“A birthday kiss?” the young man asked slyly.

“Yer thoughts should be to the fight,” Rhiannon replied dryly.

“A kiss for luck, then?”

“A kiss for victory, when the day is won.”

Bryan seemed satisfied with that. He gave a quick salute, then hoisted his shield, emblazoned with the crescent moon symbol of Illuma, the enchanted valley of his elven father’s people, and the bow that Rhiannon had created for him, and ran off to his appointed place.

Rhiannon watched him go with mixed feelings, both for him and for her promise. She had indeed grown to love Bryan, to admire and respect him fully. And he had saved her life, she understood, for without his companionship, without him holding her hand and calling out to her, bringing her back from the depths of the darkest and strongest magic the young witch had ever known, she never would have survived the great battle with the Black Warlock, Morgan Thalasi. In that battle, young Rhiannon had come fully into her magical power, though that power and all the magic remaining in all the world paled beside the glory the four wizards of Ynis Aielle had known only a few short months before-before the power-hungry Thalasi had reached too far, had torn the very fabric of universal strength, had torn out the heart of the wizards’ secret domain.

After that magical fight, Rhiannon and Bryan had run together, for they were on the western bank of the River Ne’er Ending, while their comrades remained on the eastern side. Neither was afraid, and each had come to trust and understand the other, and for Bryan, certainly, and even for Rhiannon, that had evolved into something deeper and more special.

But for all the young witch’s love of Bryan, Rhiannon could not forget another, Andovar, the proud ranger of Avalon, her friend and her love who had been slain on the northern fields. Grief prevented the young witch from giving her heart to Bryan, and so soon after Andovar’s demise, Rhiannon wasn’t sure that the wound to her heart and soul would ever, ever heal.