commenced, slow at first, and then more violent, the surface churning wildly so that waves rose, capped in white foam. The sound of the waves breaking on the shore mingled with the slap and rush of foam, and a sudden hissing that rose out of the depths. It seemed to Paxon in that moment as if the night had closed back down again and no dawn would appear on this day, but only an inexorable darkness. The hissing increased, and abruptly turned to moans. The voices were high-pitched and frantic, as if those who spoke were trapped beneath the waves and desperate to break free. Deeper voices joined in, then all of them turned to shrieks and screams that brought the Highlander to his knees in shock and dismay.
It grew worse when the shades of the dead began to rise from the waters, hundreds of them streaming into the night air, lifting away from the lake in clouds of vapor, their forms small and inconsequential, moths set loose into the world they had lost. They whirled and spun as they circled skyward and then dropped away again, a kaleidoscope of wraiths changing shape and form in a giant disintegrating prism. They came so close to the Ard Rhys that Paxon thought they might touch her, perhaps even bear her away with them. But though they came near, they kept enough distance to ensure that their forms would not interact.
Then the center of the Hadeshorn exploded skyward in a massive geyser, and a huge dark form lifted into view. Cloaked in black robes that were distinctly Druidic, it stood upon the surface of the water as if its size meant nothing and its weight were negligible. It seemed to have no substance, and yet its darkness was more intense than the night around it. All of the tiny shades that had surfaced earlier fled to the edges of the lake and remained there, safely removed, as the waters continued to hiss and steam.
Paxon watched as the form began to move slowly across the waters toward Aphenglow Elessedil. It did not walk as men, but floated, its body and limbs kept still beneath its robes. A cowl was drawn close about its head, and nothing of its face could be seen in the deep shadows that had formed within. When it stopped only feet from where she stood, the Ard Rhys lifted her arms and held them out in greeting.
“Allanon!” she called out boldly. “I am ready!”
Paxon almost went to her then, terrified of what he knew was about to happen, suddenly convinced that it was a mistake, that it was not yet her time, that he must make her see this before it was too late. But he found he could not move, his body frozen as if encased in ice, all chilled and stiff within his clothing. Already the arms of the shade were reaching down. Already the arms of the Ard Rhys were reaching up to receive them.
Then the Shade of Allanon enfolded her like a parent would a child and lifted her away, cradling her as it backed away from the shoreline, not bothering to turn about, not hiding what it intended. It bore her to the center of the Hadeshorn, the smaller shades of the dead now moving to join it, closing about both of them like a retinue meant to shelter and protect—or perhaps to pay homage and celebrate.
Beneath Allanon and Aphenglow, beneath the past and the present, between living and dead, the waters erupted one last time, then drew everything down in a whirlpool that quickly faded back into tranquility.
Seconds later, movement and sound had ceased, and the Hadeshorn had become still and silent once more. On the eastern horizon, above the valley rim, the sunrise erupted in a blaze of golden light, and the new day began.
THREE
MUCH FARTHER SOUTH, THE DAWN BLED CRIMSON ALONG THE eastern horizon, the color presaging the blood that would be shed that day. At the bow of the heavy transport Argon, standing at the airship’s rail and looking out over the blasted terrain hundreds of feet below, Dallen Usurient, Federation Commander of the Red Slash, took note. Thirty years in service to the army, a low-ranking officer risen to high command in record time, he believed in luck and foretelling only when it suited his purpose. It did so this day, and a hint of a smile creased his weathered face.