5.Death of Chaos
XXIV
THE FOUR DRUIDS and the ancient stood in the time-draped grove of the Great Forest and watched as darkness and light boiled across the sand map of Candar.
Of the silver-haired druids, only the eyes of the youngest, a woman scarcely appearing more than a girl, were upon a tiny point of blackened sand separate from the darkness that seemed to envelop both ends of the sand map of the continent. Two flares of white sand erupted from the eastern section of the map.
“The darkness of this order has no. soul,” stated the ancient, “only the cold ordered iron of those who fell before the demons of light. Even the Great Forest fears such order.”
“It has no song,” said the frail silver-haired singer.
“You always speak of songs, Werlynn.”
“And you, Syodra, forget the songs.”
“Some of us have to live them,” said the youngest druid. “And the price is high.” She looked away from the map.
“So are the joys, Dayala,” pointed out Syodra.
“They are,” admitted Dayala, but her green eyes bore a darkness as they flicked to the single isolated point of black on the sands. “But joys end more quickly-and more painfully.”
“There is always a price,” intoned the ancient. “This one will be greater, far greater, for order without soul is terrible, indeed.”
“They have not heeded the songs,” added the sole male, “and the truth of their notes.”
“Leave it to the Balance,” suggested the druid who had not spoken.
“Leave it to the Balance? Yes, Frysa, leave it to the Balance. We, and generations, are still paying for the last decision we left to the Balance.” Dayala took a deep breath. “The Balance works, but it is far from kind. Nor is it always merciful or just.”
“And did we not pay more dearly for those we did not leave to the Balance?” asked the ancient.
Dayala's eyes dropped to the sands again and to the spreading darkness.