensity like a tidal wave reaching its crest. She realized that the screaming was coming from behind the Demon Lord; from his own troops. R’ille watched the advancing transformation of the bridge. It was changing from a solid to a liquid. Something was melting the bridge, turning it to molten glass.

“What—” the Demon Lord cried as he looked behind, and then the moving wave of molten glass reached him. The Demon Lord seldom assumed solid form, for he was vulnerable in that guise. Today, It proved to be his undoing. The crystal span dissolved from under his feet. The Demon Lord fell into the chasm.

The wail froze the hearts of all who heard it, as Lucifer and his horde fell into the depths. The cry faded into the gloom below. In seconds, it was over. Only the gargoyles remained, and they turned in horror and flapped off to the east, no longer thinking of battle but only running from what they guessed was certain death. In an instant all sign of the enemy was gone.

R’ille was speechless, while the Illuminar rejoiced. After a few moments, she felt an arm around her. It was wild-haired Dártan.

“I’m sorry, R’ille, for Brinn’s loss. He was your husband and my friend. I pray that in time, your pain will be less. But for now, take heart: Because of your sacrifice and his, we are free of the Demon Lord!” He gathered her hands in glad triumph.

“No,” R’ille said with tears as she pulled away. “Not free; just spared for a time.”

Dártan was puzzled. “How can you know this?”

R’ille wiped away the tears that fell in memory of her lost husband. “I have lost the voice of the Kalláh, but I remember its words.”

“Yes,” Dártan acknowledged. “Because of your Kalláh we were led here and saved.”

“But my Kalláh said other things, too. There was one thing it spoke to me over and over again these last days; something that I have kept to myself.”

“What did it say?”

“It said, ‘Await the Messiah, who will deliver you!’”

Dártan pondered her words for a moment. “Methinks we have just witnessed that, R’ille! I believe it was the work of the Messiah that caused the crystal span to fail. The Messiah must be here, in Illianor! We must search Him out!”

“No, He is not here. Not yet. I know this because of what else the Kalláh said. ‘Await the Messiah,’ it said, ‘who will be proclaimed by the Seer, who is of the Avanyar.’”

Dártan stood next to R’ille and was quiet for a moment. Around them, crowds were dancing and singing. Finally, he spoke.

“The Messiah will be proclaimed by an Avanyar?”

R’ille nodded. “Though we now lie upon Illianor, safe from all harm by the Demon Lord, our fate lies still entwined with those we left on the far side. Our fate lies with the Avanyar, our mortal allies and friends, who lie, now unreachable, in the land we have abandoned.”

R’ille looked out across the vast chasm, and thought of the mortal Avanyar and of her husband Brinn, both now beyond her aid. She searched within for her Kalláh, for the voice that could have told her that Brinn still lived. The voice was silent. Gone. Only the wailing of demons whispered in the depths of her mind, mourning their master’s passing.

Far across the chasm, the object of R’ille’s thoughts lay at the edge of the cliff. The screams in Brinn’s ears had subsided. His vision was almost gone, but he could still see the sun shining on the tallest of peaks of the land on the far side of the chasm. All else was quiet; just the wind whistling at the edge of the chasm, as it ever did. It was as if nothing evil had ever disturbed this quiet part of the world.

Brinn thought of R’ille, and wondered if she and the Illuminar had made it across before the collapse of the span. He lay there, trying to stay focused on the far away peaks, but the world around him faded to black, and he remembered no more.

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

“Look!”

The call was laced with fear. R’ille turned to see that something was coming over the crest of the crystal span. The Demon Lord’s army was following them. In the forefront of that ugly horde was a massive figure dressed in black armor and wearing a black hood and cloak. Behind him, swarms of goblins and wolf-riders marched down the span in an endless line toward Illianor.

R’ille shouted orders to Brinn’s troops, nearest at hand. “Take up your bows! Do not let them set foot upon Illianor! Hold for my command!”

The Demon Lord continued advancing until he reached the end of the span. He did not yet set foot upon Illianor. He lowered his hood, revealing the headless crown. Speaking in the common tongue, he addressed R’ille directly. “Gathân, do not hinder me. You have already lost that which is worth most, for I possess your soul. Surrender quickly, and all will receive a quick and merciful death.” His red eyes told of other plans.

“You cannot pass here,” R’ille answered in defiance. “This is the sanctuary of Illianor, the land of Ár-Ádun.”

Lucifer laughed, and the sound was cruel and filled with venom. Both sides of the battle grew silent. “Oh, but I can pass here,” he said at the last. “You have given me passage, Gathân, when you conjured this crystal span!”

The revelation made R’ille feel sick. In that moment she fully realized the futility of her earlier choice. She realized that, in trying to save her people, she had condemned the sanctuary of Illianor itself. In that moment, she realized with horror that, giving up her soul, she had made herself just another tool for the Demon Lord; a vessel through which he could wreak his destruction. Her ability to wield the wand of Earth was what felt wrong in this place. She was the blight that marred the virgin landscape.

R’ille’s soul was lost, but she was still an Illuminar, an Immortal. She refused to give in. She resigned herself to at least go down fighting, attempting to thwart the evil that she had brought upon the sanctuary and upon herself.

“Prepare to fire!” she ordered, trying to shake off a feeling of dread.

The Demon Lord just laughed louder.

“Fire!”

The arrows flew in a black wave, but the Demon Lord simply raised a gloved hand and the arrows burst into flames as they came. Nothing reached the Demon Lord but ashes on the wind.

“Your weapons are useless against me. Prepare to meet your doom!”

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Legion watched from afar as the afternoon waned and the last of the Illuminar enemy disappeared westward over the peak of the crystal bridge that spanned the strait of Illianor. Emerald banners in the last group had cautiously paused at the span’s crest, puzzled by the lack of pursuit. Then they faded from sight behind the crest of the arch. Legion knew it was time.

“Bring me the Gathân captive,” he ordered a gargoyle. “I have need of his blood.”

Moments later, troops brought Brinn, still bound, before Legion.

“Remove his blindfold and gag.”

The gargoyles slapped Brinn about as they took the dirty cloth strips from his eyes and mouth, obviously enjoyed roughing up their prisoner. Brinn absorbed their blows and struggled mightily against his bonds, but it was useless. His arms and legs were tied fast. Blinking in the sudden brightness of the afternoon sun as his eyes were unbound, Brinn looked out and was dismayed. Beyond his gargoyle captors a massive army of goblins and wolf-riders were gathered, their numbers stretching away as far as he could see. He saw no sign of R’ille or the Illuminar host. Only the dirty, tattered goblin banners waved in the breeze. Above him, Brinn saw more of the few gargoyles that had not fallen from the arrows of the Illuminar. They hovered alongside several Nil'Ganash. He lowered his eyes and settled his Nil'Ganash captor. He remained silent.

Legion spoke in the Immortal’s tongue. “Ni amán nor sa’ar.”

I have need of your blood.

Brinn spit at Legion in answer.

“I thought you might feel that way, Gathân. No matter. You’ll be happy to know I have devised a cruel end for you.” He laughed a hideous laugh, and the surrounding troops rose up in a raucous roar.

Legion pointed at the crystal span. “In a few moments we will march over this bridge and finish your wretched race. I shall force you to watch your kin perish, their souls offered up as food for my master.”

Brinn just glared at Legion and said nothing.

“Enough of this drivel. It is time to call forth the Lord of this world. For that, as I said a moment ago, I need your blood.”

At Legion’s command, several lumbering trolls brought up a large wooden stake and pounded it deep into the ground at the edge of the cliff near the start of the crystal span. The goblins placed Brinn’s back to the stake so that he stood looking out over the great chasm. They cut the cords to his hands and arms and drew his limbs back behind the stake. Legion produced a black iron chain, and the goblins bound his hands behind the stake with it. While he was being bound, Brinn took a moment to study the strange span of crystal near him. He saw how it grew out from the edge of the cliff towards Illianor, disappearing in the haze beyond. He raised an eyebrow and guessed that he was looking at his people’s escape route. He wondered how R’ille had managed it.

“Your mate created this bridge with the wand of Earth,” Legion explained gleefully, as if reading his very thoughts. “She discovered the power of the wand and, with it, created this span. She thought she was creating an escape route for your wretched kind. She does not understand that, having lost her soul to Shaitan, everything she does turns to my master’s gain.” Legion sneered. His face grew close to Brinn, his fetid breath washing over the Immortal. “By creating this bridge, she has given access to the one place we were unable to go. Your mate has given us a way to reach Illianor, where we will slaughter your people and end your race forever!”

Brinn winced at the awful news. His heart ached for R’ille. In order to save him, she had sworn allegiance to the Demon Lord. That act had apparently given her the power to wield Illinzor, and with it she had created the crystal bridge. Her act had given her the means to deliver the Illuminar to the safety of Illianor, but what a cruel irony fate had delivered: Her action to save her people was going to doom them all.

Legion took great pleasure in seeing his captive realize the horror of his mate’s mistake. He confirmed Brinn’s fears. “Your mate has doomed her race. Prepare to watch as my master leads us to their slaughter!” Legion turned to his massed army.

“Ilnu turana Shaitan sada!“

Let us bring forth the Demon Lord!

The goblins and trolls screamed with bloodthirsty glee, joined by the howls of the wolves.

Legion turned back to Brinn, drawing a sword. It was Brinn’s own Nyakil. With its tip he drew a large pentagram in the earth with Brinn positioned in the middle of the symbol.

“Your blood will bring forth our Lord and Master,” Legion said as his eyes narrowed. “Let us see how your gift of healing handles a Nyakil blade!” He took the Nyakil blade in both hands and, without warning, thrust it deep into Brinn’s belly. Brinn cried out. The enemy roared.

Legion’s thrust was so vicious that the Nyakil blade passed completely through Brinn, and through the post behind him, its bloody tip extending a foot out the back of the stake. A searing burn ran through Brinn’s stomach. Bright red blood poured from the wound and pooled at his feet, directly in the center of the pentagram.

Legion released his grip on the blade and put his fingers to the gushing liquid. Licking them, he savored the Immortal’s blood for a moment. Then he raised his arms skyward and cried to the heavens. “Shaitan, neg Lach, Ni halla nil Lazn ach cor panazh!”

Lucifer, Lord of Darkness, I call upon my master with an offering of blood!

The pain in Brinn’s stomach burned like a fire he’d never felt before. He tried to bend his will to close up the wound around the sword, but he failed. He managed to slow the blood flow to a trickle, but he couldn’t completely stop the bleeding. The unearthly magic of the Nyakil was opposing his power to heal. Blood continued to drain from his body; he was powerless to stop it. He cursed at Legion. “May the wrath of Ár-Ádun strike you where you stand!”

The gargoyles quickly gagged him.

Legion and his underlings watched something forming above their captive. Brinn followed their eyes up to see a black mist forming over his head.

“Turana, Lazn. Udo za erechag,” Legion spoke to the swirling blackness.

Welcome, master. All is prepared.

The dark mist responded with its own question, red eyes burning from within. “Ash panazh ne hu na, izzal?”

What do you offer me, slave?

Legion bowed his head, palms held outward, and then answered the cloud. “We drove the enemy to the edge of the chasm, and they opened a way to cross into the sacred land. That path lies open to us now, Lord. I have summoned you knowing you would desire to lead us across this span to complete the slaughter of the Gathâni!”

The eyes in the mist turned westward and looked across to Illianor in the distance. It spoke as if to itself. “Ah, the forbidden land. There I could not go until a bridge was made. Now I can claim for my own the one place in the world that was kept from me!”

The mist coalesced until it stood as a giant figure dressed in black armor wearing a black cloak and hood. “Well done, Legion. Well done.”

The Demon Lord turned from his chief servant and noticed Brinn pinned to the stake.

“And what of this insolent one?”

“He is to be a last sacrifice to you, master, after the other Gathâni are dead. Until that time, he is placed here to watch the horror of his people’s annihilation, knowing he was the bait that lured them to their ultimate doom!”

The Demon Lord lowered his hood. There was no head; only an iron crown suspended above two glowing red eyes. The hot crown smoldered. “Excellent work, Legion,” the Demon Lord twittered. “You shall occupy a lofty seat in my new kingdom!”

He stepped toward the Illuminar captive.

Brinn met the Demon Lord’s hellish gaze with blue eyes that were unafraid. He had never before seen the Demon Lord in his material form, but he had battled his presence for years uncounted. He had witnessed both the blessings of life, given to the world by the Creator, and the curse of death, spread by the Demon Lord. Death was something that Brinn did not fear. Long ago he had been given a choice, and he had chosen the side of good, to follow the Creator. For that, he had been given the gift of immortality. Brinn knew that, after bestowing such a gift, the Creator would not abandon him now. He spoke not a word as the Demon Lord approached, but his eyes revealed he had no fear, and that made the Demon Lord furious.

“You will learn to fear me, immortal one.” Lightning flashed from the sky, and the thunder that followed was the Demon Lord’s voice, filled with anger and vitriol. “I will make you rue the day you were given this gift of immortality. I will give you, instead, a more dreadful gift: I will spare your pitiful life and leave you alone in this world, separated from your kin forever.” The black giant continued its vehemence towards Brinn. “Do you enjoy this gift of immortality? I will make you loathe it. I will leave you pinned to this stake for all eternity. Your loneliness will drive you mad and you will beg for death. You will seek for ways to take your own life, but you will fail. In the end, Gathân, you will beg me to take your life from you. You will see, Illuminar,” the Demon Lord said, spitting out ‘Illuminar’ like it was bile in his throat. “You will see. The day will come when you will gladly give me your soul!”

Brinn answered the Demon Lord. “I name you Kirin Sa’an; soul stealer. I will never give my soul to you, Lucifer. I will fight you for all eternity, yea until the stars fall from the heavens, even if I am the last of my kind.”

“Ah, but you are not the last.” The Demon Lord laughed a hideous laugh. “You say now that you will never yield your soul, but that will change. One day you will beg me to release you. One day you will beg me to take your soul. And though you will perish that day as your kin across this span are about to, on that day you will not die as the last of your kind. Upon your death, yet one other will remain. One who serves me; one whose soul I already own.”

There is another? Brinn didn’t understand the Demon Lord’s words. Was he speaking of R’ille? Was she the one who would remain? She had given away her soul in an attempt to save him. Was she the one of whom he spoke?

“No! R’ille will never serve you!”

Brinn grew silent, his blue eyes radiating defiance.

The Demon Lord laughed, and thunder rolled across the void of the chasm. “Do you hear me, Illuminar? Your soul is mine. You belong to me. To prove it, I will mark your flesh as my property!” And with that, the Demon Lord removed a medallion from around his neck and held it up for the slavering armies around him to see. The medallion was a pentagram. “This symbol marks those who belong to me!” he cried, and the armies chanted their master’s name in response.

“Shaitan. Shaitan.”

The black-robed giant turned to Brinn, catching sight of the Nyakil that pierced his abdomen. His eyes flared with intensity as he took pleasure in the pain inflicted upon the captive. As he came closer, Lucifer shifted his gaze from the blade in Brinn’s belly to the center of Brinn’s chest, and with scarcely more than a wave of his gloved hand, tore open Brinn’s leather armor. The Demon Lord took the pentagram medallion and pressed it against the exposed skin of Brinn’s chest. That medallion had rested upon the Demon Lord’s chest from time immemorial, heated by the hellish fire within the beast to a white-hot glow. It burned Brinn’s flesh like a brand, leaving a blackened, blistering pentagram-shaped scar. Smoke and the smell of charred flesh rose from the searing wound. Brinn slumped forward screaming as the pain overwhelmed him. .

The Demon Lord placed the medallion back around its neck, and let out another booming laugh as he mocked the immortal. The sound of that laugh struck fear in the hearts of both Brinn and the evil army around him. The black-robed lord turned away from his sagging prisoner and strode over to the crystal span. He stepped up onto its beginning lengths. Holding aloft an iron scepter, he motioned his forces to advance. They responded by shouting his name, and their trampling feet upon the crystal bridge drowned out the sound of all other things.

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Illianor.

R’ille descended the gentle slope of crystal and stepped from the span onto a land where no Illuminar had ever set foot before. She gazed out upon the world that had come into view during her approach. It was lush and green; a flat expanse of knee-high grass that ran straight away until reaching the feet of majestic mountains that jutted thousands of feet upward into the blue sky. Their jagged tips were capped with the whitest snow. The air smelled of wildflowers and honey.

A tumult of white water from melting snow rushed down from the mountains and passed near where the end of the crystal span touched Illianor. The sound grew into a crisp roar as the river approached the cliff. Reaching the edge, it leapt off the edge of the island in a tremendous waterfall whose end was lost in mist and spray as the water plummeted into the chasm. R’ille approached the water and saw the rush of the rapids over colorful rocks and pebbles. Boulders in mid-stream sent droplets into the air like glistening diamonds in the light of the sun. She christened the river Lumen, for it reminded her of the river of stars that washed across the heavens at night.

Stands of oak and elm were scattered on the verdant lawn, and from them birds sang, while squirrels chattered in the trees. R’ille found it strange: This new place was quiet; tranquil and peaceful, reflecting nothing of the carnage they had left behind. The land was heaven-like, yet something was not right. She concentrated for a moment, and then realized what it was. It was not the land that was wrong, but something within her. It was the chatter of demons in her head, a never-ending cacophony of horrible banter. Looking out on Illianor as the first of her kind to do so, she felt as if she had brought with her a plague, a pestilence that was already beginning to grow across the virgin land. Instead of rejoicing, she felt sick. She started to turn back, but she could not hold back the Illuminar behind her who rushed to set foot upon Illianor.

Those behind her crossed and beheld the majesty. They marveled at Illianor’s beauty, feeling none of the dread that overcame R’ille. They knelt down and took handfuls of grass and lush earth and let it run through their fingers. Several began singing, rejoicing as they helped those behind them off the span.

R’ille followed the river up a bit and then turned back to watch as all the Illuminar that remained came across. Tensed and silent, she watched for over an hour as thousands descended, until at last, a final group stepped down off the crystal bridge. The last Illuminar warriors backed their way off the span under waving emerald banners. They were Brinn’s troops, guarding the rear. She thought again of her beloved husband, still a captive on the far side. She knew he would probably never live to see this place. She realized that his memory was another source of the hurt in her stomach.

“What of Brinn?” R’ille heard from a group nearby. It was another of the king’s handmaidens, a tiny waif in golden gossamer. She was asking a tall, grim faced Illuminar from the king’s guard.

“Nothing,” answered the guard. “He is lost.”

“And of Pashan, sent to bring the mortal Avanyar to our aid?”

At that, R’ille turned, startled.

“He did not return,” the guard answered. He turned and trotted off, answering a call from his division.

“What is this of Pashan?” R’ille asked the handmaiden. “What did you say?”

The handmaiden stared down at R’ille’s feet in silence, afraid to answer.

Tall, dark eyed Pashan had been the leader of the golden-bannered king’s guard. R’ille had not seen him since the king’s death had forced the Illuminar to take flight. She was shocked by the news that Pashan lived. “I thought Pashan died when the king was assassinated!” she said. His division, the king’s guard, had been the hardest hit. “Bellanar leads the king’s guard because Pashan died with the king!”

“’Tis true, Bellanar was given command, though, like Brinn, he has been taken by the enemy and has not been seen again. But Pashan did not die.”

R’ille ached at the news that Bellanar was also lost. “Did Bellanar know that Pashan lives?”

“No,” the handmaiden answered meekly. “It was Lorelai who brought news that Pashan had perished and that Bellanar was to command. But she was acting on the wishes of Pashan. He told her to say he had perished, and to give command to Bellanar, while in secret, he left to summon the aid of the Avanyar.”

“He went seeking the aid of the Avanyar? Who ordered him to do this?”

“No one, milady. He was not sent, he volunteered.”

“How do you know of this.”

“Lorelai told me of it when Bellanar was lost, and she took command of the king’s division.”

“I must speak with Lorelai. Now!”

The handmaiden rushed off toward the golden flags, with R’ille right on her heels.

“Lorelai, what is this news I hear that Pashan went to summon the aid of the Avanyar? I was told that Pashan perished in the assassination of the king!”

“Pashan asked me to keep his mission a secret,” Lorelai answered. “He feared that you, Bellanar, and Brinn would forbid his going. He made me swear upon his Nyakil that I not reveal his quest. ‘Tell them I’ve been killed, if you must,’ he said.”

“And he never returned?”

“No.”

R’ille looked toward the east, to the land she and her people had left. She thought of Brinn and her eyes filled with tears. He was still on the other side. She had thought he was alone, but now there was a glimmer of hope. Bellanar and Pashan were there, still. Bellanar was seen captured by the enemy, like Brinn, but perhaps Pashan could rescue them? She dismissed the hopeless thought. Even if Pashan still lived, he would not stand a chance against the entire army of the Demon Lord.

“What else did Pashan say ere he left?” R’ille asked. She grilled Lorelai, whose fierce expression wilted under R’ille’s fierce questioning.

“Pashan told me he would rejoin us ere we reached the western edge of our lands, with or without aid. If he didn’t make it by then, he was dead.”

R’ille paced in silence for a moment. “I should have been told.” The anger in her voice subsided, but it remained in her fierce blue eyes. “You should have told me Pashan’s plan. Now we have three Illuminar left on the mainland.” She was silent for a time. “We must prepare for the enemy, who will surely follow our path over the crystal span,” she said at last. “But at some point we will have to organize a rescue party to go in search of our lost leaders. Now leave me. I’ve got a defensive battle to plan and a search party to organize.”

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

After diving out of the way of the Illuminar archers, Legion had flown south and then risen back out of the chasm when out of range of the Illuminar host. When he saw the crystal span begin growing toward Illianor, he discovered an unforeseen advantage. Until now, Illianor had been unapproachable from the air by the forces of the Demon Lord. It had been protected by some kind of magical barrier. Legion realized that the Illuminar were foolishly giving him a way to finally reach the island of Illianor.

“Disengage our attack,” Legion ordered, and the evil host returned puzzled looks. “The leader of the Gathâni,” he explained, “has been foolish enough to open a pathway for us to reach their sanctuary. We will disengage our attack and let them think they have escaped us. We shall let them cross on the crystal path they have created, and then we shall follow them. We shall finish them in their new land and claim it for ourselves!”

The evil throng beat their shields and hooted shouts of acclaim for their leader. Wolves howled. Their victory was at hand.

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

R’ille closed her eyes again and turned away from the arguing crowd. She began to pray for the Creator’s help in finding a way to cross the strait. She blocked out the Illuminar voices around her until she heard only the soft rushing of the wind out over the chasm and the birds chirping as they flew to nests hidden somewhere down over the edge of the cliff. The warmth of the sun fell on her back as if trying to reassure her of the path ahead.

Use Illinzor.

“I don’t know how. It is evil.” She said a prayer. “Creator, our people perish. You must help us to defeat the Demon Lord. How can we beat him?”

Await the Messiah, who will deliver you! He will be proclaimed by the Seer, who is of the Avanyar.

R’ille heard the cryptic message from her Kalláh, a message she had heard hundreds of times over the last several days. She didn’t know what it meant, but she knew she couldn’t wait for anything. She needed to act now, but how? She continued to pray. She knew Illinzor was the key, but, how to use it? There was no magic here for the wand to attack.

The Illuminar ceased their arguing and spoke only in hushed tones as they watched R’ille. They remained quiet, as if their existence lay balanced on the edge of a knife. Then something happened they did not expect.

Several Illuminar began shouting, their voices tinged with fear, as they pointed toward a group of objects that appeared far out over the chasm. They were high above the horizon, illuminated by the light of the rising sun. One floating object detached itself from the others and began descending towards them.

R’ille heard the shouts as she ended her prayer and looked to where they were pointing. She saw the tiny form of a Nil'Ganash growing larger as it approached. It appeared alone and unarmed.

You must use the enemy’s weapon! Use Illinzor!

R’ille called for archers to take aim, but steadied them for now. She was curious about why a Nil’Ganash would approach in such a vulnerable fashion. She waited to determine its intent.

The Nil’Ganash landed near her on the very edge of the cliff but made no move toward her. It simply turned to her and spoke. “Ni’or Legion,” it said, surprising R’ille and the others by addressing her in the Illuminar tongue.

I am Legion.

“What do you want?” R’ille answered in the common tongue. She felt no desire to share her name, nor to engage him in her sacred tongue. She hated the Nil’Ganash. She had seen too much of the evil they could do.

“I offer a trade,” it said simply, shifting also into the common tongue. Its black lips broke into an evil smile.

“What kind of a trade?”

“My master desires to recover the Zori. I wish to trade for them.”

“We do not have the wands of power,” R’ille said simply. A lie.

“That is a shame, for I had hoped you would be willing to bargain for this—”

Legion reached to a scabbard inside his black cloak and with a violet hand drew out a long black sword. He held up an Illuminar’s Nyakil.

The gathered Illuminar gasped, though R’ille appeared to be unmoved.

“We do not have the wands of power,” she said again.

“Do you not recognize the sword, Gathân? This is one of your precious Nyakil, I believe. I know how highly regarded they are among your race. One has never been lost to the enemy, so it has been said.” He turned the blade over in the morning sun, testing its weight in his violet hand.

Now R’ille looked at the sword. Its black blade glistened in the sunlight. The glint of silver caught her eye. She saw the sun-like symbols running down its length. Yllirin! She swallowed hard. It was Brinn’s blade. She was unable to hide her recognition, and Legion noted her reaction with a sly smile.

“I offer more than this poorly constructed weapon, however,” Legion continued. Turn over the Zori to me and I will give you both the sword and its owner.”

R’ille let out an audible gasp, and the Illuminar roared in an angry shout. The Nil'Ganash grimaced in response and bared his canine fangs, feeling the threat of being rushed by his enemy. Yet he held his ground, knowing their weakness.

You must use the enemy’s weapons!

R’ille steeled herself and tried to appear devoid of emotion. “Does he live?”

The Nil'Ganash answered with a wave of his hand, and the other objects far up in the sky approached. Three gargoyles descended until they were almost to their violet master, then stopped and hovered just beyond the edge of the cliff, out over the chasm’s void. In their arms was Brinn.

His eyes were blindfolded, his mouth gagged, and his hands and feet were bound. He struggled against his bonds, appearing very much alive. The gargoyles removed his blindfold, and his struggling ceased when he saw the emptiness between his legs. In front of him, the cliff’s vertical edge dropped into shadows of brown and grey as it descended downward until lost in shadow. Atop the cliff, just a few yards away from where he dangled, was the Illuminar host, with R’ille at their head. Legion stood near her. Legion was explaining to R’ille that he was the bargaining chip in the Nil'Ganash’s plan to recover the Zori.

The Zori! Brinn remembered the red wand of Fire that R’ille had given him before they last parted. He moved his right ankle inside his boot and felt the stiff rod against the outside of his leg. Still tucked into his boot was Arazor, the wand of Fire! He couldn’t believe the enemy hadn’t found it. After his capture they had disarmed him, but they had never searched his boots. The very thing Legion was searching for was right under his nose, and the Nil'Ganash didn’t know it.

Brinn had no way to reach the wand in his boot. Unable to do anything to stop the events unfolding before him, he grew very still in the clutches of the gargoyles and stared intently at R’ille, trying to communicate his secret to her with his eyes. He didn’t know it, but her Kalláh had already told her.

When the Illuminar host gathered around R’ille saw the emerald division commander in the hands of the gargoyles, their anger erupted. Shouts of revenge flowed from the warriors, though there were cries of dismay from some of the children.

The Nil'Ganash silenced them with a wave of his hand, his lavender eyes flaring. “I want the Zori,” he snarled, apparently tiring of his game.

R’ille didn’t answer, remaining silent while she quickly evaluated her options.

Brinn still has the wand of Fire.

R’ille looked into Brinn’s eyes.

The gargoyles holding Brinn had not alighted on the cliff; instead they remained hovering out beyond its edge, with Brinn in their clutches. Any attempt to reach him and the enemy would surely drop him. R’ille knew that the Nil'Ganash, like all followers of the Demon Lord, could not be trusted. She knew his offer, Brinn in exchange for the Zori, was probably a lie. Still, her heart ached for her beloved husband. When they let go, would he die from the fall? No Immortal had ever fallen that far. She didn’t want him to die like that. She listened to her Kalláh.

The Zor remains with him.

She continued staring at Brinn, reading the truth in his eyes. How? How had Brinn kept it from them? Perhaps they hadn’t searched him at all! They would not have expected him to have it. She decided to gamble.

“We had two Zori,” she said finally, looking at Legion. “The wand of fire was destroyed creating the pillar of fire that led us here.” Brinn’s eyes widened ever so slightly at her words. “Only the wand of Air remains.” She drew the blue wand out from within her cloak.

“And what of the wand of Earth?”

“Of that we know nothing except that we have it not,” R’ille lied.

The Nil'Ganash and the Illuminar stared at one another for a long time. It was Legion who finally broke the silence.

“Give me Maladzor, then. Hand over the wand of Air.”

R’ille studied the Nil’Ganash closely, noting the violet skin, the black clawed nails, and the glowing lavender eyes. It was armed only with Brinn’s Nyakil. She knew that dozens of arrows were trained on the Nil’Ganash, ready to fly should he attempt to harm her. R’ille took a step toward the Nil'Ganash, who responded by spreading his black leathery wings. He seemed to grow into an immense size before her. R’ille hesitated. One horrible problem remained, and she didn’t know how to resolve it. It was possible that after she handed over the wand they would still drop Brinn. Yet, she saw no choice. She could give up one of the wands of Power, possibly save her husband, and keep two of the wands in her possession. It was a huge gamble, but she took it. Standing before the Nil'Ganash, she held out the blue wand.

He snatched it away and suddenly flew backward up into the air, stopping in a hover several feet away, out beyond the edge of the cliff.

R’ille cursed herself for letting the wand go so easily. She glanced again at Brinn, whose eyes were still on her. At least they hadn’t dropped him … yet. “Return the captive to us,” R’ille demanded. “Fulfill your end of the bargain.”

“There is something more I require,” answered the Nil'Ganash. “You disappoint me by returning only one of the wands. So, I require something else as well.”

“Fulfill your end of the bargain. We have nothing else to give.”

“Oh, but you do have something more to give; a small thing, really, at least to you. So useless it is to you, in fact, that you’re not even aware you have it. But I require it as well.”

“What else do you ask for?”

The Nil’Ganash grinned, cat-like, as if he had just won the exchange. His fangs glistened in the morning light. “In return for the Gathâni, my master wants your soul. Swear allegiance to Shaitan and surrender your soul to him.”

The Illuminar throng erupted in disbelief. Amid their shouts were calls to shoot the Nil’Ganash from the sky where it hovered.

R’ille silenced the Illuminar host.

“No, R’ille, don’t do it!”

It was Brinn. He had somehow wriggled the gag away from his mouth. He received a vicious slap for his outburst from the stone hand of one of his captors. He continued anyway. “Don’t do it, beloved,” he implored his wife. His gag was quickly replaced, tighter than ever.

Legion turned and smiled when he heard the word “beloved”. He knew then that the two were bound to each other. His fangs almost dripped with the pleasure of that knowledge.

R’ille was in agony. She looked at Brinn, unsure of what to do. Her Kalláh was screaming.

You must not do this!

More than the land she loved, more than the Creator’s gift of immortality, more than anything she knew of in this world, R’ille loved Brinn. She could not imagine living forever without him. She also knew that the Nil’Ganash had discovered her weakness: her love for his captive. He had her. A single tear fell from her eye as she spoke just one word.

“Agreed.”

The Illuminar host cried out in dismay. Brinn uttered his objection behind the gag, but it could not be heard above the din.

“Silence!” R’ille demanded from the Illuminar throng, then turning back to the Nil'Ganash. “I have agreed to your demand. Now release him.”

“Swear your allegiance to Shaitan, who you call Lucifer. Swear allegiance to the Demon Lord.”

You must not do this!

R’ille swallowed hard. Forgive me Ár-Ádun, she prayed. And then she spoke.

“I renounce my Creator and take Lucifer, the Demon Lord, as my lord and master. I give my soul to him.”

A clap of thunder rent the cloudless sky. The Illuminar host reeled. They couldn’t believe what their leader had just done. What madness had possessed her to acquiesce to his demand? It was something few of them truly understood: R’ille’s love for Brinn. The Illuminar host moaned with sorrow; a few of the children wailed. Their cries were silenced by a wicked laugh. R’ille heard another voice, familiar but far off, fading from her mind.

Await the Messiah, who will deliver you! He will be proclaimed by the Seer, who is of the Avanyar.

The voice was almost gone now.

Use Illinzor!

The cry faded, and then she, too, heard the laughter. It was soft at first, but then grew until it echoed into the chasm. Legion was laughing at her.

“Well done, Illuminar, well done,” he said to R’ille. “My master does love feasting on the soul of an Illuminar … a delicacy he seldom gets to enjoy!”

“Return the Illuminar,” R’ille demanded.

“There’s just one small thing. You still hold back one of the Zor. Perhaps when you reconsider, you can have him.”

R’ille immediately recognized she had been double-crossed. In that instant, however, the Nil'Ganash chose to make his departure.

“Fire!” R’ille screamed.

The arrows flew as R’ille shouted to shoot the betrayer. Their aim was well placed, but the archers misjudged the Nil’Ganash’s next move. They expected him to begin an ascent, but instead, the Nil'Ganash simply tucked his wings and dove below the rim of the cliff, dropping out of sight in the same instant the Illuminar let their arrows fly. The gargoyles holding Brinn went the opposite way. They rose and flew eastward, up and over the Illuminar host. The archers were forced into holding their shots, for fear of hitting Brinn. Soon, the gargoyles and their captive disappeared out of sight.

The crowd rushed toward R’ille, shocked and angered at what she had done. They were stopped and silenced when she turned, her face filled with tears.

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Most of the crowd remained silent, though some in Lorelai’s group wailed softly. Several others came and put their hands upon R’ille to comfort her. Her shoulders slumped, and for the first time in her long life, she wished she were not immortal. She wished she were dead.

R’ille called for her Kalláh, and as she feared, heard only silence. Then, something else caught her ear. It was far off, unrecognizable at first, but it filled R’ille with dread. Soon it grew louder, and she recognized the sound. It was the wailing of souls in torment. Then she noticed other voices; the whispered horrors of demons, that sounded like they were hovering all around her. Their screeching was all she could hear. Her Kalláh was gone, replaced by the murmurings of demons arguing over the souls of the dead. It was horrifying. She fell to the earth and sobbed.

An Illuminar warrior from the front lines burst upon the crowd at the edge of the chasm. Bleeding from a rapidly healing slash across the face, he carried an emerald banner. “Brinn has been taken by the enemy!” he announced.

“Your news arrives too late,” said another. “The Nil'Ganash has him. He was shown to us, offered as barter for the wands of Power.” The herald learned what had transpired, a tale that ended with ominous words. “We are doomed.”

“We are not doomed!”

It was R’ille. The voice of her Kalláh, now lost to her, still echoed in her head.

Wiping the tears from her face, she rose and faced the gathered Illuminar. “As long as we draw breath, we will fight the evil of the Demon Lord. We have lost Brinn, but he still lives, at least for the moment. We have lost the wand of Air. A second wand, the wand of Fire, which was in Brinn’s possession, is also surely recovered by the enemy. But we still have one of the enemy’s wands, and perhaps we can use it against him still!” R’ille held up the green wand. Those around her listened to her words, but their eyes told of the hopelessness that filled their hearts.

Several of the children resumed throwing crystal shards to where the violet fiend had hovered moments ago, venting their fear and sadness by pretending the enemy still floated out over the chasm before them. R’ille glimpsed their movement and turned to watch. She looked at the crystal outcropping where the children were gathering shards. A moment later, she turned back to the Illuminar.

“My Kalláh is gone. But its last instructions echo in the empty halls of my mind.

You must use the enemy weapon! You must use Illinzor.

I must the enemy’s weapons. I will use this wand against the Demon Lord and save our people.

“You cannot,” Lorelai whined again. “We’ve been over this. It will only destroy the other’s magic.”

“You are wrong,” R’ille countered. “That held true a few moments ago, but now things have changed. Your words are no longer correct. This wand holds great power.” She smiled a sad, haunting smile, but in it there was just the slightest twinge of hope. She answered the confused looks with a simple truth: “This wand holds great power when it lies in the hand of one who has given her soul to the Demon Lord.”

The crowd was silent. What did she mean?

You must use the enemy’s weapon!

The echo was now only a faint memory.

R’ille walked over to the crystal outcropping near the children and waved the wand over the stone. As she did, she spoke. “With the power of the one who rules this world yet is confined by it, I command thee to bridge this chasm. Crystal of the earth: grow to reach the island of Illianor!”

A flash of green light erupted from the wand and struck the crystal stone. A rumbling was heard and the crystal began to change and grow. It widened upon the edge of the chasm until it was over twenty feet in breadth, and then began growing upward and outward in a long arc out over the chasm. The crystal obeyed the power of the wand of Earth, and grew into a flat-topped causeway that stretched out over the chasm until its end was lost to sight.

“Behold! The Creator turns even the power of the Demon Lord to His use.” R’ille turned to the crowd. “Behold, Immortal ones, our bridge to Illianor!”

The Illuminar were in awe. All hope had been lost, but now there was a way out. Several of those under R’ille’s silver banners began organizing the Illuminar in preparation to cross. They brought R’ille to the forefront. “You are still our leader,” they announced, and others took up the words in a chant. “Lead us across.”

“Do you trust me?” she asked those around her. “I have renounced Ár-Ádun, our Creator!” Tears welled up in her eyes again.

“You are our leader. You have led us this far and have not failed. Lead us across.”

R’ille reluctantly took her place at the head of the procession. She stepped up onto the cloudy crystal. It felt solid. She took several steps forward and realized it would hold. As she started across the span, she turned to the warrior from Brinn’s division, who had brought news, too late, of his capture.

“Return to your kin under the emerald banners and tell them what has happened. Tell them that I ask, in Brinn’s memory, that you fight one last time to protect our rear as we cross this span to Illianor. With your help, we shall yet live!”

“For Brinn!” he shouted and was gone, back to the battle front.

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Battling back the horde that followed the Illuminar, Brinn felt those at his back come to a halt. He guessed that they had reached the end of the forest and were halted by the cliffs he expected lay beyond. He, too, knew the legend of the cliffs at the edge of the sea, but he was too busy fighting to guess what R’ille’s next plan was. He only knew that she would somehow find a way for them to reach Illianor, the island that lay beyond.

Suddenly, a huge rush of wolf-riders pressed outward from the enemy’s battle line and engulfed Brinn. He swung Yllirin in sweeping arcs, but the wolves were on him in seconds in numbers that he couldn’t hold off. He cut down several of the hairy beasts with his sword yet, for some reason, deadly blows were not returned. The wolf-riders seemed intent upon taking him alive. Their sheer numbers crowded him until he no longer had enough room to swing his sword. He tried to jump up on the backs of the massed fur of wolves, but he was pulled back down. Finally, as he fell under the weight of the rushing wolves and their ugly riders, a troll swung a hammer at the side of his head. His arms pinned, Brinn was unable to deflect the blow. It came as a blinding flash of light, and then everything in Brinn’s world went dark.

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Hidden among the clouds high overhead, Legion watched the Illuminar reach the cliffs, having raced far ahead of the fleeing host. He witnessed the fiery whirlwind die. He was sure now that the flame that burned a route through the evil wood was conjured by an Illuminar, using the wand of Fire. He devised a plan to recover that wand, most powerful of the gifts of the Demon Lord, along with the other two wands that were lost.

Having observed his enemy reach the end of their road, he now turned downwind and raced eastward again until he came again to the forces fighting in the narrow groove in the overgrown forest. He landed among his troops.

“Find the leader of the Gathâni who fight under the emerald banners,” Legion told a commander of the wolf-riders. “Attack with as many as it takes to capture him. Focus your entire force on that one individual. He must be taken, and taken alive.” Legion smiled a wide, cruel smile. “I have a use for him.”

“Yes, Lord,” the commander answered, spurring his wolf-mount away leading of a large host.

As the sun rose at his back, Legion climbed into the air again. He watched the dust clouds that marked the edge of battle. The Gathâni were trapped against the cliff. It would be just a matter of hours until they would be driven over the edge, to perish in the chasm below. There was a problem with that plan, however: One goal would be accomplished, but another would be hopelessly lost. The Gathâni would perish, but so would the fate of the three wands. Legion did not want to spend days on the rocks at the base of the chasm pawing amongst strewn corpses in search of his precious Zori. He could not risk losing the wands of power to the depths of the western sea, and that might happen if the wielders went over the side. That wouldn’t do. But Legion knew the hearts of the Gathâni, with their stupid love and loyalty toward kin. It was that flaw in them that guaranteed his plan would work. He would recover the Zori very, very soon. He looked at the waving emerald banners of the opposing force below him and laughed.