"Go ahead, Gil. I'll deal with him." Dylan urged. Gil nodded but reluctantly obliged, edging carefully around the warrior. Omierdin drew back as though to prevent Gil's escape, but Dylan quickly lunged with his sword to re-engage blades.
"Hurry, Gil!" He shouted through clenched teeth, struggling to re-distribute his weight to better advantage, then leaned into Omierdin with all he was worth.
Gil didn't need to be told twice.
Their swords clashed again and again; apparently, it wasn't Omierdin's style to parry. He had the greater weight and used it to his advantage, but Dylan was a lot stronger than he appeared. Whatever Omierdin's opinion of him, Dylan had a lot of experience in combat.
Dylan continued to slash— Omierdin to lock blades. Dylan knew he had to conserve his energy and wait for a weakness to develop in his enemy. For a long time, they see-sawed back and forth, stirring up dust, neither one willing to give ground.
Then Dylan realized Omierdin was tiring; the larger man repelled Dylan's blow and drew back, panting slightly. Dylan knew it was time to act, and to act quickly. He feigned a parry, then suddenly leaned his blade heavily into Omierdin's sword with all of the energy he could muster.
In a moment, Omierdin's sword slipped aside, and he slid backward, staggering. Before Omierdin could regain his balance, Dylan lunged forward, aiming high.
His sword sheered through armor, bone, and muscle; and the large man toppled to the ground.
* * * * *
Gil hurried ahead blindly, listening for any sign of activity; luckily, there seemed to be only one main corridor, and it headed back toward the southern side of the tower. After some time, he thought he heard running steps ahead. Following them, he turned a corner that opened up into a wide, grand chamber decorated with rich tapestries and bright candelabra.
Gil heard voices before he saw anything. Then, rounding the open doorway, he spied Aiovel standing several feet away; her bow and quiver of arrows were lying on the floor. She spoke a few terse words in an ancient elven language he didn't understand, her voice raised in what sounded like defiance.
Gil headed toward her. Suddenly Gil's words died in his throat, and he stopped, paralyzed by shock.
Gil guessed the elf facing her was Galadon, the Dark Wizard— but he looked like Aiovel! No wonder Omierdin Brae had recognized her! A robe much like Gil's cloak in its style hung about the elf-wizard's shoulders, adorned with beautifully embroidered runes. Underneath, a shirt of fine silver links sparkled brightly over a pair of grey breeches, girded tightly by a silver belt.
Gil continued to stare, agog. This magnificent warrior was the Dark Wizard? His bearing was noble; his stature tall and well-muscled. His silvery-blonde hair fell to the shoulder, framing a handsome face that was young and yet not young in the manner of all elves; the blue eyes held an expression of cunning mixed with cleverness, but were also steady with the memory of long years and dissembled hidden thoughts; he moved with astonishing speed, sidestepping Aiovel's blow as she charged him, with serpentine agility more than a match for any Dragorian.
"So your companion has arrived at last." Galadon said in Roste, as though the movement had been no effort at all, and he turned keen eyes on Gil. Aiovel turned in surprise, having been too preoccupied to notice Gil's arrival— and almost fell prey to a spell that the wizard hurled at her. Gil's eyes widened in alarm, but Aiovel whipped around just in time. She crossed her arms in front of her chest protectively, then thrust them wide, shaking off the effects of his magical assault. A shower of sparkling lights fell from her arms, then fizzled into nothing.
"What are you doing here, Gil?" Aiovel said, eyeing her uncle warily as Gil moved beside her.
"I gather this is your protector, Aiovel." Galadon said pleasantly, watching Gil. "Have you come here to take her home, young man?" He sneered, arching a fair brow.
"Aiovel and I have come to stop you!" Gil shouted angrily.
"Have you indeed? Why, pray tell?" Galadon said calmly, one corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile.
"Because you're evil!" Gil threw back hotly, but Galadon remained unruffled.
"Oh?" He said, intrigued. "And what exactly constitutes evil?" He asked, almost reasonably.
Gil stopped, realizing he had no ready answer. This was not at all what he had expected! The Dark Wizard was neither grotesque nor ugly— and certainly not like any practitioner of dark magic he had ever imagined. He hadn't even tried to attack them until provoked! Gil had imagined him the wrathful representative of dark powers, cruel and merciless, inciting fear with but a glance.
On reflection, that last description applied; but at the moment Galadon, seemed perfectly pleasant, logical and self-possessed— yet insidiously so. If Gil had met him under other circumstances, he might have thought he was some kind of hero, or a noble at court. Certainly not the overlord of the East.
"I admit I am self-serving, but evil?" Galadon continued agreeably. "Really, don't be absurd. You call me that merely because I know what I want and stop at nothing to get it." He waved a dismissive hand in the air.
"Well, yes," Gil admitted, flummoxed and losing conviction. Galadon was trying to reason Gil out of his reason!
"Don't be ridiculous." Galadon purred. "What you call evil, I call self-preservation."
Self-preservation? How did that involve sending an army of beasts to the West?
"After all, we Silver Elves are the rightful rulers of Daegoras. My mother ruled this land before any humans or dragons came here." Galadon went on. "Am I not entitled to rule as her successor? Or to defend myself from an attack, as any person would?"
Gil stopped, considering the Dark Wizard's words.
"Don't listen to him, Gil!" Aiovel advised.
"Ah, Aiovel." Galadon said, turning back to her with an amused smile. "I must say I have enjoyed this little family reunion. But," he added, "I can hardly have your little minions messing the place up." He made an airy gesture to indicate Gil, then swept his hand aside, drawing Gil's attention to the wide, open, south-facing window. "Do take a look, if you will." He entreated them. "My dragon armies have arrived. I have no doubt that they will soon deal with the rest of your friends, if they haven't already."
Galadon drew aside, and with a gesture invited them over to witness the battle below. "But I am not an unreasonable elf." He went on generously. "Therefore I will give you an opportunity to reconsider this foolishness—and for your companion to return to his land. As you will see, this battle is pointless."
Aiovel stiffened but allowed the Dark Wizard to lead them onto a small, fortified ledge outside the window. Gil trudged behind; he didn't trust Galadon's cool manner. Gil was used to acting on his feelings, but Galadon seemed bent on diffusing Gil's anger. Gil only wished he knew why.
As Gil moved to the railing, he discovered that the ledge hung over the gate and afforded a clear view of the battle going on—though they weren't as high up as he had initially guessed. Perhaps sixty feet, and no more.
The scene below was chaos. The dragons' roars filled the air like artificial thunder; the dark masses of creatures below swept over the field, most concentrated where they converged upon the figures of Calatin and Myrddin. Both the wizard and High Priest had cut a clearing around them; a random beast might make it within fifteen feet of them between magic spells.
Galadon's dragon armies had arrived. Like the monster ranks, most of the dragons gathered about the two figures on the plain. A few others seemed bent on wanton destruction. Gil saw no sign of either Ronan or Lilia; he hoped they did not lie among the slain creatures.
Then Gil spied a black dragon circling down toward Mygdewyn. The dwarf's stature had, no doubt, kept him from detection thus far— from above, Mygdewyn seemed chest-high in corpses; the dwarf staggered over a field of the fallen before the gate, alone among the thinning monster ranks.
**He
y you, sootsnoot!** Gil shouted as loudly as he could, hoping to divert the creature's attention from the defenseless dwarf. He moved down the ledge, toward the dragon. Meanwhile, the dragon had stopped, fluttering in bewilderment.
**That's right, you, toast for brains!** Gil called out. It wasn't the best taunt that he had ever come up with, but it would suffice. This time, the dragon turned toward the direction of the insult, and his angry eyes fell on Gil. He opened his maw to let loose a torrent of flame, but closed it abruptly when Gil drew out his blade. It gave off a pale blue glow in the waning light of sunset; wide-eyed, the dragon sheered off abruptly and almost collided with the tower.
**That's right, run away!** Gil shouted triumphantly. When he looked about, Galadon and Aiovel were gone. Gil hurried anxiously back to the chamber where, to his relief, Aiovel stood waiting.
"Now that you have seen how matters stand, I've changed my mind. I will do you a favor and offer you one chance—to join me," Galadon said enticingly, watching Gil carefully.
Gil didn't answer.
"I could use another able warrior to keep the peace in my lands," Galadon explained, "and you have shown your courage, even though you seem to lack sense. Consider this: join me, and you can have all you ever desired—Gil was it? You could be rich and respectable, Gil. To refuse would hardly be rational. Please, do accept. No one will blame you for seeing what is best for you."
Gil could hardly believe his ears. What was this? Galadon wanted Gil to join him? But why? he wondered. What could the Dark Wizard possibly see in an orph— no, Gil wasn't an orphan any more. That was it! Gil was the child of powerful wizards, even though he had never been taught how to use his magic. Of course, Galadon must have sensed his latent talent! Sensed it, and wanted to use it.
But I don't have any magic! Gil thought in protest, refusing to believe it. Why did everyone else seem to think he did?
"And what do the dragons get in exchange for their loyalty?" Gil asked, unable to mask his hostility.
"The dragons?" Galadon chuckled. "What do dragons always want? Permission to plunder, of course. A figurehead to sanction their behavior. Specifically, I have promised them the city of Kelder in exchange for helping me quash this little disturbance. They will get to devour people and livestock, and I will have maintained the peace in my kingdom. And then, once I have figured out how, I will liberate your western kingdoms from the tyranny of all dragonkind. After the people have chosen me to lead them, of course. Yes, yes, I will even allow the humans to remain in our elf lands, lands which they stole from us, as long as they pledge their allegiance to me. Once I have all of Daegoras under control, that name will be the first thing I change, of course, and I will have no more use for Scathaechir and his kind."
"You are evil!" Gil shouted, horrified. How could Galadon sacrifice a city to the very dragons he despised? Gil wondered. "I hope Aiovel stops you!"
"Why Gil, you seem distressed." Galadon said, incredulous. "Truly it is for the best. Rilath and his dragons will attack my cities without warning if I do not keep order. You must see that I am doing what must be done to achieve the best for all involved. Hardly reason enough for name-calling."
"When you subjugate kingdoms, force people to pay tribute, and murder your own family— yes, I would call that evil." Gil said harshly.
Galadon winced.
"And who are you to make judgments about me?" Galadon demanded, regarding Gil like he would an insect— and also seeming genuinely disturbed for the first time. "How do you know anything about it?" He went on in an injured tone. "Murder? I never intended to harm my sister, but she got in the way. She should have trusted me, instead of taking Dragoras' side. She should have known that Dragoras had deceived her, that he only wanted our land and treasures for himself!" Galadon added, eyes narrowing, clearly nettled by Gil's interference.
Before Gil could react, Galadon's hand flicked toward him. A strong gust of wind pushed Gil back violently into the wall; he felt the breath knocked out of him. It was the same spell Aiovel had used, and though he found it hard to breathe, Gil had at least seen it coming this time. He rasped once before making up his mind to charge the Dark Wizard.
Then, with distress, he realized that he couldn't move.
With Gil rendered helpless, Galadon lunged forward to attack Aiovel, his air of perfect composure gone.
Gil blinked, startled; the Dark Wizard's sword was nearly identical to his own!
And that meant—Gil swallowed. Galadon's sword had been crafted to slay dragons; it had to be the sword that one of Galadon's wizards had used to kill Dragoras! Only now, it was aimed at Aiovel. Oh, if only he could move!
The clash of swords rang as Aiovel parried blows with great skill. Gil stared, entranced by the superior expertise of both opponents. Of course, they had certainly had a lot of years in which to practice!
With each blow, however, Galadon's ire seemed to inflate ten-fold. Gil supposed he wasn't used to being challenged by any one who came close to his ability.
Gil struggled again to free himself, to no avail. Then, with a mighty slash, Galadon pushed Aiovel back to the wall. As she struggled to hold off his deadly blade, she made a slight gesture with her hand toward Gil.
Gil heard a hiss as the air holding him dissipated.
Meanwhile, Aiovel had wrenched away from her uncle's advance, and stood catching her breath in ragged gasps. But Galadon didn't give quarter. He leaped forward in attack; Gil quickly blocked it with his own sword.
Galadon stepped back, smiling malevolently. Gil half-expected another holding spell, but now Galadon's full fury had turned on him.
"As for you," he rasped, "perhaps this will teach you not to interfere." The Dark Wizard made no overt gesture, only glaring at Gil with his eyes.
That was enough. Gil suddenly felt weak in the knees. He saw the world as if from a great distance, and through a kaleidoscope lens.
He blinked. All had returned to normal, only now he had a clear view of the Dark Wizard's boots.
What was going on? Gil suddenly realized he sat squatted on all fours! He looked down in dismay at his webbed, green front feet. Gil watched as Aiovel fended off another blow high above; then as Galadon made ready to strike again, Gil opened his mouth in warning.
And let out a deep, throaty croak. Gil shuddered as comprehension dawned. He'd been turned into a toad!
In desperation, Gil hopped forward.
And was almost squashed by Aiovel's boot. Gil hopped back adroitly with lightning fast reflexes. At least, being a toad had some advantages.
But now was not the time to explore them. Gil felt desperation rising in his throat—and croaked again. He had to stop Galadon! But how could he?
Then an idea struck him. If he could believe what Calatin had said, then he did possess magic abilities. A counterspell could get him out of this predicament!
But how could he summon one? Gil had never attempted magic before in his life!
Meanwhile, Galadon dived at Aiovel, grazing her arm. A red stream welled on her sleeve, and she staggered back, weakened and wincing as though from a wound far greater than the cut had been, but she held on to her sword.
As he watched, horrified, Gil felt something change within him.
A current of energy flooded into his limbs from the very ground beneath his feet. He felt tapped into the infinite source of the elements; magic poured into him, tingling up his spine, illuminating his fingertips. So this was magic! Delicious magic!
He peered through a wash of white vapors encircling him; then, they rushed away.
Gil blinked again at the world, now grown smaller.
The Dark Wizard turned to him, but now with fear in his eyes!
* * * * *
Lilia pulled over her hood and disappeared when the dragons descended over the battlefield. Beside her, Ronan looked up as d
eafening screeches filled the air. The dragons wheeled about angrily, searching for their prey, raining random bursts of fire down into the field, incinerating friendly forces of brubachwycs and other creatures. Their flames and the bright spells of Calatin and Myrddin lit the darkening sky now that Galadon's lightning storm had abated.
Ronan yelped and leaped aside a random torrent of fire.
He sizzled a charging brubachwyc with a bolt of lightning, then stopped and began to rummage around frantically in his cloak. At last, his fingers found the pouch of magical dust he'd been carrying since Argolen. Ronan pulled open the sash and sprinkled them over his head.
Nothing happened!
Ronan spied a young dragon high above; the creature stared back at him, its mouth widening into a hideous grimace. Ronan felt his knees beginning to quake. He raised his arms to summon lightning, hoping to ward off the flying monster, when a bit of white powder fell into his eye, making it burn.
Of course! He'd put the soap powder next to the invisible dust!
Ronan hurriedly felt for the other pouch, then ripped it open, splashing the contents over him, losing some of the sparkling dust to the ground.
As Lilia reached to pull the elf priest out of the way, he suddenly winked out of sight.
The dragon wheeled about, searching for its missing prey, then flapped off toward the wizard on the hill.
Ronan sighed in relief. But now that he and Lilia had disappeared, Mygdewyn was certain to draw more creatures than he could handle. Ronan headed back to where the dwarf swung bravely at the last few brubachwycs of the first wave, but others were already on their way across the field.
Ronan reached for his last pouch of magical dust; he'd been saving the dragon ashes to use in a strength-boosting spell, but protecting Mygdewyn was more important. He reached into the pouch and withdrew a handful; like wet sand, the dust congealed easily in his palm into a small ball.
As the legion of brubachwycs charged toward the gate, Ronan drew back his arm and hurled the handful of ashes at them, then grabbed Mygdewyn, pinning him to the ground. Mygdewyn struggled with his invisible attacker, but Ronan somehow found the strength to hold him down.