 
### The Punishment of the Gods

By Jake Yaniak

Copyright 2013 Jake Yaniak

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and locations are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

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Dedicated to my beloved wife Sarah for her unfailing love and companionship, my parents for instilling in me a love for the fantastic, and to my brother and sisters, for their constant support, friendship and conversation.

Table of Contents

Introduction

Book I: The Legacy of Galvahir

Chapter I: The Troubled Son of Biron

Chapter II: Mityai's Testimony

Chapter III: Beautiful Peiraso

Chapter IV: The Goblins of Mount Coronis

Chapter V: The Usurper of Peiraso

Chapter VI: The Folly of Cheft Faros

Chapter VII: The Conjurers' Duel

Chapter VIII: The Exile of the Galvahirne

Book II: The Fell Wolf

Chapter I: Amlaman, Ramlos and the Kings

Chapter II: The Altar of Agonistes

Chapter III: The Children of Vulcan

Chapter IV: The Forest of Heyan

Chapter V: The Doctrine of Lord Havoc

Chapter VI: Leonara

Chapter VII: History Revealed

Chapter VIII: Power and Desire

Chapter IX: Legion's Head

Book III: The Vestron Monster

Chapter I: The Return of the Merkata Clan

Chapter II: Natham

Chapter III: The Wrath of the Monster

Chapter IV: Envy to Madness

Chapter V: The Other Outcasts

Chapter VI: In Marin Quendom

Chapter VII: Dwarves in the Marches

Chapter VIII: Into the West

Book IV: The Seige of Dadron

Chapter I: Paley

Chapter II: Evna

Chapter III: The Remnant of Galva

Chapter IV: The Monster Rages In Falsis

Chapter V: Return to Noras

Chapter VI: The Hidden People

Chapter VII: The Prophet

Chapter VIII: Light and Shadow

Chapter IX: Dadron Besieged

Chapter X: The Breaking of the Siege

Chapter XI: Facing the Monster

Chapter XII: The Siege Ends

Chapter XIII: Natham

Book V: The Siren's Song

Chapter I: The Elves Awaken

Chapter II: Victory

Chapter III: The State of Weldera

Chapter IV: Coronan Revisited

Chapter V: The Stage is Set

Chapter VI: The River Meretris

Chapter VII: The Hidden War on Sten Agoni

Chapter VIII: Fell Wolf

Chapter IX: The Punishment of the Gods

Chapter X: What Came to Pass

About The Author

Introduction

In my account of what has lately been called the Welderan War, I have found it necessary to consider the conflict, not merely as it occurred, but by tracing the more important persons back to their roots. Only in this way have I been able to make the chaotic events of recent times understandable. My reader should not be surprised, then, to find that the first three books of this treatise seem, at first glance, alien one to another, and wholly separated. But when at last these three threads are bound together, as they are in the fourth and fifth books, then at last the whole tapestry will appear comprehensible where it might otherwise have seemed to be without sense or order.

[Book I:  
The Legacy of Galvahir](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

[Chapter I:  
The Troubled Son of Biron](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Strange Dreams

There are two kinds of people in the world, those who speak whatever comes to their minds, whether for good or for ill, and those who for good or for ill do not. Daryas Galvahirne was of this latter class, though his people, the Noras, were almost entirely of the former. The Noras, and the Galvahirne Clan in particular, were known for being bold and strong-minded, if not thickheaded and rash; they were prone to speak hastily and without any thought of their audience. But young Daryas seemed to be nothing like his countrymen in this regard. He expressed himself sparingly, especially when it concerned his thoughts and sentiments. He was certainly not the sort of person who looked to others for counsel or advice without cause. But lately Daryas had been troubled by strange dreams and he found that he could no longer keep his troubled thoughts to himself. So when the day was over and the sun sank behind the peak of Mount Coronis, he set himself before a fire and laid his dark thoughts out before his friend. The two of them had been scouting in the mountains now for three days, but they had not yet found any trace of their enemies.

'The dream is always the same,' he explained, 'No matter how many times I dream it. And no matter how hard I try, nothing changes. I am always left in the end with the same riddle and the same fear.

'In my dream I am always running. There are trees all around me, and the sun is hidden from me completely. Whether it is night, or whether it is the canopy of leaves that hides the light from my eyes, I cannot tell. Why I am running I have never discovered, but nonetheless I am frantic, panting. I look down at the ground and see that I am leaving behind me a trail of blood.

'Abruptly I enter into a dark and ominous place and I hear a voice, but I see no one. A quiet but malicious voice says:

'"Answer me swiftly mortal, for I am about to die. Forget Hell and Flame; forget god and gavel. Leave behind you all superstition and sympathy and answer me truly. Why should I, at the moment of my death, choose that which is right over that which I have always desired? For I have paid my dues and now I have but one last choice to make."

'I am startled and I awake, never seeing who the speaker is; never able to tell what the dream portends.'

As far as young men go, there did not seem to be anything special about Daryas. He was by all accounts an average man, but of good birth. He was neither tall nor short, sturdy or frail; in every way it seemed that he was the perfect mean; 'Exceptionally unexceptional,' is how some of his father's peers described him.

He had dark brown hair, shorn just above his shoulders and even darker eyes. His brow was quite severe, giving him on the whole a grim appearance. Even in front of the bright firelight there was no sparkle in his eyes. He wore a heavy green cloak over a thick brown woolen shirt, the edges of which were adorned with a simple sylvan pattern sewn with dark green thread, and cloth trousers over which strips of fur and leather were patched together for warmth.

'Another night is coming,' Daryas said nearly in a whisper, 'and another dream with it.'

Hassan Oastirne sat silent for a moment and then after some thought he spoke. 'It isn't like you to share your dreams, Daryas,' Hassan grinned. 'And it is not at all like a man of Noras to be troubled with nightmares. I would have expected more courage from a Cheftan's son.'

'It isn't the dream itself,' Daryas said, now beginning to regret saying anything, 'It is the return of the dream \- the constant return of this same dream night by night that is troubling me.'

'Perhaps the dream means nothing.' Hassan suggested. 'I will tell you plainly, my friend, that I refuse to take any comfort in the thought that dreams portend things to come. That is the sort of thinking that will drive a man mad. I know what the sages say, but I pay it no heed. I've had too many useless dreams to believe in omens. Perhaps, if nothing else, you can take some comfort in that.'

Hassan was of the other class of men who speak quickly, often without giving his words a thought. He was as well known for his quick tongue as for his skill in battle.

Hassan was a tall, slender man with bright golden hair that betrayed his Knarse ancestry, for men of pure Noras blood were mostly dark haired. He was dressed in a similar cloak and wool shirt, though a bit lighter in color, and torn in a few places. He was unkempt and unwashed, even when he was not scouting in the mountains, though this generally did not seem to bother him. He was the sort of man who expected to attract very few friends, and this expectation of his was seldom disappointed. In fact, neither of the two seemed to be very interested in impressing their fellows. But for whatever reason, these two misfits found each other's company to be tolerable, and sometimes perhaps that is all that a friendship needs in order to born.

Despite his lack of friends, Hassan had a good reputation among the Noras, for he was very skilled with the bow and the sword. Some said that in all his generation there was not his equal in Noras, with the exception of course, of Daryas' older brother.

Hassan was called Sion by his comrades, though nobody knew the origin of this peculiar name. The only thing they knew was that it had some secret meaning, which only he understood, and that he hated his right name with ardor. His father was a Knarse sailor who set sail never to return when Sion was a very small boy. His mother, who was from a very ancient and honorable family of Noras, returned to her native country with the boy and was married to a Cheftan named Ponteris Oastirne. Her marriage to a man of noble blood restored at least some of the honor that had been stripped from her family during her ill-fated sojourn among the 'golden-heads'.

Cheft Ponteris seemed to resent Sion, as he served as a constant reminder of his wife's former lover. It seemed to Cheft Ponteris that it would have been better for the man to have died than to have simply run off. As it was, he could never quite rest easy knowing that somewhere on the wide oceans of the world sailed the man who was the rightful father of his heir. His own dreams were frequently haunted by the return of a vengeful man of the sea, coming to claim his son and bride.

There was also a great deal of gossip and whispering about the marriage of a noble-born Cheftan to a woman who was by no means a virgin. But for reasons of his own Cheft Ponteris took the woman as his wife and adopted her son as his own and granted him all the privileges of a Cheftirne, that is, a Cheftan's son. But of this we will learn more when the time comes.

For his part Sion detested his stepfather, and resented the fact that his mother's affections were wasted on him.

Daryas was sharpening the edge of his knife against a stone, which gave his anxious hands something to busy themselves with while he spoke. Sion, in contrast, sat perfectly calm, not seeming to notice his comrade's nervous motions.

The two men were sitting before the entrance of a small cloth shelter on the side of a hill. The Coronan mountain range loomed high above them to the west, casting a dark shadow over their tiny camp and all the lands that lay behind them.

Daryas sighed. He was no more eager to find a meaning in his nightmare than his friend. He paused for a moment and then continued, 'Still, it is hard to ignore such a consistent and alarming vision. And the same dream, so many nights in a row hardly seems like an unhappy coincidence. Can this really be the work of chance alone?'

'But if not chance then what?' Sion laughed. 'Are you a seer now?'

'Don't mock me,' Daryas smiled, trying to pretend he was not insulted, 'or I will not tell you your fortune.'

Sion laughed heartily.

'You see, you do not take me seriously. Now I cannot tell you about the beautiful wife you were going to have.'

'WERE going to have?' Sion protested.

'You have angered the gods, and now you have to marry a farmer's daughter.'

'And I shall be all the happier for it, I am sure,' Sion said as he rose from his seat and stretched his arms above his head. 'It is getting late and I do not want to anger the gods any further tonight.'

'Then goodnight to you,' Daryas said, growing more irritated. Sion looked down at his comrade for a moment and then sat back down.

'Are you going to stay awake all night?' Sion asked.

'Perhaps.'

'But what about sleep? Even seers must sleep, right?'

'I try not to sleep these days,' Daryas said as he threw another log onto the fire. For a moment their faces were illuminated as the log ignited and the ashes and sparks were unsettled.

'Tell me Daryas, do you really feel that your dreams are some kind of omen?'

'If you mean to ask what I feel, I will have to say that I feel that they are omens. But if you want to know what I think, I cannot say. All I can say for certain is that if they are an omen then I am destined to be a very unhappy man, for the dreams terrify me.' Daryas shuddered slightly as he spoke. Sion tossed a few small sticks into the fire and stood up once more.

'I will not sleep tonight,' Daryas said gloomily.

'Fight it as you may,' Sion answered, 'but I do not expect you will last long. For in the end Sleep will prove to be the master. At any rate, I am going to rest. I will let you take the first watch, since you are afraid to shut your eyes. Do not fret your dreams my friend, for they are more likely inspired less by gods and devils than by the spiced meats and moldy bread we've been eating since we left Galva Hall.'

With those words he left Daryas and entered their small shelter. He flopped down on a blanket and was quickly overcome by sleep. Daryas remained outside staring at the fire as it danced and flickered. He sat there for a long time, until the embers died down and all the world became black. Yet he did not dare shut his eyes until the sun returned from its nightly exile to warm the eastern sky behind him.

Daryas was the son of a Noras Cheftan named Biron Galvahirne. They were descended from the ancient hero Galvahir of whose fascinating tale I shall have more to say at another time. Cheft Biron was the master of the largest estate in Noras, which had been in his family's possession for the past seven generations. Of the Nine Clans of Noras, those who were born of the sons of Galvahir were considered the fiercest and strongest. They were not much taller than their Noras brethren, but their features were more harsh and their shoulders more broad, giving them a more formidable appearance. For this reason they were customarily made use of in the defense of Noras. They were particularly intimidating when clad in armor and mounted on a sturdy Noras war-horse, though the thick woods in which they lived made the use of the Galvahirne Cavalry very rare indeed.

Their hair was almost always dark brown or black, which they traditionally wore at shoulder length, though some of the older men would allow their hair to grow almost to their waists.

To say that the Galvahirne were forbearing would not give their legendary strength and endurance nearly the notice it deserves. It was often said among the Noras that, 'As the minstrel loves song and the miser loves gain; so ardently and avidly do the Galva love pain.'

Such was their reputation among their fellow Noras. The stories that have circulated about the manner in which certain admittedly brutish members of their clan discipline their own children would have appalled any outsider. From their earliest history down to the present day it seemed that this group of men were fashioned with iron for bones and leather for skin. Those who rose to prominence among them wore the scars of their nightmarish childhoods like trophies or prizes.

In this peculiar setting, Daryas was born. He was the second and last son of Cheft Biron, born to him by his wife Marima, who was of the noble Cossirne family. In her youth she was considered one of the most beautiful ladies in Noras, and so her joining to Cheft Biron was no small incident in Noras. Her family sent her to Peiraso, for that was what Lord Biron's estate was called, adorned in a brilliant white dress made from the finest silk. On her head she wore an elaborate crown of silver and diamond. With her came a train of servants bearing gifts and presents for her new husband. Nearly two thousand Noras attended their wedding; nearly all of them from the more important families.

It was not long after this that she bore her first son, whom I will describe at another time. And about six years after that she gave birth to her second son, Daryas. Cheft Biron insisted upon this name in honor of the astral lord who was said to have saved the world at the end of the Arbori Wars. He was so named because on the night of his birth a star fell from the sky and streaked through the air like a flaming whip, before splitting in two and burning out.

Lady Marima was opposed to the 'pretentious' name, but Cheft Biron's will was immovable. He explained:

'I looked in the eyes of our child and I saw the reflection of a star. It was bright, as bright as the great constellations of which the poets sing. But something was lacking, for with every sparkle of this star came a twinkle of darkness. This light waxed and waned like the flickering of a candle tossed about by the breeze.

'Each life is like a falling star, gleaming across the span of the sky in brilliance and flame. Some light up the world in the light of their wisdom. Others flicker for a moment and pass on. Some burn up in the air long before their journey's end.

'In the dark of night it appeared; an erring orb of flame. Dashing to and fro, rising and then descending. Bright red in color, brilliant, swift, but treacherous in movement and reckless in flight. Finally, it came to the outermost edge of the sky and burst into flames. At once its outside parts were burned up, revealing the inner parts. As I watched I saw a stone of immense size and of an obscure form now split in two from its violent intrusion on the Mortal Realm. The finer part descended slowly and serenely over the wooded lands in the north while the baser part screamed into the west like a hawk searching for its prey. I know not where it fell. On that night, under a spectacle of astral beauty, a soul was born. I name him Daryas, after the Lord of the Stars, who leads the armies of heaven in battle against the darkness of night.'

As a name, it was a symbol of the strength and preeminence of the Galvahirne people. But Daryas never quite fit the description. He was constantly ridiculed and taken advantage of as a child. He was not weak, but for whatever reason, he refused to defend himself. His father taught him and his brother to fight, but Daryas would never put what he had learned into practice. Against all the conventions of his people he refused to defend his honor, which to all others seemed to be more important than life itself. To his mind, solitude and silence seemed more virtuous than a good name.

He was quiet and obedient, but nevertheless a poor student. It was not that he was lacking in wisdom or intelligence, but for whatever reason he seemed to be cursed with a sort of apathy that kept him from striving for the honors that his birth and education were expected to bring him.

It was always in his father's mind to train his sons for the defense and preservation of Noras, even as his own father had done. Every day they were trained in the arts of combat as well as the politics of Eastern Weldera. Daryas' brother learned all of these willingly and enthusiastically. Daryas, however, was driven through his education like a beast of the field. In his youngest years his mother quite literally had to restrain him and teach him his letters by force. As he grew older things remained much the same, and the only thing Cheft Biron could do to coerce him into studying was to threaten him with depravations.

Regarding Goblins

But whether Daryas was prepared or not, war had come to Noras. Scouts arrived in Galva on the fifteenth day of Primus with dreadful news. Goblins had been seen on the slopes of Mount Coronis and the villages of Wesla and Cronla were all but abandoned.

'Only the burnt husks remain where the homes once stood,' the scouts reported. 'Only those who were too old and sickly to fight now remain. All the others are either slain or taken. Many men lay dead upon the ground, but of the women and children we have seen no sign.'

Of course those who were taken had no hope of rescue, for the goblins are not human enough to demand ransom. That would require a sort of cunning with which nature has not equipped them. 'Of the women, they will too soon learn the ways of the goblins, and the children will too soon forget the ways of mankind. My only hope,' lamented Cheft Biron as he spoke to the Galva Council, 'is that they will learn and forget swiftly, and suffer little. But we must be mindful, my brethren, that whatever course we take, whether we march or stay, we can do nothing for these poor stolen lives. If we stay, we leave them to their misery. But if we march, we bring Death upon their heads by our own hand.'

'Nevertheless,' Cheftan Ponteris added, 'we cannot leave such crimes unavenged. These goblins must be stopped, lest we find ourselves gathering again to discuss the ravaging of Oastir-la and Lavri-la in a year's time. These children and these wives and mothers - we must think of them as we do our own beloved families. Would we leave our blades sheathed if it was our own towns and cities that were being razed and robbed by these wild men?'

With these words and many others Cheft Ponteris and Cheft Biron moved the Council to action. 'We must act with urgency,' Ponteris said impassionedly. 'For the other Clans of Noras will not be so eager to come to our defense should these goblins encroach upon our lands. As it has been from the beginning, it is to Galvahir and his sons that we must look for our protection.'

He spoke these words to the Galvahirne, and he knew that they were well received. For the sons of Galvahir, more than all of the other Clans of Noras, understood the dangers these devilish creatures represented.

But there are many these days, particularly in areas far removed from the haunts of these wild men, who have only a very inadequate notion of what a goblin is. To listen to some talk, you would think there was very little difference between a goblin and a man. On the other hand there are those who see them as stupid animals and no more. But as is very often the case, the truth lies somewhere between the extremes.

Those who belittle the goblins as simple brutes are both unwise and unskilled. The creatures are lacking in reason, but they are clever nonetheless, and only a fool would belittle the danger of an enemy who combines strength and cunning with passion and instinct.

Many otherwise great warriors have met their end for being of this unfortunate opinion. Old Cheft Ghinges, who led an army of two-thousand men into the Megd-la pass to drive out the goblins in that region some two-hundred years ago, was of this mistaken belief. With two thousand he entered the passes, but scarcely four hundred men returned, all because he took their nature for granted. Thinking them to be less than human he marched against them expecting his brilliant stratagems to grant him the victory. But goblins do not respond very graciously toward strategies! The natural passions of the wild men combined with their unpredictability are more than enough to frustrate even the most carefully crafted plans. Many proud incursions on their territory have been quickly transformed into humiliating retreats for lack of this consideration. It is true what they say in the Dadron schools, 'In all the arts a little knowledge can be more perilous than a great deal of ignorance.'

This is, as most of the lore of Dadron is, very sound counsel. But equally true, though said in less refined terms, are the last recorded words of the misguided Cheft Ghinges: 'These devils have no regard for strategy! They are an army of madmen.' A lesson learned, but at too late an hour!

And of course goblins don't care about things like strategy. Aside from the basic animal concerns like food and water, goblins are primarily motivated by two principles: Envy and Emulation.

It is basically understood that goblins will do nearly anything for something shiny. They will pay any price, risk any danger, and suffer any torture for the sake of something that happens to captivate their desire. This concern forms the foundation of their societies.

The goblin who possesses the most wealth becomes what we refer to as a 'hob-goblin'. And his rule is established by cleverly sharing his excess with the groveling hordes of goblins that want what he wants but don't have the strength or courage to take it from him. He accordingly gives the most presents to the strongest goblins to 'court' their loyalty. These 'Orcs', as they are commonly called, become his bodyguards and protect him from the weaker goblins.

This is a delicate system, however, since the moment it seems apparent that the hob-goblin is vulnerable and that another can take his place, he is swiftly and mercilessly overthrown. Hob-goblins do not die of old age.

Such is the motivation for the 'higher' goblins. The lesser, for whom power and privilege is unattainable, are guided by a pathetic sort of imitation. They 'emulate' each other, copying to the most minute detail the behavior, attire and even the noises of the other goblins; especially the 'higher' goblins.

Aside from those, like poor old Ghinges, who are confounded by their underestimate of the brutes, there are others who find themselves just as perturbed by overestimating the wisdom of their foes. Those who see goblins as more human than animal are wholly unprepared for the horrors that follow in the wake of a goblin conquest. For all intents and purposes, goblins have no conscience. With a little thought, anyone can come to this conclusion by his own reflection; but I think that we often take it for granted exactly how horrid a creature as clever as a goblin can become. Human soldiers, as hardened as they may become will by necessity retain some fleeting sense of humanity. But it is precisely that humanity which the goblins lack. They do not think of the future; they do not consider the consequences of their actions; in fact they do not consider much of anything that is not an immediate concern of their senses.

That is not to say that goblins have nothing that resembles a conscience. It is well known that they empathize with their own kind. Some goblins have been known to even risk their own lives to rescue their companions, especially their own kin. It is said that a goblin mother is the fiercest of all protectors; and in far away lands, where goblins are seldom seen, children's rhymes have even been written about these ferocious mothers.

But aside from these guttural sensitivities the goblins have no real sense of justice, no sense of honor, and no sense of decency; at least none that resembles the more developed moral faculties of human beings!

On the battlefield this characteristic has a terrifying effect on even some of the most hardened warriors. Brave though they may be, there is no way to prepare for the terror that comes from an enemy that does not hesitate in its strikes, and does not wince at the sight of blood.

But in terms of mere appearances humans and goblins are actually quite similar. They are both somewhat ape-like in form and both rely more on cunning than on strength.

The chief difference then would seem to be the strength of reasoning that our spoken languages provide. It would be very alien to my purposes here to give a full explanation of the dependence our superiority over the brutes has on our ability to utilize language, but suffice it to say the mental capabilities of humans and goblins are almost in every way the same, save for this one difference. But as history has shown, it is mankind who raises himself above the other beasts and lives in stone-hewn walls with roaring fires to warm his feet while the goblin lives in frigid mountain caves with the rotting bones of his ancestors tucked in every reeking corner.

There was a well-known case that occurred sometime in the previous century in which a young goblin child was captured by hunters in the southern part of the Noras Forest and came to live among the humans for a time. As might be expected, he was at first carted around in a cage from town to town to be shown to gawking women and children. 'A True Wild-man from the Mountains!' was the way they announced their spectacle. And for at least two years this scheme was quite successful. But inevitably the people lost interest and the child was abandoned. He survived, it was believed, by stealing fruit and meat from some of the merchants in Daeva City and by catching fish in the Libron River.

Some wealthy widows who lived at the time in the country just outside of Daeva took a liking to this boy. They paid a great sum to have him apprehended and carried off to their estate about a half a day's journey north of the city. The ladies pampered the boy 'mercilessly'. At least that is what they were accused of, however peculiar an accusation that may be. They gave him every comfort that their great wealth could afford. He was bathed and groomed, and his hair was neatly cut and combed. In every way they attempted to change him into a human child. They even had a switch made of soft wood that they would use to 'discipline the brute'.

And as goblins excel in emulation, their design almost seemed to work and the boy once again became a spectacle. In his early adulthood, he became quite handsome to look at, a quality that attracted no small amount of attention from those idle rich women whom have little more to do than whisper and giggle about secrets and scandals.

He never quite learned to speak, though he came to understand what was said to him with almost perfect clarity, or so it was believed. He even seemed to be able to imitate some of the more gentlemanly behaviors like bowing and kissing the hands of noble women. He became so proficient at this that there was even talk of having him take a wife and live on his own. Some stories, all of them from many years later, even describe him memorizing and reciting speeches and poetry to seduce various maidens and princesses. While that is almost certainly untrue, it does allow us a glimpse at the degree at which his reputation for imitating all things human had arrived.

But all of this dreaming came to an abrupt closure. One particularly harsh winter was all that it took to reveal that the brute was in fact, still a brute.

The roads to the ladies' estate were impassible due to an enormous snowfall. And for nearly an entire month the estate was completely cut off from its source of provision. This depravation proved to be too much for the brute and he 'just went mad' as the servants later described.

I'm afraid that I must close my description of this creature here; for the crimes, if it be right to call them crimes, were so gruesome and so disturbing to the rational mind that it would not be fit to even hint at them.

There was a trial and a sentence and for the last time the poor goblin was made a public spectacle. Naturally he showed no sign of remorse, except that throughout the whole trial he hid his hands behind his back. Some of the servants of his ill-fated benefactresses later explained that he was always struck on the hands with a switch when he was 'a bad child'. Apparently this youth was cunning enough to understand that what he had done would bring him some sort of punishment. But he was certainly not rational enough to comprehend the shame and wickedness of his betrayal. He was hanged the morning after his trial.

Hopefully this anecdote will suffice to illustrate the nature of these creatures to those who may have had little experience with them. Experience is the master teacher, however, and I'm afraid that no matter how well I describe them I will leave only an inadequate idea of what they are truly like.

The Land of Noras

It was not uncommon for goblins to be seen in the Coronan Mountains. They had lived in the secret paths and caves of the western mountains for several thousand years, even before the coming of the Noras. But before I say anything more about these, I had better make my reader a little more acquainted with their land and its surroundings.

In the Northeastern corner of the continent the Ancients named Weldera there is a land called Falsis.

Now Falsis is one of the colder regions in Tel Arie. For at least three months out of the year the land lies buried beneath deep mounds of snow. The third winter month of Frohest is notoriously brutal. Were it not for the exceptionally fertile soil to be found in the eastern plains and the abundance of deer and other game in the northwest woodlands it would be difficult to imagine any group of people deciding to settle there.

For many ages this land was a neglected wilderness inhabited by barbarians, delvers, goblins and many other evil things. But a strange and bold race of men who were to become known as the Noras appeared on the eastern shores about two-thousand years ago. They grew in numbers and strength until they had either eliminated the barbaric men who preceded them or absorbed them into their own ranks. It is not known from whence they came originally, though it is most likely from some place in Olgrost or Vestron, which lie far to the east over the Kollun Sea.

But they were so fierce and strong that they swiftly overcame their enemies and subdued all the land from the eastern sea to the western mountains; altogether their country was more than seven-hundred leagues from east to west and just under five-hundred leagues from north to south.

In the northwest the Coronan Mountains marked the edge of their dominion. These mountains stretched from the Frozen Sea in the north to the Gap of Amla some three-hundred leagues to the south. But the mountains also stretched out toward the east along the northern shore for about one-hundred and seventy-five leagues. It was in the shadow of these mountains that the Noras met their doom and their destiny.

Coronis, or 'the Crown', is the tallest mountain in Weldera, rising high above all the other mountains around it. It was called Coronis because of the effect created when the sun passed over its peak on its daily journey. Each evening as twilight came, the 'Sun itself crowns Coronis, lord of Tel Arie, with its golden rays.'

Tucked between Mount Libros, the eastern-most peak of the Coronan Mountains, and Falguar the southernmost peak, was a great forest of pine trees called the Gavl Wood, from whence the name Galvahir is derived. In this enormous forest the Noras encountered the fierce devil Agon.

Being ignorant of the danger, and having been promised blessings and prosperity, many of the chief families of the Noras moved their people into the Gavl Woods. But they were deceived, and soon found themselves the slaves of an evil god, who demanded their very flesh as a sacrifice. For nearly five-hundred years they suffered under the bondage of Agon, until the Nine Heroes of the Noras appeared.

As terrible as things were within the forest, things had not gone much better for those on the outside. Time and war conspired against the Noras and they were soon beaten back by the swords and spears of Knarse invaders from Titalo. The Noras either fell on the battlefields, fled into the darkness of Gavl, or surrendered their cities and their daughters to the golden-haired conquerors.

But even these bold men would not dare approach the shadow that lay over the forest. They fixed their border at the Libron River, which flows south from Mount Libros. They left seventy leagues at least between them and the edge of haunted Gavl, where the last remnant of true-blooded Noras dwelt.

The eastern portion of Falsis became known as Daevaron and its people were from that day on a mix between the golden-haired Knarse and the stout Noras as well as many other races that later came to settle along the eastern shore.

Some fifteen-hundred years ago, with help from the Fortress of Dadron, the Nine Heroes of Noras appeared in the Gavl woods and fought against the devil-king Agon. They drove him out of his dark lair and over the mountains of Coronan, forever to dwell in the wastelands beyond.

The Nine Heroes divided the forest of Gavl, which they renamed Noras.

Each portion of the forest was named after one of the Nine Ancient Heroes. Nestled in the northwest corner of Noras was the land of Cossa-la, where lived the descendants of Cossa who were called Cossirne. To the east, from the crossing of the Gavl River to the edge of the woods was the land of Dae-la, where the sons of Dael dwelt. Their land stretched fifty leagues from the Northern Coronan Mountains south until the land fell away into the lowlands of Lavri-la, home of the Lavrilirne. The sons and daughters of Lavri held the largest piece of land in Noras, stretching from the border of Dae-la for over one hundred leagues to the south where the forest ended.

South of Cossa-la, running south along the western foothills were the lands of the Shaflirne and the Megdlirne. Beyond these lands the land of Coran-la, where the Coranirne lived stretched out under the shadow of the Great Mountains of Coranan, of whom Mount Coronan was chief.

If you were to follow the southward course of the Gavl River, which comes from the streams of Mount Gavl, you would come, after twenty-five leagues, to the region of Galva-la and the city of Galva which rules over the descendents of Galvahir. After passing through the city, the Gavl opens up and becomes a lake, which after twenty leagues or so flows into the land of Oastir-la. After fifty leagues, Gavl narrows once again and rushes out of the land of the Oastirne into the valley of the Vivlirne, which is called Vivlir-la. Due to their advantageous position, the Vivlirne profit the most from the trade that flows down the Gavl on the way to the Falsi River. Dae-la and Lavri-la also did a considerable amount of commerce with the neighboring peoples, but the bulk of Noras' resources came from Galva-la, Oastir-la, and Vivlir-la. For this reason, and because of the renowned strength of their warriors, these clans were at times called the Pillars of Noras; it was said that it was, 'upon their shoulders that the structure had been built and preserved.'

It was common in the Noras Forest to find maps drawn of their realm depicting their borders as different parts of one great tree. The eastern and western lands were green boughs hanging low, while the 'Pillars' ran up the middle along the Gavl River to form the all-supporting trunk. This was called the 'Tree of Noras' and it was embroidered on all of their banners and painted on the fronts of all their shields.

The Libron River originates on Mount Libros and flows gently down through the hills and cut its way south for a hundred leagues before it split into its two branches, the Southern Libron and the Daeva Libron. The Daeva Libron ran almost due east and gathered in the great lake of Daeva, where the city of the same name was built. The Southern Libron continued south until it joined with the Falsi River, which flowed from Mount Coronis. At the very point where these two rivers met, Dadron the Great was built.

Were I to write all that could be written about that city I suspect there would be no end to the books that I could pen. But by the time of my story, Dadron's glory was past and its original inhabitants had either been slain or driven deep into exile.

The Falsi River flowed down from Mount Coronis in a powerful torrent and cut its way through rock and hill making its way east toward the sea. After about one hundred and fifty leagues it joins with the Gavl River, which originates in the north, and these two wind their way southeast until they join with the Southern Libron in Dadron.

Falsis was once a prominent country with traders and merchants coming from all over Tel Arie. But the terrible wars of the last age had essentially cut them off from the rest of the world. In the conflagration that engulfed the region much of the history and sciences of Dadron were lost, and so most of the inhabitants of Falsis now had only a very imperfect notion of what lay outside their mountainous borders. The general belief was that to the north, beyond the Rocky Coast, was the end of the world or the land of the gods. To the south beyond the Solsis mountains they were convinced lay the ruined cities of the Ancients, filled with monsters and treasures and every other inhabitant of dreams and fairy-tales. To the east they were pretty sure there was an island called Kollun where they had something they called 'Democracy', but none of them properly understood the meaning of this. And beyond Kollun lay the ancient homeland of all mankind in Olgrost.

To the west was the Amla wilderness and the immense Amlaman Kingdom. Merchants and traders still traveled to and from Amlaman each springtime and harvest bringing furs from Noras and returning with spices and fruits from Amlaman. Beyond Amlaman, somewhere on the northwestern coast of Weldera, was the pirate city of Titalo. Most of what was commonly believed about this place was the result of imagination rather than truth, but the occasional sighting of 'golden-headed barbarians' sailing past the northern coasts was enough to keep this idea alive in the hearts and fears of the Noras. But the only real enemy the Noras had, at least at this particular time in history, were the goblins.

For some reason goblins love mountains. Since the ancient times they have survived in considerable numbers in the high-places of the Coronan Mountains. Despite several major campaigns aimed at their elimination they continued to thrive in the northwestern portion of the range where it is difficult for human armies to march. Occasionally one of these large groups would begin raiding Noras villages, usually during winter months when they lacked food or clothing. These were dealt with harshly; the only adequate solution seemed to be annihilation. So those tribes of goblins that remained would learn by experience, that is, by the experience of those goblins that were destroyed, to keep away from the humans.

So when the scouts returned to Galva Hall, just two days before Daryas' seventeenth birthday, the Galva Council was called to an emergency meeting. It had been a particularly harsh winter and they could not leave the crimes committed by these desperate creatures unrequited. In only a matter of two days, the Council decided on war.

The Spirit Mityai

Though he could not see her, Daryas was being watched the whole while by a slender sprite named Mityai, who lay hidden behind a tree. It was habit alone that made her hide, for no mortal eyes would be able to see her either by the light of moon or of the sun. Through the whole night she remained motionless; silently watching him as he fought a fierce battle against his own weariness. But the moment she saw the sun rise over the eastern hills she darted away, leaving Daryas and Sion behind. Her swift feet carried her down the hillside and across the Falsi River toward the Noras forest. As she passed through the woods she left in her wake a swift but gentle breeze, barely enough to knock the dried leaves from the branches as she sped through.

She came upon a clearing and stopped suddenly when she saw a farmer with his sons cutting down a tall fir tree. Without a sound she leaped out of sight and hid her invisible body behind the trunk of a tree. There she stayed for some time until she could convince herself that the man and his boys had not noticed her. When all their heads were turned she sprung from her hiding place and darted past them. Her passing made no sound at all and left nothing in its wake save the gentle shuddering of a few fallen leaves.

When her swift feet had come to the western shores of the Gavl River she turned abruptly and darted to the north. She did not stop running even when she came to the great wall of South Lake, the famous dam that held back the Gavl and formed the Gavl Lake.

The lake itself had been formed by the Noras over three hundred years ago. They built a log dam at the southern edge of the high-forest allowing the water to be collected in one place for the use of the Oastirne and Galvahirne. This also gave the northern lands of the Vivlirne a respite from the relentless flow of the Gavl, drying the land enough for several settlements to be built. It was made of logs and stones placed together strategically to stop the flow of the river. It was like most of the things the Noras built: more durable than it was beautiful.

The dam itself was something of a marvel. To the untrained eye it looked as though it would burst any moment and flood the lowlands in a torrent of raging waters. But the Noras were careful builders and took as much care in the soundness of their constructions as they did pride in their sensibility. Disdain for niceties and adornments was quite common in Noras, especially among those who were not among the nobility. Wealth has a way of softening even those with the thickest skins, and poverty, accordingly has its own ways of toughening up those who might otherwise prefer the pillow to the plow. Nobility will always involve a certain degree of comfort, but in Noras a reputation for practicality and strength was of greater worth than many fine and delicate possessions.

At the southern edge, where the dam was built, the land sloped down rapidly forming a natural border between the Noras Highlands and the Coronan Region in the south and west.

Mityai now climbed that mighty dam with ease and darted across the surface of the water toward the north, no more disturbing its surface than the gentle trickle of a spring rain. Even here in the full light of the sun she passed unseen by mortal eyes. Her long starlight dress flickered and danced on the surface of the water like fireflies blown about in the wind, but no more than this 'trick of light' could be seen of her.

She ran on until she came to Galva, on the northern shore of the Gavl lake on the eastern shore of the Gavl River. Galva was the largest city in the Noras Forest and one of the most prosperous, though even here the houses were not much adorned. The Noras loved log houses and roaring fires; they never quite adapted to the methods of their Daevaron neighbors, who built houses of brick and mortar.

She made her way to the center of the city and found Galva Hall, the long council house of the Galvahirne. Warily she peeked her head above the windows and looked inside. There was a large fire burning in the great stone chimney, but the house seemed to be empty save for a few servants who were busying themselves elsewhere. Mityai gently lifted the glass from its place and slipped through the window into the council hall without a sound. She walked beneath the bright beams of morning light that were pouring into the hall from the east. Her silvery hair danced about like specks of dust as she disturbed the stale air of the wooden hall.

The walls of the hall were built of enormous logs, each carefully interposed upon one another and cemented with tar. There was a large fireplace on the southern end of the hall with giant stones piled upon one another all the way up to the dark wooden ceiling. On the east and western walls there were small windows set about four feet apart from one another along the length of the hall. The hall was large, but surprisingly narrow for its purpose. It could seat over one hundred men, but there was no more than a shoulder's breadth of space between the backs of their tall wooden chairs and the wall on either side. But this narrowness made the hall as warm as it was austere, which was an especially important quality in the middle of the fierce Noras winter.

On the northern end of the hall there was a broad opening, covered by a thick deerskin curtain. Beyond this was the kitchen, the pantry and the servants' quarters. The fire in the main hall was now quite low, though every now and again the servants would come and revive it with a few logs and a lot of fanning. But for now they had little need of heat in that quarter and focused their efforts on the great oven in the kitchen, where most of their work was to be done. There had been a small meeting early that morning regarding some trivial matter, and the dishes and bowls still remained on the table with scraps of food and half filled mugs. To the Noras it would have been unthinkable to do any sort of political business, however small and inconsequential it might seem, without having a good hearty meal to go along with it.

'You were expected three days ago, Mityai,' a booming voice startled her as she walked into the center of the room.

'I could not leave him, my lord,' she said shyly with here eyes fixed on the floor. 'He suffers so greatly, my lord. You must let him rest; you must free him from these awful dreams. I have watched him at night, when the spirits vex him. It makes my heart sick to see him so weary and so afraid. He fights sleep, master, and even Old Man Sleep cannot overpower his will.'

'That is not your concern, Mityai, you are a messenger, not a warrior or a counselor. If I send you for news, you will bring me news. It is not your strong mind that made me choose you for my servant. It is your swift feet and your keen eyes that made you desirable.'

'Yes my lord Pelas,' Mityai said sadly. Her heart sunk, and if she were able she would have wept.

'Do not fear, child,' Pelas said. 'I will not punish you. But many days have now passed since we've heard any tidings from the army of Galva. Tell me all that you have seen.'

[Chapter II:  
Mityai's Testimony](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Morning Departure

Lord Pelas, like Mityai, was clearer than the smoothest glass and lighter than a wisp of wind. He was much older and wiser, however, and his presence inspired awe even among mortals, though he walked among them unseen and unheard. He ruled over the spirits of Falsis from his throne in Dadron, but he often traveled to Galva to aid the Cheftans in council. He was particularly fond of the Galvahirne, for reasons that will be explained in due course. He beckoned her to begin her tale.

She began her account in her usual tone, which was soft and unsure. Pelas complained and commanded her to speak louder. He told her not to avert her eyes, not to fidget or wave her hands as she spoke, and many other things. Partly due to her own timidity and partly due to Lord Pelas' constant interruptions and interrogations her testimony came out only very slowly and in fragments. She would start the tale here and jump to another portion as Lord Pelas bid her. Then she would be told to return to the beginning and 'leave nothing out'. Then she was ordered to say 'only that which is of the utmost importance'.

The content of her account, when pieced together without her trembling, without jumping from one portion to another, and mostly without Lord Pelas' constant interruptions, is as follows:

It was before dawn on the twentieth day of the month the mortals call Primus when Daryas left his parents' home. He made no sound as he crept through the halls toward the front door. He did not wish to wake his mother, as the Lady Marima was as yet recovering from a long illness. Daryas had bid his father and mother farewell the previous night.

But as he stopped near the front door to gather his belongings, his mother addressed him with a soft and kind voice, 'You are not going to leave without saying farewell, are you my son?' Daryas was startled and turned toward his mother.

There behind him stood Lady Marima with a small cloth bag in her palm, which she was nervously rotating and passing from one trembling hand to the other. Her raven black hair was beginning to show the first signs of gray, and her face was pale and thin.

'Mother,' Daryas whispered, 'You need your rest.'

'This is for you,' his mother said as she handed him the bag. 'It is a loaf of bread, the sort that your brother and you love so much. And some dried venison as well.'

'Goodbye mother,' Daryas said as he took the bread and kissed his mother's hands. 'I will return to you.'

'May Pelas grant you good fortunes, my son.'

With those words and with one final embrace, Marima and her youngest son parted.

Daryas made his way swiftly through the streets, only stopping once to gaze back at his father's home. Though most of his youth was spent far from the city on his father's estate at Peiraso he was still loth to leave the comforts of the city of Galva, such as they were. 'Anything is better than the cold,' he murmured.

About an hour after he started out he met the son of Ponteris in front of his father's apartment. 'What's in the sack, Daryas?' was the first thing to pass through Hassan's lips.

'Bread,' he answered, 'and some meat, I think.'

'Hmm. How like her,' Hassan said as he lifted his own pack over his shoulders. 'I had to steal all of my provisions.'

Hassan looked back at his home once more before they left, and then he spat with a look of anger in his eyes. Daryas said nothing, he had become quite accustomed to his comrade's bitterness.

'It's unbecoming of a nobleman's son,' Hassan laughed as they walked away toward the western edge of Galva, 'to treat his parents with such disdain.'

Daryas only looked at him with a sorrowful look.

Hassan continued, 'But then again, I'm no nobleman's son. The devil told me so himself. He said to me last week, "I brought you in out of the streets out of the goodness of my own heart. Your mother was not the only desperate beggar in Noras, I could have left her to rot."'

'Did he really say all of that?' Daryas asked, not as incredulous as one ought to be when a friend says such a thing about his step-father.

'Something very close to it at least. Or at least he said something that implied all of that. Nobody ever tells the truth directly, my friend. No, they find much better ways to show you their hatred. Sometimes they'll even say something wicked about you with nothing but kind words. But that's the truth about how Cheft Ponteris feels about his wench's bastard.'

'Now you speak evil of your mother?' Daryas shook his head.

'And why not? Your mother gave you a loaf of bread to fill your plump little belly. My own dear mother is more likely to steal my last crumb and offer it as a sacrifice to Cheft Ponteris, her mighty benefactor.'

By the time these two reached the Gavl River the sun had already risen, revealing to their eyes a great multitude. Many warriors from the surrounding villages had joined the men of Galva on the banks of the river, awaiting the long march to the mountains.

Standing in the midst of them, tall and strong, was Cheftan Faros. His graying brown hair was very light for a Noras, and he kept it trimmed short and clean, but otherwise he looked every bit a Galvahirne. His eyes gleamed with intelligence as the sunlight illuminated his face. He wore a bright green cape, chain armor and a shining steel helmet. At his side he wore an ornate wooden scabbard and over his shoulder hung a strong wooden shield.

There were many other great warriors beside him. Swagar Prostirne the bard and his seven sons came from the northern woods with bows of ivory and arrows of oak, poison dipped. Pater Borirne with twenty young warriors from the western shores of Galva, each armed with new swords and sharpened spears. There was Tiltos the son of the High Priest of Galva, who came with a hundred warriors, ready for battle with wooden shields and battle axes. Also among the warriors were Gergius Gergirne and his son Jebda, also many of the sons of Clinlor and Mallor, who were reknown for their skill in battle. There were also many men of the Cossirne and Vivlirne gathered amongst their brethren, prepared for war.

Hassan and Daryas were put among the archers, of whom there were nearly seven hundred.

'I hate all of this waiting,' Hassan protested. 'If we don't get moving within a few hours we will likely have to spend the night here. That would be a fine thing! We may as well walk home this moment and come again in the morning.'

'At that rate, we may as well wait for the goblins here,' Daryas added.

'I'm sure it won't come to that,' Hassan said. 'Our dear fathers are so eager to see their favorite in battle that they will see to it that we leave on schedule. I wouldn't be surprised to see them come here personally to smack Cheft Faros' horse on its rear-end. How much gold have the Noras spent upon this one commander's education?'

'Probably more than most Noras will see in their lifetimes,' Daryas replied.

'And would it not be a shame if the man's whole life was passed without ever coming to the rescue of our blessed woods?' Hassan laughed. 'I wouldn't put it past our dear parents to conjure up the goblins themselves just so as to comfort themselves for their empty purses.'

'You can say what you will of your own father,' Daryas said angrily, 'But Cheft Biron, whether he did well in sponsoring Cheft Faros' training or not, has only the peace and security of Noras in his mind.'

'I'm sure he does,' Hassan said, seeming almost sad, 'I believe he does. But my own dear father has said in no uncertain terms that if a war does not come to Noras within the decade he might be forced to march down to Dadron and demand a return from the schoolmen.'

'I can never tell whether you are telling the truth, my friend,' Daryas laughed. 'To hear you talk, one would think the noble Cheft Ponteris were naught but a goblin himself.'

'One would think that, wouldn't they,' Hassan said, trying to sound more sarcastic than he truly felt.

With great pomp and circumstance, Tilthan, the High Priest, commanded an altar to be built on the western shore of the Gavl. He spoke over the solders, sprinkling oil and perfume upon them as he walked from one end of the line to the next. 'In Pelas name,' he said, 'be brave, be strong, be true, whether in life or in death. The Noras send with you their prayers and their blessings. Return to us,' he seemed to plead, 'and we will reward you as well as we may. But if you fall for our blessed woods, then will Lord Pelas furnish for you a place of honor in the world beyond the Frozen Sea where nothing sorrowful dwells.'

The people seemed encouraged by the cleric's words. After he finished, a little fawn was led to the altar and sacrificed according to their customs. The body was burned and the priestesses fanned the smoke toward the hill of Dadron; toward the throne of Pelas. The blood of the victim was sprinkled on the armor of Cheft Faros and he ate, with Tilthan, the meat of the sacrifice.

When he had finished, the captains shouted and the horns blared. The Galvahirne were marching to war.

For six days the Galva army marched south along the western shore of the Galva Lake. Their going was slower than Cheft Faros had anticipated, mainly due to the amount of attention such a force drew from the towns and villages that were clustered along the banks of the lake. Nearly every child in the region it seemed was gathered along the edges of the road to watch the marvel pass through their lands.

Cheft Faros led the army beyond the populous lands where the sons of Galvahir are beloved to the wilder places where the road narrows and the people are distrustful. The folk here shut their doors and hid away in their log houses as the army passed, fearing they came for tribute to the Noras Council. They had to travel more carefully and therefore more slowly to navigate the more difficult road along the southwest lakeshore.

Along the northern shore of the lake the people came out to sing and praise the warriors, for they have much to lose from the goblins and much to gain from the preservation of the Noras Council. But around the southwestern shores of the lake the people are poor and hungry. As far as they are concerned, the only reason the Galva Army ever marches is for the collecting of taxes. These sorry folk have little to lose from the goblins, and nothing to gain from the aloof Council of Noras. They were wise enough, however, to show respect and to offer a word or two of gratitude to the passing soldiers.

In the north, where the people are wealthy and filled it is easier to love those who guard the storehouse. But when that storehouse is filled to excess with bread pulled from the your own dirt-stained hands, it becomes more difficult for you to love those who guard it under lock and key for lazier mouths to consume. In the eyes of the peasants, the Galva Army serves the Galva Council, who in its turn renders its allegiance to the Noras Council, not the Noras people. They certainly did not serve the poor.

As they passed through this land Hassan seemed to take pity on the people, though his words were dark and Daryas could not fully understand his meaning. He said, 'What a sorry lot! Though they can hardly be blamed for it. One doesn't have control over their birth do they?'

'Certainly not,' Daryas agreed. 'That is one thing at least for which no man ought to be blamed.'

'True enough. That is assuming, of course, that they are not all soul fools,' Hassan said with a tiny grin. Daryas paused and said nothing. Perceiving his friend's confusion, Hassan laughed and said, 'Then you have not yet learned about 'soul fools'?'

Daryas looked at his companion in amazement. 'Soul fools?' he repeated in disbelief. Hassan only laughed all the more.

'You are going to explain yourself, aren't you?' Daryas demanded, looking slightly insulted.

'In time, my friend, in time,' Hassan said.

Just then the orders were given that the army was to stop for the night. They had come to a level area and Cheft Faros ordered a camp to be made. He said that it would be 'better to camp now where it is flat, than to press on like fools and be forced to have these three-thousand men sleep on roots and stones.'

Fifteen days after their departure, Cheft Faros combined his army with the warriors of the towns and villages of South Lake so that they now numbered more than five thousand. The men of South Lake were more hospitable to the Galvahirne than the men of the western lakeshore.

The bonds between Galva city and the villages of South Lake are strong. For they are the keepers of the Gavl dam and they are the last major settlement in the Noras Highlands before the slope grows too steep for human dwellings. Not forgetting that they also profit nicely from the furs and lumber that are sent down the lake from the northern forest.

The army settled in their tents in a clearing just southwest of the dam. From where they camped they could hear the roar of the Gavl waterfall, where the excess water from the lake drains into the lowlands and pushes its way through the land on its way to meet the Falsi River in the south.

The following morning Daryas finished the last of his mother's dried meat and then sat down next to a small fire.

'You are never grateful, I've noticed,' Hassan said after some time had passed. Daryas just looked at him with a puzzled expression on his face. 'You slept late, as usual. And now you are sitting in front of a warm fire that you did not build, eating the last morsels of meat and bread from your mother.'

'Would you like me to put the fire out and make another one?' Daryas said somewhat agitated.

'Nothing of the sort, a "thank you Sion" will suffice.'

'But I thought that you made the fire to be kind.'

'Of course I did! Daryas! That is precisely what I am saying.'

'That you made the fire out of kindness?'

'Indeed.'

'Kindness, and nothing else?'

'Right.'

'And you are certain that there is nothing else?'

'Why are you so irritating today? Do you miss your mother?'

'It's only been two weeks, Sion. But I would not be surprised if even you feel starved for your mother's company ere we make our return from the mountain.'

'I'm sure you're right, Daryas, but for now, and for the foreseeable future I am not planning to shed any tears.'

The two companions sat in silence for a few minutes. The sun was at its highest and all around them tiny drops of water fell from the thawing branches.

'Perhaps the Winter is giving way to Spring early this year,' Hassan said after a while. 'It has to happen sometime, right? So why oughtn't it happen the year that we have to march into the mountains to fight ape-men?'

'There will be no early Spring, Sion. You know that as well as I. There never has been and there never will be. Not until we are long gone and our bad fortune with us.'

'You really are far more gloomy than you should be.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Well, for one thing, you come from the most respectable family in all of Noras. There is not a soul that would not trade everything they own to have your blood. I've heard, and these are only rumors of course, that Cheft Grendas once offered your father his entire estate as a dowry, if your dear older brother would marry his daughter. He was willing to give his great wealth in gold and silver, as well as his best hunting lands and houses just to be able to say that he was kin to Cheft Biron!'

Daryas looked doubtful.

'But then again,' Hassan continued, 'that may have just been his way of trying to rid himself of his spoiled little girl.' Daryas laughed. 'Have you ever met her, Daryas?' Hassan's tone changed suddenly. Daryas shook his head. 'Now that is cause for gloom, comrade, for there is nothing fairer to look upon in this cursed forest than that lovely gem. And certainly, to be deprived of her sight is a terrible burden for any man to bear. I know that myself. The truth is, my lot is even worse than yours. You see, you've never seen her, so all you have is that emptiness that accompanies the ignorance of bliss. But me, I've climbed the mountain and greeted the sun. Everything else feels cold and dark now.'

'You seem positively smitten, my callous friend, how did that happen?' Daryas said with renewed interest. It was not like Hassan to speak seriously about anything.

'I must confess, though it brings me pain in the admission, that I am in fact a mortal man and despite all those nasty things you and your friends whisper about me in the dark, I am capable of love and affection.'

'This changes everything, Sion,' Daryas laughed.

'Ah, that is what I want to see from you. But you will not be laughing when I tell you the rest of my story.'

'Story? What story?'

'My love story... Oh, I hadn't yet begun telling it!' Hassan put his hand to his forehead and laughed. He looked at Daryas and began to speak. But nothing came from his lips. His face sunk and he looked away. The fire that had, for a moment, burned in his eyes died away and he looked around the camp now with a cold, blank expression. The two men sat like this for a few minutes, just watching the other warriors bustle about the camp; a man struggling with a tent here, a man cooking a fish in a pan there, and everywhere, young men were keeping themselves busy with errands, important and petty alike.

'Thank you for the fire, Sion,' Daryas said after some time.

'Take no thought of it,' Hassan responded. 'I just did it to be kind, that's all. You don't have to thank me.'

Cheft Faros spent much of the day organizing the troops and planning for the next stage of the campaign. He set three captains over his army: Cheft Rahm Cossirne, a famous warrior from the northernmost region of Noras, and Cheft Lonos and Cheft Vilav, both of Galva-la.

There was considerable excitement in the camp that evening when the news was spread abroad that Cheft Rahm, Noras' most experienced warrior, was marching with the Galva army.

Cheft Rahm was well over sixty years old. His pure white hair was hung upon his shoulders in neat braids. His beard, which hung down almost to his waist, was also braided and neatly managed. His face was very wrinkled and he bore a terrible scar across his forehead, but his eyes were wild and young, with no hint of weariness.

At his side at all times stood his nephews Ander and Silos bearing thick wooden shields and spears. 'To look upon these mighty Cossirne in battle is to look upon the face of Death,' Faros said as he announced them to his army amidst a thunderous applause.

After three days of preparation and council, the army left South Lake. Their going went well and by the eighteenth day of Frohest they passed through the gates of Belnan, the Bridge City. Here they rested for two days and replenished their supplies.

Cheft Faros received reports from many scouts in those days. Most of these reports were encouraging, so by the time their departure came the army was in high spirits. It was said that there were no more than two-thousand goblins, most of whom were old, hungry and weary. 'The Galvahirne will have very little trouble with them, I imagine,' one of the scouts assured the Cheftan. There was now talk throughout the camp that they may be home by the summer sacrifices. These scouts were then sent up the river toward Galva to repeat their report for the Council.

But old Cheft Rahm shook his head and corrected them, 'It is better to hope for less in war. I'd rather despair of hope and by preparation win the victory, than trust too much in arms and numbers and come to an ill-end.'

In Belnan they were able to quickly cross over to the southern bank of the Falsi River and follow an old road west along the shore. For the first five days their going was without much difficulty, for there are many towns and villages built along the shore of the mighty river. Cheft Faros was in high spirits as they passed through this region.

These lands were known simply as the Riverlands. Some of those towns were quite prosperous during Dadron's Golden Age. Even now they still thrive on the abundance of lumber and skins that make their way south from the forest, though they now live with considerably less opulence. It is no surprise that the Cheftan would be encouraged here. For the Riverlands are good and quiet lands where the Galva Army are twice beloved. The people of this region have much to lose from goblins and their proximity to the Great Mountain makes them vulnerable. Every evening the sun passes over the peak of Mount Coronis and casts a dark shadow over their lands. A shadow under which they imagine is hiding goblin marauders of every sort.

As they traveled west the road became more difficult. Very few travelers use the path to the mountain and so it was overgrown in many places. Cheft Faros had to stop the march, sometimes for several hours, and send strong men ahead with axes and saws to clear a path for their beasts. There were not many of these - no more than two-dozen horses, and probably no more than thirty or forty mules and donkeys laden with food and equipment. There were also six small carriages filled with arms and tools each drawn by two strong horses.

Beyond this they came to a place where the land seems to suddenly climb up into the sky. The place is called the 'Stairs of Coronis' because from the bottom of the rise it gives the traveler the illusion of a straight and steady path to the peak of Mount Coronis itself.

Here their animals had the most difficulty. So much so that they sent several of the more feeble creatures back down the hill and divided their burdens among the warriors. Their progress was also impeded by a sudden turn in the weather.

Frohest is called a deceiver among the Noras because the month so often begins with warm weather, teasing men with the idea of an early Spring and then turning suddenly and burying them beneath a deep snowfall and bitter cold.

Daryas complained as he struggled along, 'It seems that it will be another one of those years of treachery.' Hassan walked beside him, but with considerable more ease.

'Treachery?' the son of Ponteris laughed. 'Do you have a deal with the Winter, my friend, that he can betray you?'

'You know my meaning,' Daryas snapped back. He seemed to be having a much harder time than his comrade. Thus far Hassan seemed unaffected by the rigors of the march and the steep and tangled path they ascended. But Daryas looked very exhausted and it took no small amount of cajoling to draw him from his bedroll each morning. He complained of soreness and twisted ankles, while Hassan complained of nothing. Though he knew it not, Daryas carried a much heavier burden than his friend. The Noras, and the Galvahirne even more so, take great pride in their endurance.

Their path was enough to challenge even the greatest of these sturdy men, however; a fact that soon began to take its toll on their progress as well as their bodies. The wind picked up, and snow had begun to fall, making the path slippery and dangerous. 'Lord Coronis knows no spring,' Daryas grumbled.

An Indistinct Warning

On the last day of Frohest, the army halted suddenly at midday. A strange man was seen approaching the army from the west. He walked right up to the vanguard without a hint of fear and demanded, 'Something hot to eat, for I am weary of dried venison.'

His bravado, more than anything else, brought him past the guards, through the ranks of the Galva warriors, and right to the feet of Cheft Faros.

'I have come from the mountains, my lord,' he said boldly when he had bowed low to the ground before the Cheftan. 'And I bring news and council.'

'Council from whom?' Faros asked suspiciously.

'From Cheft Biron,' he replied.

'Cheft Biron? You must be mad. He is at his estate in Peiraso, but you have come from the west; from the mountains.'

'My lord judges rightly,' the man said with a bow, 'But I come from Cheft Biron all the same. I am Revere, the Galva Cheftan hired me to scout out the goblins of Coronis and it is concerning these that I have come with news. If I am not mistaken, it is to these creatures that you are marching even as we speak.'

Revere was a thin man, but he did not look frail; his face was clean-shaven and he had short-cropped brown hair. His gray eyes seemed to shine out from under his dark brown eyebrows. He wore a pair of leather trousers and a tunic made of animal skins over which he wore a thick fur cape. On his head he wore a thin fur cap with several small feathers sewn onto the side in a sort of pattern. His only weapons were a dagger with an ivory hilt and a very small hatchet, both of which were hidden beneath his cape.

Cheft Faros was more than a little annoyed by this man. He refused to answer any questions about himself; he simply called himself 'Revere'. 'Hardly a proper name,' Faros later complained.

'My Lord,' Revere spoke with a sense of urgency, 'The goblins are camped on a high plain, some forty leagues west of here. There were only about a thousand of them by my count. Truly nothing that your force could not handle.'

'And their defenses?' Faros asked.

'I saw none sir," the man continued. 'I saw not so much as a single blade nor heard so much as the clink of chain-armor the whole while that I was watching them.'

'Then we seek another camp, for these are just common goblins.' Cheft Faros seemed to be growing impatient. It was not for the burning of hunting camps that he had gathered such a force and marched through half of the Noras forest with such haste. 'Yet I suppose it would be foolish to let them alone.'

'Indeed, sir,' the man hastily agreed. 'There were some things that gave me pause however. Things that the eyes and ears of your scouts have overlooked.'

'Well don't speak in riddles, man,' Faros suddenly seemed very annoyed. 'Biron sent you to assess the danger, and that is what I want from you. Is this encampment a threat to Noras or is it not? What else did you see there?'

'I beg your forgiveness sir,' the man began to apologize, but when he saw the look of frustration in the Cheftan's eyes he cut himself short. 'I see that my master has no patience for my foolish banter.'

Cheft Faros seemed to calm down a little after that.

'In the camp, sir, there were not only no weapons to be found, but there were also no women and no children.'

This last detail seemed to get Cheft Faros' attention.

'As my Lord is well aware, goblins seldom leave their females and young behind when they go on hunting trips or even on raids. This detail I find most alarming. Normally, the goblins will travel in family groups, so that their children can learn to hunt as they do. Of course, this requires the cooperation of the women, without whom the children would be nothing but a hindrance. I got the impression, my lord, that they were not in the mountains to hunt or to raid at random.'

'So if they are not here for raiding or for hunting, what is their purpose?'

'I cannot say, my Lord,' Revere replied. 'All that I can say is that whatever their purpose is, it is most un-goblin-like.'

'Un-goblin-like?'

'Yes,' the man nodded smiling slightly, 'Very nearly everything that goblins do is reducible to their instincts. So when we see that they have gathered together so many men without women or children and without even weapons it defies every rational explanation.'

'What are you so pleased with?' Cheft Faros asked, now openly angry.

'I must apologize again, my Lord,' the man said looking at the ground. 'As a scout, I have come to understand quite a bit about these creatures. And anything so new and unexpected is bound to arouse a certain excitement for those who "study" goblins.'

'Enough of that,' Faros responded. He clearly wanted to finish the conversation as soon as possible. His eyes began to wander about the room impatiently. 'What do you mean when you say that this situation defies any rational explanation?'

'What I mean, my Lord, is that since goblins are not rational creatures, they must live at the mercy of external causes and their own instincts. So when they behave in such a different manner than they usually do, there is no way to explain it rationally. Except with the idea that they are, in fact, acting rationally.'

'Rationally?' Faros asked quickly. 'Do you mean to tell me these goblins are rational creatures? That they are ruled by reason?'

'Pelas forbid!' Revere laughed. 'I've said nothing of the sort. They are acting rationally; that much is certain. But I've never said that they were rational themselves. They are simply being ruled by reason.'

'More riddles,' Faros complained. His anger swelled within him and his face began to look quite red. 'Get out of my tent!' Faros yelled. His face turned bright red and he seemed to glow with rage. 'I hope you are pleased with yourself. Now get out of my sight, or I'll send you to the goblin camp tied and bound. Then we'll see just how rational they can be.'

The man bowed low to the ground and stepped out of the Cheftan's tent and into the cold. 'I've done my job, my lord,' he muttered as he left.

When he had gone some distance from the Cheftan's tent, Revere began to chuckle, 'It is up to you, Master Faros, to choose the most reasonable course. I have given you your warning; such a warning as the wise will regard and the fool will disregard.' He laughed to himself, 'Which of the two this man is, I care not. If he cannot understand it, then let the goblins take him, for he is no more rational than the creatures he fights.'

When Mityai's account had come to this point she was once more interrupted by her master. Pelas stood still for a moment as if lost in deep thought and then suddenly shrieked in frustration. 'Mityai, you fool of fools,' he said with a stern voice. 'Did you not understand what this braggart meant with his indistinct words?'

'No my lord,' Mityai answered with a tremble in her voice. 'I could tell that he had not been forthright with Faros, and I could also tell that the Cheftan knew it.'

'If the Cheftan has less than half of your wisdom he would have stopped his army right then and there, and marched no further until he had taken council with the Cheftans of Galva once more. For the only thing that makes a goblins deviate from its brutish instincts is a Conjurer.'

'A Conjurer!?' Mityai said, stepping away from Pelas.

Pelas stepped toward her swiftly, his regal cape swaying in the air as he walked. He raised his hand, Mityai covered her face with her arms and bowed low to the ground. The dust in the room swirled about as if a great wind had come through, though every window was shut tight. The fire roared to life for an instant.

'Mityai, you daughter of wickedness!' he shouted. His voice rang through the hall and shook the foundations of the house. The servants of the hall trembled and rushed about to see what had happened, but when they entered the hall they saw nothing but the bright burning fire and they heard nothing save the crackling of the logs and the leaping of sparks.

Among the Noras the Conjurer was more to be feared than any other evil. Combining the natural strength and cunning of so many mindless goblins with even just one truly rational overlord is more dangerous and deadly than an entire army of rational human beings. 'A Conjurer has at his disposal an army of ruthless servants who give no regard to good or evil. They will descend to whatever depth of evil they are bid,' Pelas explained. 'And what will become of your beloved Cheftan's son?'

'I- I did not know,' Mityai said with fear, still covering her face with her hands.

'If the hour were not so late I would thrash you here and now. I would send you so deep into the pits of hell that even your swift immortal feet would be sore pressed to find their way to the surface ere the end of this age of the world.'

Mityai lowered her hands and stood up. 'What can I do, my lord, to redeem my errors?'

'You must hurry to Daryas' side, and pray that he is not dead already. Had I more time I would send a warrior to him, to guard him from his foes. But in the meanwhile, you must do what you are able.'

'But my lord, there is still the matter of Old Man Sleep, his claim on Daryas must not be denied!' Mityai protested, somehow finding it within her to question her master.

Pelas rose up and seemed to fill the whole room with his anger. 'Mityai, fly to his side, and leave the matter of Daryas' nightmares to the wise.'

With that she departed, slipping out through the window without a sound and speeding through the city more swiftly than any bird could fly.

Old Man Sleep

'The girl is right, my lord,' came a tired old voice from a darkened corner of the room after Mityai had passed from their sight. Pelas turned and beheld Old Man Sleep himself, seated on a bench with his long gray robes folded about his feet. His head was bald, save for a few kinked gray hairs growing just above his ears. In his eyes could be seen the memories of ages long passed; ages of the world that none but his own unblinking eyes could remember. He looked weary and frail, though his grip was still firm. 'There are laws that rule even you gods,' he continued, 'though lately you do not like to admit it.'

'What does it matter to you, Old Man of Dreams?' Pelas said irritably.

'You know as well as I that my claim on mortal eyes is irrevocable. Yet you have allowed this youth to be so tormented that his will has been forged into iron. He will not yield his eyelids to my commands.'

'It will only be for a time that he is so vexed. But it is necessary, for I gave my oath that the prayers of the Siren would be fulfilled.'

'Very well then,' Old Man Sleep said in his slow toneless voice, 'But do not forget, Lord Pelas, when Old Man Sleep is long denied, then my brother Folly must be satiated. If you do not allow me to close this boy's eyes in rest, he will lose his mind entirely. And then he will be of no use to anybody. I leave you with this last warning: Once Folly has had his way with a man's head, our younger brother Death is never far off. Be careful that your grip does not grow too strong, lest you crush the thing you wish to protect.'

With that the old man vanished from the room and Pelas was left alone in the Council Hall, with the fire slowly dying away behind him.

[Chapter III:  
Beautiful Peiraso](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Hospitality of Cheft Biron

Peiraso was located about a half a day's journey to the east of Galva. The people of Noras were not fond of forts and castles, preferring logs and tar to stone and mortar. But when danger arose in the land, the people came pouring into Peiraso like water through a burst dam. Cheft Biron's country estate was one of the few fortified refuges in Noras. So he was not surprised to see the serene hill upon which his home was built littered with tents and temporary shelters. A great number of people from Megd-la and Coran-la had heard about the coming of the goblins and traveled many leagues to seek shelter on Cheft Biron's land until the goblins were driven away. Here, well on the eastern side of the mighty Galva, and with the strong walls of Peiraso about them, they felt secure from the threat of raiders.

The people were mostly peasants who had no wealth to protect but their own lives, nothing to leave behind, and nothing to bring with them except their children and a few tattered sacks filled with what little provision their lives in the forest allotted them. What they did bring, however, was their gratitude. Cheft Biron's magnificence was well known throughout Noras and the people repaid his kindness with honorable words and songs of praise.

On the fourth day after the departure of the Galva Army, he sent Lady Marima ahead of him to Peiraso to prepare the land for his return. Three days later, he himself returned to the home of his ancestors with Cheft Ponteris and several other important members of the Noras Council. They rode in a sturdy but comfortable carriage drawn by a team of four horses.

Peiraso was built on the top of a small hill in a large clearing where Cheft Biron's ancestors had settled many generations ago. A stone wall about the height of two men encircled the house on all four sides. It would take a man about an hour to walk all the way around it. The southern gate was overshadowed on both sides by small guard towers; one on the eastern side and another on the west. There was a much smaller gate on the north side that was very rarely opened.

The castle itself consisted of a large stone house with small watchtowers on each corner. It was built in the form of a square with each corner facing one of the cardinal points. The main entrance was on the southeastern wall. It was not a very sophisticated castle, certainly nothing compared to Dadron, but it offered the Noras something that they had in very little quantity: Security.

'The grovelers have come out in flocks and herds, my friend,' Cheft Ponteris said as they approached the estate. 'It is good that they have come in Primus, though. It would be a shame if they had come in the spring or summer when the grass is green and lush.'

'You are heartless,' Cheft Biron said coldly. Cheft Ponteris just laughed.

Cheftan Biron was Daryas' father, and looked it in every respect. His shoulders were broad and he was tall for a man of Noras. His hair was somewhat darker than Daryas', however, and it had a handsome curl to it, which his son's hair never quite attainted. He wore a very thick otter-skin coat over a deep red tunic and brown wool trousers. At his side he wore a long hunting knife with an iron hilt set with green gemstones. Among the Noras it was considered arrogant to carry a weapon, but it was also a sign of laziness to be seen without some kind of tool. While he was still living, Cheft Biron's own father, Hiron Galvahirne, never left home without his fishing tackle. In these dark times, Biron thought, the knife was the more useful accessory.

'You know, Master Biron, on my own estate we have a lake. Have you seen our lake, Biron?' Cheft Biron shook his head. 'You haven't? That is truly a shame. Our lake is the most beautiful lake in Noras, I believe. But you see, we have to keep it beautiful. And that takes a considerable amount of effort on our part. Those who have seen my estate have frequently remarked how natural it all looks. But that is far from the truth of the matter. Beauty is not an accident. That is one thing that I know for certain.

'My own wife is proof of that. Lady Linae is quite skilled in the arts of decorating her face. She will spend as much time as she is allowed painting and covering her face with ointments, aloes, and dyes purchased from who knows what distant port. And she looks quite lovely for it too. But it is hardly an accident, though she would never tell anybody how much trouble she makes over her face. When people tell her how beautiful she looks she simply smiles and acts as though she is surprised. It is all a very pitiful act. She knows what she is doing and she does it quite on purpose.

'It is the very same thing with our little lake. Imagine how disgusting our lake would become if we just left it to nature. In no time at all it would become a swamp. Deer come from every filthy place in the Noras Forest to swim and drink in the waters. I don't mind a few deer here and there, but if we did nothing they would soon overrun our land and strip the trees of their bark. So every winter I hire hunters to clear the woods and drive these creatures away.

'That would seem to be a wise course,' Cheft Biron said impatiently. 'But I find that on my own lands the deer are not so populous. Between the wolves and the bears their numbers are kept in check.'

'Ah yes, but then you will have carcasses and bones lying about. And I think you will agree with me, my friend, that carcasses do not have a part in beauty.'

'True enough.'

'The solution to that problem is to drive away the predators. It is so peaceful in our region now that there are no howls and growls to wake our children in the middle of the night.'

'This, I imagine, requires the hiring of more hunters?'

'Yes, of course. But it is not only deer and the wolves that vex our little lake. There are all sorts of wild fowl that make their home on my land. That is, they attempt to do so. And that is my point. Beauty is something that you do, not something that happens naturally.'

'What do you do to the fowl?' Cheft Biron asked.

'In the beginning of every season we see them flock to our property and nest in every nook and every hole along the shoreline. It is a simple thing to send out a few hunters with their bows and their dogs to slay and gather them up. This way the lake stays clean and fresh and our servants feast on eggs and roasted goose!'

'You are as clever as they say,' Biron said as they rounded a bend in the road. From there they began their ascent up the hill toward the southern gates.

Cheftan Ponteris was a typical enough Norasman. He was nothing like a Galvahirne, but he was by no means frail or unmanly. His hair, which was slightly gray, was slowly but surely retreating from his brow with each passing year - a somewhat uncommon and unseemly trait among the Noras, who, oddly enough, took pride in the strength of their hairlines, and in the thickness of their finger nails. His posture, however, was very different from his fellow Noras, as he made certain to stand at his full height at all times with his shoulders back and his spine upright. The Noras were, for the most part, informal with their stance, and it was not uncommon for grown men to be found slouching even at council meetings and other such formal occasions.

'And that is beauty, Cheft Biron,' Ponteris continued, 'But it takes work, and it takes a little bit of cruelty.'

'Cruelty?' Biron asked, feigning interest.

'Yes. You can't imagine that I like the idea of sending out hunters to slaughter these helpless creatures! But I must guard my honor with everything that is within me. Cheft Biron! What is a man without his honor?'

'He is not esteemed to be much at all, my friend.'

'It is the same thing with my beloved woman. Her long hours spent toiling over the looking glass - scraping and painting her face are not simple tasks. They are the labors of a true artisan! They are as cruel to her tender skin as I am to the wretched creatures that try to make their home on my estate.'

As he finished speaking the carriage turned around a bend in the road revealing the southern wall of Peiraso. 'Serge, take us close to the tents,' Cheft Biron commanded his driver.

'As you ask, my lord,' the man replied. The old man turned the carriage off of the main road onto a narrow dirt path that led off into the fields. As the carriage approached the tents the people began to hurry about in preparation for the arrival of their protector. By the time the carriage reached the encampment they were enclosed on both sides by peasants. Cheft Ponteris sat up straight and began to look uneasy.

'Slowly, Serge,' Biron said. His driver obeyed and as they passed they could see the tears in the people's eyes. Some bowed low to the ground, others offered up small tokens of gratitude. Cheft Biron waved his hand in the air and the people returned his gesture.

'Hail Cheft Biron! Protecter of Noras!' one toothless old man cried out. The rest followed him in their praises. Then one of the older men among them broke out into an old song, written over two centuries ago in praise of the sons of Galvahir.

'When dangers from the shadows near,

There is one in whom the Noras trust,

The faithful son of Galvahir,

Above all others pure and just.'

'In council he is Pelas-wise,

His sword the devil Agon fears,

Fated above his peers to rise,

His voice the gloom and shadow clears.'

Cheft Ponteris sunk low in his seat and rested his cheek on his wrist. He said nothing more until they had passed the singing crowd and entered the house of Peiraso.

Cheft Ponteris at Peiraso

While the Army of Galva trudged through the Noras wilds and slowly but surely approached the slopes of Mount Coronis, Cheft Biron held many councils in the meeting hall of Peiraso.

Immediately following the meeting of the Galva Council he had sent messengers throughout Noras. By runner and rider he called to his estate some forty Cheftans, many of them from remote portions of the forest. Something had been troubling him of late. 'Like a forgotten dream,' he told Lady Marima. 'I feel as though I have been shaken from the midst of a troubling dream, yet I cannot remember a thing of it. There is something lurking in the shadow of my mind.'

'You need rest, my lord,' she would tell him. 'Then perhaps it will return to you.'

'But rest fails me while I yet stand here in ignorance. I must take council.'

'But how are you so certain that your fears are not needless, my lord. Care can be had in excess, or so it has been said.'

'There is not a shadow cast where no body stands. I can see the shadows at every council and in every deed that is done in our forest of late. But as of yet I have not been able to discover the cause of it.'

'But how will this council differ from those you have held already?' Lady Marima asked, puzzled.

'This time my eyes will be fully open,' he said in almost a whisper, 'And we shall see whether I am imagining danger where there is none.'

In the meanwhile both Cheft Biron and his wife were kept occupied. There were many preparations to be made before the other Cheftans began to arrive. There was food to be ordered and lodging to be prepared. The Noras were hardier than most races, but their Cheftans still expected to live comfortably, especially when summoned to a council in the dead of winter.

Lord Ponteris was especially restless in those days. He could be seen wandering about idly, sometimes for hours. At times he would gaze out the window at the encamped peasants and after a while simply shake his head. He stayed indoors for the most part, though at times he was seen wandering the perimeter of the estate in the early morning. He said little, and ate even less. Altogether it seemed quite clear that he was not comfortable in Peiraso.

One cold morning Lady Marima found him sitting alone in a small pantry near the servants' kitchen.

'My lord must find Peiraso dreadful,' she said, laughing.

Cheft Ponteris rose from his seat. 'My apologies, my fair lady,' he said with a bow.

'It is a pity that Lady Linae was not able to be here. She is such a lovely woman, you must be very proud.'

The Cheftan hesitated for a moment. 'Indeed. She is greatly missed.'

'Are you hungry, my lord?' Lady Marima asked.

'No, I am not,' the Cheft answered swiftly and awkwardly.

'Well, if you are, you will find better service in the dining hall. This hall is for the servants.'

With this Ponteris bowed and walked away to some other part of the house. Many others reported stumbling into the Cheftan in unlikely places. He was always alone, but he never really seemed to be lost. He was seen among the stables, silently examining the horses, he was seen in the halls looking at the woodwork; by the time the first of the Cheftans began to arrive he had spied out the entire house. All of this Cheft Biron noted well.

In the days leading up to the meeting of the Noras Council, Biron himself had the misfortune, as he called it, of spending a considerable amount of time in conversation with Cheft Ponteris. It would always come about in the same way. Biron would stumble upon Ponteris in some strange and unexpected corner of the house. Before he could ask for any explanation, Cheft Ponteris would interrupt him with an anecdote or a joke or riddle.

'Several years ago, around the time of the autumn sacrifice,' Ponteris would begin, 'my driver and I had come to the edge of my property, just before the road turns north toward Galva. You've seen my home before, haven't you?' Ponteris asked, interrupting himself.

'Yes, once or twice, though it has been quite some time since I have had the opportunity to visit.'

'Very good. Then you will certainly remember the stone-carving that I had built on the right-hand side of the gate?'

Biron paused for a moment and shook his head.

'The large sculpture of an Aggelos woman, carved in white stone?' Biron shook his head again. Ponteris seemed insulted. 'Well, I suppose it cannot be helped if the Galvahirne have no great love of craft and beauty,' he snapped.

'The Galvahirne love beauty, my friend,' Biron said calmly. 'It is just that beauty is so wearisome and impractical that we seek our happiness in the usefulness rather than the elegant. As you say, beauty requires work, and we Galvahirne cannot spare the labor to craft such things.'

'Well, at any rate,' Ponteris said, gruffly returning the conversation to its path. 'As we approached this statue there appeared in the road a little peasant girl. How she came to be on the road so near to my estate was a mystery; she probably got lost in the woods while her mother was picking berries or nuts and whatever other things peasants eat. But however it was that she came to be in the road, there she stood, right in the path of our carriage.'

'How dreadful, what happened?' Biron said, now seeming more interested.

'We were faced with an awful dilemma, my friend. If we swerved to the right, we would smash and mar one of the most glorious stone-work statues in all of Weldera; certainly in all of Noras. But on the other hand, if we swerved our carriage to the left, we would trample the pathetic little girl to the ground. Our speed was too great, since we were as yet not even on the main road and were still traveling on my own private drive. My driver shouted, that we could not stop the horses ere we collided with one or the other. "We must turn aside!" he yelled.'

'So what did you decide?'

'Well, I felt that there would always be more peasant girls; there would certainly be more of her kind. You know, the rosy cheeked little girls that live in the wild places of northern Lavri-la and even in some parts of Galva-la. These creatures come and go; they always have and always will, as long as the world endures. But the like of this statue cannot be replaced, not though a hundred artists labor for three ages of the world.'

'So you chose to turn aside to the left and ride over the girl?' Biron said with a grave expression on his face.

'That is the decision that I came to in that terrible moment. And it was no easy judgment to make. After all, despite her homeliness, the child had an innocent and endearing little face. I am almost brought to tears just thinking about it.' He looked at Biron and laughed. 'Don't worry, Cheftan!' he said. 'Good Pelas was merciful to me that day and broke the two back wheels of my carriage just at that moment. We crashed to the earth and with one violent jerk we were brought to a halt, saving both child and statue.'

Biron looked relieved, though he still looked at his fellow with disdain.

'So it was that by the grace of Pelas, beauty and innocence were saved together!' Ponteris laughed. Biron stood up and wandered to the other side of the room.

'I got to thinking about why it was that I was so sorely vexed in that moment about my decision,' Ponteris added, not letting his host escape the conversation. 'My driver's inclination was to spare the girl and go crashing into the statue, shattering the delicate masonry. But my own heart said to spare the glorious stone. But why should I choose one over the other? What makes this little girl more valuable than my statue? Those are the questions that I began asking myself. I asked my driver and he simply responded that "It's just the way things are, master." I asked my wife, the lovely Lady Linae, but she just slapped me.' Biron laughed heartily upon hearing that.

'But to be quite honest, I could not find any difference between them that would justify the destruction of so marvelous a sculpture. They are both formed of the earth, but of the two it is the pure white stone of the statue that is more valuable. Human flesh, like the wheat of the field is grown and raised every year and in every age; sometimes in more abundance than we can maintain. But the likes of this stone will not likely be seen again, not until the foundations of the world are overturned.'

'Perhaps the difference is not in what they are formed out of, but rather what they are formed into. The stone lies still and dead while the girl lives and breathes.' Biron suggested.

'I have considered that as well, my friend,' Ponteris sighed. 'But so it is with fire, which moves and breathes and grows, yet I see no man saving and preserving it any further than it is useful to his own needs. And there are many living creatures that would offer us the same dilemma. You wouldn't smash one of the world's greatest works of art if it were it the life of a squirrel or a hare that was in danger, would you?'

Biron walked back to the table and sat down. 'I suppose not,' he answered wearily.

'But why not? That is what I am trying to figure out. Why save the girl and not a squirrel? It seems to me that the only reason to smash the sculpture would be out of sympathy.'

'You are not now going to belittle sympathy, are you my friend?' Biron said with a mock grin. The truth of the matter is that he was quite disgusted with the man and was almost hoping that he would go too far, and say something that would give him the excuse to sever all ties of friendship with Cheftan Ponteris Oastirne.

'I cannot belittle it, because I cannot quite understand it.'

Biron laughed, 'So you admit it? You have no sympathy. Cheft Ponteris, there has never been a more honest man, not in Noras nor in any other place in Weldera.'

'I do not understand it,' Ponteris said, ignoring Biron's words, 'not because I do not feel it, but because I do not understand why a rational creature needs it. Certainly it serves the goblins well enough, so that they care for and protect each other instead of robbing and slaying their kin. But we are ruled with mind, not might, and sympathy as often misleads us as it serves us.

'Some time ago an old beggar man appeared on our doorstep clad in torn and weathered brown with naught but a strand of rope for a belt. It must have been at least ten years ago. He knocked on the door quietly with what looked to my eyes to be the staff of a shepherd. He politely asked if he could have a place to sleep for the night. He asked for my leave to sleep in the barn, and I would have obliged him were it not for Lady Linae who insisted on giving him one of our guest chambers.

'He stayed in our home for one night; just one night and no more. In fact, when the day dawned he was nowhere to be found. He left sometime before the first light without so much as a thank you. All that he left in return for our hospitality was mice.'

'Mice?' Biron asked interestedly.

'Yes, Mice,' Ponteris answered with a look of disgust in his eyes. 'But my dear Cheftan, you must realize that these were no Noras mice! Their teeth were like razors and they multiplied quicker than hares. Before we knew it the entire house was nearly overrun by vermin. We went through great pains to drive them from the main hall. Now they only remain in the cellars where they are so deeply burrowed that Pelas himself could not drive them out. That is what comes of sympathy! But we have since mended our ways.'

'So am I to understand that you would leave an old beggar out in the winter cold because he might carry mice with him?' Biron asked.

'That is not what I am saying. I may very well give in and allow the dirty beggar to stay, but I do it out of sentiment and not out of wisdom. But sentiment leads us astray as often as it leads us aright, as I have already said.

'There was a young servant girl who lived on my estate, many years ago. She broke the laws of the household and was one day found to be carrying a child in her womb.' Biron sat up and listened intently.

'When her time came upon her she gave birth to a little boy, if it is right to call it a boy. For the child was a monster. Two heads it had, and three arms; one on each side and another coming from the middle of it's chest. I shudder to even recall the sight.'

By Pelas!' Biron whispered. 'What became of the child?'

'It perished in the wilds, long ago. At my command, the baby was to be taken and burned with fire, lest the gods curse us with further trials. The woman was ransomed for thirty ewe-lambs as the priest of Lavrila instructed us. But she would accept no pardon and stole off in the middle of the night with the child and wandered off alone into the woods toward Galva-la. She stole the child right off of the altar; he was taken right out of the flaming coals.

'We searched long and hard for her, but in the end her body was found naked, starved and drowned on the shores of the Yilnir River. The beast's swaddling clothes were discovered many miles downstream. By this we knew that he had also met his doom in the waters. Saved from fire to perish in water; so senseless.

'Sympathy it was that drove this beautiful maiden to madness. Reason dictates that nothing but sorrow and pain can come of a child so afflicted by the gods. But sympathy for the cursed fruit of her womb drove her to cast off the rational woman and take up the mantle of a lunatic.

'Her sympathy cost her both her child and her life together. Better it would have been for her to do as the gods require and burn up the fallen seed in flames.'

Biron was silent for a several minutes and just sort of wandered around the room, lost in thought. After a long while he sat down again and spoke, 'This little girl that you almost struck along the road,' he said, returning the conversation to the former subject.

'Yes,' Ponteris responded.

'How do you know she was not beloved of the gods?'

'What do you mean? She was only a peasant.'

'But so was Galvahir, when he took up his sword and vanquished the darkness. And so were your own ancestors who wandered into this forest hungry and naked. Was Oastir a hero already when in a burlap shirt he marched to the aid of the Silvirne King? You cannot know whom the gods will make noble; or whom the gods will choose to sit upon a throne and rule over their peers. You may have struck a queen on that road; you know not who she might become. Therein lies the answer, my friend. For the gods have little use for statues and precious white stones, whose mansions are built with gold and silver and every precious gemstone. But there will only ever be one Galvahir and one Oastir. And had they so lightly been struck down in their youth, there would be only seven clans in Noras and certainly no Cheftan Biron Galvahirne and no Cheftan Ponteris Oastirne.'

Cheft Biron got up and walked to the door. 'You cannot know the councils of the gods,' he said. He left the room and shut the door loudly behind him.

The two had many such conversations. Until at last Biron took to avoiding Ponteris and hoping only to see him at the Council. And after that, hoping to see him not at all.

The Noras Council

About a month after Cheft Biron's arrival, the other Cheftans arrived and many councils were held. All the while Cheft Biron's servants were kept busy feeding and cleaning up after the many important guests. Lady Marima worked as hard as any, though she was still quite weak from her sickness. Cheft Biron urged her to rest, but she would not listen to him.

'Shall I lay in bed forever, my lord? And allow the house to be run by servants?' She asked him when he had pressed her hard.

'My only desire is to see you well rested and in your full strength,' the Cheftan explained. 'It would pain me so much to see you fall ill again.'

'I will take care, my lord, but I will still work. While our sons march in distant lands under gray skies and over frozen streams I will not lay idle. If what strength and diligence I have can aid your councils and thereby aid our sons, then I will be glad, though my last breath be spent scrubbing the stone kitchen floors.'

'My lady,' Cheft Biron said in a desperate voice, 'Let the servants scrub, there is still plenty for the Lady of Peiraso to occupy herself with!'

For the better part of two weeks the Cheftans remained in Peiraso, meeting in a council every evening and discussing the threat of goblins. Though he was still not quite certain, Cheft Biron was beginning to apprehend the cause of his troubled spirit. In many times past the Galvahirne had borne the brunt of conflict, whether it be the wars against the Daevaron in the east or against the goblins in the western mountains. It was no surprise to the Cheftan of Peiraso that the Galva Council was so ready to take the lead and march to war with the goblin raiders. But what did strike him as out of place was the ingratitude of his fellow Cheftans. It was almost as though they thought all the efforts and sufferings of the Galvahirne were displays of pride and greediness, rather than courage and loyalty. He felt their resentment even as they sat down to eat the meals his cooks had provided for them. 'What devil could breed such envy among so many wise men?'

On the morning of the twenty-eighth day of Frohest Cheft Biron gathered the Cheftans from every part of Noras in his Council Hall at Peiraso.

'Greetings fellow Cheftans of Noras!' Biron's voice boomed through the hall.

The others responded in near unison, 'Hail Cheft Biron, lord of Peiraso.'

The Council Hall was the largest room in Peiraso. It had a tall arched ceiling held up with large wooden pillars. Each pillar was painted with a deep reddish brown color and was carved with letters and images recounting the history of the Galvahirne. The walls were built of dark logs and overhung with the pelts, teeth and horns of many different creatures. Cheft Biron was seated at the western edge of the Hall, clothed in his finest with a fur cape hung across his shoulders. Light came down in thick beams and struck the large wooden table in the center of the room around which the Cheftans were seated.

'I pray a blessing from Lord Pelas on the heads of all who love and honor Noras. For that is our business; it is for love of Noras that we gather, and I pray that in our gathering and in our councils we will be led to honor our beloved homeland.'

There was some scattered applause and some words of approval. Then the Council began.

As the Cheftans spoke, one after another in turn, Cheft Biron began to perceive a certain reluctance among many of them to even discuss the goblins and the march of the Galva Army.

'The purpose of this council is the war, my fellows,' Biron reminded them. But it was of little avail; Cheft Ponteris reproved him.

'Of all the Cheftans of Noras, I at least understand your mind, Cheft Biron. For my own son Sion marches toward the icy slopes of Mount Coronis even as we speak. I understand the anxiety that must assail your soul for the sake of your second-son. But we are all likewise invested in this land and we know too well your concern and worry. But we will do our sons greater harm if we neglect the land they protect and offer them nothing but poverty to return to in the end.'

And so the Council once more turned their minds to other matters. The vanishing of the White stag, whose famous pelt had made many hunters in Noras renowned and wealthy, was one of their chief concerns. Lord Biron paid little heed to these endless discussions. Cheft Gornas of the northern foothills of Daela suggested a sacrifice. 'Fifty white stags for the Vernal Goddesses. They cannot refuse such an oblation, for their love of the Noras is well-known,' he said with many appeals to the efficacy of the sacrifices of his northern ancestors.

Biron lifted his head for just a moment and asked him, 'Cheft Gornas, suppose they stay their hand from the sacrificial knife and the hunter's bow together. Will not their numbers increase? And a few years of scarcity will revive the value of the beloved pelts. Take a lesson from Lord Ponteris,' Biron laughed. 'He can tell you how rare and valuable deer have become in his own lands!'

Lord Ponteris laughed politely. 'Remember, Cheft Biron, beauty requires sacrifice.'

In the end the Council decided that it would make the sacrifice on the first day of Spring.

Other matters were discussed, some briefly and some at considerable length. Each day, Cheft Biron would open the meeting with a reminder that their true purpose was the support of the Galva Army, but this was soon forgotten and their attention was drawn to other matters. This was done so swiftly and seemingly so deliberately that Cheft Biron's suspicions were roused and the shadow which he had feared began to take shape.

On the seventh day of the Council he rose up in his seat and spoke in a voice that echoed through the halls of Peiraso, stopped every mouth and turned every ear. Though none of the others could see him, Lord Pelas himself stood beside him and gave Biron's mortal voice immortal authority and strength.

'Men of Noras,' he began, omitting the honorable title of Cheftan, 'It is well known that the Galhavirne have ever been the guardians of Noras.' At this, many of the Cheftans became uneasy, Biron took note of these.

'Since the ancient days we have been the vanguard in every danger and have bled and suffered first in every battle and every woe that has befallen Noras. This is nothing strange or new, for it was the way of our first father Galvahir Pelassum. He was given that title, which means 'the like of Pelas', by none other than your own ancestors. Every one of them in that day acknowledged the bravery and the strength of Galvahir.

'It was he who drove the Black Devil out from under the trees of Noras and freed the thralls from their dark master's chains. Not being content to retire in some remote corner of Noras while others guarded the peace that he attained, he marched out to war against the delvers and the Goblins of the Coronan Mountains. Thus he wrought peace and freedom within Noras and safety and security without. For this he was called Galvahir the Twice-Blessed.'

'And let us not forget the fell day that the High Silvirne King was besieged by his enemies in the great fortress of Dadron. My first father was not content to sit idly by in his hidden forest home and hope to escape a danger that fell on his neighbor rather than on his own head. But he mustered the Noras under the banner of the Silverne King and marched to war. There he fell, with his kinsmen Cossa and Mishna before the walls of the Silvirne Fortress.

'As it was then, so it has ever been. The Galvahirne have suffered many evils and trials for the sake of their beloved Noras. And when they are finished with war and peril, they must take to the gathering of taxes and the harvesting of tribute. For the Noras Council demands a tithe of its people, but the Noras Council has not the strength to gather it. So it commands its humble servants the Galvahirne to do its mud-work! We guard the borders and rob the peasants with the same blade. Thus the Galvahirne have a name, both honored and reviled, but all for Noras. I do not say this to complain, rather to call to remembrance that there is much that Noras owes to its Galvahirne brethren. The least of that obligation is its attention when the Heir of Galvahir speaks!'

This last sentence he spoke with such force that some of the Cheftans were nearly driven from their seats. The attention of the Council was turned to the matter of the war. Pelas was contented and himself took a seat next to the Cheftan and watched.

'What would you have us do, Cheftan Galvahirne?' Cheft Fidre asked, trying not to tremble.

'The Galva Army approaches the goblins as we speak, yet we do not know whether it is a tribe or an army, whether they are petty or hob-goblins. How many orcs are there? How are they armed? Will the Noras Council send its sons to war against phantoms, whose shape it knows not?'

But much to the surprise of Cheft Biron, and much more to Pelas' amazement, the Cheftans soon recovered their nerves and spoke boldly against Biron. There were some indeed who seemed to be of the same mind as their host, but the boldness of their peers prevented them from coming to his support.

'The decision to send an army so hastily was the decision of the Galva Council, not of all Noras,' Cheft Daevin spoke with a finger pointed toward Biron.

'Do not wag your finger at me, Cheft Daevin. It has ever been the custom of the Galvahirne to march out to meet trouble rather than beg for it to have mercy when it comes to meet us!' This last remark was not taken well at all. Cheft Daevin lived, of all the Noras clans, furthest from the mountains and closest to Daevaron. It was widely believed that it was due to his ancestors' sloth that so much of the lands between the forest and the Libron River had been surrendered to Daevaron.

'Cheft Biron,' Cheft Gornas interrupted. 'When did the Galvahirne begin to be so much greater than their brethren that they belittle them with harsh and thoughtless words?'

The mood of the council took a quick turn and many Cheftans had their turn criticizing and upbraiding Cheft Biron. 'You are not the only Galvahirne, my lord,' spoke Cheft Hassa. 'And the Galva army are not all your kin, though I imagine it is only your kin with which you are concerned.'

'Is not Cheft Faros in command of your army?' Cheft Gornas asked, 'And is not Cheft Rahm, Noras' greatest warrior with him? Surely they can manage a few renegade goblins.'

At that Cheft Biron stood up again. Pelas rose as well and with a breath from his nostrils the light of the torches leaped up bright and tall. The room fell silent. Cheft Biron seemed in that moment to possess all the grandeur of his ancient father.

'If it is truly the will of this Council to play at war as though it were a mere curiosity, then I will call back the army of the Galvahirne at once. Let the goblins run free if they are so few, for there is plenty of room in the mountains for so small a force. Let them live in peace, and then we'll see the great wisdom of the Council of Noras fulfilled.'

Cheft Horan, a thin but severe old man, had until this moment been quiet. But now he rose from his seat to face Biron. 'It is not the will of this Council to send armies to where there is little danger. The scouts have spoken; you have heard their report for yourself. The goblins are few in number, hungry, and poorly armed. The Army of Galva will return by the time of the Harvest Moon. Of this I have very little reason to doubt. And nor should you, Cheft Galvahirne. You shame your ancestors with your haste!' Cheft Horan pounded his flattened palm on the table and walked away.

Many of the other Cheftans followed him. 'Tomorrow this Council must make its decision,' he said after he had thrown open the door of the Council Chamber. 'I pray to the Blessed Pelas that your heart is softened ere we reconvene.'

'You cannot oppose Cheft Horan,' Cheft Ponteris insisted when the Hall was finally emptied of all but the two of them. 'He is too beloved and too powerful to offend. If he turns his heart against the Galvahirne there will be no convincing the others. Bide your time, friend, and we will see what Cheft Faros can do.'

'Even the greatest warriors can be overcome,' Cheft Biron responded. 'Do not forget that it was not only Galvahir Pelassum who perished in front of Dadron in the old war. The Silverne King himself was slain, and even Marliuk the Eglat was dragged down in ruin. Every force has its limit, and we don't yet know what force besets us in the mountains.'

'But aren't you being as overzealous as they are stubborn? After all, have you any reason to think that there is more to fear on Coronis than a camp of raiders?'

Biron sat silent for a while, then said, 'We will see, when all the scouts have reported.' Then he rose and departed from the Council Hall.

'What scouts?' Ponteris asked, 'We have already heard their reports!' But Cheft Biron had already left, without staying to hear what he had said.

There was a storm during the night and it seemed as though the dawn never came. The clouds were thick and the sun was nowhere to be seen when the Council regathered in the Hall. There was very little humor that morning. The Cheftans had noticed a rather abrupt change in the quality of their meals. It seemed to them, though none of them would say anything openly, that when they opposed Cheft Biron's opinions, their food and drink tasted worse. This morning there was only toasted bread and cheese, with milk and water to drink.

Watching them grumble quietly to each other from outside the hall, Lady Marima laughed.

'Is it so funny to watch old men suffer so,' Cheft Ponteris asked as he approached her.

'I'm sorry, my lord, I did not realize you were nearby, or I too would have hidden my sentiments. But the secret is out. I laugh at the Cheftans. But I can hardly be blamed. They sit on my cushions while our sons sit on frozen roots, and for their sakes! No, they will not get an ounce more of my cream and butter!'

'You are conniving woman,' Ponteris said with a smile. 'But Cheft Biron is indeed fortunate to have such a lovely wife and such an impassioned mother for his sons.'

Lady Marima bowed, 'I thank you my lord,' she said, her cheeks turning red. 'You are too kind, for it is I who am fortunate.'

Cheft Ponteris paused for a moment and seemed lost in thought. His eyes were fixed on hers. She looked away and began to walk back toward the servants' kitchen.

He watched her until she was gone and then he shook his head and entered the Hall.

'Cheftan Biron is more fortunate than he deserves.'

The Wolf

Lord Pelas rushed from the Council Hall and left the house in a full run. He was not as fast as Mityai, but his feet still carried him faster than any mortal could run. With ease he leaped over the gate and landed on the soft grass outside the wall, making no noise. He rushed down the hill and came at last to the edge of the woods. There he let out a shrill whistle. No human ears could hear it, but for many leagues the beasts began to chomp and stomp. Dogs barked, wolves howled and the birds shrieked and darted about in fright.

In a moment a great black wolf appeared from the forest. His eyes glowed red as he drew near to Lord Pelas. 'For what does the mighty lord of Falsis disturb the night air with so terrible a call?' a cold and cruel voice said.

'Ghastin,' Pelas addressed him, 'you are the lord of all wolves, and you know every clearing and every hill in this wide forest. I have need of your speed and wisdom. You must find the great eagle Maru, and send him to Peiraso at once!'

'You are the god of all this land,' Ghastin answered, 'and there are few who question your power.'

Pelas shuddered as the wolf spoke, for he knew that his heart was full of darkness and hatred. The fell wolf spoke on, 'But there are a few of us who still remember our own strength as well as yours. Do not order me about as though I were one of your nymphs or string-legged lady sprites. Me and mine know better.'

'Very well, then, since I do not have the time right now to prove my strength to you I will bargain. What is your price?'

'You know very well. Our bellies are empty, for it is the middle of the cruel winter and there is nothing about for us to eat.'

'Your bellies?' Pelas smirked, 'You speak as though you had a belly of your own to fill.'

The wolf chuckled menacingly. It is better to fill the belly of this beast than to wander the world empty and shapeless like you spirits. But say what you will, my price remains the same. It has been many years since we tasted the flesh of men.'

'Very well, you shall have your fill,' Pelas said reluctantly. 'There is war coming to Coronan. There your packs will find the flesh of men and goblins ripe for the harvest. Only do not touch the son of Biron, whether you find him living or dead. Now do as I say and send Maru to Peiraso immediately!'

'As you wish,' Ghastin sneered as he bowed in mock reverence.

'Devil-wolf!' Pelas cried, 'Do not tempt me, and do not dare betray me, for I have half a mind to prove your challenge folly right this moment.' At these words the wolf backed away, frightened by the might of Pelas if only for a moment.

'I am many things,' he replied through his clenched teeth, 'But a traitor I am not. I have made my deal, and I will fulfill it. Look for Maru by the light of dawn. If he flies not over Peiraso by then, you can thrash me all you like.'

The wolf turned and darted away, howling to his servants. The wolves of Noras would have much work to do this night.

The Last Meeting

Through the first several hours of the final Council meeting, Cheft Biron sat calmly and quietly. He said little, aside from occasionally encouraging them to discuss 'smaller' matters and leave the discussion of the war off until later. But as the day drew on he grew restless. He ate very little when the council broke for the noon meal, and he ate nothing when their dinner was set before them.

By that time it was obvious to all that he was distressed. Cheft Horan was the first to express the common observation. 'It seems to me, Cheft Biron, that you must be feeling unwell. Perhaps you would like us to come to a decision about your request for aid to the Galva Army?'

'Whatever your pleasure is,' he said, rising from his seat. 'But hear me well Council of Noras. Whatever this Council decides, I am Cheftan of the Galhvahirne and will not suffer them to face peril alone.'

'But without the Council,' Horan sneered, 'There is very little that you can do, your army is, after all, not currently at your disposal. Unless you would summon them back from the mountains to rescue themselves from the goblin army!' This was met with a quiet rumble of tasteless laughter. Biron looked at him with cold eyes.

'What I can do I have done already,' Cheft Biron said as he walked toward the eastern doors. Just before he left the room he stopped and without turning to face the Council he spoke, 'I am not so bereft of help as you may suppose. Whether this council will choose to help the Galvahirne or not, I have already sent word to Dynamis.'

With those words he walked out and let the thick oak doors slam shut. Every sound within the Council Hall was stopped and the echo of the door rang in their ears as though a hammer was pounding the words of Biron into their minds. The smile had been wiped clean off the face of Cheft Horan, who now sat back in his chair staring up at the ceiling with nervous eyes. Cheft Ponteris alone seemed to retain his composure at the mention of Dynamis, and the hint of a satisfied grin could be discerned upon his face.

[Chapter IV:  
The Goblins of Mount Coronis](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Army at Megd-u-Coran

By the time Mityai found Daryas again he was already reunited with the Galva army. It was due to Revere's testimony that they were sent to to seek the goblins' in the first place. Cheft Faros brought the army to a place called Megd-u-Coran where the land flattened out for about two leagues before flying up into the sky in treacherous rocky cliffs. Here the animals stopped, for there was no longer a path fit for hooves and wheels. Faros ordered a camp to be made and set about ordering the pitching of tents and the building of barricades. The weary men welcomed the change and soon they were warming their feet in front of roaring fires.

Steep cliff walls shielded the camp from the west, while the northern edge was protected by the fierce and freezing Falsi River. To the south the land sloped down swiftly toward the plains of Andu and fifty leagues beyond that was the Old Highway. 'The only place from which we are vulnerable to attack is from the very road on which we came,' Cheft Faros remarked.

'Indeed,' Cheft Rahm agreed, 'this seems to be a secure place to camp, at least for the time being. At any rate, it will do us good to get the men out of the snow and wind, for many of them have already taken ill.'

When at last their tent had been set in order, Daryas and Sion sat down to eat in front of a small fire. 'You never did explain your strange words,' Daryas said as they ate a meal of dried meat and stale bread. 'What is this 'soul-foolishness'?

'Soul-foolishness,' Sion began with a smile, trying not to choke as he stifled a laugh, 'Is that sin of which the Ancient spirits were guilty; one that so angered the gods that they were condemned to live upon the face of Tel Arie in poverty, bondage, and weakness.'

'Spirits? Soul-foolishness? Sion, you are going to have to start your explanation at the very beginning!' Daryas insisted.

'Very well, I see that they no longer raise children with wisdom among the Noras and they need to have everything explained to them very slowly and in order.'

'Very slowly and in order is better than not at all,' Daryas responded. 'And we shall see if it is wisdom that I lack!'

'Well, according to my father - and we know that my father's words are true - this is the way the world was formed:

"In ages past, long before there was any earth or sea, the world was inhabited by Spirits. Our spirits in fact, for we are immortal, though we do not yet realize it. But our souls lived for aeons under the stars dancing and singing the hymns of the gods in harmony.

"But there was a rebellion, the Evil One seduced some of the lesser spirits and caused them to try and overcome their brethren and destroy the works of the gods. Had this gone on much longer, there would be nothing but darkness left in the world.

"But the mighty Pelas and his twin brother Agon defeated the Evil One (this was before Agon became evil himself). They cast him into outer darkness, somewhere, and decided to punish the spirits who had sinned by imprisoning them within bodies of flesh and bone. These soul-fools, as they were known among the gods, were then forced to live on the earth as animals and as people.

"Being fair and just, Pelas created a prison for each spirit in accordance with the grievousness of their sins. So to the most rebellious he gave hideous forms, like unto worms and creeping things and to the least rebellious he gave human forms or animal forms. Each spirit was given a form that was befitting his prior life."

'And what is the meaning of all this?' Daryas asked.

'The point is, my good friend, that when the peasant stops at the house of Ponteris he can be turned away without a thought. The Cheftan's conscience is clean, for he would not want to deny the decrees of the gods by comforting a sinner in his duly received affliction.

'But doesn't that mean that Cheft Ponteris is also among the condemned, as well as so many other men and women of renown?'

'You are not as clever as you look, Daryas,' Sion laughed. 'You see, the gods in their wisdom knew that these foolish souls would need guardians that would make sure that they did not once again make war against all that is good and just. So they also sent in souls of the highest order to serve as nobles, kings, philosophers and various other wealthy lords to make sure that these Soul-fools were well managed.'

'Souls such as Cheftan Ponteris?'

'Indeed,' Sion could barely contain his laughter as he spoke, 'My dear father is a guardian and a shepherd to these poor Soul-fools!'

'But this is absurd!' Daryas said half in disbelief.

'Oh my friend, you have only heard a little bit. But in truth there are many elaborate tales and stories by which men drive empathy from their hearts. The moment a man's poverty and want is considered his own fault, there is no longer any need of compassion; and more importantly there is no longer any need of generosity.'

A large tent was placed in the center of the camp with a large bonfire built near its entrance. Inside, around a small wooden table, the four Cheftans sat in council. Cheft Rahm spoke first. 'We have come far and with little difficulty, my lord. But now we have need of council. For the words of the scout Revere weigh heavy on my mind, and his report was confirmed by the testimony of the Cheftirne. Daryas, son of Biron, and Hassan, son of Ponteris, have returned with the same news. The goblins of Coronis are unarmed and vulnerable, yet the smoldering ruins of Wesla and Cronla tell us there is more to them than meets the eye.'

'Then you are of the same mind with that braggart?' Faros said harshly when the old man had finished speaking. 'I know what he was hinting at. A Conjurer of all things! Surely you don't believe such nonsense.'

'Whether it is nonsense or not, it would be wise to tread with caution in these lands. They are seldom visited, and they have never been fully mapped. We cannot know what sort of evil dwells above us in the high places. Goblins,' Rahm paused and then lowered his voice, 'Goblins are clever brutes, my lord.'

Cheft Faros grew increasingly impatient with his captains. His face was bright red and he was almost yelling as he spoke. 'I will not lead this army into war against superstitions and old wives' tales, when there are enough devils of flesh and blood with which to contend. Show me a Conjurer, and then I will believe that the braggart speaks the truth. I have scoured every scroll and every military record of Dadron the Great. I have read the Silvirne stories and the stories of the Daevars and the Noras. There is one thing in which all these folks agree, that there are no Conjurers!'

'My lord,' Cheft Vilav said with amazement, 'How is it that you can say such a thing, when the legends and stories of the Noras are teaming with such accounts? Not to mention the histories of the Silvirne?'

'You can believe what you want, Cheft Vilav,' Faros snapped. 'But none of those tales even seem to be within the bounds of possibility. And if they are not possible, then they certainly aren't true. They are no more real than the Chronicles of the Merkata or the tale of Idu the Fool.'

'One last word, my lord,' Cheft Rahm said in a clear and calm voice. 'The cause of the goblins' odd behavior is unknown, but the effect is certain. That much none of us can deny. There is something strange at work here, something unknown to us. And that man is a fool who takes no care when he acts without knowledge.'

The First Battle

There were three goblin camps located about three leagues apart from each other in a relatively flat section of the mountainside. The first was about seven leagues due west from Megd-u-Coran, in a place where the trees were very thin. The next camp was made about two leagues north of that one, and the third was about a league further to the north along a quick running mountain spring.

Cheft Faros' will prevailed; Cheft Lonos supported him, Vilav refused to oppose him openly, and Cheft Rahm was too honorable a warrior to press the matter further. 'We will see what the gods have prepared for us,' was all that he said.

On the morning of the fifteenth day of Leonius, Cheft Lonos marched with five hundred men far to the north while Cheft Rahm and Cheft Vilav marched northwest, each with five-hundred men under their command. Cheft Faros marched also, though with only a small force of about seventy men with which he could move swiftly and send orders to each of his captains. The rest of the Galva Army remained in their camp at Megd-u-Coran.

Their intention was to drive a wedge between each camp and cut them off from one another. This they hoped would allow them to be conquered separately and more easily.

As Revere had reported, each goblin camp held around three-hundred and fifty goblin men, and these were all unarmed. The Galva army marched toward them eagerly with their spirits raised as high as their green banners.

'You must almost pity them,' Sion said as they marched northwest with Cheft Rahm's band. 'I know they are just brutes, but they are unarmed and unawares. It will be a dark day for them.'

'But they may not always be so,' Daryas reminded him. 'And once they have acquired weapons we might regret any thoughts of pity. And we must not forget to spare some pity for those of our own lands who will suffer at their hands.'

'Suffering will come to Noras as likely from human hands as goblins. It is not righteousness that makes us different from the goblins.'

Cheft Rahm's great horn blared and the Galva army attacked. The warriors of Noras fell on their prey with the swiftness of a hawk. They marched into the camp with their blades drawn and their spears held high. The goblins fled at the sight of them, but were unable to escape. Cheft Rahm was in the midst of the camp, hewing them down with his mighty axe, with his nephews guarding his side, stabbing goblins here and there with their spears.

Before the fight began, Sion led Daryas to a ridge just south of the camp, within an arrow's-flight from the center. There they hid among the snow covered rocks and fallen trees, waiting in silence for the battle to begin.

From their hiding place they sunk many arrows into the backs of their foes. By the end of ten minutes Sion had taken down sixteen altogether, but Daryas slew only seven.

'I have never been that great of an archer,' he said as he watched Sion drop his fourteenth goblin.

'There is time yet to improve, friend,' Sion said as he released an arrow into his fifteenth.

Mityai was nearby, and she giggled to herself when she saw them competing in this way. Sion aimed for his seventeenth foe, but when he released his arrow Mityai grabbed it from the air and guided it with her swift feet away from the neck of the goblin for which it was destined and drove it through his heel instead. In an instant she returned to the archers and likewise snatched Daryas' arrow in its flight and drove it into the heart of the very same goblin.

'Now that is just unfair,' Sion complained. 'That should have been mine!'

'Don't fret it, Sion,' Daryas said, surprised at his success, 'I must admit that it was little more than chance that drove my arrow so fatally.'

Mityai rushed back and forth between goblin and archer, dragging Daryas' arrows into his foes and leading Sion's away. All the while her laughter echoed through the hill, though not to the ears of mortal men. In the end their counts were matched at eighteen.

'There is more to the son of Biron than I would have guessed,' Sion said shaking his head. 'If this were a game I would call you a cheater and walk away in anger and wrath. But in this dread business of war I say, cheat as much as you wish! We will all be the better for it.'

It was not long before all the goblins lay slain upon the ground. From the ridge Daryas and Sion could now see Cheft Rahm walking about among the fallen brutes with his bodyguards on each side. He found what he deemed to be the Hob-goblin's hut and entered it, followed by two of his guards.

'That is unusual,' Sion said.

'What do you mean?' Daryas asked. They now rested on a small boulder with their feet dangling off the edge overlooking the camp.

'Cheft Rahm went into the tent first. It is customary to let the bodyguards enter first to ensure the Cheftan's safety.'

'He seemed to be in a bit of a rush,' Daryas said as he stood up. He brushed the dirt from his pants and prepared to climb down. 'We should go down and see if there are any arrows to be reclaimed.'

'A moment,' Sion said as he tugged on Daryas's shoulder. 'There is something strange at work here. These were all petty goblins, and there is no sign of a hob or an orc.'

'What could it mean?' he asked.

'All things act according to their own peculiar patterns and rules. But in these camps I see none of the things that are supposed to govern goblins. There are no women, which makes them seem more like warriors than raiders. There are no weapons, which makes them look more like fools than cunning brutes. And there is no hob-goblin or orc to rule over them.'

'But if they are not ordered by a hob-goblin, then by what are they ordered?'

'By something else,' Sion whispered. Mityai drew her face close to Daryas and tried to speak, but none of her words could enter his mortal ears. She could not warn him of the danger that her lord Pelas had seemed so concerned with.

Even as she tried to speak, Cheft Rahm emerged from the tent and looked around frantically. 'Return to camp at once!' he shouted. He said more, but his voice was overpowered by a shrill scream.

All eyes were drawn to the northwest, where there stood a lone goblin on the top of a high ridge. It was a she-goblin.

High atop the ridge she wailed and screamed at the sight of the slain goblins. In a short time she was joined by others who likewise began to wail and scream. The warriors below covered their ears. Some of them were so vexed by the shrill sound that they dropped their weapons and fell to their knees. Sion tapped Daryas's shoulder and the two darted off the rock, sliding, climbing and almost falling down the hill toward the camp.

The screaming ended abruptly. The she-goblins charged forward, stumbling with rage and trampling each other as they rushed down the slope of the mountain. Fury is not an adequate word for the heat of passion and anger with which they smote the ranks of the Galva Army.

Cheft Rahm's force retreated quickly, the little warning they had was enough to save most of them from being overcome in the ambush. But nothing would stop the raging tide of goblins.

Unlike the poor brutes they had just slain, these she-goblins were not unarmed.

Most of them carried wooden spears or stone hammers and many other primitive weapons. But there were many among them that bore swords, daggers, and even shields. They were terribly unorganized, as is to be expected among goblins; yet their numbers and their anger supplanted every design and every strategy of the Galva Army. There was nothing left to do but to flee. Shields were dropped and cloaks cast aside as they ran and slid down toward the main camp. More than a dozen of Rahm's warriors, in the panic of the moment, were betrayed to their deaths by the hidden pitfalls and sheer cliffs that surrounded their path.

Mityai followed close behind her charge in quiet fear, not knowing what to do. For she was no great warrior, and she could not stop the goblins by might. All that she could do was to scatter the stones and roots that might trip the fleeing warriors and to cast branches and rocks in front of the charging horde.

As the fleeing Galva Army drew closer to their camp they came to the edge of a tall cliff. There they met the remains of Cheft Vilav's force. In one glimpse they could see by the fear and sorrow in their eyes that their force had met a similar, but worse fate. There were many wounded among them, and as they walked they left in their wake a trail of blood.

The injuries and sorrow of their comrades revived the spirits of Cheft Rahm's men. Without a word or a command they turned on their heels and charged the rampaging she-goblins. The two forces met like the crashing of two rams, horn against horn. There they fought for the blood of Vilav's men; the Galvahirne to save it, and the she-goblins to spill it. Cheft Rahm stepped into the front of the battle and with a loud shout swung his mighty battle-axe into the wave of foes. His powerful strokes severed heads and limbs and sent the she-goblins into retreat, if only for a moment. To his side rushed all of the mighty warriors of the Galva army to hold them back while their wounded companions escaped down a steep path from the cliff's edge.

Many hundreds of she-goblins fell at their feet in that spot. Ander and Silos rushed to their uncle and guarded him on each side as he cut his way through the goblins. Sion and Daryas along with many other archers rained arrows upon their enemies until all their arrows were spent. Then they drew their knives and fought alongside the warriors. Mityai turned also to help them, but this time she guided the blades of both men, caring more for their lives than for their tallies.

But in the end even this ground had to be abandoned and Cheft Rahm led his men back to the camp, fighting every step of the way.

By the time the night fell the she goblins gave up their pursuit and returned to the mountain by the same path. The wind was cruel that night as the survivors returned to the camp with heads hung in sorrow. Cheft Rahm hurried to Cheft Faros' tent and asked for news of the other forces.

'Cheftan, what news have we from the others?' he said with a flame of sorrow in his eyes. 'We have been driven back, but the greater part of our number are unharmed. We have lost no more than sixty, from what I can tell in this darkness.'

Faros paused for a moment and then spoke softly and without emotion, 'Cheft Vilav returned with only one hundred of his warriors.'

There was a long pause before Rahm pressed him again, 'Cheftan, what about Cheft Lonos and his force?'

Faros turned away and looked into the darkness in the corner of his tent. 'Cheft Lonos returned alone.'

'By Agon,' Rahm whispered. His heart sunk and his eyes fell to the floor. 'Where is he now?'

'He is in his tent, he has not spoken a word since he returned.'

Cheft Rahm spoke only briefly with Lonos that day.

'My body is untouched,' Lonos complained, 'but I fear that my soul has perished within me. For I alone escaped alive. A fate most unfitting for a warrior; to live on while all of your youths perish.'

'Such a fate was not of your own making,' Rahm said softly. 'It is Pelas who decides who is to sleep and who is to wake. You cannot lay the blame at your own feet.'

Lonos looked nervous for a moment and opened his mouth as if he was going to speak but then shut his lips quickly.

'We are sending out scouts in the morning,' Rahm told him. 'We will not let these goblins draw our blood without drawing our own share from them. And we will put such an increase on our portion that they will not henceforth spill the blood of the Noras lightly.'

The Strange Path

The following morning Sion and Daryas were sent into the mountains to find the goblins' lair. Tracking them was not a difficult task; it was simply a matter of following the trail of blood and abandoned bodies back to the camps and up into the mountains. But as they climbed higher into the Coronan the weather once again turned against them. There were few trees in this section of the mountain to guard them from the frigid wind that came rushing down the mountainside. They drew their cloaks around their faces and pressed on, always trying to stay out of sight.

For two days they searched without success for signs of a camp or a settlement. On the third day, however, they found a small trail heading south and veering toward the western side of the mountain near the ridge from which the she-goblins had descended in their fury.

They followed this trail, occasionally passing the frozen bodies of she-goblins whose injuries had apparently been too severe to survive the retreat. With every step they became more apprehensive and cautious; they had no desire to bring upon their lonely heads the fury that they had experienced in that first battle.

At long last, when the sun reached its noonday height they came to a high ridge overlooking a flat plain below. There they saw an enormous goblin camp stretched out beneath them. 'Seven hundred tents at least,' Sion said after they had watched it for a few minutes. 'Each holds not less than twenty goblins I expect. And the hordes of she-goblins are but the lesser part of their might.'

'Then they have the mastery of numbers,' Daryas said in a low whisper. 'We should leave here immediately and warn the others. For this is a task beyond the Galva Army.'

'This may be a task beyond all the warriors in Noras,' Sion responded. 'Whoever told Cheft Faros that we would make an easy slaughter of these brutes was either stupid or a traitor.'

'Or both more likely,' Daryas said sharply. He shook his head and said with urgency, 'Sion, the enemy now lies between us and our camp; we must hurry lest we get cut off from our path.'

'We will leave soon enough,' Sion said. 'But we should learn more about their numbers and arms first. The Galva Army has been deceived; we were not sent here to save Noras.'

Daryas turned his head sharply, his face losing all color. 'What are you saying, friend?'

'Comrade,' he spoke with a strange confidence born of humor. 'We are not dead yet, so do not look at me as though I were a ghost. Let us learn more and then return to our fellows. When we are returned, that will be the time for council and speculation. But if we do not make it back in a timely manner, and with a more certain knowledge of our enemies, all our pondering will be turned into vanity.'

So they remained in their hiding places until they had made several more observations.

There were far more goblins than they had been told. In this camp alone they saw evidence of a force greater than ten-thousand strong. But among those encamped below them they saw no she-goblins.

'So the devils that routed us with such fury must be from yet another camp,' Daryas said with frustration.

Such a large number of goblins would need many provisions. 'These are no raiders,' Sion said as he watched them move about their camp. They have crated food and barrels of drink. We are not looking at a tribe. This is an army.'

Daryas pointed out some of the larger guards. 'Look below at those orcs. It is hard to see from here, but their blades are straightened and sharp. Every now and again I can make out a glint of light from their edges. No goblin raider is so careful as to keep their blades free from rust and dent.'

Perhaps the most alarming discovery was that of a strange stone pathway by which many goblins were entering and leaving the camp.

'This is no mere trail, these are cut stones,' Sion pointed out.

'I think you are right,' Daryas said as he looked closer at the stones on each side.

'Daryas, you know the tales of Noras better than I,' Sion said, 'Should we expect to find a carved stone road in the high places of Mount Coronan? Could this path have been been carved by the delvers, many ages ago?'

Daryas took a moment to think and then answered, 'It is true that until the wars of Galvahir they had built many strongholds in the mountains. But I have never heard of them building on Mount Coronis. In fact, from what I have been taught, the delvers regarded this mountain as sacred and swore never to set axe or hammer against it. That is, if you can believe the old stories.'

'Could there be delvers in these mountains still?' Sion asked.

'I don't know,' Daryas answered. 'I do not think they would last here long with these goblins about. The only thing that delvers hate more than men are goblins. At any rate, these walls are too large and too poorly crafted to be the work of delvers. I would say that these walls are of human making.'

'Could they have been made by the Noras?' Sion asked as he crept in for a closer look.

'I don't think so, the Noras build things for strength and use, this path seems to be built for haste. And built recently, for that matter,' Daryas walked over toward Sion and pointed down toward the side of the path's entrance. 'Do you see those mounds?'

Just to the south of the path's entrance there were many mounds of dirt and stones. 'These mounds have not yet been torn down by the wind and the snow. I would say that this path was made sometime last spring, certainly no more than two years ago.'

Sion suddenly grew uneasy. 'We had better return to the camp and tell the Cheftan. I have an ill feeling about this path.'

The scouts made their way back to the camp by the same road they had come. They were less cautious on their return, sometimes even walking openly along the bloodstained paths. It seemed to them that matters were so hopeless that stealth and survival now had little use.

But despite their speed they were unable to make their way back before night and found themselves setting up a hasty campsite about a half an hour's walk from the trail in a small rocky cave where they would be protected from the wind at least.

They set a small fire and ate some dried meat. 'I'm liable to break my teeth on this,' Sion complained. 'But I will eat it all the same,' he quickly added when Daryas glanced at his portion with hungry eyes.

After they finished eating they set up a shelter around the fire to block the wind and to conceal the flickering light. 'If it weren't so cold I would suggest we put it out altogether,' Daryas said. 'I do not like the feel of this place, I feel like we are walking into a dragon's mouth, step by step.'

'There are no dragons in the Coronan Mountains, thankfully,' Sion laughed. 'Do not worry, brave Daryas, we will return to camp soon enough.'

The pair sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the howling wind from outside and shivering next to their fire.

'Daryas,' Sion began after some time had passed. 'I always hated hearing the old fairy stories about this mountain. But now that we are sitting here contemplating its mysteries, I am somewhat ashamed that I know so little of its history - if there be any history in the old tales.'

One thing that perhaps did distinguish Daryas from his peers was his skill as a storyteller. When he was a child his friends would listen for hours to the strange and fantastic tales he would invent or recount. Yet as he grew older his timidity took control and his stories became more infrequent until finally he ceased telling them almost entirely. Now the only people he would share his stories with were his brother and his friend Sion. But as the fire danced around the walls of the cave, and as his companion's eyes widened with interest, the talebearer awoke within him and he began to tell the ancient stories of the Noras forest and the Coronan Mountains. Most interesting to Sion were the stories that spoke of the Coronan Mountains themselves. Mityai also sat in the firelight listening, though neither of the spies even knew she was there. She listened to his tales with wide eyes and with excitement, even though she knew most of his tales already. She not only knew them, but she knew them better than he did. For in her long years she had seen many of the heroes and villains with her own immortal eyes.

'In the Dark days, before the coming of the Nine Heroes, the Coronan Mountains were trampled by the feet of goblins above and shaken by the hammers of the delvers below. These two races were never at peace; they were constantly striving one against the other. It was said that the mountain streams ran red with the blood of their conflict, and sickened all those who drank from the Falsi River. The Delvers, it was said, wanted the meat for which the goblins hunted and the goblins wanted the gemstones and silver for which the delvers mined.

'Every now and again, the goblins would take a respite from their conflicts with the delvers and come down into the forest to raid the foolish people who lived there enthralled by the Devil King Agon. But the darkness of those woods was more than even their foul souls could tolerate. In due time, Galvahir and the other Heroes defeated Agon by the power of the Holy Sword of Pelas and drove him over the Mountains to the wastelands of Amlaman, where he was condemned to dwell for all eternity. They made an end of the Temple of Agon, and stole his priestesses to be their own wives and servants. Upon their return, however, they found that goblins had filled the woods and the delvers had carried away all of their wealth.

'Galvahir gathered his followers and began a war with these creatures. He destroyed the delver strongholds in Libron and Galva, sending them into exile in the west. Some say they perished in the wilds, while others claim that they came to a place beyond Amlaman called Desset; and there they remain even to this day.

'But the goblins they treated more harshly. They slew every goblin that set foot in Noras and drove the others out of the mountains and into the northern sea. So fearful were they of Tanak, the sword of Pelas, that they leapt from cliffs and ridges down into valleys of ice and stone, or into the frozen seas to escape its wrathful edge. Others fled into the caves of the delvers where they were soon overcome by the foul Gaians - those spirits who dwell in the deep darkness of the earth. All this being accomplished, Galvahir returned to Noras and rested from his trials for twenty years.

'But Mount Coronis itself was not settled by the delvers. They seemed to have considered it a god of some kind, and as a result they never set axe nor pick against it. Neither did they ever set foot on the mountain if they could avoid it.

'The goblins seemed to have had some dwellings in the foothills of Coronis, but they are not stone-masons. As far as I know, they have never made such a path as the one that we've seen today. They can make tools, but not the like of those that carved such a path through the stones of this mighty mountain.'

'So what are we to make of this path?' Sion asked after he had listened to Daryas' tales.

'I don't know,' Daryas replied. 'But it is work too extensive and too well-crafted for goblins. On the other hand it is too simple and poorly made to be the work of Delvers.'

'And delvers do not make paths in the open air, if my memory serves,' Sion added with a thoughtful look on his face.

'Quite true,' Daryas confirmed. 'They make their paths in secret places under the darkness of the mountains, only breaking the surface where it is necessary, whether for air or for water or food. These paths, if we are not deceived, were made by men.'

Daryas stayed awake much longer than his friend, as was now his constant practice. He had not slept for many days now and as he sat there Old Man Sleep approached him quietly from the mouth of the cave.

He passed his hand over Daryas' eyes and his weary head nodded for a moment. But the young man resisted and shook his head violently to rouse himself. He sat up and began busying himself about the fire until it roared to new life and warmed his sleeping companion.

Old Man Sleep sighed and sat down wearily beside Mityai. 'You gods can be such nuisances,' he said in his dry and toneless voice. 'Always meddling with mortals and never minding your own business.'

'But is that not our curse,' Mityai's gentle voice asked.

'It is not my place to say anything different from what your lord Pelas teaches you,' he sighed. Mityai looked confused.

'But Lord Pelas has taught us that we are cursed to be both servants and lords of mortal men, until the time that Pelas once again gains the ascendancy and redeems the whole earth.'

'Indeed you are cursed to be the servants and lords of men,' Sleep replied, 'But that doesn't mean that it is what you should be doing.'

'What do you mean?' Mityai asked.

'What should a mortal man do?' Sleep asked her.

'I suppose he must make for himself a living, and care for his children and his wife.'

'Indeed, but suppose he was a bad man, and found himself condemned to labor as a slave for some other man. Is that slavery and hardship what he ought to do, or is it what he must do?'

'It is what he must,' Mityai said, her eyes now glowing with inquisitiveness.

'But what he should do remains the same, is that not correct?'

'Yes,' Mityai said thoughtfully. 'He should still do those things. But now he is unable, and doomed to fail before he even begins.'

'Yet it is still his duty, is that not right?' Sleep asked her.

'It is,' she answered.

'And that is the most shameful part of mortal chastisements: To be forbidden to do that which you ought, for having done that which you oughtn't. All wicked men are thus twice-damned.' Sleep looked into her eyes now as he spoke. 'Perhaps it is much the same with you immortals. 'You "must" meddle with mortal affairs, but you still "should" do that which is right.'

Mityai sat in silent thought for a moment. After a while she furrowed her silvery brow and spoke boldly to the Old Man. 'We will do something right then,' she said with resolution. 'Young Daryas will rest tonight, and you will help me.'

'Me?' Sleep exclaimed. 'If I knew that you were going to draw me into your scheme I would have remained silent altogether. I have no authority over the wills of men. That is the portion given to my brother Folly.'

Mityai sighed and moved away from the old man. She sat down gently behind Daryas. 'Very well then,' she said lifting her nose to the sky, 'then I will be Old Man Sleep tonight.'

The Old Man watched as she softly began to sing in her immortal voice, songs long forgotten by men in languages their ears had never heard. For some time she sat there, gently caressing his head as though she were trying to calm a weeping babe. Slowly he lowered his head and she eased him down onto his bedroll and closed his eyes. After a moment he stirred and he began to rise. But Old Man Sleep rose from his seat and placed his heavy hand upon his eyelids and dragged them shut once more. 'Far be it from me to cede my rights to such a little god,' he laughed. 'But there is still some part that you might play. Behold! The young man sleeps now, and his dreams will return if there is no one near to guard him.'

'Thank you, Old Father Sleep,' Mityai said in a broken voice.

There she sat for long hours watching over him with his head cradled in her arms, singing her lovely songs to him. But sometime in the middle of the night, foul spirits came to torment him with visions of things not yet to be. Mityai held on to him all through the night, singing and praying; but she had no strength to stop his troubled nightmares. For they were sent to him from Lord Pelas himself.

He dreamed that he was running, as always, through a forest in the darkness. Suddenly he looked behind him and beheld a great fire, burning in the distance. Smoke was rising in great billows, blotting out the light of the stars. He turned and ran toward the fire, not knowing what he expected to discover.

Suddenly, he became aware of the presence of another. A voice cried out, saying, 'How dark is your will Daryas! It hides even from yourself!'

The Second Battle

The following afternoon, the camp of the Galva Army was sent into an uproar. The scouts returned with news of the goblin army and it seemed as though the courage of the Galvahirne melted away. All would have broken down into complete chaos had not Cheft Rahm taken matters into his own hands. He walked to the center of the camp with his nephews on either side of him, dressed in full battle attire. He climbed atop one of the wagons and blew three loud blasts with a ram's horn. The sound echoed through the mountain and every ear turned toward the old hero of Noras.

'Men of Noras! Galvahirne, Oastirne, and Vivlirne alike!' he called out. 'It was not that long ago by the ages of this world that your fathers marched against the armies of the goblins of these very mountains. They were armed with their own hides and knew not the mountain passes. Their swords were dull and their spears were made of wood. Their numbers were less than yours as well. In every way you stand here a more excellent force than theirs. Yet their small numbers and feeble weapons were compensated by the intense fire of their passion. Their love of our great wood drove our fathers to heroics the likes of which Noras has not known before or since.

'But there is no reason that those heroics must die. We are their sons, every one of us. The blood of heroes flows through our veins and will not be easily spilt. So turn your eyes once more toward Coronis' peak. We will not be driven back; not by a hundred goblins, nor will be pushed back by a hundred-thousand goblins. As long as we draw breath from the same air as our ancient ancestors we will not relent in our defenses.

'For the sake of our mothers and our sisters, who will be carried off as spoil, to be ill-treated in some orc or hob-goblin's den, we will bleed the devils till they are swept off this mountain in a rushing torrent of their own blood!'

With these words the men cheered and their courage was renewed. Even Cheft Faros, who had been pacing within the walls of his tent was brought back to a courageous disposition by his bold words. 'Truly Pelas smiled upon us when he sent Cheft Rahm to march among us.'

Rahm continued with many words of encouragement. 'Do we not have among us many heroes among the Noras. Is there not marching with us men like Swagar Prostirne? Pater Borirne and Tiltos the High Priest's son are also among us. Gergius Gergirne and many of the sons of Clinlor and Mallor have answered our call to arms. We have also Hassan Ponterirne, whose skill with both bow and sword is unparalleled.

'Truly not in the history of Noras since the days of Galvahir himself has such a force been assembled. We would shame every one of our ancestors if we were to turn our backs to these goblins today.'

The warriors were encouraged and they prepared their weapons and armor once again for battle. Nevertheless, Cheft Faros sent runners hurrying eastward down the mountains to seek aid in Belnan.

Cheft Faros proved his skill as a strategist and commander during the second battle. He sent Cheft Vilav with two thousand men marching up the mountain paths toward the goblin camp. They marched openly and in full sight with shields and banners and flags waving about in the cold mountain wind.

The sun rose high above the Galva Army, unhindered by clouds as its light danced upon their swords and shields. Vilav's men marched in perfect step so that each time their feet fell upon the ground it was like an earthquake. They marched to a narrow place just to the north of the goblin encampment. It was so close in fact that from the highest points almost the entire goblin camp was visible.

The goblins lost no time in scrambling for their weapons and arms. Orcs ran about with hammers and maces, pounding the alarms with great strokes. In less than an hour their warriors were making their way uphill toward the army of Cheft Vilav.

The two forces met with a crash. The goblins came upon them like the crashing of a mighty river against an immovable stone. Their skirmishers were slain ere they could arouse any confusion and the warriors in the Galva vanguard were fully prepared for the coming of the goblins. Shields shattered and swords splintered. The goblins were cast down and driven back, but the Galva army stayed in their place.

Three times this repeated, until it became clear that the goblins would have no success trying to move the Noras. So out came the orcs; they were better armed and much taller. They carried maces and hammers, axes and spears of immense size, the edges of which gleamed like gold in the afternoon sun.

But the army of Vilav pulled back and marched to the north between two great the walls of the mountain into a place called Corhen. Here there was almost a bowl shaped valley with steep ridges all along the north and western sides. On the east there were several lone pinnacles of rock, soaring high above the edge of the valley. On the eastern side was a steep cliff that fell down to jagged rocks and a swift flowing mountain stream.

When they entered Corhen they immediately positioned themselves along the western wall. There were many archers positioned along the ridges above the valley, lying in wait for the goblins. Sion and Daryas had taken their place upon the top of one of the eastern pinnacles, after a somewhat treacherous climb.

'From here we will not easily miss, and we will be invincible from the devices of the goblins,' Sion said.

'Unless the valley is lost,' Daryas said with some worry in his voice. 'Then we will starve atop here or be caught and slain below.'

The goblins took the bait and marched boldly into the valley. 'It is certainly true what they say,' Faros said as he saw them enter, 'These fools have no mind for open war.'

When the goblins entered, with their orc captains at the lead, Faros blew a loud horn from the top of one of the ridges. At that moment Cheft Rahm and Cheft Lonos appeared from a hidden path and marched behind the goblin force, driving them through the pass and into the valley. The goblins that were crowded into the pass became defenseless to the arrows of the Noras who stood above them shooting arrows and hurling spears and stones upon their heads. Those goblins that entered the valley were driven by a wall of shields and spears to the cliffs edge where many hundreds of goblins met their ends.

From atop their rocky platform, Hassan and Daryas rained down arrows on their foes. They shot with care and wasted no arrows. Fifty goblins at least were slain by each of them. From up there Hassan slew one of the orcs with an arrow that slipped between his breastplate and his helm, piercing his throat. He fell with a heavy thud on the cold stony ground. Upon seeing one of their captains fall, the goblins were seized with fear; many tried to rush out of the valley in a ferocious panic. Now there were goblins trying to enter, driven by the swords and axes of Rahm's men, and there were also many goblins trying to flee from the arrows and the cliffs. The whole force was trapped in the pass without any hope of escape. Many tried to clamber up the steep rock wall, but to no avail. The Noras archers shot them down and they crashed heavily on their fellows, crushing many beneath themselves.

Even the mightiest stone, however, cannot forever withstand the rages of the sea. In time, the mightiest warriors weary and must rest from battle. As the sun began to sink that day things turned once more against the Galva Army. Goblins are masters of the night, and they were now gathering in hordes in the open places in the west and the north, preparing for the descent of the sun.

Unexpectedly an enormous army of goblins descended upon the scene and crashed into Cheft Rahm's men. They were wrathful, and there was, as I said earlier, no semblance of human mercy within them. A spirit of bloodlust seemed to fly through their ranks, whispering in their devilish ears of the spoil and the taste of human flesh. They chomped and bit at the swords that cut them, and raved like madmen across the battlefield. So dreadful was their onset that Faros at once called a retreat. He was too shrewd a strategist to allow the losses of the first battle to be repeated. He had anticipated such an assault, but he was taken quite aback by the ferocity of the goblins warriors.

They gnawed the bones of men still living; they dug their filthy fingers deep into the throats and faces of their prey and carried off with them trophies of tongues, eyes and scalps. With a few blasts of the ram's horn, the Noras were in flight. Those Noras who were within the Corhen valley rushed over the mound of goblin dead and through the pass. They rushed headlong into the fray and drove hard against the fresh goblin troops. But they were weary and they could not withstand them. By nightfall the Noras were in full flight.

As Faros passed Cheft Rahm's forces he shouted out, 'Cheftan of Noras! Flee while there is still life within you.'

But Cheft Rahm responded, 'If we yield our position there will be nothing to turn away the hordes and nothing to stop them from slaying us one and all in the passes. Fly, my lord. We will follow when the army of Galva is safely beyond their grasp in Megd-u-Coran.

Cheftan Rahm Cossirne

At the vanguard of the Noras army, remaining as a last protection against the army of goblins, stood Cheftan Rahm Cossirne along with his nephews Ander Cossirne and Silos Cossirne. They stood fast against the goblins like a mighty oak against a spring zephyr. Can any man number the goblins that lay dead at their feet ere the end? Legends were made on that mountain in that day, and stories that would be retold in Noras for many ages.

The goblins were driven into a mad rage. They sent many orcs against Rahm and his men, slaying many of them and driving away many others. In the end, all that remained was Cheft Rahm and his nephews, surrounded on all sides by goblins of every shape and size.

'They have been impressed, sons of my beloved sister. They will not touch us,' Rahm said as he lowered his bloodstained axe. His nephews followed suit. Indeed, the goblins did not strike; they now kept about a stone's throw away from the three warriors, but hemmed them in on every side. There would be no escape.

'What will become of us then?' Silos asked.

'They are waiting for a hob-goblin or some orc-hero to challenge us. One by one he will fight us.'

Then I will face him first, uncle,' Ander spoke, 'for I am unafraid.'

'No, brother,' Silos spoke, 'I am elder and I am unharmed, you're hand has been cut badly.'

'Fools,' Rahm said at last, 'Men of courage and honor, blessed am I for knowing such kinsmen, but fools nonetheless. I will face him first. If the gods grant me victory, the goblins may release us. And if it is my fate to die here, then in the very least I will drain from him so much strength that he will fall more easily to you.'

'One last thing,' Rahm said as he checked his armor, set aside his axe and drew his sword, 'No matter what the gods decree, do not anger the goblins by interference. For they will then close in about us with such hatred that there shall not be any bone or tuft of bloodied hair remaining of our corpses.'

No hob-goblin appeared that day. The western edge of the goblin ring parted and a path appeared. Entering the field they saw, to their great surprise, the figure of a man. This was no goblin, for his gait was too refined and his posture too straight. His armor was all black and he wore a cape of crimson that hung down behind him, blowing in the breeze as he walked. Upon his shoulder there perched a large black crow. The goblins carried in piles of wood and lit bonfires to light the darkening mountainside. The evening gray vanished away in a moment and they stood in an orange circle with the horrible silhouettes of goblin warriors dancing upon the mountain walls.

The man approached them swiftly with his blade already drawn. It's edge gleamed like a shooting star in the bright light of the bonfires. The great bird leapt from his shoulder and flew away toward the east. Screeching as it sped away.

'Son of Cossa,' the man said through the faceplate of his helmet. 'You have fought well, worthy of many songs. But here your tales must come to an end. Neither you nor your army will leave this mountain alive. Such is the will of Lady Arie.'

'They may make songs,' Rahm said as he lifted his blade into the air. 'But by Pelas I pray that you at least will never live to hear them.'

Rahm lifted his blade to strike. His sword clashed against the blade of his foe, sending sparks flying in every direction. Cheft Rahm was a master swordsman, but the armored man blocked each blow effortlessly, holding back the fierce warrior's strokes with one hand. After less than a minute he turned swiftly aside and dodged one of Rahm's strikes altogether. He struck the old man in the temple with his elbow and drove his sword deep into his heart.

Silos shouted and sprang from his place, sword held high. Though his blade was sharp and his skill unparalleled, he too met his end by the sword of this strange man.

Ander lowered his blade and sunk to his knees. A stream of tears flowed from his eyes. 'Come for me, and I will end your sorrow also,' the man said in an almost kind voice. Ander raised his blade and furrowed his brow prepared to meet his kinsmen in death. 'Or perhaps you may be of some further use,' the man said coldly and thoughtfully.

In the distance could be heard the howling of wolves.

[Chapter V:  
The Usurper of Peiraso](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Chastisement

Revere traveled swiftly over the plains of Falnor, which lay between the Falsi River and the Libron. At first he kept off the main road, but as he made his way east toward Daevaron and away from Noras he used less caution and even, at times, walked along the road openly. It had been eighteen days since he had 'warned' Cheft Faros about the Conjurer, and he had spent almost every waking moment of that time on the road, putting as much distance between him and the 'doomed band of fools' as he was able. He was a skillful traveler and he came a long way in a short space of time. He passed through the Bridge Town of Belnan within two days of his interview and was now traveling northeast along the Old Noras Highway which after passing the Libron River and continuing east for some seventy leagues or so turned abruptly toward the north, following the coast of the Great Lake Gaenorin toward the city of Daeva.

When he was young, Revere always dreamed of being in command of an army. But as he grew older he came to discover that he was not gifted with any of those things that make a man a Captain. He felt he was too soft-spoken to shout out orders, and not proficient enough a warrior himself to be responsible for the safety of others. The chief obstacle, however, lay in the fact that the path to the top begins at the bottom. He who would command must first learn to serve; and Revere could never quite content himself with the idea of obedience. He might very well do as someone told him. But that by itself does not constitute obedience. The truly obedient servant must obey even when his own will is set against what must be done.

Instead of the glory of command he settled for a subtler form of power. Those who are gifted with confidence and skill are always the favorites of the world. The heroes, the gods, the warlords and kings are always accompanied by the thunder of praise and the worship and adulation of fools. Revere detested this. And so he spent every last fragment of his efforts to undermine these sorts of men through riddles and cunning words. It made no difference to him whether they were good men or bad, or whether they deserved their honors or not; the fall of someone who was the beloved of the 'simple', as he called everyone he disliked, was his only true reward.

He had from an early age perfected the art of making a fool out of people. He did this for himself, and seldom for the sake of anyone else. It mattered very little to him whether or not they even realized that he was mocking them, all that mattered is that in his own peculiar way he was able to demonstrate his superiority - or at least the inferiority of the man to the grandeur of his reputation.

Take his conversation with Cheft Faros as an example: It was wholly unimportant to Revere that Cheft Faros or any other soul ever realized that he had in fact made a mockery of the famed Commander. All that was important was that when Revere walked away from the interview he had found some way to convince himself that the 'hero' was an impostor, and all was lost to Noras because this 'blunderer' was too pompous and simple to string together the information his scout had provided him with and come to the realization that the threat they faced was beyond the capabilities of the Galva Army. What would come of the people in the army was not his concern, after all, he had done his part, he thought.

'It would have been more insulting to the famed commander had I spelled out the dangers like a schoolmaster teaches a child.'

The actual consequences of Revere's word games had never really concerned him. Mostly because he very rarely had to witness the distress and dishonor his subtleties caused, but even what mischief he had to observe did not bother him so long as he was able to attribute the trouble to the foolishness of his rivals.

As cruel as it may sound, however, I must confess that I believe that Revere is far from alone in his sad desire to see the ruin of his supposed betters. That is perhaps why it has been said that it is the friend who cheers for your success that is true, and not the friend who mourns your losses. It takes character and humility to be glad in the success and glory of another man, but only natural pity to be sad in their distress. Moreover, in good fortune there is something to be envied; he who can resist this temptation and truly rejoice for a friend - he is the true friend.

By the time Revere came within sight of the Solibree Bridge he had washed from his thoughts completely the dangers facing the Galva Army. He was able to make himself quite impervious to sympathy so long as he was able to attach to these men some appellation of disdain, however trivial it might be. It was enough for him to know that all the young men in the Galva Army were 'blind dogs on the leash of a blind man.' As though each man should be as shrewd as he and have eyes as keen.

His intention was to make his way to Daeva City and live in ease by the lake, at least for a while. Perhaps he would leave that country also; when the winter returns again he could sail to Kollun and then to wherever his fancy carried him. So long as he didn't need to be bothered by these 'Square-headed Norasmen' he would be content.

Revere himself was not of Noras blood, nor of Knarse blood like the Daevaron. His parents had come to Weldera from the dark and infamous city of Lapulia, which lays far to the east, 'On the other side of the world,' it seemed to him. Revere was born and educated in Dadron, but his heart always longed to leave Weldera and cross the seas to his parents' homeland.

The Solibree Bridge was a large stone bridge built by the founders of Dadron. It was meant to carry large quantities of supplies and merchandise from Lake Gaenorin across the Libron River and then on toward Belnan. There were several large villages and settlements built along the River in this region. Enormous farms were fenced off from the road here by crude and crumbling wooden fences. The road itself passed over the Libron in the northern section of the town of Soli, which was built up on both sides of the small lake that formed several leagues south of the bridge. Here Revere would have to stop, for his supplies were beginning to run out. A wise traveler would have filled his sacks in Belnan before setting out for Daeva, but he was in too great a hurry. It was not only the Conjurer and the foolish Cheftan that drove him eastward away from the forest.

Revere was expected to appear at the Council of Noras in Peiraso by the fifteenth day of Leonius at the very latest. Now there lay between he and his employer over a hundred leagues, and he was already three days late.

'Half-pay is sufficient,' Revere thought to himself as he stepped over the old bridge. 'The poor fool should save his gold, for no Council can save his army now. And it will do him no good hear the sorry news from me. He will learn soon enough what little hope he has.'

When he entered the center of town, Revere noticed immediately that there was a considerable number of tall, strong-looking Noras lurking about. 'Nearly twenty, if my eyes can still count,' he whispered under his breath. He skillfully avoided their eyes. Revere was the sort of man who was clever enough to make himself nearly invisible when he wanted to.

He eluded their eyes for some time by passing behind the houses and shops, making his way toward the grocer without drawing any attention. He approached the seller and made his request. He asked for several pounds of dried meat and some fresh loaves of bread and some cheese. As he waited for the grocer to return with his bundle he looked up into the blue skies above him. High above the ground he could see the dark shape of a soaring eagle. Something about the great bird unsettled him.

After he paid for his supplies he slipped around the shop and left the main road. He walked out into open fields of tall grass and made his way north and east, back in the direction of the road.

Suddenly he heard the shrill screech of an eagle over his head. The eagle he saw before was flying very low to the ground and swooped down so close to Revere's head that he was startled for a moment and ducked his head low with a jerk. The eagle rose up into the sky and vanished over the western horizon.

'Do not fear the talons of Maru,' a voice said from somewhere on his left. 'There are mightier talons in Tel Arie than even his. And there are talons with a firmer grip.'

Revere looked around with frustration, but he could see no one. 'Who are you?' Revere demanded. Something about the voice seemed familiar; it seemed to him as though he were hearing the words of a familiar song but with a new melody. 'Do I know you?'

'You are not as clever a scout as they say,' the voice laughed.

'Will you continue making a mockery of me, or will you show yourself. I do not take kindly to ridicule.'

'And I do not take kindly to treachery, Revere,' the voice said. Revere's heart dropped at the sound of his own name. The grass rustled and out stepped a man of Noras. Revere would have thought him to be a Cheftan were it not for his youth. Yet despite his appearance there was something like wisdom in his eyes and in his speech.

'You are a shrewd man to outwit Revere,' Revere said with a bow. 'Now may I have the pleasure of your name? It is not every day that one meets his better.' He clenched his teeth as he spoke.

'I am Dynamis,' he boomed. Revere could scarcely stop himself from shaking with fear. For there was perhaps not a soul in Noras or in Daevaron who had not heard of this Noras hero.

'D-Dynamis?' Revere stammered. The man looked every bit a hero. He was tall enough to be of Knarse blood, but his strong frame was unmistakably Noras. He was dressed all in brown, with a deep green cloak wrapped about his shoulders. For a full minute Revere could say nothing. His tongue was stopped and his heart pounded in his ears, waiting for the hero to speak.

'We have wasted enough time,' Dynamis said at last. 'Shall I kill you here, or shall I drag you on to Peiraso for judgment? That is all there really is to decide.' Revere said nothing but just stepped back. He reached for his dagger but Dynamis swung his sword and knocked it from his hand with such speed and strength that Revere did not even see the blade in motion. Dynamis continued, 'You have shamed your employer, who so kindly rewarded you with half your pay in advance. It has been twelve days since you were expected at Peiraso, and here you are in Soli. What have you to say? Has the master scout, who commended his services to Cheft Biron with so much self-praise, become so lost that he will travel for so many days in the wrong direction before he rights his course?'

Through all of this Revere said nothing, nor could he. He was beaten in his own game and there was nothing left but to endure this ridicule.

'But perhaps I may find some reason to spare you,' Dynamis said thoughtfully. 'Yes, I think there is something that you can do.'

'What does my lord require,' Revere said, forcing good manners.

'The Cheftan's son fights upon the mountain against a foe the army did not expect; that much is correct I assume?'

'Indeed. There is a Conjurer upon those hills, or my word is without worth.'

'Your word is without worth to be sure, though this is true whether there be a Conjurer or not,' Dynamis snapped. 'If you want to save your life, then lead me to the Galva army.'

'But I know not where they are,' Revere said.

'No matter,' Dynamis said as he drew his sword once again. As it left its iron scabbard the metal groaned as though it hungered for blood. 'I am no mean scout myself; I imagine I will have little trouble finding the warriors and their enemies without you.'

'No,' Revere said as he put his hands above his face, 'I will take you, for I know those mountains well. But I cannot promise that you will find anyone still living among the Galva army, if my fears are correct and there is indeed a Conjurer at work.'

'The only fear you seem to know is the thought of your own blood,' Dynamis said with a look of disdain. 'But you will learn to fear more than blood ere I am through with you. And promise nothing; it is only the Master of Causes that can promise without dishonesty or foolishness.'

With these words, and many further insults, Dynamis led Revere to his companions. A horse was prepared and he was given a sword.

'You would give me a sword?' Revere laughed.

'I do not fear your blade,' Dynamis laughed. 'But you should fear to be without it. A hunter's knife will bring you to a swift end on the battlefield.'

Revere looked uneasy. He had been trained to fight, but aside from his exercises he had never actually made use of his abilities.

'Fear not, Revere, stay near us and keep to the back. We will not let you come to harm so long as you are useful to us. But until I judge your debt repaid you will do as I say. I have little patience with deceivers and covenant-breakers.'

The Fall of Peiraso

Maru the eagle had flown the hundred leagues from Soli to Peiraso in one day, stopping only once to fall upon some hapless rabbit in the middle of the night and refresh himself with a well earned meal. He came to the edge of the Noras forest where the trees rose high into the air and guarded the ground from his eyes. These he passed quickly and came to the hill of Peiraso, where Cheft Biron's estate stood. From high above the ground he began circling slowly about, gently descending with every swoop. His keen eyes spotted the window of Cheft Biron and the post on which he would land.

Maru cried loudly as he gently set his talons on the tip of the post and came to the end of his journey. The great bird set about adjusting his feathers and peering warily about the estate. Cheft Biron was not in his room yet, but there was another there to greet him.

'Maru!' Lord Pelas said in a commanding tone. 'Have you done that which I have asked of you?'

Maru looked at him for a moment and then spoke in a clear and bold voice. 'I have flown the coasts of Weldera from north to south and peered through every window in Daevaron, yet I have seen no trace of the one whom you seek.'

'You must not forsake the search, Maru,' Pelas pleaded. 'Fate has decided that he is the only one who can bring justice to the mad Cheftan.'

'Fate has decided?' Maru replied. 'If it is so fated, then you have nothing to fear, the man will appear at the hour appointed to him. Why do you trouble my wings with this request? Are you uncertain of Fate or of your own prophecies?'

'Fate must come, great Maru,' Pelas said, 'But how it will come is not for you to decide. What you must decide is whether you will be the one to bring it about or the one who is swept away by it.'

'Very well,' the great eagle bowed, 'I will continue the search, as soon as I am able. But I serve the god of meat before I serve the god of Falsis! And as long as it is the Cheftan of the Galvahirne that gives me salted meat and other fine foods I will give his commands the preference.'

'You must do as you will. But remember that there are things more important than meat.'

'If there are such things then time and care have erased them from thought and I have altogether forgotten them.'

With those words Pelas vanished and left the eagle alone. Maru once again turned his sharp eyes away from the room to the surrounding estate.

There were a great many people from all over the forest gathered at Peiraso. These people had mainly come from Vivlir-la, Megd-la and Coran-la, where the threat of the goblins seemed the greatest. Cheft Biron had made many efforts to provide shelter and provision for them. Despite Cheft Ponteris' criticism Biron insisted that it would be, 'folly to neglect them. For when danger arises it is not the Cheftans' strength that saves the people. It is the blood of the common man that preserves the Cheftan from his enemies, however clever a Cheftan he may be.'

It was not long before Cheft Biron returned to his room and, seeing the eagle, threw open his window. He fed the great eagle some dried meat, which the bird ate with pleasure. Then he stroked the bird's feathers and praised him, 'Faithful Maru, ever have your ancestors served this household, and I hold you in esteem above all your forefathers.' The bird let out a gentle cry and lifted his talon from the post. Tied to his right ankle was a small leather pouch. Within the pouch Cheft Biron found a letter with the seal of Dynamis.

It was now the nineteenth day of Leonius. The Cheftans had all but departed except for Ponteris and several other important Cheftans. There remained Cheft Daevin and Horan also and Cheft Grendas Cossirne, who was a kinsman of the Lady Marima.

Cheft Biron grew weary of these straggling guests and locked himself away in his chambers for most of the daytime hours and rarely appeared at the evening meals. These he would have brought to him by servants or by his wife. But it was clear that he wished to have no further conversation with the other Cheftans.

His mind was greatly troubled for his son. He had been expecting Revere to bring him news of the goblins by the sixth day of Leonius. His absence made it impossible to persuade the Council of Noras to lend his army any support, as they were permitted to linger in their belief that the goblins upon the mountain were not significant enough of a threat to justify a larger commitment of warriors. They laughed and gave him token words of encouragement, but in his heart he felt certain that something had gone awry. Revere's absence made this feeling even heavier. For if so clever a scout should not escape the perils of the mountain, there must be more than simple hungry raiders at large in the cliffs. And then what would become of his son?

Fear and uncertainty began to take its toll on him and he grew tired and sickly, rarely even leaving his own bedroom. The letter of Dynamis brought his anxiety to a boiling point and he found himself overcome with fear and worry. The letter was written hastily, though with a firm and careful hand. It read:

'To the mighty lord of the sons of Galvahir who rules by right in Peiraso of Galva-la.

'I write this message by the dawn's rosy light on the morning of the eighteenth day of Leonius. The great eagle found me just west of Solibree in Daevaron. I was making haste to return to you, when I received your summons. Now I am of a mind to leave my company behind and rush back to Peiraso faster yet. Maru has found your missing scout some ways to the west of us; we will undoubtedly have him by this afternoon. Clever as he may be, he is no son of Galvahir, and he will not escape our net.

'As for my mission, I must report with a heavy heart that your fears have once more proved true. There is a great mustering of strength in the eastern world, and the old Malvirne city of Dalta is teeming with fighting men. The coasts of Olgrost are now so fortified that it seems only to be a matter of time before they must burst from their shores and seek to plunder other lands. Daevaron is quaking, and the senators of Kollun are wagging their forked tongues in debate. A smell of war is in the eastern air. But we will speak more of this when I arrive.

One last grave piece of news: You cannot trust Cheftan Oastirne. There have been many strange men passing through Daevaron from Olgrost and Kollun. Under the guise of brigands we waylaid some of them and by many means we drew from them the details of their business. More than ten of them were servants of Ponteris, and there were many more that we did not stop or search; for we did not want to draw any more attention to ourselves than was necessary. We have also heard rumors that the Cheftan himself has visited the Eastern continent, though these reports cannot be taken without suspicion.

'I hope to see beautiful Peiraso soon. Until then, may the mighty Master of Causes see fit to bring you honor and health.

'Your faithful servant, Dynamis'

The Cheftan sat for a long while staring at the letters and considering their meaning. 'The shadows which I have feared are all about me now; but now that they are taking shape it is too late for me to stop them.'

He sat there in silence for a long time, Maru went about adjusting his feathers again. The sun passed over the mountains far to the west and night crept over the land.

Lady Marima brought his dinner to him in his own room that evening. Ailai, one of her servants, carried a pitcher of water and a washing bowl, while Lady Marima carried a tray of hot food, still steaming from beneath wooden lids. They entered the room to find the Cheftan slumped over a chair, weeping.

'Stay, Ailai,' Marima whispered as she entered the room.

The Cheftan's room was not overly large, but it was the best room in the house. His bed was in the center of the room, flush against the north wall. It was made of thick logs of dark-stained oak. On every wall there hung the antlers, horns and skins of many different beasts, including the brilliant white fur of a great wolf.

Lady Marima rushed to his side and helped him to his seat. She wiped his tears with her dress and kissed his forehead. 'The window is open, my lord,' she said softly, 'it is not yet the weather for such things. You will get sick.'

'I care not,' he said. 'I have been betrayed,' he groaned. 'Betrayed and humiliated. The shadow presses upon me, but I have not the wisdom to overcome it. I am not Galvahir, and I scarcely deserve to be called his heir.'

'My lord is being too harsh,' she comforted him, 'Now stop this weeping. I have brought you hot food. Ailai is outside the door. Do you wish her to see the great Cheftan Galvahirne in so sorry a state?'

The Cheftan stood up and walked toward his bed. He sat down on the edge of it and spoke with his head hung low. 'I'm sorry,' he groaned as he cradled his head in his hands. 'I am not myself. It is as though a madness has come upon me.'

'Eat, my lord,' she said, 'You will feel stronger in time, but not if you neglect yourself. You are not an old man yet, and as long as you live there is still hope for our son.'

'You speak well, my love,' Biron said as he lifted his eyes to meet hers. 'Happy was the day that we wed, lady Marima Cossirna!'

They embraced. The Cheftan seemed to regain his strength in an instant and he rose from the bed. 'We have much to do. The scout has betrayed me, to my shame. But Dynamis has found him in Soli of all places. The wretch sought to escape my eyes in Daevaron. But he will not escape the son of Galvahir easily. He will pay dearly for his sins. But first I must see what I can do about the goblins of Coronan. I must see if I can save the Galva army from their doom.'

Lady Marima once more pressed him to eat.

'I cannot eat or drink right now, I must think. I will send Maru back to find Dynamis. Perhaps he can rush to Coronan to help the Galvahirne and their allies in the mountains.' Marima gave him a frustrated look. He laughed and said, 'If you do not wish for the food to spoil, then feed it to the animals.'

With that she kissed his cheek and bowed low. She carried the tray of food out the door and down the hall to her own quarters. 'Ailai,' she called, her servant came hurrying to meet her, 'Come, we will not let this good meal spoil.'

The two ladies passed through the door of her chamber and sat down to sup. There was a hearty soup with onions, potatoes and herbs, a slice of bread with a generous pile of butter heaped upon it, and, under the largest lid, a rather sizable cut of roasted venison. They nibbled at the Cheftan's meal as well as they could, but they were both satisfied long before the it was finished.

Ailai rose from her seat and gathered their scraps and dishes into a pile and placed them back on the tray. With a bow and a smile she turned toward the door, preparing to carry the tray down to the servant's kitchen to be washed. Lady Marima leaned back in her chair and rested. She put her hand to her forehead and sighed.

Maru soared high above Peiraso and catching a powerful gust of wind he rose into the heavens and circled around the estate. He turned his eyes eastward toward the town of Soli where he had left Dynamis. It was now dark and he flew under the light of the stars to the east. But as he flew his sharp eyes beheld something moving beneath the cover of the trees on the eastern edge of Peiraso's border.

The great bird circled around, curiously gazing down. His sharp eyes pierced the shadows below and spied a large host moving about in the darkness below. His eyes were as sharp by moonlight as by sunlight and he saw shields and spears glistening under the trees. He screeched and turned in an instant. His body swirled in the wind and he drew in his wings. Suddenly, with a mighty beat of his powerful wings he pushed against the wind and rushed back toward his post at Cheft Biron's window.

Cheft Biron came quickly, for he did not expect the bird to return for at least another two days. 'What is it friend?' he said softly and warily as he opened the window once more. But the eagle leaped from the post and circled above the eastern edge of the forest crying frantically in a shrill voice.

Below Cheft Biron saw the hordes approaching, no more than two leagues from the walls of Peiraso. 'By Agon!' he cried. 'Maru!' he called loudly, the bird responded immediately. By the time the eagle had landed the Cheftan had already scribbled out a hasty letter and sealed it with his ring. 'To Dynamis!' he ordered, 'Fly, faithful servant of the Galvahirne! May Pelas bless your wings with speed tonight. Fly to Dynamis!'

The unique position of the Galvahirne clans had always been a cause of strife among the Noras. The forest was ruled by the descendants of the Nine Heroes, and there was not supposed to be any one family favored over another. But the fame of Galvahir and the bravery of his sons had elevated them to a position of respect and authority that was not rivaled by any other clan.

There were those within the forest who grew envious and hateful of the Galvahirne; Cheft Ponteris being, secretly, the chief of these. Despite his polite demeanor he was full of bitterness and hatred for the Galvahirne and all those who held them in high regard. In particular he abhorred Cheft Biron, who seemed to him to have, 'fortune in measure above what any mortal deserved'.

Now as the moon rose to its height the treacherous Cheftan made his way through the halls of Peiraso. He knew them very well now, as he had spent the better part of the past month acquainting himself with every corner and passage. In his sweaty hand he held a vial, half-filled with poison.

'Biron will be dead by now,' he said to himself as he passed by the Cheftan's door. 'I have taken your home,' he said to the door, as though he spoke to the Cheftan himself. 'My men will be here within the hour to despoil your precious Peiraso. But they will not have to face your wrath. I have learned much from you, friend, and I know the methods of your cooks and your servants. It is a little thing,' Ponteris said, 'to put a bit of poison on a roast or in a bowl of soup. So much for strength of arms!' he laughed loudly.

At that moment he heard from outside the sound of a great eagle screeching. For some reason this sound seemed to freeze his blood and for a moment his haughtiness left him. 'No time for boasts,' he said to himself. 'The great Cheftan is dead, his son soon to perish among the cold rocks of Coronan. Now I have but one last insult to pay to you, son of Galvahir.'

With those words he turned from the door and walked swiftly but nervously toward the chamber of Lady Marima. 'I have learned this house well,' he whispered, 'But you, lady of Peiraso, have I watched most closely of all.'

He opened the door quickly and shut it behind him. His heart pounded within him nervously and with pangs of both desire and of fear. But as he surveyed the room his heart turned to stone within his chest. For a brief moment he feared he would die of fright. For on the ground at his feet lay the servant girl Ailai with the scraps and dishes of Cheftan Biron's meal scattered about. Beyond her was the Lady Marima, laying still on the ground near the table at which they had dined.

His heart thumped loudly in his own ears as he frantically looked around and paced, as though there was something he might find that could change what had already been done.

'Biron yet breathes!' he said in a broken voice. 'Biron yet breathes!' he rushed from the room and ran down the hall like a frightened hare.

Cheftan Biron had not wasted a moment. Before Ponteris had passed by his chamber, Biron had already made his way out of the house through a secret door (one that Ponteris' snooping had not yet discovered). He rushed out to the peasants and other refugees who had gathered on the lawn of his estate.

'Cheftan!' they hailed him, 'Why such haste?'

'Fly! Fly this moment, for Peiraso is betrayed!' he seemed to them almost mad, but none of them doubted him. 'There is a force of great number marching as we speak from the eastern woods. They come from Lavri-la I have no doubt and they mean to trample into powder all those who are faithful to the house of Galvahir.'

'Where will we go if Peiraso is no haven?' an older man asked. His name was Redwin, and he was of the Coranlirne. 'You have ever been the last hope of Noras.'

'There is no hope in Noras now,' Biron said grimly, 'Fly to Dadron, for they are faithful to my house. Take this, and lead these people on swiftly.' Biron handed Redwin a wooden staff, carved with many runes and set on the top with a brilliant green gem. 'This is the staff of Hiron, my father, show this to the Captain of Dadron and he will give you what help you need.'

'I will lead these people then, if you cannot join us,' Redwin said as he took the staff.

'I cannot abandon the lady Marima,' he said, 'for she is still in the house and I had not the time to fetch her or the servants. But take these blessed people and hurry to Dadron's gates, I send my guard with you and my prayers.'

'Pelas bless you Cheftan,' Redwin said as the two parted. From the western side of Peiraso rode twenty young men in full armor on warhorses. Their chief was named Olver Galvahirne, he was the last kinsman of Cheft Biron, and the heir of Peiraso should the sons of Biron be lost. He was the only son of Biron's sister, and one of the last few Galvahirne who could trace his ancestry back to Galvahir himself. He was tall, like Biron, but not as broad-shouldered. He wore a dark green cloak beneath which gleamed a longsword. Across his back was slung a short javelin.

'Faithful Olver,' Biron said with tears in his eyes as he bid his kinsman farewell. 'I pray that I may see your face again ere my eyes rest in death. You are brave and strong, guard these people and bring them to the gates of Dadron and see to their safety on the road. For the enemies of Galvahir are wandering these woods like jackals and they will not take ransom from these poor souls.'

'I will not fail you uncle,' Olver said. There was a great commotion among the peasants and the people slipped out and rushed into the southern forest under the leadership of Redwin and under the protection of Olver.

Biron rushed back into the house and made his way through the halls toward his chamber. He found his door still shut fast. He turned to go to his wife's chamber and as he ran he met Ponteris fleeing in the opposite direction.

Ponteris stopped in his tracks and his face went pale.

'Your mortal fear betrays you, Cheftan!' Biron said with murder in his voice. 'Where is the lady Marima!' his voice rang through the hall.

'See for yourself,' Ponteris said as he slowly stepped backward.

Biron followed him to the door of her chamber and the two men entered. There he saw the servant girl and his beloved wife laying still and pale on the floor. 'Poisoner!' he thundered and he lifted Ponteris from the ground by his throat. Ponteris gasped and kicked at the mighty lord of the Galvahirne, but he could not so much as bend his fingers.

Just then there came a moan from Marima. Biron dropped Ponteris to the ground where he lay sputtering and gasping, holding his throat. Biron rushed to his wife's side. 'She lives still.' He lifted her from the ground and carried her to her bed.

Cheft Horan and Cheft Gornas made their way swiftly up the stairs when they heard Ponteris fall to the ground. They peered in through the doorway for a moment and then entered.

'What a mess you have caused, Cheft Ponteris,' they complained when they saw the servant girl laying there dead. 'Your appetite has got the best of you once more,' Horan said.

'What is the meaning of this?' Biron insisted.

'It is as you said,' Ponteris said in a hoarse voice. 'You said that one "cannot know whom the gods will make noble; or whom the gods will choose to sit upon a throne and rule over their peers". The Galvahirne have lorded it over the other clans of Noras for too long. And the gods have spoken against you and decreed an end to your blood-born nobility. The arm of Galvahir is broken. In the first battle with the goblins, our scouts tell us, the army of Faros has lost over a thousand men. Our last reports tell us that Cheft Rahm has fallen, along with his two nephews. Tell me, Cheft Biron, is your son more valiant than these? The army is lost and with it the power of the Galvahirne. It is now time for the other clans to rise to their god-ordained seats and to punish the house of Galvahir.'

'Madness!' Biron shouted. He drew his blade from its sheath.

Cheft Horan interrupted him, 'Cheft Biron, we do not doubt your strength. But do not waste it here. For if we are slain, there will be nothing to stop our comrades from taking your wife from Peiraso and doing with her whatever they wish. Making her a thrall or a servant, or perhaps worse. But if you lay down your blade here we will swear by the gods that she will not be touched, so long as we have life in our blood.'

The Cheftan hesitantly lowered his blade and laid it on the floor at their feet. 'Your word is worth little,' he said, 'and your oaths even less. But the word of frightened liars is perhaps better than the appetites of emboldened devils. You know well that I could end all three of your scheming lives right here and now.' There was such a fire in his eyes as he spoke that they could not bear to look at him long, nor did they doubt the truth of his threat.

Soon Peiraso was overrun by the slobbering hirelings of Cheft Ponteris. They were mostly golden haired Knarsemen from Titalo, though a few of them were of Noras blood. Cheft Biron was locked away in a cellar and placed under the watchful eyes of ten armed men. 'I will consider this mighty guard the highest compliment the foul Cheft Ponteris has ever paid to a mortal man,' Biron said as they shut the door to his cell. There he sat for many long days, hoping and fearing in the darkness.

Cheft Gornas and Cheft Horan were furious with their co-conspirator. 'You are a fool Ponteris! Haven't you enough mistresses in your own decrepit house, that you would risk everything we have worked so long for?'

'Shut your mouths,' Ponteris hollered at them, 'If it weren't for all of my efforts, you would still be cowering in your cold halls and bowing low to the Galvahirne's master. Were it not for happenstance, however, Biron would be dead and there would be nothing for you two to criticize.'

'Nay, fool,' Gornas said. 'We told you plainly and warned you both in our letters and again in person: Touch not the lord of the Galvahir until his sons lie dead. We have heard good reports from the mountains, but we do not yet know the fate of young Daryas, whether he is living or dead. And what of Olver, his nephew? He was here until this very night, and you have let him slip through your fingers.'

'You speak hastily,' Ponteris said calmly. 'You do not know the kind of guarantee I have been given for our victory. The army of Galva will fall in Coronan. This I swear by the gods of heaven. Pelas slay me, and Agon bind my soul in flame if the sons of Biron do not lay dead ere the end of this trial. Is that not sufficient assurance for your troubled minds? And when the sons' blood runs cold, so shall the father's.'

'And then I suppose you will slay the mother also?' Horan said with a look of disgust in his eyes.

'I have other plans for her,' Ponteris smiled. 'I have a great many plans for the house of Peiraso, my friends.'

'This is not what we have discussed for all these long years,' the men complained.

'You knew very well what it would take to dethrone the lord of the Galvahirne, but if you want to reap the harvest you have to put your plough through the dirt. Can you do that without getting a little filth here and there?'

[Chapter VI:  
The Folly of Cheft Faros](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

My Own Reluctance

I must confess that I would prefer to pass over the writing of this chapter altogether. There is no hope, as far as I can tell, of restoring the reputation of Cheftan Faros. In the years that followed his doomed campaign his name became a byword throughout Weldera, and even historians have said little more about him than that he fell in battle as a result of his own folly. There have been several well-known men who have suffered great loss to their own reputations because they were willing to speak the shameful truth about his sad end. The Noras are a proud race, and they do not own up to their bad fruit gladly. Were it my intention to save my own name from suffering dishonor on Cheft Faros' account, my natural instinct would have me gloss over his final battle with only a brief mention of his death and then follow that with a eulogy of the heroes that died on that very same day. Or I can do what others have done and revile him unfairly as a traitor or an accomplice.

As it stands, there have already been several histories written of the Welderan Wars, so that the 'Folly of Cheft Faros' has been made into a household term. But while many revile him there are very few who can say what his infamous 'Folly' was. But his error was born of reasoning, which is the occupation of all men, whether they carry a sword or a stack of dusty scrolls. And as such it may be worth noting wherein he made his dreadful mistake.

Were there some great danger that threatened the life and honor of a carpenter or a hunter, I imagine a good carpenter and the good hunter would deem it necessary to discover that danger and take whatever precautions are appropriate to avoid a like disaster. And if the embarrassing tale of Cheft Faros can teach us of some peril that lies in careless reasoning, then we had better learn that lesson so that we can avoid it ourselves.

Knowledge may often lead us to an awareness of danger, but there is no danger in the knowledge itself. It often happens, however, that ignorance turns out to be more deadly than the danger of which we are unaware. A man who is ill-informed may act in ways that can worsen his peril, but a doomed man is no more doomed for the knowing.

Whether it is wanted or not, and whether I lose all the respect of my peers, I will attempt to lay out plainly for my readers the foundation of Faros' Folly. If by giving this warning I can spare someone even a little confusion or inconvenience I will have done well. But it is not only about unimportant matters that we can be confused or misled by simple misjudgments. As I will show, it is also in grave matters that Lord Folly, brother of Death, has his hand.

A 'Tithem' and a 'Tithem'

In the dark days prior to the coming of Galvahir, there was an annual sacrifice required of the Noras. The devil-god Agon demanded a sacrifice of thirty strong men. The word the Noras used to describe this terrible duty was 'Tithem', and in time the word became a common word for a curse or a burdensome fate.

A man afflicted with illness might say that it was his 'Tithem' to suffer. Or that the gods decreed this 'Tithem' against such and such a race of wicked people. According to the histories of the Noras, the devil-god Agon was condemned to an 'Eternal Tithem' when he was finally driven from Noras by his brother Pelas. But properly speaking the word kept with it through all the years the idea of being slain or wounded as a sacrifice for the sake of the pleasure of the gods.

Many years later the word came to Daevaron. Here it was adapted by the people to literally represent physical burden. They took it not to mean a burdensome fate, but rather a bundle or pack which a man carries over his shoulders or lays across the back of a mule or an ox. This change in meaning was the ground in which the seeds of Cheft Faros' folly were germinated.

Cheft Faros was the only son of a Noras Cheftan and Dadron Lady of high standing. He was educated in the Dadron academies, where he excelled in every art and in every science. This quickly gained him the attention of the Cheftans of Noras. Cheft Ponteris and Cheft Biron in particular were very eager to see him in command of the Galva army.

He was, as I just said, educated in Dadron. And among the Daevaron scholars he was introduced to the journals of Lord Alande si-Titalo, the great warrior who defeated the Eastern Noras so many years ago and drove them out of Daevaron.

Cheft Faros was quite fond of these journals, for Lord Alande was an unparalleled strategist. He studied Lord Alande's words more than any other book, and even had portions of his works transcribed and bound together into a single volume. This book he kept with him at all times, locked away in a small chest with several other precious things.

In Lord Alande's journal, in a portion written just prior to his final campaign, after which he became Lord of all Falsis - save for Almighty Dadron of course - he wrote:

'When darkest seems the hour, brightest shines forth the stars. How they shine down from the firmament above us! Illuminating our councils and giving wisdom to the minds of men and gods. Blessed astral lords, guide your servants to victory!

'Hard-pressed were we to take the fields of Daevaron, many fortresses of the Noras were scattered about the hills and fields. They passed news also, from one to the other by pigeons and hawks, so it was impossible for us to come against a city unawares.

'To Pelas, god of Noras we must offer a sacrifice! We will be put to the test hereto. So let a hundred men bear the tithem of a thousand. We will feast on the fruit of their land this very harvest!'

Cheft Faros read the word Tithem in the Noras way, as he had been raised to do. But it was clearly meant, in the text of Lord Alande's journal, in the way of the Dadron scholars who translated his work.

More literally, his meaning would have been something like this. 'Let us petition Pelas, the god of the Noras, with a sacrifice. We will be put to the test from here on, so let every warrior bear the 'burden' of ten men. Then we shall certainly see victory and consume the bounty of the Noras.'

In Faros' madness he read this passage to mean that every tenth man must be made a sacrifice to the god of the Noras. This one little word and its two-fold meaning was the foundation on which all the madness of his final battle rested. This seemingly little ambiguity was the Folly of Cheft Faros. Others have seen this as too foolish an explanation and conclude that Cheftan Faros must have been a servant of darkness or a devil of some kind. But I do not think there is any merit to those opinions. As we will see in another place, there were other things that may have helped the mad Cheftan along on his journey to doom and insanity.

But if there are any who deem this explanation to be too fabulous to be credited, I must appeal to common experience as an arbiter.

Is not every petty quibble of the married couple founded upon such ambiguities? The husband deems his wife to be angry because of the tone of her voice. They quarrel, he insisting upon her rudeness, she insisting upon his madness. In the end, when their tempers have cooled and they look upon their tiff with sober reason, they laugh to think how silly it was to make so much over such a trivial thing.

Trivial it may be, but the ambiguity of our words, and even of our very facial expressions, can create endless potential for confusion. Why should we doubt but that these ambiguities can cause greater strife and mischief? It would be quite outside the scope of this work to recount the role of ambiguity in history and war, but a single example should, in this matter, be sufficient to enlighten us of the dangers of carelessness in words.

Many hundreds of years ago, there were three princes in the western regions of Weldera, beyond the Coronis Mountains. Their father perished in battle and the crown naturally passed to one of his sons. The youngest of these princes, Tynos, declared upon hearing the news of his father's death that 'my beloved brother' must then be crowned without delay.

His attendants, knowing his fondness for the second son of his father, assumed he meant not the eldest and true heir. Word came to the eldest prince, who in his great wrath sent troops to slay his own siblings upon the accusation of treachery. A war erupted. In the end, Tynos, unwillingly, came to the throne, his two brothers lying dead upon the battlefield. The attendants were executed and from that day forth the term 'beloved' was only used in that realm to denote the legitimate heir to the throne. Have a care with your words!

The Folly of Cheftan Faros

The flight from Corhen left the Galva army saddened and discouraged. Cheft Rahm's bravery had saved many, but it made their losses no easier to bear.

There was an uncanny silence in the camp, even the wounded were silent, despite their many injuries. A dark cloud overshadowed the mountain, as though the gods themselves were against them. Within a few hours tiny pebbles of ice began to fall and the wind became strong. The month of Leonius was all but spent, yet Winter refused to relent.

Sion and Daryas had managed to escape their rocky platform just before the valley of Corhen was overrun. They did not come through the pass, however. Daryas found, at the bottom of the steep rock wall they had climbed, a small and treacherous path leading down toward the bottom of the cliff. They found there a rushing mountain stream, just small enough to be traversed with a good leap. From there they made their way back toward the camp by a different path.

At this point one might have supposed that the warriors of the Galva army could not be discouraged any further. But it was when they thought their hearts could sink no lower that Ander, the nephew of Cheft Rahm returned to the camp.

It took some time for the watchmen to realize that it was him. He wandered out of the darkness of the night and fell on his face in the snow. The watchmen carried him to a tent and layed him on a mat. His eyes had been gouged out and there were streaks of dried blood across his face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, yet he could do no more than mumble, for his tongue had been severed. This cruelty was not the end of his injuries, however. His fingers had been burnt with fire until there was nothing left but charred stumps on each hand. His hair had been carelessly shaved, scarring his head terribly.

On Cheft Faros' orders, the watchmen kept his return a secret, insofar as they were capable. But word slipped out and soon every tent was filled with the stories of his sorry mutilation. A spirit of rumor overcame the army and soon they were given over into the hands of panic. Slowly but surely, the sound of wailing and mourning began to rise from the tents and watchfires of the Galva army. It was clear now to wise and foolish alike that these goblins were under the control of a mighty Conjurer. For goblins will gouge the eyes and torture their foes with delight, but they do not willingly release them. They are cruel and cunning, but their fell imaginations would not conceive of any purpose in releasing a captive. Such a blow to the morale and hopes of the Galva army was the work of a rational mind; it was the work of a strategist.

Cheftan Vilav advised Faros to flee the mountain altogether. 'We can muster all of Noras to the vanguard,' he explained. 'If we gather the whole army of the Nine Clans we can make such a wall that will turn back every goblin. Let them have the accursed mountain, for whether we fight or not, it will fall into their hands.'

But Cheft Lonos accused him of cowardice, 'Suppose Cheftan Rahm were still here, do you suppose he would flee for his life, when honor and the praise of the gods was within his grasp? The gods forbid such a thing! Had he been of the same mind as Cheft Vilav he would have abandoned us in the valley of Corhen. But he chose honor over life and there lies upon sacred ground; his blood the ransom for the lives of many young Noras warriors.

'We owe our kinsmen in the forest the same. For if we turn from the fight, and give them the mountain today, what will stop us from giving them the lands of Coran-la and Megd-la tomorrow? Then where will we hold their hordes back? We will be driven beyond the Libron to become thralls and refugees among the golden-heads of Daevaron. And what will become of our blessed forest, the last haven of the Noras? It will become a goblin kingdom, like the foul jungle of Zyprion, which lies beyond the wasted plains of Amlaman. It will fester and reek with the foul stench of hob-goblins and orcs.'

With many like words he persuaded Cheft Faros to maintain their position and continue the hopeless battle. 'It may be that the gods will smile on us yet,' Lonos encouraged him. 'And then we shall be like gods among the men of Noras. We must petition Pelas, for the ancients say that he has saved Noras before.'

I can say no more of the thoughts of Cheft Faros at this point, for they became increasingly darkened and incomprehensible. Whether it was by devilish wickedness or by mad foolishness, the outcome of his plan was the same.

Ten days after the battle at Corhen, on the morning of the last day of Leonius, Cheft Faros ordered his men to march. He had three hundred and sixty chosen warriors march in front of the rest of the army. These were the ill-fated men who were chosen to 'bear the Tithem' of ten other men. They were told to strip off their heavy armor and to carry only light weapons and to march about half a league in front of the rest of the army. That he intended to offer then as a sacrifice never would have occurred to them in their darkest imaginations.

For this battle Faros left very few warriors in the camp, save for those who were too badly wounded to march. Every spare sword, every shield and every spear was brought along. 'This is our last march,' he assured his men. 'And with the help of mighty Pelas we will drive these creatures to the pits of hell.'

Cheft Vilav was sent with the vanguard to lead the unlucky warriors. 'It is to my death that I march,' he thought as he walked. 'Faros has gone raving; but I will not forsake my fellows. From this day forth let him be known as the Cheftan of Folly, and not a man of Noras.'

The Galva vanguard marched forth, the goblins were roused and a great battle began. It fell out like this:

By the tenth hour of the day Faros' Tithem had drawn the goblins from their camp onto a flatter field several leagues to the south. Here the great battle began.

This helpless troop was swiftly overcome. The sorry warriors looked back toward their companions in vain, for it was not Cheft Faros' intention to come to their aid. Their hearts dropped and they were slain every one of them; they had been abandoned. Cheft Vilav was the last man remaining, and he fought valiantly. He slew both orc and goblin with ease and ran about swinging his sword with a passion born of hopeless courage. But in the end, as is the way with all mortals, he grew weary. Seeing his end he thrust his sword into the ground and stood tall and proud before the oncoming goblins. Thus he met an end worthy of songs.

'Now that we have petitioned Pelas, we have no more to fear,' Faros said madly. The hearts of his soldiers melted. But he blew a ram's horn and signaled them to charge. 'On my comrades!' he shouted. 'We shall rest on the corpses of our foes by the day's end. This I swear by the sword of Pelas!'

Cheft Lonos silently slipped back as the army marched forward. He slowed nearly to a stop and let the waves of warriors pass him by.

'Noras does not belong to Galvahir alone,' he said quietly as he made his way out of the battle. 'And never again will it be lorded over by the master of Peiraso. Here on this mountain your arm is broken at last.'

The sky grew darker even as the Galva army charged. The ice turned to freezing rain and fell down upon the mountainside in sheets.

Faros rode his horse forward to the front of his men and charged like a madman toward the enemy. An orc felled his horse with an arrow and the Cheftan fell to the ground, his armor clanging against the rocks. He rose to his feet swiftly, but the orc was already upon him. He did not have time to draw his sword and with a single stroke the orc shattered his skull with a mace. Thus ended his madness, but not its sad train of effects.

Swagar Prostirne fell with his seven sons after all their poison arrows were spent. His beautiful ivory bow was shattered among the rocks or perhaps carried off by some petty goblin, its like never to be seen again among the Noras. Pater Borirne and his men were slain also. Pater charged about from one end of the field to another, slaying may hundreds of goblins in his wake. But one by one his young men fell and then last of all he stood surrounded by a horde of vengeful petty goblins and thus met his end.

Tiltos, the son of the High Priest was slain also, along with his men. Their axes hewed many orcs ere fatigue betrayed them. In the end their wooden shields lay splintered and broken on the frozen earth. Gergius Gergirne and his son fell there too, slain together by a mighty orc.

Many others fell in that day, too many to be named. Many of the sons of Clinlor and Mallor, along with some of the companions of Daryas and Sion perished. The sorrow of the Noras became a river of grief and their cries and groans echoed down the mountainside.

The army continued to fight throughout the afternoon and into twilight. The wind began to howl so loudly and wildly that it nearly drowned out the noise of the goblins and the muffled screams of fallen warriors altogether. Night rushed on and the Noras lost all hope.

Sion proved his reputation true that day. He led Daryas and a group of fifty other men of Noras to a high ridge on the southern edge of the battlefield. To their backs lay a huge gap and the sides of the ridge were too steep to climb. The only way to reach their position was a small and narrow path that led up from the south-eastern edge of the battlefield. From upon the ridge, Sion, Daryas and their comrades unleashed volley after volley of arrows until every shot was spent.

But the goblin ranks were unbreakable. They still marched on, undaunted by the valor of Noras' finest warriors. Many Noras turned and fled away down the hill toward their camp. But the goblins had already surrounded them and they were slain quicker than those that remained behind to fight.

Sion called the men with a loud voice to gather around the ridge from which he fought. From here they had an advantage in combat, though still there was no hope of victory. 'Come Noras!' Sion cried aloud. 'Whether we live or die, let us make sure we do not pass on unremembered. For even if our names and our deeds be forgotten among our own kin, we will put up such a fight here that our names will be remembered among our foes for as long as the world endures.' With many like words he gave courage to the men and they held their ground fast. For a while the goblins could go no further and their bodies piled up in mounds around the ridge. Thus the battle halted for the dark hours of the night, the orcs and goblins not daring to pass the mound of corpses, and the Noras having no means of retreat.

The two brothers of Old Man Sleep stood on the outskirts of the battlefield. There was Folly, who wore a white robe, stitched together with golden thread, and beside him was Death, with his black hood covering his eyes and his fatal blade drawn.

'I have done my part,' Folly said in a chuckle. 'The mad Cheftan is dead. And now it is time for you to do your grim work.'

Death answered nothing. He lifted his blade in front of his face and walked toward the battlefield with a half smile on his pale lips and cold wisps of air passing from his nostrils.

[Chapter VII:  
The Conjurers' Duel](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Island

The goblins were not slack during the night. They spent the dark hours prowling about the mounds, looking for spoils and weapons. But as long as the moon was hidden they would not so much as set foot over the top of the piles.

The Noras set watchfires and worked to pile stones and fallen goblins into battlements. At Daryas' insistence, Sion rested for a few hours. But when there was about four hours of darkness remaining Sion awoke and bid his friend take the rest of the night. This Daryas agreed to reluctantly. 'My nights are little comfort to me lately.'

Nevertheless he gave in to the wisdom of his friend and shut his eyes with his back to a large flat stone. He meant only to rest, and not sleep. But the Old Man's hand proved too heavy once more and he was soon deep in a dream.

'If he has more dreams the like of which he has been having, he will surely fall into the hands of my brother Folly, who made such a dreadful mess of things today,' Old Man Sleep said to Mityai as she once more cradled the Galvahirne's head in her arms. 'I fear your songs avail you little against these devils. It would be good if you could drive them away altogether.'

'But how?' Mityai said desperately as she saw them come creeping from every dark and shadowy place. They were ugly spirits, dark and small, with no eyes and no hearts. They quickly took hold of Daryas' mind and dragged him into an ugly dream. Mityai flew into a rage and grabbed and tore at them with her invisible hands. She sent many of them scurrying back into the darkness of the night, but there were yet some that would not relent until they had troubled the young man's thoughts.

At first, Daryas found himself walking through a goblin camp, looking into the dead faces of those Noras warriors who had perished. Among their bodies were also many goblins and orcs. It struck him, seeing them dead, how similar goblins and men truly are. 'To look on their corpses', he thought, 'you couldn't tell which was the rational creature and which was the brute. And of course, the dead do not reason'. These dark thoughts troubled him and he walked on, seemingly for many hours.

Beyond this macabre scene, Daryas came to the bottom of Mount Coronis. It loomed large above him, so much larger than it was to his waking eyes that he at once realized that he was dreaming. But he refused to wake; not now when he was finally free from his usual nightmares, not to mention free from the living nightmare of the battlefield in which he now lay with little hope of survival. If only for a few hours, his mind was free to consider other things.

He climbed ever upward toward the top of the mountain; he felt as though he was climbing the sky itself. Precisely why he was climbing he could not say. As he approached the peak the sun sank below the western side of Mount Coronis and crowned it with golden beams of light. As beautiful as this sight was, Daryas couldn't quite enjoy it. His mind was troubled by something; something that he had forgotten. In all this light he felt as though darkness itself would be forever dissolved. But then he looked down behind himself and he saw his own shadow. It was black as coal and stretched out far and wide, seeming to smother all of Falsis in its darkness.

Here at the top of the mountain every step became more difficult for him than the last. And the closer he came to the light, the darker and more terrifying his shadow became. Overwhelmed by the darkness of his own shadow he lost his grip on the rock and his foot slipped.

Normally such a sensation would have roused him from even the deepest slumber, but for some reason his dream refused to yield its dominion.

In the waking world, Mityai gave a great tug and rent the last of the dark spirits from Daryas' mind. The spirit turned toward her and hissed as it rolled on the ground. It stopped its writhing and rose into the form of a man, cloaked in darkness.

'Foolish djinn,' the spirit said. 'You have set yourself against the Lord of Falsis, for he it was who sent us dark spirits to trouble this foolish lad's dreams.'

Mityai's voice trembled, 'He'll die if he can't rest without you devils crawling about!'

'His death is not a concern, only the prayer of the Siren is important. For she begged the aid of lord Pelas, and it was in the heart of Lord Pelas to answer her. The boy must dream these dreams. Whether he lives or dies I care not. Neither does Lord Pelas.'

'That isn't true!' Mityai shouted, her voice growing angry. 'Lord Pelas is a god of mercy and kindness. He loves the Galvahirne, and he would be angry with you for tormenting this child so horribly!'

The dark spirit laughed, 'You really don't remember, do you?'

'Remember what?' Mityai asked.

'Of course not,' the spirit said solemnly, 'you would have been a mere babe when it all happened.'

'When what happened?'

'If you do not remember, I am not going to be the one to bring sorrow upon your fair head. But Lord Pelas is god of all Falsis, and he needs no help from the Galvahirne to be so. You say that he loves the Galvahirne. But does he love them for naught? He loves them because they serve him. That is, he loves them because they are useful to him. And that is what this young man is doing right now, whether he is aware of it or not; he is serving Lord Pelas. But it is not always in life and honor that Lord Pelas shows his 'love' for his servants. Sometimes they will be tormented and slain. So long as they are useful, they will remain his beloved. I am not one of the wise, but I would guess it is the same with you.'

Mityai was speechless for some time, the words of Lord Pelas came rushing back to her mind, "It is your swift feet and your keen eyes that made you desireable." Her heart sunk and she could neither move nor think.

The dark spirit sighed. 'Let me pass once more and I will be gentler with the boy. But do not forget, Lord Pelas has vowed to fulfill the request of the Siren, and he will do what he must to this man until his word is fulfilled.'

The spirit turned again toward Daryas and entered into his dream. Mityai threw herself to the ground and covered her eyes. Much to the spirit's surprise, however, he was suddenly powerless to affect the young man's visions.

Daryas found himself on the shore of a great sea. How he had come to leave the mountain and arrive here he could not recall. But there he stood on a beach of white sand with his uncovered feet in the water. Not only were his boots missing, but his whole military attire was removed. He wore just a loose pair of Noras trousers and a white tunic with frayed edges, as though they had been torn by a beast. The water was calm and the waves gently rolled over the beach, resting for just a moment on the sand before sliding back into the ocean.

He looked out over the water. The sun was sinking down over the horizon, from which he discerned that he was looking into the west. 'Is this what lies on the far side of Weldera, where only pirates and hermits make their homes?' he asked himself.

For what seemed like an eternity he just watched the waves ebb and flow; every one of them different from the last and every one of them never to return as long as the world endures.

Suddenly he became aware of an island. It lay off the coast of the mainland to the northwest. As he focused his eyes on this place it seemed to move closer to him. He suddenly realized that he was, in fact, on a boat now, approaching the island from the south.

There was a small mountain on the center of the island and from where he sat he could see that it was covered with green trees. The closer he came to the island, the more wonderful it seemed. He could make out a stream of clear water flowing from the top of the mountain down into a pool or a lake. There were several kinds of fruit trees on the island, the like of which he had never seen in Falsis.

A veritable paradise it seemed, but he could not find a place to land his boat. The waters around the island were rough and treacherous. Had he been in a larger boat he would have run aground long ago. But even in his smaller craft there was little hope of finding a place to land on the island. Whether it was a steep cliffside or a razor sharp reef, he found no way to approach this blessed place.

But long before he could think of any plan to land his boat safely, he hit a rock and he was plunged into the icy waters. He awoke abruptly and the shadowy spirit fled from his waking eyes. Mityai still lay in lonely sorrow and confusion upon the ground, but no one could see her nor comfort her.

When he opened his eyes he saw Sion, leaning against a great stone.

'Another nightmare?' he asked calmly.

'No, not a nightmare; a dream - a dream in the proper sense of the word. I saw an island, a beautiful island off the western shore of Weldera. But ere I reached it my boat was dashed to pieces upon the rocks.'

'There is such an island,' Sion said, trying to conceal his surprise. 'The Knarsemen of Titalo know of such a place; but no man has ever set foot thereon.'

'I do not know whether to take comfort in this or not,' Daryas said as he rose from the ground and prepared himself once more for battle.

'Nor do I,' Sion replied.

The Conjurers Appear

The morning light brought fresh perils. The sun appeared and the clouds fled away, but their spirits did not rise too high. For the goblin army had refreshed its troops with many strong and rested warriors. Orcs and goblins alike now marched toward the mounds with undaunted fury. They stepped over their fallen companions without a care, crushing their bones under their stomping feet. They fell upon the defenses of the Noras with a great shout.

They scattered the Noras warriors at the eastern edge of the field and then began making their way up the ridge toward Daryas and Sion. The last group of Noras warriors was now crowded into this narrow strip of earth. They did not yield their ground willingly. Every single step of the goblins was paid for with the blood of a dozen.

'This is the hour,' Daryas said with a sudden resolve, 'for the sons of the Cheftans to prove themselves.'

'Let's drive these devils off our mountain,' Sion responded as he tossed aside his bow and empty quiver. 'Our arrows are spent; it is time for blades and blood.'

The two charged to the front of the Noras ranks and leaped into the goblin army. They cut and stabbed with their knives until they had slain twenty goblins and three orcs.

Looking around swiftly, Daryas put aside his knife and took the sword of one of the orc warriors. Then the two pressed on, driving the goblins either off the edge of the ridge into the rocks below, or backwards, toppling over their fellows.

Their deeds encouraged the other Noras, who now rose up in unison to drive them off the ridge. They made as if to say, 'Not but by the death of ten-thousand goblins shall the enemies of Noras have the victory.'

But suddenly silence fell over the goblins and they fell back a little ways and for a while they left the ridge alone. In the distance under the light of the failing sun there strode among the goblins a dark and tall figure of a man. Black armor he bore and a cape of crimson hung about his shoulders. His blade was drawn and his visor was pulled down over his face.

'The Conjurer appears...' Daryas whispered.

The goblins roared with a sudden burst of shrill cries. They followed this with a deep groan that seemed to shake the very mountain. They stomped and they shouted, shrill again and then deep. They continued in this way until they had formed an eerie rhythm of shouts and stomps. The Noras warriors began to quiver in their places. The noise of the goblins grew louder and louder until it seemed to ring in their ears. After this dreadful clamor had gone on for what seemed like an eternity, the armored man lifted his blade in the air and spoke, and as he spoke it seemed like his voice boomed like an earthquake.

'Brave fools, you have fought long and hard in these mountains. But none of you shall leave here alive. Your legs are weights of iron, and your blades are set ablaze!'

With these words, many of the Noras dropped to their knees, their weapons slipping from their limp hands to clang and crash upon the mountainside. Some tossed their blades aside with a shout and stomped on them as though they were truly in flames. The armored man continued speaking amidst the clamor of the goblin cries:

'Many of you are weary of fighting, fall now to a deep and dreamless sleep.' At each command the men of the Galva Army obeyed until a great many of them were laying in sleep on the hard rocks beneath them. Through all this the goblins continued their stomping and shouting until the noise was almost deafening. They would only pause long enough for the armored man to shout another command.

'We are doomed if this madness continues,' Sion shouted. He took up his blade and raced down to the bottom of the ridge. Daryas followed close behind him.

The goblins now had their army completely surrounded. There was nowhere to flee save the edge of the southern cliff, which fell far into a deep valley. At the bottom were jagged rocks and a rushing mountain stream.

At this point the Conjurer's commands became more sinister, and more severe. 'Let blood pour from your eyes and stain the earth red!' he cried. All around them Sion and Daryas could see the warriors of Noras stooping and rooting around on the ground, clawing at their eyes. But to their uncharmed eyes they could see no blood.

All the while the Conjurer approached the ridge slowly but confidently. Some Noras who had managed to keep their wits about them tried to withstand him, but he cast them aside without even a care.

When he reached the path that led to the top of the ridge he paused and looked around at the terrified faces. 'Children,' he complained as he cut down ten more men with great ease. He started walking, he had left the goblins behind and now walked straight into the Noras ranks, alone yet unafraid. The Noras, despite their advantage in terrain and number, did nothing to stop his march. Those who did try to face him met quick deaths, for the man's blade was quick as Time itself and steady as Fate.

'Where is the son of Biron?' he called out loudly

Immediately after he had said this the night sky lit up in a flash of green light. A red flash followed, and then blue and orange. Streams of fire rushed over the heads of the Noras warriors, startling both man and goblin.

Each flash of light was followed by a devilish scream and that was followed by the screams of goblins and orcs. Flame seemed to rain down from heaven upon the goblins and they halted their assault and clambered about in a blind panic. Blasts of flame appeared in pillars here and there from within the goblin's ranks, sending them flying through the air torn in pieces. Their swords and shields were splintered in sudden bursts of flame.

The Noras host regathered and stood against the goblins with a renewed vigor. 'The heavens are on our side!' some shouted enthusiastically.

'So it will come to this,' the armored man said as he peered over his shoulder at the bolts of light and flame. 'Very well,' he said. He stood just about a stone's throw away from Sion and Daryas.

'Now it is time for some courage, my friend,' Sion shouted as the armored man approached.

'Courage to die?' Daryas asked.

'Certain death approaches, but if we cast our fate into the hands of the gods they may bear us to better fortunes.'

'The odds are against us if we leap,' Daryas said as he peered over the northern edge of the ridge. Where they stood the ridge came to its height. To the west the ridge ended abruptly at a sharp cliff which overhung the battlefield below. On the southern side was the fierce mountain stream rushing through jagged rocks among the cliffs. To the west lay a steep and slippery slope that fell down into the battlefield.

They chose to jump. Ere the Conjurer could reach them they darted to the northern side of the ridge and slid over the edge. They half slid and half fell their way to the bottom, grabbing rocks here and vines there to slow their descent.

The lights and flames intensified until the goblins were so terrified and shaken that they took to running. They clambered over each other and stomped their own companions into dust underneath them as they flew in wild fear from the soaring lights.

The Noras began to regain their wits and shamefacedly gathered up their arms and formed ranks. Suddenly from the eastern pass appeared a tall man of Noras, clad in brown and green clothes with a shirt of chain armor sparkling beneath his cloak. The underside of his cloak was as black as night, but the outside gleamed bright in the morning light and the colors danced upon it like the shifting of sunlight under the leaves of a forest. In his hand he held what appeared to be a large staff, but with an iron pole running the length of it, until it came to a sharp iron point. At his side hung a sword and over his shoulders he carried two more of the strange staves and a ram's horn.

'Dynamis is come!' shouted the Noras warriors with renewed hope. They gathered around him and charged after the fleeing goblins with a devil's fury. 'Repay them in blood!' they cried.

And so they did. The goblins rushed like madmen back toward their camp. The men of Noras followed hard after them, killing all those that they were able to overtake. Dynamis rallied his own men behind him and followed after the Noras.

Each of his warriors carried with them similar weapons, though some were larger and some smaller. When they caught up with the Noras warriors they would stoop and point their staves toward the goblins and in unison they would sent blasts of flame and light hurdling into the goblin ranks. With renewed panic the goblins would turn and flee again, until they were again overtaken by the Noras warriors. Finally they came to the goblin camp, where many goblins still remained unharmed and well rested. The Noras were of a mind to charge straight in and make an end of them, but Dynamis halted them.

'Do not give them the advantage,' he ordered. 'For courage can just as easily turn into folly as it can turn into glory. Wait here, until my men have taken up their positions. But take care not to allow any goblin to pass through this way.'

Daryas and Sion came to their senses to see the Noras charging forward after the goblins. Not wishing to be bereft of honor they sorted out their things and cast away whatever had been battered by their fall and charged with their comrades.

They reached the goblin camp just as Dynamis ordered his men to attack. He had sent two dozen men up the same path that Daryas and Sion had taken when they first discovered the camp. From there they now sent down fire and light to burn and batter the goblin tents. Within twenty minutes almost every tent was ablaze and the goblins ran about screaming and shouting in terror. But there was nothing to be done, the goblin archers spent their arrows in vain trying to reach Dynamis' men in the cliffs above.

Dynamis ordered the men of Noras to march. 'March now, form ranks, raise your shields and leave none of these sorry devils alive.' In his eyes there raged a fire of passion and he raised his staff and pointed its end toward his enemies. A swift burst of flame sprang out and tore through the goblin army, rending limbs and piercing mail. He threw the staff onto the ground and repeated his attack with the other two weapons.

When he had finished he lifted the staff toward the heavens and poured powder from his horn into the tip and slid a large round ball of iron into the iron tube. One of his warriors repeated this process until all three of his staves had been filled with powder and iron. He set the edge against the goblins once more and let three more fireballs burst through their ranks, shattering bones and tearing flesh asunder.

In the chaos of the battle Daryas and Sion made their way to the front where they felled many orcs and goblins. The Noras charged after them and the goblins fled away toward the strange stone road from which they had originally entered the eastern mountains. All the while the man in the dark armor cursed them and called them to return. He made his way to a flat place and called after his army. With abrupt shouts in an unknown tongue he summoned the orcs and goblins to himself. Like a dog drawn to his master's whistle the fleeing goblins turned on their heels. They stopped fleeing and regrouped on his right side and on his left. It was apparent that there was still something which they feared more than the Noras and the leaping flames of Dynamis' warriors.

Just as the forces prepared to renew the bloodshed the Conjurer stepped forward and spoke. 'Has the Galva army no heroes remaining, that it sends fireworks and magic tricks against us? And has Noras no allies, that they dabble in the dark arts of Lapulia for their security?'

Daryas and Sion were nearby. Sion stepped forward and drew his sword from its sheath. As he approached, both armies stood still and watched anxiously.

'I am Sion, son of Cheftan Ponteris Oastirne. Though many heroes have already fallen, and though I may fall here today, I will not allow your mock to go unchallenged.'

'Stand aside, son of Ponteris, I have promised your father to spare your life,' the man responded in a cold voice that boomed from behind his helmet.

'My father!?' Sion shouted as he walked forward. 'What do you mean, devil?'

'I am not the sort of man to break a deal if I don't need to. I was told to spare Hassan, the son of Ponteris, "if it is at all possible". Step aside boy, for I am come for the blood of Biron. Besides, you are not even rightly a man of Noras. You are only half-noble, and the other half was a brigand!'

Sion flew into a mad rage when he heard the Conjurer speak his right name. He might otherwise have believed his words to be a ruse. But few people knew him by that name, and among his acquaintances there were none who dared call him by it. Sion swung his blade with skill, but the Conjurer, in heavy armor though he was, stepped aside with such speed that Sion's stroke sent him dashing past his foe. Several more times the man evaded Sion's skillful strokes. Suddenly the man turned swiftly, dodged a blow, and smacked Sion in the back of the head with the hilt of his blade. He fell to the stony ground like a felled tree.

Daryas rushed forward to help him, but stopped when he caught the gaze of the Conjurer. Through the dark slits on the man's helm, Daryas saw the gleam of his eyes and stood still as if he were turned to stone.

The Conjurer approached. Daryas struggled within himself and shaking his head he drew his sword. The Conjurer struck, and Daryas dodged. Again the Conjurer swung his fatal blade, but Daryas turned it aside and moved backward.

'Few survive the first stroke of my sword, and none survive the second. What is your name, child, that I may pay you some honor when you are fallen?

'I am the son of Biron,' he said as he stepped back dodging another blow. 'I am Daryas.'

'Very well,' the man said. 'You have done well to survive this far. And I will tell you plainly, that I wish we could have met under better circumstances. For the Galvahirne are a race of peculiar strength and wisdom, and the lords of that Clan are unrivaled among mortal men.'

With this the man stabbed fiercely at Daryas. He slipped away, avoiding the point of the sword, but the edge cut him across the belly and he dropped his sword and fell to the ground holding his wound. The Conjurer lifted his blade again and without any hesitation he swung down at the wounded man. Mityai threw herself over Daryas to shield him, as though her invisible body could stop the blade.

Daryas shut his eyes and braced himself for the end. But it did not come. There was a loud clang, and then a murmur from the Noras army. Daryas could hear the goblins stomping and growling with frustration.

Dynamis

When he opened his eyes he saw Dynamis standing over him, his own sword locked with the Conjurer's. 'And what is the meaning of this?' the Conjurer asked with a laugh. 'Do you know what becomes of those who come between the Noble wolf and its prey?'

'Do not think that you will make prey of me so easily,' Dynamis said boldly as he flicked his blade up and tossed the Conjurer's sword aside.

The Conjurer laughed. 'You have given me some entertainment already, surely you will not deprive me of your name.'

'I am Dynamis Galvahirne, the eldest son of Cheftan Biron of Peiraso, who rules over the sons of Galvahir. Now that I have given you the honor of my name, it is your turn to answer me. Who are you, and for what do you vex the people of Noras?'

From deep within the Conjurer's dark helm a small laugh began to grow until it seemed that the man's guffaw echoed through the entire mountain.

'It would be in vain for me to tell you such things, for the dead have no need of knowledge.'

'Very well, Noble wolf,' Dynamis said coldly, 'I will not press you further. But hear me well, since you are so sure of victory. It is only from the heights of pride that a man can be made low. For the humble man is low already. We will see which one of us the Master of Causes chooses today.'

The two fell upon each other with such strength and passion that the armies of both the men and the goblins started back. To start, the Conjurer did as he had done before, holding his blade in one hand and skillfully blocking the attacks of his opponent. But this proved to be insufficient, much to his frustration. He stepped back and with a sigh he grasped his sword with two strong hands.

Then he began to attack with even greater ferocity. His strokes were quick, much quicker than any other in such armor would be able to manage. But Dynamis furrowed his brow, focused his eyes and dodged each blow.

They fought for a long time in a full fury, neither taking the advantage. Finally the man found an opening and smacked Dynamis' cheek with his iron bracer. Dynamis fell down on his back. The next blow would have cut through his chest, but he rolled backwards skillfully and threw himself back to his feet. He gathered his wits just in time to catch the next sword-stroke with his blade.

Dynamis began to pant and to grow weary. Yet the Conjurer appeared to have the same vigor throughout the battle.

Meanwhile, Daryas hobbled over to his comrade Sion who now sat clutching his aching head in his arms.

'Sion, you live,' Daryas said. Sion looked at him and then hung his head to his chest.

'You speak as though that were a good thing,' he responded sullenly.

'It is so to me,' Daryas said as he looked at his friend.

'There are some men, Daryas, for whom the world would not be bereaved.'

'What do you mean, friend?' Daryas asked, but his friend said nothing more. Their attention returned to the Conjurers' duel.

As the two men battled on, the skies grew dark with heavy clouds. Winter returned to the mountain in one last desperate attempt to preserve its dominion against the coming of Spring. The air turned cold and the wind howled. The rain fell on the earth heavily, but still the men battled on.

With a skillful slash the Conjurer knocked aside Dynamis' blade and cut his arm. He staggered back holding his bleeding limb. But he was not so badly wounded that he was unable to block the next attack.

'I see that it was not in vain that I chose to perform this task myself,' the Conjurer said. 'You are in every way the son of Galvahir. Any other would have been hard-pressed to slay you.'

'You are hard-pressed yourself,' Dynamis said panting. His head was swirling and the pain in his arm was great. But all of this discomfort he turned into rage and flung himself upon his foe.

His strokes were swift and strong, enough to push the mighty Conjurer back toward the edge of the field. The goblins stepped aside in terror and the men fought on, every step drawing closer to the edge of the western cliff.

The Conjurer stepped back and gathered his strength for a strike. His motion was swift and his sword fell hard at Dynamis. But the son of Biron turned aside and kicked the flat part of the Conjurer's sword, pinning it to the ground under his boot. He stomped and there was the sound of bones breaking. The Conjurer released the blade and stepped back, holding his hand and grunting with pain.

Dynamis rushed at him with a shout and his blade pierced the front of the Conjurer's plated armor and came out through his back. The man gave a groan and fell to his knees. Dynamis shouted and gave his face a mighty kick and sent his body hurdling over the edge of the cliff, his armor clanging against the rocks as he dropped.

When Dynamis came to the cliff and looked over the edge he could see nothing but the sharp points of jagged rocks peeking out of a dense mountain mist. Below he could hear the roar of treacherous rapids, tearing through and smashing against the mountain stones.

He walked over and lifted the Conjurer's sword above his head and cried out, 'Be gone devils! For your master is fallen!'

The goblins fled in terror when they saw what had become of the Conjurer. They dropped their weapons and abandoned their wounded, every goblin fleeing in a different direction. Most rushed down along the strange stone path and vanished from the mountain. The Noras warriors were of a mind to pursue them, but Dynamis raised his hand to stop them.

'Let them fly!' Dynamis shouted. 'For these sorry devils will never return to Coronan. They will live out their days in fear, hidden under cold stones and dark shadows. For the Galvahirne are now a greater terror to them than even magic.'

[Chapter VIII:  
The Exile of the Galvahirne](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Brothers Reunited

The wind howled and raged until nightfall. Dynamis took command over the Galva army and set about ordering a camp. Strong men with swift feet were sent to Cheft Faros' old base at Megd-u-Coran to gather up whatever supplies they had left and to help along those who were wounded in the previous battles. There was a deep silence among all the warriors, partly because their voices could not be heard over the wailing of the wind, but mostly because they were all so shaken by the strange turn of events. The passion of the last battle was replaced by somber and silent contemplation.

By midnight a camp had been set up and there were many watchfires burning high into the air. The Noras are masters at making fires, and soon, despite the cold and the rain, the camp was illuminated with leaping mounds of red fire.

'Brother!' Daryas cried as he embraced his older sibling. 'You have saved us all from the grave, and the goblins are driven back. There will be songs about you when we return to Galva Hall!'

Dynamis was taller than his brother, and his appearance, though still distinctly Galvahirne, was somewhat less severe. His hair was the exact same shade and he was a bit thinner, though more muscular than Daryas.

'There will be no songs, brother,' Dynamis said softly with a grim look on his face. 'I have come bearing hope for the army of Galva, but I can offer no such hope for the our beloved Noras.'

'What is it, Dyne?' Daryas asked. He knew his brother's face well and read from it that a great evil had taken hold in Noras.

'Our father is betrayed,' Dyne said, almost in a whisper. He looked around him as though there were spies in every corner. 'The envy of the Cheftans has driven them to madness. A force of armed men has marched against Peiraso, and what power the sons of Galvahir once held in the council has been stripped away.'

Daryas said nothing for several minutes while he considered these tidings.

'But what about our father and our mother?' Daryas said sadly, 'Are they safe?'

'That I cannot say,' Dyne answered. 'The great hawk Maru brought me this letter from Peiraso on the twentieth day of Leonius. I sent him back to Peiraso with a message of my own, but he found us two days later at Bridge-town, bearing still the same message that I had sent. He also bore an arrow in his talons; from this I gather that Peiraso has fallen into the hands of some jealous Cheftan. But here is the letter; the last word I have seen from our father, Cheft Biron Galvahirne.'

Dynamis pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his cloak and held up a lantern. Daryas read:

"By Pelas' might I pray that Maru's wings fly swiftly. For great peril has befallen Noras. The shadow that has been in my heart has brought forth evil fruit. I was not mistaken; the Cheftans have plotted our destruction.

"Even now, men of Titalo march on our eastern borders. The hedge and fence will not hold back such a band, and I fear the secrets and defenses of my estate have already been spied out. I must hurry. I am sending Olver with the refugees to Dadron, where, if the gods will, they will be welcomed by my friends there.

"But you, my son, if ever you have desired to honor me, you must not return to Peiraso. Fly to the mountain and save your brother and the army of Galva. There are powers at work there that are far more sinister and threatening than any mere hob-goblin or high-orc.

"Now I must see to some preparations and find your beloved mother, ere the enemy comes to the gates."

-From the hand of Cheftan Biron Galvahirne, lord of the sons of Galvahir

Daryas' eyes swelled with tears as he read. Dyne put his hand on his brother's shoulder. 'Do not fear, brother,' he said, 'More than likely our parents still live. For I cannot imagine they would lay a finger on them while the blood of Galvahir still runs through living veins.'

'Then we must make haste to return to Peiraso,' Daryas said urgently, rising from his seat as though he would leave at that very moment.

'We cannot go back,' Dyne said sullenly, 'not now. For the forest of Noras has fallen out of the hands of the Galvahirne. This is no accident; it has been carefully planned by men who would go so far as to betray their own countrymen in the mountains, as they have betrayed the madman Faros. Such devils will not let go of the reins of power so easily.'

'What are you telling me?'

'If we attempt to return to Noras, we will never set foot off of this mountain. There will be an army of men, hirelings and wicked Noras of Lavri-la and Oastir-la marching to meet us. They will ensure that no heir of Galvahir returns to the forest.'

'But why? For what could they possibly be doing this?'

'I do not know,' Dyne answered. 'But whoever conspires against us, does not conspire within Noras alone. The Conjurer is proof enough of that. These goblins did not come from any place on this side of the mountain. They were mustered in the west, in Amlaman or Ramlos perhaps. But do not ask me further, for my knowledge fails here. All I can say is that some of the more wicked and envious of the Noras Cheftans have made league with strange powers in the western world. The goal of both these powers was the destruction of the Galva army.'

'But we have averted this at least,' Daryas said, sitting down once more.

'Yes, though the cost was high. But I think that we ought to give our foes the illusion of victory, at least for now.'

'What do you mean, brother?'

'We will burn our dead and the dead of the goblins after the manner of the wildmen. We will make the fire so hot that even the finest scout will be unable to discern who lays among the dead. We must suffer there to be no tale-bearers among the Galva army. No one may return to Noras.'

Daryas's face looked troubled. 'Where will we go?' he asked. 'For to the east lies our betrayers and to the west lies an unknown, and therefore more deadly foe.'

'We will find refuge among the Coronan valleys,' a voice said from the tent's entrance. The flap was opened and a tall man with a fur cap entered.

'Who are you?' Daryas asked.

'I am Revere, and I owe your father much,' he looked at the ground when he spoke. 'I will lead us to hidden places where men do not trod; secret valleys of the mountains that lay long forgotten.'

Revere's face looked sickly and pale. His mind seemed to be in two places at once, and every word he spoke seemed to come only with the greatest exertion. Daryas thought he recognized the look: Shame. This puzzled him, but he said nothing to the scout.

Dynamis rose to his feet. 'There is much for us to do; and we cannot delay this ruse for long. There are bound to be spies climbing the mountains after us to learn our fate. By my reckoning, we must be gone from this mountain by the weeks end, or we will be discovered.'

'But how can we abandon our kinsmen in Noras?' Daryas asked, his face showing grave concern. 'And if our betrayers find nothing but charred corpses, how will they know that the sons of Biron are living?'

'They cannot know that for now,' Dynamis said. 'We must trust that Olver will arrive safely at Dadron the Great. The Cheftans know that they have no strength to challenge that mighty city. But after a while, when the army of Galva is secure and hidden, we will make ourselves known to our foes. I swear it, Daryas, by the Master of Causes, that I will not rest until I have done all to make our names more feared among the wicked than the name of the devil king Agon himself.'

The next day, the Noras fulfilled the grim task that Dynamis had set before them. The Galva Army then marched into the west, not knowing where their journey would lead them.

Wolves roamed the hills of Coronan in the wake of the last battle. They had gorged themselves on the flesh of the goblins at Corhen and now they searched the upper lands for the corpses of the Noras. But they were disappointed at what they found there.

'Fire and smoke,' Ghastin complained when they came to the charred bodies of the goblins and the men. 'It is all burnt to nothing and there is not a scrap of flesh remaining for us. Pelas has broken his word.'

The Outcasts of Peiraso

Olver Galvahirne knew the gravity of his mission when he spoke with his uncle. This was his task: To lead a group of peasants, over a thousand strong, through the dense woods of Noras, still bound by the cold grip of Winter, while eluding the armed brigands of Cheft Ponteris and every other conspirator of Lavri-la. Moreover he must come to the safe city of Dadron which lay some four-hundred leagues away by foot.

'To make matters worse,' he told his men as they rode through the dark and empty trails of Noras, 'we cannot take the main road, for it is watched on all sides by the spies of Ponteris.'

They had left Peiraso and fled south into the forest ere the hirelings of Ponteris descended on the mansion. But they could not go much further in that direction. The southern road would only lead them into the lands of Ponteris and his comrades in Lavri-la. 'We cannot trust the men of Oastir-la and Vivlir-la, for the former is kin to our enemy and the latter is too far to reach by watched roads.'

'Then we must fly east like a bird or swim down the Gavl River like a fish,' Redwin Coranlirne said despondently. 'For there is danger on every side. And I cannot think how to escape it. It is a sad time to be faithful to the house of Biron. But I do not regret our loyalty. For whether evil will befall us or not because of our faithfulness, it would certainly have befallen us already had we come to the home of Cheft Ponteris for aid in our desperation.'

'We will not come to Dadron by the main road.' Olver said after he had considered the matter for a while. 'We will go south east to the border of Lavri-la and Dae-la. There the spies of Ponteris may lose us in the wilds that separate the one land from the other. And they will not expect us to take that route, not in a hundred years would they expect this.'

Olver sounded confident as he spoke, but his heart sunk within him. He knew the danger of his circumstance, and he knew that it was his own life alone that served to vouchsafe the survival of Cheft Ponteris' rival. For Ponteris was fully persuaded that the sons of Biron would perish in the fray on the top of Mount Coronis. And should his nephew fall, there would remain no man to avenge him.

He led the people on through the woods on strange and unkept roads and came eventually to a dark and wild portion of the northeast forest. This place was called 'The Great Thicket' by the locals, for in a certain place there was almost ten leagues of brush, bramble and thorns.

Their progress through this place very slow, but they were well hidden from their enemies. The Great Thicket proved almost too much for them, however, and they soon found themselves pausing for long hours while a path was sought out. With such a large group this became a dreadful and tiring task. It was not enough to find some way for a group of warriors to pass through; they must find a way for the animals and the carts and the weary peasants of the western clans. Several times the scouts came to the end of a path to find nothing but a sea of impassable thorns in front of them. They would be forced return to the others and seek out a new path.

But with few other hardships they came out of the Thicket and entered the gentler eastern part of southern Dae-la. Here they were able to pass several nights in safety, though Olver made certain to keep a watch at all times. 'In a month's time things will not be so easy in Noras,' he said to Redwin. 'Right now the daring crimes of Ponteris are still secret from the people of the forest. But in a month's time every wind will howl the news and every ear will hear of his treachery against Galva-la. They will mourn in their homes, but in the streets they will bow down to their new master. For there are few so faithful as to risk what little they have for someone so distant. For a season, the mad Ponteris will be lord over all of Noras.'

After several days they burst from the forest in steady march over the eastern plains that lay between the forest and the River Libron. They passed many little villages and farms as they went, little places who's names never enter into any tale. Thus they came to Libraeva, one of the chief cities of the Daevaron. The Noras peasants were startled and amazed by the golden haired sons of the ancient Titalo conquerors. For under the darkness of the western Noras forest they had never so much as set eyes upon so many yellow-haired men and women.

Here Olver made preparations to bring the people to Dadron. The men of Libraeva were eager to help the sorry outcasts of Noras once they had heard their tale and when they had been shown the staff of Hiron. 'Dadron owes much to the sons of Galvahir,' the master of Libraeva said. 'And we will see to it that your people come to Dadron safely. Let Ponteris rouse all of Lavri-la to arms against us, his brigands will not set foot across the mighty Libron.'

Into Unknown Lands

By the fifth day of Paschest the Remnant of the Galva army was ready to make its flight from Mount Coronis. They left at the first light of dawn and made their way north, leaving behind mounds of charred bodies, both of men and of goblins. It seemed now that Winter was finally willing to relent and allow the warmer air of Spring to blow upon their weary faces. They made good time through these lands, for Revere was familiar with every pass of Great Coronis and he led them by kind and broad paths to the northern passes and into a deep valley beyond. His parents had both died before he was fifteen, leaving him just enough money finish his education. When he turned seventeen he was granted a position in the guard of Dadron, but he refused it, seeking his fortune outside of the city. He resented the fortress of Dadron, as it seemed to him to have been the reason he was born in Weldera rather than in the Magic City of Lapulia. He took to the forest of Noras for a time, traveling with merchants and learning the paths of the woods. When he mastered these he explored the rest of Weldera, especially the mountains of Coronan, which gave him a great deal of that which he prized more than anything else - solitude. By paths he once tread in solitary quiet the Galva army now passed into the west in an unceasing march.

It was only when they set about making camp on the eighth day of Paschest that they noticed that Sion was not among them. There was some confusion and debate among those who claimed to have seen him perish by the Conjurer's hand and those who had seen him nursing his wounds in the aftermath of the battle. But no one, not even Daryas had spoken with him since he had recovered from the Conjurer's blow.

'I would not search too long among our ranks for the son of Ponteris,' Dynamis warned his brother, 'For I fear that he has returned to his father's house.'

'You don't think he would betray us, do you brother?' Daryas asked.

'I do not think he will tell his father anything about our flight or our trail; his great hatred of the Cheftan is well-known throughout Noras. But his loyalties will be sorely tested ere the end. Noras is now in the hands of his father, and he will not find it easy to serve the land without acknowledging her new master. I fear his hatred for his father will turn his heart away from Noras. And if his heart turns from Noras, we will find in him no ally.' Dynamis could see the sorrow in his brother's eyes. 'Do not fear brother,' he said in a comforting tone, 'This may prove to the advantage of our father and all of Noras. The Master of Causes does not neglect the fall of the thinnest leaf, and he has not forgotten about the plight of our homeland. Sion is proud, and he will perhaps vaunt over his father's great failure. For the two brave sons of Biron live on and live free. As long as that knowledge lies within the mad Cheftan's heart he will not risk bringing harm to our father, lest our vengeance turn his ambitions into vanity.'

'Can the sorrow of Sion really be a cause for good?' Daryas asked sadly.

'It may be the cause of good for many, though Sion himself may never see it in that way. There are many who live their whole lives in quiet struggle, feeling powerless and weak. Yet they never know how mighty the Master of Causes can make them when, in his time, he chooses to raise a man above his peers.

'The father of Galvahir was a fisherman in some remote village, far to the north of Galva-la. He did nothing grand or remarkable in his entire life. He worked and lived a simple and quiet life, which was cut short when he drowned in one of the small mountain creeks near his home.

'The loss of his father at so young an age made Galvahir grow strong, and he soon became stronger and wiser than his peers. You know the rest of the tale, how he came to serve Pelas the blessed and with his sword drove the devil king Agon out of Noras forever. It was a little man, a nameless fisherman, who became the cause of something so incredible that the world will not again see its likeness.

'So do not be surprised, brother, if sad tales can lead to happier endings. We cannot see all causes, and we cannot see all that will come to be ere the end. That is the folly of those who grumble at the heavens; for how do they know that there will not be days of plenty to restore what the days of want take away?'

They did not stay in that valley for long. Revere was uneasy as it was still too close to the Great Mountain. He told Dynamis that, 'It would not be impossible for a force to overtake us.'

'Then we must press on. The Remnant must come to safe ground where the brigands of Ponteris will not dare to tread.'

For another week they journeyed into the west, until they had come to a rounded hill about ten leagues west of the peak of Coronis. Around the southern base of the hill there ran a gentle stream, where the men were able to catch fish and trap other creatures. The people were delighted to see such a kind looking land and were of a mind to settle there. But Dynamis stopped them.

'Let no man eat of the creatures of this country until we have done the proper rites. We are no longer in the good land of Pelas, and we must use caution. I will send Maru to spy out the land and see if we can find a suitable sacrifice.'

Maru leaped from Dynamis' arm and soared high into the air on his mighty wings. He circled the hill and vanished from their sight.

After several hours Maru reappeared with a tuft of black goat hair in his talons. A small group of men then followed him as he soared above the top of the hill. On the north side there was a rocky cliff, and on these they discovered some wild goats, leaping and playing upon the rocks.

They threw a rope around one and carried it back to the camp. The men gathered around Dynamis as he prepared an altar of field stones and brambles. He drew a knife from his belt and slew the animal. He cut open the creature's stomach and examined it closely and ceremoniously. 'We cannot stay here,' he said after giving the creature's innards a thorough inspection, 'Return the fish and other creatures to the stream. For the land is against us.'

Then he set fire to the altar and the smoke rose into the air, sending a pleasant smell into the sky. The men were amazed and whispered among themselves, some calling Dynamis a priest or a holy man.

The Remnant left that beautiful hill and continued traveling into the west. Each time they arrived in a new place, Dynamis would repeat his strange ceremony. The men then began to grow impatient; some even called him superstitious, because they were now running low on supplies and tired of sacrificing goats and hares and whatever else could be found in the secret valleys of the Coronan Mountains.

But in due time, approximately three weeks after they left the charred mountainside of Coronis, they arrived in a wild land on the far western slopes of the Coronan Range. Below them to the north and the west they saw the great valley of Ramlos stretched out before their eyes. A mist lay over the whole land, but they could make out the tops of tall pine trees and a silver stream passing due north and out of their sight. Dynamis led them to the source of the river and they set up a camp in a place where they could not be seen from the west or the north.

Sacrifices were once more prepared. But this time when Dynamis examined the entrails he saw no trace of anything unclean or or of any malady within the stomach of the native goat. He called for more sacrifices, this time a bird and a deer.

Finally, after he had spent a considerable amount of time studying the creatures, he set a large bonfire in the center of their camp and proclaimed, 'Here we shall stay, while we wait out our enemies. This land is good, and here the Remnant of Galva will thrive.'

The men cheered and there was a great excitement. After some time of rejoicing, Dynamis raised the long sword of the Conjurer in the air above his head. At the sight of that mighty sword the men quieted down almost instantly. 'Let us rest our weary limbs, and let the cool mountain waters wash the dirt from our tear-stained cheeks. Let us build shelters and gather wild goats and rams. Let us fish and even push the plow if we must. But, men of Noras, let us not forget our kin, our wives and our sisters, the little red cheeked children that play in the woods under the watchful boughs of elm and oak and pine. Let us not forget that they linger in subjection to the fell usurper Ponteris. Rest your limbs, my brothers, so that when the day comes for us to make our return to the blessed forest of Pelas, we will be strong and willing. Many heroes have fallen prey to the goblin's teeth and the foolishness of Cheft Faros. But let us pray to the Master of Causes that in this land to which we've journeyed, new heroes may arise to bring justice and honor back to Noras.'

The Servants of Pelas

On the top of Dadron hill, in the middle of a great courtyard there is a temple. The courtyard of the temple is paved with bright white stones that, despite time and wear, have retained much of their ancient luster and beauty. This courtyard is perfectly square; each side is about a league and a half long, oriented perfectly with the eastern edge facing due east, the northern edge due north and so on. On each corner there is a great obelisk towering high above the hill. Atop each obelisk is a tall white spire that rises higher still, seeming to disappear into the sky itself. Under the moonlight it appears as though these towering structures are the pillars of the heavens, upholding the starry skies and rooting the wheeling planets to the earth.

The temple itself had no roof, for it was meant to be illuminated by the full light of the sun, whose light would reflect off the white stones so brightly that the top of the hill itself became too brilliant to behold on a cloudless day. This was called the 'Glory of Pelas' or the 'Light of Pelas'. In the mid-summer, even from a great distance, it seemed as though the whole city sent a thick beam of pure white light high into the heavens. The Ancients believed that this light traveled for many lives of men until it came to light upon other worlds, who in gratitude for their light sent their prayers across the heavens to Dadron and its god.

The temple itself was surprisingly small, considering the great stone stage on which it was built. It would take a man less than five minutes to encompass the entire building. Its ancient architects cunningly designed it so as to draw the attention from their lesser work, though marvelous as it was, to the greater beauty of the celestial realm. Seeing so small a temple on so great a foundation, set so high atop the hill in the full light of the world's mighty light-bringer inspired an awe that no workman could achieve through his own devices, however remarkable they might be.

The whole temple was made of the same sort of stone as the floor and the obelisks, reflecting the light of the sun by day like a great mirror. At night they glowed under the cool light of the moon and sparkled beneath the host of stars.

Around them there was a low wall, built of large stones about half a man's height. These enclosed the whole structure, save for a broad entrance at the southern end. Beyond this entrance there were large stone steps leading to an altar and past that a beautiful statue of a man.

Made of the same white stone, this statue represented the apex of the Ancients' skill and craft. The statue was of a great warrior, armed with a long sword, held up into the air as though he would pierce the very heavens. His every feature was carved so carefully and smoothly that it almost seemed to possess some life of its own. The clothing was so gently crafted that it almost appeared to be made of silken sheets, draped over a living body. The man's hair was finely curled and neatly trimmed under a gleaming stone helm with a large plume of life-like horse hair, which looked so real that it might be expected to dance about in the wind. The statue towered over the altar casting an ominous shadow until the sun came to rest above it, scattering all darkness. The statue was nearly three times the height of a normal man.

Just south of the statue there was a great stone seat, upon which no mortal was permitted to sit. An inscription on the throne said in an ancient tongue, 'The Throne of Mighty Lord Pelas, God of all Weldera.'

It was to this temple that Lord Pelas returned at the end of his sojourn in the forest of Noras. Under the stars of heaven he sat down upon this throne with his invisible scepter in his hand. Before him stood many spirits; some of them mighty in wisdom and others mighty in deeds. He raised his scepter in the air and all those present praised him:

'Hail Lord Pelas, god of all Weldera; unrivaled and unblemished!'

'Hail, servants of light. I have returned, as I promised, from the land of Noras. The prayers of the Siren have been all but fulfilled. The son of Biron now carries his burden over the mountains into the land of Agonistes. Yet there still remain many tasks and dangers. Lord Cheru, slayer of Amro, among us immortals there are few as powerful as you.'

'What is your desire, Lord Pelas?' the spirit thundered. He was much taller than any of the others. At his side was hung a huge sword and over his shoulder was hung a towering shield. Were he visible, the very sight of him would be more than enough to slay any man born of mortal birth. But when he passed among mankind he remained unseen and unheard, though his heavy plated armor jingled and clattered as he moved.

'You must guard the son of Biron. His name is Daryas Galvahirne. No harm must befall him. I fear for his safety especially now that the fell wolf Ghastin has been deprived of his reward by the cunning fires of Dynamis. Save the younger brother, but I care not what comes of the other. Let Ghastin have him if it will assuage his anger.'

'I will not fail you my master,' Cheru thundered.

'Ollina, I have need of your wisdom,' Pelas said, turning to another spirit. Ollina was much smaller than the giant Cheru. She carried with her no spectral blade or any other such weapons. 'Your cunning and clever words will avail me more than the blades of many immortals. You must fly to the side of Cheft Biron who is now imprisoned in the dark cellars of Cheft Ponteris in Oastir-la. He will be in need of encouragement. You must use your wise words to keep him strengthened in both mind and body.'

'I will do as you say, my lord,' she said as she bowed low. She turned around and began her long journey to Peiraso. Pelas looked around at the spirits gathered before him. 'Where is Mityai?' he asked suddenly.

'She has not returned to us, my lord,' said a dark voice.

'Who is there?'

'It is I, Noctunan,' the dark spirit said. 'It has been my job to trouble the young Galvahirne with dreams of dreadful things.'

'And why have you returned to me? Have you given him all the dreams with which I sent you?' Pelas roared.

'Do not be angry,' Noctunon said defensively, 'You should know by now that the son of Biron sleeps rarely. He has grown quite weak, but he still resists the Old Man more often than not. He will not sleep for another two days, and by then I will have found him again.'

'And what of Mityai, why has she not returned to us?'

'I think that she is angry with you, and she will not leave the boy's side. She nearly throttled me until I promised to be gentler with her charge.'

'This is not good news, I may have to send her to hell after all,' Pelas said gravely. 'I will need a volunteer then. Who will go beyond the mountains to the land of Agon and bring the rebel spirit back to Dadron?'

A powerful spirit stepped forward. 'I will go, my lord.'

'Oblis, once lord over millions, take your long spear and your net. If she will not submit to the safety of your mighty net, skewer her and drag her deathless body back to me on the end of your pole. During my sojourn among the Noras I have seen many strong minded and rebellious spirits in my domain, and it is high time that I reminded them who is lord over all the spirits. If Mityai cannot learn obedience, then she will become an example of my judgment.'

The others nodded their heads in faithful accord. 'Let it be so,' they said in unison.

The New Land

The land that the Noras remnant came to dwell in was nestled behind a tall ridge of bare stone that came sweeping down into the Rauros Valley from the east and then, curving sharply, rose into a high wall of cliffs as though to veil them from northern eyes. A creek came rushing from some high place at the top of the insuperable ridge and over a tall water fall into a pool near the corner of the ridge. There they skillfully built log houses and set up tents and food stores.

The people grew in strength in that land. They called their new home, Ram-u-Nar, for it lay betwixt their home in Noras and the strange land of Ramlos. The wounded healed quickly, and soon they took their weapons in hand once more. Some men hunted and fished, some gathered fruit and berries from the woods, but all of them did their fair share. What they gathered they distributed to all, and there were none that went without.

They did not neglect their swords, though their lives were comfortable. The men trained hard all through the days of their exile, until they became brave and strong, though untested. Many warriors rose into prominence among them in those days. There was Vallus Phoadirne and Forge Collesirne, companions of Dynamis, who became the captains over the other warriors. Vallus wielded a battle-axe with broad sharp blades while Forge carried so large a broadsword that it was said that no other mortal man could bear it. Also among the Galvahirne there were many others who came into notoriety. There was Aoder, the huntsman, who's bow did not miss, and Gishu who alone rivaled him. Also there was Olsith and Melgu, brothers from Cossa-la who became the foremost swordsmen among the Remnant.

Daryas Galvahirne also grew in strength in Ram-u-Nar. Under the guidance of his elder brother he became skilled with bows and with swords, and many other weapons. For nearly a year and a half they remained in that place unmolested by the troubles that overshadowed their homeland. They sent scouts back to Noras now and again, to bring news from beneath the canopy of trees. But none of them dared go beyond the Gavl River or north of Megd-la.

From these they learned that Biron still lived, though they learned nothing of the lady Marima. Ponteris now dwelt in Peiraso and held all of Noras within his grasp, save for those remote places in Megd-la, Shaf-la, and Cossa-la where he had few allies. But all throughout the 'Pillar of Noras' he kept a watchful eye on every road. They heard nothing of the fate of Sion.

In time the Remnant began to secretly summon warriors to their hidden refuge. Revere would travel through mountain roads, known only to himself, and make his way through the secret paths of Noras to the very doorsteps of those men that Dynamis sought after. In this way they brought many other heroes to Ram-u-Nar.

They brought Kele Sorrirne, the great blacksmith and his apprentice Oserra from the copper mines of Shaf-la. He brought with him twenty brave young swordsmen each bearing five new swords to help replenish the arms of the Galva Army.

They also summoned Cheft Aargo Medglirne, one of the finest Axe-men of the wood. He came with his five sons, each as strong as an ox and as wise as a hawk.

Many others also came, some unbidden, some after much prodding. There was much to lose, and little hope of overpowering Cheft Ponteris. Dynamis' message to each was the same:

'Brethren and friends, the son of Biron is gathering a force, whether we will live or die is in the hands of the gods. But we will be a stronger force with the warriors of Noras among our ranks. So come, if the loneliness of exile is better than servitude. I can promise no reward, but what we have and what Fate may bring us I will share willingly and graciously.'

After a year their number had almost doubled and began almost to resemble the mighty force that had first set out from the City of Galva, so long ago it now seemed. But as time drew on it became apparent that the men were growing restless. Their untested strength was teeming with passion and a fierce desire to see their homeland again and bring their fiery revenge upon the heads of their enemies. But as they planned and prepared to return to the forest, unexpected news came to them from the west.

End of Book I

[Book II:  
The Fell Wolf](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

[Chapter I:  
Amlaman, Ramlos and the Kings](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Moon Child

On the balcony of a stone palace there sat a small, dark haired boy, no more than six years of age.

He was no older than six years, and no younger either, for it was his birthday. It was the fifteenth day of Messest and the red Hunter's Moon that had dominated the night sky on the night he was born shone again, comforting the weeping child with its warm light.

Below the balcony things were silent and motionless. The palace was nearly empty save for the king and his family. King Voltan thos Amlaman was far too suspicious these days to keep anyone other than his closest servants inside the castle walls after dark. He had reason to fear, for his rule had failed. The people of Amlaman despised him, and he despised them in return. There was nothing to hold his dominion together beside the shear strength of his generals. And by this point he had much to fear even from them as well. For this reason he had sent them all far away on petty errands. He hoped to keep them occupied until things settled down.

This small boy was the crown prince, King Voltan's only son. That is to say, young Volthamir (for that was the boy's name) was his only legitimate son. The rumors spoken behind the King's back reckoned the number of his descendants much higher.

The poverty that had overwhelmed the nation in recent years was at least partly the result of these indiscretions. It seemed to the people that all a young woman needed to do was find her way into the king's bed and she would soon find herself hurried away to some remote manor with servants and a pension if only she (and her children) would remain secret and silent.

At some point in time, King Voltan designed a secret passage under the palace walls through which his many mistresses might enter his bed-chambers.

It was a loud knock on the door to this passage and the screech of an old crow that broke the silence of the night. The boy stopped crying and froze with fear. The knock repeated, each time more violently, until it became clear that it was not one of his father's mistresses tapping. It was the sound of an axe, or several axes, chopping through the thick oak door. At that moment a large black crow landed on the balcony and stared at the boy with callous eyes. A shout from within the King's bed-chamber turned his attention away from the ominous bird.

'Fire!' he heard the King yell, 'Thieves! Devils!'

He shouted in vain, for his guards had abandoned him. From the balcony the boy could hear his father running about frantically, his bare feet clapping against the cold tile floor. He heard a crash and then the sound of a sword being drawn.

Volthamir hurried inside and ducked behind a small red sofa that was kept near the eastern window.

From his hiding place he could see his father's bed; beyond it, on the western wall of the chamber, was the secret oak door. There was a loud crash and the scream of metal hinges breaking and the door slammed down in a cloud of dust. Into the room stepped seven armed men, some carrying axes and others with swords drawn - all of them with wooden masks covering their faces. One of the men, apparently their leader, walked swiftly toward the king with his blade raised in the air.

The king dropped his own sword and fell to the ground, shaking and weeping like a child.

'Who are you!?' King Voltan pleaded, 'What do you want? I'll give you anything. Anything! Just tell me who you are, you owe the King that much at least.'

The leader hesitated.

'Put on some clothes!' he barked in a muffled voice through his mask. King Voltan was nearly naked, save for a white tunic and two gold anklets. The man passed him a robe with the edge of his blade and the men waited for him to dress.

By that time another man entered the room through the no longer secret passage. This last man was much taller than the others, nearly a head taller than the tallest of the conspirators. Volthamir was more afraid of this new intruder than of all the others.

There was no sheen or glimmer on the man's armor, it had been brushed and stained almost black. At his side he wore an enormous blade with a silver handle and on his back he wore a bright red cape with a hood. He wore no mask, since naught more than a hint of his eyes could be seen beneath his helmet.

'What is the meaning of this?' the King demanded. But the leader did not answer. Instead he fixed his gaze on the King and removed his mask.

The King fell to his knees, white as a ghost. 'Vulcan!' he said with a sense of horror and shock apparent in his voice.

'You have squandered the livelihood of your people, and now the heavens have taken away your scepter,' Vulcan said as he once again raised his sword in the air.

'Don't!' shouted the King. 'Kin-slayer!' he railed, 'My blood is your own, for our fathers came from the same womb.'

'Kill him now.' The very large man said. But Vulcan still hesitated.

'My cousin, you are right,' the king began to confess, 'I have been a fool and an unjust man. Spare my life, that I may make restitution. I give the kingdom into your hands, it is yours. Take away my power, cousin, but save my life.'

'Lord Havoc?' Vulcan looked to the large man with a hesitant look.

'Do what you will, Lord Vulcan,' Lord Havoc said in a cold and distracted voice. 'The kingdom is yours.'

Sweat dripped down his face. He stood there for nearly half a minute just sweating and shaking slightly. But finally he gathered his wits and thrust his sword through his cousin's belly. The king gasped and fell onto his face on the floor.

'Curse you, Vulcan!' he gasped for a final breath. 'Kin-slayer becomes kin-slain, I curse you.'

Then he moved no more.

Amlaman and Ramlos

In the central part of Weldera there are two great cities, Ramlos in the North, which ruled over the land that bore its name, and Japhrian in the South, which was the capital of the vast kingdom of Amlaman. At times united, but mostly apart, these were eastern citadels of the ancient Kingdom of Amlaman, which stretched from the ports of Rinin in the Northwest to the Illar Wastes in the south. The eastern border was the Coronis Mountains, which they called the Daunrys. In the west their kingdom extended beyond the Desset Mountains in the northwest to the very edge of the Black Jungle of Zyprion.

Ramlos was the name that was given to both the Northern Citadel and to the great valley in which it was built. This valley is more than two hundred leagues wide from the Daunrys to the Razzun Highlands. A great river flowed north from the highlands and made its way to the coast of Weldera. Thirty leagues after it fled the jagged rocks of Razzun it came to pass around the western slope of a place called 'The Hill of the Star'. There Ramlos City was built, and since ancient times this was the seat of power in the entire valley.

Amlaman was built on the southwestern shore of the Amla Lake, which pooled up about eighty leagues to the south of the hills of Razzun from whence its waters poured. Less than seventy leagues to the south was the beginning of the Illor Wastes, where the waters of the Razrin River failed altogether and dried up in the Mud-pits. There were very few that lived in that region, and even fewer that passed beyond to the lands of Illmaria.

From Japhrian to the Carn-u-Don Gap, which leads to Falsis and the Eastern lands, it was just under two-hundred leagues by the old road. But in recent days this road was seldom traveled, save by brigands and adventurous merchants and traders.

It would be quite outside our purposes to recount the entire history of Amlaman, but it would probably do us well to consider a few of the more important events.

In the ancient days, Amlaman and Ramlos were founded by Joplis the Noble. He built the Fortress of Amlaman along the western shores of the Amla River to guard his people from the wars of Xanthur who raged in those days in the southern lands. His mighty fortress held out long against the hordes of goblins that marched across the wastes, but in the end he was slain in battle and the walls of his kingdom were breeched. Ere the goblins could overrun the city, however, his kinsman Vol the Brave led a large army from Ramlos to rescue the Fortress.

According to the traditions of the Ancients, Xanthur was slain by the mighty Aggelos King Daryas whose armies tore the goblin hordes to shreds. Peace came to Weldera, and to the rest of Tel Arie for a time, but turmoil remained in Amlaman. Vol the Brave sat down to rule in Amlaman, but Joplis II, the son of Joplis the Noble, demanded his father's throne. There was a great controversy and in the end the savior of Amlaman was driven out to return in shame to Ramlos. There were endless wars and conflicts between them throughout the ages as well as many alliances, truces and marriages. But never since those remote days had the kingdom been united under one lord.

In more recent times, the kingdoms had come to be ruled by the sons of Volthos, a descendant of Vol the Brave. He had married Loana, the daughter of King Himir of Amlaman. Upon the death of King Himir, as he had no sons, the two kingdoms were ruled by the sons of Volthos and Loana, Rolvu, the elder brother, sitting on the northern throne in Ramlos and Volao taking up the scepter in the south. In time the kingdoms passed to their own sons.

Volao's heir was named Voltan, an immature man who became king too young and soon found his kingdom impoverished and dissatisfied. But Rolvu's son Vulcan was a more prudent man and soon restored much of the ancient strength and prosperity of the Ramlos Valley. Thus the south waned and crumbled while the north built and grew.

Voltan was enamored of women, but he took only one wife (in the proper sense of the word). Her name was Hilaia, and she was a peasant's daughter. For many years she bore him no children, which gave him no small amount of anxiety lest his bloodline fail and the kingdom pass to a stranger. This has often been cited as the cause of his pitiful infidelity, but it is clear enough from the accounts of those who dwelt in his house that his faithlessness began long before any such thing could have been of concern.

As I've mentioned, King Voltan thos Amlaman was the father of many sons and daughters, though only one of them by his wedded wife Hilaia. He was born on the fifteenth day of Messest in the first year of this century. She called him Aganthos saying that, 'Lord Agonistes has given me a son.'

But Voltan, fearing that the people might actually believe the fearsome god to be the child's father, named him Volthamir instead.

Vulcan's first years as king of Ramlos were spent in an empty hall, cheerless and hungry. Several decades of harsh winters and dry summers had stretched the resources of the northern kingdom thin, and even the nobles of the land had to suffer want. In the winter of his first year as King, he found himself marching to the woods, ax in hand, to gather wood with his servants.

It was there, under a forest of pine trees that he first beheld the Mighty Lord Havoc. Dressed in full armor he approached the woodcutters on the back of a mighty black horse. He stepped down from his steed and approached them without fear.

'Stay brave knight,' Vulcan said as he raised his hand, 'You know not whom you approach so boldly.'

'I know thee, King Vulcan thos Ramlos, son of Rolvu son of Volthos, heir of Brave Vol.'

'What is your business with the king, tell me quickly, for in such dark days we cannot risk too much careless hospitality. In days like these, when the king marches out to chop wood!'

'I swore an oath to your predecessor, that in the hour of need I would return to Ramlos and see to its security and prosperity. And as I have no interest in angering the gods to whom I swore, I have come to you now. And if my eyes do not deceive me, I would say that I have come in such a time.'

'What token can you show me, that I might believe that you are a friend of my father's?'

The man approached and handed the king a wax seal. 'This is my only token, and I pray for your sake that it is sufficient.'

'But this is the seal of Volthos,' Vulcan said, stunned to see his grandfather's mark.

'Indeed, it was for Volthos' sake that I have come. Your wise old father needed me not. But now I perceive that there is work for me to do here. Allow me to return with you to the castle, and I will return your kingdom to its ancient splendor.'

'What is your name, stranger?' Vulcan asked, still in awe of the strange visitor.

'I am Lord Havoc,' he said in his deep booming voice. 'That is what that I have been called for many long years.'

The coming of this mysterious knight was a cause of both great fear and of great hope among the people of Ramlos. He almost never left the king's side, whether in the dining hall or the council chambers. Soon the people began to notice a change coming over their king. Vulcan became more clever in judgment and more shrewd in business. Soon he replenished the stores and the armories of Ramlos and built up the Northern army.

The people who lived in the great forest of Heyan in the center of the Ramlos Valley had long been vexed by goblin raiders. But under the command of Lord Havoc, King Vulcan was able to drive them back into the Daunrys. Freed from their fears and encouraged by this display of might, the people took heart and the entire region began to prosper.

By the winter of the third year of his reign, King Vulcan thos Ramlos was able to feast on roasted mutton and pig in a gorgeous hall heated by a roaring fire. He leaned back in his seat and sighed, 'The people of Ramlos are safe and fed, truly the god Agonistes has been at my side.'

Even as he spoke the doors of the hall swung wide open and Lord Havoc entered. In his train was a large group of filthy travelers. There were many people among them, both young and old. All of them were thin and dirty, wearing scarcely more than rags.

'What is the meaning of this, Lord Havoc?' Vulcan demanded.

'Your people feast,' Havoc said in his loud voice, 'while your southern kin starve under the rotted feet of your cousin Voltan!'

Thus for the first time, King Vulcan's eyes were turned toward his borders. He saw at last the poverty under which his neighbors lived.

At Lord Havoc's insistence, King Vulcan gathered up whatever provisions he could and sent them south to his cousin. This he continued to do month after month for an entire year. But the conditions seemed no better. There still streamed into Ramlos a constant flow of wandering peasants, seeking bread in the northern country.

'Has he no soul?' Vulcan would thunder in his anger.

For a long time Lord Havoc stayed his wrath and advised him to be all the more generous to his cousin, despite his weaknesses. But in the end the abuses of the southern king became too many for even Lord Havoc's gentle words to cover up. Vulcan became wrathful. And in that moment when he ceased to be a man merely concerned and became a man set on action, Lord Havoc changed his own counsel suddenly and without explanation. He now spoke to Vulcan of war, and he spoke of it without any hesitation or doubt as though it had been his will from the outset.

For the next two years the army of Ramlos prepared for war, though they were not told against whom they would be marching. Lord Havoc insisted that they were preparing against both goblin raids and the threat of Voltan, who he claimed might rise against them in desperation.

All the while Lord Havoc sat in council with the King and slowly led him to devise a plan to overthrow his cousin and claim the Dual Crown of Amlaman and Ramlos, a crown only worn by Joplis in the ancient days, before the kingdom's split.

Because Voltan had become so hateful in the eyes of his people, finding men willing to betray him proved to be an easy task, especially when they were assured that King Vulcan himself would be marching into the south with his mysterious guardian Lord Havoc in train.

Preparations were made and the guards of Voltan were bribed. So that by the night of the fifteenth of Messest, the royal palace was almost empty, save for a few dozen guards and servants, the king himself, his lonely wife, and young Volthamir.

But I needn't say much more about that dreadful night, save for the fate of the young prince.

The Sparing of Young Volthamir

Volthamir stepped back in terror when he saw his father fall to the ground. His eyes dashed around the room in a frenzied search. What he was looking for he could not say; a dagger or a sword or a way to escape. He found a small knife with a keen edge and an ivory handle on a table in the corner of the chamber. He grabbed this and crawled toward his father's killer with fire in his eyes.

But long before he got there he felt a large hand grab the back of his shirt. Another hand covered his mouth and he felt himself swept into the air by a powerful man. He was dragged out of the chamber through a back door that led to his mother's bedroom. Halfway down the hall he was put down, though his mouth was still covered.

Before him Lord Havoc stood in his dark armor and his crimson cape with the strange old crow now perched upon his left shoulder, peering curiously down at him. The boy said nothing and just stood there frozen in terror. Lord Havoc lifted the helmet from off of his head and looked at the child with sad eyes. He did not look old, but there was a great depth and understanding in his eyes that is rare to be seen even among those who have lived a hundred years.

'I'm gonna kill them!' The boy said in a frenzied whisper.

'Silence!' Lord Havoc shouted at the boy. 'You will kill them, child. But not now.'

The boy stopped his mouth and looked up at the armored man.

'I am Lord Havoc, and if you desire revenge you must do exactly as I command you. Do you understand?'

The boy's brow furrowed and he nodded his head; tears began to stream down his face in a torrent. Lord Havoc slapped him with the back of his hand, so hard that he flew several feet before he hit the ground. He lifted his head from the ground and put his hand to his bloodied cheek.

'Do not cry, save your tears!' he commanded with urgency. 'They are like a fine wine, bottle them up and hold them safe from the world for the day of your revenge. Keep every sorrow to yourself, dam up your tears and don't let them flow. When the hour comes you will make the blood of your enemies gush like a mighty river passing over a waterfall in the high cliffs.

'I see fire in your eyes, and courage in your heart - a ferocity that would strike terror into the heart of any foe,' Lord Havoc praised the child, now stooping down and wiping the blood from his face and the tears from his eyes. 'But facing death is only a part of courage, the other part is knowing when to back down; when to wait. Had you run into the room just then, you would have killed no one and certainly met your end. Save your life, go into the chamber and kneel before your enemy. I will hold this,' Lord Havoc took the knife from the boy's hand. 'I will return this to you when the time is right. Then it will be he who will cower behind his bed!'

Volthamir did as he was told and knelt low before Vulcan. As Lord Havoc expected, the King's sympathies were aroused and he embraced the child, with tears streaming from his face. Volthamir, however, cried no more tears from that day forth.

By the end of the month King Vulcan thos Ramlos became King Vulcan thos Amlaman as well and wore, for the first time in an age, the Dual Crown of Joplis.

His actions as king both were swift and severe. He stripped the illegitimate sons of Voltan of their pensions and gathered all of the lands of Amlaman under his control. He set the people to work and saw to it that their labors were rewarded and not eaten up by the nobility.

He chose Lady Marel, a noblewoman whose ancestors once served in the great Temple of Agonistes, to be his queen. Her family's influence extended even to Lapul and Rinin in the western marches of the kingdom. This did much to improve King Vulcan's reception among the people of Amlaman, who, though they hated their former king, were concerned about the means Vulcan had employed to end his incompetence.

Hilaia was allowed to remain in the royal palace and lived there comfortably for several years. But by the time Volthamir turned nine she took ill and died, leaving him alone in the house of Vulcan.

Lord Havoc left Amlaman soon after the crowning of Vulcan and spent most of his time away from the kingdom. He would return on occasion, however, to give counsel to Vulcan and to see how young Volthamir was doing.

One year, around the time of Volthamir's tenth birthday he appeared unexpectedly in the palace in the middle of the night. He snuck into Volthamir's bedroom without a sound and woke him, holding one hand over his mouth.

'What is it, my lord?' Volthamir asked, his heart pounding in his chest.

'The rites of Agonistes are going to be restored in Amlaman,' he whispered. 'Now do as I say. If I have ever saved your life before, obey me now and drink this.' Lord Havoc produced from his pocket a small vial.

'What is it?' Volthamir asked holding it up to the moonlight.

'It will make you ill; very ill,' he said gravely. 'But if you do not drink it you will surely die ere you become a man.'

With those words he vanished and was not seen for a long time.

The following year, on the thirteenth day of Primus, Lady Marel gave birth to a daughter. The night of her birth there was a dreadful thunderstorm. From the palace they could see the clouds gathering over the city and hurling bolts of light from cloud to cloud. But it almost seemed as though the clouds parted and the night became still at the very moment of her birth. Lady Marel named her Leonara. It was soon noised abroad that a child of such beauty was born in Amlaman that the storm-gods were soothed at the very sight of her. This was fated to be the only child of King Vulcan and Lady Marel.

During the time of Leonara's infancy Volthamir was all but forgotten to the people of Amlaman. He had taken ill the morning before his birthday and had not had the strength to leave his bed for more than two months. When he finally rose from his bed he was pale and thin. It was said that from the day he took ill, his flesh never quite regained its full color.

King Vulcan dealt fairly with the boy, as far as he was able. He named Volthamir his heir, since he had no sons of his own, and from thenceforth referred to him as his nephew and taught him to call Leonara his sister. He had young Volthamir educated and trained in every discipline that seemed necessary for a prince. He was affectionate also, though Volthamir rarely returned any of his kindnesses. In truth, King Vulcan was ever haunted by the memory of the death of his cousin and the way the small boy rushed to his feet and bowed in fear. He felt that he must somehow take the place of the father he had destroyed, as absurd as such a thing may sound. He had truly convinced himself that when the boy came of age he would be able to understand and approve of his uncle's bold deeds.

But none of his overtures and none of the dainties of the kingdom could erase from the boy's mind the terror and humiliation he had experienced on that night, so many years ago. He found himself often alone, thinking and cursing his dreadful lot. He also found himself constantly awaiting the infrequent visits of the mysterious Lord Havoc. He heard a great deal about his deeds in battle against the goblins of Daunrys, and a considerable amount regarding the work he was overseeing on Mount Sten-Agoni, but for his own part he had neither seen nor heard from him since the day that he took ill.

[Chapter II:  
The Altar of Agonistes](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Restoration

On the top of the westernmost peak of the Daunrys mountains there was an ancient temple. In the ancient tongue it was called Sten-Agoni, which means, 'the Altar of Agonistes'. It was once the center of the Amlaman cultus, where the ancient priests held the men of Weldera in awe.

But for the past several centuries it had been empty and all kinds of plants and animals had made their homes in it. Lord Havoc insisted upon the temple's restoration. In the spring following the death of King Voltan, Lord Havoc and King Vulcan departed from Japhrian and traveled to the mountain on horseback.

The road up the mountain was overgrown and it soon became impossible for them to continue except on foot. They left their horses in the care of their servants and continued on alone. Lord Havoc made his way through the thorns and tree roots with ease, as one does who is thoroughly familiar with his route. King Vulcan was hard-pressed to keep up with him and would frequently stop to catch his breath. The air was thick with the smell of the grass and the buzzing of tiny little flies. It seemed that with every breath he would draw them in and them cough them out. This went on for several hours till they came to the top of the mountain.

Daufina was a small mountain. If the road had been clear it would not have taken a horseman more than an hour to reach the top. Just west of the peak there was a large flat plain on which the ancient temple complex was built. After nearly three hours they emerged from the brambles and thorns, the temple ruins looming ahead. King Vulcan fell to his knees and rested, thoroughly appreciating the cleaner air. 'What is the importance of this place?' he demanded, 'that you would half-kill me to show me.'

Lord Havoc just laughed.

The two made their way through tall grass to the center of the complex.

'Here on the southern side is the wash-house and the stable. It is here that the sacrifices were cleaned in the Ago stream and prepared for their fates. In the center is the temple of mighty Agonistes, god of Amlaman. We shall have a closer look at this place shortly. On the left side of the temple there is an old path leading to the nunnery, which lies less than two leagues to the north in a small valley in the midst of the Daunrys.'

'But what are WE here for,' Vulcan demanded, showing his lack of patience. 'There are perhaps better things for the King of Amlaman to be doing with his hours.'

'Have you followed my advice all of these years to turn against me now?' Lord Havoc said, suddenly seeming large and menacing.

Vulcan sighed, 'Show me then, I will see what you will have me see.'

They chopped their way through some thick brush and made their way to the east. On the western face of the temple there was a large stone stair. 'This was once a stair of pure white stone, but now it is cracked, soiled and over-grown. You will have to restore it, though I do not expect that it will compare to its ancient beauty.'

The two men made their way up the stairs to the main entrance of the temple. There were two ancient wooden doors now broken down and shattered on the porch. The opening of the temple was almost twice the height of a man and wide enough for ten men to walk abreast.

'It almost seems like this door was made by giants,' Vulcan said as he stumbled over the vines and stood beside Lord Havoc.

'That is the purpose of this door,' Havoc said, 'It will inspire awe of the deity even before the people enter.'

They stepped under the enormous entrance and looked into the main hall. On the eastern side of the temple there was a huge wall of vines and bushes climbing from the floor to the ceiling. There were two large doors on the eastern wall, one on each side of the central altar. There was room enough within this temple to fit thousands of people. But as they looked at it they could not even see the stones of the floor beneath them for the ages of vines and grass that now covered them. Vulcan just stood with his mouth open, staring at the immense hall in awe.

'Fear not, great King Amlaman!' Lord Havoc laughed. 'You will not have to do this work yourself!'

With those words, Lord Havoc left him standing there and continued toward the eastern wall, where all the vines covered the altar. He set a fire at the bottom of the vines and stepped back quickly as the dry leaves ignited. He returned to Vulcan's side and the two watched as the fire crept up the wall and burned away the vegetation.

Vulcan gasped as he watched an enormous stone face appear from beneath the flaming vines. Within a half an hour the vines burned up revealing a terrifying statue, carved out of a great black stone. For all the years that it lay there buried and neglected it was in good condition. 'Remarkable!' Vulcan exclaimed. 'It could be a new stone, untouched by the elements!'

'It is, like the white stones of which the temple is made, a heavenly stone. It fell to the earth many ages ago and came to rest on this mountain. The white stone is believed to have come from the heavens also. But it did not land here. The white stones were brought from Dadron, long ago. Neither stone, whether white or black, is likely ever to be quarried again.'

'Is this Agonistes?' Vulcan said in almost a whisper.

'You might say that,' Lord Havoc laughed. 'He is more like Agonistes when the temple is filled with dancing and wine and more like a stone when the morning light comes over the mountains and shines into the temple through its great windows. Agonistes is the lord of the burning fire and of the darkest night, even as Pelas is lord of the cold stars and the bright day.'

King Vulcan stood there in silent confusion. He was startled for a moment by the fluttering of wings. Lord Havoc's great crow, Arus, flew past his ears and lighted on top of the statue. Lord Havoc smiled and then continued. 'The people will see more than this statue when their senses have been quickened by the rites of the priests and the dances of the holy virgins. In the ancient days the gods walked openly before all mankind. But now that their altars have become run down they keep themselves aloof from our troubles. But Ramlos will soon have need of the power of a god.'

Lord Havoc oversaw much of the restoration personally. The first task to be accomplished was the rebuilding of the road. The brush was cleared away and the trees were pulled from the ground or felled. New stones were brought from quarries in the southern foothills to make the way smooth and easy to travel on. By the end of the third month there was a wide road going from the base of the mountain, winding its way east and then rising gently to the north to enter the temple complex.

They next spent their efforts on the nunnery. They first had to clear the path that led from the temple complex down to the northern face of the mountain. Then they made a new road that wound down into the valley leading up to the western gate. The nunnery lay in the middle of a serene forest in a large clearing, though there was now a great deal of tall grass and thorn bushes obstructing the view. There was a gentle stream that flowed through it from one of the eastern mountains. The stream passed through the eastern gate of the nunnery where it was then channeled into a stone pool before passing out through the western side of the building. One of their first tasks was to restore this channel so that the clean water from the mountain could flow through the building undisturbed and unpolluted.

The building itself was quite impressive. There were fifty apartments for the sacred virgins built along the inner court, each with ornate windows looking in toward the center of the structure. At each of the four corners and also on the center of the northern and southern walls there were built tall guard towers. In the center of the building, where the waters were gathered, the ceiling was open. It was said that few places in Tel Arie offer a better view of the starry heavens.

'On the outer wall on the southern side of the building are the cloisters, where the priests would live in ancient times,' Lord Havoc informed King Vulcan, 'there were more priests than were needed. We will not be making that mistake, however. There are perhaps few things more likely to breed evil and depravity than the dark thoughts of idle holy men. Keep them busy!' Lord Havoc laughed, 'Keep them busy and they will not have time for folly.'

On the outer side of the north wall there were quiet rooms made up for guests and pilgrims. 'These rooms were once without any rival,' Lord Havoc reflected, 'There was no race more famed for their hospitality than the Amlamani. I've heard that men have come from far-off Kharku to wash their weary feet in these waters and to listen to the songs of the virgins.'

By the end of the year the nunnery was completed and restored to a semblance of its former glory. 'This will have to do,' Lord Havoc said disappointedly. 'I had hoped it would shine as it did in the days of old. But there is no way to restore that ancient luster, save for cutting new stones from the quarry in Dadron. But that is beyond our grasp for now.'

Thousands of slaves and prisoners labored for seven years under the hot sun and through deep snow to rebuild and repair the entire ancient temple complex. Wise men were gathered from all over Ramlos and Amlaman, some even from as far away as Rinin and the foothills of Desset. These men were trained in all the ancient rites of the temple of Agonistes until each of them was well prepared for their perpetual service. Achil, the elder of Lapul, became the High Priest of Agonistes and swore an oath to serve him with sincerity and passion. A eunuch by the name of Reonus was set in charge of the holy virgins, of which there would always be thirty. It was his duty to guard the virgins as he saw fit and also to educate them and train them in their sacred dances. Accordingly, Reonus hired Belran of Dighn to guard the nunnery. Belran was a brave warrior and he brought with him a guard of thirty men, each armed with tall shields, sharp swords and long spears.

To oversee the animals and the wash-house, they summoned Jaedor and named him Shepherd of Agonistes. He would preside over the animals, both those that labored and those that would be sacrificed.

Rededication of the Temple

Thus, after seven years of constant labor and at an incredible cost, the Temple of Agonistes was restored and the people of Amlaman and Ramlos were summoned to a great feast on the top of the mountain. The road was now smooth and fair, giving the travelers no difficulty, though it had once been treacherous and impassible. As Vulcan himself arrived, he could not help but notice further that there was not a fly nor a gnat to be seen flying in the warm spring air.

'Flies will no longer trouble us here,' Lord Havoc told him. 'They will not come near the Holy Temple.'

'How can this be?' Vulcan wondered. 'Is this the power of the god?'

Lord Havoc laughed, 'One might say that,' he said. 'Or one might say that it is the power of alchemy, an art in which the the priests of Agonistes are well-trained.'

Thousands of people came, mostly noblemen and magistrates. As the afternoon drew on there was a steady line of people walking and riding up the road toward the summit. So many that the King grew nervous that many would have to be turned back.

'Nay,' Lord Havoc told him. 'Turn no soul away. Let them crowd in around the temple and let them pack themselves in until they are pinned one against the other. This way those within the temple will be more excitable and those without will be more credulous.'

Night came swiftly and the people could no longer approach the temple. Camps were made and food was distributed to those still on the road. Messengers would ride down from time to time to bring tidings of the night's events. Those who were closer could see glimpses of the leaping flames from the temples mighty lamps and torches, and hear the pounding of the great drums. There was music and an abundance of food and wine. Roast pig and lamb were sent down among the people from the altar and all of them partook of the sacrifice. Long into the night this feasting continued, until the people were exhausted and their senses were dulled. Some fell fast asleep on the cold grass with their cloaks pulled over them. It was in this hour that the holy virgins performed their rituals.

The people were excited into a drunken frenzy and the music roared to life. The drums pounded and incense was burned. Strange fire burned from the Altar, red and purple smoke whirled about. There was the rich scent of spices in the air, so thick that some began to cough and others to faint.

The lamps were slowly dulled and the music slowed as the virgins finished their dance. King Vulcan then walked up to the altar, with his young daughter in his arms. When he held her above his head the people grew silent. There was a ceremony and a bull was slain, its blood pouring over the altar and into the large basin underneath. After this the altar was lit once more and flames leaped up. The crying child was returned to her mother and the sacrifices continued. Now the priests began to lead the people in hymns and songs in honor of the fierce god. They sang swiftly at first, but as the people grew excited they began to slow the pace of the songs down until their words hung long in the air. All through the mountainside the people were singing, so the sound rose into the night.

By this time the expectations of the people were high and their perceptions were half-dead. It was at this moment that the fierce god appeared. In a flash the music cut off and the flames leaped to life. Fire burned in the eyes of the god and there was the sound of thunder in the distance. The god seemed to rise from the ground and smoke of many colors poured from his gaping mouth. The people grew frightened and began to shout and cry in terror, pulling at their hair and casting their cloaks over their faces.

A booming voice rent the air and froze the people to the bone. Silence came upon the mountain, even among those who were at the very bottom of the path. For it was clear that something was happening atop the mountain. Even from afar the smoke and flame could be seen and the faint pounding of the drums could be heard.

The speech was strange; no man understood it and the people began to shout in fear. 'We have awoken the god!' they cried, 'and we have become undone!'

As the frenzy grew, Achil stepped up to the front of the altar and raised his hands before the face of the god as if to calm him. 'I will speak your words to this people,' Achil said. And then in a loud and clear voice the old man spoke to the people in their own language.

'For many years my temple has lain in ruins. Since the day the accursed Pelas rose against me from the Elven-King's Fortress and drove me over the Daunrys and into the Razzun Highlands. There I have wandered for many ages, hungry and shamed among the jagged rocks and polluted streams. I wandered the land there and saw the door of the dead, where the souls of men pass on their journey out of this world. There in the wicked land of Razzun, Pelas the devil would have left me bound and lost for eternity, as would his guardians in Dadron.

'But I have returned from my exile, called by the sound of praises and the smell of burnt fat and flesh. But what I see here before me I am not yet certain. Is this a people, come to serve Lord Agonistes once again? Or is this a rabble of beggars who follow the smell of unearned meat and wine?

'Tell me now you mighty men of Amlaman, you wise men of Ramlos. Have you come to serve Lord Agonistes? Or have you come to rob his altar?'

At these words the people wept and they cried out for mercy. They cast themselves upon the floor and prayed and screamed, tearing at their hair. Some cast their money and their jewelry onto the altar. The mob of men and women were brought to a state of desperate fear when once more the god spoke in his unintelligible voice.

'There is one thing for which I have returned from my exile. I have come that justice may be brought upon the head of the immortal Pelas who reigns in Dadron. Will this people fight for their god? Or have I crossed the threshold of the dead and traversed the poisoned rivers in vain?'

The people began to cry out and to swear. They swore their lives and the lives of their children's children into the service of the fierce god. They swore away their wealth and lands and every other thing they could offer.

Fire leapt into the air from Agonistes' mouth and smoke billowed out of his nostrils, choking the people and darkening the temple. Then the voice rang out through the air one last time. Achil interpreted once more.

'Then let the people give me a token of their devotion, that I may know for sure that they speak earnestly. For I, Agonistes, am not a forgetful god, that I will take your words and return to slumber without seeing whether or not you will fulfill your vows. Bring forth the final sacrifice!'

At that moment a young girl was brought to the altar, one of the virgins of the nunnery, dressed as a bride but with a face as somber as death, and with weeping parents in her train.

The Dark Gods Tremble

Outside the temple, under a dark canopy of trees on the northern side of the hill there sat many of the invisible gods of Amlaman. Their chief was named Gheshtik, who towered above the others both in size and in wisdom. At his side was hung a mighty blade, twice the breadth of a mortal's sword and nearly twice the length. He wore a dark cape that shrouded him in darkness, hidden from all eyes. Near at hand was his dark messenger, Zefru, whose swift feet could pass over field and stream faster than a hurricane's gale. There were many others besides them in the shadows of the forest, watching with great interest and concern as the revelers worshipped their ancient lord.

Gheshtik broke the long silence. Though silent to mortal ears, his voice shook the other spirits as it passed from his lips. He said, 'Gods of Amlaman, what strange days these be! The ancient prisoner is worshipped anew, yet we have neither seen nor heard of him for more than a millennium. Could it be that the fell lord Agonistes has returned, unbeknownst to us, who were, in ancient times, his warriors and servants?'

There was a great murmur among the spirits, then Zefru spoke. His voice was smooth and his words poured out swiftly and confidently. 'My lord Gheshtik, I have for all these thirteen hundred years been your eyes and your ears in both Ramlos and Amlaman, yet I have not so much as heard a whisper of the dark god's return. By all accounts Lord Pelas' mighty servant yet guards the paths of Razzun, both preventing Agonistes' escape and keeping us, who were once his thralls, from aiding him, however far that may be from our desires.'

'Then what is this spectacle that we witness before us at the Altar of Agonistes? Why are the men and women of Ramlos and Amlaman gathered together thus?' Gheshtik almost sounded frantic as he spoke. His uneasiness set the other spirits to panic and they began to move about restlessly as though they feared he would punish them.

Zefru spoke once again, trying to calm his master, 'My lord, you have no need to be upset. Your strength has grown in the long years of the devil's exile, while his strength is sure to have waned. Even if this marvel heralded his return we have naught to fear from him while you are our captain.'

'As ever you speak softly and cunningly, Zefru,' Gheshtik said, calming down a little. 'But I cannot help but think that you would be saying the same to the devil if it were he that trembled and I that had wandered the lonely subterranean paths for all these years.'

'You are wise, my lord,' Zefru bowed low, 'You know as well as I that there is nothing in this world but power. And that is why I am your servant, because in your hands that power resides in fullness.'

'Your tongue is as clever as your feet, Zefru. But there is something more at work here than mere men. This great gathering is no mere rebirth of tradition. I can sense some dark power at work, and something ancient.'

Suddenly as he spoke a tiny spark of fire appeared before them, hovering eerily in the still night air. 'What is the meaning of this?' Gheshtik demanded.

A gruff but quiet voice came from the fiery spirit. 'I am Fuehar, lord of this temple. It is by my flames that the Altar is lit, and I preside over everything that is sacrificed before the image of Agonistes.'

'And why have you come before us now?'

'I was lord of this temple in the ancient days, when Lord Agonistes reigned from the eastern forest and had his temple on this mountain as well as in the dark parts of the land of Noras. My brother once kindled the holy flame in that place, but alas, his light has been long extinguished!'

'Then you are one of the elementals,' Ghestik said with a nod. 'Tell me all that you know, little fire.' At those words the fire seemed to grow angry. It grew bright and hot and sprung up to a great height, taking the form of a man, towering over even Lord Ghestik.

'Little Fire?' the flame cackled. 'There are many elementals in this world, young Ghestik!' he said insultingly. 'All of them are older than you, and none of them are under your command. I trust that I needn't remind you of that!'

Ghestik bowed slightly and spoke softly to the pillar of fire, 'And neither are the immortal spirits under your command, lord of smoke, and neither can you harm us, or even so much as touch us. Grow as big as a mountain if you wish, we cannot be burned by you!'

The flame seemed to die down at those words and shrunk back to a mere spark of flickering fire. 'I have come not for rivalry, but to council you. For I have seen your confusion from afar and I thought it would be good to share what knowledge I have with the servants of my ancient friend.'

'Tell us all that you know,' Ghestik said, 'and we will insult you no further.'

'I am the lord of this temple, as I've already said. In the ancient days my brother and I presided over all of the temple sacrifices. Many victims were fed to us, and there were priests to tend us and to keep us healthy and strong. But in the fall of your dark master we were both destroyed and our ashes and embers were scattered. The temple that was built in Noras was destroyed and buried under a great mound in the darkest part of the forest. There my brother is doomed to lie for as long as Agonistes' punishment endures, which will continue until the end of the world if Lord Pelas has his way. My own light was snuffed out not long after, when the demons of Noras pillaged this temple, stole away the virgins and set the whole mountain ablaze. It was not long afterward that the people of Amlaman lost their faith in the god of their fathers.'

'Yet still you live,' Ghestik said.

'I live because the Altars of Agonistes have once more been lit. When my fires were extinguished I was forced to wander in lonely places of darkness and bewilderment; places known only to the souls of the damned. Places where neither mortal nor immortal feet can tread without perishing. But after many years in those desolate lands, I have been summoned to the living world again by the strange Knight of Amlaman.'

'Who is that man?' Ghestik interrupted.

'You do not know?' the fire cackled.

Gheshtik grew angry, 'Mock me not, lord of campfires! I cannot harm you with my sword or fist, but were I to set my will against you there would be little hope of your fires escaping the torrent of my servants for long.'

The fire once more diminished and listened soberly as the spirit lord spoke.

'I have eyes that can pierce the heavens and see the mysteries of the distant stars. I have seen from afar the mighty astral lords and their fierce weapons of war that would make short work of even the mightiest of the flame-lords. I have wandered through the desert places in Kharku and the Deplund of the delvers in the south. I have seen the hidden throne of Bralahi, though no others, whether mortal or immortal, can pass through his gates. I have seen the slumbering face of his brother Kolohi, buried deep beneath the earth in the secret ruins of the eastern lands. I know the names and lineage of every mortal man in this whole land of Amlaman, and the names of each and every person, whether they are nobles, kings or peasants, in Ramlos as well. Yet this man I know not. I have watched him now for many years and I cannot tell his lineage nor can I divine his purposes. Tell me now, if there is any purpose for your visit, tell me who this man is.'

The fire died down to a spark, 'I am as much at a loss as you are, my lord,' the fire said softly. Gheshtik snorted and looked away.

'Then be gone, little fire. Return to your coals and warm the priests of Agonistes. But ere you depart, I have but one more question: Has the Devil-King returned?'

The fire grew bright for a moment and answered, 'I have not seen him. But I do not think it will be long before he returns.'

'Then Achil, the high priest, is no oracle,' Zefru said with a hiss. 'His whole prophecy was a farce!'

'A fraud?' the fire cackled, 'I would not say so, for the arm of Agonistes is long and his voice thunders across the heavens. If he has escaped his prison, he may well have spoken to Achil. At any rate, all that was said by the high priest was true to the devil's purposes. For there are none who doubt that Agonistes will want revenge against his foe Pelas. And if Agonistes returns to find a ready and faithful people at his command, he will care nothing for the farce of the priest. My guess is that this is the very thing the dark knight is counting on. When Agonistes returns, he will find an army ready to march at his first command.'

'You seem to be of one and the same mind with this mysterious man,' Gheshtik said.

'And why not?' the fire said, 'Who else but Lord Agonistes can restore the dark religion to Noras and rekindle the flames of the eastern temple. I cannot be blamed for wanting my brother to live again. Even as I have been restored to the living world, so may he be rekindled, if Agonistes once again crosses the mountains.'

With those words the fire left them and vanished into the air, returning to its place in the temple. Ghestik was silent for a moment as he considered all that had been said. 'Zefru, you must make all haste to the gates of Razzun and bring what news you can of the Devil-King. Tell me if the Gigas still lives, and whether he has seen his charge.'

Zefru bowed and then vanished from the council with great haste. Gheshtik gave other commands to his servants and then turned once more to look upon the glowing temple of Agonistes. His servants darted off in every direction, doing their master's will with haste. Soon the great spirit was alone in the darkness of the forest, contemplating all that was spoken.

A shrill voice broke out from the branches above him and spoke, 'Master Gheshtik, you seem troubled.'

Gheshtik looked up and saw the large crow of Lord Havoc perched on the gnarled boughs of a great oak tree. 'Little bird,' he said, 'I have not yet learned your name, nor the name of your master?'

'I am Arus, the Lord of Crows,' he said with a laugh. 'My master? Nay, I am the master. But I have found the strange knight to be quite useful. He is called Lord Havoc by the men of Amlaman, though doubtless you've already discovered that much. Who he is by birth, I have yet to discover. He is so mysterious that I wonder if he himself remembers. But if you know him not, o lord of spirits, then doubtless it is because he wishes not to be known, and not because you have not known him.'

'Don't mock me, little one,' Gheshtik warned. 'There are many immortals wandering the subterranean labyrinths in penance to this day for naught more than an ill timed jest.'

'That I do not doubt,' the crow said. 'And I am not mocking you; there are many, both among the immortals and the mortals, who have forgotten their histories; and many more would so forget were they able. But whether his is such a case or not, I cannot tell. He has never spoken anything that would give me an idea one way or another. And there are some, I dare say, who have strength of spirit enough to conceal their histories even from the gods.'

'Yet you put so much faith in him as to follow him here and there while he carries out his own plans?'

'His own plans are very similar to mine, but we will see in the end how far together we can walk. There comes a place where every servant must forsake his master and every student must part with his instructor. That, I trust, you know very well,' the crow laughed.

'Indeed,' Gheshtik said soberly, 'And mark it well, little crow, that our own paths might cross someday; and in that moment I will not hesitate to use my full might to accomplish my desire.'

'I have heard your warning,' the crow laughed again, 'But of that day I am not afraid, at least not yet. There is a great deal of work to be done ere our diverse motives come into opposition one with the other.'

With those words the Lord of Crows flew away and left Gheshtik to himself once more.

[Chapter III:  
The Children of Vulcan](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Childhood of Leonara

Late in the night on the fourteenth of Paschest, Leonara, princess of Amlaman, was dedicated to Agonistes in the temple on Mount Sten-Agoni. To the people she became a symbol of their new devotion to their fiery god. When she was brought before the public the cry went out, 'Behold the blessed daughter of Agonistes!' The people would crowd around her and smother her with their adoration were it not for the guards that Vulcan kept about her at all times.

As the years passed she grew in both grace and beauty, so that many of the people began to believe that she truly was, in some sense, the daughter of their god. Her skin shone like bronze under the light of the sun and her hair was the color of pure gold. Her eyes, it was said, gleamed like the dance of the sun over a cold mountain stream. Her beauty and elegance so captivated the people that legends and fables began to spread concerning her parentage. Each year, on the anniversary of the temple's dedication, her father and mother would bring her up the road to the temple and repeat the ceremonies that had once roused the people to piety. When the rituals were complete Leonara herself was brought before the people and dedicated anew to the dark god.

Volthamir, on the other hand, remained aloof from the new religious rites. On occasion he would attend the festivals and the ceremonies, but these he found to be dull and uninteresting. On many occasions he managed to avoid the temple completely by feigning illness. Had his sister attempted this she would have been dragged along despite, but Vulcan's heavy heart would not allow him to push his nephew to do anything against his will.

It was well known that during her childhood Leonara was envious of Volthamir's freedom. She also felt considerable embarrassment at being such a spectacle while her cousin seemed wholly exempt from the rites of the renewed religion. But her attempts to find equity were met with stone silence by her father and angry fits by her mother. It became clear that she would not be allowed the same freedoms that Volthamir was granted.

This was not helped by Volthamir's actions. Through his whole life he laughed very little, but he laughed heartily at the sight of the tiny princess 'dressed like a peacock' on her way to this or that sacrifice. Her face would turn red with anger and embarrassment and he would laugh yet more. But it seemed that as she grew older and fairer even Volthamir's hard heart softened and he treated her with more kindness. By that time, however, Volthamir spent very little time at the palace with his uncle.

When Volthamir reached the age of sixteen he began training for the royal guard. Of the eight men who stormed his father's bed-chamber on the night of his sixth birthday, now only Vars and Kellin remained, along with Lord Havoc and the King himself. Volthamir was made a squire to Lord Vars, who taught him to wield a blade and a spear.

Volthamir proved an excellent student and soon mastered each of these weapons. By the end of his eighteenth year he was numbered among the greatest warriors in Amlaman, his reputation rivaling even the great generals themselves.

Lord Havoc returned to Amlaman that winter and spent a considerable amount of time in council with the King. 'What council do you have for me, my faithful guardian?' Vulcan asked as they sat among his generals and advisors.

'You have ever taken my advice to heart, and for that I am honored deeply, my King,' Lord Havoc said. 'But there is one thing which you have long ignored. You will recall the harsh words with which I upbraided you some twelve years ago when you chose to show mercy to your little nephew. As natural as such a deed may have been, and however noble your intentions, it still remains that the son of Voltan has a claim upon your throne and upon your blood also. For you cannot imagine that he has forgotten his father's killer.'

The King sat up and his face went pale. His voice sounded broken as he spoke, 'I have tried to show the lad as much kindness as I could. I have been like a father to him, and I do not think that he will return my kindnesses with treachery. He is a sullen young man, but I trust him. As for his claim on this throne, however, you need not fear. For he knows that he is my heir, and that of this kingdom I have only been a guardian. The Dual Crown will pass to him in due time.'

'I pray for the King's sake that it will be so,' Lord Havoc said solemnly. 'But one last time I bring before you and your council my proposal of old: that the prince be made to drink the Cup of Trial in the Temple of Agonistes. If his heart is true, as you believe, then there is nothing to fear. He will drink the fateful wine and his heart will be proved forever. But if he dies, then so be it. But let Agonistes be the judge, for there is no other that can see into the hearts of men.'

'I hear your words, and I acknowledge your wisdom; and I must confess that you have ever been my ally and friend. But my heart is against this.' The King lowered his head and looked at the floor. 'Nevertheless,' he continued, 'I will let my counselors decide.'

His councilors quickly agreed to Lord Havoc's plan (Lord Havoc knew that they had long been of the same mind as he) and they set about deciding the time and the date of the Trial.

The Cup of Trial

On the eve of his nineteenth birthday, Volthamir was summoned to the Temple of Agonistes to drink the Cup of Trial. He was escorted there by Lord Vars and Lord Kellin along with many other strong warriors. These were followed by hordes of noblemen and citizens who had been invited to witness the ceremony. There were seven other men and three women brought to the mountain on that same day to taste the fateful wine. When they had all arrived they were brought to the nunnery and prepared for the ceremony. Each of them was bathed in the pool of living water and given a bright white robe to wear. The women were adorned with earrings of gold and the men were given belts of silver. There, surrounded by the songs of the virgins, they were kept until night began to fall.

The Cup of Trial was a ceremony of the old religion that had been revived at Lord Havoc's command. There was a great chalice of gold filled with sacred wine blessed by Agonistes. Those who were accused or suspected of some secret evil would be forced to drink from the cup. If they were unharmed, then their innocence was declared publicly with the authority of god and king. But if they perished or were in any other way harmed by the draught they would be publicly condemned. The ceremony had a questionable reputation among the men and women in Amlaman. There were some who believed in the ceremony without question, but these were by far the minority. Most seemed to think it was just a convenient way of doing away with the spurious accusations of jealous husbands and gossiping women. There were some who saw it as no more than an easy way for the king to make a spectacle of his rivals and opponents. Finally, there were those who held all of these opinions at once.

The ancient ceremony had a more dreadful reputation. There were tales of gruesome deaths and horrible scenes of punishment resulting from the ceremony. In some accounts as many as a thousand men were judged and killed in one night by the Fateful Wine. But in the years following the revival of the old religion there had not been a single death. For this reason, most of those that had been brought to the temple that day showed little fear of the ceremony. They were mostly annoyed at being put on display, and publicly shamed. But most of these were comforted by the prospect of drinking the cup and, 'like the others', being forever vindicated by the god's judgment.

After darkness had lain on the mountain for nigh an hour an escort arrived from the Temple. Thirty young men, each dressed in bright white robes came carrying lamps in front of them, each having a short sword fastened to their belts. They parted into two lines of fifteen and held their torches aloft while Volthamir and the others passed between them. When the last of them left the nunnery the young men began to walk, their lights leading the way to the Temple.

The people were singing a slow hymn to the fierce god when they entered the temple through a side door near the altar and made their way to the front of the building. When the last of them had taken their place the hymn stopped abruptly and the priest walked up and addressed the god.

'Great god of fire and of darkness,' he cried out, 'judge us! Let your judgment fall into this cup and set us mortals aright. For knowledge fails us and we have need of your wisdom. Choose you, therefore, which of these is innocent of their crimes and which of these must die. Furthermore, we call upon you to judge the heart of the prince of Amlaman. By this cup shall we know that which only the god has hitherto known.'

After saying this and many other things the priest took a large chalice from a table in the center of the altar and filled it with wine from a jar that he carried with him.

One by one he gave the cup to the people who had assembled there. First to an older man named Regens, who drank it reluctantly, then to a plump young woman named Oanasa who seemed to have little fear of it, and finally after all the others he passed the cup to Volthamir. Volthamir's eyes darted across the room to meet the eyes of his uncle. And the young man's anger froze the heart of the older man. 'I have made him look like a fool,' the king thought to himself with great regret.

Volthamir took the chalice from the priest's hands and drunk deep of the wine of Agonistes. He raised the bottom and let the wine slide down his throat; when he finished he cast the golden chalice aside as if it were nothing. The priest stepped back in fear for a moment and then, scampering after the precious object, returned it to the center of the Altar. He raised his hands and began to speak, but he was cut short before he could get a single word to pass from his lips. There was a great cry and gasp from the crowd as old Regens fell to the floor like a cut tree. His mouth frothed and he clutched the cold stones in his hands as he died. The young woman Oanasa stepped back, holding her heart in her hand, staring in shock. In a moment the fit came upon her as well and she lay beside the other man in a pool of her own spit and vomit. Terror struck the others and they moved about in fear and desperation. One after another they fell on the stone and bashed their heads against the floor. Through the whole scene, Volthamir just stood resolute, bracing against death with his eyes fixed on his uncle's. Vulcan looked away and turned his back to the stage. But Volthamir did not die.

When he had regained his courage the king once more looked up at the Altar. But Volthamir was gone. At some point in the midst of all the chaos, Volthamir slipped away from the altar and left the temple.

'Curse the devil!' Volthamir shouted as he stormed away from the temple. He shoved his guards away from him and wandered into the wilds alone in the darkness.

Vulcan confined himself to his bed-chambers the moment he returned from the temple. He locked his door and refused to allow even his wife to enter. When most of the night was spent, Lord Havoc appeared in the palace and made his way past the guards. They were used to his boldness and made no effort to stop him. With a mighty push, he broke the lock on the chamber door and walked into the room. Vulcan was there, still dressed in the same robes he had worn to the ceremony. His face was covered with sweat and tears. 'There is no way to keep you out I suppose,' he laughed madly. 'Try as I might, you have become like my shadow. Every which way I go you darken my steps, and your council is perilous.'

Lord Havoc bowed low and walked slowly toward him.

'Stay back!' Vulcan shouted as he raised his sword. 'It was your counsel that caused all this humiliation. Were it not for you, I would never have put him through all of that. It was your idea! It is your fault. Everything is your doing!' He was weeping as he spoke, but his eyes were full of wrath.

Lord Havoc stepped quickly toward him and smacked the broad side of his sword with the back of his fist. The sword was forced from his hand and went flying against the wall. Vulcan's tears stopped in an instant and he seemed to regain his composure.

'There is no perfect counsel, my king,' Lord Havoc said. 'And whatever counsel I give, it is still the right and duty of the king to decide his own course. For good or ill, you cannot blame others. Let the peasants, who are in every way ruled by chance and happenstance, blame others for their misfortunes. But you, King Vulcan thos Amlaman thos Ramlos, are meant to be above such whimpering.'

'You are right,' Vulcan said with a slight bow, 'Forgive me, Lord Havoc, you have long been my friend and helper. Without you, I would have nothing of which I have today. I owe you more than this. I should do you honor, rather than complain against your counsel.'

'Yet my trouble still remains,' Vulcan continued, 'I have now multiplied my sins against this boy. I am beginning to fear for my life and safety. He is no longer a child, and I cannot long hope to hold the mastery of arms. What can I do? Shall I lock myself away in my secret chambers in the same sorry fashion as my cousin?'

'I do not think that you should do that, my lord,' Havoc answered calmly.

'What shall I do then? Keep a guard at all times between me and my heir? I am at a loss. I feel so ashamed that I can barely look at the boy.'

'Perhaps,' Lord Havoc said thoughtfully, 'it would be best if the boy left the castle for a while. For a long while, I mean. I can take him to your old castle in Ramlos and set him to work against the goblins of the Daunrys.'

'Very well,' Vulcan quickly agreed. 'But promise me one thing, Lord Havoc.' King Vulcan looked him in the eye as he spoke.

'Anything, my lord,' Lord Havoc answered.

'Instruct him in all the ways of a ruler. Teach him the things you taught me. Teach him about Justice, Honor and Compassion. These are three things that no ruler can do well without.'

'I will do as you have asked,' Lord Havoc answered. 'I will teach him truly about each and every one of those great virtues.'

The Departure of Volthamir

On the first day of Primus, under a gray and ominous sky, Lord Havoc and young Volthamir left the palace of Amlaman. Volthamir said his goodbyes with haste; King Vulcan's eyes were elusive, but he gave his nephew a few empty words of encouragement.

Before he turned toward the door he looked once more upon his old home. In that moment he was flooded with memories. He remembered countless dark nights in which he lay cursing his uncle, cursing his father and his mother, cursing the stars in the sky. But he suddenly remembered his mother's voice and a few happy moments from his early childhood. He felt his heart grow heavy and he would have wept, but in that instant the words of Lord Havoc returned to him: 'Do not cry, save your tears! They are like a fine wine, bottle them up and hold them safe from the world for the day of your revenge.'

His old demeanor soon returned and his sorrow left him. He laughed. It was all he could do to keep himself from spitting on the floor and cursing them all aloud. But even as he chuckled he heard a sound coming from the top of the stairs.

He looked up and there he saw Leonara weeping in her nurse's arms. The nurse was unable to stop her or comfort her. From the bottom of the stairs Volthamir could hear her say, 'But now I will be all alone!'

Volthamir turned and slowly ascended the steps to meet her. She rushed down the steps to him and hugged him tight. 'Don't go away,' she demanded.

'I must go away,' he told the girl, 'For who else will keep back these dreadful goblins and make the princess of Amlaman safe?'

'There is Lord Vars and Lord Kellin and even the scary one, Lord Havoc. They can kill the goblins, but they cannot be my brother.'

'Ah, but I am too old to be your brother,' Volthamir said.

'No you aren't!' she protested.

'And Vars and Kellin are too old to kill goblins!' Volthamir said with a smile. He pointed at the two gray haired men at the bottom of the stairs with his uncle. Leonara laughed. 'That is why I must go with Lord Havoc,' he continued soberly, 'He is going to help me kill goblins so that I can keep you and your mother, and these very, very old men safe and sound.'

She laughed again and hugged him tight. 'You will come back and visit us, right?'

Volthamir's eyes looked away and he said, 'Of course, we shall see a great deal of one another.'

'Why must you leave so soon, though?' she said, her eyes making one final plea. 'For it is only three days before my birthday; I will be nine years old!'

'I am afraid I must go now,' he said sadly, 'For there are many evil goblins that are making trouble in the north. I must go and stop them.' He paused for a minute and then smiled slyly, 'I must keep all these very old men safe as well as this very very old princess.'

'I'm not old!' she said laughing.

'Nine seems very old to me!' Volthamir said. 'But whether you are old or young, I shall guard and protect you all the same.'

She gave him another hug and then the two parted.

It was nearly dark by the time they left the palace of Japhrian and entered the city. The city of Amlaman was built on the western banks of the Razrin River, which flows out of the southern tip of the Razzun Highlands. The old city was built along the edge of the river, and was inhabited since ancient times with fishermen, merchants, and other working people. As the land prospered the city grew, and soon there were mansions and estates built to the west. Around these mansions was built a great wall, to guard the people from invaders. In the center of this region was built Japhrian palace, where the King of Amlaman has always dwelt.

As a last resort in case the outer city was taken, Japhrian itself was also encircled by a great wall of stone. There was a tall gate on the eastern and western side of the palace wall. The western door was always closed, but the east was opened each day at dawn and so it remained until dusk when it was once more closed.

Through this gate Lord Havoc and Volthamir walked, just as it was about to be closed for the evening. Lord Havoc halted the guards with his thunderous voice and the two were allowed to pass through. They made their way on foot through dark streets by the dim light of a small lantern. There was a chill wind in the air as they walked.

'We have taken no servants,' Volthamir said as he looked around in the dark. It seemed as though he could see formless shadows walking about here and there and the gleam of jealous eyes peering at them from hidden windows.

'We will be better off without their service,' Lord Havoc said gruffly. 'If you are concerned about your safety, you needn't be. The people know Lord Havoc, even in the dark. We will not be assailed by any brigand or robbers, not even by the banks of the river where the common men live.'

They continued on until they passed under the great eastern gate of the city's wall. Beyond these gates there was a crowded section of the city where there were many dark alleyways and broken down houses. Again, though the streets were empty, Volthamir could not help but sense that there were many eyes upon them as they passed. He shuddered and began to walk slightly faster. Lord Havoc chuckled. 'It is good that you are in fear,' he said strangely.

When they had left that portion of the city they came to a more open country. They passed many farms and mansions as they made their way east toward the river. Now that they were out of shadows of the city Volthamir's fears eased and he relaxed a little.

Lord Havoc then spoke, his voice slightly more than a whisper. 'Do you wonder why I said that it was good that you were in fear?'

'I cannot guess, but I would like to know,' he answered. 'I would like to know that - and a great many other things.'

'We have not the time for a great many things,' Lord Havoc laughed. 'But what time we have I will use to its utmost.'

'Then say on,' Volthamir said.

'I said that it was good for you to be in fear because the world is dangerous. You know as well as I do that there are many evil things in this world that conspire against a man's safety and happiness. And that is all that a man wants in life after all: They want to live, that is, they want their lives to continue in security, and they want to be happy. But in order to be happy they must be free of fear.

'There was once a man who undertook a journey over the Daunrys to sell spices in the dark forest of Falsis. During the night he was assailed by goblins. He fled to a dark cave and hid from them. A storm came and shook the foundations of the mountain, hurling stones from the top of the mountain down to the place where he hid. There he spent a long sleepless night. Terrified of the goblins outside, of the delvers he thought might be inside, afraid of the storm and the lightning, yet also afraid of leaving the cave to be crushed by falling stones. Can you imagine that this poor soul was then happy?'

Lord Havoc paused there and it took a while for Volthamir to realize that he meant for him to respond. 'Of course he cannot be happy!' Volthamir said in a hurried voice, half annoyed that he had to answer such a question at all.

'Indeed,' Lord Havoc continued. 'He cannot be happy, because his life is in peril. So now when that man reaches the calm forest on the other side and comes to rest behind log walls in front of a roaring Norasian fire, can he be anything else but happy? Now that he feels his life secure?'

Volthamir did not wait before answering this time, 'Of course. He will be happy then.'

'So when there is fear, there is no happiness; and when there is happiness, there can be no fear.'

'But why do you say, then, that it is good that I am afraid?'

Lord Havoc looked at him, under the light of the stars, Volthamir could see a big toothy smile on his face. There was a look of real pride in his eyes, though Volthamir thought he could see something else in his expression. 'Greed?' he thought to himself.

Lord Havoc finally answered him, 'Because fear is the passion that tells us how to be happy. When it is present, it draws the mind to a problem. In the case of the city streets it draws your mind to your loneliness and vulnerability. We are but two lone travelers and we have naught but our blades and our skill to defend our lives. It is good for us to fear then, so that we can remedy our circumstance and therefore be happy.'

'And how can we ensure that we are secure?' Volthamir asked.

'In this case it is a simple matter of reminding ourselves of our proximity to the castle, and of our skill and reputations. This should be more than enough to comfort us.'

'Then why did you not say those things then, and encourage me against my fears?'

'Because there was something in those dark streets that you were able to see only in the moment of your fear.'

'What is that?' Volthamir said curiously.

'Of that I will speak no more for now,' he pointed ahead. They were coming close to the river and they could now see the great bridge stretching across a narrow section of it, blocking out the reflection of the stars where it lay. 'I will say more about that when we have come across the river. When we were in the city I held my tongue; now I speak to you more plainly. But when we have left this land and come to your uncle's old palace in Ramlos I will tell you the whole truth about everything.'

'For that moment I have long been in anticipation.'

[Chapter IV:  
The Forest of Heyan](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Great Road

Lord Havoc and Volthamir continued their journey in silence until they had passed through the rest of the city. There was a large settlement on the eastern shore of the river called Estam, which they passed through during the night without so much as a word. The main road then turned sharply toward the northwest, following the shores of the Amla lake for twenty leagues. This portion of the road was well worn and broad. It saw a great deal of traffic both from traders in Ramlos and worshippers at Sten-Agoni, and as a result there were many deep grooves carved into both dirt and stone.

This whole region of Amlaman was arid and flat; little grew there aside from patches of dry grass and thorny bushes. In between these the ground was littered with stones and occasionally a spidery little tree or two. Closer to the lake, however, the land quickly turned to green and there were farms and groves in abundance. The life of that region was tied to the Razrin River; where it flowed, the people prospered. Everywhere else seemed empty and barren.

There were many towns and settlements built along the shores of the lake. These Lord Havoc took some pains to avoid. They left the road for two leagues to pass around a large town called Raysii, because Lord Havoc did not wish to, 'trouble the guards'.

'But we are no brigands,' Volthamir protested as they turned away from the flickering lights of Raysii toward the east.

'Nonetheless, I do not feel like answering questions at this hour.'

So the two walked around the town, staying about a stone's-throw from the eastern wall as they passed.

'We will need to rest eventually, right?' Volthamir said, already feeling his strength leaving him.

'You must grow accustomed to this sort of travel,' Lord Havoc said, ignoring his question. 'If you are to be what your uncle wants you to be,' he added.

'And suppose I don't want to be what the King desires,' Volthamir asked boldly.

Lord Havoc paused for a moment and then said, 'Then you will have even more need of endurance.'

The travelers continued all through that night until they came to a small town called Tamlos-Ami. There the road turned toward the east.

'We will stay here for the day,' Lord Havoc said as they approached the gates of the town. 'There is someone who I must find here.'

They entered the town quietly in the early morning, while the world was yet gray and dark. They managed to pass the guard without being noticed. 'It is a good art to master,' Lord Havoc commented, 'to enter unseen, yet without sneaking or skulking. Then you can have both the trust of your enemies as well as the advantage over them. For they cannot be wroth since you did not deceive them, but they will be caught just as unaware as if you had crawled through the windows like a cat.'

Volthamir gave him a strange look.

'My Prince,' Lord Havoc said politely, 'You will find that almost anything can be made into a lesson. And if you wish to be a master someday, you must first be a student. The better student you are, the better a master you will become. That is my task. So do not be too surprised if you find me lecturing at random.'

They came to the center of the town where the road turned east. There were many shops nearby; there was a cobbler's shop and a blacksmith as well as an inn. They entered the inn quietly and found a dark corner to disappear to. Lord Havoc sent Volthamir to find the inn-keeper and to buy them some ale and some food. In a short while he returned to the table bearing two large mugs of ale and the promise that the keeper would soon follow. Shortly afterwards two small quails were brought to them, roasted and salted. They had eaten nothing since they left Japhrian nearly a day ago, so they made short work of all that was on their plates: Two birds, a large loaf of bread, and a few apples. After they had finished, Volthamir pushed his ale away from him and leaned back. He looked at Lord Havoc intently.

The old knight was not wearing his usual garb, though he still wore a chain shirt, hidden beneath his cloak. But his dark armor and crimson cape were nowhere to be seen. In this way he was able to avoid being recognized while they traveled. As he sat looking at his master, the thought occurred to him that he knew nothing of this man's history. He remembered him from his childhood, always brooding about the palace in his dark armor, or sitting in council with the king with his silver hair neatly combed. But he knew very little else about his new master. He also noticed that, despited all the years that had passed, Lord Havoc seemed not to have aged a day.

'Lord Havoc,' he said after some thought. 'For whom are we waiting?'

'We are not really awaiting a whom, but a what.'

'A "what"?' Volthamir asked.

'Yes, to speak correctly, we are waiting for a whom with a what in tow,' Lord Havoc laughed as he spoke.

'You love to speak in riddles,' Volthamir grinned.

'We are not yet in Ramlos, my prince,' Lord Havoc reminded him. 'Remember, I have promised to tell you all in due time. Have no fear, for I do not lightly make promises.'

'Very well,' Volthamir said before finishing the last drops of his ale. 'But perhaps at the very least you can tell me where you are from.'

Lord Havoc put his mug down on the table hard. He looked at Volthamir with a stern look in his eyes. Volthamir sat there stone-faced, waiting for Lord Havoc to respond. 'I can see that I do not have to hide anything from you,' he said. 'But you are not the only one with ears in this town.'

After waiting for nearly an hour, the inn-keeper arrived with something in his hand. As he approached, Volthamir could see that it was a large black bird, perched atop his wrist. 'Our whom has arrived with our what!' Lord Havoc exclaimed.

'Hail, Lord Havoc,' the inn-keeper said as he tried to catch his breath. 'I have kept the bird, just as you asked.

'And what is this on his foot?' Lord Havoc asked as he fingered the tiny string tied to the bird's claw. 'I asked you to feed the bird, my dear Erkin, not to imprison him.'

The inn-keeper's face turned white and he bowed low, 'Forgive me master Havoc,' he said with a broken voice. 'The bird was intent on flying away, and I was afraid that he would be lost and I would be blamed.'

'Arus will not be easily lost, even if you wanted him to be,' Havoc laughed. Lord Havoc untied the string and the crow hopped onto his shoulder, warily eying the old inn-keeper. 'At any rate, you have done what I have asked at least. Here is your money. One gold coin was our deal, correct?'

'Indeed, my lord,' the innkeeper said humbly. 'A most gracious reward for such an honor.'

'If it is too gracious, perhaps I ought to give you only half.'

The innkeeper's face turned white again and he opened his mouth, but no sounds came out. Lord Havoc laughed and handed him a shining golden coin. 'Do not worry, Lord Havoc does not hold back his wages.'

When the innkeeper had left them they began to speak again of their journey and their mission. Lord Havoc gave the crow scraps of the meal they had just finished. 'Education, and the defense of Ramlos,' Lord Havoc said soberly, 'Neither of them are small matters. But I have a feeling that you are very nearly ready for the task. But before that we must make our way to Ramlos. We have had a good start, but it is still many leagues away.'

'How far is it along the road?'

'It is nearly two hundred leagues by the northern road, but our own journey will be somewhat longer. I intend to pass through the Heyan Forest, which will slow us down quite a bit.'

'Why would we need to pass through Heyan? The western road will take us to the north more quickly.'

'We will make it to the north in due time. There are things in Heyan that you must first see.'

'Remember your promise, Lord Havoc. You will unravel all of these riddles when we get to Ramlos.'

'Indeed. I will unravel everything, and perhaps some things before we even arrive. But I will say nothing so long as we are within the borders of Amlaman.' Lord Havoc fed another piece of meat to the crow. He looked at the crow for several minutes with an intent expression, as though he were listening to someone's speech. Finally he turned once more to Volthamir and spoke, 'Ah, I have forgotten to introduce you to Arus!' Lord Havoc moved his hand up to his shoulder and the bird hopped lightly onto his wrist. 'This is Arus,' he said, 'the greatest of all black crows. He is a very cunning bird, as far as they go. He has been my companion on many long journeys.'

'Why were you waiting for him here?'

'Your uncle doesn't trust him,' Lord Havoc laughed. 'And who can blame him? Didn't I just say that he was cunning? So I left him with Erkin; that way I would not have to trouble your uncle. He is convinced that little Arus here is a spy.' Lord Havoc grinned, 'And he may be a spy for all we know. He disappears for long periods of time to nobody knows where and then returns suddenly with no explanation at all. I'm sure your uncle imagines that he is flying to Titalo or some other unseemly land to spread rumors and tell tales.'

The two men left Tamlos-Ami just as the sun began to set. They restocked their sacks and made their way through the eastern gate, following the main road. They walked all through the night, stopping to rest only three times. Volthamir was no weakling, but he was still awestruck by Havoc's endurance.

For two nights they followed the road toward Daufina. But just when they were about half way to the mountains, Lord Havoc stopped and turned toward the north. 'This is where we must part with ease and strike out off the road,' Lord Havoc said. 'The Heyan forest lies within a half-day's march to the North from this spot. If we can make it to Soleya by tonight we will be safe from this accursed wind for the better part of our journey.'

At first this part of their journey was quite difficult. There were many thick bushes and tall weeds growing on the northern fields that blocked their way. When they couldn't find a way around them Lord Havoc chopped them away with his mighty blade. In this way they hewed themselves a path away from the road and through the wilderness that lay between them and the forest. After three hours of this they came to a more open country. The ground began to rise gently, but the bushes and the grass became tamer. Here and there they passed by farms and villages, some abandoned, others lively with busy peasant farmers going about their business. They passed all of these without stopping. Lord Havoc seemed to have it set in his mind that they would make it to Soleya by nightfall.

The Master of Soleya

Sure enough, just as the sun went down they found themselves walking into a small hamlet under the protection of many tall fir trees. Almost at once the cold winter winds were beaten back by the thick trees of the forest and the air grew still. When they neared the center of town an old man hurried out to greet them with a torch. 'Lord Havoc!' he called with a glad look on his face. 'You've returned to the north!'

'Indeed,' Lord Havoc responded, 'And I have brought with me young Volthamir, the prince of Amlaman.'

Upon hearing that, the man bowed low to the ground with some difficulty. Volthamir looked away, not caring for the adoration. 'We are honored beyond words,' the man said, still on the ground.

'Rise, old father,' Volthamir said coldly.

'The prince has come to help us in our war against the goblins,' Havoc said proudly.

The old man rose from the ground and smiled. 'Then we will be safer than we've yet been. For we have heard that Lord Vars himself trained the young man. If he is half the man Vars is, he will do well.' The man paused for a moment and then continued, 'But I am sure that the prince will prove himself better than his master in due time.'

'Of that I have little doubt,' Lord Havoc said with a polite laugh. There was a brief silence and then Lord Havoc spoke. 'We have been walking without rest for some two and a half days. A room and a bed would be a very welcome change.'

The old man's eyes lit up and he bowed low again. 'Then you must follow me, my lords. You will stay with me, for I am the master of this village, if a village it can be called. I know it is a far cry from the thick palace walls at Japhrian. But we have wool blankets and roaring fireplaces that can at least beat the hospitality of the cold wilderness. Follow me, lords,' he said, 'I am called Effren. If you need anything of me, do not hesitate to call me or one of my servants.'

Soleya was a pleasant little village, built in a large clearing at the southern tip of the Heyan forest. There was a small road that led out of the village and curved swiftly to the west. They followed this road for about a half hour until they came to the center of the town. The road was smooth and well kept, and along it there were built several shops and many nice homes. Being the southernmost settlement in Heyan, they profited greatly from the furs and berries that were gathered in the woods. They kept a sizable force of hunters and trackers employed in the preservation of the trails and in the security of the southern woods. For this labor they exacted a significant levy from all those that sought to pass through their territory with merchandise. This traffic made them wealthy; and it made Effren, the elder of the village, even more wealthy.

They were led to a large log house on the northern side of the village. Just as the door opened, Arus flew away into the darkening sky and vanished. Lord Havoc sighed and followed the old man into the house.

When they entered the house they were met by a very welcome blast of hot air that seemed instantly to drive the cold winter chill from their bones. They could see a large fireplace just in the other room with a strong flame whipping about. Effren brought them into the room and sat them down at a low table and called for his daughter. Ethla, answering her father's call, bowed low and without a word she brought a pitcher of water and a bowl to wash their hands and feet. Volthamir would have refused her, but Lord Havoc gave him a harsh look. He relented and allowed her to wash his feet with a soft rag. When she was done, a great meal was carried in by two servants on large wooden platters. They placed these on the center of the table and started to place portions on each plate.

Ethla left for a few minutes and then returned, now dressed in a pleasant green dress with a fur shawl over her shoulders. Following after her entered Effren's wife, Arani. The two ladies took their place at the master's side, the daughter on the left and the mother on the right. In the bright firelight they seemed to shine with health and beauty. 'The ladies of Soleya are truly enchanting,' Lord Havoc said with a gleam in his eye. 'Their beauty is only beaten by their hospitality,' he said. The daughter's cheeks turned red and the mother bowed low.

'And my lord's words are too kind,' Lady Arani said.

The meal consisted of roasted lamb, flaky biscuits with mounds of butter, and tall mugs of cider. When they had finished, the servants returned and washed their hands. Then they brought out a platter piled high with dried fruit and small honey cakes.

'Tell me, young Volthamir,' Effren asked when they had all finished their meal. 'What brings you to Heyan? Would it not have been much faster to follow the eastern road along the foothills? I am indeed glad that you chose the slow and winding forest paths, but if I can spare you some difficulty in your coming journey as well as grant you rest from that part you've already finished, I would be more than happy.'

'I am following Lord Havoc,' Volthamir said coldly. 'And he insists upon this road, so I will take it.'

'We are not making for the Daunrys immediately,' Lord Havoc explained politely. 'We are first going to Ramlos to give orders to the army there. Then we will set out along the northern road with a great force to make an end of the goblins of the coasts.'

'This is more than you've told me,' Volthamir complained.

'Don't worry, my prince,' Lord Havoc laughed. 'You will know more than old Effren when we get to Ramlos. But I have not mentioned it until now because I had not yet been fully decided on our course.'

After they had talked a little more, the servants returned and cleared away their dishes. Arani and Effren bid them goodnight and left them in the dining hall. Ethla rose and beckoned them to follow her. Her unshod feet gently sailed over the wooden floors as she led them through a long hall and brought them at last to two large rooms. She lit a candle in each of them and then bid the men goodnight, kissing each softly on the hand.

In the morning, Lord Havoc woke Volthamir from his sleep with a loud knock on his door. Volthamir rose swiftly and was standing at the door, dressed and prepared to leave before he could knock a second time.

'You are ready to leave already?' Lord Havoc asked.

'I see no point in remaining here any longer,' Volthamir said.

'And what about rest?' Lord Havoc asked.

'You are always trying to mock me,' Volthamir complained. 'You know as well as I do that you have no intention of remaining here. Nor do you want me to desire such a thing.'

'You are a swift learner, my prince,' Lord Havoc laughed. 'Come, we will eat and then take to the road. We will now travel by day, for the forest is filled with black wolves, and it would be folly to try and make it past them in the darkness.'

They ate breakfast with the master and his wife ere they departed. They were given generous portions of ham along with toasted bread with cheese. When they finished this the master of the house rose and took each of their hands in turn, saying, 'Thank you for granting me the honor of serving you, my lord and protector.'

They left the house and made their way east to a small dirt road, which they followed north for the rest of the day, stopping only twice to refill their waterskins. 'The streams in this wood are all clean,' Lord Havoc said. 'While you wander about in Heyan, you at least can rest easy that you will not die from thirst. But that is not to say the forest is safe. Even as he spoke, a long howl ripped through the air. 'The black wolves are cunning hunters,' he said. 'But they fear fire, as do all wild beasts.'

'Then we had better gather some extra wood tonight,' Volthamir said, stooping low to grab a dry branch from the path.

In a short while they had a large fire going, and alongside it a great pile of logs and dead branches. Lord Havoc had gone to fetch one last bundle of wood ere the darkness came. He returned, just as the light failed with Arus upon his shoulder. 'He is truly the cleverest of all crows,' Havoc told Volthamir when he was finally seated in front of the fire. Another howl rang out in the darkness, this one was much closer than before. It was followed by two more from somewhere to the west. The howls grew louder and nearer as the night wore on. 'Did you know that master Arus can chase away wolves?'

'No, I did not know such a thing,' Volthamir answered, looking stone-facedly into the fire.

'He can,' Havoc explained, 'If I give him the command, he will lead these brutes far away.'

'Do as you wish,' Volthamir said. Lord Havoc whispered something to the bird in a strange language. Arus almost immediately sprung from his shoulders and flew out into the darkness away from the fire.

At first they could hear sounds like growling in the bushes nearby, but as time wore on the sounds grew more distant. Even the howling faded away little by little until finally the forest was silent. Then, as though relieved of the fear of the wolves, all the noises of the woods returned and filled the empty woods with strange and wild tones.

'How long will we be in Heyan?' Volthamir asked when some time had passed.

'We have another day at least until we find the Darvnas River, which flows north from the Daunrys Horn. We will follow that until we come to Ferwur. From that village we will go due east to the main road. Then it is another hundred leagues to Ramlos, and you will finally see the old home of your uncle. But that part of the journey will take at least a week on foot.'

Volthamir shook his head ever so slightly.

Arus and the Black Wolves

Arus flew into the darkness and made his way swiftly through the trees. In less than a minute he came upon a pack of wolves as they roamed through the woods. He landed silently upon a branch above them and watched them in secret for some time. 'What prey do you hunt tonight?' the bird said, breaking the silence with his shrill voice.

The wolves started and began to growl and snap at the crow. But Arus was too high for them to reach.

'Come,' he said, 'I will lead you to some carcass that you may fill yourselves with.' Just as he prepared to fly off and bring them to some fallen beast or some slumbering animal, he was answered from among the wolves.

'Who are you, little one,' the voice asked, 'that you would command my pack?' A very large black wolf now approached him in the darkness. He was much larger and fiercer than the others; as he passed they moved aside to create a path, lowering their shoulders toward the ground and whimpering in submission.

'I am Arus, Lord of Crows,' the bird answered, 'Or so I am called.'

'Called by whom?' the wolf growled.

'I am called that by myself,' Arus laughed, 'And I am called that by the men that you hunt this night. What are you called, Wolf-lord?'

'I am Ghastin,' the wolf snarled, 'and we are all very hungry. It has been some time since we were able to fill our bellies with the flesh of men. The woodsmen are too cautious these days.'

'So I have guessed right,' Arus said gleefully, 'You are indeed hunting the two that are encamped nearby.'

'We are,' the wolf affirmed, 'but what business it is of yours I cannot imagine.'

'I have come here to help you and to warn you. The men you are hunting are no mean warriors. The one is Prince Volthamir thos Amlaman, the other is Lord Havoc, of whom I trust your keen ears of heard.'

'I fear neither,' the wolf said coldly, 'and the meat of a prince would be welcome in these cold months.' Arus just laughed. The wolf snapped and leapt against the trunk of the tree on which the bird perched. He coiled himself against the middle of the trunk and sprung like a serpent up to the branch upon which Arus stood. The bird was too swift, and Ghastin's razor sharp teeth snapped through the branch. He fell back to the ground and landed softly on skillful feet. He spit the wood from his mouth and growled.

'If you do not fear Lord Havoc, lord wolf,' Arus said, now perched on a much higher branch, 'then you are more foolish than your brutish servants. But there is more to be feared for you than he alone.' Arus looked the wolf in the eyes and for a moment the crow's eyes gleamed like flames in the darkness. 'There are powers greater than Lord Havoc at hand.'

The wolf's lip curled in anger, revealing long white teeth. But he read something in the crow's eyes that gave him pause. 'What then would you have us do?' he asked, suddenly seeming to almost fear the crow.

'I think it is time for you to take your pack to the eastern land. There are many deer to hunt in the forest of Noras; beyond the Daunrys.'

The wolf nodded and then let a howl ring through the woods. He snarled once more at the bird and darted off toward the east. His pack followed obediently behind him. As he ran he howled more and more until there were hundreds of black wolves in his train. They ran through the eastern edge of the forest and charged across the plains to the foothills of the Daunrys. They vanished into the wilds and were not seen in Heyan again for many years.

Justice

For the whole next day they walked without stopping, save to drink from whatever streams they happened upon. Again they made a great fire to guard themselves from wolves, though they had not heard even a single howl since the previous night.

When they had their camp in order and when they had eaten some of their provisions, Volthamir was surprised by an unexpected sound. It began as a low hum, but gradually rose into a song. Lord Havoc had mastered many arts, but for some reason or another, Volthamir had not thought that music would be among them.

Oh Silver wolf of all green Heyan lord,

Who has seen you at the Darvnas ford?

Oh shining wolf who stood so proud,

What soul has heard your howl loud?

Oh bright wolf of all the forest king,

Who has heard your many servants sing?

Songs to moon and stars so bright,

Where's your voice in the empty night?

Long ago the fell black wolf came,

How did he triumph o'er your name?

Heyan wolf, so noble and true,

Your righteous ways we never knew.

Silence filled the forest as though every tree and creature were listening. Even the wind seemed to halt in anticipation. But he did not speak, he just sat there in silence as though he was remembering something from the ages past.

Volthamir finally broke the silence. Even as he opened his lips it seemed that the night sounds returned to the forest and all was as it had been before the song. 'What became of the Silver wolf?' he asked.

'He was betrayed,' Lord Havoc said with a strange expression on his face. 'He was betrayed by his own brother you might say. It was many long years ago, but these woods still mourn the loss of the nobler creature.'

Lord Havoc sat in silence for a while and then suddenly his mood changed and he spoke to Volthamir in an almost wizardly tone. 'Your uncle told me to teach you what I taught him about Justice. But I think it would be better if I simply told you the truth. So here it is, my own account of the greatest virtue. Nay, not the greatest virtue; for Justice is not just one virtue. It is all of virtue wrapped up together.'

'Ages ago in this very forest there lived two distinct kinds of wolves: The great silver wolves, who are now little more than a legend, and the fell black wolves that dwell here still. This is the first reason that we have taken the forest road rather than the western road beside the stones of Razzun. I want the howls of these nasty beasts to be clear in your thoughts so that you can better understand my description of Justice. For there is no description in any book that could better instruct you than your own ears and eyes.

'These two sorts of wolves dwelt in Heyan from the earliest days of human reckoning. The Ancients said that they came to dwell there at the very foundation of the world. But I would not put too much trust in their words, my prince. As you will learn in due time, even the Ancients made errors. But that lesson I will leave for a more appropriate time.

'The people who lived in Heyan in those days were terrified of them. They could neither tame them nor exterminate them, for they were too clever and too numerous. Neither could they drive them out of their lands. All they could do to survive was to travel in groups by day, and lock their homes and flocks up tight by night. Many left the woods altogether, finding distance to be the only sure protection.

'But these wolves held one another in perfect balance for many long ages of the world. The silver wolves hunted by day, while the black wolves took the night hours. The silver wolves would seek out the secret thickets where the white deer lay hidden during the day and then all at once the pack would strike, slaying all in an instant. The black wolves, on the contrary, would laze about somewhere during the daylight. But the moment the Lord Moon began to shine they would burst from their dens with a frenzied hunger. They would simply dart out into the wild forest scaring everything in their path. They would snap at birds and squirrels, and whatever else they could manage to catch. They hunted the common deer, who foolishly wander about during the night in search of food. They would rush through the leaves like wild pigs, without a thought for secrecy or surprise. But their swift feet, their sharp teeth, and their stubborn endurance would win out in the end and they would feast on the flesh of many creatures, men included. So it was that the two wolf kinds survived together for many ages of the world hunting their prey in turns.

'This strange arrangement caused them to be worshipped among the foolish and superstitious woodsmen. The creatures became a symbol of justice and equity. Every dawn the Noble Silver Wolf who ruled over the day would drive the Fell Black Wolf into his secret hiding place until it was time for Lord Moon to rise again. In turn the Fell Black Wolf would chase the Silver Wolf away to bring the darkness of night upon the forest.

'There were endless tales and legends invented about these creatures by these superstitious fools; some of these fables were so shamefully false that there are some who have come to doubt whether the greater of these two beasts ever truly hunted in the Heyan forest at all.

'But both of the animals were quite real, and it was also true that for ages of this world they lived and hunted in the same woods. That much I can say without any doubt.

'Lady Arie, the goddess of Nature, as she is called, rules her domain with a cruel and merciless law. And she enforces this law with a scepter of fire.

'This law is that of survival; and only those who obey this law will be saved by her. All others will perish in the trial of flame and hunger that the Lady sends upon all those who are not strong enough. Lady Arie is constantly at work among her creatures; pruning and trimming them here, slaying and burying them there, and raising and recreating them again in another way and in another place. Something unexpected happened in the Heyan forest. Something that led to the survival of the one kind of wolf and the extinction of the other.

'The Black Wolves began hunting the White Deer as well as the common. Perhaps some stray wolf wandered by chance into a thicket and discovered the helpless White Deer fast asleep under the shade and decided that it would be easier to slay these fatted brutes and be filled than to chase down its regular prey in the black night. Or perhaps the hunters of Heyan slew too many deer and forced the starving black wolves to seek their fortunes by the light of the sun. But whatever the cause was we will never know, but the result was as rapid as it was dramatic.

'In the course of forty years, the black wolves doubled in number and the Silver wolves vanished from the world forever.

'That is the judgment of Lady Arie, and there is no mercy in her heart. Only strength and power are acceptable sacrifices in her eyes. All those who cower and beg will be dragged away and cast into the pits of hell; there to burn with the weak and frail and all those who lack the strength to stand upon their own two feet. Behold it! Learn it! My son, this is the Law of Nature!'

'But what part of this is Justice?' the prince asked, not quite understanding Lord Havoc's words. He had been sitting quietly, leaning upon a tree without motion thus far, but with each word he grew more and more perplexed.

'If you listen closely you will realize that justice is precisely what I have been speaking of this entire time.'

'Please explain, master, you know as well as I that the riddles of the wise are above the minds of even a prince.'

'I abhor flattery, my son. Remember that.'

'I will my lord,' the youth said with great interest in his eyes.

'Tell me my prince,' Lord Havoc said in a friendly tone after a brief pause, 'What did you take for supper before we left the palace?'

'For supper? I had lamb, if I'm not mistaken.' Volthamir smiled.

'Ah, yes. Of Course. But you have lamb every evening when you are at home in Japhrian,' Lord Havoc grinned. 'Is that not so?'

'It is not so,' the pupil protested, 'We have pork and beef also; from time to time.'

'You are very fortunate to have any food at all, my prince,' Lord Havoc interrupted in a strict voice, indicating that he was resuming his lecture.

'You take the life of these stupid creatures every day to fill your belly. Tell me, my child, what do you give them in return?'

Volthamir was silent and began to look away.

'Do not avert your eyes, child!' Lord Havoc boomed in a loud voice. 'It is cowardice alone that forbids you to look me in the face.'

'Sorry my lord,' Volthamir said as he lifted his face toward his teacher.

'And never apologize. Not ever. You are a prince! Apologies are to be made to you, not by you.'

Volthamir straightened himself and fixed his eyes upon Lord Havoc's face.

'You have taken from the flock and have not returned what you stole. You are, therefore, an unjust man. But you have not done anything that has not been done by wolves before. What I will teach you to do, you will do with more fervor and more confidence than any brute can ever hope for. I will make you one of those Fell Black Wolves, and all your enemies will be made into powder and smoke.

'I see your trembling lip,' Lord Havoc continued, in an almost compassionate voice. 'That is natural, but it will pass away in time, and then you will be lord over your enemies. You will be a god to your people.

'I mentioned your fear. I called it natural, and this is true. You fear doing injustice, as every man does. But had the black wolf any sense of justice, it would never have come to rule over both night and day; it would never have triumphed over it's ancient rival. And, who knows, it may have been the one in the songs, and not the one feasting upon the flesh of man and beast.

'It was the dictates of the Law of Nature that the Silver Wolf perish. He took what belonged to him and when that was taken away from him he did not require it back. He perished because of his justice and is no more to be seen among the living. A dead memory was his reward. There are some foolish teachers that would have us believe that justice is better than injustice. But they are all fools with no knowledge. For you do not think that it would be good to have justice done between you and your dinner lamb, would you?'

'Certainly not.' Volthamir answered confidently.

'Injustice, therefore, is better than justice when it is between a man and his prey. But why then should justice be suddenly better than injustice when it is between two men? Justice was not better than injustice for the Silver wolf, since it led to his destruction; even as justice leads to the destruction of many great men. And justice is not better than injustice for the Black wolf, who otherwise would never have gained the ascendancy. The Black wolf, therefore, merely chose what was best.

'Mankind is the very same sort of creature. The Great Ape rose above his fellows not by justice but rather by injustice. He took that which he desired and thereby made himself lord, not only of the other apes and goblins, but he made himself lord over all the beasts of the earth. It was not justice that accomplished these things. It was not justice that made man become man. Man is man because he is unjust.'

'Will you condemn the black wolf, my son? Will you make him pay for what he has stolen? Will you make the wolf cough up the deer that he has slain? Will you restore all things? Will you make all things new?'

Volthamir just stared, unable to answer.

'Then you must be unjust also. And if it is your fate as a man to live unjustly, then oughtn't you at the very least master this most human of arts?

'It is only by acting according to our nature that we can truly say that we are doing good. And if it is our nature to be unjust, then so be it. Let us become good by becoming unjust. I have not the power to alter the stars in their courses. I cannot beg for mercy from the Fates. My course is set and I must follow it. You will follow after me, child. You will accomplish what I cannot accomplish. You will go farther than even I am able. You will be the first true king of men. I will make you a king who is unafraid to do that which is required of a truly human king.

'You see, in the same way that something strange took place in Heyan, and led to the death of the Silver wolves, something unexpected happened to man in the ancient days. He became wise. And in so doing, he was able to subdue all the other apes. The goblins look like us, but they cannot think. They are perfect beasts. It is to us alone that the Fates have granted this gift of wisdom. And why should we not use it to our advantage?

'It is as I have told you. The Lady of Arie, the goddess of Nature, has made her law. That law is survival, and survival comes by injustice. Therefore, righteousness comes by injustice too.'

'But then what about justice?' the student asked. 'You have said much about injustice, but very little about the very subject of our lesson.'

'Justice is surrender, my prince. You see, in the same way as it is natural for the dark wolves to take from the silver, and for both wolves to take from the deer, it is natural for mankind to take from the other apes. But what good would it do man to take from his fellow man? For as soon as he takes from his neighbor his neighbor in turn will take from him. Now tell me, where does this get anybody? Is this wisdom? No, a man restrains himself from robbing his fellow man as a compromise, so that he may go on defrauding the rest of nature without his neighbor's interference.

'Have you ever observed an infant, my prince?' Lord Havoc said, suddenly speaking in a very gentle tone.

'Yes, my lord' Volthamir answered.

'And what is it that an infant begins to do as soon as he gains control of his hands?'

'I suppose he will try to grab things.'

'That is right, and as soon as this stage is come, the child will not only grab, but he will desire to grab. Very often he will desire things that he cannot have, or things that belong to another. It matters very little to him whether he has a right to it, or whether it is another man's possession. Justice is certainly not a part of humanity by nature. The whole being is born and bred in a state of injustice, a state of wanton craving and demand.

Lord Havoc began speaking more passionately now.

'I have seen a child scream and wail for his own brother's bread without so much as a hint of compassion. It is no concern of his whether his brother has bread or not. He wants the bread for himself. Those who do not watch these infants closely will very likely come to believe that the babe perceives that something is not fair; that his brother has been given something to which he is entitled to have in equal measure. These careless people come to believe that mankind is good by nature and only desires justice to be done. But if you are diligent and careful in your observation it will soon become clear that it is not equity; it is not justice with which the infant is concerned. It is possession. He does not want justice, he wants to do injustice. He wants what is not his, and he does not concern himself with sharing his own possessions. He is a raw human being, untempered by the ideas and philosophies of so-called learned men!

'Learned men indeed! People who pine after justice and deny what we are. The simple truth is spoken from the mouth of a suckling child! "Give me!" he cries! The only truly human command! It is the infant who teaches us who we really are. But it is the philosophers and sages who spend their lives in quiet contemplation, carefully and subtly trying to convince us that we are otherwise. They are fools, every one of them.

'I say that justice is surrender because the child will come to realize that he cannot possess what he desires because others have power. And to acquire that which he wants, he must acquiesce to their demands. He must obey. Then he learns that if he will do no injustice to his brother, then his brother will do no injustice to him. And so they meet in the middle, neither doing injustice and therefore, neither getting what they want.

'I will teach you, my son, that which we forgot when our mothers succeeded in replacing the truth of our primitive natures with the folly of our civilized pretensions.

'I will teach you to do that which we are born to do. I will teach you to be a King!'

When Lord Havoc finally stopped speaking, it seemed to Volthamir that a storm had ceased its raging thunder. He stared in awe at the man as though he had seen him for the very first time. 'This is not what you've told my uncle,' Volthamir said quietly. 'For I am sure that he would have turned you out at once.'

'Will you turn me out, my prince?' Lord Havoc said in a soft and fatherly voice. 'All these long years I have watched over you; I have watched over you and waited for this day. And now you must make a choice: You can follow me, and learn to be a king, the sort of which your uncle long ago proved himself unworthy of becoming. Or you can return to your uncle's halls and grovel at his feet and kiss his murderous hands.'

'But you were there too!' Volthamir said, suddenly remembering the dreadful day of his father's death. 'You were just as much a part of it! You put my uncle up to it, no doubt. With your cunning words, and soft spoken counsel. I have no reason to trust you; no reason to choose you over my fool of an uncle.'

'I am offering you a chance, young man,' Havoc said rising to his full height. 'You can kill your uncle at any time to avenge the pathetic creature that was your father. But what will you have done? You will have done nothing more than taken vengeance upon a rat for killing a flee. I do not want you to have something so petty and brutish as empty revenge. Follow me, and you will gain the power to take what you need and the courage to take what you want.'

The following day, after they had spent most of the day traveling along the northern road, Volthamir risked an uneasy question, 'Why did you choose to spare me? It seems to violate everything you have said thus far about justice. Isn't it perilous to take your victim's son into your bosom and train him with the sword?'

'Ah,' Lord Havoc said, pausing awkwardly. 'That is a matter for another time perhaps.'

'More riddles?' Volthamir folded his arms and looked sternly at the old man. 'You promised me the truth about everything, yet there are still dark corners of this house you've built.'

'In time,' Lord Havoc said. 'I will tell you all, but it must be in the proper order. For now I will say only that it was not my choosing that saved you in that day. It was a combination of your uncle's foolishness and the wisdom and foresight of a very clever bird.'

'Arus?' Volthamir said with surprise. 'I remember now. He was there that day on the balcony. But how could he have such foresight? He is a mere bird.'

'Of that you will learn more in due time,' Lord Havoc said as looked up through the canopy of leaves at the fading sunlight. 'But for now let us rest. We will continue our discussion in the morning, after we have breakfasted.'

'One question more,' Volthamir begged.

'Very well,' Lord Havoc said with a sigh.

'You said that my uncle's foolishness saved me. What do you mean by that?'

'When he had followed my every word and executed our plan with precision, and when he had the pathetic Voltan thos Amlaman at his mercy, when all these things had finally come together, he hesitated. For a moment he felt merciful, and that is not what I have sought for all these years.'

'I cannot help but feel that you are, in all of your efforts, working for your own good and not for mine,' Volthamir said softly. 'For clearly you seem to have turned on Vulcan the moment he became of no use to yourself.'

'If that is what you feel, you are already much wiser than your uncle. You say that I turned on your uncle, and you are correct. And why not? If your horse could no longer bear you, would you not find another?'

The Stricken Old Man of Ferwur

They left their camp at first light and continued along the old road into the heart of the forest. The road brought them to a small village that was built along a large stream that flowed out of the Darvnas River. It had no more than twenty log huts, all of them guarded by a decaying fence of wooden pikes. This village they passed without stopping, save for a word or two with some of the children. They came running up to them with smiles on their faces, shouting, 'Lord Havoc! Lord Havoc!'

Lord Havoc patted their heads and turned them back toward their homes with a grin.

'You are more beloved in Heyan than you are in Amlaman, my lord,' Volthamir said after they left the village through the northern gate.

'It is because the people of Amlaman live very far from danger. They have little need of swords and arrows in the palace these days. But here the people are constantly vexed by the marauding goblins of the Daunrys. When a man's life is in peril, he is more thankful for a sharp sword than for wise and crafty words, such as the counselors of Vulcan desire.'

For two more days they traveled along this stream until they came at last to a small town, nestled between the arm of the stream and the Darvnas River from whence it flowed. There was a high wall of stone and wooden beams erected around the entire town. On the southern side there was a large gate with a watch house built on the left hand side. Lord Havoc knocked loudly on the gate and was soon greeted by a strong looking young man with a sword hung upon his shoulder.

'Lord Havoc!' he said with a bow. 'It is an honor.'

The gate was opened and they were warmly welcomed into the village. 'Welcome to Ferwur,' the young man said.

'Tell me young man,' Lord Havoc asked politely. 'Is old man Hashias still living?'

'Old man Hashias?' the man said with a puzzled look on his face. 'You mean the old man who lives out in the north woods with...,' the man paused for a moment and looked awkwardly at his feet, 'with that girl?'

'Yes, that same man,' Lord Havoc answered.

'As far as anyone around here knows, the man still lives. Though it is another question whether or not it is right to call that living. But every now and again someone will go by and check on him. There are some kind ladies who bring him food now and again, or so I've heard. But he does not come near the village anymore. They say that he lives like an animal these days; that he has utterly lost his mind.'

As they came to the center of Ferwur, an old bent figure of a man came rushing out in front of Lord Havoc, seeming not to even notice him. He wore a tattered brown robe with a rope tied about his waist for a belt, a hood was over his head and in his hands he carried a large staff with a long curved end and a small leather sack. He kept running with his eyes fixed on the ground. Lord Havoc stopped and watched the man with wonder, expecting him at any moment to look up and stop his mad charge.

But the old man did not stop. He ran straight up to Lord Havoc's feet and then stooped low to the ground scooping with his arm as he grabbed something right out from underneath Lord Havoc's feet. As he grasped, he bumped Lord Havoc's legs and sent him reeling backwards with surprising force. Volthamir quickly helped him up and drew his sword.

'Old man!' Volthamir shouted, 'Mind who you charge so foolishly!'

The old man rose from the ground and stood up tall. He was cradling something small in the palm of his hand. Lord Havoc came to Volthamir's side and put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. 'No harm done, my prince,' he said softly.

The old man seemed to be unaware of them altogether. He opened his leather sack and slipped a small mouse inside before closing it up again and tying it tightly shut. When he was finished packing the animal away and hanging the sack over his shoulder he finally turned his eyes to the two men. 'Mind the little things,' the man said with a warm laugh, 'And they will often mind the bigger things for you.'

'Wise words, old father,' Lord Havoc said with a grin. 'I see by your crooked staff that you are a shepherd, yet I see no sheep, and there are no pastures within Heyan for your animals to graze.'

The man looked politely at Lord Havoc and answered, 'I am a shepherd, but I have no sheep as of yet. But my sheep will have little need of grazing.' He laughed as he said this and looked them in the eyes. 'I have what I have come here for, however, and I must be leaving.'

'Farewell, old father,' Havoc said politely. 'May you find your flock soon.'

'I have already found some of it,' he laughed. 'Till we meet again,' he said with a warm smile as he turned away from them and walked away toward the west, leaving them standing still and confused.

They restocked in Ferwur and refilled their water-skins in the stream. Then, crossing the north bridge, they struck out into the forest. Lord Havoc left the road after about a half an hour, following an old road that could barely be seen for all the vines and roots that had now overwhelmed it. The day drew on and night fell fast, bringing cold winds with it. The trees were somewhat thin in this region, and there was little protection from the cold. It grew dark and the moon was covered by thick clouds.

'Where are we heading in all this?' Volthamir asked.

'We are going to see an old man,' he answered.

'And that is all?'

'Yes,' he said. 'That is all.'

It began to rain heavily as they came upon the remains of an old gate. There was nothing standing now save for the two posts and the metal hinges upon which two great wooden doors had once hung. The shards of the gate could be seen laying nearby, covered with moss and rot. They passed through and followed a broken path toward a dilapidated old house. It looked as if it had once been a great estate. There was a lot of land that might be used for farming, but it was overgrown with tall grass and thorn bushes, save for a small patch where the remains of a little garden still rose from the ground. The house itself was quite large, but a considerable portion of it had fallen in and was now separated from the rest of the house by wooden boards.

Lord Havoc knocked on the door gently. There was no answer. He knocked once more, but when nobody came he pushed the door open with his left hand. It groaned on its rusted hinges and skidded across the stone floor as it opened. The two men entered and quickly pushed the door closed behind them. 'At least we are out of the rain,' Lord Havoc said as they looked around at the little room.

Around them they could hear the house creaking and groaning from the strength of the cold winds. The room they entered was covered with dust and there was a horrid smell of decay in the air. Arus flew from Havoc's shoulder and lighted upon a shelf somewhere in the darkness.

'Lord Havoc?' a woman's voice called from a darkened corner of the room. On their left side there were the remains of an old stairwell, but it seemed that the entire upper level of the house had caved in some years ago, and the stairs soon after. Neither had been repaired. On the right side of the room there was a small fire struggling against the cold of the winter in a crumbling stone hearth. Near to the fire sat a young woman.

'It is good to see you, my lord,' she said as she rose from an old wooden chair. 'It has been many years since you last came to us. We were afraid that we were forgotten.'

'Nay, I cannot forget the old master of Ferwur,' Havoc said as he took the woman's hand into his. She was no more than twenty years of age, but to Volthamir it seemed like she was an old woman for the great many woes that hung upon her face. She was looked thin and exhausted, her face was dirty with soot from the hearth, and her brown hair was pulled back behind a kerchief. After she had greeted Lord Havoc she took Volthamir's hand and kissed it, bowing low. Volthamir pulled it away immediately when her obeisance was finished.

'Where is Hashias?' Lord Havoc asked thoughtfully. 'And is he well?'

'He is in the other room,' she answered. 'Mother died four years ago, when the roof fell. That is when my father stopped speaking. Now he only hums, and even then only softly.' She looked down and a tear fell from her eye, 'The years have not been kind to Deria.'

'Then Deria is still living?' Havoc asked, sounding somewhat amazed.

'Yes, she was hurt when the roof caved in, but father rescued her. She cannot walk any longer. Now we have a bed for her in the kitchen. It is easier for father to look after her there.'

'Then he is as caring as ever,' Lord Havoc smiled.

'Indeed, and that is the cause of half his sorrow,' the girl said turning her eyes away. 'He thinks that she is going to die soon.' The room became silent for a while. The girl seemed to be struggling to hold her tears back. 'Do not weep, Sarya,' he said in a comforting tone. 'Take me to your father. I want him to meet young Volthamir.'

They followed her into the other room. There was no door separating the rooms, only a thin curtain hung with nails from the frame of the doorway. In the other room there was a large stone fireplace and a great mess of pots and jars, some waiting to be washed, and others seeming to have no place to be stored. In a corner of the room there was a small wooden bed. Upon a small wooden bed in the corner of the room there lay a very sickly looking young girl and, kneeling beside her, a haggardly old man.

'Hashias!' Lord Havoc's voice thundered.

The man turned and looked at him. He was wrinkled and gray, his hair was long and his beard was even longer, hanging almost to his waist as he sat. He held the withered hand of a the sickly girl in his hand. 'Deria!,' Havoc lamented when he saw her. 'It is a shame that she suffers so.'

Hashias said no words, though in his face there was a gleam of joy. He rose from the floor and approached the two men with a glad face. He first took Lord Havoc's hand into his and bowed low putting his forehead to the back of Lord Havoc's palm. He mumbled and cried, but spoke no words.

Volthamir braced himself and with some frustration endured a similar greeting. The kitchen smelled even worse than the first room, and every inch was covered in dust. Volthamir shuddered.

The girl at whose side he knelt was named Deria. 'She has been like this for many years now,' Lord Havoc explained to Volthamir, 'And with each passing year she has withered more and more. By the time she was eleven, she looked older than her grandmother. It is a sad thing to see.'

For most of the evening Volthamir remained silent, just standing still as a statue and watching as Lord Havoc talked with this stricken family. The next morning, after a very uneasy and uncomfortable sleep, Lord Havoc told Sarya that they would be leaving that afternoon. She wept and begged him to stay, but he insisted upon their departure.

'It would do you no good for me to leave the goblins unchecked and stay here to till the farmlands. You know that as well as I. But here is some money. Do not let your father see it, for he has always been too proud. Use it wisely; do not use it all at once, lest he suspect that you have received such a gift. You know the man better than I.'

'Indeed,' Sarya said with tears in her eyes, 'I will use it wisely, Lord Havoc. Go now with our blessing, and with the blessing of Agonistes. You are more kind to us than we deserve. Were we all immortal we could never have the time to repay you.'

'Farewell,' Lord Havoc said, and then they passed out into the cold once more and left the broken down house behind them.

[Chapter V:  
The Doctrine of Lord Havoc](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Coming To Ramlos

Lord Havoc and the prince returned to Ferwur and this time left the village through the western gate. From there they picked up a road that went almost due west toward the edge of the forest. They made good time and passed out of the forest onto the windy western plains after only two days.

Through this and for most of their remaining journey, Volthamir remained silent. He had much to consider, and somehow he knew that none of his questions would be answered directly. 'At least not until we come to Ramlos,' he thought to himself. 'Then we will see whether or not Lord Havoc's word is trustworthy.'

For half the day they traveled east over an endless sea of grassy hills, until finally the land flattened out before them. They turned north and made their way over the flats toward the northern road, which was now visible as a tiny ribbon of brown in the distance. Far beyond the road the jagged pinnacles of the Razzun Highlands could be seen, veiled by a thick cloud of fog. From Razzun the fog crept out over the road in long thin gray fingers of mist. But the clean morning air from Heyan drove the fog back and the road cleared even as the travelers approached it. Volthamir was struck by the silence of the place. 'Is this not the place the Noras say houses the damned soul of Agonistes?'

'It is the very same place,' Lord Havoc said, concealing a smile.

'Then you do not believe their account?'

Lord Havoc only chuckled.

They followed the road for five days until they came to the foot of Ramlos hill. The northern Fortress of Ramlos was built on a great hill that rose up just south of the westernmost branch of the Heyan forest. It was shaped almost like a star, and from ancient times was called the 'Star Hill' or the Star Stair. On the top there was a great city and all around were villages and towns. The northern side was covered by orchards and vineyards that stretched gently down to the ground and beyond until the land became grassy again and finally struck the Heyan woods.

The city of Ramlos was well fortified with a great stone wall that guarded the palace and the inner city. There were guard towers on the northern, southern and eastern sides. No guard was thought necessary on the western side, since the hill was so near to Razzun. No enemy would dare enter the Razzun Highlands, let alone wage war from there.

A quiet night covered the city as they entered. But as soon as they were spotted a great clamor arose. Torches were lit and music roared to life as Lord Havoc entered Ramlos. They were escorted by carriage to the palace and given a supper of pheasant and potatoes.

Volthamir laid down to sleep that night with all that he had seen during his journey in his thoughts. When morning came, he wasted no time, but quickly found Lord Havoc. 'We are here, my lord,' he said politely though eagerly. 'As you've promised, tell me now all that you know.'

In Lord Havoc's Chambers

That morning, after they had bathed and breakfasted, Lord Havoc summoned the prince to the northwest guard tower, to his own chambers. Volthamir made his way there swiftly; he was half afraid the old knight would once more find some way to delay the interview.

Lord Havoc's chambers were surprisingly well kept. Beyond his strong wooden doors there there was no sign of neglect; Lord Havoc saw to it that his rooms were maintained even during his long absences. Volthamir was led into the room by a servant who quickly shut the door behind him and vanished down the hall. Lord Havoc was seated at a small wooden desk with a pen in his hand. 'I was just about to write to your uncle the King,' he said, 'but I suppose I owe you some answers first.'

'I would appreciate it,' Volthamir said. 'I have waited long for this moment.'

'Indeed you have,' Lord Havoc said, rising from his seat and setting his pen down carefully on the desk. 'But first, I have something to give to you.'

Lord Havoc walked over to a large chest and removed from it a small wooden box. 'This is yours,' he said, handing it to Volthamir, 'I have kept it all these long years for just such a moment.'

Volthamir took the box and opened the lid carefully. The inside was lined with a fine red cloth. In the center of box was a red cushion on which sat a small knife with a bright white handle. 'But this...?'

'-is the very knife I took from you all those long years ago,' Lord Havoc smiled coldly. 'I told you that I would return it to you when the time is right.'

'But, I don't understand,' Volthamir said, his voice was shaking.

'You soon will,' Lord Havoc said, 'I am here now, ask me anything that you like, and I will tell you all that I know. But we must not speak here.' Lord Havoc beckoned him on toward a tall wooden door near the rear of his chamber. This door opened on a steep flight of steps that wound their way up to a higher room. In this room there was a round table and several wooden chairs. When Volthamir was seated, Lord Havoc locked the door behind them and took a seat. 'Now we are beyond hearing,' Lord Havoc said. It was then that Volthamir noticed that Arus was there as well, perched on a swing that was hung from the ceiling.

'I would like to know first,' Volthamir began in a quiet voice, 'Why did we take such an odd road to Ramlos? It would have been quicker, safer, and easier to come by the main road. Your ways are strange, my lord. I do not doubt them, but I do not understand them either. To hear the baying of wolves alone hardly seems to be a sufficient explanation.'

'We came by the Heyan road because of your uncle's charge: that I teach you Justice, Honor and Compassion.'

'Then we might as well begin there,' Volthamir said, leaning back in his seat. 'You have already told me what you think of justice. Now I will hear what you have to say about the other virtues, Lord Havoc.'

Honor

'The second reason that I led us through the Heyan forest was to teach you a thing or two about Honor. A virtuous man is one that does justly, and he is virtuous regardless of his circumstances. And a wicked man is one that does unjustly, and again, he is wicked regardless of his condition. But Honor is somewhat different. A man may have virtue, yet be dishonored. And again, a man may be wicked, yet be honored.

'My question for you, my prince, is this,' Lord Havoc looked at him with stern eyes, 'Which is better to possess, virtue or honor?

Volthamir thought for a moment. 'I cannot say, mostly because I feel that whatever it is that I choose you will correct me.'

'Perhaps after I have described the differences between virtue and honor you will have a better idea.

'That would seem like a good course to take,' Volthamir said, reclining slightly in his seat.

'There are two men in Heyan forest. They are both the same age, and both of them were in the same trade in their younger days. They were both skilled hunters and crafty woodsmen. They both rose quickly to prominence in their respective villages. They married almost at the same time, both of them to beautiful women. Within two years both of their wives were with child. Both men were the envy of the whole wood. Success was theirs, beautiful wives, and now they were each blessed with daughters.

'But something went dreadfully wrong for both of these men. Their wives became pregnant once again and each bore a second daughter. But in the days following the birth of their daughters, both women were stricken by a terrible plague. The dreadful disease devastated many in the Heyan forest in those days. In some places entire villages were lost, and in others the number of people were cut in half. In the end, one man had lost his wife and baby daughter, leaving him alone with his eldest daughter. But the other man's wife and daughter survived, though marred and stricken by the terrible disease to the extent that they could no longer see, nor could they care for themselves.

'Time passed, and the man who had lost his wife remarried and became the elder of his village. But the other man fell into poverty. His house was run down and his wealth was soon wasted in the care of his sickly wife and daughter. Physicians stopped coming to him, for they saw no hope of recovery. Even the villagers turned their hearts from them in time. The house was so decrepit and broken down that he became a laughingstock throughout the region. He could no longer farm his land, so his whole estate was soon overrun with wild beasts and pests. His neighbors grew angry because of the animals and threatened him several times. But their threats never came to anything for several reasons. First, they knew the man had nothing to repay them with for their troubles, and secondly, none of them wanted to go to his reeking lands to collect what retribution was due.

'Now I have a new question for you, my prince,' Lord Havoc said, pausing his tale. 'Which of these men has Honor, and which does not?'

'I would say that the man whose wife died has Honor, considering the fact that he is the elder, and has the command over the men of his village. The other is certainly dishonorable, since his neighbors despise him and treat him with contempt.'

'Indeed,' Lord Havoc said. 'And these two men you have met yourself. For they are none other than Effren, the elder of Soleya and Hashias, the old man of Ferwur. Ethla is the eldest daughter of Effren, but the lady Arani is not her mother. She is Effren's second wife.

'Hashias' wife lived on for some years, finally succumbing just a few years ago. But his sickly daughter still clings to life. That is Deria, whose sorry state you witnessed for yourself. His great pearl; his eldest daughter Sarya is the last thing in his life that still blooms and lives.'

'I would never have imagined that to be the case from the appearance of the men,' Volthamir said thoughtfully.

'But there is more to each story,' Lord Havoc said softly. 'There is a secret known only to myself and to Effren, though he does not know that any other soul is aware of it.

'Effren's wife and infant daughter did not die of the dreadful plague. When Effren saw his wife's beauty so marred from the illness, he took a cloth and choked her to death in her bed. She would have recovered quite well, but her face would have been left with terrible scars to remind her of her battle against the plague. That is, with terrible scars to remind her husband of her illness. This was too much for Effren, so he killed her. His infant daughter starved to death in her pale arms, after weeping for many days. Effren feigned illness and made it appear as though his wife died of the plague while he was too ill to realize what had happened. He mourned her well; no one doubted that he was sincerely grieved, but nobody in their wildest dreams could have imagined what had truly happened.

'Hashias' wife, on the other hand, would have perished from the illness had he not cared for her. Despite his own sickness he somehow managed to save his daughters and his wife from the grim hands of the plague. Sarya escaped, alone among her kin, unscathed by the disease. Hashias was weakened from the illness and never recovered his full strength. His wife and baby daughter were marred terribly by the disease. Both became blind and it was difficult for them to walk further than the distance between their beds and the dining room.

The black wolves attacked that winter, and Hashias was wounded severely while defending them from the jaws of the brutes. In everything he did he gave of his own strength and took nothing from others without earning it. He poured his whole life into his sickly family, but in the end his lot is misery upon misery.'

Volthamir looked at Lord Havoc quietly. The older man turned his eyes to meet his and then asked him his first question once more.

'Tell me now, my prince, which is better, virtue or honor? Can anyone doubt that it is Hashias that possesses the lion's share of virtue, yet Effren who has the better part of Honor? The question becomes, is it better to live happily with a young wife and a beautiful daughter, beloved by all your neighbors, or is it better be live in want and hunger, stricken, and surrounded only by the pale and ugly faces of your sickly kin, to become a byword among your neighbors?'

'I don't think there is anyone living that would choose the latter,' Volthamir answered. 'Then I suppose it is better to have Honor than virtue. But surely the old man will be haunted by the memory of his cruel deeds, and that will punish him whatever his circumstances.'

'Ah, you mean guilt? Lord Havoc laughed. 'Volthamir, my prince, guilt is a sentiment. It is not a punishment. Men have survived many perils, and it is no large feat to overcome a feeling of guilt. That is something that mankind has become quite skilled at. No, I'm afraid master Effren loses no sleep over his deeds. Guilt comes from fear of punishment, and nothing else. So long as Effren is convinced that he alone knows his dark secret, he has no need to fear any judgment. But I trust this has served to show you at least, that Honor is to be had over Virtue.'

'I understand what you have told me,' Volthamir said quietly. 'But I confess I must give it some further thought.'

'Take whatever time you need,' Lord Havoc said. 'But no matter how many ways you consider the matter, there will never come a time where it would be wise to choose virtue over honor. You may choose virtue for honor, but never cast off honor for virtue. That would be like a man who casts away his wages so that he can do still more labor.'

Compassion

The next day Lord Havoc began by asking Volthamir another question. He said, 'Is there any such thing as a selfless action?'

'There are some who believe so,' Volthamir answered, unwilling to say one way or the other until he had first heard what Lord Havoc had to say. Once more they met in Lord Havoc's hidden chamber.

'The last reason that I took you through Heyan is one and the same with the second. I wanted you to see Hashias. But not for the sake of comparison, as was the case with our discourse about Honor, instead I wanted to teach you what I know about compassion.

'There are some who have said that mankind is naturally good. And since those same men believe it is evil to be unjust and vicious, they must mean to say that man is naturally just and virtuous. They tell a little story about a farmer who perchance witnesses a little child falling in a ditch. The farmer is, of course, immediately filled with pity for the child. These men point out that the farmer is not moved by any selfish motivation, but rather by compassion. He does not care about the child's parents, nor is he concerned with rewards or anything of that sort; he is not worried about gaining the praises of his peers, but is only moved to pity by the common bond of humanity.

'So these 'wise' men teach the children of Amlaman. But as lovely as that story sounds, there are many other events that men may stumble upon over the course of their lives. I can tell another tale, with another result for the question of man's nature.

'This same farmer, after he had rescued the child from the ditch, continued along the road toward the village. But as he passed his neighbor's property he came across the wife of his neighbor as she bathed in the stream. Tell me, Volthamir, is it natural for him to desire her or not?'

Volthamir looked at Lord Havoc and answered, 'He will desire her, no doubt.'

'Indeed, and now we must ask some questions about the nature of this desire. Does he desire her for Honor's sake? No, of course not, since it is dishonorable to lay a hand upon another man's wife. Is it for the praises of friends that he lusts for her? Ridiculous! He is moved to lust after her for no other reason than that it is his nature to do so.

'Be careful, my prince,' Lord Havoc warned, leaning back in his chair and looking into the boy's eyes. 'Always be careful when people try describe the whole nature of humankind with fables meant for children.

'Should we conclude from the first story that man is good by nature? Nonsense, for we can just as easily conclude the opposite from my own story. And doubtless we could think of a thousand stories that prove this or that about mankind. And we would have a thousand contradictions and a thousand lies.

'But,' Lord Havoc's tone changed suddenly as he brought the conversation back to its rightful course, 'we have yet to speak particularly about compassion.

He rose from his seat and began to pace around the room as though he were looking for something that had walked away from him. Suddenly he turned and said, 'Suppose nature made it so that infants inspired hatred and cruelty in the eyes of their mothers, rather than sympathy and love? Do you think the infant would long survive under such conditions?'

'No, I certainly would not expect them to survive for long at all,' Volthamir answered.

'So if there was ever a creature that hated its offspring, that creature would surely perish in one generation. There are some creatures of course that do not seem to care much for their little ones. But these creatures seem to produce more competent infants, and more numerous. But a creature like man, who has but few children throughout his lifetime, and whose children are helpless until they are past ten years of age, must be motivated somehow to preserve the life of its offspring. Thus arises Compassion, the preserving virtue of mankind.

'But we must ask this: For whom does a compassionate man act? Let us consider the farmer from the fables. Does he, by saving the child, act for the child's sake or for his own?'

'I imagine he acts for the child's sake, or else it is not compassion,' Volthamir replied.

'Ah, but let us consider this compassion a little further. If the man felt no compassion, would he feel moved to help the child? Or would it be like seeing a fallen tree or a broken rock? Human beings break these two elements without a thought every day that the sun rises. They chop down trees to build their homes and light their fires, and they hew stones to built their fortresses and to sharpen their blades and tools, but they never feel any hesitation about it. They certainly don't feel anything like compassion for these things. They may squirm at the sight of a wounded animal, or a bird in the snare, but that is because they can in some way imagine themselves sensing the same thing. The stone and the wood, they are convinced, do not feel pain or misery at being cut or burned, and so we do not pity them. But we see that the beasts and birds do feel such pain and misery. And this arouses an understanding feeling in us, and a desire to help abate their distress.

'So men are moved to compassion by understanding the pain or peril of another, and without this they are not moved to compassion. And when they are not moved to compassion, they are not moved to help. No man lays down his life to save a stone or a log. Why not? As I have said, because there is no pity for them. Without pity, the farmer will not help the child, save for the baser reasons the teachers despise, such as Honor or reward.

'Now consider the farmer who acts out of compassion. Is his action caused by the child, or is it caused by his feelings? Certainly it is possible for a man to pass by an imperiled child by without helping him. But not so long as he feels pity on him. It is the pity that pulls him, not the child. You see, my prince, the farmer helps the boy to satisfy the feeling created by his own passions, not for the sake of the boy himself. If the boy caused no pity, the man would not help him. But compassion comes from the heart of the farmer, it does not come from the boy.'

Volthamir furrowed his brow for a moment and then spoke, 'So it would seem that even a compassionate act is a selfish act, for we act to appease a feeling of pity, and to prevent the guilt that might follow from holding back our assistance.'

'Indeed,' Lord Havoc said with a smile. 'And if we now understand that everything we do in this life is done for our own good, we can consider more thoughtfully how we use our resources. Do not help someone that you do not want to help, or that cannot serve you. Whether you help another or not, it is always for your own sake that you act. Men who do not realize this cast their gold and their labors about carelessly, and do not achieve the very thing they have been laboring for. They do not serve themselves, as they intended. To satisfy a passion, they will give gold to a beggar, but they never gain what they have always sought.

'Moreover, young prince, I would not have you be deceived by the lofty praise men heap upon sympathy. For it, aside from being mere selfishness disguised, is arbitrary and partisan. Tell me, my prince, if the choice lay before a man to spare his son or the son of a pig, who do you think he would choose?'

'His son,' Volthamir answered.

'Indeed, because his son is evidently of much greater worth than a mere swine. But answer me this also, who would the pig choose?'

'I suppose the pig would choose his own son,' Volthamir laughed.

'In that you show only a little wisdom; for any reflecting man must see the same thing. But to see a truth and to acknowledge it are different things altogether. If you will but walk a little further along this road you will see what the very wise refuse to. For a man's son is not more valuable than a pig to a pig, but only to himself. The son is beloved of his father and the swine-son is beloved of the swine-father. Who then shall be the arbiter between these two, to decide whose claim is valid? Sympathy, then, is no guide. It tells us not who we ought to help or who is worthy of assistance, it only tells us what we want. For who would say that in pitying his own son the pig commits an evil for having chosen the lesser of the two? What utter nonsense! Pity is reserved for those who are most like us, first to ourselves, then to our kin, after that it extends to our countrymen, and lastly, if any remains, it is for mankind itself and the other animals. But do not let sentiment fool you, we pity others only because they remind us of ourselves, not because they are truly worthy of such sentiments. We choose our neighbor over the swine because it is our will to do so, and not for any other reason. Knowing, then, the partisan nature of sympathy, do not let it obstruct your destiny! Your every action, my prince, is for yourself, no matter how much pity you may feel. Act wisely then, so that whatever you choose to do you serve your own ends.'

'And this is why you brought me to see Hashias?' Volthamir asked, bringing the whole conversation to the point. 'You gave them a great deal of gold, and it was not the first time you have shown that sad family kindness. But since it is not for them, why do you give it? What end of your own does it serve?'

Lord Havoc laughed, a menacing laugh. 'You are an excellent student,' he said gleefully. 'You are more clever than your uncle, that is certain. But my reasons for that must remain secret for the time being, even secret from you.'

'Do not forget your promise, Lord Havoc. You have said that you will answer all of my questions.'

'I did so promise, and even so I will fulfill my word. But only after I have answered every other query will I tell you my final secret. You owe me at least that much, my prince. You have followed me here, feeling entitled to whatever answers you might desire, to justify all the confusion and darkness of your childhood. But I have a claim against you as well. I have saved your life on several occasions, and I think you owe me at least this much: That you will not pry into such matters as I have kept hidden, until you have learned all the other things that I have to say.'

'Fair enough,' Volthamir said with a voice heavy with frustration. But after a few moments his arms relaxed and he turned his mind to another matter. 'Since I will not get an answer from you until all other questions have been asked, I may as well begin anew with another inquiry.'

'Very well,' Lord Havoc said, seeming somewhat relieved. 'Ask me anything. But remember what I said on the first day of our discourses: "I will tell you all, but it must be in the proper order."'

'Tell me, Lord Havoc, 'Why did you poison me, on the eve of my twelfth birthday?'

'Poison!?' Lord Havoc said with a voice of amazement. 'Poison? My prince, I am Lord Havoc, Knight of Amlaman. Had I poisoned a child, that child would be dead. Do you doubt me so, that you would think I would bungle a simple thing like poisoning a little boy? Further I should ask why you would consent to following me at all if you believed that I had tried to poison you!?'

Volthamir smiled slyly. 'I did not think that you had poisoned me,' he said calmly. 'But you made me quite sick in those days, and I feel that an answer is due. You have done many things to me over the years, and I have understood only a few of them. I followed you here because I wanted two things: Answers and the knife; the knife you promised to return to me. The latter I have received already, but the former I am still trying to pry from your firm grasp.'

Lord Havoc laughed. 'You are bolder than your uncle imagines. That will serve us both quite well. I made you sick so that you would survive the Cup of Trial. For if your body could learn how to fight a little drop of the dreadful poison they use in the ceremony, it would remember well enough to overcome an entire trough of it when you had recovered.'

'You knew then? You knew that all of those people were going to die that night?'

'I knew that it was a possibility. But I did not know that there were any others called before Agonistes on that same night. The Cup of Trial is a show, it is a sham altogether. The priest poisons and spares as he sees fit. He kills whom he hates and vindicates those he loves or finds useful. In your case, the priest himself meant to kill you, and free his master King Vulcan from the threat of your discontent. But the old priest could not have imagined the outcome! He and the king believe they witnessed a real miracle that night! But you were spared for this purpose: The king's suspicions against you are now public. And so is your vindication. Therefore all the men of Amlaman and Ramlos will soon know that the king is wroth with you without cause, and has gone so far as to humiliate you through subjection to a superstitious ritual. But even further, my prince, the people have now seen that the dark god has moved on your behalf and spared your life alone from the Fateful Cup!'

Volthamir looked darkly at the old man. 'What is it that you are trying to accomplish, Lord Havoc?' he asked hesitantly. It seemed to him as though the room suddenly grew hot and the air still and thick.

'What I want is not your concern. The question has always been; What is it that you desire? Whatever the answer, my prince, all that I have done has only served to bring it within your grasp. Follow me, and learn from me, and you will be like the Black Wolf of Heyan, the one who survives, and takes what he wants, leaving his enemies smoldering in shameful ruin.'

[Chapter VI:  
Leonara](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Her Father

We must pause our narrative here, and turn our attention now to the daughter of King Vulcan, whose fate was soon to become entangled in the schemes of Lord Havoc.

King Vulcan, after he had slain his cousin, was given the Dual-Crown of Amlaman and Ramlos; the first king to possess it since the reign of Joplis, the founder of Amlaman. His crowning was soon reported throughout all of western Weldera. It became known how he reluctantly came to confront his cousin Voltan, whom he slew, thereby taking from him the dominion of the southern kingdom. His act was a welcome one though, and the people, with a few notable exceptions, submitted themselves to his rule willingly and even joyfully. He brought with him food and supplies, such as the people needed. He stripped Voltan's many children of their pensions and replenished the royal treasury. But what he took into the treasury he dispensed again to see to the needs of the people.

His kindness won him the loyalty of his grateful subjects. Yet it remained that Vulcan had usurped the throne, and slain his kin to do so. This act of injustice brought about so many good consequences that the people soon felt the need to make the injustice into justice. So the theory arose that the people had a right to overthrow their lord and master if he turned into a tyrant. There was a saying that became popular in those days which said, 'I have never heard of a king being murdered, only of a tyrant being punished.' Which meant to say that the gods would never allow a just king to be killed, but if a king became unjust, then the gods would raise up a savior to overthrow him. And to the people in those early years, King Vulcan was just such a savior.

After ruling for less than a year, King Vulcan began to rebuild and restore the ancient religion of Amlaman. This was all at Lord Havoc's advice, which the king very seldom ignored. But he was not, at that time at least, truly a believer. He was willing to go along with his fearsome benefactor's wishes, but he was not terribly interested in the whole design. But as he was not the sort of person that does things part way, he soon found that the greater part of his efforts turned toward matters of doctrine and religion.

The Temple of Agonistes had been restored and the people made a commitment beneath the terrible firelight, that they would be faithful to the dark god of their ancestors and bring revenge upon his enemies, Lord Pelas in particular. Thus bound by oaths and sacrifices, the people returned year after year for the feasts and celebrations and sacrifices. All throughout the land there was now talk of the will of Agonistes, revenge on Pelas, and the blessing the god had bestowed upon their once hurting land.

At the center of all these events was King Vulcan and his lovely daughter Leonara. Not long after her third birthday, Leonara was dedicated to the dark god. At every holiday she was present in the temple, as the Shining Jewel of Amlaman.

Despite his own reluctance, his daughter's importance in the ceremonial life of the Temple drew King Vulcan deeper into the world of religion. So much so that the world of politics began to suffer as a result.

As a father, though, King Vulcan loved his daughter dearly. He adored her, and he would have given up his kingdom for her sake, had he ever the need. But despite this he remained somewhat aloof from her. King's are not typically the most affectionate parents, as might well be imagined. When there are nurses and servants at hand, there is little need for the royal hand to set aside the scepter and pick up the wash-rag.

Despite what boldness he acquired when Lord Havoc was present, he was otherwise timid. This pushed him even further from his daughter, because it ultimately drove a wedge between him and Lady Marel, who seized upon this weakness in character to have her own will done throughout the land.

Her Mother

Lady Marel, on the other hand, was a believer. Her own family had long prayed to the dark god in secret, even before the Temple and the cultus were restored. She scarcely ended a sentence without including an, 'Agonistes be praised,' or some such benediction. She was distantly related to High Priest Achil, which she never failed to mention upon meeting someone for the first time. Nay, she rarely failed to mention her distant relation to the holy man in any of her conversations it seemed.

Little is known about her own childhood, aside from the fact that her family was not very wealthy and that she was a distant relative of King Voltan. At a relatively young age, however, she began to be groomed for royal life (and ultimately for Voltan's harem, as all eligible young maidens were in those days). But the death of Voltan came too soon and she escaped the fate that so many other young women of Amlaman suffered in those days. That is, exile with an infant and a pension to the marches of the kingdom.

It was quite a turn of luck for her, then, to suddenly move from such a sorry position to being the queen of a united kingdom. If she realized her good fortune, however, she never let on that she did. Her own personality was somewhat strong, and she was able to absolutely dominate her husband's will, even setting him against Lord Havoc at times. As the years passed they saw less and less of the famed knight, and she gained more control over matters political.

The Strange Situation

I said she was a believer. And there is a sad irony to be found in the marriage of Lady Marel and King Vulcan. Lady Marel loved Agonistes with all her mind and spirit, but ultimately she spent more of her time in the palace, ordering the kingdom, while her husband, who could scarcely tolerate the new religion, spent his time away from the throne ordering the details of the daily worship.

This strange circumstance arose partly from Lady Marel's resentment of the Sacred Virgins of Agonistes who served in the Temple. These young maidens were selected from among the most beautiful young girls in Amlaman and Ramlos and were brought up in the temple under the guidance and instruction of Achil, the high priest. It was a part of the worship that she accepted very reluctantly, and at times openly criticized. Going up the mountain to the Temple and seeing those infamous girls, dressed in white and looking to the people like so many brides was more than she could handle. King Vulcan soon learned that he could expect a sour temperament from his wife for a full week after each and every holiday feast.

But as the religion required on many occasions, the King's presence at the Temple, the only solution was to leave his wife behind at Japhrian, where she would take it upon herself to manage the affairs of the state, and avoid the unrest that followed her visits to Agonistes' mountain.

Contradiction

There are some who say, and who say wisely, that the greatest sin of all is hypocrisy. For in hypocrisy all the pretensions of mankind at wisdom and virtue are betrayed. It was through hypocrisy that Princess Leonara eventually came to despise her parents. Her parents were, to her, simply walking contradictions, creatures that spoke and acted in conflict with themselves and with one another.

She began to resent her father's timidity. He looked stately and regal in his great Hall, bearing an iron scepter in his hand. He was strong and fierce; it was well-known that he had slain his own cousin. But despite his strength and might, his spirit was very diminutive. He caved in to every counsel of Lord Havoc's and when he was finished doing the old knight's bidding he would turn to serve his domineering wife's wishes. He could spill his kinsman's blood under the command of Lord Havoc, yet he could not look his wife in the eye.

Her sentiments for her mother were little better. Her mother could turn her whole attitude and demeanor in an instant. She could go from wrathful and vengeful to charming and graceful in a mere moment. She might scowl at her husband or curse his name, but in a moment, when she perceived that there were others present, she would reform herself entirely and bless him with a smile. This drove Leonara to view her mother with contempt and suspicion.

All the conflicts of the parents had the effect of making the child likewise conflicted. Leonara soon learned to pretend, as her parents did, that everything was well and that there was no angst between them. She pretended to honor her father, she pretended to love her mother, and she pretended to believe in the religion of Amlaman.

She also came to have a conflicted view of her own person. She felt in many ways better than her parents, but she felt worse at the same time. She felt beautiful and homely in turns and she felt both clever and foolish in a cycle. Pity and pride, hope and despair whirled around within her soul with the strength of a tornado. From one bad premise, many false conclusions will follow, and many true ones as well. From her parents' hypocrisy and foolishness she became a physical example of this very thing. She was lovely and despicable at the same time; but all of this was shrouded by her feigned grace and and false innocence.

The only thing in her life at that time that was not absolute fiction, was the affection she bore toward her brother Volthamir.

Volthamir

Volthamir alone, in her mind, was without contradiction. He didn't pretend to believe in Agonistes, he didn't pretend that Vulcan was honorable, and he would have nothing to do with the queen, a woman who occupied a place that had once belonged to the only kind soul he had ever known.

In him alone the princess saw no contradiction. Throughout her youth she looked up to him, both loving his stalwartness and envying his freedom. In her hopeless estate she began to see him as her only hope. Only if he could come and somehow make an end of her parents' rule, taking his rightful place upon the throne of Amlaman would she ever be able to shake off the shackles of tradition and live her life without the veil of pretension under which the whole royal family hid themselves.

But as the years passed her hope grew dimmer, and the more she wished to see him the less she did. By the time she was twelve years of age, he was rarely seen south of Heyan and by the time of her fourteenth birthday he came not to Amlaman at all. His fame came, and the many stories of his daring deeds and heroic battles came to the halls of Japhrian, but never the prince himself.

But in her fifteenth year, Volthamir returned to the palace for one brief visit. But this visit did as much to terrify her as it did to give her hope. When she left the Meeting Hall of Japhrian that night, her heart pounded and her head swirled. She did not know what to feel or what to think. But she found herself suddenly flanked by armed knights in her every move. Her father looked upon her with pity and there was a shadow of fear upon his face from that day forward. In her mother's eyes she saw nothing but envy and spite.

The Dark Gods Move

Every time that Princess Leonara was brought to Daufina to partake in the ceremonies at Sten-Agoni, she unknowingly passed by the mighty spirit Gheshtik, who now kept constant vigil on the Temple of Agonistes.

It had been fifteen years now since the day that the dark gods took council in the woods under the smoke of the temple while all of Amlaman and Ramlos were gathered around, and it had been more than eight years since Volthamir was forced to drink the Cup of Trial. Since that time Gheshtik had not left the mountain unwatched or unguarded. In ancient times he, conspiring for a time with Lord Pelas, had placed a mighty guard, a Gigas named Thewar, at the entrance to the Razzun Highlands. 'Let nothing pass; whether soul or flesh, do not suffer anything to slip by your unblinking eyes,' Gheshtik charged him. Thewar said nothing, but bowed his head low and took up his vigil in the wastes.

But even though he had set such a mighty guard in the place, he could find no peace. Zefru had returned to Sten-Agoni three days after the temple was rededicated with shocking news.

'The Gigas is gone, my lord, he was nowhere to be found.' Zefru was almost in a panic as he spoke. 'I sped off to Razzun with all the speed I could muster. The Gigas was not at the gate, nor was he near his usual marches. I searched the borders and the hilltops for the giant, but to no avail. My feet carried me through lands no mortal man has seen, and into dark places where even immortals fear to tread. I saw Death's Door and the Valley of the Dead, where no living thing dwells over which birds cannot even fly without falling into the wreaking bogs like stones. Yet for all this I saw no sign of the old giant.'

'This is ill news,' Gheshtik said quietly. 'Do not tell anyone of this, Zefru,' he commanded. 'Not yet. For the spirits still fear Agonistes, and many of them would be only too eager to place their necks under his yoke once again. But as for you and I, we know that fell Agonistes has no love for rivals.'

For fifteen years he had waited, but as time passed he grew more and more fearful and more and more certain that the dark god would return to Amlaman. 'He was too great to be lost in the subterranean worlds for so many years,' Gheshtik said. 'And he bears too much hatred toward Lord Pelas to leave this land without repaying his ancient grievances. He will return, and when he does he will strike at the throne of Pelas and at the sons of the Hero who bore Pelas' sword against him so many years ago.'

'Let us take action then,' Zefru said with a gleam of excitement in his eyes. 'It has too long a time since we have meddled in mortal affairs. This will be a joy for us all.'

Zefru left his side and charged away from Sten-Agoni to call the other spirits to the mountain. By the next day there had gathered some ten-thousand spirits to the mountain, some great and some slight and frail. These were charged by the thunderous voice of Gheshtik to, 'hold fast to every stone of this kingdom against the coming of its ancient master. The lesser spirits must speak lies to the people, to drive them away from Agonistes. The greater must find flesh to command. Let us raise up a Feral King in this land, so that if the dark one appears he will find his entry opposed by more than spirit and more than bone. But let no spirit take it upon himself to meet the dark one in combat. For such would be the doom of you all for many ages of the world. Some of you have forgotten the other ancient souls that once offended Agonistes. So long have they been lost in the fiery places of the world that their names and faces have long passed from our memories. Such will be your own fates if you do not hearken well to my warning.' Gheshtik paused for a moment and then thundered, 'Though your strength is ten times that of Thewar, touch not the dark god. I will slay him, for among us he has no other rival.'

The Princess and the Virgins

On the very day that the dark gods met to conspire against the return of their ancient lord, Princess Leonara was brought to the temple of Agonistes. Her coming was unannounced and save for a very small guard she was unprotected. This was so that she might be brought there without attracting any attention from the people. She was brought in a small wooden carriage, the sort by which the other young virgins are borne to the Nunnery. Great pains were taken to avoid the eyes of the people of Amlaman.

She wore no regal garb, nor any tiara or other jewelry, save for a simple gold chain that hung about her neck. Her long hair was braided and wrapped about the top of her head like ropes of gold. Her face was sullen and she would not lift her eyes from the ground. The carriage pulled up to the western side of the Nunnery and she was let out, aided by several strong knights of Amlaman. High Priest Achil was there to greet her.

'Come daughter,' he said with his wisdom-laden voice. 'You will be safe here. Peril comes not to this Holy Valley, not unless all other lands first fall. You know that it is said that a just king can never fail, and that an unjust king must fail. And Lord Agonistes is a god of fierce justice; he will not fail to protect that which is his. Now come, you must be weary. I will show you your chamber. You can dine with the virgins, for they also are dedicated to the god of Amlaman and Ramlos. You will surely find among them that sort of companionship that only exists between the pensive.'

Leonara said nothing. Her eyes were full of tears and she could scarcely stand. He wrapped a lucent white cloth about her shoulders and clasped it with a golden brooch upon her shoulder. 'You are under the care of Agonistes now, so do not fear.'

Soon Leonara was made to learn the ways of the Virgins of Agonistes. Though she had been dedicated to Agonistes as a child, as each of them were also, she was not properly speaking a Temple Virgin. There was some subtle and nonsensical distinction in their mode of service that allowed her to remain under the authority of her father rather than the authority of the priests. She was meant to serve the religion in the same capacity, though with a few notable exemptions. The chief of these exemptions was that upon her no vow of permanent celibacy was laid, for in her body the royal blood was carried, which is a resource of greater worth than any number of Sacred Virgins. She was also, for the same reason, exempted from the Lot of Agonistes, that most corrupt of customs by which the Virgins were chosen to be victims on the Altar of the dark god. The girls, by their charms, had gained full control over Reonus, who was responsible for the selection. He saw to it that none of them met such a fate. There were fifty apartments for the virgins, but only twenty-five of them were kept occupied at all times. The rest were filled from time to time by peasants who had come to the mountain for refuge, or by those who had been accused of some great evil. Reonus, at the bidding of the virgins, saw to it that the Lot always fell upon one such as these, or upon one of the Virgins that had fallen out of favor in the eyes of Reonus and the others.

These exemptions left Leonara in the peculiar state of being the same, yet not the same as the other virgins. Envious of her beauty, and the special protections that hung over her by virtue of her parentage, the other virgins treated her harshly. They were not openly cruel to her, of course, as far as appearances were concerned they were like so many sisters. But in the peculiar ways of women, they cursed her with blessings and insulted her with kind words; saying nothing unkind, yet meaning nothing kind. And in the peculiar ways of women the Princess understood all of these things with their proper intentions, though perhaps another would have been unable to detect any malice.

In the end she could not abide their company and withdrew herself from the regular apartments to an empty chamber at the top of the northeastern guard tower. There she took her meals and spent her days in solitude.

One might have thought that the Sacred Virgins of Agonistes would spend their days in religious contemplation, or in memorizing the many attributes of the dark god, or reciting his hymns. And to a great extent such assumptions would be correct. But there were many other things that the 'Holy Virgins' practiced that the common people of Amlaman would not have guessed, though such things were well known to the nobility.

That they were well versed in coquetry would have been a surprise to many. The girls learned the arts of face-painting, so that their beauty would be magnified to draw attention. They learned to feign simplicity to hide their cunning. They were taught to speak and act innocently, though we shall see that this too was in conflict with the truth of the matter. They learned to bat their eyes when they spoke, to walk and sit in a specific fashion. In every particular they were taught to lure the attention of men toward themselves. In essence, they were each trained to be enchanting. And all their enchantments were refined and targeted toward one purpose.

For a price, wealthy men of Amlaman could bathe in the cool waters of the Meretris that ran through the Nunnery. But for such a sum, only those wholly unacquainted with human nature would remain of the opinion that a cool bath was all that was thereby purchased. Thus the young women of Daufina employed their enchanting arts and filled the treasury of Agonistes with gold and silver. The religious men, to cover this strange circumstance, made use of a strange ambiguity that existed in the language of Amlaman. The word 'Virgin' at once could mean just that, a virgin, but it had a secondary, though rarely used meaning of a 'woman who had born no sons'. Thus the holy men could unblinkingly declare these girls to be 'Virgins', knowing the whole while that the people were misled. To their own consciences it was sufficient that they spoke the truth, it mattered not to them whether the truth is what was heard.

In this aspect of the Temple 'service' Princess Leonara was exempted by royal command. But this only amounted to yet another reason that she was like, yet unlike the other girls, which only occasioned more ridicule and spitefulness. To Leonara's great frustration, despite the fact that the Nunnery of Agonistes was little more than a brothel, the honor and praises that were bestowed upon the other girls by the masses only grew.

Leonara envied their honors but despised their enchantments. 'Hypocrites! Hypocrites!' she would rage behind her locked door. The others turned to mocking her, making her out to be simple or overly modest.

'She is the truest believer in all of Weldera,' they would scoff. Others would interject in mock opposition that, 'she is, after all, the King's beloved daughter, so beloved that he sent her to the Nunnery.' This was to make a spectacle again of the fact that she was yet under her father's authority and protection. In response to their taunts she revealed to them her mother's serpentine powers of abuse.

'Double-faced whores!' she would call them whenever they crossed her, her face turning red with passion. 'It is fortunate that there are so many old men coming here for you to wallow about with, lest you grow desperate and take to the mud like the sows you are! Then your robes would finally come to resemble your bed-linens; stained by the mud of rich men's boots.'

She never learned the arts of coquetry, an art in which the Virgins were well instructed. But in the arts of spoken injury, she excelled each one of them. All the while that she remained with the virgins her mind grew ever more conflicted. And as she hated conflict she grew to hate herself even more.

Every night she would cry out for the one thing that remained constant in her eyes, the one thing that was not distorted by politics or dirtied by hypocrisy. 'Volthamir!!' she would weep.

Leonara's state of mind can be understood easily if we consider the fact that of all things perhaps that which is most unpraiseworthy is physical beauty. Yet it so happens that mankind praises and cherishes beauty more than anything else. It would be nonsensical to punish a man for being ugly. This is simply because his ugliness is not of his own making. The fault lies in causes that mankind scarcely can fathom; consequently, prudent men judge nothing based upon mere appearances.

The same faultlessness lies in the beautiful as well. Yet herein a great inconsistency exists in the behavior of men. For they never extend their indifference to the beautiful; though they will excuse the ugly, they never fully excuse the beautiful. Of the beautiful they compose songs and epic poems; they make sculptures and paintings, though there is more to be praised in the artisans' skill than in their subject. For the beautiful, almost to the same extent as the comely and the hideous, had no part in their own beauty. The praise then belongs to Nature, or to the gods, not to the woman or to the man.

This is plain enough to everyone that considers these matters, and it was certainly plain enough to the Princess of Amlaman. Honor is something that all of mankind desires, and to watch it fall upon those who are most undeserving of it is no easy thing to bear. The virgins of Agonistes were honored for nothing more than their beauty; while Leonara remained hidden in a tower, feeling as worthy as she felt worthless.

If we took the time to consider exactly what the purpose of beauty is, I mean, what is its purpose as far as we as creatures are concerned, we would be forced at last to admit that physical beauty and virtue are alien one to the other. Why does the flower show forth its colors and its aromas? Why does the fruit hang low upon the trees, tempting mankind with its sweetness? Why does the rooster strut about among the hens? Why does the bachelor set all his hairs in place and shear his beard ere his beloved draws near?

Does not all of beauty exist for the sake of the unborn, that is, does it not serve to make the unborn become the newborn? The hen and her chicks, the bees and the flowers, the man and his lover alike unwittingly serve the child that will be by their romance. Those who find their tongues wagging with praise for long eyelashes, a slender figure and a painted face should never on that account consider themselves to be wise.

But what is a woman to do, and what is a girl to feel in a world wherein even the greatest of men chase after that wherein there lies no virtue? Surely they must make themselves into the same things they abhor. But this, for whatever reason, Leonara could not bring herself to do. Whether it was because of some inner virtue or whether it was, as she believed, merely cowardice, she did not seek after honor at the expense of herself as did her peers.

The result, however, was that she had to watch the world dance and sing the praises of the virgins of Sten Agoni, while she remained, aloofly, the princess in exile.

The Siren of Sten-Agoni

The presence of Princess Leonara in the Temple complex did not go wholly unnoticed by the outside world. Her voice, it was said, was more lovely than any other singer who lived in those days. So clear and beautiful was the sound of it that it drew the ear like a fish on a hook. For this cause she was called The Siren of Sten-Agoni by High Priest Achil.

It was said that the Sirens were the most lovely of all the creatures that were ever created. Each of their words were divine, and therefore as beautiful as a still crystal lake, and as warm as the summer sun. When Leonara sang, it seemed even the powers of nature calmed. But for all her loveliness, all that the other virgins could find in their hearts for her was enmity and jealousy. They took to being so cruel to her that she restricted her movements almost entirely to her bedchambers in the guard tower. And so miserable was she that she took no care to dust them or order her possessions. This only made her all the more miserable.

But despite all this, she would still find some way to sing her sad songs. She would wake in the midnight and hum her somber melodies to the full moon from the tower window. Or if she got a chance, she would have the guards take her out to the northern woods and she would slip away from their sight and sing her songs in some hidden glen. But such a lovely voice would soon draw her guards to her and she would be forced to return to her sorry abode once more.

The patrons of the Temple were at least partly aware of her. Those wealthy men who often visited the Nunnery told tales of strange bewitchments that lay on the mountain. 'The wind itself sings a lullaby,' some would say. There were rumors galore about this strange and sad vocalist, but Leonara was so elusive and secluded that people from the outside rarely perceived more than a distant tune, which they could easily believe to be some trick of their own imagination.

The word 'Siren' was not thrown out carelessly by the High Priest. 'It is a rare gift that this young princess possesses. Such as no mortal woman can bear without its turning to sorrow.'

[Chapter VII:  
History Revealed](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Training in the Daunrys

It was Lord Havoc's desire to sharpen Volthamir's skills in battle against the goblins of the Daunrys. Within a month of their arrival at Star Hill, the two men began making their preparations for war. Lord Havoc summoned all the greatest warriors in Ramlos to join him in the defense of their homeland. This was some eight years before the Princess was sent to live at the Nunnery,

'The foothills are lost to us,' he informed them, 'and the northern woods of Heyan are infested with goblins. We must oust these brutes from our fair land, lest the whole northern kingdom fall into the paws of these half-men.'

On the fourteenth day of Leonius, Lord Havoc and Prince Volthamir rode away from Ramlos with three hundred strong warriors. They made their way along the northern marches of the Heyan woods and after five days they joined the men of Nolhern on the eastern banks of the Heyan River.

Nolhern was a fortified town, surrounded on all sides by thick stone walls and tall guard towers. It kept the northern shores of Ramlos safe from pirates and checked the power of the goblins in that region. They were not able, however, to drive the goblins from the northern woods, for their numbers were too few and the goblins were too clever once they came under the shadow of the trees.

Their first task was to drive the goblins from Heyan, and cut them off from their kin in the foothills. Patrols were begun and soon Lord Havoc's men drove a wedge between the goblins of the mountains and the goblins in the wood.

After this was done, they turned their attention to the colonies that had taken root in the deep places of Heyan. With amazing cunning Lord Havoc ousted these by the end of the first year, driving them into the open fields of eastern Heyan to die naked and hungry in the cold winter winds.

All the while he focused as much effort on the training and education of the prince. He taught the Prince his own peculiar form of swordplay, such as had gained him his reputation so many years ago. And when his training was nearly complete, Lord Havoc unleashed his pupil on the goblins of Heyan.

Within a month, northern Heyan was declared to be free, and by the end of their second year there remained not a single camp or colony of goblins in the forest. Lord Havoc himself remained in Nolhern for the most part, only entering the forest now and again to visit the prince and give council when it was needed. Consequently, the fame of the prince grew throughout the region. Industry began to thrive in the northern kingdom and new towns began to spring up here and there. Brave men joined the warriors and built strong towns and cities in the east, some even within fifteen leagues of the Daunrys themselves. They were becoming bold. This land was once restored by the efforts of King Vulcan thos Ramlos, but was lost when the King took upon himself the rule of Amlaman. Now King Vulcan appeared to them to be only distantly concerned with their struggles. It was said among them that, 'Men have but one face. And can a man look east, when his gaze is fixed upon the south and the west?' They had a new 'savior' in the young man from Amlaman. And in him they placed their trust and loyalty.

His abilities, both as the result of his training and because of his own natural talents, soon became legendary. Tales of his daring battles against goblin hordes made their way into every home in Ramlos, and certainly found their way into the king's halls in Japhrian. But King Vulcan could not tell whether to be pleased with his nephew's successes or intimidated.

His deeds made their way to the ears of Princess Leonara, who began to perceive him almost as more of a specter from the ancient legends than a mere man of flesh and blood to whom she bore some relation.

The Visit

Through all the years of Volthamir's absence, Leonara maintained a correspondence with him. She sent letters to him nearly every month, telling him of her thoughts and her fears and her anger toward her mother. To avoid the censure of her father she hid these messages in rhymes and stories that only her brother would comprehend. One of her letters read thus:

Father hog so verily verily loved to be a hog,

That he moved his entire family to festering, stinking bog,

Mother hog so verily verily hated to see him grin,

That she moved her bed away from his and con-snorted with a jinn,

Much to mother hog's dismay, this made father squeal,

For now he had a freedom which his wife could not repeal,

Mother hog, now powerless, turned against her child,

Snapping at and chiding her till she herself went wild.

In this can be discerned, by those who have familiarized themselves with her history, the contentions of her parents, her mother's religious zeal, Leonara's own disdain for the cultus of Agonistes, and her own desire for freedom from all of these. It is certain at least that Volthamir understood enough of these to know that his sister desired to be free of her parents.

Volthamir responded very rarely, and even then only with a few lines telling her that he was still living and that the wars were going well. In each of Leonara's letters she closed her message with a plea for his return. But he said nothing of visiting in any of his own messages. But despite his own reluctance to visit Japhrian, as prince he was not able to remain aloof forever.

Three years after he had left the palace, on the eve of her twelfth birthday, Volthamir returned to the palace. His visit was very brief, he was only there to attend to some important political matter, but it left a lasting impression of Leonara.

To her eyes he seemed altogether different. His skin was pale as ever, but he seemed vigorous and full of life, rather than despair. He was much stronger now and as they embraced she was startled by the strength of his arms. He was now a man of twenty-five years, and in every way he was in his prime. 'I have missed you dreadfully, brother,' she said with tears in her eyes.'

Volthamir almost looked away to avoid seeing her tears, but her face had grown so beautiful that he was unable to ignore her. 'And I have missed you as well, young peacock.' She looked down at her feet when he said this. He smiled and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. 'Hold on, sister,' he told her in a kind voice. 'There is no trouble that lasts forever.'

For some reason these words seemed to echo in her heart. Her body warmed up and she stood up tall. 'I hope to see you again soon, my brother,' she said. 'And if you don't come to me, I will ride out to the Daunrys myself to find you.'

Volthamir laughed. 'There will be no need. There will be more reasons for me to come to Japhrian soon enough. Until then, however, do not let the mad-one trouble you. There will come a time that she will have no power over anyone.' These words he said in reference to her mother, Lady Marel.

She watched him closely as he left the palace and rushed to her own bedroom to watch him from the window as he mounted his black horse and rode away into the darkness. She wept all that night, cursing her mother.

Legion

In the month of Solest, the war against the goblins of the Daunrys took a turn for the worst. A Feral king had appeared in the mountains, and the goblins grew bolder. They reclaimed some of the foothills and sent many of the brave Heyan settlers back into the woods.

For most of the history of the world there was no explanation for the origin of Feral kings. It was simply understood that on occasion a hob-goblin of such fierce cunning would arise and lead his tribe to ascendancy. In this case it was a hob-goblin called Legion.

The natural ignorance of goblins would probably have long ago brought about their extinction were it not for the arising of these strange masters. It seemed as though every time goblins found themselves backed into a corner, just as the sword prepared to strike them down forever, a savior would appear, if it is proper to use that term. It seemed that just as the warriors of Ramlos prepared to march into the mountains to finish off the last of the Daunrys goblins, a great and cunning master took control of them. The goblins suddenly began to behave more cunningly, almost rational, and that cunning combined with their lack of compassion is more than any mortal army can manage. The Ramlos warriors were driven out of the mountains. With their heads hanging low they returned to Nolhern with the sad tidings.

'The goblins and orcs have a new master,' they informed Lord Havoc with sorrow in their voices, 'A Feral king, we fear.'

Strangely, Lord Havoc smiled. The men almost gasped, but quickly regained their composure.

'Do not be surprised at my pleasure,' Lord Havoc laughed. 'You have fought hard, and for many long years. And it might seem to you that now things have turned against you. But a Feral king, if indeed you are correct in assuming that such a creature has appeared in the Daunrys, is a phenomenon that arises when the goblins are weakened and imperiled. Encourage yourselves at least in that; we have driven them to the brink. Now nature herself seems to be giving them a hand, but we must prove ourselves masters of even nature. For in the end, even the great goddess of nature cannot argue with victory. We will yet bring an end to the trouble of goblins. A Feral King?' Lord Havoc said in a rhetorical tone, 'It means not that we have failed. It only means that it is time for us to renew our courage, and press on till we come to the end of this war.'

To Volthamir he only said, 'This is news that I had not have counted on. Fortune, if there be any such thing, has smiled upon us.'

'Fortune?' Volthamir questioned. 'A Feral King's rise?'

Lord Havoc chuckled darkly, 'You will see, my prince, what good things can come from the darkness. Goblins act in a certain way, and that way is generally deducible from their animal wants and needs. But a Feral King changes that. Much of the peril that such a creature represents is derived from the fact that their enemies do not realize that when their ruler has changed, their enemies must change as well.'

'So we are going to change our strategy?'

'In such a way as no mortal man would scarce imagine.'

His specific plan, Lord Havoc did not share with any of his men. He did not even fully inform Volthamir of his intentions until it was nearly time to put it into motion. In the meanwhile, however, he acquiesced to the reality of the Feral King's rule and withdrew his men from the eastern plains and foothills. It seemed to the men that the battle against the Daunrys was now all but abandoned. Heyan's freedom had been won, but for as long as Legion, which is what Lord Havoc named the Feral King, was living, it seemed like the notion of living without the fear of goblins was a fleeting dream.

The Fell Wolf

For the next two and a half years Volthamir battled against Legion's goblins. The goblins of the northern Daunrys had joined with the tribes of the central region. This almost doubled their numbers and their weapons were sharp and strong. It was suspected that they had perhaps stumbled upon some ancient dwarven armory that had until then lain hidden in the deep caverns of the mountains. Lord Havoc himself did not partake in any of the battles for the express purpose that he draw not any undue adulation, nor detract from any of the honor that was due the prince of Amlaman.

Accordingly, the people of his uncle's old kingdom grew to love Volthamir dearly. 'Lord Vulcan left us to domineer the southern realm,' they would complain, 'But Volthamir, the son of his murdered cousin, stands by us who were strangers to his father.'

The terrors that ordinarily accompany the appearance of the dreaded Feral King never materialized in Ramlos, mainly due to the fact that Volthamir and his army kept them in check. During all that time there were no raids upon Heyan, and wherever in the eastern lands the goblins plundered, their victims were soon revenged by Volthamir and his men.

In those days, by his own prowess, and by Lord Havoc's absence, Volthamir rose to the center of the people's attention. Every eye was fixed on him when he led his warriors to battle. And every ear eagerly awaited the account of his latest conquests. They had great faith in him, and he suffered no counter assault by the forces of Legion. Soon his fame brought him praises and exaltations. The Unrivaled Prince of Amlaman he was called at first. But after a while his name evolved into the Invincible Prince of Ramlos. Some called him the Fierce Goblin Hunter, or the Ghost of the Heyan Woods. But after his army surrounded and surprised a camp of goblins raiders in the midst of an assault, leaving none to escape alive, he became known as the Crafty Wolf of Ramlos, which Lord Havoc by his own efforts changed to Fell Wolf. This name soon became the most popular of his titles, particularly among the people of Heyan who understood the history of the fell black wolves of the forest. It was no small encouragement to them to imagine that such a crafty and opportunistic beast, one who had so perfectly destroyed its own ancient foes, was now vying for their survival.

But to whatever degree he gained the honor of the people of Ramlos, he lost the good will of the rulers of Japhrian. King Vulcan grew both jealous of his successes and honors and suspicious of his new power and authority. Every night he tore at his hair and moaned himself to sleep in fear and regret. 'How could I have been so foolish,' he would groan. 'I have treated my own heir like a traitor, and by exiling him I have given him power and honor incomparable!'

'Fell Wolf indeed,' Lady Marel would complain, 'It is like such an evil creature, no doubt, to devour his own kin.'

The queen's words filled King Vulcan with horror. For he had all but forgotten the words of his cousin. "Kin-slayer becomes kin-slain, I curse you."

Rout and Panic

On the twenty-fifth day of Morest, the first month of the winter, an army of goblins, such as had not been seen in an age, descended onto the plains of Ramlos east of the Heyan forest. They had one intention, if intention is a proper word to use concerning goblins; they desired to retake Heyan and establish themselves once more in the dark regions of that enormous forest.

The army of Volthamir sprung to action without delay and met the brutes in open war on the field that is to this day called Golbfein. There the roots of the mountains stretch out to form tall rock walls on the northeast and southern edges of the field. The land slopes up swiftly toward the east and flattens out as it approaches the forest. It was on these slopes that the fierce battle was held.

For three days the army of Volthamir held them back, driving the army back again and again. But after each assault, the numbers of the warriors of Ramlos decreased, while the number of goblins increased as new goblins joined them from unknown places. Messages were sent to Lord Havoc in Nolhern and to Volthamir in the Heyan woods. Trumpets roared and the men of Ramlos emptied their fortresses and their cities to march to war.

Volthamir rode out from the forest and met up with Lord Havoc about twenty leagues to the north of Golbfein.

'This could not be better for us, my prince,' Lord Havoc said as they rode toward the battle.

'I cannot imagine your meaning,' Volthamir laughed. 'Though I am certain that it is forthcoming.'

Lord Havoc laughed as he spurred his horse on. Volthamir quickened his own pace until both of them rode at nearly a gallop. Their men marched behind them, now only specks in the distance. 'Today we will either be cured of all suffering, or we will become heroes.'

'I can only guess that you have the latter in mind,' Volhamir laughed.

'You have learned much, my prince,' Lord Havoc said as he slowed his horse. They now came to the northern edge of Golbfein and looked down into the field where the men of Ramlos fought. The goblins poured over the foothills like water from a mountain stream. 'It is my intention that this battle mark the end of goblindom. You will ride into the fray, my prince. You must surpass all of your fellows this day. Leave them behind you and spare not a single brute. Drive them back with your lance and your sword. Strike terror into the heart of the Feral King. Shake his dominion, and you will raise yourself so high in the opinions of the men of the Dual kingdom that your devil uncle's cowardice and treachery will be plain to them all. Fear nothing. Death cannot take you if you are strong enough. And if you are not, then death has already taken you. Fear nothing, my prince.'

With these strange words, the two men descended into the battlefield. They appeared more like gods than men as they rode down the northern ridge into Golbfein. The sun was high and their armor shone. Lord Havoc's dark armor rattled as he rode and his crimson cape danced wildly in the wind. Beside him rode Prince Volthamir thos Amlaman, clad in armor of silver, with a black cape and a plume of red-dyed horsehair atop his silver helm. The men cheered and the goblins shrieked in terror. Their coming was like the beating of a wave against a mound of sand. In their wake they brought a horde of warriors. Lord Havoc commanded them to hold their ground and drive the goblins slowly back into the foothills. But Prince Volthamir and himself rode up to the front of the skirmish and tore into the goblins with their lances and their swords.

Lord Havoc's horse seemed to dance around between the goblins as he battled. More than forty orcs tasted the cold steel of his spear's head that day, and countless goblins as well. Finally a bold high-orc shattered his lance with an axe. Lord Havoc, undaunted, drew his sword and cut the orc's head from his body. He snatched the orc's axe and rode off into the fray to create more mischief.

Volthamir killed many more orcs with his lance. In the end he cast it into the heart of an orc archer, that nearly caught him in the shoulder with an arrow. He drew his blade and rode about beheading those orcs that were tall enough for him to reach; the others his simply rode down with his horse. 'Excellent work Ghoras, he spoke to his beast. But there is much more for us to do.'

Together Lord Havoc and the prince pushed their way through the goblin army to the very midst of their ranks. Every arrow was broken on their armor, every swing of the axe was too slow to catch them, every spear was broken against their shields and every sword was shattered on their breastplates. For all that day they battled against the goblins. Finally, when the sun began to pass beyond the distant Heyan woods, the goblins retreated to their mountain camps. The men would have followed them, but Lord Havoc cautioned them against obeying their zeal. 'They are weakened right now, but they will find comfort in the night and passion from their injuries. Let us wait until the old ally of mankind reappears in the eastern sky.

The following morning, Volthamir was awakened by the sound of horns blowing. The goblins had regrouped during the night, and were now making a bold assault on the southern field. They had trodden down several hundred men of Ramlos and were making a mad rush toward the woods. Volthamir left his tent in a hurry and mounted his horse. At that moment Lord Havoc rode up beside him with a grin on his face.

'I will never grow accustomed to your peculiar enjoyments,' Volthamir said as he shook his head. 'The goblins strike hard at our men, and you grin as though you were just given a gift.'

'We have been given a gift, my prince,' Lord Havoc nodded and pointed toward the south. 'There lies more than mere carnage, it is another chance for the Fell Wolf to save the people of Ramlos; another opportunity to win the day and gain honor. Remember, my prince, the more honor you win, the more repugnant your uncle's suspicions will be in the nostrils of his people.'

'Very well then,' Volthamir said, drawing his sword, 'Let us do it then.'

They rode to the south swiftly and leapt without hesitation into the thick of the battle. Lord Havoc still carried the orc-axe that he had taken the day before. With its broad blade he dropped many goblins and orcs headless to the ground. Volthamir's strong arms thrust his spear about wildly among the goblins. He slew more than forty before he finally dropped his weapon, stabbed through three goblins at once. After that he drew his long, double edged sword. With this he did even more damage, and by the end of the day the goblins fled back to the mountains again.

At this point the men of Ramlos were so emboldened that they would have marched straight into the mountains to wipe out the goblins forever. But Lord Havoc stayed them once more.

'It will do us no good to sacrifice so great a victory by foolishly following them into their mountain caves. Many greater warriors led by greater generals have met worse fates by so doing.'

Ramlos was saved and the power of the goblins was broken. It was now proved to all that the Fell Wolf of Ramlos was their protector. Even a Feral King could do nothing against him. All throughout Heyan there were feasts and celebrations, honoring the bravery and courage of the Prince of Amlaman with songs and dances. Despite his own modesty, Volthamir soon realized that there was naught he could do to stop the fawning and bowing, the singing of praises and exultations.

The Naming Stone

Three weeks later, in Lord Havoc's chamber, Volthamir and his old teacher took council. Arus was there, perched atop his swing as always. They had just finished a meal of venison and potatoes. Lord Havoc was feeding Arus scraps from his plate and Volthamir was finishing the last of his mug. There was a long silence, broken only by the quiet sounds of the bird eating and their own breathing.

Finally Volthamir spoke, 'I think I have decided what it is that I want.'

Lord Havoc looked at him blankly, as though he did not understand him. Volhamir grew agitated and then, shaking his head, regained his composure. 'You asked me once, many years ago, "What is it that you desire?"' Lord Havoc still said nothing. 'But before I say anything, I must ask you- nay demand of you your own desires. You have done much for me, and hid much more from my eyes. Tell me now, Lord Havoc, what is it that YOU desire?'

Lord Havoc sat up and smiled broadly. 'You wish to know what I desire? Very well. I will answer you truthfully. I will tell you now what I have never spoken to mortal ears.'

Lord Havoc stood up and slid his chair away from him. He looked about the room for a moment, as though he were afraid that there were spies all about him. He opened the thick oak door and peered down the steps toward his chambers. He shut the door tight and fastened the lock.

He returned to his seat and sat down, keeping his back straight and his posture perfectly balanced. Then he began to speak in a low but strong voice.

'If you will believe the old stories,' he began, 'the Ancients, whom the vulgar refer to as Elves, were the keepers of many powerful secrets. And such tales and legends as they preserved to us we ought not disregard too lightly. There were many truths hidden within their lies. In fact, I would go so far as to say that there were far too many truths thus hidden.

'Whatever mankind believes about his own origins and his own nature is derived ultimately from the doctrines of the elves. Far be it for mere mortals to question the opinions and assertions of those who have lived for so many ages of the world. Mankind is fleeting, and with each life his history is obscured. No man can perfectly pass on his wisdom or his knowledge to his children, and so by necessity his history turns into mythology. But it was not so for the Elves. Or at least, it was not believed to be so. It was presumed that they could at least verify the events of the distant past that had passed before their own eyes.

'But no creature should be trusted with such credulity, whether man or elf. Eventually the history of the elves became corrupted, not by nature as was the case with mankind, but rather by their own design.

'They hid from mankind, indeed even from themselves, the truth about many things. So much was hidden that even their own sons could not but with great difficulty reconstruct the truth out of their fathers' riddles and myths. A clever lie was woven, and all of mankind has since then been ensnared.

'In part, it was this that caused the great wars that drove the elves out of Olgrost and Weldera. Some passionate members of the human race saw fit to punish them for their deceit and to overthrow their ascendancy once and for all. Now the elves live, if the reports can be believed, only in the shattered palace of Lumani and the frozen forests of Cebrost. Some say there is a remnant in Solsis, but who knows? The elves are gone, and they have none to blame but themselves.

'But among the many things they kept hidden was a powerful artifact from the northern world. It was a stone upon which was engraved the very name of the Immortal King. The man who held this stone held within his hands the essence of the Almighty and could command not only all men, but the Immortal King himself.

Volthamir sat up and gazed at Lord Havoc with a look of astonishment. His jaw dropped as he began to speak, but no words came out. He was struck silent, not knowing whether to laugh or to believe. Lord Havoc continued:

'I know what passes through your mind at this very instant. You are asking yourself, "Has he gone mad?" But I assure you, my prince, I have not gone mad. There is such a stone, and its location was well known in the older days. I have in my possession many proofs, which I will show to you in due time, that such a stone exists.'

After those words Volthamir settled back in his seat and put his hand to his chin. The room suddenly seemed to grow cold, his eyes dimmed and his limbs felt numb. Lord Havoc words seemed to come to life as they left his mouth.

'This stone was so brilliant, they say, that it made even the whitest silk appear dirty and gray by comparison. The letters were carved with such care and precision as the ancients alone were capable. It was imbued with all the power that the elves had gained through their long ages of labor. When the Northern World was buried under water, the elves sailed across the ocean and settled Weldera and Illmaria. With them they brought many treasures and secrets. It is said that the Naming Stone was carried by the Lord of the Argent Elves, who men call Falruvis.

'But what became of this stone when Falruvis fell, and when his kingdom was destroyed is unknown. What is certain, however, is that the desire for the Naming Stone was the second reason the Elves were conquered; pure vengeance being the first. But no mortal has set their eyes upon it, nor has any even heard of its whereabouts. Some believe that it was carried to Bralahi, the Gray Elf King, whose kingdom lies in the midst of a labyrinth of poisonous rocks and cliffs.

'But these reports are worthless, as they are founded only on speculation. Yet it remains that although Dadron was taken, the Naming Stone was never found, nor was any record of it discovered. This gave rise to the most common opinion: That the Naming Stone was yet another elven myth.

'And who can blame men for believing that liars lie? The elves buried the truth so regularly and consistently that it was very easy for their enemies to believe that they had invented the Naming Stone as well. The ancient people trusted every word of the elves as though it were divine, and what better lie for them to tell than that they possessed such an incomparable power? Their rule over mankind was then made complete. So when the armies of Olgrost and Lapulia plundered the fortress of Dadron, they were not surprised in the least to find no such stone - though they were perhaps a bit disappointed.

'The enemies of Falruvis made it appear as though this was what they had expected, and that they fought for liberty alone, rather than for power. But the truth of the matter is that these very men sought the mysterious stone in secret for many generations. When at last their wisdom failed them they declared the object a myth, being unwilling to admit that they were not capable of discerning the secrets of the elves.'

When Lord Havoc paused, Volthamir lifted his hand to stop him. 'Say no more, Lord Havoc, until you have first explained yourself. I have studied history, and none of this is taught in the schools of Amlaman or Ramlos. I do not doubt you,' Volthamir assured him, 'but you cannot overturn the whole world's history, making sages into fools and heroes into villains without any explanation. I would have you begin your account anew; this time starting at the very beginning of the tale. Tell me what you know about the elves, for I have heard only the history of the Royal Palace.'

'Very well,' Lord Havoc said smiling. 'I was trying to be brief, but I see that it is not possible. When four-thousand years of darkness are removed, we must allow our eyes some time to acquaint themselves with the light.'

From the Beginning of the Age

'I do not pretend to trust the elvish accounts any further than their coming to Tel Arie. According to their stories, there were six elf lords that sailed across the northern sea in roughly made vessels of wood. They did this to flee the dark powers of the gods who had, in jealousy, decreed their destruction.

'Whatever it was that happened in the Northern World of Bel Albor, the effect was the coming of the elves to Illmaria, the land that lies beyond the southern border of Amlaman. This event marks the beginning of our history. According to the elves, mankind was in such disarray and savage simplicity in those days that they did not record their history except through songs and myths. The elves on the other hand claimed to have very carefully documented the events from their arrival in the world of Tel Arie until their ascendancy. And since the lives and memories of men are short, there was no good reason to question their accounts. The day of their arrival they named the first day of Primus, which is to say, the 'starting month'. From there they supposedly counted the days and years faithfully and accurately, until at last their wisdom passed on to mankind who had finally attained such sagacity as was necessary to transcribe accurately the events they had witnessed. According to the system of the elves, it has been some four thousand and twenty eight years since they landed on the northern shores of the island of Cebrost, which they have regarded to be sacred ever since the 'Father Elves' first discovered it.

'The Father Elves were divided into three families: There were the Light Elves, who were called Argent, the Dark Elves, who were called Malent, and the Gray Elves, who were called the Verdent.

'The Argent elves were led by Lord Falruvis and his brother Lord Solruvis. Of all the elves, the Argent were the wisest. The greatest sages and historians arose from among their numbers, not the least of whom were Lord Falruvis and his brother.

'Lord Morta and Dalta ruled the Malent elves. They were by far the most powerful of the elves, surpassing all their brethren in every art of war. We shall see what became of this later.

'The Verdent elves were led by Bralahi and his brother Kolohi. The Gray elves were the most clever and cunning. They were not wiser than the Argent, nor were they stronger than the Malent. But stronger than than the Argent and wiser than the Malent, and so their advantages held the balance to their disadvantages. But this is perhaps enough about the types and kinds of elves, though others divide their races even further. There are of course the Kindent, but they are really just another kind of Malent, so I will say no more of them here.

'It was believed that at their departure from the Northern World of Bel Albor, some of the kinder gods gave to the Elf Lord six holy swords. In addition, each elf kindred was given a single seed from a kind of tree that grew in the northern world. From these seeds would grow the Holy Trees of the elves, over which so many dreadful battles were fought.

'The elves spread themselves all throughout the continent of Illmaria. The Verdent passed far to the south, wandering through the strange paths of Gilwela and coming at last to the Malgier Mountains, where Bralahi's impenetrable kingdom was established. The Malent elves settled in the Mortara Woods, so named after Morta, their first lord. Falruvis and his brother settled in Illmaria, Solruvis in the north where their Sacred Tree was planted, and Falruvis in the central portion of the continent, where they built Luma and the legendary Crystal Palace.

'According to their histories, the elves grew in peace and wisdom for nearly five hundred years, untroubled by strife and war. According to their accounts, they did not even know of mankind until after that time. This idea, however, is a total fiction of the elves. It was proven without a doubt that the elves were masters of warfare when they obliterated their enemies during the Foreign Wars. Such strength of arms cannot be created overnight, and skill of such magnitude must be honed in practice, not in mere theory. A sword cannot cut until it is first ground against a whetting stone, and are we to believe that these elven armies became such capable warriors without any preparation? No, even the elves must have something upon which to sharpen their skills.

'This object was found in the goblins, who it turns out, are more ancient than even the elves. It is commonly taught that the powers of evil wizards in Lapulia created the orcs and goblins. But this is an absolute lie. The Conjurers of the east merely learned the art of controlling these brutes, not creating them. I'm afraid that creating new life is beyond the art even of the elves. The goblins, who write no history, are older than the humans, older than the delvers, whom men call dwarves, certainly older than the elves.

'It was against these brutes that the elves struggled for their new home. They found them in Desset and in the Daunrys, and in the forests of Illmaria and Gelantis. They annihilated them from Mortara, as no creature can long withstand the swords of the Malent.

'The dwarves proved to be another anvil against which the elves would temper their blades and hone their strategies. They attempted to exterminate them from their lands altogether, but in the end they could not descend into their caverns, where the fumes are too strong and venomous for anything other than a dwarf. This is why men say that there are 'Gaians' or Earth spirits that lurk the dark halls of the earth's belly. For the moment a man descends to their realm, he is overcome by the stench and passes into fits of madness and swiftly comes to ruin. Thus the dwarves survived in great numbers in the Laurel mountains in central Illmaria, despite the violence of their new neighbors.

'But according to the histories of the elves, they had no need for war for all those five hundred years. And as they have left no record of their conquests, and as their opponents, lying dead under heaps of earth, were equally unwilling to write out their histories, we are left with no means to discount their records. Thus we have the Golden Age of Peace, as the elves call it. Peace indeed!

'In the third month of the five hundred and seventh year, a fleet of ships cast anchor in the land of Weldera. They were settlers from a land they called Olgrost, which lay across what is now called the Kollun Sea. They were simple folk, not violent or unpleasant, but not very advanced in wisdom either. They were permitted to dwell in what we now call Falsis, and thus began the dealings between elves and men. Soon other settlers followed until almost the entire northern peninsula, from the shores of the eastern sea to the depths of the Zyprion woods, was inhabited by humans.

'Whenever men of different origins, ideas and needs collide, war will follow. And the passions of the humans soon drew the elves into a great war. This was called the Foreign War, as it was fought on strange lands, which the elves had not yet seen. In the end, the Elves proved their might and subjugated all of Weldera and the whole northern region of Olgrost.

'Kolohi and Dalta departed from their ancient home in Illmaria and passed over the sea to Olgrost with their armies to force a truce. There they set up two kingdoms: The Kingom of Dalta in the west and the Verder Kingdom in the eastern forest, which lay on the eaves of the Veste Mountains. From there they ruled over every living creature, whether human, elf or dwarf.

'Ultimately, however, the Great Conjurer Xanthur appeared and brought war once more to both elf and man. Xanthur came to rule over Lapulia, the greatest of all human cities. At first, Xanthur seemed to be interested only in peace. But soon he came to understand that peace comes by power. So he began to seek power. But since power corrupts men so easily, he soon became corrupted. That is how the elves record it at least. But this is yet another of their fictions.

'The elves created the stories of their origins to give themselves a lofty advantage over mankind. And since humans cannot trace back their roots past their own parents with much certainty, the elves likewise created stories about the origins of men. According to the elves, humans were born of the earth, but the elves came from heaven, that is, from Bel Albor beyond the Frozen Sea. And for what reason would the elves be sent from heaven to earth but to rule over the brutish men and lead them into wisdom?

'Now having set themselves up as holy and heavenly, ordained to rule over mankind by virtue of their origins, the elves could not allow anything to contradict their fiction. So they created the story about Evil Lord Xanthur the Conjurer of Lapulia, who hungered for power and sought to slay the elves and burn their trees to the ground. They recorded it in their histories, that Xanthur slew the Elf Father Morta and consumed his heart, thus becoming immortal himself. Then he used his powers to bring all of Dominas under his authority. It was he, they claim, who created the goblins and their cousins the dwarves.

'But this is all a fiction. Invented to hide their own corruption. Xanthur didn't slay Morta. Xanthur WAS Morta. Tired of watching his brethren trod down the mortals as though they were worthless chattel, and tired of having his pleas on their behalves ignored in council, Morta departed from them, swearing off all allegiance. He went to Lapulia and the rule of that land was quickly surrendered to him. There in the great Tower of the Magi, Morta, that is, Xanthur, did many of the evil things of which he is accused. But they were only evil to his enemies, in the same fashion that the deeds of the other elves were evil to their foes. And the motives he was assigned by the other Elf Lords are as incredible as they are untrue. "It was to gain immortality for humans that he railed so hard against the elves," they say. Nay. It was for freedom to live what short lives they had without the shackles of the immortals that Xanthur fought.

'By the fifteen hundredth year after the coming of the Elf Fathers, Xanthur had become more powerful than any of his peers. This he concealed until all of his preparations were completed. On the tenth day of Ninus, in the fifteen hundred and twentieth year of this age, Xanthur unleashed his might against the Verdar Kingdom. He had seduced Lady Wellin, the wife of Kolohi to betray her husband, and thereby ripped the leadership of the kingdom in two. It fell fast and without warning, for Xanthur commanded not only the men of Lapulia, but also the many humans of Olgrost who were discontented and vengeful after being under the subjection of the elves for so many centuries. During the final battle, Kolohi and his two sons vanished, never to be heard from to this day. For some time it was believed that they lay hidden, awaiting the day of their revenge. But as time passed it seemed more likely to historians that they were slain in the battle. Dalia, the beautiful daughter of Dalta was captured and abused by Vantu, Xanthur' most cruel general. This act of barbarism drew upon him the ire of Thuruvis, an Elf Lord of Falruvis' house who was her beloved. He marched against Vantu with his brethren and drove him out of Verdar. Thuruvis made a pact with the dwarves of Zoor in those days and pinned Vantu's army between the Veste and the Zoor mountains. There Thuruvis shattered the golden blade of Vantu and took his revenge. Thus the Verdar Kingdom fell, leaving a vacuum of power in its absence. With the defeat of Vantu, Xanthur' arm in Olgrost was broken, if only for a season.

'The next strike was against the Malent. Upon his own kin Xanthur released the fell monster Galmod, whose origin is unknown. Galmod was longer than a ship, with many thousands of legs. At his mouth he had two piercing claw-like teeth, sharper than the finest elven blade. His skin was like armor, and upon him no weakness could be discovered. He slew every man and woman in Mortara, leaving only the children, who were so cleverly hidden by their parents in the deep places that even the great hunting beast could not discover them. This is the origin, according to the elves, of those legendary Kindent elves, who do not appear to be older than twelve years of age, though they may be older than some of the more venerable elves of other kinds. It was believed that the trauma of the ravages of Galmod had so affected them as to leave them incapable of growth. But whether the elves are right in this or not, I am not now concerned. The son of Morta escaped to the north, according to some legends, and made his way to Cebrost.

'It was in Mortara that Xanthur left his first scar on the Elvish world. He burned the Sacred Tree of the Malent elves to the ground, leaving nothing but it's charred stump. To this day the forest is black and evil in the area where the holy tree once stood.

'About forty years later, Xanthur began his invasion of Illmaria. But Lord Falruvis and his brother had not been idle. They built up the Twin-Kingdoms of Falsis and Solsis, one hidden in the strange valley south of Falsis and the other in the center of Falsis itself, where two great rivers join one another. This Fortress they named Dadron the Great. It was the culmination of nearly a thousand years of wisdom. It had five gates, which were so thick and mighty that the greatest battering ram would bend against them like a blade of grass. The walls were so high that in the lower part of the hill, the sun could scarcely reach the soil. The lowest section of the city was called 'Dusk-town' for it is almost always in shadow, save for a few hours in the afternoon. In the winter the residents of Dusk-town cannot see the sun at all. Dadron was prepared to be the last refuge of the elves against Xanthur.

'Their efforts were not in vain, for Xanthur attacked Luma next, and lay siege to the city for nearly forty years. But the elves held out against him, and in the end, with help from Lord Bralahi and the Verdent Elves of the south, the seige was broken and Xanthur was forced to withdraw for a time. The five sons of Lord Bralahi perished during that siege, and his dear queen passed away from grief upon hearing the news. Since that hour Lord Bralahi has not set foot beyond the border of the Malgier Mountains. But do not err, my Prince, in thinking that Bralahi is the stuff of history; there will come a day when men will either be brought under his power or lay his own mountain to waste. But they shall not do so by any craft they now possess.'

Lord Havoc paused here, as if deep in thought. His chest heaved as though he were overcome with great emotion. But this soon passed and he was able to continue his tale.

'After this, Xanthur turned his wrath suddenly against the Sacred Tree of the Argent, which lay between the mainland of Illmaria and the southern wastes of Amlaman. His wrath was fierce and unstoppable. With Galmod following close behind his army, Xanthur destroyed the Fortress of Holon and sent the great beast to devour the elves. All the wisdom and power of the Argent was set against him, but he tore the elven warriors to pieces. Xanthur set fire to the Argent tree, the smoke of which seemed to choke the whole continent of Illmaria.

But at Holon, the Argent hero Valaris wounded the fell beast Galmod, blinding him with his adamant spear. The beast writhed and bellowed for seven days, tearing down what remained of the Fortress of Holon before finally slithering away eastward and perishing, it is hoped, in the depths of the sea. Xanthur withdrew his army to the south and prepared for his next assault against the Elves.

'With the loss of Holon and the death of the Sacred Tree, the Argent Elves forsook Luma and fled to Dadron. They could hope for no further help from Bralahi, who had lost everything in the siege of Luma. He now spent his efforts shoring up his own defenses, and did not send any armies out to aid the Argent. Xanthur turned his attention at last to that mighty fortress Dadron toward which his whole host now marched.

'Xanthur's advance, however, was stayed by the army of King Joplis and his kinsman Vol, both of whom are your ancestors.

'In one final attempt, Xanthur summoned every ounce of his strength, and every foul creature that he commanded. He broke past the armies of Amlaman and passed through the Amla Gap, drawing every orc and goblin out of the hills to his side. It was said that in those days the whole western part of Falsis was covered by goblins and orcs and evil men, marching to tear the walls of Dadron from their foundation.

'But ere his armies reached the outer walls, the skies rent in half and the Aggelos descended, led by Daryas, the lord of all Aggelos. It was said that they burned every goblin to ashes and Daryas himself slew Xanthur with his flaming sword, casting his soul into the deepest pit of hell. When the Aggelos had finished their war they passed beyond the land of Weldera into the south and lighted upon the peak of the tallest mountain in Cromlanoc, a land of which little is known.

'Thus Dadron was spared, by the coming of the winged warriors of heaven, at just the hour they were in need. And how were they so spared? What assured the lying Argent elves of the favor of heaven? Nothing save for the power of the Naming Stone, which Lord Falruvis had carried over the ocean from the land of the gods. This is the source of the power of the elves, and it is that stone which saved them from Xanthur. And it was also for this stone that Xanthur waged his war. He was defeated only because Lord Falruvis had the courage to use it, if only in that final hour. He was able to summon to his side, an army of heaven's warriors.

'The siege of Dadron in those days is undisputed among historians, both among the elves and among human beings. And it is also undisputed that the armies of Xanthur did not so much as lay a finger on the walls of Dadron. How could so great a foe be defeated without leaving even a scar or a mark on the fortress? Only because it is true that the Aggelos came at that hour to rescue Dadron. And how could they come at just that hour? Only if they were called by Falruvis. So from the indisputable history of the Arbori Wars, we draw the indisputable existence of the Naming Stone of Bel Albor.

Volthamir barely blinked for the entire length of Lord Havoc's speech. But when he paused at last, Volthamir stood up and walked around the room, shaking his head.

'This is no history that I have ever heard, Lord Havoc. I would ask you for proof, but I neither doubt you nor do I desire to spend any more time with long explanations. By your account the elves were not man's benefactors, but rather his taskmasters. You truly see things upside down, Lord Havoc. But when historians make their tales stand up on end, upside down may be where the truth lies hidden. But what on earth could be the purpose of all of this talk of Naming Stones and Elven powers?'

Lord Havoc smiled and sat down in his seat.

[Chapter VIII:  
Power and Desire](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Power

'We have already spoken at length about power,' Lord Havoc continued. 'Most men live their entire lives in secret pining. They do not have what they love, the hate what they have. They want their neighbor's wife, they want their master's wealth or their swine's contentment. In everything they set their hands to do they find themselves unhappy. What is man but a bundle of desires? And what are those desires but unfulfilled?

'Every man is born with the power to take what he wants from anybody he wishes to take it from. But every man is also born with the power to prevent others from taking from them. The result is justice, as I have already described it to you. Justice is nothing more than a compromise between what we want to take and what we don't want to lose. We bow our heads to the property of others so that they will bow their heads to ours. We walk away from our neighbor's property in safety; but we do not walk away contented. Nothing has been done by Justice to gain us the objects of our wishes. We have preserved our lives, but we have not lived them.

'It is without a doubt that all men desire to do injustice. And by nature all men MUST do injustice to survive. We take from animals when we eat and the animals take from the grass and the trees. Where there is life, there is injustice. This is the law of nature: consumption, destruction, selfishness. And if Nature has so designed us, what need have we of justice? The animals have no such notion. Man has been endowed with a more powerful imagination, and that might very well explain his difference in this area. In the end, man comes to believe in Justice, forgetting that it was he that invented it.

'I would have us return to our infancy and remember what we were designed by nature to do. To want; to take. If you do not do these things, then you are not human. You are as imaginary as your virtues.

'What of the rest of mankind? If they are content to live their lives bound by their own lies, then so be it. It is all the better for us. Let them be like the Noble wolves of Heyan who mind their own domain, and we will be like the Fell Black wolves who took both portions for themselves. The former will pass away like a dream in the night, while the latter will reign over the bones of his enemies.

'So why do I speak of the Naming Stone? And of Elven Powers? You are wise enough to know that if mankind is united in any task, they will accomplish it without fail, however difficult it might seem. And it would be no difficult task for an army of men to overcome a single man. Were we to march out this day and do exactly as we please, we would find ourselves surrounded by more enemies than we could imagine. If I take this woman here, and this chest of golden coins there, my enjoyment would be over quicker than I could comprehend. That is why men labor for so many long years. They hope to maintain the compromise of justice and somehow rise above it to enjoy the fruits of their hard work without danger. But more often than not they will die before they ever attain that security. And for many people such security is as fleeting as the rewards of a hunted brigand. To what purpose is it to live either way?

'If we want to do as we please, we must be stronger than those that would stop us. And if they combine to be a company of men, we must be stronger than that company. But it will soon happen that they will form such an invincible beast of men that there will be no escaping their wrath. Men do justice because they fear the Beast's wrath, not because they are just. We must, therefore, become more powerful than the Beast itself.'

Volthamir whispered, 'Hence the Naming Stone,' he put his hand on his chin and began to think. He suddenly looked up at Lord Havoc and asked, 'Why didn't Lord Falruvis save himself?'

'What do you mean?' Lord Havoc asked with a grin.

'You said that he used the Naming Stone to summon the Aggelos to bring an end to the Arbori Wars. But why didn't he use it when he was besieged for the last time? There is no one so steadfast that they would ignore so great a power when they were in such a state of peril.'

'Falruvis was wise enough not to entrust the Naming Stone solely to his own authority,' Lord Havoc said soberly. 'He designed an elaborate set of safeguards that would prevent any single hand from laying hold on it, or so he thought. If all of his deputies were not in accord, he could not put his hand on the stone to use its power.'

'But why would they not help him when they saw the walls of Dadron breeched? Surely there is no better time to make use of such a secret.'

Lord Havoc grinned, 'Let us just say that not all of his deputies were in accord.'

'Then he was betrayed,' Volthamir said with a nod. 'That is certainly not written in the histories.'

'There is much that is not,' Lord Havoc affirmed.

'So you desire the power of the Naming Stone? Am I correct?' Volthamir said, turning his attention from history to the present.

'Indeed, and the strength of Dadron as well.' Lord Havoc stood up tall and spoke very clearly. 'If a man possessed at once the Fortress of Dadron and the power of that stone, he would be strong enough to finally have what he desires, without fear of the injustice of others. He would therefore have no more need of justice. He could then pit his own strength against the strength of every other man. The unjust man, or I should rather say the Natural Man, would finally triumph against that imaginary man; against the beast that forms when many rally together to fight for justice. Such a man would be a god.'

'But how does a man come to possess both of these? The impenetrable fortress of Dadron in the one hand and the mythical Naming Stone in the other. Lord Havoc, I'm afraid that your plan is as imaginary as the Justice you decry,' Volthamir said with a laugh. Lord Havoc grinned and waited for him to finish. 'Suppose you gained these two things, what then? Surely you do not mean to hold fast in Dadron by yourself. That would be as ridiculous as it would be miserable. Can the Naming Stone really be so powerful as to make you invulnerable to all assault?'

'Laugh if you must, my prince,' Lord Havoc said. 'I have now told you what it is that I desire. And whether it is with your help or not I will take it or perish in the attempt. But I am not overly concerned with your approval. I have worked far longer than you realize to attain my purpose, and it does not hinge upon your opinions. You can accompany me upon my path, but if you will not, I will still walk it. Can the Naming Stone make me invulnerable? Perhaps. But even if it cannot, what power is gained thereby would contribute to my happiness proportionately. But in the least I would have made an effort and reached out my hands toward the goal, not shirking back and turning away from the only things I desire in life. Again, what is life if not desire? And if I deny that desire, do I not commit suicide more truly than a man who cuts his own throat? For such a man kills the body, but the man that turns from his desire, kills his own soul. I know what I desire. But I must ask you again, my prince, what is it that you desire?'

With that question the prince fell silent.

'I will tell you something, my prince,' Lord Havoc said with a gleam of wisdom in his eyes. 'You hesitate not because you would not take what you want; you hesitate because as of yet there is nothing that you desire. At least, there is nothing that you desire more than your own skin. Let us lay aside our plotting for the time being. I will put everything into your hands. And when you discover just what it is that you desire, then I will bend all my will towards its fulfillment.'

'Very well, Lord Havoc,' Volthamir said as he rose from his seat. 'But for now, all that I desire is a good hot meal and some time to think. But for these things the Prince of Amlaman needs not any Elven magic.'

The Whole Land on Edge

In those days the whole land of Amlaman was teetering on chaos. While there were many reasons for this, I will limit myself to only the most important.

First of all, King Vulcan thos Ramlos, now Vulcan thos Amlaman, was an usurper. Despite his wisdom and devotion, and despite his great efforts, he could never escape the consequences of his first regal act.

Every usurper carries in his own fist the seeds of his own destruction. For when the legitimate ruler of a nation is overthrown, and another put in his place, it can only be by a certain moral acquiescence. All society would fall and all civilization would crumble overnight if it were considered moral to overthrow the legitimate ruler of a land. But this is precisely what occurs when the regal power is usurped by another man. In order to prevent the decline and destruction of all civilization, men must find it in their hearts and minds to excuse their new master by explaining away his rebellion as an act of saving justice.

So the usual reverence for the regal power is set aside when men want to justify the actions of their new master, whether they justify it out of love or out of fear. They deny regal power to their former master, yet pretend to uphold it for their new. But in justifying the current rebellion, they justify all future rebellions. If it is right for King Vulcan to slay King Voltan, then it is in turn, right for whomever will, to slay King Vulcan. Whether King Vulcan is a wicked king or not is really quite irrelevant in this regard, all that matters is that there be some within his kingdom that believe it to be so. Because if it is true that it is good to overthrow a wicked man, it will make no difference whether the rebels are right or not, all that is required on their part is the mere belief that their ruler is evil. To expect anything different would be to expect men to act in opposition to their consciences, which is absurd. By his very ascension, King Vulcan sanctions rebellion, and thereby sanctions rebellion against himself. Such was the reasoning of the enemies that rose up against the King of Amlaman in those days.

No king can avoid falling under the approbation of some portion of their subjects. And since that is the case, no king could avoid the second step in this act of reasoning. Kings would be wiser to remove the principle on which the reasoning rests, and demonstrate to their people that such an act of rebellion is no man's duty. They should teach their people to believe that it is a man's duty to serve their protectors, no matter their own sentiments.

But since kingdoms very seldom arise without injustice, usurpers must always resort to sophistical deceptions to justify their own grab at power. Once their rebellion is allowed, however, future rebellions become inevitable. So long as there are malcontented citizens, there will be rebellions. And this is at least part of the reason that no nation and no single government or line of kings endures forever among men. For to gain the power in the first place, men condone the actions of those who would gain that same power from them in turn.

I have already said that it had become a doctrine in Amlaman that a wicked king could, without justice, be slain and replaced. And this doctrine was originally devised to cast King Vulcan as a savior and hero. But as time wore on, his popularity faded and he too fell under the hatred and resentment of some. And as a result of his own doctrine, he therefore fell under their condemnation.

The men of the western marches of Amlaman were the most discontented. They had been sorely treated at the ascension of King Vulcan to the throne of Amlaman. More than thirty of old King Voltan's illegitimate sons and daughters yet lived in the far away reaches of the kingdom. But all that they had was stripped from them when King Vulcan took away their generous pensions.

Generally speaking, the western frontiers of Amlaman were never really contented with their ruler in the first place, whether it be Voltan or Vulcan or anyone else for that matter. For a long while they lived under their own authority and by their own means. But several centuries ago they were reconquered by Amlaman and put back under the yoke of Japhrian. Now they answered to the laws of a far away palace, and each year sent caravans filled with tribute far away from their workshops and farms to be enjoyed by men they had never known.

They knew nothing of Agonistes.

This was perhaps the most prominent concern of theirs. For they were now required to send to Sten-Agoni, the most beautiful maiden of every territory to serve in the Temple, should High Priest Achil so desire. This they did begrudgingly, acknowledging the authority that the King of Amlaman possessed, but despising him all the more.

Upon this malcontented land the spirits of chaos descended. Sent by Lord Gheshtik, the petty devils of Amlaman and Ramlos ran about the whole western territory, inciting hard speeches here, and muffled threats there. They led men into dark corners to vent their anger against King Vulcan and his priests. They led women into their cellars and their closets to whisper their secret rebellions to one another. Through the whole land, invisible spirits spread rumors about the King and his court. In turn those rumors spread anger, and that in turn gave birth to rebellion. But by the command of Gheshtik, no deed was done in open sight. All the anger was sown and concealed safely within the breasts of the western peoples.

The secret sons and daughters of Voltan rose to prominence in those days. Their half-claim to the Amlaman throne inspired secret ambitions in the hearts of the proud and bold. Plans were made by the powerful and the whole people moved in unison toward war, though no one so much as spoke the word. It was like a dam that is ready to burst, there is naught but a trickle of water here and the quiet creaking of wood there. No one suspects that in an instant the water might burst forth and splinter every brace and wash away the structure in a flash of foaming water.

Such was the state of affairs in the west, in the latter days of King Vulcan's reign.

The second cause of Amlaman's weakened position was the discontent among the people of Ramlos, where King Vulcan had ruled in his younger days. Though he had ruled them well in the past, it had now been many years since he had any direct dealings with them. Lord Kellin, one of King Vulcan's chief advisors and companions, had been put in charge of administering the government in all the lands north of the Temple Mountain. But the people were not content, and they looked rather to Lord Havoc for their protection. Lately they were much enamored of Prince Volthamir, who had brought fresh vigor to their struggle against the goblins of the Daunrys. They did not resent King Vulcan as much as the people in the frontiers did, but they were every day growing more pleased with the Prince's heroic leadership and less pleased by the King's disinterest. Were things to come to a point, they would certainly find that their sentiments belonged to the Prince.

The prudent in Japhrian were soon aware that the hearts of the northern realm were in the Prince's hands. The King could do little more than pull at his hair and curse his foolishness, 'If only I hadn't put my trust in that confounded Lord Havoc. It was his idea to give the boy the Cup of Trial. All this falls on his old head. And now my own homeland prefers the son of the old tyrant to their rightful lord and master!'

Now pressed by fear, King Vulcan summoned the Prince to Japhrian for a council. It was his intention to draw from the Prince some token of loyalty, by which he might know without doubt that he had nothing to fear from him. He would tell him all his plans for his succession and all the powers and privileges that would pass from him to the Prince upon his passing. He hoped that by promising the prince everything, he might hold on to it for just that much longer.

This is what brought Prince Volthamir to Japhrian palace on the evening of the fifteenth day of Leonius in his twenty eighth year. This was the last time he ever came to the palace at his uncle's by invitation.

Tour of Japhrian

King Vulcan was in a cheery mood when he saw his nephew arrive. Partly in hope and partly inebriated, the King rushed to his heir's side and led him in to the council hall of Japhrian.

'My son,' he said with a forced smile, 'it is truly good to see you. You have done much for Amlaman in the north. Yes, we have heard of your mighty deeds against the goblins of the Daunrys. Indeed, there are few now who do not know your name.'

The King spoke rapidly and nervously as they came to their places at the council table. Lord Vars was seated there among several other important men.

'Prince Volthamir!' Vars said softly, now seeming quite old to Volthamir's eyes. 'I am glad to see that you are well. I can remember well when you studied the arts of combat under my tuteledge. And look at you now! So strong and mighty. A god among the men of Amlaman you seem. I am honored to have instructed one so strong in the arts of war.'

Volthamir sat down gently and looked the old man in the eyes. The Prince's face showed no emotion as he said, 'What I learnt from you, Lord Havoc perfected. And what I learnt from Lord Havoc, you yourself have never learned.'

Lord Vars sat straight in his chair with a look of amazement. 'I see time has done nothing to dull your tongue,' he shrugged his shoulders and laughed. 'I suppose I shouldn't expect anything different from you. Where is the old knight anyway? I would have expected to see him at such a gathering.'

'Lord Havoc is in Heyan, keeping watch over the eastern plains. But I do not think he would have come, even if he were bidden.'

The King grew more and more nervous as the night wore on. They spoke about the war against Legion and the Prince's many successes. Lord Vars listened with envy to the Prince's account of the battle he and Lord Havoc fought on the field of Golbfein. He felt belittled and unappreciated, and not a little scorned. 'What would he be without the elements of war, which he learned from me,' Vars thought to himself as he listened to the prince's tales. 'Lord Havoc would have left Japhrian with a spoiled little girl if it were not for my hard training.'

After they had supped, King Vulcan led the prince on a tour, as it were, of Japhrian. He took him round to each section of the palace and showed him all of the curious things and explained to him the purpose of each section as though he had never been to the royal house before. He almost seemed like a man who was trying to sell an estate to a very wealthy person and wishes to ensure that they fully appreciate every detail.

He led him first from the dining hall into the throne room. Here he pointed out how wide each pillar was and how strong was the workmanship thereof. He showed him how every piece of wood and every stone had been cut and polished to perfection. The marble from the throne was as smooth as glass and it was edged with gold. The cushion, though well worn, was a deep purple, the sort of which is very rare in the northern part of the world.

He showed him the carpet and how it was meticulously maintained so that despite its daily trampling it looked no worse for it. He sat him down in his throne and stood at his side, gesturing toward the tall wooden doors that stood due east from the throne.

'When you are king, my son, all the people of Amlaman and Ramlos will come through those ancient doors to worship you. And you will sit where you sit now and rule over them in wisdom and strength. I do not doubt that you will reign long, for you are strong and wise, and the people of the north love you. But come, I will show you more.'

Vulcan now led him to the center of the throne room and showed him the northern and southern doors. 'To the north lies the dining hall, the finest in all Weldera. To the south are the bathhouses. Come, we have improved them much since you were a child.'

With that he swung open the doors to the southern wing of the palace. They walked through long halls tiled with a smooth white stone. They came at length to a large pool, built out of large white stones. The ceiling was very high in this room, with a window looking up to the stars. 'No finer bath will be found in this whole world I don't suppose,' the king said proudly. 'The water flows into the pool from a small stream that springs from the hills to the north. And there is a furnace below the pool that keeps the water as warm as you please.'

Volthamir seemed unmoved. Vulcan continued in a nervous voice, 'You will find, my son, that the one big difference between the great and the base are the quality of their bath houses. Go into the wilderness, and see what sort of bath houses they have there. Or travel to the Devil-woods on the other side of the Daunrys, you will find no clean baths there. Peasants, it is well known, will sometimes go their entire lives without bathing once, not in the proper sense of the word.'

Vulcan could see that he had not yet impressed the hardened prince. So he next took him to the bedchambers and showed him how many rooms there were and how many servants were kept in the palace. He showed him also where all the food was kept, and how they had so many pounds of sugar. 'More sugar than all the kings of old combined!' he boasted.

Finally he led Volthamir down into the dungeons of the palace. Past many guardrooms they came to the vault of Japhrian. 'My son, when you are king, the treasury of Amlaman will be placed into your stewardship. May the great god guide you in your judgments, even as he has guided me. This is the vault of Amlaman,' the king swung open the heavy iron door and stepped inside. Volthamir entered after him with a look of frustration on his face. There he saw mounds of precious things, carefully stacked one on top of another. There were more chests than he could count, all carefully organized and stacked along the wall. There were ancient heirlooms and finely crafted golden weapons. 'Better for show than for combat,' the king laughed. Only a fool would fight with so fragile a blade.'

All along the walls were hung golden shields and crimson tapestries of exceedingly fine workmanship. 'All of this, I tell you, will be yours someday,' King Vulcan said. He looked into Volthamir's eyes and studied the young man. 'You are the pride of all Amlaman, my son.'

Volthamir was silent. There was an empty look in his eyes as one who is bored or whose thoughts are far away.

'What is it, my son?' Vulcan said in a weak voice, desperately wishing for some response. 'I have shown you all that I have. And further I have promised you that it will all pass to you. It will be yours and your sons after you. It will be as it ought to have been.' The king cupped his hand over his mouth as he said this last thing. The prince stirred finally and then shook his head.

'I do not want any of this,' he said in a toneless voice. He turned his back to the vault and started back toward the stairs. Vulcan rushed after him, now the effects of his fear took complete hold of him.

'What is it that you desire? Name it my son. Simply name it and it shall be thine. On my word as king, you shall have it. Whatever it may be that you desire.'

Volthamir ascended the stairs and disappeared from the halls of Japhrian.

Missed

Princess Leonara burst from her bed chamber, flinging the heavy doors aside with all her might. Her maid followed after her frantically. 'My lady!' the confounded girl shrieked, 'you must calm yourself.'

Leonara slammed the door behind her and bolted it shut. Her maid called and pounded in vain. The guards watched her closely as she rushed down the hall toward her mother's chamber. Her face was flushed red with anger and every muscle in her body was tensed. She came to her mother's door and pounded loudly on it with both fists. The guards rolled their eyes in her direction, but they did not stop her. They had learned not to come between the Queen and her daughter when they were at odds. Leonara pounded again and again until finally her mother came to the door and pulled her quickly inside.

'Do not make a spectacle, you brutish girl!' Queen Marel said in a hissed whisper. 'You will make us both the laughing stock of the palace.'

'We are that already, dear mother,' Leonara said with venom in her voice. 'I don't doubt but that every pauper in the southern kingdom knows how terrible we are.'

'Is that what you came to my door in such a rage for? To taunt your sad mother further?'

'You didn't tell me he was here!' Leonara screamed at her mother with a seemingly unquenchable anger.

'Tell you who was here? The prince? My dear daughter, since when does the queen report to the princess? Your father called the prince here for his own ends, not so you could dote upon him like he were a suitor. Now be gone with you, and do not trouble me any further with your whimsical complaints!'

With that the Queen grabbed Leonara's arm and pushed her away. Leonara fell to her feet and begged her, 'Mother!' she cried, 'I only wish to see him, to hear my brother's voice. Why but for cruelty would you not tell me that he had come? And now, look below. The dining hall is empty and dark; the floors are scrubbed and dried and the servants have gone to bed. Where is the prince? He has left the palace already. All I wish is to see him. He is the only person that is never cross with me. I have no companionship in my parents, the one who serves a Temple he hates and the other who mocks the Temple she loves.'

With those words the Queen rose to her full height and slapped her daughter across the face with the back of her ringed hand. Leonara fell to the ground holding her cheek with her hand. She lay there for a moment rubbing her sore cheek, but as she regained herself her heart was filled with rage. She stood up with the swiftness of a bolt of thunder and walked quickly toward her mother.

Queen Marel froze at the sight of her. For the first time she now realized that her daughter was quite grown, now her equal in stature. But Leonara did not assault her mother, though the guards who had hitherto remained aloof had now closed in behind her. Instead she fell once more to her mother's feet and wept, taking hold of the bottom of her dress.

The Queen looked down on her with disdain and brushed her away from the bottom of her dress. 'Be gone from me, daughter. You have no sense; and I do not have the time nor the strength to correct you.'

Sudden Resolve

It was about midnight when Volthamir departed from the palace. It was a cool night; the spring hadn't quite conquered the cold of winter as of yet. There was a gentle wind in the air that swept Volthamir's long dark hair into his face as he mounted his horse. He left the stable and followed the road along the outer wall of the palace. This brought him at last to the eastern side of Japhrian.

High in the sky the Storm Moon rose above Amlaman, shining a pale light on all its inhabitants. Volthamir's mind wandered into the past. He was passing below his father's old bedchamber. It had now been over twenty years since the dread night on which his father was slain. It was a different moon that reigned that day. It was the Harvest Moon that lorded it over the night every fifteenth day of Messest.

He paused for a moment beneath his old window and listened closely. For some reason he half expected to hear the sound of his own childish whimpers, or perhaps the stupid chuckle of fat King Voltan, his father. Maybe he expected to hear the screams of his rightly jealous mother as she hurled fine porcelain at her husband as was her custom in those days.

But none of those seemingly ancient sounds came down to his ears. He shook his head, and returning to the present he prepared to leave. But just as he started the wind died down and a soft and gentle voice could be heard from the balcony above him. He stood still for a while and listened to the strange words.

Through deepest night and shadow black,

Through gale and storm and thunder crack,

Through hidden vale and den and dale,

I sought you on your secret trail,

Though hidden from my searching sight.

Though you carry neither lamp nor light,

Though years go by and ages pass,

I seek you through my looking glass,

When all life ends and turns to dust,

When mountains fall and castles rust,

When Sun and Moon their orbits shed

I will seek you out among the dead.

The song was beautiful, but the words chilled his heart. As he watched now he could see the singer, seated on a stool looking out over the balcony.

Much to his surprise, it was Princess Leonara, in a white gown with her long golden hair waving about in the gentle midnight breeze. The Storm Moon illuminated her, making her appear to Volthamir like a radiant goddess. 'A Moon Goddess,' he whispered to himself.

He stood motionless for just a moment, but despite his outward stance his mind rushed through a thousand thoughts in that brief instant. Suddenly, as though he fled from some dread terror or danger, he reared his horse about and rushed back to the palace. He had fully made up his mind.

Madness

It was well past midnight when King Vulcan and his wife finally spoke. The Queen had a great deal of anger still burning within her bosom as she complained. She was angry about her daughter's impulsive intrusion on her chambers. She was angry about Leonara's tone of voice, her lack of respect; her disdain of custom and her lack of honor.

All these things enraged the king, and he set himself about considering his duties. He could not allow the Queen of Amlaman to be thus dishonored. Nor could he allow his only daughter to grow up undisciplined (It had not occurred to him that she was in fact already grown up and undisciplined). He retired to his own bed chambers and drank deeply from a half filled vial of liquor. Suddenly he felt himself calm down. His frustration left him and he thought about what he needed to do with what seemed to him to be a clear mind.

In a moment of resolve, he rose and stormed out of his chamber, rushed over to Leonara's room and pounded on the door. 'It is time for things to be made right in Japhrian,' he said to himself.

But from within he could hear what seemed to him to be the sounds of war.

Leonara and her mother were in the midst of an argument such as Vulcan had never imagined could take place save for within the fiery pit of Abban-Don. There was the sound of breaking glass, screams and cries, blasphemes and curses, all strung together like so many pearls on a necklace.

He opened the door and marched in, holding his hand in the air, signifying that the king was about to speak. His servants dropped to their knees and bowed their heads, but the Princess and the Queen ignored him. In a drunken rage, he shook his head and leaped into the fray with his own shouts, curses and petty insults.

Now in the midst of the conflict, the King quickly remembered that it was his wife whom he feared most out of the two women. He left off being their drunken arbiter and became the drunken advocate of his wife.

Leonara, now trapped between the anger of her father and the indignant and pitiless sneers of her mother unleashed her most vicious insults against them, saying things which a peasant might be sentenced to death for saying.

But before aught else could transpire, a servant called to them from the doorway, 'Prince Volthamir has returned, my lord. He demands the presence of the King and Queen.' There was a look of absolute shock on the servant's pale face as he beheld the scene before him. 'He asks also for the Princess to be present.'

King Vulcan was sober in an instant.

Desire

Arm in arm, as though they were newlywed, King Vulcan thos Amlaman and Queen Marel thasa Amlaman descended the stairs and entered the main hall of Japhrian palace. Leonara followed quickly behind them. By the time the three entered the main hall it seemed as though they were a perfectly harmonious family. The house of Vulcan had, by this time, mastered the art of pretense, and the Princess smiled at her parents and looked them in the eyes as though none of the things that had just occurred had affected her in the least. As much as she hated them, it was apparent that she had learned well from them. Knowing this she hated herself with all the more violence.

The three of them exerted their full theatrical skill when the prince was finally presented to them. For Leonara's part, she did so not so much for her parents' sake but for the opportunity to see her brother. And seeing him, she felt, was worth the effort.

Volthamir was let in through the main doors on the eastern side of the throne room. There were only a few torches lit, so his form was dark and featureless as he approached. He did not bow or kneel or in any other way show the king the proper respect. He simply walked straight up to them and said boldly, 'King Vulcan thos Amlaman, you have long been the guardian of Ramlos and Amlaman as well as lord of all the western frontiers, from the frozen sea to the dark jungle of the west. Titalo fears you, Dadron fears you. You have everything under your power.

'But much that you have is rightfully mine. From my hands you have taken the greater half of your Dual Crown. All of Amlaman is mine by right, you have no just claim upon it.

'You called me here to show me your dainties and your comforts. With treasures and riches you wish to court my loyalty. But what need have I of gold and silver and ancient prizes? And what right have you to bribe me with that which is mine by right?'

Here Volthamir paused, waiting for nearly a minute for King Vulcan to murmur a response. He had learned his master's art and asked no question for rhetoric's sake. But all that Vulcan could get out was a quiet, 'It is not the reason- it is not why I summoned you.' But his voice was too frail for anyone instill much confidence in his sincerity.

Volthamir continued, 'I despise your treasures, I did not want them when they were my father's and I do not want them now. What I want from you, Uncle, is the fulfillment of your pledge. In a drunken stupor I imagine it must have been, you promised me 'whatever it may be' that I desire. And now here I am; I have returned to demand it. Give me the hand of Princess Leonara, for that I desire more than any rusted heirloom of Japhrian.'

King Vulcan turned as white as a ghost. He said nothing but just sat there on his throne with his chin wagging up and down. Queen Marel's cold eyes met the eyes of the prince. 'Ingrate,' she said without emotion, 'Some believed that it was unwise for the King to spare the son of his enemy. Some even had it in their minds to slay you even after your uncle had decided that you must live. But your uncle would not have it. It was sufficient for him to put an end to your tyrant father's reign of folly and free the people of Amlaman from his pompous yoke, he had no need to spill innocent blood. Innocent blood indeed! Here you stand, showing him no courtesy, though he has shown you so much more all these years. Ingrate! He has been a father to you.'

A small and cruel grin came across the face of Volthamir. 'My queen,' he began, 'do not think that I have come here solely on account of my deceased parent. I have not come here tonight for revenge, though by your own doctrines it should be mine. King Vulcan is not my father, not in any sense of the word. He was not my father the night he spared me. I would have poked him with a dagger if Lord Havoc had not stopped me. It was he that spared me from the poisonous draught in your superstitious Cup of Trial, when I stood before your dead god and all the fools of Amlaman as a spectacle. If any man has a right to the title of father, it would be he.

'And you, my Queen, if you had been woman enough to bear your master a son, do you have any doubts about what would happen to the heir of the overthrown tyrant? You would have been the first citizen of Amlaman to call for my head. And I do not doubt whose feminine voice would have whispered the orders in the dark. For this I suppose I have mere chance to thank; and accordingly I declare pure Chance to be my father; more of a father than this old devil.'

'How dare you speak so boldly to the king!' the queen shouted, finally allowing her fear to give place to rage. 'Guards!' she called with a shriek.

The guards came rushing from behind the tall pillars on either side of the throne room. There were six altogether approaching the prince, each armed with a long spear and shielded by plate armor.

Through all of this Princess Leonara remained silent. In her heart and in her mind, hope and fear vied for the mastery, but neither came to rise above the other. She was absolutely at a loss as to what to make of this strange meeting. She could find no words to say.

'Is this the usual reward for the guardians of Amlaman?' Volthamir laughed, 'To be treated like an assassin? If I wanted to plant a dagger in your back, my king, do you think the Fell Wolf of Ramlos would come through the front gate, announced and unarmed? And you,' the prince said, now turning toward the approaching guards, 'stop this nonsense at once.'

Perhaps because of the shear strength of will that seemed to shine from Volthamir's eyes as he spoke, the guards lowered their spears and backed away. The Prince resumed his speech, 'I bowed my head low to you, to save my own skin from the same cold iron that cut my father's belly open. I have grown up in my own house as a stranger and I have been hated secretly by knights, queens and politicians who envied my birthright. I have humiliated myself in your cursed Temple, before your ash heap of a god. I have gone into exile in the north, to the kingdom that you forsook when you came to take away mine. And in Ramlos I have become a hero; taking all the glory and love away from Japhrian. But this was all the result of my labors, which were ten times greater than any other man's.

'Your own kingdom is kept safe from goblins and orcs by the sweat of my own brow. The incursion of Golbfein was stayed by my blade, and the power of Legion was broken in Ramlos by the stomping of my horse's hooves. From all of this peril, labor and humiliation I have returned to be shown all the treasures that you stole from me. And I am promised that someday they will legitimately pass to me. But I despised them. But then, as if you saw your death in my eyes you swore to me an oath. Your words were thus: "What is it that you desire? Name it my son. Simply name it and it shall be thine. On my word as king, you shall have it. Whatever it may be that you desire."

'Therefore I call you to account, my king,' Volthamir thundered, his voice almost sounding like his old master. 'Give me what I desire. Give me Leonara.'

The Queen rose from her seat in wrath. It almost seemed as though she was going to charge the prince and try to kill him right in that instant. But she felt a warm touch on the back of her hand.

King Vulcan rose from his seat and spoke softly, no sign of the liquor to be heard in his words. He said, 'You have toiled much, my son, and there is no one in this land who deserves more honor and praise than you. And you are right that I swore to give you any reward you would ask for. But this thing is more than I can bear to give to you. Forgive me, my son,' Vulcan quivered, 'I cannot give you such a thing. It is forbidden for a prince of Amlaman to marry his own sister.'

'Leonara is not my sister,' Volthamir said coldly, not allowing his uncle to dodge his demand with so equivocal an objection. Tears welled up in Leonara's eyes as she heard those words. It had not yet fully occurred to her until that moment that the prince's opinion of her was quite different from the affection she bore toward him. The words, 'not my sister,' seemed to ring in her ears again and again, until she cupped her hands over her head, hoping thereby to drive the sad thought from her mind. The thought occurred to her that the prince had come at last not to be her savior, but to be her conqueror.

'But this gift is more precious to me than any other thing. More precious than the kingdom itself.' A vague idea began to form in King Vulcan's mind, giving him a sudden burst of confidence, 'The price of such a thing is more than any king can give away.'

For nearly a full minute they all stayed perfectly still. The guards stood nearby with their spears pointed once more toward the prince, the Queen slowly lowered herself into her chair while the King stood like a statue, his gaze trying to pierce the eyes of the prince. 'Then name your price, my lord,' Volthamir said with a cold grin. 'If I have not, by all my sweat and blood, won from the king the promised reward, then let me know at least what is lacking. What further task must I fulfill?'

Vulcan paused for a long time and thought to himself in silence. Finally a gleam of light seemed to catch his eyes from one of the torches. He lifted his head and smiled wide like a man who suddenly comes upon some object of great worth that they had long ago misplaced. King Vulcan thundered, 'Bring me the head of Legion!'

[Chapter IX:  
Legion's Head](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Silence in Japhrian Palace

Without hesitation, Volthamir nodded his head and swore, 'It shall be done.' With those words he turned and walked out of the hall. Silence reigned over the whole palace that night. No one spoke; no one even whispered. They just went about their business (which mainly entailed preparations for sleep) without even mentioning what had transpired. King Vulcan pulled his robes off, donned his night clothes and dropped like a log into his bed, snoring almost in an instant. The Queen sat alone in the throne room for almost an hour, but exhaustion eventually took hold of her and she retired to her chambers.

Leonara slipped away as soon as Volthamir had left the hall and bolted her door behind her. She did not know at all how to feel. She was ecstatic in one instant and horrified in the next. It seemed that she would be saved from her parents after all, but she was not wholly sure that this is how she wished to be saved. Before she closed her eyes, however, she had resolved that whatever came of it, she would submit to anything if it would remove her from the conflicted and crumbling dominion of her parents.

But as it happened, she was taken from under her parents' immediate control the very next day. As I have already described, she was brought in a small carriage under the eyes of but a few guards out of Japhrian to the the Temple of Agonistes, there to live among the sacred virgins. None but the royal family, Achil and his priests, and the sacred virgins themselves were informed of this move. And when people asked, they were simply told that she had taken ill and was now recovering in some warmer region of Weldera.

Return To Nolhern

Volthamir made straight for Nolhern, stopping only once or twice to allow his horse some rest. He ate very little and spoke to no one. He expected to reach the northern fort of Nolhern by the end of the month of Leonius. On the third day from his departure from Japhrian it began to rain, but as he passed under the dark canopy of the Heyan forest, the drops grew more gentle and eventually ceased altogether as he made his way along the darker portions of the forest road.

He made good time through Heyan as well, and passed through Ferwur on the twenty-first day of the month. He stopped by old Hashias' broken down old home and left a bag of dried meat and cheese, as well as a generous quantity of gold coins. This he did in deference for his master, for whom he felt a peculiar appreciation at that moment. 'He may be no better than any of the rest of them,' Volthamir whispered to himself. 'But in the least, if he does things for his own sake he will not pretend that he is doing good for another.'

Volthamir left behind the dark shroud of Heyan on the twenty-fifth morning of Leonius. The rain still came down in heavy sheets, turning the road into a running stream of muddy water. The guards of Nolhern greeted him at the gate happily, 'Hail! The Fell Wolf returns!' He nodded to them as he passed, but he stopped to speak to no man. He rode into the center of the town and dismounted just outside the barrack where Lord Havoc had been living of late. He left his reigns in the hands of one of the servants and walked to the door, his face still dripping from the rain.

He pounded on the door seven times and waited. Finally, an old servant woman opened the door and let him in, muttering under her breath about the mud and the noise. Volthamir ignored her and walked straight into the building, with the mud splashing from his boots as he stepped.

'Lord Havoc,' he called, 'Your prince has returned. And I have for us a new task!'

The Plan

'At last,' Lord Havoc began upon hearing the prince's tale. 'This will be your most dangerous task yet. We have much to consider; and I have much to reveal. But first,' Lord Havoc sniffed, 'go have a bath. I cannot even think straight with all this mud on your face and the smell of three days of rain on your clothes!'

Volthamir obeyed and soon after he returned the two men closeted themselves away in a small room with a single candle burning in the center of a little wooden table. There were maps and scrolls scattered about the room, which they would on occasion hold up to the light of the tiny flame. For nearly two days they remained hidden in this room, only going out now and again to replenish their strength and take in some fresh air.

'Do you understand what it is we are going to do, then?' Lord Havoc asked him. 'And you understand that in this endeavor, there can be no failure, nor can I be at your side. No one can be at your side, in fact. What you must do, you must do alone.'

'I understand,' Volthamir said in a resolute voice. 'I do not like the thought, but it is the only way. It is the only way, at least, to accomplish ALL of our intentions. It is one thing to slay the Feral King, but quite another thing to do it for our own sakes.'

Their plan, as Lord Havoc explained it, was this:

'Seams have formed in Amla. There is a line between the men of Ramlos and their southern brethren in Amlaman. There is another line between the frontiers and the eastern lands. Each seam is ready to split, and the whole kingdom will then be shredded.

'But it will be our task to remove the old thread and fasten these lands together once more. This time with a true thread, sown in with skill. But many things must first come to pass. You have told me your desire. You want the girl; the Songbird of Japhrian as she is called, for her lovely and enchanting voice. But far from granting your request, your uncle has in effect sentenced you to a sure and painful death. For in all of history there have been very few men who have seen a Feral king with their own eyes and lived. And to my knowledge no mortal man has ever taken the head off of one. But the head of fell Legion shall be yours, of this I have little doubt.

'I will see to it that the anger of your half-brethren in the west breaks out and spreads rebellion throughout the frontier. In your absence I will return to Vulcan's side, the old fool probably still trusts me. And if not, he still fears me too much to disobey.

'To the west I will send Lord Vars and Lord Kellin, to kill your brothers and to be killed by them, if fortune smiles upon us. In this way the old guard of Amla will pass, and your half-rivals with them. Whatever remains in the west of your kin we will have to deal with at another time. But Lord Kellin and Lord Vars have enough strength left, I guess, to quell a petty and disorganized revolt.

'I needn't remind you of our goal: Desire, and the means thereto, which is Power. But we seek not the power to keep our own, nor do we desire power enough to merely gain what we want. We are after the power to preserve against all foes whatsoever objects we choose to take for ourselves. For this we will need the might of Dadron and the secret of their Naming Stone.

'For this reason you must not fail in your task. You must not only slay Legion. You must become Legion, that the rule of the goblins might legitimately pass to you. When the army of Legion is under our control we will turn them away from Heyan and Ramlos forever. For we have a more important use for them.

'The chief obstacle to taking Dadron is not its indubitable walls of stone, it is the support of the Woodsmen of the north. Those iron-boned men called the Norasians. The legacy of the hero Galvahir still stands guard in Falsis. The strength of his sons has daunted nearly every assailant that has tried to take the mighty fortress since the fall of the elves. And even in the day of its fall, it was the might of the Norasians alone that saved the city itself from complete destruction.

'We must break the arm of the son of Galvahir. But this we cannot do in open war; for though we might win the victory, the cost would be more than we could recoup. Only a ruse, such as I have long held in preparation, can beat these proud men of the woods into dust.

'But for this I must have command of the goblins. No army of men will be able to draw the sons of Galvahir from their log cabins and into a trap, for they are as clever as they are strong. But what we are going to do, they could never even imagine. When you have made yourself a hobgoblin, and taken control of the brutes of the Daunrys, you will bring them to me at Parodann. For there I am already preparing roads and caravans to bear the goblins over the mountains to fight against the Norasians. And I have received pledges from the jealous Chieftans of Norasia that if the sons of Galvahir fall, no man of that dark wood will march to Dadron's aid.

'And what of Daevaron in the east? They will surely march to the aid of their great citadel, will they not? Nay! They will have their own troubles, for I have not been idle, nor have I neglected to consider the eastern lands. Marin will take care of them for us.'

At those words Volthamir's eyes opened wide. 'Marin? Lord Havoc, you have done a great deal of preparation already! What else have you planned? And when, in the course of our mission will you disclose it? I cannot help but feel that my own part in your scheme involves never returning from the Daunrys; lying slain and despoiled in the snow while goblins feast on my carcass. You have been betraying this land for years already!'

'And if I have, then what of it? And you are right to be concerned for your own skin. After all, we are both wolves. Both of us are too well acquainted with the utility of deception to ever trust another man again, including and especially one another.

'Yes, I have made plans with Lady Marin in Olgrost. And she will bend her full might against Daevaron, and meet us at the great citadel. What she hopes to gain from this conspiracy, I cannot pretend to know. But her envy of the mighty fortress of the elves is ancient and unbreakable.'

'What of the island? What of Kollun? Are they not on friendly terms with Daevaron and Dadron?' Volthamir asked.

'There is no such thing as friendship among nations, my prince, nor perhaps among men. We have nothing to fear from the democracy of Kollun. It is the unique privilege of such nations that they can never act fast enough to make any difference, nor can they act with undivided strength. And even when they do act, it is only a matter of time before the whims of the people whirl them about in the other direction, thereby undoing what had previously been done. No, I do not fear anything from that tiny island.

'When the arm of Galvahir has been broken, then it will be time for you to strike. In that hour we will return to Japhrian together. Then we will tie up every loose end. When all is under the dominion of the son of Voltan, as it should have been from the beginning, then we will begin to coil ourselves for our final strike: Our assault on Dadron.'

Volthamir's task was not a pleasant one. He left Nolhern after two weeks and rode his horse east to the plains of Golbfein, where he and Lord Havoc had won so mighty a victory against Legion's army. There he dismounted and sent his horse back to Nolhern riderless. He marched alone into the hills. He stripped away his armor and buried his belongings near the roots of a mighty pine tree. He cut his long dark hair with the edge of a sharp dagger. He then picked up dirt from the ground and rubbed it on his face. He covered himself with dirt and mud until no clean patch of skin remained. He then shed his clothes and donned a rough deerskin tunic and tattered cloth pants. The only thing he carried with him was his sword, Screthidos, which Lord Havoc had given him after the battle of Golbfein. This he wrapped in leather and bound with twine, slinging it over his back.

When all these strange preparations were done he took one last look at the peaceful fields of Ramlos and then darted off into the wilderness. He disappeared from Ramlos for nearly two years.

Arus and Legion

Arus the crow knew precisely where to find the Feral King. He took to wing the same day that Volthamir left and flew all the way to the secret vale where the goblins lived in their caves and pits. He lighted on a branch near the foul lord's head and tapped his beak against the wood. The goblins ignored him, believing him to be just an ordinary bird.

But Legion noticed him at once.

Legion was tall for a goblin, even for a hobgoblin. He stood as tall as any average man, with broad shoulders and thick muscles. On his back was tied a broad sword with many notches in it. His hair was like thick brown wool, but splattered here and there with darkened streaks. It was clumped together into thick bunches, almost like curls, but wild and unruly. His eyes were gray and wild, never seeming to fix themselves on any one thing.

'Hail, king of orcs!' Arus said in a schrill voice. 'I see that you are yet strong and healthy.'

'Who speaks to us so boldly?' the Feral King demanded, 'There are few now who dare come within a hundred leagues of us.'

'Us?' Arus croaked, 'Do you speak for the goblins, or are there more than one of you within that pitiful creature?'

'There are quite a number of us,' Legion responded, his eyes still unmoving. 'We have found rest within this vessel, and warmth. Ah warmth! We had nearly forgotten it. We have wandered through many frozen and barren lands to find this place.'

'I see. Then Lord Havoc was wise in naming you. For he has called you Legion, which is to say, "many". Isn't it strange that he should know you better than I, who can go anywhere I please at perfect liberty? But that is not why I have come. Tell me, master goblin, have you truly found this goblin's breast to be a satisfactory habitation?' Arus laughed.

'Here we are enveloped in a flood of hot red blood, we are fed daily with mutton or goat, or deer. If there is nothing else, we feed ourselves goblin. The thick hides and pelts we steal from the dark forest keep us warm during the night, and we have command over these vast hosts of villainous creatures. Did you not see the armies that are at our command? And the she-goblins! We can assure you, there is nothing among humanity like the privileges of a goblin lord!'

'I can quite imagine,' Arus said. He then cocked his head to the side as if to examine the hobgoblin further. 'Yet, would it not be more comfortable to find some weak minded son of mankind in which to dwell?'

'Humans are weak!' Legion protested, suddenly his eyes turned to Arus and his brow furrowed. 'They trust in cunning, but they are never cunning enough to escape the numbers of their enemies. But we know all the ways of escape. We take what we want or we perish. There is no ceremony or glory, but we have that happiness that ever eludes mankind.'

'But supposing the opportunity arose, and this bag of goblin mesh was overcome, would you yet hold onto this hobgoblin's tattered corpse? Or would you abandon it for the victor?'

'That is not at all likely,' the goblin laughed. 'Have you seen these mighty arms? And these broad shoulders? Have you seen my blood-rusted blade, notched upon the necks of so many brave warriors? I am not vulnerable to the affronts of mankind. Let them drive the petty goblins from Golbfein and Heyan; they will never drive us from the rocks of Daunrys! Not while there are goblins like myself to drink their blood and hew their limbs.'

Legion's eyes flashed with passion and his chest heaved as he spoke. The other goblins looked at him with suspicion, but could not make any sense of his babbling. To them this whole speech seemed like mere gurgling or gibberish, as did all spoken language.

'You are indeed powerful,' Arus affirmed, 'But there are none so powerful that they cannot afford to take council with the prudent, or take league with the mighty. And that is why I have come to you. If I am anything, it is prudent; that is, by experience I have learned much. And I come to you now to warn you that the doom of your own flesh is near at hand-'

At this the goblin roared and pounded his chest with his fist. 'Wretch!' he cried as he lunged for the bird. But Arus was too swift and flew to a higher branch and again tapped his beak on the wood.

'I cannot change what has been decreed by the gods,' Arus said with a snicker. But there is one coming to you who will slay your body and pour your blood out upon these very rocks. The blood will run cold and all your meals of deer and mutton will break forth and rot in the hateful sunlight. This is fate, do not be angry with me for it! But I have come to warn you, goblin master,' Arus said in a bold and clear voice. 'This hero, this god among men that will come to slay you; he is like a piece of ripe fruit, heavy and ready to fall to the earth. My council to you, Legion, is to pick the fruit ere it falls to the earth and bursts apart. You cannot slay this man, but you can find in him a new and a better dwelling. For his destiny lies behind palace walls with daughters of men attending him on every side. She-goblins! Bah! You are settling for lesser things! When the cold steel separates this brute's ugly head from its body, you must seize the chance and enter the sword of your slayer, and through the sword, enter into the hand and body.'

Legion seemed to calm down after the bird had finished his speech. 'We will consider it,' he said calmly, his eyes now seeming to focus on the bird. 'But that such a thing will ever come to pass we cannot easily believe. But if it does, we will be prepared. But tell me, dark bird, if it is truly the decree of the gods, and we are doomed to such an end, how do you come by this knowledge?'

Arus laughed and took to wing, leaving the frustrated goblin lord in a sullen and fearful state. He circled about in the air and peered down upon the goblin camp one last time. As he passed overhead he could see Legion roaring as he pummeled some unfortunate little goblin that had by chance stood nearby.

Legion's Head

I do not have the stomach to recount to you all that transpired during the time of Volthamir's absence. What knowledge of those days I possess is derived from questionable sources and superstitious tales. So I will content myself with a brief outline of those parts of the story that are most certain.

First, it is clear that Volthamir left behind society and human company to live among the goblins of the Daunrys mountains. A human can certainly tell when a goblin is at hand, but so long as the human refrains from speech and hygiene, the goblin will more than likely pass him by as one of his own kind.

Presumably Volthamir would have spent his first several months acquainting himself with the ways of the goblins. As I have explained in another place, goblins are motivated by envy and emulation. So the prince of Amlaman's first task was to copy the grunts, groans, and other peculiarities of goblin behavior.

Once sufficiently accepted among them and once he was fully familiarized with their habits, he could then begin to spy out the powerful goblins, those creatures that men refer to as orcs. And in turn, from watching these orcs he would be led to the Feral King himself.

From there his task was simple, yet full of danger. He must challenge and defeat the hobgoblin, thereby gaining the dominance among the orcs. He must not only defeat Legion; he must also defeat any other orcs that might wish to challenge him. Change in leadership among goblins is not a smooth or easy affair.

While we cannot know exactly how Volthamir accomplished his purpose, and while there is no way to fathom the darkness in which he lived for that whole period; there is one thing of which we may be certain:

On the fifteenth day of Messest, on the very day that he turned twenty-eight years old, a tattered cloth bundle arrived at the door of Japhrian. It bore the seal of the prince and thereby passed by the guards without notice or investigation.

Unthinkingly, as he often seemed to act of late, the king opened this bundle in full sight of his wife and servants. In horror at the sight he let it fall with a thud on the thick carpet. The cloth fell aside as the gift rolled from its covering into full sight of every eye in the room.

There before their horror stricken eyes lay, thick curly hair, filthy from many decades of exposure, severed and blackened rotted flesh about the neck with a shattered bone protruding, the eyes were white and empty, the tongue swollen and hardened, the skin wreaking and green with death - the head of Legion.

Unexpectedly Alone

In the center of Heyan there is a small clearing some sixty leagues to the northeast of Ferwur. In this triangular clearing there is a small log cabin, built along the bank of a tiny stream of clear water. Here lived Volthamir, prince of Amlaman in the days following his exile among the goblins. On the last day of the frozen month of Morest he led the goblin army to Lord Havoc, who then took control of them. Much to his surprise, the goblins obeyed him without protest. He seemed to wield over them some strange power. Perhaps it was in the way that he commanded them, or in the strange signs he made to them with his strong arms. Whatever it was, it had the effect of transforming them from a rabble of discontented brutes to an army of obedient servants.

Lord Havoc's task was now to lead them into the mountains, bring all the wild tribes of goblins under his yoke, and then finally to turn all this might against the unsuspecting army of Galvahir. But Volthamir's part was finished for now. 'Go and rest, regain your strength in the living woods of Heyan. You know that land well now. You must find some place where men will neither know you nor bother you. There you must remain until my return.'

'Have a care, Lord Havoc,' the prince said to his old master.

'I always will,' he replied. 'But I do not believe there is much for me to fear among the Norasians. They are strong and fierce, but it would take men of iron bones and souls of fire to overcome so superior a force.'

'Still, much is uncertain in war. No man comes into this life with any promise or oath from the gods, though some may believe it to be so.'

Lord Havoc laughed, 'That is true, and I suspect that my long experience has taught me this more certainly than yours has instructed you. And remember, my prince, we do not strive for justice; we do not strive for that nurse-maid's fiction; that compromise. We strive for injustice, and for the objects of our own desires. We are natural men! And I have enough natural cunning to give myself such assurance as a promise from the gods could not have granted me.'

'And what assurance is this?'

'There are always petty brigands and small minded jackals hidden among the noblemen of any nation. They play the part of high-blooded gentry, but they will turn their nose at the smell of gold, and turn their faces toward any pretty thing that they think they can grab a hold of. There is very little that you cannot extort from such men with a little gold and a beautiful woman!'

With those words the two parted. Volthamir watched for a while as the goblins marched up into the mountains in a long and disorganized train of heartless warriors. Volthamir shook his head and mounted his horse. The beast seemed delighted to see his former master again. 'Easy Ghoras,' the prince said as he patted the horse's neck. 'If ever I leave you again, it will not be to live among such as these. Though I have indeed come to pity them. Eight months is too long for any man to live among the goblins, I cannot imagine the sort of misery must accompany the misfortune of being a goblin yourself.'

After that day Volthamir passed without notice into the forest of Heyan and found his way along familiar roads to the old cabin that I had mentioned earlier. There he lived for more than a year without so much as setting foot outside of Heyan. His habitation was so remote and he kept himself so distant from the other woodsmen that he passed all this time without notice. Now and again he would trade pelts for gold or for some other thing of value, but he never went to any place where there was even a remote chance that he might be recognized. This year of solitude, alas, would be the best year of his entire life; better than all that had hitherto passed by, and better than all those that would pass thereafter, as we shall in due time discover.

His retreat from society ended abruptly on the fourth morning of Paschest in the thirtieth year of this millennium. On this day, unexpectedly, Arus the crow descended upon the clearing, bearing in his talon the broken shaft of a Norasian arrow. It had now been a very long while since any word had been sent from Lord Havoc, and instead of a new message he received this strange omen.

'By this I take it that your master is dead,' Volthamir said with a downcast face. 'This will make it easier I imagine,' he said as he held out his hand to the bird. 'Come friend, it is time for us to do that which we have long intended.'

Arus hopped onto the his shoulder and a shadow fell across Volthamir's face, darkening his eyes and for a moment, blotting out the light of the sun altogether it seemed. All the malice and wisdom of the great bird seemed to flow into the Prince like a rushing wind. Then suddenly the crow fell from his arm and landed upon the ground with a thud. The feathers flew away in the morning wind and the flesh fell off of its body like ashes from a dead flame, dancing about in the wind. The shadow was gone, but the Prince's eyes stayed dark as ebony. A strange power had passed into him, he felt, and a wisdom older than the forest itself. Instinctively, as though he knew its precise location even from so many leagues away, he turned his eyes toward Sten-Agoni. 'It will soon be time for me to return. But there are other matters to attend to ere that day comes.' With those words he drew his knife from its sheath and looked at it carefully. Shining in the noon light, the knife's ivory handle seemed to gleam like a star.

The Prayer of the Siren

Three months earlier, on the day of her birthday, Princess Leonara was met on her way to breakfast by the High Priest Achil's servant Farachie.

Farachie was a tall man with sharp features and very light brown hair. So tall he was that he almost looked ridiculous in the sacerdotal attire all the priest's servants were obliged to wear. 'The priest has summoned you,' he said with a bow. Leonara had learned that when the word, 'summoned' is employed, it is not an expression of invitation, nor of the priest's mere whim. To be summoned by Achil is be brought to him, by your own volition or by some other power.

She sighed and stormed passed him, pushing him aside as her feet stepped lightly down the stairs. He shook his head and followed her. Were it not for his long strides, Farachie would have been utterly left behind, scarcely in sight when she arrived at the priest's apartment. But as a result of the length of his steps (and considerable haste) Farachie managed to reach the door first and gently let her through. A bell was rung and the priest indicated that she should be brought up to his meeting room.

In the room sat several men: her father, whom she rarely saw of late, the High Priest, whom she saw too often, and a strange young man with bright clothing and a deep blue cape whom she had never seen before. The two younger men rose as she entered; Achil remained seated, both due to his age and his preeminence. The stranger was a handsome man. He sat much taller than the old priest, yet he slouched a little shorter than the king (which was more the result of custom than of nature). His hair was well kept, meticulously combed and set upon his shoulders. On his neck he wore a gold chain that hung out of his collar on top of his bright white shirt.

'My dear daughter,' Lord Vulcan said as she entered. He embraced her, and she reluctantly raised her arms to return the affection. Her eyes met the eyes of the stranger. The young man bowed low. 'Leonara, daughter of Vulcan thos Amlaman, I would very much like for you to meet young master Fanastos. He is a lord of the western lands, come to offer his services to the people of Agonistes in their time of need.'

Leonara stood still, just glaring at the people in the room. King Vulcan continued nervously rubbing his bloodshot eyes. Leonara could tell that he had not been sleeping much lately.

'You have heard of our troubles in the frontier lands, have you not?'

Leonara nodded.

'Lord Kellin was slain in Rivfern, his old gray head was taken off by those bastard sons of Voltan. The whole west might have been lost to us were it not for brave and loyal young men like Fanastos. He has this very morning sworn fealty to the god of Amlaman. There is to be a feast tonight, and young Fanastos will offer a sacrifice of forty bulls.'

Leonara was then led to a seat across from Fanastos and wine was poured for each of them. After the men had emptied their cups, Achil rose from his seat and spoke. 'Dear Leonara, the darkness is passing from this realm. The strange figures and omens of the older days have passed away. The terrors of the dark night have given way to a bright dawn. Lord Vars has slain all but the last two half-sons of Voltan. It is certain that a lasting peace is even now approaching our land. The goblins have abandoned the Daunrys, and the people of Heyan and Ramlos are safe again. What a time it is in which we live, that we might see better days and not worse, as so many had feared. It is a good season to plant, for the summer looks to be warm and full of life giving sunshine. It is a good season to begin anew-'

Leonara's face slowly turned away from the old man and looked at the face of Fanastos. He seemed to be full of energy and passion. 'A good man, no doubt,' she thought to herself. 'But such a one I neither deserve nor desire.' And then she started, as though waking from a dream. Suddenly she remembered Volthamir and his passionate request, or demand rather. Surely her father had not forgotten his deal with the prince. And then her mind was thrown into further turmoil as she could not decide whether she ever wanted Volthamir to return for her or not.

After some thought she spoke, 'He is dead then?'

'Who? Dead?' Achil muttered.

'My brother, the prince. He is dead?'

King Vulcan reached across the table and took her hand. She withdrew it swiftly, sliding her skinny fingers through his rough palms. 'My dear daughter,' he began, 'No word has been heard from him since he departed on his errand. I cannot imagine why he would tarry if he had been successful. I'm afraid we must assume the worst, for it has been such a long time.'

Leonara rose from her seat, tears were now flowing from her face. She could see in his eyes that he had not told her the entire truth. 'You are a devil,' she said to her father. 'You are the lord of folly, even as mother is the lady of cruelty. What a pair the two of you make! What perfect companions! One might have expected you two to have been much happier together than you are.' She looked at Fanastos, 'I'm sure the young warrior of the west has even heard the delightful stories about Lady Marel and her pathetic husband.'

Fanastos said nothing, but his mouth gaped open as he sat listening. Achil's face turned red as the sunset and he pounded the table. 'Wicked girl!' he cried out, 'How dare you humiliate the lord and king of Amlaman! How dare you!'

'I have not done anything of the sort,' she retorted, 'he has humiliated himself. Every time he chooses a path he chooses wrongly, it is not I who humiliates him.'

'That is enough, my lady,' Fanastos said with a gentle voice, 'there is no need for such anger. It is more difficult than you imagine to rule a land so vast as Amlaman.'

Leonara pushed her chair back and started out the door. Fanastos called after her and Achil hollered, but to no avail. She rushed away from the priest's apartment and made her way back toward the Nunnery. She was fully aware of her father's intentions. This young Fanastos, as marvelous a man as he might be, was meant to be her suitor. He had won some grand victory for Amlaman and as a reward for whatever services he had provided he was to be given the princess as a prize. But more than this, if the princess were married, there could no longer remain any obligation to give her over to the prince should he ever return.

This last thing was the primary source of her anger. It didn't really bother her that her parents were now trying to marry her off. Nor did it even bother her that their reasons were so base and treacherous. It barely even affected her that they seemed so clearly to be delighted at the idea that Volthamir had been killed (though she could easily tell that her father did not believe it to be so). What really infuriated her was the fact that they would do all of these things for these reasons while trying to pretend that their intentions were born of loftier motives.

'Gutless worms!' she shrieked as she thought about them. 'I hate them, I hate the devils!' When she came to the Nunnery she spat and passed it by, heading away from Daufina. She wandered for the rest of the day, all the while being pursued by the servant Farachie, who made certain to give her as much space as she desired.

At one point she turned toward him and spat, 'I hate you all! Every man, woman and child! I despise everything; Amlaman, Agonistes, Vulcan and Marel, Achil and the blessed whores of Sten Agoni! Not one of them is what they claim; they pretend to be the sun, but they are filled with nothing but shadow.'

She continued into the woods until she came to a small clearing. Day had given way to night and she shivered and shook with both anger and cold. Farachie very carefully approached her and when he was within reach he slid a thick fur cloak about her shoulders. She wrapped herself in it and looked up into the sky. Farachie backed away and sat down on a fallen log nearby. High above them the light of the great star the sages call Theodysus shone brightly upon them, illuminating the princess' face with silver light. She fell to her knees and wept for a long time. After almost two hours she lifted her face slowly from the earth and gazed up into the sky.

It seemed that a strange certainty came over her in that moment and she rose to her knees. All the ideas of Agonistes and his temple and the virgins and sacrifices vanished from her mind as she looked upon that ever constant sparkle in the sky. 'They at least are never changing.'

She sung and prayed to the stars:

Oh thou blessed and mighty astral lord,

Constant, brilliant and unfailing,

Thy heavenly craft in darkness moored

Look down and see me thus travailing,

Bring unto me that peace and grace,

That gentle rest and healing,

That flows out from your holy face,

No darkness there concealing,

I ask not for some lofty throne,

Or any dainty or pleasant thing besides,

'Tis all I beg as I lay prone,

To see that in which no evil hides

Farachie sat there silent until she finally fell into a deep sleep. He lifted her gently and carried her back toward the Nunnery.

Overheard

There were many spirits lurking about Daufina in those days. Most of them were petty devils, patrolling the land for their master Gheshtik. These curious sprites swarmed around the slumbering princess as she was carried away, though Farachie was quite unaware of it. Some of the bolder spirits entered into the princess' troubled dreams to peek and to pry and to play cruel tricks on her as she slept. But there was a stranger among them, a large spirit with a bright countenance, if it is proper to call it brightness. His appearance among them had the effect, at least, of brightness. They covered their eyes and fled away in terror, leaving the tall servant and his burden alone.

This last spirit was deeply curious about this girl. 'She bears within her veins regal blood. Of that much I am certain, or I am no god. Who is she, old man?' the spirit asked. Suddenly Old Man Sleep appeared, clad in a long gray cloak. 'You know the names of every mortal,' the spirit continued. 'For there is no creature as can close their eyes to rest without falling under your dominion. Surely you must know who this Siren is?'

'Lord Pelas,' the old man answered, 'you know not what that word means, or perhaps you have forgotten.' His wrinkled brow furrowed for an instant as he thought. 'Indeed, you must have forgotten. But perhaps you mean that she is like a Siren?'

'She is all the Siren that this world will ever see,' the spirit said. The old man looked at her closely and then nodded.

'Perhaps you are right after all,' he affirmed sleepily.

'Did you hear her prayer?'

'I did,' Sleep answered coldly. 'And it was a fine prayer at that. That is the sort of prayer I imagine they like to hear up there.'

'They?' Pelas said in a mocking voice. 'The Astral Lords went to sleep aeons ago; they have not troubled themselves with us since the dawning of the world. Why should we expect them to hear prayers?'

'Ah, but she prayed to Theodysus, the firstborn,' Old Man Sleep muttered.

'And what of it?' Pelas demanded. 'Men have been praying to Theodysus forever, yet he answers not.'

'Do not rail against the stars, my lord,' the old man retorted. You know not what you rail against. And further, how can you be so certain that he answers not, perhaps he merely answers 'nay'.'

'He answers me not,' Pelas said, seething with anger.

The old man shrugged. 'What is to be done about it? Even you gods cannot ascend to the high places and call the stars to account.'

'I will answer this Siren's prayer. I will turn her eyes to the east and bring her the salvation and the purity she so desires. But there are a great many things to consider ere I take any action.'

The old man sighed and started away, 'Have a care, Master Pelas,' he said in a fatherly tone, 'For I am older and, after a fashion, wiser. No one, not even you gods can see all ends and all causes. You know not the future, however clever you may be. You know not what will come of it all. Do not meddle in affairs that concern you not. Usurping a prayer? Such a thing has not been done under heaven since the days of the Dragon. But I imagine that you have forgotten that also.'

Lord Pelas looked up at the stars for a moment and then opened his mouth once more. He said, 'My eyes are keener, perhaps than you imagine, Old Master Sleep. They can pierce through iron and flesh, they can see more ends and causes than you realize. A peril descends on this place, and I must prepare a vessel to prevent it.' He looked once more at the old man, 'And I usurp nothing. Prayers have never swayed the Astral lords before; I meddle not. But when I have brought my salvation to this mountain, then I will be like the Starry gods themselves. And all the people of Amlaman will turn away from the darkness and serve the god of light.'

'A vessel you say?' Old Man Sleep said with great alarm.

'Can you not tell, Old Man, that she is the perfect vessel?' Pelas said, still looking up at the stars.

Old Man Sleep looked at Pelas with sorrowful eyes, but he held his tongue. 'It is not my place, nor is it within my power, to stay the hands of those who have fallen under my brother Folly's dominion,' he thought to himself.

'I feel it in every shadow here,' Pelas said in a whisper, 'There is a dark fear upon every creature and upon every spirit. The Devil god Agonistes is going to return to this mountain; he will be a god in Amlaman again. And so shall I. Yeah, and more than a god. For I am the cause of everything.'

End of Book II

[Book III:  
The Vestron Monster](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

[Chapter I:  
The Return of the Merkata Clan](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Myths

About twenty years after the turn of the century there appeared on the eastern continent a monster of incredible power and might. For many years his origin remained a mystery even to the wise. Some men claimed he was an outcast of the Water-born kingdoms, condemned to dwell on dry land until his sins were atoned. Those with less imagination said that he was a cross between the daughter of a Harz Noble and a goblin king. And those with more imagination than is appropriate had him come falling from the sky, dropped by some sort of demon or drake. The only thing on which these varying accounts seemed to agree was the sheer ugliness and horribleness of the beast.

He was taller than most men, and his shoulders were nearly double the breadth of a normal man's chest. His head was not fixed in the center, however; according to most accounts it was moved over toward the right side of his body. What hair he had upon his head was as black and unreflective as a lump of coal. On his left shoulder there was a great hump that rose up next to his head, which was always concealed beneath a heavy black cloak. His arms were powerful and strong, more like the trunks of two mighty oak trees than pads of flesh clinging to mortal bones. His right arm looked to be the arm of a normal, although mighty, human being, but his left arm was blackened and gnarled like a rotted vine (though it was by no accounts any weaker in strength). According to most accounts he had at least three arms altogether, though some counted as high as five (the more extravagant tales place the number much higher). But I see no reason to postulate the existence of any more than four arms altogether.

The nature of our subject requires some care, for unexpected events have a way of driving the imaginations of careless men and women beyond anything that they had experienced in reality. To some this beast could fly about like a bat, to others he could vanish into the thin air like a wisp or a ghost. But seeing how his sorry tale played such an important role in the whole of my narrative, I thought it would be necessary to explain his story in greater depth. And knowing that so many wild tales and mythological fantasies have been built up around him, I could hardly do justice to the history of the great war without at least making an attempt at dispelling some of the chimerical ideas that have enshrouded this figure.

Many have heard of his towering shield, Admunth, with which he caught every javelin and repelled every arrow that ever approached him. Still more have heard of his fatal blade, Skatos Ereg, with its jagged edge and poisoned tip. But few have heard his tale in full and without the useless fables with which old women so often adorn their stories. Seeing as his memory has not wholly faded from the world, it seems hopeful that some semblance of a history could be restored to his name, where, thus far, only myth has prevailed.

The creature was called Natham, which in the eastern world signifies 'a Curse'.

Whately

Very little is known about his childhood, aside from the fact that for the first eighteen years of his life he was under the care of a man named Whately. For all this time it was completely unknown that this man had any children at all under his care, which has led some to claim that the creature merely appeared at that time, or was summoned in that hour. But those who were acquainted with Whately, while at the time ignorant of his secret, did not express much surprise when it was finally discovered that he in fact had been caring for Natham all the while.

There were certain peculiarities about the man that had long before aroused the curiosity of his neighbors. Whately came to live among the mysterious Merkata who make their homes along the rocky eastern coast of Vestron and among the desert sands in the south. How he came to live there was well known to all, but why he had come remained until the very end a complete and utter mystery. By all accounts, Whately had washed ashore amidst the wreckage of a small merchant ship. In those treacherous waters even the most skillful mariners are not safe from the wiles of the ocean and the betrayal of the jagged shores. All that could be pried from him, from the moment he was first discovered until he at last parted ways with the Merkata, was that he had come from a very far away land.

He was tall, almost a head taller than most of the Merkata, and his hair was golden, though speckled with gray here and there. Because of his hair and height, and because he had obviously come to the coast of Vestron by a ship, it was believed that he was a Knarseman from Titalo in Western Weldera. But he would speak nothing of his ancestry himself.

It was not noticed then, but Whately carried away from the shores a small bundle of cloth in a large grass basket. One must assume that therein lay the infant monster. He made out as though it were his belongings, and revealed its true contents to no one. There are some who doubt that Natham was indeed within the basket at the time, saying that the infant made not a sound, neither a whimper or a whine, but those same people forget the creature's legendary constitution. It was later said that he could receive what to lesser men would be a fatal blow without wincing or flinching. Why should he not then suffer a bit of infantile discomfort stalwartly?

Outcasts such as Whately were readily welcomed in that region. For the Merkata were heavily oppressed by the Harz Nobles who dwelt upon the Mountain of Fire. Whatever help or support they could find in strangers they accepted, especially if those strangers were somewhat acquainted with the arts of war.

Whately was not the monster's father. This much at least is certain, for aside from Natham's horrid appearance the differences between their tone of skin, the shade of their hair, and the angles of their faces left no room for doubt and speculation. Yet he bore an affection for the creature that was more than fatherly.

Whately soon rose in respect among the Merkata. He was not very strong, but he was skilled with both blade and bow and many other arts of war. He became an instructor and helped train the Merkata youths in all of these proficiencies, until their once ragged and careless force became an organized and skilled army. Soon even the Harz Nobles became aware of his abilities, since it was against their soldiers that his tactics were put into practice.

But more than his skills, his stories made him beloved among these outcasts. He spoke of the stars and their consorts, their wars and their conflicts, the damnation of erring orbs of light in the upper realms, and many other celestial happenings. His knowledge and love of the twinkling night above all other things made it clear that he was one of the Knarse. For there is no race of men in Tel Arie that are as enamored of the heavens as the golden-haired men of Titalo.

The Rulers of Vestron

All of Vestron, save for it's northernmost coast and the expansive southern desert, is ruled over by the Harz Nobles. They are of Nanthor lineage, as is evidenced by their great stature, their broad shoulders, and their lust for conquest and the blood of their fellow creatures. They are almost goblin-like in their cruelty, but human-like in their cunning. They are often accused of being goblins on account of the former, yet it must be admitted that they are fully and undeniably human on account of the latter.

When they made their conquest of Vestron, they leveled the chief city of the Ohhar kings and burned it to ashes so that no sign of their citadel remained, save for a ten league stretch of wasted ashes and shattered stones.

On the foothills of the fiery mountain of Fhuhar they built their own citadel, Thasbond. Almighty Fhuhar was bordered by two smaller peaks on the east and the north, called Esfu and Nolfu respectively, but otherwise stood alone in the center of the continent. From there it spewed forth smoke and death, into the air of that land. The effect of this was that if any descendants of mankind were to live in that dry and perilous land, they must be of the heartiest stock, not prone to sickness or any deficiency of might.

As was indicated, Vestron was once ruled by the Ohhar kings, men of wisdom and great vitality. But in ancient times they were driven from their cities by Nanthor invaders, the most powerful of which were called Harz Nobles. But their people were not altogether destroyed. A great number of them submitted to the new rulers and became known as Vestri, that is, men of Vestron. But many others rebelled and were either exterminated or exiled. To the west, the Ohhari fled, hiding away in the deeply forested valleys of the Veste Mountains. There they lay hidden for many ages, only appearing in legends and myths now and again. It was ever in their minds to return to Vestron and drive their conquerors from the land, but it was never in their hands to carry out this desire.

The other group of rebels were the Merkata. These strange people had existed for as long as any record of man can recall. It was believed that they were ruled over by a mighty witch named Malia, who by fell craft had attained an immortal body. But in truth she was simply one of the immortal elves that in those ancient days made their habitations among mankind. As much as it detracts from the glory and splendor of the elven histories, it must be admitted that there were in those days many elven kings that ruled over the more simple humans as gods and goddesses. If by witchcraft they mean, elf-craft, then I will wholeheartedly agree. But if they mean that a mere mortal somehow transgressed the universal law of death that is passed upon all sons of mankind, then there we must part ways. Human beings cannot possess such powers. The task of the historian is to record the past so as to explain the present. But the task of the elven historian has always been to create a past that would justify the present. But in so doing they must pretend that no elf ever crossed the sea or meddled with human affairs until the sons of men brought war and tribulation to them. But if my readers will forgive my departure from the traditional histories on this point, and examine the evidence with an unprejudiced mind, they will soon see that the history of mankind is filled with the meddling of wicked elves. Men called them gods, and served them as such. But elves are not truly immortal, for an immortal cannot die, neither by the hand of age or of war. The elves are, therefore only half immortal, inasmuch as they are not prone to the weaknesses that long life brings upon human beings. But insofar as they are pervious to the sword they cannot be called immortal. And if not immortal, then not gods. If not gods, then the ancient elves of the east must be condemned as usurpers and manipulators, who rose over the frail minds of mankind to make themselves into tyrants and cruel lords and ladies.

As one tribe of men warred against the other, the elves fell alongside the battle-slain. The gods diminished; until all that remained of them were the failing descendants of their servants. Their own children lived long lives, but as a candle is nothing to the sun, so is the long life of a half-elf to the unending souls of their fathers. But in a few corners of the world, the old gods survived. It is said that in the Jungle of Snakhil there is a fierce immortal god surviving to this day. Also there is said to be such a being living in some hidden city in Kharku. But in the northern world, the only such survivor was the so-called witch, Malia.

The Land of Vestron

Before I explain anything more about the inhabitants of this land, perhaps it would be best if I gave a brief description of the territory for which all of these peoples so long struggled against one another.

Vestron is a turbulent land. In the north, bordering the Frozen Sea, are the impassible Novest Mountains, jagged and icy. They do not permit any living creature to pass over them. Just beyond the Novest mountains lies a frigid and treacherous coast where only goblins and a few daring bands of pirates dwell. The eastern shores, while less deadly than their northern counterparts, are nonetheless dreaded by mariners. A navigator that is unfamiliar with the secret paths to the shore will almost certainly run their ship into a submerged boulder or a hidden pillar of stone. Were it not for the kindness of dolphins it is doubtful that any mariner would ever have survived long enough to commit these unseen paths to memory.

All this difficulty made the entire land of Vestron almost inaccessible from the outside. To the west are the Veste Mountains and the dark forest of Olger, which are too thick for any significant traffic to pass through. Beyond this is the land of Olgrost of which I will give greater detail in its proper place. To the south was a land of endless mountains, stretching as far as the eye could see. There were many villages and tribes of people living in the southern mountains, but they do not figure into any tale or history. South of these mountains lies the land of Dominas, where mankind is believed to have originated.

The whole land of Vestron is just under three hundred leagues from north to south and a little more than two hundred leagues from the western mountains to the shore. Just north of the center of the region is the great mountain Fhuhar, which is called the Mountain of Fire by those who lived within sight of it. Every day since the dawn of time this mountain has spewed forth smoke from its great cavities and leaked molten rock out onto the lands below. As if spitting in the face of calamity and chance, the Harz Nobles chose this place for their mighty citadel. Thasbond they called it, and from there they ruled over all the land of Vestron. Those who lived near the volcano thought of the whole mountain as a god; and those who were unfortunate enough to fall out of the favor of the Harz Nobles prayed to this god for a burst of flame and ash sufficient to end their tyranny. But despite their prayers, and the seeming foolhardy bravado of the Harz builders, the citadel remained, even after many violent and powerful eruptions. It seemed that for the time being the gods favored Harz. And as long as their citadel was guarded by the flaming mountain and as long as the terrible mountain god saw fit to sustain them, they were invincible.

To the north, the whole land was fed and nourished by the volcano, so that the grass grew thick and strong. Many herdsmen lived there and the sheep and bulls that were raised in those plains were claimed to surpass all the other herds in Tel Arie. Along the northern shores there were a few large fishing ports. The uncommonly warm waters of that volcanic land were teeming with all kinds of fish, a circumstance that attracted many sharks, whales, dolphins and, some say, aguians and sea serpents.

To the south the land quickly grew more wild and inhospitable to both hoof and boot. The Wilds was the name given to the brush filled uncultivated territory to the south of the mountain. Here there lived many outlaws and nomads, vying for their survival in the desolate places.

Beyond this is the Rugna Desert. This was the territory of the Merkata Clan. Before the coming of the Harz Nobles, the Merkata claim to have lived upon the great Mountain of Fire. There, according to their lore, they maintained a great temple where the witch Malia was worshipped by the Merkata and all the other tribes who dwelt within her reach. They say that she ruled over all the lands within twenty leagues of the Mountain of fire as well as everything that lay between Fhuhar and the southern mountains. But when the Harz Nobles overthrew her dominion she was driven into exile with her kin in Rugna. There they were doomed to hide from the hot sun beneath the dark shadows of boulders and to huddle close together during the night to escape the freezing wind. For water they relied on the Ollnar well, which was located in the southern part of the desert between two great monoliths. Water was drawn from there and carried by horseback in great bladders of whale skin to the various settlements of the Merkata.

The Table of Malia

It was always in the heart of Malia to regain her ancient homeland and build her palace anew in the place where it had anciently stood. But thus far all her efforts had come to naught, and the Merkata had been beaten down to a small race of brigands and wild men.

This circumstance began to turn around when Whately appeared. For the first time in an age it seemed that the Merkata clan had some hope of victory. Malia, fearful of being wiped out altogether, had kept the number of her warriors hidden for nearly two hundred years, until her old enemies perished and the new rulers of Harz forgot that the Merkata ever fought against them. Indeed, many of the young nobles among the Harz began to openly doubt whether there ever was such a group of outcasts.

But despite their ignorance the Harz Nobles were not lazy or careless. Their soldiers were both well armed and well trained. In addition they had among them many heroes, the most powerful of these being their great ruler Noble Vullcarin and his two brothers Rikin and Samor. These men had proved to be so valiant in their struggles against the Exiles of Ohhar as well as against the many goblins on the northern coast that Malia was reluctant to see the blood of her people likewise spilt. It had been in her mind to wait these brave nobles out, and when their sons came to the throne to come against them with a mighty army and with renewed vigor. But when she beheld the deeds of Whately and how well he instructed the youths of the Merkata in the arts of war, she began to reconsider her strategy. Might her day of vengeance come sooner than she had imagined?

The warriors of the Merkata Clan were not idle either. They concealed their identities and went abroad as common brigands, plundering from the Vestri and any other people who lived in the lands near the Wilds. The Harz responded with soldiers, and the Merkata were put to the test.

Under Whately's guidance the small bands of Merkata warriors proved themselves the better against even large groups of Harz soldiers. They still concealed their numbers, and more importantly they concealed their heritage, but they made bold advances against Harz territory until they had secured for themselves territories and passages within fifty leagues of the Mountain of Fire.

After some time had passed, the Witch called Whately before her and honored him with a banquet in gratitude for his efforts on behalf of the Merkata Clan. For all the years he had lived among the Merkata he had not once so much as set eyes upon the great Matron, as she was called. Though reluctant to meet with her, he nonetheless condescended, knowing enough about their customs to understand that one does not turn down such an honor lightly.

The Matron called every ruler and chieftain among the Merkata to a feast in the Merkata city of Salit, which was hidden among the rocks of the sea. Every dainty that was available was brought before them to dine on: crabs and lobsters were boiled in huge cauldrons, set on tripods over leaping flames. Fish of many varieties were flayed and roasted on grills or over open fires. There was also an abundance of fruit and legumes carried from the southern lands where the wasted desert ends. Such a feast had not been held among the Merkata for many hundreds of years; not since she sent her people to war against Harz under the command of the mighty Oannes, who made it as far as the high walls of Harz ere the enemy slew him and drove his army back to the wastes. Since then no hero had arisen among the Merkata and their long silence had made their old valor a forgotten piece of legend.

A place was set for Whately at her side, next to all the lords of the Merkata and among her own sons. She had birthed many sons throughout the long ages of her reign, though they were all sired by mortal men and therefore doomed to perish with their fathers. But her lifeblood had now passed in among the Merkata so that they were some of the most long-lived men in Tel Arie. These sons of hers had sons of their own and in time it came to be that almost every family among them boasted descent from the great Matron through this or that father or grandsire.

It was presumably from this circumstance that arose the peculiar rumors that the Witch of the Merkata was in quite a literal sense the 'Mother' of them all, marrying her own sons and bearing her own grandchildren. But contrary to the legends, she very rarely married anyone from within the Clan. Her husband had recently died, at the age of one hundred and sixty, and she was desirous of another man to draw forth sons and daughters from her immortal womb.

Had Whately known what would come of all this he would have passed beyond the borders of their land and come to Harz or some other place long ago, and not become so deeply involved in the lives of the Merkata. But as it was, he found his feet planted deep in the Wilds and in the sands of Rugna, and he felt that he ought not seek a welcome in Harz since he had done so much to aid their enemies, secretly or not.

Seated all around him were the princes of the Merkata, some more than eighty years old, others barely more than twenty years of age. There was aged Rulbin, the ancient son of a previous marriage, he was over one-hundred and eighty years old and now looked quite frail and almost mindless. By sight, he might have been her great-grandfather's father, but he had been a babe in her lap in days now known to no mortal man.

The most important of them were the seven youngest, as they had within them the most vigor and strength. The eldest of these seven was Oannor, who was the wisest of his brethren, even among the older sons and daughters of the Matron. Next was born Janik and then Pelon who were renown swordsmen. Faruk the archer, Skatlor the spearman, and Gedda the axe-man followed in turn. Finally, there was young Naran who was scarcely more than nineteen years old. But despite his youth he was strong and brave, and his skill grew with each passing day.

When they had dined, and when some songs had been sung, the Matron commanded that fresh bottles of wine be brought to them. She poured a deep red liquor into Whately's goblet and then sat down on a cushion at his side.

'I have watched you from afar for some time,' she said in a pleasant tone. 'For many years the Merkata have been without a guardian. I am left with many mighty sons, but there is none to be their lord and protector. Lest my beloved tribe come to an ill end I must find them another to guide them in battle. I am ashamed,' she said somberly, her eyes turning toward the floor, 'for I myself have not the mind for war or battle, nor does my arm have the strength to wield a weapon against such powerful foes as we have in the men of Harz.

'Yet for all this I am not altogether useless. You should have seen it, bold Whately, the beautiful Temple of Fire in which I once dwelt. The red light of the mountain admixed with the flame of the sun turned every corner of the edifice into gold. Upon every window there hung curtains of crimson or purple. There was such woodcraft as will never be seen in Tel Arie again. Every detail of this I arranged according to my wisdom. We had vineyards in the southern hills too, and flocks of sheep and goats to provide milk and cheese and meat. Such dainties we ate in those days!

'But those are all old tales now. None of my sons, nor any of my countrymen can recall them, for they passed away ages ere any of them left the matrix and arose blinking in the sunlit world. But for me, not a day has passed. I can still smell the fragrance of the wine we made in those days, wine which makes that which we drink tonight reek like a swamp. Lovely it is, you say? More lovely it was!'

'My lady,' Whately said, looking into her eyes, 'you know that your servants will do anything for you. I have watched over your flock for many years now, and I have seen what they can do. The blood of an immortal goddess flows through their veins. There are deeds of daring lying in every breast, ready for the winds of fate to bear them out. My lady, I cannot promise great strength or power, but what gifts of cunning and skill that I possess have ever been at your disposal. I pray that you would accept my service, and call me one of your own. The Merkata have been kind to me, as no other race of men would have been. To take me in as a brother, who was a stranger wrecked upon the rocks is a gift not to be forgotten. Let me repay the favor that your people have shown me.'

The Matron sat up straight in her chair and said, 'Your service you have already given; and you have given it in abundance. Yet we have never rewarded you properly.' She paused for a moment, almost seeming suddenly timid, if that is possible for such a creature as she. 'It is my desire that you would be made the father of our clan, and not merely its mighty but unregarded benefactor.'

The lady pressed in close to him as she spoke. Her hair was black as coal, untouched by gray despite her many years. She was quite beautiful to look at, and terrible, for her authority and wisdom shone from her eyes like the sparkle of ancient stars that send their light upon the faces of aged men and infants alike yet remaining themselves unchanged.

He found her beckoning difficult to resist. He was of half a mind to lean in toward her and embrace the fate she lay before him. But the other half of his mind bid him flee at once from the table and disappear from the land forever.

'My lady,' he told the Matron. 'I did not come to live among the Merkata to become a master among men, nor yet even an instructor of war as I have lately been. I have come first to escape a dark fate; secondly, I came to fulfill a vow, hastily but earnestly made. But of these two motives I can speak no further. I cannot be what you desire, so long as my oath remains bound upon my breast. For that I beg your mercy and your grace; further I beg that you turn me not away for refusing you. It is in my heart to do as you desire, but it is my duty to do otherwise. Nonetheless, inasmuch as it lies within my power, I will bring victory to the Merkata Clan.'

The City of Oblindin

Oblindin was once a great city of the Merkata, though in this age every trace of their ancient habitations has vanished. Deep under the sand of the desert their old stone houses were buried, never to see the light of the sun again. There was a great temple in the center and a statue of the Matron that stood thrice the height of a man. But even this was buried now.

The City was under the rule of the Harz Nobles, but its inhabitants were almost entirely of the Vestri. It was an important city in those days because in it there was to be found one of the last sources of water ere the desert's endless sands begin. If the Harz Nobles were to have any hold in the Wilds and in the dry southern region, then they must keep this city, and its wells, firmly under their thumbs.

Hence it was that it entered into Whately's mind to lay siege to this city, and finally reveal the strength of the Merkata as well as their identity. He had grown quite confident that they would be capable of both taking the city from the frail Vestri and holding it against the armies of the Nobles.

So it was that on the morning of the twenty-second of Fuehas five thousand brave men of the Merkata approached the city from the south while another two thousand came upon it from the east. They did not come against the city as brigands or nomads. They bore on their armor the ancient symbol of the Merkata, a black orb, with a red flame within. A great standard flew over their heads as they marched. Tall spears and strong square shields they bore with them. The edges of their swords were jagged, more like a carpenter's saw than a warrior's blade. The soldiers of Oblindin poured out and met them in the arid plains. But as Whately had expected, they could not withstand the cunning and strength of the Merkata. A thousand men of the city lay slain upon the plain ere the trumpet called them to retreat. Like a whipped dog they turned back, crying and weeping for the fallen. Soon they were shut up fast within their gates with archers on every tower. Riders they sent out to the north, but none of these escaped the hunters of the Merkata who roamed the northern lands to slay any who might try to escape.

Night came and the Merkata lit bright fires and kept watch, lest the Vestri come upon them under the cover of darkness. In the early hours of the morning, before the sun had appeared in the air above, Whately gathered his captains and spoke to them of the city.

'We have taught them the might of the hidden tribe; the Merkata strike fear in the hearts of these men once more. Thus far things have gone well. But we cannot leave matters as they are for long. Despite our hunters, it is inevitable that the Nobles of Harz will come to know the plight of their southern city. If we have not breached the walls ere then, we must flee, proving again that the Merkata have not the strength to stand against their ancient conquerors.'

All their eyes were fixed upon their commander, awaiting his council. Finally, after surveying the men in the room, he spoke again. 'We must act, by nightfall we must be within the city; by this time tomorrow morning we must put every living thing within the city under our yoke.'

But how shall we accomplish this?' a bold young captain asked him. His name was Agnoril. He stood taller than any of the others. He was as well known among the Merkata for his bravery as he was for his lineage. He was descended from Oannes himself, and he carried within him the blood of the Matron. 'We have not the strength to batter down their walls. And as you have said, we have not the time to wait for them to starve.'

'You speak wisely, master Agnoril,' Whately affirmed, 'Yet we must take their city tonight despite all this. There is a well in Oblindin, as is well known. And as it may be imagined, such a well must have its origin without the city. To the north among the hills there is a cave, unknown to the Vestri, whose little imaginations have never compelled them to seek the source of their waters. In that cave there is a passage from the northern hills into the well itself. A brave man might lead a small band into the very heart of Oblindin.'

'I will do it,' Agnoril said boldly and without hesitation. 'Who will accompany me?'

'We will all come with you,' said another voice. It was Skatlor, son of the Matron with his six brothers beside him. 'We will open the gates from within and make an end of these usurpers.'

'Then so let it be,' Whately said approving. If the sons of the Matron cannot open the gates, then there are none who can.'

Whately directed the men to the place where they would find the cave. It was small, scarcely large enough for a man to fit through. Indeed, Gedda had to break away some of the rocks before he could fit his broad shoulders through. Once inside, all light was gone. The sun rose up over the plains outside, but not a single ray could pierce the dark cavern into which they had plunged themselves. They followed the sound of the running stream into the dark, Agnoril taking the lead. Torches were of no use here, for the air was too wet and with every turn it seemed a gust of cold air would puff out their lights. Little by little they made their way to the edge of the water and followed it into the heart of the earth. How many hours they walked along its side or waded through shallow places under low rock ceilings they could not tell. But after they had finally come to fear that this way would lead them to death rather than victory, the cavern opened up and they saw the gleam of starlight on a swirling pool of cold water. The dim light of the stars seemed brighter than ever after their trek through the cold dark cavern. They had spent the whole of the daylight hours in that dark cavern. They had come to the very bottom of the well of Oblindin, where all the fortunes of the Harz frontier were bound up.

There they waited until it was clear that there was no one above. Then, silently and with great care they began their ascent. Skatlor took the lead, seeming almost eager to begin the battle, though Agnoril had warned him not to so much as swat a fly before they had opened the gates. 'There would be no honor in our deaths if we did not our utmost to open the gate and win the city for the Merkata. We must be silent, lest the whole city fall upon us before we even reach the street.'

There was usually a guard posted at the side of the well during the night, to guard the water by which the whole city was sustained. But on this night, when they were surrounded by foes, it seemed to them to be less important to keep watch over the waters. The guards that normally watched the well were far away, watching the dancing flames of the Merkata Clan in their camps with a great fear in their hearts.

Silently under the starlight a single shadow slipped over the rim of the well and slid away into the darkness, leaving a trail of droplets in his train. This shadow was followed one by one until the whole group had passed out of the dark tunnel and into the city of Oblindin.

An hour later, the lights of the Merkata clan puffed out like a candle in a gale, leaving all the plain in darkness. There was a murmur among the Vestri, and there was a great deal of confusion and shouting. Not a thing could be seen or heard from their foes. It seemed almost as though they had vanished into the night like the smoke of their extinguished fires. Some within the city even said as much, and cheered at the flight of their enemies.

After another hour the eastern gatehouse was overrun by the sons of the Matron, lead by the sharp sword of Agnoril and the cruel spear of Skatlor. The broad axe of Gedda struck against the heavy chains that suspended the gate and sent it free falling onto the road beneath. Horns blew and the Vestri shouted in warning, but it was all too late. In the darkness, Whately and his men had moved to the eastern gate with a stealth that only the Merkata could have managed. They were ready to charge forth from the shadows the moment the sons of Malia opened the gate.

As Whately entered the city he saluted Agnoril. 'Well met, brave Merkata!' he shouted.

'Well met, master Whately,' Agnoril responded proudly.

'Let us make this swift,' Whately said as he looked around. 'Spare whom you may, take the lord of the city alive if you can.'

'My lord?' Agnoril quested. 'The Matron's command was to put the whole city to the edge of the sword. I have not journeyed through the darkness all these hours to bind prisoners and manage refugees.'

'The Matron's words,' Whately corrected him, 'were that she cared not what came of the people, whether they lived or whether they were put to the edge of the sword. I know your eagerness to please her, and to win honor among your fellows. But do not take her indifference as a recommendation. If the Matron should choose not to care if these people be slain, it means not that they ought to be so slaughtered. Indeed, there is a reason that it is I whom the Matron has entrusted with all these men. Spare them, young Agnoril, and we shall see whether there is anything to be gained by mercy.'

By the time the bright red sun rose above the waves and passed over the land to light up the streets of Oblindin, the army of the Merkata was in full possession of the city. As Whately had commanded, the people were spared and the lord of the city was bound and imprisoned. Anyone that deigned to wield a sword against the Merkata, however, was mercilessly slain. Agnoril and Skatlor were more than eager to oblige such bravery with the cold iron of their weapons.

Thus the Merkata, by the cunning of Whately, were brought out of the dust of ancient legends to make war against the powers of Fhuhar. Their challenge did not go unanswered for long. Ere three weeks had passed they were surrounded by an army nearly double their own in number. But they had not been lazy during that time. They fortified the city and brought in more warriors and weapons from the south. They also dug a larger tunnel from the well to the northern hills, from which they planned to flank the invaders and crush them against the walls of Oblindin.

When night fell on the fourth day of the siege, Skatlor, Gedda and the swordsmen Janik and Pelon were led through the new tunnels by Agnoril to the rocky hills on the north side of Oblindin. There in the shadows of the rocks they waited until some eight hundred of the Merkata's bravest warriors had emerged from the cavern wet, grumpy, and ready to shed blood.

When they had dried all their belongings, and when the sun sank away to the west, they began their assault. They came against their besiegers from the very hole by which they overthrew the city in the first place. They ran like madmen through the narrow pathways of the northern hills and came at last to the rearguard of the Harz soldiers. Cries and trumpets rang out in the darkness, but there was nothing to be done. The mad sons of the Matron ran through the camp setting the tents ablaze and cutting down any that dared to resist them.

Agnoril and Skatlor raced through the enemy lines, slaying as they ran. They would kill, then glance at the other. If it seemed to Agnoril that Skatlor killed a greater warrior than he, a greater warrior he would seek out himself. And if it seemed to Skatlor that Agnoril killed faster than he, he would spur himself on to greater havoc with curses and violent thrusts with his spear.

Finally they came to be surrounded by Harz soldiers, each bearing a long spear or a sharp, straight blade. 'Perhaps we have been overzealous,' Agnoril panted as the two came to stand back to back.

'There is no such thing as too much zeal in war,' Skatlor replied, shaking his head while he wiped the sweat from his brow. 'The truth is there is rarely enough zeal. But at least we cannot be charged with such an error tonight.'

'Still, it might be better for all if we ceased this vainglorious competition and worked together for the glory of the Merkata.'

'You work for the Merkata,' Skatlor laughed, 'I will work for Skatlor!'

With those words they charged into the endless hordes of confused and terrified Harz warriors. Skatlor skewered three men in one thrust of his mighty spear. As he pulled his weapon free they fell one atop another in the darkness. Agnoril cut his way through the enemies, one after another, until he gave up on counting them. Trumpets blared from within the city and the gates flew open, revealing line after line of Merkata horsemen and foot soldiers. The trap was sprung, and all that remained was for the Merktata to crush their enemies under their hooves and boots.

Those who could manage it fled into the hills and made their way back to Harz, sulking and exhausted. Whately remained atop the city's walls, peering out into the darkness. Though it was still very dark, he could discern enough to see that things had gone well.

He turned and spoke to young Naran, who stood beside him upon the wall, 'Oblindin is ours; after all these ages it belongs to the Merkata once again. And all the armies of Harz cannot take it away.'

Work was begun at once upon erecting a greater wall around the city. To Whately's great satisfaction, the Vestri captives proved to be hardy and could make greater progress on the construction than even the desert-hardened Merkata. He told Agnoril, 'You see now, my son, how we would have had to carry bricks in one hand and swords in the other, if we had slain all of these people in the battle. But now we can stand guard as they labor, without fear of assault.'

'I still feel that it is a simple matter of justice, my lord,' Agnoril said as he looked upon the laborers with disdain. 'So many of our people were slain in the ancient days by the Harz whom these devils obey. They marched in war against us and spared none. Why should we do otherwise?'

'If you cannot find it in your heart to forgive men who did nothing to your ancestors, for sins done by their ancestors but not to yourself, then at least find it in your heart to spare them for your own purposes. Justice? You wish for justice?' Whately shook his head, 'Justice is truly the greatest goal, for which every human being should always strive. Yet,' he paused and looked at the ground, 'be careful what you ask for. Justice, like many great things, may prove to be more than we bargained for when we first sought it out.'

Oblindin was transformed into a citadel such as to rival the northern cities of Nanhur and Meldomnon. There were now two strong walls that guarded the city against invaders, and the waters of the stream were brought up to the ground to fill a large moat around the northern and eastern sides of the city.

On the last day of Leonius, for the first time in many ages of the world, the Matron of the Merkata Clan entered Oblindin. The streets of the original city, along with all its buildings and houses, were buried deep under the sand. But atop this, a new city was now in her possession; 'A new city for a new age,' she wept as she entered it. Whately was there to greet her, along with Agnoril and her many sons. 'Praise the Matron of the Merkata!' they cried out. 'A queen again!' the voice of Agnoril cried out, 'Malia reigns in Oblindin! Queen of the Merkata!'

She smiled and took the hand of Agnoril. He bowed low and kissed her slender fingers gently. 'I have heard many wonderful things concerning your deeds my dear Agnoril,' she smiled. 'The power of your arms is rivaled only by my own sons. Happy your father would be to see the man you have become.'

'My queen is too gracious,' he said, fawningly.

'The power,' she whispered as she passed under the gate and made her way toward the well. 'The power of this place is astounding.'

Then she walked away from them and drifted back to an ancient day in her mind. The streets were filled with the ancient sires of these children who now fought for her. And the well was housed in a great temple and the buckets that drew the precious liquid from the earth were guilt with gold.

Suddenly she returned to the present and stood for a long while staring at the bleak old stone well that now stood in the center of the city. The old temple was now in ruins, deep beneath the stones of the street. She sighed, a look of disappointment came upon her face. 'This is what they took from me, and happy I am to see it again. But I will not stop here. I will not stop until I have taken it all back. Every stone and every city is mine. Nanhur, Meldomnon, Harz and your fiery mountain: I curse you!'

Captured Alive

Under Whately's command, the armies of the Merkata seemed invulnerable. They took the cities of Ghohn and Miliki and made leagues (against the will of Agnoril) with all the remaining southern lands, until they controlled almost the entire southern portion of Vestron. But it would be quite distant from our purposes here to recount all of these battles in detail.

Despite his discontent with Whately's leadership, Agnoril's fame grew in equal proportion to his commander's. It was said that Whately was the Mind of the Merkata and Agnoril was the Sword.

Despite his own natural frailty, Whately's brilliant mind had won him great honors among the Merkata and great renown among the Harz Nobles. So it was that the rulers of the north took council against him.

A plot was devised: A letter, sent with the seal of the lord of Meldomnon, was delivered to Oblindin. It read thus:

'To Lord Whately,

'Since ancient times my forefathers have ruled over mighty Meldomnon with great wisdom. They fortified its walls, as you know well, with stones of unusual girth and weight, so that no weapon of war can pierce them. Our moat is as deep as the ocean, and our gates are such as will shatter every battering ram ere they buckle. But I say these things not in challenge, nor in threat. For as I am the heir of my father's wisdom as well as his might, I have not watched your progress against other lands without at the same time considering the defense of my own. You cannot destroy us, Master Whately, but we are sure that ere the end there will be more of our dear young maidens in tears than we are willing to see.

'We have ever been allied with the powers in Harz, but their rule is shaking under the weight of the desert Merkata. If you choose to war against them, the full might of Meldomnon will fall upon you. And our armies, as I am certain you are aware, do not show mercy to their enemies.

'But let us spare ourselves this dreadful bloodshed. I will send you a messenger in seven days. He will tell you what must be done. We mighty men of Meldomnon have long sought to cast off the fetters of the Mountain of Fire, yet there has never been any to challenge their strength.

I trust that this letter, and my servant Arthus will find you in good health,

Written by my own hand,

Lord Holthnen'

Seven days later, as it was foretold, Arthus, the servant of the lord of Meldomnon, arrived in Oblindin riding under a banner of peace. He was permitted to come before Whately and the Matron.

The messenger informed them that the lord of Meldomnon indeed desired to meet with the famous lord Whately. Yet due to his fear of Harz, he would only meet with him in the city of Hersa, which stood along the coast of Vestron.

Whately was reluctant, but the Matron commanded him to attend. 'We have here such an opportunity as we could not have imagined. An ally in Meldomnon! And think, my lord Whately,' she laughed, 'when we have demolished Harz we will have greater ease dealing with Meldomnon.'

Whately only said, 'My Queen, do not forget that a treacherous heart, such as is to be found in the lord Holthnen, will betray us as well, sooner or later. And I fear that it has already betrayed us, even ere our league is made.'

'Your cunning has made you too distrustful,' she laughed. For some time it had seemed to Whately that the force of his words were declining in her opinions.

'And my dear queen,' he responded, risking a little humor, 'your incomparable power has made you careless.'

She laughed, but it was not the laugh of the same woman that had once begged for his hand in marriage. The wars had turned many of her people into heroes, and she was the sort of woman who could only find it in her heart to be wooed by power.

On the appointed day, Whately entered the city of Hersa from the southern road. At his left walked the hulking prince Gedda, with his broad axe hung upon his shoulders. They came to the Seaward Inn, where they were informed the Lord Holthnen was awaiting them. Skatlor and several other brave men of the Clan were following close behind, though a good sprint lay between them and their companions.

But upon entering the inn they were met by a dozen armed men. They grabbed Whately with ease, as he was swift to realize the futility of resisting such a group. Gedda, however, had more pride than cunning, and made his captors pay dearly for their prize. Teeth clattered to the inn's wooden floor like drops of rain as Gedda the Mighty broke the faces of the Harz deceivers. He slew three men, broke the arms of two others, and put up such a fight that not a single man left without some scrape or scar by which to remember the skirmish. But in the end all his struggling was not enough. They bound Whately with ropes and Gedda with chains.

More men appeared from the streets surrounding the inn and the captives were swept away beyond the reach of the Merkata warriors. The captives were thrown onto the backs of swift horses and borne away toward the Citadel of Harz; to the Mountain of Fire.

In fierce anger, Skatlor made a swift end to the Harz conspirators, including the liar Arthus. But they were too late, the captives had been carried out of their reach. 'The strongest arm, the sharpest axe, taken away! My brother!' he mourned. 'Thou Fire-dwellers of Harz,' he cursed the captors, 'You will learn to hate fire yet. The flame of the Merkata is about to break forth, and it will burn the bones of every man and woman until they are purified. A grievous blow this is to the Merkata; but more grievous will be our retribution.'

[Chapter II:  
Natham](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Farm

The Merkata were now effectively leaderless. Agnoril proved himself to be brave, and Skatlor proved himself to be strong, but they could not command the people with the same kind of wisdom with which Whately had guided them. They proved themselves capable of holding the lands that they had already gained; but that was all. It began to seem as though the Queen would have to settle for half of what she desired. Already there was talk of treaties and truces. But the Queen would not have it; for her it was all or nothing. And she would not so much as speak with the emissaries of Harz until her son was returned. 'In Gedda,' she moaned, 'is housed bodily all the might of our ancient race. Sore was his loss, and sore will be his captors in the day of our ascendance.'

But while they spoke boldly about their day of revenge, it was becoming more and more apparent to them that without their cunning captain they were at a loss as to what to do.

In that desperate hour it occurred to Naran, the youngest son of Queen Malia, that perhaps there was some of Lord Whately's wisdom to be found on his estate. 'For he was a lettered man,' Naran reasoned, 'He was learned beyond any of us, and he was familiar with many strange tongues and strange letters. Perhaps there is something to be found among his possessions that might be of some aid to us.'

The Queen quickly agreed and sent Skatlor along with Naran and twelve other warriors to Whately's estate to scour his belongings in hopes of discovering anything that might bring them hope against their enemies.

When Whately was first accepted among the Merkata he was given a small plot of land in one of the more habitable portions of the southern desert. His incredible cunning extended beyond warfare apparently, for within six years the land was rich and healthy, where it had been all but sand. This he attributed more to fortune than anything else. No one knew how this transformation had been accomplished, for he had never welcomed even a single visitor throughout the period he dwelt there.

As the party approached Whately's land their breath was stolen away by its richness. At first they walked amid sandy wastes and empty plains, but eventually they came to a small group of hills, the southernmost of which was covered with healthy green grass. With each step southward the air seemed to become more fresh and the land more alive. Skatlor was almost startled at the first sound of a calling bird, but soon these became so numerous that they began to pay them little heed. Animals began to appear also. At first it was only a squirrel or a hare, darting away as they approached. But after a few more hours they began to see roaming herds of wild sheep, the rams staring at them suspiciously as they passed by.

'Master Whately's estate has lost none of its renown during his absence I see,' Skatlor said as they walked.

Naran looked around and sniffed the air, 'It is more than likely that a man of such prudence would not have left his entire estate bereft of care while he was away. I suspect he has hired someone to mind his farm and his house until he returns.'

'Let us hope that is the case, for it seems to me more likely that some usurper has taken over his land.'

They came to a strong wooden fence that stretched as far as the eye could see to the east and the west. There was a gate some ways to the east, and a road passing away toward the south. They leaped over the fence and made their way toward the road. By this time it was nearly sundown. 'We have but an hour of light remaining,' Skatlor said gloomily, 'Let's make haste, and perhaps we can come to the house ere nightfall. I do not wish to spend another night out of doors.'

They hurried along until they came to a tall hill. The road swerved around toward the right and wrapped around the hill as it rose toward the top. When they reached the top of the hill they looked down into a small bowl-shaped valley. Everything was gray in the failing light, but they could see a tiny cottage in the midst, surrounded by a beautifully tended garden of many colored flowers. 'I would like to see this place in the daylight,' Naran said as he gazed in wonder at the beauty of the place.

'You will no doubt get your wish,' Skatlor said as they started down the winding road toward the house. 'But look,' he pointed with his finger. 'There is a light in the window, and a tuft of smoke rising from the chimney. There is someone living here. I hope for his sake that he is a good host.'

When they drew within sight of the door they stopped suddenly, for there was a large shape approaching from the back of the house, much too large to be an ordinary man. They kept out of sight until the form had passed, then they moved some way to the west and approached the house quietly from the side. When the figure appeared once more, this time leading a pony on a rope, they leaped from the shadows at Skatlor's command. 'Do not let him speak until he is bound with chains!'

The warriors charged him with their blades drawn, Skatlor with his fatal spear pointed at his throat. There was a roar and Skatlor stopped dead. The creature grabbed his spear with one hand and snapped it in half in his fist. Skatlor the brave fell to the ground, his face as pale as death in horror.

In a flash the warriors pounced upon the creature, dragging him to the ground. But his strength proved to be too much for them. He cast them aside like they were bits of straw tossed in a gale. Naran backed away and put his blade on the ground. By this point, Skatlor had regained his wits; he rose from the ground, drawing his sword from it's sheath. Hate and anger were in his eyes, for no man had ever turned aside his spear, but this brute had snapped it like it was a twig. Two warriors came upon him from the left and tried to wrestle his arm down; two others came from the other side, grabbing hold of his right arm. Skatlor came toward him from the front, with his blade gleaming like cold death in the moonlight.

He thrust it with all his strength at the beast's broad chest. There was a clang of metal and the blade was turned aside. The unexpected resistance so shook Skatlor that he dropped his blade on the ground. Suddenly, from beneath the creature's clothes, an arm appeared, wielding a small dagger, now notched from Skatlor's powerful blow. This deft limb was in an instant clenched about Skatlor's throat. The other warriors released his arms and backed away, with eyes rounder than the glowing moon. He swept the blade from the ground with his right arm, still clutching Skatlor's throat tightly. Skatlor struggled fiercely, but to no avail, his mighty jolts and convulsions were like a child's rage compared to the might of this beast.

The other warriors all stood around with their blades drawn, smarting from their wounds. 'Ask them their names?' the creature seemed to ask himself in a gruff but intelligent voice. 'I will ask the little one.' The creature turned toward Naran. 'What is the meaning of this? Do you not know that this is the home of Lord Whately? Do you not know that no one enters these lands unbidden? Speak brigand, or I will snap his neck.

Naran stammered and stuttered in fear but managed to tell the creature of their mission.

'Then Lord Whately has been taken captive?' he said with a hint of sorrow in his voice. 'Does he still live?'

'We believe that he does,' Naran said, 'More than likely he is bound in the deepest dungeons of Thasbond. But they will not kill him while he can be of use to them. He knows many secrets, and they know how dear he is to Queen Malia. If they can trade him for a truce they would do so.'

'Then let them,' the creature said.

'The Queen would never do that,' Naran said with his head lowered. 'Nor would she do it for her own son, Gedda, the mightiest warrior of the Merkata. As things stand, we can do nothing. For without Lord Whately it seems as though all that we attempt ends in sorrow. Bravery and strength have not compensated for his brilliance, and we can go no further in our campaign. The Harz nobles know this only too well, and for them it is of little consequence whether we make the truce and save Whately or meet a sorrowful defeat without him. It is all the same to them; the truce, however saves them some trouble.'

'Very well,' the creature said with resolve, 'I will go to him. Perhaps there is something that can be done.'

'You are going to come with us?' Naran asked.

'It is not in the interests of Thasbond to release their captives at this time. I will make it their interest,' he said, as though he spoke to someone else. Naran just gazed at him in wonder. He finally released Skatlor, who fell choking to the ground.

'I am Naran,' the youth told him, 'I am the son of Queen Malia of the Merkata, who rules from Oblindin. 'What are you called?'

'I am called Natham,' the creature responded in a cold voice.

The Monster Comes To The North

The battered warriors made their way swiftly back toward the north, now being followed by Natham. Skatlor skulked along in the rear, still rubbing his sore neck. He was not at all pleased by this turn of events, but seeing as it was beyond his power to stop the monster, he relented and permitted him to join. 'We will see what happens when we get to Oblindin,' he thought to himself.

But when the full tale was told, the Queen only laughed and commanded that the monster be brought before her. 'If he can so easily best Skatlor the Strong, then we would be fools not to make some good use of him.'

'But war is not a mere matter of brute muscle, my Queen,' Skatlor argued, 'There is a great deal of cunning required.'

'We will see,' was all that the Queen would say. 'There is cunning that no common might can overcome; such was the Lord Whately. But it may well be that there is strength such that no cunning can countenance.'

Throughout all of his childhood Natham's very existence had remained a complete mystery. There were some clever gossips who maintained that Whately kept some bastard son hidden away on his farm, but none of them suspected anything of this sort. Accordingly, his entrance into the city of Oblindin was a matter of great curiosity among the Merkata. The streets were lined with onlookers as he was brought before the Queen. There was such a noise of murmuring and whispering that one could hardly hear the sound of the horns that blew to announce the entrance of prince Skatlor.

Since the city had come into her possession, the Queen lost no time in restoring its beauty. The well was now fully repaired and housed in a small, open-air temple. There were five pillars holding aloft an arched ceiling, the underside of which was plated with bronze. This ceiling looked as if it were aflame due to the sparkle of torches, which were hung on each of the pillars. The light from the torches and the reflection of the water in the well made the whole structure seem to be alive with magic. In the center, seated on a wooden throne, was Queen Malia, holding a small golden rod in her hand. At her side Natham saw a small boy, leaning upon the arm of her chair.

Natham was brought before her. Immediately the others knelt before the Queen. But much to the shock of all those around him, Natham, having no knowledge of court manners, remained on his feet. After a moment of hushed surprise, the Queen smiled. 'You are welcome here, Natham, charge of Whately. I have heard of your great strength.'

Natham said nothing. He just stood there with his head almost bowed, looking at the stones on the ground.

'I am glad that you have come,' she continued, 'We have need of you. Indeed, Lord Whately and my beloved son, Gedda have much need of you.'

Natham looked at her for the first time. She was indeed beautiful, more so than he had heard. Her black hair would have hung down to her ankles had it not been so carefully braided and set upon her head. It was set with diamonds and other precious jewels so that it sparkled like a living crown. Her face was pure white and smooth as an eggshell, though she in no wise looked young. Her age was in her eyes, and one glance into those portals would lead a man into dark and forgotten ages where no mortal memory could pierce.

'You broke the Spear of Skatlor,' she said. 'Will you fight for me?'

There was a very long pause. Natham seemed to be listening intently, though there was not so much as a sound in the air. Even the sound of whispering passed away to make room for silent expectation. The quiet lasted longer than any would have expected. It had never occurred to the Merkata that the creature might possibly turn her down. 'Who could possibly refuse her immortal beauty?' was a rhetorical question among the men of Oblindin. But the silence held for so long that it turned into fear. It seemed almost to have become a struggle of their wills. The mighty beast stood before her, with little more than his nose and eye brows showing from under his cloak, showing no sign of change. The Queen had a stern and serious look in her eyes, but she showed no sign of doubt.

At long last Natham cleared his throat. When he spoke, all the men of Merkata dropped their jaws in horror. He said:

'I will fight against Harz until the captives are restored,' he said. A murmur arose among the Merkata like a tidal wave. Swords rattled and the warriors grew irate. 'Who is this beast?' they cried out in anger, 'Who is this that dares treat the Lady of the Merkata with disdain?' All this commotion, of course, was due to the fact that he had not answered her question. As they took it, he had implicitly refused to fight for the Merkata. The boy that had stood at the Queen's side darted away without a sound and without being noticed.

The queen, however, was growing more and more desperate, though her countenance revealed nothing. She calmly nodded and said, 'Very well, Natham, I welcome your strength.'

The Lost Child Duri

That evening Natham lodged in the finest inn in Oblindin. He did not sleep, however, for his master's sorry state was ever on his mind. He could recall the day when Whately went away to the feast of Malia, and all that he had said upon his return.

'Was she not beautiful?' Natham had asked, when Whately told him of her proposal.

'Why do you ask me this?' Whately answered.

'I have heard that the Witch is enchanting to look upon, that once a mortal has seen her eyes he is forever placed under her spell.'

'Such a thing is not true, for at least half of beauty is in the eyes, my child.' Whately said as he looked at him. 'That is, half of beauty is in our own eyes. As every man has their own eyes, that which is beautiful will ever vary. But there is more beauty in this world than the eyes alone can perceive, and some things may be beautiful in ways the eyes cannot perceive at all.'

'What do you mean?' Natham had asked.

'Someone may have beautiful hair, yet be covered all over in spots and wrinkles. One may be tall and lean, yet horrid to behold. There are some who have skin as smooth as glass and white as silk, yet their bodies are broken and contorted. There are many flowers in this world that are beautiful to look upon, yet obnoxious to the nose. And many a fair instrument has produced hideous sounds when played by the wrong hands. It is no difficult thing, then, to understand that someone may be beautiful to look upon, but revolting to know. It is not only our face, Natham, that can be beautiful. Every word and every deed can show forth beauty. Or ugliness. And THAT, my son, is the only beauty with which we ought to concern ourselves. For whether we are born with skin like leather or skin like down is beyond our power. But that beauty of action, that singleness of purpose, is entirely within our power to affect. The face of Lady Malia shines, but her heart is shrouded by the bitterness of revenge. Her beauty is more like the beauty of the stars. Shining forth in splendor, but cold. I would rather she shine like a good warm fire, not so brilliant and lofty as the astral gods above, yet loving and life giving all the same.'

A voice suddenly startled Natham from his memory. He turned and looked around the room. 'Who is there?' he demanded.

'For longer than I can remember I have watched the Lady of the Merkata,' the voice said. 'Only twice now has her will been refused. There was a man, your own master Whately, who turned away her love, and now you, who would not bow down to her. This is odd beyond words. Have the stars above shifted? Is a change coming to the changeless maiden?'

'In all my days,' Natham began, 'I have never been bound by yoke or by chain. Neither was my master. He worked for the Lady freely and was compensated only with that which he had fully earned. He was given a wasteland in which to dwell; he turned it into a garden. He was given little pay, but he made such wise use of what was given him that he soon had more than he needed. Whately saw fit to aid the Merkata, and of his own volition bound his fate to yours. In that I had no part. I have no obligation to the Merkata, nor to their lady. What sense would it make if upon hearing of my master's imprisonment I marched straight to Oblindin and bowed my head to receive the yoke of Malia? I owe nothing to Malia, so why should I change that? Indeed, what I owe, I owe to the stars above and to Master Whately alone; surely binding my will to the desires of the Queen would be a betrayal of my duty to my master.'

'You speak boldly,' the voice returned, 'How do you know that I will not run straight to her and tell her of your feelings?'

'I think she, nay the Merkata Clan in its entirety already understand my feelings. But they love power more than they love even loyalty. Is that not why they sent my master into a trap in the first place? Knowing the treachery of man's heart, they ignored reason and clamored for the power of Meldomnon and its double minded Lord Holthnen. So desperate was the Queen for power that she sent the only thing she had that was of any worth, the only kind man in all of Vestron to the Mountain of Fire in chains.'

'You speak much too plainly,' the voice said again, this time with a hint of a laugh behind its false sincerity.

'I speak plainly because both you and I know that you are no man of Oblindin, nor a man at all. You are the boy that stood by Malia's side at the well, and who fled upon hearing my words.'

'Indeed,' the boy said as he seemed to step from the shadows into the moonlit room. 'I am called Duri; and yours are the first eyes to have discovered me for at least a thousand years.'

'But what are you?' Natham asked.

'What am I?' he laughed in a childlike voice, 'Why, have you never heard of ghosts before?'

'Indeed,' Natham said very seriously, 'I have seen more ghosts than men in my days. Yet no ghosts have I hitherto seen.'

'You speak in riddles,' the boy laughed.

'It is not a riddle to you, I am sure,' Natham said coldly, 'Those who fancy themselves to be ghosts are usually of quite a different nature. What are you? Why do you hang about the witch?'

'If I am no ghost,' the boy giggled, 'then what am I?'

'You are a Lost Child; one of those sorry spirits that cling to this world out of sorrow and misery.'

'You are right that I am one of the Lost Children of whom so many fairy tales speak. But your fairy-lore is wrong on one point. We cling to this world in sorrow and misery, but not because of it. But what about you? What are you?'

Natham paused for a moment and did not answer.

'You call me a ghost,' the boy said, looking at the lump on Natham's left shoulder. But you have more than just a foot in the grave yourself.'

Natham's face grew stern and vacant. 'But do not worry,' the boy said, 'I will guess no further. I get the impression you would have no more answers than I to that question. But I think I will follow you, if that is alright.'

'Could I prevent it?' Natham snickered.

'No, I don't suppose you could,' Duri laughed. 'At any rate, you may find me to be of some use.'

'And what about you?' Natham asked. 'What would you hope to gain from following me?'

'Ever since I can recall, I have doted around this silly old goddess of the Merkata. Why I have followed her all these years I do not understand. But since the Lord Whately appeared, she seems suddenly weak and foolish, wherein she had previously appeared to be strong and wise. There are only two men that have not cowered before her and groveled for favor: Your master and yourself. The reason for this, as well as for the change that has come over her I wish to discover.'

'Suit yourself,' Natham said. 'I trust you have seen battle in your long years?'

'Indeed,' Duri answered.

'And I trust that I need not prepare you for all the horrors and terrors that accompany war?'

'Indeed not,' Duri snickered, 'I have undoubtedly seen more war than you have on your master's farm!'

'Despite all of this I must, however, warn you: You have not seen nor heard of what I am capable of doing. Be prepared. What you will see may upset even a ghostly stomach.'

Duri became serious at once. The only thing that he truly believed and understood about this creature is that Natham was not the sort of creature to make an empty boast.

[Chapter III:  
The Wrath of the Monster](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Fields of Sinn

It was on a rainy morning, the first day of Messest to be precise, when the men of Harz first beheld the Monster of Vestron in open war. A great force had come from the Fiery Mountain to challenge the armies of Oblindin, who had lately established an outpost in the fortified village of Sinn. The village was a full march to the north of Oblindin, and they hoped to sack it swiftly and thereby establish a more secure border between the Merkata and the Vestri.

The army was commanded by Lord Ritin, an able commander and master swordsman. He had extensive experience fighting against the Ohhari in the Olger wood, and his reputation was well-known among the Vestri and Merkata alike. He came with soldiers from Meldomnon and Fhuhar under the banner of the Mountain of Fire, a simple red sphere on a background of black (ever practical, the Harz banners were meant to signify one thing: Power. And for this purpose was such an austere design settled upon). Altogether he led three thousand men, each armed with spears and swords, as well as a hundred mounted knights.

It was believed that there were only five-hundred Merkata altogether within the village. This was very nearly accurate. But it failed to take into account the valor of the Merkata heroes and, as this was their first encounter with him, the strength of the Vestron Monstrosity.

Skatlor remained in Oblindin, on orders from Queen Malia. But ready to fight alongside the monster were Agnoril, Pelon, Naran, Oanor and Janik. Had Ritin known that all these 'half-gods' were gathered in Sinn, he would never have attempted to take the village without a much greater force. The Harz did not quite give the strength of elven-blood the credit it deserved. They felt assured that in the vacuum created by Whately and Gedda's absence, they had little to fear from the Merkata.

Natham absolutely refused to so much as touch any weapon of the Merkata. Nor would he accept sword or shield from their armories, or hauberk from their smithies. 'I will not build upon another man's foundation,' he told Agnoril, who insisted he accept such gifts as the Merkata were willing to grant him. 'For if the house is built upon that which belongs to another, does not the house likewise belong to another?'

In the end, even threats of punishment were not effective. Natham, much to the horror of the Merkata, had no fear of man. He went into battle with nothing but his bare fists and the clothing he brought along with him from Whately's estate. Even his provisions he supplied himself out of his own expenses.

The Harz soldiers were strong and brave, and they were prepared to do whatever it would take to drive the Merkata back into the south. Janik and Pelon insisted they withdraw, and avoid bloodshed. But Agnoril refused. 'Tell me prince,' he said, addressing himself to Pelon, 'Do you really wish to have it said among the Merkata that the princelings of her people fled with their backs uncovered to their mother's arms at the first scent of battle?'

'This is a force too great for us, and too great for this village to withstand,' Pelon objected. 'It would be wise to save our strength for another day. If the Harz become convinced of our weakness, so be it. Let them grow arrogant and careless. Then we will sting them in their ignorance. But not today.'

'It must be today,' Natham said coldly from behind him. The other lords of the Merkata all turned to face him. 'Harz will only keep their captives alive so long as they have hope of forming a treaty. If they come to realize that you mean not to bargain, they will kill them without hesitation. You must turn the tables on them. Right now they fancy they have something that the Merkata wants: Your brilliant strategist and your most valiant prince. But we must show them that the lives of these two captives are worth more to themselves than to us. We must act with such fury and wrath that they will be afraid to touch the only things that might possibly turn aside our anger.'

The others looked at him in fear, none daring to say 'yea' or 'nay'. Agnoril at length broke out into a laugh.

'Truly you can be no companion of Old Whately's' he laughed. 'Whately spoke of mercy and strategy, but you speak as if you were a god? Am I right in assuming that you mean not only to withstand this assault, but to utterly vanquish it? And further, to march against the Mountain of Fire without delay?'

Natham said nothing, the fire and passion in his eyes gave sufficient answer.

To the north of Sinn there were rich farmlands and level grassy plains stretching as far as the eye could see. The harvest had just passed, and these lands now seemed barren and empty. The army of Ritin marched in tight lines from the north, with torches in their hands. 'They mean to burn the whole village to the ground,' Naran said in a quaking voice.

'They will not come within a league of this village,' Natham said calmly. Somehow, his own certainty seemed to pass over all those around him.

Agnoril sounded a great ram's horn and the gates of the village were opened. Four-hundred men departed; Agnoril, the sons of Malia, and Natham taking the lead. As they marched north, they quickened their pace, preparing themselves for the battle that lay ahead. Pelon and Janik seemed fearful. 'There will be five or more against each one of us,' Pelon said to his brother.

Agnoril overheard and laughed, 'That almost makes it an even match!'

'They have horsemen,' Janik said coldly.

'Leave the horsemen to me,' Natham said. A chill went up even Agnoril's spine when he heard this. They were all still unsure whether he meant these sorts of boasts in jest, self-delusion, or in earnest.

Natham broke away from the host and charged into the line of Harz soldiers with such speed that he might have been mistaken for a horseman himself. Agnoril made a great effort to keep up, but in the end he was not able to stay even within a stone's-throw of the Monster. Natham trampled six or seven men without even looking at them and then hurled himself into the midst of the enemy. In seconds he had fully armed himself, first with the torn limb of some sorry warrior, then with a short sword, then with a spear in one hand and a sword in the other. He tore through them like a cow through grass, mowing them down with iron teeth. Soon he had a broad sword in his left hand, which he swung about like it was made of wood, and a long horseman's spear in his right hand. By the time Agnoril and the princes arrived he had already slain thirty men. When the full might of the Merkata reached the Harz soldiers, he had killed fifty. Much to the horror of the Harz soldiers, he seemed invulnerable to their weapons. Otherwise lethal blows seemed to be unable to attach themselves to him. When he was attacked by groups of warriors it always seemed like he had just one more arm hidden somewhere beneath his cloak to fend off the blows. This gave rise to some of the more ridiculous accounts of his figure. Some of the wisest Harz historians give him more than six limbs. But as I indicated earlier, there is no need to postulate the existence of any more than four limbs.

Ritin, seeing what was happening, ordered his horsemen into the fray without delay. They came around to the rear of the Merkata and began making easy work of the slower and more cowardly among them. Natham turned with a roar and shouted to Agnoril. 'Sword of the Merkata!' he called, 'Destroy their captain! I will deal with the beasts.'

Agnoril, almost forgetting that it was he that was meant to command the Merkata, slew the soldiers against whom he fought and made his way toward the commander of the Harz soldiers. At his side was Naran and Oanor.

Natham, meanwhile, turned back toward the horses and charged toward them with the speed and fury of a war horse himself. The first horse he saw he shoved off its feet as though it were a dead reed. The horse and rider tumbled to the ground with a clang of metal and a whinny of terror. The next horse that came near him he grabbed by the throat and dragged to the ground as though he was wrestling a fox or a goat. Two came against him with lances pointed at his neck. He turned one aside with his broad sword and caught the other in his hand. He dropped the sword and gave one of the horses such a blow that it fell to the earth instantly slain. Another rider came at him in full charge, but the Monster caught his spear and pulled the rider from the saddle, flinging him, clattering and spiraling, into the host of Merkata warriors, who quickly dispatched him.

Very soon after the battle began, archers were sent to slay the Monster and make safe the battlefield. But almost as soon they gave up their endeavors. The Monster seemed to see the arrows coming even before they were fired. He dodged those that he could, the others either glanced off his thick skin or stuck into him like a thorn in a dragon's tail.

A horn was blown signaling a retreat. The Merkata had won. The horsemen turned to flee. Natham grabbed two of them by the back legs and brought them crashing down to the ground. He charged after the rest like a lion chasing down a baby deer. One by one the horsemen fell as he overtook them.

By this time Agnoril had made his way to Ritin. The commander of Harz drew his sword and threatened his opponent, 'I trust you are wise enough to know who I am?'

'I don't have the slightest idea,' Agnoril said insincerely, 'But I imagine you must know who I am.'

'I am Lord Ritin!' the Harz Noble said in a shaking voice, never in all his days had he seen such carnage. 'I will not be slain by the likes of you!'

Their duel was over almost as soon as it began. Ritin swung his sword skillfully and aggressively at Agnoril, but Agnoril proved to be too clever a swordsman for even this famous lord among swordsmen. Ritin's headless body fell to the ground with a thud, sending his soldiers fleeing in terror before the Merkata. Agnoril looked around at the battlefield. Nearly three hundred and fifty of the Merkata remained unharmed. 'It really is quite even now,' he laughed. He blew his horn and commanded his men to charge. 'Hunt them down! Hunt every last devil!' he shouted to his men. 'Let none escape alive!'

'Nay!' shouted Naran, 'Let one, let one escape alive.'

Agnoril turned and looked at the young man. 'You may make a brilliant strategist yet!' he laughed. 'Indeed, let one escape to bring the legend of the Lords of Merkata and the Monster of Vestron before the ears of the courts of Thasbond. For such a tale he will likely enough lose his own head.'

'Nay, let him bring more than a legend,' Naran said. 'Let us capture a man alive and send him to Thasbond with our demands.'

They searched among the wounded men of Harz for a man that they deemed able to survive the return journey to the Mountain of Fire. They outfitted him with a horse and provisions and then sent him off with a sealed letter in his pocket, the head of Ritin in a bag tied to his saddle, and the fear of Natham in his eyes. The letter read as follows:

'To the Lords of Harz, to the Lord Vullcarin who reigns and the Lords Holthnon of Meldomnon and Lord Narig of Nanhur:

'Heed the words of Natham, hero of the Rugna wastes, and hear the words of the Merkata Lords with whom he fights. Your attempt upon the village of Sinn has come to naught. Ritin has fallen, his swordsmanship and wisdom has come to ruin. Send your scouts and your huntsmen to the southeast and behold what has become of your force. See what we have done to them.

'Word will no doubt reach you of the strength of the one who is called Natham, though none will have heard that name until this day. Heed our words, Harz Nobles, for if our captives are not released in one month's time, then the full might of the Merkata and the Monster of Vestron will be set against your cities, your farmlands and the walls of Thasbond itself.

'You knew the abilities of your Lord Ritin better than we, yet he was brought to the Gate of Death by the swift sword of Lord Agnoril, commander of the armies of the Lady Malia. His sword will slay many lords ere this year is ended. Unless you release to us Gedda, the noble son of the Lady, and Whately, who is beloved by all the Merkata.

'Do not take these words to be empty bellowing and haughty threats. The power that has long slept in the wastes has awoken, and with it marches a terror that will not be appeased until it is satisfied either by your obedience or by your blood.'

'Choose this day which of these will be your price!'

A month passed, and Harz, to their eternal regret, made no reply. History teaches us that the Monster himself secretly sent many more letters to Thasbond as well as to Meldomnon and Nanhur, pleading with them to condescend to the demands of the Merkata. A record of his correspondence with the lords of Vestron would be of great moral value to all those who study the philosophy of war. But such things neither fit the scope, nor the scale of my present work. It should be borne in mind, however, that the result of these letters is that in almost every case, the enemies of the Merkata were forewarned of their danger. This was a circumstance that, in the end, saved many thousands of Vestri men and women who would have otherwise been trampled by the Merkata warriors in their blind raging conquest of the central part of Vestron.

The Flames of Hersa

Agnoril, on Natham's suggestion, sent messengers to Oblindin immediately with news of their victory, as well as with requests for a much larger army. In the letter he sent to the Queen he reportedly wrote, 'I had not known war until I saw the Monster on the fields of Sinn.'

There were two goals now before the Merkata: To take control of the port of Hersa, the city in which Whately and Gedda had been betrayed, and to take control of the lake country of Hele. The Poison River, (so called for its sulfurous smell) flowed southwest from Fhuhar and emptied into a large lake, known to the Vestri as Hele. All the surrounding land was called by this name as well. These two points, Lake Hele and Hersa, were critically important to Harz. The fresh, though odorous, waters of Hele fed their most fertile farmlands and was for that reason of no little importance. Likewise, Hersa was one of the more important centers of commerce aside from Nunhar.

Agnoril insisted that they had not the manpower to occupy both Hersa and Hele. But Natham shook his head. 'We will not occupy both,' he said sternly. 'Hersa will be burnt to the ground, in vengeance for the treachery of Harz. We will then only need men enough for the Lake country. If the Merkata can manage that, we will be but a march away from Thasbond itself.

Pelon, Janik, Naran and Oanor objected to this plan, but Agnoril was more than satisfied. 'Hersa can be rebuilt,' he said, 'But we cannot manage Hele in the west and Hersa in the east without splitting our strength in half. Nor can we leave one untouched while we focus our efforts on the other. We must take one and turn the other into a wasteland.'

Of the destruction of Hersa very little needs to be said. It was a bold move on the part of the Merkata, depending chiefly upon stealth and speed. This was the first battle in which Skatlor and Natham fought together. Though Skatlor still resented the beast for humiliating him, he was forced to grin with pride as he watched the Monster tear apart his enemies like they were cloth dolls. 'Even the noble blood of the Lady of the Merkata must bow in reverence to such power,' he whispered to himself.

That night the Merkata camped by the sea among the rocks on the southern side of the burning port. They kept fires only for warmth, for the city itself burned so bright that they could have read a letter or a scroll without so much as squinting their eyes. Natham, as was his custom, removed himself from the others and rested atop a small grass-covered hill to the west of the camp. He lay down and looked up into the heavens. There, between wisps and pillars of smoke he could see the wheeling heavens above him and the distant astral gods of whom his master so often spoke.

'It isn't really fair is it,' a voice said from beside him in the dark. Duri was laying next to him with his hands folded behind his head.

'You are still here?' Natham said, 'I would have thought you would have run back to Oblindin after the battle at Sinn.'

'I've grown used to war and death,' he said in a whisper. 'Sometimes I even wish I could be slain in battle, just to feel something again. I have no memory of feeling, you know.'

'I don't know,' Natham said.

'I think you understand more than you let on,' Duri insisted. 'What are you? You do not even know yourself do you? You have no idea where you came from. And neither do I. In that sense we are the same. For all I know, I have always been a 'ghost'. I cannot say with any certainty that I have ever really 'felt' anything.'

'And for all I know,' Natham responded, 'I have always been a beast.'

'That's what I mean,' Duri said, 'It isn't very fair. Why should I be stuck in this wretched country with all these ridiculous outcasts for so many ages while some seem to be able to just live their lives in quietness, and DIE in quietness too. Why do I have to skulk around in the shadows for all eternity?'

'You are asking for fair?'

'Yes,' Duri said confidently, 'I would like to see a little justice in this world.'

'Justice,' began Natham, 'Justice is not something anyone should ask for. When I was younger I too used to ask for justice. "Why am I like this?" I would ask. "It isn't fair!" I would insist. But Lord Whately would always warn me, "Do not ask for Justice unless you really mean to have it."'

'That's peculiar,' Duri laughed, 'The Lady of the Merkata talks about Justice as though it were the greatest of all blessings!'

'And so it seems to be, my master would say. Justice is, to most men, the highest of all purposes. To act justly, to do justice, to restore justice; these are all things the world pursues. But it pursues them blindly. When I demand to have justice done, why should I think that it would bring me to a better condition? Why do I not consider the possibility that it would only make all the world uglier for the sake of justice. Do I want the world to be fair? That would be to desire an uglier world, so as to make things even. How do I know that Justice would bring me glory, beauty and wealth? And not that Justice would destroy those things from the world entirely? It is only the man who thinks he is worthy of honor that can demand justice, and such a man is, as my master puts it, 'more often than not much more delusional than righteous.'

'I had never considered it like that,' Duri said. 'But still, it seems a shame to have to live all my life, if it is proper to call it a 'life', in this shadowed world of the unloving, while so many others have it better.'

'Who has it better?' Natham asked, turning his head to look at the boy. 'That is precisely the point I have been trying to make. Who are we to judge what we deserve and what others deserve. And who are we to judge whether we have been treated unfairly? Doesn't a farmer have to toil ere his crop is harvested? When the world is ended, Duri, when all has crumbled to dust and shadow, and when justice is still undone, then complain to me of injustice. But until that day we cannot but pretend to have an idea of whether life is unfair or not.'

Duri said nothing. He just sat silently looking into the stars until Natham closed his eyes to sleep. Then he rose and darted off into the darkness, southward toward Oblindin.

Lake Hele

Later that same month the full strength of the Merkata was gathered together to march against the Lake country of Hele. There were three fortified cities on the southern shore of Hele: Jilal, Niha and Olbae. These the Merkata lay siege to all at once on the second day of Morest. They left only enough troops to keep them shut in behind their walls, and to prevent them from coming to aid the northern cities of Hele, which were their true targets. If the cities of Polin and Legelz could be taken, then their southern allies would have no choice but to surrender. Three days after the siege against the southern cities began, the armies of Legelz and Polin met the Merkata along the eastern shore of Hele.

Again, speed was the prime concern for Agnoril and his men. They only had a few days to secure the cities before reinforcements would be sent from Harz. To delay this, Oanor and his brother Faruk were sent with two hundred skilled men to haunt the northern marches of Hele, lest any messengers be sent to Thasbond from the Lake Country. The combined might of Agnoril, Skatlor and Natham was too much for the armies of Legelz and Polin. They were driven to a full retreat within three hours. Messengers were sent to Thasbond, of course; and, of course, no messengers ever arrived there; Oanor was too skilled a huntsman to allow anyone to escape.

I mentioned how Natham entered his first battle absolutely unarmed. But now he was armed more richly than any king of men. He wore a deep blue cape on his shoulders, torn from the neck of a Harz Noble named Kiniz. He wore the sword of Lord Ritin's bodyguard strapped across his back. In his right hand he carried an enormous spear that he had taken while he fought in Hersa (It was a spear made to skewer whales and other sea monsters in the dark ocean waters far to the east of Vestron). He carried in his left hand the largest shield that he could find among the carcasses on the field of Sinn. On his head he wore the helmet of a Harz horse-lord and his arms and legs were guarded by chain armor fashioned from the best hauberks of the Harz warriors. He was an absolute terror to behold; and he was death to his foes on the battlefield.

The Merkata followed close behind the retreating warriors, fighting them right up to the very walls of Legelz. Here the sympathies of the men within the city were sorely put to the test. Should they open their gates to save their comrades, and thereby risk the city itself? Or should they leave their companions to their doom outside the city walls? In the end their sympathies got the best of them and they foolishly attempted to rescue the doomed warriors. They sent out fresh cavalry and soldiers to try and make a way of escape for the weary warriors outside. The Merkata pounced upon this opportunity at once. Agnoril, now mounted on a sandy colored horse such as only the Merkata breed, charged in with Natham and the lords of the Merkata close behind him. In their train came all the best of the Merkata warriors.

They forced their way into the city. Agnoril and his men set fire to the barracks of Legelz and slew all the Nobles and rulers of the city. Natham was challenged by the brave, though foolish commander of the city's guard; a man named Tyinos. He accepted the challenge, which, as my readers can very well imagine, did not last very long. The sight of Natham more than anything else drove the remaining warriors to throw down their weapons and beg Agnoril for mercy.

By nightfall all the warriors of the city were either slain or in bonds.

That night, on the borderlands, Oanor's skill was put to the test. But in the end he managed to slay every soul that attempted to pass between the Lake Country and the Mountain of Fire. They would still have another day or two before any challenge arrived from Thasbond.

The next morning, Agnoril and the princes gathered together in council along with the monster Natham.

'Polin,' Agnoril started, 'yet remains to be dealt with. And until it is taken we cannot hope to withstand the armies of Thasbond, even with the might of Natham on our side. For the moment the armies of Fhuhar, Nolfu and Esfu descend upon us, Polin will undoubtedly unleash its strength. The southern cities will be ours the moment their northern allies are taken, but until then we must keep them under siege. What shall we do, my friends and brothers? I think we must lay siege to Polin this very night, and burn her to the ground if she resists us for more than two days. We cannot long withstand the armies of Thasbond without dealing with the threat of Polin.'

'We ought to have foreseen this,' Janik murmured. 'Too much faith have we placed in this Monster. We should have taken our time and gone step by step, taking only what we have the strength to defend.'

'You speak like a fool, Janik,' Agnoril snapped. 'Natham has not led us astray, nor has he disappointed us in any way. We did foresee this circumstance. But what is to be done about it we have not yet decided. But it was decided, and decided in fact by your mother the Queen Malia, that this course of action was the best. Now, what of Polin? What do you suggest we do?'

'I am neither a Monster nor a Strategist. And neither our strategist nor our monster are Merkata. I haven't the slightest idea what we can do!' he crossed his arms and shook his head as he spoke. 'It seems to me that our beast has led us into a trap.'

'A trap?' laughed Naran. 'Janik, we have slain more Harz and Vestri in these past few years than ever we have managed in all the ages of Vestron combined. This is not due to some new power among the Merkata, but rather to the power of Natham and the wisdom of Whately. You speak like a fool, brother. We have not yet cause to doubt these two.'

'Then let us hear the Monster's plan,' Janik scoffed.

Natham, who had been silent until this moment, rose from his chair and spoke. 'We are not going to touch Polin,' Natham said coolly. 'It would take too long to lay siege to the city, and they will not make the mistake of Legelz by opening their gates for us.'

Janik burst out in nervous laughter. 'Do you answer to Harz?'

Natham rose from his seat, towering above the others, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the window and casting the lords of the Merkata into shade.

'Silence Janik,' Agnoril commanded. 'No one ought to be charged with such treachery, not even in jest.'

'What are we to do then,' Janik whined, 'Are we to follow this creature off the edge of the earth itself?'

'If he has never steered us wrong,' Agnoril snapped, pounding his fist against the table,' then we will follow him to that end as well.'

'Let us hear what the Monster has to tell us,' Naran insisted.

'We will split our force into two,' Natham began, 'The lesser part will abandon the Lake country entirely and make their way to the eastern lands, to the very gates of Meldomnon, or as close as they can manage. It is in the east that our strength is surest.'

'Then we are to abandon all that we have just fought and bled for?' Janik asked incredulously.

'No,' Natham replied, 'For what we have accomplished here cannot be undone by our departure. The strength of Legelz is shattered, and ere we depart we will make its powerlessness complete. Tear down the walls and shatter the gates!'

At this command, Agnoril nodded to Naran, who immediately undertook this responsibility. Natham continued, 'I give to the Merkata two things: A future and a hope. Those who go to the east will retain all that we have gained through conquest in these past few years. They will be the future, regardless of the outcome of this campaign. But you also have hope. A chance to strike off the very head of the Harz Nobles and end their tyranny forever.'

At those words, every eye lit up and the heart within every man's breast leaped. Even Janik seemed to be sincerely interested.

'The greater part of the Merkata will make its way to the north, and march against Thasbond from the northwest.'

A look of shock and horror came across every man's face. Agnoril spoke first, 'Do you jest?' he said with a trembling voice, 'Do you mean to mock me, who has defended you thus far? How can we ever hope to accomplish such a fete?'

'Thasbond to this hour does not know that we are within a day's march of their gates,' Natham explained. 'The moment this news comes to their ears they will send their army to Polin and to Legelz. We will not be here to meet their army - we will, in fact, be behind them. The Harz, for all their daring, have never fully explored the hidden passes of the Mountain of Fire. There are places - noxious hellish caves that they fear to even think about. We will enter their city through those passes and come into their stronghold through the caves. By the time the Harz army realizes that we are no longer in Hele, and all their Lake country is empty of enemies, the sons of Merkata will have their swords to the throats of their women and children. Then we will see how fierce the dread Harz Nobles truly are. Will they besiege their own homeland and burn their own houses to the ground?'

Agnoril's face was white as a ghost's. 'How many ages have the Merkata walked this earth? And we have heard naught of these caves and passes! Tell me, Natham,' he said somberly, 'On what authority do you speak concerning these caves? What makes you believe such an endeavor is even possible?'

Natham sighed and then slowly explained, 'What reason have I to believe that it is the Harz who hold my master captive and not the Merkata? What could possibly lead me to believe that any such city as Harz exists. On what grounds can I ascertain the validity of your Queen's claim to be its rightful ruler? All of these things are founded upon the same foundation: The words of men. It is on no worse a foundation that this strategy is laid.'

In fact, the strategy belonged entirely to Duri. The night after the fall of Legelz, he came to Natham with such an excitement that he could barely speak. When he did speak, his words came out so fast that they nearly overtook themselves and began new sentences before the original sentences had come to their point.

Eventually, however, he was able to calm down long enough to explain where he had been and what he had seen.

'I walked through darkened paths, where mortals fear to tread,' he began, 'and I have seen the future of the Merkata.'

'What do you mean?' Natham said curiously.

'For years uncountable I have watched these pathetic creatures fight their hopeless war against the Harz invaders. Never in all that time has there been any hope of victory. There has only been their own foolhardy fanaticism. But you and your master have altered things. Somehow, the stars seem to shine differently upon the Merkata. If ever there was and if ever there will be hope for the Merkata, then it must be now, during this very campaign.'

'What do you propose?'

'There are secret paths in the Mountain of Fire. Some of them are ancient, some of them have been blocked up over the years. But there are others that are new, and some that have not yet been discovered by the men of Thasbond. The path is treacherous, but passible. The air is noxious, but breathable. The battle will be difficult, but it is winnable. The hordes of Thasbond will be emptied in a few days time to come to the rescue of Polin. The Merkata can strike Thasbond from the northwest, through the tunnels of fire and death.'

Natham was quiet for some time as he considered this, staring thoughtfully at the maps and charts of Thasbond he had been given. At length he turned again and spoke loudly and piercingly, 'Tell me little sprite,' he demanded, 'Are you certain about these paths?'

'I have walked them myself,' Duri said in a sincere voice, 'There is a way into Thasbond from the North, and I will lead you and the Merkata there myself.'

'Why should I trust you,' Natham asked.

'Why shouldn't you?' Duri retorted. 'Why should I mislead the Merkata with whom I have endured so many long years.

'What have you to gain from helping them?'

'What have I to lose? Besides, I have grown quite weary of their failure. Why would I contribute to my own boredom by making them fall?'

'You spirits are notoriously inconsiderate of the value of human lives. How can I be sure that this is no trick for your own amusement?'

Duri smiled, 'Value of human lives? You mortals are overly considerate of them. Besides, I have told you already that I find you and your master to be absolutely fascinating creatures. If I act for my own mere pleasure, then I would preserve you two alive for as long as I possibly can. I am very interested in seeing just how much you can accomplish.'

Natham was silent for some time. Finally he spoke, 'Very well, Duri. We will take your advice. You have watched these lands longer than any other, save the Lady Malia herself. You carry the fate of the Merkata in your little fist. Do not abuse this power, for there are ways in which the mortal can smite the immortal.'

At those words Duri's eyes rolled to gaze upon the lump on Natham's shoulder. He shook his head. 'You will not regret putting your trust in me.'

The God of the Woods

Duri fled from Legelz with the speed of a shooting star. He made his way north along the Poison River until he struck a broad westward road. This he followed under the open moonlight without fear, for no living eyes could behold him and no mortal foe could harm him.

The land to the west of the Mountain of Fire was considered blessed. The rich soil grew vegetables and grain in abundance. Farmland stretched out farther than the eyes could see. Endless fields of grain, delectable gardens and orchards uncountable alike grew right up to the road itself. But none of this was discernible to Duri as he passed. Those lands were yet bound by winter's death spell, and looked as pale and dead as the wastes of Rugna. But Duri would have passed passed these lands without a care in any season, for he had no memory of the taste of food nor of the sensation of hunger.

He followed this road for many leagues until he came at last to the city of Olgalver. The gates of the city were shut fast and the watchmen were awake. Duri did not hesitate for an instant; he scaled the gate like a gust of wind and ran along the main road straight to the other side of the city. He leaped over the western wall and disappeared into the woodlands beyond. Altogether he had run more than one hundred and fifty leagues since midnight, yet his immortal feet were not tired.

There are none among the Nanthor, the Harz or even the Merkata who know the paths whereon that spirit tread that night. He fled from the light of the moon into the Forest of Olger where no moon shines.

He came to a village of outcasts, descendants of the Ohhari, who ruled over nearly all of Vestron in ancient times. He came to a long house of log and mud and entered through an open window. Before him there was an old man, sleeping in a chair with his head slumped over his chest. Standing beside him was a pale spirit, old looking himself, but full of immortal light.

The older spirit addressed Duri with a slight grin.

'Master Duri,' he said, 'long has it been since you have passed under the leaves of this forest. Indeed, long has it been since you have asked me for any help.'

'There may come a day, Old Man,' Duri answered with a laugh, 'when you will need the help of others. But until that day you ought to thank the starry gods that you have always been the one with power to save in his open palm, and never the beggar with clenched pleading fists.'

'Just words,' the Old Man of the Woods sighed. 'What do you want of me?'

'Nothing great,' Duri said, 'I need safe passage for two men, outcasts from the Merkata.'

'That I cannot do,' The Old Man said resolutely. 'We do not deal with those impostors.'

'They are not Merkata themselves,' Duri said with a laugh. 'Do you think I am so foolish as to ask you for safe passage for the only sort of creature the Ohhari hate more than the Harz?'

'You are wrong there, Duri. For we abhor the Vestri, those blood-rebels and cowards, far more than either the Nanthor invaders or the desert wandering Merkata.'

'Have it as you will,' Duri laughed, 'But you must let these two men pass. They have fought long and hard against the Harz, and they have made more progress against your ancient foe than the pitiful Ohhari could ever dream of making. By this very hour three days hence the Merkata will be fighting in the streets of Thasbond itself.'

The Old Man opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He stared at Duri in disbelief. Duri grinned and then burst into laughter.

'Does that anger you, Boscus?' he said in a haughty tone. 'Your rag-clad huntsman have only managed to hide in the deep places of the Olger Forest. But the Merkata have managed to set fire to Hersa and to level Legelz, and strike fear into the hearts of Polin and all the cities of Hele.'

Boscus remained silent. Duri again taunted him, 'What say your star-signs now? Is it almost the hour of the Ohhari's revenge?'

'What is written in the stars cannot be altered by the deeds of mankind. Laugh as much as you desire, little sprite - the Ohhari will come to the Mountain of Fire again. Though a thousand more years must pass, nay though a thousand thousands of years pass, the Ohhari people will once more come to their own kingdom. It is written in the stars, beyond the grasp of the Merkata and their witch.'

'I hope for your sake that you are right,' Duri said. 'It would be dreadfully disappointing if you spent all these ages of the world with these beggars for naught.'

'Do not fear for me, little Duri. The stars do not lie.'

'Ah, they do not,' Duri laughed. 'But even us spirits can misunderstand.'

'Fair enough,' Boscus nodded. 'But tell me, Duri, why should we let these Merkata hirelings pass through our lands? Moreover, why should such valiant men as you have described have need of the Ohhari's help?'

'I am asking because these two will soon be leaving the Merkata. You and I know well enough that the power that rules the Merkata will suffer no master. If they do not die in the fray, they will be driven from the Merkata by force.'

'Are the Merkata so petty as to persecute their own heroes?'

Duri shook his head, 'You know the Lady as well as I.'

'You are wrong there,' Boscus said with a sadness in his voice, 'I know her better, though you have known her more.'

'Then tell me about her,' Duri pleaded.

'I am sorry, young one, I swore long ago that I would never recount such a sorrowful tale until the world is ended and everything is put to order.'

The Mountain of Fire

Janik was sent back to Oblindin that very morning 'to keep the Queen safe'. Naran spent the whole day ordering the destruction of the defenses of Legelz. He absolutely obliterated the front and rear gates, tore down the wall in several places, and confiscated every last weapon he could gather.

The captives of Legelz were sent east with Janik, toward Oblindin. They, at least, would not trouble the Merkata again. Whatever remained of Legelz after their departure was doused with oil and set on fire.

Pelon was sent to help his brother Oanor hunt down messengers and scouts, as well as to keep the army informed of their enemy's movements. Thus it came to pass that when the armies of the Merkata had been gone from Legelz for one day, the armies of Harz darted southwest along the Poison river toward Lake Hele. There they found only the burnt husk of Legelz and the terrified and battered men of Polin locked behind their iron gates.

The Merkata were nowhere to be found.

'Likely they fled back to their dunes to hide,' was the fateful conclusion of Lord Ghelhurn. He ordered his men to lodge at Polin and to send scouts south to learn where the Merkata had gone. It would never have entered into their minds that at that very hour their enemy was closer to their own houses than they were.

The Merkata marched due north through the night and then turned abruptly to the southeast. Even Skatlor had a hard time keeping up with Natham. But whenever the army would start to fall behind, he would remind them of how their brother Janik would become the master of the army of the Merkata should they fail to take Thasbond ere its army returned. The thought of the weak-hearted Janik becoming the lord of the hosts of the Merkata seemed to inspire fresh determination to their weary feet. They learned from Oanor that the army had set up in Polin and was searching for them in the south and in the east.

Natham led them into the mountains from the northwest. It seemed to Agnoril as though he made every decision on a whim and that he had no real fixed idea of his destination. This, of course, was very nearly true. He did not have the faintest notion of where the caverns could be found. At every step he was following Duri, though no other living man could see him.

The terrain changed abruptly as they approached the foothills of Fhuhar. Life itself seemed to end. First the animals fled away, then the trees, and finally the grass came to an end. All that survived in this barren waste were thorns and weeds, and as they approached the mountain these grew thinner and thinner as well until there was nothing but hot dead earth and smoking rocks.

'Are you so certain you want this land back?' Natham asked as they trudged along the pathless wastes.

'Just keep your eyes on our road,' Skatlor grumbled, 'and let us worry about our ancient home. It is not for its beauty that we desire the mountain. The Mountain of Fire gives life to Vestron itself; he who controls the Mountain controls Vestron.'

'For some reason,' Natham responded, 'I do not believe that anybody controls Fhuhar.'

In silence the army continued until the first hints of morning began to lighten the sky. But before the sun appeared they found themselves being led down a path into a deep crevice in the side of the mountain. The heat was almost unbearable at first, but once they had walked a few hours in the crack they found that they had grown accustomed to it. 'We had better get used to the heat,' Agnoril said as he followed Natham. 'This is more than we have had to endure in the deserts, but even this will feel cool compared to the heat of Thasbond.'

The crevice descended lower and lower into the mountain until the light of the sun vanished away. The whole army, some four thousand men altogether, now passed into absolute darkness. Though it seemed like they were in this state for league upon league, it was only about one fifth of a league that they had to travel without sight. The slow pace, the heat and the blindness made it seem that much further. Finally, a light appeared ahead. But it was not a way out of the crevice, but rather the fiery caves with which the crevice is connected. From sunlight to darkness to the light of molten lava and flame they passed in the space of three hours. The air was hot and thick with fumes, but as Duri promised, it was breathable.

The caves wound through the mountain's heart like a maze. In some places the path, if it is proper to call it a path, was so thin that no more than three men could fit abreast. Some places were so treacherous that Natham almost suspected Duri of leading them to their dooms. There were a few places where even Duri was confounded as to where to go (as some of the pathways had been blocked since he last walked the path). But in the end, Duri led them aright, and the army followed Natham through the paths toward the city of Thasbond. After some time they found that the path was widening and growing more level. They made much better progress here and even took a rest. Further ahead, great pillars of carved stone could dimly be seen in the firelight. 'This must be the Temple of Fire,' Skatlor remarked. Those pillars are no work of the Harz.'

'Indeed,' Agnoril affirmed. 'This is Merkata territory. I would guess we have passed under the city and are now on the northeastern side of the Upperlands.'

'Yet,' Skatlor said with a puzzled look on his face, 'these characters are such as I have never seen in the writings of the Merkata.'

'Time changes all things,' Agnoril said, hiding his own bewilderment, 'even letters I suppose.'

The men were silent for several minutes, as they continued along the path. Skatlor broke the silence and asked, 'What is your plan, Monster?'

'This path goes to the old burial places of the Merkata,' Natham replied, 'though now it is the haunt of beggars and peasants. We will wait for midnight here. Then a few of you will enter the city and see what can be done.'

When the appointed time arrived, Skatlor and Agnoril disguised themselves in peasant's rags and headed up the path toward the city. The path became very narrow and ended in a large stone archway under which no more than four men could walk abreast. 'We must be swift,' Skatlor said. 'It would not take much for this doorway to be blocked, and our entire army entombed.'

They hurried southward along an ancient road. They followed the road until they came across a small peasant village. 'It is true then,' Skatlor said, 'This area is not well attended by the Nobles.'

'Indeed, perhaps they fear the Fire Temple,' Agnoril suggested.

'No matter,' Skatlor shook his head, 'We must tend to our business. The armies of Thasbond are gone, but they are certain to have retained the Noble Guardians, those dread servants of the lords of Harz. Vullcarin will be there, and his devil brothers Rikin and Samor.'

'The three of them alone will put our warriors to the test,' Agnoril said quietly, 'We must make sure that they are dealt with swiftly.'

'Leave it to me and the Monster,' Skatlor said almost with glee.

'You would very much like that wouldn't you?'

'As would you, I imagine. Unless the old tactician has taught you more than strategy.'

'I can't imagine what you mean by that,' Agnoril said irritably.

'I think you do,' Skatlor grinned. 'These two, the master and the Monster, they are not very much like the Merkata. And you were – we all were – more like the Merkata before they came to rule over us.'

'Rule over us?'

'You doubt my estimate?' Skatlor looked his comrade in the eyes. 'For the sake of power my mother has traded power. She gave up control of the Merkata for the sake of power, but a power that the Merkata cannot control. Is it not the word of Whately, and lately the words of a brute that rule over the entire Clan?'

Agnoril nodded, 'But what is to be done?'

'I don't know,' Skatlor sighed. 'That is the problem. As it stands, we are without power. But I just want to remind you of who you are: You are Agnoril, Kinsman of Malia, Sword of the Merkata. Don't become the slave of an outsider and his beast of burden.'

'What do you wish to do, here on the edge of battle?'

'I wish to do nothing right now. I just want you to remember who we are, and who must rule the Merkata. For my part, I will never forget my own strength and purpose.'

'Nor will you forget your humiliation no doubt, Skatlor the Mighty, Spear of the Merkata,' Agnoril said with a voice of disdain.

'What will you have of me, Agnoril,' Skatlor protested, 'Should the Merkata throw off the fetters of the Harz Nobles to set the irons of Natham upon our necks?'

'You are too fearful, my friend, and jealous too,' Agnoril shook his head. 'But nonetheless I see only too clearly what you are saying. Whatever happens, the rule of the Merkata must never be taken from Our Lady.'

'I know I can trust you in this matter,' Skatlor concluded.

Agnoril nodded silently.

The Fall of Thasbond

The sky was still fully dark when the two lords of the Merkata returned to the Temple of Fire. They were full of passion and confidence. 'We have seen the city,' Agnoril said with a gleam of zeal in his eyes, 'and it is ripe for the picking. But we must move quickly. The army of Thasbond went down to Lake Hele to annihilate the Merkata, but no Merkata were to be found there. We must strike off their head this very night, while their neck is yet outstretched.'

The army arranged itself into three groups; two smaller bands of five hundred a piece and one large company consisting of the remaining three thousand warriors. Naran was given command over one of the smaller companies. Ason, a lord of the Merkata, was given rule over the other. The main force would be led by Agnoril and Skatlor.

Thasbond was built, supposedly, upon the ruins of the ancient Merkata city Haraz-Fhuhar, from which the mountain and its current inhabitants draw their names. Whether by chance or by some miracle, the Mountain of Fire had never yet sent a river of lava down to the place where this ancient city was built. The Merkata were confident that it was because the god of the mountain loved the Merkata, and the Harz Nobles were confident that the Mountain loved the city of Thasbond. But whatever the reason, the people of the city generally felt secure despite the constant rumbles and thunderings of the mountain. The north side of the city was not fortified, as the razor sharp rocks and rivers of molten rock would allow no one, whether friend or foe approach the citadel from that direction. Their main defenses had always been in the southern portion of the city. The western portion of the city was also heavily guarded, though the ascent to that section was far too difficult a climb for any army to attempt. This area was almost empty, save for the peasants and outlaws who could not make a living in the citadel itself. There were small villages and towns scattered about, full of suffering and impoverished souls. From these men the Merkata had little to fear.

The smaller forces of Naran and Ason would be sent to face the remaining warriors in the south and western parts of the city respectively. But the main force would strike at the citadel itself, which lay at the very northernmost edge of Thasbond. This was the home and fortress of the Harz Nobles themselves, the land of the descendents of the Nanthor invaders who first conquered the Merkata and the Ohhari so many ages ago.

The clanging of sword against sword, the shattering of spears and shields and the piercing shriek of arrows in flight filled the dark streets of Thasbond with so much chaos that it would be impossible to report all that occurred in that night.

Lord Ason and his men found themselves facing a much larger force than they had anticipated. There were almost two-thousand warriors in the western part of the city who came out to answer their challenge. But in the end, at the expense of nearly half their number, Lord Ason's army took control of the western city.

Naran had it little easier in the southern section. At first his force was repelled by the lines of Harz Knights that were stationed near the southern walls of the city. They struck out against the Merkata so hard and fast that they almost broke through their lines to charge the flank of the forces of Agnoril.

But Naran, by luck or by skill, or by fate alone, shot an arrow through the back of Lord Fhulan's helmet, dropping him to the dust and sending his knights into a blind rage. Tempting fate again he felled Lord Garish, with a well-aimed arrow through his right eye. Leaderless and enraged, the Harz Knights turned from the north and charged like wild men toward the shooter. They very nearly reached him too. But the Merkata closed in around them and made an end of their wrath. But not before a bold young Harz knight threw a spear through Naran's leg. He was carried off the field and the leadership passed to Lord Raso, a relative of Ason.

The chief part of the Merkata went north, to the Iron Palace of Thasbond, where the Lords of the Harz Nobles lived and ruled. But the Merkata were not prepared for what came out to face them. The Harz Nobles were for the most part, pure Nanthor. They towered over the rest of the Harz and the Vestri. To the Merkata they seemed like giants. The Lord of the Harz, Vullcarin was mounted on a horse that seemed larger than any the Merkata had ever seen before. Some later accounts say that the entire host of the Harz Nobles was mounted on dragons or elephants or some other such fierce and enormous beast. But all the early tales say 'large horse' or 'mighty steed' or some such variation.

But when the fighting began, he may as well have been riding the fiery sun itself. He smote the Merkata like a bull whips the buzzing flies with his tail. To the left and right of him they fell, and in front of him they fled away.

Were it not for the skill of Agnoril, the strength of Natham and the sheer bravado of Skatlor, the field would certainly have been lost and the Merkata would have been driven back into the Rugna desert to sulk and nurse their wounds. But their proximity to their goal would not allow them to give in to terror. Skatlor slew Lord Jeyin and Lord Haraba, and innumerable others of equal strength and skill. At long last, when he began to grow weary, he summoned all his strength and cast his spear through the neck of Lord Vullcarin's mighty horse. The horse shrieked and fell to the ground, bringing his rider to the dust with him.

Agnoril seized upon this opportunity at once. He rushed through the lines, dodging here, fighting there, slipping through a group of knights and finally coming to the winded Lord Vullcarin as he rose from the ground. But his brothers Rikin and Samor were already at his side.

Knowing it would be hopeless to face them alone he called out for the Lords of the Merkata. Skatlor, having regained his breath, came to his side at once. The Harz Nobles approached them with the confidence of gods. They walked slowly and firmly, without any sign of fear or hesitation. Their strength was unbelievable. Rikin pushed Agnoril back with each fierce blow with his sword. Even Skatlor could do nothing but hold his ground against the sword of Lord Samor.

All the while, Lord Vullcarin was regaining his composure. In a moment he too joined the fray. He drew his enormous blade and set his towering shield Admunth upon his left arm.

Agnoril braced himself for the inevitable as he found himself unable to break away from the relentless blows of Lord Rikin. He would have no way to guard the fatal strikes of the Lord of the Harz.

But no such blow fell. At that instant, Natham roared into the battle, casting Samor aside like an autumn leaf. Rikin he grabbed by the throat and pushed to the ground.

The Merkata Lords fell upon them at once and cut their throats, spilling their blood upon the stones of the city. Lord Vullcarin, seeing his kinsmen slain, and seeing the rage of the Merkata turned and ordered a retreat. In an instant the Harz Nobles began to pull themselves away from the battle and make their way back into the Palace.

Emboldened by the slaying of the great Lords of the Harz, Skatlor and Agnoril charged after them, now with the swords of the Harz lords flashing in their hands. The hosts of the Merkata followed suit, and soon they were charging through the Palace itself, tearing down curtains and smashing sculptures upon the floor with disdain. The Mountain of Fire was within their grasp.

Lord Vullcarin himself fled from the Monster of Vestron with a look of fear in his eyes. He knew the Palace well and was able to keep well ahead of Natham. In the carnage, he made his way to the throne room and sealed himself within it with his most faithful guardians.

Though he had bought for himself some time, the end was inevitable. He found himself seated on his throne, staring at the battered throne room doors. There amidst the dusk and splintered wood he saw the Lords of the Merkata approaching. He rose from his seat and drew his sword.

'All is lost,' he said. 'There is nothing that I can hope to do to turn back the army of the Merkata Clan. Allow me this honor at least, that I might face your lord in single combat.'

Skatlor looked at Agnoril and nodded. Agnoril nervously turned to Natham. 'For Whately.'

Natham stepped to the front and drew his blade. The Lord of the Harz did not recoil. 'So this is your lord, then?' Vullcarin asked mockingly. He seemed to grasp the entire situation quite clearly, much to Skatlor's dismay. 'My laugh, my FINAL laugh,' Lord Vullcarin chuckled, will resound in your cowardly ears for all eternity.'

Skatlor almost made a charge at him, but the firm hand of Agnoril calmed his fury. 'Let his taunts be what they will. Together we are not a match for the Harz Lord.'

'For what cause do you, the famed and feared Monster of Vestron, follow these shameless bandits,' Lord Vullcarin asked as Natham approached.

'I fight for Lord Whately alone,' he answered, 'whom you have foolishly imprisoned. Have our words not reached your ears? Have you not heard of the battles in which the sons of the Harz were scattered and slaughtered like lambs.'

'Indeed, I heard all of that.'

'But too much trust you placed in your own strength,' Natham concluded. Lord Vullcarin lowered his eyes as if he were almost ashamed. 'Much blood may have been spared,' Natham continued, 'and more than likely this city would still be in your hands.'

With those words their bout began. Lord Vullcarin wasted no time. He stabbed straight at Natham's heart with his long sword. Natham turned it aside with his own blade and swung his own sword at the Noble's head. Lord Vullcarin ducked just in time and moved around to Natham's left side. He stabbed at his stomach, but Natham's shield was there to stop the blow. Lord Vullcarin unleashed a fury of blows, each faster and more deadly than the last. But none could get past Natham's shield.

At length, Natham swung his sword down hard on Lord Vullcarin's shield. The blade broke in half; the shield was unharmed. Lord Vullcarin siezed the moment and swung ferociously at the Monster. Natham turned aside and caught the Noble by the wrist and flung his giant body, armor and all, against the far wall. He crashed to the ground in a chorus of clanging armor. Natham rushed over and caught him by the back of the neck, lifting him from the ground.

Terror filled the eyes of even Skatlor and Agnoril at the sight of the mighty Nanthor lord swinging so helplessly in the Monster's grip. Then there was a moment of intense silence. Lord Vullcarin looked into Natham's eyes with fear. Skatlor and Agnoril looked on in amazement.

The silence was broken by the sound of sobbing. Natham turned his head and looked behind the throne. There he saw a small girl, weeping and clutching the back of the seat, watching with horror in her eyes as the Monster held the Harz Lord in his grasp.

Natham perceived at once that this young girl was the man's daughter. He lowered him to the ground and released his neck. 'Take your family, your countrymen, and all that you can carry upon your backs and leave this mountain forever. Do not hesitate and do not look back, for we will not spare any who defy us.'

'You will not give me my honor then?' the humbled Lord protested. 'Must I seek my death from one of these cowards then?' he said looking at Agnoril and Skatlor.

'They have no honor to give you,' Natham said as he sheathed his sword. 'Let the order be given,' Natham said boldly. 'Let all the Harz and all the Vestri depart from this place in peace, provided they lay down all their weapons and swear never to return to Thasbond nor to set foot upon Fhuhar's fiery slopes again.'

Agnoril protested, 'The Lady would never approve of such wreckless mercy! She will have your head for this foolishness!'

Natham's eyes flashed with anger, 'I have no duty to your witch! I agreed only to fight until Whately was released, and even then I made no promise to fight with the Merkata. I only said I would fight against Harz. By your own words you have proclaimed me to be your Lord. If I am your lord, then let the order stand. But if I am not your lord, then do not pretend to bind me with duties to your Lady. Might I not, by Conqueror's Rights, make myself Lord of Thasbond in Vullcarin's place? Who would dare stop me? Do you not understand, Agnoril? All there is in this world is power. And do I not hold it in my hands? Can I not smash your heads together and make an end of the Merkata's Heroes? Who then would fight against me? Who would not flock to my side to be spared my fury? I do not doubt that I could summon to my side the armies of Meldomnon, Nanhur and Hele alike.'

Agnoril and Skatlor said nothing. They seemed to shrink as the monster approached them. In their minds they were certain that he was coming to made good his threat.

'Have you learned nothing at all in the time that the Lord Whately was among you?' Natham continued, now with almost a sorrowful tone in his voice. 'He fought for you not because he hated the Harz, but because he hated the suffering of the Merkata, who in years past had welcomed him. What welcome awaits him now? Will your queen renew her offer of love? Love? Your lady loves only power. But there is a strength that works without power, such as you have seen in the Lord Whately and such as you see before you now.'

The two lords of the Merkata stood in silence, not daring to speak a word. Natham laughed and turned to Lord Vullcarin and his terrified daughter. 'The Stars have betrayed you, Vullcarin. They have betrayed your brothers to their dooms and you to the loss of your kingdom. Now leave, and do not cross the Stars yourself by trying to regain this land. I call the Stars of Heaven to witness against you: In the day that you set foot upon this Mountain; in that very hour, the Judgment of the Astral gods shall fall upon you.'

'It shall be as you have spoken,' he said as he rose from the ground. 'Tell me your name. For in you I see more honor than in all the Merkata and Harz combined.'

'I am called Natham,' he answered.

'Are you not a god yourself?' Vullcarin asked with a bow.

'I do not want to be a god,' he said coldly.

Vullcarin turned and picked his shield off of the ground. 'This is Admunth. It was made of the last Adamant that ever was mined from this sacred mountain. In it is the very strength of Fhuhar himself. As you see, it has kept its bearer from all harm. I give it to you, for it ought not depart from the Lord of Thasbond, though I must depart from the lordship.'

'I do not want to be lord of Thasbond,' Natham answered.

'Nevertheless,' Vullcarin said as he put the shield in the monster's arms. 'I give it to you as a gift. It is worth more than my life, which you have already spared.'

With those words, Vullcarin was led away and brought south to the gates of the city. Again he was reminded of Natham's curse and the futility of attempting revenge. To this he agreed and on the second morning after the city was taken, he departed the Mountain of Fire forever and disappeared from the legends and histories of mankind along with his family and relatives.

[Chapter IV:  
Envy to Madness](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Lady Comes to Thasbond

Lord Ghelhurn's folly was not ended in his neglect of the capitol's defenses. When the news finally reached his ears that they had been fooled, and that Thasbond in fact was now taken by the Merkata, he did not do as he ought to have done. He ought to have sought council with the northern allies of the Vestri and Harz Nobles in Nanhur and Meldomnon. But, blinded by his own self-confidence and delusions of heroism, he marched to the gates of Thasbond with the army of Thasbond and whomever he could gather from the Lake country.

He encamped on the foothills of Fhuhar and lay siege to the city. He was confident that the entire Merkata army must be holed up in the city and that they would be scared and desperate and beyond help. But when he had been camped for only two days he heard the sounds of trumpets coming from the east. A great force of Merkata warriors, led by Oanor and Janik, marched against his flank. His men were caught between the gates of Thasbond and the approaching Merkata warriors. The dilemma Lord Ghelhurn now faced was the choice between turning to combat the newly arrived warriors and exposing his army to danger from Thasbond itself, or retreating back to Polin without even challenging the Merkata. In the end he chose to do both; he tried to fight the Merkata, and when Thasbond's gates opened and the armies of Ason emptied into the foothills to crush his army he attempted to retreat. Ason and Oanor chased them back to the very walls of Polin, where the better part of them were slain, including the foolhardy Lord Ghelhurn himself.

It was now clear to the Vestri that the age of the Nanthor was over and a new age of the Merkata was poised to begin. Some cities began to surrender themselves to the Merkata. Natham, who now ruled over them, accepted their loyalties gladly, though Skatlor and Agnoril were openly displeased.

Whately had been found in one of the less dark and terrible dungeons of Thasbond. He was lean and he looked much older, but he was generally well. A few weeks in the sunlight, breathing the open air, brought him back to his full health. He took his place at the side of the Monster and helped reorder the city. All those who wished to leave Thasbond were allowed to go south to the Lake country. Those who did not were required to swear all manner of oaths, calling the very judgment of the Astral gods upon their heads if they betrayed their new masters.

On the first day of the new year, the Lady Malia announced that she herself would be coming to the city. The evening before her arrival, Whately and the Monster spoke as they walked along the top of the southern wall of the Iron Palace. It was not the first time they had spoken, but it was the first time either of them had mentioned this eventuality.

'You have done very well, Natham,' Whately impressed upon him. 'You have fought with all your heart, yet you have not forgotten mercy. I have heard about all of the letters you sent to the Harz. You have been a very foolish strategist in some ways.' Whately laughed and shook his head, 'But you have been a very GOOD strategist.'

'What strategy I know I have learned from you,' he said. 'For the most part I have been relying on the stars, the spirits, and my own strength.'

'You still speak with ghosts?' Whately said with a sigh. 'I had hoped it would pass away with your childhood. But what is to be done? You are no longer a child.'

'And I am no longer in doubt,' Natham said confidently. 'It was just such a spirit that led us to the secret caverns beneath Thasbond.'

'You led the whole army of the Merkata according to the words of a specter?' Whately laughed.

'Yes,' Natham said, 'And let that put an end to your doubts. For you know as well as I that such a thing is impossible by natural powers.'

Whately nodded, 'Then I am sorry that I ever doubted you.' He shook his head and then laughed, 'The Merkata followed a ghost through the secret tunnels? Did they know of the one whom you were following?'

'They had no idea,' Natham chuckled.

There was a bit of a pause. Both of them leaned their arms against the battlements on the wall, looking out over the city.

Finally Natham spoke, 'The spirit tells us that our destiny lies in the west, beyond Olger.'

Whately frowned. 'You mean, in Olgrost? In Marin's country?'

'Perhaps,' Natham said. 'At any rate, I think you know as well as I do that we cannot stay in Vestron much longer. The queen desires power. In us she has seen such a power as she did not imagine existed. In you, the power of a cunning and skillful mind, in me she has seen the lesser sort of power. But nonetheless she will desire to possess it.'

'Lesser in only some respects,' Whately encouraged him. 'But history teaches us that there are many who needed such force but had only wisdom and many who had great power but needed wisdom. The world itself could not exist without power, but what would the world be without wisdom? And again, if there was only wisdom, there would be no power, and therefore there would be no world. Do not disparage your gifts.'

There was a slight pause and then Whately added, 'Also, I might add that you are in no wise lacking in wisdom.'

'You have always been more kind to me than I deserve,' Natham said.

'There are perhaps none in this world who deserve kindness,' Whately responded, 'Any more than he deserves life and luxury. Who can demand these things? Everything is a gift, whether it is good or evil. Do not question it when it is good.'

Natham nodded and then changed the subject back to the issue of the Lady's arrival. 'The Lady of the Merkata will not suffer a power to subside in Vestron that she cannot control. If we do not bow the neck to the Merkata clan by oath and by rite, we will find ourselves locked so deep beneath the citadel of Thasbond that the very fires of hell will nip and lick at our ankles.'

'I have feared this for some time,' Whately affirmed, 'Especially as I sat in the darkness with none but that stupid Gedda for company. The mind of the Merkata has always been on revenge and retribution. The whole while we were imprisoned he bellowed out curses and oaths against the Harz Nobles.'

'We cannot stay among such people,' Natham said. 'If we do not leave them, they will betray us both.'

'That very well may be the case,' Whately sighed. He laughed suddenly, 'She really is quite beautiful, don't you think?'

'Indeed,' Natham said, turning toward his master. 'The spirit, Duri as he calls himself, heard Agnoril and the devil Skatlor planning how they would 'deal with the outsiders'.'

'These spirits of yours are beginning to sound very useful,' Whately said. 'Is this Duri the same as brought you through the caverns of flame, and to victory?'

'The very same,' Natham added.

'Is this Duri going to lead us into Olger and into the hands of the Ohhari?'

'He says that the blessing of the Spirit of those woods will rest upon us, so long as we aid the Merkata no further than the taking of Thasbond.'

'What will become of the Merkata, the Harz and the Vestri?' Whately asked.

'That will be for them to decide themselves. We have not the power to rule over them all, nor would they suffer us to rule them. You have given much to the Merkata, and so have I. Yet you know in your heart, even as I do, that the Merkata will not honor our services except by envy and betrayal.'

'Then we must leave this land at once, even before the Lady arrives.'

'That would be the wisest course.'

'Still, it is hard to have labored and suffered for so long without seeing the end results.'

'With these people,' Natham sighed, 'I would not want to see the end.'

Their decision was wise, but it was made about a minute or two too late. They had determined to leave Thasbond at once, and make their way to the west toward Olger and beyond. They gathered a few things that they felt they would need and loaded them into a wagon, which they sent ahead of them to Olgalver, which had since pledged its loyalty to the Merkata. Among these things were the old maps of Lord Whately, which Natham had brought away when he left their farm, and the Shield Admunth, which was given to him by Lord Vullcarin.

Their plans and preparations were set in place without delay, but it was already too late. That very day, even as they talked on the southern wall, a messenger had arrived from the Lady of the Merkata. He spoke his words before Skatlor, Oanor, Agnoril and Ason. He told them:

'Thus speaks the Lady of the Merkata, Queen over all Vestron, from the Ragnon sands to the snowy peaks of the Frozen Mountains:

'My sons and my servants, you have all fought very bravely and nobly. But there are among you some that would not serve their lady with all their hearts. These are no better than traitors. They pretend to do well to the Clan, but in their hearts they have another master. Justice they call it, mercy they call it, but it is all just another word for deceit. With their mouths they speak of high and noble ideas, but their swords will be to our backs if we do not put ourselves on guard.

'Shall the power and rule of the Merkata pass on to strangers? Shall the glory of Vestri be shared with our ancient foes, as these traitors wish? Who will repay the Lord Hothnon and the people of Meldomnon for their lies? Who will punish Nanhur for its ancient sins? You all know that these foul traitors will not lift a finger against them. They would have us make league with them, and forge a new Merkata and a new Vestron. But the Merkata Clan is as old as the sand itself. Is not a new Merkata Clan – a different Merkata Clan - not a Merkata Clan at all? It would be a clan of Knarse poets and monsters? Monsters that have strong arms, but weak stomachs. Men who will not hunt and kill their enemies, but beg them for treaties and sue for peace when they ought to sue for blood.

'You know what they will do. They will leave Meldomnon with its traitors and Nanhur with its liars unscathed and unchastized. Such a thing must not be allowed to occur. The Merkata are mighty and strong, and we have taken the ancient realm for ourselves. Do not suffer these pretenders to rule over you. Cast them in the deepest dungeon; do not allow them to lift their voices against the Merkata or to give any further command to my people. In giving mercy to our enemies they have already betrayed us. They have bought the lives of those they spared with their own blood.'

Though it would never have occurred to Agnoril to disobey his Queen, the truth is that he really had changed. He learned to admire the Lord Whately while he commanded the Merkata armies. He had even begun to feel sympathetic toward his enemies. He also could not help but see the same virtues in the Monster who had almost single handedly led them to this great victory. The result of this change was not that Agnoril would do what he knew to be right, but that he would know to be wrong that which he did. With a heavy heart he armed himself, Skatlor and almost a hundred Merkata warriors and marched to the western gates of the city.

Had Whately and Natham come to the gates of the city two minutes earlier, they would not have been discovered, and they would have passed beyond the grasp and ken of the Merkata forever. But as it was, they found themselves surrounded by armed men.

'What is the meaning of this?' Whately asked in anger. 'Have we not given enough to the Merkata? Have we not proved ourselves? Have we not led you to victory over your enemies?'

Agnoril came to the front. 'I am ordered by the Lady to place you under arrest. We cannot suffer you to leave this city alive.' His heart sank to his stomach as he spoke.

Whately shook his head. Natham clenched his teeth.

Skatlor approached from behind Agnoril with heavy chains in his hand.

'This moment has been too long in coming for you, has it not?' Natham said in a cold voice. Skatlor said nothing. He locked one of the fetters around Natham's right arm. 'I would not attempt to put that on the left arm,' Natham said with almost a laugh. 'I cannot always control that one.'

'You know as well as I that you cannot escape,' Skatlor taunted. Beast and Devil though you are, you cannot best all the lords of the Merkata and a hundred men besides.'

'I might know that fully,' Natham said, still concealing a laugh, 'But there is half of me that is not so sure.'

Skatlor ignored his puzzling words and went to take Natham's other hand into his own. A roar seemed to rise from somewhere beneath the Monster's cloak and in an instant the powerful and gnarled left arm of Natham had knocked him to the ground. The warriors charged forward. But long before they came close to him he had lifted Skatlor from the ground by the throat. Whately himself just watched in amazement. He had not yet seen the Monster's full strength revealed. 'We have been here before,' Natham laughed. 'You know now better than before that I can snap your neck like a twig – and in an instant too.'

'You must release him!' Agnoril said. 'The Lady would never forget it if you slew her beloved son!'

'Don't tempt me!' Natham said. 'When will you fools learn that I care not for witch-wishes?'

'Very well,' Agnoril said, 'Let him go and we will let you leave unbothered.'

'I do not want to leave unbothered,' Natham said. 'As I said, there is at least half of me that has no desire to leave your challenge unanswered. Half of me is fully persuaded that a hundred wood-boned Merkata desert men is nothing at all to be afraid of. More than half of me is of a mind to snap this petty devil's neck and move on to your own throat. Cowards! You call me lord of the Merkata when the Harz Lord stares you in the face, but when the dangers are passed you call me a traitor!'

'The Lady's commands are not for me to question,' Agnoril answered.

'Such has long been your folly,' Whately said. 'Now will you let us go? Natham will spare the petty devil, will you not?' he turned and looked pleadingly into Natham's eyes.

'It is not for me to decide,' Natham answered much to the puzzlement of those who watched. He stood there for a long time, almost seeming unsure of what his next action would be. Finally, after almost three minutes had passed, Natham lowered Skatlor to the ground.

Skatlor spit on his boots.

The warriors parted to let the two pass (as most of them had secretly wanted to do from the start). Skatlor shouted insults and kicked the dust as they left. Agnoril scolded him to no effect. 'They leave not alone,' Skatlor complained, almost in tears. 'They carry with them my very honor!'

'Skatlor!' Agnoril said as he withstood him. 'You have never had any honor, not in all the years I have known you.' For a moment Skatlor looked at him in amazement. Agnoril continued, choking back a tear. 'None of the Merkata have any honor. They leave with honor. But only with that which has belonged to them from the beginning. We only felt like we had honor while they were among us. When they fought with us, we felt we fought honorably. But we are blood born people and desert wanderers.'

Skatlor, in a mad rage, shoved Agnoril to the ground and darted off in pursuit of the Monster. The others watched in amazement as he leaped onto the back of the monster and tugged at his neck like a babe tugging at the mighty neck of his father. He tore and struck at Natham with all of his might, but the Monster did not react. He pushed him off like a horse swatting a flea. 'Skatlor, you are a fool!' Agnoril shouted.

Even then, Natham would have left the mad fool alone had it not been for his next act. Skatlor knew that Whately was much weaker than he, and he also knew that of all people living, Whately was the only person that the Monster truly loved. He took a dagger from his side and ran after the older man with murder and envy in his eyes.

Natham seemed to anticipate his every move. He knocked the knife from his hand with a flick of his wrist it seemed. He rose up to his full height and came against Skatlor in a fury. He knocked the fool to the ground and stomped on his hand as it desperately searched for its lost blade. Then, in a passion that could not be controlled, his left arm took him up by the throat for a third time. There was no hesitation this time and the foolish son of Malia was dead in an instant. The hideously powerful limb cast his corpse aside, his chain armor jingling among the rocks. Some of the warriors were prepared to charge, but Agnoril stopped them. 'Every one of us knows that the fool Skatlor brought his blood upon his own head. Do not add valor to folly, for folly it will ever remain, though we pour upon it an ocean of our own blood as a covering.' Tears streamed from his eyes.

All that remains to be told of the sad tale of the Merkata Clan, is that only four years later, almost to the day, the Mountain of Fire, Fhuhar, god of Vestron, made his final judgment upon the Merkata Clan. While the Lady herself reigned in Thasbond, with a broken and unhappy Agnoril as her husband, and while all of her children feasted around her throne, the Mountain of Fire exploded. The sound, it is believed, deafened many in Meldomnon and Nanhur, terrified those in Olgrost, and disturbed the quiet sleep of those even as far away as Kollun (some say the walls of Dadron City itself shook at that moment). In an instant the entire tragic history of the Merkata Clan came to an end. The Lady and her family entire were swallowed up and imprisoned in molten rock, which fell upon them with more ferocity than any mortal can imagine. Malia herself and her mad schemes, Agnoril and his double mind, Gedda and his mighty fists, the almost noble Naran, the great huntsman Oanor, and all the other Lords and Princes of the Merkata clan were killed in a moment of fiery vengeance.

There were, of course, some that survived, but most of these, broken and hungry, went to live among the Vestri of whom they became a part. Others fled back to their desert lands to take up once again the life of nomads and brigands. But the Clan lost at once its queen and its lifeblood. It was destined now to grow weaker and weaker until no trace of the once famous clan could be discerned among its members. A name only, Merkata would become. And in time, perhaps this too will pass away.

Thus perished Malia, the last goddess of Vestron.

[Chapter V:  
The Other Outcasts](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Olgalver

The journey to Olgalvar was for the most part uneventful. Natham, due to his disfigurements, was avoided, and Whately, due to his age and weariness, was ignored. Riders passed them along the road every now and again, some bringing tidings, some sending messages. The whole country was in upheaval over the news that the Merkata had regained control of Fhuhar and Thasbond. Some distant cities were sending their emissaries to make treaties with the new lords. Others sent messengers with threats and promises of revenge. Some stopped to question the travelers, others to give them news of what this or that country or this or that city intended to do.

This was a lush country. When winter was not upon the land it was full of wealth and prosperity. The soil was rich and fertile, perhaps more so than any other place in Tel Arie (except perhaps the soil of Kharku in the far south). They passed acre after acre of carefully tended orchards. Apple trees were planted neatly in rows, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Some hung their leafless branches over the road, casting winding shadows on the highway.

It was not until the first day of Frohest that the two outcasts came to the city of Olgaver. They were waylaid by snow for most of the month of Primus. They stayed the while in a small village called Ernam which was built along the road some fifty leagues from Olgalver.

When at last they arrived they were allowed entrance into the city without harassment. Lord Whately had sent a considerable amount of gold ahead of them with detailed instructions for their arrival. He sent the gold primarily because he could not predict the allegiance of the city. They were, of course, ruled by Thasbond, as all the north was. But how deep their allegiance ran, and whether they would keep their old alliance despite the fall of their masters was more than Whately could guess. 'Gold,' he said, 'is thicker than all ties of duty.'

When they came to the gate, the captain of the city guard came out to greet them. 'Master Siris!' he called out as he approached. Everything is ready for you. Your belongings are already stored away in your house. Please follow me.'

Whately had made sure not only to flatter these men with the gold he sent, but to promise them more upon his arrival, lest they turn treacherous. 'The hope of yet more gold will make any man honest.'

The two were brought to a large house in the middle of the city. The captain took from his garments a large key and handed it to Whately. 'If there is anything else you need, Lord Siris, do not hesitate to call upon the guard.'

When finally he had left, the two entered the house and sought out their possessions. 'We must leave this city at once,' Whately said. 'We cannot tell what these men will do if they learn of our involvement in the fall of Thasbond. If they are loyal to Thasbond we are as good as dead. If they are not, then we have just as much to fear from their new Merkata lords. We must leave Vestron completely, and we must leave it forever.'

They gathered what supplies they thought would be needed and loaded them on the back of a broad shouldered horse. Whately had purchased two very strong horses when he sent his original message. These they found in a very well managed stable outside the back of the house. Whately gave a great deal of gold to the stable boy and sent him cheerfully on his way.

The horse could not bear the great shield Admunth, so Natham, unwilling to part with it, bore it upon his own shoulders. The weight of it would have been too much for a common man to lift, and even Lord Vullcarin, who was one of the few mortal men that were strong enough to wield it, would never have dreamed of carrying it on his shoulders for more than a league or two. Their journey would be more than a hundred leagues.

Whoever came to call upon them that day was sent away with a generous amount of gold. 'While we are here I do not want them to be suspicious of us,' Whately explained. 'Also, I have no desire to carry Vestron coinage beyond these borders. In the lands to which we travel Vestron gold is not accepted happily. Nay,' he corrected himself, 'the gold is accepted happily, and then melted down for their own purposes. It is the gold-bearers that they suspect.'

When midnight came they left the house through the back door and took their horses from the stable. They left several candles lit in the windows to give the illusion that they were still at the house. Whately hoped to be a full day's journey into the woods before anyone knew of their absence.

They made their way through darkened streets by moonlight. There was scarcely a sound to be heard save the stamping of their horses hoofs against the dirt and stone on the ground. When they came to the western gate they paused, for there were three guards on watch.

'We will have to make our way out on the southern side of the city,' Whately sighed. 'We cannot be seen, or we will rouse more suspicion than we would simply by vanishing in the night. If we pass out unseen they will have no answer; but if we are confronted, they will demand one.'

They led their animals south. They passed many large houses of neatly cut timber as they made their way toward the edge of the city where the western wall was unguarded and much lower. Eventually they came to farmlands and then, passing through the barren frosted fields, they came to the edge of the forest. There they were fortunate enough to find a place where the low portion of the wall had been knocked over by a fallen tree. Carefully and quietly they coaxed their beasts through the gap and made their way back north along the outer wall. Long before they approached the gate they turned aside and plunged deep into the woods. 'Let us hope your spirits are not mischievous,' Whately whispered, 'I would not choose to die in these frozen woods if I could have my way in such matters.'

'We must keep going north and west,' Natham said, following the pale shape of Duri with his eyes.

Duri led them as straight as he could into the heart of the forest. A few times he tried to lead them up steep slopes which only his immortal feet could manage. He would then have to turn back and lead them back the way they had come. This made Whately nervous. He grumbled, 'Spirits ought to know their way in a wood.'

'Nevertheless,' Natham snarled, 'We have little choice but to follow him now, unless you have some notion of how to return to Olgalver or how to explain our midnight meanderings to the guards upon our return.'

They continued well into the night until at last they came to a small clearing. The sun came up and let its light shine down upon them. They rested in the clearing for a few hours, eating some ponce, which is a sort of traveling food made by the Merkata. The consistency is much like that of clay, and the taste is only a little better. Duri shook his head and thanked the Astral lords above that he had no need of such victuals. The horses devoured every growing thing in the clearing until nothing but dirt and tree roots could be seen on the ground.

When the sun had reached its height they started again. The horses seemed much stronger now that they had rested and eaten. This was good because their path grew more difficult and at times more dangerous with each league. Soon they found that they were ascending a great hill, if not a great mountain. Duri chose each step with great care, sometimes pausing for long periods of time while he planned their next step. He led them astray far less now that he was reminded of their need for food and rest.

They had scarcely reached the top of the hill when the ground suddenly sloped down before their feet. Looking back they could see just how much space they had covered. They could see nothing of the great Mountain Fhuhar and only a glimpse of the city of Olgalver. 'Your spirits lead us well,' Whately smiled, 'I would not have dreamed that we could have come so far in such a short space.'

Among the Ohhari

There was a great deal of snow on the top of the hill and still more on the western slope. This made things very difficult for the horses. They slipped and slid their way down, neighing furiously and frantically as they struggled to stay in control of their descent. When they came to a flat piece of land they stopped for the day, not being willing to continue along their steep downward path in the dark. They made a fire and roasted some meat that they had brought from the city and ate some more ponce. The horses were given hey and fruit from their packs.

They were in so shaded a place that it was not until late in the morning that they were able to see well enough to continue their journey. Down they continued until they felt they were sinking beneath the earth itself.

They continued in this way, going up great hills and then down sharp slopes, across frozen streams, and under tall trees for almost a week, until they came at last to a place where the land started to level out. A few more sharp descents brought them into a great valley. Here the trees thinned out and they found the very last thing they expected to find. There was a well kept stone road cutting through the valley from the north to the south. It was built along a swift stream with smooth gray stones. Just to the south they could see a large stone bridge that would bring them to the western side of the stream, though the water would have been shallow enough for them to simply walk the horses across had it been a warmer season.

When they got to the top of the bridge, however, they were startled to find a great company of armed men standing in a line. Their armor was of leather and wood, their blades were thin and curved, and every one of them carried a bow and arrows upon their shoulders. At least a dozen of them had arrows on strings. Every one of them wore a dark green cloak with a dark hood shadowing their faces.

'Halt!' their leader demanded as he removed his hood revealing a stern face with dark brown hair and eyes. 'You cannot go any further into these lands until we have made certain that you pose no danger to our realm.'

Natham looked furiously around for Duri, but he was nowhere to be seen. 'What will you have of us?' Whately asked. 'We are refugees from the East; we bear no ill will to your people.'

'What are your names?' the man asked, taking a few steps toward them. 'And give me no lies, for we know more about you than perhaps you realize.'

Whately was about to speak, about to give false names in fact, when Natham stepped forward and thundered, 'I am Natham, formerly a hero of the Merkata, and this is Lord Whately, formerly their general. But now we are outcasts, for we know that the Merkata do not keep their covenants. We are seeking refuge in the West; in Olgrost.'

Whately turned white as a ghost; he rightly suspected that these men were Ohhari. 'If they know we helped their ancient rivals,' he thought to himself, 'they will not hesitate to strike us down where we stand.'

But the man lowered his blade and signaled his men to lower their arrows. 'I am Ojun, captain of the guardians of the Ohhari, this land is our camp, not our home. You must come with us, the Elder wishes to see you.'

The guardians parted and made a path for the two travelers. Natham went first, looking this way and that for any sign of his invisible guide. The Ohhari stared with wide eyes as the monster passed.

'You say this land is your camp,' Whately asked, feeling a little safer. 'Yet the path is paved with such stones as one is not likely to find even in Thasbond or Olgalver.'

Ojun said nothing for a few minutes. He seemed to be somewhat uncertain about whether he should be courteous to these travelers or not. Finally he shook his head and answered, 'We have been in this, our camp, for many ages. But it will not be so forever. The stars declare our birthright; the Mountain of Fire. In the meanwhile, however, we do not wish to live like brigands and rogues. We have our cities and our homes, temporary though they be.'

Whately sighed within himself, for their words sound to him all too familiar.

The path continued south for some time, always following the river. After about three hours of travel the river turned sharply westward, leaving behind the old stone road. The Ohhari walked swiftly and quietly, almost as if they were hunting. Soon they came to a place where the trees thinned out, growing both more distant from each other and also larger in girth and height. Such tall trees Natham had never even imagined, having spent his whole life near the Rugna desert. Every now and again they would come to places where several smaller trees of a different kind were grouped together in fours. When they drew nearer they could see that they were actually houses. The four trees served as corner pillars, upholding a thatched roof built. The sides of the houses were made of smooth river stones set in some sort of clay. From several of these they could see smoke rising gently into the air. The further they went along the path the more of these strange houses they could see.

Finally they were brought to a small village about three leagues to the south of the bridge. Here there were many of the same odd houses built in the midst of tall trees. There were also several ordinary houses of log and stone. Into one of these they were led by Ojun. But ere they entered he turned and looked to the ground. 'This is the Elder's house. He wishes to speak with the Lord Whately. The creature, however, must go to the guest house which the Elder has prepared for you,' he said with a trembling voice, not daring to look at Natham. 'And there he must remain until your departure.'

Natham said nothing and just nodded to Whately and took the reins of his horse from his hand. Thus they parted, Whately entering the house and Natham being led away with the horses to the northeast along a small stone road. Ojun remained near the Elder's house with seven of his warriors as guards. The remaining warriors were sent to escort Natham to the guest house and the horses to the stable. None of them dared to look at him or to speak to him. The one who took the lead never looked back, those who were behind only lifted their eyes high enough to see his mighty feet stepping along the road. As they passed through the village they saw people sneaking away at the sight of the monster, hiding themselves behind trees and rocks.

When the horses were tied and fed, Natham was brought to a small stone house. There was already smoke rising from the chimney and the air was very warm when Natham entered. At first the room was filled with the last rays of the western sun. But in an instant the door was slammed behind him and bolted fast, as though that would be sufficient to keep the monster locked away in the house. All that he could see now was the dim dancing light coming out of the fireplace in the corner of the house. There was a bed on one side of the room and next to it on the floor was a pile of blankets and furs, apparently meant to act as a second bed. On a small table in the center of the room there was a great loaf of bread and a bowl filled with oil. There was also a basket filled with dried venison.

Here Natham finally caught sight once more of that elusive spirit Duri, who was invisible to all other eyes. 'Where have you been?' he demanded. 'You might have told us what to expect from these men.'

'Did they hurt you?' Duri laughed from beside the fireplace. 'No, they have fed you. Your bags will be filled with apples from their orchards, dried fish and meat from their smokehouses, and water from their sacred streams. This has been a turn of fortune for you, and it is all my own doing.'

'I still would have liked to have been forewarned when I am going to walk into a group of armed woodsmen.'

'The Ohhari, I am sure, do not frighten the mighty Vestron Monster,' Duri laughed again.

'I am not frightened of them as much as I am frightened for them,' Natham said soberly, 'I cannot always promise to be in control of my passions. Rather, there are passions within me that I cannot claim as my own, yet which drive me with the same force as my own will.'

Duri's countenance changed at once, 'I see,' he said, no longer laughing. He turned his eyes and looked strangely at the lump that lay upon Natham's left shoulder. 'I will never do that to you again.'

Dreamer

Whately was brought inside the Elder's hut almost as soon as the company had led Natham away. The inside was sparsely decorated with a few animal skins and various antlers and horns hung upon the wall. In the main hall there was a fire burning and a very old man sitting on the floor. He rose very slowly when the traveler entered. His long gray hair went down almost to his waist. There was a gleam almost of madness in his eyes as he approached them.

'Come, come,' he said as he approached them. 'Tell me all that has transpired in the East, in our ancient homeland.'

He led Whately to the fire and bid him be seated. There were no chairs so he had to kneel on the floor beside the old man. In a moment, bread and dried venison were brought out on trays along with a pitcher of milk. There was oil and butter for the bread and some berries to sweeten the salted meat.

'I am Horas,' the old man began, 'I am the Elder of this village, and a Dreamer. The spirit of these woods, whom we call Boscus the Noble, came to me in a dream some time ago and told me of your coming. He said that great deeds were being done in our homeland. I pray you, therefore, tell me all that you have seen and done in the blessed land of our fathers.'

Whately hesitated for an moment, but when he saw in the man's eyes no insincerity or envy, he started explaining to him all that had transpired in that region. He started with what the Merkata had told him of Vestron's ancient history, and how they had been driven from Fhuhar by the Harz Nobles. This the old man listened to with great interest, asking many questions about the history of the Merkata. 'They were always better story tellers than scholars,' the old man sighed at last. 'We put a great deal of trust in the hands of our historians and our elders. The Merkata, however, have always had their Lady to instruct them. Of course, our own histories inform us that she is the greatest storyteller of them all!' The old man laughed for a good while before he was able to speak again. 'Did she tell you that Fhuhar was once her own kingdom?'

'She did indeed,' Whately answered. 'But I have the feeling that your own histories say otherwise.'

'According to our historians, she was always the Queen of the Desert. The seat of her kingdom was in Oblindin, never in Fhuhar as the Merkata now believe.'

'I had suspected this much,' Whately said, 'In my long imprisonment among them I noticed that the engravings, I mean, the really ancient engravings were not the work of the Merkata. They told of deeds, heroes and gods that were wholly alien to the Merkata.'

'Indeed,' Horas nodded, 'In the ancient days, Fhuhar himself walked among us. That is why they call the Mountain a god; for once upon a time, a god dwelt there. He was the mightiest of all the Ohhari. He was our protector; he and his queen Saila ruled from the city that the Harz call Thasbond; which I apprehend you know well enough. But in his strength he grew careless; and in his prosperity he grew complacent. Before long there was turmoil throughout the kingdom. The Queen of the Desert made raids upon the Ohhari, but the gods did nothing to stop her. Strife arose in every quarter as the Merkata pushed in against our southern borders. Also, in the north, the goblins and the pirates appeared from whence no one can tell. Truth be told, Fhuhar's reign was in its twilight, long before the appearance of those Nanthor Barbarians, those Harz Nobles as they called themselves.'

'Then Queen Malia is a liar?' Whately asked, 'She never did rule in Thasbond.'

'Oh she did,' Horas laughed, 'in a manner of speaking.'

'What do you mean?' Whately asked, always curious about historical matters.

'In her own mind she is convinced not only that she ruled from Thasbond, but that she was wed to the mighty god Fhuhar.'

'Then she is mad,' Whately said.

'Perhaps,' Horas said, 'But some call me mad as well. When I was a small child, my great grandfather was still living. He was convinced that he had fought in a great battle against the Vestri and even sacked the city of Penflas, which lies seventeen leagues to the south of Olgalver. What had really happened, they say, is that he and his companions routed a band of Harz warriors and pursued them to the very gates of that city. Just inside, my great grandfather, it is said, fought the famed Lord Huhn in single combat. He cut off the head of the Harz Lord and shouted a challenge to the entire kingdom of Harz. 'Nandos!' he cried (as we are wont to call the Harz when we are impassioned) 'I call you to account for your crimes against the sons of Fhuhar! Come and taste my revenge!' At that instant, seeing a great number of warriors approaching, my great grandfather's companions took to flight, and dragged him along with them, kicking and screaming curses and mad rants at his enemies.

'You must see how vivid a memory this would create within his mind. Along with this memory, he would always carry around his regret. He felt ashamed that he had left, and never spoke a word of it. He wished that he had fought more; he wished he had gone to Penflas with a larger host; he wished that he had done many things differently. In the end, he spent more time imagining what might have happened than he spent recalling what did. You see? His imagination became stronger than his memory, to the point that preeminence was given to the former in his thoughts.' He paused for a moment and looked at Whately, 'I am sure that a man of your age has had many regrets as well.'

Whately laughed.

'I certainly have had my own share of disappointments,' Horas said. 'When I was a young man, my beloved, whose pure soul awaits mine in the other world, was terribly insulted by another man. I have always felt ashamed that I did not avenge myself; I only consoled her and kept her away from him. When I spoke of the matter with others I always put my own behavior in the best light, hiding my weakness and my cowardice deep in my memory. Before long I was leading people to believe that I had done more to guard my beloved's honor than I had. In time I began to notice that I mixed in what I wish I said along with what I did say; and slowly but surely I began to change the story. Now the events I wish happened shine out more clearly to my aged mind than the events I know to have happened.

'The Lady of the Merkata,' Horas concluded, 'Is much like the rest of us, full of regrets. But hers are very deep and ancient, and her imagination has labored for aeons to convince her that all the things she should have done, she did do. She always hated the goddess of the Ohhari, wishing it were her own white arm intertwining with the arm of mighty Fhuhar. She was always enamored with power, as I apprehend she is to this day. She loved our great god with a passion so deep and terrifying that it can hardly be uttered. This led her to a blind war against our people. It was always the goddess Saila that she sought to destroy; she wanted to take her place.'

'To come to the point, however,' Whately smiled, 'She is mad.'

The old man laughed heartily, 'Madness is not always born of sin,' he said soberly, when he had calmed down a bit. 'Madness is as often born of grief, which the Lady had, or so it is told, in excess. But of that tale, very little is known. All that is known of her comes from Fhuhar's doctrines, which are as old as they are vague.'

'Tell me about them,' Whately asked, his curiosity overtaking his exhaustion.

'According to the most ancient of our histories, before the gods descended from heaven and took up their place among us mortals, Malia was the bride of the greatest of all gods. The Merkata named him Amalu, which in their tongue means simply 'Light'. But during their descent they were separated from one another. We Ohhari have long taken this to refer to her raven black hair; the blackness being what is left when Light and Righteousness depart. But in a very literal sense, it would reference the rending of her own soul from that which she loved and lived for. The Ohhari believe that this is the cause of her madness and wrath. According to some of our storytellers, Malia's lust for power was born out of her love of the Powerful. Her madness seeks to reunite itself with her beloved, the shadow of whom she recognizes in all things of might and strength. That, I imagine, is what she sought after in you as well. Might in counsel, and might in arms. Otherwise it is inexplicable that she would allow you to command her people in war.'

They spoke on for another hour or so, until Horas sighed and stretched his arms over his gray head. 'It is night,' he said, 'and now I must now sleep. I bid you farewell, for the laws of our land do not allow us to grant travelers welcome for more than a night, and to allow one as monstrous as your companion to lodge in our woods, a hero of the Merkata no less, is an exception that will most likely not be repeated ere the world's end. You will be led away in the morning, and I will not see you again in this world. You must not return here, for I am very old and I am the last Dreamer of the Ohhari. The other elders call me a madman for my dreaming; they would not permit you to enter into their own lands. But I told them I would accept you without hesitation on the word of Boscus. At this they called me a madman yet again. The Elders, Jikhan and Guera went as far as to declare you, the helpers of the Merkata, to be enemies of the Ohhari. Were it not for my great age and my long labors among our people I would not even have been permitted to have you here this night. My counsel could not prevail against them for any further grace. They gave condescended to the voice of Boscus in the end, however; for all the Ohhari are servants of those who dream of the Noble spirit. When I have been taken up to the stars there will be no more among the living who can listen to the spirit of the woods, by whose grace you have been admitted.'

That night the two travelers felt the closest thing to warmth that they had felt in a long time. Great blankets of fur and deerskin were given to them and there was a small stove that gave off a good deal of heat. Though it tore at his heart, Whately knew that they must leave that peaceful village and continue their journey into the west. Accordingly, he gave no protest when the guards arrived at the door to wake him. Natham was already awake and had left the house hours before the sun arose, breaking the lock with ease. He sought out their horses, scaring the stable-man almost to death, and brought them back to the house. He was, perhaps as eager to leave as the Ohhari were to rid themselves of the strangers. The Ohhari had long been hunted by both the Harz Nobles and the Marin of the west. Pinched between two enemies, they gradually grew more and more elusive and suspicious of outsiders. They lived in peace now, for they lived in a place that was all but inaccessible to their foes. But in older days, when they entertained the hope of attaining a larger kingdom or even of returning to their ancient home, they had suffered many terrible defeats. Now they hid away, all but forgotten by the outside. On occasion, however, some bold man of valor would lead them into combat with the Vestri; men such as the great grandfather of Horas, who meant to take all the forest cities out of the hands of Thasbond. But such designs were always short lived. Not able to look to their own strength for hope, the Ohhari turned to the stars and interpreted them as prophesying their return to Vestron in power. But that goal seemed to them almost as distant as the stars themselves.

By the time the morning sun was fully risen the two men, along with their horses, had been led away from the village along the very same path they had taken upon their arrival. Ojun was once again leading them, though this time with only three other warriors. When they came to the place where the river had left the path they suddenly turned west and followed along its southern bank for several leagues. The trees grew thicker and the path narrower with every step it seemed. Soon the land rose up into great ridges that towered above them on their left and the river fell away into a gorge on their right. They had to walk in single file for almost three hours, leading the horses carefully along the narrow road. Finally, when the sun began to wane, Ojun led them up an incline toward the south and then, reaching the top of the ridge, he brought them west and south along a winding trail. They descended like this for the rest of the day and set up camp in a clearing near the bottom of the slope. From there they could see, in the failing sunlight, a much flatter country to the west, tall mountains to the north and, much closer, jagged mountains to the south. 'The difficult road is what preserves the Ohhari,' Ojun said at last, when they had set a fire and eaten. 'Many ages ago we had cities here. Maja and Zefeneth, both of them are ruined now. We challenged the might of Marin and were put to shame. Such was the folly of our ancestors. Now we seek wisdom from the stars, for the wisdom of our fists has been lacking since the days of Fhuhar. They meant to exterminate us, even as the Harz intended, but we survived in the deep valley where our enemies cannot come in force.'

Homelands

'What is your homeland Master Whately?' Ojun asked as he dropped a log onto a blazing fire. His companions had gone to sleep and he was preparing to keep the first watch. Whately was lying on his back staring up at the stars. 'I was born in Titalo, which is called by its enemies "The Pirate City",' he answered. 'But I spent most of my youth in a place called Ramlos.'

'We have little knowledge of the world that lies beyond these woods, and none beyond Vestron and the eastern marches of Olgrost. Our ancestors never took to the sea.'

'In Titalo,' Whately said, 'the sea is called 'Our Mother'. It was the sea and her bounty that gave rise to us, it is the ice of the sea that protects us, and its violent waves tame us.'

'I have never seen the sea,' Ojun confessed. 'Is it as beautiful as the stories say?'

'It is at times. But when the wind is dead for a week, the endless waves get so dull that you begin to despair of life altogether. And the storms of the sea are such as could not be imagined upon the land. When a storm strikes the land all the trees shake and the clouds rumble. But in the sea, the whole world seems to be tearing itself to shreds.'

'Will you ever return to Titalo?' Ojun asked after some time had passed.

'Never,' he answered quietly. 'I am not permitted to speak of the reason.'

Ojun nodded and looked up at the stars. 'Do the stars really speak to us, as the old prophets claim?'

'Most certainly,' Whately said, 'But they tell their own tales, they speak but little about our own affairs. Ninud, the great Bull, for instance, dashes to and fro in the heavens sometimes lamenting, sometimes rejoicing. In every way he is wild and hateful, yet full of power and vigor.'

'Our prophets teach us that the Great Bull teaches of the fall of Harz,' Ojun suggested.

'It may be,' Whately sighed, 'But who can tell such things? Ninud, Isa, and the dread Brothers Septimai tell stories more ancient than the world. Who is to say that they say anything about our own day? Perhaps they speak of that which has passed in ages now long forgotten.'

'Do you think that we are all fools then?' Ojun asked sadly. 'There are many of us who grow tired of hiding; we feel ready to march again, to fight for our land. Or at least to make an attempt. Let the Astral lords judge us!'

'Why is it so important that you return to Vestron in the first place?' Natham asked, startling both of his companions. Whately sat up and looked at him, Ojun fixed his eyes on the monster.

'What do you mean?' Ojun asked, puzzled.

'Who has the right to live upon the Fiery Mountain?' Natham asked.

'The Ohhari,' Ojun answered unhesitatingly, 'Our people came upon it in the beginning.'

'But how does that make the land belong to the Ohhari? Was not the land there for untold aeons before your ancestors came upon it? Who did it belong to then?'

'It belonged to nobody,' Ojun answered, straightening himself up and looking in the direction of the monster. All that he could see was the faint glow of firelight on the edge of Natham's hood. 'The Mountain belonged to nobody.'

'You say that the Ohhari have the right to live upon the mountain, yet they live not upon it,' Natham said coldly. 'Tell me, how can a man have the right to do something but not the power? The Ohhari have the right to live upon the mountain, but they cannot. That they have a right to live there is meaningless, is it not?'

'What I mean to say, is that they deserve to live there; that they ought to have the right,' Ojun said nervously.

'But right now,' Natham continued, it is clear that the Merkata have the right to live there; that is, they have the power.'

'Indeed.'

'Why should the Mountain's first settlers have any claim upon the land? Did they purchase the mountain? Did they beg its leave ere they fixed pillars upon its slopes?'

'I should think not,' Ojun snickered.

'They simply arrived then, and they took it because there was no one to oppose them. They had the right to the mountain because they had the power.'

'As is the case with all countries,' Ojun said, 'He who finds it first has the right because there is nobody to oppose his claim, nor any need to oppose it.'

Whately took his eyes off the stars and began to listen intently.

Natham continued his questions, 'But supposing that to be the case, how does it come to be that you believe that your people have a right to dwell upon Holy Fhuhar?'

'It is as I have said,' Ojun insisted, 'The Ohhari found it first.'

'But that was a different Ohhari,' Natham said, 'not a soul of which remains alive. Wherein then is your claim justified? I apprehend that not a soul among you has set foot upon the mountain.' Natham said, 'I have as much claim to the mountain of Fire as any of your woodsmen, more so even, for I drove Lord Vullcarin from the mountain myself.'

Ojun rose to his feet as though he was going to challenge the monster. Whately looked at him intently; Natham did not budge from his seat; he feared nothing from the Ohhari captain. Realizing this, Ojun took his seat once again.

'The Ohhari of today are but the descendants of those ancients,' Natham explained, 'You will tell me now, I suppose, that lordship of lands passes through the blood like the dark hair of the father and the blue eyes of the mother pass on to the child.'

Ojun was clearly frustrated by all this, but the monster would not relent. Ojun grumbled, 'Yes, I suppose it must. They come to possess it because, again, there are none to oppose them.'

'Ah but there is,' Natham said, 'The Harz oppose them, and more than oppose them; they conquer them. The Harz Nobles came to lord it over the fiery volcano because there are none to oppose them. They have the same right as the Ohhari; nay, they HAVE the right, while the Ohhari can only speak in 'oughts'.'

Ojun was silent for a minute, thinking very hard. 'What would you have then?' he demanded, 'Shall any man have a home? Shall everyone have the power to take from his neighbor whatsoever he desires? Where would it end? It would be war eternal!'

'Is it not war eternal already?' Natham scoffed. 'Your love of a land long lost is as evil as the conquest of the ancient Nanthormen, who slew your god and stole your mountain. Tell me, on what does mankind base its claim to own the earth itself? Everywhere men cry out, "My home!", "My Country!"; "My Kingdom!" I know not when it began; but I would have men leave off owning something that cannot be possessed. It is like taking the ocean herself into a bottle, or the North wind into a wineskin; who can own the earth? What men really have lordship over when they fancy themselves to be lords of the earth are simply their rivals.'

Ojun sat still for a while, considering all that had been said.

Natham spoke again, this time with a hint of gentleness in his voice, 'I would have you go home, master Ojun; home to your wife and your countrymen. Go home and live in your happy valley; grow strong in that valley. Give up the vain hope of a land that could no more belong to you than the sunset or the starry lords above. If the stars demand, as your prophets claim, your eventual return to that hideous volcano, then let the stars take care of their own prophecies. Live at peace in the land that you have been given. The Ohhari do not have a right to the Mountain Fhuhar. Even if you should slay the Merkata down to the last man and cast their witch into the deep well of Oblindin, you would still have no right to the land. You would only have power over the Merkata.'

Whately sighed, 'I pray that an age will come in which all men come to believe even as you have spoken, Natham. So much suffering has been created on account of such quibbling and rivalry, and we all have had our part.'

'Indeed,' Natham sighed, 'This has been on my mind ever since I began to fight against Harz.'

Ojun seemed almost sad as he spoke; tears were behind his eyes, though he never let them fall to his cheek, 'I hope such an age comes also. We have perhaps let the fires of vengeance burn within our hearts for too long. How can our children grow in happiness when their first lesson is that our life is not what it ought to be, and how can our men keep their eyes fixed upon their labors when they believe all our work in these hills and valleys to be vain and temporary. How can our old men shut their eyes in death without believing themselves to be failures, leaving our ancient homeland to fester under the heels of the Nanthormen, or now the foul Merkata Clan?'

The fire burned low as they sat, now all of them in silence. Finally Ojun laughed, 'When I return to my home, master Natham, I will remember your words. I will look upon it as home indeed, and not some tent to dwell in while the gods plot revenge against mankind. I will look upon the face of my wife and tell her that we are home and that there we will remain, to age, to laugh, to die, to love, no longer in the shadow and shame of history.'

[Chapter VI:  
In Marin Quendom](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Battle Sounds

Ere long the travelers came to a place where no trail or path remained. 'We have come to the uttermost end of the land of the Ohhari,' Ojun said. 'And here we must part ways, you to pass into the wild and we to return to our home. May the gods of heaven smile upon you. I am sorry that I can give you no better direction than to tell you that to the west lies the land of Olgrost and the Quendom of the Marin, where no man rules. If you pass through that land and follow the coast to the north you will come at last to Dalta City, which was once called by our ancestors Pendeltha, the city of gods. I cannot tell you the best course to take, nor can I tell you anything of the countries and the people of that land.'

'You have done much for us already,' Whately assured him, 'For that we are grateful; and we will never forget the hospitality of the Ohhari.'

Ojun lowered his eyes, 'Were it left to me I would welcome you to remain among us, but such was not the will of our elders.'

'I understand,' Whately said with a bow, 'May the gods shine upon your path.'

'I trust that they will,' Ojun said with a bow of his own. The two shook one another's hands and turned each to their own fates.

Nothing more is known of the fate of the Ohhari beyond this tale. It is said that still to this day, in some deep and wild place of that valley there remains a hidden realm of woodsmen; still, no doubt, looking to the stars. What will become of them, however, and whether they will ever return to Fhuhar in power only their prophets can tell.

Duri took the lead once more, though he warned Natham that beyond the forest of Olger he could not promise to lead them with any degree of confidence. The road became very difficult for the horses beyond this point, for there were no roads for them to follow and many steep places that they must climb. Whately considered sending them away, to meet their fate in the wild or to return to the Ohhari if they could. Natham, however, insisted upon bringing them and even bent his own great strength toward helping them through the wilderness. At last they came to the top of a very tall hill from which they could see league after league of gentle westward slopes before them. To their south they could see the mountains of Zoar, as Ojun called them, rising into great jagged spikes and towers of rock.

'We are getting close to the ancient Verder Kingdom of Kolohi,' Whately said as they began their descent. 'Here it is said the Elven lord Kolohi established his kingdom in days long past. Out of grief because of his wife's betrayal he lay himself to sleep in a great vault beneath the mountain. There he lies still, it is told, awaiting the renewal of all things.'

'You say 'Elven lord', Natham commented, 'That word I have heard only a few times.'

'The Elves,' Whately explained, are what they call 'gods' in Vestron. Malia herself, I apprehend, is no more than an elf, and the Merkata are what they call 'half-elves'. In this land, in Olgrost I mean, they call them not 'gods' at all. The old city of Dalta, of which Ojun spoke, was once their capitol. From there he challenged the might of the Quendom of Marin, and for many ages, kept their ambition in check. But no rivalry can be eternal. In the end, Dalta, the lord of the elves of that land, was slain in battle against the Ollitov, which is what the Marin call their highest commander. In time the city fell and the elves were slain or exiled. For this reason, the Marin entertain no illusion about the god-hood of the elves. Among the Vestri and the Merkata the immortals are rare enough that men take them to be more than what they are. In my own home they are called simply 'Wise Men', and in the eastern places of Weldera they are called 'Ancients'. But all of these speak of one and the same sort of creature. But of their origins, no man can tell, and their histories are so full of contradictions that it would be impossible to say anything about them without absurdity.'

'Then you have studied their histories?' Natham asked.

'Indeed,' replied Whately, 'But that was many years ago in places that I do not wish to remember.'

Another three weeks passed before any sign of human habitation passed before their eyes. The weather had been fair, and the air grew warmer as they descended into the west. After a few more days the land flattened out and they came across a ruined city, now barely to be discerned amid the trees and bushes that had grown upon it. Whately took it to be one of the old cities of the eastern elves of Kolohi. 'The stones, or at least what remains of them, are cut too well to have been done by mortals. There is no limit to the skill of the deathless.'

They passed through the sorrowful place in silence, coming at length to a small river over which a great stone bridge had once stood. The river was frozen still and the rubble from the bridge made a path on which they were able to lead their horses across. On their left hand they could see looming up tall above them one of the great stone pillars that mark the beginning of the mountains of Zoar. When scarcely they had reached the other side of the water, however, they were startled by a strange sound.

It was like a continuous roll of thunder, though very faint and intermixed with the sound of clanging metal. From where they stood a thin stream of silver smoke could be seen rising into the sky. It was impossible for them to tell from whence the smoke came and how many leagues lay between them and the its source.

For three days they pressed on, always trying to discover the cause of the noise. It would flare up each morning and make its raucous for several hours before abruptly coming to a halt. And each day the sound came from a different place, so that it was very difficult for even Duri to track. But on the fourth day they came to the edge of a small cliff overlooking a clearing. There the mystery of the rumble and smoking and clanging was solved.

In the clearing below they saw dozens of bodies sprawled out lifeless across the ground. There were several armed warriors yet standing, all in silver plated armor holding slender shields and long spears. But the travelers only looked at these for an instant, for it was the foe against which these soldiers were battling that possessed their attention. Towering over the soldiers was what appeared to their eyes to be a man of iron. Thick black smoke poured from his nostrils, he shook and rattled and clanged as he moved, each time sending a pillar of smoke from his head. In his right arm he bore a great spear, such as no mortal man could lift, stained with blood. In his other hand he carried a great mace with jagged spikes upon which still clung the dripping flesh of his victims. This iron giant lunged forward again, and thrust its spear forward. The spear pierced one of the soldiers through the stomach with incredible precision and speed. The soldier let out a scream and then fell to the ground in agony. The others rushed away and took up their defense several paces back. The iron soldier was slowly backing them against the cliff wall.

Whately looked desperately around, trying to think what to do. But he was a strategist, and there are some situations for which there are no strategies. He broke into a sweat and tugged at his hair, his face pale with horror. It was not fear that he felt, but compassion. His torment was in the fact that he could see no means of saving the men below. He knew not who they were or what their reasons were for battle, but he could not bear to watch them be ripped to shreds by this iron marvel.

While he was thus preoccupied, Natham leaped from the cliff, landing on the ground before the giant. Amidst a field strewn with shattered shields and mangled bodies he held aloft mighty Admunth, the shield of Vullcarin. The giant struck first with the mace, but the shield withstood it. Natham lost no time and grabbed the mace with his right arm and ripped it from the giant. The metal groaned, but the mace broke free and dropped to the ground with a thud. The spear came swift and sure, but Natham had already set his shield in place to bear the blow. The point was turned aside and went deep into the earth. Natham dropped the shield and leaped upon the giant.

The two mighty powers thus struggled for the field. Smoke poured from the giant's nostrils in mighty streams and the roar which he ever made grew louder and fiercer. He cast Natham away and made a lung at him with the spear. But Natham leaped aside and grabbed the spear with both of his hands, breaking it in two. The giant pulled back its fist as if to punch him, but Natham was too swift for him. He drew his sword and thrust it into the center of the giant's chest, piercing the armor. The sword broke and a dreadful scream rent the sky. The giant smoked and fumed and then flew into a blind rage, swinging its fists wherever it could. Natham knocked it to the ground and tore its limbs from its body until it was just a smoldering heap. Eventually the roaring ceased and the constant stream of smoke relented. By the time Whately made it down into the clearing, the giant was slain and the soldiers were searching for survivors amongst the fallen.

'Too many have fallen,' one of them said. 'And as yet we had not so much as the armor scratched.'

'Too precise they are,' said another. 'No mortal could hope those blows to escape.'

'Yet not too precise for all it appears,' said another as they directed their attention to their rescuer. Now that Natham was among them he was amazed at how slender they were. They were all wearing shirts and tunics of a deep blue color. They also wore black boots with silver buckles matching the silver plated armor that guarded their lives. On their heads they wore ornately carved helmets, each with a different pattern etched across the forehead. As the sunlight struck their helms they looked like so many kings, crowned with glittering light. At their lead walked one much taller than the others atop whose helm was set a blue plume of horse hair. This one Natham perceived to be their captain. When the captain spoke and when the helm was removed, then Natham understood their peculiarity completely. There before him stood, much to his surprise, a woman, and a woman of unsurpassed beauty. To his eyes, she was such that even the radiance of the Lady of the Merkata was made to fade into gray memory. Her eyes sparkled like green flames and her hair was as black as midnight.

Next Natham noticed that all of the soldiers, and not merely their captain, were women. Many of the dead, however, were men; these were armed with less splendid weaponry and with poorer armor than the women. There were only four soldiers remaining out of what appeared to originally have been more than a score. They approached Natham to offer their gratitude, but when they saw his face, and his terrible form they stopped in terror. The captain was undaunted, however, and turned toward her comrades in anger. 'Cowards arise!' she commanded. They obeyed at once, though none of them could bring themselves to look directly at the Monster.

'Much do we owe to you,' she said, bowing her head low before him. The others clumsily followed their captain. 'I am called Lyris,' she introduced herself. 'I am Marshall of the Eastern Wilderness, daughter of Lenrhi, whose sire was Ollitov. May the blessings of our Queen upon you rest; and in our land may you find welcome.'

'I am called Natham,' the monster answered.

'From what land do you hail? For to the west only hermits, rebels and brigands dwell, yet you are none of these I perceive.'

'We came through the forest of Olger from the land of Vestron,' he answered, 'I have lived there long, though we are not of that land or of its kindred.'

'Tell me what news you bring of that land then,' she said in a polite yet demanding voice.

'We do not bring news,' Whately interrupted as he drew nearer to them. All eyes turned to him. 'We bring only ourselves.'

'And thankfully you have come in time to be our help,' Lyris said, still politely, 'Yet I would be no Marshall if I did not ask questions of those who encroach upon our borders, heroes though they may be. I ask again, what news you bring of the land of Vestron and the Kingdom of Harz?'

Whately looked pale, but Natham answered calmly, 'The Kingdom of Harz is fallen, Lord Vullcarin has been dispossessed of the Mountain of Fire, which they call Fhuhar. The Merkata Clan of Rugna now has the dominion in that realm, though it will be long before it can be told whether they will be able to keep their newly gained lordship.'

'Strange tidings these are,' Lyris said with a troubled voice. 'Little we have heard from that realm of late. Is there no chance that you are mistaken?'

'None,' Natham said, though Whately shook his head, trying to silence him. 'I led the army of the Merkata through the Passes of Fire to Thasbond myself; and it was I that spared the life of Vullcarin, exiling him from that mountain forever.'

'That ye are not mere beggars or hermits is plain enough from the Golem that here in smoldering ruin lies. But now I perceive that ye are heroes, and not mere travelers. We would be greatly pleased if ye would follow us to our encampment. From there we may take further council in safety. But now we must tend to the dead.'

'Do you need help?' Natham said in a soft tone.

'That we would appreciate greatly,' Lyris answered. 'We must bury the soldiers with honor and set a marker upon their mound. The hirelings, however, we can burn with fire.'

It was well past nightfall when all their labors were finished. The soldiers, which were all women clad in the same silver mail as the survivors, were laid in rows one next to the other with their armor cleaned and polished, their spears at their right sides and swords upon their breasts. Their helms were set under their left arms and their slender shields were lain atop them almost as a blanket. All afternoon Lyris wandered the clearing with tears streaming from her eyes, gathering what leaves and flowers she could find upon the frozen ground. After a while she had enough to lay a small laurel crown upon each woman's brow. Their long hair was combed and laid upon their shoulders in braids, tied with strands of crimson string. Altogether there were fifteen fallen women, which Lyris called 'soldiers'. Around their bodies was built a small wall of uncut stones which was then filled with earth until the soldiers were completely buried. On the top of the mound was set a large stone upon which she carved the words, 'Rest, Brave Marin Dead'.

There were many more men laying dead in the clearing, which she referred to as 'hirelings'. These she had Natham pile into a mound and set on fire. When all their labors were ended they brought from their provisions some sort of soft bread and some spiced meat. This they heated on sticks and ate hot. Of all that they had they shared generously; they had much to spare, having lost the greater part of their number in the battle. Quite to Whately's horror, the soldiers unabashedly plundered the belongings of the 'hirelings', taking what seemed to be of value, burning or burying the rest. Lyris took from one, whom Natham took to be the leader of them, some silver amulet with a bright red gem in the center. This she put about her own neck and tucked the jewel beneath her shirt. The women took no notice of the travelers' amazement in this.

'I take it these men are not your countrymen?' Whately later asked.

'Indeed not,' Lyris scoffed. 'These are men. But the Marin are women only.'

'Truly women only?' Whately asked thoughtfully.

'Indeed, Marin Quendom admits no men.'

'Yet it is as you have said,' Whately pointed out, 'You are the grand-daughter of an Ollitov.'

Lyris nodded, 'Indeed, we have no men, but that means not that we have not the need for them. Whether for the increase of our Kingdom or for their strong arms in times of war, we must make what use of them as we may.'

They spoke very little that night. The women had unbound their hair and put dirt under their eyes, which Whately took to be some sign of mourning for their fallen companions. The skies were clear and bright that night and an unseasonable warm wind blew across the clearing, calming them and slowly lulling them all to sleep. Each of the women took turns keeping watch, though Natham slept not at all that night. Whenever one of them was awakened to keep watch they found him sitting there silently adoring the stars above. He seemed not to notice their rising and going to sleep. Lyris, when it was her turn to watch, drew nearer to him as if to speak, but when she saw how ardently he studied the heavens she thought better of it and left him undisturbed.

Of Marin Quendom

Olgrost begins in the east where Vestron ends; it has for its eastern border the dark woods of Olger and the Veste Mountains upon whose hills the trees of that forest grow. This great woodland is called the Forest of Kolohi by the people of Dalta City, but is simply referred to as Eastwood by the Marin. This forest stretches almost from the northern edge of Olgrost to the Zoar mountains in the south, some one hundred and seventy leagues or so. From the habitations of the Ohhari to the end of the wood in the west and the beginning of Olgrost proper it is somewhere between seventy and one hundred leagues, depending of course, upon the route of travel. Due west from the passes of Veste, through which all travelers from Vestron must pass, lies the ruins of that once great city of Kolohi. Another sixty or seventy leagues to the west is Lake Pelil, upon whose northern shores was built Marin Fortress, from whence the Quendom of Marin is ruled. On the southern shores of that lake and beyond, stretching over a hundred leagues to the Sea of Kollun, is the land of Hilgram, where the men are said to be wild and treacherous. All that lies between Marin Fortress and the passes of Veste is claimed by Marin.

Marin occupies a place of power, almost at the very center of the land of Olgrost. It lies on the water, which gives it not only protection, but influence, since so many in that land depend upon it for life and sustenance. Due north of Marin Fortress is the Frozen Coast, where the ancient fables say Queen Wellin is imprisoned. But there are none who have verified the old accounts, nor are there any who have found the haunted tower in which she is said to be imprisoned.

A little to the north and some one hundred and fifteen leagues to the west from Marin lies the great city of the elves named for their Lord, Dalta, who was one of the six elf fathers.

The history of Marin begins more than two millenia ago, when the dread wars between Xanthur and the elves first began. Xanthur was revealed to be the Lord of the men of Lapulia in what the elves considered the millennial anniversary of their first coming. Immortal, he spent five hundred years ordering the continent of Dominas until his might was supreme and his army invincible. His first strike was against the Verder kingdom of Kolohi, which once occupied the western forests of Olgrost, the very forests in fact from which Natham and Whately had just emerged.

Xanthur accomplished his victory in this way: He seduced Queen Wellin, the wife of Kolohi, and by her influence rendered the whole kingdom helpless and weak. Through many fell lies she deceived both her husband and the kingdom's generals until they were wholly incapable of defending their realm. His army swept through the wooded realm with ease, the warriors of Kolohi being confused and disillusioned. His commander in that campaign was a dark and wicked man of Snakhil named Vantu. By his cruelty, the forests of Verder and the mighty cities of Kolohi lay in ruins by the end of three years. All the wealth and learning of a thousand years lay now in utter ruin. Kolohi's sons were slain, it is believed, and he himself disappeared from history. The elves say he sleeps in some deep vault, awaiting some fated hour at which he will return. It is more probable, though, that he perished during the wars of those days. His wife, being a traitor, was confined by Vantu in a high tower on the northern coast of Olgrost, where some say she dwells still. It was also in this era that the Harz Nobles invaded Vestron, though a connection between them and the lord of Lapulia has never been officially acknowledged or conclusively proven.

Vantu next turned his sword against Dalta, hoping to rid Dominas and Olgrost of elven lords forever. But his vice overtook his might and upon taking the eastern fortress of Lepani he captured and made a spectacle of Dalia, the daughter of the elf lord Dalta. Her betrothed, the mighty Thuruvis of Dadron, marched with five hundred warriors from Dalta City to meet Vantu in battle at Lepani. In the fields to the west of the fortress, Thuruvis' small band of elven warriors humiliated the northern arm of Xanthur's army, slaying nearly a third of Vantu's army in three days.

Thuruvis, mourning the loss of his beloved and finding revenge to be an insufficient reward for his labors, left those shores forever, swearing never to look upon the eastern lands again.

Left in chaos, the men of Olgrost battled for power. Wars washed the land in blood, kingdoms arose and fell, lords and generals slew one another for honor and for fame. Duels, daring deeds, horrid crimes and terrible battles raged in every quarter. Dalta confined himself to the western shores of the continent, unwilling to expend his might to quell the raging mortal factions. 'No longer shall the immortal bleed for the mortal,' he declared.

In the midst of this chaos there arose one of the most peculiar tribes that have ever lived in Tel Arie. The founder of this tribe was a half-elf named Marin. She was the daughter of Dalia, the princess of Dalta, and of Vantu, mightiest of Xanthur's devilish warriors. The blood of immortal royalty flowed through her veins and the strength of one of the bravest mortals was in her arms. When she was but seventeen years old she was deeply affected by the suffering of those women who were forced to live under the shadow and thunder of their husbands' ambitions. She personally witnessed the outrages of war when an army of brigands invaded the small northern village where she and her patron had taken refuge along with several other dispossessed families. The women of that village were captured by stupid brutes of the worst sort, forced into slavery, sold and divided. All this was for the sake of man's lust for power and conquest, she perceived. Men rose and fell as heroes, but women and children fell by the wayside as worthless chattel or as victims. What sympathy their plight inspired only served to further fuel the fires of war and hatred. Every crime inspired an equal crime as revenge. The outrage against her village was met with violence, and the barbaric invaders were slain with the swords of yet more barbarians. 'What brave men!' she scoffed, even in that hour.

Not only in war did she discover inequity and injustice. From their earliest days she noted a disparity between men and women, nay, even before their birth there was a distinction. Every mother and every father, every grandsire and matron alike pined and prayed for a strong son for their first-born. A daughter was at best accepted, but never hoped for. If a woman gave birth to seven or eight daughters she was suspected of witchcraft. On the other hand, to give birth to five or six strapping boys was an honor that only the favor of a god could explain.

From their earliest day, boys were tutored in letters and lordship while girls were trained in sewing and servitude. Young men were brought up to be brave and strong, seeking lordship over kingdoms and tribes, cities and nations; but if they could have none of these, at the very least they were lords over their women. Women, on the other hand, were brought up to be servants of their fathers first and later of their husbands. A noble and lordly woman might hope at the most to become the servant of some great warlord or some kingly noble, which is simply to say that a woman's highest achievement was to become the thrall of a still greater master.

The effects of these inequities extended even beyond old age and into death. For gray hair and wrinkled skin are a sign of maturity and wisdom to the man; to the woman they are signs of strain and ugliness. They both die, but only the man is remembered, first in the names of his children and later by historians and poets. The woman is often forgotten even before she is put in the grave. Ere the rising of the Marin Quendom there were some who could recall the names of their sires for nearly twenty generations. But no one could remember the name of his great grandmother.

Men had from birth to death every advantage and every honor; they were bred to be valiant and brave, wise and virtuous. Women were raised to be servants, submissive and simple.

Yet for all their brave deeds and noble thoughts, men could not find peace. War erupted again and again, each peace only fueling the fires of the next conflict. The horrors of that time killed many women, but it made those who survived strong. Of those survivors, Marin became chief, lending her strong arms and her half-elven wisdom to their plight. She trained women in the arts of war and proved herself to be her father's daughter in battle. Thus was born the Marin Tribe, the root and foundation of what would become the Quendom of Marin; a nation of women, led by and established by mothers and sisters, who were no longer content to watch their families and homes fall to pieces in the fire and ash of war. This was in the fifteen hundredth and forty-second year of our age.

The Marin tribe first made use of their strength to guard the northern villages from invaders and warlords, who often came to those lands when they needed to hire warriors or gather taxes for their wars. But no taxes returned to the men of the south from that region in the year the Marin tribe first appeared. Lord Ollitov, the greatest warrior in Olgrost in those days, rode north to make an end of this insurrection of 'bond-women'. He was bested in a duel against Vantu's daughter and sold his city and his freedom for his life. He was made her husband, and forever afterward, as the custom is in the Quendom, the Queen and King are named Marin and Ollitov. But Marin refused to take lordship over Ollitov's lands and people. She only demanded that whatsoever woman wished to leave her life of servitude behind and join her in the Tribe would be permitted to do so.

The Maiden Festival

There is an impracticality of a She-Tribe, certainly of a Quendom, that I am confident my readers have already considered. If the Marin Tribe consists of women only, and if later the Quendom itself admits no male citizens, how is the society maintained and propagated?

The solution to this problem arose very early in the history of Marin Quendom, even while Marin yet lived. Every autumn, just after the harvest, the Marin Tribe holds what is called 'The Maiden Festival', the revelries of which are famous throughout all the civilized and especially throughout the uncivilized world. It is spoken of with cheers in Titalo, indifference in Kollun, jeers in Lapulia, and disdain in Lakil. About the various contests, games, celebrations and feasts of the Maiden Festival, little needs to be said. Suffice it to say, the whole purpose of the Festival was to increase the population of Marin through the birth of daughters come springtime. The sons of Marin, however, were surrendered to the fathers as soon as they were weaned, and delivered to their doorsteps without pomp or ceremony. There was a famous case of a young man named Cedrinos who had no less than seven baby boys left on his doorstep in the space of ten days. He became quite famous in all the ale houses and back alleys of Olgrost, though much less famous with his wife, who became step-mother to all these hungry toddlers.

This is what is known as the Covenant of Marin: Those men who take part in the revelries of the Maiden Festival bequeath to the Marin Quendom all female offspring, a small price to pay they thought. But the males were returned to their fathers before they reached their third year.

When the Quendom had grown into the size of a nation, however, the laws and practices of the Marin Tribe were forced to acquiesce to the more 'natural' circumstances of husbands and wives, fathers and mothers. Men, however, were never accepted as citizens, with the one exception of the husband of Marin, Ollitov, whomever he might be.

Women of War

Though they were convinced that a nation commanded by women would serve mankind better than what had hitherto ruled over humanity, the realization of that ideal was not forthcoming. War and danger still beset them on every side, and whether they were more cool headed and less arrogant than their predecessors mattered very little. Marin was compelled to maintain almost constant war against her neighbors. Most of the time they fought in defense, but admittedly often for gain or for glory and sometimes simply for honor. In the end, their Quendom can stand amidst all the other kingdoms and dominions of the earth without it even being noted that they were in every generation ruled by women rather than men. The end result of their government, its powers, its needs and its abuses were very much the same in all things.

The might of the Marin Tribe became such that even the elves of Dalta City became wary of them. As early as the sixteen-hundred and seventh year of this age Marin found herself facing the deathless upon the battlefield. It was also at this time that the seeds of the fall of Dalta City, its lord and its heritage, were sown. Unable to defeat them alone, Lord Dalta made a league with the vicious and brutal men of Hilgram, who came against Marin from the south of Olgrost. The army of Marin was scattered, and the princess Elna was taken captive by Lord Dalta, who, in an act of utter thoughtlessness, gave her to the Master of the Hilgramun. It was in this battle that Marin was slain, and as Fate would have it, she was slain with the sword of her own grandfather, Dalta, father of her mother Dalia, whom Vantu had abused. Among her people, the heritage of Marin was well-known, but among the elves it was never acknowledged. Dalta himself thrust his blade through her armor without regard. She looked upon him with sorrowful eyes and then fell to the dust, cursing the name of her father with her last breath.

Many laments were written among the Marin Tribe about the fall of Marin and the dreadful suffering of their captive princess. Oaths were sworn, and the fall of Dalta City was prophesied.

The princess proved to have the blood of Vantu within her; she soon found an opportunity to escape and make her return to the Marin Tribe, where she was welcomed with great rejoicing.

The revenge of Marin came swiftly. Elna, taking the place and name of her slain mother, led her people to war within the decade. Eight years after they were driven from Pelil by Dalta and the wicked men of Hilgram, Marin returned and inflicted such devastation on the southern country that all claim on Lake Pelil was surrendered to her forever. The master of the Hilgramun was impaled upon a great spike which was raised above the city of Pelhugram. Thus the banner of Marin for the first time blew in the wind above the great lake of Olgrost, and beside it the city's former lord writhed in anguish, perishing ere the afternoon was full. The spike remained aloft until the body rotted from it and fell to the earth of its own decay. It was burned where it landed and a great mound of stones were laid atop it, marking forever the place where the enemy of Marin was punished.

This marks the beginning of the Marin Quendom. Before that it was called a tribe or a sect and many other things. But here for the first time the Lady of Marin accepted royal honors. A crown of silver was fashioned and set with five rubies that they had captured, among many other treasures, from the Hilgramun. She was crowned queen over all of the east and south of Olgrost in the thirty seventh year of the sixth century of the second millenium of this age. On the northern shores of the lake, Marin Fortress was built. It is from there that every queen and king of Marin has ruled.

By the end of a century, Marin ruled over every mortal soul in Olgrost, reducing Dalta to an oasis of fortresses, unassailable yet with no hope of expansion. All that remained outside her grasp was the city of Dalta, wherein the elves yet lived and the Zoar frontier city of Borzal, which was haunted by dwarves.

There were many wars between Dalta, Zoar, Borzal and Marin in those days and in the centuries that came to pass. No great progress was made, however, and all the best efforts of the rival kingdoms led only to the same stalemate they had achieved in their previous struggles. In the course of these wars, Marin Quendom finally avenged the death of their first Queen. Ollitov, the husband of the Marin who reigned in the middle of the fourth century of Marin's dominion, killed Dalta and drove the elves far away from Pelil. Hurting and devastated, the elves swore to avenge themselves upon Marin. But their oaths came to naught.

Nearly one hundred and fifty years later a man of bold words and rash deeds came to rule over the city of Lapulia, which lies far to the south along the western coasts of Dominas. This was that man who is called Czylost by historians, self-sworn enemy of the ancient elves and instigator of those horrible Race Wars that covered Tel Arie in blood.

In league with this dangerous man, Marin at last drove the dwarves from Borzal and purged them from the land of Olgrost. They escaped into their mountain strongholds, however, and to this day they haunt the wild places of Olgrost, vexing the marches of the Quendom and taxing travelers. Twelve years later, with Czylost's aid, Ollitov slew Dalta II and Marin at last demolished his city, ending at last the easternmost stronghold of the elves.

Now in full possession of Olgrost, Marin Quendom spent the next twenty-eight years building her strength. This new power was first unleashed in the continent of Illmaria against the elves of Luma. The ancient city of light and the Crystal Palace of Falruvis were burnt to the ground and left in smolders. The elves fled to Weldera and found refuge in the citadel of Dadron, whose walls were believed to be as immortal as their elven builders. After six years had passed, Czylost and Marin, through bribery and deceit, made an alliance with the country of Amlaman and lay siege to Dadron, surrounding it on every side with towers of war. Were it not for the many hidden waterways, which the mortal armies never fully discovered, Dadron would have been lost at once. But the city of Falruvis defiantly withstood their siege for over twenty years.

At last, when it seemed they could bear no more, the Nine Heroes of Noras appeared, Cheftan Galvahir wielding the Sword of Pelas, god of the Argent elves. With their aid, the elves broke the siege and drove their enemies through Amla Gap into the wilderness of Amlaman.

But only twenty-one years later, when Czylost was one hundred and twenty-five years of age, a final assault was made against the Holy City. So fierce and sudden was their onset, so cunningly executed was their plan, so numerous were their warriors, and so unexpected was the betrayal of the Elvenking that the city did not withstand the attack for more than two weeks. It was said that the Nine Heroes of the Noras were slain in that battle, for they came to the aid of their benefactors and fought to their very last breath for the city of Pelas.

Thus the Race Wars were over, and Czylost ended his hateful raging at last and lay his gray head to rest on the bed of the slain Falruvis. There he died, and it seemed that all passion and valor with him. The wind grew cold and long shadows seemed to spread throughout the land. Marin, finding the war more costly than it was beneficial, withdrew her soldiers little by little from Weldera. It had been Czylost's goal to make an end of all elves. He had seen the end of Dalta, of beautiful Luma, and Dadron last of all. Untouched, however, were the lands of Bralahi, whose secrets are to mortals unreachable. Czylost, therefore, died a failure by his own standards and a devil by all others, and the melancholy of his soul seemed to poison the whole region. The armies of Amlaman slipped quietly away from Falsis, taking little plunder from their ancient neighbors. The record of the war, or at least their own involvement in it, was nearly stricken from their histories. The armies of Lapulia remained in command of the citadel for a mere thirty years at the end of which they surrendered the dominion of Falsis and the city of Dadron to the Daevaron of east Falsis who rule it to this day.

[Chapter VII:  
Dwarves in the Marches](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Zomara

For the next three days Natham and Whately were led eastward, into Marin Quendom proper. The laws of Marin required that any such travelers, especially those who had passed through Olger to the old Verder ruins, should be brought before the local governor, whose seat was in the town of Zomara. Whately was of a mind to refuse the march and go their own way, trusting in his own skill and the strength of Natham to withstand these soldiers if need be. He was not of a mind to become enthralled to yet another nation. Natham, however, insisted that they follow them, saying, that he feared nothing from them.

The Marin soldiers seemed grateful that they had no need to compel these travelers to make the journey. 'If such trouble we had with the golem and he so little, how can we pretend to compel them by force,' they soundly reasoned.

Zomara was a small village encircled by a crude wall of wooden pikes, which were hastily bound together and set facing outward. The lands surrounding the village were used for farming, but these were abandoned each night as the people shut themselves inside the walls for safety. For there were many dwarves in that region, and the people no longer felt safe in their own homes. In those days it was chiefly against these creatures that the swords of Marin were directed. They were, to the Quendom, like rats or some other invincible vermin. In the ancient wars they were driven once and for all from Olgrost. But their mountain strongholds were never taken. Even when their haunts were discovered they could not be driven from them. They were fierce warriors, as any tale will tell, and they became all the fiercer as the battles drew near to their own dwelling places. If at last the soldiers of Marin could succeed in defeating them in their own hiding places, they would retreat to such depths that no human could reach them. There they would hide among the Gaians, who send forth vapor and poison which only the dwarves can survive.

It should be said here that dwarves, unlike goblins, are not entirely bereft of reason. In fact, it is quite certain that they often reason better and faster than men. Their language, however, is simple and crude, only having room for quick commands and words of warning. They can learn the tongues of men, but they rarely find them useful. They do not make treaties; if ever they do they show no signs of caring for the agreements.

They are smaller than men, usually no more than three feet in height. But for that height they are at least three times stronger than a human being. Their weapons, which they forge in deep fiery places, are stronger than human weapons as well.

They adorn themselves with trophies alone. Fur, skin, leather, skulls and bones are their clothing. The only raiment they make for themselves is their armor, which as might be imagined, is also finer and stronger than the best productions of men or elves.

It is said in the Dadron schools that there are three parts of reasoning that are necessary for the whole: There is understanding, judgment, and Reason proper. In this last faculty the dwarves are extremely deficient, due to their sparse vocabulary. The consequence is that they do not pass their knowledge on to their children, except for that which the child apprehends by their own observation. They have no histories, save that which the elves have invented for them, they have no government, save for a crude, goblin-like lordship of the mightiest. This deficiency also explains why they relate so poorly to the other races of the world, and indeed to the animals as well. They will not hesitate to hunt a creature to the very last for the sake of a trophy or for sport. It seldom occurs to them that they might someday wish the animals were yet available to satisfy their hunger.

Where dwarves truly excel all other races, however, is in their understanding and their judgment. When they do reason, however, they do not err. They turn whatever new object they encounter about in every direction, taking it to pieces and remaking it again until they have no further doubts concerning its nature. When they speak to one another, their meanings are never misunderstood, partly because of the simplicity of their tongue, but mainly because of the care that they take in apprehending the meanings of the words they say. It is, on this account, very difficult for them to understand the complex and counterintuitive languages of men. They do not understand humor at all.

Their superb understanding, however, makes them masters of the elements and magicians of incomparable skill. They learn to make weapons that move on their own, bows that fire repeatedly, and even, in some rare cases, creatures of metal or wood that can move about on their own, or at the command of a rider. This is the nature of the dread golem that had slain so many Marin soldiers and so many hireling men ere the monster of Vestron arrived.

A bird can fly with ease at a great speed and land upon the slenderest twig. A beaver can build a dam the like of which no mortal or immortal builder can match. Even a tiny spider, mindless though she be, can make a web of unsurpassed beauty and utility. All this is by means of the understanding, which all moving things share to some extent. As the dwarves are masters of this faculty the precision of their hands and their thoughts is like the flight of a bird through the woods, irrational, yet led by perfect intuition. In battle, dwarven archers do not miss easily, nor do their strokes with the blade or their blows with the axes often miss their marks. To fight a dwarf with weapons alone, however diminutive he may be in stature, is like fighting a whale in the sea.

In battle, a golem-lord, which is what the Marin call the mobile inventions of the dwarves, is more deadly than any number of men. For the armor of such an artificial creature is harder than any hide, and instead of claws and teeth it carries weapons of iron, which are moved with amazing precision.

Their deficiency in reasoning, however, has long proved to be their downfall. However deadly they are in a battle, they are no good in a war; which is to say, that they have a mind for striking with arrows and spears, axes and swords, and they have the power and understanding to make creatures of iron, and weapons of great enchantment, but they have no mind for strategy, certainly not for the elaborate plots of human beings.

Dwarves had been seen wandering in the fields of Zomara at night lately, causing the people of the village to forsake their farmlands and huddle together behind their crude fortress of wood. For the most part the dwarves took only what they needed from the harvest and then crept away as silently as they had come. But they seemed to be increasing of late, and they were taking a greater toll on the supply of food and grain. Moreover, on several occasions the dwarves were reported to have been bearing battle axes and longswords. Thus Lady Hivilu, the elder of Zomara and governor of the southeastern marches of Olgrost, sent to Marin Fortress a request for aid. The young Marshall, Lyris, along with sixty other women and two hundred hireling men, was sent to her just three months earlier to put an end to the pilfering, and to make the lands safe again for habitation.

Of her mission and her difficulty she spoke to Natham openly. 'Refuge the dwarves took in a small cave, not more than a league to the south of Zomara. There they in safety sought to lie. Our trackers - that is, the hirelings, found their trail and they led us to their caves. At first we thought our work was finished, when by nightfall of the first day it seemed they all lay slain. But we were mistaken. Upon the morning of the second day, a golem appeared, one of those dread monsters of iron. Ten of our soldiers, the golem in its fury slew. More than thirty of the men that day also in bloody heaps fell. Yet for all our sacrifice, and all our labors, upon its armor not a dent was made. The third day we did better, with no soldiers lost and only seven hirelings killed. But in the end we were forced to retreat from their rocky haunts. The fourth day the golem came upon us while many were yet at rest, slaying more than thirty of our sisters ere a retreat was made. The stars alone can count the hirelings that in that day were cut down. Finally, bereft of hope and full of vengeful folly, we overtook the golem in the clearing and sought to make an end either him or of ourselves.'

'Are there many such golems in these lands?' Natham asked.

'They are rare,' Lyris answered solemnly. 'But when they appear, seldom do they appear alone, it is said. The dwarves can pass many generations without crafting any such devilish enchantments. But as they live for many lives of men, toiling away ceaselessly and unwearied in the darkness, it is all too often that they attain sufficient skill to create those monsters of iron. Thou hast slain the monster, and the golem-lord within his devil-armor has perished. But there will undoubtedly be more forthcoming, especially when the others discover the end of their comrade. To make a beast of iron, that breathes and moves, slays and wounds, is a task that cannot be performed in solitude. Such a dwarf-master must of necessity have his apprentices, his sons, his heirs, and his masters. If there are any among his kindred with understanding enough to have shared in his work, then we have much to fear.'

'Then we may expect to see more of these monstrosities?' Natham asked.

'Indeed, if tradition serves,' Lyris said. 'But first we must reach Zomara, where council and rest we can find.'

Whately followed behind them silently as they walked, shaking his head and marveling at Natham's words, '"We" may expect more of these? he murmured to himself.'

Whately watched Natham's every step with amazement in those days. The creature, who had only reluctantly involved himself in the wars of the Merkata, and even then only for his own ends, suddenly surrendered his services to these soldiers without reserve or hesitation, though no oath would he swear. He carried their burdens, lit the fires for their meals, kept watch in the lonely hours of the night, and even, almost gentlemanly helped them in the difficult places along the road. To Lyris alone, however, would he speak, and they spoke often. Even more amazing to Whately was the lack of fear this Marshall of the Quendom showed toward the strange creature that had come into their realm. 'Such a soul, one that is not horrified by the misfortunes of others, is a rare gem indeed,' he said to himself.

Zomara was surrounded on all sides by farmlands and orchards. The soil was rich and dark; seeds grew quickly there, and produced much fruit. As the travelers passed through Zomara, however, they saw nothing but empty fields, awaiting the rains and the full warmth of Spring. The gourds that grew there in the autumn were legendary, and for that reason the whole land was called at times Gordstlun, which is to say, 'Land of the Gourds'. The rich soil brought great wealth to the people of that land and to the people of Zomara in particular. It also brought the dwarves, however, and for the past several decades or so the conflicts were such that it became necessary to fortify the town and hire guardians to secure its food stores. These guardians were mostly untrained men from the woodlands to the northeast and the farmlands of the north. They were unprepared for the sagacity of the dwarves, who cannot be defeated without a sound strategy. For this cause, as was said already, the Marin soldiers were summoned to their aid. Against the Golem even strategies failed.

When at last the party arrived at Zomara, they found the gates shut against them. 'Rumor has reached the Lady,' the guards reported, 'of the strange beast with whom ye travel. Come in, daughter of Marin, and come in traveler, but leave the darkened one aside while counsel is taken.'

Natham stepped away from the party and took the horses' bridles from Whately's hand. Lyris' eyes were downcast as she entered the gates with the strategist. The sight of so few survivors sent a clamor of mourning throughout the village. Wherever Whately looked he saw despair.

Within the fort they were met by a kindly looking old woman, who introduced herself as Lady Hivilu, governess of Zomara and Gordstlun. 'Welcome traveler,' she said to Whately, 'it is an honor to greet you, Golem-slayer.'

The mention of this appellation took Lord Whately entirely off guard. 'I beg your forgiveness, my Lady,' Whately said with a clumsy bow, 'But it was not I that slew the Golem, but Natham, whom you have left without the city.'

This she seemed not to hear at all, continuing with her praises, 'Many lives and futures by his fell iron hand have been lost, but you bring us hope.'

There was little that the Governess of Zomara said in that hour that is worth recounting. In the end, when she was fully convinced of the veracity of Whately's tale, she granted him permission to walk within the dominion of Marin freely. 'Only, you shall keep the beast outside the gates of this wall; for my people have enough to fear from the dwarves. I will not terrify them further with the visage of that cursed one.'

Whately tried, politely, to protest, but it was of no avail. 'Then I must take to the outer fields as well,' he said. 'I will not rest on soft pillows, safe behind guarded doors while Natham the Purehearted, as he ought to be called, must remain in the bleak outer-fields of Zomara.'

Natham, in the meanwhile, was led to a small disused farmhouse about half a league to the west of the gates. The proper owners had taken refuge in the town, and were more than happy to lend their home to Natham, if only he should stay out of sight. There was a good amount of firewood piled on the floor near the front door, and a basket full of apples on a table near the fireplace. The soldiers who had led him to the house left him with a loaf of bread and a waterskin ere they happily took their leave, looking nervously over their shoulders as they vanished from sight.

'Even the Merkata bore more love toward you,' Duri said when the day had passed. Natham was sitting on a stool in front of a roaring fire. 'They at least could bear the sight of you without shuddering.'

'They were as scared as these,' Natham sighed, 'though they hid it better because their pride was greater. The fears of these she-warriors,' Natham said sternly, 'are of a different nature.'

'What do you mean?' Duri asked,

'That is difficult to answer,' Natham said, squinting in the firelight. 'There is something that has long troubled my mind. But a veil of darkness through which no light can penetrate obstructs my view. It is a memory, I think. As vivid as the present, but as hidden as the future. It is ever present in my mind, but no image or idea manifests itself. There is a feeling of disgust in that darkness; hatred and violence... Malice undiluted hides in the shadow of my memory. I see, though to a lesser degree, that same malice in the eyes of these she-warriors.'

'But surely they are simply afraid. They think you are some kind of brute.'

'I am a brute!' Natham thundered, 'What am I but a brute!'

'You are that which spares when he can, yet fights for those he loves without hesitation or remorse. You fight not for yourself. You never have and, I'd wager, you never will.'

Natham looked at the spirit with kind eyes and then turned his attention once more to the fire. 'There is a thought in the this darkness of mine that says, and says daily, that it would have been better if your mother had cast you into the sea, or if your father cut your head off even as it emerged from my mother's womb. This, perhaps, is why I fight not on my own account \- For what do I deserve but a swift death. I feel, in these moments, the desire to burn; to see my whole rotted flesh melt away and vanish into smoke. In the eyes of these maidens, and chiefly in the voice of their Governess, I have felt this dark malice, though to a lesser degree. When they look upon me they wish my mother had so cast me into the ocean. They look upon me with eyes that speak, saying thus: "I wish death to you, for your own sorry sake."

'Do they all look upon you thus?' Duri asked thoughtfully.

'No,' he answered with a laugh, 'There is Lyris, that Blind-Maiden, as she ought to be called! Her eyes have in them no trace of malice. In the darkness of my thoughts as I see it reflected in the eyes of these she-warriors lies a pity to murder; such great pity have they for this beast that my end is wished as a solution. But in Lyris there is a pity of another sort; one that grieves for my ugliness yet does not wish me away. But in the voice of the guard of Zomara and in the order of the Governess I feel the same hate. This is why it grieves me not to be left without, for at least I am spared the pity of so many gawkers.'

It was quite late when Whately finally came to the house. Natham was resting in a corner on some straw, though Whately was pretty sure that he was not asleep. 'They have granted us leave to come and go as we please in Olgrost,' Whately said. 'We can leave here whenever you would like and seek our fortunes in this wide land. We can go to Dalta City, perhaps, and see what remains of that ancient Fortress.'

Natham stirred and sat up, saying, 'But what of the dwarves?'

'The dwarves?' Whately said irritably. 'What do you care of the dwarves?'

'There may be more of those Golems,' Natham said soberly, 'Such weapons of death ought not be allowed to exist.'

Whately sat down near the fire and threw a fresh log upon it. 'When spring is fully here,' he said softly, three hundred soldiers of Marin will be sent from the west. These will wage war against the dwarves, with Lyris, Marshall of the Eastern Wilderness, as their commander.' Whately sighed and shook his head. 'If there are more of those monstrosities,' he said, 'Then not a soul of them shall survive.'

'Why would they send so few soldiers?'

'To my mind,' Whately said, 'It can only mean that they have need of the greater part of their strength elsewhere. It also means that what soldiers they send will not be their greatest heroes. There will be many hirelings, also,' Whately scoffed. 'But these, being mere men, they care neither to train nor equip. At least the Merkata gave to their warriors what armaments they required. I feel that the Lady of Marin almost thinks that in treating men with as much injustice as they formerly treated their women she is making them even. "Injustice, more injustice, and then finally, Justice" they think. But we are wiser than that. If I have my will, we will be far from here ere these warriors arrive.'

Natham was silent. It seemed in that moment that their two wills were contending, one against the other. They spoke no words for nearly an hour, both knowing the other's thoughts and reasons entirely. At last, Whately's will surrendered and he said, 'Very well, we will bind our fates with theirs. I had hoped to leave war behind and find a more peaceful life in this land. We might have a farm again, Natham, and make the land lush and beautiful, even as we did in that patch of sand they gave us in Ragnon.'

'You needn't come with me,' Natham said, 'I know that you do not love battle.'

'Nor do you,' Whately said as he tampered with the fire. 'But I swore many years ago that I would not forsake you, unless... I swore that I would never abandon you, nor leave your side. Nor do I want to, though you lead us to death's door in the land of the delvers. Feel no remorse for bringing me into more battles and wars, Natham, for that is what I have been trained to do. And if that is where you must go, then it is what I have sworn to do.'

Against the Dwarves

The beauty of the Eastern Wilderness was breathtaking. Green buds opened up into bright pink and white flowers, crowning every tree and hill in sight. It seemed that as the small army of Lyris marched, the ground came to life beneath them. The last frost was well past and the land was freed at last from winter's tyranny. 'It truly is a pity,' Lyris said as she marched beside Natham, 'that such beauty must precede our fell labors. I would rather have marched in the depths of darkness and ice and saved this beauty for our return. But to change the times and seasons is beyond the power of even the ancient elves.'

The past month had been spent entirely in training. Under Whately's instruction the soldiers of Marin had improved their skill considerably. Lyris marveled, saying, 'Such rapid improvements are, to our own instructors and strategists, unthinkable.' She pressed him to discover where he had studied the arts of war, but he refused to say anything further than that he learned in the 'best place to learn such things'. By the end of the month of Paschest even the hirelings had shown improvement, though no amount of training could acquire for them harder swords, longer spears or stronger armor. As was customary in Marin, there were at least three hirelings for every soldier, bringing the total force to nearly a thousand souls.

With this force Lyris waged her war against the dwarves of the Eastern Marches of Marin. With Natham ever at her side, she drove the dwarves from the forest and from the foothills to the south of Zomara. Wherever she marched and against whoever she fought, she could rely upon the might of Natham to uphold her. Many times he came to her rescue and to the rescue of the whole army. He gained in that time the names Golem-bane and Iron-slayer and many others besides. All the while Whately continued to train the hirelings in the arts of warfare until at last they surpassed the skill even of the Marin soldiers. The result of this was that they soon became a force of unparalleled ability.

For that whole year the Monster of Vestron served the Quendom of Marin, though his assistance was never formally acknowledged by the Queen or even in any significant way by the Governess of Zomara. Whatever accomplishments he made were ascribed to Whately and Lyris. But with all of this he seemed content. When the sky was clear, and the night not too cold, Lyris would come to him and the two of them would gaze at the stars above. Natham would tell her the names of each of them (as Whately had long ago instructed him). He would tell of their comings and goings, their histories, prophecies and their romances.

'How are stars born?' she asked him one night.

'That is a mystery,' he answered. 'But among the Knarse it is said that the stars are the souls of the righteous, set above the earth to guide and guard those who yet remain.'

'Then the stars are born only when men die?'

'Only when righteous men die,' he answered, 'or so the legend says.'

'But why, then, do we not see more stars appearing?' Lyris asked thoughtfully.

'Perhaps,' Natham answered solemnly, 'it is because there are none righteous.'

'What about you, Natham?' she asked, turning her eyes away from the starry veil for a moment. He looked at her also, but seeing her great beauty and the light of the stars shining in her eyes, he looked away.

'There are no righteous ones,' he answered. 'Who does not live but for their own sakes? And even he who does not live so lives only for those for whom he cares. The dwarves live for the dwarves, the Merkata for the Merkata - indeed, the Marin live for the Marin. But why oughtn't we live for the oxen and the lambs as well as for the men of our own country? Who knows that the soul of man is worth more than a goat's spirit? We know not, therefore we are not virtuous. The highest a man can be is pleasing to his own eyes.'

'What does that mean then?' Lyris asked with sadness in her voice. 'Do you live for naught?'

'I hope not,' he answered. 'But I cannot pretend to be greater than I am. I must leave my cause and my fate in the hands of the powers above. Like others, I have that for which I fight, but I cannot pretend that I am privy to some special knowledge that tells me that I am right for doing so. I will maintain for myself no illusion.'

Lyris was silent for while, 'What do you suppose it is like to be a star? If such a thing can be thought.'

'The legends say that when a righteous man dies he is given heavenly milk to drink, such as you can see on the horizon where the deep blue of the night is brightened by so many stars. This fills his body and purifies it, until no vestige of his former self remains. A pure spirit, he ascends to the heights to speak the truth to mankind. He becomes the guardian of those souls that long for virtue. In the day that such a man dies, a new star appears where before there shone nothing at all. He teaches mankind virtue, if mankind is capable of hearing. He tells us of truth and constant obedience. As anyone can tell you, the stars err not from their movements.'

'I think that you will become a star some day,' she said with a kind voice.

'To be righteous you must have knowledge,' he answered calmly, 'and I have only the lack thereof.'

'But all of this doesn't stop you from fighting for Marin.'

'I fight not for Marin,' Natham said with sadness.

'Then for what do you fight?'

But Natham answered nothing. The night wore on and they at last bid one another farewell, each departing for their own tents.

The war continued, this time the dwarves were driven from the foothills of Mount Arzi. Three golems fell there. The dwarves began to fear the monster, even inventing a new word for him, an act which they only rarely performed. From their word 'Gher', which the learned believe to mean 'war' or 'warrior' they added 'zi' which signifies 'master' or 'giant'. 'Gherzi,' they began to shout at the sight of him, and the warriors would scatter, disappearing into the hills and caves of the Zoar mountains.

The cunning dwarves lay many snares for the soldiers of Marin, and the army of Lyris fell into many traps and ambushes. But always the monster would trump the sagacity of the dwarves and steal for Marin the victory. They fought on month after month, drawing ever nearer to the dwarf stronghold of Thlux, which was called 'The Invulnerable Realm' by the men of southern Olgrost.

It soon became clear to the leaders in Marin that if they were ever to be victorious against these subtle creatures, they must subdue this stronghold, which was carved into the very rocks of Mount Zhagib, which lay to the south east of Zomara. A messenger was sent from Marin with new instructions for Lyris, and several hundred soldiers, including fifty mounted warriors. They also hired almost five hundred warriors from the southern lands of Marin, where the men were strong and as yet somewhat independent. 'But all of this is nothing with which to sack a Fortress,' Whately lamented. Prepared or not, however, the army of Lyris began its southerly march - to Mount Zhagib and the dwarf stronghold of Thlux.

They found battle on the first day of Florhus in the twenty-eighth year of the fourth millenium of Tel Arie. The sun was warm upon their shoulders, the breeze was cool. All the smells of summer and the songs of birds floated through the air. But amidst this splendor a great force of dwarf archers lay hidden. As the army marched between two stony ridges, they fell into an ambush. The sure arrows of the dwarves slew thirty hirelings and twelve soldiers in their first volley. Whately shouted, 'Shields! Shields! To the ridges!'

The army was better prepared for the second volley of arrows, but still the perfect aim of the dwarves slipped many arrows past their imperfect defenses. Natham, upon hearing the first arrow fly, charged up the eastern ridge, an ascent that he alone had the strength to manage. When he reached the top of the hill, those dwarf archers quickly came to know the might of the Vestron Monster. Six of their hairy little bodies he flung from the ridge in one great heave. In vain they let their arrows fly at him. His skin was too thick, even for their powerful crossbows, and his skill with Admunth rivaled their skill with the bows. He charged the archers and made an end of any that dared to stand their ground. It takes a great deal to startle a dwarf; it is said that nothing can make them retreat. But in that day such prejudices were set aside and the dwarves really and truly fled in fright. They came at him from all sides with their spears and their swords, but Admunth erred not, and his mighty spear pierced through their armor two at a time.

Things were much harder on the western ridge. Seeing Natham charge to the east, Whately ordered the warriors up the other side, deeming the strength of the monster sufficient to deal with them. The archers, however, were so quick with their arrows and so perfect with their aim that for a while no one could come close to the top without falling to the ground with an arrow through their throat. Finally, Lyris and some of the soldiers of Marin, locking their shields one with the other, marched up the hill toward the dwarves. Arrows clinked against their armor and the shields. An arrow pierced the slender shield of Lyris, halting but an inch from her cheek. The dwarves knew then that their security was waning. They called for their spearmen and axe-wielders in their simple and harsh tongue.

The difficulty of reaching the top of the ridge scarcely seemed worth the effort, as instead of deadly arrows they were met by deadly spears and axes. The dwarf-forged weapons cut through the armor of the hirelings like paper; even the armor of the Marin soldiers was not good for more than a few blows. Lyris found herself surrounded almost the moment she came within sight of the dwarves. They charged without hesitation, cutting down three of her fellows. In a rage, she thrust her spear through one of their faces, making sure the first charge of the dwarves was not made without cost. Before they could strike again, she tossed her spear into the heart of the greatest of them and drew her sword. With this she and her companions made short work of the axe-men. The spears of their enemies, however, proved a greater difficulty. The dwarves could throw these from a great distance and with surprising force. It was better to dodge these than to block, a last lesson for many of the hirelings and even a few Marin soldiers, who learned too late that the shields of men are no match for dwarf iron.

With the archers fled or slain, the battle turned in favor of Marin. Natham stood alone on the eastern ridge with all his foes lying slain on the grass. On the other ridge, the soldiers now had complete mastery of the field. The dwarves accordingly took to flight. They disappeared into the many hidden places in the southern landscape. Many caves, crevices, pits and brambles were littered about the area and into these the dwarves flew with haste. In the end, the dead numbered sixty soldiers and over a hundred hirelings.

When the army was reordered, the dead laid to rest in mounds, and the camp set with guards and watchfires, Whately sought out the Marshall Lyris in her tent. Natham stood nearby and was beckoned to enter with his master. 'These dwarves had news of us,' Whately said as he entered, 'for all our planning, they were well prepared.'

'Indeed,' Lyris said, 'Dwarves cannot easily be taken off-guard; at least not the dwarves of Zoar. It is said that they can sense an army from twenty leagues away.' She then turned to the monster and spoke in a kind voice, 'I thank you, Natham, for you have once saved the lives of many soldiers.' Natham bowed his head. 'The dwarves have built unto themselves a stronghold in the Zoar mountains, no more than ten leagues to the south. It is the will of Queen Marin that this stronghold be taken forever from the hands of these fell creatures.'

'To take a stronghold she will need to send many more soldiers,' Whately said. This force is sufficient to guard a town, but not to sack a dwarf-city.'

'The Queen has her mind elsewhere,' Lyris said cautiously, but disapprovingly. Her mind wanders beyond our shores and into the west.'

Whately shook his head, 'Morm nu desc, vir nu scin,' he said. 'Which is to say, as it is said in Titalo, "The dead teach not, the living learn not"

'I understand your heart,' Lyris said, 'yet we are the servants of Marin, to question her authority is not our right.'

'Tell me more of this stronghold,' Whately said as he shook his head, turning their thoughts back to the coming conflicts. 'What are its weaknesses, and is there any hope of coming against it unexpectedly.'

The stronghold, according to Lyris, was built into the solid rock of the Zoar Mountains, in the north face of Mount Zhagib, Thlux in the dwarven tongue. The northern side of the fortress was smooth as marble, save for two rows of windows that guarded the fortress from above. There was a stone highway built there that led from the north up into the mountain, splitting at the fortress and then wrapping around the east and western walls of the stronghold. There were two great gates of equal size on the east and western sides of the fortress; one was used as an entrance only, the other, as an exit. For efficiency's sake the dwarves allowed no exception to this; weapons, food, spoils and other provisions and prizes were brought into the fortress through the western gate only. Everything and everyone that wished to leave the fortress was compelled to do so through the eastern gate. The fortress was narrow enough from east to west that one could enter the city through the western gate and leave through the eastern in under an hour. How long the fortress was from north to south, however, was unknown. 'It might be no deeper than it is wide,' Lyris said, 'but then it might also go by secret tunnels all the way to Dominas in the south.'

The windows on the north face of the stronghold were too high for any archer to reach. In each window there was room for two archers as well as for one of their dreadful repeating crossbows, which they were certain to have in abundance at their fortress. On the east and western sides there were many towers built. At the tops of these there were catapults and other deadly weapons of war that the dwarves had crafted. No doors or ladders could be found on those towers; their entrances were all subterranean and hidden. Beyond this, it was unknown what other preparations these dwarves had made for themselves.

'The Queen is mad,' Whately said irately, when they had left the tent of Lyris. 'How can she send these young soldiers, these women, to such certain death!? Not to mention the poor souls they call "hirelings"'

To this Natham said nothing, though it was clear that he was in full agreement. When they came at last to their own tent Whately sighed, lifting his eyes to look upon the stars. 'I suppose there is nothing else to be done though. We are embarked, and naught but treachery could save our skins alive now. But what is a treacherous life worth? It is not worth much to me.'

That night, as he lay in his tent, Whately's mind rushed to and fro, reviewing everything Lyris had told him regarding the dwarves and their stronghold. For some reason the words, 'they can sense an army from twenty leagues away' kept presenting themselves to his mind. He fell into a deep but troubled sleep, dreaming of nonsense. But as the morning dawned and the horns of Marin woke him from his nightmares, he returned without difficulty or confusion back to his thoughts from the previous night. Even as the sun dawned upon the world, an idea and a plan dawned upon him.

The taking of Mount Zhagib took place in the following manner:

On the fifth day of Solest, seven soldiers and fifteen hirelings left the camp with enough provisions to last them several weeks. Two weeks later, another party left, this time with eight soldiers and twelve hirelings. Another party left the following week; again, the number of soldiers was varied. This process was continued throughout the summer and into the fall until the entire army save for Natham, Whately, Lyris and a few others had departed.

Each of these parties wandered wide and far from that land, only making their way toward the dwarf stronghold little by little, and as wanderers rather than assailants. Here and there, they were discovered and there were battles. But by the end of the summer only twelve soldiers and forty hirelings had been slain. Two of the smaller bands had either perished in the wild or deserted the army altogether. Those that remained safe and faithful provided for themselves as they could, receiving help from Zomara as it was available. This assistance, both in weapons and provisions, was delivered to them by Lyris and Natham so that the faithfulness of the Marshall and the might of the Monster could give them encouragement as well as food.

Thus they crept, little by little, yet always sundered, ever closer to the stronghold of Zhagib. Finally, when the month of Ornus came and with it the threat of snow and ice, Whately sent a messenger to all the exiled warriors: 'The time to march against Zhagib draws nigh. On the fifteenth day of Ornus, we will pour into the vale of Thlux by night.' With his messengers Whately sent more detailed commands for each individual group.

When the appointed day had come, the warriors of Marin with Whately and Natham stole into the land of the dwarves from several directions. When the morning sun arose on the following day they leapt out from their hiding places and charged into the stronghold. The dwarves reacted swiftly, sending hordes of armed warriors against them, but it was too late. Their great defenses did them no good. Natham charged into the center of the stronghold like a raging bull, casting the dwarves aside like dust. At his right side rode Lyris, mounted upon a great white horse, and at his left rode Whately on a brown horse.

In the main hall of the stronghold a great battle was fought. At first the soldiers of Marin and their hirelings dominated the conflict, driving the dwarves into their secret passages and chambers, slaying all that could not thus escape. The horses were a terror to them.

It was only a short time, however, before the dwarves gained control of themselves and began raining arrows down upon the invaders from the upper levels of the stronghold. Under this barrage the army of Marin rushed through the main hall and passed under a great stone arch into the hall of the Dwarf-lord. The archers made short work of the horses; Whately and his beast alone escaping their keen eyes. Lyris was forced to abandon her fallen steed and continue on foot with her shield above her head. Two groups, each consisting of thirty soldiers and eighty hirelings, were sent into the winding halls of the fortress to seek out those dwarves who yet lay hidden, and to make an end of the archers that were still devastating their mounted warriors.

In the chamber of the dwarf-lord, however, the army was to face its fiercest fight. Two Golem-lords stood on either side of the Dwarf-lord, who himself was clad in such armor as to bend any blade, deflect any arrow, and notch any axe. Upon his helm there stood two massive spikes of iron, the points of which were plated with gold. A man would scarcely be able to lift this helm, let alone wield it in battle atop his head. The dwarf-lord, however, moved about with ease and made short work of the first enthusiastic warriors that entered his chamber. The blade of his battle-axe cut through their armor as though it was paper.

Whom he did not slay was slain by the Golem-lords. The greater of them had in one hand a great sword, the blade of which was taller than a man, and in the other he carried a mallot of iron. The smaller Golem carried above his head a great spear, such as one might fashion to slay a dragon. In front of this smaller Golem was a great shield of many plates of iron, covering the Golem almost completely, save for a small slit through which the golem-rider could see his prey. All these weapons were soon stained red with blood. About the feet of these golems marched innumerable axe-men and sword-men. Many of the hirelings, indeed, many of the trained soldiers of Marin as well, were so encouraged by their progress in the main hall that they did not hesitate to challenge these mighty foes. They were cured of their enthusiasm swiftly and painfully.

The hordes of dwarf fighters were held at bay by Lyris and the soldiers of Marin. Whately rode about the large chamber on his horse shouting orders and dueling dwarf warriors, but mostly avoiding the impregnable golems and the dwarf-lord, whom he wisely acknowledged to be invulnerable to any strike he might make against them. Natham challenged the golems immediately. He charged through the dwarf warriors mercilessly, scattering them and breaking their lines to pieces. The confusion into which they were thrust made them easy prey to the soldiers of Marin and the hirelings. In the center of the chamber a battle the likes of which few can imagine took place. In his initial charge, Natham forced Admunth into the face of the dwarf-lord, sending him, armor and all, rolling across the floor, clanking and clattering across the stone tiles. In an instant the golems fell upon him with all of their weapons. Tucked beneath Admunth he was safe from all their pummeling, stabbing and slashing. When the blows relented he rose to his full height once more and took aim at the shield-bearer. His mighty spear pierced the shield, but did not harm the rider. The golem continued to smoke and rage, stabbing at Natham with its pike. Natham's left arm was swift, sure, and mighty; the blow was stayed. The other golem took its turn next: He swung his hammer down upon Admunth, rattling the shield and rending the air with a sound like a thousand camp bells.

The dwarf-lord by that time had arisen and was now wreaking havoc on the soldiers of Marin. Whately attempted to pierce his armor with a spear, but all he managed to do was shatter his spear against the invulnerable dwarf armor. With the back of his fist the dwarf-lord knocked Whately off his horse. The old warrior rolled on his back and rose to his feet just before the dwarf's second blow landed. Knowing himself to be outmatched he stepped away, hoping to lead the dwarf-lord away from the others until Natham could challenge him.

The golems, in the meanwhile, were beginning to steam and putter with a fury, as though the battle was pushing them beyond their abilities. They were trying very hard to come at Natham from opposite sides, but Natham kept himself always at an angle from them both, as though he were the third point of a shifting triangle. Slowly, however, he allowed himself to move closer and closer to the golem with the sword. In an instant the golem with the spear thrust its mighty weapon at the monster, hoping to break through the mighty shield. But Natham took a sudden step back and the thrust passed in front of him. With incredible speed he grabbed hold of the golem's iron arm and added the strength of his own arms to the fierce attack of the golem. He forced the golem's spear through the armor of the other golem, piercing the rider through the chest. A scream rent the air and then the golem fell to the ground in ruin, smoke and blood. The spear of the first golem was still lodged in the heart of its fallen comrade. Natham rushed around the remaining golem and thrust his spear through its flank. In a moment it also fell to the ground in a ruinous clash of iron on stone.

He lost no time in seeking out the dwarf-lord, who was cutting down hirelings and soldiers with ease. Whately called out for them to flee from him, but in their rashness they rushed to meet their deaths. Natham rushed to Whately's side, 'Step away from this one, master Whately,' he said urgently.

'That is exactly what I was hoping you came here to say,' Whately said panting. It was only a few moments before the dwarf-lord also lay dead. He took a swing at Natham with his axe, which became lodged in Admunth. The dwarf-lord attempted to retrieve it, but Natham grabbed him by the horns with his hidden arms. He dropped Admunth with the axe still lodged within it and with three arms he hurled the dwarf-lord across the stone floor. The dwarf-lord spun and bounced across the stone, leaving puddles of blood where he struck. He came to a rest at the foot of his own throne. He made some weak motions with his arms and then moved no more. Some enthusiastic and dishonorable hirelings rushed to the fallen warrior and relieved the body of its precious armor.

With the lord of the dwarves fallen and his guardians in smolders, the rest of the stronghold fell easily. The dwarves vanished into the deep places and hid among the earth spirits while the Marin soldiers slew all that remained above. 'This is no use,' Whately complained when they had finished the battle. 'They can come against us in the night from a thousand holes, and we have no means to defend ourselves. And who knows what they might bring up from the deep. Who knows what fell inventions they store in the dark places of the earth.'

'What then shall we do?' Lyris asked him. 'For we have been bidden to take the stronghold from them forever, that they might trouble the land of Marin no longer.'

'If that is your task, my lady,' Whately scoffed, 'then you are doomed to fail. You have not the means to secure this fortress from the dwarves; nor will you ever have the means to fight them in their secret places. Do you not yet realize of what firm material these creatures are fashioned? Do you not smell the blood of those who fell to their cunning archers and their fell king? Do you not see the powder the golem's made of the bones of your warriors and mercenaries?'

Lyris' countenance fell. 'What do we do then? For I will not return to Marin to tell My Lady that I have not finished what I have been commanded. For my grandfather was Ollitov, and I will not bring shame upon his memory.'

Whately sat down on the edge of a stone dais and untied his boot, emptying the dust from inside. 'If we wish to fulfill your Lady's command, we must destroy the fortress entirely. We have, I imagine, no more than a week before an attempt is made to recover this place. Whether the army will come from without or from within these tunnels I cannot tell. But we have no means to seek them out and no means to withstand them if they come to take back what is theirs. This very instant we must set about the utter destruction of this place. That only will keep them from returning.'

'Then let it be as you have said,' Lyris replied.

Skatos Ereg

That evening Duri woke Natham from his sleep and led him along empty halls toward the southernmost passage of the Stronghold. There was a guard posted there, for they knew not where the passage led. The guards greeted the monster warily but did not question him or waylay him as he followed after his invisible guide. Down long halls they walked by torchlight until the air grew cold and heavy. Through many strange passages Duri led him, twisting and turning through a great labyrinth of tunnels until at last they came to a great hall. At the end of this hall there was a great door of iron with a lock the likes of which only dwarves can make. 'I trust your strength will be sufficient for this trinket?' Duri laughed.

Indeed, Natham knocked, with a single blow, the door from its frame. The crash echoed in the depths and made all the men and women who lay sleeping both above and the dwarves who scurried about in the hidden places below pause and put their ears to the wall in fear. When Natham lifted the torch he saw that the room into which he had been led was a great vault of treasure and arms. 'I brought you here,' Duri said, 'because when the men find it they will most certainly spoil it. But I know that you can be trusted to take only that which will be of the most use.'

Natham's eyes danced about the room. In the firelight he could see many torches hanging upon the walls. These he lit until the whole room danced and glimmered. More gold he had not seen in his entire lifetime. But his eyes were drawn away from all this wealth to a dark corner of the room. Here the torchlight failed, almost unnaturally, and a shadow was cast upon everything in that area. He moved toward the darkness and found therein a chest of rotted wood. Turning his back on the wealth of the dwarves he opened the chest and removed a bundle of tattered cloth from inside. The torches fluttered and dimmed as he lifted it, and his own light blew out as though a great wind had been released from that chest. The cloth bundle was bound with a single red string which was sealed on one side with the image of some dreadful god or monster.

He broke the seal and opened the wrappings. Within he found that ancient weapon of which so many tales speak: Skatos Ereg it was always called in Olgrost, and it was feared by all creatures and spirits. Duri himself seemed to fear it, though he could not understand why he should fear the devices of a mortal.

An eager arm came forth from beneath Natham's cloak and claimed the sword for its own, drawing it back beneath his clothing. The torches at once sprang to life and the darkness which had covered that corner of the treasure room was lifted, revealing the broken old treasure chest to the light. Quietly he crept back to the upper fortress and once more passed the guards, this time without even a word or greeting.

The Brother

The dwarves had not given up on their stronghold as it seemed to those above. Below the earth, in hidden chambers, they regrouped and rearmed themselves, calling for their allies and their kin. In four days their numbers were restored and they were ready to march to war, though not so much as a whisper ascended to the upper realms where the soldiers of Marin still panted from their laborious battle.

On the fifth night after their coming to Mount Zhagib, the Marin soldiers were awakened by great shouts and screams. The dwarves had come. The army of Marin gathered and formed lines, but when they saw their foe, nothing could stop them from fleeing. The hirelings turned and fled without delay, thinking to themselves, 'I have come here neither for honor nor for love of Marin, but for pay; which will avail me nothing in the grave.' The soldiers by and large remained in their positions, but it was not long before even they were driven back. Lyris sounded a retreat and the soldiers took to flight. Thlux, it was clear, would not be surrendered to the dominion of men through one bold victory alone.

The horns of Marin blared and every man and women forsook their patrols and their encampments, fleeing to the central hall, making haste to the gates. But there they discovered what doom awaited them. There in the pathway stood seven golem-riders and a host of armored dwarves with their dreaded crossbows. Under a barrage of arrows the first groups of hirelings fell. The soldiers hid beneath their shields, forming lines and keeping their distance. Beneath a constant volley of arrows the golems advanced, pounding the warriors of Marin with hammers, cutting with swords, and piercing with spears. 'Master!' Natham shouted. 'This is my hour! Take the soldiers and lead them through the eastern gate.'

Whately's heart sunk as he nodded and called the warriors to his side. In one great movement the soldiers of Marin followed Whately and Lyris through the eastern gate, trampling to the ground those dwarves who withstood their flight. As she disappeared through the arched gateway, Lyris looked back and caught the eyes of the monster as he raged. Death hung upon his eyes, and the Marshall of Marin could see the end of his resolve. He meant not to return from that place alive. Her heart sank, and a tear washed down her dirty cheek.

'Gherzi!' the dwarves roared with delight 'Dhus!' they cried, which means to them both 'death' and 'revenge'. Natham rushed around the golems, with Admunth ever in front of him. He charged through the archers like a bull through wheat. He trampled the dwarves where they stood, the many dozens of arrows they had driven into the invulnerable shield acting like piercing horns. Hundreds of dwarves he slew in that hour, and several golems also. But in the end they surrounded him near the eastern gate and cast heavy chains around him. They bound his left and his right arms with great irons, the sort of which are forged to raise their enormous gates, not to shackle mortal men. His legs too they bound and his shield they pulled away. When all this had been done, one of the golems struck him in the face with his iron mallet. Natham's eyes were shut and his head hung down upon his breast.

Cheers rose up among the dwarves. They chanted 'Dhus! Dhus! Dhus!'

Another golem approached, this one bearing a great plume of iron spires upon its head, signifying the nobility of its rider. He was the one the dwarves call, 'Erekks' which is to say, 'Over-Master'.

He lifted his spear to strike their great enemy in the heart, but his stroke never fell. In that moment a slender javelin slipped through the eye slit of the invulnerable golem-mail, killing the rider instantly. Lyris stood just outside the city gates, with another spear ready to let fly. 'You shall not die alone, savior of Marin!' she cried out to Natham. But the monster said nothing, his head hung low as if he were dead. The golems raged and the dwarves rushed toward her. Soon she found herself in a ring of enemies, eagerly awaiting the smell of blood and the splattering of red.

One of the other golems took her into his fist and threw her against the wall. Her armor clattered and she fell to the ground, panting and groaning from the pain. The dwarves rushed upon her like vultures with their swords drawn and their axes raised above their heads. But they were all stopped in their tracks by a roar, the likes of which no mortal ear had ever heard before. Every eye turned, Lyris' also, and looked at the bound monster. His head yet hung low, and no sign of life was seen in his face. Yet another roar rent the air and every heart was filled with terror. With a great effort the mighty chains that bound his left arm were broken and the shriveled limb was let loose. Next the right arm was torn free and then the legs. The broken chains hung upon him like the tattered strings of an old garment of cloth. The monster rose to his feet. His left arm grabbed fiercely at the lump atop Natham's left shoulder and pulled the cloak aside. When the cloak fell to the ground many dwarves took to their heels. For beneath that cloak there was a blackened and scarred head with sharpened teeth and a powerful jaw. So hideous it was that Lyris wept at that instant, hiding her face in her arm.

The roar echoed through the hall again, this time unmuffled by the thick cloak under which he had for all these years remained hidden. He fell upon the golems with a fury that even those heartless beasts of war could not imagine. He tore their iron limbs off of their frames and wielded their gigantic dwarf-forged weapons against them. In that hour he made an end of the golems, and of perhaps many thousands of dwarves as well. He stood over the wounded Lyris like a lioness over her cubs. There he would have stayed, fighting and slaying until either the dwarves in their great numbers at last overtook him or until he, in his great rage, made an end of the dwarves of Zoar. But as he fought, biting, tearing and ripping his foes to pieces, he heard the voice of Whately calling from the east. 'Judan!' he called, 'It is not your hour!'

In that instant, Natham awoke and wrested control of his body once again from his infuriated brother. He lifted the wounded Marshall and carried her gently through the archway of Thlux and left the dwarf lands unhindered. Lyris was very weak as he bore her over the rocky terrain toward the east and then along the northern road toward Olgrost. With a great effort she removed her helmet and let it fall clattering upon the stoney path. She looked again upon the two-headed beast that had once more rescued her. She lifted her left arm and put her soft hand upon the scarred face of Judan. Her kind hand reminded Natham of another kind hand, long forgotten. In all his life, this was only the second time a mortal hand had touched the face of his afflicted brother. Tears filled her eyes and she fell into a deep sleep in his arms.

[Chapter VIII:  
Into the West](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Lyris

Lyris was taken back to Zomara, where she remained for many days in a deep sleep. She was kept alive on soup and water the whole while. During this time Natham and Whately took over her task of watching the Marches of Marin, though their efforts were never officially sanctioned or praised. Natham was still not permitted to enter the village of Zomara proper, and he was not permitted to come near his sick comrade, 'Lest she perish with a fright,' was the reason given by the Governess.

When another week had passed it was decided that Lyris should be sent to the Fortress of Marin itself where the Queen's own physicians could tend to her injuries.

On the first day of Messest she was whisked away before dawn by a caravan of Marin soldiers. It was their intention that she be removed from the monster's grasp, for his affection for her was all too apparent, and it made the people of Marin uneasy. 'Who could tell what such a beast would do?' they asked one another.

Whately had in the meanwhile built for the monster and himself a nice house of wood and stone on the outside of the village walls. They were given land and a pair of strong oxen to help farm it. All throughout the summer of that year Natham and Whately labored in the fields, much as they had done in Rugna. And, also as it had been in Rugna, the land they tilled and tended became as lush as the queen's own gardens. The harvest finally came and Whately and Natham filled their purses with gold. It almost seemed to them, despite their constant sorrows, that their days of battle had drawn to a close. Though he wished to remain thus forever, Whately could see in the monster's face that he longed to speak with Lyris again, and to look upon her beautiful face. He never spoke of it, but it was ever in his eyes, and bore down upon him like a great burden.

On the second day of the following year, however, under a starry sky of unsurpassed clarity and beauty, Duri reappeared in Zomara. He had run the whole way from Marin Fortress, 'across the frozen lake itself,' he said as he excitedly told Natham his tale.

'I have not seen you much of late,' the monster said. 'Where have you been?'

'You must forgive me,' Duri said soberly, 'For I was in Marin Fortress with the Marshall Lyris.'

Natham's brow furrowed and his breath quickened. 'What news do you bring?' he demanded. 'Is she in good health? They have refused my every request for an account of her recovery.'

'She has recovered,' Duri said, 'but the wounds she received on Mount Zhagib have stayed with her all this time. She will wield neither spear nor shield again. Her bones have mended and her beauty is unmarred, but she has not, nor ever shall have the strength to march again to war.'

'That is a bitter fate for one such as she,' Natham lamented. 'For her spirit is strong and proud, and she loves her people deeply.'

'And yet her fate is bitterer still,' Duri said shaking his head. 'For Queen Marin is not the sort of vintner to leave off pressing until every drop has been drawn from the grape.'

'Speak on,' Natham demanded. 'I would know what has happened.'

'I have known that she resided in Marin, even as have you,' Duri said, 'And I have looked in upon her at times to see if she was well, for I know the affection you have toward her. And for all this time she has been well cared for. She was brought to the Queen's own apothecary and treated with the most expensive remedies. They filled the full measure of health and radiance back into her wounded body, until her hair once again stole away the mystery of midnight and until her eyes once more darkened the gleaming stars above.

'When her health was fully restored, she was brought as a guest of honor to the Queen's own table. This was more than a year ago. A great feast was being held at that time. She was given a gown of pure white silk to wear and a tiara of crystal was set in her hair. She was given a place of honor at the left side of Marin herself.

'To this feast came several men of the west. They were announced to the feast as Lords of Weldera, and they certainly appeared to be such. One of them was dark haired and clad in fine furs and rich garments of green and brown. Always they referred to him as 'Chieftain' or 'Wasterla', though I apprehend that these were simply titles and not his proper name. The other man was much taller and had silvery hair; I say silver and not gray, for he did not appear to me to be an aged man, but rather a man of unusual wisdom and learning. His clothing was dark and at his side he had a blade the likes of which I have not seen in king's halls or in dwarf-lords' hordes - though-' and Duri paused here for some time, 'I feel as though I have seen its like in some other placeÖ He was announced as a lord of Amla, a messenger from the Prince of that land. No council was taken at that feast, but the beauty of Lyris was pointed out to the man in furs. He looked upon her with hungry eyes, putting his hand to his beard as if he were devising some sort of plan.

'After this feast I heard the Queen speak these words: "In the ancient days, men lorded it over women cruelly, and the only power women had was in their wombs. With beauty they could be victorious where fists would avail them nothing. Our Mother indeed was a bold woman. But she had great strength and skill, enough to triumph over the stupid men of her age. But in our day, the blood of Marin grows thin and the great lords of the west are waxing mighty. Shall Marin then be left to rot if she cannot find it within herself to discover power where she yet possesses it? It is to the womb that we must look once more. By beauty, then, shall Lyris serve the Quendom, bringing to us security in a place where strength of arms would be insufficient. She will do much to gain for us that which we have ever desired."

'What is the meaning of this?' Natham asked, puzzled. 'And why have you not spoken of it, though it came to pass more than a year ago?'

'I knew not its meaning,' Duri said. 'But now, when it has come to pass, I remembered her dark council, and her greedy eyes. Not three days have passed since Lyris the Blind-Maiden, the one whose kindness is undaunted by your ugliness, was carried into the west to be a prize for some Western barbarian. Even now she is being brought into the west to board the barbarian's vessel and come by the Kollun Sea to the land of Weldera. The gleam that I was so glad to see returned to her green eyes was darkened and her countenance fell as she was spirited away under the cover of night. She had the look of a prisoner being led to the gallows. To Dalta City she is being carried even as we speak. I rushed, as I said before, across land and lake, thicket and highway, to warn you of this tragedy, for you know that I cannot do anything to save her with my own hands.'

When Natham told all of these things to his Master, Whately's face turned to white. He rose from his seat and began to rush about the room, gathering things and tossing them into a leather sack. 'We cannot delay, even for a moment,' he said sternly. 'We must be on the highway within an hour's time.'

As they gathered their things Whately began to speak to Natham of what was to come. 'We must overtake them ere they leave these shores,' he said without explaining. 'If we fail to do this then all we have labored for in this country will have been in vain. Take with you Adfaro, for he is the swiftest of our horses and he alone among our steeds can carry the weight of Admunth. I will bring Steia; she will be sufficient for my needs. It may be, my dear Natham, that this will be our final journey together. If we come not to the port ere Lyris' escort, then we must part ways, for I cannot return to Weldera. An oath binds me and forbids me.'

They left by moonlight and traveled due west along the country roads until they came to the Olmar road, which travels between Nikol and Marin. On this road they hurried almost without stopping until the sun sank into the west on the following evening. After a short rest they resumed their pace and passed the Fortress of Marin on the seventh day from their departure. For another week they traveled west, until at last they came to the great city of Dalta, where the great Malent elf-king had once ruled. They passed the stone arches of the entrance without so much as glancing upon the reliefs that adorned every inch of the walls and pillars. Marble statues of unsurpassed beauty were strewn about the city's streets, but these they passed with as little attention as they gave to the gravel beneath their feet. They pressed on over great stone bridges the likes of which no mortal can build and finally to that sacred harbor where the elves first set foot in Olgrost, according to their histories.

But it was all for naught. The ship was gone, it had left the harbor the night before, they were told, carrying Lyris and the barbarian lord into the west.

So it was that Whately brought the Monster of Vestron from the eastern shores of that continent where they had been shipwrecked all the way to the western shores of Olgrost, where the seagulls fly above the Kollun sea. But no further could they travel together. Tears streamed from Whately's face as he spoke. 'In my youth I slew a man. In the pride and folly of youth I accepted a challenge from a weaker man and fought him to the death, taking from him all that he possessed. In those days I traveled the lands of Weldera freely, buying and selling and growing wealthy. But my injustice would not leave me. When I went to sleep at night it lay down beside me as it were, for my wife belonged to him whom I slew. When I rode upon my horse it came beneath me, for the steed was the steed of him whom I slew. Everywhere I went the shame of my pride followed behind, until I despaired of life altogether. A darkness fell upon me one day as I rode through the dark forests of Falsis, and I fell into a deep sleep even as I rode upon my horse. I struck a branch and fell to the ground as a dead man. That night, as I lay upon the empty road, the stars reeled overhead and disclosed to me, it seemed, all their judgments. Damned I was,' Whately wept, Damned for my great folly and pride. In that hour I was commanded, by whom I do not know, that the next soul that I encounter would ask me to perform a task that would draw me away from Weldera forever. That task required of me an oath, that the child that was in that day delivered into my care would never be brought by me to the land of Weldera where he had been born. I swore as I was bidden, and I have feared this day ever since. I cannot return to that land with you, for nothing good ever comes of a broken oath. But you,' Whately lamented, 'You are ever-faithful. I know that you must go to Weldera and save your beloved from the ambitions of callous lords. She alone of mortals, has treated you with kindness unmingled. May the lords of heaven bring fortune to your feet. Goodbye, my son.'

There beside the crashing waves of the Kollun Sea the Monster of Vestron and his Master bid one another farewell for the last time.

End of Book III

[Book IV:  
The Seige of Dadron](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

[Chapter I:  
Paley](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Vision

'I have walked upon the paths of this earth for many ages, treading where few have dared to travel and seeking out much that was hidden even from the very wise. I watched the vanity of struggle, the vanity of desire, the vanity of mortality, the vanity of everything that walked under the light of the sun. I saw children born dead and the living cry out for death. I saw courage and cowardice; but to what end? Everything comes to dust in the end. Even I, the immortal one, must come to dust ere the end. For there is nothing in this world that truly endures. There is nothing permanent; nothing true.

'So I thought that I might make a name for myself by rebelling against this order, setting up for myself a kingdom of power within it. I dared to do what no other has done. I dared to make myself a god. But power is not a possession; it moves, it breaths, it betrays. I lost what I had and was plunged into the ice of death, or so it seemed.

'My eyes closed and the world darkened;everything disappeared. One by one my senses were snuffed out until there was only the nothingness of dreamless sleep. Time and space vanished from my thoughts and all the changes of this chaotic world ceased. The whole world had ended for me. No longer could I say, 'I' and 'ye'. I was absorbed into the world like one drop of water into another. Without the mind, what am I but earth? Indeed, we are all but earth - we are all of one substance. It is a flowing stream here and a pebble there, it is a windmill there and again the same substance forms itself into a man or a hawk or some other moving creature. But it is all one and the same thing - There is nothing in the world but Power.

'Bereft of understanding I could no longer call myself one of this or that group, all such denominations are illusions of the mind. So I looked, if it be proper to use such words, and the whole world was revealed to me. A pulsing symphony of power and majesty indescribable. Movement, power, life surrounded me, absorbed me, and flowed out of me like a rushing wind. But I could not understand it, for my mind had ceased to call things by name.

'My eyes opened and I saw the light of the stars once more and my name returned to my tongue. I spoke it, and all my memories came rushing back to me. "Daruvis," I said weakly. "I am Daruvis."

'The next instant I heard another voice speak, but this was not my own. It was deeper than the ocean and more beautiful than the sun, wiser than the stars above. It said - nay it commanded, for its every word was a command, "Open your eyes, son of Albor, and behold the world you have known. Eyes cannot see, nor ears hear, nor mind comprehend that which you have witnessed. Therefore, all these things shall be shown to you again, but in figures and in forms recognizable."

'I obeyed, I did not dare to do otherwise, and the whole world appeared to me as I had once known it. I felt my broken body once more racked with pain, and above me reeled the starry heavens. I rose from the ground, though I do not know if it were my soul that walked or my body also, or if I had a soul at all. I began to move, taking one step after another. But as I walked the whole world seemed to flee from my feet. I began to float and the earth itself disappeared. I was walking on the wheel of the stars itself. With my every motion the heavens would turn and rotate. The stars grew bright and hot and I was afraid that their fires would consume me. But ere I was consumed the whole world of nature became inverted and I looked upon the stars as though I had passed through to the other side of the vault of heaven. I saw the world from the other side of the astral veil.

'I saw a ball of fire. This ball burned and raged until at last the flame was extinguished and the molten rock of which it was made began to take form. Little by little it began to grow. Legs sprouted from one side of it and great arms from the other. It struggled and kicked, spinning and turning, and fighting against the darkness until at last it took the form of a mighty beast. The body of the beast was like that of a horse, strong, agile and beautiful. From the beast's neck arose the shoulders and head of a man. Slowly it took form, the ears, the nose, the eyes and the mouth each appearing in turn and little by little. When at last it had ceased its metamorphosis I saw that upon its head there sprouted in place of hair many tiny heads, like the heads of men and women each upon long serpentine necks.

'The beast began then to run about in the darkness, wild and raging, and taking great pleasure therein, until it had shaken off all weakness and stood at its full health and might. At that moment, when the beast was at its greatest, when its eyes were keen and its body strong, a great music rose up from the shadows and a bright light appeared before the beast. Toward this the creature walked at once, as if bound by a rope or chain. But as the creature approached the light, the brightness thereof began to be blinding, and the heat thereof was immense. The creature turned away, and fled back into the darkness of the night.

'In the midst of all this confusion the tiny heads began to rage one against another. In the darkness they saw not that they were each but part of one great beast. They raged and slew one another as if there were enemies, not seeing their common root. Thus it came to pass that those heads of the beast that were greatest rose above all the others, terrorizing and maiming them, doing in everything that which pleased themselves.

'Meaningless!' I shouted. 'What utter nonsense!'

'But even as this beast raged a light pierced through the wing of the shadow, falling at last upon the great beast's face. At the sight of this great light the beast reeled back as if in pain and set all its will against the light, tearing open its own flesh in the place where the light shined, until at last it had maimed and wounded mortally its own body. But the light that shone upon it was unconquerable. Suddenly, as if born of the light itself, a new head appeared and along with it new shoulders, tiny at first, but rapid of growth. It usurped the position of the first beast casting it at last from the body like one casts aside a cloak. Great compassion was in the head of the second beast, and he took the serpentine heads from the fallen head like a crown and, plucking like weeds those mighty heads who so fiercely raged against the weak in their blind rage, he set this strange crown upon his own head. When this transformation had been completed, great wings, like the wings of a dragon, sprung from the beast in flashes of fire and light. The great beast took to wing and trampled underfoot all that remained of the former beast, which had turned the whole body away from the light.

'Suddenly the vision stopped. I knew that I was being called back to the world of men for one final task, though the meaning of this vision I did not yet understand.'

Paley's Hut

When the wounded man at last opened his eyes he saw that he was staring at a thatched roof in a small hut. The air was warm, from which he could tell that there was a fire nearby. His head ached and his body felt weak. A great blanket of fur lay over his chest, locking beneath it the warmth of his body. He tried to move but a blur of pain taught him better.

'Where am I?' he asked, not expecting an answer.

'You are in my hut,' said the voice of an old man.

'What is your name?' the wounded one asked. 'And how came I to rest in this place?'

'You can call me Paley, though it is not my name.'

'Not your name,' the wounded one said with a painful laugh.

'If it helps you to have a name for me, then you may call me Paley.'

'I call you Riddle-Master. For none of your words are straight.'

'You will find,' Paley retorted, 'that it is in fact your own ears that are crooked.'

'Were I not bound to this bed by these injuries I would meet your bombast with steel.'

'And my bombast would yet prevail,' the voice said, no longer with any hint of age or frailty. 'You are no longer powerful, Lord Havoc.'

'You know my name, then,' Lord Havoc grinned.

'Indeed,' Paley answered. 'I know all of your names. I know, to be honest, your true name as well.'

'Tell me then, master Paley, who am I?'

'You are Daruvis, the son of the Argent King Falruvis, who was once lord over all the elves of Tel Arie.'

For a long time Lord Havoc said nothing. He shut his eyes and let his mind wander into the past. He drifted into an uneasy sleep and was tormented by visions of people and places long gone. When at last he awoke it was dark in the room except for the soft red glow of the fire.

'You are awake again at last,' Paley said. 'Perhaps we might make better progress this time. How much can you remember?'

'I care not to speak to a stranger of matters with which he oughtn't meddle.'

'I will tell you then, what you remember, Daruvis. Your scheme had come to naught when your Demon blade was rent from your hand by a mortal man, a child by your standards.'

'No mere man was he!' protested Lord Havoc, 'he was a Galvahirne, and in his arm is embodied all the fullness of his ancestor!'

'Nevertheless, the result is the same. You were slain on that mountain, in fact,' Pelas paused here as though he were thinking. 'The blade of the son of Biron pierced your heart, severing it from your body and spilling your blood out like a flood. His kick broke your neck and shattered your skull. Then you fell a long ways and sunk to the depths of an icy river in your heavy black armor. There your lungs filled with water and you lay senseless and by all accounts, dead.'

'Then how is it that I lay here in such pain?' Havoc asked with a groan. 'For if I know anything, it is that life is pain.'

'That may be true,' Paley replied, 'but it by no means follows that all pain belongs to the living. At any rate, however, it is true that by all natural means you would have died, my friend, but you have been kept alive for a purpose.'

'A purpose?' Havoc laughed. 'You mean to bend my will to your own purposes? You mean to cajole the mighty Lord Havoc?'

'Indeed,' Paley said calmly. 'As I said, you are no longer mighty. Your life is bought and paid for; none of it belongs to you, not a single breath.' With that word the air in the room seemed to vanish away and Lord Havoc began to sputter and choke. 'To make it clear just how precarious your position is, 'Lord' Havoc, let me show you who I am, since no name, as I hinted, could possibly describe me.'

'One,' Paley said with a snap of his fingers. At that moment Lord Havoc's eyes went black as though he were struck blind. 'Two, three, four,' he continued. Lord Havoc now smelt nothing, tasted nothing and felt nothing. He heard no number five, nor did he hear anything else for a long while. He was, the best he could later describe, in a dreamless sleep.

When finally he opened his eyes again he saw over him the face of an old man, clad in brown rags. 'You bumped into me once, some years ago, Daruvis,' he said with a smile. Lord Havoc just shook his head. 'How long was I asleep this time?'

'Asleep?' Paley laughed, 'You are not taking this seriously at all are you?'

'What are you some kind of conjuror?' Havoc accused.

'No,' Paley thundered, 'YOU are the conjuror. Which is to say, you can deceive through false appearance. I, however, can alter appearance by altering the substance.'

'You are some sort of god then?' Havoc laughed.

'You might say that: Some sort of god. That is close to the mark, but not quite right. I am but a messenger. But as a representative of something greater I have not been left without some token of my master's authority.'

'It is possible that what you say is true,' Lord Havoc said, still laughing, 'But it is more likely that you are some sort of magician.'

'More likely, you say,' Paley laughed. 'What is this 'likely' of which you speak? Tell me? Is it not so that I am either lying to you or speaking the truth?'

'It is as you have said.'

'How then can you say what is 'likely'? What I am I am with certainty. It is YOU that is uncertain, and therefore in YOU only that the word 'likely' holds meaning. Probability, as you mortals call it, is something your mind does, not something that the world exhibits to you. The way you have often spoken, Lord Havoc, one would start to think that historical events were simply repeated flips of the same coin, landing on one side or the other each time it is flipped. You do not understand the uniqueness of the moment, the spontaneity of existence. Lord Havoc, you have trapped yourself within your own mind.'

With those words Paley took Lord Havoc by the hand and lifted him from his bed. His grip was unbreakable and his strength irresistible, though at the same time gentle and painless. The moment he was on his feet Lord Havoc marveled, for his bandages fell to the ground in piles as though they had been simply resting upon his chest and not wrapped tightly around him. He also noticed immediately that all of his wounds were closed and healed. Only one scar remained in his breast. 'This is where the sword of the Galvahirne pierced your heart,' Paley explained. 'It is proof that your life belongs no longer to yourself. Whenever you look upon your scar you will be reminded of the death that otherwise would have awaited you; and which awaits you still the moment you depart from your duty. Do not be afraid of it, however, for all men are in this state, whether they know it or not. Precarious is the nature of life.'

Lord Havoc moved his arms around in amazement, finding not a trace of the pain that had so tormented him until that instant.

'You are starting to believe,' Paley noted.

'It is easier to believe in gods when they stand before you,' Havoc said.

'Indeed,' Paley retorted, 'And no one will be judged in that final day for not having such an encounter. But in your case it has always been too easy for you to disbelieve. As you say, the presence of the divine instills belief indeed. But what about the absence of some such manifestation? Are you justified in your presumption that no such manifestation is possible? One would just as well deny the wall its existence when our back faces it and grant it existence when we once more turn to look upon it. I say, no one will be held accountable for that which they had no means of knowing. But if a man lives his life as though he knows what he cannot know, knowing full well that he cannot know it, then what excuse can he make for himself? It is like a strong man who lies in wait and slays another man, not knowing whether he is a friend or foe. Shall he be held innocent of that man's blood because he was 'possibly' his enemy? Or will a rich man be held wise who ignores the possibility of burglary and leaves no guard to protect his wealth? But you, Lord Havoc, have lived your life as though your doubts were proved. Moreover, you have taught others to do so; to take that leap into the darkness hanging onto your crooked tail. You have made doubt your master rather than your servant. And thereby you have done much evil.

'You are more like one of the serpentine faces from your vision,' Paley continued. 'You have not eyes to see the light, so you deny it and take it upon yourself to make your own laws; to make your own good and evil. Because you could not see the invisible, or smell the odorless, or hear the inaudible, or cogitate the incomprehensible, you became a denier. But you might as well deny the ocean when it passes from your sight. Men such as you will never have the proof that you desire; you have already chosen to fill your own belly.

'What did you dream in your last deep sleep, Lord Havoc?' Paley asked suddenly.

'I dreamed nothing,' he answered, startled by the sudden change in the conversation.

'Indeed, for you were not asleep. Your senses were stripped away from you, but you were fully awake. But without your senses no knowledge can come to you. No sight, no smell, no taste, no touch, no sound, therefore, nothing. But is that so? Are there still stars for the blind man? Is there still music for the deaf man? Is there not salt despite the tasteless and substance despite the leper, who cannot feel it? Would they be wise to deny that which they cannot experience? How then can he be called wise who denies that which he cannot possibly fathom or experience in the first place? No man, I say, will be judged in that hour for ignorance. But the presumptuous ones, they will have much to fear.'

Lord Havoc sat back down upon his bed. The face of the prince of Amlaman rushed into his mind.

'You are thinking of the prince,' Paley said kindly.

'I have made him a devil,' Lord Havoc said soberly. 'Even more of a devil than I.'

'You truly think highly of yourself indeed, Lord Havoc, if you think it is within your power to mold another man's will. Nonetheless, you have not been guiltless in this matter. Therefore, it will be your fate to see the harvest of the dark seeds you have sown.'

'This is more than I can bear,' Havoc said with tears streaming down his face.

'Tears you have not cried for many centuries,' Paley said. 'I know your wounds, Lord Havoc, and I know the root of your bitterness. Be free of them.'

In that instant a great burden seemed to lift from Lord Havoc and he stood up to his full stature once more. 'What must I do then?'

'You are like me now, a messenger of that mighty Judge. You have been given much, in that you have been saved from certain death and elected to service by the invisible powers. Accordingly, your duties will be great and your sorrows in fulfilling them all the greater.'

'For what do I then labor, if the road be so full of misery?'

'You labor not for your own sake as you have hitherto done. From this day forward you are as the axe in the hand of the woodsman. Many trees shall you fell and many beautiful things shall thereby be built again. But what does the woodsman promise his tools?'

'But a good woodsman,' Lord Havoc said humbly, 'at least sees to the preservation of those tools that serve him best.'

'You have spoken well, Daruvis,' Paley said with a nod, 'then let your comfort lay in that sublime thought. But never let your own happiness cloud your judgment again, for in the hour that you do, the wound that once fell upon your heart will be dealt to you once again.

'Now,' Paley said, 'I will tell you all that you must do. But first you must be given a new name, for you are, in fact, in this hour, a man remade.'

[Chapter II:  
Evna](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Fall of Vulcan

On the fourth day of Messest, Vulcan thos Amlaman was found dead in his chambers. In his back there was found a small knife with an ivory handle. One stroke it took to slay him. Not a sound was heard that night, and no clue could be discovered as to the identity of his attacker. Many whispers could be heard in the dark corners of Japhrian. The queen raged and stormed about, cursing the name of 'that ungrateful and pitiless brute'. Indeed, though it was widely believed that Volthamir had been slain in the Daunrys, the circumstances surrounding King Vulcan's death were such that men began openly to doubt the official account of the Prince's departure. By the end of three days the people were fully persuaded that Volthamir had in fact returned to Japhrian to slay the king even as the king had aforetime killed his own predecessor. 'Just', some said. 'Bloodlust,' said others. But all such concerns were stilled when Volthamir at last appeared in the City of Amla.

He rode his horse boldly into the center of town and stood upon a great platform before a multitude of men and women. He spoke without any shadow of doubt on his lips:

'Men of Amlaman, too long have you maintained this delusion, that the right of kings was in blood and ancestry. Nor ought you seek the king in the counsels of the gods, who speak not to man but in fits and dreams. For what else, oh men of Amlaman is a right, but power? Who has the right to do, but not the power to? It cannot be so. The right of men to rule the people belongs to him who has the power to rule them and to no other. Let the old king lay where he was killed. Yes, oh men and women of Amlaman, it was I that killed him. Not for revenge, though, my people, for revenge serves no purpose. But the old king lays dead that you may know that the power of kings is not in their own hands but in the hands of the people they are to protect. It is from this gathering, this city, this kingdom that the king derives his might and authority.'

At this there was a roar of cheers and many voices of agreement. There was a power in his voice that had not before revealed itself. 'He spoke as though he were one of the gods,' it was later said of that speech.

'I give it into your hands to judge, men of Amlaman, who holds it in his power to rule over this great multitude,' Volthamir cried out to the crowd.

'We will have Volthamir!' some shouted. Other voices joined in, 'Volthamir! the Protector of Ramlos and Amlaman. Volthamir Goblin-slayer! Volthamir!' The efforts of Lord Havoc to both slander the memory of Lord Vulcan and inflate the popularity of his nephew had been effective. The people listened to every word with wonder and agreed with every thought of their prince as though it had been their own thought already. The result of this speech and of many other councils and debates was that Volthamir was given the double crown of his uncle and renamed Aganthos thos Amlaman thos Ramlos. The people were hopeful, believing all the betrayals of Vulcan to have come to their end.

New Devotion

The most surprising policy of Volthamir's government was the increased funding and support for the priests of Agonistes. Though he had not so much as set foot upon Mount Daufina since he was compelled to drink the Cup of Trial, he set about the reordering of the worship and the restoration of the temple according to 'more ancient rituals'. He produced from the treasury of Japhrian, he claimed, the most ancient manuscript that had as yet been discovered, detailing the rites and disciplines of the ancient god of Amlaman.

He summoned the priests of Agonistes to Japhrian and accused them with laziness in fulfilling their oaths. 'How many years has it been since the fires on Sten-Agoni were rekindled?' he demanded of them.

'It has been over fifteen years,' Achil said.

'And what has been done in all this time regarding the oath of the people of Amlaman?' To this the old priest had nothing to reply. 'You, Achil, are no High Priest of Agonistes, the great god of Amlaman. In this hour I strip you of your station and put another in your place.'

Achil was sent away from Japhrian a beggar, and Farnaiso, whose family claimed to be descended from the noblest line of priests was set up in his place. 'The fires of the altar must rise higher, Farnaiso, son of the holy men of old. They must burn brighter, cracking the bones of the victims with their heat. The voice of the god must echo down the mountain and into every open window, that all the land of Ramlos and Amlaman will hear and obey the lord to whom they swore their allegiance.'

'It will be as you have commanded,' Farnaiso said confidently.

As the old priest was led away from Japhrian and locked outside the western walls, there arose a great deal of confusion among the spirits of that city. Zefru was summoned and in turn the news came to Gheshtik, lord of the spirits of Amlaman.

'Long did we labor among the priests of the temple to turn the heart of Achil away from the old rites,' Gheshtik grumbled. 'Long did we labor to instill compassion in his heart, and peacefulness. Who is this young king that he so rashly undermines our works?'

Zefru shook his head with frustration, 'I know not, my lord, for the Prince for all these years came only the the temple under compulsion. By all accounts his hatred for Agonistes and his religion was as deep as our own. Why then should he suddenly find the purity of the clerics of such importance?'

'Indeed, Zefru,' Gheshtik said thoughtfully. 'The Prince hated the temple with great passion. The King, however, does not.' Gheshtik paused for a moment, deep in thought. 'By no means can we allow the king to come to the temple. Set a watch. By whatever means we have in our hands we must not suffer the king to enter the Temple of the dark god!'

It was Volthamir's intention, however, to travel to the temple on the morrow. To ensure that his will was carried out in the reformation of the religious rites of Sten-Agoni and also, to claim for himself the woman his uncle had promised him in exchange for the head of Legion; Leonara thasa Amlaman.

The Goddess of Desset

Queen Marel had in her possession a very peculiar mirror. The origin of this mirror was always a mystery in Amlaman. There are some who hold it to be the work of the dwarves who, in ancient times, dwelt in the mountains of Desset, far to the northwest of Japhrian. Others blame its existence on the elves. Some believed it to be an heirloom from the land of the dragons, which lies beyond the ocean to the North. But whatever its origin, somehow or other it had made its way into the treasures and trophies of Japhrian. There it remained hidden for many ages until the time of Lady Marel's marriage to Lord Vulcan.

When it became clear to her that the laws of Amlaman would not permit her daughter to sit on the throne, and when it further became clear that King Vulcan had no intention of doing away with his nephew and heir, she fell into a great fury. In this time of great distress she stole away to the treasury of Japhrian. So fierce was her demeanor that even the guards stepped aside and let her pass, though they had been instructed only to make way for one bearing the seal of the king. Therein she found the Mirror of Evna, as it was called. It was said that some Faerie of the Northern world had been locked therein by the dwarves of Western Weldera. For this reason it was called the Goddess of Desset. The mirror seemed to calm her and she soon returned to her husband's side, an outcome that, in Vulcan's mind, more than justified her acquisition of the Kingdom's treasure. It is my own contention, however, that this moment marks the beginning of Queen Marel's miseries and, as we shall see from its effects, many of the miseries of her husband and her daughter. What power this mirror possessed, or by what power this mirror was possessed, to speak more accurately, we shall see in due time.

In the days following Volthamir's ascension, those servants who were most loyal to King Vulcan were locked away in their chambers awaiting whatever fate their new master saw fit for them. Those were days of fear and confusion, and the hero of Ramlos was given many indulgences. His orders were accepted without challenge, for none had the courage to question him and none had the strength, alone, to refuse him.

Even those that remained loyal to his rebel half-brothers in the west were quieted. For they had no longer the strength to resist him, nor had they any greater claim upon the throne than he.

Queen Marel was permitted to live for a little while longer. For the murder of a woman, Volthamir knew, would turn their hearts away from their new lord. Accordingly Lady Marel was allowed to travel about the palace freely, though she was always shadowed by a 'guard' of three strong men. She knew that it was only a matter of time before her own death would come. It was to her daughter that her thoughts turned. It came into her mind one night, almost as if it were a divine inspiration (as she in fact believed it was), to travel at once to the Nunnery of Agonistes wherein Leonara was yet exiled and deliver to her the strange mirror that had for so long affected her own mind.

In haste she prepared the mirror for travel, wrapping it in a bundle of white cloth bound with a string of red silk. She ordered a carriage and a team of swift horses to be brought to the gate of Japhrian at once, 'For I must hasten to the temple and pray to my god one last time.'

Her guardians did not restrain her, an act which would ultimately cost them dearly, figuring that her one last wish ought at least to be granted her.

The coming of the Queen to Sten-Agoni was swift and unannounced. There were several wealthy 'worshippers' in the Nunnery when she arrived, noblemen who hid their faces like children when they saw their Queen approaching. To these she payed little heed. She pushed past the guards in the same way she done so many years before when she took her prize from the treasury. She hurried to the tower wherein her daughter had, for the past three years been exiled from the Palace of Japhrian. She pounded on the door with such urgency that her daughter was at first afraid to let her into her room. If she had any idea just what her mother had brought to her she would have pushed a table in front of the door and cast herself from the window to perish on the stone walkway below. The door opened and the queen burst through, pushing Leonara to the ground by the force of her entrance. The princess was quite certain that some madness had overtaken her mother. She backed away from her on her hands and feet, pushing her back against the wall. 'Mother,' Leonara said terrified, 'What is the meaning of this?'

The Queen said nothing but handed her the bundle with shaking hands. The moment it passed out of her grasp she seemed to shrivel up and grow frail. Her skin was suddenly pale and it seemed as though a gust of wind would have blown her away like a pile of loose dust in a hurricane. She fell to her knees and wept, 'Your father is slain, and soon I shall be too. Go now, and cast yourself from the window. To die would be better than to wed that monster; that murderer Volthamir.'

'What has happened mother!?' she demanded. But the queen was not able to think nor answer. She turned her head as if she heard a sound and then rushed from the room with a shriek. She darted away into the northern woods and vanished from the knowledge of the men of Amlaman, though her fate is known among other peoples. With great hesitation Leonara unbound the bundle which her mother had thrust before her. When at last the silk ribbon was untied and the cloth set aside she held up to the light of the window a small hand mirror. The mirror was round; the handle and frame were made of some strong but beautiful metal. It had the weight of cast-iron but the look of ivory painted deep blue. The frame had many blue flowers carved upon it in relief, each set with a gemstone of green or yellow. The handle was shaped like a great bird of prey, the beak of which was plated with pure silver. The face of the mirror itself was brilliant and unmarred for all its years of use. It was not glass, but rather some kind of gemstone, polished to such perfection that it reflected the light as brilliantly and clearly as the smoothest mountain lake. It looked almost as if it were a window to another world, and not a mere regurgitation of the onlooker's surroundings. Above the mirror's face there were words carved in strange characters the like of which she had never seen. The words entered into her mind, though, and spoke in a kindly feminine voice, 'Thou art Perfect. Thou art the sun and all else is in thy shadow.'

The moment she looked into the face of that mirror her whole mind was changed and all the torments and trials of her youth seemed to vanish from her mind. The world grew colorless and bleak, full of darkness and shadow. Even the other people who lived and traveled in that mountain seemed cold and lifeless to her. Only in the mirror could she now see any sign of vigor and life; and only in her own reflection could she find any color. It was almost as though all the beauty, life and color of the waking world was captured for her in that mirror, which then reflected that life and strength richer and deeper. But all of this was focused and trapped in her own reflection alone.

She looked upon the virgins with contempt as before, but now she was untroubled and unfeeling. A cruel smirk came upon her face whenever some ill-fortune would come upon them. Or when the follies of one of the foolish rich men who frequented the nunnery was uncovered, she would laugh a cruel and inhuman laugh. No pity was in her heart from that hour and all her words were full of malice. 'Blackhearted art ye,' she would say to the others. The girls would laugh and taunt her as before, but no reaction could they elicit from her. 'Like a ghost she has become,' they said, alarmed. 'She is like a soulless one.'

But soon they began to fear her, for in her voice they could discern a terrible power, which they were not able to understand nor gainsay.

Gheshtik

Five days later fate would descend upon Sten-Agoni, and the first footsteps of her future would fall upon that strange mountain. Volthamir had discovered the hiding place of his beloved, and he hastened to the mountain to make her his bride at last. He stormed up the mountain along those ancient paths that his uncle had restored to the place where the temple of Agonistes stood. But when he approached the Nunnery he found a creature the like of which he had never imagined standing in his path. It was Gheshtik, revealed before his waking eyes.

'Halt thou mortal king,' Gheshtik demanded. Ghoras came to a halt, his mighty body seemed to quiver with fear at the words of the god. Volthamir dismounted and sent Ghoras away from the devil, patting him lightly on the back. The voice of Arus came to his mind and told him to, 'Walk on, King of Amlaman.' He walked toward the spirit without fear, as though he saw nothing. As he drew closer the spirit drew his mighty broadsword and held it up to the king's face. Volthamir sighed.

'I had hoped to find a better welcome here,' Volthamir said, though his voice was altered, for it was Arus whose will was thus expressed. 'Long and hard have you labored, Lord Gheshtik, long have you conspired to prevent my return. But it has all come to naught.'

'I see now, 'Lord of Crows,' Gheshtik laughed, 'that you are that old devil, Agonistes, come to bathe the world in blood anew. But we need you not, Lord of Darkness. No longer can you command the spirits of Weldera. I have grown mighty in your absence, if you have not noticed, while your own soul has withered and waned. Lord of Crows, indeed!'

Agonistes now spoke through Volthamir, this time without pretense, 'I see that you remember your old lord well. This at least I would have expected. But that you would deign to obtrude my coming reveals that you have diminished in wisdom in proportion to your growth in might.' With that Volthamir drew his own blade. Gheshtik lifted his invisible blade above his head and let it fall upon the king. There was a great clash when the swords struck one another and lightning flashed out from their collision. This seemed to take Gheshtik by surprise. 'This blade,' Volthamir said in Agonistes voice, 'was made for such fiends as you. In it lies the might of Legion and many other devils whom you know not, nor have any power to withstand.' Gheshtik thundered and the sky itself darkened and rain poured down upon the earth. The whole world seemed, in that moment to be locked in conflict. He burst forth with great strength and swung his blade at Volthamir. The blade cut a deep gash in Volthamir's arm, but the king's bracers prevented the blade from inflicting any permanent injury. Volthamir laughed and clenched his teeth. He unleashed a fury of blows that sent Gheshtik stumbling backward into the woods. Under the shadow of the trees their duel continued. Branches fell like rain to the ground as the two mighty swordsmen cut and slashed at one another. 'Your mortal flesh must grow weary,' Gheshtik said with a laugh as they continued their battle. Will you not give it up? I would be happy to have such a soul in my service, if only you will swear allegiance to me. It is better than death, is it not?'

The voice of Agonistes laughed, 'Think not that in slaying this man you will have slain me, for you will only have released my full power from this host.'

They fought on, Gheshtik's blows growing stronger and swifter until gusts of strong wind were sent out from the woods to startle and confound those who stood upon the mountain. But for all the god's raging, he could not prevail against his old master. Volthamir with a swift motion cut the sword from Gheshtik's hand and thrust his blade into the heart of the dark god. Gheshtik let out a thunderous howl that was heard, it was said, as far away as Dadron, where it was taken as an ill omen and a troubling sign. The dark god fell to his knees. 'Come now, my old friend,' Agonistes said with a grin and a laugh, 'Will you not serve me, even as you did before?'

But Gheshtik refused, saying, 'Whatever hell you have in store for me would be better than to live another second groveling under your feet. It was you and your cursed brother who of old brought this damnation upon us, and your lies that led us all to this end.'

His words were ended, however, when a ghostly blade was thrust through his back. 'Zefru,' he said weakly, 'You are a coward.'

Zefru appeared from behind him and pushed his wounded body to the ground with a thud. 'My lord,' he said to Agonistes, laying his face in the earth.

Volthamir said nothing. He sheathed his sword and took the wounded god by the throat and cast him into the depths of the earth, where not even the hardy delvers can descend. There only the Gaians, those poisonous wisps, and the spirits of the damned can be found. Never again, I imagine, will that fell god Gheshtik enter into any of the tales of men or elves.

'You are wiser than your old master,' Agonistes laughed.

Zefru lifted his face and answered, 'You only are my master, Agonistes, god of all Weldera.'

'So I shall be again,' he said.

[Chapter III:  
The Remnant of Galva](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Flourishing in Ram-u-Nar

Under the guidance of Dynamis the Galva Remnant had grown strong. They farmed the land and built habitations for themselves in Ram-u-Nar, but their hearts were always fixed upon their return. Daryas and his brother did not forget the plight of their father, nor did they forget their kinsman Olver whose survival alone yet stood between Cheft Ponteris and his ambitions. For there are none who will dare shed the blood of a Cheftan of the Galvahirne while yet there lives another to avenge him.

Though his dreams had relented somewhat while he was in exile, Daryas never quite slept without fear or sorrow. His dream repeated itself again and again until it fixed itself in his mind with the same clarity as a living memory.

Throughout the exile, the Remnant remained undetected by the men of Ramlos. On occasion they would send scouts out to spy out the land. In this way they became familiar with the southeastern portions of Heyan as well as with the wild lands of Golbfein. But they never traveled in groups larger than three, and even then they only departed from their hidden country when it was deemed necessary. They were for the most part self sufficient, but they could not grow or craft everything for themselves. Some of them would descend from the Daunrys (The Coronan Mountains as they called them) in the guise of common merchants, seeking to trade the goods of the Galvahirne with men of Ramlos.

Knowing the restlessness of his people, Dynamis arranged a great feast to be held on the twenty first day of Messest, and a tournament to precede it. Prizes from Dynamis' own treasures would be given to the greatest archer, the greatest swordsman, the greatest fighter, and the greatest horseman. The games began at dawn, with many hundreds taking part. Old Cheft Aargo served as judge over all the competitions, saying, 'Games, my lord (all the men of the Remnant, whatever their nobility, in those days called Dynamis 'lord'), are for the young; I am too old for such entertainments.'

'I do not doubt, though, that you would take the prize in more than one game,' Dynamis said with a nod.

'So long as the sons of Biron compete not,' he laughed.

The contest of archery was held first. Daryas did quite well in this contest, very nearly outshooting his brother Dynamis. But in the end the honor was won, not surprisingly, by Aoder the huntsman. The contest between he and the brothers Galvahirne lasted long into the afternoon. 'You made me fear for my honor,' he conceded as he was given his prize, a longbow with a string that shone like gold in the sun and an ivory handle. 'Take this, Aoder,' Dynamis said as he handed him the bow along with a quiver of arrows, 'and let it serve your hands well in battle and in the hunt. There is no greater bow this side of the Kollun Sea, and no greater archer in all the world to wield it.'

The next contest was to determine who was the greatest fighter. In this the sons of Aargo made their father proud. In the end the whole contest came down to a battle between his eldest son, Eron, and his third son, Jerson. They fought long into the evening. But in the end Eron pinned his brother to the ground and took the prize, which was a suit of hard leather armor. 'This armor, I was told, was made in Kharku from the hide of a beast that cannot be killed with arms, due to the thickness of its hide. The people of that land can only acquire such materials when the beast finally lays itself down and dies of old age. Let this armor serve you, Eron, son of Aargo, even as it served its former master.'

The night came early, as the autumn slowly stole back the light of day from the summer, storing it away as it were for its rebirth come springtime. That night, under cold cloudless skies the men of Ram-u-Nar held a great feast, celebrating their good fortune, offering prayers and sacrifices for their homeland, and praising the victors of the day's games.

The next morning the games began anew. A contest of horsemanship began almost with the first light of dawn. There was a series of races, some mock combat, and at last the men took bows in hand and tested their mounted archery against targets. Aoder did well in the archery, as one might well expect, but he was not well accustomed to shooting on horseback. He was beaten by both of the brothers Galvahirne as well as by Gishin, who did better than he by one shot alone. Daryas, surprising even himself, proved to be the greatest mounted archer, but Dynamis beat him soundly in the combat portion of the game. In the races, however, Dynamis' horse Novai outran all others, making their mighty steeds look like donkeys in comparison. 'I cannot accept great honors for this deed,' he laughed as the game ended. 'To Novai and her noble breed must go the praise, for she it was that carried me to victory.'

He gave the prize, however, to Vallus Phoadirne, whose horse had finished the race first among the others. He was given a gold-plated helm with two great horns and a plume of crimson dyed horse hair rising nearly a foot into the air above the crown. 'This was the helm of some Ancient, who perished in the last battle of Dadron, when all that kindred was driven forth or destroyed. I have long kept it safe and sound among my treasures; so let it keep you should war come once more to the Noras.'

Lastly, the contest of swordsmanship was held. It began in the afternoon and lasted throughout the evening, for there were many among the Remnant who desired the prize set forth by Dynamis. It was a strong shield, made with the wood of the Pelnok tree which only grows in the northern regions of Kollun. The wood itself is light, but strong enough to turn away iron. The top of the shield was plated with dwarven steel.

In this contest it was believed that Forge Collesirne would easily prove himself the victor. But he was beaten, much to the crowds amazement, by Daryas, who had for all that year trained under his brother's instruction. Olsith defeated Melgu, but then was defeated himself by Dynamis. In the end, much to the pleasure of those who watched, the contest came down to the two brothers Galvahirne. They battled long into the evening, dueling at last by the light of watchfires. Each of them was covered with sweat and dirt, and a little blood, unwilling to lay down their swords. 'I surrendered the prize for horsemanship,' Dynamis laughed, 'I cannot be expected to do so again for swordplay.'

'I have no doubt, brother,' Daryas said, panting, 'that in this match you will in the end prove the victor. But far be it from me to let you have this great honor without having fully earned it.'

Thus they went on until even the crowd began to tire of the competition. The night drew on and as Cheft Aargo was preparing to call the duel a draw and order the beginning of the feast, someone shouted, 'The watchfire! Look to the Horn! (They had named the ridge behind which their whole settlement was made 'The Horn' because of its curved shape)

The games ended at once, Daryas and Dynamis lowered their swords and took one another by the hand. 'Let us put shoulder to shoulder, my brother,' Dynamis said, 'through whatever perils.'

'Through whatever perils,' Daryas repeated. With that they rushed off with the rest of the captains of the Remnant to see to the watchfire.

As they drew near to the pass which would take them up to the ridge they were met by Revere, who was at that same time descending. 'Hail, Dynamis, my lord,' he said. 'One of the men spied the figure of a man or of a woman walking under the stars some ten leagues to the south. With great haste it comes, never stopping to rest. Just an hour ago I saw it myself. A strange white form, passing through the woodlands, over mountains, wading across streams, taking a perilous road.'

The brothers took no notice of the concern in his voice, though it was something that certainly would have been absent ere he fell in with the Galvahirne. In those days he would not even have been able to pretend to care for another human soul. But in Solibree he had been beaten, when the son of Biron discovered his betrayal, and yet spared him. At first he served the Galvahirne out of fear; but his time among them slowly brought about a change. It was slow enough that nobody could have marked it as change. Day by day he had felt less like a prisoner and more like a servant, and finally he felt like any other warrior among them. At times it seemed to entirely escape his memory that he had not voluntarily joined the exile of the Galva Army.

'What do you think of it, master scout?' Dynamis demanded.

'I think it to be an exile or vagabond, fleeing from some dreadful fate - or perhaps a madman escaped from his bonds. With great purpose the figure runs, but without sense or preparation. They are more afraid of what they flee than of whatever they might meet with in the wild.'

'What ought we to do?' the lord of the Galvahirne asked his captains, Vallus and Forge, who stood beside him.

'We should snuff out every flame,' Vallus answered, 'and hide ourselves from the eyes of the stranger. For we know not what evil it will bring. We should avoid it unless we have no other choice.'

Forge gave a more startling recommendation, 'Let us send out a swift rider and make an end of the beast, for we cannot risk discovery. The people of our home long for our return, and we for the hour of our vengeance. Shall it be said that we came not to deliver them because we were found out by some wandering madman?'

The others protested the cruelty of this course of action. Daryas, who had come last to stand among them, suggested, 'Let us ride out to this creature and see if it is a foe ere we lay any arrow to the string or unclothe our blades against it. Who knows what doom may befall those who presumptuously fall upon such a desperate creature. For this at least is clear from the accounts: The creature that approaches is in dire need, and such a creature will not lightly bring harm to those that might offer it some sanctuary or hiding place.'

'It will be as you have said,' Dynamis answered. 'And we shall ride out to it together, brother.'

Neither of them imagined the events that would come of this course of action.

Weldera in Peril

It was well past midnight when at last the brothers laid eyes upon the strange wanderer. It was a woman, and a noble lady at that, though her clothing was so torn and dirtied that she looked more like a beggar than a person of honor. But there were many rings upon her fingers and a gold chain about her neck. When they came upon her she was lying face down in the dirt, barely breathing. They helped her to rise and laid her before a fire, which Daryas quickly prepared. A blanket of Noras fur was put around her and soon she was given hot water to drink, mixed with some herbs that were believed to have a healing effect among the Noras. At first the woman just wept and would say nothing. She just rocked back and forth, clutching her knees. The care upon her face made her look far older than she was.

When at last she had come to her senses she began to speak. But she would answer none of their questions. The brothers could see the signs of madness in her eyes.

'He has killed them all,' she raved, 'they are all dead. The women, the men, the faithful servants of the king's house. All of them, all of them, all of them-'

'Who has killed them?' Dynamis asked her. She responded to nothing that they said, only repeating her startling message again and again.

When she had sat thus speaking for almost an hour she suddenly froze as if she had seen a spirit. Her voice was broken and her eyes opened wide. She screamed, 'Cursed be the Moon Child!'

With those words she fell forward onto her face and sunk her fingers deep into the dirt, clawing at the earth.

Dynamis went to get their horses, for it seemed to him that they must bring her back to Ram-u-Nar with haste to see if by some means she might be healed. But Daryas, as if instructed by fate, went and knelt close beside her, listening. For a long time she said nothing, simply looking to the stars in anguish. Finally the madness seemed to flee from her eyes and she spoke clearly. She said, in a weak whisper, 'The Siren they call her, my fair princess, the most miserable of all creatures. Great peril will befall her by the hands of that ungrateful usurper, that devil-child of havoc. I am Marel, once Queen of this land, but of late I have been damned. For the dark one has slain the king and all his family with him. All that yet remains is myself and the Siren of Sten-Agoni - and I soon will perish.'

Dynamis, returning, tried to keep her from speaking, 'You must save what strength remains within you for the ride, my lady,' he pleaded. But she shook her head.

'Nay, my strength is long past; what remains of it is the voice of doom itself. My sorrow is greater than my weakness, and by it alone I live on to bemoan the evils of the day. But even this must soon pass. Child,' she said addressing herself to Daryas, 'You must go to the south and west a little ways, follow the stream you find between the two brother hills of Agledau and Daufina into the Sacred Valley. Thence you will come at last to that hidden pool of the dark god. There you will find the Siren.'

With those words spoken she seemed to grow strong and Dynamis almost thought she would rise in that moment in full health. But all this strength turned swiftly to anger and she screamed as she tore at Daryas with her filthy hands, 'Fly from this place, devil, and go not nigh the mountain! For I have put a curse upon her, that ungrateful child. She will be, soon, even as I have ever been. For I must perish; now she alone is Perfect, She is the sun and all else is in her shadow.'

The light in her eyes flashed out and her last breath rose slowly from her body as a mist in the cold night air.

'Whatever bewitchment was upon her has fallen upon you as well, brother!' Dynamis said as Daryas mounted his horse. 'You cannot go there, not alone. You know not what awaits you there! You know not what foes you may encounter.'

'I am not bewitched, brother Dyne,' he responded. 'Those were the words of my dream; if I go not south at once I will never be comforted.'

'A shadow lies to the south, brother. Let us return to Ram-u-Nar and take counsel. We might make a party and go to the south in strength to spy out the land and see what has become of the Kingdom of Amlaman. Do not do this rash thing!'

'I cannot change the path that fate has set before my feet, brother.'

'Nor can I,' Dynamis said at last relenting, 'But in my heart I hoped that my counsel might also be part of fate's decree. Go to the south with my blessing, if you must go. But do not take this sorry beast; take Novai with you, for she will carry you swiftly from whatever danger you may meet there. Whatever you find, brother, do not forget us, the Remnant of Galva, and the sad state of our parents. Learn what you can of the south, learn what the Master of Causes has awaiting you there, but by all means RETURN to me, for my own sake. You are to me the dearest of all my comrades and kin.'

'Even as you are to me, brother,' Daryas said as he stepped down form his horse. They embraced, choking back tears. Then Daryas mounted Novai, whispering in her ears, 'Remember me, Novai? It is I, Daryas, the lesser Galvahirne. I pray that you will help me all the more for my weakness.'

With those words he charged off into the night, chasing the light of the southern stars.

Dreamlands

As he began his southern journey Daryas was immediately aware that the path to Sten-Agoni was not alien to him. As he gazed about he saw that he knew every tree and every little mountain brook. He knew where to cross, where he must dismount, and where to find the easiest trails. 'In this my dreams have instructed me well,' he said as a chill rose up to his neck.

That night, when at last he was forced by exhaustion to stop for the night, his dream returned to him in full, without omission and without interruption.

His dream began much in the same way as his journey began. But the dream varied, sometimes having him travel the lonely wilderness alone, sometimes upon a horse. The land was always the same: five wooded hills, two mountain streams and a secret path of stone, overrun with weeds and thorns.

He would come at last, after much toiling, to a place where the cool waters of the Meretris gathered into a pool before vanishing into some secret tunnel. He knew from his dreams that he must cross the stream in this place, for further ahead the northern bank would become too steep for a horse to cross.

On the eastern side of the pool there were many stones. Atop these he slowly led Novai across. The thick leather boots he wore were of Noras design and let no water in, though the cold nipped at his feet all the same. When they had crossed the pool Daryas once more mounted Novai and together they continued along the stream to the east.

The stream led him into a small valley, the name of which he knew not, though every smell and every sight were as familiar to him as the secrets and haunts of his childhood home in Peiraso. He left the stream for a time and wandered south and to the east to find better ground. He knew full well that he would strike the stream again as it lunged southwards further to the east. The building he saw when at last he followed this stream, he had seen many times, though the sight of it was more impressive and more frightening to his waking eyes.

The stones of which the building was made were so huge and so white that it almost looked like a celestial palace, and not a work of mere men. He saw the western gate through which the waters of the Meretris poured out into the wilderness. On either side of the stream there were great doors of oak, looming high above his head.

There were guard towers on both the southern and the northern corners of the building, but Daryas somehow felt assured that there were, at this time, no watchers upon them.

The air seemed to suddenly grow warm as he approached, and his dreams and his memories began to mingle freely with his waking mind, until his whole frame of mind became more dreamlike, though the images that had for so long haunted him became all the more real. He found that the door on the southern side of the stream was open and unguarded. He dismounted and without a thought left Novai to wander on her own in that mysterious valley. The door made no sound as it swung open. Inside the walls were decked with long green vines, adorned with many white flowers and bright red berries. On the floor there were stone planters from which grew slender white trees with silvery green leaves. He marveled that they should yet have their leaves at this time of year. But as he breathed yet more of that dreamlike air he found that he could believe almost anything of this place. Fate awaited him here. That is the thought that came into his mind, and his heart rejoiced. The water gurgled softly, there were songbirds in the branches, though all other such birds had fled winter's chill. A great warmth was in that place, and life seemed to be given in double measure to every creature and to every plant. As he neared the center of the building he heard, for the first time with his waking ears, the song of the one that was called the Siren of Sten-Agoni, Leonara, the Princess of Amlaman. He caught a glimpse of her as she passed by her window in the northeastern guard tower. As she passed their eyes met, and though they were still quite a ways off from one another they both felt as though they were standing face to face. This passed quickly and the princess once more vanished from sight.

His heart racing and leaping, Daryas quickened his pace and, crossing the stream on a slender bridge of white stone, he hastened toward the northeast. For what seemed like an eternity, though it was scarcely a second, all shadow of doubt and fear fled from his heart and mind. Strong he felt, and capable of any great deed. This is what he had come for, to find and help this precious creature, whose eyes were so filled with sadness.

This was the solution to all of his torments, the answer to all of his confusion.

The hand of Fate, however, like any mortal's hand, has two sides. For every thing that is revealed to man, many others are concealed. Before he had come within fifty paces of the tower's entrance, he discovered that he walked not alone upon those bright white stone tiles. All about him there was the traffic of soft-slippered feet going to and fro in the courtyard.

Everywhere he looked it seemed, there stood a woman of exquisite beauty and grace, adorned in the richest clothes, and perfumed with scents which only the priests of Agonistes can make. Each of these had such a look of nobility in their painted faces that he could not help but feel almost an admiration for them. They seemed to circle about him, drawing closer as he walked. He knew it not, but to their eyes he appeared to be some wealthy foreign lord, come to 'worship' in the Sacred Valley of the Virgins, as many rich men were wont to do in those days. They had seen many visitors from Titalo and from Rinin, and even from Ilmaria in the deep south; so it did not seem at all strange to their eyes for such an outsider to appear unannounced. For the Noras, the wearing of fur was not in the least bit unusual, as hunting was their livelihood. But for these girls of Amlaman, so much fur was an extravagance.

In their eyes he saw longing and desire, but it was really desire for lucre. Upon their wrists they wore many bangles, so that if they made the slightest move a soft melody seemed to float upon the air, drawing all eyes to them. Goddesses they seemed to him, and indeed, in a sense, goddesses they were. For they, by beauty and false love, place a yoke upon a man's neck and drive him like a beast to seek after their desires and their benefit. Many a wealthy man had in that place squandered his whole living. Then, when his gold ceases to flow into their hands, their love ceases and he is driven from them by the guards to face the consequences of his prodigality on his own.

In that instant all Daryas' clarity and resolve was replaced with chaos and torment, such as not even his dreams had provided. His heart thundered in his chest as he looked about the Nunnery. Had he known what manner of place this was, or what sorrows would come from these enchantresses, he would have forgone his expedition altogether, or at the very least charged through the courtyard with his eyes closed and his fingers in his ears. But he was caught quite unawares and for a brief time he knew not why he had come or what it was that he sought within this strange place. Many tempting things presented themselves to him in that instant to replace his resolve with fleeting vanity.

Lightheaded, he knelt down beside the cool water and washed his eyes with the water from the Meretris. As he looked upon the water he saw standing behind him the reflection of these lovely creatures and he saw their painted eyes and their whitewashed cheeks. Then he turned his gaze upon his own reflection and saw again what had always appeared to him to be the ugly square face of a Galvahirne. A rough man, cut from stone and wood, not of flesh like these soft creatures that stood around him. 'What could they possibly desire in such as I,' he laughed to himself. Then he looked at his coat of fur and his cloak of deep blue. 'I must seem like some barbarian lord to them,' he rightly guessed. 'And a wealthy one too.'

He rose from the stream and started again toward the tower, his heart filled with resentment as well as relief. The charms and mysteries of these women had begun their work, and he walked away not a little affected. As he walked further from them the intoxication of their perfume wore off and his head began to clear. He started to walk more swiftly, hoping the flow of blood would wash away this distraction entirely. For he had still his destiny to reckon with, and whatever was the effect that these women had upon him, he knew his heart lay captive within that northeastern tower. The song of the Siren was more enchanting than a million such women, and though his heart was greatly troubled, his desire to solve the mystery of his dreams was unaltered.

This whole chain of events took little more than a minute, but its effects upon his destiny were greater than he could possibly have imagined. However, at the time he perceived no change in his circumstances. There was, however, some seed of darkness growing in his mind which he could not account for. He looked back and shuddered; his shadow seemed to lengthen and darken as he approached the tower. A great torch burning at the base of the tower, mounted upon the stone wall next to the entry seemed to explain this phenomena adequately, and he passed through into the the tower, laughing at himself. 'Afraid of shadows now, Daryas,' he laughed within himself. 'Sion would make no end of mocking you.' His heart sunk as he ascended the stairs, thinking about his comrade and wondering what fate he had met.

In this tower the princess of Amlaman resided, and Lord Vulcan had ordered it to be well guarded and well stocked with arms. Upon a table in the center of the lowest floor was a roast lamb with a knife and fork still embedded as though one had rushed away from the table in such haste that they had no time to set them down. As Daryas stood there a little steam yet rose from the meat. Surrounding the lamb were many plates, each with a fork and a knife laying on top. At least a dozen men were expected at that supper, though where they had all gone was more than Daryas could guess. Still affected by the voice of the Siren singing above, he thought nothing more of it.

He ascended the stairs quickly, the anticipation of his fate drawing him forward. He came at last to the top of the stairs and before him stood a wooden door, slightly ajar. He pushed his hand against it and peered inside.

The song that flowed from the room seemed to carry with it a powerful magic, turning every sound of nature into an accompaniment; the gurgle of the stream below, the cool wind against the stone tower, the howl of distant wolfs, all seemed to conspire with her voice to enthrall the mind and heart. He opened the door, stepped inside, and met his destiny.

Siren

There sat Leonara thasa Amlaman, near the eastern window, gazing into her mirror with unblinking eyes, singing to herself. A tear seemed trapped on her cheek, as though it had frozen as it fell. Time itself seemed to make way for her melody and it became impossible for Daryas to tell how long he had been standing there.

At last her song came to a stop and the tear fell from her face onto the mirror, which was laying on the table before her. The tear seemed to break whatever enchantment she was under and she looked up and saw Daryas standing there before her. An eternity seemed to elapse before anything moved or changed. Daryas found himself drawing ever closer to the Siren of Sten-Agoni, though he did not remember taking any steps. She rose from her feet and looked at him closely. 'Who are you?' she asked in a soft, but troubled voice.

Her beauty struck him so deeply that he was afraid that he might faint that very instant. Upon her shoulders hung a bright white gown the sort which only the Virgins of the temple are permitted to wear. Her long hair shone in the starlight, falling upon her shoulders like a golden waterfall and sparkling like a dragon's horde. Upon her head there sat a small crown of silver. In her ears were tiny diamonds and about her neck was a chain of the purest silver. Upon the chain there hung an heirloom, a tiny golden figure of an Aggelos with ruby eyes.

'I have come to aid you,' Daryas said, 'for I have been led here by many dreams and signs. My name is Daryas Galvahirne, son of Biron, Cheftan of Galva-la.'

She held her hand out to him with her palm facing downward. He took her fingers in his hand. She said, 'I am Princess Leonara thasa Amlaman thasa Ramlos, daughter of the late King of Weldera. Here I have dwelt in exile while kings, queens, and daring men clambor for power. Tell me Daryas Galvahirne,' she asked with a hint of desperation in her voice, 'How can you help one such as I? My father is perished, and my mother will perish soon also, if she has not already been slain by my betrothed.'

'Your betrothed?' Daryas asked in a startled voice. 'Tell me what troubles you, fair princess. And I will set all my will against it.'

With tears she told him all that had transpired in the house of Vulcan, even from the days of Voltan her uncle, whom her father Vulcan had slain. She also told him how her cousin, Volthamir, under the guidance of the Fell Knight Lord Havoc, had usurped the throne and taken for himself the Dual Crown of Joplis. She lamented the restoration of the temple and all the years she was made a spectacle for the masses of Amlaman. She told him about the Cup of Trial and the humiliation of Voltan's heir. She told him of the coming of Legion's head, and how she was promised to the Fell Wolf of Heyan in marriage. 'I loved him,' she wept, 'I cried out for him every night. But when he finally came he was a devil, with a strange light in his eyes and hard words of gods and war.'

'War?' Daryas asked, suddenly thinking of his companions in Ram-u-Nar.

'Sixteen years ago my father, King Vulcan thos Amlaman, restored the Temple of Agonistes to the service of the dark god. In the day of its dedication the people of one accord swore to do the will of Agonistes. I was but three years of age, and yet I still remember the fire, the drums and the terrible voice of the god. I have been told that they swore to bring vengeance upon the head of Pelas, god of Falsis. The King will make good on this oath; he will lead the people of Amlaman to war.'

Daryas was silent for a moment, contemplating what she had told him. He knew he must return to the Remnant at once, for it was clear that Cheft Ponteris' usurpation of the lordship of Noras was but a part of some greater scheme. Leonara, after she had finished speaking, wept for a long time, throwing herself into the arms of the young Galvahirne. He looked at the princess' tearful face and was filled with love and pity. 'I will ease your burden, my lady,' Daryas said as he held her in his arms. 'Whatever must be done, I will see to it, for I cannot bear to see sadness within such lovely eyes.' Indeed, her eyes looked to him like the bottom of a clear pool of water where the light of the sun dances in lines upon the floor.

'Will you swear it?' she said somberly, 'All I have yet seen in this life is lies and deception. Will you be true to me? Will you take me away from here?'

'I swear it by the stars above, that nothing shall keep me from bringing comfort to you in your sorrow. But first we must see to your safety. We must make haste from this place.'

But the Princess did not respond, nor move for a long time. She just clung to his shoulders, almost as if she were sleeping. Looking upon the table, Daryas noticed that the tiny tear that had dropped from the princess' eye had at last all but dried, leaving the surface of the mirror unmarred. Leonara's head swung up suddenly and her eyes met her would-be rescuer's. 'You are a devil also!' she accused suddenly, almost in an entirely different voice. Her face turned into a snarl and she thrust Daryas' arms away from her. 'Do not touch me, you brutish heathen!'

Daryas was too stunned to say anything. A shadow came over her eyes and she rushed to her table and took the mirror in her hand. She looked long at it and finally looked up at Daryas. 'Shadow,' she said coldly. 'You are naught but shadow and darkness.'

'What do you mean?' Daryas said as his chest heaved with sorrow, perceiving that it was not to destiny, but rather some sour doom that his dreams had led him at last.

'I can smell it on you, that foul perfume; the aroma of the whores of Agonistes. You saw them when you passed through the courtyard; and I saw you too, bewildered and amazed, pining like an animal for the harem of the dark god! Serve him then, and perhaps he will reward you with one of his pretty little dainties! If he consumes them not with flame before hand.'

Daryas opened his mouth to speak, but he could think of nothing to say. 'It is only for that one who has for all these years haunted my dreams that I have come.'

'And all your efforts have been a waste, for you are no better than the one who I have already turned away. With that she charged at him and beat against him with her arms. He tried to restrain her, but she was too furious and impassioned to be calmed. She dug the nails of her right hand deep into the flesh of his neck, until red blood dripped from his throat and poured onto the floor. She screamed, and all the Valley echoed with the sound of her wrath. 'Shadow and lies!' she hollered at him in a fit of madness. Her voice seemed to thunder like that of a goddess.

Mityai Follows

When Daryas came to Ram-u-Nar, he came not alone. Besides the Galva Army and the servants and followers of his brother Dynamis, he was accompanied by the spirit Mityai, who had long been charged with watching his movements.

By her influence his dreams were made more easy to bear and his sleep became less troubled. Her ancient songs drove from his mind the darkest of those devils that would otherwise have been permitted to torment him. In this way his sanity and health were preserved, but the purposes of Lord Pelas were not achieved; Daryas was not as yet fully prepared for the road that Pelas meant for him to walk. Mityai, however, could not bear to see him in such anguish and confusion, and she had therefore decided to disregard the demands of her master.

Oblis, the mighty servant of Lord Pelas had indeed come for her, as he was commanded. But she hid from him with such skill that his slow eyes could not find her. After long searching he abandoned his quest, deeming it better to return to Pelas with his report than to return not at all, and yet still in failure. He was the sort of spirit that is mighty in arms, but greatly lacking in wisdom and cunning.

During the time of the exile of the Galva Army, Mityai spent most of her time on the marches of their territory, watching and waiting lest any strangers should came upon them. The mighty spirit Cheru, servant of Pelas, had also come to Ram-u-Nar, charged with the safe keeping of Daryas. But he searched not for the little sprite, nor would his mighty eyes take much thought of her even had he seen her. Cheru ever stood at the side of Daryas, unseen and unmovable.

It was Mityai that directed the eyes of the guards atop the ridge to the ailing queen of Amlaman. Had she known what would come of it she would have turned their faces to the north and let the frail queen perish alone in the woods. But pity entered into her heart when she saw the wandering madwoman. She could not tell whether she was a friend or foe, or whether she was good or evil. But it seemed to her judgment that this fragile creature could do little harm, whatever her intentions might be.

She followed close behind Daryas as he and his brother left the security of Ram-u-Nar behind them. She kept a close watch on Daryas as he spoke with the dying queen. But as the sorry scene unfolded a passing shadow seemed to lurk about in the woods. She stepped away from her ward and snuck out into the woods to have a look.

In the darkness under the naked autumn trees she at first could see nothing. But as she stared into the blackness she saw at last what seemed to be two tiny fireflies, floating about this way and that. But as her keen eyes looked on she realized they were the shining eyes of some great beast.

Suddenly, the whole figure of a great black wolf appeared before her. He was one of the black wolves of Heyan, but stood nearly twice the height of a common wolf. His eyes glowed red like fire. For a long time neither of them moved or spoke.

He started toward the fire, with dripping jaws and a low growl. 'Who are you!?' Mityai demanded in a panic. The wolf stopped and sat up, snarling in her direction. 'You are no mere wolf,' she said rightly.

'I am that which plays not the game of the gods,' the wolf said in a cold voice. 'Long have I hunted this one, that I might take revenge on the liar Pelas, who promised us the blood and fat of men. What we found in the hills was charred bones and smoke. I am Ghastin, Lord of Wolves. Depart from me, sprite,' he commanded with a snap of his jaws.

'I am charged by the same Pelas with the safety of this mortal,' Mityai pleaded. 'I cannot permit you to harm him.'

The wolf seemed almost to laugh. 'Pelas? You are the guardian of this boy?' The wolf snickered. 'What could you protect, whisp-spirit? Set all your will against me, child, and you will not but pluck a hair from my shoulders. Depart, I say, lest I send you to hell with the devils!'

With that the wolf started toward the fire once more, ready to trample the smaller spirit to the dust if he must. She held her hands in front of her and said, 'He is not alone! Lord Cheru the Mighty stands ever at his side!'

Ghastin stopped with one paw still in the air. A sigh seemed to pass from his mouth and he sat upright, turning his head toward the terrified spirit. 'Murderous Cheru,' he murmured. 'I have not the patience for such things today.'

He continued on toward the fire, this time with no sign of fear. He was abruptly confronted by the great god Cheru, who held in one hand a mighty sword and in the other a shield the likes of which only a god could wield.

'Truly you are a god unrivaled, Master Cheru, slayer of that devilish fiend Amro,' Ghastin said with much sarcasm.

'If I have no rival,' Cheru answered with thunder in his voice, 'then to what end do you mock me, Ghastin, lord of scavengers?'

'Who mocks who, slayer of fell Amro?'

'Think what you will, but that deed was done ere the waters came, I cannot answer for it now. Nor have I any need to answer to you.'

Ghastin laughed. 'You and I, master Cheru, will have our day, but for now all I require is the blood of this mortal child. For Pelas has deceived me, and I am not bound to him by any covenant or treaty.'

'But you are bound by this,' Cheru answered, holding aloft his mighty blade.

'Fair enough,' Ghastin answered, 'I have no desire to cross fangs with such deadly blades, bane of Amro.'

With that Cheru grew impatient, 'Tell me, bone-jawer, why I ought not smite you to hell this instant?'

'Because it would take you more than an instant,' Ghastin laughed. 'You see, my back is not turned, as was he of old whose death brought you such fame!'

Cheru swung his blade down in a flash, but the wolf darted aside. Ghastin laughed and stepped back into the shadows. From there his voice came out again, cool and cruel, 'Lord Cheru,' he said, 'you have before you three souls. Let me have but two of them, and I will, for this hour spare the younger Galvahirne. I have at my command many beasts.' With those words many howls rang out in the night. 'More than enough to take all from your ghostly grip. For against these you have only a little power, for they are not gods as we.'

Cheru was silent for a while, but at least he said, 'So be it,' and returning to Daryas' side he spoke no more.

When at last the brothers departed, Daryas southward and Dynamis carrying the fallen queen, a dark shape slipped from tree to tree, following the trail of the elder brother.

Startled and afraid, Mityai remained in the woods for a long time, fearing lest some other devil or god should discover her. But when several hours had passed she darted off toward the south into lands she knew not, following the trail of Daryas toward his fate.

Escape

When Mityai arrived at the Nunnery of Agonistes she saw Cheru standing in the woods watching Daryas enter the courtyard. He seemed dazed, if such a thing is possible for spirits. Confused, she risked a few words, 'What is the meaning of this?' she asked him in her soft voice. 'Why goes the son of Biron alone into this strange place?'

'There is a power here,' Cheru said weakly, not seeming to recognize her, 'there is a dark presence - one that long ago I felt and feared...' The mighty god seemed stripped of sense and courage altogether, staring blankly toward the east. It was no use speaking to him any further, nor did she wish to draw any more attention to herself, lest word should come to Lord Pelas that she yet haunted the ways of young Daryas.

She took to the stone path and followed Daryas into the Nunnery. Immediately a terror seized her heart and the world seemed to turn into blood and darkness. A shrill voice echoed in her ears, 'Begone, child, I have no patience for thee,' it said. 'Of the Twins I have no fear, nor of the other meddlesome gods. Come see me and die the death of hell, or be wise and leave what is mine alone.'

This is the voice that left Cheru in the state in which she had found him, and for a moment she too stopped and stepped away. But after a while the darkness seemed suddenly to lessen and the voice departed. Without hesitation or consideration she darted into the courtyard, passed the loitering Virgins and entered into the northeastern tower.

She came to the room of the princess just as she attacked Daryas. Leonara pushed against him until she had pressed him against the wall. He struggled to protect himself, desperately trying not to harm her as he held her hands away from his neck. The princess lifted her arm to strike Daryas, but her blow never fell. In that moment it came into the mind of Mityai to do that which was always forbidden to the servants of Pelas - that which had damned thousands of souls before and, she thought, would bring about the damnation of her own soul. But she could not bear to watch the young man over whom she had so long kept vigil suffer any more harm. She leapt into the the tense and contorted body of the princess. In a flash, the princess' arms grew soft again and she relented her assault and her cursing. Rather than striking Daryas, her hand came down and rested softly upon his cheek. Mityai at last looked upon her charge with eyes of flesh and blood. Every sensation of mortal concern rushed into her mind, filling her with feelings and passions that had not had power over her for many thousands of years. In that moment she felt the rough cheek of the Galvahirne with her soft hand. Once more stunned, Daryas at last let go of her wrists. Mityai put her fingers through his dark hair, a smile passed over Leonara's face. She leaned forward and kissed him deeply. She felt his hand upon her shoulders as his grip changed slowly from restraint to embrace. He put his hand upon her face and Mityai felt his fingers upon her cheek as though she was once again one of the mortals. For a few moments she stood there in his arms, wishing it could last an eternity. Daryas looked into her eyes, and a feeling of terror clutched her. This could not be her place, she realized. She did not want to haunt the bodies of the living, clinging to every sensation, passing from one to the next each time their lives expired. 'I am no goddess,' she said within herself, and resolved to abandon the body of flesh and take up her mantle of emptiness once again.

Her last sensation was that of sadness; a tear fell from her cheek, sliding down to her lip and falling to the floor. In that instant the mind of Leonara was revealed to her in its entirety, from her infancy up to that very moment. More tears came as Mityai wept for the princess of Amlaman. 'You must help me,' she told Daryas, speaking the heart of the princess. 'But you cannot help me as yet. You must return to me without any shadow of wickedness within you. Return to me, my love, and bring no evil thing with you. Then only can I be free of this madness. Return to me,' she said once more. She released her grip and passed from the body of Leonara, falling to the ground in sorrow and anguish at the suffering of these two mortal souls.

As she lay there the last hint of Leonara's tear dried, and the surface of the mirror became unclouded. The darkness returned to Leonara's eyes.

Daryas fled from the room with a heavy heart and a swirling head. Horns now blared in the distance, summoned by the sound of the Siren's scream. Even as he reached the bottom of the tower he encountered several of the Nunnery guards, each armed with spears. 'Halt!' they commanded, but he dashed past them, knocking two of them to the ground. In the courtyard he could see many guards pouring in through the southern entrances, among them went Lord Belran, captain of the guard, and Reonus the eunuch. Among their number still was Farachie, the servant of the old High Priest.

These rushed toward him with weapons drawn and torches held aloft. No more illusion hung upon Daryas' eyes; he saw death in every corner of that Nunnery. Several guards were coming across the slender bridge that he had used to cross the Meretris. He met them at the end and kicked them into one another and into the cold waters of the stream. He rushed to the west, dodging a few arrows and then charging through the guards at the door, knocking them down with a blow from his fists. As he fought his way out, he proved himself in every way a son of Galvahir, bold in strategy, powerful in motion, unstoppable in flight. Only the swift legs of Farachie could overtake him.

With drawn sword, Farachie confronted Daryas just to the northwest of the Nunnery. 'None shall treat so lightly with the princess of Amlaman and escape alive!' he shouted in anger.

'Do not waylay, me,' Daryas said, 'For I have not the heart to show you mercy.'

'Nevertheless,' Farachie said brandishing his blade. Daryas rushed at him and grabbed his sword from his hand, casting him to the ground.

'Be it known,' Daryas said with great anger, 'that I harmed not the Siren.' He cast Farachie's sword into the ground at his feet and darted away. Farachie struggled to his feet and looked out to the west. He saw Daryas leap astride Novai and charge away like a bolt of lightning into the west.

The reason the guards were not present when the young Galvahirne arrived is because they had all been summoned to the Temple by the new King of Amlaman. They were charged with the task of bringing Princess Leonara before him without delay. For just prior to this, King Volthamir had begun his descent into the Valley. But he was halted after he had taken no more than ten steps northward. A voice thundered from afar, forbidding him, 'Son of darkness, come not nigh, lest you wish to be consumed. For I am Evna, and against me none shall prevail. This girl I have claimed for myself; never again shall you or any other brutish man make her suffer.'

Volthamir tried to press on northward despite this warning, but Agonistes refused to allow him, taking control of his thoughts, saying, 'Fool, do you not know when it is a god that speaks to you?'

'I do not fear the gods,' Volthamir said angrily, 'I do not fear to go down into the Valley.'

Nevertheless, Agonistes would not relent and his hold on Voltahimr's mind prevailed. Volthamir summoned the guards to his side and ordered them to bring the princess to him, since he could not go down into the Valley himself - of course, he did not tell them this.

His men, much to their dismay, soon discovered that they also had no power over the strange goddess. They came down in a group of ten, armed with their weapons and with the seal of the king in their hands, saying, 'Open, Leonara thasa Amlaman, in the name of the king!' When she answered not they hurried back to tell Volthamir.

'Fools!' he shouted at them, 'I told you to bring her, not invite her. When the high priest summons, I am told, every idle deed is set aside. How much more, then, should she come when bidden by the king?'

Their second attempt proved no better and they returned to the king as before.

These men were set in bonds and another group of men were sent, this time along with Reonus, who was charged to give a full account to the king upon their return. He explained the matter thus: 'My king, we knocked upon the door of Leonara, urging her to obey your commands. But she opened the door and laughed as she told us, 'You are nothing but shadows, and shadows cannot bring or summon, carry or coerce.'

'And you abandoned your task because of this?' the king thundered.

'I must confess, my King,' Reonos said bowing low, 'that it seemed more reasonable when she stood before us.'

Finally Belran, captain of the guard was commanded to bring the Princess to the temple himself. But again she refused, sending Belran, the mighty warrior, back empty handed and with this message, 'To whom does the sun bow down in worship? Come to me without shadow, thyself, oh mighty king, and I will go to you. But what is there within you but shadow? And for what is shadow but to frighten the weak?'

Evna now ruled the Nunnery of Agonistes, and by no manner of threats or punishments could Volthamir get the princess to be brought to him. To add to his frustration, it was at this very instant that her terrible screams were heard. He rushed into the wooded valley, but was forced back by the power of Evna, forced to watch his soldiers and guards charge down in his stead. He cursed Agonistes, the first of many such cursings.

By some subtle but inconquerable power the princess remained unharmed and untroubled by the King of Amlaman, who had already gone through so much toil out of his great desire for her. 'I will have her,' he swore, 'whatever gods beset me.' Then, as though he could see the future, he added, 'But if not, then I shall see the blood of the one that mocks me.'

The Doom of Mityai

The goddess Evna, who had taken dominion of the valley of the virgins and within the mind of the princess alike, found Mityai in the same state in which she lay upon leaving the body of Leonara; distressed and broken-hearted. Without a word the mighty goddess took her by the back of the neck and, lifting her high off the ground, she broke the ghostly bones of her neck and, with a laugh, cast her from the Nunnery, her shattered body swirling through the stones of the tower and through the whirling wind outside, coming to rest in the forest. There her broken body lay, and in anguish of soul she could do nothing but mourn, though no tears came from her eyes. When she released the body of the princess, all such abilities were surrendered.

In this state she was soon discovered by the spirit Cheru, who had long ago been sent to bring her back to the judgment of Pelas. Looking upon her with pitiless eyes, the mighty slayer of Amro pierced her through the stomach with his mighty spear and, taking the word of Pelas more literally than it was meant, he dragged her more than three hundred leagues to the Temple of Pelas atop the hill of Dadron, to be judged by the god of Falsis.

No words did Pelas speak, he gave her one look and then, shaking his head with disgust, took her broken throat and cast her with all his might deep into the earth, where she vanished from sight, memory and hope. She fell league after league into the darkness, until at last she burst through the lifeless rock into the lake of flame, even that lake from whose fires all the volcanos and fiery cracks of the earth are fed. There she lay, in torment of soul, helpless and alone. For no other spirit, save for Aonistes himself, had ever been thrust so deep into hell as was she. For the wrath of Pelas was great and his heart was turned against her. Her eyes gazed upon the fire in that place and she wished in her heart that it could consume her and end her suffering. But, as it was, there would be no end to her immortal sorrows.

[Chapter IV:  
The Monster Rages In Falsis](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Word of Marin

On the very same day that Cheft Faros the Fool led his army against the Goblins of Coronan in the Corhen flats, which is to say, roughly a year and a half before Volthamir was crowned king, the Monster of Vestron stepped off a boat onto Welderan soil. In his right arm he carried his mighty spear, which he named Golem-bane. In his left arm towered the mighty shield Admunth, which no ordinary man could carry. Beneath his clothes he concealed that fell blade, Skatos Ereg. At his side there stood many Knights of Marin with their long hair, slender shields and light spears.

When at first Natham had attempted to cross the Kollun sea he found that no ship would bear him. Even those unsavory characters who always seem to haunt the ports and bays would have nothing to do with him. It seemed to them that to sail with such a creature would be an omen of evil. Moreover, the army of Marin had such a presence in the region that no boats could sail without their express permission. Nonetheless, he did not need to search for passage long. Ere a week had passed a messenger arrived from Marin Fortress bidding her captains to, by all means, carry the monster to Weldera. The ship, however, brought him to Kollun, where he was delayed for several months by every possible excuse while Marin completed its preparations for war. He would have made his way to Weldera on his own, but the men of Kollun would not sail to Weldera for fear of being dragged into the conflict.

In due course, he was joined on the island by Lord Ollitov himself, and several ladies of Marin, including the Lady Nerria, whose fame in battle was great. These, presenting him with a great quantity of evidence, persuaded him that the Lady Lyris had been spirited away from Marin against the wishes and consent of the Queen. Among the articles they put before him was a document, sealed by Queen Marin herself, stating outright that the Marshall Lyris had been taken from Marin Fortress by force and not by the permission of the Queen. Such a document, given what is now known concerning the Welderan War and Marin's role therein, is a full legal admission that the Queen fabricated at least this one charge against Dadron. For it was the law of Marin from its foundation that no war be waged without a full explication of the grounds thereof. I include this in my account because even now there are learned men in Marin who have denied that such a document was ever presented to the Monster. But let my reader judge whether or not Natham would have marched with the army of Marin without such an assurance.

Lord Ollitov informed Natham that a man of Dadron named Chieftain Olver of Galvaland had abducted Lyris, stealing her away from Marin during the night. This, among many other crimes, was the ground upon which Marin prepared her forces for an invasion of Weldera.

Lady Nerria said to him, 'The walls of that city are equalled in height only by the pride of its masters, who have always taken liberally from the other people of Tel Arie. But take heart, such deeds shall not go unpunished forever.'

Having thoroughly convinced him of their sincerity, and having assured him that Dadron's defenses were, save for the fire of Mount Fhuhar itself, greater than the fortifications of Harz, they convinced him to march against Dadron along with those soldiers who had fought under Lyris' command against the dwarf stronghold of Thlux.

Natham's time on that island was not unproductive, however, as it awakened in him a gift that had long been hidden and which will, perhaps in later ages, prove to be of greater worth than any of his military victories (I refer here to the commentaries he made upon the democracy of Kollun and upon the various sorts of governments he had hitherto seen or encountered). The inspiration for this literary labor was undoubtedly due to the reinstitution of Lord Jerol, who had been Headmaster of Kollun for the past forty years - despite the fact that it was widely believed that he had pilfered unimaginable quantities of gold from the treasury.

Every hour he spent in Kollun he spent with pen in hand, writing page after page in elegant prose. It was all he could do to pass the time and also attempt to make sense of all that he had seen since he first became involved with the leaders of the Merkata. It is, in fact, from Natham's own accounts that most of what is known of the Merkata has been recorded. Fhuhar saw to it that nothing else would survive of that ancient and ill-fated people.

Whately had taught Natham nearly everything he knew, whether it was the myths of Kharku in the deep south of the world, or the legends of the Aguians, who live in mighty cities under the crashing ocean waves, or the tales and histories of the Astral lords who rule upon the stars of heaven. He taught him the names and histories of all the world's cities and peoples, until Natham himself, next to Whately, was a scholar in his own right. There was, lamentably, one notable exception: He told the monster comparatively little of the land of his own birth, Weldera. His reasons for this were bound to his oath, and to the fear that somehow the knowledge of the place would draw them to an evil fate. But it was in precisely the place that Whately had neglected to instruct his charge that the Quendom of Marin and its strategists sought to deceive him. And deceive him they did. He knew nothing of the lords, titles and lands of Falsis, and could not see that they were leading him astray. He knew not that the lords of Noras were called Cheftans and that they did not dwell in the city of Dadron. He knew not who ruled over it, nor did he know the lineage of Olver and of the Galvahirne and their forest home, which lay many leagues from Dadron's gates. He was alone and without honest counsel for all of this time; he had no means to uncover the truth of this treacherous deception. For Duri had departed from his side, passing into the east at the same time Mount Fhuhar made an end of the Merkata. He halted as he walked and said, somberly, 'A great tremor has passed through the earth; and I feel as if my heart has been severed in two. I must return to the east, to see with my own eyes what has befallen the land of Vestron.'

Thus Natham had only the idea of his beloved's suffering and affliction before him, leading him into the traps of Marin. 'Wilt thou swear allegiance now to the Queen Marin?' the lady Nerria asked him in Kollun. 'Wilt thou march against those who would commit such outrages? For Dadron's sins pile up to the sky, blotting out even the sun. Now is the hour of its downfall. No longer shall its lords abuse their neighbors in such a manner without answer.'

Natham fought within himself, half of him wanting to call the heavens above upon his head in witness of his oath, the other half remembering the advice of his Master: 'No one, by swearing, makes themselves an ounce more honest; any more than a man makes himself wealthy by counting his gold. Oaths may make a liar a liar yet again, having lied about the oath as well. But it cannot alter the worth of an honest man's word, save to make a distinction between that spoken in sincerity and that to which he gives little heed. But an honest man, if we are to consider him to truly be such, will speak no such idle words.'

'I swear nothing,' he answered. 'All I say is this: I will fight until the honor of Lyris is restored to her, and against any who set their will against me. No oath need I to keep my word.'

Against Dadron the Great

The chief strongholds of the elves in Tel Arie, or of the Ancients as they are called in Weldera, were Dadron in the North, Malgier in the South, past the Gilwela Marshlands, and Holon in the drylands south of Amlaman. Holon, as I mentioned before, was destroyed utterly by Xanthur in his war against elvendom, never to be rebuilt or inhabited. Malgier was hidden in such a remote place that even some of the elves in the days of their ascendency openly doubted its existence. High in the mountains, past a massive festering swamp, and beyond a maze of perilous canyons and cliffs, the Kingdom of Bralahi in Malgier was safe from all of its enemies; and all of its enemies were, in turn, safe from the Kingdom of Bralahi.

Luma, the greatest city in Illmaria, which lies to the south of Weldera, was, of the elven cities, the fairest, the oldest, and the most populous, but it was not well fortified. All the elves looked to Falruvis, Highlord of the Argent elves, for their security and defense. Indeed, on many occasions he gave them great reason to place their hope in him. But a record of the victories of Falruvis would be superfluous here, as they were by this time long passed into history.

Dadron the Great! Built when the world was young, it's walls have stood firm now for over three-thousand years. As one may well imagine, this is no easy feat. The genius that crafted those five high walls of stone has not yet been rivaled in all the works of the world, save perhaps in the great tower of Lapulia, where men study magic and devilry. Beyond the first wall is a place called Dusktown, for there the sun only shone at high noon; the second wall rose so high above it that all morning light was shut out. In turn the eastern wall was so tall that it forbid even the waning western sun from lighting the fields there. The elves, in the days of their wealth and happiness, had put great lights, burning throughout the day with the oil of Aguians, those great fish that men call whales.

Above Dusktown was built Dadron City, where the greater part of the nobility dwelt. There the schools were built to educate the high-blooded elves and the libraries were built to safeguard the knowledge of the Ancients. Yet another tall wall separated Dadron City from the Farmlands, where much of the food of Dadron was grown. Here the land was flat for many acres and received more sunlight than the other levels of the city. Most of these farms were owned by the noblemen and scholars who lived in the City, though they were almost all worked by the lesser elves of Dusktown (who would be locked out of the higher portions of the city at night).

Beyond the Farmlands was the City of the King, where Highlord Falruvis and his kin once dwelt in splendor unrivaled. The great palace of Dadron was built there with many tall towers, reaching for the heavens, even as the people of Dadron reached for the skies with their might and wisdom, ever grasping at higher things. But this was not the highest level of Dadron. Beyond even the glory of Falruvis was the Temple of Pelas, which was built out of pure white stones, quarried only in Dadron in the days of old. Here a great statue of Pelas was made, as I have described in another place. In the shining light of this temple the whole land of Falsis seemed to bask, giving the city of Dadron its name, the 'City of God', or the 'Fortress of Pelas' and many other such titles. Here the elves worshipped their lord with subtle but mysterious rituals, ever officiated by the Highlord, who alone among either mortals or immortals seemed to be able to commune with Pelas. Thus he became the High Priest of Pelas and the High King of all Elves, ruling from the pinnacle of the world, it seemed, in the unconquerable Fortress of Dadron. Truly in all the history of Tel Arie there had been no greater king than Lord Falruvis the Ancient.

It should not then surprise my readers to discover that Lord Falruvis had his share of enemies. Such opulence does not, as it were, spring forth from the ground upon command. Though he was undoubtedly kinder than his mortal counterparts, and though they abhorred the word and the idea, even the High Elves of old had their slaves. They did not keep them in Dadron, as many of the barbarians of the human lands kept their slaves bound within their own domains. But they kept them nonetheless. Their constant demand for more wealth, the constant threat of their invincible army, and their great horde of slowly accumulated wealth and wisdom made many of those in Weldera and Kollun, and even some in Olgrost and Dominas, into their vassals and servants. A vampire they seemed to such people; they could not believe that all the toil and labor that they undertook on the great city's behalf was well deserved, and many among them grew weary and disloyal. Rebellions broke out here and there, and Falruvis' army was quick to stomp them out, only fueling further the resentment of his distant subjects. It became a saying in the East, that 'You cannot see the light of Dadron from Lapulia,' a phrase that is commonly attributed to that great rebel Xanthur himself, though it is almost certain that the phrase came from a much later age.

Of the fall of Dadron, I will have more to say in due course. For now, however, I must simply explain that even in its fallen state the walls of the city were yet impervious; and the gates, though worn and battered by time and war, were still strong. It was still the greatest fortress in the known world. There was also a great mystery that seemed to be bound up and buried beneath the Temple of Pelas. The stones themselves would be worth more than can be imagined. It was inconceivable that there was not some secret trove of wisdom or wealth hidden under Pelas' throne by the cunning Falruvis in the days of his glory. It was widely believed, by those who lived without the walls of Dadron, that some great secret lay buried beneath that great Temple, though the people of Dadron themselves had no notion of such a thing. Suffice it to say, however, all men of means and influence wanted Dadron for themselves, whether they would ever dare to make an attempt for it or not. The lust for the might and mysteries of the City of God were most keenly felt, if history is any proof, by the Queen of Marin, the King of Amlaman, whoever he may be, and the Mages of Lapulia who by some trick of Fate do not enter into this tale. It was a league of just these foes that brought about Dadron's fall in the days of Galvahir and the Heroes of Noras. But their disappointment did not seem in any way to have lessened the credulity of their descendants, who once more seemed poised to bath Weldera in blood for the sake of the splendor and rumor of this ancient city.

To this end was Natham deceived, that he might set his strength against the mighty city for the aggrandizement of Marin and her allies in the west.

Charade

The ancient error had always been to start the invasion of Falsis from the east, near the sea of Kollun. Kolfa, the old elf port that was built upon the sandy shores of the Falsi River Delta, had been sacked more times than it would be honorable to record. But save for that final war against Dadron, when Falruvis at last met his end, the wars had never gone much further. Beyond Kolfa the invaders would be forced to defend and maintain the occupation of every major city for almost five hundred leagues. When at last this had been accomplished they must retain enough strength to lay siege to the Lord of all Fortresses, Dadron the Great. It should not surprise my readers to know that this strategy has always ended in defeat. It was only when the might of Amlaman, Olgrost and Dominas alike were united under Czylost (combined also with certain internal conflicts, as I will later describe) that at last the ancient elf fortress was taken. The Titalo invaders, who later became known as the Daeveron, were only successful in their conquest of Falsis because they did not even for a second consider challenging the might of Dadron. They took the land of Falsis from the ancient Noras and left the King of the Elves in peace.

Marin was not planning to make that ancient error in its conquest of Dadron. The first warships arrived, not in the east near Kolfa, nor even in the Bay of Falir, which lay on the northeastern shores of Weldera, but in the frozen north, where the Northern branch of the Coronana mountains finally ended. They landed in a place called 'Isroc', and sent their troops along difficult roads to an encampment just twenty leagues from Libraeva, a city of the Daeveron. In any other age this would have been folly in the highest degree, for it was too close to that dark forest where the remnant of the Noras lived in great strength. But Marin had little to fear from the Galvahirne; for their strong men were perished, she believed, in battle with goblins in the Coronan mountains, and their lord had been dispossessed of his authority. All that remained of that noble house was now locked away in the Fortress of Dadron, where the armies of Marin and her allies would soon find him. Desiring the might of the Monster of Vestron, Marin meant to lead Natham into the war on her behalf by blaming Lord Biron's nephew Olver with the kidnapping of Lyris. 'This love of his,' Marin said coldly to her captains, 'however unnatural and strange, is a thing of great value to us. See to it that no hint of our plan is revealed to the monster. We must march as though our every deed is on behalf of this woman Lyris. To this end you must declare it to our soldiers, that they fight not for glory or conquest, but for the honor of their sister warrior Lyris, who has been apprehended by this rebel brigand of Dadron.'

And so it was that even the soldiers who fought beside him had the same delusion in mind, that the war was to free Lyris from her imprisonment in Dadron, and to avenge her maltreatment by the hands of Fell Olver the Rebel.

Natham, as he was in Vestron, was not willing to shed blood without cause, nor did he take any liking to the destruction of innocent life. Therefore he insisted that a message be sent, warning this Chieftain of Dadron that the consequences of his deeds would be severe if he refused to release the lady Lyris to her people. Furthermore, he had a message sent to Libraeva, Daeva, Celesh, Mor and Solibree demanding that they 'set their wills against this brigand Olver until he has released his captive and returned her to a place of honor.'

These messages were indeed sent, but none of them ever reached their destinations. The messengers to Libraeva, moreover, did not return, and a message was sent to Natham saying, 'Return to the sea, dogs, for we fear not the girls of Marin, who hide their ugliness behind the thick armor of men. We will not betray our lord in Dadron, nor will any captives be set free on your behalf. The land of Daevas belongs to the men of Daevas, not to the women of Olgrost.'

Ollitov, the queen's husband, was in the camp to oversee the war, and it was he that showed this message to the monster. 'What shall we do then?' he asked. 'For they mock us, even as we offer them peace.'

Natham's rage burned within him. 'If they are not of a mind to surrender the girl to her people, then I will go to Dadron and rescue her myself.'

It is certain that no such message was penned by the men of Libraeva. In later years it was shown that at no time in all the history of Weldera did the men of Daevaron refer to themselves by the name 'Daevas'; this was the term used in Olgrost, and in Kollun. But Natham, as I said, knew very little of the ways of this land, though even many wiser men may have been led astray by this charade. The messengers were certainly not slain, as it was reported to Natham. But who can search out every rank and file of the Marin host and discover where these messengers were reassigned? Who can find the truth in a mountain of lies?

Natham took up his spear and his shield, rallied the soldiers of Marin to his side, and many more hirelings besides, and marched to war against Daevaron.

Libraeva and Daeva City

On the sixth day of Florhus, the town of Libraeva was taken by the warriors of Marin. The men of that town fought bravely, but the terror of the monster was overwhelming and it was not long before they threw their arms to the ground and surrendered to the eastern warriors. An attempt was made to rescue the town by a great host from Daeva, and the armies battled on the northern banks of the Daeva River, which flows east from Lake Libros. But the might of Natham, the skill of the Marin soldiers, and the sheer number of the hirelings soon sent them back to Daeva in retreat, where they were greeted with mourning and trembling. Messages were sent to their neighbors, men rushed about, preparing for war, and all the country was alerted to this strange threat. Much to their dismay, no help would come from Noras. Cheft Ponteris now ruled over the forest as if he were a king, and he flatly refused to send any aid, 'No shaft of arrow shall leave this forest,' he said coldly to his servants, 'for the troubles of these yellow-haired brigands concern us not. It was they,' he reminded them. 'who once upon a time conquered our kin in the days of old, while we suffered under the darkness of Agon.'

Another force of soldiers from Marin arrived on the shores of Celesh, razing much of that city to the ground. Lady Nerria the Renowned commanded them, and they made short work of the people of Celesh, and, a little later, of the people of Mor in the dark forest which bears their name.

By the middle of the month of Ninus, as summer began to fade into a cool autumn, Natham led the army of Marin to victory in Solibree. Through all of this, there was no word from the forest of Noras. Cheft Ponteris kept his part of the bargain well; 'Do not allow the men of Noras to march in war against the armies of Marin,' he had been commanded by that Dark Knight of Amlaman, the one they called Lord Havoc.

'But how shall I restrain the brave men of Galva-la?' he asked.

'Fear not,' he told him confidently, 'I will deal with the sons of Galvahir.'

'But what of the sons of Biron?' Ponteris asked, trembling.

Havoc laughed heartily, drawing his long sword from its sheath. 'Have you, in all your years, my dear Cheftan, seen such a blade as this?'

'I assure you that I have not,' he said in amazement. The blade shone in the firelight like a star of heaven, seeming to steal the very light of the fire for itself, darkening the room and drawing the eye ever to its keen edge.

'This blade, which is named Thosclay in the west, is more ancient than even that blade upon which the house of Biron is founded, and greater too, for it is older and of better workmanship.

'But what of Dynamis?' Ponteris said, 'it is said that of living men there are few greater warriors.'

Havoc laughed again, 'It is said? It is said? We will see, then, my dear Cheftan. But I assure you that my blade has been tested against many mighty men, among whom the whelp of Biron would be ashamed to show his face.' The meeting thus ended with Ponteris being assured that no peril would come to him from the sons of Biron. 'All you must do, my friend, is hold back the might of Galva and of the Noras; do not let them march to a war that concerns them not. Do this, I say, and the land of Noras will forever be wrested from the brutish hands of the sons of Galvahir.'

Though now only one hundred and fifty leagues lay between the army of Marin and the Fortress of Dadron, it was not yet time to set their blades against it. Nonetheless, a watch was set upon the city, lest its armies should pour out and come against them at unawares. It seemed for the time being, however, that the lords of Dadron were mustering their strength against a siege and gathering the fleeing refugees of Daevaron within their walls. They were not prepared to march out to war.

The next task of the army of Marin was to come against Kolfa, from whom they would face considerable danger should they rise up against them from the east while they battled Dadron.

As if to confirm the political criticisms of Natham, the Democracy of Kollun did nothing to stay the ambitions of Marin, even allowing them to pass their troops through their waters, docking at times at their northernmost port city of Poula. These soldiers came at last to land just south of Kolfa, from whence they began their assault upon the sandy city. This was in the middle of Morest, when the snow first began to fall. Kolfa withstood them for less than a month before it surrendered.

Ollitov marched with Natham through the woods of Rauv and came upon the city of Lak, which lies upon the Falsi river east of Dadron. Their heroes poured out to challenge the invaders, but Natham made an end of them all. 'For what does this beast so rage?' was the lament of all the people of Daevaron in that time. And ever the beast would answer, demanding the release of Lyris from Dadron. But no answer could be given him, for his beloved was not in Dadron.

Against Fahsro all the efforts of Marin were now focused, for by the summer of that year that city alone still stood against them in support of Dadron. Lady Amera was slain in battle and the Eastern army of Marin was driven back to Kolfa. Nerria came against it also from the north, and nearly perished. For there was at that time in the city of Fahsro a man named Ehrmas. He was dark-haired like a Noras, but tall and wise like a Knarseman. Seeing the perils that would come, he had fortified the city, preparing for the coming of Marin. 'We may not be able to stop them, but we will make them pay for their injustices even as they commit them.'

When at last Ollitov's army had come, and Nerria's had joined with the eastern army, the assault on Fahsro was renewed. This was in the late autumn, when the air was beginning to turn cold. Nerria's army battered the gates of the city from the east, Ollitov's army battered it from the west, and ships came up the river from Kolfa, reigning arrows of fire into the city. But for all this the men were undaunted. They withstood them for yet another four months. Finally, in the middle of Paschest, Ehrmas made a bold move, rushing from the city in the middle of the night and falling upon the encampment of Nerria, slaying nearly a thousand soldiers in one night, and many more hirelings besides. Nerria and her army fled before him and were scattered into the darkness.

Thus for nearly a week the men of Fahsro were given hope, and the fame of Ehrmas spread throughout the region. The army of Ollitov came at last to the aid of Nerria and made a great slaughter of the men of Fahsro. Ehrmas, cornered and trapped, asked for the honor at least of facing the Monster himself. Thus came Natham to face the hero of Fahsro.

'I know not what hell you have been summoned from,' Ehrmas said to him, 'But return thence, if there be any power in Tel Arie that you yet fear.'

'Whether I come from hell or no, I know not, nor do I care. There is one thing for which I fight, one thing that your people have refused to give me.'

'What prize do you seek?'

'The freedom of the Blind-Maiden, Lyris of Marin, who your lord Olver has taken from her people without right.'

'My lord? Olver?' he began surprised, 'No such -' but at that moment an arrow struck his throat, the shooter of which was never discovered. Thus perished an honorable man so that the charade of Marin might be preserved.

Fahrso fell soon thereafter and all the land moaned under the heels of Marin's warriors and the ravages of the hirelings. No more had the army of Marin to fear from the people of Daevaron, and all that remained was for them to begin their assault upon the mighty city of Dadron itself.

[Chapter V:  
Return to Noras](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Remnant Prepares

More than a week passed ere Daryas stumbled at last into Ram-u-Nar, weary, thirsty and filthy. He could never thereafter recall what had passed in the days since he fled the Nunnery of Sten-Agoni, nor could he recount the reason his return was so delayed. What he ate, where he lay to sleep - if he slept at all - how he came to find his way back to the camp and many other details were shrouded in confusion. Those days were lost to him.

When he failed to return to their encampment, Dynamis sent out scouts to find him. Revere was able to trace his steps to the Nunnery, and so the men of Ram-u-Nar became aware of this ancient holy place of Agonistes. 'He entered,' Revere said, 'And he departed in great haste and with great force. But beyond this I cannot tell. I think he went west from the valley, perhaps into Heyan.'

When at last he returned and after he had eaten a large meal and drank a great deal of water, he told his brother alone all that had befallen him in the Nunnery. He spoke openly to all, however, regarding the peril that now faced the city of Dadron in which the faithful men and women of Noras now took refuge under the care of their kinsman Olver Galvahirne. 'The sons of the devil Agon mean to strike at the seat of their ancient foe, even against the god of Noras, Pelas the blessed, who in ages past lent his strength to our father Galvahir. To this end, I perceive, has the allegiance of Cheftan Ponteris been attained, to break the arm of Galvahir and to keep the mighty men of Noras from coming to that great city's aid when at last the men of Amlaman march to their war of vengeance. But hidden from their dark counsels is the Remnant of Galva in Ram-u-Nar, the hidden dagger of the Noras people. Let the men of Amlaman strike - and break - against the invulnerable walls of Dadron, and let this mighty dagger smite them in the flank, scattering their armies and dashing to pieces their bold ambitions and evil designs!'

This course of action was quickly agreed upon by all, and the preparations for war were begun. Blades were sharpened and arrows crafted. Shields were strengthened and helms were decorated with brilliant plumes of horse hair and feathers.

But all this preparation was deemed insufficient by Dynamis and those men of Noras most acquainted with war. Five thousand men, even of Galva, would certainly trouble the ranks of Amlaman, but they could not hope to have victory without help. Nor was it thought that Olver would long withstand his assailants bereft of all hope. It was therefore decided that a messenger should be sent to Dadron to assure Olver of the coming of the army of Galva and to gather from under the canopy of Noras whomever was yet faithful to Biron.

The Departure of Daryas

By lot, by election, and by volition alike, Daryas Galvahirne was chosen to carry the message of the Galva Remnant into the east. Dynamis, it was decided, must remain in Ram-u-Nar to lead the army to war and oversee the training of the warriors and all the other preparations. 'Take with you Novai,' he insisted, 'for she will bear you away from danger in an instant. She will also, to those who have eyes to see, bring hope to the hidden allies of our father.'

'I cannot take Novai, brother,' Daryas protested. 'I was a sorry guardian of her hitherto, and I would be ashamed to press her loyalty any further, though further I have no doubt it runs.'

'Nay, brother,' Dynamis said, patting the horse on the back, 'I will have less need of speed than you, and be in less peril. It would greatly comfort me to know that you were accompanied by Novai, she, compared to whom all other beasts may be accounted faithless.'

'This is a gift beyond anything you have hitherto given to me, brother,' Daryas said taking his brother's hand in farewell.

Revere also was sent with him, riding upon a black horse that had been purchased in Soleya. 'Guide and guard your master's son, Revere the Treacherous,' Dynamis warned him, 'Your debt to the house of Biron is far from repaid.'

'I figure,' Revere said soberly, 'that no deed of valor or faithfulness can ever blot away my betrayal. But I will not willingly add to my shame any further injury against the master of Peiraso.'

Dynamis looked fiercely into his eyes for a moment, as if by merely looking he could tell whether the scout spoke the truth or not. After a moment he nodded, and Revere almost believed he could, just by his glance, tell whether he would do as he was commanded. 'HIS look,' Revere thought within himself, 'I believe truly can make one truthful.'

On the twenty-third of Ornus these two departed under a clouded sky. Rain soon covered their tracks and they rode south and east, coming after several days to the valley of Eaduf, which winds around the foothills of Mount Coronan. They passed through this empty land and came at last, on the First day of Primus, to the Amla Gap, through which they passed into Falsis under the guise of furriers. By Revere's cunning they were able to avoid the eyes of the Amlamani guards altogether and had only to deal with the men of Daevaron in the east, who were, though troubled by the news of Marin's conquests, unworried about merchants and beggars from the west. They warned them of the dangers but gave their entry no objections.

From there they traveled first to Amdela, a city in which such travelers would find welcome. The rumor and excitement of war was thick in the air when they entered the famous Gapland Inn, where all those who traveled betwixt the lands of Amlaman and Falsis came to rest.

Built into the very mountain wall itself, the Gapland Inn combined the pragmatism of the Noras with the civility of Amlaman, as well as the mercantile spirit of the Daevaron. The Inn was four stories tall, almost a tower to anyone who has not seen the Magic City of Lapulia. The lowest level was occupied by a great number of shops and merchants, some who rented space by the day, and others who owned their own little corner of the Inn. The second floor housed the Dining Hall, which advertised its delicacies far and wide. The Inn was famous for its Red Ale, which was spiced with Kharku pepper. They did not have any of this ale when Daryas and Revere entered, however, for no merchants dared enter Falsis with the necessary spices while Marin's army controlled the docks.

The third and fourth floors of the Inn were reserved for guests, the highest rooms also fetching the highest prices. Though the common people of Falsis knew little of Amlaman, and though the Amlamani generally remained aloof from the east, where the legends of the elves were yet strong, the merchants went to and fro through the Amla Gap without much difficulty, and did most of their trading at the Gapland.

As they stabled their horses Daryas marveled at the paltry number of furs for sale. When he pointed this out to Rever, a shopkeeper answered him, shaking his head, 'Not much comes from Noras these days. Most of these furs come from the farmlands south of Dadron.'

'Not from Noras? But why?' Daryas asked, the concern obvious in his voice.

'We have heard,' Revere began, attempting to cover over Daryas' careless speech, 'that there is a blight on the deer in Noras. Is this so?' As he spoke he attempted to make himself sound as greedy as possible.

'A blighted lord is more like it,' the shopkeeper said with a sneer. The Oastermen are ruling things these days, the merchants say. And what furs they haven't taken for themselves, they tax so much that merchants don't bother to make the northern trip.'

Revere grinned and sold the man twelve furs for a good price. 'Come, Daryas, you must see the Gapland!'

'We are not here to celebrate a good deal,' he said when they had left the shopkeeper behind.

Revere looked at him and smiled, 'I have not forgotten our mission, Daryas. But if we wish to pass into Falsis and then into Noras as merchants, we must act the part. There are many eyes in Amla Gap - most of them out for easy gold, but some,' he paused and shook his head, changing his tone, 'Do you think the lords of Amlaman would not keep spies in Amla Gap? If we are merchants, and not spies ourselves, then we will not rush past the Gapland in the dark of night. To pass by the Red Ale of Gapland without a taste would be very suspicious indeed!'

Revere seemed to know the Inn pretty well, though the innkeeper, a large man named Arbon, called him Hastano. Revere introduced Daryas as Melis Gotvirne and ordered tall jugs of ale for them both, and some roast beef and bread. His disappointment upon learning that there was no Red Ale at the Gapland was visible on every inch of his face. Daryas politely refused his drink, saying, 'My dreams are troubled enough; I dare not despoil my waking mind of its clarity.' Water was poured for him instead. Revere sat in silence for a minute, then his face broke out in a grin.

'What is it?' Daryas asked.

'Nothing, pay it no mind,' he quickly answered. It had just occurred to him that of all the perils and trials facing Weldera, the shortage of Red Ale at the Gapland had most upset him. 'It surely is not the worst thing,' he thought to himself, 'but for a man with no kin or country...' They passed the rest of the evening in silence.

From a man of Daeva City in the Dining Hall they learned of the ravaging of the east and of that strange beast that marched amidst the ranks of the Marin army.

'No she-warrior is he!' the man, who was named Dasen, said as he held his mug aloft. 'The women of Marin are hardy enough, they say, but this one - this Monster, is as tough as an army by himself. They say he was found in the wilderness of Olgrost, beyond the Marin Fortress where the devils roam and rule.'

At this the room was filled with laughter and praise, laughter at what they believed to be exaggeration and praise at what they believed to be storytelling.

'Laugh away,' he said, waving his hands in front of him, 'But they say he has brought all of North Daevaron under Marin's heel. My own beloved Daeva City has been taken away from us. Even as we speak it is crawling with those burly women and those pathetic she-men they fill out their army with. My cousin saw him with his own eyes on the hill of Vaduas, just outside the city. "Dasen," he said to me, "We were marching down the northern side of the hill, cutting down the Marin soldiers like grass, when all of a sudden, this ghastly shape rises up before us. He looked like a tower," my cousin told me, "standing behind a shield the likes of which I've never seen. His spear was like a tree, but he wielded it with ease, skewering all those who dared to face him. Five horsemen came against him at once, but he killed two of them in one blow, cast two off their horses in another, and shattered the skull of the last rider's horse with a mighty punch with his knuckle. I figure," he said, "many more of our poor fighters met their ends this way. For my part, I knew it was time to run back and flee with wife and wealth ere the Marin army with its monstrous captain trampled the whole city to dust."'

Revere raised his glass and laughed, but Daryas was troubled. 'What doom do we march to?' he said soberly.

'To doom?' Revere laughed, his ale overtaking his melancholy. 'You needn't worry yourself young master Gotvirne, such monsters are born more often at the bottom of these mugs than in distant countries. But you are wise, and you forgo the poison of liquor; therefore you avoid such monsters. Rest assured, my friend, it is more likely the man has had too much to drink!'

Nonetheless Daryas was troubled. 'We must leave here at once,' he told his companion. 'We need to find out what is happening in the north. If the might of Marin is set against Dadron from the east we may leave behind us all hope of victory.'

Revere sighed, 'Very well, master Melis,' he said as he took one last draught from his mug. 'Off we go to chase our fates.'

The Curse of Evna

In that evening, even as they slept under the roof of the Gapland Inn, Daryas' dreams returned to torment him. But these were not the dark illusions that Pelas' servants had sent to him. These were like waking memories, overtaking him while he was yet awake. He would be thrown into fits of terror, his fingers clawing the ground and his feet stomping the floor.

The events of the night when first he beheld the Siren of Sten Agoni returned to his mind with fresh vigor, burning themselves as if anew upon his mind. 'Leonara!' he cried out, much to the surprise of Revere, who slept in another bed beside him.

At first Revere, believing these to be mere dreams, thought to mock him, but when he saw his open eyes and the look of terror and anguish therein, he thought better of it. He had learned early on that the younger son of Biron was made of softer matter than the elder. Dynamis was a terror to his enemies and a lord to his comrades. But Daryas, though his appearance was like unto the rest of the Galvahirne, had a more contemplative spirit. Though Dynamis had given him a position of command in the Galva Army, Daryas never commanded anyone to do anything if he could avoid it.

The result of these outbursts was that Daryas was forced to disclose to Revere the events of that fateful night in the valley of the Sacred Virgins - the contents of his nightmares. 'Every moment a doom seems to lie upon my breast, like a weight of iron, dragging me beneath crashing waves. Sleep with its nightmares is now my only release.'

'You call nightmares release, Biron's son,' Revere marveled. 'What then troubles you during the day?'

Daryas could not bring himself to say more.

To his great surprise, Revere found himself moved to pity - a sensation still somewhat strange to him. He said to himself, 'If only there were some way that I might lighten this man's burden.'

The next night Daryas had another dream, if it can be said that he had slept at all. To his eyes he looked at first upon the darkened room in which he lay. But all at once he heard the sound of the ocean and the darkness of the room melted away. He was on a boat, and the waves crashed against it, tossing it every which way. He took paddle in hand and set all of his will toward rowing to the shore. Before him loomed that island of which he dreamed upon the cold stones of Mount Coronis, when threat of death hung upon all the men of Galva.

Much to his delight, however, he found a harbor and brought his boat at last to rest upon the shore. But when he ascended the sandy shore and came to the top of a ridge he could see before him nothing but a dark and treacherous jungle. Poisonous serpents crawled about his feet, birds of prey the likes of which might pluck a man from the field like a rat, and dreadful beasts of hideous strength roamed about him and encircled him on every side. He cried out, and in answer a voice came, mocking him. 'Shadow!' it called him, and 'weakhearted', 'no man at all, a hopeless fool'. He turned and looked. There beside him was a woman with fire for hair and venom for words. So contorted was her face that he could scarcely discern whether she was human or not.

'Who are you?' he asked, trembling.

A voice said, 'I am she whom thou deservest not; even my ugliness is too great for thee.'

'Who ARE you!?' Daryas demanded in a broken voice.

'I am she to whom thou shalt ever be wed, for by Siren's song thou art enthralled and by Vanity the Siren is forever mine. I am Evna, and beside me all other gods and men are but shadow.'

Another voice called out at that moment, saying, 'Return to me, my love, and take me far from this place!' It was the voice of Leonara, sweet and refreshing.

But Evna warned, 'Show thy face upon my mountain unmarred, son of mud, shining as the sun of heaven, and I shall be to thee a goddess forever. But if thy smallest finger hides behind it any darkness, even the slightest hint of shade, then I will make thee a slave, like the shadows of every candle and every wisp of flame that dance upon the wall, ever jumping, leaping and writhing about in desperate flight, never escaping the fire to which they belong.'

His heart grew cold at that moment and he found from that day forth, that the darkness was more pleasing to him than the light. For the light always reminded him of the goddess' words. Late into the night he would always remain wakeful, enjoying the silence of the dark. And early in the morning he would awake, clinging to the last chill of night, almost hoping the sun would not rise to light upon his misery. But of these visions he spoke to no one. Howbeit, within him there now burned a deep resentment toward both his tormentor and his own person.

By River

The quickest path to Dadron was upon the waters of the Falsi River which tore through the land from the heights of Mount Coronan. 'To Belnan, then, we must go,' Revere told Biron's son, 'A place I know well, and in which I am well known. The men there will not trouble me if they recognize me; and they would recognize me in any disguise, so often have I passed through that city. You, however, must remain silent if at all possible. For the men of Belnan will know your manner of speech in an instant to be the tone and accent of a Galvahirne.'

They rode on through the frozen landscape, making their way ever north along hidden paths and ancient roads that only a skilled scout could navigate. Revere led them at last to the roaring waters of the Falsi River, just after its waters escape from the Belnan rapids and pour over the falls of Welda. Some fifteen leagues to the east the land at last flattened out and the rushing waters were calmed and flowed strongly but steadily into the lake of Nabu upon which many of the men in Belnan earned their living. There were many fishermen in that city, but the greater part of their wealth came from the traffic of goods being sent downstream to Dadron; mostly in furs, fruits and dried meat. 'We would do well to find a fur trader,' Revere suggested as they drew closer to the town of Belnan. 'Supposing the fool Ponteris still allows the Noras to hunt.'

'If it will keep the deer from gnawing the leaves and defiling the grounds of Galva-la and Oastir-la, then I have no doubt he will have redoubled the efforts of the winter huntsmen.'

'He has indeed,' they were told by an old Noras in the city, 'And they have killed so many that many hunters have been forced to abandon Noras altogether.'

In Belnan, the reports they heard at the Gapland Inn in Amdela of the troubles in Daevaron were confirmed, in some cases by the wounded and maimed victims of the war themselves. The 'Monster of Vestron' was now feared and reviled in Belnan, leaving no further doubt concerning its reality. 'I suppose there must be some fragment of truth belying all this panic,' Revere admitted reluctantly.

'And to this fragment we intend to go,' Daryas said.

'Let us hope the blood of the Galvahirne is as mighty as all the old song's declare.'

'The songs are sung of men long dead,' Daryas confessed. 'They were not penned for any man living, though perhaps they fit my brother well enough.'

Two great bridges of stone were built in Belnan in the ancient days, which led men to call the city 'Bridge-Town'. They were of elven design, but of Noras workmanship, resulting in a strange combination of beauty and strength. It is said that some of the stones were cut by Galvahir himself in the days of Noras' alliance with Falruvis, Lord of Elves. The lesser of these bridges was built on the north side of the city, spanning the Gavl River. The greater was built in the west, connecting the southern marches of Noras with the northwestern portion of Falsis, where the elves, in ancient times, kept most of their dwellings. Great highways ran out from Belnan northeast toward Solibree and beyond that to Daeva City and Celesh. To the south the road wound down to the Amla Gap and to the southern cities of the ancients, whose names are largely forgotten. To the east the road ran parallel with the Falsi River until it met the Libron River in Dadron.

But no passage to Dadron was to be found in Belnan. 'The army of Marin is encamped against the Fortress,' the men of city told them, 'And they are not permitting any to pass their lines unmolested.' This report was confirmed by the great number of people who had come to Belnan in those days fleeing the troubles of the east. 'Death, horror and hell,' were the words by which one traveler described the lands surrounding Dadron.

The keeper of the inn at which they lodged informed them, upon being pressed for news, that, 'Rauv is burning, Solibree is occupied, Lak is a heap, they say, and only Ehrmas of Fahsro withstands the devils now. But he is not a god; he too will fall in the end, as all will who face that wicked beast of Vestron.'

They asked him about the city of Dadron itself. To this he answered, 'The river banks, both north and south, are patrolled by the servants of Ollitov himself, who oversees the army from their encampment in the north. Only the birds of heaven can creep past their watchful eyes and their tall spears. Hounds and hunters patrol the wilds around Dadron on every side, preparing the way for the final siege of that city. Moreover, the gates are shut; and you know, if you know of Dadron at all, that when once the gates have been shut, they open not for any man, be he a king of the Ancients or a god of heaven.'

If the gates of Dadron are shut,' Revere told his companion, when at last they were left alone, 'then there is no use going any further east. We will find nothing but death outside the walls of the city. We cannot go to Dadron, What good can you be for your kinsmen in irons or in the grave?'

Daryas was reluctant to agree, but in the end, when they had fully digested all the reports of the east, he was forced to side with his companion. 'You are right, we must trust that my brother has sent Maru also to bring them tidings. The son of Biron, lesser though I be, would surely have brought them greater comfort than a scroll tied to an eagle's talon.'

'But again, Daryas,' Revere said, 'you are no use to anybody in the grave. Let us deal with what is possible, then, and not distract ourselves with that which cannot be accomplished.'

'Very well,' Daryas said, 'then let us turn our gaze toward the forest.'

They sold what furs they yet possessed and, at great cost, purchased dried fruit, ale and vinegar. 'Such things are not scarce in Noras,' Daryas said, 'but if anything is bound to make our coming suspicious it would be coming to Noras to sell fur.'

The Rule of Noras

Lady Linae, the mother of the one called Hassan Oastirne, was the only child of Cheftan Yuris Lavrilirne, the heir of the Hero Lavril, who fought and bled at the side of his comrade Galvahir in the dark days of Noras. No other man could lay claim to this heritage, and at his death the rule of Lavri-la, the largest and richest portion of Noras, was destined to pass into the hands of lesser men, only distantly related to that great lord. The sniveling Cheft Burrin had the greatest claim upon the lordship over Lavri-la, and lost no time usurping this power the moment it was known that Cheftan Yuris had taken ill.

His claim seemed all the more sure due to the fact that the only child of Yuris was a daughter, and furthermore by the fact that she had only recently returned to Noras, abandoned by her 'pirate' husband and left with a half-breed child, a 'goldenhead' as such people were called in those days. Without some nobleman to wed, she was considered under a curse of sorts, as was the belief in Noras in those days. Seeing this opportunity, and indeed, finding the Lady of Lavri-la quite beautiful, Cheft Ponteris found it in his heart to marry her despite all the curses of Noras tradition. He was a lesser Cheftan of Oastir-la, wealthy, but of a lesser lineage than some of the other Cheftans of that region, though a true descendent of the Hero Oastir he was indeed.

In the month of Solest, when the sun rises to the highest heavens, he held a great feast, sacrificing many hundreds of goats, lambs, and fawns upon the stone altar of Pelas in southern Galva-la. By this deed, and by the gracious giving away of a great deal of wealth, he was able to hush the gossip of the ladies, appease the sensibilities of the Cheftans, and satisfy the demands of the clerics, thereby legitimizing his marriage to a (by all accounts) married, though abandoned, woman. He gave her son, in that day, the name 'Oastirne', thereby making him the heir of his house in Oastir-la. The name Lavri-la was also given to him in that day, though it was never spoken of openly while Cheft Burrin yet lived, lest a conflict arise between his own children and the grandson of Yuris. But it was ever in Ponteris' mind to someday assert the dual lineage of his heir, to garner for himself greater rule over the people of Noras.

This aim was to a large extent realized in the days following the taking of Peiraso. Burrin and his house were so timid and thin-spined that they could offer no challenge to Cheft Ponteris' actions, nor did Cheft Burrin challenge the legitimacy of Sion's claim upon the rule of Lavri-la. When at last Peiraso fell into Ponteris' hands, Burrin sent messengers practically ceding his own authority to the Cheftan's son prematurely. Thus Sion was known among the Noras from that day as Hassan Lavrilirne, a name he had long borne, but rarely spoken. He was given the dominion of that whole region, though his authority was subject to the dictates of his step-father who now ruled all from Peiraso, as though he himself were the heir of Galvahir as well as of Oastir.

The daughter of Cheft Grendas, whom Sion loved so deeply, was given to him, uniting the power and dominion of Lavri-la and Dae-la in the north. Thus Ponteris had taken dominion of Galva-la by force, Shaf-la by treaty, Lavri-la by marriage, Oastir-la by blood and Dae-la by his son. The only regions in which his rule was not fully recognized was in the faithful land of Cossa-la from whence Cheft Rahm had marched forth, in the southwestern lands of Megd-la and Coran-la where peasants lived in the shadow of Coronan, and the 'Root of Noras' Vivlir-la in the south. But as they were scattered and bereft of their bravest warriors, these lands offered him no resistance, though they offered him even less aid. Though he wore no crown, Cheft Ponteris ruled over Noras as a king, taxing and taking what he wished, legislating and dictating his will as lord of all Noras. Even those Cheftans who had supported his vile treachery had no power to affect the rule of Noras; Cheft Horan returned in shame and powerlessness to Lavri-la, his support of Ponteris and betrayal of Biron Galvahirne being repaid, not with wealth or power, but with subjugation under the new and rightful ruler of Lavril's land. Cheft Gornas returned to Dae-la only to find that the ears of the people were turned toward Lavri-la in obedience, and no longer attended to the commands of their Dae-la masters.

This is the state of Noras as it was when Daryas entered the forest of his birth just over two years after his first departure.

Through Lavri-la

After leaving Belnan, Daryas and Revere left the road behind and entered Noras through Lavri-la. They intended to make their way quietly through this land and so come to Vivlir-la, where they believed they could find some still faithful to the Galvahirne. But as they entered the forest, they were waylaid by golden-haired men of Daevaron who called themselves servants of the lord of Lavriland. 'What is your business in this place?' the mercenaries demanded.

'We are merchants,' Revere said confidently, 'we have come to purchase furs from the Noras, for we know well that they are hunters of incomparable ability. We are told that in Galvaland we might find, if fortune smiles upon us, the fur of the white deer, which lives only in that place.'

'None can pass through this land without the leave of the Lord of Lavriland,' the man insisted. 'There are strange things afoot in the east, from whence you came, and we cannot allow just anyone to pass through these woods. Show him some token or some argument, and perhaps your petition will be granted you.'

'Then we wish to be brought to Cheft Burrin at once,' Revere said confidently, though Daryas was reluctant. Revere looked at him with a reassuring look, as if to say, 'I am clever enough to get us out of this peril.'

But much to the shock and dismay of both men the guard laughed and said, 'Cheft Burrin? He has no authority in this land, not beyond his own estate at least. It is to Cheftan Hassan Lavrilirne that you must be brought.'

Daryas' heart sunk, and Revere shook his head nervously. Revere was of half a mind to turn and ride away that moment, forsaking Lavri-la altogether and coming into Noras from another path. But Daryas spoke, saying, 'If Hassan has indeed become lord of Lavri-la in our absence, then you must bring us before him at once!'

Surprised by the speech of the young Galvahirne, the men backed away, putting their hands to their sword-hilts as though they had been threatened by more than the sound of Daryas' voice. When they had regained their wits they led the two into the village and gave them a small log house in which to rest. 'In the morning,' they said, 'we will bring you before the Cheftan. It is too late to make the journey tonight.'

When the door had been locked behind them the two exiles spoke in whispers by candlelight. 'What was the meaning of such a demand!' Revere said angrily. 'We might have deceived Burrin, who has never seen my face, and has not, since the days of your childhood at least, seen yours. But this man was among us upon the mountain! We know not what he might do!'

'Sion is a friend, such as one can only hope to find among men once in his life; faithful, brave, thoughtful and wise. I will not speak ill of him ere I have even seen his face, nor will I take one step further into Noras until I have gone to discover the truth of this strange circumstance. You can depart if you wish, but I must see to this matter if ever I am to have peace again.'

'Great risk is involved in so doing,' Revere insisted, 'It would be better if we left this place the moment they open the doors, coming into Noras through Vivlir-la or even Coran-la.'

'I will do not such thing,' Daryas said, 'We were sent to see if there are any in Noras that are yet faithful to the Galva army - what better place to look for a friend of the Galva than in one who marched along with them, and who bled red blood for their sake?'

'You must do what you will,' Revere said, 'and for the sake of your father so must I.'

The next morning the locks were removed from the house and the men were given some water to drink. They ate dried meat from their own bundles. The old estate of Cheftan Yuris was surrounded by many orchards on the west and great farmlands in the east. To the north the land rose up to a ridge, upon which a great guard tower was built in the old days. From that tower the lands between Lavri-la and the river Elvri could be seen, though much was shrouded by the trees. Under the shadow of that tower was a great house built with stone and logs. The golden-heads brought the two travelers through the great wooden doors and into a great hall, at the end of which sat a man and a woman. Before them was the remains of their breakfast, a little ham, some boiled eggs and half of a large loaf of bread. When these things were cleared away the woman departed and went into another chamber. When the room was swept and cleaned, the travelers were at last brought before the Cheftan.

Daryas scarcely recognized his old friend. 'Sion?' he said as he bowed before him as was customary among the Cheftans when they were in the homes of fellow noblemen. Sion looked closely at him and squinted his eyes, 'Daryas, the Dreamer?' he said, surprised to see him as well. A great smile came across his face, 'You are indeed welcome here!' he said, looking at the guards with an expectant look. The guards took their cue and departed. 'What business brings you back to such a dark land in such a treacherous time, son of Biron?'

'I have come for that which has always been our concern, the defense of our homeland.'

'Has it not yet occurred to you, Daryas, that perhaps the homeland needs no further defense?'

'What do you mean?'

'Is it not apparent to you already,' Sion said with a laugh, 'that Noras is at peace with itself and with the world?'

Daryas looked at him with confusion. 'What has happened to you, Sion, in the days since we marched together to the sound of Rahm's blaring horns?'

Sion Lavrilirne

'Even as your brother slew the Conjuror upon the heights of mount Coronan, I slipped away from the army, making my way by stealth back to the encampment at Megd-u-Coran. There I found Cheft Lonos, rummaging through the tent of Cheft Rahm. When he had gone I went in as well. There I found, to my horror, that Ander, Rahm's nephew, had been slain. A short-sword was thrust in his belly, callously driven there by the traitorous Cheftan, who had not even the decency to kill him swiftly. The great oak chest which Rahm had brought with him was cut open with an axe and its many great treasures were cast aside. I imagine it was for some specific token that Lonos sought.

Angered by all this I left the tent and followed hard upon the trail of that devil. I easily overtook him and shot an arrow through his leg, dropping him from his horse. An answer I demanded of him, but he only said that I must speak to Cheftan Oastirne, to whom he answers. Not satisfied, I cut his throat and darkened the muddy snow with his red blood. Upon his body I found a ring upon which was engraved two battle-axes crossed one with the other, which is the emblem of Cossa-la. I am sure he meant to prove, by this ring, that Cheftan Rahm had met his doom. Also I found in his pocket a small phial of some sort of bitter poison, half-filled.

'Leaving his foul corpse to rot, I followed the path of the army until it brought me back to Noras; I don't know how many days and nights passed, nor can I recall what I ate and where I slept. I killed a deer one night, that much I remember. But everything else was blur and my thoughts were ever upon the face of Ponteris, whom I intended to confront.

I came at last to Belnan and from thence to South Lake. There I went east and came at last to the estate of Cheft Ponteris, whose blood I had begun to thirst after. But he was not there, he was in Galva-la, I was told, in the estate of Cheft Biron.

When at last I arrived in Peiraso I found that he had bound your own father in a dungeon back in Oastir-la, and that he now, with the help of Cheft Horan and Gornas, had overthrown the Galvahirne.

'Devil,' I said, when at last I was brought before him, 'Tell me quickly, dear 'father', why I oughtn't slay you this instant.'

At this Ponteris just laughed, saying, 'Why 'oughtn't' you?' He laughed again. 'I can give you several reasons,' he roared. 'But I imagine this will be the only one that will persuade you.'

With those words he summoned many guards to his side. 'Try me, now, my 'son', and see if you cannot find a reason to stay your hand.'

I hesitated, knowing that my life was bound to my next move. He laughed more, and my anger grew, but I could see that I could not destroy him without losing my own life. 'Your life is not worth it,' I said weakly.

He then began to speak boldly, making a spectacle of himself before all his servants. He said, 'You demand an 'ought' of me, Hassan Titalirne, golden-head, son of a pirate. In this you sound like a cleric's son and not the grandson of a Cheftan. 'Oughts' and 'shoulds' are words for the priests - when they lead the people to worship. They are not words for the world, my dear son. The world does not deal in oughts, and neither shall I,' Ponteris laughed. 'I have been told that I oughtn't have ended the overlordship of the house of Galvahir. I have also heard many voices in the dark saying that I ought to have done so many years ago, and ought to do still more! But none of these 'oughts' are of any importance, are they son? I deal only in 'is' and 'was', and if the gods grant it to me, in 'will be's'.'

'You are a madman,' I accused. But he went on undaunted by my words.

'Is it not true,' he demanded,' that I HAVE broken the arm of Galvahir at last?'

'It would seem to be so,' I said, telling him nothing of the victory of Dynamis on Coronan.

'And is it not also true that I am Cheftan Oastirne as well? Master of the house of Oastir? Do not the Cheftans of Shaf-la, Dae-la and Lavri-la stand beside me?' At this he pointed out Cheft Gornas, Cheft Grendas, Cheft Hassa and Cheft Horan who supported him. They looked away, however, as I looked at them, as though they might hide themselves from guilt. After thus pointing them out the Cheft continued with his doctrine. 'You see, my son? You can be, what you oughtn't be and do what you shouldn't do without even a hint of contradiction. The 'oughts' and 'shoulds' of the clerics do not so much as touch upon the truth. The truth is, after all, what is, and all the oughts in the world will never add up to it. Be that as it may,' he continued, 'I have a few 'oughts' and 'ought not's for you, my dear son.'

'What madness would you speak now?' I asked, frustrated.

'I say you 'ought' to lay down your sword, Hassan, if you want to live. If you want to retain your freedom, you 'ought' to bend the knee and pay your father the honor he demands. I say you 'ought' to relent from your wrath, if you do not wish to see the blood most precious to you spilt this very hour.'

At those words I was greatly troubled, seeing something hidden behind his laughter. 'Spill my blood if you will,' I demanded, 'the sooner my eyes are relieved of the burden of your ugliness the better!'

'I spoke not of your blood,' he said with a laugh. 'The forest has ears it seems, and what is done in secret is carried on the wind to those who have the cunning to discover it. I have under my power, the life of she whose attention you have long sought, and never found.'

At those words I shuddered, but said nothing.

'The fair daughter of Cheft Grendas, who you have for so long failed to win; I have it in my power to give her away to whatever man I please.'

I then looked around the room for the girl's father, and saw him; he was sitting in a corner of the room with a mug of ale in his hand, looking as powerless as he was. I know not by what means my step-father had brought him to such a state, but it was clear that he was more filled with wine and despair than with honor.

'You are a devil indeed,' I said, to which he replied with a thunderous laughter.

'Ought I to be otherwise, my son? Why should I give up all that I have gained? You sound like one of those hobbling old clerics, teaching men to act for 'Virtue's sake' But why should I be virtuous? Answer that question, and you will have done what no sage or priest has ever accomplished, my son.'

'What of the gods?' I asked him. 'Do you have no fear of hellfire?'

'You know nothing of the gods,' Ponteris snapped, 'how then can you pretend to know their will? Besides, to consider their wrath and their pleasure, as the fool Biron does, is the basest sort of virtue. Biron tells me, and the priests of Pelas taught him this, that the righteous man may lay down his life for the sake of a wealth that does not see decay; he may lay up riches in the astral kingdoms, where no risk or loss can assail them. What drivel! What vain mercenary virtue is this! To cast away your own good on earth for the sake of a good to come! Such a virtuous one is the most cunning businessman; selling his soul for the highest bidder, heavenly or not. Biron and his like, though pious they may seem, are nothing more than self-righteous sell-swords. Mercenary virtue I call it! I will play no games with such stupidity. What I want lies here within my grasp, and the gods have given me no such guarantee that I will see better if I act better. No, my son, no such unholy truths bind my will.'

I sat stunned and silent, unable to say anything in answer to his tirade. He paused for a moment and then continued, 'Who is virtuous? What is it to be good? Who decides what good is worth seeking? Every 'ought' of the priests and every 'should' of Biron and his Mercenaries has such a good in mind, of that there can be no mistake. But what is good? Answer that, my son, and you will be greater than all the prophets and seers.'

'Do you not know?' he continued, 'that every creature has some goal for which they strive? Survival, love, lust, family, power, wealth, wisdom, sympathy all of these serve as motives and bind man with duties. He who would survive must lay up stores against the winter; he who desires power must learn to risk and to fight boldly; and he who would acquire knowledge must set the shovel aside and take up the scroll. Each man's will directs and guides them as their nature dictates. Men are numerous, and so are their purposes. We each have our part to play, whether lofty or little, and each of us will seek our own.'

'Always you have sought your own,' I said.

'You say that as if I should seek the good of another instead,' Ponteris said with a grin. He made a motion with his hand to get the attention of all the scoffers and grovelers that take bread from his hand each day. 'There once was a mother who had a son whom she loved very much. But one day a villain came and threatened to kill the boy. He held the boy in his right hand with a blade drawn in the other. "Answer me, woman," he said, "Who is of greater value? The boy, or this hog?" It so happened, of course, that he had a hog beside him.' The people of the court, who had overmuch to drink, were delighted by his story, and laughed whenever it seemed the Cheftan desired them to laugh. 'Now the woman said without delay or doubt, "Spare my son, for he is worth more than any number of hogs!" Next the man turned to the hog's mother, for it so happened that the hogs mother was present as well, and he said, "Tell me Sow, which of these two are of greater value?" To this the Sow, as might be expected, said, "Kill the boy, for my son is worth any number of these wool-coated apes!"' At those words the men and women of the court fell into a roar of laughter, almost uncontrollable. 'The villain was forced to ask himself the question, "Which of these is correct? For the woman says it is her own son that is of greater value than the hog, but the Sow says just the opposite. Who should I believe, but she whose opinion is of greater value?" The man set the boy down and walked away in great confusion.'

Amidst the laughter I could do nothing but wait. At last, when the raucous had died away, he continued, saying, 'Every mother has her son, and every mother's son is worth more than the next, to their own mother at least - even to the mother of a pig. But now you must make your own choice, my son, and I will lay it out very clearly for you. Will you fight against me, hateful though I am to you, for the sake of the bumbling Biron whose kin has so long enthralled the rest of Noras, taking for the Galvahirne the lion's share of honor and wealth? Or will you take that which you have always longed for and put your hatred aside. I have it within my grasp to grant to you the hand of the fair Ingra, daughter of Cheft Grendas. But as you may well imagine I will do no such thing with your sword outstretched against me, nor will my dead body have any power to attain for you this great prize once you have had your revenge. I speak to you plainly, Hassan, more plainly than any man ever did speak. You ought to take the hand of the one you love so deeply, and you oughtn't let the sophistries of the clerics and the Mercenary virtue of the Galvahirne stand in your way. Take what you want, and don't ever look back.'

With those words I spat upon the ground at his feet. But he was not finished with his sins.

In that moment he brought the girl out from another room and she was dressed in a gown of blue, such as the Noras are too practical to design. Her dark hair fell down upon her cheeks in great curls and a jewel was set upon her head. 'I will make your choice all the easier, Hassan, for I will grant you the power of your sympathies.' He gave a sign, and one of his hired men grabbed the girl by the hair and forced her onto the floor. He drew a knife from his pocket and held it to the girl's back. 'Swear to me loyalty, and you will have all. If you take so much as a step in my direction again, so long as you live, I will kill this girl.'

Cheft Grendas began to make some small gurgle in complaint, but in the end he did nothing to interfere. I looked about the room, and saw all the faces of the rulers of Noras. Pathetic men; all of them crooked cowards. It came into my mind, that such is the way with men of influence. I remember well what it was like to be a child, to always have someone larger than you slapping your wrist for this or swatting your leg for that. But when there are few or none larger than you, what is to keep your hand from going where it wants - and getting into trouble too. I thought all of these old men needed more than a good swatting.

In that moment it came into my heart, Daryas, that I cared not at all whether the Galvahirne ruled or fell. I cared not for the Oastirne, the Vivlirne, the Megdlirne or any other -irne of Noras. None of these held any power over me, and for none of these was I willing to surrender all.'

Daryas stood as still as a statue for a long while, not sure what to make of his old friend's strange words. Revere backed away nervously, fearing this was all simply a dramatic prelude to their destruction. 'So with long lashes and darkened curls the betrayer of my father has purchased you? Will you slay us as well? What then might be your reward?'

'He did not purchase me,' Sion said in defense, 'I purchased my own life; and saved the woman I love.'

'But how can you turn your eyes away from my father, who has been naught but good to Noras as well as to yourself? How can you serve his enemy?'

'You say "serve", Daryas, and in saying so you speak rashly. I am not your enemy, nor am I the enemy of your father. I did not betray you and your brother to the Cheftan of Oastir-la. How could I watch the one I love perish under Ponteris' cruel hand, before her drunken weakling of a father?'

'If you are not opposed to me, then you will not hinder our purposes,' Daryas said.

'That depends upon the nature of those purposes.'

'I will tell you plainly, then, that we come for the head of Ponteris; we will see the rule of the Galvahirne return to the sons of Galvahir. We have come to raise up an army, that the designs of our enemies will be thwarted.'

'I am not opposed to this, Daryas,' Sion said, 'But neither can I aid you. I will no longer fight for what I do not believe in. There was a time when you and I marched together out of duty. But all duty is dead to me, save the fair Ingra, daughter of Cheft Grendas. Seek your army. I am not your enemy; but do not seek help in Lavri-la, for the men of this country are no friends of Biron.'

'Indeed not,' Daryas said angrily. 'Then you give us leave to depart into the forest of Noras?'

'I do not give you leave, but neither do I forbid it. Ponteris believes that you are charred bones atop Coronan; how then could I give you leave?'

'It would be better if he knew that we yet lived,' Daryas said.

'But I cannot tell him that now,' Sion said. Then he laughed, 'And seeing how you are within his reach, it would do you no good for me to let him know now. If he had thought the sons of Biron were alive he would have made sure to have his dogs trained to smell Galvahirne.'

'You should not have fled the mountain, Sion,' Daryas said. 'We will need your bow and your sword ere the end.'

'My bow and sword cannot help you now, Daryas. I must content myself to live a life of my own making, rather than fight for men for whom I care nothing. I will not, for the sake of yet another Cheftan, endanger the fair daughter of Grendas.'

'You must do as you choose,' Daryas said, near tears.

Thus Daryas and Revere left the halls of the Cheftan of Lavri-la troubled and downcast, but unimpeded. The guards stared at them in wonder, not daring to waylay them.

[Chapter VI:  
The Hidden People](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Solsis

My people live in the land of Solsis, which lies far to the south of Falsis. Falruvis built his impenetrable fortress in the north of Weldera, in a region in which many mortal kindreds already dwelt. But Solruvis, his brother, built his indiscoverable refuge in the misty valleys of the southern land. Solsis, to us, is as any other land. But to those who dwell without, the southern kingdom of the Argent elves is shrouded in myth and legend.

It is an unusual land at the very least. The great Deragi mountains in the south send torrents of water through the whole country, culminating in the mighty Fulani River, which is known in the northern kingdom simply as the Solsi River, as if to compare it to the Falsi in the north. But the Fulani at its widest is like an ocean in movement, tearing through the valleys of our land like a raging beast, continually breaking down and reshaping the central area of Solsis. The entire land of Solsis is locked in by mountains. In the north there are the Falsigi Mountains, which the northerners call the Solsist Mountains, evidencing the ancient kinship of these two lands. In the west the land is guarded by the Cuergi, which are really only the southern leg of the Coronan or Daunrys mountains. Sweeping from the northeast down to the south, connecting at last with the Deragi Mountain range is the Kolgi Range, which, though smaller than the others, offers complete protection from the sea. There are no mariners in Solsis, save for those who dare to ride the treacherous flow of the Fulani.

Solruvis perhaps saw the future more clearly than his brother in the north, seeing the hope of the elves in secrecy rather than in open might. Where Falruvis raised up the mighty walls of Dadron, Solruvis found for himself even greater walls, the impenetrable mountains of Coergi, Deragi, Falsigi and Kolgi. Each of these mountain ranges were thought of as the work of their respective gods and goddesses, the north and south a pair, the latter feminine and the former masculine, and the east and west likewise, the former being the god and the latter the goddess. Such was the mythology the elves devised for the sake of the wild men who lived in the valleys and hills of southern Weldera. Even in this quiet and mysterious land the elves found it necessary to dazzle their vassals with fabulous tales of the gods and goddesses, the sun and moon, the stars and the rocks and trees themselves.

My people have lived in the hidden valleys of Solsis from time immemorial. Our antiquity and our asceticism have long held our little society together, serving as a buffer against the conventions of the Omnion, as we call the rest of the men and elves of this world. Whatever has come to pass in all these long years, the consistency of our traditions has kept us for the most part unaltered.

The chief cities and dwellings of the elves were always in the north, on the western side of Fulani, where they could more easily commerce with their northern kin. In the height of their power, however, they had many farms, mines and villages in the east as well. These are all emptied now or occupied by half-elves or mortal men. The elves themselves have all but vanished. They have not perished; as I said before, they found in this great land a place where they might hide when the world turned dark. When the hatred of Czylost bound together the great kingdoms of men and set fire to the cities of the elves, Solran, the grandson of Solruvis, and many others of his people simply vanished into the mountains. Those who would not forsake their brethren marched over the perilous mountains and came to Dadron, there hoping to rescue their kinsmen from the conflagration that had already destroyed the city of Dalta in the east. I refer here to the aforementioned Race Wars, when Marin marched with Czylost of Lapulia against the elven world, utterly exterminating them in the east, and decimating them in the west. There in Dadron, it is said, Solruvis and his sons met their dooms, though none who marched in that army ever returned to Solsis to tell such a tale.

The elves who remained behind took refuge in the hidden places that Solruvis had prepared for that very hour. There they remain to this day, though there are some who believe that they too have perished from the earth. There are a few daring men in recent years who have suggested that they never really existed in the first place. But most commonly it is thought that they were all slain by goblins. There are, after all, a great number of these wild men still living in the mountainous areas of Solsis, particularly here in the north, where the cooler air is easier on their thick skins. The elves and goblins were ever at war in Solsis, at least, as far as the elves were concerned. I doubt very much that the goblins have so much as a notion of war. They fight, they kill, they steal, but they do not wage war, which is simply the structuring of these things according to a rational principle.

Though we have for so many ages lived in the shadow of these mountains, and within twenty leagues of one of the greatest goblin settlements, we have had very little trouble with them. We leave them to their hunting grounds and when their prey is depleted, or when their food for whatever reason grows scarce, we send what excess we have to them. We understand that the wars and quarrels with these creatures are more often born of hunger than of hate. Our kindnesses have, in a sense, tamed the brutes; something which, as far as I know, no other people has accomplished. We keep among us none of those useless stones and metals that men generally consider to be precious. We use no gold, and our tools are mostly of stone and wood or of common metals like iron or copper. The goblins, much like human beings, are drawn to beautiful things like flies to honey. We therefore keep our women modest, our treasures practical and our excess liberal.

Some of our neighbors insist that they oughtn't be forced to cover their women for the sake of monsters, and that they oughtn't be forced to use stone tools and wooden dishes because the goblins are thieves. They also believe that their excess belongs to them by right and they oughtn't be forced to part with it for hungry devils who have not the sense to till their own land for it. Therefore, our neighbors have war with these creatures without cease. Many of the nobler goblins, if I may be permitted to use such terms, have been exterminated by the Omnion. In turn, many of the Omnion have been slain and driven from these mountains entirely by the viler breeds. The careless manner in which the Omnion waged war against these creatures had this effect only; that the hardiest and strongest goblins survived, in turn producing hardier and ever stronger offspring. The result of all this is that some of the most powerful Hobgoblins in all the world now rule and reign in the emptied human cities that are scattered across the foothills of the Falsigi Mountains.

But they trouble us not. Indeed, we now find ourselves surrounded on all sides by the most hardy sentinels; Hobgoblins that know that they can count upon us to see to their needs in desperate hours, and who see nothing in our humble society worth plundering.

This land of ours is called by the Omnion, 'Brud-den', which, of course, simply means Kingdom of the Goblins. We, however, call our little encampment Thed-den, which signifies the Kingdom of the Eternal One. I say 'encampment' because our cities are little more than that to us. They are built upon foundations of stone with strong wood, fastened with tar and with nails, but they house only our flesh; our souls we expect will find a home someday perhaps among the stars or else wherever the Eternal sees fit to place us. But all of this is yet clouded in mystery, even to us.

Our little society, we believe, will be preserved until the world's ending. But that doesn't mean that each individual will. Death reigns over us even as it reigns over all other mortal men. Folly also has his part to play among us, for not every man of Thed-dun has always kept our laws.

Some have gone away alone to mingle their destinies with the Omnion, leaving behind their heritage altogether. Others have led away multitudes of our young people to go and fight for land and possessions in the outside world. Some of the greatest and cruelest lords of Solsis have been, it must be confessed, from our own race. We readily acknowledge the kinship of blood with such men, but we must disavow all kinship of spirit, for it is not permitted for us to march to war. By partaking in the world of the Omnion they become Omnion, and in so becoming they cease to be Nihlion, which is the name we give to those who maintain the traditions of our ancestors.

Such a sundering is more grevious to us than death, for it has long been believed among us that the great hope of Tel Arie is preserved within our traditions. We give great consideration not only to the lives that we live, but to matters hidden from men's eyes. In other words: the grave and what lies, if anything lies, beyond it.

My Journey

My own journey began on the second day of Frohest when we buried the elder of our village, Radathed, who had for nearly sixty years been our guide and teacher. When I was a child, my friend Ghenu and I were sent to this man to be taught the ways and laws of the Nihlion. There we sat long at the feet of this wise man, taking in every word and every turn of expression. When our lessons had finished we would often walk along the wooded lanes of our country and talk of the things which we had been taught. But a shadow passed between us, the source of which I have never fully comprehended. I learned, even as I yet grieved for the death of our elder, that my friend Ghenu had departed from our village, leaving behind the name Nihlion and, in fact, cursing the name of the Eternal, whom we are all taught to hold in reverence.

Greatly troubled and surprised by this I resolved to discover the cause of his departure and to see if I might not persuade him to return to our village, wherein we believe the destiny of the whole world to lay hidden.

There is a large plain just south of our village where we bury our dead. It is a rather beautiful place; the sort of place wherein we felt a soul would be content to spend its twilight. There were at least a thousand different wildflowers that bloom in the fields, making the landscape look bright and alive in every season except winter. It was watered by some small streams that flowed down from the Solsis Mountains, in the arms of which our village was nestled.

The children in our village had many legends about this somber plain. They would exchange songs and stories about spirits of the dead walking the grassy fields by moonlight and about the angry spirits of children who had perished at too young an age. In my youth, I too told my fair share of tales about the Spirit-Field, some of these were so untrue that I am almost ashamed of myself. But it is the prerogative of children to dance across the line that divides reality and imagination - and perhaps they are more wise in so doing than their unhappy guardians.

I only visited this field twice during my youth. Once to bury our family's patriarch, Koshathed, who had long guided and guarded us. The other visit was many years later when a young child in our village died from an unknown illness. I still remember the way the graves were laid out one next to the other; fathers next to sons, mothers next to husbands. As far as the eye could see there were stone markers set in rows according to each family's peculiar traditions. We could trace the history of our own family by following the graves south toward the River Setnan.

On my first visit I tried to follow my cousins to the southernmost edge of the field, just before the ground began to slope down toward the riverbed. But my small feet were too slow and I was forced to remain behind with my sisters while my cousins went on to discover our family's ancient heritage without me.

My second visit to the Spirit-Field was a bit different. I was much older, so I was able to participate in the solemn ceremonies of the dead. When these were finished I decided to make the journey to the field's end and see the beginnings of my family's story.

It took several hours on foot to reach the place where my first ancestors were laid to rest. Since it was sacred ground, no horse or cart was permitted to trample the grass. There was a large boulder at the edge of the field and a surprisingly steep ledge behind it, beyond which was the rushing waters of the Setnan, gorged with the waters of many mountain streams. This was the beginning of the land of the Omnion and the end of our territory. Just north of this boulder was a much smaller stone that bore some faint sign of having at one time been carved by human hands. On this stone was written the name, 'Yann'.

The letters themselves had been carved sometime in the last hundred years to replace the more ancient characters that had long since eroded and vanished. It occurred to me that it might very well be my own son, or perhaps my grandson, who will one day carve this ancient name once again on this weather-worn monument when time has again had its way.

I walked the ancient path of my family and saw each link in the ongoing chain of life and death. Each son was laid to rest several yards to the north of his father with their wives at their sides. But as I gazed at this ancient stone I could not help but think about that river behind it and the southern lands beyond the mountain from which he had journeyed. Yann was a man, and he too had a father. The chain of life that connects me to him does not simply stop at him because he is our first ancestor with a name. It is a chain that extends to the very foundations of mankind.

With such a legacy behind me I was firmly convinced that when I reached adulthood I would live off the fat of the land as my fathers had before me. I would take a wife and raise a family in the peace and harmony that our village had enjoyed for so many ages. The causes that had brought me to live in this country were stretched out for miles across the Spirit-Field, buried under earth and stone. But into this chain from time to time appears, as if from nowhere, a new cause, altering the future in such a way that no amount of prudence could foresee it. My companion's departure was the beginning of that course of events that led me away from my home and into the chaos of the northern world.

From our most ancient days it had been common for rash young men to depart from us, finding our ways to be quaint or uncomfortable. Some went out to seek their own fates in the lands of the Omnion. A few of these returned, but most of them vanished from our knowledge forever. But that my dear friend would so depart, and depart in such haste, I could not have predicted, not were I one of the Star-Seers, whom the men of Lapulia believe to be infallible.

I came at last upon my dear friend, when I had crossed the Setnan River, having now gone further from my home than ever I had before traveled. 'Ghenu!' I called to him as I drew near to him.

'Do not waylay me, friend,' he said without turning. 'You have come far, but I must go farther, and I have no desire to turn back.'

'Farther you have gone, you say?' I said as I hurried along the road, hoping to come up alongside him. 'Farther from what? You have indeed come farther from Stelna than you have hitherto, but whether you are closer to your destination than I, is more than either of us can say. Except that I have at last come to mine, for I have left our village behind to come to your side.' At that moment I finally overtook him and such was my haste that I passed him along the path he tread.

Quickening his pace he replied with a laugh, 'Then my goal must be loftier than yours.'

'Where will you go?' I asked when we were at last walking in step.

'Who knows?' he said quietly, 'Perhaps I will go only to die in the wild.'

'Then why go at all? I cannot imagine you would leave behind all you have known for nothing.'

To this my friend said nothing.

'To die in the wild? But what of your spirit, which the ancient ones say ascends to the judgment of the Eternal at the moment of death?'

'I do not fear death, for it is nothing to me.'

'Then it is true. You have indeed forsaken the ways of the Nihlion.'

'I do not know what ways I follow these days.'

'What is it, then, my friend, that I have not seen that you have. For the ways of the Nihlion are hard, and our hope lies beyond the shadow of the grave where no man can see or comprehend. If you have found a better way, then I would have you tell me.'

'I have no better way,' he answered.

'Then you must have discovered some truth, some ancient fact or secret that reveals our great hope to be a sad and vain fantasy. Tell me, my friend, what it is that you have found. For I am a man of little virtue according to the laws of our people, and it would lighten my load to know that the ways of the Eternal One are false.'

'I have not,' he answered quietly, 'But nonetheless I have found it impossible to believe the old stories.'

I stopped walking for a moment and thought on his words. He stopped as well, surprised by my sudden halting. 'It is said among our wise men that no change can take place without some cause attending it. Is that not so?'

'It is so,' he answered.

'It was once the case that you believed the old stories. This I know because on a great many occasions you elected to speak of their truth yourself. How then came you to walk away from the ways of the Nihlion if there is indeed, as you say, nothing that made you alter your opinions? You once said the old tales were true, which certainly, having been raised from a babe with them in your ears, it may be said that you believed them without reason, even as many children believe whatever it is that their parents see fit to teach them. But now you say that you believe not in the old stories. If you have no reason for this change of mind, then you are no better off than you were in your infancy, when you accepted the tales blindly in the first place. I apprehend, therefore, that there is some cause of which you will not here speak, not even to one who is your old friend. Ghenu, what made you disbelieve the old stories and doctrines of our elders?'

'There is nothing,' he insisted.

Undaunted I pressed him further, saying, 'You would abandon me to a life of servitude and humiliation then, though you could, by lending me a few wise words, lift me from the mire of our predecessors. You know as well as I that so long as I am bound by the ways of the Nihlion I must make payment to the elders, one fifth part of every crop. Moreover, I have already received that marring of the flesh, the mark of the Eternal, upon my left shoulder. In due time it will be placed upon my right as well. My children also, who you might free with your knowledge, will likewise be bound to carry out each of these rituals and fulfill all the laws of our people. If I needn't take knife and ink to my son's slender shoulder, then I would have you speak!'

Ghenu then sighed and said frustratedly, 'Do you not see how the world is filled with evil? If there be any Eternal power at the root of this world, then it is he that must sit at the last judgment! Do you not see the death of innocents, of the Omnion and Nihlion alike? Do you not see that the cruel win for themselves lands, honor and wealth, while the good die in shame, diseased and empty. What power conceived this? Is it not he whom the songs call 'good'?'

'Are those not the very doctrines of our people that you speak?' I said in disbelief. 'Is it not taught by our elders that this world is full of evil? Is it not from our own traditions that you have learned this?'

To this he said, 'I need not such teachings to see that the world is full of evil.'

'But what of Theodysus?' I asked with much emotion in my voice.

'Too ancient is that name,' he responded, much to my horror and surprise. 'Too old are the stories, and I see not why they should have any hold upon us in an age so far removed.' He sighed and put his hand upon my shoulder with a look of pity in his eyes. 'My friend,' he said to me, 'I must go my own way and you must go yours, wherever your will takes you. But I will not go back to Stelna.'

With those words he turned and walked away from me, leaving behind all paths and roads, passing from my sight and from my knowledge. A lump of sorrow seemed to swell within my throat at that moment, a sorrow that has not hence departed from me, though many joys and many sorrows have since come upon me. I fell to the earth in tears, for to the Nihlion such partings represent a severance beyond the grave and beyond remedy.

The Beginning

Leaving the ancient road I once more turned my sad face toward Stelna. When once more I came to walk among the dead, I was met by an elderly man named Jaffathed. It was upon him that the leadership of our village was expected to fall. I was greatly surprised to see him approaching me, for it is not customary for the elder to approach a young man such as myself. Only at great need would they be seen traveling about. The elder greeted me with a warm embrace, saying, 'My son, I have come to you to bid you and your comrade farewell.'

'My comrade,' I said, surprised, 'Do you mean Ghenu?'

'Indeed, for you are both beloved of the Nihlion. I would not have you depart without a blessing.'

'Ghenu is no longer Nihlion,' I said downcast.

'Nonetheless, I would still give him a blessing.'

'I don't understand,' I said, 'why would you bless he who curses our people and abandons our ways without cause. Is it not said that all the wicked shall be cursed?'

'Indeed it is, and so they shall be,' he answered with a smile. 'But there are two ways in which a man can be good. One can be good in spirit and good in flesh; it is the latter that I wish upon him, if only for the sake of the former.'

Jaffathed took me by the arm and brought me to one of the stones which mark the graves of our sires. Here he sat and beckoned me to do likewise. 'It is not permitted,' I said, 'to sit upon the stones of the dead.'

'Would you accuse me, your elder?' he said with a lighthearted laugh. 'That custom is maintained for the sake of honor, which the dead need not. We do not defile them by making use of the stones for which they care nothing. 'Come, have a seat with an old man.'

I sat down, still very confused. I told him about how I chased after Ghenu, and how he had answered my queries.

'What do you see, my son? he asked me when I had finished speaking.

'What do I see? What do you mean?' I asked.

'Tell me what you see?'

'I see,' here I paused to take a look around, 'I see the graves of our forefathers, and I see the sky and the mountains.'

'You see the sky?' he said with great alarm.

'Why should that seem so strange?'

'Look again, my son, and tell me what you truly see.' He lifted his finger and pointed at one of the stone markers. 'What is that?' he asked.

'It is a grave marker.'

'And at the base of that marker is what?'

'A flower; the one they call galanas.'

You see a flower, then?'

'Yes.'

'But can it be a flower if it were made of stone?'

'No, it cannot,' I answered.

'Then it is not by sight alone that the flower is beheld. But how can the softness of the object be known to you?'

'By touch; a stone would prove itself to be hard to the fingers.'

'But what is it, then, that you see?' he asked again.

'I see a certain shape,'

'A shape of color?' he asked.

'Yes,' I answered, growing somewhat impatient.

'What you see, then, is color, and if you had never touched anything, you would know only color, is that not so?'

'That is true,' I said.

'So your eyes are not sufficient to know the galanas,' he concluded.

'No, they are not, I suppose.'

'But if you were born a blind man, and had only your hands by which to know it, you would have a very poor understanding of its shape, and you would know nothing of its colors.'

I nodded.

'But tell me further, my son, if sight and touch are enough to know the flower? Do they not smell lovely? Are not, some of them, sweet to the tongue? But if you were lacking in any of these senses, how could you know all that could be known?'

'I could not,' I answered.

'Ask yourself this question, my son, and all the doubts of your friend will be taken away from you; for I apprehend that his words have caused you great anguish of mind. Ask yourself, "Why should I believe that my senses are sufficient to uncover all the secrets of the world, when each of them alone is insufficient?" Then you will understand that your own judgment is not sufficient to judge the world. This is the doctrine of Theodysus, as it has been passed down from Bel Albor to Jaffathed, and now to you. Meditate upon it, my son, and in due course it will bear fruit within your own soul, and, if it be the will of the Eternal One, it will bring comfort and peace to others.'

Many other things did our old master recount to me during that night, until at last I sat there amazed, seeing that the sun was rising. 'Now you must go,' Jaffathed said, 'and I cannot foretell whether or not you shall return to us.'

'What do you mean?' I said, surprised. 'I am yet Nihlion; I go not in my friend's footsteps.'

'Yet still you must go, for there are great deeds to be done.'

'Great deeds?' I said puzzled. 'I am no warrior or prophet. How then can I do such things?'

'You will be to the world a two-fold witness, my son, such is the decree of that sacred spirit that comes from the Eternal One and reveals the truth to his people. In a dream I was told, even as our last elder lay dying, that you must leave our people. You must be a witness to the Omnion of the secrets of the Nihlion, for there is one from among them that needs our wisdom desperately, and to his soul is bound the fate of the northern kingdoms. To this end you must depart from us, but not in the same fashion as those rash young men who abandon our ways. A Nihlion you will remain until the world ends.'

'I am unfit and unworthy to perform such a task, my teacher,' I said with much fear in my heart.

'Fear not, child,' he said to me, 'for the sword has no skill in battle but what is wrought through the hand of the warrior. You are, as you have already indicated, not that warrior. But you are the work of that great smith, who knows for what ends he brings forth his creations. In his hand you will cut many foes and heal many wounds. But now, the time grows short and you must go to the tombstone of Thedmadera, for it is time for the old stories to come to life.'

Rahdmus

It did not occur to me that I had in any way doubted the prophecies of my people until I discovered my own surprise at the sight of old Thedmadera's tombstone. There was an old legend in our village, that upon this tombstone would come to rest one of the gods of old, a hero, a villain and a holy prophet. Nonsense this prediction had always seemed to me, for how could all these come to rest upon so small a tablet of stone. But as I made my way past the stones of my own ancestors and at last saw the a strange figure lying upon the grave of that ancient holy man, it all became clear. This was no mortal man, but rather one of the Ancients who are, by so many, deemed to be gods. His body was marked with many fell tattoos and carvings, making him seem to be a devil of hell. But to look upon his face was to look upon noble blood and a man of heroic character. For a purpose he had been laid to rest in this place; he was the messenger, bringing to the north the judgment of the gods.

I approached him slowly, for he seemed to be sleeping deeply. But when I drew near I saw that his eyes were open slightly. He rose from his place and looked at me. 'You are the one then?' he asked. 'You are the one that will go with me over the mountains?'

'So I am told,' I said, 'And though it is a calling of which I feel unworthy, I will do all that is within my power to serve you.'

'To serve one such as myself,' he said soberly, yet joyfully, 'you are more than worthy. I am Rahdmus, which I am told signifies the One who is Redeemed. Many broken things have been recast and fitted to other tasks than the ones they once performed. I was once a piercing sword, now I shall plow fields, reaping for all mankind a harvest, or so I am told. But what is a farmer without a seed?'

I could see at once that he meant for me to answer, I said, 'He will be no farmer at all.'

'Indeed,' he said to me with a smile, 'You are the seed, and your words shall bring some comfort to a man I once wounded. But we must hurry, for we have many things to do ere that day comes.'

As we walked, Rahdmus began to explain, hastily, what it was that we must accomplish. 'To the hidden people of these mountains we must first make our appeal. This, I am told, will be my first test, and whether they march to the north to the aid of Dadron or not will matter very little. I am told that I must be brought lower still, and to this end we must seek the hidden survivors of that ancient kingdom of elves.'

Finding myself completely confounded I stopped and told him plainly, 'Please, master, I am the least of many sons of a house of no renown. I know nothing of the things about which you speak.'

'Very well,' he said with a laugh, 'Where am I to begin, then?'

'At the start,' I said, 'Who are you? And by whom have you been sent?'

I have been sent by one called Paley, who has in his fist the power of a god.'

'Paley I know, but in name only, for he appears in the ancient stories of the Nihlion.'

'Then you know his purposes, the pulling down and humiliation of the mighty, and the restoration of the broken.'

'So the stories say,' I said.

'And they say truly,' Rahdmus said confidently.

'But who are you? And how have you come to rest upon this stone, even as the legends have long spoken?'

'Who am I?' he said, almost as though he was asking himself. 'I am as I have been made to be, and also as I have made myself, the latter has perished, the former has not yet been fully revealed.' He looked at the sky as if he expected it to answer his query. At last he spoke, saying, 'I am Daruvis, son of Falruvis, once lord of the Argent elves. By my hand was the mighty city of Dadron long preserved. But by my hand also did it also meet its end, falling forever into the hands of mortal men. Under Black armor did I thereafter hide myself, going about from nation to nation under the guise of a dark warrior. Lord of Havoc I was named, for in my wake always followed war and upheaval, though none of these until late had any power over me. A god was I to many, and a traitor was I to many more. I have killed and spared, tormented and shown mercy; all of this for my own ends. But in this late hour, when all the wheels of my own great engine roar and turn, trampling down the nations, I have been sent, against my own will, to set myself before it and grind the raging machine to a halt. This I am to do without drawing a blade, for I have been told that in the day that I take sword in hand against any creature I will perish, sinking down to the pit of Abban-Don, which lies, they say, deeper than the ocean.'

For the next several days we walked openly upon the southward roads, talking of many things. Rahdmus told me his whole history, which will find its proper place elsewhere, from his childhood to his battle upon Mount Coronan. In turn I taught to him all the sacred histories of our people, from our foundation until our latter end, which lies yet in the days to come. This brought him great satisfaction; he said to me, 'This is more than one could hope for; and more than I deserve to hear. Yet it is such that only those who have been stripped of their pride can bear.'

'There are none,' I said, 'who deserve such blessings as the future yet withholds.'

We continued along the southern road until we crossed the Ula River and came to the lands of the Omnion, some forty leagues to the west. We passed through these unnoticed, save by a few laborers in their fields, preparing their land for cultivation.

Far beyond these we went, until we came to a rocky place, where the road turned sharply to the south and vanished from sight in the distance. But here, without hesitation or explanation, Rahdmus left the road and continued westward.

We traveled on, sometimes turning, sometimes walking northward for many leagues only to turn round a stony bend and travel back south. When at last all these winding paths were finished we came to a place where huge boulders blocked our path on every side. Undaunted, Rahdmus walked confidently westward. But as he came to the rocks he knelt down and, finding a small tunnel hidden from sight, he vanished into the darkness. When I myself came to the rocks I saw no entrance. But Rahdmus reached his hand out from some hidden place and beckoned me to follow. Reluctantly I knelt down to the ground and after much gazing and pondering I noticed a place where the shadow of the rock upon itself was darker than in other places. Much to my surprise I discovered that this was in fact a small opening, though it was almost completely hidden from sight.

When I stepped in after him I found that we were in a small cave. 'This is the gate of the remnant of Solsis,' Rahdmus said to me as I brushed the dirt from my robes. 'Beyond this lies a valley to which no army can ever march. This valley is itself the hidden fortress of Solsis. No walls did it need, or fortifications. For the mountain itself has always guarded it. Long have I pondered a means of destroying these hidden people, to take revenge upon them for wrongs anciently done and lies anciently spoken. But the fire of my wrath has been sealed away in death. I go now as a messenger, with power in words if with power at all. I have not been promised any success in this land.'

A torch was lit and the cave was revealed to our sight. The walls were almost perfectly round, though they were now crumbling in some places.

I cannot guess how long we walked in that dark place. It seemed to me that it must have been for at least three days, but in the changeless dark I could not tell. We came at last to a place where the tunnel opened up and our torchlight revealed a great cavern. Somewhere in the depths I could hear a mighty river rushing, tearing through the heart of the mountain, sending cool spray upon us as we traveled. Here there were many paths and bridges, leading into many dark tunnels. Rahdmus navigated these without any sign of doubt or confusion. 'You know these paths well,' I said, noting his confidence.

'I walked them many times in the ancient days,' he said sorrowfully, 'when I yet trusted the lords of the elves, my father and my uncle.' He sighed and put his hand against the wall. 'I myself labored in these very caves,' he said, 'though that was many thousands of years ago.'

In wonder I walked on, following him through many dark places. It occurred to me only in later years how foolish it would seem to walk all those mysterious paths as I did, paying no heed to where I was being led. The prudent man in me would cry out, saying, 'What would you do if you found yourself alone in this place and without a guide!?' But I feared no such thing at the time, for in the purposes of the Eternal One there is nothing to fear; they will be accomplished whether we will it or not. Small help this may seem, but to me it is a great comfort to know that one cannot overthrow the gods by folly.

The Ancients

In the distance I saw before my weary eyes a bright light. Though it seemed brighter than any light I had ever seen, it was revealed to be mere moonlight, shining upon the earth in the sun's stead. We did not travel far into the land beyond the tunnel when we were waylaid by men such as I had never imagined. Like Rahdmus in stature and nobility, they were radiant and seemed to be full of moonlight themselves. In some strange tongue they commanded us to halt, and then, seeing Rahdmus, they cried out with anger and leapt upon us, wrestling us to the ground. We were bound and blindfolded and then carried, roughly, for the rest of that day and half of the next. We stopped and were fed some sort of bread and given some water mingled with a few drops of wine. Strength the food gave us, but it left a horrid taste in my mouth. Three more days we were carried thus; westward I thought, for the sun was always behind us at the start of our journey. We came at last to a hard and flat place, where the ground was paved with smooth stones, as my ears guessed and my eyes later beheld. In this place we were brought up many flights of stairs and through many darkened hallways until at last we were cast down roughly upon hard stones.

Blinking under the bright light of the sun, we found ourselves surrounded by many mighty heroes of old. Before them stood two dozen Argent elves of Solsis, with silvery hair, bright armor and strong spears, pointed at our throats. Rahdmus knelt beside me with his eyes closed and his brow furrowed. I could not tell what went through his mind at that moment. He seemed at once angry yet sorrowful and willful yet resigned.

We were in a great stone hall, cut skillfully from living rock. In many places the rock had been split open, carefully revealing bright gemstones in the wall and ceiling itself. A labor of centuries this hall must have been. As I looked at the noble faces before me I could not doubt that it was their hands that had, in ancient times, done all this work.

'Many bold deeds hath Daruvis done in his long life,' a proud and noble voice said. 'But none will be accounted more daring than this thy coming to the land of the Betrayed.'

Rahdmus said nothing, but his eyes were clenched shut as though he was struggling with some distant memory.

'Nothing?' the voice said, 'Nothing from thy proud lips? Thou, whose tongue hath set the world ablaze?'

Through all these taunts Rahdmus said nothing.

'An enemy of this land thou art, and it would be folly for thee to expect anything but death in coming. Death thou deservest, and death I would gladly give to thee. But the manner of thy coming, without sword or army, hath puzzled me greatly. Perhaps thou hast found no more satisfying way to die, and hath come here lest even in death disappointed thou might be.'

The one who made these taunts stood upon a dais before a stone seat, carefully carved from the wall of the cave.

'I come,' Rahdmus said after he took a nervous breath, 'I come because my life has already been taken away from me. Look upon my wounds, Solran son of Lorvis son of Solruvis' Rahdmus said as his bindings, tied by elven hands, fell away and piled upon themselves on the stone floor. The elves were too stunned to do anything, much to the frustration of Solren, who stood there with his own mouth agape. When the surprise had passed, Solren stepped down from the dais and looked at the scars on Rahdmus' chest and back. He could see where the sharp blade and entered and left his body. 'What is the meaning of this devilry?' he asked him.

'A tree must be broken and cast down ere it can be remade into more useful things,' he answered, 'I have been broken. Now I am being remade by the one whom the elves have long forgotten.'

'Of the Old World thou speakest,' Solran said.

'Indeed,' Rahdmus answered. 'I have been sent to warn you. The doom of the elves yet lies upon you. And you shall not escape it in Tel Arie. Return, therefore, to the One whom you have abandoned, and you will find rest for your weary souls.'

'Truly thou meaneth to slay us all,' Solran laughed. 'Was it not from his wrath that our fathers in the ancient days fled? Are there not yet some among us who remember the terror that fell upon us in that hour? I remember the screaming and the horror of those that drowned, though I remember little else. I was but a child when my father and grandfather left the Northern World in crude rafts of wood, but the dread of that place has not left me. Now you come, in the hour you are least wanted, to call us to repentance?'

'I was there in that hour as well, Solran, though I was much older than you. I remember the proud words of our fathers, and the calamity they brought upon themselves in that day. I remember my own proud words,' Rahdmus stopped and his eyes looked upon the stone floor. 'We were all fools in that day, and your rage might just as well be brought against your own father as against me. If I have been the downfall of the mighty kingdom of Falruvis, then it is only because he was the downfall of us all first.'

After he had said this he knelt down on the stone floor and hung his head low, 'You may strike me down, if you so desire, son of Lorvis, I am no longer afraid of death.'

There was a great silence following his words. But at length Solran said to him, 'Rise, thou slayer of kin! I will not have my hands dirtied with thy blood. Go now, and I put this curse upon thee: Even as thou hast come to offer us release, so do I release thee from death. Let no elven hand be set against thee, not in this world or in any other. Let thy bones grow thin and frail and your heart weary, but let no rest be granted to thee. A liar thou art; let all others lie to thee. I curse you with all the hatred of the undying ones forever.'

Almost before he had finished speaking, we were bound once more and our eyes were covered. I laughed within myself as I saw, ere they covered my eyes, the great care and attention that was given to Rahdmus' bindings. These elven lords, ancient of years, shook their heads in confusion as they looked from their new knots to the pile of rope from their previous work. The thought came to me, and my heart felt heavy as I thought it, 'These Ancients, who for so many ages have lived and walked the earth, are no more the wiser for it. Much have they learned, but still, little do they understand for all of their labors. They were still not willing to admit of the Power that loosed their captive from his bonds.'

Our return was much the same as our arrival. The elves gave us a torch for our journey through the caverns, a gift born out of their haste to see us depart and not out of kindness. The caves we traversed in silence, only speaking when the hazards of the road required it.

When we had returned at last to those narrower tunnels Rahdmus turned abruptly north and led us out of the cavern through a different path. The path began to ascend and as we walked the air steadily grew lighter and cooler. Almost at once the hall grew light, the walls themselves fell behind us and we were thrust out into the light, high in a mountain pass. 'It is by this very road,' Rahdmus explained, 'that Solruvis, his son Lorvis, and a great multitude of elven warriors passed into the north, marching to the rescue of their kin in Dadron. But it was to no avail, for the powers that worked against them were greater than they could have imagined. The Argent elves were broken, the only remnant now lives in the hidden vale in Solsis, from which we have just come. But they shall not long survive the fate that is soon to befall the whole world.'

'What do you mean? What fate?' I asked, greatly troubled by his words.

'For now I am not permitted to say more than this, the world will change, and those who are not prepared will be swept away. For the Argent elves, my coming was their final chance to regain their honor and virtue. Now they have nothing to do but to wait for the end.'

Unable to get any clearer notion of his meaning I fell once more to silence. He led us higher into the mountains along a broad, but perilous path, finally wrapping around a great peak. There we saw the sun in its full glory, rising above a land I had never seen. The whole vale of Falsis appeared before us, revealed by morning light. In the distance, through the clear mountain air, I could see a glowing speck of light atop a distant hill. How many leagues lay between it and us I could not tell, for distance is illusive in the mountains. But it seemed as if a pillar of fire rose from the the center of the valley.

'That is Dadron,' Rahdmus said proudly. 'There I once dwelt, and while I dwelt there I thought myself wise. The shining light you see leaping from the valley like a flame is the temple of Pelas, the god of all Falsis, illuminated by the power of the dawn.'

Never in all my years have I seen a sight more beautiful and amazing.

[Chapter VII:  
The Prophet](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Voice of Biron

On the thirteenth day of Leonius, when the winter began to give up its icy hold on Noras, Daryas and Revere rode into South Lake, again pretending to be furriers. There they found many Vivlirne who were willing to join them in battle for the sake of Dadron, if only they had the surety that if by some miracle the great city was spared, the army of Galva would turn north at once and break the strength of Cheft Ponteris. 'We will not venture forth,' Heston, lord of the city told them, 'leaving wife and child under his boots, if we have not the word of Biron's son, that this deed will be done.'

'You have my word,' Daryas said. 'We will not abandon the sons of Vivlir, who of old fought beside our forefather.'

'So also did Oastir fight with Galvahir,' Heston said.

'For that reason alone we will not drive the Oastirne from Noras utterly, but rather like a healing blade, we shall excise the rotted flesh of Ponteris from Noras.'

'You speak bold words, even as your fathers before you spoke,' Heston warned him. 'Let them prove true with bold deeds.' Some four-hundred men were committed to the battle in that day, and afterward, many more were added to that number.

For the past month Revere and Daryas had been gathering pledges of support among the faithful families of Vivlir-la, and Heston's commitment brought the number of those who would fight for Biron to nearly one thousand Vivlirne.

When they had done what they could in that region they passed into the west and came to the dark land of Coran-la, where the mightiest of the ancient heroes had made his home. Coran was, it was said, nearly a full head taller than even Galvahir, and he could bear the burden of many men both in battle and in labor. It is taught in Noras that the Great Mountain itself was so named because of his stature. It is certain, however, that it is the reverse; the man being named after the mountain after whose stature he seemed to be fashioned. Among the Coranirne, Daryas gathered a great host of strong men. Their leader was Dentrop Coranirne, and he was said to echo his ancient father in strength. Under his authority was placed some three hundred warriors. 'We will bleed for Galvahir if we must,' they told Daryas, 'for Galvahir has already bled much for us.'

Less success was found in Megd-la, where the arm of Ponteris was stronger. But he found there some two-hundred and fifty men, mostly archers and hunters, who were willing to march to Dadron should the need arise.

It is certain that he could have gathered many more allies in Noras. But this he could not manage without revealing himself to the eyes of his enemies and bringing his force to a sore test ere it was even fully formed. They therefore went only to those houses and kindreds that were known to be faithful to the Old Noras.

But even as they finished their labors among the Megd-la, news came to them the east, saying, 'Fahsro has fallen, and the beast of hell has slain all their brave men!'

'Naught now lies between Marin and Dadron,' Revere said soberly. 'If the tales be true, and if Amlaman marches to war from the west, Dadron will not survive long.'

'Then Ponteris now has little to fear from Olver, for he is, to them, as good as dead.'

'Let us hope he will not act rashly,' Revere said.

Daryas shook his head, 'There is none perhaps that is more rash than Cheftan Oastirne. My father will not long survive, and my mother-' Daryas' brow lowered. 'We must find them at once,' he said with sudden resolve. 'For I will not let his noble head sink into death in despair.'

Daryas began to ride toward Ostir-la in that very moment. Revere tried to prevent him, saying, 'but what of your work? What of Shaf-la?'

'Shaf-la is in the hands of the fool Ponteris,' Daryas answered as he quickened his pace. Revere rode after him, trying to keep pace with Novai's swift legs. 'We will find only traitors in that land. We must see what has become of Galva-la and its lord.'

'But you are known among those people,' Revere protested. 'You will be discovered!'

'Nonetheless, I must go to my parents and see what has become of them. If I become known to Ponteris it will be all the better for us; for he will remember that he is not immortal yet. And at the very least, even if I perish, he will know that Dynamis yet lives. For even a fool like Ponteris would not be able to believe that Dynamis could fall and Daryas survive.'

Thus it came to pass that Daryas and Revere made their way to Oastir-la, where it was rumored the Cheftan Biron was imprisoned. They came to the estate of Cheftan Ponteris Oastirne on the twentieth day of Paschest.

The first sight they saw upon approaching the Cheftan's estate was a sculpture of some heavenly woman. Cheft Ponteris called it an Aggelos, though it was really meant to be what the Ancients called a Siren (it is unlikely that the Cheftan knew more than the mere names of these beings). It was almost twice the size of a mortal man, mounted still higher upon a great pillar of stone. The sculpture was made of the same white rocks that lay upon the top of Dadron. The origin of this statue is clouded in mystery, though it was believed to have been a gift from Falruvis to the family of Oastir, who was slain with the other heroes of Noras in the last defense of the city of Dadron, when yet it was an elven city. This is widely believed, though it is almost certainly false, for the workmanship of it is not elven by any account. It was, however, one of the more beautiful sculptures to have been made in that time, certainly the most beautiful to be brought to the pragmatic land of Noras.

Upon her back the Siren had two great wings like a bird's, which overshadowed her face. In one of her hands she held a scepter and in the other a scroll. The meaning of these symbols is as unknown as the sculpture's origin. But Ponteris loved this sculpture more than any other thing he possessed, calling it by more affectionate names than he called his own wife.

This they passed with shaking heads, as they followed the road to the Cheftan's house. 'I abhor that man,' Revere said. 'And now all the more I regret any shadow of cowardice and pride that led me to betray the house of Biron. For I would die a thousand deaths and suffer a thousand humiliations if only I could watch the severed head of Cheft Ponteris thump upon the ground.'

When the house loomed at last before them they left the road and, hiding their horses in the woods, they crept across the tall grass toward the house. There were many lights flickering in the Cheftan's windows, and outside his walls there were many guards. 'What is the meaning of this?' Daryas asked.

'It is a feast of sorts,' Revere said. Indeed, the Cheftan's house had become a place of drunkenness and perpetual festival. There were always dancers and singers, musicians and story-tellers in his house, entertaining his many guests. Those Cheftans that were loyal to him he kept nearby at all times, lest they grow dissatisfied with his rule. Under the power of wine and ale these men were kept, only rarely seeing the sorry state of the people they had betrayed. And when they at last beheld the work of Ponteris in Noras, it took only a few mugs of ale and a few friendly words to drive the ire far from their minds. This was the state of Cheft Burrin, who had surrendered all his authority to Hassan in order to save his own life. Also among them was Cheft Daevin, Cheft Fidre of Dae-la, Cheft Gornas and many others. Cheftan Horan of Lavri-la, however, remained as far from Oastir-la as he was able, coming only to Ponteris' estate for councils. He now fully hated his co-conspirator, though his own part in the treachery prevented him from ever acting against him. 'Shall I free Biron so that he can tear me to pieces in rightful ire?' he asked himself.

Slipping away to the east, where the light from the western windows failed, the travelers came to the back of the house. Here there was not so much as a candle lit. As they came near to the house, they heard, much to their surprise, the sound of a man singing. The voice was faint at first, but as they drew closer they discovered that it was strong and bold. It sang:

O mighty lord of stars, reveal to us your light,

Ever loving guide of men, lead us through the night,

A prideful face we wear, haughty oaths we swear,

Raising frail and foolish fists high into the air,

O lord forgive our folly, and our pompous gait,

No strength have we at all, on you alone we wait,

Without your precious wisdom, all our paths are bent,

Light our ways, o lord, even when the sun is spent.

This singing went on for a long while, sometimes passing into regular speech, sometimes into prayer, sometimes back into song or verse, but always filled with joy. 'It is Biron,' Daryas said, 'It is my father.' With that he knelt down to the ground and tears streamed from his face, thinking his father had gone mad.

Suddenly, the voice became still and almost as if he could see his son, he said, 'Daryas, my son, do not fear for me.'

'Father!' Daryas said, much louder than he perhaps ought to have spoken, but his father could not hear him. Revere made a sign for him to be quiet. The voice of Biron then fell into song again and at last into prayer. 'Mighty Lord of Stars, in your hands lies all the worlds. By your might are they revealed to our darkened eyes. Cloth him with your mercy, bind him to your ways, find him in this darkness and lead him to the light of day. By you have all things become visible and by your words they have become intelligible. Gracious light of heaven born, save us from shadow.'

The last word went into Daryas like a sword, and he fell almost at once into a fit, such as he had had at the inn. 'Evna!' he cried in horror, 'Depart from me!'

At that moment Daryas flew into a rage, and madness filled his eyes. He drew his sword and rushed away from that place, intending to slay all and rescue his father alone. Revere rushed after him, hopelessly falling behind. He whispered after him, then spoke, and finally shouted, 'Stop you fool! You will bring death upon us both!'

Rahdmus The Prophet

'Have I not told you,' Ponteris laughed with his guests, 'how it is sometimes better to stand to the left, and sometimes to the right?'

'What is this now?' the people laughed, knowing he meant to tell a tale, such as they could always look to for a laugh. 'Why, master, would it be better to stand on one side or another?'

'Silence, fools,' Ponteris said, jokingly, 'This is a very lofty matter, and I will have no laughter.'

This only set the drunken crowd into guffaws. 'Very well then,' Ponteris sighed, 'I'll tell you anyway. But it is not my fault if you miss the moral for all your laughter.' Ponteris then stood up tall and spoke in a very loud voice, saying:

'There was once a mighty king, such as no other king could compare. This king had no limit to his wealth, no limit to his power, and no limit to his wisdom. Now it came to pass that the captain of the guard died unexpectedly, and the king was called upon to place another in the now vacant position. A great tournament was held, the winner of which would be given the hand of the princess and the mastery of the king's army. So it was that every strong man and every valiant warrior in the land came to compete before the king for this great honor. But in the end the brothers Heliun were the victors in every contest. Except, they, being twins, were so evenly matched, that the one could not best the other in any game. When they raced, they crossed the mark at the same exact instant. When they wrestled, they wrestled for three whole days without either of them taking the advantage. Similarly, they dueled with swords for a week and fought on horseback for twenty whole days, until it was clear that in no game would the one brother best the other.

'Seeing how he could not, by the games, determine who was the greater man, the king summoned the two brothers before him. He inquired into the order of their birth, so as to give the elder the greater honor, since in all physical matters they were perfect equals. But as he soon learned, they were born both at the same moment, for their mother had perished in the delivering of them, and they were cut, both at the very same moment, from their mother's womb.

'In honor of their eminent father, they were each given the same name, Heliun. So it came to be that the king could not in any way distinguish one from the other. He had them tested, to see who was the wiser, the more honest, and the more virtuous. But in each regard they again and again proved their equality.

At this point one of the Cheftan's followers spoke out, saying, 'How did he decide?'

Another voice blurted out, 'He split the princess!' much to the crowd's delight.

'Nonsense,' Ponteris shouted, 'He chose the one on the right.'

'Why not the one on the left?' one man asked.

'He chose the one on the right,' Ponteris laughed, 'because he had a piece of dust in his left eye, and could see the one better than the other.'

He enunciated the ending of his tale in such a way as to elicit from his hearers a great round of cheers and praise. But his voice echoed through the hall in silence. Every mouth was stopped, and his heart sunk, though he knew not what had stolen away the music and laughter of his servants.

Daryas also, who had just burst through the door with drawn blade, stopped and looked about in confusion. In the midst of all the revelry there now stood a tall man, robed in brown with a robe tied about his waist. Beside him stood a young man, clothed in long garments of gray, such as we are wont to wear in Solsis. To the latter, however, little attention was paid. 'Lord Havoc!?' Ponteris said, squinting in the firelight. 'It is as though before me stands a ghost.'

'You are nearer to the truth than you imagine,' Rahdmus said boldly. Whatever reluctance or inner conflict he had among his own people in the south seemed to be entirely absent in his dealings with the wicked men of Noras. The full strength of his voice rang throughout the hall.

'Still you speak in riddles, my friend,' Ponteris laughed. I have been told that you were dead. But I should have known better than to believe such tales. Will you not join our feast? We feast, truth be told, because of you. Why should we not, therefore, feast with you?' To this there many cheers rose up in agreement.

'I once spoke dark words, twisted and of hidden intent,' Rahdmus said. 'These words I spoke to blind men and fools, who, having no ideas of their own, imbibe gluttonously every novel thing they hear - only to regurgitate it later, half digested, and with much of their own bile mingled therein.'

At those words all the laughter and joyfulness died away. It was clear to them all that the business of this foreign lord was grave and joyless. 'The words I speak today,' Rahdmus continued, 'I speak plainly, though I am certain that fools will splutter and choke upon them all the same.

'Lord Havoc,' Ponteris said gravely, 'If you have such grave words for me, then I would have you speak to me at once. Let us retire to my chambers, where, away from this crowd of people I can weigh your words aright.'

'These words are for you, Cheftan,' Rahdmus said, 'But not for you alone. To all Noras I speak today.'

With that he turned and spoke his prophecy before the whole assembly of half-drunken mercenaries, guards, Cheftans, servants, dancers and musicians:

'This is the word, which comes to Noras from the Master of Causes:

'Death and vengeance shall fall upon this house,

'By your own flesh and blood shall your end come,

'By the fire you long ago kindled shall your own flesh be burned,

'The prize for which you have so long waited shall be given to your adversary's heir,

'The White Twin shall be driven from his throne in humiliation,

'The Siren of Noras shall be slain,

'Galvahir will again bear the sacred sword, but Oastir will break it.'

'What is the meaning of this drivel?' Ponteris shouted, laughing nervously. He looked about the room, hoping to have a crowd of cheering drunkards to support his incredulity. But the house was as silent as death itself.

'Such has long been your crime, Cheftan,' Rahdmus said shaking his head. 'You call my words drivel ere they are proved. All I have ever told you has been false, and all I have hitherto said you have believed. But now, when I speak heavenly words, you finally disbelieve me. I was once lord of all the Presumptuous Ones, those blind deniers of the truth. You, however, have been naught but the jester, miming the deeds of greater men for the sake of cheap laughter.'

Looking still at the frightened eyes of his servants and comrades, Cheft Ponteris began to question Rahdmus' words. 'Galvahir you say? You know better than I that Galvahir's bones were burned to dust in that great battle, along with the bones of Oastir. How then shall he bear once more that godly blade?'

'I spoke plainly enough, Cheftan, for those who have not bound their eyes with thick wool and stuffed their ears with wax. Galvahir will bear the blade again.'

'You speak also of the heir of my adversary. But what heir? For naught has been seen or heard of the brothers Galvahirne since the day the goblins fell upon Galva. You know better than I that they lie dead in the mountains. I have been told that all the men of Galva lay in a heap, burned to dust by those devil goblins. Will you bring them also back from the dead, that they might, with Galvahir of old, make your words true? You were upon the mountain yourself, though,' Ponteris said, starting to suspect Lord Havoc of betrayal. 'You can, perhaps, tell me better what became of the sons of Biron.'

'No news do I bring of them,' Rahdmus said. 'This only can I say: The Cheftan of Oastir-la has naught to fear from them. They will not avenge themselves upon him, nor will any man of Galva return from Coranan to make war upon your dominion.'

Cheft Ponteris nodded soberly, taking this to mean that Lord Havoc had indeed made an end of the Galva army in the mountains.

'That you may know that these words are not my own, I have but one thing further to declare before your ears and the ears of your household. In less than two months time, he that vexes your mind and stays your hand shall be taken away, seeming to leave it within your hands to pursue at last all your desires, but your desires will yet elude you. Treachery gives birth to treachery, son of Oastir.'

Ponteris opened his mouth to speak, but could say not a word. Rahdmus turned his back and walked away, unchallenged by all the hirelings, mercenaries and guards of the Cheftan.

Thus Rahdmus and I left the house of Ponteris, leaving the men thereof in great confusion and doubt. Some left that very hour, some begged to follow us, but most remained with their lord, frightened, but unwilling to be seen as cowards. All these things young Daryas witnessed, and his mouth was agape as we approached him at the door of Cheft Ponteris' estate.

'Come, 'merchant', Rahdmus said to him as we left. 'There is much that must be accomplished ere your labors are ended.'

Without any sign of doubt, much to Revere's confusion, Daryas followed us along the road and away from the house. Revere followed behind, suspicious, but glad to be leaving that perilous place behind.

Cheftan Biron Galvahirne

It had now been more than two years since Cheft Biron had been imprisoned, at first in the cellars of his own estate, and later, in the damp basement of Cheft Ponteris' home in Oastirne. After the treacherous Cheftan had grown weary of Biron's things he returned to his own land with his prisoner in tow. He greeted his great statue with more affection than he greeted his wife, to whom he said only, 'It is good to be home. Have the servants restocked the cellars with wine and ale?'

Needless to say, Biron breathed the free air deeply, knowing it would be but a short while before he was again cast into darkness. This little bit of air was sufficient, however, to restore his spirits. He thought to himself, 'My sons, they say, are perished in the mountains, but such I cannot wholly believe. For what is the word of a liar. In my heart, and in the Cheftan's eyes do I doubt the reports.'

Indeed, Cheft Ponteris could not bear so much as to look at Biron. When he spoke to his captive, which he did rarely, he trembled and spoke with a broken voice. He would leave Biron cursing his weakness and angry with the prisoner's good spirits.

Now, the house of Cheftan Ponteris was at one time infested with mice, which Ponteris blamed upon 'the follies of hospitality'. These they had driven, after many efforts, into the cellars, where they chewed their way through anything they wished. They were known to have bitten the servants on several occasions, even attacking some in great force. One servant nearly died of fever after being bitten seventy times. Of this they laughed, telling Cheft Biron to 'be sure to petition thy god Pelas to keep thee safe from their ravenous mouths.'

But when he sat for the first time in his dark dungeon, with little more than a piece of bread for a meal, he found them to be less ferocious than had been told. He broke apart his bread and gave every morsel into their mouths, until, rather than nipping at his feet or attacking him, they would come and squeak at his feet, begging for crumbs from his dish. At times the mice would bring to him dead bugs, as if they expected to return the favor. On many occasions they brought gold coins, which they had pilfered from the pockets and purses of those above. Thus, even in his rotted prison, Cheft Biron was never a pauper! On one occasion they brought to him a piece of white cloth, torn and frayed. This he smelt, and his heart was comforted. 'Marima,' he said, recognizing the smell of his beloved wife. 'You are safe, then,' he said with a great peace. 'Would that you might bring her to me in lieu of all these pennies,' he said sadly. 'What I wouldn't give to see her face!'

At first he prayed almost constantly according to the rites and customs of Pelas, as he had been taught in his youth. But the words of his son, Dynamis, who had traveled widely upon the earth, were always with him. 'Pelas,' he would say, 'is god of Noras indeed. But he cannot be god of the whole world, for he is indeed a part of it only. He is not that which is revealed in the world and its shifting elements. He is not that great invisible power, that has the mastery of all causes, whether of the first cause or the last effect.'

The desire to see the light of day was ever upon his mind. He spoke this in the darkness, and the mice amongst whom he lived heard him well. They set to work in secret, gnawing and biting even the stone of his cell, until, after many months of effort and many long days and nights filled with the wretched sound of their scraping teeth, they carved out a tiny hole in the rock and dirt, leading straight from Biron's bed to the open sky above. It was too small and too high above Biron for him to conceive of making an escape thereby, but it was not meant to unleash the imprisoned Cheftan, but rather to free the light of heaven from its own imprisonment. A single beam of sunlight fell upon the bed of Biron, and he gazed at it and moved his hand about in it as one dying of thirst splashes about when they have at last come upon a clean mountain spring.

For a long time his spirits were lifted by this, and his heart once more was turned toward Pelas. He knew it not, but there was, always with him, that invisible servant of Pelas, Ollina, whose voice was like the soothing ocean breeze. Ever she spoke the name of the god of Noras, ever did she beckon him to faithfulness. But fate would have it otherwise. One night, all her long labors were turned upside down and the name of Pelas was forsaken by Biron forever. It so happened, if it be proper to say such a thing, that the mighty star Theodysus came to light upon that tiny hole. The light struck Biron upon the brow, crowning his face with silver light. To his mind, in that moment, was revealed many ancient truths, long forgotten by men and elves. It also came into his mind that his sons yet lived, though he knew not whereon his certainty was founded. This brought to him comfort without comparison and peace beyond reckoning. He began to sing, where he had only lamented, to dance where he had only walked. More of his meals he gave to the mice in thanks, and they brought ever more gold and tokens of his beloved to him. Indeed, it came to pass even that he was able to pass to his wife, a note, scrawled with charcoal upon tattered linen, the following verse:

'The sons of Galvahir yet live,

Not by Pelas' might preserved,

Theodysus and his servants give,

Grace that was by none deserved.'

Though at first she was loathe to touch the dreadful looking mice, the Lady Marima sent several notes in return. The correspondence of these separated lovers is perhaps among the more beautiful things that hands have penned and eyes have read, or hearts have comprehended. Speaking more practically, however, it was learned thereby, that they were both kept prisoner in the house of Cheftan Ponteris Oastirne and that he preserved Biron only in fear of Olver and what revenge might fall upon him while the blood of Galvahir yet flowed through the veins of the mighty. Nor would he lay a finger upon Marima, in deference of Cheft Horan, who had given Biron this promise, whatever it was worth, when Peiraso was overthrown. Much to Biron's relief it was also learned that the Lady Marima was kept in better conditions than he himself was, though he told her nothing of his own filthy cell.

Ollina, however, left Biron with her face downcast, bringing the news of his apostasy to Lord Pelas. At this the lord of spirits was deeply offended, and he turned his heart away from the master of Peiraso. 'It is truly in the southern world that our hope remains,' he told her enigmatically.

'What is in the South?' she asked herself silently. 'He cannot mean Luma, for it is a ruin.'

[Chapter VIII:  
Light and Shadow](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Council

It was not long after we departed from the halls of that foolish Cheftan of Noras that we found it necessary to explain ourselves more fully to the exiles of Galva. After retrieving their horses, the four of us took the northern road, hoping thereby to come to Galva-la by the next morning. When we came near Lake Gavl we abandoned the road, lest the servants of Ponteris take interest in us. Thus we went into a wild and untamed country, where no man dwelt. Here the wolves howled and the bats fluttered, making the darkness teem with frightful sounds and the eerie flicker of night eyes. But in these parts there was little four grown men had to fear from the wild, and even less they had to fear if they built for themselves a roaring fire. When we had chosen a secluded spot, gathered some wood, and started up a blaze, the frightfulness of the night vanished entirely.

'We have met before,' Rahdmus said to the son of Biron, 'atop the mountain of Coronan. There we crossed swords, when still a sword I could bear.'

When it was revealed to Daryas just who this strange man was, he drew his sword and with a fire in his eyes said, 'How it is that you have escaped death I do not know, but you will not escape the son of Biron this time.'

Rahdmus bowed his head low and said, 'Truly, the son of Biron has the right to slay me. And even if I could bear a blade once more, I could not hope to overcome the mighty blood of Galvahir, whose strength runs yet undiluted in the veins of Biron's heirs. But you will find that revenge is unnecessary, for as you can see, I have already paid in blood.' With those words Rahdmus revealed to the exiles his deep wounds, which Paley had healed. 'I have been warned, that should I lift a blade to swat a flea, my wounds shall be restored to me, and death will follow ere my stroke should fall.'

At this Daryas seemed to calm down. Revere just stood as one amazed, not knowing what to make of these strange events. 'You spoke of my labors,' Daryas said, sheathing his sword. 'What do you know of my purpose? And how would the mighty enemy of Noras, the slayer of old Cheft Rahm the noble, help me?'

'Into your hands will be given great power,' he replied, 'First, power to save your people from the devils that beset them. Second, power to save yourself from darkness. But first an end must be made to old legends.'

'Power to save my people?' he said in disbelief, 'How can that be when so many foes encompass the walls of Dadron? Men and women from Olgrost, led by Ollitov himself it is told, have taken away the liberty of Daevaron. Moreover, it is said that among their numbers marches a devil of Vestron, a beast of great might. Glumbein, which is to say, 'Iron-Slayer', they call him, and many other dreadful things besides. Men from Amlaman will soon march into the east to join them in their siege. And to this is added the treachery of Ponteris whereby the strength of the Noras will be kept at bay. The Remnant of Galva, Dadron's last hope, is too small for us to put our confidence in. It could not hope to save Dadron even if it had at its command a dozen Dynamises and four hundred Daryases.'

'I said not that I could render your victory more probable,' the old knight said, 'For probability has meaning only to the mind. Whether or not you have hope within, hope remains.'

'Tell me, then,' Daryas said after some thought, 'tell me what I ought to do, if such words still have any meaning.'

'There is a sword, hidden within this very forest, which was made long ago to cleave the spirit of the Devil-King Agon. To take this blade in hand, however, is to call upon yourself a curse, for which no remedy can be given by mortal hands. This blade ought not be touched by he who is not worthy to wield it, yet wield it you must, whether you are worthy or not.'

'Worthy? Unworthy? The difference between the two I can scarcely recognize,' Daryas said despondently. 'Indeed, in these days men even as cunning as Sion have abandoned the old ways, taking the doctrines of Cheft Ponteris to heart. Who am I, but the lesser son of Biron? Who am I to oppose those who have been endowed with greater minds?'

'Do not give heed to his doctrines,' Revere said, shaking his head. 'For there is good in you enough, son of Biron.'

'I appreciate your words,' Daryas said, but then he lowered his eyes, 'and your kindness almost convinces me that they are true. But as with all things, you see from where you stand, only an appearance. I see more, though more still lies hidden from even me. Can any man know even his own heart? You do not know the darkness of my dreams, when evil lurks in the open and courage skulks about in the shadows. The doctrines of Ponteris, however ugly they are, may very well be true. In fact, I half hope they are, for they would be a great comfort to me. To know that I am not wicked for my weakness, and to know that what I speak in secret, and the darkness I hide within my heart might lie there hidden even in death; what greater hope is there to be found in this world than the hope of escaping the penalties of your sins in death? Pelas offers us nothing but law and judgment thereby. Ponteris destroys law, freeing men from fear and shame. The latter may be closer to happiness than the former.'

'The doctrines of Ponteris are not his own,' Rahdmus said, 'They were taught to him by me, when I still fancied myself to be mighty. But I spoke them in bold ignorance and rebellious bombast, not in truth and wisdom. But to men such as Cheft Ponteris bold words and novel ideas will pass for proof. You may be right, I should add, that his ways may be closer to happiness. That I have no reason to deny. But happiness has never made anything true.'

Rahdmus looked long at the fire ere he spoke again. 'Of the nature of worth I have but little to say, for I have less claim upon that ancient blade than you, though I remember the day of its forging well.' With that he lifted his eyes and looked to me.

Good and Evil

I began by saying:

'There once was a mighty king in Solsis called Agradis, who desired above all things to be at peace with his neighbors. He sent great gifts of gold and silver to them each in turn. He never neglected them in their times of trial and was always there to be a support.

'But nevertheless, his neighbors continually made provocations at him, crossing his borders at will, betraying covenants, and ensnaring and oppressing his people. Not wishing to go to war, King Agradis sent out to his neighbors two ambassadors. One was Mennos, a just man, equal in all his ways. The other was Zinglus, a passionate man, caring and thoughtful. These two set out together to bring the message of the King's desire for peace. The king ordered them to bring no swords or weapons with which to defend or attack. They were sent not to threaten war but to preserve peace.

'Mennos was sent to the southern city, while Zinglus was commanded to go to the northern. But when each man arrived in their respective locations they found that the men to whom they had been sent did not desire peace, but rather conquest, even of all the land over which King Agradis ruled. Many hard words did they, in that hour, speak against the King. Mennos, remembering his master's commandment, refused so much as to raise a finger in judgment against them. They mocked him and sent him away with cruel words and threats of war against his people.

'Zinglus had no better welcome in the north. But hearing such malicious words of hate directed toward his master, he was overcome with anger. In the dark of night he entered the chambers of the northern city and slew their lord and made a bold escape from the city, putting many of its mightiest men to shame. In due course the men arrived at Agradis' courts, each bearing the news of their adventures. Which of these two emissaries, Daryas, do you think the king welcomed with great compassion and kindness, and which do you think he sent away from his city, quartered and burned with fire?

Daryas looked at me with great confusion, 'My guess would be that the king slew Zinglus, who dishonored his commandment, and welcomed Mennos to his halls with gladness.'

'You guess well, son of Biron,' I said, 'The northern city was not appeased by the body of the emissary and they soon marched to war against Agradis. The southern kingdom, remembering with shame how they had treated their neighbor, came to his aid at the last moment and the northern kingdom was by their mutual strength subdued for a time. Though it is not always so in the world, the righteousness of the good emissary was vindicated and the wickedness of the other demonstrated.

'What is good, but that which fulfills its purpose? And what is purpose, but the object of the will? What is it then that made Zinglus a devil of a servant? Is it not that he refused to heed his master's will? It is the will that determines what is right and good, and the will that abhors that which is wicked and evil. In this world there are many courses that are possible, but only the will can set one aside as greater than the other.'

'Is this not the very doctrine of Ponteris?' Daryas asked sincerely.

'Ponteris has within his grasp the form of Good and Evil only, namely, he knows that they are derived from the will, which is to say, from our desires and wishes. But he has only splashed at the water, he has not bathed in the stream.'

'Go on,' Daryas said, interestedly.

'To what do men appeal, when they make all their various kinds of arguments?'

'They make their appeals to Reason,' Revere responded.

'And Reason is simply a matter of saying what is said of a group of that which is contained therein. Of men it is said, 'they are creatures fated to perish with the brutes'. Add to this the fact that some individual is identified by the name 'man', and you have a proof of that individual's inevitable demise. But say of mankind, that 'they ought to be peaceful', and add to this that we are all men. It follows not from this that we are peaceful. One can only conclude what was said, which is that man ought to be peaceful. What moral truth, then, can ever be proven from this world, which gives to us only what is, and never what ought to be? For if all that we are given is what 'is', all we can ever conclude is what 'is'. You cannot derive, except by magic or by deceit - but certainly not by reason, what 'ought' to be from what is. This simple principle, overlooked by all, is the starting point for the ways and wisdom of the Nihlion, who have safeguarded this truth since the most ancient days. Good and evil will never be discoverable in the nature of the world.'

'Is this not a good fire that we see before us?' I asked after a brief pause.

Revere answered, 'It is good, for by it the beasts are kept at bay.'

'Which is the very purpose for which we set it. Indeed, we can see now just what the fool Cheftan means when he asks for that truth from which our 'oughts' are derived. In this case, it is our desire for warmth and security that binds our course to set a fire. It is as though we had said, "If we are to be safe from beasts in the night, then we have no choice but to make a fire and keep watch upon it. We 'ought' therefore, to make a fire." Why did old King Agradis feel it necessary to sent out emissaries? It was because he desired peace, and said to himself, "If I will have peace with my neighbors, then I must send my servants to inform them thereof." Good and Evil are judged by the will; this is the truth, but it also gives rise to great absurdity and contradiction. For what is good to one man may be evil to another. The fire, for instance, is not good for the wolves who haunt the woods in darkness, envying the flesh on our bones; for by it they are made to suffer want and hunger.'

'Every moment you sound more like that Cheftan,' Rahdmus laughed, 'But nonetheless, continue.'

'Good and evil, we have said, are determined by the will. There can be little doubt of that when once we have given the matter sufficient thought. It is to the hunter that an arrow is good, not to the deer it pierces. Likewise, hooks and lines serve the will of the fisherman, and are therefore good, but they serve not the will of the fish that dies thereon. To the wolf it is bad to set fires, but to man it is life. It is by will alone by which good and evil can be determined. The warrior will call good only that blade that swings straight and true, severing the flesh of his foes. That blade that shatters when struck or that bends when it ought to pierce will be cast aside ere the battle is fought. Will a man call a shoe good, if his foot is not contained within it?'

'I think you have sufficiently proven to me,' Daryas said with a smile, 'the dependence that good and evil have upon the will.'

'I cannot say it enough,' I answered, 'for in this truth lies the secret by which the righteous and the wicked are forever separated. Did not Zinglus, as he planned his fell deed, consider it to be right? Did he not think he did good? For it was in his heart to avenge his master's foes for their slander - and thus his wrath was brought against the lord of the northern city. But it was not by his will that he is to be judged. It is the will of his master, the king who elected to send him forth in his name, that will judge him. He was, in his own eyes, vindicated, but he was not an emissary for himself. Therefore, he was a wicked emissary, according to the purposes of the one who made him such. When we look about the world and see that serpents, goblins, men and dwarves alike have wills, it should not surprise us then that they war often upon one another. For what else can come to pass, when every creature acts according to his own wishes?

'This is why a traitor can be called a hero and a villain at once; a hero to those who he serves, and a villain to those he betrayed. It is according to the wills of each nation respectively that he is judged one or the other. Are not your enemies, the priests of Amlaman, called 'holy men' in Amlaman, and devil worshippers in your own land? And is it not the same for the priests of your god Pelas, who sacrifice unto him atop Dadron's Hill?

'Why then do men condemn one another so harshly? When they call others wicked, they say nothing more than that they like them not. But such sentiments speak more about the nature of the one who condemns, and says nothing about the nature of the one thereby condemned. In the eyes of another man the wicked man may find acceptance, and the righteous man, condemnation. The wicked man might declare himself righteous because he does what his own will requires, and in doing so he declares himself to be righteous on no worse grounds than all those that condemn him; namely, he does so on the basis of will, even as do his enemies.'

'We ought not be surprised,' Rahdmus said soberly, 'that even the most wicked of men often believe they have done right in all things.'

'Indeed,' I said. 'But to say simply that I do not like another man, is less than what men mean when they use the word evil. They mean to say that he is truly evil, that his wickedness cannot be removed by a mere change of stance or by a different point of view.'

'What then is to be done?' Revere asked. 'How can a man be judged then? How can he be bound with duties?'

'He might be bound by power,' Rahdmus suggested. 'For by fear of death and chains are many bound to their duties.'

'Indeed,' I answered. 'But such power is simply the will of another run amuck! In Kollun, if their democracy yet lives, it is the will of the majority that dominates and legislates, making the most popular opinions into laws. It is not more than mere opinion simply because it is the common opinion. In Marin it is the will of the Queen alone that has sway. Thus it is that at every succession there is a change in law; for the will of the queen varies from age to age. The threat of the civil power will mandate different duties according to the shifting wills and various moods of their ever-changing rulers. Man can be both good and evil at the same time. Or the wicked man may, at the death of one Queen, be made righteous at the ascent of another, supposing the latter to be of a different mind than the former. Power can give us a reason to act in one way or another, but it does not give good and evil a source other than that of human will. A man may, by king's order, burn a village to the ground for fear of punishment. That is what the king wishes, and insofar as the man wishes to avoid the wrath and condemnation of his king - he ought to obey them. But if he wishes to be good, not just in his own eyes, or in the eyes of his masters, then that which binds him must be from something more certain than the wandering will of the people or the will of their master.'

'How then can a man be good?' Daryas said, now seeming quite affected. 'You have said that a man must do what he is supposed to do? What do you mean by that? For it is a very simple thing to say; that man ought to do what he ought to do.'

'I say it not because it is difficult to understand. I say it because it is very easy to overlook when the whole world tosses words about carelessly, never taking thought to their meaning. What ought a man do? It is a sword for war, a hammer for the smith, an arrow for the archer; all of these things are judged by the will of he that imbues them with purpose - their maker. To be good,' I said, 'Man must do what he was made to do; he must do the will of his maker, and not the will of his contemporaries.'

'But how does a man know what is good and what is evil, then?' Revere asked, probably thinking about the matter for the first time in his whole life. 'For all that we know is presented to us as truths, but never as commands; we see what is, but not what ought to be.'

'You have given the answer already,' I answered. 'For if we know only what presents itself to us, we cannot know.'

Daryas just shook his head with great frustration, Rahdmus looked long and hard at the fire, and Revere straightened up and squinted his eyes at me. Finally, however, Rahdmus gave the answer, 'When knowledge fails you, Revere, then choice must take its place. If a man knew certainly what course of action would bring him the greatest joy, he would take that course without hesitation, even as a man swats a mosquito from his neck without thinking if there be some better way of ending his irritation. But when the causes and effects are beyond our power to predict, then we must make a choice. Is this not so?' he said, looking to me.

'You are correct,' I answered, 'The world gives us no hint one way or the other, so we must choose the path ourselves. The question, then, is not which path is correct - I mean, which path is correct in the way that a sentence may be true or false, but rather, what our choice says about us. For we are all equally ignorant, whether we admit it or not. But those who seize upon this ignorance and pretend that it is permission to do whatsoever they will, prove by their actions the great willfulness and selfishness that lies within their hearts. The Nihlion are those who have chosen the other path, and we, admitting our ignorance, lay our faces to the dirt and ask of heaven itself, 'What shall I do? For I am lost. Which of these two characters is most useful to the Eternal One I shall leave you to judge for yourself.'

'And what does He have for me to do?' Daryas asked.

'That is something that I cannot answer,' I said, 'for I am not a prophet.'

There was a long silence, but at last Rahdmus rose to his feet and said, 'The ancient devils, Pelas and Agonistes, have run from their Fate for long enough. Now is the time of their judgment; their mischief must be brought to an end. This is the word of the Eternal One.'

'And I am to accomplish this?' Daryas said with great surprise.

'Not alone,' Rahdmus said, 'for no man ever truly acts alone. It is the will of heaven that this be done, and it will be done, whether you play your part with honor or not.'

'Indeed,' I said, 'The world is the work of the Eternal One, and he will see to it that his ends are brought about. For he has, the Nihlion teach, a Guarantor for his labors.'

'Theodysus,' Rahdmus said.

'Theodysus,' I repeated, 'he who alone is righteous, and by whom alone is the world made righteous. Remember Daryas, in yourself you will find great evil, and also great good. But all your good and evil are born of your own will. Cease from all willfulness and you will find at last the power to escape the shadow in which you were born. In all your trials, Daryas, remember that name, Theodysus, and the star that is named for him; let it be a light to you and a comfort for your soul.'

Lord Havoc spoke again of his task, saying, 'You must take the Sword of Pelas, which your ancestor Galvahir bore, to Dadron, and let fate take care of the rest. But do not lose sight of this fact: The strife that now engulfs the whole continent of Weldera has but one purpose, to bring the ambitions of Pelas and his fell brother to naught.'

'And are the people just so many insects, to be squashed by the gods in their contests?' Revere complained.

'If that is the case, then it is the case, and no manner of complaining shall alter it, Revere, son of the east,' Rahdmus said loudly. 'I do not like it any more than you do,' he added, 'but remember, child, that no man can see all ends, and we cannot tell from where we stand whether or not it would be better for this present conflict to end immediately, or to play out as it shall. It is only he who has a view of the whole that can judge whether this or that part fulfills its role. And he must not only see the whole work, but also the pattern.'

Daryas said little more that night, but sat quietly in thought. In his mind echoed the voice of Leonara, saying, 'Return to me, my love, and bring no evil thing with you. Then only can I be free. Return to me.'

'My love,' Daryas thought to himself, 'She calls me her love.'

'And for that she is a fool above all other fools,' the fell voice of Evna came to him.

Daryas said nothing, but his heart swore to itself that he would free the woman to whom his heart was bound by fate from the dominion of that fell goddess who now tormented his mind from afar. 'Leonara, by doom itself I am tied to thee!' he wept, 'yet by choice also, for who upon earth is more lovely than you?'

He fell asleep dreaming of her golden hair, and all through the night he could hear the sound of her voice, singing sad songs from a great distance.

Cossa-la

Thus it came to pass that we began the northward journey to the land of the sons of Cossa, wherein the ancient sword of Pelas was said to have been hidden away. 'If all things have not turned upside down we might hope for a welcome among the kin of my mother,' Daryas said as they turned from the northward road to head west toward the darkest place in Noras. Shaded by the Coronan mountains both in the north and the south, the land of Cossa-la received less light than the rest of the forest. The trees here were hardy and tall, however, and the Cossirne supported themselves chiefly with the lumber thereof. They would send the wood down the Gavl River to Galva-la, from whence they received whatever goods their own land could not provide for them. The deer in Cossa-la were somewhat numerous, but there was little else to eat and little land for farming. The women of Cossa-la, it was often said in jest, would trade their firstborn for a cask of pepper or for a ripened piece of fruit. Of all the lands of Noras, Cossa-la suffered the most danger from the goblins of the Coronan Mountains. Consequently, though their own warriors were fierce and brave, they did not undervalue the friendship of the Galvahirne, nor would they suffer any servant of Ponteris to pass within their borders.

But though they might find here many allies, the exiles were hurried along by Rahdmus, who kept saying to them, 'If it is not done as it is commanded, then no amount of allies will avail you.' With great distress of spirit we marched on, Daryas and Revere still in the guise of furriers. As we broke camp on the twenty-fifth day of Florhus, the sky began to let fall, little by little, droplets of rain from the heavens. But by the end of that day it was as if we walked beneath a waterfall. Every step brought fresh discomfort to our already soaked feet. The horses liked it no better, shaking the water from their manes as though they were casting from their backs an unwanted rider. In this we traveled until we came at last to the Rilcos-la, a great labyrinth of rushing mountain streams. The waters from the high places of Coronan poured down into Cossa-la in rushing rapids, made deadly and fierce by the late spring rains. 'We cannot risk the rapids,' Daryas said, 'Not while we lead my brother's horse.'

'You worry for Novai?' Revere laughed. 'I trust Novai to swim the rapids with ease. It is the cleric I worry for,' he said, with a glance in my direction.

It was not until the seventh morning of Solest that we were able to make the crossing. The rivers had at last pushed their excess down to the Gavl Lake, and the stones that marked the crossings were once more visible. With some difficulty we came to the western shore of the Rilcos-la, from whence the Gavl River is born, and set our gaze to the north one more. Two days we climbed into the mountains and into the west, until we seemed to have come to the very deepest corner of Noras. This was a dark place, the mountains of the north and west loomed above us like menacing giants. To the east the trees of the forest were so tall that it seemed almost to be another mountain encircling us. But here, beside a small stream, we were surprised to find a large cave, opening into the mountain.

The place was called Agoslei, and it was the place in which at last, it is said, the hero Galvahir and his comrade Cossa battled the devil king Agon. Cossa lost, in that battle, his right arm. But he and Galvahir were able to wound their foe. Agonistes then fled from them and made as if he would return to his own land to heal. But much to his horror, the Nine heroes had not given up on their pursuit. They came against him again and slew both he and his High Priest, beginning that slow decline of his worship in the west, the culmination of which was the great neglect of Sten-Agoni.

'Here no man comes, nor does any spirit approach. It is both holy and profane,' Rahdmus said. 'It is holy because here lies the great sword of Pelas, about which so many tales have been told. This place is profane also, however, because here the blood of the devil king was spilled. But both of these, the holy and the profane, are only so in the eyes of the Noras. For Pelas is not a god.'

We drew near the entrance of the cave and peered inside. Naught could be seen but darkness. From within a cold wind seemed to arise, indicating its great size and depth. 'We are to go in there?' I asked, trying to conceal the fright in my voice.

Rahdmus laughed, 'No, the son of Biron is to go, and he will go alone.'

'Alone?' Daryas said with surprise.

'You do not wish to go alone?' Rahdmus said, almost as though he were surprised to hear him say such a thing.

Daryas stood there silent as the very stones of the mountain for a long while. At last he shook his head and said, 'I will go alone.'

'I would go with you if you desired it,' Rahdmus said. Revere said the same, as did I, though insincerely.

'No,' Daryas said, 'But I am thankful that you are of such a mind.'

'Beware, son of Galvahir,' Rahdmus said ere he left. 'That sword has been cursed by the one who rules the northern world. It will cut your enemies asunder, but also your own soul, if there is anything doubtful within you.'

The Old Shrine

A torch was prepared and Daryas, leaving behind him all that he deemed he would not need, stepped into the darkness and was lost to sight for an entire day. Revere was of half a mind to seek him out, but Rahdmus forbid it, saying, 'Daryas alone knows the dangers below, and none of us can help him face them.'

'What madness is this?' Revere asked. To this Rahdmus just shook his head.

After descending into the cave, Daryas first noticed that the walls were cut with tools and not by nature alone. When he had continued along this path for some time he came at length to a place where there stood a great door of stone. He thought he would be forced to abandon his quest and return to the surface, when all of a sudden, the stone itself cracked and fell to the ground. Whether this was a sign or whether it was a coincidence he could not say; the stone had at last given way to the laws of nature that had long beckoned it to fall - or perhaps it was brought down by some other power. When the dust cleared, Daryas stepped carefully through the doorway. Within he saw that there was a small shrine built. There were hooks upon the wall for the hanging of lamps and in one corner there seemed to be the remnant of an air shaft, though the rocks had caved in many years ago. But it was clear that, at some point in time, this place was visited on a regular basis. On one side of the room, whether it was north or south he could not tell, there was the remnant of what must have once been a marvelous statue of glistening white stone. It was a statue of a beautiful woman with a small child upon her lap. But her head had at some point fallen off and shattered upon the floor. He did not know why, but a tear entered into his eye as he looked upon the ruins of so beautiful a thing. 'I doubt not that the maiden herself has likewise passed into memory,' he thought. Whatever ruin had come to the mother, the child seemed to be perfectly intact.

Daryas continued beyond this room to another like it in shape, but filled with dusty scrolls and old books. He touched one of these with the tip of his finger, but it crumbled to dust in his hand. He was forced to use his sword to cut through the spiderwebs that grew in this room. At the far end of it there was what remained of a wooden door. He stepped through this and came to a long dark tunnel, the entrance of which was scarcely large enough for him to squeeze through. Almost without thinking, he hung his torch on a hook and climbed into the tiny hole, squeezing his whole body through. Inch by inch he crawled through that tunnel into the darkness until he almost came to believe that he had never known such a thing as sunlight, or any space wider than that dark place. But as he continued it became apparent from the coldness of the air and the ease of his descent that the tunnel was at last widening out.

The Mural

After many attempts, Daryas at last lit for himself another torch. This he nearly dropped at the first spark of light, for before him there stood a great wall of brilliant white stone, the reflection of which seemed to transform his small torch into the sun itself. On this stone wall there were carved figures and letters, such as Daryas could not comprehend. At the bottom of each an explanation was written in a very ancient form of the Noras script, of which Daryas knew very little.

There were twelve tablets altogether, set across four rows, and three deep. The letters on the highest of these he could not make out. But the pictures were well carved, and could be seen well enough from where he stood.

He took but a glance at these, and not in the order in which they were carved. But what he described I record in order here:

First there was what appeared to be a mountain with the sun rising behind it. Beneath this there was carved the image of a man and a woman facing, as if in battle, a great dragon, out of whose mouth poured what looked like water.

The tablet to the right of this one was filled with images of war and death. In the center of all this chaos, surrounded by the bodies of the slain, there stood seven great heroes with long swords and round shields.

Below the first stone there was a scene that seemed to be the departing of a son from his father's house. The son was arrayed in rich robes, and departed with light shining upon his face. But the father, nonetheless mourned.

All that could be read on the next tablet was, 'The ancient ones, who brought with them beauty and grief.' The image was of a mighty warrior, wielding a sword and scepter beneath which passed many frail forms of men. A crown was set upon his head and he seemed to almost float above the earth as one of the gods.

The next one said only 'The Twins', and on it was carved two figures, standing one upon the sun and the other upon the moon. Beneath the sun there was a fawn and under the moon a dark wolf. But these, the fawn and wolf, seemed to be in a different style of painting, which Daryas took to mean that they had been added to the picture in more recent age.

The rest of the images showed only more death and horror, ending with a striking image of a dragon and of a ship setting out to sail upon stormy seas. Beneath this he saw the old Noras word for 'Ghosts', but no connection could he discern between what was written and what was painted on the wall.

There was much more written and much more to be gleaned from these tablets than Daryas was able to recall or record at that time. Indeed, in later years this was discovered to be the case. But here is not the place for such things, as they would, I do not doubt, occupy a very large work themselves.

Lutrosis and the Sword

After he had tarried here as long as he dared, he made his way to the right of the mural and found at last a large room in which was placed, upon a stone table, a long sword unsheathed. The light of the flame seemed almost to be captured by the blade, rather than reflected, and the rest of the room seemed to vanish away in darkness. Daryas stood for a long while in awe of its beauty, for never had he seen a finer blade.

'A man of worth indeed,' came a voice out of the shadows. At this Daryas swung around and drew his sword. 'Who is there?' he demanded. No answer came. When he was at last fully convinced that it was his own mind deceiving him, he turned again to the table. But even as he reached his hand out toward the sword he felt once more that another stood beside him in the darkness. He took the sword in hand quickly, and a thunderous chuckle echoed throughout the chamber. He swung torch and sword about in frantic motions, seeking out the source of the dreadful laughter, but nothing could be discovered but the shifting form of his own shadow.

With each step he took toward the place he had entered, the laughter grew more horrible and cruel. He began to rush back toward the tunnel, now hoping to have the safety of those tight walls about him. But as he ran we found his feet were pulled out from beneath him, sending him falling on his face in the dark. His torch sputtered out and the darkness at last filled the whole place.

There he was overtaken by many foul dreams and tormented for a long time by visions of that witch Evna, who had taunted him so many times before. 'Little hope have you, son of Biron, to do what you have set out to do,' she seemed to laugh. But as he regained his wits, the voice seemed to change, sounding more like that which he had heard before in the darkness. When he had lain on the cold ground for what seemed like many days, he at last began to make as if he would leave this place forever. But ere he rose to his feet he saw before him cold green eyes, glowing in the darkness. He lifted his sword and rushed upon the creature with a great fury, such as only the sons of Biron can muster. But this was to no avail. He found his throat to be in the clutches of something much mightier than himself. It tore at his throat, reopening the wound he had received in the Nunnery of Agonistes many months before.

'Release me!' he pleaded, and much to his surprise, his assailant obeyed.

'It is but fair,' a cruel voice said, 'for how would it be if I had power over you, and you had naught to do against me?'

'Who are you?' Daryas shouted, clutching his neck in pain.

''That you know already,' the voice said. 'Or,' it seemed almost thoughtful, 'perhaps it may be that you do not know me.' A great laugh echoed again in the tunnel. 'You know me as well as you know anyone else, even better, I would say. But yet you know me not at all.' Again it laughed at his misery. 'A perfect contradiction, unseemly for one such as yourself, but yet perfect in its opposition. Still more perfect is it in its reality!'

'I don't know what you are saying!' Daryas said. 'If you are not wholly bereft of reason, then I would have you tell me for what purpose you have assailed me!'

'Purpose? For what purpose?' the voice laughed. 'I am to thee, purpose. I have ever been your master, and you have been naught but my slave, though you have hidden me well. Ever the sun shines upon your face, and ever I am hid behind you, so that no light ever shines upon me. When the sun is high, and there is no more place to hide, you improvise, sticking me under your feet even, as if I were a slave. But I am a slave driver, not a servant. And you are meant to serve me. From henceforth it shall be so. For you have set your hands upon that dread sword, that sword that sunders spirit from soul, dividing and cleaving all that it touches. Even as it will undoubtedly cleave many foes for you, against you it has also begun to work.'

'You speak madness,' Daryas said in frustration. 'And I have not time for this.' With that he began to feel his way in the darkness toward the place he had entered.

'Yet,' the voice said cruelly, 'You will learn that there is nothing so pressing or important that you will walk away from me as I speak.' With those words he grabbed Daryas by the back of the neck and hurled him against the wall. Daryas lifted his sword again.

'What exactly do you raise your sword against, Daryas? Will you cut me? Will you put an end to me, that being without whom you should not so much as draw breath?'

'Tell me who you are!'

'You will see ere the end, just who it is that I am,' the voice said. Now, give me that sword,' the voice wrested the blade from Daryas' hand and pushed him once more to the ground. By the light of the creature's glowing green eyes Daryas could see that the blade was now pointed at his own throat.

'For what would you slay me?' Daryas said weakly. 'I have committed no crime against you.'

'I will not slay you, Daryas,' the voice said calmly. 'As repugnant as it may be, you are as necessary to me as I to thee. But no longer shall you play the master. You have taken up the sword, and by it the truth shall be revealed in due course. From henceforth it shall be you that lurks in the dark shadows.'

With those words the creature struck him in the face once more with the hilt of the sword.

Daryas knew not how long he had lain there senseless. Scarcely could he recall what had taken place. But as soon as he awoke he heard a voice from behind him. 'Now, let us depart. I am weary of darkness, and there are many things that I wish to accomplish ere Death takes me.'

'It is good to know that you are mortal at least,' Daryas said, still in great confusion, 'That will be my great hope and comfort.'

The creature just laughed.

Sunlight

Much to Daryas' surprise, when he at last emerged from that dungeon, he found that there was not a scratch upon him. No trace of the beating he had taken appeared upon his face, though, he said, he felt it nonetheless. More surprising to him was the hour and day in which he returned. He felt as though it had been a whole week. Revere assured him that if it had been so long he would have died of thirst, 'You left your waterskin behind,' he chided him, 'A very foolish thing to do.'

At last the sword of Pelas, as it was called in the histories, was brought forth into the light of day. Even this light the blade seemed to steal away, darkening the forest around it. Upon its hilt there was an inscription, 'The blade's true name,' Rahdmus said. 'This is Tanak, one of the mighty Elf-blades. It is one of those precious blades that were, in ancient days, blessed, or cursed one might say, with the power of speech.'

'The blade speaks?' Daryas said.

'So it is said,' Rahdmus laughed. 'But we have not the time as of now to wait and listen, nor should we obey it should it begin barking out commands. We must go at once to Dadron, where the blade will be put to its final test.'

We left the very next morning, letting Daryas sleep for as long as he required. Then we made our way back across the Rilcos-la and began our descent into the south. Familiar all the roads now seemed to us, but when we at last set foot in Galva-la, Rahdmus asked, 'Son of Biron, which is the swiftest way to the Gavl lake?'

'I would say the river, but it is too shallow here to take to boats, nor could a boat be found that would bear our steeds in such waters.'

'Haste is needed, if your kinsman is to be spared alive. For within the beleaguered walls of Dadron he will soon grow impatient and hopeless, which is to say, madness will come upon him.'

'Beyond the falls of South Lake,' Daryas said, 'I would say the quickest way to Dadron would be by the river, but such things cannot now be trusted in.'

'Then you must go east, and ride through the Forsaken Fields of West Daeva, coming to Dadron from the Northwest. Otherwise, you will never make it to the city in time.'

'But what of the siege? It cannot be imagined that either side will simply let me enter the city unimpeded.'

'You will be coming to the city by a strange road,' Rahdmus said. 'A road known only to the Ancients.'

'And what about yourself?' Revere asked.

'We will only delay you,' he answered, 'But you must take to your horses and fly through the land of Noras, coming to the Forsaken Fields through the place called the Thicket, which lies between Dae-la and Lavri-la. You will find that a path has already been cleared for you.'

'I know the place well,' Revere answered. 'Though when last I set eyes upon it one could scarcely crawl their way through it their belly, let alone ride two horses through it.'

'Much has changed since the ascendency of Ponteris,' Rahdmus said, 'New roads have been made and old ones have fallen into disuse.'

'If there be a road there, will there not also be guards?' Daryas asked.

'It is the main road through the most faithful of Ponteris' territories. They have little to fear from that land, and therefore little need for guards.'

'Very well,' Daryas said. 'Let us make our way to Dadron the Great.

Rahdmus gave them careful directions and told them all the signs by which they might come across that ancient road that leads beneath the Falsi River into the very heart of Dadron. 'Now make haste, the Spirits that rule over the destinies of men pursue Olver Galvahirne even as we speak. Though it may be that he has already fallen into the hands of the Lord of Folly.'

[Chapter IX:  
Dadron Besieged](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Brothers

There are many spirits who were set in ancient times to rule over mankind. But of all these spirits those of the greatest might and influence have been Lord Sleep, Lord Folly, and Lord Death. Lord Death and Lord Sleep rule over all men alike, but Lord Folly rules over only those who deign to resist the powers of his brothers. So that when men cling to life overlong, they find in gaining years they must sacrifice the very prudence they spent their time attaining. Likewise, those who tarry late into the night will find their senses dulled and their judgment weakened. Moreover, of the three, Folly alone yet had dominion over those spirits that men call gods, who sleep not and die not.

Always together these brothers may be found, though it may at times appear that one works in this place and another elsewhere. But the powers they exert know no border or boundary, they cannot be limited, altered, or halted. Nor can they be commanded.

Lord Pelas, on the fifteenth day of Solest, even as armies marched against Dadron and banners of war were sent flying under the bright summer sun, approached these dread brothers with great urgency.

'Hail, friends,' he said as he drew ever closer. He waylaid them as they journeyed along the southern road from South Lake. 'To which city do you journey now?'

Death said nothing, Folly laughed, but Sleep answered in his calm voice, 'You know as well as we do, that whatever road we walk, we walk to everyplace at once, for all the world is our domain.'

'A task I have for thee,' Pelas thundered. Death stood as silent as stone, Folly roared with laughter, and Old Man Sleep alone was left to answer.

With a sigh he said, 'Lord Pelas, you are master of many servants. But what have we to do with you? We are not your servants, nor can we alter the laws by which we have been ordained; even those laws that dictate our every step. For we would do a great wickedness if we walked outside of those precepts that have long guided us. We would become, even as many others have, fallen stars, burning in the secret vaults of hell.'

'Are you slaves, then? I have never heard such a thing?' Pelas said with some frustration.

'Slaves? No, there are no slaves in our realm. But the steps of the righteous are laid out before them with an unbreakable power. It is whether we choose to walk therein and follow those steps that determines in the end what manner of creatures we are.'

'If, then, you are not slaves,' Pelas said, 'then you may at least be approached in council.'

'Indeed,' Sleep answered, 'Even as we are brought into council each time a man begs for one more hour of wakefulness, or when a man clings to life, though Death's dagger lies within his breast, or when a man takes care to walk in righteous paths, that Folly may have no dominion over him.'

'That is what I have been saying,' Lord Pelas laughed. 'Now, there is a certain man, whose life alone stands between the land of Noras and its destiny.'

'What is his name?' Folly said, at last breaking from his constant chuckles.

'His name is Olver Galvahirne,' Pelas said with malice in his voice. Old Man Sleep shook his head. Pelas explained, 'For many ages I have guided the people of Noras, saving them from their oppressors and giving to them wisdom and strength undeserved. Yet their mightiest Cheftan has seen fit to cast me aside, even as I worked to comfort him in his darkness. Therefore, the scepter of Noras will pass to another, even to the son of Biron, Daryas, who will bear the light of Pelas into the West.'

Folly laughed heartily, 'We care not for your nations and your political ramblings. The question we concern ourselves with is this: Why ought we meddle in the affairs of this son of Galvahir? We will not do it because this or that Cheftan chooses to slay deer and sheep on your behalf.'

'Do not forget to whom you speak,' Pelas said, rising to his full height.

Folly fell to the ground, holding his side as if in pain. A chuckle passed from Pelas' chest, and soon he was laughing loudly, saying, 'Even the old slave-masters of mankind ought not set their wills against that of Pelas, lord of Weldera.'

Old Man Sleep spoke in a sad voice, 'We will do as you will. It is fated, the nephew of Biron will ignore many signs, and this will bring him under the dominion of Folly and... finally, Death.'

Pelas said nothing more, but turned and walked away, with a look of immortal pride upon his face. 'There is no god in Weldera such as I.'

When he had left, however, Folly at last broke forth into a greater laughter than he had hitherto laughed. He rose to his feet and it became clear that he had not fallen to the ground in pain. A look of such joy was in his eyes that for a great many leagues of their walk his companions could scarcely tolerate him. 'I think it is rather sad,' Sleep said after a while. He has done his best for many years to care for these folk.'

'Indeed,' spoke grim Death at last, 'But no one asked him to do so. What is he then but a tyrant and a menace?'

'Fear not, brethren,' Folly laughed, 'it will not be long until he too is fully under my power!'

'I would say that the hour has already come,' Sleep said.

'Nay,' Folly said, 'There are many good jokes yet to come. He must first be made a spectacle of for the sake of he who lives in the Hidden South. Then the end must at last be brought upon him.'

'Then I will finish that which I began in ancient times,' Death said almost with joy at the thought. Folly began to laugh again.

'What is it now?' Sleep asked him. 'Have you not laughed enough?'

'I was just thinking,' he said, 'I think Lord Pelas truly believes that he is making us do what we are about to do?'

'Our words certainly would lead him to believe such a thing,' Sleep replied with regret.

'We told him not,' Folly laughed to himself, 'That it was fated long before he came to us, that Olver would fall into ruin outside the walls of Dadron.'

'The fall of Pelas from the heights of pride has been wrought even by his own meddling,' Death said, 'For were he not so presumptuous he would not be able to convince himself that he has authority.'

Signs of Hope and Fear

Nearly a full month before Daryas and Revere entered the Amla Gap, Maru the eagle descended upon the Temple of Pelas, much to the delight of the people of the city. Indeed, by some it was deemed to be an omen or a sign that the gods were on their side. Still others, knowing the bird bore a message for Olver, took it at least to be a sign that somebody was on their side; whether they were divine or not they could not discern.

This, however was not the first such encouragement the men of Dadron received. It had been nearly two years since Olver had arrived, and with him the first rumors of peril. Even as they marched south from Solibree they were overtaken by men of Daevaron riding swiftly to the south. 'Marin sails have been seen on the northern coasts,' they warned. 'They come, by all appearances, for war.' Glad, then, were the refugees to be marching to that mighty citadel of the Ancients. Though their coming was accompanied by this dreadful news, they brought to Dadron a great number of strong young men from Noras.

Their first act upon arriving was to seek the council of Lord Kardian, the Captain of the guard. Redwin, the old man of Coran-la who was given charge over the refugees, gave to him the staff of Hiron, a token of Biron's alliance with Dadron.

'Those who are faithful to Cheftan Biron Galvahirne will always find a welcome in Dadron,' he said. 'Were it not for the sons of Galvahir and their fateful courage these walls might not this day be standing.'

'We are some of us Galvahirne, but mostly we are of mixed company, some Meglalirne, some Coranlirne, even as I am. We are not as mighty and renown as the men of Galva-la, but we are a sturdy people, and we have among us many young men. If you will bear the burden of preparing our youths, we will put under your command all those among us who can draw a bow or lift a spear.'

To this the Captain of Dadron agreed, and all those who were able were brought into the army of that city; altogether some three hundred dark haired young men of Noras. These men proved to be swift learners and sturdy warriors, earning the respect and friendship of their new allies among the Daevaron.

This was the first sign given to Olver, as if to say, 'All is not lost.' And for a while he was encouraged thereby. Seeing the might of Dadron and its enormous walls of stone, and seeing now his own people trained and ready for war, he rested content, feeling himself up to the task which lay before him.

The second sign was the coming of many Daevaron warriors to Dadron. There came Lord Deven from Daeva City with a thousand men, Lord Marsus of Solibree with four-hundred swordsmen, and even from Fahsro there came more than three hundred men of war. These things indeed made it appear as though there was yet strength in Falsis to withstand their enemies.

Thus for a time Olver was encouraged and he swore allegiance to the City of Dadron, taking Lord Akellnarva, who in that day ruled over the city, as his patron. The lord of the city was well-pleased with Olver, seeing in him an echo of the ancient days, when Galvahir's might struck awe into the hearts of mortal and immortal alike.

But as the stories began to pour into Dadron of the mysterious creature that marched with the soldiers of Marin, Olver became greatly troubled. He was no coward. It cannot be said that he feared defeat or feared for his own safety. But he was unwilling to wait in hiding for an inevitable death. 'If we are to fall,' he told Lord Kardian, 'they it would be my wish that we might fall in glory, and not hiding beneath the bedsheets of Dadron's great walls.'

To this Kardian replied, 'Do not fear, master Galvahirne, there will be glory either way. But while we hold fast behind these walls there is hope.'

'Hope of what?' Olver said. 'That we can withstand them forever? We have not the wisdom of the Ancients, nor do we have the allies of the powerful.'

'Yet Dadron of old withstood its enemies for a generation, even against the cunning of Lapulia and its wizards. Surely the men of Noras and the men of Daevaron can withstand for a little while.'

'Against them railed not the monster,' Olver said despondently. 'It is rumored that in every place he goes he slanders my name. An agent of Ponteris he seems in every way to be.'

'Nay, more likely it is to Marin that Ponteris himself answers,' Kardian said. 'Do not fear the monster, master Galvahirne, He cannot, alone, breach the walls of Dadron.'

Time passed, and every month seemed to carry with it more dreadful news. The fall of Kolfa, of Lak, and at last the death of noble Ehrmas in Fahsro laid upon Olver's brow a great weight of troubles. When he was told that in Fahsro the monster once more demanded the death of Olver Galvahirne he grew wrathful and said, 'Not long shall I await death in these halls. If it is fated that this brute shall slay me, then I will meet him openly, and not in some secret refuge.'

'Do not rush to death,' Kardian warned, 'for such rashness is little better than cowardice.'

But try as he might, Lord Kardian's arguments could only serve to lift his spirits for a moment. As the weight of his responsibilities closed in upon him, Olver would fall again into despair.

It must be remembered, of course, that the only thing standing between Lord Ponteris and his goal was the life of Cheft Biron. In turn, the only thing that stood between Biron and death was the life of Olver. 'Should Biron fall, there will be no restoration of Noras,' Olver reasoned. 'Nor would there be anything worth restoring, should the virtue of Galvahir be banished entirely.'

All the while, refugees poured into the city, until the city almost seemed to thrive as it did in the days of the Ancients, when every street was filled with merchants and every house was filled with families. The farmlands that had for all these years been left untended, were broken up and tilled. By the end of the first year such an abundance of food was brought forth from the ground that Lord Akellnarva, despite his troubles, ordered a great feast to be held throughout the city. Sacrifices of bread and wine were offered to Pelas in the temple, and music rose up throughout the city.

But in all the mirth and merrymaking Olver took no part.

When some time had passed, Lord Kardian took Olver to the high watchtowers of Dadron. From there he showed him all the lands that surrounded Dadron. 'From here,' he said, 'we can see the ranks and armies of our foes from far off. No one can come against us unawares or without first revealing to us their numbers and their stratagems.'

Next the Captain of Dadron took him to the great walls and walked with him the length of the northern battlement, a journey that occupied nearly half the day. 'What part of this great wall do you think our enemies shall break, master Galvahirne?' he asked him. 'Within these walls we are as safe as the ghosts of Solsis, we are as hidden as Lord Bralahi of Malgier, and as impervious as Lord Pelas himself, who rules and presides over all that herein takes place.'

Next Olver was taken to the farmlands of Dadron and shown how all that might be needed could be acquired from Dadron's own soil. 'Long will we withstand our enemies, for they cannot cut us off from our provisions.'

After this he was shown the barracks of Dadron and all the armies therein. There were, not including the Noras and the refugees from Daevaron, twenty thousand fighting men, and five thousand archers. 'In addition,' Kardian said, 'we have nearly a thousand mounted knights, ready to ride out to war should the need arise. Add to this the strength of the Noras and the men of Daeva who have added their swords to our own, and we will find ourselves sufficient to the task at hand.'

But for all of this, Olver's spirit continued to sink. This was the third sign given to the nephew of Biron.

The message that Maru brought to Olver read as follows:

'To the noble Olver Galvahirne, from the hand of his kinsman Dynamis in exile,

'Hold fast, cousin, for help is not far from you. I send to you Daryas, whom you know well. His sword I trust will bring some comfort to you, and his appearance will boost the spirits of those faithful to our house.

'Amlaman prepares to march against you from the west, through Amla Gap. But as yet they do not know that the Remnant of Galvahir is hidden in their own lands, even behind their lines. If they march to Dadron, they will find us to be a dagger in their back. You know the strength of my own servants, and you know the strength of the Galvahirne. Take heart, therefore, and remain behind the walls of Dadron until I come to you. Then we will break asunder our enemies.'

Lord Kardian was of a mind to deliver this news to the masses, so that they might be encouraged. But Olver refused, saying, 'Let us see what the days ahead will bring.' And of course, when Daryas' arrival was delayed, Olver concluded that some ill had befallen him. And when no further message came from Dynamis he judged that no help was to be expected from the sons of Biron. 'We are even as we were before,' he said to the Captain, 'We cannot put our confidence in anything but our own strength. And this will not withstand our enemies forever.'

'But have we not the fortress of Dadron? Have we not the armies of the same? Have we not the word of Biron's son? Have we not Pelas?'

'It may be that these things will protect us against the forces of Amlaman. But against the unanswerable might of Marin we cannot hope to prevail forever. Morever,' Olver said, his voice growing cold and grim, 'We cannot as yet be certain that those devils - those Lapulians - are not at all involved in this plotting.'

'Truly of all men you are the most remarkably somber of heart,' laughed Kardian. 'You will not accept the word of Biron's son who has sent a message to you, yet you fear the evils of Lapulia, though no sign of them has yet been seen! There has never been a truer pessimist!'

Four signs did Olver receive, and four times he shook himself free from what hope the men of Dadron had. His gloom was such that Lord Akellnarva grew concerned that he might be driven to extravagances when at last the hour of war came upon them. Captain Kardian defended him, however, saying, 'Whatever heaviness weighs upon him, my lord, he lets not the weight of his worries render his sword less sharp or his skills less acute. He will serve Dadron well in the hour of battle, whether he believes that he will survive the ordeal or not.'

The Enemies of Dadron

Subtracting as it were from his hope was the ever growing list of perils now facing the men of Dadron, and the Galvahirne in particular. First there were the wicked men of Noras who had, with Ponteris, overthrown the Galvahirne and imprisoned his uncle. Not without great bloodshed, Olver believed, could their hold on Noras be loosed. With his own meager force such an endeavor was impossible. But the restoration of Noras was far from his mind \- he took more thought of the survival of the Galvahirne and their allies than their revenge. But as Natham raged in the eastern part of Falsis and as the armies of Ollitov camped about Dadron, his hopes were defeated. 'This beast may as well be the dark god himself,' he said, conjuring up the imagery of his people.

Added to this was the coming of Volthamir, who had taken upon himself once more the name of Aganthos, which his mother had given him on the day of his birth. Rumors had long ago reached Dadron of his prowess in battle and the fear he had instilled in the Goblins of Daufina. More daunting than the names of his enemies, however, were their numbers. The spies of Dadron counted in the ranks of Marin's army more than twenty thousand soldiers, well-armed and well-trained for war. Besides these there were almost thirty thousand hirelings, and more pouring into Falsis every month. From the west there marched, it was believed, some fifteen-thousand warriors of Ramlos and Amlaman. But this was not yet their full strength. For in the west the greater part of their army yet resided, keeping the frontiers at peace and the last half-heirs of Voltan besieged. Even should the fortress weather these warriors, it is certain that they would not long survive should the Marshals of West Amlaman be summoned to the fight. No sign or whisper as yet had been spoken regarding the great City of Lapulia, and whether or not they were in any way involved in this campaign. Olver could only shut his eyes and beseech the heavens that the wizards of that land would not be numbered among his enemies. 'Yet it is impossible for me to believe that they would not wish to tear some meat from our carcass ere the end comes,' Olver said as he pondered their dire situation.

Help could no longer be sought for in Daevaron, for it was under the heel of Marin and what warriors it could spare were already gathered behind Dadron's gates. Kollun, the democracy, could not be counted upon for help. 'More than likely,' Olver told the Captain of Dadron, 'they will send an envoy to Marin deploring in the strongest words (and weakest actions) the raping of Daevaron. But that, as all things in Kollun, will depend on whither the people's fancy takes them. What allies we have therein may well be ousted from their stations ere any help arrives.' The Noras were committed in the very least to remain aloof from Dadron's plight. But there was also a danger, should the siege prove overly difficult, that Ponteris would in the end commit warriors and help to the enemies of the Noras refugees. 'The betrayer cannot be counted upon to cease from his betrayals,' Olver said to himself as he paced upon the walls and battlements of Dadron.

Titalo, the city of mercenaries and pirates from whence the ancient Daevaron had first emigrated, could not be looked to for aid. Unless Dadron's diminished treasury could compete with the might and wealth of Amlaman and Marin alike, Titalo could only be seen as a potential enemy.

Thus it was that Olver found himself, on the last night of Florhus, watching the army of Amlaman form itself into ranks and companies under the blue moon. Great peril beset him, great burdens lay upon his shoulders, and he would suffer no hope to remain within his heart.

Olver Galvahirne

On the first day of Solest, the armies of Amlaman at last arrived in Falsis. They marched without relent to join their allies on the fields and hills surrounding Dadron. Seeing their approach from the watchtowers, Lord Kardian ordered the last of the gates to be shut and locked.

The city of Dadron was built, as has been said, upon an enormous hill in the center of the great valley of Falsis where the Libron River and the Falsi River were wed. The length of the city was almost twelve leagues, and the width almost ten. So great were its walls that the River itself was taken in beneath them and carried through the city in a series of vast aqueducts, pouring at last in artificial falls into the Lake of Ruvai, which stretched for eighteen leagues to the east. At the end of this lake the waters were allowed to resume their course, descending toward the the Kollun Sea and the city of Kolfa.

The city had five walls altogether. The first encircled the whole city, save for a few towns and villages that had grown up without the walls in days of peace. The main gate of Dadron opened up to the southern fields of Agalan, where many towns had been built and many roads paved. The first act of Volthamir was to raze these to the ground, slaying all those who were too sickly or too stubborn to flee to the citadel itself. For fifteen days the cities and towns burned, until it seemed as though the whole world had become a wasteland. The smoke rose up on the wind and choked the guards upon the walls of Dadron. The heat from the fire sent cruel winds over the city, adding a dreadful sting to the heat of summer.

'The world is come to an end,' Olver said as he stood beside Kardian on the southern wall. 'What is there to be done? What can we hope for now, but to make an end of ourselves with honor and dignity?'

'We might hope to survive long enough to see whether Dynamis will come,' Kardian answered.

'I don't think he will come,' Olver said. As he spoke Kardian's heart sunk, for he could hear, as it were, the voice of Death himself speaking.

In the end, Folly had his way, and on the twenty-seventh day of the siege, Olver told the Lord of the city that it was his intention to challenge the might of their enemies on the battlefield, rather than, 'await death hiding beneath the bedlinens.'

Lord Akellnarva was wroth with him, but his words could not prevail, despair had wholly taken up residence in his heart, and there was naught that the Lord of the City could say to encourage him. 'I will tell you what hope I have,' Olver said, 'If I am given the strength of a god, and the help of heaven, as Dadron received long ago, then it may be that we will be given victory today. But we are more prudent than to expect such things in our time.'

'No man of Dadron may you bring beyond the walls,' Lord Akellnarva said sorrowfully. 'If you will forsake all hope and march to death, then you will do it only with those who are of like mind. But you will from this day command no man or woman of Dadron. It may be that we will all perish, but it may also be that the word of Dynamis will prove true, and help will come to Dadron. For my part, and for the part of my people, we will cling to that hope. What else is there but hope, when all else falls dark?'

'You speak of hope, my lord, but I see none,' Olver answered. 'Do you hope for aid from Kollun, who has been late to every perilous hour because of their double-minded masters? Do you hope for help from Titalo, the land of pirates and mercenaries? Do you see the men of Noras mustering for your defense, as they did in the ancient days? It may be, my lord, that one of these will give us help. But it is not likely. It is more probable that we will die here alone and without help.'

'What of Dynamis?' the Lord of the city asked.

'What of him? Is he not likewise an uncertain ally? What is true of our allies will more than likely prove true of him as well. It is more probable that he will not come at all; and if he does come it is unlikely that he will be able so much as to put a notch in the armor of Amlaman.'

With these words Olver Galvahirne departed from Lord Akellnarva and gathered his men in Dusktown. There were some free men of Dadron that insisted upon marching along with him, but for the most part they were men of Noras, the chief of whom were once the guardians of Peiraso, before Ponteris betrayed Cheft Biron. With two-hundred and fifty men, all mounted on strong warhorses, Olver Galvahirne marched out of the city onto the burnt fields of Agalan. Trumpets roared from above and they marched out into the dead city to battle the army of Amlaman and the soldiers of Marin.

For a time, it almost seemed as though Olver had in fact been given the strength of a god. His little force of men soon emptied the wasted cities of foes, riding down the pillaging soldiers of Volthamir and slaying whole companies of their enemies. They came upon a group of some forty warriors of Ramlos, all strong men of Nolhern and veterans of the goblin wars. These they cut down as if they were trimming a hedge. The streets filled with blood and not a single of their men had fallen. It was not until they encountered the main hosts of Amlaman and Marin that they were truly challenged. Ten of them fell to arrows and five to the innumerable spears of the eastern hirelings. But Olver and his captains cut through their lines with ease while the others, following close behind them, guarded them from all attacks. Volthamir himself came to the fore of the battle to help put an end to this wild incursion. Upon his mighty horse, Ghoras, he challenged Olver. The two clashed like two mighty waves. Volthamir, however, proved much the stronger, and Olver was knocked from his horse. Ere he could make an end of Biron's nephew, however, the men of Noras rode up in force and drove Volthamir back, with many curses. Olver mounted once more and rode with his men back toward the gate of Dadron. They hoped to find some place within the ruined city to rest and regain their breath for another assault.

So much harm had been done by this little force that the men of Amlaman were content to let them leave the field unpursued. They made their way through the scorched streets along the southern wall toward the southwest corner of the citadel. With the wall to their backs and with the burning city before them, they made a camp, set a watch, and dressed their wounds.

Early in the morning, while the cool of night and the blanket of darkness yet hung over the armies of Marin, Olver and his men appeared amidst the army of Ollitov, which was positioned along the western wall of the city. So fierce was their onset, and so sudden, that the soldiers of Marin were driven with shrieks from the wall of the fortress. Three of Olver's men fell in that assault, but thirty Olgrost hirelings and seventeen Marin soldiers were slain.

All through that day Olver's men wreaked havoc on the battlefield, until the warriors could scarcely lift their swords to swing. When one force fled, Olver turned his company about and sought after another, until at last the sun fell behind distant Mount Coronan, leaving them once more in the lonely dark of the dead outer lands.

The third day of his rash attack began much the same. He came within a stone's throw of Lord Ollitov himself, but was driven away by Lady Nerria, who arrived just in time to save the Queen's husband alive. Three hundred soldiers marched with her, all carrying spears and swords. Back into the city they fled, with the armies of Marin glad of their departure. But late in the day it came to pass that at last the monster Natham came to hear of Lord Olver's bold deeds. 'It is surprising,' he said to those who marched under his command, 'that he would sacrifice all of Daevaron to the army of Marin, only to so boldly make war against them in the ruins of Dadron.' He said this, of course, still under the belief that Olver was the Lord of Dadron and had stolen Lyris from Marin.

Under Natham's command had been placed some two-hundred soldiers and seventy warriors of Olgrost. Many of these were in fact veterans of his war against the dwarves, and they were loyal to him, even as they had been to the Marshall Lyris. As the sun faded, they rushed along the outskirts of the ruined city, following the contour of the western wall until they came upon the men of Olver as they set up their encampment.

Without warning they fell upon Olver and his men. In the chaos of the assault, and by the fury of Natham, nearly a hundred of Olver's men were slain. Every spear glanced aside and every sword broke upon Admunth, that moving wall that Natham bore upon his shoulder. His great spear, which had destroyed so many Iron-Golems in Olgrost, now pierced horses and men as though they were old cloth. 'Flee!' his men began to shout, 'Flee to the gates! Hell has come up to swallow us alive!'

At last Natham came to stand in the center of their encampment and there he found Olver Galvahirne, against whom he had ignorantly fought all these dreadful battles. 'Olver,' he said with hatred in his voice, 'I have come for you. Many you have held before you, like so many wooden shields. But now there are no more brave youths to sacrifice to save your own life. I have come for your blood.'

'On what ground, beast,' Olver demanded, 'do you lay claim upon my blood?'

'You have stolen that which is most precious to me, and dishonored the one of whom kings and queens are unworthy. Too late now is the hour of council. Many messages have I sent unto you, and many messengers have you turned away.'

Olver shook his head in disbelief, saying only, 'What madness!'

Natham approached him with surprising speed. Olver was able to leap from his horse as it fell under the might of Natham's spear. He hit the ground hard and rose to his feet. The beast towered over him, and under the hood on Natham's left shoulder he saw the firelight gleaming in Judan's eyes. He rose to his feet and drew his sword, facing a foe the sight of which few could hope to withstand. Several blows he dodged, and he made several good strokes against Natham's shield. But it was to no avail. The wrath of Judan was too great, and when the spear of Natham missed its target, and the shield Admunth blocked Olver's stroke, the dread blade Skatos-Ereg emerged from its hiding place and pierced the heart of Olver. The evil blade seemed to steal away the darkness of the night itself; the place where Olver fell was enveloped in darkness and his men were forced to abandon his body as they fled into the south and east, hoping they might somehow gain entrance into the sealed city of Dadron.

Thus Olver Galvahirne was given over to the keeping of Lord Death, and Lord Pelas rejoiced at his passing, saying, 'I am truly lord of all Weldera; for even Death obeys my voice.'

Now Olver's body fell during the night and no man knew where it lay. But in the morning, Captain Kardian rode out with a great host of horsemen to see what remained of his company. The gates were opened and he followed along the wall to the place where Olver's camp had been set up. There he found Natham and his small force waiting. In a feat of great daring he set every man against Natham, so that the monster was forced to hide himself beneath Admunth. While he was thus kept busy, Captain Kardian rushed forward and took the body of Olver into his arms. He lay it carefully upon his horse and rode away from the camp. At his signal, his soldiers relented from their attack and followed him like a gale back to the gates of Dadron.

There his body was received with mourning and with honor. Laments were sung and the people praised him as a hero, but the whole spirit of the city was darkened. 'It has happened, even as he has said,' some of the warriors said with fear and trembling. 'Nay,' others replied, 'he made it happen so through his impatience.' When the body of Olver was at last laid to rest, Lord Akellnarva declared that no longer would any be permitted to leave the city walls.

To compound the sorrow of the matter, it was on the very morning that Captain Kardian had ridden out to retrieve Olver's body that Daryas and Revere found their way into the city of Dadron.

[Chapter X:  
The Breaking of the Siege](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The River Path

In the Golden days of Falruvis, the waters of the great Falsi River were, by the wisdom and skill of the elves, tamed and channelled into the city according to the needs of its citizens, rather than the dictates of the terrain. Though much had deteriorated in the ages that followed, there was yet a path into the city through the water, for those who knew where to look.

Following the instructions of Rahdmus they came, on the twenty seventh day of Solest, to a small cave hidden among the reeds on the river bank. Were it not for his careful instructions, it would have been impossible for them to discover it. The entrance was large, however, and they had little trouble getting their horses into the tunnels. Revere's horse almost refused, for the road was very dark and wet. Novai seemed content enough, however, and walked peacefully even in the blackness. Both horses were in better spirits once Revere lit a torch. Thus began their long journey in the dark.

For several days they journeyed, always being careful to keep their torches lit and dry. As they went on the road fell down, following the course of the river. To their right they could hear the rushing water, and in some places they could feel the cool spray of the water as portions of the Falsi were channelled through those tunnels in large stone canals. Great care they took, lest they lose their footing and fall into the river. This very nearly happened on several occasions. Twice Daryas was saved by grasping the bridle of Novai at the last moment. Revere almost complained of his carelessness, but even as he opened his mouth to speak, his own feet forsook him and he pulled himself up by his horse's ankle.

Uncertain of their surroundings, the two went along silently, saying only things like, 'We ought to turn to the right here,' or 'watch your step there.' But as they went Daryas began to feel uneasy. In the daylight his shadow now troubled him greatly, bringing to his mind the fell words he had heard when he had gone into the darkness to retrieve the Sword of Pelas. But now the darkness troubled him more, seeming to fill the whole world with the blackness of his own heart. It wasn't long before he heard footsteps and a heavy breathing behind him. Then, the shadow spoke to him.

'To what do you now march?' the voice asked, with a tone of feigned curiosity.

'I march to Dadron, and to war,' Daryas replied with a whisper, lest Revere should hear him.

'Why do you speak so softly, son of Biron?'

'I have always spoken softly,' he answered.

'Indeed, I know it well. You have always spoken softly lest I should be discovered and some other would come to know me even as you have.'

'I do not know you,' Daryas protested.

'Yet you are very familiar with me nonetheless.'

'You speak nonsense!' Daryas said with frustration.

'What else ought I to speak? I make no claim to wisdom. But I dare say I do make a claim to honesty; something you know nothing about. For were you an honest man, you would be hated by all. Men know you, but they do not know me; therefore they know not Daryas. Only his shell have they apprehended - the depth of his heart they have not seen.' Daryas continued to walk in silence, hoping this devil would grow weary and depart. 'You say you go to war,' Lutrosis said. Daryas said nothing.

Suddenly Daryas felt a strong hand upon his hair. His head was yanked back and he fell into the darkness. There he saw again the glowing green eyes of his enemy. 'You will not ignore me, son of Biron,' he said. I have walked your paths for many years, and hidden when I was told. You owe me an answer, and an answer I will extract from you. To what end do we go to war?'

'We go to save my people from death - if it is at all possible.'

'You would die for them?' Lutrosis asked with surprise.

'I will kill for them at least,' Daryas said. Soberly he added, 'yet to die for my people I would not be ashamed.'

'Why should you kill for the sake of your countrymen? Are not your enemies men also? Why choose the one over the other?'

'Yet our enemies are usurpers, invaders, and oppressors.'

Lutrosis laughed, 'As are all men from time to time. What nation is established without bloodshed? What people come to prominence without injustice? You love these people because they are your countrymen. Fight for them on that account. But do not pretend it is more than that. You know as well as I that the soldiers of Marin and the warriors of Amlaman are as innocent as the Daevaron they have destroyed. Soldiers are noble for obedience, and they are not permitted to have private judgment on where they turn their swords. You err, then, when you call such men your enemies.'

'Yet shall I let them trample my kin into the dust?'

'Indeed not,' Lutrosis said, 'You will fight and kill many Amlamani men and Marin girls. But you will not do it for holiness, you will do it for yourself and those to whom your heart is given. In fact, you will fight for my sake.'

In silence they continued for another few minutes. But at last the voice of Lutrosis spoke again, saying, 'Do you recall a time when your brother came upon an army of ants?'

Daryas felt sick for a moment, 'How can you know of such a thing? That was many years ago, when we were still very small.'

'Yet I know of it,' Lutrosis laughed, 'There are a great many things I know of, son of Biron, and this will be the least of your surprises.'

'I remember it,' Daryas said.

'There were many thousands of ants, all of them black, all of them of the same size. To look upon them at a distance you would see only what seemed to be a patch of dirt or a pile of mud. But when you drew nearer to them you saw that it was a great host of ants in a great flurry of activity. To young eyes it could be discerned that each ant was face to face with another, biting and pinching at the other. Many ants, in fact, lay dead upon the ground already. Many hours this lasted, until at last the ants grew weary, or until one of the hosts was victorious - who can tell? Then they departed, leaving the dead to be consumed by birds and rats. Tell me Daryas, son of Biron, were their goals less lofty than yours? For what did they slaughter one another? Was it for a dirt patch, like that upon which Dadron is built? Or some piece of rotted fruit, worth more to the ants than all the wealth of men? Did they even know what it was for which they died and killed? Do the women of Marin understand what they fight for? Do the men of Amlaman know who it is that they march to kill? Are the Noras so good? Are their enemies so wicked? What do you know of war, that you march to it?'

'What would you have me do?' Daryas said with great frustration. 'I go to save those for whom I care. I go for the sake of my father in prison and my brother who yet lives in exile. I go to save my cousin. Would you have me forsake them?'

'No, I would not,' Lutrosis answered. 'I would have you be honest, and know that the blood you spill is as clean and red as your own. Spill it nonetheless! We are all but ants, and now and again we must, for the sake of our will, do battle against those who cross our paths.'

'What is the purpose of all this talk,' Daryas asked.

'I wanted to be sure,' he answered, 'that you were fighting for the right reasons.'

'What are the right reasons?'

'When you draw your blade in battle, when you spill the innocent blood of your foes, you will be fighting for my sake.'

'Who are you that I should fight for your sake?'

'You still do not understand. You exist for my sake! Will you then fight for the sake of another?'

'You speak still more nonsense.'

'Of course I do,' the voice said, 'Making sense of things will always be your problem, and I dare say you will ever have a remainder in your calculations so long as you do not comprehend this. Who says that I must conform myself to your reasons? Why should not your reasons conform themselves to my will?'

'Why should I serve you?'

'You say it as if you have a choice! Daryas, you have always served me, though you have denied me and hidden me in dark places, lest other eyes see me in my ugliness. You will fight for me, and I will, in turn, fight for you in a manner of speaking. You have a desire, even as do I. I swear to you now by every good thing under heaven, that if you will put your sword into my hand and let me fight in your stead, I will bring you at last to the woman you love, and you will appear before her without a shadow \- even as she has required.'

'How do you know such things?' Daryas said with great emotion and surprise.

'I have been with you for many long years, Daryas, and for many long years I shall remain with you. I have your best interest at heart, dear brother, though you have long tried to hide it from yourself.'

'How can you help me?' Daryas asked. 'How will such a creature of darkness help me escape from darkness?'

'You forget, Daryas, that it was to this very end that you have sought me out. Did not Rahdmus tell you that by means of the Sword of Pelas you would be saved from darkness? Why then are you so unwilling to speak with me? Why are you so short tempered with me? Am I not here to save you?'

'Of that I am entirely unconvinced,' Daryas laughed. 'You contradict all that I have been taught, whether by my old teachers in Noras or by the strangers from south. But tell me, haunter of dark corners, what interest have you in fighting on my behalf?'

'Fighting itself, of course,' he answered. 'Do you not know that there is thrill in battle? Do you not know that there is honor in victory? Do you not know that there is reward in war?'

'Thrill in battle? You talk as though warfare was a good thing.'

'To me it is,' he said. 'You have need of battle, and I have desire of it.'

'You will not fight on my behalf,' Daryas said sternly. 'I have been charged with a task, and I will not permit you to meddle with it. For it has been given to me by heaven itself.'

At that moment Lutrosis fell upon him and threw him to the ground with great force. He struck him in the face several times and wrested the Sword of Pelas from his hands. 'Fool,' he said, 'if you will not willingly surrender to me, then I will simply take what I want. Why fight me, then?'

'Because you are a devil,' Daryas said, trying to regain his breath.

'So you say,' Lutrosis said, 'By your own estimate I am a devil. What else shall I do then, but act devilishly? But I will fight for you in Dadron, son of Biron, and I will have honor and glory in plenty. Also, I will keep my word. I will do all that I please; consulting with you is a mere matter of courtesy.'

'At least,' Daryas laughed, 'you are a courteous devil, then!'

'You will be much happier, Daryas, when you realize that you have as much need of me as I have of you.'

Thus ended their dialogue, and much to Daryas' surprise, Revere had heard not so much as a word of their conversation, nor had he heard Daryas hit the ground when he fell. In the darkness of those tunnels Daryas began to pray for nightmares, for he preferred them now to his waking reality.

Sorrow in the City

When it seemed the tunnel could not go any further, they suddenly came upon what seemed to be an underground city of some kind. They passed beneath an arch of cut stone and entered a large hall. There were, from what could be seen in the torchlight, great storehouses and apartments, blocked roads, leading to where no man could guess. There were great chains hanging about and enormous gates, long broken down in rusted ruins. In this place the wisdom of the elves had lorded itself over the mighty river, channelling it through the city according to their will and their needs. But in the end, it appeared, the Falsis River triumphed over the cunning of the immortals, and had broken apart their walls and beaten down many of their gates and pathways. For the River had Time itself as its ally, which even the so called Immortals failed to master. It was, therefore, with great difficulty that Revere chose their course. When at last they came to the end of the hall they saw for the first time in many days, a flicker of natural light. It was only feint spark in the distance, but it's great intensity made their torches seem like candles in comparison.

At last they emerged from the caverns and saw that they were standing within the walls of Dadron, though in an empty and ruined section of the city. 'We must be in the main city,' Revere said as he looked around. Such light could never reach Dusktown.' He looked around and saw the broken down city, 'So much for the city of the nobles,' he said.

'Dadron is a very large city,' Daryas said, 'It should not surprise us to find some portion or another to have fallen into ruins.'

Indeed, it was not long before they had come to a place where men dwelt. It was still very much diminished from the glory of the ancient city, but it was by no means a city of ruins. 'They must have abandoned the caverns after the elves were destroyed,' Daryas said. 'I imagine Dadron's usurpers were in no position to maintain the cunning inventions of the immortals.'

As they passed through the streets of the city they saw many women, both old and young, but no young men. A few boys they saw here and there, and a few elderly men also, but there were no men of warrior age to be seen. 'The city was as yet at peace, but a darkness hung over every brow, and a sadness on every heart. The children played as silently as ghosts. On every young woman's eye was seen great anxiety and fearfulness. In the eyes of the older women was a gloom and a hopelessness.

'For what would men war against such as these?' Daryas said, shaking his head in disdain. 'They have done nothing to Marin; they have done nothing to Amlaman.'

'War is not about justice, Daryas.' Revere said, 'Were it so, men would not fight in the first place. To march against the innocent, or to trample the innocent as you march to the guilty, rights no wrongs and restores nothing to the dead.'

'Yet it is difficult,' Daryas said, 'to see these fearful faces and not desire to free them from their enemies.'

It was on the first day of Fuehas, under a bright summer sun, that Daryas and Revere at last entered the city of Dadron. Yet they were not greeted with any amount of excitement or joy. Olver was dead, and the men of the city were discouraged. The appearance of two strangers, men of Noras though they be, was not sufficient to lift their spirits. The men of Noras greeted Daryas with affection, but it was clear that the sight of the younger Galvahirne was not sufficient to renew their hope.

Redwin took Daryas aside and asked him if there was any news of Cheftan Biron. When Daryas had told him what he knew, the old man immediately went on to ask for news of his brother. The disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable as he apprehended that Dynamis would not be coming to Dadron directly. 'Truly in the might of his arm we might rest for a great while in safety.'

'He cannot come,' Daryas said, 'there would be no way to bring the whole Remnant of Galva through Amlaman to Dadron without exposing ourselves to great peril. As it is, Dynamis awaits the movement of the main force of Amlaman, and perhaps better fortunes, ere he spends the blood of our people in war.'

'Would that I could see him, though,' he said, 'Then the people would have hope again.'

'I wish my brother were here more than any of you,' Daryas said, 'but nonetheless he is not. I cannot take his place in the esteem of our people, but if I can do but half of what he is able, it may be that the people will find their hearts strengthened.'

That evening, the body of Olver was laid to rest in a tomb in the upper city of Dadron, where the ancestors of Lord Akellnarva himself were buried. 'A sad hour claimed his life and his wisdom,' he said to Kardian, 'but it claimed not his honor, nor his valor.'

'We would have been better served by his life and wisdom, however,' Kardian replied soberly.

When Olver was buried and the night was at last full, Lord Akellnarva summoned Revere and Daryas to his throne. There Daryas and Revere were called upon to give an account of all that had transpired between the time the goblins first appeared in the Coronan Mountains and the moment they emerged from the hidden waterways of Dadron. To all this he listened intently, only interrupting now again to further clarify what he had heard. Daryas told him nothing of Lutrosis, who, much to his relief, he now knew to be visible and audible to himself alone.

Akellnarva called Daryas to his throne and gave him the right hand of friendship. 'In the darkest hour of the elves, Galvahir himself made good his promise to Lord Falruvis of the Argent. He died defending this very city. Though the elves have all been slain, or have all sought refuge in the myst of Solsis, the memory of Galvahir's bravery survives and endures within these walls. And not Galvahir alone; many of his sons have fought on Dadron's behalf in the time since the elves were at last defeated. The fates, it would seem, of that strange and brave forest tribe and the fate of this city are bound together by an unbreakable bond of friendship and loyalty. I welcome you to this city, therefore, and I accept your service with humility and gratitude. Captain over all the men of Noras you shall be made at least. Who can tell what greater honors await the son of Biron?'

'You are most gracious,' Daryas said with a low bow, 'Galvahir himself owed much to this city, and we in turn, as his descendants, still must look to this city with delight and reverence.'

'It is a pity, though, that you came at the hour when you did. Had you come but a day sooner, Olver may have had hope enough to restrain his desperation. But who can know what the purposes of the gods are?'

After they had spoken, Lord Akellnarva bid a meal be prepared for them. The food they ate was like none that they had ever set eyes upon. It was as if a millennia of art and wisdom was poured into every cut of meat and every dash of spice.

There were brought to them many different kinds of bread. Some were long and crusty, others round and buttery. Some were so sweet that a single bite was sufficient to satisfy one's hunger. So much flavor was in each loaf of bread that butter was unnecessary. There was a great deal of butter provided nonetheless, and Daryas was very generous with his portions. 'If you add good to good,' he told Revere, 'you cannot go wrong.'

'Indeed,' Revere laughed as he too partook of the excess of Dadron.

There was beef roasted to perfection and seasoned with a very sweet sauce and with a sprinkling of herbs and sea salt, such as they gather in Kollun. There were also many vegetables, cooked in oil, and several strange pieces of fruit, which, they were informed, 'come from the deepest jungle in Kharku.'

When they had finished dining, Lord Akellnarva sent his family away and turned his attention once more to the siege, asking for news of Dynamis, and whether any help would come from Noras. Daryas then told him of the men he had met with in the forest and how there were many thousands of faithful men and women among them, and many more who would become so once their tyrant was overthrown.

'It is encouraging news, son of Biron,' Akellnarva said as he listened, 'but nonetheless, the Noras are more in need of aid than able to provide it. But I will say this at least: If the men of Noras prove faithful, and the city of Dadron is delivered, then all that remains of our strength will be set against the fool of Oastirland.'

When all their councils were at last finished, Lord Akellnarva asked Daryas if there were anything he might need. To this Daryas replied, with an unexpected boldness, 'Indeed, my lord, I wish to ride out against our enemies on the morrow.'

Lord Akellnarva looked at him with great surprise. 'And meet a like fate as your kinsman? I forbid it.'

Revere looked at his comrade as if he had never met him before. 'Daryas,' he whispered, 'what are you doing?'

'I must ask yet again, my lord,' Daryas insisted, 'that the gates be opened and I be permitted to ride into battle without delay. For only then will the hand of Cheft Ponteris be removed from my father's neck. Should Biron fall, and his sons remain hidden in shadow, the will of the Noras will falter utterly. There will, then, be no Noras to restore, should victory be granted to this city.'

'You speak with the boldness of your ancestors,' Akellnarva said with new respect for him. 'If the stories of their courage and bravado are true. But tell me, what will there be to save of Dadron if another of their heroes are lost to the beast of Vestron? Surely the wills of our people are set on edge as well, and our warriors are ready to fall into despair. You saw the look on their faces, I presume, when you entered this city. What will they do when it is said that Daryas as well has fallen?'

'I will not fall,' he said, seeming to both Revere and the lord of the city to be a different person entirely. 'And I will commit myself to this: That I will not challenge the monster, nor fight any longer than I must to make it known among my enemies that the son of Biron yet breathes. That alone will stay the hand of Ponteris.'

'On the morrow, then,' Akellnarva said, 'we will set our fates on the winds of chance, to see what will become of our people. May Pelas' hand be upon you.'

To this Daryas did not reply, for it was to make an end of Pelas that he had been sent.

The Son of Galvahir

That night, the weather turned violent, and thunder roared throughout the night. The wind howled, blowing away many of the tents of Marin and Amlaman, sending their soldiers into confusion and fright. Lightning ripped the sky asunder overhead, and rain poured out upon them like a waterfall. The morning came, and the violence of the evening faded away into a ghostly silence. The sun did not appear, for the clouds were yet very thick, threatening still more storms.

It was then that the gates of Dadron creaked and roared, opening for the son of Biron. Daryas rode out of the gates first, riding upon Novai with a helm of iron upon his head. A great plume of bright green flowed from this helm, and matched in hue the banners of the Galva army. Behind him rode many brave men of Noras, and Revere also came up beside him. Trumpets roared throughout the city, echoing down into the lands wherein their enemies lay in wait. Soaked and miserable, the soldiers of Marin and Amlaman were unprepared for combat.

First Daryas struck at the place where Natham had slain his cousin. He guessed correctly enough that the great monster would no longer be in that place, but for appearance's sake he wanted to make it seem as though he sought his blood in revenge (for indeed he did, though he had committed himself to avoid such an encounter).

He made an end of the Marin soldiers that had occupied that place, and he drove out all the hirelings of Olgrost who had taken to looting what little remained of the outer lands of Dadron. Great portions of the city he freed from the soldiers of Marin, and nearly seventy desperate survivors were brought back to the city, there to be nursed back to health and hope. Indeed, the sight of these sickly people being saved from the blaze of their enemies was enough to bring hope into the hearts of the men and women of Dadron.

But most encouraging to them all was the appearance of the Sword of Pelas. It was unmistakable in its might. When it was drawn, it seemed to capture the light of day for itself, darkening all that surrounded it. Almost in a daze men stood by and watched as it drew nearer and nearer to them, finally slashing their heads from their shoulders. Terrible was the wrath of Daryas in that day. When his helm was set upon his head it was thought that his eyes caught a gleam of light reflected from the plume of his helmet; and for an instant, it was said, his eyes glowed like a green fire. It was really Lutrosis that rode out to war on that morning - a creature of cruelty and bloodlust. Little difference might it make in war, whether the warrior weeps or rejoices to see men slain, but to Daryas, it was almost more than he could bear. To himself he seemed a mere observer on that day, though to others he grew in esteem almost to match his brother, nay, almost to match his first father Galvahir. When he returned to the city at the fall of night, he was hailed, not as the son of Biron, but as the son of Galvahir, as though his own father's reputation were not high enough an honor.

Everywhere he went that day he saw fit to proclaim, 'Vengeance upon the heads of Biron's enemies! Daryas Galvahirne lives and breathes! Hear it, O foes of Noras, O friends of treachery, Daryas the son of Biron still draws breath!'

It was said, by those who rode at his side, that he slew in that day, one thousand men, and hundreds of soldiers of Marin.

'Me?' Revere told Captain Kardian upon their return, 'I think I slew three, though I cannot be sure about the third.'

'There will be, I fear, time enough for increase,' Kardian said somberly.

From that day forth, Kardian no longer felt disappointed to see Daryas in his brother's stead. 'If the elder son of Biron is indeed the greater, then we might yet have cause for more than hope.'

But to all such praises Daryas said only, 'It was not by my own strength that all this was accomplished.' This his companions took to mean that he attributed his victory to the gods, or to Pelas in particular, but to Daryas, who alone knew his own dark thoughts, it was clear that the strength of Lutrosis was greater than his own by far. 'I could not so much as lift a finger by my own strength,' he mourned to himself. 'How powerless am I, and how omnipotent is the devil within me!'

Though it seemed to him to be by the efforts of some foreign power, the desire of Daryas was in that day fulfilled; for the rumor of his might, and the terror of his sword came quickly to the ears of Cheft Ponteris, filling him with dread.

Even as his messengers spoke, saying, 'The son of Biron lives!' he heard the voice of Rahdmus saying, 'Galvahir will again bear the sacred sword.' Just a day earlier he had ordered a great feast to be made, for he had received word of Olver's death. But when it came time to celebrate he found his appetite had left him. 'The old fool fancies himself a prophet now,' he grumbled, trying very hard to remember what else Rahdmus been said on that night. The words that came into his mind, however, was this line, 'By your own flesh and blood shall your end come.' His eyes grew dark and his mood sour from that day forth, and he sent a messenger to Sion, summoning him to Oastir-la without delay.

Daruvis

Of all living souls, he had the greatest claim on the lordship of the Mighty Fortress of Dadron. Yet of all souls he was perhaps the most unworthy of such a title. Lord Daruvis, son of Falruvis the Argent lord, entered the city of Dadron on the morning of the eighth day of Fuehas, beneath a bright hot sun. He entered not by the gates as he did in the Golden age, when he was trusted by his father and loved by his people. But rather, he entered in through the secret waterways that only the Argent elves of old knew. He was greeted by guards, who had been assigned to watch over that entrance lest it be discovered by the enemies of the city. Accordingly, Rahdmus and I were accosted the moment we set foot into the sunlight. We were blindfolded, bound hand and foot, and carried to the palace of Lord Akellnarva. Neither among his own people, or within his own city would Daruvis find welcome.

'What are your names,' he required of us, 'And for what do you enter this woebegotten city?'

'I am, these days, a traveler of little account,' Rahdmus said. 'But it once was that in this city my counsel was cherished. I come at this hour that the defenses of this land might be made sure, according to the ancient wisdom of the elves.'

Lord Akellnarva looked carefully upon us for a long while, as if to measure our words with his gaze. Finally, when he had looked deeply into our eyes, and when he had given our words some thought he said, 'You are one of the Ancients, I perceive. But for what do you come to the aid of this city? And what reward would you have, should your counsel prove true?'

'My reward I have spent already. I must now work to earn it, my lord.'

'What is your name, and how is it that you lay claim upon such knowledge of this city that you would, by that knowledge, save it in its hour of need?'

'I am called Rahdmus,' he answered, 'but in better days was I Daruvis, son of Falruvis.'

Lord Akellnarva stood from his seat, and threw his scepter to the floor at Daruvis' feet. 'Then you have more claim upon the lordship of this city than I!'

Rahdmus sighed and shook his head. 'I am one who ought to be dead, my lord,' he said. 'My life is ended, and all authority and inheritance with it. Power is born of that great Eternal power to which the whole world is a shadow, and to whom that power passes we cannot hope to alter. Fate, if you will, has given the rule of Dadron into your hands; and they are more worthy hands than my own.'

'But not more capable,' Lord Akellnarva said. 'To you I still offer the scepter.'

'And I yet refuse, for the lord of Dadron must protect his people. I am forbidden to draw the blade, by the command of one greater than I. It is by words alone that I must aid this city, even as it was by sword that I once betrayed it.'

'Your words seem dark to me, Lord Daruvis, by what shall I know that I can trust your words.'

'By this alone,' Rahdmus said, 'I am, as I said, one who ought to be dead.' With those words he showed the Lord of Dadron those fatal scars, saying, 'Yet I live that I might bring, as it were, a message from the dead to those yet living. Have hope, son of Daevaron, and see to it that the defenses of the city hold. For it will not be long ere your enemies are destroyed and peace is restored to this great valley.'

Thus began the great friendship of Rahdmus and Lord Akellnarva of Dadron. Rahdmus showed Akellnarva many hidden secrets, which men had not uncovered in all the years since the elves vanished away. Together they went into the depths of the cellars and dungeons of Dadron's palaces, and into the waterways and hidden paths of the city. They walked along the battlements from beginning to end, and Lord Akellnarva understood, for the first time one might almost say, the cunning defenses of his own city. Hidden paths were revealed, that had not hitherto been known or even imagined; paths by which men might, if need be, slip from the city and onto the fields beyond the walls. Paths also, which could not be discerned by any skill of perception. So well hidden these were that they seemed in every way to be mere walls or mere cracks in the stone. 'Truly the cunning of the elves is unsurpassed!' Akellnarva marveled.

'Unsurpassed only in scale,' Rahdmus said, 'But not in cunning. For that crown must ever rest upon the Delvers, who hide themselves in the deeps of the earth.'

The most valuable of all the things that Rahdmus showed to Lord Akellnarva was the system of paths, leading from Dusktown to the Main City. These were constructed in such a way that, when they were closed, they could not be discerned from the bare walls. Further, they could be opened only from within. These great structures were, in essence, so many gates by which the people of the lower city might, should the need arise, escape to the upper part of the Fortress. These gates could then be slid back into place in such a way that they were immovable to those below. 'How is it, then,' Lord Akellnarva marveled, 'that ever the Lord of Dadron fell into the hands of his enemies?'

'It is because he was given over to them by his own,' Rahdmus said.

Lord Akellnarva looked uneasy, 'It is a troubling thing,' he said, 'to think of such betrayal.'

'Fear not, my lord,' Rahdmus said. 'You see the great engines that remove these gates from their places, and you see how it is built so that none but those within can move them. There is naught that I can do to harm this city now. If it was so, that I wished once more to betray this city, would I not have gone first to the men of Amlaman? Or to the women of Marin? And if these had known all these secrets before you did, would this city yet be standing?'

That winter, on the morning of the thirteenth day of Ornus, Lord Akellnarva brought Rahdmus to the Temple of Pelas and sent away all the priests. Together the two of them stood long in the shadow of Lord Pelas' statue, talking in hushed voices. Sometime in the evening they disappeared from sight, passing to the northern side of the throne of Pelas. I do not doubt that there was, in that place, some hidden door or secret chamber of which the men of Dadron knew nothing. Indeed, I do not doubt but that Daruvis alone among all living creatures knew of that secret place to which they had vanished. It was not for a great while that the mystery of that day would be revealed.

Throughout all that time Rahdmus took to the task of reordering the armies of Dadron and restoring the great engines that moved the hidden gates of Dusktown. In this work he was occupied from dawn until dusk - nay, beyond nightfall at times he could be seen working in some dark hall by firelight. By the start of Paschest the hidden gates opened almost without so much as a rumble and the soldiers of Dadron knew how best to defend the city, and where they might, if need arise, set their feet upon secret paths to escape to the higher sections of the stronghold.

For my part, as I am no warrior, I took to the libraries of Dadron, which were, in those days, yet filled with great volumes of elven lore. More stories than, I suppose, my readers could stomach might well be brought forth from their records. But only such accounts as bear relevance to our present narrative will I, in this work, recount. Suffice it to say, the word of Rahdmus regarding the history of the elves was greatly confirmed by these accounts and histories. Not, I say, what he taught to the sad prince of Amlaman, in the dark chambers of Ramlos Fortress, but rather those things which he was later to reveal in Dadron and in Amlaman. But these I will leave until their proper time.

The result of their strange meeting in the Temple of Pelas, strange and alarming though it seemed to all the men of the city, was the abandoning of the Regal Sacrifices. In other words, never again did Lord Akellnarva set fire upon the altar of Pelas. He did not forbid the priests, and what people of the city that yet desired to do so, but he removed the royal office from the ancient religion of Dadron once and, he intended, for all.

The Brave and Faithful of Marin

Under Natham's command was a mixed company of all such soldiers as Marin deemed unworthy to fight in the army of Ollitov or of Nerria. It was the desire of the rulers of Marin that the monster inflict such damage as he was able upon the armies of Dadron and of Daevaron, but then to perish in the end, bereft of competent support. But it soon came to be that the force that was once made up of the weakest soldiers and the most unruly mercenaries, was transformed into the strongest and most noble of the armies of Marin. Between the great honor he displayed in battle and the wisdom he had acquired from Whately, he had become a legend in the army of Marin, even beyond his own small force.

As time drew on, however, his soldiers grew weary of camping about the invulnerable city, and they sought to see if they might, by some means, enter into the city. To avoid the eyes of the men on the walls, they went in parties of two and encompassed the whole city, searching for some crevice, some cave, some secret door, by which they might find entrance into the city. This task was undertaken primarily by Arakai, a mercenary of southern Olgrost, who was the most faithful of all those under his Natham's command. After nearly two months of careful searching, Arakai returned to their camp with news of a place where the wall had been neglected. 'In ages past a repair was attempted,' he reported, 'but it is crumbling and weak. When the sun is in the east, just an hour before the noon, light can be seen shining through the wall.'

In the middle of the night, at a time when they knew there would be none upon that part of the wall, they sent a climber, a slender soldier named Ilea, up the wall to see if there could be found some way of entering the city. Arakai and a few others followed her as far as they dared, but the last league from the ruins of the outer city to the wall of the Fortress she had to pass alone. 'One shadow, passing in the night will not bend the eyes of the watchers upon the wall. But two or three will draw their attention with a surety,' Arakai said as they plotted.

Ilea was small and lightfooted; she made her way to the wall without making so much as a sound. Her family dwelt in the shadow of the mountains of Zoor, and as it was with many in that region, so it was in her own village; that the children would spend their summers climbing the enormous boulders and rocks that dotted the landscape of southern Olgrost.

With great effort she found a path from the foundation of the wall up to the place where the light would pour through. There were many places where she was forced to take great risks and more than thrice she almost lost her footing entirely. But in the end she was able to reach the opening with her hands. She found it to be larger than Arakai had described it, and she pulled herself through with little effort. This portion of the wall was located in the northwest of the city where the wall reaches its highest. For this reason the men of Dadron took little care to guard it. For it seemed to them that there could be none so daring as to scale the wall in those lofty places. But a rise in the land there made it so that this particular section of the wall was as close to the ground as any other.

When Ilea pulled herself through the hole she found herself upon some ancient scaffolding, as if the work to repair this part of the wall had long ago been abandoned. Without a sound she disappeared into the shadows.

Several days later, as was their arrangement, she returned again to that very place and let fall a rope, that Arakai and several other brave warriors might likewise ascend. Ogalo of Dalta, Breemen of Marin came up, along with three other men. Arakai came last and drew up the rope behind him. After a week had passed they repeated this, taking into the city some thirty men and five women altogether.

After another week had passed, and after they were able to search out the gatehouses that controlled the eastern gate of Dadron, they sent out a signal to their comrades by hanging from the wall a single rope, at the end of which was bound a small blue cloth. When all was prepared they made a daring midnight assault on the gatehouses, sending Arakai and ten men to the northern house and Breemen and the rest of their small force against the southern. They struck hard and swift, and quickly overthrew the guards, who never could have dreamed that an attack might come from within the city.

Before the men of Dadron were fully apprised of what had transpired, the gates began to fall, creaking and groaning against the engines that held them in place. The crashing sound of the mighty gates of Dadron striking the ground woke many from their slumber and sent the sound of trumpets rising into the night air.

But the response from without was swifter and more ready than the response from within. It was now the twelfth day of Paschest, winter had come and gone without a battle, and life had almost become normal for the soldiers within the city. It had been the better part of a year since Daryas rode out against them. Natham was at the lead of nearly a thousand warriors, some soldiers of Marin, some hirelings of Olgrost, but all of them ready to bring honor to their commander and to march with him to restore the honor of their people. For those who were under Natham's command were likewise fooled into fighting for the sake of Lady Lyris, whom they were told was yet held as a captive in Dadron.

This small force pushed their way into the city with such surprising speed that the first force of Dadron's men were quickly overwhelmed. A greater host soon arrived, but were only able to stay the advance of Natham's army for a time. In the end, the sound of battle drew men from the main host of Marin and even a force or two from Amlaman into the city. From atop the higher walls the lower city seemed to be engulfed in flame. Cries rent the air and the sound of iron clashing and wood splintering echoed throughout the night. For all their effort, the men of Dadron were unable to do more than contain the conflagration that had overtaken their city. The blood of the men of Dadron seemed to pour into Dusktown like a river, but no end came to the slaughter. Natham's rage was ignited, and all who faced him perished, or fled for the sight of the monster. At his left side fought Arakai with a great battle axe, stolen from the stores of Dadron's gatehouse. At his left fought Breemen with a long sword and a shield. Natham marched through the city undaunted by enemies with Admunth on his left shoulder and his mighty spear in his right hand. Confronted with such a foe, the men of Dadron could do nothing but flee. Through all that night the men fought, until at last the morning light appeared overhead.

At first light, Lord Akellnarva rode his chariot to the second gate, to see how the battle was progressing. There he met his captains, and Rahdmus and Daryas as well. 'My Lord,' Kardian said, we cannot save the lower city from destruction. All that we can accomplish, if the gods allow, might be to save those who yet live below.'

'But will we not thereby expose ourselves to even greater dangers?' the Lord of the City asked. 'The moment we open this gate the enemy will overwhelm us if not by force, then by number alone. You see the ocean of foes below us! We are but a tiny island in that chaos, and we cannot hope to withstand the almighty waters.'

'But if we can hold for but a little while, 'Lord Kardian argued, 'we might save many lives, and who knows what hope and salvation the future will bring?'

'I am also of this opinion, my lord,' Daryas added, with great earnest. 'We cannot allow these men to ravage the people of Dadron any longer. Nor would your warriors accept, but out of duty, the pain of abandoning their comrades and families below.

Less than an hour later the trumpets blared and the sound of them pierced the sky, and as the sun reached over the walls of Dadron, the upper gates began to open. Daryas and Kardian rode in front of a mighty host. Their faces were grim, their swords were sharp, and their arms were strong. A fire burned within their hearts and they rushed down into the city like the flow of fire from a volcano, burning up everything within its path. A green flicker of light seemed to wash over Daryas' eyes as he rode down into the city upon Novai, with the men of Noras following close behind him.

[Chapter XI:  
Facing the Monster](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Charge of the Noras

The coming of Daryas into the battle was so fierce and strong that the army of Amlaman, which was at that hour in the southern part of Dusktown, was driven back behind Natham's force. On the other side, Kardian drove his men against the forces of Nerria, who had joined themselves with Natham. Lord Akellnarva himself, along with a thousand men, marched against Natham from the north. Thus for a while the invaders were surrounded, and heavy were their losses. Daryas, with the blade of Pelas in his hand, drove so hard against the men of Amlaman that they took to flight until they found some safety amid Natham's strong warriors. Kardian pushed his way through the Marin soldiers and came against Nerria herself with his spear in his hand. She blocked his blow with her shield and then rode away, saying, 'The men of Dadron are bold, but boldness alone cannot avail you against our army.'

'Boldness we have,' he replied, 'but not boldness alone!' With that he charged her again and thrust his spear through her shield. The spearhead came flying through the shield and stopped just as it grazed her cheek. She felt warm blood drip down her face and a sting of pain. Casting down her shield she drew her blade and came against Kardian with a cry. The two fought one another there, and many soldiers of Marin fell as they tried to come to her aid. But Kardian's skill surpassed hers and he stabbed her in the shoulder. She shrieked and pulled her horse away, riding away from the battle. Kardian rallied his men and followed hard after her.

Meanwhile, Lord Akellnarva rode his chariot into the army of Natham and sought to take on the monster himself. Like an avalanche he rode down the mercenaries of Olgrost, and the soldiers of Marin fled from him in terror. He slew there, Beemen and Ogalo, coming within a stone's throw of the monster himself. He turned about and came again to make an attempt on the dread monster's life. But as he rode against him, the monster struck his horse in the face with Admunth, knocking it to the ground in ruin. As the chariot tumbled and fell, Natham grabbed it and with a great groan he hurled it aside, sending the lord of the city rolling onto the stone floor.

'How many lords does this city have?' the monster quested, 'For Olver lies dead already, yet you come against me as a king?'

'I am lord of this city,' the Akellnarva said with labored breath. 'You will sink to hell in the end, you abomination of flesh!'

Natham roared and rushed at his enemy, but his guard had at that moment arrived. While ten of them held the monster at bay, six others lifted him from the ground and carried him to safety. Against his wishes he was brought back into the upper city and put under the care of a physician. 'I need a breath,' he said, not a healer! Let go of me, and let me return to the battle.'

His physician said only, 'My lord, ere the end there will be more time for war. Let me see to it that you are fit for it when it comes.'

The Monster Meets the Devil

Natham raged on against the men of Dadron, casting them aside as if they were made of cloth. His spear, made for slaying the giants of the deep, pierced their armor with ease, and his shield was as insurmountable as the very walls of Dadron. The guards of Akellnarva, who had bravely fought for their master's life, were scattered in ruin upon the battlefield, and the monster looked up at the second gate, which was yet open to allow the warriors to march out and the people of Dusktown to flee. He fixed his gaze upon the gate and summoned his men to his side, saying, 'I see the gate to the main city, and beyond it lies victory and revenge. The honor of Lyris will be restored to her this day perhaps, and those who have for so long opposed us will be ruined. So the end of their pride will come upon them.' With those words they marched ahead, turning aside every man of Dadron that opposed them. Kardian had gone far into the west of the city in pursuit of Nerria. He was now unable to return to the center of the city in time to stop their advance. Akellnarva's force was routed; the remnant of which fled to join either Kardian or Daryas. But Daryas saw the monster from atop his horse, as a great shadow amidst lesser shadows, beneath a bright afternoon sun. He rallied his men and charged into the west to confront the beast.

'Who is this, that slanders the sons of Galvahir?' Daryas said with a gleam of green light in his eyes.

'I am Natham, Golem-bane, as I am called among the Marin.'

'Hear then, Natham, the name of your slayer! I am Daryas Galvahirne, kinsman of Olver, whom you killed unjustly.'

With those words Daryas kicked his heels into Novai's side and charged at the monster with his full might. Novai lowered her head and whinnied. Natham went to strike at her, but she turned aside of her own will at the last moment, and kicking at the monster's great shield, she pushed herself away. Daryas pulled at the reins and kicked at her with his heels, to turn her again for another charge. But as he did, he heard a laugh rise from within himself. He shook his head murmured to himself 'Is this your doing, devil?'

The voice of Lutrosis rose within him and replied, 'What if it is? Is it not your will that we destroy this abomination? Why would you oppose me?'

'You would drive my brother's horse to her death, for your own bloodlust!'

'For your bloodlust, brother,' Lutrosis answered.

'Call me not brother!' Daryas shouted.

Lutrosis burst into cruel laughter. 'Indeed not, for I am closer to you than any brother!'

Nonetheless, Daryas exerted the last of his will against Lutrosis and cast himself from Novai's back. He patted Novai's hair and whispered in her ears, 'Go now to the green fields in the upper city, and await my return there.' Almost as if she understood, she turned and galloped away, leaping away from the chaos and danger of the battlefield.

His last efforts spent, Daryas diminished and the mastery of the sword passed to Lutrosis.

Never had a blade struck the monster's shield with such might. Natham's foot slid back almost a foot at the impact of Daryas' sword upon Admunth. Following this was a torrent of attacks, such as even the golems of Zoor had not unleashed against him. He groaned and swatted Daryas with his spear. Daryas tumbled aside, but rolled back onto his feet, seemingly undaunted by the blow. He charged against Natham even before the monster could draw back his spear.

Daryas thrust his blade between Natham's spear and shield, aiming for his heart. But the sword was turned aside by Skatos Ereg, which had remained hidden beneath his cloak until that instant. Sparks flew as the dark blade struck the brilliant blade of Pelas. It seemed like time froze for an instant, and the swords stood locked in a battle of their own, the light being unable to overthrow the dark. But another arm appeared at that moment and grabbed Daryas by the throat. The strength of that arm was such that Daryas could not escape. He lifted his feet from the ground and pushed against Natham's chest with all his might, flipping himself out of the monster's grip. He landed on the ground and rolled onto his back a few feet in front of the monster. Natham stepped forward and tried to pin him to the ground with his spear. But Daryas rolled aside, and, slipping his foot between Natham's legs, tripped his enemy, sending him, Admunth and all, onto the ground with a thunderous crash.

At that instant, however, a shadow fell upon Daryas' face, as a great eagle blocked the sun from his view. He looked up and saw a great bird circling above him. 'Maru?' he asked, wondering what meaning this had. Before he could think, Arakai and several other mercenaries were upon him, swinging their blades at him in defense of their master. But Daryas was quick to his feet and he turned aside their attacks one after another. They came against him in such strength and with such great numbers that he was forced to move away from the fallen monster.

'I will find you again, Natham,' he said with great frustration at being pushed away. He fled from that place, fighting every step of the way, until at last he once more met up with the men of Noras.

The fighting died away as the night fell upon the city. By now the invading army had secured for itself, a quarter of the lower city, and it was not going to be driven from thence by any effort on the part of the men of Dadron. In the center of them was Natham and his army and those warriors and soldiers of Marin who remained in the city when Nerria fled from the field in pain. There were also many men of Amlaman among them, for Daryas had driven them from the eastern side of the city until they were forced to join their forces with those of Natham.

When Daryas returned at last to the upper gate, he was met by a weakened Akellnarva. 'Happy am I to see the son of Biron yet living!' he exclaimed. 'Alone among those who challenge the monster you have become. For I have not yet heard of one who faced the beast and yet lived. And look at you! Not a scratch upon you!'

'I am not alone, my lord,' Daryas said, 'You have faced the monster as well, and lived.'

'But I was rescued from his fatal hands by the lives of other men; for you it was the beast that thereby eluded you. Honor you have by birth, son of Galvahir, and still more honor you have earned this day by your own hand.'

When the night had fully come upon Dadron, Lord Akellnarva summoned his captains to a council. Lord Kardian sat at his right side and Rahdmus was at his left. Daryas was there as well, sitting beside Faradern, the captain of the palace guards, and personal guardian of Lord Akellnarva.

'When is the last hour,' Akellnarva asked his captains, 'that we can shut the upper gate? For as much as I would love to drive these devils from our city, their numbers are such that we could never hope to do so, not without some miracle.'

'Dadron, my lord,' Kardian said, 'is the city of miracles. Let us fight yet one more day, and when we see that the lower city cannot be saved we will fly to the upper and begin again our imprisonment. But I would not have us forsake the city yet. There are many sickly and many elderly people within Dusktown who are trying with all their might to reach the gate, and every hour hundreds of the poor and destitute pass through the gate into the city, only stopping when the army marches in or out.'

'What is the state of the city, and where do our armies stand?' he asked.

Kardian replied. The western city is ours, though it is very far from these gates. For now those people are safe, for I drove Nerria of Marin out of the city bleeding and weeping. Daryas did much the same to Amlaman in the east.'

'The men of Noras and the warriors of Dadron together did this, my lord,' Daryas said humbly.

'That leaves them in the middle of the city,' Akellnarva said, 'and they have control of the gates.'

'I do not doubt that they have already destroyed them utterly,' Rahdmus said, 'Dadron will never again shut those gates.'

When he had spoken those fateful sounding words every ear was given over to him. But he laughed, saying, 'I'm sorry. It is true that those gates will never shut again, but I did not say that Dadron was lost. Quite the contrary, this is precisely the situation I had hoped would come about.'

'You wished for this war?' Kardian said, rising from his seat with great anger.

'You are very weary, captain,' Rahdmus said calmly, regaining his composure. 'It is true that this war and all its bloodletting and death has been decreed from the beginning; it has been fated one might say, and none of us can change it.'

'Then what do we fight for, if all is lost and there is no hope?' Daryas said with despair in his voice.

'We fight, or I should say, you fight, that less blood may be spilled than would be otherwise. To that end I say this, and I say it with eyes that have looked beyond death, tomorrow will be a day of great advantage for us. We must use it to contain the armies of Marin, but we must not use it to exterminate them, nor should we seek to drive them from the city, though that will seem to be within our grasp.'

'What shall we do, then?' Faradern scoffed, 'invite yet more men into the city?'

'No, you shall invite more women into the city,' Rahdmus said with a hint of a grin. 'If a man of Amlaman sets foot within these walls, drive him out or cut him down by all means. But the hirelings of Olgrost and the soldiers of Marin you shall not kill if it is not necessary.'

'What madness is this?' Akellnarva thundered, 'Has the Queen of that warrior-band lined your pockets with gold and your tongue with silver? What chance have we, if we take your council?'

'Who would have imagined,' Rahdmus said, 'that Dadron would survive the assault of Xanthur? What happens is often the most improbable thing, and such, I say, will be the case in the next few days, IF the men of Dadron remember mercy when they march out to war. Fight not harder than you must.'

'How then can we hope to live?' Kardian asked.

'How? By realizing that it is a miracle every time you draw breath, and that your own power cannot guarantee the next. What, but folly, could possibly have convinced you that you have more power over your enemies than you do your own next breath?'

Lord Akellnarva sighed, 'What are we to make of your words, Lord Daruvis? You have betrayed this city before, by your own confession. For that alone we ought rather to put you in chains than set your words before our ears in council. What sign can you give us, that we might believe your words?'

Are my scars not a sufficient sign?'

'I do not know,' Akellnarva said with a sigh, 'but that your scars themselves might be a ruse, or that perhaps you were saved by some cunning physician.'

'A cunning physician? So cunning that the severed heart and broken neck can be restored as new?'

'It is hard to believe, I confess, but it is at least easier to believe than your claim that this hidden God, long forgotten by mortal and immortal alike, should suddenly take thought of man.'

'As I said, sometimes the most improbable thing is the truth. For were it not so, we would call the improbable impossible. Be that as it may, there are many things men deem impossible that are mere trifles to greater powers.'

'What is the cost, Master of Confusion? What will become of us if we obey not your words?' Lord Faradern demanded.

'Many lives hang upon a thread, and what you choose here this day will determine the fates of many.'

'Now you contradict yourself, master elf,' Faradern laughed with hatred in his eyes, 'For a moment ago it seemed as though we had no power whatsoever to win or to lose. But now the fates of so many souls rest upon us.'

'To one who is accustomed to looking at appearances only, so it shall always seem,' Rahdmus said. 'When you shoot an arrow, master Faradern, are you at liberty to recall it at any moment?'

'Certainly not,' he replied.

'But are you not at liberty to shoot or to abstain?'

'Indeed,' was his answer.

'Then would it not be so, that the flight of the arrow, though unchangeable, is determined entirely by your own will? And why should it not be so with your whole life? Perhaps it is true that each moment is determined, but why cannot the whole life be free? What I have said is a paradox only to those who do not understand their true nature. But if you give the matter some deeper reflection-'

Faradern pounded the table. Lord Akkelnarva rose from his seat and lifted his hands to calm his captains. 'We have not come here to listen to the philosophies of the south. This is a war council. Faradern, control yourself! Lord Rahdmus, we have not the time nor the patience for speculation!

Lord Rahdmus sighed. 'If you will not hear my reasoning, then I cannot make you. But at the very least hear my conclusion - which is also the testimony of heaven. Know this as you march to war: That the blood you spill in battle is your own blood, and the men you trample beneath hoofed feet are your own brothers, connected to you in time in the same manner in which your own limbs are connected to you in space. Mankind is one; and if you take it upon yourself to judge them, and execute them as well, know that you execute your own soul, and condemn your own soul.'

Faradern broke into laughter and Lord Kardian shook his head. Lord Akkelnarva sighed, looking at the table with great distress. 'Is this the doctrine of the south?'

'It is the doctrine of all those who have looked within themselves honestly,' Rahdmus replied.

'I suppose you will have us all lay down our swords, even as you have,' Faradern scoffed.

'Nay,' Rahdmus said, 'There is a time for the sword; and this creature - mankind, of which we are all but a small portion, at times may have need of the surgeon's keen blade. But do not doubt it, Faradern, that the men you slay on the morrow are as much a part of yourself as the hand that wields your blade.'

The whole room grew silent, and there were none who knew what to say.

Finally, Rahdmus sighed and lowered his head, 'This is my council,' he said at last, 'save what life you may, be it of Marin, of Dadron or even of Amlaman. I do not pretend that this is wise council for a warrior, who must, at all costs, carry the day. And I cannot blame you if you turn from my council. It is my doom, I perceive, to lie and be believed; and to speak the truth to incredulous ears.'

Faradern sat silent with a look of great frustration and confusion on his face. Lord Akellnarva sat up straight in his seat and sighed. 'Lord Daruvis, I have already ordered that no further sacrifice be made to Dadron's ancient protector, even that Lord Pelas who we have so long trusted. What more would you have of me regarding the religion of those southern mountain men, those Nihlion? Would we sacrifice all our young men and all our women for it?

'Were that the will of God, that your enemies triumph over Dadron, then it would be folly to fight at all, for we could not hope to win. What I am telling you is this: The war in which you are embroiled was not begun by Marin to destroy Dadron, though the Queen of the East certainly believes it to be so, nor was it to gain the hidden power of the elves that led the King of Amlaman to fix his greed upon this city, though that was ever on my mind. This war has been in the making since the old world perished, and it is not against the people of Dadron that it is being waged. It is to bring about the judgment of the gods of Weldera that these battles are raging. The people of Dadron are caught in the web of that grand story, and the result of their long service to Pelas is not yet passed, but it was never to destroy them that these things have come to be. Therefore, heed my words and save what life you may, whether of Marin or of Dadron. The end of this strife has been fixed from the beginning, but the means are many and while the fight lasts there are ways in which the end may be made less sorrowful.'

'What of Amlaman?' Kardian asked, 'shall we save the servants of Agon too? Since we are, after all, discarding all the old religions and laying down our swords at our enemies' feet.'

'The only one of us that will lay down the sword is myself, for I am not permitted to touch them. You will have nothing to fear from the men of Amlaman, however. It has come into your hands, men of Dadron, to save the lives of many or to let them fall, heedless, into the great wheel of destruction that was set in motion in the ancient world, but which is only coming around at last in our age.

'If it is the will of that southern god,' Faradern replied, 'that Pelas be removed and overthrown, why does this god not do it in a puff of wind, as the stories say the gods made the world? Does he not have the power?'

'Who can say what the reasons are for the choices of God? It is only he who sees all ends that can judge. Man sees only a few, if he is diligent in searching, and if he is granted the grace. We cannot sit in judgment against that which we can scarcely imagine.'

'The hour has grown late,' Akellnarva said with a sigh, 'and I have grown weary of this talk of religion. My thoughts are turned against your counsel, Lord Daruvis, for my heart sinks at the thought of neglecting the defenses of this city. If the fates will have it, we will drive our enemies from Dusktown on the morrow. If not, then we will close the gates and set ourselves behind the walls yet again.'

'I say to you,' Rahdmus said with great disappointment, 'that whatever your choice, the siege will not last more than another week. Have hope, and prepare your hearts for an age of peace.'

The Second Battle

The fields of Agalan and the outer city of Dadron were now teeming with the hosts of Amlaman and Marin. The men were set in lines, preparing to enter the city. But as the morning dawned, the army of Natham found that it was surrounded on every side. At that hour Lord Akellnarva gave the command, 'Go, and retake the city if the gods smile upon us. Drive the devil from our land, and show no mercy upon them, for they are all our foes.' From that hour, he refused to meet any more with Rahdmus, and spoke no more with him until the war had ended.

The battle began when the armies of Captain Kardian and of Daryas struck the army of Natham from the northwest and northeast respectively. Their onset was sudden, and their fury was full. Natham's men faltered and they began to remove themselves from the center of the city. Faradern, in the Lord of the city's stead, led a great host of cavalry from the north, so that the army of Natham was surrounded and forced to draw back. From dawn until the late afternoon the battle raged, the people of Amlaman and Marin pouring in through the gate, and the people of Dadron trying to force them back out. When the sun was high in the sky, Daryas once again came upon the monster Natham. At the sight of him, Arakai charged and slew the men that stood around him. Daryas, in anger, turned to him and raised his sword. 'Who are you, that you dare come against the son of Biron?' he demanded, with a glimmer of green fire burning within him.

'I am Arakai, and even as I have made an end of your men I will make an end of you.'

'So much confidence! And so much hatred do I hear in your voice,' Daryas replied. 'For what? Is it not you who have assaulted this peaceful city? Is it not Marin that has slain so many innocents?'

'Dadron is never innocent,' Arakai replied. 'Her history is naught but a bloody rage against mankind.'

'Rage?' Daryas laughed, 'Do the stones rage against mankind? Do the dead?'

'It is not for her past sins alone that this city must be undone, but for her present injuries.'

'What has Dadron done to Marin?' Daryas asked with a laugh.

With that they came against one another and fought. Arakai swung his axe down at Daryas, but the sword of Pelas severed the handle and sent the axe-head flying past his head. He swung at Arakai, but he stepped back just in time to escape the slash. Arakai, still stepping away, drew his blade from his side. They fell to fighting again, and for some time it seemed as though neither of them would have the victory. But as they fought Daryas noticed a place in the man's armor that was in disrepair. There was a place near his shoulder where his chain armor was rent and his flesh exposed. When Arakai swung again, Daryas stepped aside and stabbed his blade into his opponent's shoulder, drawing red blood from the wound. Arakai fell to his knees, but still he meant to fight on. At that instant, Daryas hesitated, remembering the words of Rahdmus. But Lutrosis overcame him, and in a fit of laughter he severed his enemy's arm from his body. Arakai fell down to the earth in agony. The deep, cruel laughter of Lutrosis rose up within Daryas and he left the man in his agony.

When word of this reached the ears of Natham, he fell into a great rage. He tore through the men of Noras and came against Daryas, saying, 'It was not enough for you to dishonor the daughters of Marin, you must add to this the torment of her noblest sons?'

'Torment?' Daryas laughed. 'All war is torment, and you are a master of it!'

The spear of Natham was thrust at him with great speed, but he managed to step aside. Then they fell once again to single combat, those around them not daring to interfere. Daryas took a swing at Natham, but Admunth was ever a wall against his blows. Wherever Natham swung and however he attempted to take his enemy into his grasp, Daryas eluded him. 'It is not but by luck that you evade me,' Natham roared with frustration.

But in the end, Daryas wearied, and Natham's spear caught his cloak and pinned him to the ground. But even as the monster came upon him there was heard the sound of a horse's gallop. With a great whinny, Novai appeared and kicked against Admunth with his hooves. No other horse would have had the strength to move him, but Novai knocked him back nearly six feet. A man dropped down from atop the horse and cut Daryas' cloak, freeing him from the monster's spear. 'Come!' he shouted, and he helped the winded son of Biron climb onto the horse's back. They rode away in a flash and nothing could stand in the way of that mighty horse.

'Revere!?' Daryas said with great surprise. 'I thought you were not fit for battles.'

'I said I was not fit for fighting in battles, but I am not altogether without use.'

'I am glad that you came when you did.'

'I was sent by Rahdmus,' Revere said, 'he seemed to have some ill feeling about today.

'In that he was right,' Daryas said, 'And I shouldn't wonder that he had such a feeling, since all we have done has been in opposition to his counsel. What a price I nearly paid for it. I am sure that the monster will not rest until I am dead.'

'It is said,' Revere told him as they rode back toward the upper gates, 'that he sought the blood of Olver on account of a woman.'

'A woman?' Daryas said with great surprise. 'What do you mean? Wait,' Daryas interrupted himself, 'First tell me how on earth you might know such a thing.'

'Looking to make myself useful somehow, I went to help order those who fled from Dusktown. Among them I discovered no small number of refugees, some of them even from Fahsro, which was the last of Daevaron's strongholds to fall into Marin's hands. The monster rages, they say, because he seeks the love of a woman, and because that woman was taken captive into Dadron.'

'Is this true?' Daryas asked with great amazement.

'Who can tell,' Revere said. 'But the monster sought Olver Galvahirne by name, and it is impossible that Olver can be guilty of such a thing. First, because he was in no position to do so, ever since the fall of your father's house. Secondly, he was a man of honor, and would not dare commit such a heinous crime; he is certainly wise enough not to steal a woman from the land of Marin!'

'Indeed,' Daryas agreed, 'But what does all of this mean?'

'It means that the monster has been deceived, and that he fights for a lie.'

At that moment the words of Lutrosis returned to Daryas' mind, "When you draw your blade in battle, when you spill the innocent blood of your foes, you will be fighting for my sake." Then his imagination brought before his mind all those he had slain with his sword, and the warrior Arakai, who he had maimed and left for dead in the lower city. His heart sunk; he knew that it was Lutrosis that now ruled over his every move, yet he could not excuse himself for all that had been done. 'Tomorrow, at least,' he thought to himself, 'I will not fight for the devil's pleasure, but only for the sake of those who might be saved from this slaughter.'

[Chapter XII:  
The Siege Ends](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Impatience

When Olver was slain, Cheftan Ponteris Oastirne summoned his step-son to his estate. There he greeted him with great joy and asked of him 'one small thing'.

'Kidnapping?' Sion said with disgust, when his task had been explained to him. 'Have you no hireling oafs to do such muddy deeds?'

'Nonetheless,' Ponteris said to him seriously, 'I can trust only my own kin.'

No greater testimony can be made of the strength of the sons of Galvahir, and of the valor of Cheft Biron, than the price that was paid to win over the allegiance of Cheft Ponteris. This is not to say that Ponteris was not wicked already, but to give such a worm the boldness and courage to set himself against the lord of the Galvahirne, it required a great deal of bribery, and a great deal of reassurance. Men such as Ponteris, however brave they may seem when they are surrounded by their friends and guardians, are the most unfaithful of allies. In the end, the luster of gold drew him into the plot against Dadron. This was accomplished, first, by the promise that Biron and the Galvahirne would be once and for all broken and removed from power. It was promised that he would have whatever protection he deemed necessary. This they gave to him in the form of a great mercenary force from Titalo and another from Daevaron. Some two-thousand burly and brainless men, well armed and without soul, were ever under his command, their purses lined with gold from the treasury of Amlaman.

In addition to this, he was promised, 'whatever it is that you might desire.' This last promise he laid claim upon when he made his visit to Marin. There he saw the great beauty of Lyris, the Marshall of the Eastern borders of Olgrost. The request was made, and Queen Marin quickly agreed, the reasons for which must find their place elsewhere. But nonetheless, it was not fully her will that Lyris be handed over needlessly to the 'Barbarian lord', as she termed Cheft Ponteris. There was still some reverence of her first mother's legacy within her, and she ordered that Lyris be kept on the northern island of Cebrost until it was clear that the Noras lord had made good upon his promises.

The coming of Lyris was eagerly anticipated by Cheft Ponteris, who insisted that no greater beauty had as yet set foot upon the earth. Much to his frustration he was told, after frequent inquiry, that he must wait in patience for his prize. When he pressed his hand, he was told, in very formal language, to keep his belt tightened until an end was made of the sons of Galvahir.

Thus it was with great frustration that Ponteris received the news that Daryas Galvahirne was still living, just hours after he had received the news of Olver's passing. Many things seemed to happen to him in that instant. A habit of pacing and swearing beneath his breath began at that hour. He grew troubled and all his humor and bravado left him. He made no more bold speeches about the folly of the clerics and the foolishness of pious old women. For all intents and purposes it might be said that he began to believe the prophecies of Rahdmus, though he prayed and worked against them, vainly. Also, remembering the words 'By your own flesh and blood shall your end come', he resolved to make an end of Sion, so that no harm might come to him.

Thinking himself rather clever, he resolved to eliminate two problems by means of a single solution. He meant to have Sion carry his prize secretly from Cebrost, and hopefully to perish in the attempt.

As time passed, Ponteris grew more and more impatient and desperate. At last he gave up on pleading altogether and openly threatened the safety of Sion's new family. 'What will you do, ingrate, will you stay in your bed forever, with your new wife that I have given to you? Nay, you are not the lord of Noras. You must arise, though the hour is late, and make some use of yourself. It was not for free that you were given the gem of your heart's longing. It was on faith; now make good on your end.'

'My end? I've done my part in sparing your life,' Sion retorted.

'Looking back,' Ponteris said, 'I don't recall feeling particularly threatened by you; not so threatened at least to justify giving you so great a prize.'

In the end, Sion was compelled to go, though he cursed every minute of that dreadful endeavor. It may well be said that in having already swallowed the lion's share of his pride, he had little remaining when the Ponteris made his demands. But though Ponteris wished Sion not to return from this dangerous endeavor, he did not want the mission itself to end in failure. To this end he sent also Bronning, one of his most trusted men.

Bronning was a dark and grim man, with a dark and grim reputation. It was said that for a price he would not hold back his blade from anything. Among his fellow mercenaries it was said that Bronning would cut his own throat if he were offered a high enough wage. Browning had under his command a band of forty men. They were men of Titalo, and had much knowledge of both the sea and the island of Cebrost to which they were sent. Sion, along with ten other men of Noras, were sent along as their 'commanders', though the greater authority was conferred, in secret, to the mercenaries.

Thus, in the beginning of that year, Sion and a crew of mercenaries set out from some small northern port for Titalo. There they hired a ship such as the pirates and mercenaries of Titalo are known to use, and they set out for the island of Cebrost. When at last, after several months of searching, they discovered the whereabouts of Lyris, they came upon that city under the darkness of night, slaying the guards and stealing away the Marshall of Marin, carrying her back to their ship bound and blindfolded. When they returned, however, and when Bronning was intended to take command of the ship by slaying the men of Noras, it was discovered that the men of Noras had not returned with them. A frantic search was made, but there was no time to discover what had become of them. Some, indeed, had fallen in the course of the raid, but six at least of them remained wholly unaccounted for, including the son of Ponteris. With many a curse, Bronning was forced to return to Noras with but one half of his task fulfilled.

'What matters it to you?' he bellowed at his employer, when Ponteris accused him of carelessness. 'You have both of your desires, Sion has fled, and he shall not set foot again in this forest. Set your heart upon your prize, and revile not those who most faithfully serve you.'

'You most faithfully serve your master the coin,' Ponteris said with desperation, 'I did not wish Sion gone, or exiled - exiled to return with vengeance - I wanted him slain.'

Bronning stood still for a moment, finally realizing the truth of the circumstance. A grin came across his face, 'You believe the old man,' he said coldly. 'You believe his prophecy! Master of cunning words, by priest-talk you have been silenced! Ha!'

'Begone from me!' Ponteris hollered, 'Here is your pay, here is double, but begone from me, and return not!'

Bronning and the False Prophet

Bronning, as has been said, had a reputation of being the sort of man that would do anything, however vile and wicked it might be, for the sake of wealth. When he left Cheftan Ponteris he traveled northeast toward the coast with his band of mercenaries. There, when night had fallen, he came across a peculiar scene. Thinking themselves to have come upon an encampment of brigands, and thinking they might despoil them of whatever they possessed, he commanded his men to approach the camp in secret and to await his signal ere they attack. But when they reached the camp, they were at once awestruck and tamed by what they saw.

In the center of the camp, under firelight, they saw a thin man dressed in crimson robes. This man had the look of a holy man, but he did not appear to be one of the priests of Pelas. His name, as was later discovered, was Lokhi, and he was a man of Dae-la. Born a peasant, he had no wealth and no heritage to speak of. Of all those who lived in Noras in those days, his household was one of the few that could say certainly that they had no relation whatsoever to any Cheftan at any time throughout all of the long history of that forest. But in such a state of poverty and dishonor, he arose among the people in that region as a prophet. Mimicking the words of Rahdmus, and in fact, claiming to have been sent by him, he had gathered to himself a great company of poor and dissatisfied people. From these he exacted tribute from all that they possessed, so that in a very short while the prophet made himself quite wealthy, as was evidenced by his ridiculous attire.

Bronning and his men came upon them just as he began to speak to his people:

'Men of Noras, sons of darkness though ye be! Know ye not that the wicked shall be driven from these very woods and into the hills like the goblins of old? Do ye not see how the enemy of the gods has made himself king? And how he has taken from the poor and trampled truth under foot? How long, I say, how long can this continue unabated? Men of Noras, there will come an hour, when every one of ye must draw swords and fight against those who would be your oppressors. Soon it will be that Noras will be given over to the poor, and taken forever from the hands of fool Cheftans, be they of Galvahir, Cossa, Oastir or Dael. These have grown rich by the sweat of the weak.

Do ye not see how the wicked thrive and the good are destroyed? Is this not an absurdity? Shall it be like this forever, until men say at last that the gods have forsaken mankind?

No. I tell you truly, men of Noras, there will come a day when fire will rain down upon your heads, and every wicked man will be devoured. I have seen the world of flame; in a dream it was given to my eyes to behold. Hear me, men of Noras, and believe! There is a mountain of ice, such that if ye set foot upon it thy toes would freeze in an instant, and break from thy foot. But step away from this mountain, my dear men, and ye will set your foot in a valley of flame that would melt thine flesh in an instant. How will ye escape, oh wicked men? How will ye escape the torment of the mountain, or the hot burning flames of the valley? Turn ye, therefore, and pledge thy swords to the work of the gods. Be not destroyed with the wicked in that day! Turn ye to the gods, and you will find treasures abounding in the realm of the stars!'

As strange as it is to recount, something in that message struck terror deep into the heart of Bronning, and indeed, in the hearts of his men. In that hour they emerged from the woods almost in unison, weeping and pleading for the holy man to pray for them. 'Of what utility,' Bronning wept, 'is all the gold in the world, if I am to lose it all in the flames beneath the earth?'

So it was that Bronning and his mercenaries had found at last their final employer, and the promise of an incorruptible heavenly wealth became their last wage.

The Last Battle

By the end of fifteenth day of Paschest, when Daryas had fought against the monster Natham for the second time, the bodies of the people of Marin, Olgrost and Amlaman were lying in heaps, and beside them in heaps were the men of Dadron. All the efforts of Dadron's bravest could do no more than contain their enemies, and they contained them at great cost to their own numbers. Cries rent the night and weeping filled the city, such that even the soldiers of Marin and the warriors of Amlaman could scarcely hold back their own tears, both for their kinsmen who had fallen and for the women whose voices echoed down from the upper city, calling out to their husbands and their sons, not knowing whether they were living or dead. Indeed, it was reckoned that on that day, of all days in that terrible war, the greatest number of men had been slain.

The flood of tears was overcome, however, by a heavy rain, as if the heavens themselves burst forth in sorrow. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed, filling the city with darkness, wind and dread. The soldiers of Marin huddled together in cloth tents and market canopies such as they had occasion to find in the streets of the lower city. The men of Amlaman braved the rain and wind with stern faces, waiting for the end and for the dawn, when their ambitions might be renewed. They had been halted in that place for two days, but in their minds was little doubt but that the city would fall when at last their lord entered in. 'On the morrow,' they were assured, 'the king of Amlaman, that Fell Wolf of Heyan, shall ride in with banners and noise, and ride in to victory. Marin has had her hour, but now there is a war to be waged.'

But no new warriors came from Amlaman the next day, a very troubling fact, that took its toll on the warriors within the city, who for the first time considered failure to be a possibility. The battle began much in the same way as before, with the soldiers of Marin and the warriors of Amlaman attempting to break into the upper city, and the warriors of Noras and of Dadron attempting to drive them out, or to exterminate them where they stood.

In the chaos of the war, Daryas now did what he could to fulfill the advice of Rahdmus. He left the army of Marin unmolested, to what degree he was able, and focused his efforts on fighting the men of Amlaman. This he did with great reluctance, for he did not wish his contest with the monster to end in a draw. This sentiment he ascribed, in his heart, to the will of Lutrosis, who seemed to pine for more glorious warfare. But the greatest part of the day was spent encircling and slaying the many groups of Amlamani warriors that now haunted the eastern city.

Lord Kardian, however, focused his efforts on the army of Marin. Of them he slew personally some one hundred soldiers. But by the day's end he was driven away by the fierce anger of the monster, who cast him from his horse. He fell to the ground in a thud and found that both his wrists were broken. He fled into the city and vanished from the monster's sight. There he found some of his men, and made his way back to the upper city, to fight no longer in the war.

When this had finished, the monster, by some trick of light, caught sight of Daryas from afar, and thinking it would be advantageous to their strategy to cut down the leaders of their foes, he rushed like a storm wind into the east. Daryas' heart sunk at the sight of the monster, not so much for fear of death as for fear that Lutrosis would once more gain the ascendance.

'The one you seek is not here,' Daryas told the monster, 'Not a man in Dadron has knowledge of the one you accuse us of detaining.'

'What use are such words at this hour,' Natham roared, 'Save to halt the steps of the foolish. Did not your cities receive their due warning? Did not the Daevaron at every turn have a way of escape? Did not Olver, lord of this city, receive the report of my coming, and the demand that came with it?'

'Truly you have been lied to,' Daryas said, 'for Olver was not of this land, but of Noras, which lies far to the north.'

With those words spoken, circumstances forced them into combat. Several horsemen of Noras rode against the monster with spears uplifted. Of these he slew the first and used his body to swipe the others from their saddles. Also, the hirelings of Olgrost, remembering the wounds of their ally Arakai, came against Daryas with a fury. In a short time, these were slain, and Daryas and Natham found themselves once more in mortal combat.

The Sword of Pelas found its way past the monster's shield and cut deep into the Natham's shoulder. With a cry of anger and pain he swung his arm and knocked the helmet from Daryas' head. The whole world seemed to Daryas to turn white at that moment and every sound became a dull thud to his ears. He had scarcely recovered when Natham attempted to pierce him with his spear. He dropped to the ground and laid beneath the blow, barely evading it by more than an inch. Natham tried to crush him beneath his shield, but Daryas rolled backward and rose again to his feet. The shield and the spear again charged at him, like a furious bull, charging with pointed horns. But again Daryas dodged the attack. He leapt upon Natham's back and tried to cut his throat. But Natham grabbed him by the foot and lifted him, upside down, off of his shoulders. He hung him in from of his face and thrust the fell blade Skatos Ereg from beneath his cloak. Daryas, by luck, by skill or by fate, whirled his sword around, blocking the strike. He slashed at the monster's arm, cutting deeply into his wrist. The monster released him, and Daryas fell onto his back with a thud. The two swords clashed with one another again and again, Skatos Ereg seeming to carry within itself the night, and the sword of Pelas the day. But in the end the night triumphed. Skatos Ereg swung down hard, shattering the Sword of Pelas and cutting a deep wound into the Galvahirne's forehead, sending blood flowing over his eyes. Some later said that the dark blade itself laughed as it made an end of that famous blade. In that moment the sun itself seemed to flee from the sky and lightning struck the city in many places, including, it was said, the Temple of Pelas itself. Almost as soon as it had occurred it was reported throughout the city that the Holy Sword had fallen.

Natham stepped forward for the kill, but Lutrosis at last gained the mastery and his blow was stopped. For the monster's mighty arm had been caught by Daryas who then turned and to the astonishment of all who watched, cast the monster over his shoulder as if he were a regular man.

Now fully under the power of Lutrosis, Daryas drew his Noras short sword from its sheath to strike a final blow. But ere his blade could fall, a shadow fell upon him, and a great bird descended from the sky, alighting upon the fallen monster. 'Maru?' Daryas said in great surprise, 'Twice you have stood between us, but to what end? You carry no message. Begone, for I cannot permit you to withstand me again. He raised the sword aloft, but his blow never came. A smaller bird fell from the sky and struck in him the chest, knocking him back. Then another bird fell, its beak like a dart, piercing his armor and cutting his chest. Soon a veritable rain of such foul was falling upon him. He fled beneath a ledge that had been built nearby and held a board over himself to guard his head from the birds. Amid all this the eagle turned toward Natham and gave a shriek.

'Natham,' Maru spoke, in words only the monster could perceive, 'What are you doing here?'

'Who are you, spirit of the air, that you address me by name?'

'I am Maru, lord of birds, and some time ago I was told to search for you. Now I have found you.'

'To what end?'

'To tell you at last the truth that has for all these years evaded you, but which the spirit-lords of Falsis have long known.'

Origin

'Twice betrayed are you,' Maru said, 'And by him who of all men ought never to have done so. A darkness lies upon your memory, but you must look beyond it.' With those words the haze that had long shadowed the monster's mind was lifted and he saw his whole past anew. 'A shame you were to your father, for two reasons. First and foremost, you were born to his father's maid, long before he took to himself a wife. Such a thing could have cost him both his honor and his title, and he would sacrifice neither. Heaped upon this circumstance was your form. As if to demonstrate to the world the heinousness of fathering a child by one's youngest maid, you came from the womb all in a tangle, one arm shriveled behind you, another coming as it were, straight from your heart. "Two heads! Two heads! The devil lives again!" your father bellowed in a drunken stupor.

'Death - your father had planned for you from the beginning. He wished you dead for the shame of his own sins. He deemed your life unworthy of living, and so he condemned you to the fire. "Who would wish to live a day in such a ghastly form?" he asked himself in terror.

'His negative answer to his own question was soon proved, when he ordered the child to be burnt on the altar of Pelas, even as infants were, in the dark days, offered to the god Agonistes, before the devil worshippers were driven from Noras. Half of you he burned indeed, as I deem your dark cloak conceals. But ere life was taken from you altogether, your mother, that poor young girl, plucked you from the flame and darted into the woods. There she hid, seeking aid among the peasants of that land. But none would help her, for the sight of you filled their superstitious hearts with fear.

'Starving, she made her way at last to the Yilnir river, and there she died, but not before handing you over to the first kind man she had, in all that time encountered. A Knarseman of Titalo he was, and I imagine from there you can piece together the narrative well enough.'

Natham looked into the eagle's sharp eyes and knew at once that his every word was true. 'Tell me, lord of birds,' he demanded, as he lifted himself to his knees. 'How is it that this man, my father, has twice betrayed me.'

'Even now,' Maru said, with sorrow in his voice, 'he has taken hold of that which you have long fought for.'

'What!?' Natham roared, rising to his feet and towering over the bird. 'Speak on!' he commanded.

'This very same Cheft Ponteris, who set flame to his own and only son, even now, this Cheftan Ponteris of Oastir-la, has taken for a prize, Lyris of Marin, whom you have long sought. Pay heed, Natham!' Maru said, 'Marin has lied to you from the beginning. Never did they mean for you to see the woman again, never did Olver Galvahirne so much as hear her name spoken, never did any man of that kindred set eyes upon her. It was to Cheftan Ponteris that she was promised as a prize, and this was kept secret that you might lend your heavy hand to the war against Dadron. Never, oh Natham, did even one of your many letters escape the spies of Marin and bring your demands to those cities you so mercilessly overthrew!'

When all this was said the face of the monster grew grim and cold. A roar rent the air, stopping every blade and giving every warrior a chill. This was the voice of Judan, and there was as much anger in it as there was sorrow, and enough sorrow, it was said, to fill the ocean twice over. His warriors rallied to his side, and all the soldiers of Marin that remained within the city walls. Without any question, and without any hesitation, all these warriors turned and followed him, seeming to have understood the whole from just that one lament. So fierce was his anger, and so dreadful his sorrow, that even many men of Amlaman turned and followed him.

This great host, nearly all those who remained within Dadron, now turned and departed from the city in a fury of passion, trampling all those that withstood them. Some sort of enchantment seemed to hang in the air, and at every instant the soldiers of Marin were choosing sides, some turning to follow the monster, and some setting themselves against him, to their doom.

A sudden peace came over the city, and the lower city was emptied into the upper city without danger. The second gates were then shut and Dadron the Great was safe from its assailants once more. But now it was the assailants themselves that were the besieged.

Pincer

Even as Natham led the warriors of Olgrost and the soldiers of Marin out of the city they were met by the combined forces of Amlaman and Marin. So great were their numbers that the thought came to them at once that this would be their last battle. But when their forces were about to clash, a trumpet call rang out and the army of Amlaman turned on their heels.

A sound like thunder rent the air, a thick smoke rose up in the distance, and many hundreds of Amlaman's warriors fell to the earth slain. So quick and so fierce was this new assault that many shouted out, 'Aggelos, even as the days of old!' But it was Dynamis, and the strange weapons he and his servants bore. Three more volleys of that piercing iron came into the ranks of the men of Amlaman ere they could gather their wits. Volthamir took the lead, and they rushed into the west, to face this new foe.

So it was that the armies of Ollitov and of Volthamir were sundered, the Marin soldiers facing the defected men and women of Natham, and the army of Amlaman facing the army of Galva, long exiled and full of fresh strength and courage. Divided and confused, they saw no hope but in retreat.

Ollitov and his guardians fled into the north, making their way across the Falsi River on ferries while their men held off the traitorous band of Natham. There fell Nerria along with all her guardians, and the greater portion of Ollitov's personal guard. Those who made it across the river were so distraught that they neglected even to return the boats to the other side. In this way, nearly half the army of Marin was trapped on the southern side of the river, with nothing to guard them from the wrath of the Vestron Monster.

At last, when he could find no other place to escape to, Ollitov turned and faced the monster. But no battle took place. Natham smacked Ollitov across the face, knocking him to the ground. He took his spear and broke it in two, and pulled the long crimson plume from his helmet.

'Do not be a fool, beast!' Ollitov shouted. 'Thou shalt not lay a finger upon the lord of Marin; upon the husband of the mighty queen!'

'Natham picked him up by the throat. 'I fear not any soul of Marin. Your empty threats cannot save you. I now know, and you know it too - I cannot be killed by any but my own hands. But now, I have no interest in your pleading; you know your crimes, and I know there is nothing you can do to deter me from taking revenge.' With those words he broke his enemy's neck and cast his body into the river, where under the weight of his armor he sank without delay.

Perceiving now that all was lost, Volthamir led his army toward the Galva warriors, who were stationed atop a small ridge that rose some thirty feet above the field on the northwest side, very near the river. It was his hope that they might be able to ride them down and break through their lines ere too much damage was done. But the rain of iron continued, dropping hundreds of soldiers with every blast. When finally the armies met, the men of Amlaman were weary, wounded and terrified. It was a hard battle. The army of Amlaman had the advantage of numbers, but the Galva had the mastery in every other area. Volthamir alone on his side was able to stand against them without fear in his eyes.

Ultimately, however, the vast number of men forced the Galva army to abandon their position, and the army of Amlaman was able to begin their eastward flight toward the Amla Gap. But ere they left Agalan fields, Dynamis rode down with three thousand men to cut them off. Of these, some four hundred were on horseback. Volthamir sought out their commander and charged with all his fury at the son of Galvahir. Ten men he slew, ere he came to face Dynamis. Among those whom he slew there was Vallus Phoadirne, whose mighty axe had hewn the heads of many men of Amlaman. Vallus took a swing at the legs of Ghoras, Volthamir's horse, but the horse leapt into the air and so dodged his fatal blow. While yet in descent, Volthamir cut the throat of his enemy, dropping the hero of Galva to the ground in agony. The men of Galva rushed to his side and surrounded the King of Amlaman, but they could not contain him. There fell Cheft Aargo with his eldest son, Eron, who had fought so bravely for the sake of their homeland. The thick armor he had won in the contest at Ram-u-Nar served him not against the might of Volthamir. So fierce was his fury, and so tireless his arm, that the men of Galva let him loose and kept out of his path. This they did out of wisdom, not cowardice. In their hearts they desired to face him and meet death, but knowing it would serve no purpose, they relented and let the King of Amlaman free.

But as soon as he was let loose, he resumed his fiery pursuit of Dynamis, hoping to take his head as a prize ere he returned to Japhrian. The two met upon horseback, and the clash was like the butting of two strong bulls, and the sound of their swords was like thunder. Volthamir thrust his blade through the neck of Dynamis' horse, dropping the beast to the ground. He turned and made a charge, thinking it an easy thing to ride over and crush the barbarian beneath his horse. But Dynamis pulled a dagger from his boot and hurled it with great speed into Ghoras' forehead, felling that noble, but ill-mastered horse.

A pang of feeling rushed over the King, such as he had not felt for many years. The fury that came of this was unrelenting and he very nearly got the best of Biron's son. But in the end, when Volthamir had made a fierce downward strike at his foe, Dynamis stepped aside and put his boot on the flat of Volthamir's blade. Volthamir dropped the blade at once, and Dynamis stepped down upon it hard, but to no avail.

Volthamir ducked low and rolled under Dynamis' legs, knocking him to the ground and freeing his own blade from beneath his enemy. He rose with his sword in hand, even as Dynamis rose with his.

'That swordsmanship I have seen before,' Dynamis said, panting, 'but yours is much improved. I cannot yet tell whether you are the master or the pupil. Your youth says you must be the pupil, but your skill tells me otherwise.'

'Then it was you, barbarian,' Volthamir responded, 'who slew the mighty Lord Havoc upon the cliffs of the Daunrys.'

'So that was his name,' Dynamis said, 'and glad was I to see him slain. Many good and just men were slain by him ere his end came upon him.'

'Good and just, you say,' laughed Volthamir, 'as though such a thing were possible, or, as though such a thing were desirable.'

'You are mad,' Dynamis said, shaking his head. 'But where have your mad ambitions brought you? To flight and shame.'

With that Volthamir came once more against him, and the fury of their blows was renewed. Long they struggled against each other, but in the end, the men of Galva drew near and Volthamir was forced to turn and flee with those of his men that were able to escape. These passed into the coming night, pursuing the setting sun as hounds pursue the swift hare.

Peace in the City

Silence ruled over Dadron now, as the sun went down and the gates were fastened shut. Daryas, from atop a watch tower, could see the distant forms of his kinsmen, battling against the hordes of Amlaman. 'I trust you are safe, brother,' he whispered to himself. 'None can kill you, of that I am convinced, but I know that much of this is but hero worship. Worship? Yes, it must be admitted brother, that to some degree all men look to their brothers as if they were gods. What an honor, and what a responsibility. Happy am I that such a burden has not fallen on my weak shoulders. Happy also am I to have such a man as you for my kinsman. Never, in all my days, have I had anything to fear when you were at hand. Dynamis Galvahirne, you are in every way my better, yet in every way you have given me the better lot.'

Kardian greeted Daryas with gladness, saying, 'Hail the hero of Dadron! Who drove away the wrath of the monster!'

'Nay,' Daryas said, 'It was not I. I cannot say what happened. It was a marvel and a miracle; the work of the Lord of Birds that turned the monster's heart away from Dadron.'

'Nonetheless,' Kardian said, 'History will remember your three great battles, and how it was the gods alone that kept you from the greatest honors.'

'I would see little honor in killing a sorry soul like his,' Daryas said, looking to the north. 'In all ways he was more sincere than I, and it would have been a shame for him to perish so deceived.'

'Nonetheless, you have fought long and fought well for many innocent men.'

'Yet still I wonder how many more could have lived if we had headed the words of Rahdmus, who knew - he knew somehow, that the war would come to such a sudden end. What would have been, if we had not slain so many Marin warriors that day? Would there not be many thousands more of them under his command? Would they not have had an easier time driving away our enemies for us, when at last they turned their swords against their allies? And what of the rest of Daevaron? Fahsro, Daeva City, Libraeva, these must all be taken out of Marin's hand, ere this land will have peace. We will soon wish that we had left a greater portion of these soldiers alive. As it stands, they will meet their end in Solibree or Lak, and Marin will retain her fierce grip upon our land.'

'But have they not the monster?'

'My heart tells me,' Daryas said soberly, 'that they will not have him with them for long. When he cried out it sounded like the cry of a man bent on death.'

[Chapter XIII:  
Natham](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Statue

As has been noted on several occasions, Cheftan Ponteris Oastirne kept at the entrance of his property, a great stone sculpture. It was the figure of a beautiful woman, a Siren from the ancient world. The Sirens were known as those who spoke, if not God's very words, at least the most beautiful words that can be uttered. To protect this statue from rain and from wind (and from carriages and wagons), Cheftan Ponteris had built a wooden shelter around it. He also caused the road to be brought around it, so that it would be both impossible to damage it accidentally, and impossible to follow that road without seeing his great prize.

Nearby, though not easily seen, was a small guard house, which was always occupied by at least two men. They were armed only with short swords, but they had a great horn, which was meant to summon to their side what help they might need, should any peril ever come to the statue.

But nobody in the whole forest of Noras cared for the statue enough to trouble it. So it was that by this time, the guards spent most of their day sleeping, drinking, and playing dice.

But on the last day of Paschest, ere any tidings had come to Noras concerning the events that had taken place in Dadron, one of the guards found himself shaken to wakefulness.

'Jori! Jori! Jori Polcirne!' his companion shouted in his ears.

'What is it, Kelnan,' the sleeper grumbled. 'What time is it?'

'There is someone near the statue!'

'And what of it? Everyone must pass the statue.'

'Do you think that I don't know that as well as you? There is something amiss.'

'Are you saying,' Jori said reluctantly opening his eyes, 'that after all these years someone is actually going to trouble that stupid goddess?'

'That is how it looks, Jori, now get up, I am not going down there alone.'

When they had put on their leather armor and fastened their swords at their sides they left the guardhouse. There they found Natham, the monster of Vestron, staring ponderously at the great statue. They took one look at each other and skulked away from the estate, abandoning their employer and their charge altogether.

When Natham had made an end of Ollitov, and when he had given instructions to those who followed him, he turned his face toward the north, and set out alone for Oastir-la. He followed no roads and asked for no directions, his ancient memories seemed to draw him to his first home like wine draws a fly. Thus he came upon the sleepy estate of Cheftan Ponteris just as the sun went down. He saw, in the waning light, the great beauty of the whole region. The trees were tall and strong, for all those with crooked trunks or patched canopies had been hewn down. No animals remained in that place, for they had all been hunted and driven away. A serene, deathly silence pervaded the whole scene. There he halted, to look upon that statue.

'Guarded from wind, from rain, from cold and from foes,' he thought. 'It is good that he should take such heed for stones, AND such heed for his own honor. But his son! Ah, that ugliness was fit for death, even as every imperfect thing.'

With no hesitation he took the statue from its foundation and cast it down across the road, shattering it into a thousand pieces. 'This land will soon resemble the Barbarian's heart. Exterminate that which troubles the eye as you will, oh father, but you will never drive the ugliness from your soul.'

He made his way to the house, where he was soon confronted by a dozen armed brigands, such as Ponteris kept at his side at all times. It was easy work, making an end of these golden-haired mercenaries. In a short while, and ere they could summon further aid, the whole guard of Ponteris' estate lay in heaps of broken men and shattered swords. Admunth and his spear he had left behind in Dadron. Skatos Ereg alone he bore now in his blackened left hand. With every stroke of the blade a low growl could be heard from somewhere deep within him. A growl more of delight than anger.

Though in all, some two hundred warriors were to be found in that house on that day, no word came to Ponteris of this sudden assault. It did not enter into any of their minds that they would need help against but one man, and by the time they discovered it, it was too late to scream. So it was that Ponteris was completely unaware that his fate drew so near to him. He had, in fact, sent his soldiers to the far side of his house. For it was that very afternoon that he had driven Bronning from his side with his cold and rash words. From that moment he locked Lyris in his own chambers and counted the minutes until his daily affairs had drawn to their close.

When at last he had finished his daily tasks, he retired to his chamber, ordering his servants to keep away, 'For I am feeling a slight chill, and I do not wish to be bothered.'

When Natham at last found his way into that portion of the house, he heard the sound of glass breaking. He sought out the source of this commotion and when he at last found the Cheftan's door, he heard for the first time in years, the voice of that one soul among women who shed for him real tears of pity. The door was slightly ajar and in the room he saw the Cheftan, with blood pouring from a gash in his head, wrestling with a young woman in a bright white, though blood-stained dress. The blood, he apprehended, belonged to Ponteris.

'Witch!' Ponteris bellowed as he held his wound. 'Know you not what men like me shall become, when Dadron at last has fallen!? We will be like gods, ruling over the superstitious fools like shepherds over their flocks.'

'What bewitchment of folly has fallen upon my queen I know not,' she replied, 'but I would sooner die than let your slightest finger touch me. It was in vain that I was promised you. For at least one of us shall end this a corpse; either I die to be free of you, or you shall die, and I will be free.'

With those words he struck her in the face with the back of his fist, and leapt upon her, putting his hands to her throat, banging her head onto the floor. Once more, Judan roared, and such a roar it was that echoes of it were heard, or so it was said, in Cossa-la and Megd-la. Ponteris fell back and groped for his weapon, which lay on a table near at hand. Natham made no effort to stop him. He looked down at Lyris' face. She seemed to him so beautiful and so peaceful. 'Sleep, then,' he said, thinking she was dead 'And wake to a better fate than this.'

Cheftan Ponteris lifted his sword in the air to strike, but Natham blocked his strike with ease. Skatos Ereg seemed to devour all light and color in that room, and the blade of the Cheftan shattered like glass as soon as it touched the evil blade. With his black left hand and his strong right, Natham grasped the hands of his father in his, pulverizing every finger as he squeezed them. Ponteris shrieked and begged for mercy. 'Mercy I shall give to you in plenty,' the monster said; even as you gave to me long ago - for I pity you. A pity to death, and a pity to murder.'

'I don't know you, devil, I never saw you before!' he screamed.

Skatos Ereg thrust forward and pierced the Cheftan's chest, but the monster stopped ere the blade struck his heart. Back, he pushed the fool Cheftan, back toward the fireplace, wherein a strong blaze was dancing about.

'You have accomplished much, father,' Natham said, 'But there is one thing that you failed to finish.'

Then Natham paused and looked back at the fallen girl. 'No more shall that kind heart warm this earth; all light has grown dim with her passing, as the sun vanishes into the west, so Lyris goes to that darker realm. But perhaps there she will shine also. But I, in this darkness, have only flame to look to. Yes, flame and heat, such as I felt of old.' With those words the Cheftan's right arm was released and the black arm of Judan lifted the cloak from off his face, to look his father in the eye.

In that instant, when he saw those fierce burns and scars, Ponteris knew at last what had transpired. 'Not drowned!?' he whimpered, 'Not drowned!?' Then, this one last thought crossed his mind, and seared itself into him so deeply that no other thought, despite all that would soon follow, could so much as move him. He heard again the words of Rahdmus, 'Death and vengeance shall fall upon this house, By your own flesh and blood shall your end come, By the fire you long ago kindled shall your own flesh be burned.'

'Very well Judan,' Natham said, 'Let it be done then. If this is your will, then I will not withhold it from you. In all our days, and in all our wars, you have always suffered more. I neither can be, nor desire to be sundered from you, and where you will go, so must I.'

With that the black left hand of Judan clutched the Cheftan by the throat and thrust him into the flame, where he helplessly writhed in agony, until at last his body was consumed. But as he burned, the flames began to crawl up the dark arm of Judan, and to light his cloak on fire. Natham closed his eyes and whispered, 'So ends it brother, our long nightmare.'

To this sight Lyris awoke, and seeing the monster in flames she rose to pull him away. But the flames were too great, and had now spread to the walls and to the carpets. Suddenly, however, a great light appeared, as if from within the flame itself, and Lyris fell to her knees with her face upward toward the ceiling. In that moment all the shadows of that dim room vanished and the whole scene was washed in a heavenly glow. She saw no longer the ugly Cheftan, nor the burning flame, it seemed the whole world was now on fire, but not a burning fire - a life giving flame.

Before her stood Natham and another man, an old man robed in brown with a rope for a belt. But as she watched, she saw the body of Natham come undone, and, though she could never adequately describe it, she saw the brothers come untangled before her eyes. Soft, white skin and smooth dark hair now sat upon the once hideous face of Judan, and the two brothers stood side by side shining as it were with their own light.

'For what is this given us?' Natham seemed to ask the man.

The old man said with a smile, 'Of all men, Natham, son of Ponteris, you have been the most honest. There were many dark things that have come into your life unbidden, but that which was left within your power you handled with much courage and kindness. The work which you were ordained to do, you have done without fail, and, children, no other could have done it.

With that the vision passed, and Lyris found herself in a dark and cold place. But as she looked she saw from afar two brilliant stars appear, and then after them all the rest of the celestial host. These two stars shone upon her face and warmed her heart. But her exhausted eyes gave in at last and she fell into a deep and peaceful slumber.

End of Book IV

[Book V:  
The Siren's Song](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)
[Chapter I:  
The Elves Awaken](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Star-Seer

'Tell me Star-seer,' the god of Dadron commanded, 'what do the Astral Lords have to teach by way of prophecy?'

'You shall go to Amlaman,' a quiet and labored voice replied. 'And there you shall be reborn, and a kingdom shall be given to you: a kingdom that shall never end, so long as there is a world. Moreover, you shall come to rule over even the Immortals of the Far South.'

The Star-Seer lay beside Pelas upon a stone table near the edge of a cliff in the Southern mountains of Weldera. There he rested with his face looking up at the heavens, even as he had been doing for the past several thousand years. His glassy eyes were large and round, having doubled in size during his long and miserable life. His nose had vanished altogether, save for two tiny holes. His hair had ceased to grow long ago, leaving his head bald and his face exposed to the elements. His mouth was cracked and dry like the deserts of Kharku, and his flesh was as gray as the stone upon which he lay. His body, if it be proper to call it a body, was shriveled up on the table. Over the years the roots of a tree had enveloped, encased, consumed and entombed him, so that only here and there could a glimpse of his bone-thin arms and legs be discerned. But in the end the tree itself perished, and left him alone, lingering on in this sorry state.

Near his head sat a tall man, dressed in black with his face covered by a pale gray mask. Upon his knee there lay a scroll, and in his hand was a pen. He wrote down all that the Star-Seer said, though he could neither hear nor see to whom the creature was speaking.

'Then Dadron Almighty shall stand?' Pelas said.

'The enemies of Dadron shall break apart like waves upon a mighty stone,' the Star-Seer replied.

'Tell me, wise one,' Pelas thundered nervously, 'Is this certain? Is this your prophecy as a Star-Seer?'

'It is,' the Star-Seer answered, 'And there are none that can call this into question.'

The Star-Seers are, along with the Magic Tower of Lapulia itself, the last remnant of the glory days of Lapulia, which no history now remembers. They are older than the elves; and wiser. For this reason the elvish histories have ignored them altogether. Indeed, the jealousy of the elves has even led some of their number to hunt and kill these sorry creatures where they lay. In this manner almost all the Star-Seers of Olgrost, Vestron and Weldera were slain; their great wisdom dying also. They are safe now only in Dominas where the City of Lapulia holds the sovereign authority. Some say, however, that there are some yet living in Kharku, where all things fantastical and strange dwell. But in Weldera there remained now only one, and there were none besides Pelas and the Mages of Lapulia who knew where to find him.

To guard him the Mages secretly maintained three of their deadly Assassins upon the mountain at all times. Of all men of arms, these Lapulians are perhaps the most skillful in the arts of stealth and murder. As this nameless and debilitated beast was their last set of eyes in Weldera, they maintained a constant guard upon him. One man was always resting while the other two took their turns either recording what what spoken by the Star-Seer or lying in wait to slay any and all who purposefully or accidentally approached the Seer. All of this, of course, was done secretly. For the powers of Weldera would not suffer an agent of Lapulia to dwell within their borders. For, although the Star-Seers were charged to speak everything they discovered regardless of what field of study it fell under, they were bound by an oath to reveal to the Mages of Lapulia anything that had reference to the security and prosperity of Dominas.

The Star-Seers, as the name implies, gaze at the stars above; and they do naught else, save for the recounting of their discoveries. From their endless observation of the wheeling heavens these creatures learned all the motions and relations of the stars, the sun and the moon. By way of calculation they could determine also many things that would occur on the earth itself. That is, by their deep understanding they were able to discern all causes, and to see the ends of all actions, and, knowing the interconnection of all things, learn all this from the observation of the stars. It was in imitation of them that the Knarsemen developed their elaborate superstitions about the stars and their various powers. The Ohhari also, with all their prophetic expectations, have the Star-Seers as their inspiration.

Lord Pelas had learned of this creature in the days of Dadron's ascendancy, when yet the elves dwelt in Weldera. But his speech with the creature betrayed his existence to the Assassins, and what was said by the Seer in response to his queries made its way in turn to Lapulia, where the sagacious Mages learned much concerning the plans and strategies of the elves. Now he came to this creature again, as his own destiny seemed to be rapidly approaching its climax. But though this omniscient sage had assured him twice, Pelas could not resist pressing the matter further, asking him again, 'Is there no doubt in your mind then, Star-Seer?'

The sad creature inhaled deeply, gathering enough air to speak. 'Think not, master,' he began, 'that we Star-Seers are without doubt. That power which allows the mind to deduce what lies beyond its purview is the very same power that allows the mind to think something other than what is. It is this latter faculty that gives birth to doubt. Insofar as we Star-Seers are possessed of the former, we are likewise possessed of the latter. We doubt, my lord.'

'How then can you say your word is sure?'

'When I say my prophecy is final, master, it is because my calculations are final, and my conclusions without a doubt follow from the courses of the stars above. But how can I say, master, that there is not something that has not entered into my deductions? The eye has color and form for its domain, the nose has scent and the tongue has taste. There are other senses too. Do not err in thinking that what is learned therefrom must necessarily exhaust all things.'

Pelas exhorted him to look again at the stars, and to tell him if there was aught else that he could discern.'

'I will look to the stars again, master,' he said in a weary voice. 'But I cannot see what is not meant for eyes, nor smell what is not meant for the nose. In vain will you pry into the night sky overlong - certainty belongs only to the gods.'

'I am the god of Falsis,' Pelas said angrily, storming away from that place in great wrath, disappearing into the wild lands that surrounded that mountain and passing unnoticed by the Seer's guardians. This meeting between the god and the seer took place on the eleventh day of Solest, in the year prior to the fall of Natham and the Battle of Dadron.

The Emissary

When Lord Pelas returned at last to Dadron hill some six days later there was gathered a great host of spirits to greet him. They had been summoned from every corner of Falsis to honor their master and to renew their allegiance to him. The words of the Star-Seer had been spread throughout the land; and it was believed among the spirits, and it was almost certainly the truth, that on the ground of this prophecy the Lapulians would withhold their support from Marin and Amlaman. Their hopes were kindled, despite the great numbers that marched in Marin's army, and the great strength of the warriors of Amlaman.

'It is time for the faithful to reveal themselves,' Pelas had told his counselors.

But there was also among the spirits a man of flesh and blood, cloaked in white, with long brown hair hanging down to his waist. When Pelas was seated at last, and after he had greeted his generals, he turned his attention to this strange visitor. 'What is your name?' he asked, 'I apprehend that you are one of the Immortals.' the god said to the man. 'Moreover, you must know the old passages, to come into the city in a time of war.'

'I am one of the elves,' the man said, bowing down so that his forehead touched the ground. 'And happy am I to hear your voice once again, my lord.'

'I do not remember you,' Pelas said callously.

'I did not expect such an honor, my lord,' the man replied. 'I was but a boy when our enemies tore the world asunder. There are two things I shall never forget: The envy of the dragons and the glory of my lord Pelas.' Among the elves the fury of the dragons was often invoked in oaths and ceremonies, but to call it 'envy' was a sign of loyalty such as only the truest servants of Pelas would make.

Pelas nodded approvingly. 'Rise, my son,' he said. The visitor lifted his face from the ground and knelt before the god of Dadron, his eyes looking only at Pelas' feet. 'What is your name, and for what have you come before the god of Weldera?'

'I am Simnahi,' the man answered, 'and I have been sent unto you by my lord, who rules over the Verdantahin, in the Hidden South.'

'Then you are come from Malgier, from the side of Bralahi the Zealous?'

'Long has it been since he has been called by that name. Since the death of his wife he has been known only as the Lord of Sorrows.'

'What does your master seek in the North?' Pelas demanded.

'He sends with me a message, meant for your ears alone.'

Pelas turned his eyes toward his servants. They, knowing his will, departed from their master in haste, scattering into the shadows. When the Temple had been emptied, the messenger spoke, 'Thus speaks the Lord of the South:

'When I heard that the Walls of Dadron were encompassed about by enemies, my heart leapt within me with hope, for I knew that my lord Pelas yet ruled. When I heard that Agonistes yet lived, having returned from hell itself, my heart sunk into the depths of despair. I am one of the few - nay, I am the only living soul who remembers the prophecy of Aedanla. It is time for the powers of day and night to strive for the mastery. But the sun is greater than the moon, light casts away darkness, and darkness has no power over it. The time has come for the god of Weldera to ascend to his eternal throne and rule over the mortals again, even as it was in the days of old. The vessel has been found in the land of Joplis, and surely the devil will be drawn to her. But he will not attain to godhood, for he is full of evil.

'Long have I waited within my halls, in idle sorrow. But no longer shall I hide myself in grief. The time is come for the return of the Immortals. Take up the flesh once again, and I shall have prepared for you an army of five-hundred thousand deathless souls, immortals from the ancient days who have been born and bred to serve you, even as I, their lord, have been consecrated to your service.'

'Know, my lord, Pelas,' the emissary said after he had finished, 'that this message has been sent by Lord Bralahi himself.'

Lord Pelas rose from his throne and stepped down toward the emissary. 'It is as I have foreseen,' he said, speaking, in truth, of the Star-Seer's prophecy. 'The heart of Bralahi is ever faithful, and the time of his awakening is now.' He came to stand directly in front of the emissary. 'There are few eyes that can yet see the spirits of old. The blood of the Verdant is strong indeed if even their young ones can behold the god of Weldera. In the north it was only the high elves who were able to see the gods.'

'Indeed, my lord,' the emissary said as he fell to his knees, 'there are many among us who are so blessed. The life of the Immortals is strong in Malgier; we have not waned and shriveled like the elves of the North and of the East.'

'But still,' Pelas said as he circled around the emissary, almost as if he might discern the truth and sincerity of his message from his very appearance. 'I will not accept the service of Bralahi the long lost, though greatly beloved servant of Bel Albor so lightly. Not on mere words. Tell your master, that I will not believe his word, though he send an Aggelos or a Siren to speak it, until he shows me some proof or gives me some token of his loyalty.'

'Name it, my lord,' the emissary replied, 'and the lord of the south will see to its completion. In this I speak with the authority of Bralahi himself.'

'When the siege is broken, and this Marin ramble scattered, I shall march to war against the spirits of the West - against the land of Agonistes. Send forth the remnant of Solruvis, who hide in Solsis - send them forth to punish Amlaman for its service to the devil. Then will I believe that your master has power over the Immortals.'

'It shall be as you have said,' the emissary replied.

'Agonistes' land will fall at last,' he said coldly. 'Amlaman will bleed for its loyalty to the dark one. For you know as I do, young Simnahi, how mighty the Immortals are in warfare. This age will be the Age of Arising.'

Numbered

Though the southern elves had been hidden away since the fall of Dadron, they had not been wholly idle, nor had they forgotten the ambitions of their forefathers entirely. A standing army of some five thousand men was kept ready at all times in the hidden valleys of northern Solsis. In addition to this, there were many hidden cities of Immortals that, though separated by space, were yet loyal to Solran, the grandson of Solruvis. Each of these cities had an army of its own, together bringing the number of warriors that answered to Solran to nearly twenty-thousand strong.

When the emissary of Bralahi arrived in the hidden lands of the elves bringing the request of Lord Pelas to their ears, a census was made, and all the men of fighting age were numbered. Added to the trained warriors there were an equal number of youths who could, with some effort, be taught the ways of the sword. These numbers so surprised the Lord of Solsis that he very nearly fainted upon hearing them reported by his captains. 'Our strength is not so lost as we have long thought,' he said to his counselors. 'If this messenger speaks the truth, and Lord Bralahi is poised to return to Tel Arie, to meet our old master Pelas in the flesh, then we will have been proven fools by that devil Daruvis, who would have had us march to war in Dadron. Had we done so, our numbers would have been revealed to our enemies, and we would more than likely have found ourselves captive in besieged Dadron along with those the old traitor wished us to rescue. Clearly he meant only to lure us into a trap. But we are not fools.'

'What is your will, my lord?' his counselors and captains demanded.

'We will harken to our ancient ally, and prepare Amlaman for the birth of our savior and god. We will make safe the land of Amlaman for Pelas. The prophecy of Kolohi travails even now, ready to bring forth its fruit. For he, ere he vanished from this world, told us to expect the rebirth of our god. Now, even as we stand here in council, the vessel has been discovered. Such is the testimony of Bralahi.'

The preparations were set into motion that day: the forges were lit, old alliances were renewed, old oaths were remembered and new oaths were made, all in preparation of a war such as the world had not seen in nearly fifteen centuries. The remnant of the elves were preparing themselves for their renaissance.

Wasteland Fortress

Nearly two hundred and thirty leagues to the south of Japhrian, beyond the Amla Desert, stood the fortress of Ilmalam, which watched over the southern border of Amlaman. In long forgotten days the city belonged to Lord Falruvis, who, before the wars of Xanthur, ruled from Luma, and not in Dadron. But when the elves were driven by their enemies into the north, the city was abandoned and ceded to the kingdom of Amlaman. No trace of the elves now remained, save for the remains of an old rampart that stretched from the northeastern side of the city into the south, vanishing into the sand near the southern border of the city.

Against this dilapidated wall marched the army of Solran under the command of his son Folran. They were not expected. The watchmen of Ilmalam had grown accustomed, over the years, to keep their eyes upon the northwest, from whence they expected to see, perhaps, the forces of one of Voltan's bastard sons, coming to invade Amlaman and take Japhrian as their capitol. To the east was the Cuergi Mountains, and no man had entered into Amlaman from beyond these in over a thousand years. To the south there was nothing but an endless scape of wild lands, once beloved of the elves, but now abandoned to uncivilized, though mostly peaceful, tribes of men.

By the time the horns rang out and the alarm was raised, an army of some four-thousand Immortal warriors had entered into the fortress through the eastern gate. The captain of the guard gathered what men he could and held back the assault for a time, but ultimately lost his life protecting the women and children of the city as they fled. Some of these made their way into the deserts, some into the mountains, but none of them survived the journey to Japhrian. For the first time in over a thousand years an army of elves had marched to victory. This battle was ended in the middle of Frohest, two months before the Monster of Vestron, with the help of those faithful to him, had breached the wall of Dadron.

'This,' Folran said, 'Is but the beginning. By the end of this century we shall have all of Ilmaria within our grasp, Pelas shall rule in Dadron, and - who can say? - perhaps we shall at last have the strength to avenge ourselves upon the devils of the northern world.'

This last thought could not have occurred to any save for those who had not yet been born ere the destruction of Bel Albor and who had not seen the rage of the dragons.

[Chapter II:  
Victory](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The End of the War

Every torch was lit in Peiraso, and every fireplace was ablaze with warm red fire. It was late summer, and the night sky was cloudless. The stars seemed to sparkle and dance even as did the revelers below. Hundreds of men, women, nobles and peasants broke bread together and feasted, celebrating the deliverance that had come at last to Noras and to the Galvahirne. For Dadron had been spared, Marin had been defeated, and the shadow that lay over Noras had at last been removed. It was the twenty first day of Solest, in the thirty-third year of the fourth millennium of our age.

Speeches were made, songs recited, poems devised and good food was passed around to all. At the center of all, seated side by side in the great hall of Peiraso was Cheftan Biron and his wife Marima, and at their sides sat both their sons. This was, in fact, the first day they had all been together for some 7 years, which is when Dynamis first left home for the east.

The joy of their reunion seemed to flow from them like a river from its mountain streams, and happiness orbited about them in waves and cheers. There was a cool breeze that evening, and by means of the many windows of Cheft Biron's estate it was allowed to enter Peiraso at will, cleansing as it were, the last heat of summer from the house and the last stench of Cheft Ponteris' treacherous occupation. Much of its splendor had been diminished as Ponteris carried off what goods he wished and sent many other things as bribes to those who were loyal to him - or to those whose loyalty he meant to acquire. Some of these things had been returned, but the greater part of theme were lost in the blaze that consumed Natham, Ponteris and his finely ordered house alike.

Seated beside Dynamis, strong and beautiful as the sun, but cold and somber as the frozen north sea, sat Lyris of Marin. So sorrowful and noble was her face that it was impossible for her to go without notice, and her place beside the heir of Galvahir was also noted. The whispers and rumors soon required an explanation, and Dynamis explained it thus:

'When at last we had made an end of our enemies, chasing the army of Amlaman into the west and the army of Marin into the river, we entered the city of Dadron and joined in the great celebrations that had therein begun. But ere a grin or a cheer would pass from the lips of the men of Galva, the son of Biron was sought out. When it was made known to us that my dear brother was alive and well, and when it was made known what brave deeds he had performed on the field of battle, we at last let loose our teeth to smile, like ten-thousand swords unsheathed for war. A cry we let out as well, greater than any war-cry. But it was a cry of joy. Heaven had vindicated the sons of Galvahir it seemed, and all would soon be set to rights.

'For a week I remained with my men in that city, seeing to its restoration and planning how we might restore the forest of Noras to its former state. But on the ninth day after the battle, I saw Maru, flying high above the city, swooping down to draw attention and then soaring up into the northwest, as if to warn us that our labors were not over. Noras was not yet free. Ponteris, indeed, had no hope of victory; but a hopeless foe is more perilous than one full of ambition. My heart sunk, and I knew that I must make haste to Noras. I took my leave of the lords of the city and of my brother, who insisted I take Novai, my beloved horse, and make all haste to our father.

'Thus, by Novai's mighty hooves I made the journey from Dadron to Noras quicker than ever was done by rider or walker. At first I sought out news, making myself out to be a stranger. But as I drew closer to Oastir-la, the sense of peril that had impelled me to undertake the journey in the first place came upon me again, and, casting aside my traveler's cloak, I rode on toward the Usurper's house openly and full of rage. But as I arrived I was greeted by a spectacle such as I could not have anticipated. The whole house was ablaze, and the whole night sky seemed to be illuminated by it.

'In great desperation I dismounted and rushed into the building. As if guided by some good spirit I made my way through halls that had not yet seen smoke or flame, to the place where my dear mother had been, for all these years, kept captive. Sending her from the house, I made my way to the cellar, where I found Cheftan Biron, lord now of all Noras, imprisoned and left by his guards to perish in the conflagration.

'When at last the Cheftan had been freed from his cell, I led him out of the house to be reunited at last with his dear wife, whom he had not seen for all these years. Joyful as such a reunion was to my heart, I perceived that my work in that place was not yet finished. There on the grass, just where the light of the burning house seemed at last to fail, lay a woman of unsurpassable beauty. I took her up into my arms and carried her back to where I had left my tearful parents. As I walked, she stirred, and said in a whisper, 'Two new stars. Two new stars.'

'Indeed, that very night it was that we first noticed those bright brothers of the night, those shining stars of heaven that seem to have heralded the victory of the Noras over their enemies and the punishment of their enemies.

'For it was not Ponteris only who found justice that night. In the north and in the Southeast, the brigands of Bronning made such a noise and such a clamor of swords that the servants of Olgrost and those faithful to Ponteris were set to flight. Thinking their lives to be worth nothing at all, and being fully convinced that in a life to come they would be duly rewarded, the mercenaries of Titalo, along with a great many others, both of Daevaron and of Noras, fought a fierce battle against all our enemies. Seeing the end that fell upon their master Ponteris, and seeing how the soldiers of Marin were divided against themselves, and seeing also how Amlaman was driven away from Falsis into the west, whatever residue there was of that fell plot disappeared from Noras forever. Cheftan Horan and Cheftan Gornas came to Peiraso with many gifts and with many apologies, but to no avail, they were stripped of their honors and put in chains. So also did we deal with all those who happily served the betrayer of the Galvahirne. If after all of this, any foe yet remained, the return of the army of Galvahir has sent them so deep into hiding that we need fear them no more than we fear the insects of the ground.

'But so it was that upon returning to this land I found this fair and sorrowful maiden of Olgrost. When I had been told her story in full, I offered to send her speedily back to the land of her birth, but she refused, saying, 'To that land of darkness never shall I regress. Here the infant light of heaven first I saw, and so here in this land my days shall pass and end.'

It was not long before rumors, both innocent and obnoxious, began to circulate regarding the former Marshall of Marin and her tenure in the house of Cheftan Biron. When these rumors at last reached her ears she said to Dynamis, 'In the home of your kindly family a guest I shall not long remain.'

To which he answered, reassuring her, and taking her hand into his own, 'It is not my will that you remain always a guest.'

The news of their betrothal was greeted by the people of Noras with great enthusiasm. The great feast of Peiraso, which I have already described, was as much in celebration of this pairing as it was in praise of the victory and restoration of the Galvahirne. To some, indeed, the taking of a noble woman, rescued from the wiles of their eastern enemies, seemed to represent their triumph in human form.

The Lesser Son

Throughout all this time, Dynamis grew in the eyes of the people of Noras. His warrior hands seemed to grow soft and his raiment tidy and his face clean and young. But it was not so for his brother. Daryas, for all that time ate no meat, nor would he drink anything but water. He grew thin and wane, and his eyes were always somber.

In his presence, all happiness seemed to be stolen away, and men found an almost unbreakable gloom to rest upon every room in which he sat. He cheered, indeed, for his brother's betrothal, for there was nothing in the whole world that delighted him more than his brother's happiness. At the great feast he almost seemed to have shaken off his unhappiness when he was, as tradition requires, asked to bless his brother's impending union.

'I have been asked to pray for my brother's health,' Daryas told his listeners. 'But what is it that sets the mark for such things? To what are they compared that are called either sickly or well? Before us this day stands what, to me, has always seemed to be that standard and rule. Dynamis is, to me, that universal and unwavering ideal, that living law, who inspires respect and honor with his every word and deed.

'His happiness, then, we celebrate this night. And glad am I to see him come to it. For all these long years he has sought truth, righteousness, kindness, but never happiness; at least, never his own happiness.

'Hail Dynamis Galvahirne, Biron's son! Proud am I to have stood in your shadow.' A tear fell from his eye, but his voice did not waver as he spoke.

At this the whole estate seemed to burst into songs and cheers, and the celebration lasted long into the night. Great tents were prepared out on the lawn and every room in Peiraso was filled with guests.

'That was well-said, my son,' Marima said to Daryas when all the clamor of the evening had ended. 'I am honored by both of my sons.'

'You are most gracious,' he replied, 'We both know his great worth.'

'Know you not your own worth?' Marima said to him kindly.

'What is worth? I am worthy of my mother's love, I am not doubtful,' he said as he kissed her cheek. 'But what measure is that? For the Fell Usurper of Oastir-la had this as well. No man survives his infancy if he is not at least worthy of his mother's affections and his father's protection. But of what makes men great I am not constructed. And to men like my brother, I am but a shadow.'

'Your brother thinks more of you than that, you know well,' she said sternly.

'Indeed,' Daryas laughed, 'and in that singular mistake of his, in that he thinks better of me, I take comfort, knowing that for all his learning and prudence he is still less than a god.'

'Are you so unhappy to be home at last, my son?' she said with sorrow in her voice.

'My happiness is as a treasure sunk beneath the waves,' he said. 'Do not trouble yourself with it, mother, or you will sink after it in your gloom.'

Greatly troubled by such words, she went at once to her husband. Biron, however, could get no more from Daryas than the assurance that he was indeed, truly glad for his brother's happiness.

That night, and indeed, every night since the ending of the war, Daryas dreamed his terrible dreams. In the waking hours he was little better, hearing, he thought, the fell and powerful voice of Evna accusing him of wickedness. Added to all this was the knowledge that in every way it was Lutrosis who truly bore the mastery over his words, thoughts, and deeds. 'Well hidden, you are, devil, ' he said to himself, 'when many good men surround me I am tempted almost to believe that you are dead.'

This thought would only bring to his remembrance, the words of that demon, when he said, 'you have always served me, though you have denied me and hidden me in dark places.'

He woke from his dream with a fright, and found that he was covered with sweat.

Without a word, indeed without even a thought it seemed to him, he rose from his bed and dressed himself. He took all of his equipment, his dagger, a bow and arrows, his chain shirt and wrapped them in a great bundle in such a way that they would make little or no noise. These he lowered from his window with a rope, so that he would not be encumbered with them as he stole through the house. He might very easily have climbed out of the window himself. But there was something within the main hall of the house that he had great need of, or so he seemed to believe. In silence he crept through the house, making use of all the stealth he had practiced during his exile. He came to the meeting hall, and took from its stand, Aevangelu, the sword of Hiron, which had belonged to his grandfather.

Without a sound he slipped from that room and found his way to the kitchen. There he took a few scraps of food, enough to last him to South Lake or to Belnan, where he deemed he could better prepare himself for his journey (to whence he was not fully certain). Taking what he could carry, and what he thought would not be greatly missed, he passed out through a side entrance and came at last to the place where he had left his belongings. All of this he carried to the stable, where he found a man named Alsan standing watch. 'Your horse is prepared, son of Biron,' he said at once, rising from his seat.

'My horse,' Daryas said with great amazement.

'Indeed,' he said, 'I was given instructions that the horse Novai was to be kept ready at all hours for your use.'

'But Novai is my brother's horse.'

'Not by your brother's account,' the man said. 'Dynamis came to me before he left and said, "This horse I give to my brother, he will have greater need of her than I shall henceforth."'

'Dynamis is gone?' Daryas said with great surprise.

'He had some political affairs to attend to in Dadron, I don't doubt,' Alsan said, smiling. 'He will be going to and from that great city a great deal I fear, now that the Galvahirne had saved it from peril.'

'It was not the Galvahirne, but the Monster that saved Dadron,' Daryas corrected him.

'Nonetheless, to Dadron the heir of Biron must go, to maintain the alliance that has for so long proved itself to be the foundation of the peace of Falsis.'

Daryas turned his eyes to Novai and patted her neck. 'A kingly gift my brother has given me once more. Would only that I were worthy of it.'

'All of us are debters, my lord,' the servant said as he led the horse from her stall. 'Who does not die a debtor to parents, a debtor to the earth, a debtor to fellow man? Much has been given to us, and to pay for it all is beyond our ability. But gratitude alone is within our grasp, therefore, be content with that.'

'Thank you,' Daryas said as he received from this kindly servant both horse and counsel. 'Farewell, Alsan, you are a faithful servant.'

'May heaven watch over you,' the man said, repeating the blessing that had been introduced in place of 'Pelas guide thee' since the release of Cheftan Biron.

Day And Night

From the ending of the war until this moment, Daryas had been tormented both day and night by some fell spirit or another. By day he heard the voice of Evna, who taunted him for his weakness, and threatened him with cruel promises of torment and death. By night, the dark servants of Pelas crept into his mind and sent dreams and visions, much as they had done before. As always, he heard at the last that same fell voice question him. He always awoke that very instant, never remembering what, if anything, came to pass after those words. For this reason he was always in a state of confusion when awake, and helplessness when asleep. 'Useless knowledge in dream, hapless ignorance in life,' he cursed his state of mind.

It was Lord Pelas' intention to bring the whole of Weldera under his dominion, and (who can know?) perhaps eventually the whole world. But there is much in the mind that even those called gods cannot fathom. There is also much concerning the future that cannot be known, even to such a being as Pelas. A long life gives a man prudence through the wealth of his experiences; but even an immortal cannot attain anything resembling certainty concerning things yet to come. So the visions he gave to Daryas were troubling on two accounts: Firstly, there was undoubtedly much that was added to them by Daryas' own imagination, and so they could not reveal, or at least not clearly, what it was precisely that he was intended to know or to do. Secondly, there was much in Pelas' predictions that could not properly be called prophecies, but rather, prudent guesses at best.

The dream, in full, when all its parts were arranged according to the pattern in which they typically appeared, was as follows:

'On a seashore of pure white sand, surrounded by nothing but a silent wilderness, I find myself at rest. An island I can see at a great distance. It is of such beauty that I cannot resist casting myself into the waves and swimming for it. But long ere I reach it, a voice calls to me and summons me back to the shore. 'Leave me alone,' I protest, 'For I would rather die trying to reach that blessed place than sit here wishing and languishing forever.'

'I will show you how to reach that which you have long desired,' the voice says. I turn to look upon him, but his face is hidden. In his hand he bears the sword that was broken in Dadron, and I perceive that it is Lord Pelas himself, god of Falsis, that thus speaks to me. 'But ere I tell thee, there is that which must first be accomplished. Even as your great forefather first rescued Dadron and then afterwards was blessed with the help of the gods, even so must you perform first your pledge.'

'My pledge?' I ask him, puzzled.

'In your youth your father swore the lives of his children and his children's children to me. Do you think that the gods forget such oaths easily? Do you think, that though your father perish, he shall be released from an oath sworn to the god of his fathers?'

'What must I do?' I ask.

Suddenly, I find myself in that forest, which by now I know better than even my beloved Noras. That wooded valley in which lies the Nunnery of the Devil, from which many of our foremothers were anciently stolen. I am told that I must bring the Siren to Noras, and from there wage war against Amlaman.

But when I enter the woods I hear the voice of Pelas lamenting, 'Flames!? Not in flames! Curse the erring stars! Curse the distant meddlers all!'

I am transported, as it were, to the Nunnery, and what passes there I can never tell, for it is as changing and shifting as a rapid, and as dark as midnight. Leaping flames and laughing shadows encompass me, and a new will enters my heart. A dark will and an evil thought comes to me, and I recognize it immediately. All my hopes he holds within his fists, ready to crush, and to replace them with dark desires and secret wishes. My heart rises and sinks and as he speaks, I realize who he is at last. But then, waking, I forget, and my ignorance replaces the clarity in a flash, leaving only cold fear and perilous uncertainty in its wake. Then I am left with a riddle, the answer to which I know not.'

Such is the dream, as it was described in his own words. Noctunan, if my reader will recall the name of that fell spirit on whom was placed the duty of inspiring these dreams, had been, along with many other such spirits, cast into the pits of hell for his failure to instill in the young Galvahirne a full understanding of his divine task. Though I am not altogether convinced that Pelas himself was ever possessed of certainty regarding the means to his desired end.

'What is the meaning of this dark voice, which ever wakes him ere the truth of my will can be revealed?' he demanded of Noctunan and his fellows.

'I do not know,' he said, shaking his head. 'For many ages I have haunted the dreams of mortal men, and for most of that time I have been among the dreamers of the Noras. I am better acquainted with their temperaments than any other, yet I cannot make sense of what has come to pass. Be assured, blessed master,' he said, 'There are none who can do better than I in this regard.'

Such excuses serviced these nightmarish spirits for a while. But as time wore on, Pelas wearied, and he sent them one by one into the fires that burn beneath the earth. New spirits he summoned to his side to take the place of the former. With these he was much better contented. But these, knowing the fate of Noctunan and the others, simply told him what he desired to hear, that, 'Much progress has already been made,' and, 'It will doubtless be within the month that some new secret shall be revealed to us,' and many other such empty words. But in his folly, empty words seemed to be all that Pelas could comprehend. He ignored all the warnings of Maru, who indifferently and aloofly told him that he should not expect his plan to succeed, nor should he ever expect the people of Noras to rise up and conquer Amlaman.

'We shall see, fell demon of birds, who is god in Weldera after all. When they march to war, they shall not be alone. I myself shall go at their head, with my servants at my side. And when peace is brought to the North, the South shall rise up to join with me, and the old order of things will be restored.'

At those words even the great eagle Maru could no scoff, for he still remembered the days when Pelas ruled over all Bel Albor as a king of flesh and blood.

When Pelas at last ceased from tormenting him, however, Daryas was not free to shake off the terrors of the night. In his mind he heard always the fell voice of the goddess Evna, who accused him with cutting words and with evil sayings. 'Shadow-born I name thee; a dark son of a black-hearted people. Thy mother's shame and thy father's bane thou art. Happy to love a lie art all thy kin. But thou, and I alone, the truth of thee doth understand.'

More than anything else - more than the dreams and the waking terrors - what drove him to leave behind the comforts of Peiraso and set out alone for that hidden place was the voice of that most beautiful creature Leonara, Princess of Amlaman. Her beauty alone seemed to be a comfort to him, and when he reflected upon her voice it seemed to come to him with new words; words he heard not from her lips, but which seemed to pass over the mountains from her heart to his. 'Rescue me, forever thou shalt be mine alone. Flee from me, I shall destroy thee. Come unto me again and I shall again drive thee away. But come nonetheless, and we shall never be parted.'

'A heart of peril ought to love a heart of peril,' he thought to himself as he rode away on his brother's horse once again. 'It is a lovely night,' he thought, 'a lovely night for the lovely. But for such as I it is a good night to vanish away.'

Thus he set out alone, seeking the fate that had for so long overshadowed his every thought and deed.

[Chapter III:  
The State of Weldera](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

To Belnan

After leaving Peiraso, Daryas found himself following the same road that had brought the Galva army into the Mountains three years ago. He came to the place where he and Sion had supped and where he first heard his companion speak of the daughter of Grendas. His heart sunk as he thought of his friend. Since the expedition of Bronning, not a soul had so much as heard a whisper concerning the fate of the Cheftan of Lavri-la. At Daryas' urging, his office was filled, temporarily, by his wife - a thing never before heard of in Noras. But the returning Galva lords were neither questioned nor opposed in anything they set their minds to do. Thus the word 'Cheftana' was uttered for the first time in the history of the Noras people. It was understood that upon his return, full lordship should pass immediately to him. But despite the wide publication of this decision, no news of him had found its way to Noras.

'Who knows where life has taken you, my friend?' Daryas said sorrowfully, 'Do you not know that at any moment you could return, and have all again. Friendship, lordship, your family and your good name would be all restored to you in an instant. Can you make yourself low, but just this once, that you may be made high once again? My friend, return, return.'

Daryas continued on into the south, coming at last to South Lake. There he saw all the bustle of the merchants and the woodsmen, carrying on with their trades with renewed vigor since the fall of Ponteris. 'Into the light of day the people of Noras have come at last, but I cannot let the sun shine upon me,' Daryas said, suddenly feeling cold and tired. 'I must flee into the shadows; into the dark shadow of a black doom.'

'But you needn't press on into that darkness entirely alone,' came a voice unexpectedly from behind. Daryas turned to look, and saw to his surprise Rahdmus, mounted upon a horse burdened with a great many packages.

'Lord Rahdmus?' Daryas said with surprise, 'What is your purpose here?'

'I have come to bring you provisions,' he answered in his thunderous voice, 'I mean to say, I have come to bring us provisions.'

'You intend to follow me, then, and not hinder me, though I go to my doom?'

'Indeed,' he laughed, 'For we must all, at some time or another, go to our dooms. But tell me, young Galvahirne, why you call it a 'doom' and not a 'Fate' or a 'Destiny'? I suppose you do not see them as all of one and the same meaning?'

'No, my lord,' Daryas answered, 'A Fate is indifferent, and can almost be noble, a Destiny carries with it even a glimmer of hopefulness. But a Doom is a dark thing, and most fitting to describe my own expectations.'

'Why should you expect such black things to come upon you?'

'Because they will come upon me. Whatever I imagine my destiny to be, it is always MY destiny, and black therefore. Were it conceivable that my fate might lead me, not only far from my present state, but also far from my present self, then and then only would I have cause for hope, and cause for a better choice of terms.'

'The past always follows close behind us, my son,' Rahdmus said somberly, 'But take heart; it shall never overtake us! Whether for good or ill, we must take care, not for the past, nor even for that which is to come, but only for that part, that little part of life that we can control. I mean, we must take care for the present moment only, but not without reference both to the errors and glories of the past, and the hopes and perils of the future. I have my own darkness to contend with, and my own demons to face.'

At those words Daryas felt a strange calm pass over him. 'Then I am not alone in my tormented fate,' Daryas said.

'Now you call it fate? First doom, then destiny - Daryas Galvahirne, will you not choose one term to describe what is to come?' Rahdmus laughed loudly, and then stepped from his horse to bind a portion of his burden on Novai. 'You are not alone, Daryas, not in anything. You must know, and you must always bear it in mind: In life, there will always be found your better, but also your lesser. But do not let this be either a discouragement or a comfort; for we will not be excused in that day because we were better than devils, nor condemned because we were less than gods. It is always for our own portion that we must be judged. For to ask of one what is impossible for him is an absurdity.'

'That I have a portion at all is a fact in which I find little comfort. For only I know my own heart, and what lies hidden therein. I would rather, sometimes, that I were but a creature of stone and not a living soul.'

'You are not in a bad state, then, Daryas Galvahirne. And I say, do not forget your inadequacy; for there are many who shun the forgiveness of the Eternal One because they are not willing to let the blame for their failures rest upon their own heads.'

The two men found lodging in the city for that night, and spoke of many more things. From Rahdmus Daryas learned about all that had transpired in the time since he had left Dadron.

Of the End of the War

When Natham the monster departed from his warriors and followed his fate into the dark of Noras, the residue of his army marched swiftly northward along the Libros River, releasing all those towns from the dominion of Marin. In some places the soldiers of Marin resisted them, remaining loyal to the faithless Quendom. But in all cases the hirelings threw off their old loyalties without hesitation, leaving those brave, but foolish soldiers to battle Natham's rebels alone. At this news the whole country of Daevaron was soon awakened, and their brave men ousted the invaders from their cities. Little by little, over the course of the next several months, Marin withdrew; in some places honorably, only after great bloodshed in others, but always with great haste. By the time the Noras sat down to feast, it was all but certain that by the end of the month there would remain not a man or woman of Olgrost in all the land of Falsis.

This is not including, of course, those of Marin that turned and followed Natham. Of these there was a great number, some reckoning it to be as high as ten-thousand souls. Great evil had been done by them in coming to Falsis, and in the sieging of Dadron. Natham, ere he left them, told them that, 'You must fight till either life departs from you, or until your enemies forgive your former errors. Seek neither life nor honor, but rather to right that which you have wronged. Only in this way will you become worthy, if heaven permits, of your enemy's grace.'

Even as the Noras dined and sung, this band of warriors battled in the distant east, ever pushing Marin toward the sea. The Senators in Kollun, one might well imagine, were all applauding their restraint, for coming not to the aid of Marin in their ambitions.

Lord Akellnarva, when he had been informed of all that had transpired, declared Natham to be a hero of the city, and named the day the monster turned against the army of Marin a holy day. In Dadron and in all of Daevaron as well there was a perpetual festival it seemed. Fresh vows of loyalty were exchanged between the Daevaron and the lords of Dadron and between each of these and the nine clans of Noras.

Yet in all of this there was as yet no account given for the aggression of their western neighbors in Amlaman, nor was any treaty made or any truce called for. To those in the east it seemed, for the time, almost sufficient that the hosts of Volthamir had been driven off. There were many, however, that were not content to let matters be; nor would it have been just to do so.

Almost as soon as the sounds of battle died away in Dadron, councils of war began afresh, this time planning how the men of Daevaron, Noras and of Dadron might avenge themselves upon Amlaman. But it was generally acknowledged that the power of the east may be sufficient to defend against Amlaman, but not nearly enough to challenge Volthamir in Japhrian.

These things and many others Daryas and Rahdmus discussed well into the night. But when morning was come they set their words aside and traveled with haste into the south, making their way to Belnan. From there they sought out the path that had led the Galva army into Coronan - to the very place where the two had crossed swords.

Volthamir

It was not long after the coming of Dynamis to Dadron that the secret camp of the Galva, or rather the remains thereof, was at last discovered by scouts from Amla City. 'Why was this intrusion not discovered sooner?' Volthamir demanded of his servants.

'We had not discovered it as yet,' he was told, 'for we had not searched for it.'

'Was not a party sent into the mountains to discern the fate of the army of Galva?'

'Indeed, but finding so vast a number, burnt, even as the goblins are wont to do, we judged them to be altogether perished.'

Twenty men were put to death in cruel ways as the result of this oversight, although within his own breast Volthamir knew he was as much to blame for this error as they. Indeed, he knew of Lord Havoc's defeat from the very beginning, but he failed to take seriously the remnant of Galva. He had assumed that the survivors would have hidden themselves away in Noras, or in some remote region of the Daunrys. He did not imagine that they would, or even could, hide themselves in Ramlos.

Any opposition to Volthamir in those days was swiftly rooted out. And there was much opposition in those days. The people had been led to war, they believed, by a god; indeed, in some sense they had been. But finding themselves in retreat, and finding their numbers so thinned, they lost faith in the dark religion of Amlaman - and in their king as well. Some openly called for the King to be brought to justice, but these were, instead, brought to justice themselves.

It was just ten days after he returned to Japhrian that Volthamir was approached by Fanastos with a message of great importance. For the past several years Fanastos had been proving both his might and his loyalty by waging a relentless war on the western frontiers against the rebellious bastard sons of King Voltan. 'My lord,' he said, his face pale and serious, 'A force marches against Amlaman from the south - a force such as our men have not seen before.'

Solran had, in the time since he sent his son to sack Ilmalam, spread his influence throughout the southern wastes of Amlaman. He had taken control of all the towns south of Mulinan and sacked the fortress of Jopil, which lay just a hundred and fifty leagues to the south of Japhrian itself. Much to Fanastos' relief, Volthamir showed no anger at the news of this turn of events. The failure of his guardians to prevent this invasion was passed over unmentioned, while Volthamir ordered his army to prepare for war, with a faint smile on his lips. 'My sword is thirsty for blood,' he said with a cold voice. 'Is the sword of Fanastos thirsty as well?' he asked. Fanastos looked uneasy. But when he saw the ferocity in the king's eyes he felt strength enter into his heart.

'It is thirsty, my lord,' he said, bowing low to the ground.

'Then let the men of Amlaman have their fill; this time without the women of Marin bungling every strategy.'

Amlaman Is Mighty

In less than a week's passing Volthamir and his army found battle. He summoned some three thousand soldiers from Japhrian and rode into the south to confront the invaders. In his first encounter with the elves of Solsis he found their unique appearance an oddity. But as he saw more of them, driving them with great difficulty from the area surrounding Mulinan and retaking the towns that had been held captive by Folran's armies, it became clear to him that these creatures were no mortal men. The battles were fierce, and it was only by summoning still greater numbers that their enemies could be beaten back. 'They are elves,' Volthamir said to Fanastos when they were alone. 'I am sure of it; this is no southern tribe. Do you see their eyes? Full of experience, yet without weariness. Full of wisdom without forgetfulness. Their hair is gold or silver, with not a hint of gray - not even among their commanders. Yet their skill proves that they are no novices; these are trained men, who have seen more war than we have - nay, more war than we could ever hope to see.'

'Hope?' Fanastos laughed, 'Who hopes for war?'

'Who indeed?' Volthamir said coldly.

Their next concern was the fortress of Jopil, which was named for his ancient father Joplis. 'How dare they insult us in this manner,' Volthamir said. 'The elves survived their ancient struggles only because our fathers held Xanthur at bay in this place, weakening his army little by little. Now they come against the descendants of their saviors as brigands.' Volthamir surprised himself by how little emotion he felt. It was a fact, he thought, but in truth the betrayal did not anger him.

'A thousands curses to them,' Fanastos said, invoking the name of Agonistes. 'Let us turn their silver hair red with blood, and darken their bright eyes in death.'

If they had not already learned to fear the swords of Amlaman, the elves of Solsis learned it well at Jopil. The warriors of Amlaman, angered that any force should assail their first king's stronghold, fought like devils, tearing and cutting through the immortals with a ferocity only rivaled by the goblins. It was not long before the walls were breached and the warriors of Amlaman entered the fortress. Volthamir slew a hundred elves that day, casting their bodies to the earth as though they were made of cloth. The strength and hatred of Agonistes shone brightly in his eyes. Several of the elves cried out, 'Agonas!' when they saw him, taking him for the god himself, and not a mere mortal man.

By midnight the fortress had fallen, and the last of the elves had locked themselves within the old keep. Volthamir pounded upon the door with his mighty fist, shaking it upon its hinges as though his hand were made of iron. 'Who dares assault the land of Amlaman, which served you well enough in the ancient days?'

'Amlaman belongs to the devil,' came a voice from within the keep. 'The elves shall rise again, and they shall put an end to your dark ways, Agonas.'

Volthamir laughed, 'Who is your captain?'

'I am Folran,' another voice spoke out. The voice was familiar, and Volthamir felt sick to his stomach as he searched his memory for the place and time he had heard such a commanding tone.

'Who are you?' Volthamir demanded.

'I am Folran, son of Solran, heir of Lord Solruvis.'

Volthamir's eyes darted around nervously, looking at the faces of the dead. Almost every one of them bore that same ageless wisdom, even now as they lay dead. There was a nobility about these creatures that he had seen before. His breathing grew labored and he felt a surge of strong emotions; revelation, confusion, clarity and anger all vied for the mastery. But he conquered them all, and let his mind return to the past. Lord Havoc, his old master, was one of these creatures. He laughed ferociously and turned from the keep.

'My lord, what should we do?' Fanastos asked, 'about these captives.'

'Burn it to the ground,' Volthamir answered. Fanastos looked at him as though he had spoken in another language. 'Burn it to the ground,' he repeated. Silence fell, the elves realizing that there would be no negotiations, no captivity and no hope of survival. The men of Amlaman obeyed, but their eyes filled with tears as they watched the ancient structure smoke and burn.

As the fire grew and raged, swallowing up the screams of the elves within the keep, Volthamir remained near the door, staring thoughtfully into the leaping flames. For a moment Fanastos feared that the king meant to perish in the blaze as well. But before the keep came crashing to the earth he turned and walked quickly toward the northern gate of the fortress. 'Burn it all to the ground,' he ordered as he left. He leapt astride a horse, casting its rider to the dust in confusion. He thought of Ghoras for a moment, and then he kicked the horse, cruelly in the side, spurring him into a trot and then into a gallop. As he rode away from Jopil he remembered all the things his old master had taught him. He knew it already, he thought, shaking his head, but it had not struck him in its full force: Lord Havoc had deceived him. 'But this is childish,' he mumbled to himself. 'I already knew this.' But it had not, until this moment, been proven. 'He knew all those secrets because he witnessed them; he knew the secrets of Falruvis because-' As the realization came to him that it must have been Lord Havoc himself that betrayed the old Elven King, a smile broke out across his face. 'Is this, pride?' he asked himself. As the land passed beneath him and the sun rose in the east he began to laugh madly at how conflicted his own mind had become. Was Havoc his enemy? His master? His friend? he asked himself silently. 'No,' he said audibly, 'He was my teacher. And he is no teacher that does not impart to his pupil his full substance; and he is no pupil that does not surpass his instructor. I have learned from you, master elf,' he thought, and his mind became settled. His thoughts now turned to Leonara, and for an instant he felt a deep desire for her \- to see her smile and to hear her laugh. But almost as quickly as this feeling had come upon him it turned to an unquenchable rage.

When he returned to Japhrian, much to the shock of his servants, and much more to the shock of Fanastos, who had pursued him with such haste that he arrived only three hours later, the King ordered a great host of warriors to march to Sten Agoni. 'Forget the south,' he told his captain, 'it does not concern me.'

'But,' Fanastos began, but Volthamir's eyes silenced him. They were filled with resolve and certainty, and they were overflowing with passion, but they were not mad.

'A devil lurks upon the mountain,' he said. 'Surround the mountain, and wait for my coming.'

What he referred to was, of course, that goddess of Desset, Evna, who had for all this time thwarted his efforts to take Leonara as his wife. 'It is time,' he thought to himself, 'that I leave all other purposes behind and pursue my own course without the old man's dreams. I never wanted Dadron.' His heart swelled with passion as he thought back upon his failure.

Now it seemed to him that the hand of Leonara alone could truly establish his own kingdom, joining with his own right to the throne and crown the lineage of his uncle Vulcan. With coldness and indifference he noted how changed this feeling this was from the love he once bore toward her.

But for some reason the very fact that she resided in a so-called 'Holy Place' seemed to make him resentful of her. Despite having within his own flesh the power and will of the very god that hallowed that mountain and that valley, he hated them all as much as ever. The hill, the temple, the valley, the god himself, and even the princess whom had once loved, had now become mere means to an end; an end which, now that he had been driven from Dadron, he scarcely could remember. It was indeed time, he thought, to pursue his own ends.

There was a time when he was enamored merely by the beauty of the Princess, but now he was enamored by the challenge. He was a strong man with a brave spirit, and he did not take kindly to any who resisted his will. In his waking hours he cursed the princess and her goddess, who had refused to admit him to the Nunnery, and in his dreams he cursed that man of the east, Dynamis, who, alone of mortal men, had turned aside his blade. Now he cursed Lord Havoc, and all the lying elves of old.

His servants did his bidding as before, though there was a great deal more whispering and a lot less praise and cheering. They knew not what his ambitions had become, however, or they would have wrested the kingdom from his hands that instant. But in his heart he said to himself, even in defiance of that god that had possessed him, 'The love or the blood of the Siren I will possess, and neither of these shall I prefer to the other. The blood of the Noras I will spill, for no man mocks the power of the lord of Amlaman.'

He had truly learned, all that his mentor had meant to teach him. He lived as one who cared not at all for any other living soul. In the shadow of his defeat in Falsis, his wrath festered and grew, and his will became dark and destructive. In the end, even the dark god Agonistes found himself to have little power over the will of his host. He, like Legion before him, was absorbed and subordinated by the malice of the King of Amlaman.

'I never wanted Dadron, nor revenge against Pelas,' he cursed the dark god, 'and never again shall I do your will.'

The voice of Agonistes came into his mind, saying, 'Do not forget, man of earth, that one day you must lay your head down in death. Then I shall walk free again, and give my council to another.'

'You mean your deceit, lord of Crows!' Volthamir laughed. 'So be it, death is nothing to me, for in it I shall be extinguished, and what then can harm me? I may as well settle what scores I may ere the end.'

Agonistes, who in his heart, knew well the folly of what the King had said, grew silent, content to watch his hateful master bring ruin upon his own soul.

[Chapter IV:  
Coronan Revisited](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Daruvis

After several days had passed Daryas and Rahdmus came to the place where the last encampment of Cheftan Faros now lay in ruin. It had been abandoned by the Army of Galva, plundered by the spies of Ponteris and ravaged by wild animals. Even now, as the two men approached, there were several small childish creatures rummaging through what refuse yet remained. These took to flight as soon as they caught sight of the travelers, running from the camp with bundles of cloth and hands full of trinkets.

'Are there yet goblins in this land?' Daryas asked with surprise. 'I would not have thought that they would have returned so swiftly to the place wherein they met so sound a defeat.'

Rahdmus laughed and said, 'It has now been almost five years since the army of Galva marched, and how old must these goblins have been then? They would not remember that war any more than you would remember the fall of Luma, or the burning of the wooded realm of the Mortari.

'Besides,' he continued, 'Even as men are of different races and kindreds, so also are the goblins of different breeds and tribes. These are goblins of Coronan, not of the northern Daunrys from whence the army that assailed Noras was originated. You should know, son of Biron, that I know these things because it was I who led this army into the east.'

Daryas was silent for a moment as he wrestled with his emotions.

'I will not blame you if you find nothing within you but hatred toward me; but know that the one you hated was slain, and what remains of me is the work of Paley alone, parading my corpse about you might almost say, attaining righteous ends through a means that once was naught but evil. Take comfort, then, in knowing that what I am now I am much to my own shame, and as long as I am alive I spit in my own face as it were. And when at last I am dead, I will trouble the world no longer. I know that I have caused you no small amount of pain.'

'Who are you?' Daryas demanded with anger in his eyes.

'As I have told you before, I am the one who was once called Daruvis, and I was heir of Lord Falruvis of Dadron. In that mighty city I reigned with my father for an age, but in the end I brought about its ruin.'

'That much I know already,' Daryas said, 'But I wish to know why? To what end have you so wickedly dealt with the world?'

Rahdmus was silent for a long time. After a while he stopped and pointed to the ground. 'Do you see that print?'

Daryas looked close to the ground and there he could make out what appeared to be the print of a small child. 'Yes, it must be from one of those goblins.'

'Indeed, and what, do you suppose, would become of any who sought to harm this small one? Would not the wrath of the parents fall upon them swiftly?'

'Yes, of course,' Daryas answered.

'What is it about the young and the innocent that excite within us such passion? What would not a father do to save his child? What would not a father do to avenge him?'

Daryas said nothing, but noticed a deep sorrow in the eyes of his companion.

That evening they made no fire. They did not want to draw any attention to themselves, knowing from the children they had seen that there must be some encampment of goblins close by. But the darkness seemed to ease the tension that had arisen earlier, and Rahdmus, when the last of the day's light was extinguished, began to speak of his own history:

'In the ancient world Falruvis was a mighty warrior. Such was his might that even those who are deemed gods feared him. In those days, Pelas and Agonistes were lords of a great kingdom, and they ruled over it as flesh and blood; not as the frail spirits they have become. The fathers of the elves, and by that I mean those traditionally held to be the fathers of the elves, were every one of them servants of these two gods. Falruvis and his cousin Solruvis (they were not brothers, despite the legends), Dalta and Morta (who bore no relation to each other whatsoever), and Bralahi along with his brother Kolohi were but vassals of these greater lords. And there were a great many other lords beside them, all serving either Pelas or Agonistes.

'Those were the days of the Immortals, when the undying, through their ancient cunning, ruled over the entire known world. To this day I can still remember the warmth of Lord Pelas' hand when he would greet us in his palace, even as I can recall the coldness with which his brother met us. 'This one looks like trouble,' he told my father with a grin when I was first introduced to him (this was when I was a very small boy). But truer words were never spoken.

'When I became an adult, I fell in love with a woman named Nashai-ne-malia, a name which meant, 'bearing no darkness', though her hair was darker than a moonless night. She was the youngest daughter of Lord Morta, whom my father hated. Morta, alone among us at the time, pitied the mortals, but he was too weak of will to openly oppose the other Immortals. It was against my father's will and counsel that I wed my beloved, and it drove a wedge between he and me, that would last through many ages of the world. But I was too strong willed, as you can imagine, to let my father's qualms rob me of my love. I took her to wife despite his objections, and soon afterwards she bore a son, whom we called Durivis. And what a boy he was! He was strong and smart, and loyal and caring. He had Morta's heart and Falruvis' nobility. If he.... if he had only lived to see adulthood I do not doubt he would have become greater than all the other Immortals.

'In the midst of our dominion, and in the height of our luxury, an emissary came to us. I do not doubt that it must have been one of Paley's kindred. He spoke of one who my father referred to as the 'Ancient King', and of our duties to him. He warned us, that if we would not end our oppression over mankind by our own will, our oppression would, within that very same year, be ended by some other means. 'The immortals,' he said, 'were brought into this world through evil, and to evil they will always go, until they seek the pardon of their lord, for all the ills they have caused.'

'Furthermore, we were told, if we refused, a sentence of death would be pronounced upon all of us, from the highest to the lowest. 'From the mountain of Joiken, waters will come, sinking all your foul land beneath it. If you will not repent, your fate will come upon you ere the spring comes again. Nor should any thought be given to escaping your fate. All that will do is prolong your sentence, and make your damnation more sure. More time, to the wicked man, is only a deeper pit into which he will pour all the more filth and evil.'

'I confess I understood very little of this at the time, being too preoccupied with my new family. In all things I took my father's word to be truth. And he had told us not to worry ourselves; for Lord Pelas was thought to be god over all.'

'The dragons came at the time they had promised, and laid waste to all the realms of the Immortals. What indestructible brutes! What fierce gods of gods, they were! It is not surprising that to so many of the elves the Northern world of Bel Albor is known as the Land of Serpents, or even, as some have called it, hell. What was not destroyed by these dragons was destroyed in a great deluge, which rent the world in twain, burying all our great kingdoms under icy waters. It is said that the sight of those ruined cities by men diving in the cold northern waters that gave rise to the stories of those creatures that are called Aguians or Mermen.

'My father was too proud to repent, as he was advised, but also too prudent to leave the warning of the dragons wholly unheeded. He prepared a great many boats and rafts, by which those who were able might flee from the terror that fell upon us.

'My parents and their children, my brothers Teluvis and Maruvis, along with my sisters Sama and Kala, escaped the north on a great ship such as only the skill of the Immortals at their height could have managed. With us came also the wife of Teluvis and his three children, and also many others who were loyal to my father, including the aforementioned lords of the elves, save for Morta, who managed his own escape by some other means. My own little family, however, was not aboard this great vessel. My father, with a face of stone, told me how he had seen them devoured by one of the gods, and how he had seen the life of Durivis extinguished even as his body was set alight by the heated breath of one of those demons.

'I spoke not a word the entire journey, and through whatever perils we sailed ere we landed in Illmaria, I lent no assistance. I was like a dead man, and none would speak to me.

'Our coming to Tel Arie marks the beginning of elven history, and with that you are familiar enough that it would be superfluous for me to recount it all. After I had thoroughly grieved for my son and for my beloved wife, I once more took up my place at my father's side. From this point the histories that have been handed down in Dadron are accurate enough, though it must never be forgotten that they were penned by elven hands.

'It was not long after our arrival, however, that the gods first began to appear among us. The spirits of half-slain Immortals began to wash ashore. First Pelas, then his brother, and finally, a whole host of invisible souls, stripped from their bodies and sentenced to dwell in Tel Arie until the time of their judgment. Knowing his loyalty, Pelas sought out my father, who was very quick to see the advantage of a renewed alliance. Having always at his side a pair of unseen eyes and at his command a host of invisible spies, my father soon rose above the wild inhabitants of this land, and even above his own kindred. But only to the high elves did he ever reveal this secret, and only those who had been in the Old World could see those whose flesh had been stripped away.

'For many ages of the world I fought my father's wars, whether in Olgrost on open plains or in Lapulia, in dark tunnels, and even in Kharku, the land of the dwarves. For the sake of Dadron I poured out all my soul and strength, hoping we could make for ourselves a more certain future than we had in the North.

'But Pelas is a treacherous god, with an ever changing mind. At times he was loyal to my father, knowing that without his sharp elven eyes, he would have no power over men whatsoever. For what can a spirit do to a man, when that man can neither see him nor sense him? At other times, however, he plotted against him, saying, 'This fool was once worthy only to lick my boots, but now he fancies himself my lord. Who is it that is king over all the spirits of the dead?'

'On two occasions Pelas endeavored to turn me against my father, offering me great rewards if I would overthrow him and take his place. Knowing him to be powerless, I ignored him, and set my will all the more toward the service of Dadron. Indeed, Pelas had his part in Morta's rebellion, promising him victory over Falruvis. But when Morta, under the name of Xanthur, led all the world of mortals against our city, I descended from the mountains with an army of goblins and a host of dwarves in my train. We so utterly defeated them that we were perfectly at liberty to invent whatever tale we would concerning the end of the Arbori Wars. We said that, by the power of the Naming Stone, we had summoned the dragons and Aggelos from the North. Thus Pelas' ambitions against Falruvis were subdued, and he returned to his side, feigning loyalty, and biding his time once more. All this while I said nothing to my father of Pelas' designs, for I was growing proud and strong willed, and began seriously to consider what Pelas had long ago suggested.

'Nearly three hundred years passed, and the rivalry of Pelas against his brother revived itself. The brothers had, after many invisible wars and contests, divided Weldera into two regions. Agonistes made himself lord over all the land west of the Coronan Mountains, leaving Pelas to reign over what lay to the east. But in the year 2084, the Noras, as they made their way west into the forest that now bears their name, became enthralled by a devil king, who carried within himself the spirit and wisdom of Agonistes. This outrage so affected Pelas that he set all his will toward the rescue of your thick-skinned ancestors. In that hour his heart was turned away from the elves and toward the Noras. He hoped, in his folly, that their short lives would make them more grateful for his wisdom. What happened, however, is that the Noras, being unable to hear or see so much as a shadow of Pelas, depended entirely upon teachers from Dadron for their doctrines. In the end, Pelas skulked back to Dadron and to Falruvis' side, realizing that it was only in the fact that the elves could still perceive the spirits that they had rule over anything more than dreams and fevers. This, I apprehend, you understand well enough. Much to his frustration, the Noras proved to be more faithful to Dadron than any other mortal kindred. This was despite even the fact that Dadron had stayed sealed and silent through the Titalo invasion, when Knarsemen from the east ravaged the mortals of Falsis.

'Now desperate to overthrow my father, Pelas came to me once more. But this time he carried on his lips a dark secret. With this secret he betrayed my father and thereby doomed the greater part of the elves to a grim death and an eternal exile. He told me what had happened to my son.'

'Lord Falruvis, seeing that the dragons were at hand, locked the chamber in which slept my dear wife, Nashai-ne-malia, and my poor son. The dragons cast down the towers and the waters rose above their ruin, burying them beneath the ocean. At first I dismissed this tale as a sorry lie, and a sad attempt to bring about a rebellion. But as I pondered it, and as I poured through my father's records, it soon became clear that it was no mere creation of the treacherous spirit's mind. For my father's written account of those days contradicted, in many ways, the tale he had originally told me when, in haste, he informed me of the fate of my wife and son.

'I learned, a little while after, that there was yet living in Luma one of my father's old servants, who had accompanied him on his flight from the dragons. From him I exacted the full tale, receiving along with it a great many excuses and justifications. He spoke of a prophecy about the seed of Morta bringing about Lord Falruvis' death, as though that would calm the wrath of the boy's father! Falruvis left my son to die, because of a prophecy! As if any prophecy, properly so called, could be averted by such devious means! But in that hour my father submitted himself to Lord Folly, who rules over all living things at one time or another, and made himself worthy of the destruction that would, thousands of years later, fall upon him.

'In that hour I swore to bring death upon my father's head, and upon any who would withstand me. My father's old servant howled with anger, accusing me, saying, 'What then? Shall you bring chaos to Dadron, and unlease all havoc upon elfendom?'

'If any withstand me in my revenge,' I swore, 'I shall be the Lord of Havoc, and a god of chaos to the elves!'

'The elf took up his blade to slay me, but I killed him easily, the first of the Argent elves to be slain by one of his own kind, but far from the last. When at last my full scheme had been fulfilled, Dadron stood in flames, and the fathers of the Noras tribes lay dead, betrayed by my own hand. All those who withstood me, whosoever they were, I slew without mercy, taking their loyalty to Falruvis to be proof enough of their desert. It is true, Daryas Galvahirne, before you stands he who slew Lord Galvahir himself, and a contest like no other it was, though now is not the time to speak of it.

In the end, however, before I could set my hands upon that ancient stone, which is called in legend, the Naming Stone, even as I entered the Temple of Pelas to attain it, I was opposed by Lord Solruvis, along with a great host of elves. I took to flight, and left behind me that great power, trusting that neither man nor elf could break the seal that Falruvis had set upon it. Only he, and I with him, knew its secret hiding place. Only we knew how to retrieve it. Thus I left it outside of my grasp, knowing that no other could lay their hands upon it.

'To this end was all my exertion directed; to regain that power which I, as son of Falruvis, once possessed. As for the stone itself, there were two keys that locked it in its place. One of these keys belonged to my father, and has since become an heirloom of the Lord of Dadron, though it is worthless on its own. The other key was hidden away in a place only known to myself.'

After all this Daryas sat still and silent, not knowing how to respond. At length he asked, 'You spoke before as though this stone was a fiction, but now you say it is real?'

'Indeed, and it does nearly what the legends tell. It is a gem of such size and beauty that one cannot look upon it without desiring it. To the goblins the draw is irresistible and there is nothing they will not do for even a glimpse of the stone. With it, one might easily drag all goblindom about by the nose, to war, to work, to labor in mines, to conquer foes, whatsoever you will, they will see to it, if only they be promised another glimpse of the stone. To possess this stone, Daryas, is to be a Hobgoblin of the greatest might and power.'

'But to what end did you seek the stone anew? When your revenge had already been satisfied?'

'Revenge can never be satisfied, Daryas, not in this life, nor in the next. Revenge is meant to be an act of justice, creating a balance where once an injury has been inflicted. But who can undo violence by violence? He who seeks justice must inflict injustice, and in all his deeds he will never regain that which was lost. In my wrath I was driven at last even to forsake justice itself, and I swore to make cold the blood of every elf in death. Those pretentious liars, thought I, have for too long poisoned the world. Dadron lay in ruins, Solsis in the shadows, Dalta under the heel of Marin, Kolohi under brambles in Olgrost, but yet one remained. Bralahi, last of the high elves, yet reigns in Malgier, from a mountain no man can approach. Once I had regained Dadron, I thought, I would have an eternity to plot my last adversary's defeat. But now I see that it is not yet the hour of Bralahi's doom, and I no longer have the right to seek his blood.'

The Plan

That night, as Daryas slumbered in troubled dreams, Rahdmus kept watch, staring with keen immortal eyes into the darkness. When about half the night was spent, a light seemed to spring from the peak of Mount Coronan. Rahdmus stood and looked at it with squinting eyes, 'What is this?' but ere he could say more the light burst into a leaping tongue of flame and struck him, it seemed, in the face, blinding him. All he could see in that moment was a great brightness, such that even as he shut his eyes, he could not bear the pain.

'Daruvis,' a voice said.

'Paley?' Rahdmus answered. 'What is it master?'

'I know what you would do, Daruvis,' the voice said.

Rahdmus stood silent for a while and then sighed, 'And what hope have we otherwise?'

'You forget, Daruvis, that you are no longer a mighty man, and you are no longer called to mighty deeds.'

'What shall I do then?' he grumbled, 'Shall I let this little one suffer, whom I have already wronged in so many ways? Shall I let my own pupil oppress half the continent? Shall I let the unjust bathe the land in blood?'

To this the luminous Paley answered nothing. So long they stood silent that Rahdmus began almost to think that he was dead or that he had been blinded and rendered senseless. When he could bear it no longer, he sighed and asked, 'Is it not wickedness to oppress the poor and slay the innocent?'

'Indeed it is,' Paley replied, breaking his long silence.

'Then oughtn't I prevent such things where I may?'

'No,' Paley answered, 'that is not what you have been sent to do.'

'But have I not been sent for good, and is it not good to bring down the wicked, even as I have been brought low?'

'It is good to do such,' Paley answered. 'But it is not for you.'

'I don't understand!'

'It is good to do, but it is not for you to do. Whoever said that it was in Rahdmus' hands that the keeping of justice has been entrusted? Whoever said that justice belongs to man at all?'

Rahdmus grew silent, still not understanding the words of Paley.

'Shall you take upon yourself my work as well, master elf?' Paley asked. 'I am sent at times, to slay the mighty serpents that live in the deep places of the ocean, lest they grow too large or too bold to permit men to sail across their waters. Shall you descend to the depths to carry out my commission? Or will you fly to the heavens, where the sun burns hot and fierce, to take your turn guarding those spirits who have sinned against the Eternal God? Surely it is good to keep safe the waters for men's passage, and surely it is good for the wicked to be bound in flame, kept away from the world they would otherwise fiercely oppress. Will you not, therefore, do all these things as well? But nay, Rahdmus, these are not your tasks. It is in doing what he ought, that a man is good, not in doing what another ought. It may be good to bring justice to Ramlos and Amlaman, and it will be done, but it is not your task. To step out of your own path, and to set your feet where another is meant to labor, is presumptuousness. Moreover, to do so would be a great error; and as you know well, no error is without consequence.'

'Then I am still bound to bring no harm to any living creature?'

'Indeed,' Paley answered, 'You are as I am, a messenger, but you are no longer a warrior.'

'You know as well as I,' Rahdmus said in one final plea, 'how strong is my arm, and how swift my blade. I could yet protect many innocent men from the hands of the wicked.'

'Do you think that I am not stronger than you? Or do you not know that I can summon to my side a host of such as have given your people nightmares for all these ages? Lay aside all thought of the sword, Rahdmus, for the Eternal Lord needs not what little strength you think yourself to possess. Remember, moreover, whence all power comes.'

Paley set his hand upon Rahdmus' shoulder and a peace came over him, 'You know what you must do, then, with your father's treasure, which you have at long last attained from the Lord of Dadron?'

'I do, and I will,' Rahdmus said with a sigh.

'Be content with your station, Rahdmus,' Paley said as the light vanished from the mountain, 'For even your present calling is a work of grace. If the Eternal Power had need of your mighty arm, he would not hesitate to command it; but in the meanwhile, to take it upon yourself to make war and to fight evil would be nothing more than the adding of folly to ignorance.'

With those words the light left the mountain and Rahdmus found himself in complete darkness. When morning came, the two men resumed their journey. Daryas knew nothing of what had passed in the night, but he said, 'I have not slept with such peace in many years.'

Bones

The sky was gray and dim on the day that they came to the place where the final battle had been fought between the Army of Galva and the goblins. Cold rain poured down upon them, as if the sky itself wept for all those who had perished. With mixed feelings Daryas passed through that place, shedding many tears for his fallen countrymen. Bones, stripped of all flesh and color, lay strewn about the mountain like so many worthless pebbles. But each one of these one bore the weight of a man or at least a dumb goblin. Daryas in his sorrowful state of mind wept for them both.

'What was the use of all this?' he asked as they found shelter beneath an overhanging rock. 'To what end all this death?'

'Who knows,' Rahdmus said somberly, 'who knows if it serves any end at all.'

'That is a strange thing to say, for one who deems himself a prophet. And a strange thing to say for one whose own ends fueled the fire that burned these men to ash.'

Rahdmus turned to him and answered sharply, 'I never deemed myself to be a prophet; I have been made one, and made so not for my own sake. Who knows what purpose such things serve. Can you see the end from the beginning? Can you see the end at all? What can we say, when we have not yet witnessed the whole production? Can we guess what the painter will create, while he mixes his pigment and his oil? It is not until the work is finished that we can judge his work. Nor can we judge whether what he has made is good or bad until we see the pattern emerging. A line here, a blotch of color there, a stroke of red, a spot of blue, who knows what they will form, or if they will form anything until they see the lines come together, or fail to do so.'

'I wish that this never happened,' Daryas said, 'What end is worth this death?'

'Perhaps an end in which our happiness is not concerned. But that makes it no less worthy an end. What I have learned, and what has taken me the longest to learn, is that we have not been made for the sake of our own happiness. I too, Daryas, wish things had been otherwise. I wish I could have lived in the opulent world of Bel Albor for all eternity, loving my dear wife and son, enriching myself through the labors of mortal men. But in the end that world was swallowed up by the sea.

'The will of the Eternal One is like a mighty wheel that rolls across this earth. Those who make themselves a part of that wheel, and ease its passage will find themselves, if not happy, at least righteous. Those who set themselves against that wheel will be ground to powder beneath it. It isn't fair, Daryas, of course, but nobody ever said the world was fair.'

'It should be fair,' Daryas quipped.

'Should? For what? You know as well as I that such words cannot be used lightly. Justice has its purpose, and that purpose is the survival of mankind. But mankind has a purpose too, and that transcends even justice. Justice is the concern of man to man, but the Eternal One owes us not even the next breath, let alone equality and satisfaction.

'But let me speak of your earlier question,' Rahdmus said, as though he had just remembered something. 'You say that you wish that things had gone otherwise. Indeed, so do all men. But that is the work of their imagination alone. You know as well as I that the same cause creates the same effect, time and time again, and with such consistency that men, by understanding such causes, can make for themselves engines, tools and weapons of war. Who would trust in the sword at their side if it could not be counted upon to act against their enemies in the same manner each time? If it were not for the consistency of causes and their effects, who would dare shoot an arrow from a bow. How would one know that the shaft would not just as soon find itself shot through their own heart as their enemy's? We trust material things to behave themselves, and to do so without even the slightest alteration.

'Take the example of the heavens above, and consider their emptiness. In Lapulia, where the magicians dwell, it is taught that the void of the heavens and their dead vacuousness proves that man is a mere accident; something unimportant and meaningless. But remember that all these things, the stars, the world, and everything else, must have at one time or another, some cause of their being. Now, to have the effect we see, I mean, for the world to be, that cause had to be just exactly as it was and no different. Had it been different, who knows but that the world would be different or even that the world could not have been at all. In order to have the world, then, you must leave the cause just as it is. To take away the void of the heavenly realms, then, is to take away their cause, which, in turn, is to take away the world. To have a world at all it might be necessary to have the deathly silence of the black heavens.

Who knows what all these deaths mean? Who knows what the suffering of the world may be meant for, and what might be lost if were to take it away. Casting aside the world we cast aside also the future, which no man can judge. Have a care, Daryas, when you wish for things to have been otherwise than they are; you can never guess what might be changed. We are much like the pigments of a painter, Daryas, and I imagine the pigments, as they are ground up and mixed together with great vigor, understand their purpose no more than we. But the discomfort of the pigments makes the painting no less beautiful and the colors no less useful in the end.'

[Chapter V:  
The Stage is Set](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Strangers in the Daunrys

So thoroughly had the men of the Galva army dismantled their settlement in Ram-u-Nar, that even after the war, the men of Ramlos never discovered the exact location of their encampment. This, more than anything else, frustrated the King to no end. 'How could they have survived the mountains and hidden themselves away in our own land for so long a period?' Scouts searched the land, but found no trace of their lodgings. They came to Ram-u-Nar at last, but there was no evidence of them to be found there. The scouts could not say one way or another whether it had been the place in which they had for so long taken up refuge. To further complicate matters, Dynamis had sent ten men into Heyan, ere their departure, to find men of little means who would be willing to take up residence in that land. By the time the governors of Amlaman undertook to investigate the region, it had been taken over by a great many paupers and peasants along with their families.

Nonetheless, a great store of weapons had been left hidden in that region, and to this Dynamis now hastened. At his side was Forge Collesirne and Aoder the huntsman, and several other strong men of Noras. It was evening on the fourth day of the month Indest that Dynamis and a small band of his companions returned to Ram-u-Nar in the guise of peasants. There they purchased a carriage from those who now lived there and some provisions. They then went to a certain cave that they had very cautiously hidden from sight and brought from there a great many swords and daggers and other light armaments, all of which had been purchased in Heyan, not forged in Noras. 'We will not be waging war, my friends,' he told his companions. 'For this reason we must leave behind us all insignias of our homeland and garb ourselves as men of Heyan. We have come without the leave of Cheftan Biron, my father, and we must not pretend to be acting under his direction. Noras is not prepared for a war. We are here to help the son of Biron, and that alone is our purpose.'

When they had taken what weapons they could fit in their carriage, they covered them up with food and clothes and slipped quietly from that territory, making their way slowly to the west. There was a crude trail leading from Ram-u-Nar down toward the forest of Heyan in the northwest. This they followed until they came to a place where the trail was hidden from view by trees and bushes. There they met several other men of Noras, and distributed the weapons as evenly as they could. In the end, however, they came up one blade short. 'I will go without,' said Revere, who had also just arrived. 'A sword would be wasted on me. Besides, my knife was not made in Noras, but in Titalo. It would not, therefore, be a bad thing at all should it be found among our corpses.'

'You speak as if we hadn't a chance, Revere,' Dynamis said.

'As do you, my lord,' Revere laughed. 'Otherwise, you would not take such care to conceal our identity. It is the privilege of human beings, to plan for many outcomes - even the worst.'

'Indeed,' Forge said with a nodding head, 'and it is also his privilege to pray for the best.'

As they started on their way Dynamis remained in place for a moment, considering how different was this man Revere, who had once betrayed them. 'Now he will march to his death with no promise of reward?'

Though Daryas had said nothing at all to his brother, Dynamis could tell that the dreams and the voices that troubled him had only intensified since the end of the war. Lady Marima had attempted to find a suitable girl for him to wed, hoping his resolve and his despair might be lessened. But he would have nothing to do with her suggestions. He met one of the girls, but he was so sullen and gloomy, and so tormented by the voice of Evna that she left Peiraso almost in tears, saying to her guardians, 'I should cast myself into a river headlong after one week of marriage to such a lamentable man!'

Dynamis perceived that it was only a matter of time before Daryas took his leave of Peiraso. Knowing his state of mind, Dynamis took great pains to prepare for his departure, though he said nothing to his brother about it. To this end he sent Forge and Revere and many other men of Noras into the west to prepare for their coming. 'Daryas will go to the Nunnery of Agonistes, to take away the Princess if he can. The people of Amlaman will not part with her easily. We will make sure that either he makes his escape, bringing his love at last to Noras, or that he dies not alone nor unavenged.'

'And take heed,' he said with great care in his voice, these lands crawl with the spirits of the dead. At times they will pass through you, like a cold wind through an open window, at other times they will look down upon you from the trees through the eyes of beasts and birds. Some live in the very stones upon which we tread. Legend says a great terror lives in the stream that is called the Meretris, which passes through the Nunnery of the dark god, whither we hasten.'

'Is this all true, my lord,' Forge said with a hint of fear in his voice. 'You know that I fear no man. But spirits! What can a man do to a spirit?'

'It would be as well to ask, of course,' Revere said skeptically, 'what could a spirit do to a man?'

'Do not scoff, Revere, and do not fear overmuch, Forge,' Dynamis responded. The spirits of the dead can indeed be a danger, but they oughtn't be feared more than the living, for their powers, uncanny though they be, are not greater than our own. But at times the greater devils will take up residence within some beast of prey. When I first parted with Daryas on that fateful night when first he went to the Nunnery, I was followed for quite a while by a dark shadow. I made great haste, but still I could not evade it. At last I came to an open place, where I expected the creature would leave off its pursuit. But much to my surprise, the beast came out after me, and indeed, soon overtook me. It was an immense wolf with glowing eyes of red. I turned upon my horse and faced him. The size of the horse alone would have scared away any other wolf. But this creature just stared at me as one unafraid. He approached me in the darkness slowly and with great malice in his eyes. I could almost sense his hatred. Hatred, I say! One would have expected to sense hunger, or bloodlust or some other brutish motive. But hatred is a sentiment born by rational creatures, not animals. At any rate, he was not to be driven away by anything I could do.

'At last, when he drew so near that I could smell his foul coat of fur, I drew the Conjurer's blade, at the sight of which the beast perked up his ears for an instant and then fled into the night with amazing speed.

'We go into the heart of the devil's kingdom, my friends,' Dynamis concluded, 'Beware!'

Whispers

Even as Daryas and Rahdmus took the mountain road through Coronan and into Ramlos, and as Dynamis with his men made their way to Sten Agoni, strange voices began to manifest themselves to Lyris, who yet remained in Peiraso, the home of Cheftan Biron. At first she ignored them, thinking they were signs of exhaustion. She soon found herself quite troubled by them, thinking them to be the sign of madness. But after several days had passed she concluded that she was being tormented by spirits.

She grew restless and suspicious, and would often be found haunting the halls of Peiraso with a candle and a dagger, with her eyes filled with fear. Lady Marima took compassion on her, and brought her, in the middle of the night, down to the kitchen, where she was given something warm to drink.

'A madness comes over me, I fear,' she said, with great sorrow. 'Then I shall be broken of body and mind alike.'

Marima poured her a cup of tea and gave her some bread that had been baked that evening.

'A time there was,' Lyris said with a quaking voice, 'when I was a Marshall of Olgrost. But now I can lift neither shield nor spear, for my bones, though they have mended, are not strong as they once were. Now devils have come to take away my mind.'

'War brings so much sorrow to the young,' Marima said with great compassion in her voice. 'But I do not believe that you have ought to fear from devils while you rest in Peiraso. This is the house of Biron, and no evil spirit can easily enter this place.' She put her hands upon Lyris' fingers and said, 'Rest, and fear not the voices, for they cannot harm you while you are within these walls. It may be, even, that they only vex you for your benefit. It has long been believed by the people of the forest, that spirits come to us sometimes with messages of help and at other times for their own comfort. Resist not the voice, and see what comes of it. But no spirit can do to you any evil in this place. The light of the stars, even that holiest of Astral Lords, rests upon our roof at all hours, though the sun hides them during the day.'

The mention of the stars seemed to comfort her, and she was brought back to her room. As she lay herself to rest, Lady Marima opened up the window, letting the gentle starlight enter more clearly.

By the time she turned away from the window Lyris was in a deep slumber. She slipped away quietly, leaving the girl to her dreams.

As soon as the lady of the house had shut the door, Lyris opened her eyes and there beheld a glowing being, like a child in stature, but like a god in radiance. 'Who are you?' she asked, no longer afraid.

'I am Duri,' he answered.

'Why do you trouble me?' she asked him.

'I had failed you before, when more strength was in my hands, but now, I can do nothing, and so I weep here every night.'

'But how can you have failed me? For what do you owe to me in the first place?'

'I was the companion of Natham, and I left him out of selfishness, and was not there to be his eyes and ears, though I knew he would have need of me.'

'Explain yourself, please, for I do not understand what you are telling me.'

'I abandoned him to his fate, even as I pursued my own ends in the distant east. The lords of Marin took great advantage of him, and with many lies they caused him to slay innocent men. Had I remained beside him this might have been prevented, for I could have discovered their deception.'

'Do not weep on account of that, Duri,' Lyris said, 'Marin would have waged its war without his aid. Naught could have prevented what came to pass. A little different we can make our fates, but we cannot alter their course entirely.'

'I thank you for your kind words, Lyris,' Duri said with a bow. 'Truly you are worthy of the great love Natham had for you.'

A tear dropped from her cheek, 'And I bore such love toward him as well,' she said as she wept.

Duri looked uneasy for a moment, and then said, 'Would that I might weep once more, even as you do.'

'Can spirits not weep then?' she said with surprise.

'We can feel the pull of sorrow, but not the pangs; we can know suffering, but not feel it. Passion is a gift to those bound to flesh.'

'I am glad to have met you, Duri, friend of Natham. But do not be troubled on account of what came to pass. For I saw with my own eyes the change of his body from what it was to what it ought to be. I saw him shining like the stars of heaven, to which I am convinced he has been elevated.'

'Thank you, my lady,' Duri said.

'But what was it, Duri, that led you into the east?'

'It was my mother. Malia, the Queen of the Merkata, beside whom I have stood for many thousands of years, never knowing who she was. A great disaster overtook her, and in that moment she called out, of all things she might have called out, my name, though I never thought that she knew it. When I heard her speak that name, I remembered that which we spirits are prohibited from remembering, and how we had been betrayed by one who ought to have died in our stead, but who abandoned us to our fates. My mother poured all her soul into my rescue, but in the end I was washed away by the crashing waves that ripped soul from flesh, even as all the other spirits were in those days. She, however, after all the strength that was in her had been spent, lived on, if life one may call it. Always at her side I have stood, though I never understood what it was that drew me to her. When I heard her scream her last, calling me by my name as though she loved me, I could not restrain myself, but went immediately back to Vestron to discover what had happened there. But alas, the Merkata clan is no more; Fhuhar has swallowed them all alive; and my mother's ambitions with them.'

'I am sorry that after all you have suffered,' Lyris said compassionately, 'you have not come to find your comrade still living. But be at ease; he is well nonetheless.'

'It is not only for his sake that I have come,' Duri said. 'There was one whose involvement in your predicament was very significant, but whose origin and purpose I was never able to discover. He dined with Marin some time before you were taken away from Marin to be the prize of that foul Cheiftain. There was a familiarity and at the same time a nobility about him that perplexed me. I was hoping to find him in this land. But Natham cannot help me now, nor I him.'

'There is a man,' Lyris said as all weariness left her eyes. She sat up straight in her bed and rubbed her eyes with her hands. 'There is a man called Rahdmus, who I thought myself to have recognized upon my arrival in this house. But he was very aloof, and spoke only a little to the brother of my beloved. He would see neither the lord of the house nor Dynamis, my betrothed. He left not long ago, but whither he went I cannot say.'

'I am indebted to you, then,' Duri said with a final bow, 'for now I know that my coming here has not been in vain. Farewell, daughter of Marin, and may the gods of heaven smile upon you. We shall not meet again in this life, nor will I ever trouble your dreams again.'

'If I understood this earlier today I would have been overjoyed,' Lyris answered. 'But now, having seen you and learned your tale, I can only receive these words with a heavy heart.'

Smoke on the Mountain

Daryas and Rahdmus entered into Ramlos on the very same road by which the goblins had ascended to the heights of Coronan. 'This path was the work of my own hands,' Rahdmus told him, 'I did it in secret from the King of Amlaman, who would not have willingly lent his aid to such an endeavor. 'Always we meant to cripple your fierce clan; which speaks much to the fear men have of the Galvahirne, even here in the west where all else concerning the Noras is unknown. I had a healthy fear of them, I thought. But when I met your brother upon the mountain, it was clear that even I had underestimated the strength of Galvahir. I will say this also, that among mortal men it is more common for men to deteriorate and for races to weaken over time. But the Galvahirne are unique in that with each generation it seems they grow more vigorous, more powerful, more virtuous, and more wise.'

'For one who was once our enemy, you seem to have a great deal of respect for our people,' Daryas said.

'It is only for an enemy, properly so called, that one can have such respect. One may derive a certain honor from having such a good man as a friend, but you can only truly see eye to eye when you stand in opposition. Then you can see that for all your darkness, there is light within them. For all your weakness there is strength. For all your evil, they possess a righteousness in opposition. Of course, when it was that I was full of darkness, my own blindness bade me consider the righteousness of Galvahir to be folly.'

The two travelers in time came to the fields of Golbfein, where the king of Almaman had long ago made a name for himself. From there they passed into the west toward Heyan. But ere they drew near enough to distinguish any one tree from its neighbor, they turned sharply toward the south and made their way past Ram-u-Nar.

When they had passed that land, Radhmus laughed and shook his head. 'Never would I have thought that my deeds would not only fail to destroy Galvahir, but that they would bring that mighty army into the very land I intended to lead to victory against them!'

After several days of riding in the wilderness they came to the place where Daryas and his brother had found the dying Queen of Amlaman, who had entreated Daryas to seek out and help her daughter. There they camped for the night, intending to make the rest of the journey in the morning. 'Have you a plan, Daryas?' Rahdmus asked, his voice seeming to silence all the sounds of the night. Daryas' heart sunk, and he looked to the ground. 'Do you have any idea what you are going to do, when you get to the mountain?'

After a long pause he answered, 'No. I have not the faintest notion of what will come to pass. Nevertheless, I am resolved to find my fate, or doom, or destiny, or whichever so happens to wait for me, upon that mountain and in that valley.'

'It would be wise, son of Biron, to give this matter some thought ere we descend into the enemy's holiest place, to steal that which the enemy loves most dearly.'

Daryas looked up at him with wide eyes.

'You must know,' Rahdmus said, 'that the King of Amlaman also seeks this prize; and he is not one to give up on his pursuit.'

'Why, if he be king, can he not simply reach out his hand and take her to him?'

'That is a mystery,' Rahdmus answered, 'the solution of which lies under the shadow of the future. From the moment the crown was placed upon his head, he had the right and power to take that which he desired above all other things.'

'What could have happened then?'

'Something prevents him, but what that is I do not know.'

The name of Evna passed into Daryas' mind, and his heart rose a little, knowing that the devil who tormented his days had also the effect of keeping his fierce rival away from the Princess. But from that moment, Daryas became uneasy, and wished only to get to sleep.

'What of our plan?' Rahdmus said with great concern.

'On the morrow,' Daryas said as he rolled onto his side and shut his eyes tight.

That night, when it was Daryas' turn to keep watch, he beheld from a distance a wisp of smoke, rising from the southeast. 'Any number of things it might be,' he thought to himself. Most likely it is some hermit, lighting his stove, or some hunters stoking the flame of their campfire.' But his reasons could not prevent him from feeling ill at ease. In the end, he resolved to depart into the south with haste, seeking his destiny alone. He called Rahdmus' name, thinking it would be foolish to go to the Nunnery alone. But when Rahdmus responded not, Daryas was not willing to try again to wake him. 'So it must be,' he told himself. Novai rode into the south swiftly and quietly, making little more noise than a deer.

Dynamis and the Wolves

Almost the moment Dynamis and his band had begun their ascent into the wilderness surrounding Sten-Agoni they noticed a deep quiet. 'The mountain is calm,' Forge said warily. 'But yet I feel ill at ease.'

'There is not a beast or bird within a league,' Revere said, looking around with fear in his eyes. He had never found such things to be frightening before, but before he had only known of things that were dangerous to the body. 'There is something dark here,' he said. Such words still felt strange on his lips.

'We must have a care in these lands,' Dynamis said. 'The mountain is quiet, but it is not at peace.'

He had no need for an explanation, for all his fellows felt the same unease, not as though nothing at all were happening, but as though everything that was happening was somehow beyond them.

They had barely begun their way into the wilds before one of his men said that he felt as though he were being followed. The others looked around uneasily, their eyes wide with fear. Dynamis was just about to reprimand his companion for raising their fear, but at the moment he opened his mouth to speak he felt the same. It was as though a cold wind blew upon them from every which way. But nothing stirred among the trees or bushes. With armor and sword he yet felt as if he were naked before a hundred hateful eyes. 'We are Galvahirne,' he said, loosening his sword in its hilt. 'Proceed.'

'I am not Galvahirne,' Revere whispered to himself. But then he felt ashamed. 'But I am of the line of Lord Proud, servant of the Magic Tower,' he assured himself. But reminding him of the glory of his ancestors did very little to make him, their descendant, feel any braver.

They continued on in this way for several hours, slowly making their way south east toward the Nunnery of Agonistes. Suddenly Dynamis turned, his cloak swinging about in a great whirl of color. His sword was drawn, his companions saw; they followed his suit, drawing their weapons almost in unison. The air was still for almost five minutes, just long enough for some of them to lower their watchfulness. They had stood like statues, poised to attack at any moment. But the moment one of them lowered their weapons a wolf sprang from behind a tree, bringing one of the Galvahirne to the ground. He was dead in an instant, as three more wolves rushed from the growing darkness and torn him limb from limb.

'Wolves!' Forge said, cutting one clean in half with one smooth stroke of his enormous blade.

Dynamis dodged a wolf and struck off its hind legs as it bounded past him.

'What I wouldn't give for a Firesling!' one of the Galvahirne said frustratedly.

'No,' Dynamis commanded. The noise of the Lapulian weapons would carry the news of their coming straight to the temple of Agonistes itself. 'These wolves would not fear such things, if they do not fear a band of armed Galvahirne.'

Seven more wolves rushed in, bringing another of the Galvahirne to the ground. He fought them with all his might, but they were two swift for him. Another wolf rushed in and knocked Revere to the ground. The beast went to clench its teeth about his throat, but Revere's blade was too quick, piercing the animal's eye before it's jaws reached their mark. All the might of the animal seemed to blow away in the wind and its bulk fell aside in a heap. Dynamis rushed toward him with worry on his face. 'Are you alright, friend?' he said, his hand outstretched.

Revere looked around for a moment before he realized that it was to him that the Cheftirne had spoken. Nobody had ever called him friend. He took the Galvahirne's hand and rose to his feet. He turned away from the other man's gaze and brushed the dirt from his cloak. Looking up again he saw a great black shape approaching in the gloom, red eyes glowing in the night. He pushed Dynamis aside and rolled out of the way in the opposite direction. He threw his knife quickly, but the shape darted aside as though it were made out of wind and not flesh. A hundred howls rose up in the night, as if to announce the coming of a king.

The creature charged Dynamis again, but the Galvahirne turned aside quickly and slashed at it, cutting its side. 'So you are not a devil,' he said, 'but flesh and blood.'

A chill came over Dynamis, as if the creature had somehow responded, saying, 'And yet also a devil.' But there was no voice, not even a growl from the dark beast. The monster charged again, and it was all that Dynamis could to do run out of the way. The other wolves had ceased their attacks and now stood at a distance from the Galvahirne as if to watch the contest from afar. The Galvahirne unwittingly fell into the same habit, each watching but not daring to interfere, lest they accidentally harm their lord. Revere pulled his knife from the dirt where he had cast it, bewildered by the speed of the demon.

Dynamis circled the animal, unable to look anywhere but into the wolf's glowing red eyes. It occurred to him as he stared at the monster that it was not hunger or fear in the creature's eyes, but hate and, he thought, perhaps envy. He held his sword up and said in a resigned voice, 'I mean only to aid my brother.' Something in that last word seemed to have shaken the animal for a moment. The wolf blinked, its eyes vanishing for a moment, and pushed back on its paws as if startled. This was all that Dynamis needed to make his attack. His stroke fell upon the wolf, cutting a deep gash into its head. One of the beast's ears fell to the ground in a bloody mess. The dark creature looked at it for a moment and a voice seemed to rise up from the very earth itself, saying, 'Brother, you have the ears of a wolf.' The wolf looked once more at Dynamis, or at his sword rather. His eyes seemed to flash between rage, hatred and sadness. In a flash the beast was gone, leaving a trail of dark red blood upon the ground. Only two of the Galvahirne had been killed, though most of them now carried a number of scratches, gashes and bites upon their flesh. 'Set a fire,' Dynamis commanded, 'although I do not know that it will do us any good as a ward against devils.'

'There is something strange happening in this land,' Forge said, sniffing the air.

They hastily buried their dead, digging two shallow graves by torchlight. 'Set a mark upon them,' Dynamis ordered. 'They shall be brought back to Noras when all is finished.'

He sat down beside the fire and shut his eyes. 'Why should two die for one?' he asked, wondering if he had been selfish endangering all these men for his fool brother's sake. But he knew even as he thought it that, if it were his beloved, he would be the one acting the fool. 'Still,' he thought to himself, 'Daryas has always had a proclivity for finding trouble.' All trouble was inconvenient, but Daryas always seemed to find the most inconvenient trouble available. This latter thought brought many memories to his mind.

Thinking back Dynamis thought he could remember seeing this very wolf on the day his brother first went to the Nunnery, following after that madwoman's words. Twice now it had fled from him; but on both occasions it seemed to have been his sword that had attracted the beast's attention. He drew his blade, drawing many wary eyes from his companions. 'It is nothing,' he reassured them. Nonetheless they looked out into the darkness cautiously.

There was a strange script on the hilt of the sword. It resembled the writing of the elves, which he had learned in Lapulia several years ago. But the words it formed were not like anything he had ever encountered. It did not even resemble the ancient writings that were to be found in Dadron, where the oldest of the elves had ruled for thousands of years.

'Who was that man?' he asked himself, marveling that the Conjuror from whom he had taken the sword should have such a strange relic.

Fire On the Mountain

King Volthamir came to Sten Agoni on the first day of Indest. There were sacrifices being offered that day, and the air was heavy with the aroma of burning fat and cooking meat. But Volthamir passed these by, turning his attention to the north. He looked out upon the ocean of trees that lay beyond the small hill of Daufina. He knew the Nunnery was in that valley. 'There you lie, my love, still reigning over your own little country, and the devil within will not permit me to pass. Nonetheless, if you will not come to me, I will return for your insults such fierce compensation that never again will the name of Aganthos be maligned!' By this point in his reign he answered to no other name than that which had been given him by his mother.

Altogether he had summoned nearly three thousand warriors to the mountain in addition to the usual guards. These were positioned along the southern slopes of Daufina and atop the the ridge of Altola, which overlooks the Nunnery from the east. It is from thence that the stream that feeds the Nunnery's pools originates. All of these warriors were placed under the command of Fanastos, who was ordered to slay without interrogation any who should approach the mountain.

Such madness these orders must have seemed to those who see only the work of man in the world. But when the rivalry of Agonistes and Pelas is considered, it is to be expected that such precautions be taken. The last time Amlaman waged open war against the Noras, the Temple of Agon itself was burned with fire, though no fire could wholly consume those white stones of which it was built. Those stones were quarried from the same secret place from which the stones that adorn Pelas' Temple in Dadron were acquired, and they were as strong as they were beautiful.

Though he shunned his counsel in all other matters, Agonistes was able to convince Volthamir that it would not be long ere the Noras made an attempt against the Temple of Agonistes, which, to them, represented the most ancient of evils.

'Far be it from me to allow some woodsmen to have that which I am denied,' he said to himself, thinking of the ancient days, when the Noras heroes took for themselves wives out of the Nunnery of Agonistes and set fire to the Temple.

On the fifteenth day of the month, he took fire from the temple and lit a great bonfire on the lawn just outside the temple. He took an arrow in his hand, wrapped the end tightly in a bright white strip of cloth, dipped it in oil and, taking the flame of the bonfire, he set the arrow to his bow and sent it flying into the woods, where it instantly burst into a great burning flame. The heat of Indest seemed to have as much to do with his success as the oil. Within a few minutes it was crawling further into the woods, leaping up trees here and crowning whole portions of the forest with leaping tongues of fire.

The Temple itself was set quite a distance from the woods, sufficient to ensure that no flame could be spread to it. Slowly the fire spread, sinking into the valley inch by inch. 'Let us see that devil send the Fire of Agonistes back to Sten Agoni without effect,' Volthamir said with great pride.

[Chapter VI:  
The River Meretris](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Lutrosis

'My son, my son,' Daryas could hear his father say, 'Pay heed to my wisdom, and turn your head in the direction of prudence. There are higher things in this world than stones and trees, and wiser things than brutes and beasts. These are the better things, and those with which we ought to concern ourselves. Not the animal nature, which roams in pursuit of food or pleasure. We are made to contemplate the stars. Do not give in to that part of you that still remains an animal. The animal part of us is necessary as long as we live, but it is the only part of us that perishes. Feed the mind, first, my son, and give heed to the pangs of the stomach only after your mind has had its fill. One half of Prudence, my son, is seeing wherein the good lies, and not forgetting to seek it in all that you do. The second part of Prudence is to know what is evil and hide your face from it.'

A vision arose in his mind, of a time when his father had warned him against climbing atop a certain stone. But his curiosity got the better of him and he ascended despite his father's remonstrances. He fell to the ground, and hit his head upon a stone just as a much greater stone fell an inch shy of his head. 'Fortunate you are!' his father cried out as he carried him to Peiraso. 'Blessed you are!' his mother announced.

But in his heart he said, 'A sickness lies within me, for I know what is wise, but I do not do it.'

As he now descended alone into the land of Agonistes, he recalled this event and many like circumstances. Finally, he cursed himself and smote his chest saying, 'How wicked can a man be? How dark can the heart be, that I am esteemed a good man and even a hero?'

'Your fault, Daryas,' the voice of Lutrosis said, breaking at last his long silence, 'your fault, I say, lies not in your deeds, but in your thoughts.'

'True enough,' Daryas replied, his heart sinking at the sound of his tormentor's voice. 'I am too great a coward to sin; for I am more prideful than I am concupiscient!'

'You call yourself a sinner? On what account, Daryas? Against whom have you sinned?'

'Against whom have I not sinned? Who could look within me without disgust? Many can pass me by on the street or in the forest, nodding as they go by, but none of them can see what passes within my soul, yet all of them would curse me if they knew how frequently I think ill of them, envy them, hate them, curse them. I nod and they nod, and we pretend we are all good and contented. Perhaps they are good and perhaps they are contented, but I can never be satisfied with myself.'

'You fear too many gods, Daryas, in that you call yourself such a vile sinner. Take them away from your thoughts and you will find rest for your conscience.'

'Yet, whose conscience can ever rest in such a world as this? Even should I deny all spirits and all order, yet it remains that within me is a law and an order, and I cannot escape it. I am as unworthy in my own sight as I am in the sight of the Eternal, unwavering judge. If I say that I know what good is, then I am evil, for I live up to no such law. If I say that I know not, then I am also evil, for who can be called good when they are so by accident only? The lord of heaven and the empty void of night alike conspire against my soul, condemning me at every turn. I am condemned by God perhaps, but I am at least condemned by myself. Every man charges this one with evil and that one with good; in so doing they make themselves judge of what is good and evil. Shall I, then, as judge, transgress my own law and escape the pit? My conscience neither rests nor acquits.'

'There is no such Eternal Judge, Daryas,' Lutrosis said with sincerity. 'It is a fable of half-goblins, who cannot see the world as it is; full of hate and death, but also much to enjoy ere the end comes upon us. Why should we not seek what is good then, rather than what we know is not true.'

'You say there is no judge,' Daryas laughed. 'For all that I know you may speak the truth. But, I am wise enough also to know that you have neither ascended to the heavens, nor descended to the depths of the sea to search out whether or not there is a judge or a world to come. If I know naught of that world to come it may as easily be because of my weakness of knowledge, and not for its emptiness. Tempt me however you like, brute, but you shall never drive me to deny that which I have no right to deny. Does not the hawk see further than man? Do we do wisely then, when we deny what lies beyond our sight?

'Don't rail against me, Daryas, Lutrosis laughed, 'I am only trying to help.'

'If you would help me, then free me from the torment of mind in which I stand!'

'How could I,' the voice bellowed, 'when YOU are that torment of mind!'

'You wish to bring me to death,' Daryas accused.

'Nonsense, I would bring you to happiness. You know as well as I that there is no happiness in virtue.'

Dreamlands Revisited

In this state of mind Daryas entered again those hills and valleys the contours of which his dreams had well informed him. As he descended into the valley of the Nunnery, the thick smoke of the burning trees came to meet his nostrils. The smoke also concealed his approach from the many watching eyes that lay hidden all about the Nunnery.

The smoke grew so thick in places that Daryas was almost driven away from the valley against his will. But he could not resist the fate that drew him into the south.

He swooned and fell from Novai, who took off in a fright, running into the north and west as if a thousand devils pursued her. There he lay for a time, conscious of nothing but the sound of burning and the heat of the flames. When he came to his senses, he found himself lying upon the ground at the western entrance of the Nunnery. Before him stood the tall figure of a man. A great cloak of black was wrapped about his shoulders, casting a dark shadow upon the moonlit ground.

'What will you do, son of Biron?' he heard Lutrosis ask with unveiled malice. Daryas answered nothing. 'Very well, then I will tell you. In this place lies something you want very much to possess. But there is also much that I desire. But alas! our desires are in opposition. You wish to bind yourself to the Siren of Agonistes, but I to loose myself therefrom. All your life we have contended one with the other; but now we shall at last settle the score. You will walk into the place, and you will do all that I command you.'

'And if I refuse you, what will you do? Kill me?'

'I wish not to kill you, Daryas, I am merely being polite, even as I have always been.'

As soon as he had finished saying this he lifted Daryas from the ground by his hair and dragged him toward the entrance. There he was withstood by a guard, who demanded his name and his business. Lutrosis laughed and took the guard's throat in his hand, lifting him from the ground. Daryas pulled back his hand and he released the guard, who immediately fled toward the Temple. 'That was a foolish thing to do,' Lutrosis laughed. 'I am trying to keep you alive, and you let your enemy live.'

'He is not my enemy; he has done naught against me.'

'He that stands between you and your desire is your enemy.'

'Too true, dark one, too true are your words.'

Lutrosis cast him on the ground and laughed, 'Only too late will you realize that we cannot be enemies.'

'Think what you will,' Daryas said weakly.

Lutrosis again took him by the hair and dragged him into the Nunnery. By the light of many burning lamps Daryas at last saw his tormentor.

Lutrosis stood about the same height as Daryas, though his posture seemed to carry a greater nobility. He wore a cloak of black over his head, and upon his face was a mask of iron. Through two narrow eyeslits there shone proud and luminous green eyes, which brought a chill to Daryas' spine to look upon. Only three small holes permitted him to breath, and through these he could hear the labored breath of his enemy, whose every breath seemed to come at great expense. About his throat was coiled a great serpent, the head of which had latched upon his neck. From this wound there streamed a steady flow of deep red blood. When Daryas saw this spectacle he touched his finger to his own neck in the very spot that, more than a year ago, Leonara had wounded. With great horror he discovered that he too bled such dark blood.

Daryas rose from his feet and darted away, making for the corner of the Nunnery in which his beloved awaited him.

'Fool!' Lutrosis shouted. 'She will not see you, so long as I am with you. You may as well remain here where the water is cool and fresh.' With those words, he leaped upon Daryas from behind and knocked him to the ground. 'Will you not refresh yourself in the stream; that stream wherein the Sacred Virgins of Agonistes bathe?'

'I will not,' Daryas said. But Lutrosis grabbed him by the hair and dragged him to the water. Daryas kicked and fought, but to no avail; he had no power over his foe.

River Goddess

Before he knew what was happening to him, Daryas found his face plunged into the cold water of the Meretris. Immediately he felt himself invigorated and refreshed. He lifted his head from the water and looked down into the pool. There he saw the form and likeness of a goddess, standing as it were, just beneath the surface of the water. Her raiment and her flesh were alike as bright and cold as the moon. She reached her arm out of the water and took Daryas' hand in hers. Her skin was as smooth as silk, but her grip was stronger than iron chains. She pulled the strong Noras warrior into the pool with ease. There he found himself gasping for air as she pulled him toward herself.

She pulled him close and breathed into his mouth, filling his lungs with air. But the air she breathed therein made them burn as though they were filled with fire. Her lips tasted like honey, and her mouth was as smooth as oil. She kissed him deeply under the water. There he might have remained and perished, had Lutrosis not plucked him out of the water.

There he sat upon the white stone floor, soaked and gasping for air, choking on the water. His head swam, and looking into the water he could see nothing. Above him he heard the voice of Lutrosis chuckling loudly. Daryas spluttered and choked on that water, which now seemed as foul as it had formerly seemed refreshing.

'Have you had enough, Daryas?' he asked, still laughing, 'Will you now go to your beloved, even while your clothes are still soaked with the water of that stream?'

To this Daryas made no reply, but tried to walk on toward the tower wherein the Siren was housed. But Lutrosis grabbed the back of his neck and pushed his face to the ground. 'Not yet, fool, I am not finished with you!'

Then he dragged Daryas out of the Nunnery through a large wooden door that stood on the northern side of the Nunnery. 'Look there,' he whispered, 'Do you not see her? The River Goddess, who dwells in the Meretris, and who is fed by the beauty of the Sacred Virgins?'

There before him, some twenty paces ahead, stood the strange figure that Daryas had seen beneath the water. She waved her hand, beckoning him to follow. With a great effort of mind he turned himself away and made for the tower.

'Follow her, Daryas,' Lutrosis commanded. Then these two fell into a fierce combat, Daryas desperately trying to slay his foe, and Lutrosis laughing all the while. For every blow Daryas gave his opponent, Lutrosis landed five, and for every time Daryas cast him to the ground, Lutrosis trampled him underfoot eight times. This went on until Daryas was so bloodied and broken that he could no longer refuse Lutrosis' will. 'Do you not yet understand, Daryas, just who it is that I am?' Again he laughed his horrible laugh. 'Rise!' he said, 'and follow.'

Unable to do otherwise, Daryas rose and chased after the River Goddess, into the northern woods. The fire burned steadily closer, now sending a thick odor of smoke into the Nunnery itself. But nonetheless, Daryas could not go to Leonara.

The bright white figure of the River Goddess floated and danced between the trees and through the woods so nimbly that not even a deer could have kept up with her. She seemed to go this way one moment, and then in another moment she would appear elsewhere, without traversing the distance between, or at least so it seemed to the eyes of her pursuer. Her ways seemed to change even as she fled, and no man could have marked them. Blinded by the wounds he had been given by Lutrosis, he pursued her like a madman, not knowing what would come of his chase. Soon he gave up all knowledge of his surroundings and charged forward like a dog set afire. Lutrosis grabbed his arm and halted his charge just as he came to a tall precipice. The loose dirt beneath his feet slid and fell below him, unsettling the rocks below. As he looked down he could see the River Goddess, still dancing and laughing. 'Her feet would have led you straight down to the dead,' Lutrosis warned.

'To death and hell,' Daryas added, panting. 'Is that not what you have brought me here to find?'

'I do not want you to die, Daryas,' Lutrosis said with great sincerity.

Daryas then began to hobble back toward the Nunnery, following the smell of burning wood and the rising smoke. It seemed like the distance he was forced to traverse in that hour was greater than the girth of the world itself. 'A fool, a fool, why must I pursue this devil, when the one I have come to find lies imperiled in the Nunnery of Agonistes!?'

'Don't curse yourself, Daryas,' Lutrosis said as he walked beside him. 'It is not as though you have done anything against your will.'

'What do you know of my will?' Daryas said with a hiss.

'You have not yet understood?' Lutrosis guffawed. 'Daryas, I am your will. You are the devil and the phantasm. You are the haunter, Daryas, and the scoffer who falsifies my every path. What will it take for you to understand!?'

'You speak nonsense!'

'Nonsense!? Only I have spoken the truth to you Daryas.'

'You say you are my will, but how then can I hate your ways?'

'It is very common, son of Biron, for men to hate themselves and love themselves; though it is impossible that one should do it all at once. You wish to do one thing, yet you do another, not because you are opposed to it, but because when you do that which you would not, you wish to do it, even at the moment you do it, though not before, when you wish not to do it.'

'Idiot!' Daryas shouted, inspiring in his adversary such laughter as he had never before heard.

'Did you not notice, Daryas, how on two occasions now I have spared your life? But for what? If I am your enemy, why should I do such a thing? I have as much interest in your life as you; nay, I have more interest in it, because I am your life, you are but a shadow and a phantom.'

Daryas quickened his pace, almost as though he expected to outrun his assailant.

'Stop Daryas,' Lutrosis commanded. Daryas obeyed, knowing now that he could not prevail against him. 'Do you see her? She wanders the woods again, just over there to the east.'

Sure enough, the Goddess of the River Meretris laughed and danced in the woods again, calling to them with a melodic voice. 'Let us chase after her again, Daryas, perhaps this time we will overtake her.'

'Consider, devil, that she will only bring us to ruin. If she goes east, let us flee into the west; and if she comes nigh, let us depart. If she haunts these woods, let us go to the mountain. We will but lose honor and virtue in her train.'

'What need have I of these things?'

'You care at least about honor, devil,' Daryas replied with a face of stone.

Lutrosis chuckled, 'You are beginning to understand, then.'

'We might follow her and all such deceitful things until our blood runs dry and we sink into an unhappy death; but we would never find satisfaction therein. We might drink the whole stream up and not have assuaged our thirst. We might have all the virgins of Agonistes to wife, yet never find therein satisfaction. That which you chase, Lutrosis; and that which you compel me to pursue, can never be overtaken. You seek nothing less than bliss and happiness, which is to man as the worm and hook to the fish. Let us not pursue such things any longer.'

'That is easier said than done, son of Biron,' Lutrosis said. 'Do you not understand how deep the power that drives me lies? Do you not understand how artificial you are? And how real I am? Yet for all this you consider me to be the shadow! That speaks more of your folly than your virtue. You hate me because I am the truth, and you are the pretense! You are meant to serve me; and not I you.

'There were once creatures without feeling,' the creature said in a hushed tone, 'who lived not for the sake of passion. But they felt no hunger, and starved to death. They felt no thirst, and the dried out like autumn leaves. They loved no women, and their generations died out ere they began. Do you not see, Daryas, how necessary to life is this struggle; this desire! The desire of food, of joy, of strength and blood and war; do you not see how necessary is the love of women? Two parents to make one child! How inefficient is man, that he makes but one seed at a time! How would it be, Daryas, if man had his fill of love when he had just his wife and child beside him? To live, mankind must ever be tempted with love, love and more love.

'Why do the gluttons continue to eat, even after their bloated bodies become crippled by their own girth? It is because without ever-hunger, ever-thirst, ever-love, mankind would give in and die the death. Do you not see how necessary is all this desire? How, then, can one hope to tame it, when it must be of such strength as to drive the stag to the doe, the rooster to the hen, and the king to his harem? I am more natural than you - you deliberator; you fierce reasoner.

'What value is it to reason, and to give a thought to your deeds? I of all men acknowledge the value of the mind. The difference between the unhappy animals and men lies indeed in the rationality of the latter. But reason is a helper to the will, not the master thereof. The will decides what it wants; the mind works out the means. That is the secret to all right living, and all who teach otherwise are liars and charlatans.'

'You speak the words of Ponteris!' Daryas accused.

Lutrosis laughed, 'No, you must understand, Daryas, it is not I that speaks those words; it is you.' With those words he pulled aside his cloak, revealing the terrible serpent that had wrapped itself around his throat. 'Do you know how I came to be in such a state?'

'No, nor do I doubt but that you deserve it, and have brought it upon yourself.'

'You are coming close to the truth, Daryas, but you still talk as if you and I were different. When I was a child, I did what I wanted, and I had only a few obstructions. But as time went by, those who held power over me compelled me to obey their commands. I learned to read, though I wished to play. I learned to speak the truth, though I preferred to lie. I learned to share, though I wished to have and to have all. I learned to love, though hatred comes to me with greater ease. All this, Daryas, was in opposition to me. Therefore, as you see, it is with great difficulty that I even draw breath. Could I but shake the fetters of these moralists from my shoulders I would breath again, deeply and fully; and have what I want for a change. To live is to desire, but to live at peace with others is to want.

'My face I hide from all others, under a mask of iron so that none can see me and know me. Yea, you know it well, I hide from myself as well! Who knows his own heart? I know the eyes that see, the ears that hear, and all that my senses tell me, I learn. But for all that I know, I know not the knower! Who is it that senses and feels and thinks? It is hidden from even my sight, and no amount of thought can draw it into view. And who would want to know it? It is dark and hateful, covetous and deviant, only conforming to the will of others for the sake of honor and reputation. I bear this mask so that when men look upon me they see not the ugliness that lies beneath. How dark is your will Daryas! It hides even from yourself!'

There was a pause, and Daryas reluctantly asked, 'What of the serpent? For it cannot be a natural part of you any more than the mask.'

'The serpent, if you will accept it, is what you have given to me; your one gift to me has been suffering and anguish. For all my vigor and all my strength, there is an emptiness within me by reason of this sucking serpent, who gorges himself upon my flesh day and night. You Daryas, are a man of ideas, and there are some of these that prey upon the wills of men. The brutes are led about by their senses without the slightest concern for their futures; certainly without concern for their histories. But man! He can live in all times at once, and, by the power of his imagination, he sees worlds that are not, never were, nor can ever be. These, if he wills, can become as much a motivation as the reality in which he finds himself. In this way, he leads himself about chasing a future that will never be, and ignoring the present desires of his will.

'You Daryas, insofar as you have given your thoughts over to the gods and the spirits, have thereby put a burden upon me that I can scarcely bear. You seek righteousness! As if righteousness meant anything more than self-satisfaction! Look at the world, Daryas, and see how everyone calls that good which pleases them and that evil which pleases them not. Why then do you call your own heart dark? Dark to what? Yourself? That is an impossibility, if you loved not your own soul you would have dashed your head to the ground in your infancy. You would have ceased to breath, ceased to eat. No, your love of self is a decision made before you were even aware of it. But now, when you have come so far and seen so many things, you will say that you hate yourself? That you are sinful? What madness is this? It is the idea of the gods and of their courts and of their hells alone that makes you deprive me of life! Look upon this serpent and you will see just how beautiful your virtues are!'

Daryas closed his eyes and stopped walking. 'Yet the truth is such, that there is a will above man and for which man lives and breaths, and for which I have been summoned to life. You said the love of life was a decision made before life even began. I am the work of my parents, and they of their parents before them. But what is man the work of? If man lives for naught, then I grant you your freedom; lead me whithersoever you choose! But how can you convince yourself of such a thing without great pretense?'

To this, for once, Lutrosis replied nothing.

'You are tormented, Lutrosis, not by me, but by your own imagination. For who could help but be contented by that which he has, unless he can imagine better? Who can desire more of a thing, if more were not thinkable? You will always be malcontented because, for all your bold words, you have believed your imagination. When you see the beauty of one thing before you, you imagine another, and so convince yourself that there is something else to be pursued. Likewise, because you can imagine the gods and their purposes to be empty lies, you fancy yourself to be free of them. But then you are bound by the opposite thought as well, for you can at the same time imagine that there is a judgment and a lord to sit over you with a whip of chastisement in his hand. It is because you cannot free yourself of this thought that you suffer, and it is not within my power to loose you or bind you. All I can do as a man, as a deliberator, as you call me, is carry to you the truth I have been given. And the truth I give, you may doubt indeed, but you cannot pretend to know otherwise.

'So it is that I tell you, there may be a power that wills us according to a purpose, or there may not be. To this power, as it comes before us, our own happiness is but a means to an end; you, therefore, are a means to an end and no more. But if there is no such power, then our happiness, and you with it, are irredeemably worthless! Whether there be gods or no, then, I say, it makes no difference whether we do as you wish. We might as well, then, even for the sake of chance, do as we ought.'

The voice of Lutrosis rose up like thunder. 'You have grown shrewd and wise, Daryas, and, were you my master I would be very much pleased to obey your reasons.' With those words, Lutrosis looked Daryas straight in the face, his green eyes glowing with hatred. 'But I am your master, and whatever you believe concerning the stars and their lords is of little concern to me. Wrap me with an army of serpents, and with a million shameful glances, I will never relent to pursue that which I have been born to pursue.'

With those words they fell upon one another with more ferocity than can easily be described. Daryas struck his enemy in the face, hurting his fist upon the iron and not wounding his foe. Lutrosis cast the Galvahirne to the ground and leapt upon him with his fists held aloft. He struck him in the face and beat him until his face could scarcely be recognized. But ere the life left him, Lutrosis relented, and spat upon his wounded face. 'Now, I go to do that for which I came. He took Daryas' sword from his side and walked back into the Nunnery.

Hatred

Lutrosis stormed into the Nunnery in a fury, brandishing the sword of Hiron wildly, screaming, 'It is time for you to die!' The sound of his voice woke the virgins from their slumber, and one by one they came from their apartments in amazement and fear. Some, when they had seen the form of the intruder, and smelt the smoke in the air, fled without hesitation, making their way through the eastern gate. 'Fly!' he shouted at them, 'fly from my hideousness, though I do not doubt you have loved men more ugly than I, and richer!'

From another part of the Nunnery came a dozen Temple Guards, dressed in white with gleaming chain armor. 'Halt!' they commanded. Lutrosis ignored them. 'Halt!' they once more commanded.

'What are you? The keepers of these fiendish women?' Lutrosis taunted them.

'We are the guardians of the Holy Virgins of Agonistes,' one of them said confidently.

'Holy? Holy to what? To rich bumblers who cannot get their fill from their own wells and their own cisterns? Sacred indeed, is the Nunnery of Agonistes, and more sacred is the reputation of its Virgins!'

'Put down your sword, and we will spare your life,' Belran of Dighn, the leader of the guards, commanded as they finally overtook him.

'I did not ask you to spare my life,' Lutrosis laughed. 'But I acknowledge your kindnesses all the same. To make things equal, therefore, I make the same offer for my part. Leave this place now, and do not delay me, and I will let you live.'

'Your pride has condemned you,' Belran said shaking his head. In an instant, the guards surrounded him. The first guard to strike at him met a quick end, finding the shining sword of the Galvahirne between his teeth. After that, the others made their attacks in groups, hoping to catch the strange intruder off guard. But Lutrosis was too strong for them all, and in a short while there remained only Belran. 'What manner of devil are you?' he panted.

Lutrosis gave no answer save for the swift stroke of his blade. When all this was finished he continued across the red-stained stones toward the tower in which Leonara resided.

He kicked down the door and entered the tower, slaying the guards at the lower level and swiftly ascending the stairs to the Princess' apartment. There he banged upon the door, shaking it upon its very hinges.

A very cold and shrill voice answered, saying, 'What shadow looms without? What canst it do to me? For I have by my own light given it darkness.'

Lutrosis roared in anger and pushed down the door. Before him stood the princess, dressed in a gown of pure white, with the mirror of Desset in her hand.

[Chapter VII:  
The Hidden War on Sten Agoni](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Name

In the deep places below the earth there are innumerable caverns filled with flames and fumes unbearable. Even the delvers, who are heartier than all other races, cannot descend to these depths. The spirits of the earth rule this domain; the poisonous fumes and vapors whom men call the Gaians. In this dreadful place are tormented many thousands of spirits who have been cast down from the upper world by their enemies.

There, in the chaos and heat of hell, all knowledge and thought vanishes away as a drop of water vanishes in the ocean. There the spirits are made to suffer, and from this they cannot easily escape. Some indeed manage to pull themselves back to the upper world. But this is usually the result of a happy accident rather than any sagacity on the part of the souls of the damned. Agonistes alone among the gods, perhaps, escaped hell in the proper sense of the term.

Into this boiling pit of flame dropped a new spirit. The body of this spirit was already broken and beaten, and the descent into hell through so many layers of rock and earth did it little good. The torment of mind in such a place was so vivid that it drove from thought all but the agony and horror of the place. Soon the mind gave up its identity, thinking itself to be just another tongue of flame, or just another drop of molten stone. The name slipped from the tongue and all knowledge vanished away in smoke.

This spirit could not have hoped to discern how far it had fallen or how long it suffered beneath the earth. All time became meaningless and all thought became vain and empty. Days became weeks, weeks became months, and months seemed to turn into nothingness. But this did not last forever. All of a sudden a voice rang out in the darkness calling the name, 'Mityai!'

The word seemed to the spirit at first to be some alien sound, or some meaningless clanging of metal upon metal. But when it repeated itself several times, her mind was forced to recall. 'I am Mityai,' she thought to herself, suddenly distinguishing between herself and the flames in which she was engulfed.

'What are you doing in this place, Mityai?' the voice asked.

After considering each word carefully, as if she needed to search her memory long to find the meaning of each word, she replied, 'I am here because I have failed; I have gone against Pelas and suffered that which such spirits are doomed to suffer.'

'You must go against Pelas once again,' the voice said.

'I cannot, I have not the strength.'

'You have some strength, though, or you would not have even heard my voice.'

'Some strength! some.'

'And does that strength belong to you alone? Did you give it to yourself?'

'It was given me, though I know not why.'

'And why could not he that gave it to you supply that which is yet lacking, if he so desired?'

'He might,' she said with a weary voice.

There was a great flash of light, and Mityai found herself removed from the heat of the earth and in a darkened cavern, the ceiling of which was crowned with many beautiful gemstones. Before her stood a strange figure; a man cloaked in brown with a belt of twine. 'I am called Paley,' he said in a comforting voice.

'Is it you who rescued me from that place?' she asked humbly.

'I plucked you from the fire,' he answered, 'but in doing so I have simply done what was required of me.'

'Why would one wish to spare me from my doom? What god would take interest in the very weakest of the sprites?'

'Not a god,' Paley laughed, 'The Eternal One.'

Mityai fell down to her knees, 'I cannot be of any use to such as he.'

At this Paley just laughed. 'Have you not heard it spoken among men, that there is nothing in the world but power?'

'No, I have not,' she answered, 'though I do not doubt that it is the truth.'

'Indeed,' Paley said, 'Every which way you look there is power; things acting upon things, the stronger of which has its way. Does not the greatest honor go to the greatest?'

'It is even as you have said,' Mityai answered.'

'What demonstrates the greater power, Mityai: the victory of the spear against the dagger? or the victory of one wise word against an army of men?'

'The wise word,' she answered, 'for it is of little import, yet its effect can be great.'

'And why then should we be surprised to find that he who loans to man the power to will and the power to live, should demonstrate his own great power, not in those deemed to be the greatest, but rather in those deemed to be the least? In doing so he shows forth his invincible and unalterable will.'

'You said that I must go against Pelas,' Mityai said nervously. 'Am I to be given words of wisdom to bring to the spirits above?'

At this question Paley laughed. 'Do you not yet understand what it is you have been called to do? Behold yourself!'

With those words the whole cavern lit up and Mityai saw before her a great pool of water. On the surface there stood a great warrior; a woman, decked in the finest of heavenly armor, bearing in her right hand a great spear and in her left, a mighty shield. Atop her helm was a great plume of pure white feathers that flashed like lightning in the bright light. 'Who-?' she began to ask, but as soon as she spoke, the lips on the warrior moved. Before her, in the pool of water, stood her own reflection.

'You have much to do, Mityai,' Paley said with great pride.

The Wolf Returns

The first light Mityai saw upon her return to the upper world was the bright light of a half-moon. She stood for a moment transfixed by its beauty, and stared at it with great delight. But soon her attention was brought back to her surroundings. Before her stood a great host of wolves, and in their midst stood the great devil-wolf Ghastin.

'Lord of wolves,' she said to him. 'Your time in this world has run out, and it is time for you to pay with your soul.'

The great wolf howled with rage and walked slowly toward her, blowing steam from his nostrils as he raged within himself. 'Shall a fish swallow a whale?' he asked, 'Shall a deer consume a wolf? Shall the prey bring down the hunter? You know not to whom you speak!'

'Do not trouble me, Ghastin, for I have but a little time ere I must depart. If you will not come with me, to put an end to the gods of Weldera, then I must slay you now and send you to Abban Don without mercy.'

'You speak of Abban Don?' he said, suddenly showing a little fear. It seemed at that moment as if he was perfectly torn; not knowing whether he should test the intruder's might or whether he should accept her word as truth. In the end he made this resolution, 'I will go,' he said soberly, 'Not for the sake of my own hell-bound skin, but for the sake of hatred. It is time for the false gods of Weldera to take their place among the dead. And if by doing so I buy for myself a little time, then I shall be all the more pleased to do so.'

Saying this, he came and stood before her, and seeing her great majesty he bowed his head and whispered, 'So the time has come at last? The scattering of the ancient powers...'

The Devils Scatter

The mountain of Sten Agoni was as densely inhabited by ghosts and spirits as it was with men. On this night, when several thousand Amlamani warriors stood ready for combat, so many thousands more stood invisibly braced for war. Pelas himself was on the march, it was said, and he meant to take upon himself the form of the young Galvahirne, a thing he had not done in all the years of his exile from the north. To inhabit a body of flesh he had always deemed to be a disgrace. But now, after he had lost so much, and when he could no longer deny his growing impotence, he resolved to battle his rival with equal weapons. 'Flesh against flesh,' he said as he led his servants through the Amla Gap, past all guardians and spying eyes, into the land of Amlaman, and then north to the hill of Daufina, on which sat the ancient Temple of Agonistes. 'I will cast him again into hell, this time I shall not grant him hope of return.' He said this as though he had such a power. 'Yet even as this shall be his end, my own spirit will revive itself in resurrection, and I will at last triumph over my ancient humiliation.'

By the time Daryas and Rahdmus entered into Ramlos there were already many hundreds of thousands of spirits, gods and devils battling upon the hill of Agonistes and all throughout that land. Many hundreds had already been cast down and sent into the fires of hell. But even as these two great hosts raged against one another, taking ground here, losing ground there, inhabiting cities and scattering hosts of immortal souls, Mityai appeared, riding upon the wolf Ghastin and shining, to their ghostly eyes, like the very light of the sun. The striking of these two against the hosts of Pelas and against the servants of Agonistes, was like the falling of a great oak into a stream; even as the waters scatter and are cast about by the force of the fallen tree, so were the warriors of these two rival gods sent into a panic and cast down. It seemed to them as if the lords of the North had come once again to punish them, and to take away at last what spark of life remained within their ghostly bodies. The teeth of the wolf and the spear of Mityai turned every which way, making no difference between the servants of Pelas and the servants of Agonistes. After a while some of these spirits even cast their lot together, and as a single force challenged the wolf and its rider. But it was of no avail, the power that had been given to the sprite, and the natural power of Ghastin lord of wolves was more than any of them could withstand. They fled or they perished.

When they had made an end of the spirits in the northern woods, they turned abruptly and descended with great speed into the valley wherein was hidden the Nunnery of Agonistes. Ghastin, shunning the gates, leapt over the great walls with ease and slid to a stop upon the smooth white stones within. Mityai dismounted and, giving the wolf a nod with her head, she rushed into the northeast tower, where long ago she had met the goddess Evna.

Theodysus Shining

Lutrosis and the Princess locked eyes and stared at one another for a great length of time. Until finally the princess, disregarding the bloodied sword in his hand, lifted the mirror to her face and laughed. 'What a shameful sight you are? How full of double-mindedness, and how filled with pride and hopeless desire! You are more akin to an infant than a man; your will is full of incontinence. Begone from me, shadow.'

Where all others had either fled at the terror of her words, or obeyed in confusion, Lutrosis remained, with a soft laugh echoing from within his iron mask. 'Do you not know, fool, that among men you will find no savior? Cast me out, then, and see what comes your way next. It is easy for you, I am sure, to judge the hearts of others, when all you discern within your own soul is beauty and virtue. But it is virtue to and for yourself, and for no other. Lay down that pretentious mirror, and take up a mirror of glass, to look within and see your folly and ignorance. I give you but one chance, to cast aside that devil's toy.'

Much taken aback, Leonara lowered the mirror to her side. Without warning, a wooden chair rose from the floor and flew at Lutrosis with great force. He ducked and turned, allowing the chair to shatter into a thousand splinters against the stone wall of the chamber. This chair was followed by two others and then a table, a vase, and several other pieces of furniture. A dagger rose from the table near the window and flew with great speed at Lutrosis' throat. He caught it ere it slew him and he cast it to the ground at Leonara's feet, pinning her dress to the ground. In great surprise, she backed away, tripping over the fastened hem of her skirt as she stepped away. She fell to the ground with a shriek and lifted her arms over her face. But as Lutrosis approached her, he was stopped. For Daryas had caught up with him at last and, leaping upon his back, pulled him to the ground. There they wrestled and fought for control of Hiron's sword with all the ferocity of mortal enemies. In the end, as before, Lutrosis proved stronger; taking up the sword he laughed, saying, 'You cannot kill me any more than I can kill you, Daryas son of Biron. But I have the advantage that I will always overpower you, and there is naught that you can do to overcome me. You dream of righteousness! But you are the one taken by imagination - it will never be, not for one such as I.'

Lutrosis then grabbed Daryas by the throat and lifted him from the ground, squeezing the very life from his body. In a whirl of pain, Daryas lost himself for a moment, thinking his head had been ripped from his body. But after a moment he found that he still had something remaining of life within him.

'There is Theodysus,' Daryas said with great labor, 'and now I think I understand.' With those words said, thrust his fist into the iron face of Lutrosis and then wrested the sword from his adversary with ease. Lifting Aevangelu high above his head, he brought it down upon the mask of iron, sending sparks of flame and light flying out in every direction. Lutrosis hollered and the mask split in twain, falling with a heavy thud upon the stone floor of the chamber.

A great sickness fell upon him as he looked at last upon the face of that creature who had for so long been his tormentor. It was his own face.

In that instant the histories of these two became, at last, but one story, and Daryas saw at last the depth of darkness that dwelt in his own heart. 'For every virtue,' he thought to himself, 'I have vice a hundredfold.'

He fell to the ground and covered his face with his hands. Feeling his neck, he found that the serpent was wrapped around his own throat, and that all this while it had been he who was filled with such evil thoughts and ambitions.

There he lay in desperate anguish, not being able to lift his tearful face from the floor. 'That name,' he thought at last, 'Theodysus! Theodysus, that name of names! I am told to surrender my will, but I am will through and through, and I have no power to overcome myself! With the weakest part of me, then, and with what little virtue remains, I plead, slay me, even as you have slain the Conjurer of Coronan, tear me from this life that I may be put to better use! Drive me like a brute, for like a brute I cannot drive myself aright.'

At that instant, a great wind blew across the valley, sweeping the smoke and clouds aside, pushing them into the west. The clear sky revealed a host of stars, the brightest of which was that star the Knarsemen of Titalo named for Theodysus. It's light was so clear and sharp that Leonara could not help but avert her eyes as it shone upon her mirror. It so stunned her eyes that she dropped the mirror to the ground, shattering it upon the stones. A swirl of dust seemed to rise from it, taking, for a moment, the shape of a terrible and regal looking lady. But then a gust of wind rushed through the room, and the dust was carried away through the window.

When all this had settled, Leonara cast her eyes upon the sorry Galvahirne who now lay huddled near her feet in shame and anguish of mind.

She threw herself to the ground and wrapped her arms about his shoulders, her crystal tears falling upon his wounded neck.

The Fall of Evna

In the ancient days there were many lords and ladies among the immortals, all of varying degrees of might and power. One of the greatest of these was she who was called, Evna. It was said that in the days of her ascendancy she was betrayed by a lover, and that ever after she became cold and cruel. She was queen over a vast empire in the easternmost region of Bel Albor, and the might of her kingdom was only rivaled by the lands of Pelas and Agonistes, who at that time ruled as one.

Ere the War of the Dragons, when the immortals were destroyed and the elves exiled from the north, she traveled into the south on a visit to a kingdom now lost to history, but which was said to have been a kingdom of dwarves built deep in Kharku. She never returned from that land, and her kingdom was divided between Pelas and his brother, the greater part of which was granted, at that time, to Morta, the ancient adversary of the Elven Fathers.

The rumor concerning the mirror that bore her name is as follows:

When Xanthur came to lay siege against Dadron, he was withstood for many long years by the brave men of Amlaman. But in the end, when at last he broke through their defenses and came to Falsis, he did so by giving this mirror to the queen of Japhrian as a gift, calling it Evna's Glass and telling her that within it was housed the power of a great fairy. How it eventually came to be known as the Goddess of Desset would be hard to discern. My own theory is that, knowing it to have some distant association with the dwarves, the men of Japhrian looked no further than their own land for its origin, reasoning that in Desset the greater part of these yet lived.

How the mirror became imbued with her spirit or her malice would be impossible to reconstruct from what little is known of her. But I imagine it would be in the same manner that such spirits come to dwell within the flesh and bones of beasts and goblins, swords and other holy objects.

But when at last that mirror was shattered, and its effect obliterated by the light of heaven, the ancient goddess was released at last, and began to take on the form of a woman. Indeed, it is not at all unlikely that she would have taken the opportunity to make her residence within the very heart and soul of the Princess whose mind she had, for all this time imprisoned. But as she took her form, another spirit entered the room and challenged her. To the eyes of the humans, there was naught but a gust of wind and blowing dust, but what truly comes to pass in this world has no duty to conform to things visible and comprehensible. There will always be things that remain hidden from eyes of clay.

Mityai rose up and put herself between the goddess and the Princess, saying, 'Back, leave this mountain and trouble this youth no longer. You have twisted many minds and blinded many hearts in your long reign. It is over. Begone and perhaps you will find some pardon for your evils.'

Evna looked at her with great disgust, 'How you have had the courage to approach the unapproachable I will not attempt to discover. But tell me at least, how it is that the frail sprite whose body I broke in this very room should come back arrayed with such pomp!'

'For all your long years, none have refused your interrogations. But no longer shall any satisfaction be given to your curiosity. Everything is shut up to you.'

'What makes you think such trinkets as those you now carry will avail against Evna, the goddess of Bel Albor?'

'It is not my responsibility to ensure that you believe my warnings, but only to give them as best I might. Therefore, prepare yourself! And learn at last that what power you have has been borrowed only.' With those words, Evna shrieked and lifted her arms to the sky. The whole world seemed to darken and all the hidden powers of hell were at her disposal. But Mityai raised her spear and with a charge so swift that no living creature could rival it, she thrust the spear into the heart of Evna, and pushed her to the window. The broken body of the once mighty goddess fell from the window and shattered into dust upon the ground below. The Spear of Paley that Mityai now bore put an end to her immortal life at last, and what remained of her was carried by the winds to be cast into the pit of Abban Don, which lies between the Frozen Sea and the Holy Mountain of Joiken.

[Chapter VIII:  
Fell Wolf](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

At the Nunnery

When at last Evna had been destroyed, and the Princess freed from her long torment, Daryas was in such a state of anguish that he fell into a swoon. Over his lifeless body the Princess wept, not knowing whether he was alive or dead. In this state they remained for some time, until at last Leonara heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs to her room. To her horror, her step-brother Volthamir appeared at last, carrying his sword in his hand. 'I have come at last, dear Leonara, to claim that which I have long ago earned the right to possess.'

'You have not the right to anything,' she said, with great sadness in her voice. 'Nor am I anything to claim.'

'Would you refuse me?' Volthamir said without emotion. 'Would you dare refuse the King of Amlaman?'

'The King of Amlaman? What remains of you but the shell of a great man, and the mockery of a tyrant. I will have no part in you.'

With that said, she turned her attention again to the son of Biron, who lay lifeless upon the stone floor. 'Troubled you are, my love,' she whispered, 'and full of many shadows indeed. But there is a spark in thee, that might be kindled to a great flame of light.' she turned her face toward the King and said with disdain, 'But you have within you a dark heart, and a treacherous spirit. For all the love you once professed toward me, you have only bitterness. Do you not know that there is a difference between love and desire? An artisan loves his work, and commits himself to the toil. But you are not an artisan; you are a glutton who knows only how to consume a dainty and cast aside its shell as refuse. So you have treated the land of our fathers, and so you would treat me. I refuse,' she said boldly, though with great emotion, 'for you are not the King of Amlaman!'

After she had spoken thus, the King approached her and struck her face with the back of his hand. Mityai, still being in the room, rushed to her side, but was pushed back, while a black voice spoke to her with words no mortal ear could hear. 'Well done, child, was your work in slaying Evna; but what power she had over this Mountain is no test of my own strength. Do not meddle in things greater than yourself. Be content to have done the god of Weldera such a service.' With that, perceiving Daryas yet to be living, Agonistes commanded a great host of his servants to enter into the son of Biron. 'Bleed him dry, he is as a ripe fruit, ready to fall to the earth - and break upon the stones below.'

With those words a black shadow, entered the room and thousands of devils crawled across the stones toward the body of Daryas. Volthamir snatched up the Princess with ease, and carried her away from the Nunnery toward the Temple of Agonistes.

'I now see, oh Agonistes,' Mityai said as she stood between the host of devils and her charge, 'that you have become the lord of all cowards.'

Rahdmus Awakes

Nearly an hour had passed between the time that Daryas departed and the moment that Rahdmus awoke from his slumber. It was not like him to sleep at all, for elves have less need of sleep than do men. For this reason it was his custom to keep watch while his companions rested. But for whatever reason, the elf lord fell into a deep sleep. He came to his senses slowly, seeing before his eyes the glowing face of a small child. 'Durivis!' he said with great emotion. But as he came to his senses, the visage departed, leaving only the stars above in his view.

When he noticed that Daryas had left him, he shook himself awake, and said under his breath, 'So this is how it must be. I pray for your soul, Daryas Galvahirne, for it will be sorely tested this night.' He looked up at the sky and said, 'But even so, if this is how it must be, then so it must be.'

Almost as soon as he was ready to depart, Novai came rushing up to him, almost in a gallop. The great horse stopped just before him and a great fear seemed to lay upon her eyes. 'What is it, noble one?' Rahdmus asked as he patted her neck. Looking to the south, Rahdmus could make out the hill of Daufina. 'I see flame and smoke afar off; we haven't much time!'

He threw his pack upon Novai and left his own horse to wander in the wilderness. 'She will bear me swifter and serve her master better than any other.'

Novai carried him over the hills and through the lands that she had just traversed, coming at last to the top of the burning valley in which the Nunnery was hidden. This he passed with great anxiety, knowing that his own task summoned him to the Temple, and that there was now nothing he could do to help the young son of Biron.

With great speed and with little difficulty, they came at last to the Temple of Agonistes, in which a great multitude of nobles were gathered. There he was accosted by the guard, who said to him with an impatient tone, 'Halt, fool, can you not see that the Temple is not open for peasants today?'

'Nor is it ever,' Rahdmus answered, removing his cloak. The eyes of the guard opened wide for a moment in utter disbelief. When he recovered himself he squinted, saying, 'Is it truly the Lord Havoc who now stands before me? Have you returned at last, to save Amlaman from chaos?'

'One might well say that,' Rahdmus answered sincerely. But now, tell me, where is the Prince of Amlaman?'

'Surely you must have heard, Lord Havoc, how Volthamir is King in his uncle's stead.'

'Indeed I heard that he ruled in his uncle's stead, but whether he is king or not will depend upon the sense in which that term is applied. Power he has at least! This much will be conceded by all. But whether power alone makes a ruler, that is a discussion we must leave for another day. But for now I must be brought before him immediately.'

'Follow me,' the guard said, turning his back to lead him up to the Temple.

Rahdmus sighed, 'You will want to bind my hands behind my back.'

'What? What are you saying?' he asked with great surprise. With a shudder and a chuckle he said, 'Why and how should I bind the mighty Lord Havoc.

'Lest I bring violence to this mountain, and to your master, and shame upon myself,' Rahdmus answered without any hint of insincerity.

The guard looked very uneasy, but nonetheless ordered that Lord Havoc be bound and tied, all the while keeping his eyes fixed upon him.

Rahdmus smiled and said, 'You were less afraid when you were deceived about my intentions, and when my hands were free.'

'Bring him to the Temple,' the guard ordered, now viewing the old knight with great suspicion.

In a short while he was brought into the temple itself, wherein he saw, ascending to the altar, the King of Amlaman, followed by three priests of the temple, in the midst of whom was led Princess Leonara. Though the fires raged in the valley to the north, and though the mountain was closed to regular visitors, there yet remained a considerable number of noblemen, guards, priests and other religious men worshipping in the Temple. These took no heed of Rahdmus as he was led up the center aisle of the Temple toward a small dais that lay directly beneath the stone gaze of the black god. He was placed in the middle of the dais and surrounded on all sides by guards. 'You should know, young men,' Rahdmus said to them, 'that if it were so that I was meant to harm your king, neither bond nor sword would be able to stop me. Be that as it may, however, I am not here to harm your king. Watch me, but rest easy; remain at my side, whatever comes to pass, and you will not be harmed.'

Of this the men made note, though they made no sign that they had heard him.

When Volthamir had ascended, he lifted his arms to the sky before the great black idol. He then took from his side that small knife, which of old he had taken in hand to slay his father's murderer. Then he made a gesture and the Princess was brought before him. She fought and pulled, but the grasp of Volthamir's guards was more than she could hope to resist. Finding herself unable to escape, she ceased her struggle and stood there upon the Altar like a statue.

'Behold, men of Amlaman, men of Ramlos,' the king began, 'Behold how I right the wrongs of our ancestors, and correct the sins of the people of Agonistes. Well did my mother speak when she named me Aganthos, for I shall play that part well, bringing honor to the dark god once again. This seemed to get the attention of every ear in the room, and every eye, in turn, surrendered its attention to the spectacle that now appeared on the Altar of Agonistes.

'The old master of Amlaman, who was unfit for the Dual Crown, was like one who plays in the street, performing petty acts of conjuring for a handful of bread from this one or perhaps for a small silver coin from another. He was a show and a facade, but there was no truth within him. In treachery he wrested the kingdom from my father, and so it was with great justice that I restored the kingdom.'

Many who were yet outside, both guards and worshippers, began to pour into the Temple, to hear what the king had to say.

'Hear, then, the extent to which this old magician Vulcan has deceived and imperiled this land! You know well, o men of Sten Agoni, how the people swore to bring justice upon the head of their ancient enemy Pelas of Dadron, and you know even better how we were utterly driven out from that devil's land! On whose account shall we lay the blame in this failure? Shall we lay it upon Agonistes himself? Or shall we acknowledge our own faults, and seek again to fulfill the word of our god?'

The people, now led to excitement by his bold words, and by the fires that calmly burned upon the altar, answered in unison, 'We will fulfill our vows!'

'Then let this, the daughter of the old Kingdom, the kingdom of false promises and treacherous words, perish first. It is well known in Ramlos, and indeed even in Japhrian, how the perverted priests keep the best girls in the Nunnery, and send peasants and the sickly to be fed to the dark god on the eve of the High Feast. This indeed wins them great attention from those girls, who, according to ritual, ought to become the brides of Agonistes through fire and not the pets of wealthy men. But this practice has lost for Amlaman the favor of our lord and god, who is not so easily fooled as the fat men in silken robes would have us believe.'

At that moment the darkness of the room was illuminated by a great burst of flame from the idol's mouth, and a great groan rent the air. Smoke billowed from the nostrils of the god, and the people stepped away from the Altar. 'Let us satiate him, therefore, with the last of that usurper's kin!'

Intoxicated with the fire, the night, the voice of their king, and a good deal of wine, the people cried out in agreement.

The King turned then to the Princess and said to her in a quiet voice, 'Shall you continue to refuse me, even now?'

She turned her head away from him and said nothing, weeping bitterly. He shook his head and beckoned his guards to lead her to the Altar. Her feet seemed to grow heavier and heavier with each step, until at last she could do nothing but stand in place. 'Your fate has always been in your own hands, daughter of mud!' he cursed her under his breath. 'You might come with me and have rest and security at last.'

'Nay,' she said weeping, 'My fate has been fixed from the beginning; my soul was not destined for rest or peace. Why should I seek them now, when they have always been false guides to me hence. Cast me into the fire, brother, for death can give me no greater injury than life has already inflicted upon me.' With great anger he turned once more to the crowd.

'Agonistes, will you accept the blood of this woman? Royal blood to recompense you for all the years your false priests have neglected your Altar, giving you peasant blood and worthless girls to possess!'

With that the fires raged and a great voice echoed from the idol, speaking in words both loud and unintelligible.

But as the roar of the fire died away and the rumble of the dark god's voice faded, there arose a great booming laughter that echoed throughout the hall, getting louder and louder until at last it seemed to steal the majesty of the idol itself. Every eye turned toward the Altar and saw upon the dais a strange prisoner laughing almost uncontrollably.

'That laugh,' Volthamir said to himself, feeling his heart sink. 'Lord Havoc!?' he said with great surprise and frustration.

'What an excellent show, o conjuror of conjurors!' Rahdmus laughed, 'You have learned every lesson of mine, and learned perfectly. Here you stand, possessed of the very wisdom and power of Agonistes, and here you stand speaking great and bold words concerning his dominion, yet for all of this I perceive that you believe not a word of it! This is nothing but vengeance! Petty, petty vengeance! O you have learned, Prince, to lie well. A sacrifice! A recompense to your god?' When he finished saying this he began to laugh again. 'And they believe it all too!'

'Lord Havoc,' Volthamir said thoughtfully, ignoring all that his old master had said. 'You return at an inopportune hour.'

'Nay,' Rahdmus answered, 'I return at precisely the hour the stars intend. How could I do otherwise?'

'The stars!' Volthamir laughed, still holding the Princess by the wrist. 'Now you speak of the stars as if they were gods. But in the old days you spoke of men in that way. You were the lord of the stars, then, old master.'

'I told you many things, Volthamir, only a little of which was true.'

'Then you should be relieved, old man,' Volthamir said with a shrug, 'for I believed only a little.'

'You believed enough to march to war,' Rahdmus said.

'If you refer to the Naming Stone, then you have truly misunderstood me, Lord Havoc, for I marched not for the sake of your magic stone.'

'Then could it be,' Rahdmus said, 'that you indeed marched at the behest of that devil Agonistes?'

Volthamir laughed, and answered sharply, 'What shall I tell you, old man? Shall I abandon the faith of my fathers? Shall I leave the altar in smolders like the ancients?' From his face, Lord Havoc could tell that he was lying for the sake of those who yet believed in Agonistes.

'Then you leave me no choice,' Rahdmus said as he lifted his hands above his head. The bonds that held him fell limply to the ground. In his hand he held a great stone of pure white. When the light of the fire hit this stone it seemed to turn the whole world into a darkened vault. 'Behold, the Naming Stone, by which the goblins of old became the dumb slaves of Daruvis, and marched at his bidding. What struggles you endured when you lived among the goblins of the Daunrys were not necessary had you this in your possession. This weapon alone threatens Bralahi's mighty throne, which no mortal has hitherto seen, and which lies hidden in the south. I trade it to you, son of Voltan, in exchange only for the woman whose life you now threaten to extinguish.'

At that instant a madness seemed to enter the room, and it was all that the guards could do to prevent the worshippers from seizing the stone that very moment.

The light vanished from Volthamir's eyes for an instant, in which the devil Agonistes strove against his will for the mastery of his body. But the King of Amlaman would not be moved. 'You shall bring yourself to ruin,' Agonistes told him, spitefully.

'Tell me, dark one,' Volthamir said within himself, 'when have I departed from ruin, that I could come to it? I am ruin - and I am not your servant.' A crazed joy seemed to rise up in his heart as he realized that within himself he held captive the dark god of Amlaman.

Volthamir laughed, waiting for the commotion to die away. 'I have indulged you thus far, old man, in deference to your long service to this kingdom. But no longer. You know as well as I that I already have both prizes within my power.' A rather genuine smile broke out across his face.

'There is no power,' Rahdmus answered, his voice sounding like a rolling thunder, 'that is not on loan. You have learned all, even as I have taught you, Volthamir, but your one failure is that you have not learned the limits of that knowledge. For all that your keen eye has observed, it has not occurred to you that there was ought that for all your efforts must remain unobservable.'

'Now I know that Lord Havoc has truly died,' Volthamir said with a hint of sadness in his voice. 'You now sound like one of the Heyan grandmothers, telling fables to their children to get them to BEHAVE themselves.' Volthamir paused for a moment, and then gave a sign to his guards, saying, 'Kill him. I am weary of this drivel.'

Unexpected Allies

Some time during the previous evening a small band of travelers arrived on Sten Agoni, saying that they had come from Ramlos to worship at the Temple. It was a festival day, and it was expected that many noblemen and religious families would be traveling to the mountain. By this time, however, the ceremonies had already begun, and all those who had been expected to arrive had been accounted for. So the coming of this band, some thirty travelers altogether, was wholly unforeseen.

The guards at the foot of the mountain knew not what to make of them, so they sent at once for their captain. By this time the night was fast approaching, and the guards were not willing to remain in that place while they awaited word from the Temple. They took it upon themselves to conduct this party of travelers up the road toward the top of the hill. 'You may lodge here for the night,' they said as they directed the people to their dwellings.

But this the leader of the group flatly refused, nor would he permit any form of argument to sway him from his resolution to, as he put it, 'See the face of god this very night, and celebrate his providence and lordship over the sun of heaven.'

'Blessed are those who serve the god faithfully,' the guards responded, as was customary in such a circumstance. 'But nonetheless, we must await word from Sten Agoni.'

'Then you must pardon us, if we make an attempt to walk up the hill without your permission. You see, we have been sent on an errand of great importance, and cannot be waylaid.'

'If you,' the guards warned, 'or any other among you make such an attempt, we shall not hesitate to draw the sword against you.'

'Very well,' he said, 'But we fear the brokenness of our word more than we fear the swords and scourges of men. Therefore, in accordance with our commission, we will come to the Temple, or perish by your hand this very night.'

The guards, seeing how no words could sway them, and how they were willing, it seemed, to suffer death on account of their request, decided it would be best if they sent word directly to Lord Fanastos, who was now Captain over all the warriors on Sten Agoni.

Night was fully upon them when at last the great warrior of Amlaman appeared. He was very short with them at first, refusing to allow them passage, saying, 'Neither the High Priest nor the King has said anything concerning such worshippers traveling from Heyan. You cannot enter into the Temple this night.'

The leader of the group made great protest, saying they would sue for justice in the King's court in Japhrian, where, he doubted not but that the Captain of Volthamir's armies would be judged and reprimanded with all the severity the Fell Wolf of Heyan could manage.

But for all his pleading, Fanastos would not relent. Finally, when the conversation had ended, another of the travelers approached, saying to the leader with great humility, 'Nay, dear Master Fholstan, we must not press this man any further. You know how it is, my lord, how the mighty say nothing to their servants, yet expect them to obey nonetheless. We cannot expect this man to know his master's will, or to know that which his masters have withheld from his ears.'

At those words Fanastos grew irritable. 'I know my master's will; and I know that he wished for none to approach the mountain save for those noblemen who were already expected at the Festival.'

'Indeed,' the second traveler affirmed, 'And why should our word go against such an expectation. If the King has said that our band shall not come to the mountain, we are in no position to dispute it. I pray he will not be wrathful, then, to learn that the men of Heyan have been turned aside. Will you be good enough, my lord,' he said to Fanastos, 'to tarry in this place while we compose an apology to our lord and King?'

'Indeed,' Fanastos bewildered. But as the men set about compiling their apology, he began to feel sheepish, thinking to himself, 'Why should Fanastos, who has for all these years been captain over the armies of that fiend, now fear to have his own mind.'

'Stay your hand,' he said to the travelers. 'I grant you leave; for I see that you are sincere in your desire to adore the god of Amlaman and Ramlos.'

'Indeed,' the first traveler affirmed, adding, 'and the god of all Weldera!'

Fanastos bowed his head, and ordered them to be conducted to the Temple without delay.

Almost as soon as they entered the Temple, however, this strange party of travelers seemed to vanish into the very walls of the Temple and the very stones of the floor. Here and there Fanastos could see one or perhaps two that he thought had been among them, but all certainty departed from his mind concerning both their sincerity and their purpose. For the remainder of that night and all throughout the day that followed he wandered the Temple and its yards searching for some sign of these strangers. By the end of this time his whole body was soaked with perspiration.

Not Carried Out

For this reason, though all seemed hopeless in that instant, the commands of the King of Amlaman were not carried out. For the moment the guardians of the Temple drew their blades, Forge Collesirne and a dozen of the Noras warriors arose, shouting 'Thaetla!', which is the infamous war cry of the Lapulians, meaning 'Arise Chaos'. Having shouted this, they surrounded the old elf and pointed their blades outward.

'The Black Adder assails us!' the people shouted, thinking the devil worshippers of the east had suddenly come against them. Many of the nobles and worshippers rushed from the Temple in horror. Lamps were kicked down, torches dropped on the stone floor, and shouts and screams echoed through the hilltop. The Temple guards surrounded the men of Noras and began to press toward them, pushing them back toward the Altar, from whence they would not be able to escape.

Their first strike ended in failure, for the Noras were too skilled to be felled so easily. From the rear of the temple another large group of Noras appeared, also shouting 'Thaetla!' These struck down the guards from behind. Short work was made, in this way, of the guards of the Temple. Revere and Jerson, the third son of the fallen Cheftan Aargo Medglirne, shut the doors of the Temple, locking the worshippers in, and, for the time at least, keeping the soldiers of Amlaman out. Fanastos rushed into the skirmish with great hatred in his eyes, knowing now the folly of his pridefulness. He slew three of the Noras warriors before he was confronted at last by Dynamis, who made a quick end of the most famous warrior of Amlaman.

Seeing his men fallen, and perceiving that there now lay nothing between this band of intruders and his own person, Volthamir took his demon sword in hand and turned his fury against the Princess. Rahdmus leaped upon the Altar and threw himself between the King and his prey.

Volthamir did not swing, however, and a look of shock passed over his eyes. 'What is this?' he said with disdain. 'You would trade your life for this?'

Rahdmus bowed his head and set his knee upon the ground. Everyone else in the temple stood fast and watched this marvel with great anxiousness.

'What? Without a fight? Without a battle? Without courage? Is this truly Lord Havoc, of whom so many tales have been told? It surely cannot be!'

'In a sense, my son, it is not,' Rahdmus said, rising from the ground.

'Give this man a sword!' Volthamir demanded. 'Lest I gain no satisfaction from staining this Altar with your blood.'

'I can grant you no such satisfaction, for I am forbidden to take sword in hand.'

The King took a sword from one of his guards and brought it before Rahdmus, holding out the hilt for him. Rahdmus sighed, but lifted not a finger to take it. The King let it fall to the ground, the metal clanging as it struck the stone. He circled around his old teacher, as if to discern whether it truly was the once bold man of mystery. Finally, he knelt down before his master and set his own head against his, saying, 'Now, let us see it! That old Lord Havoc, who was lord of so many men and devils, even keeping the black god of Amlaman as a pet, as it were. You, who knew the secrets of Legion, and who attained all that he desired. Strike off my head, and save this land, if it be your will.'

'I have not come to do my will,' Rahdmus said. 'and I swear to you, my prince, that my will is not to harm you nor to wrest Amlaman from your hands. I have offered you the very power we sought from the beginning, in exchange for this girl, toward whom you no longer bear any affection, and who is dispossessed of all regality. But now, Volthamir,' Rahdmus wept as he spoke, 'you shall have neither.'

'Indeed,' the King answered, 'your insurrection has seen to that, and I perceive that I cannot escape the snare you have set for me.' With those words he grabbed the mighty elf and threw him off the Atlar with a great cry of anger and hatred. 'I curse you, Lord Havoc, and you cowards of Noras, in Lapulian guise! What is it that you think you can see that I cannot?'

With those words he took up his sword again and grabbed the Princess by the hand. She resisted him, but his iron grip was so strong that she could do naught to prevent him from doing as he wished. He pulled her in front of himself, and set his blade to her throat.

The Devils and the Serpent

All this while Daryas lay as a dead man in the Nunnery of Agonistes, still a great distance from the Temple. The smoke from the burning woods was streaming into the room from below and from the open window. Yet he could not rise to leave, for that devil serpent was yet wrapped about his neck, choking him to death slowly but surely. 'What manner of fate is this?' he wept within himself. The devils of Agonistes came against him with a great fury and tore at him with invisible fingers and claws. His mind went black and he fell into dreadful nightmares, the sorts of which his former horrors had only foreshadowed. Devils roamed openly throughout his imagination and he cried out and tore at his face in anguish of soul.

Mityai rushed upon these devils with a cry and skewered many thousands of them with her spear, but their numbers were so great that even she, empowered with the weapons of heaven though she was, could not manage them all.

But as she fought, a light appeared in the room, and Paley once more appeared before her, born as it were from the light of Theodysus above. 'Leave them,' he said to her, 'I will see to their end.'

At that moment, a small devil fled from the room and vanished into the woods. 'go after him, Mityai, and cast him down to the deepest of hells, but return to me without delay when you have done this.'

Though she was greatly vexed, for the sake of Daryas she obeyed without hesitation.

When she had gone, Paley looked down at the swarming devils. He lifted his finger in the air and a burst of light came forth, like lightning leaping from one cloud to another. In the next instant, the room was empty and the devils utterly destroyed.

'Now to see to this serpent of yours,' he said, turning his attention to the young Galvahirne. 'Such a clinging devil is not uncommon for men such as you,' he said. 'Men are born with so much passion and so much angst; against which their knowledge alone has little power. But this is not the way it was meant to be from the beginning. Think not, however, my son, that life is meant to be cruel. For that Power which lies beneath all the sundry manifestations of this world will not leave off his work until the very last of his wishes be made manifest. When a man is at last confronted by what he ought to be, the result is always that choking, sinking sorrow of remorse. You know, as many others have found, that the love of life drives one to many sorrows. Nonetheless, all men love their own lives, and cherish them. Our duties then, insofar as they oppose our desires, become to us a burden and a bloodletting devil, even as they have become to you. When a man is at last in such a state he will often fail to perceive that the very source of his disappointment and remorse is at the same moment the source and fountain from which is begotten the very life he loves. Duty! What is man for if he is not man for a reason? And if he has such a reason, then it will ever bind him, as chains bind a prisoner. Misery this will be to the willful man, who cannot relinquish his own desires.

'I perceive, my son, that you are ready to be free of this suffering. I cannot free you from this serpent entirely, for a part of him is a part of your own soul, and he must ever be with you. But let the light of Theodysus shine upon you, and remove from your neck the sting and wound of this biting demon.'

Paley took the serpent into his hand and began to uncoil it from Daryas' throat. Daryas gasped and drew in the air, putting his hands upon Paley's strong arm. Inch by inch he unwrapped the snake until at last all that remained was its fierce head and jaws, locked into the flesh of the young Noras warrior. 'Release him,' Paley said to the devil with a calm voice, 'for mankind will not always be filled with rebellion.'

The serpent seemed to understand his words, and it released him, and came into Paley's hand. He set the creature on the floor and watched it slither into the darkness, vanishing from sight.

Daryas arose at that moment and put his hand to his neck, asking, 'The serpent and the wound alike are gone. Is this your work, master?'

'Some of it is mine,' he answered, 'But all of my works belong to another, and for what good I do I cannot accept any praise. I removed only the serpent,' he said. 'It was the tears of Leonara, which streamed across your flesh that have completed your recovery.

'I knew not that tears could have have such a power.'

'In all things is hidden more than can be seen,' Paley said kindly, 'Even in your own soul.'

Daryas looked to the floor and said, 'What could be hidden within me?'

'Perhaps a tear,' Paley said with a smile, 'or perhaps a great deal more.'

At that moment Daryas realized that the Princess was gone, and the memory of her abduction returned to his mind.

'Leonara!' he shouted, suddenly remembering what had happened. 'What have I done! What has my shadow wrought!'

'Nothing that cannot be mended by he who lends power to all. What is good will come to pass, fail as you wish. But strive as you wish for that which is good and you will find yourself caught up in a mighty flood that cannot be bound or halted.'

The Swiftest god

The small devil that escaped the light of Paley, was Zefru, who had, above all other qualifications, a great propensity for preserving his own soul. 'That was altogether too near the mark,' he said as he flew from the Temple on swift feet. 'Never more shall I be seen in this land; never more shall I serve the gods of Weldera.'

But ere he had passed from sight, Mityai appeared in all her glory, carrying her spear in her hand.

Perceiving that she meant to pursue him, Zefru turned and challenged her, saying, 'What can you do to me, sprite? For I, among all the immortals, have the swiftest foot and the surest step.'

'Yet you know not my name,' Mityai answered. 'How then can you make such a judgment? Such is the folly of all men and gods who leap from knowing some one or two or three thousand things to thinking themselves to have knowledge of all. I shall teach your dark feet better!'

With this rejoinder given, she lay aside her weapons and her armor and chased after him, darting from the Nunnery like an arrow released from its string.

At first Zefru thought he would pass into the east, and from thence, south to Kharku to disappear without a worry. But as this somber race continued, he perceived that his pursuer was ever gaining upon him. His confidence left him and he turned his attention to the dangers at hand.

The terrain over which they ran, and the many rivers and lands they traversed in that short while would be uninteresting to recount and unnecessary to understand. Suffice it to say, they traversed the Daunrys and passed into Noras, where Zefru hoped to escape his assailant. By the time he had reached Gavl Lake, he was running like a madman, being unable to give any thought to his next step.

When at last he was overtaken, he flung himself to the ground and sued for peace, saying, 'Blessed are the gods who overthrow the old order, and who set to right all that the devils have hitherto done. You have overcome me, now I shall be your servant forevermore.'

'Even as you have sworn to Agonistes before?'

'Even as I thus swore!' he assured her.

'And then to Ghestik, his servant?'

'Even so, I swear.'

'And then again, as you swore to Agonistes upon his return?'

Zefru became silent as swiftly as he had run.

'What use have the heavens of such an erring star as you? What use has a carpenter of a tool that cuts both wood and flesh?'

He stepped back, knowing that he had nothing to answer. The thought of Kharku came to him again. He made as if to run southward, and ran off in a full sprint. But when Mityai darted off after him, he turned abruptly and struck her in the throat, running in the opposite direction with all the speed he could muster.

When she had recovered, she stood upon her feet and called out, in a voice that echoed through all that land. 'Zefru, you servant of darkness, whithersoever the highest wages were paid, there has your heart always been loyal. But you have overlooked that in addition to power and honor, there are other wages for treachery and deceit!' Saying this, she lifted her bare arm to heaven, and took from the air a great bow, forged in starlight, and glowing with the light of the seven brothers Septimai, who the Knarse say reign over the wicked in hell. She set a single arrow to the string and let it fly into the north. It followed hard after the devil, who by now had run more than a league from her. When he turned, the arrow turned to follow, and when he dodged between the thick trees of Noras, the arrow likewise dodged, until he perceived that there was naught he could do to escape it. At last, when he could bear it no more, he turned and made one desperate attempt to snatch the astral missile from the air. It burnt his invisible fingers and pierced his shoulder without resistance, felling him for all his treachery in an instant.

Realization of Dreams

Paley had scarcely finished speaking when Mityai returned to him, her pursuit of the devil Zefru at an end. She was once more arrayed in the armor of heaven and she carried with her the spear of Paley. 'Now, Mityai, take this child to his destiny. It is the hour of the judgment of the gods.'

Daryas found himself suddenly alone, seeing now no sign of what had come to pass. He found the sword of Hiron laying at his feet. He took this into his hands and rushed from the tower.

The fire was now climbing up the very walls of the Nunnery, and Daryas scarcely escaped the building with his life. All the while he called out the name of his beloved, 'Leonara!'. Knowing there was nowhere else she could have been taken, he made his way north through the burning forest toward the Temple. The flames leapt about him and seemed to his eyes like so many devils, seeking to lick his life away like a wolf licks the blood of its prey. He pressed on, not knowing that it was the shield of Mityai that kept the fires of Fuehar, that devilish elemental, from harming him.

When he emerged at last from the flames, he found himself surrounded by many hundreds of Amlamani soldiers. He stood right before their eyes, but they saw him not. Mityai unloosed her flowing hair and wrapped it around him, shielding the firelight from illuminating him.

Seeing that the door of the Temple was held fast, and seeing the many hundreds of warriors and guards surrounding the entrance on every side, he felt his chances would be better if he sought out some other entrance. Mityai secretly led him around to the northeastern side of the Temple where there were several large drains that had been neglected since the ancient days. Perceiving that these must have, at least in the ancient days, led into the Temple, Daryas crawled inside and vanished into the darkness. Whether it was the direction of Mityai, or some memory from his many visions, Daryas rushed through the labyrinthine waterways swiftly and with ease. He came at last to a great pool, carved with the white stones of Dadron. The stones of the pool were severely damaged, however, and no water could be held within them.

Down several narrow halls he ran until at last he saw a great flicker of lights ahead. Three guards withstood him, but he cast them aside and dashed ahead, giving no thought to whether or not they pursued him.

When he came at last to the Temple and to the place where the Altar and idol of the dark good stood, he stopped short and felt his breath bleed from his lungs. A voice now spoke, and he recognized it at once as the voice that had so sorely troubled him for all these years. It said, 'There was a time, Lord Havoc, when you sought to do great evil and to rise above all the tyrants of the past. But you have failed, so now you make an attempt at virtue. But I will see to it now that your virtue goes as unrewarded as your mischief.'

'My son!' Rahdmus pleaded, 'Do not do this thing, do not cut off she who alone has always bore you goodwill, though you have become unworthy of it. You know, Volthamir, that you cannot do right in harming this girl.' When he saw that his entreaty was not being received he said in desperation, 'Take at least, my life in her stead. For it was I who led your uncle to slay his cousin; a thing he would never have done without my guidance. It was I who led your uncle to humiliate you, pouring out poison in this very Temple. Slay me, for you know as well as I, that the elves are for all their pretensions, yet mortal.'

'Mortal?' Volthamir said with an empty grin, 'So you say. We are all mortal; and you above all others know what that means in the end.' He then looked about the room, to see if there was any hope of escape.

His own warriors were still locked out, though it was certain that even now they were preparing to batter down the doors. But he could not hope to withstand the many swords of the Noras warriors for long. His heart sunk and he breathed quickly, hating himself for feeling fear in the face of death. 'Mortal,' he muttered. Then he turned once more to Rahdmus and spoke those words that had echoed in Daryas' mind for all these years:

'Answer me swiftly mortal, for I am about to die. Forget Hell and Flame; forget god and gavel. Leave behind you all superstition and sympathy and answer me truly. Why should I, at the moment of my death, choose that which is right over that which I have always desired? For I have paid my dues and now I have but one last choice to make.'

With that he pushed the sword so hard against the Princess' throat that it drew blood from her neck, which dripped onto her white dress. Her face turned white and she shut her eyes, streaming tears down her cheeks like a waterfall. Suddenly, the mighty hand of Volthamir felt a greater power act upon it, pulling his arm away from Leonara's throat with irresistible might. The Princess, now freed, fled to the side of Daryas, who now stood between the King and his victim.

'Galvahirne,' he said with disdain, 'Ever does your breed bring insult to the people of Amlaman.' He lifted his sword and prepared to strike.

The clash of his evil blade against Aevangelu was fierce and loud, shaking the very walls of the Temple it seemed. Light poured from the blades as the spirits of Legion poured their malice into each of the King's attacks. But Aevangelu dispelled every dark soul and slew the spirits even as they struck against it. Weaker and weaker the King's blows grew and Daryas' stronger, until at last the King fell back onto the ground.

'I have come to answer your riddle, lord Aganthos,' Daryas said with a great calmness in his voice. 'So long as you measure every deed according to your own ambitions, you will never find reason to sacrifice your own pleasure. There is no answer, then; and there is nothing to stop you from pursuing your own ends even to the end. For who ever said that doing good meant having good? There is naught left, then, but to make a choice and cast your lot with God or with the Devil. But whether you think there be gods or no, it matters not; for we are not judged according to what knowledge is given to us, but according to that which is made manifest by the path we choose. Herein the denier will always have the disadvantage that at the outset they have chosen to reject that wherein alone they might find righteousness. But if you are looking in this life for profit, then there is naught that any man can say to you.'

Volthamir flew into a rage and knocked the son of Biron to the ground, bringing his sword down swiftly upon him. But Daryas caught his wrist and, thrust his own blade through the King's chest. All the strength and might of Agonistes passed from him in that instant and he fell, as all men must, to the ground in death.

Rahdmus leapt atop the Altar and took his lifeless body into his arms, weeping and crying, 'Would that I might have been punished in your stead! For your crimes and mine are one and the same.' There he remained for a short while, mourning bitterly the loss of his old student, wishing that Daryas would drive a sword through his own heart as well.

Daryas fell to his knees in exhaustion and took the Princess in his arms. There they knelt and embraced one another, each weeping for the sorrows of the other.

But it still remained that surrounding the Temple were many thousands of warriors, still sworn to the perished king, and many terrified worshippers, still hiding within the Temple itself. In a moment these might burst forth and make an end of the small band of Galva heroes. But at that instant, the fires of Agonistes began to wax hot and the whole Altar became illuminated by the fire of the idol's eyes. Smoke billowed from his nostrils, and a great sound echoed from below, speaking words that could not be understood.

'What is this?' Daryas asked, growing uneasy.

'It is nothing,' Rahdmus answered, coming to his senses. 'It is the death cry of the old superstition, and the final gasp of the Welderan gods. My former works are undone at last.'

Yet it remained that the people began to prostrate themselves before the idol, thinking the murder of the king to have angered him. Such was the lamentation of the priests of Agonistes that even some of the Noras grew afraid, thinking indeed that the dark god was prepared to avenge himself upon them. Rahdmus drew near to the mouth of the god and, taking the Naming Stone from beneath his garments, he, with a slight reluctance, let it slide into the mouth of the idol. It rolled down his iron throat and lodged itself within some unseen place. The great voice of the dark god echoed through the Temple still, not daunted by this blasphemous act. But when once again the attempt was made to frighten the people with flame and light, there was naught but the groan of iron, and the fire and smoke alike were stopped up. There was a great burst of flame, and the dark god sunk into the earth a whole three feet, the head breaking off its foundation and shattering to pieces upon the ground. The ancient machinery that had hitherto ensnared the people of Amlaman was no more. Agonistes was now, to them, naught but a broken stone.

The Noras cheered while the holy men of Agonistes lamented; for the fraud that had for all these ages been inflicted upon the devout men of Agonistes was now revealed. All was confusion and chaos until Rahdmus lifted his voice to the people. 'Men of Amlaman, men of Ramlos, servants of that god who now lies dead before your eyes. Do you not now see that the power that lives and breathes within us does not, as this idol did, depend upon us for its might and influence. Turn away from the false gods of your fathers, and let your old faith lay in rubble, even as this devil now lies.

'Warriors of Amlaman and guardians of Sten-Agoni, bear witness to this, before you lies the body of Voltan's heir, who once was king over Amlaman. By his uncle's will, and by his own craven deeds, he bore upon his brow the Dual Crown of Joplis, which before Vulcan, none but your first father had worn. I call you to bear record with me, that the lordship of Ramlos must now pass to the daughter of Vulcan, who was rightful king of the northern realm. But of the south, let the remaining sons of Voltan come forth to make their claims without war or subtlety, and we will try their cases and hear their petitions, but only of those who have not engaged in seditious wars and violent uprisings against this land. For he who slays his kinsmen in rebellion is only a little better than he who slays them in tyranny.'

[Chapter IX:  
The Punishment of the Gods](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

Dark God

When Agonistes was driven from the body of Volthamir, he fled from the Temple without delay, feeling in himself already the pangs of a death that would soon come upon him. He fled into the night, evading the eyes of both spirits and men, hoping to disappear from the land, 'For a time,' he encouraged himself. But as he entered the smoldering woods that lay to the north of the Temple, he felt upon his skin the eyes of another. He turned abruptly and saw naught but an old man, wearing a robe of brown with a rope belt.

'Walk with me a while, Agonas' he said, much to the surprise of the fierce devil, who was in no wise accustomed to being seen by any who was not likewise spirit, and he had never been in the presence of one who did not quake at the mention of his name.

'I shall not walk with you,' Agonistes laughed, 'Do you not know who I am?'

'I know who you are, indeed,' the man said. 'I knew your mother, and her mother before her. I knew your father, and I knew all the kings of your line. I know also how your line ended. Now, come along.' Having thus commanded him, the old man took the spirit by the hand and pulled him irresistibly into a clearing, where he was told to look at the stars above. 'Can you give me the number of these bright lights?' the old man demanded.

Agonistes pulled away, but found himself unable to escape the old man's grasp.

'How should I know their number?'

'And to what end do they burn in the veil of heaven? Can you tell me that?'

'Who can know?'

'Look now at the earth below, and tell me, is it a work of wisdom or a work of chaos?'

Agonistes just shook his head.

'You know not the purpose of the world, yet you have the courage to lay claim to it? Your own presumptuousness condemns you. All is power, you have long said, and now it shall be revealed to you the truth of those words.' The old man released his hand and stepped away from him, transforming in an instant to a great dragon, bathed in white starlight. Hundreds of drops of light, like beads of rain fell from above into the clearing, growing swiftly into immense creatures, such as Agonistes had not seen since the destruction of the Northern world.

'All is power, yet power is but a trifle for us.'

'What can I answer?' Agonistes said, with great fear in his voice.

'There is nothing to answer,' the great dragon answered. 'Your time has come, and your humiliation has in this hour begun.'

From the midst of the dragons stepped Mityai arrayed like a goddess in the armor of Paley, holding her spear aloft. Her eyes shone cold with the judgment of heaven, and she struck the foul demon in the throat with the invincible iron of her weapon.

A great light shot up from that clearing, reaching, it seemed, to the very heavens above, and from that hour not a rumor or a whisper concerning the fate of Agonistes has been heard. When an end of Agonistes had been made, Paley resumed his human form and said to Mityai, 'Now, quickly, go into the south; there is one more god to be judged.' Obeying immediately, she turned and rushed into the south over hill and stream.

Cheru and Oblis

There were three great gods who in ancient times served as the guardians of Lord Pelas, when he reigned over the northern world with his brother. These were named, in order of their might, Ginat, Oblis and lastly, Cheru. Now Ginat, who was known as the Gigas, had already met his end some time ago, when the dark god first reappeared in Amlaman. He had been charged with guarding the wastes of Razzun, which are called by men the 'Gates of Hell'. For in Razzun there is a valley into which even birds of the air fall upon entering, so strong is the influence of the swampy gases that rise from within.

By the time the events I have recounted had come to pass, Pelas had neglected his communication with his mightiest servant, believing Agonistes to have been swallowed up in the flames of hell never to return. But Pelas' hand was not strong enough to send his equal so deep, and in due course, the dark god returned. Finding his way obstructed by the Gigas, however, he took to the wilds of Razzun, and waited there among the crows, who alone among carrion inhabited that perilous land. There he waited, sending by means of the crows a summons to all those devils who had once served him faithfully. Ghestik he neglected entirely, knowing that he was too strong willed to once more submit himself to his lordship. By means of these crows, Lord Havoc, who by long experience had learned all such methods of communication, came to know of the return of Agonistes.

Fit to be the subject of a book itself, Lord Havoc's battle against the invisible giant of Razzun was one of the greatest feats of elven might, whatever his purposes might have been. In the end he struck the god down and trapped his power within his sword, which is something that only he and his father knew the method of doing. Imbued with the power of Ginat, Lord Havoc became a veritable god among warriors.

Cheru and Oblis, though the mightiest of Pelas' servants, were considerably weaker in strength, though both of them were wiser in council. Of these two, Cheru proved the more patient and thoughtful, almost to the point of slothfulness. Oblis was stronger, but could not be relied upon for long tasks.

Cheru had acquired for himself a reputation for courage and strength in the old world, for having slain the wicked Amro, who at one time threatened to bring war against Pelas and his comrades. I say wicked because that is how he was described by those few who recorded such distant events. But wickedness as well as beauty, is all too often affected by the viewer more than by anything else. The deeds of Oblis were no less remarkable, though they are utterly lost to legend and myth.

It was between these two spirits that Pelas now strode, approaching the Temple of his rival, thinking that he would now have the occasion to do what he had long desired to do; to take upon himself the lordship of east and west. But as he entered the Temple, he saw the King of Amlaman fall, and the devil Agonistes flee in terror from the sting of that blade Aevangelu, which the son of Biron bore in the stead of Pelas' own sword, which had perished in Dadron.

Saying not a word, he turned to leave, perceiving that his plans had come to naught. But ere he left, a little thought entered his mind, whispered by Folly, who stood close to his brother Death. Pelas was now so caught up in his own plans that he did not even notice those three siblings who rule over spirit and man alike. Thinking it to be his own thought, he turned round again and said, 'No, the stars have decreed it, and none shall prevent it: It is time for Pelas to return to his lordship.'

Cheru and Oblis nodded and followed their master down the center isle of the Temple and up the stairway to the Altar on which stood Daryas and his beloved. 'In days of old I inhabited such a house of flesh, and in those days I was revered by all. For all these years I have shunned the flesh, knowing that in due course a man should arise worthy of my wisdom and glory.'

He turned to Daryas, who could see nothing of him. He spoke in a commanding voice, saying, 'Hear o spirits, and hear o men of Amlaman, is it not clear now to all that it is Pelas who reigns in Weldera? Now it shall be made undeniable, for in the son of Galvahir is a blood worthy of the divine, and in the daughter of Joplis is the perfect vessel to bear this blood. I shall be made new.' With that he stepped into the body of the Galvahirne as if to possess it. But in so doing, he cut his finger upon the keen edge of Daryas' sword. In all the ages of his ascendancy among the immortals, he had not so much as sensed pain or fear. But in that moment all the pangs of the flesh returned to his memory and he looked upon all the mortal men with disdain and disgust. He looked back at his servants, who were as surprised as he to see his godly finger dripping with invisible blood. 'How can such a blade, the work of forest beggars, cut the gods?'

In great anger he looked about, 'Have I not always maintained justice and mercy? Am I not the god of light? For what cause then do you withstand me?' He rushed from the Temple and fled into the south, to make his way back to his own abode in Dadron. Cheru and Oblis, without comment, followed suit, not knowing what had happened to make him behave himself so.

'Where, o master, have you seen such a blade before?' Oblis asked, 'And for what cause did you fear it so?'

'I fear nothing!' he shouted. 'Those fools are altogether unworthy to see the power of god among them.'

'But you just said that they were worthy, o god of Weldera,' a voice came out to him in the darkness. They had now come to a wooded place that lay some distance from Sten Agoni. He was so vexed that he had not noticed until that moment, that they were being followed by a pair of glowing red eyes.

'Come to gloat over the failure of the Noras?' Pelas retorted, still unwilling to acknowledge that it was his own will that had been thwarted.

'You were a laughing stock in the ancient days as well,' the voice said, 'and forever you will remain such.'

'What would you know of the old days?' Pelas asked with frustration.

'I remember the cell in which I was bound some four hundred years; and I remember the cruelty of your jailors. Indeed, I can recall the names of your wardens. Cheru, mighty slayer of Amro, and Oblis, the god of torment and horror.'

'Ghastin?' Pelas said, now noticing for the first time the baying of wolves and the scent of their fur in the wind. The great wolf appeared from the shadows and approached them boldly.

'It is time at last for your deeds to be brought to justice, or, at least to an end.'

'Who shall judge the deeds of a god?' Pelas scoffed.

'You truly refuse to remember, old man, how frail your mind had become ere we were all of us transformed. Great power you had, and prudence too, but your mind is so full of delusion that only the very foolish spirits follow you. You say that you witnessed the failure of the Noras this night, but it is truly you that is unworthy to be their god. How many ages have the Noras blindly worshipped you, yet you could not spare the Galvahirne their losses upon the mountain, nor could you, except by the work of devils, reveal your will to that sorry son of Galvahir who suffered so much on account of your lies. How much easier would his fate have been had he been free of your meddling? In the end, what was fated to be has come to pass, and Pelas had naught to do with it. You have tried to make yourself a god, all these long years, not remembering that this life is our punishment, and we are doomed to vex mortals, not to rule them. Such was the case with your sorry servitude to Lord Falruvis.'

'Servitude!?' Pelas shrieked, 'What foolishness! Falruvis worshipped me upon the holy hill of Dadron!'

'You mean to say, of course, that the people were led to worship you upon that hill.'

'It was prophesied from the beginning that I should rule over mankind.'

'In making yourself the subject of prophecy you acknowledge one higher than yourself. But leave that aside for now, and consider this, fool, how it was said that you would ever wrestle with the powers of this world, not that you would triumph over them!'

These cruel words stung Pelas like salt rubbed on a fresh wound. He shook his head, as if he might prevent his memory from conjuring up images of the past in confirmation of the wolf's words.

'Master,' Oblis said, when he could no longer bear his master's humiliation, 'shall I punish this devil, even as I did in the ancient days?'

Indeed,' Cheru said with a laugh, 'Since the demon wishes us to recall things of old, perhaps he will not mind if we remind him of our power, even as he reminds us of our doom.'

Ghastin laughed, perceiving that the hour of his revenge was at hand. The three gods leaped upon him at once, with their invisible weapons held aloft. Cheru bore his mighty sword, the girth of which was greater than a man's, and Oblis bore a long spear, that seemed to tower above the trees. Pelas drew from his side a regal sword, shining like the stars of heaven. Ghastin showed his teeth and leaped upon them, tearing at them with his claws and biting at them with his teeth.

After a great struggle the wolf caught Cheru by the throat and cast him to the ground with a shattered neck. 'Amro calls out from the dead to you, Cheru,' Ghastin laughed in the ecstasy of revenge, 'But what he says I shall not repeat, for you will hear it soon enough in that dark realm.' The mighty hero of old writhed in pain and agony such as only the gods can imagine. At last he vanished away.

Oblis, in great wrath, struck off the wolf's tail, and Pelas gouged out one of his eyes. In response, Ghastin knocked Pelas to the ground and sunk his teeth deep into Oblis' ankle.

Pelas arose, and seeing his comrade in anguish he sent out a loud cry, summoning to his side all those who yet remained loyal to him. From every corner it seemed, spirits began to appear. They surrounded the wolf and rushed in upon him, tearing at his back and clawing at his flesh. He let out a howl and whirled about in great wrath and pain. 'Coward, Pelas! Fight me alone, and see what manner of god you be!'

But Pelas put his sword away and nodded to the wolf as he passed, leaving his servants to finish his work. At that moment, Mityai appeared, riding it seemed upon the winds of the air. She struck down Oblis with her spear and cast his lifeless body to the earth, where it sunk into the grave of its own weight. Pelas, looking back, saw her casting his servants to their dooms with such speed and ease, that he took her to be one of the Dragons of the north. He fled into the wilderness, forsaking all roads and concealing his majesty under the shadow of the trees.

Pelas

In this way lord Pelas left the battle, fleeing into the wild alone, or so he believed. When Mityai came into the fray, she rescued the old wolf from the servants of Pelas and said to him, 'It is a rare thing, o master of wolves, that the decree of heaven be in so perfect accord with your own will. Go now, and make an end at last of that fell pretender!'

Ghastin, bowed low, and darted off in pursuit of his prey. 'Do not forget, however,' she said ere he was beyond hearing, 'your own life is in as precarious a state as that of your enemy. All men must at some time be brought under the hand of Lord Death, who has a claim upon all that walks and breaths, be they invisible or not. Have a thought for your own soul, Lord Ghastin.'

The wolf paused for a moment, taking her words to heart, then he darted off to chase down his foe.

The last thing Pelas knew, was the light of a single red eye, peering at him from the darkness. In a moment, all became agony and he was rent limb from limb by one mightier than himself. Then his eyes were shut by the hand of Death, who snuffs out light and darkness alike.

Old Man Sleep

It was not until the last of the servants of Pelas had either been destroyed or had fled away that Mityai realized that she had come to the end of her mission. Until then she had always some future task to fulfill, something more that she must accomplish. But beyond this last battle she knew not what to do. She lowered her weapon and began to walk again toward the Temple of Agonistes. The Spear she carried became cumbersome, and she perceived that her great strength had endured only for as long as she had needed it. She lay it down respectfully upon the ground and continued northward. Soon she found her shield too heavy as well, and let it fall to the ground. Soon to follow was her helmet, which she was greatly relieved to discard. Her hair poured out from beneath it like the water of a fountain, and fell upon her shoulders like a gentle fall of rain. Her breastplate and greaves, and bracers as well she heaped upon the grass. The western sky began to lighten, heralding the rising of a new day, and, to Weldera at least, a new era. But her own heart sunk to think of the long years that lay before her, and the loneliness of her exile. While she was serving Paley, she had that sense of purpose which alone makes life livable. But now that all was accomplished, she began again to despair. As she drew near the southern slope of Daufina, she saw, seated upon a stone, Old Man Sleep.

She bowed before him and sat herself down near his feet. He looked upon her face with a weary, but kind smile. 'The sun rises, and my dominion is at an end in this land,' he said sadly. He laughed and said, 'Is it not ironic, how Sleep rules the night, and Folly the day? When men are in possession of their senses they err most dreadfully. In sleep at least they are safe from the horrors of their iniquity.' He then rose from his seat and took Mityai's hand in his, raising her to her feet as well. 'Is it not amazing,' he laughed, 'what a little rebellion will do?'

She smiled, remembering the advice he gave to her long ago upon Mount Coronis.

'And look at you,' he smiled, 'full of light, like a newborn star! You have done well, and shown how virtue in weakness is better than great strength and valor. This world we inhabit, it is not ours to do with as we please.' He chuckled, 'Do you know how many people there are who believe that they ought to make themselves happy? As though man's happiness is that for which the heavens and the earth were established! What evils they will not perform for the sake of pleasure, for the sake of mirth, or for the sake of love! He who sets his own will against the power that moves the world, be he however so mighty and strong, will find himself trampled underfoot. But he who does what he ought, be he ever so weak, will find in so doing, that he has become mighty, insofar as he has become a part of that power.'

'But what shall become of such creatures, when their usefulness has been exhausted? Are we but tools, discarded when the job is completed?'

Old Man Sleep put his arm about her shoulder and said, 'Look above you, child.' She turned her eyes up toward the eastern sky. 'Do you see the dawning of a new day?'

'Yes, I do,' she answered.

'But what do I mean by day? Is it a mere repetition of what has formerly been called a day? Nay, each day is its own work and with the rising sun comes new tasks to be performed. So it is with our lives. When night closes at last our eyes in death, then begins the new day, in which, if we are not altogether useless, we shall share in new and better works.'

He then beckoned her to follow him. They walked a few paces to the north and then he stretched out his arm and made an opening, as it were, in the very air they breathed, large enough that a man might pass through. When this portal was fully opened, she saw such things as one can neither imagine nor describe, for they lie beyond what eye can see or ear can hear, and beyond what the imagination can create. At the entrance stood that creature Paley, though his robes were now white and his belt of golden thread. He reached his hand out toward her, beckoning her to follow. Her eyes grew wide and her heart leapt with anticipation as she stepped out of this world and into the abode of the Dragons and gods of old. As her thin hand passed through the door flesh burst upon it, encompassing her weary soul with life anew. When at last she had wholly passed through the portal, her body was restored to what it had been all those thousands of years ago, when the anger of the Dragons was unleashed against the immortals. Her cheeks became red with life and her hair golden once again, and her dress shone brighter than the stars themselves. The blood that now flowed through her felt like fire as it quickened her dying soul to an imperishable life.

'Come child,' Paley said, taking her hand into his.

[Chapter X:  
What Came to Pass](tmp_e84c7fcca9e665bf6a0469d078107aca_RtRhkA.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_002.html#Table_Of_Contents)

The Queen and the Law

Three days after the destruction of Agonistes, both of the idol and the devil, Volthamir thos Amlaman thos Ramlos was laid to rest with all the pomp and ceremony due to the kings of that land. He was placed beside his father in the tombs of Gehlel, which were built near the Razzun Highlands, where the dead, it was believed, could more easily pass to their next abode. Upon his brow was laid the crown of the dead, which all kings of Amlaman wore, and in his hand was placed a single silnani blossom, as was customary in the northern kingdom. Upon his breast was laid his demon blade, in which resided all the devils of Legion and many more beside. Rahdmus cursed that sword in that hour, saying, 'Let no man dare to take up this sword from this place. For it is a backward and an evil blade, rewarding its master with treachery and peril. In the hour that this blade is carried again into battle, in that very hour shall Amlaman quake and fail, and utterly vanish from among the kingdoms of Tel Arie.'

The Dual Crown for which King Vulcan had betrayed his own cousin was broken asunder, and the portion bearing the symbol of Star Hill in Ramlos was set upon the head of Leonara, whose ancestors had ruled and reigned in the north. The other half of the crown was reserved for a man named Lenatho, who, alone among the half-brothers of Volthamir, had shed no blood in the wars and rebellions of that age. Some of his half-brothers assailed him, but the armies of Amlaman made a quick end to all of the rebellions, leaving the whole kingdom at peace for a time.

On the fifteenth day of Ninus, Leonara thasa Amlaman was renamed Leonara thasa Ramlos, and the old order of things were restored in Weldera. She was dressed in a gown of pure white, the hems of which were embroidered silver thread, such as can only be purchased in the distant south. Her long hair was crowned with flowers over which was set the thin crown of Ramlos with diamond stars set upon silver leaves. The men of Noras were bidden to her coronation, and a treaty was made for the first time between Ramlos and Noras. For the rivalry of their gods was at an end.

Into her left hand was placed a scroll, which bore the most ancient laws of Ramlos and into her right hand was given a scepter of ivory and gold. But the law and the scepter were a grievous burden for her. For in Amlaman a queen was forbidden to marry a foreigner, and she was told flatly by the noblemen in that land that she must be brought under the dominion of a man descended from either Joplis or from Vol the brave, her ancestor.

When this news reached the ears of Daryas, his eyes once again grew dark and somber, but in them his brother could see no longer the doubtfulness that had previously vexed him. The brothers spoke to one another even as the Noras prepared for their return to Noras.

'Are you thinking of doing something rash?' Dynamis laughed. 'You know, brother, that you cannot conceal anything from me.'

Daryas just sighed, saying, 'Perhaps. But this time I mean to do it alone, though I will forever be grateful for what you have already done for me.'

Dynamis came close to him and the brothers embraced, shedding tears for all that they had passed through. 'Take Novai at least,' Dynamis demanded, 'she likes you more than she ever liked me anyway.' The brothers laughed and Dynamis put into Daryas' hand a small purse full of gold.

'What is this?' the younger brother asked.

'You will need it for the journey, and I know as well as you do that your own money does not last long in your pockets.'

Taking the gift from his brother, Daryas bowed low, touching his head to the ground. Farewell, Dynamis Galvahirne, I know not whether we shall meet again.'

'We shall,' Dynamis said with a smile, concealing his own fears.

Taken

On the twelfth day of Messest the people of Ramlos came out with their instruments and their songs to inaugurate the Feast of the Hunt. Leonara was driven in a white carriage to the northern border of Heyan, where she might watch as the archers competed for prizes and the warriors held mock battles. She was clothed in a dress of brown, with golden leaves sewn about her collar and sleeves. Over her shoulders was a white shawl and atop her head was set a crown of autumn leaves. Thousands of warriors, noblemen, hunters and peasants were gathered to see their new queen and to watch the contests.

In full sight of all these people, Daryas Galvahirne appeared from beneath the shadows of the northern border of Heyan, cloaked in black and mounted on a horse. He rode past her guards, who had ridden out to withstand him, and caught her in his arms as he passed, taking her gently in front of him in the saddle. This he did with so much grace that for some time the men of Ramlos thought it was some sort of stunt or spectacle. But when he rode away and made no sign of ceasing, they blew their horns and took to the chase. And a hopeless chase it was, as I need not inform my readers. For Novai was a horse the likes of which has not, nor shall again appear in Tel Arie. Together they rode through the maze of Razzun, passed to the north of Mighty Desset, saw Rinin from afar, and passed to the south, within sight of Titalo, the city of the pirates, coming at last to the northern edge of Zyprion, the black forest of western Weldera.

There, under the impenetrable shadows of the ancient forest they embraced one another and swore to the stars of heaven their eternal love and took vows of marriage with the mighty trees as their witnesses, and with the animals of the forest as their attendants.

When news of this reached the ears of Dynamis, he wept and lamented, knowing that his brother would never return to the forest of Noras.

Island

After they had spent a month in that place, building for themselves a small cabin and planting a garden, they were suddenly assailed by a band of men from Titalo, who had spied out their abode from the north, having seen the smoke of their chimney rising above the trees. Some twenty strong men armed with axes and daggers came and demanded that Daryas release the woman into their possession. But eleven of these men were made to feel the sting of Aevangelu, which Daryas still carried with him. The others fled in terror, clambering over one another to escape, finding their own blades helpless in contest with with that of the son of Galvahir. Rumors began to spread and the fame of his blade and the beauty of his bride attracted the attention of the lords of Titalo, who do not suffer any to dwell in their domain who have not sworn fealty to their Council.

After he had fought this last battle, Daryas said, 'I wish never to bath myself in the blood of men, so long as I live. Yet if we remain in this forest, we shall have need of many red washings. For my soul's sake, we must away from these evil folk.'

'What shall we do, then? Where can we flee now?' Leonara asked, fearing that they would lead a life of travel. 'For we cannot live always running from place to place.'

That night, the vision of the island once more returned to Daryas' mind, but now it was cleared of all things fearful and dark; for all such things had been the work of Pelas. A place of healing it seemed to him, and a place where no man could find nor trouble him.

The very next day he went alone into Hunlu, which is a village south of Titalo, and purchased two horses with the gold his brother had given him. Novai he sent alone into the wild, to find his way back to Noras, as he had done so many times before. These two horses they used to carry what little possessions they had into the west where they traded them for an old wooden boat.

There on the western edge of the world they could see the isle that the pirates called 'Dedge Isle', which, in the tongue of the Knarse, simply means Island of Ghosts. There it was believed that all manner of devils resided. No man had set foot thereon, for the waters were treacherous, and every attempt was met with calamity. But Daryas knew those waters well, and, recalling his dreams, he navigated them with great ease, finding at last a rocky shore on which to land.

He drew up the boat from the water and they lay themselves down upon the shore, free at last to rest in security.

There they built a home for themselves, and a little farm, using seeds they had carried from Zyprion. In due course, Leonara gave birth to three children: their sons, whose names were Galvar and Dyne, and Marima their daughter. There they were content to dwell, untroubled by the world without, and free at last to let their hearts heal.

Dynamis

It was not until eight years had passed that any clue was discovered regarding the whereabouts of Daryas and his bride. Two months after his disappearance that Novai finally found her way back to Galva-la. But nothing could be discovered regarding their abode. 'You would not have returned so fat and content, had your rider met an ill end,' he said as he patted his old horse. 'It is a pity that for all your cunning and your prudence you have not yet learned to speak.'

Nevertheless, the return of his horse gave him peace for a time concerning his brother's safety. That winter, on the eve of his brother's birthday, he married Lyris of Marin in a small ceremony in Peiraso. The speech, which was traditionally given to the groom's brother, was left unspoken, and an empty place was left at the table for Daryas. 'I will suffer no man to take his place,' he said to his bride, 'whether this breaks with tradition or not I am not concerned. For it is time for all the old ways to come under scrutiny.'

The marriage of Dynamis brought hope to Noras and great joy to the Galvahirne, but the sadness of his parents seemed only to grow with each passing day. He noticed for the first time, nigh on the anniversary of Daryas' departure, that his mother Marima ate even her favorite foods very sparingly, and his father's laugh was ever mingled with worry and sorrow. When a second year had gone by, his wife came to him and perceiving that he too was greatly grieved, she spoke to him thus, 'Beloved,' she said, 'it is not the way of the Galvahirne to languish in sorrow. Lift up your face, and seek out your brother, lest you grow old with regret for an overlord.'

The words of Lyris gave him a new resolve, and he began in that hour to conceive of a plan whereby he might bring his brother back to the forest of his birth.

After two and a half years had gone by, Revere, under guise as one of the Schoolmen of Dadron, appeared in Ramlos and was permitted to speak before the Council of noblemen. He bore with him a large bone (the leg bone of a goblin), which he convinced them by many subtle arguments to be the bone of the daughter of Vulcan their Queen. With a great show of false tears the noblemen announced the hope of her return to be vain, buried the goblin's bone with honors, and set about the arduous task of choosing from what wealthy man's household a new king should be chosen. Of the squabbles, rivalries, and sophistries of that period I have no desire to speak, but in the end Ramlos had for itself a new king, whose name history will no doubt soon forget.

Sion

When it was officially decided that Queen Leonara thasa Ramlos had been kidnapped and slain, Dynamis summoned the great eagle Maru and sent by him a message to his brother, a message which took nearly six years to find its recipient. It was not until some controversies in Lavri-la brought the absence of Hassan Lavrilirne to his attention that some means of finding his brother was discovered. Some relatives of Cheft Burrin were attempting to drive Ingra, the daughter of Cheft Grendas, from her seat in the lands that were, for a time, ruled over by Sion, the companion of Daryas. In all such matters, the Galvahirne were now looked to for counsel. Again Revere's subtlety was called upon, and he was sent, this time, to Titalo and Rinin to seek out news of the step-son of Cheft Ponteris, who had not been seen since the raid upon Cebrost.

In due time the sagacity of Revere led them to Sion, who had been making his living among the sailors of Titalo. Thus Revere learned of the island which had appeared at times in Daryas' dreams. Sion directed him to the maps of the Knarsemen and showed him where Dedge Isle might be found. 'But no ship can sail there,' he warned, 'for no ship can know those waters save for those that have been broken apart by them.'

When he learned of his friend's exile and of the troubles facing his wife, and when he learned of how his step-father had met an end, he grew very somber and sent Revere from his presence, refusing to say anything more to him.

Nevertheless, some two months later he appeared in Noras in the attire of a Captain of Titalo, and took up his seat in Lavri-la. He refused, however, to be called 'Cheftan', and so began the slow dissolution of the old ways. Some unhappy men tried to fight against it, but it was clear the the age of the Cheftans was passing. The doctrines of the Nihlion also, for the first time, entered into the lands of the Omnion, and the whole land of Galva-la, Vivlir-la, Cossa-la and Lavri-la gave up the name Pelas and turned their attention to the mysteries of the Eternal One.

Reunion

One day, as Daryas looked out over the rocks atop a great hill on Dedge Isle, he heard a cry such as no bird in that region makes. Looking below he saw, rising upon the winds, the mighty bird Maru with a tattered scroll bound upon its talons. The bird alighted upon Daryas' staff and the Galvahirne greeted him warmly, though with great concern regarding the urgency with which he had arrived. As soon as Revere had returned from Titalo the elder son of Biron called for the lord of birds once again, and sent him at last to summon home Daryas Galvahirne, the savior of Noras. The message informed him that 'Ramlos cared no longer to search for their Queen, being fully convinced by many proofs that she had been slain in the wild'. Moreover he learned of his parents' dwindling health, and of their growing despondency. Long he remained in that place, overlooking the western sky, wondering if he might, after all that had transpired, return to Noras. 'I can return to Noras,' he told his love, 'but I cannot return to myself. For though the forest remain as it has always been, everything within me has been changed.'

On the fifteenth day of Morest, in the forty-second year of this century, a small wagon rolled gently up the hill to the front gates of Peiraso. It was unheralded and unexpected. Its driver had a long beard and a dark hood, and what was hidden behind these could not be discerned. Snow was falling, and it was looking as though another cold winter was in store for Noras. But great warmth greeted the traveler as the doors were pulled back and opened before him. Running to greet him was the lady of the house, Marima, who now seemed so frail with care that it troubled him to see her exert herself so. 'Daryas!?' she said, her voice breaking as she wrapped her arms around him. For a very long while she could do nothing but weep in his arms. Then with great excitement, wiping the tears flowing from her eyes, she greeted at last her grandchildren, of whom she had known nothing, but toward whom she immediately bore all the depth of love she possessed. When she saw at last the beauty of Leonara and the sorrows behind her blue eyes, she wept and embraced her, leading her by the hand into the house. There they were greeted by Cheftan Biron, who seemed to have grown even more wise in the time that Daryas had been gone. The children were soon united with their cousins, the daughter of Dynamis and Lyris, who was called Elnay, and their young son, who was called, in deference to his uncle, Daryas.

There under the trees of Noras was the Queen of Ramlos, who by right might have borne the Dual Crown of her father, but rather chose a life of exile and simplicity. There she was called Anadora, and she cropped her hair in the manner of the Noras, taking their ways for her own. Yet she brought with her the nobility of the kings of Amlaman and Ramlos, and her voice was such that none in the land of Noras could rival. At times she would wander the woods, walking the ancient paths and trails, singing to herself of her sorrows and her joys, sending the mysterious beauty of her voice into the forest air. This soon gave rise to a great many tales and myths, which now come to mind with great ease to those who hear the name of that land.

As I write, even as the length of my own life draws nigh to a close, the very wind in that forest is now called, when it rustles the leaves and whistles through the branches, the Siren's Song, and it is a song both sad and magnificent.

Rahdmus

When the chaos at Sten Agoni had at last been sorted out, and when the burial of the King of Amlaman been finished, Rahdmus remained for a short time in Amlaman, seeing to the succession of Lenatho in Japhrian. Through all this time he was never questioned concerning the murder of Voltan or the plotting of that failed war in Dadron. He enjoyed almost the same honor and esteem that he possessed in the days of King Vulcan, who learned only too late how wicked were the ambitions of his advisor.

After Lenatho was crowned and after his kinswoman Leonara, during her short rule, had sent an envoy to the south to acknowledge his sovereignty, Rahdmus departed from Amlaman, coming to Dadron for a while. There his tale was related in full before Lord Akellnarva and, I might add, within my own hearing.

When all this was done he departed again, heading into Coronan to seek the cabin in which he had first encountered that spirit Paley, who had exercised so great an influence in all that had come to pass in Weldera. But he could find no sign of the place wherein his wounds had been healed.

He climbed up again to the cliff from which he had been cast down, and looking out over the edge, he shook his head.

'There was a time,' he said to himself, 'when my words were bold and strong. Looking into the face of the world I saw only evil and trouble, not purpose and meaning. Who was it that told me, 'Nature shall teach you the paths of righteousness?' Why should she? And what can man know of purposes that come before him, and designs that come before the world even? Can he pretend to see that which lies beyond sight? It is an easy thing for the rich to look upon the earth and say, 'It is good, all of it is the will of the gods.' But the blackness that meets the peasant, and the sorrows that plague the broken hearted say, 'The world cares not for you at all!' But both of these are mistaken! Why should the luxury of the rich prove the goodness and care of the gods? Why should our sorrows show their neglect? Pain, joy, misery and happiness; these are goods to man, and why should we expect them in this world at all? Why should we expect the gods to fill the world to the brim with pleasures for us? And why should we call it unjust for them to fill it with hurts and troubles? What do we know of the will of God, save for that which we find in our own wills? Our own wills! What sorry judges of truth! What sorry templates for a creator!

'The folly of those who follow superstition, believing what they have not cause to believe, is no greater than the folly of those who deny that which they have not the power to deny.'

He sat down upon the edge of the cliff and let the cool wind blow through his silver hair. He shut his eyes and listened to the sounds of the mountain, until at last the sun sank beneath the western hills, leaving him under the silver light of the moon.

'I have labored these past years in vain,' he said with tears in his voice. 'It is said among the people of Noras, and indeed, in all countries, that there is a god who holds in his hand a great scale of perfect measure. Upon the left is placed our righteous deeds, and upon the left, are placed the wicked. Who can hope to tip the scale in his favor? There was a time indeed when I laughed at such a thing, calling it a nursemaid's fable.

'I asked myself the very same question the King of Amlaman proposed, why should I choose right? Of course, all men ought to choose right, but why would they want to? On the path to wickedness lies all pleasures and dainties, all rewards and luxuries, and if there be no such scales, and if the deeds of my life bear no consequence, then it is better for a man to live in injustice, even as I formerly believed. To what end shall I seek the rough path, the selfless path? Why should my self be unselfish? Is that not a contradiction? What gain is there in righteousness for the man?

'Truly, if there be not a life to come, then he who shuns the world and its riches is the most foolish of men, and he who does the greatest injury for his own pleasure the wisest. If I am to die this moment, and my life be snatched away, what does it matter whether my last act be good or evil? I perish all the same, and my death is the same as the rich and the poor, the saint and the devil!

'Cruel!' I might accuse, but I know that such words are empty. Your world belongs to you, and if evil accompany me every day of my life, and trials abound, and I am broken by the way, then what of it? What right had I to anything else? If I must suffer, then suffer I must. We do not have to like this world. But if it so happens that good comes to me, and times of wealth and pleasure, then I ought acknowledge this to be a gift, and not anything that I deserved.

'But what can be done for a soul such as my own, when it has laid up for itself centuries of evil for every moment of good. Shall the scale tip and dump me beneath the lowest hell? Am I utterly undone, though I have learned at this late hour that I have been a fool? Oh would that I had perished with my family in the north, and never come to live in this place!'

Suddenly Rahdmus sensed that he was not alone atop the mountain. He turned, but saw nobody at first, but heard what seemed to his ears to be the sounds of a child, weeping.

As the starlight shone upon him, he saw by some trick of light, the shape and form of a little boy. His elven eyes, along with his father before him, had the power to see the spirits of the Northern world, though to almost all other men they were imperceptible. 'What is your name, spirit?' he asked, taking pity upon the sorrowful soul. 'And why do you weep?'

'I am weeping for my mother,' he said, covering his face in his hands.

'And what are you doing in this place, of all places?' Rahdmus asked.

'I have come across land and sea to find you, for with you walks a mystery that I have long sought to uncover. But as you spoke, my thoughts went back to my mother, who has perished in the distant east.'

'What is your name child?' Rahdmus asked, the hairs of his neck standing on end.

'I am Duri,' he said, lifting his face from behind his hands.

The heart of Rahdmus rose and then sank, recognizing in this apparition, the son he had not seen in many ages. Tears burst from his eyes and he made as if to embrace him, but fell to the ground on his face, knowing that he could not touch a spirit.

At that moment, a great storm arose and swept across the mountain, from the midst of which emerged Paley as if he rode upon a bolt of lightning. 'What are you doing here, Rahdmus?' he asked kindly, but sternly. 'What did you hope to find here?'

'A hint perhaps, of the cause of all my trials; and hope, if it be possible, that I am not utterly lost.'

'There are none, Rahdmus, who are with more hope than you. For had you not been accepted already, you would not have been granted the great responsibilities you have been given.'

Then Paley turned to Duri, and took him by the hand, saying, 'Come Duri, you will see your father soon. But there is much that must come to pass ere that day.' Duri looked once more upon Rahdmus, and at last seemed to recognize the face he had seen in the old world, ere the wrath of the dragons had rent his soul from his flesh. As Paley led him away, the storm seemed to vanish, and Rahdmus could see for a moment the country into which his son was at last to reside. Ere the sight of them vanished away, Paley turned to him and said, 'Go now to Heyan, and you shall receive a great sorrow and a joy, and a new task, such as will bring you to the end of your days.' The great spirit then put out his hand and pointed to the west. 'There is one secret that Lord Havoc never revealed to the Prince of Amlaman, when he was tutor and instructor; a secret that was humiliating to you, but which was the seed that brought forth the fruit of your redemption. It was upon that foundation that your life, as it is now, has been laid. And do not worry over the scales of the gods, for the Eternal One will take care of their balance himself.'

In due course, Rahdmus came at last to Heyan, and it seemed as if his memory of that place was restored in equal proportion to his distance therefrom. When he came to its eaves he remembered old Effren, who had murdered his own wife and daughter, yet who lived in honor and luxury. As he passed through Soleya and followed the old trail north to Fenwer he remembered old Hashias who had lived with his stricken daughter Deria and with the faithful Sarya. He shut his eyes as he remembered all the trials that sorry family had endured. 'How is it that I have forgotten you? As I approach, it seems as though no time at all had passed; but through all these past few years I have not thought of you.'

When he realized how long it had been since his last visit, his heart grew anxious. Knowing their poverty, and the shame under which they had long dwelt, and knowing further how he had been their only support, he grew more and more despondent as he drew near their old home. The men of the village could tell him nothing concerning their fate. 'Are you to tell me that nobody has sought the hand of the daughter of Hashias? She must be approaching her thirty-fourth year.'

'Some have inquired,' was the answer he received. 'But she would not be parted from her invalid sister, and no man would take upon themselves such a burden.'

This response gave him all the more reason for concern. But when at last Rahdmus came around the bend in the road he was surprised to see that some repairs had been made to the house, and that the roof and the upper floor had been restored. 'What is this? Who would have taken pity on them in my stead?'

When Sarya saw her visiter she fell to her knees in the doorway and wept over his feet. 'Blessed are your feet, my lord, for we had almost despaired of life altogether!'

'But what is this?' Rahdmus asked, taking her arms in his and raising her to her feet. 'The roof fixed? The house mended? Who has done all this?'

She stepped away from him slightly, with a look of confusion in her eyes. 'It was your companion,' she answered. 'He returned to us now and again, asking if we had seen or heard any news of you. When he came he was as liberal with us as you had been, and he said that we should not thank him, but save our gratitude for you should you happen to return.'

Rahdmus stood like a man of stone for a while, fighting his tears. In the end he burst out with a tearful laugh, 'Cruel flesh! Always you mock our nobility!'

'I don't understand,' she said, looking very concerned for him.

'Do not worry for me,' he answered. 'I am not worthy of your sympathies.'

She bowed low, touching her face to the ground, as if to show him otherwise.

'Rise, Sarya!' he commanded. 'You shall never bow to me again.' He then threw aside his cloak and lay his own face to the ground. There he remained for a time, with his eyes shut tight.

'This was my one secret,' he whispered to himself, 'that I could not, for all my bravado, escape my own sympathies.'

When he had recovered himself, he entered the house, and soon learned that Hashias had fallen ill and died the previous winter, leaving Sarya alone with her invalid sister Deria, who suffered still under her great afflictions. 'Will you help us,' Sarya pleaded, 'even as you have done so many times before?'

'Nay,' he answered. 'not as before.'

He remained in Fenwer from that day forth. He first betook himself to the restoration of the orchards and gardens that had once prospered on that land. When the next spring came he took Sarya as his wife and built for her and her sister a new home, such as only the hands of an elven prince could build. It was not gaudy or elegant, as were the homes in Dadron of old, but rather like a Noras cabin, but built to such precise measure and such perfect form that it seemed almost unworldly to look upon.

There in a new home, a new life began for him, and the immortality of the elvenkind seemed to vanish away from him in proportion to the love he bore toward his wife. There they grew old together, caring for her sister and raising several children of their own.

The children of Rahdmus were told nothing concerning their lineage until they had reached an age of maturity, and even then they were told to conceal the matter from everyone else. The health and wisdom they have grown to possess, however, has betrayed their ancestry, and by the time of this writing their reputation in Heyan was such that it is rumored among some that the immortals have returned to Tel Arie. But time will dispel this error by better proofs than I care to bring forth in this place.

Had Solran harkened to the warnings of Rahdmus when he had been given the opportunity, the elves would have either come to their old stronghold as saviors or perished outside the walls of Dadron as heroes. But they instead chose to reveal themselves to the world as murderers and villains, slaying all who dwelt in Ilmalam without provocation and oppressing the southern marches of Amlaman without mercy, all in hopes that they would see power pass once again to the elves. But all of their hopes were dashed to pieces when Simnahi, the emissary of Bralahi, was seen by their scouts riding into the south like a gale. He told them nothing about what had transpired in the north - for he had been at Sten Agoni when the gods came to an end. Had he stopped to warn them, they would have fled the region at once and vanished forever into the mountains. But they remained, and sought out news from Japhrian. Simnahi's face was pale with shock, and he could not find the words to recount what had happened. He rode into the south blindly and wildly, forgetting both his allies and his former hope.

By the time they were fully aware of what had taken place, they found themselves surrounded on all sides by warriors from Amlaman, led now by Lenatho thos Amlaman.

The elves fought to the end with all their power, but they could not withstand their enemies for long. Those who perished not were taken in bonds to fester and die in the prison of Amla City. Some, indeed, fled into the mountains and returned to their hidden kingdom, but Solran himself was slain during the battle. Even as I write the nation of Amlaman is yet at war with the elves of Solsis, and time alone will reveal their fate.

Into the Sea

The fall of Agonistes had been as sudden as it was dramatic. But the worship of Pelas continued for a time in the old temple of Dadron. But the life and beauty of the ancient religion of the elves had been stripped away by both the death of their god and by the doctrines of the Galvahirne, who were first among the people of Weldera to adapt themselves to the ideas of the Nihlion of Solsis.

Soon these doctrines came to Dadron also, and by their influence the people of that mighty city were compelled either to worship the Eternal One or at least to abandon their god of stone. Some of their priests made an attempt to call this Eternal One of the Nihlion by the name of Pelas, but their endeavors ended in failure and their preaching sounded empty and hollow even to their own ears.

In the end, the Temple was abandoned and its stones put to better use. Rahdmus and I met once again by the shores of the Frozen Sea in the middle of Messest as the last year of the century drew to its close. The great idol of Pelas had at last outlived its welcome, and, lest it become a stumbling stone for men of other ages, it was resolved by Lord Narghelu, the grandson of Lord Akellnarva, that it must be cast into the sea. Rahdmus had aged quite a bit by then, his face now matching his silver hair. I could tell that the life of the immortals was fading within him.

'You look almost as old as I,' I jested, comparing his ancient silver hair to my own hair, which was now quite long and gray.

He smiled and asked, 'Have you ever had, in all these years, any news of your old friend?'

'No,' I answered. 'But the deeds we have seen have been rumored in Dominas and, to a lesser extent, even in Kharku. I am not utterly without hope for him, though I do not now hope to see him again; in this life at the least. If he will not return to the Nihlion, perhaps the ways of the Nihlion will find him where he now dwells.'

'I hope and pray that he will be among those to be restored in that day. Even as I have such hope for myself. For I am convinced that if aught can be made of my own sorry life, then there are none who are utterly destitute of hope.'

'Indeed,' I answered, 'To live is to have hope.'

End of Book V

About The Author

I was born and raised in New Jersey; and I am New Jerseyan through and through, wherever life may take me.

For Christmas one year my parents bought me a Lord of the Rings computer game. I started playing it and was so inspired by the story that I put the game aside and did not touch it again until I had read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. Those books sparked within me a love of reading in general and a love of fantasy literature in particular.

My favorite genre, however, is philosophy, particularly as it relates to ethics and metaphysics. This, together with my love of the fantastic, is the inspiration for my writing.

In my reading I have seen how ideas affect history. For this reason it has been important to me to not simply tell a story, but to show how the characters interact with different ideologies and ethical dilemmas. I want my readers to at least understand, even if they do not sympathize with, the villains of the story.

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