exile? Ander was not bitter for himself, he knew. He was bitter for his father, who had spent his entire life working for that land and those people. There was nothing owed to Ander Elessedil perhaps. But what of that old man whose heart was wedded to this land that would be ravaged and this people that would be destroyed? Was not something owed him? He loved the Westland and the Elves more than the life he was about to give up, and that he should be forced to see it all taken away… it was so terribly unjust!
Ander bent down impulsively and kissed his father’s cheek. Then he straightened and turned away. Through the curtained windows, he could see the sky brightening with the new day. He had to find Allanon, he thought suddenly. The Druid did not yet know. Then he must return to the Carolan, to stand with his people where his father would have stood had he been able. No matter the bitterness. No matter the regrets. What was needed now was the same courage and strength that his father had shown in his last battle, a courage and strength that would sustain the Elves in theirs. Whatever was to happen this day, he must be his father’s son.
Tightening his armor as he went, Ander Elessedil walked quickly from the darkened room.
On the threshold of the entry to the manor house he paused momentarily and peered toward the brightening eastern sky. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his face was haggard and drawn. The dawn air chilled him, and he drew his heavy cloak close. Behind him the manor house windows blazed with light, and grim–faced Elven Hunters prowled the hallways like hunting dogs.
«Useless now…» he murmured to himself.
He set off toward the front gates, moving alone down the gravel walk, his mind clouded by his need for sleep. How long had he slumbered before Gael had come to him? One hour? Two? He could no longer remember. When he tried, it was the face of his father that appeared, blood–spattered and terrible piercing blue eyes fixed upon his own.
Betrayed, those eyes cried out. Betrayed!
He passed through the wrought–iron gates into the street beyond, failing to notice the giant figure that emerged from the shadows where the war horses were tethered.
«Prince Ander?»
He started at the sound of his name, stopped, and turned. The dark figure approached silently, the new light glinting from chain–mail armor. It was the Free Corps Commander, Stee Jans.
«Commander.» He nodded wearily.
The big man nodded in reply, the scarred face impassive. «A bad night, I am told.»
«Then you have heard?» ‘
Stee Jans glanced toward the manor house. «A Demon found its way into the King’s house. His guard was slain, and he himself struck down when he slew the creature. You can scarcely expect to keep such news a secret, my Lord.»
«No — nor have we tried.» Ander sighed. «The Demon was a Changeling. It made itself appear as my father’s wolfhound, an animal he had had with him for many years. None of us know how long it has been there, playing this game, but tonight it decided the game was finished. It killed the guards, bolted the doors leading out, and attacked the King. A monster, Commander — I saw what was left of it. I don’t know how my father managed…»
He trailed off hopelessly and shook his head. The Borderman’s eyes shifted back to him.
«So the King still lives.»
Ander nodded slowly. «But I don’t know what it is that keeps him alive.»
They were silent then, their eyes glancing back toward the lighted manor house and the armed figures that patrolled its shadowed grounds.
«Perhaps he waits for the rest of us, my Lord,” Stee Jans said quietly.
Their eyes met. «What do you mean?» Ander asked him.
«I mean that time draws short for all of us.»
Ander took a deep breath, «How much longer do we have?»
«Today.»
The hard face remained expressionless, as if the Borderman spoke of nothing more significant than what the weather might be that day.
Ander straightened. «You seem resigned to this, Commander.»
«I am an honest man, my Lord. I told you that when we met. Would you wish to hear something other than the truth?»
«No.» Ander shook his head firmly. «Is there no chance that we can hold longer?»
Stee Jans shrugged. «There is always a chance. Measure it as you would measure the King’s chances of surviving beyond this day. That is the chance we all have.»
The Elven Prince nodded slowly. «I accept that, Commander.» He extended his hand. «The Elves have been fortunate to have you and the Free Corps soldiers to stand with them. I wish that we could find a better way to thank you.»
The Iron Mail gripped the other’s hand. «I wish that we could offer you the opportunity. Good fortune, Prince Ander.»
He saluted and was gone. Ander stared after him for a moment; then turned and started back up the street.
Moments later Allanon found him as he was preparing to ride to the Carolan. The Druid rode out of the predawn gloom aboard Artaq, black shadows slipping from the forest mist. Ander stood wordlessly as the big man reined Artaq to a halt and stared down at him.
«I know what has happened,” the deep voice rumbled softly. «I am sorry, Ander Elessedil.»
Ander nodded. «Allanon, where is the staff?»
«Gone.» The Druid stared past him toward the manor house. «The Ellcrys is dead.»
Ander felt the strength drain from him. «Then that’s the end, isn’t it? Without the magic of the Ellcrys to aid us, we are finished.»
Allanon’s eyes were hard. «Perhaps not.»
Ander stared at him in disbelief, but the Druid was already turning Artaq back up the roadway.
«I will wait for you at the gates to the Gardens of Life, Elven Prince,” he called back. «Follow quickly, now. There is still hope for us.»
Then he put his heels into the black and they disappeared from view.
Chapter Fifty–One
Daybreak was an hour gone when the Demons attacked. They swarmed up the face of the Carolan, scrambling over the rubble of the shattered Elfitch to converge on the walls and gates of the sixth ramp. No longer weakened by the power of the Ellcrys or held back by the anathema of the Forbidding, the Demons shrugged aside the arrows and spears that showered down on them and came on. Wave upon wave of black bodies surged upward from the forests. In moments the cliffs were thick with them. Crude grappling hooks forged of captured weapons and trailing heavy vines were flung atop the walls and gates to catch upon the massive stone blocks. Hand over hand, the Demons began to climb.
The defenders stood ready — Kerrin and the Home Guard atop the gates, Stee Jans and the Free Corps upon the left wall; Amantar and the Rock Trolls upon the right. As their attackers climbed toward them, the defenders hacked and cut the scaling ropes. Back the Demons fell, screaming. Elven longbows hummed, and a hail of black arrows cut into the attackers. But still the Demons came, throwing up new hooks, new vines. Heavy wooden beams, hewn from whole trees and notched with steps, were flung against the gates, and the Demons scrambled up. Clubs and rocks flew out of the black mass below, cutting into the defenders as they tried to withstand the assault. Again and again the Demons were beaten back. But in the end they gained the walls, and the Elves and their allies found themselves locked in fierce hand–to–hand combat.
To either side of the Elfitch, the Demons spread wide along the cliff face, clawing their way determinedly toward the rim of the Carolan. There waited the Elven horse, Legion Old Guard, Dwarf Sappers, and scattered units of the other companies of defenders. Ehlron Tay was in command. Leading one charge after another into the
