their leathery wings with talons as long and sharp as any sword. The eagles swooped down in groups of two and three, slamming into the dragons as the dragons had in turn attacked the elven ships.
Not all of the giant birds survived. A burst of dragonfire caught one of the eagles in mid-dive, filling the air with a spray of golden feathers, and the stench of charred flesh. Another spun down to the sea, a broken wing hanging over the long bloody gash that scored its side so deeply that it exposed a neat row of bones.
But at last the battle was over. A single elven ship, a dozen pairs of dragonriders and wyrms, and less than a score of giant eagles winged wearily back toward the island. They left behind skies still dark with smoke, and a sea that still steamed and seethed from the burning destruction of the ships and the gigantic warriors.
Slowly, gently, Jannalor Nierde reclaimed control of the Circle from the young mage.
We have yet another task to do, one that will challenge our remaining strength. You were all bound up with the magic of the goodly dragons-you know that those few who survive are without exception gravely wounded. We must put them into healing slumber, else all will die, the Grand Mage said somberly.
I will take half the Circle-all the males, let us say-to the tower at Sumbrar. Some of the more gravely wounded dragons will surely stop there, at the nearest land. There are hidden caves where they can sleep. Nakiasha, take the others to the Eagle Hills, and do the same.
In response, the elves eased away from their shared Circle and reformed the magical ties into two groups. Along with the other female magi, Amlaruil focused her will into the casting of the spell that would carry them along magic's silver path to the Eagle Hills.
It was the first time she had experienced magical travel. White light enveloped her in a sudden, dizzying whirl. Swept into the vortex, Amlaruil held tight to the threads of magic that bound her to her Circle-and the deeper, more personal tie that guided her to the place she needed to go.
As the magic faded away, Amlaruil felt the chill sweep of wind against her face. She opened her eyes cautiously, and found that she and her Circle were standing perhaps halfway up the western slope of a mountain. Above them wheeled and soared five silver dragons, and one great gold. Following them like bright shadows were the eagles.
The gold dragon was clearly in trouble. One wing was badly tattered. Torn flesh showed through the gap where melted scales dripped like liquid gold down his wounded flank. Ahskahala was not in much better shape. Her face was blackened with soot and dried blood, and much of her hair and tunic had been singed away. Zaor and his eagle partner kept close to the wounded dragon's side. Through senses still attuned to the warrior, Amlaruil heard his voice, felt his sword's magic, joined in bracing harmony as they urged the faltering wyrm on.
The dragon that Zaor called Haklashara lumbered to the ground, hitting far too hard and skidding painfully over the rock-strewn hillside. His head-now bereft of one of its proud, curling horns, twisted back to regard his elven partner. An oddly contented smile curved his reptilian maw as he noted that Ahskahala still held her seat.
Amlaruil rushed forward and caught the wounded elf woman as she fell. 'You must speak to the dragon, help him find his way into the cave,' she urged as she lowered Ahskahala to the ground. 'We will put him into deep, magical slumber. He will heal, and live to serve Evermeet again.'
The warrior's red-rimmed eyes fastened on Amlaruil's face. 'I will join him,' she croaked.
'But-'
'I will join him,' Ahskahala said in a stronger voice, one that neither invited nor permitted argument. 'Haklashara and I will heal together, and awaken together. You must do this, mage!'
A gentle hand rested on Amlaruil's shoulder. She knew before looking up that Zaor had come to her side. 'She will not live, else,' he said softly.
The young mage nodded. Zaor swept the dragonrider up into his arms, and the three elves made their way into the cave, followed by the gravely wounded dragon.
When they were deep within the mountain, Ahskahala called a halt. She gritted her teeth as Zaor lowered her carefully to the ground, then looked with contentment at the stone chamber, and the dragon who curled around her like a gigantic cat preparing to nap.
'It is well. Here we will stay until Evermeet's need is as grave as it was this day. When and if that day comes, call us forth.'
The warrior took a ring from her hand and gave it to Zaor. 'Speak my name, my lord, and the dragonriders will answer your call. If the gods are kind and the day long in coming, you must give this ring to whosoever rules after you.'
'You know,' Zaor said in wonderment.
A faint smile crossed the elf woman's blackened face. 'If one so dense as Haklashara can see what you are, do you think that I cannot?'
'I heard that, elf,' the dragon rumbled.
With a soft chuckle, Ahskahala leaned back against her partner's scaly side. 'Go about your work, mage. We are very tired.'
A moment of pure panic threatened to claim Amlaruil. The spell that she must cast was High Magic, an enchantment so powerful that it could not be safely cast outside of the strength and support of a Circle. And that was considering just the spell for the dragon alone; to send an elf into endless revery was more difficult still.
And yet, what else could she do? The dragon and elven heroes would die before Amlaruil could gather the other elves, who, for that matter, would be busy with their other dragon charges.
The mage took a long breath to steady her resolve, then sank deep into the magic. She called forth the spell, her body swaying and her hands gesturing gracefully as she chanted, summoning the threads of magic and weaving them into the needed pattern. As she worked, she could feel the silvery web take shape, and then sink down over the pair of warriors like a comforting blanket.
Swept up in the power of the magic, Amlaruil had no sense of the passing of time. Nor did she feel the hunger or exhaustion that so often plagued the magi after the workings of the Circle. If anything, she felt invigorated by the flow of magic.
Almost regretfully, she released herself from the spell and left Ahskahala and her dragon friend to their long slumber. Without speaking, she and Zaor made their way from the cave.
The mountainside was deserted when they emerged, and the sunset colors stained the distance hills. 'The others must have returned to the Towers,' Amlaruil murmured. 'Working together, they could have completed the task faster than one alone.'
After a moment's silence, Zaor reached out and took her hands in his. 'I felt you with me during the battle, you know. Your magic, your strength.'
The elf woman nodded. The bond that had formed between them still sang in her blood and filled her soul. A shy smile curved her lips as she looked into the warrior's searching eyes and saw a similar knowledge there.
Amlaruil did not return to the Towers that night, nor did Zaor turn his steps southward toward the fortress at Ruith. In a stone chamber in the heart of Evermeet, bathed in the soft light of the king sword, they acknowledged what both had known from their first meeting. That night, with words and with loving actions, they pledged themselves gladly to the future. They belonged to each other, and together, to Evermeet.
With the coming of dawn's first light, the lovers said their farewells, each content in the knowledge that their joined destiny would surely bring them back into each other's arms.
Amlaruil stood long at the mouth of the cave and watched the warrior descend the mountain, hurrying toward a handful of surviving dragonriders who had gathered in the valley below.
Despite all Zaor had told her of his leave-taking from Lightspear Keep, Amlaruil had little fear that censure awaited him. For one thing, Captain Horith Evanara's ship was gone, crushed into shards of crystal by the weight of a falling dragon. Even had the Captain survived, he could not have denied that Zaor Moonflower was one of the battle's true heroes. Without the dragonriders, without the giant eagles, the flight of evil dragons would have slipped through Evermeet's shields and laid waste the island.
And more than that, Amlaruil had faith in the destiny whispered to her by the moonblade Zaor carried. He was destined to rule, and she with him.
Bright dreams filled her thoughts as she summoned the silver path that would carry her back to the Towers. But as the whirl and rush of the magic travel faded, she was greeted by the sound of anguished elven mourning.
High, wordless keening filled the air as the elves of the Towers gave themselves over to grief. Amlaruil gathered up her skirts and ran for the Tower of the Sun. She burst into the lower chamber, in which stood a single
