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"A flight of dragons," she murmured hoarsely.
This, then, was what she had felt. The magical creatures had a powerful aura, and certain mages could sense their near presence. So, apparently, could the Accumulator, for the artifact was no doubt absorbing some of the dragons' power.
"Where are they?" she asked, moving aside to give Laeroth a turn at the glass.
"Far out to sea, praise the gods," Ja
"But Evermeet is protected by magical shields, woven by Corellon himself," protested Laeroth.
"Think, boy!" growled the mage. "What creature is more magical than a dragon? Any shield that would keep out the magic of a hundred dragons would also block the flow of the Weave of Magic. If Evermeet were so protected, we could not work magic; indeed, under such a shield, we elves would die as surely as the summer lighting bugs that careless children gather and leave too long under a glass! Mark me: there will be an attack."
Nakiasha took the girl's arm. "Come, child. Let the Gold elf attend to sending messages. We must form the Circle, and lend the warriors what help we can."
The door to Horith Evanara's office flew open, striking a ringing blow against the living rock of the chamber wall.
Captain Horith was not at all surprised when Zaor Moonflower burst into the room. The tall, blue-haired Moon elf had swiftly climbed the ranks of the Leuthilspar guard, and had sought reassignment to the fortress city of Ruith. Already Zaor had made his command into perhaps the finest fighting unit among the many that trained and garrisoned within the walls of Lightspear Keep. Zaor was well liked by the fighters, but he did not always show proper respect for either the rank or the wisdom of the keep's commanders.
"I heard of the approaching flight of dragons. Why have you not called forth the dragonriders?" the young warrior demanded.
The captain fixed a cool stare upon his most promising-and most troublesome-officer. "You mean the squadron commanded by those Durothil crones? I think not. This battle-if indeed there is a battle-belongs to me."
"You ca
"Have a care how you speak," the Gold elf said coldly. "I assure you, the situation is under control. The Durothil dragonriders need not hear of it."
"You have not even sent word?" said Zaor in disbelief.
Angry now, Captain Horith rose-and immediately regretted the act. It was difficult to assert authority over an elf who stood head and shoulders above him. Though, in truth, he suspected that Zaor Moonflower would be formidable even at half his size.
"The situation is under control," the Gold elf repeated in a tight voice. "The dragonriders are not needed, and neither, Captain Zaor, is your presence in my office. You are dismissed."
But the Moon elf stood his ground. "Warriors afoot have little chance against a single dragon, much less a hundred. You know that as well as I. What, then, do you intend to do?"
When Horith hesitated, Zaor slammed the desk with one fist in sudden wrath. "This is as much my affair as yours! I've a hundred elves under my command, and I'll be damned as a drow before I'll march them blindly to their deaths! If you have a plan, speak!"
"The Starwing fleet," Horith said grudgingly. "Star ships, man-o-wars that sail through the clouds as nimbly as common ships do the seas. They are kept in secret in the sea caves of Sumbrar. Beyond the Council members and the ships' crew, few elves know of them."
Zaor fell back a step as he absorbed this wonder. "How many ships?"
"Ten. All well-crewed and heavily armed," the Gold elf said with pride. "Finer warships do not exist, on this world or any other. If the need arises, I will command the battle myself from the flagship."
"Even so, what chance have ten ships against a hundred dragons?" Zaor shook his head. "No, Lady Mylaerla must be alerted at once." He spun and stalked from the office.
"If you do," hissed the captain, "I will see you stripped of rank."
Zaor did not pause. "And If I don't," he returned with grim certainty and in a voice that rang though the corridors, "we will all be dead."
Leaving the Gold elf sputtering with rage, the Moon elf captain hurried through the halls of Lightspear Keep to the stables beyond. In the adjoining pasture awaited his horse. No common beast, this, but a moon-horse, a magical beast capable of great speed. He would have need of it, for the Eagle Hills were nearly fifty miles to the west, and too much time had been wasted on Horith Evanara's pride.
Zaor leaped upon the stallion's back and urged it forward with a thought. As he rode through the streets to the western gates, the Moon elf's gaze fell upon a round, white-marble tower, one of the finest buildings in all of Ruith. This was the Pegasi Aerie. Even now, winged horses and their riders were circling the city, landing on the flat roof of the Aerie, practicing the endless, complex maneuvers that had shaped them into a legendary defensive force.
For a moment, Zaor was tempted to stop and try to persuade the Gold elf commander into joining his mutiny. But he knew that such an effort would fail; furthermore, he doubted that a score of winged horses would have much effect upon a hundred rampaging dragons.
Zaor turned away, riding through one of the randomly shifting gates in Ruith's transparent walls. He could feel his moon-horse's relief as they left the city behind. The stallion sped toward the hills, then climbed the first rugged slope as nimbly as a mountain goat.
The Moon elf called a halt at the mouth of a cave. He dismounted, then urged the moon-horse to take refuge in the meadows to the west of the mountains. If all went as he hoped, he would not have need of such a mount in the battle to come.
When the magical creature was safely out of sight, Zaor took up a curving bronze horn that hung from a hook at the cave's entrance. He placed it to his lips and blew three quick blasts.
Before the final echoes died away, Zaor found himself gazing into two pairs of golden eyes. One belonged to Ahskahala Durothil, the other to Haklashara, the venerable gold wyrm who was her partner. At that moment, Zaor could not say with certainty which of the two was the more formidable.
The elf woman's odd, almost reptilian eyes were the only hint of color about her. White of hair and skin, draped in pale chain mail and a silver-gray tunic, Ahskahala closely resembled the spear she carried: tall, slender, lethal. There was more warmth in the dragon's amber gaze than in hers, and less menace.
The warrior listened, tight-lipped, to Zaor's warnings.
"I can meet the flight with thirty dragonriders," she said at last. "But I tell you now, it will not be enough. Most of the dragons are younglings. Even if they were not, the numbers are against us."
"Perhaps the starwing ships will turn the balance," Zaor said. Even as he spoke, he realized how hollow the words sounded.
The dragon Haklashara cleared his throat, a horrible grating sound that reminded Zaor of the first stage of a rock slide.
"What of the giant eagles that nest on the high crags?" suggested the wyrm. "Many times I have told you, elf woman, that they also might be persuaded to take on the training of you elves. At the very least, they might remove some of the burden of Evermeet's defense from the shoulders of the dragon folk!"
The elf glared at her mount. "This is not the time to sing that old song! Even if you were right-and mind you, I'm not saying you are-there is no time for it. Such birds must begin training the moment they emerge from their eggs. No untrained eagle would be able to work with an elven rider."