"I suppose so," Idalia said. For a moment she had actually managed to forget the price of being here, but now the grief of her loss rose up in her like weariness.
"You're tired," Marocht said firmly. "And the soup is gone. Sleep again. We will talk more later."
* * * * *
FOR the next several days, Idalia did little more than eat and sleep. News slowly trickled in to her courtesy of Marocht, who was wise enough to know that her patient would recover more swiftly if her inquisitiveness were kept satisfied.
Redhelwar had sent messengers to Halacira to let Kellen know that the army was now at Ondoladeshiron, and would be moving south as soon as possible.
Messengers coming north from Sentarshadeen had brought their news in turn: Andoreniel continued to recover.
Most of the horses and oxen had been recovered, though a few had fallen afoul of predators, or had broken legs or necks in their headlong flights.
The army was ready to march.
One full sennight after Jermayan had cast his spell, the army stood in marching order upon the Gathering Plain, perhaps four moonturns before they would otherwise have reached it. Another fortnight, at most, would see them at Halacira.
A heavy wet snow was falling, and visibility was poor, but if they waited for good weather, they would wait here until spring. The Wildmages were still recovering from the spells they had cast to ease the passage of the oxen through the doorway, and would not wish to shift the weather in any event, lest they make it worse elsewhere. They would all simply have to endure. They should be able to ride out of the worst of the storm in a day or so, once they passed off of the Plains of Ondoladeshiron and into the forests of the lowlands surrounding Sentarshadeen. That terrain would have its own hardships most of all the thick forests, which would make the passage of the ox-drawn sledges difficult but at least they would be different ones.
Idalia sat in Cella's saddle, in her place beside the Healers' wagons. The loss of Jermayan was a dull ache in her chest. No one had spoken of it to her, and for that much she was grateful. Everyone here had suffered losses in the moonturns past; hers was no different for having come quietly, in a moment freely chosen, rather than in the wild melee of a battlefield, at the edge of an enemy's blade.
The column had just started to move when there was a clamor of horns. After so long, she could decode the signals without effort. Enemy sighted. In the sky.
The column halted again. The skirmishing units deployed. She couldn't see them from where she sat, but she could imagine their movements, nearly as clearly as if she possessed Kellen's battle-sight: the groups of twelve under their sub-commanders fanning out from the column on each side, forging through the heavy snow and turning to face the enemy coming from above.
She wondered what it was. She knew that the Deathwings hated to fly in snowstorms, and they hadn't been sighted south of the Mystrals, but the chance to strike at a prize as tempting as the full Elven Army would surely lure them out of hiding…
Suddenly the horns sounded again.
A friend! A friend!
Idalia stood in her stirrups, scanning the sky.
A great black winged shape was sweeping toward the Elven Army, flying just below the clouds.
She knew that form. Ancaladar. Jermayan was alive.
She forced Cella through the press of riders around her, working her way to the edge of the column. The dragon was circling now, coming in for a landing. It was not one of Ancaladar's better landings.
The dragon did what could only be described as a belly-flop into the snow. Instead of back-pedaling with his wings, as he usually did, he simply folded them in and allowed himself to slide, until the snow heaped up enough in front of him to bring him to a stop.
Idalia urged Cella onward through the snow. Ahead of her trotted two of the skirmishing units, Redhelwar, Adaerion, and their adjutants.
They reached Jermayan and Ancaladar.
Even though she could see little of Jermayan beneath his furs and armor, it was not hard to see that both he and Ancaladar looked exhausted. Dazed. Even the dragon's scales had lost their iridescence, and were the dull black of soot.
But they were here.
"I See you, Jermayan," Redhelwar said calmly, looking up at Jermayan. "It is a thing I confess I had not expected to do again. But you come in a good hour. We were about to embark for Halacira, to rejoin the rest of the army. We were delayed here longer than we expected. The passage through your door was not without its moments of interest, and it has taken us nearly a sennight to gather up the herds and put the army into marching order again. While your door is a useful tool, I do not think it is one I shall employ again."
"I See you, Redhelwar. And I say to you that it is welcome news that you do not wish me to open that door once more, for that is something I shall never be able to do again. But that is a tale that can be told another time. I would not wish to delay the army's march. Ancaladar and I will scout ahead for you, as always, but do not, I pray you, look to us for more than warning of any danger, for we can give you no more than that."
"That is all we will need," Redhelwar answered firmly.
"It would gladden my heart were you to ride with us, Idalia," Jermayan said, looking to her at last.
"Ancaladar?" Idalia asked. The dragon didn't look as if he could take off at all, let alone with two passengers.
The black dragon swiveled his head to look at her. The golden eyes glowed with faint mirth.
"Idalia, you weigh nothing at all. You will not tire me, I promise you." She scrambled from her saddle to the dragon's back, and quickly cinched the flying straps tight.
* * * * *
ANCALADAR was as good as his word. Though his landing had been a cause for concern, the dragon's leap into the sky had something of his usual verve, though his takeoff run was far longer than any Idalia could ever remember. But at last he spread his great wings with their familiar snap, and rose swiftly into the air.
In moments they were above the clouds, into the brilliant and much colder upper air.
"You're still alive," she said unnecessarily. She leaned her head against Jermayan's fur-covered back, reassuring herself that it was true. "Alive," he agreed. There was a long pause.
"Idalia. I do not know how to explain what I do not understand. To make and hold such a portal as Ancaladar and I made to send the army through to Ondoladeshiron… it is the Great Spell that was given, long ago, to any who are Bonded to a dragon to cast. Not to open a door, perhaps, but one single spell of such power for each such Mage to cast once in his life, and it should have consumed us utterly. But as the door closed… the Starry Hunt… came for us," Jermayan said.
Idalia could not imagine it, though she tried very hard. She could barely retain the memory of Summoning them, so ancient and wild was their power. To see them, in the calm and normal light of day, was something so far beyond the realm of normal experience, even for a Wildmage who had once been a Silver Eagle, that even her imagination failed.
It was simply too much.
"And then what happened?" she asked.
"They came. They… went. After a little time, we flew back to Ysterialpoerin. Ancaladar had just enough strength for that. And fortunately for us, it was not far."
There was another long pause, and Idalia knew that Jermayan was gathering himself to say something he did not wish to say. "We… live. But we will cast no more spells." She had been prepared to hear far worse.
"You idiot! Do you think I care about that?" Idalia demanded. She hugged him fiercely. "I loved you when you were a simple Elven Knight, and I shall love you now that you are a simple Elven Knight once more."
"With a dragon," Ancaladar said.
"With a dragon," Idalia agreed.
Had the Starry Hunt turned Ancaladar from a creature of magic to a creature of flesh-and-blood? Ancaladar himself might not know. It might simply be that his magic had been drained so far by the spell that only enough remained to keep himself and the Bond alive, thanks to the Hunt's intervention.
In the end, it really didn't matter.
He was back.
* * * * *