But the Centaurs had not had a King for uncounted centuries.
The Centaur held out something to her. A bundle of red silk. She felt her hands reach out to take it only they weren't her hands. They were slender, elegant, yet powerful and masculine, wearing rings she had often seen Andoreniel wear.
"In the name of Leaf and Star, Herdsman Reuden, Caerthalien thanks you for this pledge, and vows to hold it against a day darker than any we have yet seen."
The Centaur inclined his head equal to equal and turned away.
"When I call you, will you come?"
"We will come, son of the House of Caerthalien."
Once again the ritual was repeated. This time two stood before her great shaggy creatures towering eight feet high, looking almost like bears.
No, not bears. Bearwards. A race long-vanished from the land. This time, the banner was orange.
Again and again the ritual was repeated.
It was like and unlike the vision she had experienced in the ice-egg. Then, she had been Vielissar Farcarinon. Now it was simply as if she were watching through another's eyes, still herself, but seeing and hearing all that the other heard and saw.
The merfolk, clad in a shimmering veil of water and magic, presenting a banner the color of their own ocean.
The folk of the High Reaches who were also, Idalia somehow knew with the insight of her vision, someday to be the Lostlanders and Wildlanders with a banner the pale blue of their deepest winter snows.
The firesprites, also veiled in magic to protect the others there from their flame, with a banner of deep rose.
The Shining Folk, in forms too many to count, and a banner of shimmering gray.
The Fauns, and a banner of palest green.
The Minotaurs. A black banner.
The War Mages of Armethalieh, men and women together, in bright armor and gray robes, bringing a banner as golden as the sun.
We will come in whatever hour. Who holds our token holds our pledge. Our consent is freely given.
The vision faded.
As Idalia opened her eyes, she saw most of the banners crumble away to dust. The peoples who had given those pledges were not here to redeem them now. Only the Lostlanders, Wildlanders, and Mountainfolk; the Centaurs, the Fauns, the Shining Folk, the Elves, and the Armethaliehans remained of those who had pledged that day.
But the banner of Armethalieh burst into flame.
She jerked back from the flames with a startled cry, and grabbed the first thing that came to hand the bowl of water she had used for scrying to throw upon the flames. But it did no good. The banner continued burn, even in the pool of water, until every scrap of it was utterly consumed.
Armethalieh was Tainted.
Jermayan came forward, hauling her to her feet, pulling her away from the spreading mess of water, dust, and the still-burning banner. He looked as shaken as she felt, even though, she knew, he had not shared her vision. In a normal scrying spell, the vision could be shared, if two were standing over the bowl together. But Jermayan had been standing several feet away, and Idalia had combined the spell with another, changing the spell to a certain degree.
"It would be good to know what you have seen," Jermayan said, obviously striving to be calm as well.
She shook her head, struggling to clear her thoughts.
"I saw how these banners were created," she said slowly. The Armethaliehan banner the banner of the War Mages had consumed itself utterly at last, leaving behind nothing more than scraps of greasy ash floating in the water on the floor. "They were meant to be used just as I intend to use them. They are pledges of aid against the Shadow. The ones that are… gone… belong to the races that They destroyed in the War, so what I saw must have happened a very long time ago."
"Yet one burned," Jermayan said.
"Armethalieh's," Idalia said.
She didn't need to say anything else.
"So," she added, a few moments later, carefully picking up the five banners that were left Men, Elves, Centaurs, Fauns, and Shining Folk and rolling them together. She set them aside and went to get a broom to sweep away the dust, ash, and water. "It appears we have what we need. And I know where I need to go. It's a long way from here, and I need to be there by midnight tomorrow."
"Midwinter," Jermayan said. "Ancaladar and I can take you wherever you need to be but I confess it would be helpful if we knew where it was."
* * * * *
ONCE, the whole land had been starred with Places of Power where the binding strings that held the world together converged, nine for each of the races who had given the banners to Andoreniel's ancestor.
Most of them were… gone. The conflict that had reduced most of the land and waters once inhabited by score of races to lifeless rock had erased them, as it had erased those who had once called upon them.
The ancient Shrines were largely forgotten, even by the Elves and the Wildmages. For a thousand years there had been no need of the great magics and Summonings that could only be done in such places. Even where the information about the locations of the Shrines survived, knowledge of what could be done at them was gone.
Idalia only knew of six that had survived the Great War. Two were inaccessible to humans: One was deep beneath the sea, another was buried in the heart of a volcano deep in the southern desert. Of the remaining four, at the one that had once been the Bearward Shrine, the Mountainfolk now offered to the Huntsman and the Forest Wife. Since it now resonated to their power, it was useless to her. The one in Centaur lands had been incorporated into the middle of a village; to do magic there would do too much damage. The third was in the Delfier Valley.
The fourth was her destination.
Places of Power were tools, as neutral in themselves as the Wild Magic. They could be used for good or ill they were simply wellsprings of Power; as old as the Earth itself, taking on the characteristics of their surroundings. This was why she could not use the Mountainfolk Shrine; even though the Mountainfolk Wildmages no longer had any true notion of what it was, their Shrine had been shaped by centuries of intent into a focus for the energies of the Huntsman and the Forest Wife.
But the place to which Idalia and Jermayan flew now was the sole surviving Elven shrine. It had always been a place of power for the Elves, tuned by thousands of years of use to their particular perception of the world, always a force for Good. Essentially, the Elven Shrine, at least, functioned as a supremely powerful land-ward.
And so it would be perfect for what she needed.
She hoped.
It was far to the north of Lerkalpoldara, nearly at the border of the Elven Lands themselves. Beyond those borders lay nothing but a cold barren desert wasteland stretching to the end of the world. Yet this shrine, Idalia knew, had once marked the center of the Elven Lands, not their edge.
Normally they would be in great danger just being here. The north, so Cilarnen had assured them, was long since overrun by the creatures of Shadow. Frost Giants and Ice Trolls, long enemies of the Elves, walked the once-inviolate Elven Lands openly, destroying anything they choose. Fortunately, they were still hundreds of miles away from Ysterialpoerin.
For now.
And even though enemies were everywhere, because of the nature of the Shrine, they would come nowhere near it. They might not even know why they were avoiding it, or that they were. But they would.
And Idalia could use its power to fuel her Greater Summoning.
She had told Jermayan very little about what she intended to do here, in part because she did not know. To call Vielissar Farcarinon's ancient Ally for help against He Who Is, absolutely. But how she would do it, and what form that help would take, Idalia was not entirely certain. She expected the Wild Magic to provide her inspiration when the time came.
As it always did.