Too beautiful to look upon, and too terrible.
"Who summons me?" the Lord of the Starry Hunt demanded. His voice was voice of the stars themselves.
The power of the Shrine poured through her, making her whole body tremble. Idalia no longer felt the cold, nor anything she recognized as fear. It was if she had become nothing more than a voice for the Shrine, a tool to focus and channel its need through her own human desire.
"The Land calls you," Idalia answered steadily. "The People call you. I call you. He Who Is would return to the world, and so we summon you."
"And will you spill your own blood to save the land?"
In answer, Idalia pulled off her glove. She slashed the palm of her hand deeply with her knife and held it out to him. The blood welled up, and dripped to the ice at her feet.
The Lord of the Starry Hunt laughed. His laughter was the roaring of the wind.
He raised his warhorn, and blew a long wailing call. The sound of it shuddered through her body with a terrible sweetness verging upon pain, taking all her strength away with it.
"We ride!" she heard dimly, as consciousness left her. "We ride!"
* * * * *
WHEN she came to, Idalia was in a different place entirely. The light of earliest dawn streamed through the windows of a small house, and Jermayan was making tea.
The homely reality of such familiar surroundings anchored her to consciousness as nothing else could have. Nothing could have been more different from the last thing she remembered: the night, the frozen plain, the starry spectral riders. Those memories were already fading, as hard to hold on to as a dream. All that remained was the certainty that she had done what she had intended to. But the Power that she had summoned, though of the Light, was as inhuman in its way as the Endarkened were, and thoughts of it were as difficult for mortal minds to retain.
It was not hard to understand, now, why the Elves had let the memory of their Shrine slip away.
Her body was heavy with the weakness of utter exhaustion. Simply casting the spell of Summoning had exacted a high price. She could not imagine any way to have paid Mageprice for such magic, assuming one had been set.
"I was about to wake you. We are in Windalorianan, and I am preparing tea." Jermayan told her, once he saw her move. "It was the nearest place I could think to bring you, but it is not safe to stay here long."
"Not that I would wish to, in any event," Idalia answered.
She sat up. Several hours' sleep had given her the strength for that, at least.
Though Windalorianan had been abandoned in good order by its inhabitants, it had not been possible for the refugees to bring away every possession, and obviously Jermayan had spent some time scavenging the ghost-city as she slept. The stove of the little house from the look of it, a guest-house, similar to the one she and Kellen shared in Sentarshadeen, if a little smaller was stoked to warmth with charcoal disks, and she had slept before it wrapped not only in her own cloak, but in an assortment of furs and blankets.
"I am astonished to discover that they left tea behind," Idalia said, stretching.
"Not the tea, but the tea-service," Jermayan said, correcting her. "I always carry tea."
His words were light, but his dark eyes looked haunted. The Elves were a supremely civilized folk had been so before Idalia's own distant ancestors had learned to clothe themselves. The Powers she had summoned up and set loose last night, the Powers Jermayan's own ancestors had once sworn fealty to, were anything but civilized. No wonder he looked so haggard.
"So my Summoning worked," she said. "And will do I think, I hope what I mean it to, and set a shield between the world and He Who Is, so that he cannot enter. But it would be good to know what you saw, as well."
"I saw that which I wish never to see again," Jermayan answered quietly. He poured the boiling water into the teapot, which stood ready. "Idalia, we are no longer a people of magic, nor of the High Gods. Our part in these things we set aside long ago, passing the custodianship of these arts to younger races. To command the Great Magics myself… this I accept, for our need is dire. And Ancaladar's company gives me great joy. But to look upon the Starry Hunt… to know they once more ride the winds… to know that, were I to call out to them, the Star-Crowned might ride to my side on the field of battle… Idalia, it makes my heart wonder what place may be left for Men, Elves, and Centaurs upon such a battlefield."
He bowed his head. Several strands of his long black hair had worked their way loose from the warrior's braid coiled at the back of his neck, and fell across his face. Idalia leaned forward and brushed them back gently.
"It is our fight most of all, Jermayan," she said softly. "They'll only fight where we can't. They certainly won't do our work for us. The Wild Magic draws its power from us, and I think no, I know that strange as they are, the Starry Hunt is still a part of that. If we won't fight or aren't willing to they won't, either."
"Then we must each play our part, no matter how large or small," Jermayan said, raising his head. "And not scorn to do the task we are set, even though it seems small and inconsequential in comparison to what others may do."
"Fine talk coming from an Elven Mage," Idalia said.
Jermayan smiled, and poured tea.
* * * * *
HE was right that they could not afford to stay in Windalorianan long. Although he had sealed the Gatekeeper's Pass between the rest of the Northern Triad and Lerkalpoldara when he had brought Magarabeleniel and her people out, the Shadow creatures that had filled the Bazrahil Valley had long since found other ways over the mountains, and more had since come in over the borders of the Elven Lands. Even as they finished their tea, Jermayan and Idalia could hear Coldwarg howling in the distance.
"Time to go," Idalia said, setting down her cup.
They dressed quickly, and walked outside.
The sky was black with the clouds of an oncoming storm, but no snow had fallen as yet. Ancaladar stood crouched in the street, his vast body filling the entire width of it.
Idalia was still exhausted from the Summoning that and ravenous but she was neither so hungry nor tired that she wished to remain in a city that was about to play host to a hunting-pack of Coldwarg, and whatever might be with them. Jermayan helped her to mount. She buckled the straps as tight as she could, only then noticing that the cut she had made in her hand the night before was gone. Not even a scar remained.
Jermayan's magic. Or Theirs. She didn't really care which at the moment.
As soon as they were both safely mounted, Ancaladar took off down the street at a dead run. The city had been deserted for moonturns; drifts of snow sprayed up around him as he galloped. Within moments they were outside the city, in the fields of Vardirvoshanon. Here the wind was nearly as brutal as it had been on the ice-plain, and Ancaladar took expert advantage of it, spreading and lifting his wings and allowing the blast to spin him up into the sky like a storm-tossed leaf.
Once he was airborne, they made a low sweeping pass over the city. In the gray light of dawn they could see how the snow had drifted up over most of the houses, giving Windalorianan a sad haunted aspect. The snow-dunes were crisscrossed by animal tracks, and in the distance, racing over the snow, their dappled white fur making them shimmer in the pale light, were a pack of Coldwarg over a hundred strong.
"It would be interesting to know what they're finding to eat," Idalia commented. Kellen had told her that one of the first things the Coldwarg did when they came into an area was despoil it of game, and they'd certainly been here long enough to eat everything edible.
"That will not be a problem for this pack any longer," Jermayan said grimly.
Ancaladar tilted a wing, and began a low run directly over the Coldwarg. As he reached them, Jermayan stretched out a hand, and the entire pack burst into flames.
For a moment, the blackening bodies danced in frenzied agony upon the snow before collapsing into ash.
Then Ancaladar turned south again, beating his wings in hard downward strokes to carry them up through the clouds.
* * * * *
IT was only a short while later before they began their descent once more. "We can't be at Sentarshadeen already," Idalia said.
"No," Jermayan agreed. "But the army is below us. I wish to speak to Redhelwar. There is an… idea I have."
* * * * *
IT was madness.
Madness equal to the Summoning of the Starry Hunt.
But it would take two moonturns, three, even more, for the army to reach even Ondoladeshiron, and that was too long. Armethalieh would long since have fallen, and They would have won.