«Slowly now — give me your message.»
Flyn nodded, his face tightening. «My Lord, I am instructed to tell the King that Prince Arion has fallen. My Lord… he is dead.»
Ander shook his head slowly. «Dead?» It seemed as if someone else were speaking. «How can he be dead? He can’t be dead!»
«We were attacked at dawn, my lord.» Flyn was crying openly. «The Demons… there were so many. They force us from the pass. We were overrun. The battle standard fell… and when Prince Arion tried to recover it, the Demons caught him…»
Ander quickly put his hand up to check the Elf’s words. He did not want to hear the rest. It was a nightmare that could not be happening. His eyes flashed quickly to Allanon, and he found the Druid’s dark face turned toward his own. Allanon knew.
«Do we have my brother’s body?» Ander forced himself to ask the question.
«Yes, my Lord.»
«I want it brought to me.»
Flyn nodded silently. «My Lord, there is something more.» Ander turned back now, waiting. «My Lord, Worl Run is lost, but Commander Pindanon believes that it can be retaken. He requests additional cavalry to make a sweep back across the grasslands that border the pass so that…»
«No!» Ander cut him short, his voice suddenly urgent. With an effort he composed himself. «No, Flyn. Tell Commander Pindanon that he is to withdraw at once. He is to return to the Sarandanon.»
The Elf swallowed hard, glancing hurriedly at Allanon. «Forgive me, my Lord, but I was instructed to speak with the King on this. The Commander will ask…»
Ander understood. «Tell the Commander that my father has been wounded..» Flyn paled further, and Ander took a deep breath. «Tell Kael Pindanon that I command the army of the Elves and that he is to withdraw at once. Take a fresh horse, Flyn, and go quickly. Safe journey, messenger!»
Flyn saluted and hurried off. Ander stood alone, staring out across the empty grasslands, a strange numbness stealing through him as he realized that there no longer remained any chance to bridge that gulf that had always separated Arion and him. Arion was lost to him forever.
His back to Allanon, he let himself cry.
Dusk slipped silently across the valley of the Sarandanon, its, shadow lengthening to Baen Draw and the army of the Elves. Within his tent, Eventine Elessedil lay sleeping, unconscious still, his breathing shallow and uneven. Ander sat alone at his bedside, staring down at him wordlessly, wishing that he would come awake again. Until the King woke, it would be impossible to judge how serious his injury might be. He was an old man, and Ander was frightened for him.
Impulsively, he reached for his father’s hand and took it gently in his own. The hand was limp. The old man did not stir. Ander held the hand for a moment, then released it again and leaned back wearily.
«Father,” he whispered, almost to himself.
He stood up and moved away from the bed, distracted. How could it have happened — his father fallen, grievously injured; his brother killed; himself become leader of the Elves — how could it have happened? It was a madness that he could not bring himself to accept. Certainly the possibility had always been there that his father and his brother would be gone and that he alone of the Elessedils would be left to rule. But it had been an absurd possibility. No one had believed it would truly happen, least of all he. He was ill prepared for this, he thought gloomily. What had he ever been to his father and his brother but a pair of hands to act in their behalf? It had been their destiny to rule the Elven people, their wish, their expectation — never his. Yet now…
He shook his head wearily. Now he must rule, at least for a time. And he must lead this army that his father had led before him. He must defend the Sarandanon and find a way to stop the Demon advance. Halys Cut had shown the Elves how difficult this would be. They knew as well as he that if the rock slide brought about by the battle between Allanon and the Dragon had not blocked Halys Cut, the Demons might have, caught and annihilated them all. His first task, then, was to give the Elves reason to believe that this would not happen to them here at Baen Draw, despite the loss of both the King and his firstborn son. In short, he must give them hope.
He sat down again next to his father. Kael Pindanon could help him; he was a veteran of many wars, an experienced soldier. But would he? He knew that Pindanon was angry with him because of his order to the Commander to withdraw from the passes of the Breakline. Pindanon had not returned yet, remaining behind with a rearguard of Elven cavalry to slow the Demon advance do the Sarandanon. But forewarning of his displeasure had already reached Ander’s ears through comments voiced by a handful of his officers. When he rode in, he would confront Ander directly. Then things would really come to a head. Ander already knew he would ask that command of the army be given to him. Ander shook his head once more. It would be easy enough to do that, to turn command of the army over to Pindanon and let the old warrior assume responsibility for the defense of the Elven homeland. Perhaps that was what he should do. Yet something inside of him resisted so simplistic a resolution to the dilemma; there was need for caution in shedding too quickly duties that were clearly his.
«What would you do?» he asked softly of his father, knowing there would be no answer, yet needing one.
The minutes slipped past, and the dusk deepened.
Finally Dardan appeared through the tent flap. «Commander Pindanon has returned,” he announced. «He asks to speak with you.»
Ander nodded and wondered momentarily where Allanon had gone. He had seen nothing of the Druid since their return. Still, this meeting with Pindanon was his problem. He started to his feet, then remembered the Ellcrys staff which lay on the floor next to his father’s bed. Lifting it in both hands; he hesitated a moment, staring down at the old man beside him.
«Rest well,” he whispered finally, then turned and stepped from the room.
In the adjoining chamber, he found Pindanon waiting. Dust and blood covered the Commander’s armor, and his white–bearded face was flushed with anger as he advanced on the Elven Prince.
«Why did you order me to withdraw, Ander?» he snapped.
Ander held his ground. «Lower your voice, Commander. The King lies within.»
There was a moment’s silence as Pindanon glared at him. Then, more quietly, the Elven Commander as «How is he?»
«He sleeps,” Ander replied coldly «Now what is your question?»
Pindanon straightened. «Why was I ordered to withdraw? I could have retaken Worl Run. We could have held the Breakline as your father intended that we should!»
«My father intended that the Breakline be held for as long as it was possible to do so,” Ander responded, his eyes locked on Pindanon’s. «With my father injured, my brother dead, and Halys Cut lost, it was no longer possible. We were driven from Halys Cut, just as you were driven from Worl Run.» Pindanon bristled, but Ander ignored him. «In order to retake Worl Run, I would have had to make a forced march north with an army that had just been routed, knowing that they would immediately be thrown back into battle. If our combined forces were then defeated, they would face an exhausting march back to the Sarandanon with little chance to rest before undertaking a defense of this valley. Worst of all, any battle fought within the passes of the Breakline would be fought without the use of Elven cavalry. If we are to withstand the Demon advance, we will need the whole of our strength to do so. That, Commander, is why you were ordered to withdraw.»
Pindanon shook his head slowly. «You are not a trained soldier, my Lord Prince. You had no right to make a decision as crucial as this one without first consulting with the Commander of the Army. Had it not been for my loyalty to your father…»
Ander’s head came up sharply «Don’t finish that sentence, Commander.»
His gaze shifted momentarily as the outer tent flaps parted to admit Allanon and Stee Jans. Allanon’s appearance was not unexpected, but Ander was somewhat surprised to find the Free Corps Commander there as well. The Borderman nodded courteously, but said nothing.
Ander turned back to Pindanon. «In any case, the matter is done. We had better concern ourselves with what lies ahead. How much time do we have before the Demons reach us?»
«A day, possibly two,” Pindanon offered abruptly. «They must rest, regroup.»
Allanon’s black eyes lifted. «Dawn tomorrow.»
There was instant silence. «You are certain?» Ander asked quietly.
