7


    Reston fought alongside his warband and scouts, combing Ilyrian for every last vestige of chaos. Through the smoldering ruins of Starshire and the still-moving Tanglewood, he methodically hunted and slaughtered the spawn of darkness, keeping Starloft always in sight.


    Cackling ifrits he doused by summoning geysers; using a ram of high-pressure water to blast them into the rumbling sea-dome. Wraiths, he abjured in Oberyn''s name. Already weakened by combined elvish mage-glow, those hungering spirits could not survive Light of Dawn. They simply dissolved into faint, stinking mist, swept away by that constantly gusting wind.


    Revenant gnolls were harder to deal with, as any whole corpse would quickly reanimate, howling for battle. So Reston kindled a bale-fire, into which every last shred of goblin, gnoll, chuul and cloaker was fed. Nothing emerged from that bitter flame but ashes and smoke.


    There were dozens of ambushes. The last took place near the thorn wall. A creature of slashing limbs and multiple jaws dropped from on high as the Lord Warden rode back to Ilyrian''s sacred grove with a trio of scouts. His warding spell flared, hurling the monster aside, but Reston was thrown from the saddle. Hit hard, dislocating one shoulder. Came up rolling, hauling the family greatsword out of its sheath as he surged to his feet. A pack of gnolls burst from cover, hurling bolas, curses and daggers. Reston expanded his ward to cover the scouts, but his magic was weakened by pain and exhaustion. A cloaker got through, landing on Clairyn with a wet thwup. Then it wrapped up the struggling girl and flew off with her; dissolving flesh and cutting off air. Meanwhile, the gnolls and the insect-thing circled Reston.


    Dancer reared like a tower, screaming and lashing the air with her hooves, but the creature just ported around her. Summoning volcanic heat with his spell hand, the Lord Warden swung his borrowed sword in a whistling arc. Roasted and sliced the insect-limbed beast before it completed its death-strike.


    Dozens of arrows hissed through the air to thunk home in cloaker and gnolls; fired by his scattered men, who''d come at the sound of Clairyns shrill scream. The bundled girl fell ten feet to the ground. Struck with a thud, gasping once as the cloaker convulsed and went limp, releasing her. Reston and Clairyn were surrounded in moments, bathed in a flood of wellness and healing spells that they couldn''t afford to use up, but…


    "I thank you," he said to the elves and men of his warband. "All is well with me, now. See to the lass, and do not drop your guard. There are still…"


    Reston never finished his statement, because all at once some species of portal flared to life in mid-grove. A war tunnel, of the sort that could quickly transport a whole army.


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    "''Ware!" shouted the half-elf, vaulting back onto Dancer. The sword of the Tarandahls hummed to life in his hand, burning with Oberyn''s light; edged in flame.


    Only, it was the promised wood-elf contingent who came through that gateway. First a few scouts, then orderly units of ten at a time. Last to come out were a warrior-priest of Hyrenn and three noble beasts; a lordly white stag, a huge bear and a silver-tipped wolf, whom the paladin rode like a warhorse.


    Their lengthy traversal attracted attention, bringing constant attack as the newcomers entered the grove. The surviving dark-spawn were drawn by the gate''s immense magic. Controlled by the Mother, they kept right on coming, battling to close it again.


    Starloft and Lobum fought side by side, except for the paladin, whose blistering fury admitted no foreign allies. Only his wolf, noble beasts and the wood-elves got anything else but the edge of his steel or a magical shove. Fought like a demon, though.


    At length came a break in the struggle, when for many long heartbeats and rough, panting breaths, nothing launched itself out of a hole in the ground or dropped from the dome-enclosed sky. The respite was short, for the servant of Hyrenn soon whirled to face Reston; sword in hand, golden eyes burning with rage. As his own folk closed in around him, the Lord-Warden held up a placating hand.


    "Peace," he said to his warriors. "Lobum has come to our aid, not to stir further trouble." Then, inclining his head to the grim, dark-haired paladin, "Thrice welcome, Servant of Winter… noble forest lords. There is work enough here for us all." Without starting on allies, he did not say aloud.


    It was then that he sensed Andara, whom he''d last seen on his way out of Lobum, so long before. Glanced her way. Saw that she''d felt him, as well. But…


    "I offer no hand in friendship and make no promises," snarled the paladin, pacing forward. "Not until I have learned who summoned the waters. Speak, half-breed, and consider your words very carefully."


    A ringing hiss of drawn blades, a creak of bent bows nearly drowned out the circling wind. Battle spells flickered like torches, gleaming in hard eyes and cold metal. At Reston''s least signal, his folk would have answered that insult with fire and blood.


    Except that he wasn''t one to react without thinking, and Ashlord''s way was icy-calm vengeance, not furious loss of control. Instead of hot words, Reston said,


    "I indeed claim the best blood of two races. Of High Lord Galadin, my father, and of Lana… of humans, a great and beautiful lady. I am shamed by neither half of my heritage, Paladin… and Starloft hasn''t caused this unnatural flood."


    The wood-elf''s gold eyes narrowed, but he was listening. Then a mighty pulse surged through their prisoning sea-dome, making it thrum. Shoving and bending its walls. A blast of wind like the leading edge of a hurricane struck, panicking the horses.


    As Dancer turned circles, snorting, Reston looked up and around. Saw tumbling bodies, debris and stoven-in ships sweep past in silhouette, along with uprooted trees and drowned animals; all of them carried by thundering seawater. Inside the dome, ears popped and bled. Weapons slipped from the hands of shocked warriors.


    "Holy gods," whispered Reston, as their magical shelter contorted. "What has happened, out there?!"