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Authors: 3 When Darkness Falls.8
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to the army, for the power he could lend to the battles it had yet to fight could be vital.
And what then, Son of Malkirinath? Were you to level the Golden City, slay everyone within it, guilty and innocent alike, you would not win this war. You would only deny Them a tool to Their using. The war would go on, as your friends die about you, until there is nothing left …
Perhaps the destruction of Armethalieh by the Light would buy time, but at a price no one of the Light would be willing to pay. There was always the danger, in fighting the creatures of the Shadow, in being tempted to use Their methods in order to win, but all that was, was a sort of surrender to Them . No one thought it was better to lose cleanly than to win with the Shadow's tools: It was simply that it was impossible to win with the Shadow's tools. No victory for the Light could be gained by using the tools and the methods of the Shadow — once they were taken up, they began to twist the wielder, changing him or her bit by bit, moment by moment, until he or she no longer recognized the original purpose for which their side had once fought. They began to make changes, compromises, disastrous alliances — until soon they were the Shadow's pawn in all but name.
Was that what had happened to Anigrel, in Armethalieh?
Or was he one of the rare ones who stared the Darkness unblinkingly in Its eyes, and flung himself into Its embrace, knowing full well what it was that he chose to serve?
How could any creature, mad or sane, do such a thing?
Jermayan shook his head, a human gesture he had picked up from Idalia. He did not know, but as Master Belesharon was fond of saying, all answers are to be found in the Circle, or else you have asked the wrong question.
It did not matter how Anigrel had come to do such a thing.
What mattered was how what he had set in motion could be stopped.
* * * * *
THOUGH it had seemed unlikely that afternoon, when Jermayan had landed in the full strength of the snowstorm, as the shadows of evening fell, the temperature dropped sharply, and the snow stopped falling.
Earlier, Jermayan had passed Magarabeleniel's message on to Ancaladar through the Bond they shared, and now Ancaladar descended into a clearing at the forest's heart — though leaving the forest again might be a more difficult matter.
Snow, leaves, and loose branches cascaded to the forest floor as Ancaladar settled to the ground, folding his wings warily, for his flanks pressed against the trunks of the trees at the edges of the clearing. Jermayan wasn't at all sure of how the dragon could possibly move without knocking trees over.
"So this is a Flower Forest?" the dragon observed. "It is very nice."
"Yes," Jermayan agreed. "I think… I think we will be leaving here soon. And without what we came for."
"Indeed," said Ancaladar, sounding maddeningly calm. "I believe you must reconsider."
Jermayan stared at his friend in surprise. Of all the things he had expected to hear from Ancaladar, this had not been among them.
"While you spoke with the Lady of Lerkalpoldara, I flew over the valley, for I did not feel comfortable upon the ground," Ancaladar said. "And I saw many distressing things. Coldwarg packs — flights of Deathwings — creatures such as I have not seen" — the dragon shuddered — "in a thousand years. They have come over the northern border, I think; over the mountains, from the High Desert beyond the Elven Lands. I believe there is even another ice-drake such as the one I slew here. One does not forget that smell easily, I promise you.
"They will slay everyone here. And then, perhaps, they will seek fresh game, for I do not think that the closed passes will stop any of them, and they are all creatures of the cold and the dark."
The dragon regarded Jermayan steadily from its great golden eyes.
"It would interest me greatly, of course, to hear your thoughts on the matter of how to prevent this, should you choose to share them," Jermayan
And what then, Son of Malkirinath? Were you to level the Golden City, slay everyone within it, guilty and innocent alike, you would not win this war. You would only deny Them a tool to Their using. The war would go on, as your friends die about you, until there is nothing left …
Perhaps the destruction of Armethalieh by the Light would buy time, but at a price no one of the Light would be willing to pay. There was always the danger, in fighting the creatures of the Shadow, in being tempted to use Their methods in order to win, but all that was, was a sort of surrender to Them . No one thought it was better to lose cleanly than to win with the Shadow's tools: It was simply that it was impossible to win with the Shadow's tools. No victory for the Light could be gained by using the tools and the methods of the Shadow — once they were taken up, they began to twist the wielder, changing him or her bit by bit, moment by moment, until he or she no longer recognized the original purpose for which their side had once fought. They began to make changes, compromises, disastrous alliances — until soon they were the Shadow's pawn in all but name.
Was that what had happened to Anigrel, in Armethalieh?
Or was he one of the rare ones who stared the Darkness unblinkingly in Its eyes, and flung himself into Its embrace, knowing full well what it was that he chose to serve?
How could any creature, mad or sane, do such a thing?
Jermayan shook his head, a human gesture he had picked up from Idalia. He did not know, but as Master Belesharon was fond of saying, all answers are to be found in the Circle, or else you have asked the wrong question.
It did not matter how Anigrel had come to do such a thing.
What mattered was how what he had set in motion could be stopped.
* * * * *
THOUGH it had seemed unlikely that afternoon, when Jermayan had landed in the full strength of the snowstorm, as the shadows of evening fell, the temperature dropped sharply, and the snow stopped falling.
Earlier, Jermayan had passed Magarabeleniel's message on to Ancaladar through the Bond they shared, and now Ancaladar descended into a clearing at the forest's heart — though leaving the forest again might be a more difficult matter.
Snow, leaves, and loose branches cascaded to the forest floor as Ancaladar settled to the ground, folding his wings warily, for his flanks pressed against the trunks of the trees at the edges of the clearing. Jermayan wasn't at all sure of how the dragon could possibly move without knocking trees over.
"So this is a Flower Forest?" the dragon observed. "It is very nice."
"Yes," Jermayan agreed. "I think… I think we will be leaving here soon. And without what we came for."
"Indeed," said Ancaladar, sounding maddeningly calm. "I believe you must reconsider."
Jermayan stared at his friend in surprise. Of all the things he had expected to hear from Ancaladar, this had not been among them.
"While you spoke with the Lady of Lerkalpoldara, I flew over the valley, for I did not feel comfortable upon the ground," Ancaladar said. "And I saw many distressing things. Coldwarg packs — flights of Deathwings — creatures such as I have not seen" — the dragon shuddered — "in a thousand years. They have come over the northern border, I think; over the mountains, from the High Desert beyond the Elven Lands. I believe there is even another ice-drake such as the one I slew here. One does not forget that smell easily, I promise you.
"They will slay everyone here. And then, perhaps, they will seek fresh game, for I do not think that the closed passes will stop any of them, and they are all creatures of the cold and the dark."
The dragon regarded Jermayan steadily from its great golden eyes.
"It would interest me greatly, of course, to hear your thoughts on the matter of how to prevent this, should you choose to share them," Jermayan
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