

### The Chronicles of Anuru

### Varata Lohikäärmeta:

## The Tales of the Wyrm

### (Volume I)

by

D. Alexander Neill

Smashwords Edition

© Copyright D. Alexander Neill, 2012

ISBN 978-0-9880653-6-9

(Smashwords Edition)

♦♦♦

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Contents

Author's Note

A Foreword from the Editor

First Rune: The Tale of the Making

Second Rune: The Wave-Maiden

Third Rune: The Sacrifice of Miros

Fourth Rune: The Deed of Bræagond Æyllian

Fifth Rune: The Lay of Ironfist

Sixth Rune: The Hejlaggr Women

Seventh Rune: The Lay of the Daughter of Exile

Eighth Rune: The Wood-Maidens

Ninth Rune: The Fall of the Sorcerer-King

Tenth Rune: The Mountain-Dwarf

Eleventh Rune: The Prize of Alfarran

Twelth Rune: Come, Maidens!

Thirteenth Rune: The Lament of Fineleor

Fourteenth Rune: The King of Winter

Fifteenth Rune: The Jewels of Harad

Sixteenth Rune: The Arms of the Elflord

Seveneenth Rune: The Dirge of the Betrayer

Eighteenth Rune: The Three Tribes of the Dwarves

Nineteenth Rune: The Supreme Soul has Fallen

Twentieth Rune: Where are the Dragons?

Twenty-First Rune: The Lay of the Bridge of Bones

Twenty-Second Rune: In Eldarcanum

Twenty-Third Rune: The Ballad of Perky and Ella

Twenty-Fourth Rune: The Apotheosis of Miros

Appendix – The Ancient World

Epilogue

Other books by D. Alexander Neill

Author's Note

This is a book of poetry, verse and prose that is intended to serve as a companion volume to the various novels that make up The Chronicles of Anuru. All of the material found herein is original; most of it is new, but some of it has already been published in my various novels. Eventually, all of it and more will make its way into my books; I offer it here simply for the enjoyment of those who, like me, derive pleasure from writing and reading this sort of thing, and find it handy to have it all in one place.

In due course there will be a second volume, and perhaps, Powers willing, a third. In the meantime, I wish you all the best – and I thank you most sincerely for reading.

\- D. Alexander Neill

June 2012

P.S. Don't mind Gwen. She's a bit of a handful, but her heart's always been in the right place.

A foreword from Gwendolyne, your Editor

Salvé, lector, as the elves say. How's tricks?

My barrister (yes, I've got one on retainer; don't ask) has advised me to tell you up front that the book you're holding in your hands right now is forbidden knowledge. More precisely, it's stolen. You should probably do your best not to be caught with it.

There – full disclosure. I feel better already. Virtue really is its own reward, isn't it?

Let me explain. At the dawn of time, the Universe was spawned out of the chaos of the endless Void by the two great forces, Ana and Uru, the Light and the Dark, in perfect balance. They also gave birth to the Anari and the Uruqua, the Powers of Light and of Dark, to contest for mastery, and thus determine for all time whether good or evil was the stronger. Bræa Lightbringer was first among the Anari; and her brother, Bardan Eyðar, the Ender, was first among the Uruqua. They fought, creating Servants and Minions to do their bidding and serve as soldiers in their great battles; and together they wrought Anuru, the place of light and darkness, to serve as their battlefield, populating it with all manner of creatures to participate in their war.

But everything, everyone, that Bræa and Bardan made was an expression of their own will, wrought within the confines of the Balance, and thus could never grow beyond it. And so Bræa made her great gamble: she created her Children, the Brahiri or Kindred, out of the stuff of Anuru, weaving into their essence threads of the Void, so that they might one day grow beyond the Balance, and exceed the will and intent of the Powers, and even of Ana and Uru themselves. It worked, but not as Bræa had hoped. Her Children – elvii and Dwéorga, holbytlan and man – went their own ways. Some obeyed her, and some rebelled. They built realms and kingdoms and empires, choosing their own gods from among the Anari and the Uruqua alike. Great cities rose and fell, wars of mortals ravaged Anuru, fire and blood washed away much that had been built; and in despair the Powers departed, abandoning mortals to their own fate.

There's more on this in "The Tale of the Making", at the beginning of this book, and still more in the Appendix at the end. If you're able to plow through it all then you're a better man than I am. Which wouldn't be hard, since I'm a Halfling, and a woman.

Anyway, the great kingdoms of the elves failed, and darkness fell, lasting a score of centuries. The darkness ended when the dragons of light, led by the Argent Three, brought the Tarinas Valtakirjas – the Book of the Powers – to the elf-king. The Three did something else, too; they inaugurated a secret society, the Brotherhood of the Wyrms, to serve as their agents among the Children of Bræa. Each Brother was – is – given a copy of Varata Lohikäärmeta, "The Tales of the Wyrm", the first volume of which you now hold in your hands. The Tales – or Runes, as they're called for some reason; I don't know why – that are contained in the books vary by source, by author, and by language, but they all have one thing in common: they all recount stories of valour or import that the Argent Three thought worthy of the telling. Whenever members of the Brotherhood gather, one among their number will tell one of the tales, binding all together in shared history and purpose.

There's a lot more to the history of the Brotherhood, and the history of the world for that matter, but you can figure all that out on your own. The first rule of the Brotherhood of Wyrms is that we're not supposed to talk about the Brotherhood of Wyrms. I'm not really big on the whole 'rules' thing, as you've probably guessed. Besides, there are plenty of books out there that talk about it; you can do your own research. History bores the bull-cobbles out of me.

The books belonging to the Brotherhood, I should probably mention, are ensorcelled. They have two interesting properties. The first is that they update themselves. Some of the Tales are as old as the World Made; others were penned in the last few decades. Whenever a skald or singer creates a new, worthy tale, it will appear in the books of all Brothers. Speaking from personal experience, this means that the damned things keep getting heavier. I'm glad I won't live a thousand years, or I'd probably need a wheelbarrow to trundle mine around. The second property is that they cannot be copied; anyone who tries to write down anything that the books contain finds himself penning gibberish. That's why this book – the one you now hold – is so important (and – ahem – valuable). I obtained it from a colleague who renounced the Brotherhood. Actually, she didn't so much renounce it as transcend it; it turns out that she was rather more than just a "Brother of Dragons". I could tell you a lot more about her, but I think I'll stop there; she's got a nasty temper, a very long arm, and even fewer scruples than me. I'd rather not tempt fate any more than I already have.

A Word on Sources

After I got fed up with trying to figure out where these stories came from, I decided to do a little research on my own. Here's what I managed to find out:

Æfenléoð Hargóinna means "The Evensongs of Hargóin." They were written by a dwarven skald (in Dweorgaspræc, naturally) by a fellow named Harwéac Hargóin. Today he's one of the biggest names in poetry and what-not, for two reasons: first, because he writes a lot of music and plays the tambours like a drunken monkey; and second, because he was one of the heroes that helped defeat Glycomondas the Spellweaver, the King of the Shadelves, when he invaded Dweorgaheim sixty years or so ago. One of the songs Hargóin wrote about that battle is found in the following pages. I don't think it translates very well, but what do you want? Singing dwarves always sound like they're gargling potatoes. Oh – I should probably mention that I heard Hargóin perform not that long ago, in a little place called Ganesford, in Zare. He's getting old, but he still knows how to bang a drum.

"The Ballads of the Bjerglands" are a easier both to swallow, and to follow. They're written in the travelling tongue by a fellow called Ian McLaren, who spends most of his time in the Zaran hinterlands, wailing and rhyming for meat and mead. He's good. But they're not all poems and songs; he occasionally wanders into prose, which I don't like all that much. Puts me to sleep. If it puts you to sleep too, you should make sure there's nothing pointy on the table in front of you that might get stuck in your forehead when you pass out.

Canto Renovatium – "The Song of the Renewal" – is a load of pretentious nonsense written by that master of elven rhetoric and balderdash, Ceorlinus Rectinarius. Everybody loves his stuff, and I can't for the life of me imagine why. His plays are all right, I suppose, but his poetry gets a little tiresome. He was a hell of an historian, though, and penned the definitive treatises on the history of the Ancient and Modern Worlds. An excerpt from the former can be found in the Appendix at the end of this book.

The Charitráni Sarvaloka may be one of the oldest sources represented here. I'm told that the name means "Tales of Valour of the Heavenly Host", and that it was written in the tongue of the celestial realms long before Bræa made her children. I wouldn't know; I wasn't around to see it. Nobody knows who wrote the Charitráni. Hopefully they don't have copyright laws in heaven.

The Libram Regnum Tertius means "The Book of the Third House", and it doesn't have an author either; it's a collection of songs, poems and stories dealing with the high elves and their kingdom. I've already mentioned the Tarinas Valtakirjas, which means "Tales from the Book of the Powers"; all I know about those is that the Book was written in wyrms'-speech, which suggests that dragons wrote it. Or somebody who can talk to dragons. I do know that "The Legends of the Golden Teacher" (Tarusta Lehtori Kultainen) was actually written by a dragon – a kulta, or golden dragon, one who called himself Ryskankanakis. I like those ones. Finally, one or two of these come from a set of songs called Victoria Alferiæ, "The Victories of the Elves". They were written by an elven skald called Amalux Cantor – a stage name if I ever heard one – and they tend to be fairly turgid epics about battles and tragedies and what-not. Good luck getting through them.

Also, there are some other bits and pieces that come from miscellaneous sources. I don't know all of the authors; I just thought I should throw these ones into the pile and let you sort through them. I can't do everything myself, now, can I?

So now you know as much as I do about where these stories come from. You know what the worst part is? There's not a single limerick in the whole damned book. Some people have no taste at all.

All that to say that this book is unique, which is why it was so expensive. You paid for it, though, so I hope you enjoy it. Me...I'm just glad I don't have to carry two of the things around anymore. And if you happen to find yourselves in Bymill, in the Zaran Bjerglands, drop by my pub, The Halfling's Hearth, where the waitresses are cold, and the ale's hot. Or something like that. Marketing was never my strong suit. Anyway, if you do show up, I promise not to cheat you. Much.

As for this book, bring it with you and I'll sign it. Who knows? Someday it might be worth something. You're welcome.

In the meantime, good luck. Or as the elves say – mundus vult decipi.

Gwendolyne of Æryn

The Halfling's Hearth

Bymill, Zare

15 Efterjule, 1055 NH

♦♦♦

First Rune: The Tale of the Making

♦

(from the Tarinas Valtakirjas)

On star-strewn nights – on the eve of Bræa's Dawn, upon the solemnity of Harad, at Jule, and in celebration of the founding of Ekhan – the skalds lay down their vithelles, lutes and tambours, and they tell the tale of the Making.

In voices reverent and low, they speak these words.

♦

In the beginning, all was Unmade; naught there was but the Void, ever-changing, chaotic, unpredictable, and infinite in its constant fury. All that lay within it was ruled by chance. In time, chance calls all things into being, and so, at length, chance brought forth light; and in the instant that there was light, so also was there darkness. The light, which was called Ana, knew itself – and so, too, did the darkness, which was called Uru. Together, they desired a firmament upon which to contest one against the other, to determine which was the mightier, the light or the darkness. And so together they forged the Walls of Evertime, to separate the World Made – the vasty Universe, and all that lay within it – from the World Unmade, the seething madness of the Void.

Through the formless mists, light and darkness circled each other, like foes everlasting, seeking ever for advantage and ascendancy. But because they were equal in might and in purpose, the struggles of Ana and Uru were in vain. Nothing came of their endless strife. And so, after an eternity spent in fruitless jousting, they joined.

In the instant of their union, the Powers were birthed: seven of Light, called the Anari; and of Darkness, seven also, called the Uruqua. First among the Powers of Light was Bræa, the eldest, of radiant beauty and matchless might; and her two sisters, Vara, of gentle mien, and Tian, who stood for justice and order. Their four brothers were Hara, the wise; Esu, the brave; Nosa, the swift; and Lagu, the strong. The Uruqua counted among their number Zaman, called the deceiver; Tvalt, who became the judge of death, and later the Master of the Long Halls; Kær, the thief; Morga, the destroyer; Ekhalra, the witherer, she who, in latter days, became the Queen of the World; and Dæsuglu, befouling all with his accursèd touch. And above them all, chief among the Uruqua, stood Bardan, lord of darkness; Bræa's opposite in every way, and her bitterest foe.

The Powers fell swiftly into debate over how the universe should be governed. Debate became disagreement, and disagreement, dispute; and dispute slid swiftly into battle. The Anari strove with the Uruqua, and all the universe shuddered with the blows that were struck, for the light and for the darkness. But because they were equal in might and in purpose, the Anari and the Uruqua, like Ana and Uru before them, struggled in vain. Nothing came of their endless strife. And so, after an eternity spent in fruitless combat, they brought forth new life: slaves of power, to do their bidding.

Thus were the Minions born; and they were mighty, brightening the skies with their fires, and darkening them with their wings. Though lesser in might than the Powers, they were more numerous by far. And because of their numbers, they beseeched their masters and mistresses to make for them a battlefield; a thing over which to fight. And so Bræa and Bardan met, and reached agreement, and put forth their strength – and thus were created the heavens and the earth. And these were together called Anuru, that is, the place of light and darkness.

The struggles of the Minions grew until all Anuru echoed with the thunder of their strife. The Minions of the Light wielded the power of the Anari, shattering their foes with lightning, and spilling their heart's blood with lances of silver fire. But the Minions of Darkness responded in kind, scorching their foes with fire, and smothering them in clouds of suffocating shadow. In these battles, the fallen were legion. The Uruqua who perished turned to stone, and from their petrified flesh were formed the mountains, the hills, and all the sands of deserts and of seas. But the Anari who perished turned to light, brilliant and joyful; and they became the stars of the sky, and so even in defeat, bathed their fallen foes in benevolent luminescence.

The War of the Powers lasted an eon, and the fallen littered the earth, and made brilliant the Heavens. But because they were equal in might and in purpose, the Minions struggled in vain. Nothing came of their endless strife. And the Minions, and even the Powers, despaired; for none among them could conceive of any way to end their eternal war, and bring it to a conclusion, through triumph and defeat.

None, that is, save Bræa, who envisioned a means of sundering the stalemate; for she alone understood that the Balance was an ineluctable facet of the universe itself, an artefact incorporated, all unknowing, into its fabric, by Ana and Uru, who had had the Making of it. And so Bræa reached beyond the Making, beyond the Walls of Evertime, and took in hand some of the formless substance of the Unmade realm beyond; and with this, and with scraps of each of the four elements of Anuru – the winds and fires of Heaven, and the waters and stones of the earth – she crafted the four Kindred.

From the wind, she made the Elves, light-hearted and free; gentle in repose, but furious when aroused. From fire, she crafted Men, curious and fecund, who spread swiftly throughout the world, like the hungry and rapacious flames of which they were made. The Halflings mimicked the waters of the rivers, fast-flowing and capricious, deep and unquenchable, from which they sprang; and from the bones of the earth came the Dwarves, stolid and steadfast, and implacable in their enmity for the darkness that sought, from the very first, to overwhelm them.

Because they were formed of the body of Anuru, the Kindred were native to the universe, the World Made; a part of its being, belonging to it like none others – not even the Minions – ever did, or ever could. But because they bore also within them a piece of the Unmade realm that lay beyond the Walls, they were forever free of the strictures of the Balance – the endless and eternal equilibrium that bound even the Powers themselves.

Bræa hoped that her children would willingly serve the Anari; that they would grow in mastery, might and wisdom; and that, in the fullness of time, they might overturn the Balance between the Light and the Dark, that the Light might, someday, emerge triumphant. And that it might do so before the World Made returned, as someday it must, to the chaos of the Void, in the inevitable Unmaking – the apocalypse foretold, that the Kindred who knew of it called the Breaking of the World.

But her children did not meet her expectations. They proved to be wilful and disobedient; they disobeyed Bræa's commands, and flouted her will. Some even abandoned the light, and swore allegiance to Bardan.

Bræa was wroth, and gathered her strength to destroy her wayward sons and daughters. But Ana intervened, and stayed her hand, saying that freedom had been Bræa's gift to her children, and that freedom meant choice – including the choice to serve the darkness, rather than the light. Bræa refused to accept this; and so Ana was forced to break her, and took the light that was in her. And from that light, Ana formed a great star in the sky, the mightiest of stars, and called it Bræadan, which is 'Bræa's Lantern'. And the light of the Lantern was an eternal reminder to the children that their mother had essayed to betray them, and had been stayed.

That they might never again be threatened by their mother, Ana took from Bræa her children, and divided them into four peoples; and gave each of the peoples to one of Bræa's younger brothers. Hara, lord of woodlands, skilled in the ways of the Art Magic, was given lordship over the Elves; Esu, courageous, warlike, an explorer and conqueror without peer, received Men as his charge; Nosa, swift and cunning, meddlesome and curious, was given the task (some said 'punishment') of attempting to govern the Halpinya, the Halflings; and Lagu, wise and compassionate, who loved the earth, and was skilled in shaping metal and stone, was made the father of Dweorga, the Dwarves.

Thus sundered from each other, and from their mother Bræa, the Kindred prospered under their new masters. But they were still wilful and disobedient.

♦

Among all the Kindred, the tale is the same. In the lofty bowers or starlit palaces of the Elves; at the firesides, in the longhouses, or alongside the castle hearths of Men; in the comfortable homes of Halflings, smelling of breads and meats and ales; and even in the deep stone halls of the Dwarves, redolent of water and iron, the same tale is told.

The skalds tell this tale to remind all good folk – all of the Kindred – of their common origin.

They tell this tale to teach the children, who cluster at their parents' knees, eager to hear the words, if barely grasping their great import.

But mostly...mostly, the skalds tell this tale to show how the Powers themselves have erred.

For even the designs of the gods, howsoever carefully crafted, can sometimes go awry.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

Yawn. Don't worry, it gets better. A little, anyway.

Second Rune: The Wave-Maiden

♦

(from the Tarinas Valtakirjas)

In the ancient days of shadow

Ere the Lantern lit the heavens

Ere the light of Lamps illumined

All the fecund earth beneath them;

When Uruqua and Anari

To the clarion call assembled

In their stern array all gathered

Spear and shield and mail a-glitter

Doing battle for the heavens;

Then the skies were black with thunder

And the heavens' with war resounded

And the earth beneath was sundered

Burnt with fire; with bloodshed blackened,

All the fields with fallen 'cumbered

All the hills bedecked with weeping;

Then alone the seas were peaceful

For the fiends of dark forsook them

And the light disdained to breach them

Hesitant to venture near them.

For the seas are cold and calming

And their depths are all unknown

Nothing cared they for the Powers

For Uruqua, or Anari

Nothing cared they for the battles

Or the thunders, or the fires;

Merely ate the fallen bodies

Merely drank the drainèd ichor;

Swallowed sword and spear and shield

And the hands of those that held them

Drowned the fields 'round the mountains

Fed the weeping skies above them

And the rippling brooks beneath them

And the wood and wold about them –

For the seas care not for striving

And themselves are life eternal

All unasking, only giving

Bringing life unto the living.

In the ancient age of making

Mother Bræa, in her wisdom,

Sought to worst the fell Uruqua

And upset the plans of Bardan

For they servants had in plenty;

Minions of the Light and Darkness;

Wings of light, and wings of shadow

Fang and fist and claw abounding

Blade and bane that shook the heavens –

All the creatures of Powers;

Sprung from thought and will eternal.

Swift their did their master's bidding

Stern their duty and their glory;

But withal they knew no triumph

Only endless ire and battle

For the Light and Dark were equal

Dual faces of existence

And their minions held the Balance

And could not withal upset it.

To undo this knot unyielding

Mother Bræa wrought her Children

Taking in her hands the earth-stuff

Forging sons and forging daughters

From the winds she made the elvii

Wise, eternal; rife with beauty;

From the waters, the holbytlan,

Swift and laughing, changing ever

From the stones she wrought Dwéorga

Strong and stolid as the mountains

And from fire, made she men-folk

Ever seeking, ever hungry

Four the tribes of Bræa's Children

Four the kinds of the Brahiri

Owing nothing to their maker;

Ruled by naught but their desires.

As they prospered, Hara Sophus,

Wisest of her younger brothers

Bent his knee to Mother Bræa

And besought of her an answer:

"Mighty sister," quoth the Wisest

"Thy fair children wax and prosper;

"Four in kind, and four in temper,

"Earth, and water; wind, and fire;

"But I ask thee, Holy Mother,

"Why hast thou, in boundless vision,

"Left the greatest breed of earth-stuff

"Lacking in thy great endeavour?  
"For the Green," quoth Hara Sophus,

"Lies above the rigid earth-bones

"Blankets all in verdure glowing

"Gilds the lifeless with the growing

"And the Green protects the water,

"Drinking as it shades the rivers,

"And the Green enfolds the breezes,

"In embrace both stern and loving.

"Last," quoth he, in wroth arising,

"E'en the green is one with fire

"For it nourishes the blazes

"That in turn bring forth new glories!"

To his passion, Mother Bræa

Had no peremptory answer;

For the Green was not of earth-stuff

But a part of all its glory

E'en as Hara had thus expounded.

"Brother mine," quoth she in honour

"Thou art right; it were mine error,

"Thus to leave the Green unanswered

"And its glory unprotected.

"If I thus extend my blessing,

"And provide a stern protector,

"Wise and virtuous, stern and cunning,

"Wilt thou stay thy grave displeasure?"

To this answer, Hara nodded,

Saying, "Faith, in this thy wisdom,

"Art unmatched in all Anuru.

"If mine aid thou should'st require,

"Say the word; else I'll retire."

To this offer, Bræa smiled;

Quoth she, "Go thou to the wild,

"And make good on thy suggestion

"For as I provide the answer

"So must thou provide the question."

For her answer to the quandary

Bræa pondered long and deeply.

To contrive the Green's protector

Would require more than making;

For as Hara had reminded,

All the things of earth were bonded

To the Green's unique dominion:

Earth, supporting and sustaining;

Water, nourishing and healing;

Wind, the seeds and flowers spreading;

Fire, cleansing and renewing.

Thus to answer her dilemma,

She must needs create a warden

Who of all these things was master

In whose spirit, all unfettered

Fire and wind and stone and water

Wound as one were brought together.

So to answer Hara's pleading

Bræa set her hand to kneading

All the diverse things of earth-stuff

In the trough of storm and fury;

For the storms are wind incarnate;

And the winds whip up the waters,

Crashing waves upon the shorelines,

Bringing with them clouds and skyfire.

Thus in storms do all the earth-things

Mix and blend in nature's mortar

Blending diverse powers together;

Blending chaos into order.

So in shape of stately seabird

As an albatross a-soaring

Bræa came unto the oceans –

All unasking, only giving –

And they danced the dance eternal

Bound as mates in essence vernal.

And from forth their fatal union;

Forth from oceans white with heaving

From the bosom of the earth-seas,

Born of wind and stone and fire,

Eldukaris of the Waters –

Son of earth-stuff, son of Bræa

Son of wind and wave and fire

Hard as stone, and strong as mountains

Yet withal of changing humour;

Swift as fire on the wood-heights

Wise as wind upon the hillside –

Came unto the sandy sea-shore

Born by storms upon the waters

And he saw the forests verdant

And the trees, and leaves that clothed them

And he swore upon the waters –

And fair Uðrmær, his mother –

To both cherish and protect them

And to never leave them after;

Thus the Wave-Son to the Woodlands

Came with purpose and with glory

To the Wood-Maids' cheering laughter;

And he never left thereafter.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

The Wave-Maidens are mythical creatures, numbered among the Anari, the Minions of Light. They are said to serve Vara the Merciful and Thanos Wave-Master, and to be able to take the shapes of birds and beasts of the sea. They're also supposed to be incomparably beautiful, so a lot of idiots – by which I mean men – have drowned trying to catch one.

Eldukaris was a legendary warrior of the Esudi, said to be born of Uðrmær, the first of the Wave-Maidens, the embodiment of the ocean, sired upon her by Bræa in the form of an albatross. See why I find ancient mythology weird and disturbing? Anyway, Eldukaris is supposed to have emerged full-grown from the waters, and went on to...well, read the rest of the book, and see for yourself what he went on to do.

Third Rune: The Sacrifice of Miros

♦

(from the Libram Regnum Tertius)

When he had finished with each of his vile creations, Uru sent them into the world, and they gave their service and their loyalty to the Powers of the Dark. The fell beasts of the Dark were disobedient, and Bardan took them under his careful overlordship, fearing that if his siblings – who were ever untrustworthy and jealous of his rule – were to gain so great a following, they might one day challenge him for mastery of the Uruqua. Aided by his seven Servants, Bardan undertook to instruct his new minions in the dread knowledge and wisdom of Uru.

The earliest to be sent forth to plague the world were the First-Born: the dragons, and the giants. Achamkris, eldest and wisest of Bardan's Servants, was given lordship over the great wyrms; and the uncertain fealty of the giants was given over to Gargarik, less wise, perhaps, but no less mighty. Achamkris struck a bargain with Gargarik, so that each aided the other; and, as a result, the dragons grew mightily in strength and power, and the giants grew in wisdom and lore.

Foremost among their achievements was the theft of one of Bræa's great gifts to the Kindred. Achamkris, in mortal form, espied upon the elvii, and stole from them the secret of speech, and gave it to his children; and with it, the wyrms, long-lived and shrewd beyond mortal ken, were able to plumb the depths of the Art Magic, mastering its innermost secrets long before any among the Kindred.

Under the tutelage of Achamkris, the Dragons prospered; for they lived long years, and were in time acknowledged the most powerful, wisest, and feared of all the mortal beings upon Anuru. Fell minions of the dark quailed before them, and even some among the Powers feared to contend with the lords and princes of dragon kind. But still they were outdone by the children of Bræa, the Kindred; for the Dragons did not possess the greatest of the gifts that Bræa had vouchsafed her children: the freedom of Choice, to serve whom they wist, Anari or Uruqua, the darkness or the light.

It was Choice – a choice made by one of the daughters of Bræa – that, in the fullness of time, changed the world, and brought to naught all of her careful plans.

\- from the Tarinas Valtakirjas (The Book of the Powers)

♦

In the days before days, before the first dawn, when all the earth lay under the stars, Hara – lord of the skies, the woodlands, and magic – walked the valleys and dells, surveying his charge, in mortal guise. In this long-vanished time – before accepting, from the hands of his sister Bræa, dominion and lordship over the elvii – Hara had, as yet, taken only one of the minions of light into his service. He was particular in his vision of the ways of the world, wise Hara was – and adamant in his desire that his adopted children should come into their powers not only with strength, but also with the wisdom to govern that strength. Thus, while the Age of Making lasted, he was served only by Gemmo, the Lady of the Winds, to whom was given dominion over the raptors and predators of the skies. She was a paragon of swiftness and of strength; her sight was long, and none could approach her on the wing, and she wielded a golden sword, from which sprang the fires of the heavens.

But though he was pleased with her service and her guardianship of the skies, Hara sought out others to bear his will unto the woodlands. For Gemmo loved the winds, and the clouds, and descended therefrom only to visit the eyries of her people, and came not unto the earth, save only in pursuit of prey. And so, Hara sought far and wide for one of the minions of light who might be willing to serve him as a guardian of the woodlands. He found none; and so he cast his net wider. At length he discovered one of the Brahiri, the children of Bræa, newly severed from their divine mother; one of the elvii, a rough warrior who roamed the woodlands with bow and sword, confounding the beasts and minions of the Uruqua, taking especial pleasure in confounding the designs of Bardan.

This warrior was called Larranel. In his ferocity, his skill at arms, his love of the forests and of his people, Hara found a spirit meet unto his needs; and he approached the warrior, and elevated him as his second servant. And right well did Larranel serve his new master, haunting wood and wold like death avenging; until, in the fullness of time, he had earned another name among his former kinsmen: Defensor Sylvanus, that is 'Protector of the Woodlands'. And in latter days, Larranel the Protector was much beloved and revered of the greenland-dwellers among the Haradi, and was hailed as the greatest of Hara's servants.

But still Hara besought him still for a third servant; for his sister Bræa had vouchsafed him a third duty, making him the patron of those among the Kindred who counted themselves practitioners of the Art Magic. This was a difficult task to answer, for the Brahiri were yet new to the arcane art, even those who would later become Hara's children, the Haradi; and many long years would pass before they mastered the flux, and the great mage-kings Tior, and Xiardath, and Biardath would come to plumb its uttermost depths. And so Hara searched long, and in vain.

These years, the waning years of the Second Age, the Age of Making, were a fell time for the Brahiri. For they had been rejected by their mother Bræa, who, fearing their free and wilful natures, had lifted up her hand to unmake them; and though they had been spared this doom by the intervention of Ana, and Bræa had repented of her rash decision, and given up the light that was in her, the care of the Brahiri had not yet been given into the hands of the brothers of Bræa, who in time would become their new teachers and guardians. Thus the kindred found themselves bereft of guidance ,and at the mercy of the evil powers, and in darkness; for the light of Bræa was gone from them, and the Lantern had not yet been forged by Ana, and placed in the sky to brighten the world for them. They lived without the protection of their mother, who had hitherto kept them safe from all harm, and were besieged upon all sides.

It was then, after her betrayal and fall, that Bardan attempted to undo the various creations of Bræa. To this end, he sent his monsters against the kingdoms of the Brahiri, all of which were scattered, and disorganized, and despondent in their abandonment. And though the monsters were few in number, they were mighty in stature and in strength. The great vermin spread across the lands of the Brahiri, bringing pestilence and laying waste to crop and furrow. Bats and vultures rained from the skies, wolves ranged far and wide, and the Giants bestrode the land like titans, wreaking untold destruction.

Most fearsome, however, were the great wyrms of Achamkris, Lord of Dragons, who in addition to their matchless strength and invulnerability, had learned well the secrets of the Art Magic that Achamkris had stolen from the elvii. Thus while the Brahiri had the strength to withstand even the greatest of the attacks by the other monsters, the wyrms breached their defences time and again; and Bræa's children stood, in their final extremity, upon the very precipice of ruin.

Into this dark and uncertain world, Miros was born – a princess of the elvii, daughter of one of the lesser kings of a lesser kingdom. The youngest of five children and the only daughter, she was a child of grace and beauty, who had forsaken her family's martial tradition, taking up the staff instead of the sword. It was a hard road she chose, for there were then few magi and books, and no masters or colleges; thus, she learned her art from the winds and skies, and the trees of the forests, and the dark bones of the earth. And though she discovered much in this wise, and grew powerful, as potent a mage as ever her people had known, the deepest secrets of the Art Magic escaped her. For even the mightiest of students, in order to prosper, advance, and triumph, requires a mighty teacher.

Her father was a fell warrior, but he was no mage. For long and long had he held his mountain realm against the onslaught of the minions of Bardan; but mortal flesh was no match for the might of the Powers of Dark, and at length, after too many bloody victories, his warriors had been slaughtered, his bastions had crumbled, and his kingdom lay in flames. One of Miros' earliest memories was of her father wielding his mighty sword left-handed; for one of the great wyrms had taken the right. Yet even maimed, he remained a terror to his foes, slaying all who assailed him, or who threatened his precious daughter. And when Miros marvelled at his strength, and wept for his sacrifice, he told her, in gentle tones and low, that the true warrior of the light does not fear pain, or shun it; but rather embraces pain, and turns it into power.

It was a lesson that she never forgot.

When at last her father was slain whilst defending the gates of his city from the hosts of darkness, Miros – her heart breaking with the pain of bereavement – remembered the lesson of the right hand. She clung to her father's words, so well-remembered, and took them into the shadows of her heart, and there they grew. In that, her darkest hour, she conceived a plan. Cloaked in the raiment of fallen foes, she left her father's city, travelling deep into the mountain vales claimed by Bardan's monsters. Posing as an itinerant conjurer, she sought out the greatest of the wyrm-magi of Achamkris, winning her way past sentries, and even whole armies, by the power of her magic, her sheer audacity, and the force of the spirit that burned within her.

At length, after learning much, and surviving many narrow escapes, Miros came upon the fastness of Sciarratekkan. Most ancient; once the mightiest of dragons, now an aged and wily serpent, the Captain-General of the incarnadine wyrms had at one time stood first among all of the councillors of Achamkris. But no longer; his strength was failing, and his end was near, delayed only by dint of his incomparable magicks, and by the sheer force of the blazing desire within his breast.

The princess of elves cast her life into the crucible in the hope that she had rightly guessed just what the great wyrm's greatest desire might be.

Using all of the skill and wit at her command, Miros penetrated his lair, evading or defeating all of his slaves and guardians in turn, and at last confronted him, seeking to wrest the deepest secrets of his power from him. But unknown to her, her subtleties were of no avail, for Sciarratekkan had lived long, far longer than she; far longer, in fact, than any others of his kind. His power and mastery vastly outstripped her own. In the instant that she met his eye she was unmasked, helpless and mind-bared before the great red wyrm.

As was and is the way of his kind, Sciarratekkan toyed with the elf-maiden, hoping to see how much of herself she was prepared to sell in order to buy her freedom and her life, seeking to debase her and plunge her into despair before consuming her utterly. But Miros surprised him. Rather than pleading or weeping, she stood tall and proud before her fell foe, and offered her flesh to her captor.

It is mine already, to do with as I wish, Sciarratekkan hissed, scorching the air with his sulphurous exhalations, the deadly lash of the wyrm-speech ringing in her mind like the tones of an adamant bell.

"Your pardon, incarnadine one, but you misunderstand," the maiden replied, struggling to keep her voice bright and unwavering despite the swift shiver of fear that clawed at her soul. "I do not offer myself as meat, but as mate."

Pardon yourself, insignificant one, the dragon answered, vile mockery dripping from every word, his vast jaw working in a terrifying grin. But I fear you would find my bulk...uncomfortable.

"Surely a mage of your power could rectify the disparity," she replied archly.

Indeed. Sciarratekkan hissed an incantation in the sibilant tongue of his people, and his figure warped and blurred. An instant later, the great wyrm had vanished, and in its place stood an elf-lord – tall and well-made, of surpassing beauty, like unto that of Miros' folk. But he had scarlet hair such as no elf had, that writhed and smoked in the hot, vaporous atmosphere of the great wyrm's weyr; and his eyes whirled and glowed a deep, deadly crimson, like pools of viscid fire.

Miros stood motionless as this fiendish vision of one of her kin-folk approached. She felt a line of fire along her jaw as Sciarratekkan stretched out his hand and caressed her cheek. "That is not what I had envisioned," she said. Then, with swift words, she repeated his incantation; and in a heartbeat, the elf-maiden was gone. In her place crouched an enormous incarnadine wyrm, blood-red and deadly, sleek, and surpassingly lovely...at least in the eyes of a dragon.

Sciarratekkan reversed his transformation, and a moment later the great wyrms stood together, necks entwining. Is this why you came to me? the elder wyrm asked, eloquent and commanding, at home in the unspoken dialogue of his natural idiom.

In part, Miros replied in the same language. I will speak plainly, for it is said that no lies can be told in the tongue of dragons. I seek only the power and skill to protect my people from the depredations of your armies. To obtain it I offer you my industry, my obedience and my body, for a span of seven years.

That is but the breath of a whisper in the life of dragons, Sciarratekkan replied, nettled by her candour, and yet intrigued by her offer. And – it must be said – aroused, by her beauty and her power. He had been centuries without a mate.

As it is in the lives of Elves, Miros answered tartly. But for you, it is a guarantee of immortality.

Again, I beg your pardon, dread master, but I must speak plainly. You are old; and though your power is yet great, unmatched among your folk, your hide is dark, your teeth are dull, and the beat of your wings no longer shakes the earth. Your mate departed an age and more ago, and never have you taken another.

You have no heir. I offer you the chance for your legacy to live on...through our child.

Sciarratekkan snorted derisively. A bastard offspring; half a dragon, half an elf. What manner of legacy is that?

A legacy of power, Miros replied. You are unsurpassed in might, and all-knowing in the ways of the dark. I am well-versed in the lore of my people and the power of the light. Our child would bestride both worlds, a magus unrivalled in all the history of Anuru.

The ancient wyrm was entranced by the maiden's offer, but still cautious. My master, he said slowly, would not view my betrayal of his arcane secrets with favour.

What matters that, Miros asked bluntly, if you are near death in any case, and your posterity has been assured, and your line hidden from him? She held her breath as the elder dragon debated with himself.

At long last, he nodded. It is well, he said. I accept your bargain, child of Bræa. You will be my love, and learn my art. Our paths will be joined forever, and you will raise our child to follow it. And his footsteps will shake the foundations of the earth.

Thus was the bargain struck. elf joined with Dragon, breaching the unbreachable gulf separating the darkness from light, and spanning the void that had separated the children of Bræa from the monsters of Bardan since the Making. Miros opened herself to the scorching embrace of her foe, and became one with him. The two bloodlines, mingled by magic, grew strong together – mighty in wisdom, rife with arcane power, and as invincible as adamant. The inviolable boundaries set in place in ages long past were shattered, and the shadow of that shattering would in time prove long and grievous upon the earth.

The lovers did not care; each was surfeited by the fruits of their bargain. Sciarratekkan was besotted with his new mate, for Miros was not only beautiful; she was skilled, and talented, and knowledgeable. And she was curious; she learned quickly the ways of dragons, and though the lessons often were difficult, even harsh, she endured them. Indeed, she soon came to long for her weyr-mate's embrace; for, in the union of their bodies, his spirit relaxed its iron vigilance, and their minds were as one. In their shared passion, she gleaned much from his unguarded spirit that might otherwise have been closed to her.

As she slowly came to comprehend the vast, incomparable arcane mastery of the great wyrms, Miros – to her consternation and dread – kindled. As she worked, and studied, and learned, her mate's child quickened in her womb. Oft she lay awake at night, apprehensive, feeling the fell creature growing inside her, gritting her teeth to smother the pain as her diminutive form stretched beyond all nature to accommodate the creature taking shape within it. She knew well what she bore: a twisted, unnatural child; an abomination that had no place in the plans of Bræa or of Bardan, and no claim on life or sustenance anywhere in heaven or upon the earth.

The pain of the quickening was nigh unbearable, but she determined to bear it. Each day, she swore that she would last another, and thus earn another day's wisdom from her ancient tutor, and so purchase another day's survival for her people. To ease the pain, she spent more and more time in dragon's form, living as one of the great red wyrms; and she came to understand their lust for wealth, and power, and glory, and the skies, and began to comprehend their indifference to mortal aspirations and endeavours, and their contempt for the petty, weak, ephemeral beings that crawled like insects in the dust beneath their wings.

All these things wyrm-form granted her; and as she became one with the wyrm, the memory of her old shape faded and grew dim. She had learned well the lesson of the right hand; she had embraced her pain, and it became her power. And that power grew daily.

At length, the seven-year span ended, and it seemed to Miros that the time had come and gone in a fleeting instant, like the beat of a moth's wing. Sciarratekkan was despondent, saddened that his bargain with Miros had come to an end. To his surprise, he had grown genuinely fond of the lovely elf-maiden, for she had proven to be more than a careful and ingenious student; she was also a courteous and gentle companion, a staunch weyr-mate, and a dutiful and dedicated consort. And she was mighty; he realized at last that, under his able tutelage, her power had grown to match his, and he was both please, and astonished.

And, too, she was the mother of his heir. The great wyrm felt a great affection for the child of mingled blood that was growing rapidly within her womb – affection, and pride. He found that he was looking forward, with great anticipation, to meeting his child, and learning its name, and teaching it to fly, to hunt, and – most important of all – to grip the flux in its talons, and bend it to its will.

Thus when Miros arose one morning, taking – for the first time in more than a year – the shape of her mother's people, the great wyrm's spirit quailed within him. For he knew that the period of her commitment, the end of the their bargain was at long last come.

Sciarratekkan eyed the tiny elf-woman's rippling, distended abdomen with dismay, and plunged into despair at the thought that he would not see his child born, nor watch it prosper and grow. He pleaded with her to stay at his side. Will you not remain with me, he implored, that we might raise our child jointly, and see it grow strong, and set upon the path to power, and together instruct it in the arcane arts?

Miros smiled gently. Dread lord, said she, I have no intention of ever leaving this, our home.

Sciarratekkan was relieved, even delighted, but at the same time puzzled. Have you then forsaken your people, and your promise to deliver to them the fruits of your bargain?

I have forsaken no one, Miros replied firmly. I intend indeed to gift them with the hard-won fruits of my labours. But only in part.

Reaching into her robes, she held up a scroll of magnificent white parchment, bound with a golden cord. I have done so every day. All of your wisdom now resides with them. This... testament contains the last of the knowledge, art and mastery that I have learned from you. It is my legacy to my people, for it will give them the power to resist you and all your foul brood; and, if you persist against them, to destroy you.

Also, she added in a forlorn voice, it explains why I have done what I have done; and why I now do what I must. Closing her eyes, she whispered a brief incantation, and the scroll vanished. An instant later, its place in her hand was taken by a gleaming silver dagger.

The great wyrm frowned. What have you done, my love? he asked, still not comprehending the import of her words.

As I promised, I have shared with my people one of the fruits of our union, the elf-maiden replied firmly, yet with a grim set to her jaw. All of your knowledge is now in their hands, to be used to confound your master, and his master, and all the Powers of Dark.

But wherefore yon blade? the dragon asked, nonplussed. What possible reason...

It is a remedy, Miros interjected harshly, for the other outcome of our liaison.

Perhaps one day, the children of Bræa will join with the great wyrms, and will spawn a long line of powerful magi. But if we do, it will be on our terms, not yours.

I, for one, will never be party to such an abomination. And so saying, she reversed the dagger, and to Sciarratekkan's horror, plunged it deep into her swollen belly.

The dark child shrieked in agony within her womb as the dagger pierced her tender flesh, burying itself within the wyrmling's unborn body. Miros ground her teeth against the pain and collapsed to the flame-scarred and smoke-stained floor of the cavern. The wyrm-spawn clawed frantically at her womb, struggling for life; and first one razor-taloned foot, then another, and finally a claw tore through her tender flesh, emerging into the dank air of the great wyrm's lair, staining the stones with gouts and spatters of its mother's blood.

With the grim determination of the doomed, Miros grasped the squawking, struggling, mortally wounded dragonet, and tore its writhing body from the ragged wound in her midriff. Smiling coldly into her mate's horrified eyes, she calmly twisted and broke the tiny creature's neck...then tossed the pathetic, bloody little corpse at Sciarratekkan's feet.

Her eyes fell on the still, silent thing. It had been a female, she realized.

Something within her broke at the terrible, heart-wrenching sight.

The great wyrm reared back in surprise, hissing and baring his fangs. Murderer! Betrayer and oath-breaker! he screamed, shattering the rocks, and scattering his terrified minions to the corners of the cavern.

"This is not murder, but a cleansing," Miros hissed through pain-gritted teeth, lapsing in her extremity into the speech of her people. "Nor have I broken any oaths. The elves make no bargains with the vermin of Bardan!"

Liar! The great dragon screeched. Liar and deceiver! You promised me your obedience and your love!

"I promised you only my flesh, worm," Miros taunted him. "Take it. I need it no longer."

And with that last word – her mission complete, and her life sped – she set the edge of her dagger to her throat, and cut deep.

As her body slumped to the floor of the cave, Sciarratekkan trumpeted like a mad beast, howling to the skies in rage, agony and despair. The very stones of his lair were riven from their foundations, and a black cloud blotted out the sun. A storm of incandescence incinerated his fallen consort and his murdered child, and mounted in a vast, towering pyre visible for a hundred leagues, that melted the very bedrock of his lair, drowning the ancient wyrm and all of his servants, slaves and minions in a vast, seething ocean of consuming flame.

Miros closed her eyes against the incarnadine glare, and greeted the cleansing fire with a sigh of relief.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

I like this story. It explains a lot; turns out I've actually run into two of the descendents of Miros. I won't tell you who they were; I wouldn't want to spoil the stories for you. Go read the Kaunovalta books. And the Filigree Throne trilogy, if the author ever gets around to writing them.

Fourth Rune: The Deed of Bræagond Æyllian

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(verbal tradition, as told by Corrobustus Oakheart)

Fair Ælyndarka, child of wood, right weary of the courtly life

Called to her brother Bræagond, and bade him to attend her.

In mottled grey, with bow in hand she sang farewell to towers tall,

To hunt in glades of forest bright, where Hara willed to send her.

From Astrapratum, Meadow-Star, they rode through night and day spans three,

Unto the foot of mountain-fells, in search of sport to cheer them;

Right fleet they rode, yet in their haste, they moved with fair-folk's craft and stealth,

And though passed many a countryman, not one perchanced to hear them.

On third-day's eve, they reached a grove where hare and hart were gathering

Concealed they their hard-blown mounts, and watched in silence wondering;

The moonlight shone on mirrored mere, and starlight showered twinkling

When through the great wood-wall there burst a baleful horror sundering.

Tree-tall it stood, thrice height of elf, a darkling giant it seemed to them,

With stone in place of bone and flesh, and fists of iron gleamed at them.

Deep eyes of night descried their holt, and 'round the mere it ran at them

In thundering stride that cracked the night, while pale moon glow beamed at them.

Bræagond hesitated then (though younger, wiser still he was)

But Ælyndarka, full of fire, and proud of power, sprang from him,

With orbs like sparks on summer's eve, the giant eyed her fragile form,

And mighty as a mountain's fall, burst through the nets she spun at him.

While Bræagond watched, his eyes aghast, the demon fell upon his kin

Her arm, and staff of power, were brast, and swooning, Ælyndarka fell.

At this, his sister's deadly plight, his caution vanished in a trice;

So stepped he forward, glaive in hand, and clairioning his woodsman's call.

Bright blade aloft, he stayed its charge, and scarred the creature's granite brow;

But though his blows rang swift and hard, it fell upon him, bellowing.

And step by step he back was forced, and felt his hand-strokes weakening;

His heart-strings nigh to sundering, in waxing dawn light yellowing.

'Till at the last his ground he stood, astride his blood-kin's fallen form

As sunrise touched the broken wood, the stone-fell stood untiring

Its fist blows thundered, swift and hard; the Lamp upon his face was wan;

His eyes were closed, and thus he fell, to the black earth expiring.

And then his call was answerèd; twin oak-hearts shambled from the glade;

Twin elders of the forest-hall, who twice the height of stone-beast stood.

Gnarled fists and fingers dealt the blows that shattered all to stone and sand

And drove the demon from their land, to fall 'neath bough in hallowed wood.

When Ælyndarka woke again, the Lamp was passing to the west

And all her heart was torn with pain; eyes red with tear-stained sorrowing,

For on the sward her brother lay, white cold in death, his spirit fled;

Yet victory touched his smiling lips, their parted crimson borrowing.

When Ælyndarka came at last to Astrapratum, bearing him,

She bound her hair in verdant bands, and keened in mourning dolorous.

They buried him upon the Hill above the meadows of his home,

And on his tomb they set a stone: "Hight Bræagond, the Valorous."

A hundred summers passed in fire; a hundred, and a hundred more,

'Till elder brother fell in war, and Ælyndarka gained the crown.

It never graced her gracious brow; 'twas set on Bræagond's snowy bier,

and broken glaive became her rod, through growing years of great renown.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

Now, this one confused me, because I know three fellows named Bræagond Æyllian. The first one is the one that this story is actually about – Queen Ælyndarka's younger brother. He's been dead for hundreds of years. The second one is my old friend Breygon. He's a half-elf, and his mother named him for the first one. She was the Queen's grand-daughter, so Bræagond was her great-great-uncle. The third one is another of the Queen's grand-children – Breygon's mother's older brother, who was ALSO named for the Queen's younger brother. Confusing, right? Yeah, well what else do you expect from people that pride themselves on preserving traditional familial nomenclature, but who are also so long-lived that there can be ten generations from the same line alive all at the same time?

I swear, elves make me crazy.
Fifth Rune: Léoð ymbe Isenfýst

### (The Lay of Ironfist)

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(From the Æfenléoð Hargóinna, by Harwéac Hargóin)

I sing of a hero;

A hero iron-gray, iron-hard

Ironfist, a man, a man of great (spirit/destiny), a warrior

Ironfist, a freeman, a (war)lord of Ekhan

A child of Esu, a (spiritual son/true descendant) of Esu

Ironfist, a son of giants,

and also a friend and a brother to me.

I sing of a battle, a (hard fight/slaughter), a clash of spears;

Of glory won in battle, of wounds given by the long sword.

A tall man, sword-bearer, bearer of honour

Who came from the south, steel-coated, steel-guarded

Bearer of a glaive giant-forged

And a heart forged by Esu as though in the snows

Of the Northlands he never saw.

In the depths of the Deeprealm,

At the Gates of the Barrow of Bowrnléoch,

The forces of darkness assembled; in shadow

They schemed the demise of the

Children of Lagu.

The hammer-falls silenced; the forge-fires failed

Not for lack of (fire/fuel), but lack of (fire/heart),

Did the Children of Lagu tremble, for the first time,

In darkness.

Then out from the shadow sprang shadow eternal

Cold shadows; hell-shadows; (spirit)shadows of evil

Blood spilled on the stone, and all hands

Loosed hammers, loosed darts

Upon the fell foemen.

First to fall was Ulfrican, Forgemaster,

(Spiritual son/true descendant) of Barraj, axe-wielder

Whose hands blessed the children;

Off were his hands hewn, and after (crowned/adorned)

The accursed brow of the king of the darkness.

Forth sprang Ven Porwenna, bright light of Harad

Long laboured she in the dark depths of the Underfolk

Tending the aged; with bright light and (invocation/magic)

She fell on dark foemen, and so fell in turn,

And pillowed her fair head on a mountain of (gutted corpses/fallen foes)

And Ygrak, (wild warrior/berserker) of Kelva fell there beside her

Avenged and avenging the death of his beloved,

His great hands crushing the throats of the enemy,

His great axe sinking and drinking deep,

He swam to the next world and his heart's desire

Through a river of heart's-blood.

At the last stood Ironfist, spirit-son of Esu,

Bright sword carrying the light

of Breadan into the depths of the earth.

Before the Pillars of Barraj

And the Throne of the Deeprealm

He strove with the Spellweaver,

Dark-skinned and white-haired, fell of hand

Wielding a white staff.

And from him, Ironfist struck hand and arm,

And clove his skull open;

And the bone-white staff, the white staff of nightmares,

Fell to the stone; a trophy of battle

To lie cherished by the Underfolk, beside the cleft skull

Of Spellweaver the Thrice-cursed.

But Ironfist fell also, wounded with many wounds; and him they bore up

To a couch of fine furs, the bed of a hero,

And hot fires, and ice-cold mead, and many songs

To honour his iron with all of the (honours accorded by/praises due the saviour of)

the folk of the Stonedark.

Ironfist left them

Alone in the Deeprealm, bearing with him

Naught but scars and thanks.

Remembered in song and story so long as the darkness lasts

For courage and tales outlive the living

Borne down the long tale of years.

Thus the brave live forever, the tale of their deeds sung

With the banking of fires and broaching of (ale)casks

And so it will be in the Deeprealm

Until at the end the world breaks,

And Lagu banks the fires of heaven one last time,

And Barraj calls back his own,

To fight the great fight of world's gloaming.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

According to Dwarven legend, the souls of the Dwarves are forged individually by Barraj, and are only on loan. When Anuru is broken at the last by Ana and Uru in preparation for the final battle between the Powers, Barraj will call home the souls of all Dwarves, living and dead, to fight at his side against the Uruqua. Dwarves who were diligent and courageous in life will have the honour of standing at the forefront of the Legions of Barraj; and their names will be written in the stars and the stones of other worlds, there to live forever.

I actually heard Harwéac Hargóin perform this at a tavern in Ganesford. He was pretty old, but still a dab hand with the tambours. It sounds a lot better in the original Dweorgaspræc. Hell, it would almost have to, am I right?

Sixth Rune: The Hejlaggr Women

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(From the Ballads of the Bjerglands, by Skald Ian McLaren)

Well was it known throughout the Bjerglands that Ulrich, Count Bellehaine, was at feud with Paltač, Lord of Søby; and bitter was their quarrel, such that at the mere mention of their names, blades leapt from scabbards across the north country. For the wife of Bellehaine was one Marilys vel Tallysin, a woman of the Hejlaggr, one of the great beauties of Jarla; and she was wondrous fair, with hair like honey, and dark eyes, and a voice silk-soft. So captivating was she that Søby coveted her, and had sworn to have her; and therefore were he and Bellehaine at feud.

Each of the lords had many men under arms, and the bitterness of their dispute attracted many more, of reputation both fair and foul, according to their natures. Thus it was that the Knights of the Raven, noble and fell-handed, flocked to the banner of Bellehaine; while the treacherous hill men of Locharnoch, the dell-wights, called the Landless, harkened unto the sigil and summons of Søby. And the red swords rang in the valleys and along the Drops, and the arrows sang, and the dirks drank deep. Plunder was met with plunder, and fire with fire, and murder with murder; and much ill was done. That was the way of it.

At long last, the feud was brought home to Bellehaine. Ulrich, returning from the hunt, was set upon by the men of Locharnoch; and though he gave good account of himself (for although gray and stiff of limb, he had been in youth a mighty man, and was still a hard man with the axe), the dell-wights were many, and well-armed; and at length, though nigh on a score of the landless lay dead, all of his ghillies had fallen in a butcher's bight around him; and he stood at bay, bleeding from many wounds. And though he staggered, weak and with the wine of his life puddling at his feet, yet still he called out to his foes, damning them for cowards, and daring them to come them within reach of his hand, that he might settle them.

And at this one did come forward, a man hooded and cloaked; and beneath the hood was the grinning, tooth-rotted visage of his sworn enemy, Paltač, Lord Søby.

"I see thee, mine enemy, through the red mist of midnight," quoth the Count. "Come thou and see me equal clear, traitor and coward, and let us dance the dance of life together."

"Dog of Bellehaine," replied his foe, "I would not stoop to answer thee in kind. Handstrokes are for the half-witted; only fools debate with swords when swords can be hired, and the lowest wretch of a bowman is made by his shaft the equal to a king. Fie on thy challenge; thou shalt die at the hands of the least of my men; and all thy kindliness and courage shall be as dust, and vain."

"Courage lives on beyond death, and so death holds no horror for me," retorted Bellehaine. "Do me but one service, in gratitude for thy ill-won victory: take my body back to my wife, and leave her quits; for in spilling my blood, thou hast ended our quarrel."

"Thinkst thou so, old man?" said Paltač, laughing. "Our quarrel is quits when thou and all thy kin are blood-drawn and bare-boned, and thy spirits wail despairing against the corundum confinement of the Long Hall. As for thy wife, happily will I grant thee thy dying wish. But in this wise only: thy trunkless head shall look on as I take her for my own; aye, and all my men too, before she joins thee in the pit."

"Thou mayest kill me, foresworn wretch," Bellehaine said in turn, "but if thou wouldst take council of a dying man, take mine: save thou thy life, and brave not my lady in her lair. For she is a woman of the Hejlaggr."

"What care I?" quoth felon Søby. "She is yet a woman, and so shall bend, beg and break like any other. Die and be damned to you." And at his word, the bows were bent; and the black shafts of Locharnoch sang, and bore Ulrich away. Then did dog Søby fall with his dirk upon his foeman's corpse, and the foul deed was done. And Søby and the landless men mounted, and rode they hard for the manor of Bellehaine, and the lady who waited there, all unknowing that her lord dwelt no more upon the Earth, but had now his portion with the Master of the Long Halls. That was the way of it.

Thus it was that at nightfall, the landless men of Locharnoch and their craven paymaster came bloody-handed to the House of Bellehaine. Fell Søby stood wrapped deep in his cloak, for the people of the House, especially the Countess, knew his visage well; and he bore in his arms a cask, in which reposed, waxen and reeking, the head of his fallen foe. So rang they the bell, and were answered; for the hospitality of Count Bellehaine was wide-spoken, the wonder of the Bjerglands, and none of his household would betray or fail to uphold it, even after dark. Thus did the Seneschal conduct them who bore his master's head unto the master's great hall; and there they were met and welcomed by the Lady Marilys, Countess Bellehaine.

"Fair sirs," quoth she, ignoring their dark raiment, and hooded visages, and bloody hands. "I welcome you, in the name of my lord husband, to this house. Would that he were here to greet you in his own person; but alas he is at hunt, and I know not when he is like to return."

"Never under the Light of the Lantern," said a hollow voice; and it was Søby that spoke from beneath his cowl. But the Countess seemed to hear it not.

"Be seated, gentlemen," she said, "and I will return with thy supper." And so they sat; and she departed the hall, to see to the viands.

And when they were alone, foul Søby opened the casket; and he set the head of the Count upon a silver tray that stood at the heart of the great table, before the bench of honour. And because he was a man of mad, cruel humor, he placed an apple in the dead man's yawning mouth. And so they waited.

In a moment, the Countess returned, and they saw that she looked full upon the fell thing, open-eyed and staring, that adorned her table; but to their astonishment, she said nothing, but only smiled upon them, and sat down with them, and with her own hands gave them to drink. And her maidservants came in after, bearing trenchers laden with smoking joints, and hot bread, and fresh greens; and pitchers of foaming ale and silver cups of fine wine were set before the men of Locharnoch, and their cruel and craven paymaster.

And so they feasted, and laughed, and sang the songs of the hills in rough voices. They ate the lady's food and drank the lady's ale, toasting her absent lord with hands that reeked of his blood; and still the lady smiled, and sang with them, and laughed at their crude japes. And her guests whispered that it was not canny; and they wondered, does she not see the thing? But the pale head stood in full view of all, eyes wide and staring; and still she smiled. And so they smiled too, laughing at their base jest, and set upon her hospitality with a will. For there is nothing that so satisfies the landless, the dell-wights, as making free with the goods of others. That was aye the way of it.

At length, while yet the ale flowed, she beckoned to her handmaiden; and the girl left the hall, and a moment later returned bearing an ancient lute. And this, the Countess took, and addressed it with nimble fingers. Fair music filled the night air, banishing shadow and sorrow; and even the cruel men of Locharnoch stayed their carousing, and fell silent to listen. Time passed, and the stars wheeled. The candles burned low, and the torches guttered, and at last, even canny Søby forgot his caution, and lowered his cowl, the better to hear the lilting glory of her voice. And the Lady Marilys looked upon his face, and she smiled softly upon him; and his heart was uplifted.

And while they listened, enraptured by her song, the doors of the great hall opened slow and silent; and through them stepped softly the Knights of the Raven, one man to each of the men of Locharnoch. As ghosts they strode to the table, and the soaring sibilance of song concealed the hiss of drawn daggers; and in a moment, there was a knife at each dell-wight's dirty neck.

Seeing this, the Lady Marilys ended her song, and placed her lute upon the table. She smiled again upon her guests, and said, "I see that my man has come home at last, and has naught but an apple to eat. This is no fit feast, for peasant or lord, at the end of a long day's labor. Therefore you men of Bellehaine, give your lord to drink: for I say that he will have red wine, and warm." And at these words, the Knights of the Raven slew the landless men of Locharnoch; and the red wine flowed, fast and hot, and smoked upon the board.

But no knife laid open the throat of Paltač, Lord of Søby; for his captor held him fast, but harmed him not. The lady walked slowly to him, her own knife in her slender hand, and looked down upon him, held fast in the iron grip of the Raven.

"Fair Søby, rejoice," quoth she. "I know that it was in thy mind to take the place of mine husband, and long hast thou hungered for my kiss. Behold, thy desire is granted; I give thee my kiss freely, in thanks for bringing my lord home to me." And so saying, she bent to him, and kissed him full upon the mouth. And as she did so, she put her blade to his throat; and she tasted the wine that flowed forth, and savored its sweetness – yea, even until the cask was empty.

And when it was done, she sat again at table, and commanded her knights to raise their cups in homage to their departed lord. And when they had drunk, her captain knelt at her feet. "O, mistress," he said, "how didst thou look upon that fell thing, and yet stay silent, and beguile those stark men? For though I am a man of arms, and accustomed to such things, the sight of it was like to set me to weeping."

The lady smiled upon him, and laid her hand upon his cheek. And as her knights watched, her face changed; and her lips, red-stainèd and full, took a grim set; and her eyes glinted, as if rimmed with frost. And she said, "The day I cannot keep my countenance, and hold men in their place and work my will upon them; that, Captain, is a day you will never see."

That was the way of it. That is a woman of the Hejlaggr for you.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

I like this one, too; stories about revenge always speak to me, you know what I mean? Thing is, it sounds awfully familiar to me, as thought I might have heard it before. Hmmm...

(Author's Note: this story is an Anuru-based homage to the opening chapter of a magnificent short story entitled "The Gordon Women", by George MacDonald Fraser. It's found in the third of his "MacAuslan Books", The Sheik and the Dustbin (Glasgow: HarperCollins, 1989), pp. 135-172. I can't recommend it highly enough. I was never a fan of his Flashman books, but I thought that the MacAuslan trilogy was one of the best things ever written in English. Or what passes for English in Scotland.)

Seventh Rune: Gesta Filia Eiectionia

(The Lay of the Daughter of Exile)

♦

(From the Canto Renovatium, by Ceorlinus Rectinarius)

Fair children of Harad, bow down

Forsake the winds that blow

Make true obeisance to my crown

And bid farewell to field and town

And follow me below.

My father fell before my wrath

And ceded me his Wand

My mother joined me on my path

And aided me with blade and lathe

To cast him far beyond.

My victory was sweet but brief

And fleeting was my reign

Bright Mother was my foe's relief

She stole upon me like a thief

And cast me forth again.

My kingdom's death was kingdom's birth

When from Harad I fled

With Wand, and followers of worth

I made my home beneath the Earth

Where foemen thought me dead.

My powers wax with every year

I pass in realms below

While those above me shrink with fear

My willing slaves my name revere

And help my powers grow.

Thus in the dark I bide my time

And race and might renew

Awaiting 'till the bell doth chime

When to the light again I climb

To forge my realm anew.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

Creepy. This one supposedly dates from the reign of Yarchian the Renewer, after Mærglyn Kinslayer and her minions were banished into the Deepdark. Call'em what you want – the Sobrinatrii, 'Cousins of the Shadow', the Elves of the Fourth House, the Shadelven – those white-haired freaks make my skin crawl.
Eighth Rune: The Wood Maidens

♦

(From the Tarinas Valtakirjas)

Once ashore, fair Eldukaris,

Coming freshly from the waters

Dried his hair and dried his raiment

Under Bræa's warming sunbeams.

Then he gathered up his courage

And he tied his sandals tighter,

And bethought him of the mountains

He had seen from ocean's bosom.

He bethought him of the treetops

Waving softly in the sunlight

And of dancing birds above them

And of prowling beasts below them,

Ever ready for a victim;

So he stooped unto the water,

From its bosom drew a grey stone

Clenched it tightly in his fingers,

And with purpose set before him,

Strode he forward to the beaches.

Thus did Eldukaris sally

From the bosom of the waters,

To the heartwood of the forest,

Seeking shelter 'neath the hardwoods.

He traversed the shining grasslands,

And he trod the shifting sand-dunes

As the sun-face hurtled over.

And the moonless sky above him

Held him tight unto its bosom

As if reverently recalling

Who had sired this doughty wanderer

On his mother, the Wave-Maiden.

Full eight days and nights he travelled,

With the mountains drawing nearer;

As the land rose ever higher,

And the autumn air grew cooler,

Eldukaris gazed in wonder

At the snowflakes gently falling

And on his clean limbs alighting

And around his feet a-gath'ring.

When at last he reached the mountains;

Reached the mighty oaks upon them,

Eldukaris saw a wonder;

For within a shining clearing,

Were the Forest-Maidens dancing;

Bright and radiant; Bræa's daughters,

The kin-sisters of his mother.

Long their hair curled out behind them,

Falling like a shining curtain,

Coloured brown like unto oak-bark,

And their eyes were brown alike it.

As they danced within their circle,

Saw he then their skin emblazoned

With the emerald of the greenwood

And the verdant hue of forests;

Danced they hand in hand together,

And it seemed the trees danced with them.

Shifting, shimmering, trading places

In their endless roundel danced they,

Treading out their woodland passion

On the soft loam of Anuru;

Then the Forest-Maidens saw him,

And they fled in terror, wailing.

All save one – one maiden stayed she,

And he gazed in wonder on her,

For it seemed she was a wood-sprite,

A fey creature of the forest,

Then mouth grew dry with passion,

And he felt his heart beat louder.

Eldukaris hesitated,

As he ne'er did before then,

Nor would ever do thereafter;

Then he stepped towards the maiden,

Where, all apprehensive, stood she,

And he stretched his hand out to her,

And with halting tongue, bespoke her:

"Fairest maid of verdant woodland,"

Said the son of ocean-maiden,

"Wherefore danced ye in the forest?

Wherefore fled thy comrades comely?

Did, in coming, I alarm them?

If I did, I beg thy pardon,

And on bended knee, implore thee,

Wherefore didst thou not fly with them?"

Hesitant, the maiden answered:

"Sir, thy words are spoken kindly,

Thus to thee I give this answer,

Speaking for my fleeing sisters:

We are children of the forest;

Daughters of the woodland spirit;

Giving praise to Bright-Eyed Hara,

And unto his mighty servants.

Here we dance in honour of them,

From the dawning to the gloaming,

And at each new dawn, renewing

This, our measure of devotion.

My fair sisters fled before you,

Not because you sought to harm them,

Or alarm them; rather that you

Seemed fair strange, unknown to us,

Who have ne'er before beheld one

Formed as you, or suchlike speaking,

Come encroaching on our clearing

Where the wood-maids worship, dancing."

"But fair sir," the maid continued,

"There is yet another reason

Why my sisters fled before thee;

For our hearts are filled with sorrow.

Yester-eve, as we came dancing,

Our green mistress, Csæleyan

Danced her joyous dance among us,

And we all rejoiced to see her.

For though fair Csæleyan

Seems to be but one among us,

Yet her spirit is beyond us;

Mighty as the peaks of mountains,

For she is the first among us,

Eldest sister of the Wood-Maids,

And is much beloved of Hara,

And adored by Brightest Larranel,

So our hearts were fairly shattered, sir,

When she was taken from us."

With voice of consternation,

Eldukaris faced the maiden,

"How, fair forest-maid of wonder,

Was they sister taken from thee?

What fell power could affront thee?

What fell purpose thus disturb thee?

In thy marvellous devotions,

What fell heart would interrupt thee?"

Bravely then the maiden answered,

"As we danced upon the greensward,

A fell storm-cloud broke upon us;

And harsh ice-rain followed after,

And the forest fairly shuddered,

As the squall howled through the treetops,

And the branches bent and shattered

'Neath the weight of snow-fall sudden.

Swift our glade became a wasteland,

And in place our feet were frozen;

So the Ice-King came upon us,

Crowned with frost and clad in winter;

With his glance he stopped our dancing;

With his hand, he took our sister,

Reft us of fair Csæleyan,

Whom he long had lusted after."

"Then he mounted on his storm-cloud,

And he set our sister 'fore him,

And on trails of ice departed,

With the Wood-Maids crying after.

In a twinkling he had left us,

And we wept upon the greensward,

E'en our tears froze on our faces,

At our sister's ravished parting.

But at length the snow departed,

Following the Ice-King after,

And again our feet were nimble,

And the greensward free of hoarfrost.

Thus this evening finds us dancing,

But in sorrow, not in gladness,

And our hearts are sore and hollow,

For Csæleyan longing."

Torn with sorrow, Eldukaris

Stepped unto the stricken maiden,

And he put his arms around her,

Took her head unto his shoulder.

At her scent, of fair spring flowers,

Eldukaris fell enraptured;

And his heart leapt up within him,

Snared by sorrow and by beauty.

"Fair Wood-Maiden," quoth the Sea-Son,

"By this hand, I swear unto thee,

Neither rest nor satiation

Shall I seek, until before thee

Once more stand I with thy sister;

With thy fair Csæleyan,

And my foot upon the shoulder

Of the heartless one that took her."

Saying so, he left the maiden

Standing lorn and lone behind him,

And with naught but raiment 'pon him,

And the grey sea-stone inholden,

Eldukaris left the clearing,

And the fair Wood-Maid behind him;

Turned his face into the snow-fall,

And began the task before him.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

Another one of these. At least this one, in the context of the first, explains why Eldukaris was so inexplicably drawn to the Green; that was how Bræa had made him. To be honest, I'm still not certain whether he was supposed to be a human, or some fifth kind of Kindred race. Hunh. Guess I'm going to have to go back to the library to steal some more history books.

...I mean, 'borrow'. BORROW some more history books.

Ninth Rune: Evincum Rex Veneficus

(The Fall of the Sorcerer-King)

♦

(from the Canto Renovatium, by Ceorlinus Rectinarius)

Ill-born Bîardath, King of Harad

met the heralds on the heath,

Who, in the words of dark-eyed Mærglyn,

cast this challenge in his teeth:

"Yield thy crown, and yield thy kingdom";

this the message heralds brought,

"Else damnation and destruction

in the dark shall be thy lot."

Bîardath, fell and full of fury

on this missive briefly thought;

Bold and numerous his legions,

strong with arms that he had wrought.

Thus unto his daughter's spokesmen

he addressed him in this wise,

Daring her to come and face him

'neath the brazen Lastreap skies.

"Come thou forth and face me, youngling;

dare my wrath with blade and bow.

Thou shalt find in me the might

that laid thy feckless grandsire low.

Thou shalt find a fire of darkness

stoked to scorch thy being whole;

Thou shalt find a fatal venom

to consume thy trait'rous soul.

Whither now, thy mighty armies,

reft of flesh, and naught but bone?

Whither now, thy monstrous minions?

For it seems thou stand'st alone.

Bring thy warriors; dare my anger,

I will see their corpses piled;

Come thou forth, and taste the vengeance

due a foul, rebellious child!"

At these words, the heralds horsed them,

and unto their mistress rode.

Dark her ire and dark her visage,

when she felt her sire's goad.

Fire in violet eyes was kindled;

shining swords from scabbards sprung;

Spears were piled, and bowstrings twisted;

helm and shield from saddle slung.

Long and long, the ranks of archers;

long the ranks of spearmen ran.

Nigh as numerous strode the sword-thegns

and the horsemen of her clan.

But when Mærglyn looked upon them

and recalled her father's words,

Thought she then her vict'ry called for

more than darkling shafts and swords.

Bright the knife shone in the stonelight;

Mærglyn's hands ran red with blood.

Swift she cast a sorcerous circle;

Soon, within, a figure stood:

A beguiling, wingèd demon,

white of breast and red of eye;

A hornèd denizen of darkness,

called from where cold shadows lie.

Mærglyn knelt unto this vision,

and, in supplication, cried:

"Äiti Varjo, lend thy powers,

come and stand thou at my side;

Bring thy sword and fire, I beg thee,

venture forth from thy dark lair;

By thy cursèd blood, I charge thee;

by that cursèd blood we share."

Then the beast stepped forth in fire,

through the shining, rune-set ring,

And behind her raged a maelstrom

horned and scaled, on claw and wing.

From this dreadful host, a clamour

to the star-washed heavens rose,

Howling to unleash their fury

on the flesh of Mærglyn's foes.

And before them strode the demon

of dark beauty and desire,

A reeking sword of ice in one hand,

and the other wreathed in fire.

Forth this vision strode in shadows,

and on Mærglyn softly smiled;

"Thus I answer to the summons

of my wilful, wond'rous child."

Mærglyn's host forsook their hiding,

and unto the Earth arose,

And the fair face of Anuru

was besmirched by Ana's foes.

Strengthened so by Uru's minions,

Mærglyn's might could not be stayed,

Thus they fell upon the Elflands

and beset them, wood and glade.

In the verdant fields, her horsemen

broke the ranks of fair Harad;

Helm was riv'n, and shield splintered,

and the red blood stained the sod.

Thus with life the fields were watered,

and in the streets, ran fetlock deep;

Thus the lords of light were slaughtered;

Thus there none were left to weep.

When the final rank was shattered

and the last defender fled,

Trait'rous Mærglyn faced her father

in the thronehall, stained and red.

Red the heather of the hillside;

red the wheatfields of the plain;

Red the fangs of fiends feasting

on the mountains of the slain.

"Fie on thee, unfaithful child,"

glowered Bîardath in his ire;

"Fie on thee, unfaithful lover,"

quoth the demon wreathed in fire.

"Good my father, thou art vanquished,"

Mærglyn said unto her sire;

"Doff thy crown, and beg my mercy,

lest I cast thee to the pyre."

"Do thy will as thou wouldst do it,"

prideful Bîardath answered fair,

And he brandished forth his wand,

with power over earth and air.

"Thou canst not hope to overcome me,

for my arts exceed thy ken;

If I fall, I will avenge me,

when in time I rise again."

Coldly smiling, Mærglyn answered,

"Father mine, I know thy might.

How to slay thee I have pondered

through the long expanse of night.

'Twas a riddle dark and daunting,

that I studied long and hard,

'Till thy might vouchsafed mine answer!"

And she swung her gleaming sword.

Swift her blade flamed in the darkness,

and it fell on Bîardath's fist;

And she cut his right hand from him,

severed cruelly at the wrist.

As he fell, she hastened forward,

Tasting blade, and blood-kin's bond;

Then stooped, and when she stood again,

she held his dreadful wand.

"Father mine, I know thy power,"

quoth the maiden to his pain,

"And I know I cannot slay thee,

lest in wrath, should'st rise again.

By thy might, thou now art banished;

from the light, thy soul is hurled.

Unto darkness, I condemn thee,

'till the breaking of the world."

With one hand, she cast a circle

scribed in runes upon the ground;

With the wand, she called forth darkness,

'void of light, and life, and sound.

Thus with art she bound her father

and she cast him through the gate,

Thus Bîardath left Anuru,

sharing mighty Tîor's fate.

With the Wand, she shut the portal,

and in wrath and vict'ry stood,

Buttressed by her howling minions;

stainèd with her father's blood.

Mærglyn mounted to the dais,

where at last she stood alone.

Thus with wand and blood-washed crown,

the daughter took the father's throne.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

Like I said, the Shadelven make me queasy. Spiders, undead, caves, spiders, magic, brain-sucking monstrosities, giant floating balls of eyes, spiders, pits, bats, spiders and really small tunnels.

Oh, and did I mention the bloody spiders?!

Tenth Rune: The Mountain Dwarf

♦

(from the Tarinas Valtakirjas)

He addressed him to the trail –

Did the hero Eldukaris –

Of the evil King of Winter;

For the markings of his passage

Stood out clear and stark before him:

Withered were the forest grasses;

Bent and broken were the branches

Yea, and brown the leaves of oak-trees

Where the Winter King had touched them.

And upon the earth, his footsteps

As of beast-feet, clawed and twisted

Had left hoarfrost on the greensward

That the sun's heat had not melted.

Eldukaris marked his passing,

And he tracked the trail upwards

To the passes of the mountains

And the jagged ice of snow-peaks.

As he clambered ever higher,

Never pausing for refreshment

Nor to rest his weary manu,

Forest verdure dropped behind him,

Soon the trees and grasses left him,

Naught but sand and rock to greet him,

And the azure ice-fields calling,

And the ice-tears thickly falling.

Then at length he reached the mountains,

And at last the trail foundered;

For the Ice-King's frozen footsteps

Left no trace upon the root-rock.

All the mountain-stone was frozen,

And it did not mark his passage,

And so Eldukaris halted;

Cast his piercing glance about him;

And espied a hidden cavern,

'Gainst the shoulder of the mountain.

Rude the cave-stones there before him,

With the smoke of fires rising

In the chill air of the mountains;

In the cold air of the evening.

Faint with hunger and exertion,

Eldukaris stumbled forward;

And he called out in the darkness,

To the dwellers in the cavern:

"Hail, the cave!" he cried, and wondered

If 'twere man or beast that bode there;

For the stones were sharp and tumbled,

And he saw no sign or sigil.

"Hail the cave!" he cried. "I beg thee,

I am weak, and I am weary;

If you be a child of Bræa,

Know that I am cousin to you,

And give answer to my pleading;

I am failing, and I need you."

At this plea, the dweller answered:

"Son of Bræa, come you forward;

Cousin, none; I am thy brother,

To my home, I bid you welcome."

Thus came Eldukaris forward,

To the welcome thusly offered,

And he stepped across the threshold,

Unto wonders unimagined.

To the outside eye, the cavern

Stood as naught but stones of mountain;

From the inside, it was like unto

A palace of the Powers.

High the ceiling, strewn with crystal;

Broad the walls, bedecked with garnets.

Hung with tapestries fine-woven;

Lit by lamps of gold and silver;

And the flagstones brightly polished,

Strewn with reeds both fresh and verdant,

Beckoned weary wanderers onward

To a place of rest and succor.

But most wondrous to the hero

Was his host, who stood before him,

Half his height, but twice as broad, he

Stood with hands on hips, and chortled.

For his raiment was of iron,

Fine and linked like fishes' scales,

Shod and capped with iron was he,

And his beard hung to his ankles.

"Fair mine host," quoth Eldukaris,

"I am grateful for thy welcome,

For at night the hills grow chilling,

And the snow is swiftly falling.

But I pray thee, tell me of thee;

Whence thou comest to the mountains;

Art thou truly child of Bræa?

For thy kind is strange unto me."

"Fair my guest," the host said, laughing,

"We share mother, and share father.

For as thou wert got by Bræa

On the bosom of the sea-wave;

I was born here in the broad hills,

'Neath the sky-vault, blue and blazing;

In the form of grey-hued maiden,

Mighty Bræa took her pleasure

Of the splendour of the mountains.

Open, yielding unto them,

Air took Earth unto her bosom.

Here lay Bræa as my mother;

Here the mountains were my father."

"But the night is late, and snowfall

Frosts the heart and chills the spirit.

Come thou closer to the fire,

And address thee to mine kettle."

Thus did Eldukaris enter

To the cavern warm and cheering,

Doffed his cloak and lesser raiment,

And before the fire, settled.

Swift his host disgorged his kettle,

Bringing meat and ale before him,

And as Eldukaris feasted,

Many marvellous tales unfolded.

Soon the fulsome pot was empty,

Soon his heavy head was nodding;

Then his host eschewed his tales,

Placed a woollen cloak around him;

Eldukaris gladly settled

To the stones beside the fire,

And himself he gave to slumber,

In the cavern's warming bosom.

When he woke, the fire was ashen;

Cold the cavern as the mountains;

Dark the cavern as the midnight,

And the dwarf sat near him, laughing.

"Rune, my name is, son of Bræa,

And I am master of these mountains,

And when trespassers affront me,

Know thou that I treat them thusly."

Eldukaris grimly noted then

That hand and foot he bound was;

That his cloak was taken from him,

And as helpless child, lay he.

Though he railed 'gainst his captor,

Naught availed his mighty struggles;

Tightly knotted were his bond-ropes,

And his mouth was stopped with leather.

"Foolish Bræa-son," quoth his captor,

"Know you now I rule this region;

At the will-sign of my master,

I am sovereign of the mountains."

And as Eldukaris watched him,

Rune the Dwarf retrieved a sceptre

From the cloak-folds of his raiment,

And he flourished it, rejoicing.

"This I have from King of Winter!

This I have, that grants me power.

Know you now, o son of Bræa,

That unto thy doom art come thee."

Then Rune's eyes grew wide in wonder;

As Eldukaris shrugged his shoulders,

And with strength of wind-swept wave-depths,

Burst the binding ropes asunder.

"Fool thou art," quoth Eldukaris,

"For as thou art born of mountain,

I am son of wind and ocean;

And as thou art proof 'gainst water,

Naught avails the earth-wrought 'gainst me."

Quick then, as a lance of lighting,

Quicker still than glance of wonder,

Did the Wave-son leap upon him,

And the stone-rod reft he from him.

Rune the Dwarf shrieked then in anger;

Flung himself upon his prisoner;

But with naught but lift of finger –

With the grey stone in his fingers,

Taken from the mother-waters –

Eldukaris struck and slew him,

"Good mine host," laughed Eldukaris,

Stepping o'er Rune's broken body,

"Let this be thy final lesson,

On the duty of good hosting."

He retried the blood-washed beach-stone,

Set it gently in his pocket.

Lifted he the granite sceptre,

And he swung it 'round him, whistling;

Soon the clouds were swiftly gathered,

And the air was filled with snowflakes;

For the storms obeyed the sigils

Given Rune by King of Winter.

With a gesture of his trophy,

Eldukaris broke the storm-front,

And the snow-flakes whispered softly,

Lighting on Rune's broken carcass;

Covering his stiff'ning body,

'Till there naught was left in cavern,

But a snow-mound cold and whitely.

Grinning at his newfound fortune,

Dressed in dry and warming raiment,

Bearing rod of King of Winter;

And with Rune's fine cloak about him,

Eldukaris quit the cavern,

Left his broken foe behind him,

And new armed with strength and purpose,

Ventured higher through the mountains.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

So Eldukaris stayed overnight in Rune's house, and when the dwarf pulled one little trick on him, the human beat him to death with a rock and stole his most precious possession.

This is history? This is legend? This is the stuff that epic myths are made of?

You want to know what the moral of this story is? It's "humans make lousy house-guests." Seriously, just don't let them in your home, people – it's not worth it.

Eleventh Rune: Palkinto Alfarranta

### (The Prize of Alfarran)

♦

(from the Tarusta Lehtori Kultainen, by Ryskankanakis)

Alfarran of Eldendale was born to noble stead;

A scion of a mighty house, of Hara's lineage bred.

That storied line she honoured, and vowed to serve it well,

Through ages when all Harad wept, her vow she honoured and she kept;

and keeping it, she fell.

Alfarran of Eldendale was yet of tender years

When Mærglyn, Biardath's daughter, drowned the Elven realms in tears

The tears fell all unnumberèd o'er all that once-fair land;

And as Harad became a hell, Alfarran, child of fortune, fell

a slave to Mærglyn's hand.

Alfarran of Eldendale toiled in the sunless dark,

Reft of her silken dresses, and bearing her mistress' mark.

For long and long she laboured beneath that sunless sky;

Fettered and flogged, and starved for breath, she longed for escape, and she prayed for death,

but was ne'er vouchsafed to die.

Alfarran of Eldendale walked with that mighty flood

When dark-crazed Mærglyn forsook the deeps, baying for Elven blood.

Forth to the realm of Yarchian, Renewer of Elven pride;

Mærglyn marshaled her minions fell, warded by armour and clever spell,

and the Elf-hosts fled, or died.

Alfarran of Eldendale stood in her mistress' train,

As Mærglyn strove with the Worldqueen, and the realm was rent in twain.

Ekhalra laughed as the dark elves fled from the darkness that she had spawned;

And she trampled her enemy's lifeless shell, and fed on her flesh and her bones as well,

and she shattered Mærglyn's wand.

Alfarran of Eldendale crawled from the wrack and ruin,

And hastened to Mærglyn's fallen form, limned by the Mother Moon.

She spat in her mistress' lifeless eye, but her own were dry of tears

As she stooped to the sward and she took in hand the heel of Mærglyn's shattered wand

as a fee for her captive years.

Alfarran of Eldendale fled from that field of woe;

But nowhere in Harad was free of death, for everywhere trod the foe.

At length she came to the mountains, fleeing the blood-washed plain;

And, vanishing into a narrow pass, she fell in a swoon on the clean, green grass,

and surrendered to grief and pain.

Alfarran of Eldendale slept still like a child fair

When Hjalmar, Priest of the General, spied her sun-bright, moon-gilt hair.

Approaching, he woke her gently, and was lost in her emerald eyes

Then was stunned as she placed in his trembling hand the heel of Mærglyn's shattered Wand;

her blood-bought prisoner's prize.

Alfarran of Eldendale died in his arms that night;

And Hjalmar buried her there in state, 'neath Lodan's limning light.

He left no sigil nor marker stone, no cairn o'er-watching stands;

But the Elven folk still recall her tale, and rejoice that Alfarran of Eldendale

is at rest in her kinfolk's lands.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

See, now, this is a nice poem. It tells a story, it has a beginning and an ending, it rhymes, and there's a little bit both of triumph and of tragedy in it. Took a dragon to write it. Figures.

Twelfth Rune: Venite, Nymphae

(Come, Maidens)

♦

(the benediction of the Disciples of Miyaga)

Come;

Come, Maidens,

Come, Maidens, sing!

Hands high, hair free;

With vibrant, ringing voice

In springtime's song, rejoice

Where Maidens' mists in sunlight shine

Where grows the vibrant, verdant vine

Where waits Miyaga, maid divine

To sit in beauty's majesty

That all may come, and all may see

The emerald eyes, like heart's desire

The visage fair, that all admire

The scarlet mane, like kestrel's wing

Of which Miyaga's Maidens sing.

Come, Maidens, Sing;

Come, Maidens,

Come.

Come;

Come, Maidens,

Come, Maidens, dance!

Hands high, hair free;

With flying footsteps trace

The patterns trod in this deep place

Where stands the siege of heart's desire

Where sits our Mistress, limned in fire

Where passions flame, and slaked, remain

To sate the appetites of all

Who heed Miyaga's Maidens' call.

Let pleasure be our Lady's gain,

And weak and weary hearts entrance;

For this, Miyaga's Maidens dance.

Come, Maidens, dance;

Come, Maidens,

Come.

Come;

Come, Maidens,

Come, Maidens, rise!

Hands high, hair free;

Forsake the deep and shadowed place,

With open eyes and hearts embrace

The verdant fields, and azure skies;

Obey your Mistress, fair and wise,

And flee the damning dark's demise.

With spirit free and ever pure,

The depths of kindred souls allure;

With gift of body, heart and soul

And gift of love, make mortals whole.

By dint of Maiden's peerless charms,

Magister, mage, and man-at-arms;

Priest and prophet, warrior wild;

Bard beloved, and rogue reviled;

Students of glory and despair;

Their minds and spirits and hearts ensnare.

Bring ye unto the world above,

Mistress Miyaga's eager love,

And all that stand beneath the skies,

Capture and keep with ardent eyes;

For this, Miyaga's Maidens rise!

Come, Maidens, rise;

Come, Maidens,

Come!

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

I first heard this one under some pretty unique circumstances, which are described in detail in The Road Into Ruin. Or they will be, if a certain somebody ever gets off his fundament and writes the thing.

I'm not sure what to make of the Disciples of Miyaga. At first I thought they were garden-variety trollops, and then later I figured they were a school for courtesans. Then – after I met some of their higher-ranking members – I started to wonder whether they were professional concubines, or priestesses of some sort of cult. Lately it's become obvious that they run an information and intelligence-trading service that spans the multiverse and that they pretty much run the world. I've come, therefore, to the conclusion that it's probably best to avoid them altogether – which of course means passing up on the opportunity to criticize their liturgical prose.

Discretion, after all, is the better part of ending up as a greasy smudge on the floor. Never let it be said that I cannot take a hint.

Thirteenth Rune: The Lament of Fineleor

♦

(by Amalux Cantor, Versificator Regalis Elvorum)

It was in the 457th year of the reign of Yarchian, High King of Harad, called The Renewer, that Bardan, Lord of Darkness, unleashed his forces against the Kindred. The Great War of Anuru had begun. Over the course of a lifetime of men, vast tracts of heaven and earth were laid waste; the empires of Esud and the kingdoms of Harad were sundered and torn. Only the Lagudi, and the Shadelven of the Fourth House, managed to avoid destruction, remaining safe in their underground abodes. And at the end, even both of these joined in the struggle, and their homes were laid bare, and ruin befell them also.

Thirty-nine years after the onset of the Great War, the Haradi won a brief respite from desolation when one of their mightiest champions, Fineleor Orkarel, led an inferior force into a trap set by Gryshgranax, a revenant demon of immense power, one of the mightiest of the Minions of Dark. Although Orkarel and his lover, Anja Antaïssin, Captain of Archers, were slain in personal combat with Gryshgranax, they destroyed their foe, and purchased the escape of their army with their lives. Without the demonic spirit driving them, Bardan's dark horde failed in its assault on the Elven capital of Astrapratum, and was destroyed utterly. The Haradi won a breathing space of forty years in exchange for the loss of two of their finest warriors.

♦

List, my children, and you shall hear of the final battle of Fineleor;

How he stood 'twixt home and the damning flame, and earned his house an eternal name;

How he lived in the love of a lady bold, and vanquished our deadliest foes of old;

How he marshalled our legions, and led them well; and how, in defending our land, he fell.

Viz how the summer in wrath he rode; how he, like a titan, the world bestrode;

How, when he harked to the war-horn's cry, sallied he forth, for to win, and die.

See how his swordsmen to banners came at the sound of his ancient and noble name;

To hold in defence of their fathers' land, and preserve it from war and the foe's black hand.

When the fires of Bardan besmirched the hills, and the blood of our brothers befouled the rills;

When the smoke of the forests, all burning bright, strangled the air of the torch-lit night;

When the maids of the mountains their loss bewailed, the High King of Harad his captains hailed,

And the first to answer the call to war was the dauntless Orkarel Fineleor.

Thus the commission from Yarchian, the King: "Haste to the passes, like hawk a-wing;

"Gather thy yeomen; with glaive in hand, shalt thou bar the destroyer from our fair land.

"None but the swiftest may take thy train, for a long march in traverse would be in vain.

"And take of mine archers a hundred score, and my blessing as well, as ye ride to war."

But these words fell like stones upon Fineleor; for the first time in life was he wracked by fear.

Not by his errand, which liked him well; not by the foemen, the spawn of hell;

Not by the haste which he needs must show; nor by the prospect of hard-struck blow;

Nay, the will of the King was his tremor's cause – for Anja, the Captain of Archers was.

Anja Antaïssin, of gilded mane; Anja, the daughter of moon and rain;

Anja, the maiden of banded bow, laid many a foeman of Harad low.

All Starmeadow named her a feral child, who walked in the garb of a warrior wild,

And Anja, the maiden of mountain dell, was beloved by Fineleor Orkarel.

Stark silence surrounded the General's camp; the Lamps lit the verdure with dew-shine damp;

No stallion tosses its wild-maned head; no warrior lingers and loafs a-bed;

No neighing answers the morn-cock's call; no glaive-point glistens a-top the wall;

No sentry surveys the river's shore – for the Elves with Orkarel are gone to war.

By Lodan's light to the north they rode, and bright was the shoe-spark on cobbled road.

Silver the helm gleamed, piercing the night; bright shone the spears, and the swords shone bright.

Trackless their steeds through the darkness ran, bearing the flower of kin and clan,

And Orkarel, the greatest of this great kin, rode knee-side with Anja Antaïssin.

As the Mother's Lantern arose in fire, Orkarel reined his steed in ire;

The foam-flecked stallions had run their last, with many a stirrup and bridle brast.

The blood-smoke of battle lay on the wind; their fair, helpless homeland lay close behind.

With clan-lords behind, and the foe before, they abandoned their mounts, and they marched to war.

And now his beloved stood in his stead; Anja gathered her bowmen and ran ahead,

While the warriors Orkarel rallied all, and spake unto them this commander's call:

"Freemen of Harad! The hour is dark; our numbers are few, and our foe is stark;

"Our estate is unpleasant, but hist that ye stand at the doors of your home, and the walls of your land.

"Be ye borne up with mem'ries of glade and of wold, and the courage and skill of your sires of old;

"Aim with their eyes, and your shafts will tell; strike with their hearts, and in hand-strokes fell.

"Stand for the King and his towers tall; stand for the stones of your city's wall;

"Stand for the lives of each Elf-lass and lad – stand for the future of fair Harad!

"Bear up to battle with courage fast – break thy shields, but let not thine hearts be brast;

"Stand for thy mates, and thy children dear – if we live out this day, may they outlive fear –

"Stand for thy pride; for thine honour, stand, and for brother that marches at thy right hand;

"Stand for that duty we owe to ourselves – and the lives and the loves of thy brother Elves!"

At this, his myrmidons raised a cheer, and their thund'rous salute heartened Fineleor.

A frenzy of stamping shakes the ground; with clamours of "Vic'try!" the hills resound;

Then Orkarel raised an imperious wave, and each warrior shouldered his shield and glaive,

And they faced to the mountains that stood before, and they readied their spirits, and marched to war.

Anja Antaïssin stumbled in fear as the vanguard, afire, attacked her rear;

The bolts of the enemy spattered around, where the bodies of Elf-archers littered the ground

Three times her own force she had feared for to see – but the force they confronted was vast as the sea.

And more than mere monsters and mockeries of Man; tall giants of fire there strode in the van;

Fell serpents and spiders in venom arose, and great creatures of mountain-might marched with her foes;

Dark beings of hell, wreathed in smoke and in flame, and foul aberrations of Deepdark there came;

There demons of fire sought souls as their prize, and the wings of the ancient wyrms darkened the skies.

And straight at the head of this earth-staining horde, the death-demon Gryshgranax marched as their lord.

In beholding the breadth of this sea of foes, the heart of the Elves in Antaïssin arose,

And she summoned her second, where none could hear, and she took him aside, and bespoke her fear:

"Take thou mine archers, and flee to the plains; horse thou my bowmen, be harsh with the reins,

"For this foe is too mighty to face in the hills – we need walls, and our wizards, and all of our skills!

"Ride thou unto Orkarel; this counsel give: 'Flee thou, my love – take thy swordsmen, and live!

" 'Live for the life that we once might have had; live for the glory and love of Harad!'"

"But what of thy fate, mistress – why wilt thou stay? Cast not thy life's love so needless away!

"Flee with us now!" the old warrior said. "Thou canst not serve Harad if thou liest dead!"

"Hark to my orders," she answered, and smiled. "Thou needest not fear for a wench of the wild.

"But leave me thy quivers, and I shall be glad; and Gryshgranax shall rue each step in Harad."

So they left her their quivers, and spare bowstrings too; and begging her blessing, all southwards they flew.

As the horde shuddered on, vast and dark as the seas, she concealed her shafts 'mongst the leaves of the trees.

Then she watched where Gryshgranax marched, flaming in wrath, and she chose a tall tree that stood nigh by his path;

There in verdure, she waited; and waiting, she laughed as she took the fell beast at the point of her shaft.

As the Lantern-light sparkled on leaf and on stream, the Horde of the Dark gave a terrible scream;

And they broke from the hold of their dark master's sight, and they fell on the trees, and they set them alight.

But each beast fell silent, and waited in fear; for a bellow of pain had sprung up from the rear;

'Twas Gryshgranax that let out that hideous cry – with the grey shaft of Anja stuck fast in his eye!

And thus the long fight of Antaïssin began, as from tree-hide to tree-hide, all silent, she ran;

Her shafts whistled brightly in Harad that day, and amongst the dark army, they made dreadful play.

None there were who descried as she hunted her foe – as she giants, and monsters, and demons laid low.

All that day she ran with them, and slew as she ran – until Fineleor Orkarel ruined her plan.

As a mountain-stream chilled by the ice-field's breath, Elder Fineleor Orkarel marched to his death.

The long valley gleamed as the Lantern went down, and shone from his helm like the light from a crown.

Uncovered, his shield shone red in the gloom, and his helmet-plumes waved in defiance of doom;

His stout heart afire with passion and hate, he walked with his iron eye fixed on his fate.

At the narrowest span of the valley he stayed, where the cliffs of the mountains both side were arrayed,

And he bid him farewell to the lands of his birth, and he planted his banner there, fast in the earth.

Soft he whispered a prayer to the lord of the skies, and bethought him of Antaïssin's emerald eyes;

Then he faced to the dust-clouds and smoke that arose, and he stood in the path of his onrushing foes.

The sun had descended behind the grey spires when the Dark Horde approached in a welter of fires;

Loud ran the slavering wolves in the van, and behind walked the ruins of Elf, Dwarf and Man.

The thunder of giant-strides echoed like death, and the drakes scorched the trees with the fire of their breath;

But the worst of the minions of darkness that came, was the death-demon Gryshgranax, wreathed in black flame.

"Bow thee down, fool of Harad!" His shout rent the air; felled the birds from the skies; stripped the tree branches bare;

"Bow thee down – beg my mercy – I may let thee live; though my Master grants death, life is my gift to give!"

"Save thy mercy, thou monster," quoth the Elf-Lord in wrath; "it is Fineleor Orkarel that stands in thy path!"

"None shall leave it alive who dares enter my land; flee and save thee! I hold thy death here in my hand!"

"What knowest thou of death?" the great fire-demon smiled; "I died long before thy grandsire was a child!

"For eons have I walked in death's dark mantle furled; I come now to bring death unto thee and thy world!"

"Then bring it!" quoth Orkarel, "Yea, bring it in sooth! I have fought thy fell kind since the days of my youth.

"And I swear, on my grandsire, that thou shalt not pass! Come and fight me, 'till one of us dies on the grass!"

At the Elf's final word, Gryshgranax raised his sword, and advanced to the narrows, where stood the Elf Lord;

But he hissed as in anger, and stopped in his track, and grasped at the shaft standing out from his back.

Then from the high cliffs came a clear Elven call, as Anja, the bowmaid, descended the wall,

As light as a leaf-fall was she in her stride, and she smiled as she took her place by her love's side.

"Fair maiden! I dreamt not to see thee again, for when thou returned not, my heart broke in pain."

"Fair master, my own heart could never abide, a fortune more meet than to fall at thy side."

With the Dark Horde upon them, in twilight they stood, and mounded the slain 'neath the deep northern wood;

Orkarel and demon gave swift strokes, and hard; and Anja his minions piled up on the sward.

No word had come back of the two heroes' fate when the Dark Horde of Bardan struck Starmeadow's Gate;

And they broke on that gate with a low, darkling groan, as a wave breaks on meeting unyielding stone.

For the force that had driven them there from afar, no longer impelled them to perish in war;

In the far northern pass, stilled in death on the wold, lay the dark shape of Gryshgranax, flameless and cold.

And nearby, where his vast pyre smoked on the grass, lay Anja and Orkarel, guards of the pass.

The Flame-Pass we call it, to honour their loss, and 'tis marked with a stone-cairn, covered in moss.

At the north end we gathered a mountain of bones; at the south lie our finest, asleep 'neath the stones.

Their last sleep entwined, 'neath the emerald sod; Orkarel, Antaïssin, the best of Harad.

United in death, there they lie, hand-in-hand; the lovers, the heroes, who saved our fair land.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

Elves! What have they got against brevity? Keep it short, for the love of the Holy Mother! The rest of us don't live for a thousand years!
Fourteenth Rune: The King of Winter

♦

(from the Tarinas Valtakirjas)

With the cloak of Rune about him

And the granite rod upon him,

Eldukaris faced the mountains,

And he boldly them ascended.

Mounted high the trail before him;

Twixt the clouds, and close to heaven;

Stones and rock falls thundered near him;

Whistling winter's wind assailed him

Cold the air, and cold the trail was,

Cold his hands and heart within him;

But the Dwarf's warm cloak was soothing,

And the Rod, his shield 'gainst snow-fall.

Where the whistling wind blew fiercest

And snow and ice lay heavy,

And the land was black and barren,

There the mountain trail expired;

At a sheer drop in the ice-cliff,

Nigh a thousand fathoms open,

Straight as axe-stroke, giant-cloven,

Lay a vast and shining canyon.

As he strained his eyes, descrying,

Lo', the clouds were sudden parted,

And a shaft of sunlight breached them,

Blazing like the spear of heaven.

There, across the blazing canyon

Cold and white as frost-rime fleeting,

Stood a gleaming frozen fortress:

Isholm, siege of King of Winter.

Eldukaris stood at cliff-face,

And the vasty canyon pondered;

For he had not claws to climb it,

Neither hawk-wings to traverse it;

Nay, no rope or cable had he,

Nor a pick to aid his walking.

Naught he had but wine-skin bulging,

Taken from Rune's warming kitchen;

Naught he had but granite Scepter,

Given Rune by King of Winter.

Of that Scepter he bethought him;

Brought it forth, and raised it sharply;

And the snowflakes flurried 'round him,

And the whistling wind attended.

"Winter's Breath," cried Eldukaris,

"Come thou forth, do thou obey me;

Bring thy snow and ice-blast hither;

Bear my weight on storm-wings mighty!

And the storm obeyed his wishes,

For this was the Scepter's power;

Thus the frost-clouds gathered 'neath him;

Thus the ice-wind came and bore him.

Thus the clouds were as a chariot,

And he rose up from the cliff-face,

Riding like a lord of thunder;

Flying o'er the deeping canyon.

Ever nearer to the fortress

Of the fearsome King of Winter;

Ever nearer to his treasure

Fair wood-maid, Csæleyan.

Fast he flew on frigid wind-wings,

And the ice-blast froze his marrow;

By the cold, his hair was whitened,

And his eyes, in frost-blue blazoned.

At the castle's gate, he faltered,

For the ice-wind broke and shattered;

Here the Scepter was not potent;

Here the Winter-King was strongest.

With the dwarf-cloak gathered 'round him,

And the granite Scepter hidden,

Eldukaris faced the door-beams,

And he hammered hard upon them.

Not a sound from frozen wasteland;

Nor a sound from Isholm answered,

And he nigh despaired of entry,

When at last the doors were opened.

White and fell the greeting visage;

Blæst was he, the Ice-King's door-ward.

Tall and white, a giant of winter,

Cold his heart, and cold his answers.

"Who art thou, and wherefore come thee?"

Blæst inquired of Eldukaris,

"Speak thy name and speak thy purpose,

Speak them swiftly, lest I slay thee!"

Thus did Eldukaris answer;

"I am Eldu of the waters,

And I come to seek thy master,

For I would have discourse with him;

Yea, I have a boon to ask him,

And I bring a gift to give him."

Blæst the Door-Ward roared with laughter,

"Son of Esu, thou art witless!

Seek you favours? Know, my master,

Wishes naught but death to strangers.

Take my counsel; hie thee onward;

Tempt thou fortune on the Mountain,

Taste the cold embrace of storm-blast

Lest thou taste my master's anger."

Eldukaris frowned in answer;

He had spoken fair and truly,

And the answer Blæst had given

Vexed his warrior's spirit sorely.

Yet his mother's calm was in him;

Peaceful patience of the oceans;

So he held his temper hidden,

And this answer Blæst was given:

"Say unto thy mighty master,

I am Eldu of the Waters,

And I come to barter with him

For a prize that he has taken.

Fair wood-maid, Csæleyan,

Whom he took whilst forest-dancing;

I have sworn to bring her safely

Back to those who love her dearly.

Tell thou this unto thy master:

Eldu craven and coward names him!

If these charges he would answer,

Here I stand; I here await him."

At this challenge, Blæst stood raging,

And a moment passed in silence;

Then the palace rang with thunder,

And the ice of Isholm shivered.

Cold the air in palace wavered;

Colder still it grew, and shivered;

Colder yet, and in the ice-blast

Stood the form of King of Winter.

"Cast thy gage, thou puling wave-kin,"

Quoth the winter-demon, sneering.

"I am Mælgorm, King of Winter;

I am winter's master reigning.

Naught may live upon the mountains;

Naught may thrive in snow-fall season,

But my will permits their living,

And my eye is e'er upon them.

Thus I watched while you climbed hither;

Thus I watched you clutch and falter;

Thus I saw you slay my servant,

And I saw you take my Scepter.

Now you come to beg my favour?

Now you come to trade and barter?

Know this, fool; I brook no challenge,

From a vain and petty mortal."

"Speak'st thou so?" laughed Eldukaris,

"Think'st thou not I know thy weakness?

Here I hold thy granite scepter,

Taken from thy puling servant.

Rune the Dwarf betrayed his hosting,

Thus I took this bauble from him.

Right of conquest makes it answer

When I call unto its power.

Yet for Powers it is different;

Right to wield the Ars Arcanum

Follows not from brutal battle,

But from gift of willing spirit.

Thus thy scepter is my weregild;

Paid in blood by law of Powers

If thou by force should'st take it,

Never more its powers will answer."

"True and true," quoth Mælgorm, seething.

"Is this then the gift thou bringest me?

Thinkst thou I wouldst barter closely

For a benison I crafted?"

"What I bring," said Eldukaris,

"Is a test of might and power.

Should'st thou win, take thou thy scepter,

As the willing gift of Eldu.

Take my flesh and heart's-blood with it,

To make free withal, as suits thee."

"And if thou should'st win thy vict'ry?"

Asked the cunning King of Winter,

"What must then I cede thee, mortal?

What great gift wouldst thou take with thee,

Climbing down my mighty mountain?"

"Thy great treasure," laughed the Sea-Child.

"If I win, I take thy captive;

Fair and frail Csæleyan,

Daughter of the laughing woodlands,

Sister of the Forest-Maidens.

You shall yield her in her freedom,

And forsake to claim her after,

'Till the Veróldbrast shall claim us

And all perisheth in fire."

"I accept," said Mælgorm, laughing.

"I am mighty as the mountains;

Strong as stone, with thews of iron,

No mere mortal may outmatch me.

Choose thy trial, thou foolish child;

Choose thy trial, and watch me win it."

"Here it is," said Eldukaris;

And brought forth his sea-stone gleaming.

"Thus my trial," quoth Eldukaris,

"Thus my test of strength and cunning.

This grey stone comes from the waters

From my mother's bosom gleaming.

I shall place it on the flagstones

And return it to her bosom;

And the one who takes and lifts it,

He shall win fair Csæleyan."

"Done and done," laughed Mælgorm, howling

At the folly of this mortal.

Eldukaris nodded briefly,

With a smile scarcely hidden.

Stone he placed in a depression

On the flagstones, worn and hollow;

Then he fetched his bulging wine-flask;

And he filled the hole with water.

With a smile broad and beaming,

Eldu stretched his hand before him;

Plunged it wrist-deep in the water,

Held the stone forth, wet and gleaming.

"Now, essay," said he to Mælgorm,

And replaced the stone before him.

But the Ice-King stood unmoving

Grinding fangs, in rage abounding.

Yet at last he faltered forward;

Reached toward the shining water;

But his hand stopped short of touching,

For the water froze before him.

So it is with King of Winter;

Water lives not in or near him,

For his touch is ice incarnate;

And that frigid ice denied him.

"Now decide," quoth Eldukaris,

"Now decide, thou King of Winter.

Wilt thou free fair Csæleyan?

Let us leave in peace unhindered?

Stone I lifted fair before thee;

And thou failed my test entire.

Wilt thou keep thy word and pay me?

Or foreswear, and so betray me?"

Mælgorm ground his teeth in anger

Like the stones grind in the mountains;

And he spoke in rumbling anger;

And the walls of Isholm quivered.

"Take thy chit, and flee my fury;

Come thou ne'er again against me.

If henceforth I e'er should see thee,

I shall rend thy heart's-flesh from thee."

Then in fury, he departed

In a cloud of ice and snow-blast;

Eldukaris stood and waited,

And in waiting, felt a changing:

Warmth there came unto the Isholm;

Flower-scent, and tree-scent lingered,

Then in green and glory gleaming,

Csæleyan stood before him.

Forest-green her hair and raiment;

Forest-green her lovely visage,

And the green light of the woodlands

Softly glimmered 'round about her.

None of this saw Eldukaris;

For his heart was lost in wonder;

Green the eyes that looked upon him;

And his heart sprang forth in answer.

Naught she said, but smiled softly;

And the ice-floor 'round them crumbled

Leaves of trees the ice-walls shattered;

Bush and branch the flagstones sundered.

Scent of flowers intermingled

And of oak-leaves bright and blooming

And the green of forest gleaming

In the eyes of wood-maid weeping.

Naught said he; but Eldukaris

Stepped unto the Forest Maiden

Placed his hands upon her shoulders;

In her deeping eyes he foundered.

Bright the wood-scent rose around them,

And the walls of Isholm vanished;

In the arms of Csæleyan –

Prize of conquest and of passion,

Whom he ne'er would leave thereafter –

Eldukaris quit the mountains.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

I've never used to be certain whether I should believe this one or not. I mean...a tricky human? Really? Most humans I've met have been about as tricky as the stuff I scrape off my boot after escaping a castle's dungeon by way of the midden.

But then I remembered how the story ended, and that sort of drove it home for me. Stay with me here. Eldukaris falls in love with Csæleyan, and they wed and have children and live happily ever after. And she's a tree, right? Basically, that's what a 'Wood-Maiden' is, isn't it? She's not one of the Kindred, she's one of the fey folk. She lives in the forest...and she's green. And her kids are nymphs and pixies and dryads and what-not.

That's the clincher, isn't it? The story has to be true. Because if there's one thing that I've learned about humans, it's that they'll mate with anything.

Fifteenth Rune: The Jewels of Harad

♦

(from The Ballads of the Bjerglands, by Skald Ian McLaren)

These are the jewels of Elvehelm

The glory and pride of the Elven realm.

Seven the jewels of fair Harad

Created by mortal and minion and god

Seven the baubles, that latterly grace

The dark of the vaults in that comely place

Seven the trinkets held by the wise

Beneath the tree-shaded, star-filled skies.

Eldest the cup that the Delver made

To give to the Mother of light and shade

Ruby the lips that touched the brim

As she clove to a mortal's immortal whim

So fill it with water and drink it down,

And your soul will exalt, and you'll wear a crown.

The crown that you'll wear is the fairest thing

Unto which the princesses of Harad cling;

A diadem shining of brightest gold

That bolstered the beauty of queens of old

A diamond of blood at its heart-core shines

And it answers its wearers least designs;

The crown graces not Ælyndarka's brow

But rests with her brother 'neath bone-yard's bough.

Brightest the blade that broke alone

When it met the fist of unyielding stone;

Cold was the fire and flame it bore

When the fell fallen brother marched to war

The haft is the sceptre in royal hands

of the emerald-eyed lady of Elven lands

The shards of the Stoneweeper mark the grave

Of the brother who fell, and his sister saved.

Bright and unbroken Blind Vengeance hides

And its master's hand-strokes unerringly guides;

Bitter the edge of that ancient blade

That those who envied great Tior made

Darkness the wielder's vision dims

As it lops off heads and it lops off limbs.

Cold lies the hilt of the ancient rod

That flayed the fabric of fair Harad

Broken the flail that served the throne,

As the White Lord harried both flesh and bone

His daughter's black hand brought the tyrant low

And the shard of his rod lies entombed below.

Mighty the diadem Tior wore

As he followed his wisdom and searched for lore

Bright Laurastralis, of gleaming gold

Graced the brows and the reigns of the kings of old

But none since the flower of Yarchian's reign

Laurastralis has dared to put on again

And it waits beneath Starmeadow's towers fair

For a High King to rise and the realm repair.

Greatest of all is the Rod of Kings

The flower of Harad's ancient things

Fair Tior forged it, and then he fell;

Foul Xiardath took it, and used it well;

The White Wyrm held it while Biardath reigned;

But Jawartan the Sceptre of Kings regained,

And gave it to Yarchian, who ruled with pride,

Until at the hands of the Queen he died.

The rod fell in darkness 'neath wyrm-wrought skies

And in darkness in Harad, still it lies.

These are the jewels of Elvehelm

The glory and pride of the Elven realm

Seven the treasures of Elves of old;

And thus is my tale in fullness told.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

So I read this one, and I'm thinking, Hey – an elfy poem, and it rhymes, and it's short! Hurrah!

Then I noticed that a human wrote it. Talk about a case of premature expostulation. At least this McLaren fellow spends his time writing songs and instead of hanging about the garden leering at the flora.

Sixteenth Rune: Arma Alferus

### (The Arms of the Elf-Lord)

♦

(from the Victoria Alferae, by Amalux Cantor, Versificator Regalis Elvorum)

Fallen the Elfrealm, and fallen the Darkness;

Gone are the Powers, and Braea's kind hand.

Scattered the Kindred, and sundered the Houses;

Dimmed are the night skies, across our fair land.

Forth stands Ekhalra, in darkness triumphant;

The Keepers and Lictors our kinfolk enslave;

Renewer is fallen, his standard in tatters;

The peace we have gained is the peace of the grave.

Forth from disaster, a sprite of the woodlands

A force of the forests arises in wrath;

A Second House stripling, a Half-Blood of Esu

Fell, fearsome and fearless bestrides the green path.

A son of Nîallan, Grey Elf of Two Rivers,

And Brenna Ashwarden, to Tioreth bound:

Arngrím the Elflord stands forth in defiance

The foes of the Fair Folk to kill and confound.

Through vic'tries uncounted, he led his folk onward,

The greenwood they mastered, and made it the tomb

Of the Keepers and Lictors who sought them unwisely,

And fell to the shafts of those wraiths of the gloom.

But skill naught avails when numbers are wanting,

And the war-wrights of Arngrím in numbers were few;

So counsel was taken among the Anari,

And the Wood-Gods conspired, his might to renew.

The Protector, the Wood-Spider, runner and leaper,

New caligae wrought, for the silent and fleet;

The Wood-Maid, the wood-maidens gathered together,

And of leaves, light and mithral, wove hauberk complete.

The Blue-Rod, the Wolf-Lord, of wood-beasts the master,

A horn-crown devised for all nature's command,

And from bright Fire-Stalker, the Spirit of Nature -

A weapon well apt to a wood-warden's hand.

When they brought these to Hara, the Elf-God eternal,

He mourned that his manu could not cross the Dome;

So he blessed the panoply with power enduring,

And sent them with Arngrím the woodlands to roam.

Thus by Arngrím the Elflord, all armed by the Powers,

The Keepers and Lictors the woods were denied;

And his lordship endured through the Eon of Darkness,

Until, when that Darkness retreated, he died.

His panoply, Arngrím bequeathed to the Wardens

For these comrades outlived him; some outlive him still;

His solemn bequest they have guarded for eons,

Their oath to the Elflord to keep and fulfill.

Yet time all devours; the Wardens grow weary,

And darkness returns to the Dark Queen's domain;

When that fell darkness threatens the wolds and the woodlands,

Will the Arms of the Elford defend them again?

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

This one interested me, because I happened to be close by when it suddenly became relevant. You see, me and Breygon and Joraz and Qaramyn and a couple of guys from Ekhan and another burglar they hired in...sorry, "a" burglar they hired in Vejborg (I'm just a humble innkeeper, ha ha), were poking about this wizard's tower and one of the things we found was this pair of boots marked with what Breygon told us was the sigil of Larranel Sylvanus, right? The elves' god, the one they call "the Protector". Anyhow, Breygon lugged them around for awhile because he was scared of trying them on, but then he did, and he passed out and had a vision and got all weird. And then later (so I heard from Qaramyn), Breygon ended up with another piece of the Panoply, and assumed the mantle of...

...oh for crying out loud, go read it yourself. The Wizard's Tower part is in The Tower by the Sea, and the rest of it's in The Last Warden. The author probably hasn't written those ones yet either, the lazy git.
Seventeenth Rune: Nenía Proditiora

### (The Dirge of the Betrayer)

♦

(by Shannyra Draugasvíkja, Counsellor and Mate to Biardath the Sorcerer-King)

Trans. by Ildran Gasterbarn, Countess of Whitefields, and Disciple of the Maiden

From ashes infernal, of beauty a vision

The daughter of darkness eternal arisen

Consumed in the fires of death and damnation

Reborn of desire and hate's satiation

Formed of corruption and chaos innate

Fiend of seduction and mistress of fate

A demon of lust to hold mortals beguiled;

Alluring, enticing, the Ender's dark child.

Birthed of the shadows, of spirits betrayed;

Espoused by Miyaga, the beauteous maid

Schooled in the mysteries of heart and of hand

Gifted of wiles to beg and command

Desired by many of rank and of name

Wooed by the general of shadow and flame

Loved by Baulfekna, the Ender's right hand

And marked o'er the heart with his black-fisted brand.

Summoned at last to his adamant throne

She stands 'fore the Ender, afraid and alone.

Erect and a-tremble, she waits for his word;

A heartstone is given, a stratagem heard.

A bellow of outrage; a lover betrayed;

Baulfekna revolts at the plans that are laid.

A union is sundered, a general cast out,

And the mistress departs from the Master's redoubt.

With stone and with purpose where northland storms thunder

She rouses the White Lord with wisdom and wonder

But one of three counsels to aid the contender,

She rouses his armies in shadow and splendour

She holds him to purpose and sets his feet thither,

His folk to betray, and his homeland to wither

She stands at his side, a dark dream of desire

And she laughs as he casts them all into the fire.

The father defeated, the victory won –

But the dark daughter's counsel in no wise is done;

From the bones of his father, who perished in fire,

And the blood of the dragon that slaughtered his sire;

From the sword of Urgalka, that demon-wrought blade

A fell-fisted sceptre together they made.

Then the heartstone she gave him, to seal its might

And the Wand of the White Lord tore open the night.

But her dark heart betrayed her; she longed to remain

At his side, and his mortal heart's love to attain.

To anneal the sceptre, and augment its power

The blood of a mortal it must needs devour

And to seal its might to the might of her lord

His own kin must fall to the demon-wrought sword

So the dark daughter told him, and sold him the life

Of the fair-haired Fanduiline, his ill-fated wife.

The sacrifice finished; the fell deed complete

Her rival lies slain in dark daughter's deceit

The White Lord exultant holds forth his fell wand

Having sent his beloved to the Long Halls beyond.

Dark Daughter in triumph the White Lord implores

For the touch of the traitorous son she adores;

But the White Lord reviles her as outcast unclean

And swears that he never will have her as queen.

Thus her love turns to hatred, a venomous ire

As potent as was her unbounded desire

Yet she cleaves to him coldly, as concubine bound

And plots his ascension at last to confound.

Of two sons delivered, one banished beyond

And one of the father abnormally fond;

But at last comes a daughter of beauty divine

And her mother's fell spirit, corrupt and malign.

"Amplexo, my daughter, this greeting I share:

Thou'rt come to deliver dread, death, and despair;

With fair face of thy father, his confidence gain

And in time shall we sunder his ill-gotten reign.

Take thou blood from my breast, that thy power may grow

And my traitorous lover we'll usher below

Then with strength of thy father's omnipotent rod

Shall we plunge into darkness the whole of Harad!"

Thus the Daughter of Darkness her stratagems laid

As her own darkling daughter grew into a maid

So the end of the Elfrealm, in thunder and flame

With the rise of these daughters of treason, it came.

Thus Shannyra, the fiend; of darkness the dame

And her own daughter, Mærglyn, immortal black name

By their treason was Harad betrayed and undone –

And so, gentle patrons, my tale is done.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

Another gruesome Shadelven story, although this one was allegedly written by a demon. There's an interesting codicil to it. The demon – Shannyra Draugasvíkja – was allegedly a pleasure-fiend sent by Bardan to serve Biardath, the Sorcerer-King of the Elves in the Age of Wisdom, as both counsel and consort. She convinced him to slaughter his own lifemate to enhance the power of his magic when he was creating his dreaded Wand. Oddly for one of her infernal race, Shannyra was supposed to have fallen in love with him; but he refused to wed her, as doing so would have been an affront to elven law and would prevented his descendents (he had a true-born daughter by the lifemate he had murdered) from extending his dynasty.

Biardath also had a daughter by Shannyra – Mærglyn Kinslayer, fiend-blooded and insane, who overthrew her father and ruled the elf-realm briefly, until the Holy Mother, Bræa, led the Sarvaloka (the divine host) to overthrow her. Mærglyn fled into the Deepdark and founded the Hidden Realm of the Shadelves, with its capital at Silent Waters. Shannyra was captured, and in punishment for the part she had played, and because slain fiends return to the infernal realms to be reborn in time, she was sealed in solid stone beneath the earth by fiat of the dwarven gods.

See, Qaramyn? All that time you were yapping, I was too listening!
Eighteenth Rune: Treléodscearula Dwéorga

### (The Three Tribes of the Dwarves)

♦

(Original by Gálmodn of Carrlár; translated by Harwéac Hargóin)

(from the Æfenléoð Hargóinna, the "Evensongs of Hargóin", by Harwéac Hargóin, Gamolfeax-láreow Dweorga, Master Chanter of the Dwarves)

In depths of the Deeprealm, the Mountain-King Mighty

Sits fast on his treasures hid far from the Sun;

From high throne of gemstone he rules the Dweorga,

And yellow-gold rivers his fists overrun.

Thus wrought the Powers in times long forgotten;

Thus spake the Powers, and thus was it done.

The dame of the Kindred, the Mother of Morning

Created her sons from Anuru's fair form;

From fire she brought forth the curious Men-folk,

And Elvii she wrought from the clouds of the storm.

The happy Halpinya she formed from the waters

The rippling rivers, the fast-falling rain;

And Dweorga she made from the bones of the mountains,

And gave them the Deepdark to be their domain.

Thus made the Mother the breeds of the Kindred;

Thus wrought the Powers in Bræa's bright reign.

The Kindred were given the Choice Everlasting:

To serve the Anari, or Darkness embrace;

So wroth was the Mother when many denied her,

And turned them away from her fair golden face.

In her rage, Bræa summoned her lightnings and fires

To end their rebellion, her grief, and her pain;

But Ana stayed her hand, and reprieved the lost children:

Nevermore would she threaten them – never again.

So fell the Lightbringer, Mother no longer;

So fell fair Bræa, her progeny's bane.

When Bræa her anger unleashed 'gainst her children,

The dwarven folk fled, hiding far under Earth.

In the Deepdark they trembled, afraid of fair Bræa;

Condemned by their Mother, and doubting their worth.

When the Brothers of Bræa were given the Kindred

To safeguard from darkness, and rear as their own,

The Dweorga refused to abandon their refuge,

And stayed in their tunnels of sheltering stone.

So chose the Dwarves when the Powers came calling;

So chose the Dwarves – to remain all alone.

This choice angered Lagu, new father of Dwarfdom;

He swore their obedience swift to obtain.

So to Deepdark he went, with his adamant hammer,

Where the Dwarf-folk had opted in fear to remain.

He smote the stone doors in his stern, righteous fury

And ordered the Dwarves to come forth and obey;

But the Dweorga-wrought portal resisted his anger;

His hammer-blows thundered; yet all glanced away.

And thus failed Lagu to force their submission;

And thus failed Lagu their spirits to sway.

And so Lagu stayed by the Doors of the Deeprealm

His entry denied by the sons of the stone;

'Till at last he relented, and begged the Dweorga

To unlock their gates, and accord him the throne.

But still they refused to allow him to enter,

Their gates to unlock, and his lordship accept;

'Till he swore in return he would teach them the stone-craft

And in metalwork, render them skilled and adept.

This promise Dweorga exacted from Lagu;

This promise he made, and this promise he kept.

Thus Lagu established three tribes of Dweorga

To safeguard the knowledge he vouchsafed them all.

The Hill Dwarves, in stone-craft he soundly instructed;

Dehorda, the rockwrights of pillar and wall,

And above them set Khallach, the Master of Stonelore

To uphold the welfare of hill and of hall.

The Mountain Dwarves metalwork readily mastered –

Burarda, the Forge-Lords, their skills did display;

To Barraj, the master of smiths and of forge-lore

The priests and the folk of the Mountain-Dwarves pray.

And last came the tribe of the artisans craft-wise

Who to Zoraz the Patient directed their prayers:

Dethekda, the Deep Dwarves, the hidden, the cunning,

The sons of the stone-kin; Dwéorga true heirs.

But above all, to Lagu the dwarven folk pray,

All ill to prohibit, all fears to allay;

And thus did Dweorga come back to the Powers,

And thus do the dwarven folk prosper today.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

This one translates a whole lot better from the original than most of the other dwarven ditties. It explains a lot, actually. They're boring because their gods taught them to be boring.

Nineteenth Rune: Paramátmaa Patitám

### ("The Supreme Soul Has Fallen")

♦

(from the Charitráni Sarvaloka)

In the days before days, when the Earth was still new, and the Children of Bræa walked without fear beneath the stars of Heaven, the Law and the Splendour were upheld by the Host of the Anari – the minions of light, the Sarvalóka. And foremost among these, Vibhúh of the Sarvalóka, was Cielagan, Archon of the Svargási Nhaasanáma – the Throne of Heaven.

Cielagan stood high in the councils of the light, at the right hand of mighty Bræa; and in the endless war against the fell hosts of Bardan, led the armies of righteousness, bearing before all the Karválanyaya, the Sword of Justice forged by the hand of Lagu himself, and bearing within it all of the radiant might of the Lightbringer.

Such was the power of his faith that none could stand before him. The light of Bræa shone forth from his very flesh, banishing all darkness, and laying bare the designs of the Enemy; and the Sword of Justice was anathema and hatred to them, and they fell away before it, and the divine wrath of him who wielded it, like leaves before the autumn wind. Where Cielagan led, the Sarvalóka emerged triumphant, for no foe could withstand his might; and they praised his name, and called him General, and Master, and Lord Most High.

The Vibhúh gloried in his estate, and strove ever to be worthy of the love and indulgence of Bræa, his mistress. And there were many who loved him as well; for although he was stern and unyielding in his faith, yet he was a skilled commander, and generous with praise for those who strove in his service. Yet some there were who went beyond the love of righteousness that alone is seemly between those of the Host. Two of these were Eliastralee and Lööspelian, Archons of the Horn, minions of Tîan whom the Imprisoned Goddess had sent to Cielagan to serve as his heralds; and who, in the vanguard of the Sarvalóka, stood alongside Cielagan and, with silver blasts, hurled his challenge into the teeth of the Darkness.

Through the long war they stood at his side; and they saw through the stern façade of the General, Master and Lord Most High, to the heart that beat beneath the cuirass of fiery gold. And they perceived that Cielagan was dismayed, for the price of command, to one of the Host, was to remain aloof and alone; one with the great army of light, yet forever apart. This was the curse to be borne by the Vibhúh; a terrible price, but one that Cielagan was content to pay. For such was the strength of his service and his faith.

The two sisters of the Horn were dismayed by their newfound knowledge, for each adored the General, and honoured him above all others, save only the Powers themselves. Eliastralee, the elder, loved Cielagan, and longed for his heart to turn to her; but also did she respect his decision, and in honour of his sacrifice, declined to make her own fondness known to him, lest it distract him from his duty in time of war. But Lööspelian, the younger, was less moderate in her affections; for she had ever been the more passionate of the two. Such was her love for the General that it overwhelmed her reason. She feared for his safety when the swords clashed, and the fires of the Uruqua scorched the skies; and in the calm between battles, she struggled with the unseemly fervor of her passion, weeping alone in the cold comfort of her bower.

Such a circumstance could not endure; for Lööspelian knew that her sister, Eliastralee, cherished a similar, if loftier, passion for their leader; and she knew that if she did not strike first, her heart's love could be lost. For although Lööspelian was the better fighter, standing always in the forefront of battle, plying her bow and her sword with skill and ferocity almost unmatched within the Host, of the two, Eliastralee was the wiser, and also more beautiful; and more temperate in spirit. Lööspelian feared that if Cielagan ever permitted his heart to love, he would choose Eliastralee over her.

And so, in the endless twilight of the time before time, on the eve of a great battle against the Firstborn – the Dragons and the Giants, led by the most fearsome of the Servants of Bardan: Gargarik on the ground, and in the air, Achamkriss – Lööspelian entered the pavilion of Cielagan, on the pretext of bearing a message for the Commander of the Host. The General was arming himself for battle; his gilt breastplate shimmered, the plumes of his helmet swayed in the chill air flowing from the mountain heights, and the great sword Karválanyaya sparkled in the torchlight. There, in the peaceful, shadowed silence, Lööspelian confessed her love for the leader of the Host. And she wept in his arms, broken-hearted, when he told her that, although he loved her as a sister, as a soldier, and as a servant of the light, he could not love her as she wished.

And then he compounded her hurt. Lööspelian begged him to ease her suffering by promising, should the Host ever emerge victorious from the war, to lay down his mantle, and take her as his own. It would have been a facile promise, and she knew it; for the war was eternal, and could never end, until the darkness emerged triumphant, or the light, or the world broke; but she needed to hear his promise, even though she knew it to be empty. But Cielagan was a true servant of justice and the light, and could not make a false promise, even an empty one; and so he told her the truth: that, if ever he could lay down the burden of command, and forsake his duty, and take a mate of his heart, that he would choose her sister, Eliastralee; for he loved her above all others. And he told the weeping Lööspelian that he was grateful for her sister's restraint; for, had Eliastralee ever reciprocated his love, he would have been unable to resist; and he would have spurned the helm and cuirass of Heaven, and laid down the Sword of Justice; and turned his back on the Host, and the Light, and even the face of Bræa herself, to be with his love.

His words cut Lööspelian like knives; for, coming from his lips, she knew them to be true. And she fled, weeping, from his pavilion, and from the battlefield, and sought solace in the company of Dharmachárin, the Shrine-Keeper; a lesser sister of the Host, whose name meant "Eternal Duty", and who tended the holy place of the Lightbringer. Dharmachárin was much beloved of the servants of the Horn; for she was gentle, and wise, and had a ready ear, and readier sympathy for those who had suffered misfortune. Thus to the great, alabaster shrine did Lööspelian flee; and in Dharmachárin's arms, she sobbed out her woes, and her unrequited love for the General; and she told the Shrine-Keeper of his desperate passion for her sister, Eliastralee. And Dharmachárin dried her tears, and soothed her despair with comforting words; and she counseled Lööspelian to curb her passion, and let reason guide her actions. And she promised to speak with Cielagan, and plead Lööspelian's case with the Vibhúh, and to use all of her skill to entreat him to unlock his heart. Lööspelian thanked Dharmachárin and, with glad tears, betook herself to her own pavilion, there to pass a long, sleepless night, awaiting the outcome of the Shrine-Keeper's mission.

♦

When Lööspelian was gone to her restless rest, Dharmachárin laughed aloud; for she was not one of the Anari, but rather a minion of the dark: her true name was Kënaqësi, and she was one of the kurvëdjalle; a fiend of pleasure and corruption, sent by Bardan in ages long past to espy upon Cielagan, and to uncover, if she could, some means of bringing about his downfall. Thus did she chortle foully in the darkness; for now, she knew how to work the great General's ruin. She transformed herself into the likeness of Eliastralee; and, wrapped in the snow-white altar cloth from the Lightbringer's shrine, she flitted, silently and in shadow, to Cielagan's pavilion.

When she entered, the General was bent over his silver table, regarding a map of the battlefield; but she could see that his mind was elsewhere, and that he was still distracted by his interview with Lööspelian. Kënaqësi, in the guise of his beloved herald, spoke to him; and in honeyed words, told him that she, Eliastralee, had for eons ached for his touch; and that now, thanks to Lööspelian's intervention, she knew that he desired the same thing. "Thus have I come," quoth she, "to beseech you to grant me what you have never deigned to grant any other: to give me your heart, and I will give you mine."

Kënaqësi was adept at her trade, and an accomplished hand at twisting the souls of the righteous; and she bent all of her wiles to her task. But she need not have bothered; for she wore the face and form of Eliastralee, and this was sufficient. Cielagan's heart was torn; for he knew that to give in would cost him his station, and deny him the foremost place in battle. And so he made one last attempt, saying, "Thou knowest already that my heart is thine, fairest of the fair; for I have loved thee since mine eyes first beheld thy visage. But thou knowest too that we cannot be together; for always must the servants of the light remain pure. Should we surrender to our passion, and take what we desire, then would the Host be broken; and the Light would fail, and the world would fall into Darkness."

"Then let it fall," Kënaqësi replied; and her voice was Eliastralee's voice, and it throbbed with feigned passion. And so were the walls of duty, virtue and restraint oe'erwhelmed; and Cielagan groaned, knowing full well what the cost would be, to his soul, and to the Host, and to Bræa; and to the world. But such was his love for Eliastralee that still he abandoned his maps, and his armour, and his robes; and they were joined; and the altar cloth of the shrine of the Lightbringer was stained with the issue of their passion. As were their souls.

When it was done, they lay entwined, still and silent; and though Cielagan's heart rejoiced at the consummation of his ages-old passion for Eliastralee, yet he wept at his failure, and what it portended for the Host. But Kënaqësi smiled in triumph, and her fair, white shoulders shook with ill-concealed joy. "Dost laugh, my heart, at the fulfillment of our love?" Cielagan murmured.

"I laugh at the splendor and folly of thy gift," Kënaqësi replied, her tone dark and mocking, "for thou, fool, hast given me that which none other of thy kind hast ever willingly given unto one of the Uruqua."

"What sayest thou, my love?" Cielagan demanded, looking full into her fair face, and deep into her eyes; and he cried out in horror as they changed, and became as red as blood, and full of flame. Her hair turned to black, and ebon horns sprouted from her brow, and broad, leathery wings from her shoulders; and when, in her true shape, she laid a taloned hand on his breast, his heart quailed; for though her breath was hot and sweet, her touch was cold.

"'Thy love'," quoth she, whispering between glinting fangs, triumph and scorn thrilling in the liquid lilt of her voice. "Thou hast sullied thyself, Cielagan, General and Master and Lord Most High. Thou hast given up, all willingly, thy heart to thine enemy, and art no longer fit to bear the standard or the panoply of thy benighted mistress, or lead the Sarvalóka to war." Then she smiled her fell, mocking smile, and caressed him, and enfolded her arms about him again. "But be comforted, sweet; for thou'rt now, like me, soiled and accursed; and thus are we well fitted to give each other pleasure.

"My prince of heaven; my shining one! Let us dally here, and sate each other in uttermost depravity. Allow thy blameless friends, who have no stain upon their souls, to bear thy mistress' banner in thy place. For only the truly worthy will decide the issue of this battle."

Cielagan wrenched himself away from her grasp, and fumbled for the hilt of Karválanyaya; but when he grasped it, he cried out again; for at its touch, a shock like flame and thunder blazed up his arm. And a cold wind blew through the empty corridors of his heart; and his hand was burned. Kënaqësi laughed. "Oh, my love; art thou now so unclean?"

Enraged and on the brink of madness, Cielagan stood over her, and raised his mighty fist; and she laughed again. "Faithless!" she hissed. "Truly thou'rt a fiend, for only one with darkness in his heart would smite his late lover!" And at that, Cielagan fell to his knees, and howled in rage, and grief, and pain; and he wept with the horror of what he had done.

Kënaqësi stood over him in dark triumph, mocking him in all her lush, fecund glory; but at that moment, a glint of pity crept into the empty void of her heart. For even in defeat and despair, Cielagan had a mighty soul; and not even a fiend of Bardan could look on his dismay without feeling a shred of mercy. And so she said softly, "Thou mayest yet flee. Yield thy place to another. Cede thy panoply and thy glaive, and give o'er thy station, and thy Host may yet triumph on the field. But know that if thou stand'st before them, accursèd and foresworn, a plaything of fiends, stained in heart and in soul – then the Sarvalóka will surely fail. And thou wilt surely fall." She laid a taloned hand gently upon his hair; and such was the power of his despair and remorse at her touch, that it turned from shining gold to dead, lank, lifeless white. "Methinks thou wouldst welcome oblivion now," she whispered.

Then the moment was over; she stooped, and wrapped herself in Bræa's defiled altar cloth again; and from it, inhaled deeply of his scent. The brief moment of compassion in her voice was gone, and the mockery returned. "How say you, lover mine?" she sneered.

Cielagan sat crumpled on the bare earth. "Begone, demon," he said dully. "The command of the Sarvalóka is mine, now and forevermore. I yield to no one, and will expiate my guilt in battle, and in blood. My blood; and, if thou stay'st, thine."

"Thy blood and mine are the same now," Kënaqësi laughed. The instant of pity was gone; and though her black heart ached still for his touch, she could not deny her nature, and venomous ice dripped from her words. "Right glad I am that thou wilt not yield. For though it is not of my making, thy pride mocks the Powers. It is a stench that will rise to Heaven, and choke even the feckless Lightbringer herself." She blew him a mocking kiss. "We will meet again, my love," she said, and her voice was full of poison. And then she was gone.

♦

It was as the fiend foretold. The Sarvalóka met the hordes of Bardan in the starlit twilight; and Cielagan, resplendent in the gleaming golden armour gifted him by the Lightbringer, stood at their head. His great wings glittered in the countless glimmering shafts of the night sky, and fire shone from his face; but it was a fitful fire, and troubled. His plumed helm concealed the limp, white strands of his hair.

The armies met upon the field below. The footmen of the Anari, led by the great hound-headed champions, thrust against the Giants, showering iron and fire upon them, sundering their ranks, while their winged comrades and commanders met in the heavens above. The servants of the Horn and the Sword, the Law and the Word, the Wardens and the Hammerers, clashed with the shadowed foe upon the broad, blighted Earth; and the splendour of the skies was rent and torn by their lightnings. But before them all soared Cielagan: their General, their Master, and their Lord Most High. Only he knew the full extent of his deceit; only he knew the depth of his depravity. He locked his terror and his tears within his breast; and he flew on. But the Sword of Justice remained undrawn; and so the battle stood in doubt.

At the height of the fray, when the forces of the Host were all arrayed, and even Cielagan's reserve, carefully hoarded, was at last engaged, a great shout arose from the throats of a thousand-score Giants; and a hideous roar issued from the throats of a thousand-score Dragons. A soaring black cloud mounted from behind the enemy's ranks; and from that cloud, a dark and deadly shape of wings and fear and fire emerged. It was Achamkriss; first among the Servants of Bardan, Zotëri of his host, and Lord of the Firstborn. His wings beat like thunder wrought of shadow and darkness, and from his gaping maw, hungry flames billowed. And when he espied Cielagan against the glittering vault of the sky, he shrieked a challenge; and at that shriek, hundreds of the Host cried out, and fell from the heavens, their wings burned and broken, and their hearts turned to bile and ice within their breasts.

Cielagan heard that challenge, and in it, heard death; for his heart, broken and poisoned by the deceit of the kurvëdjalle, and by his own failure, quailed within him. But in the desolation of his heart, the cry of Achamkriss stirred something; for he despaired now of life, and love, and knew that he merited no more the leadership of the Host. Naught was left to him but happy oblivion, for it would be welcome, and a mercy. And so he called his heralds, Eliastralee and Lööspelian, to his side, clad both in the silvery array of battle, and bearing their argent trumpets; and at his word, with sundering blasts, they threw the great dragon's challenge back in his teeth.

And so sore-wrought was Cielagan's heart that he did not hear that the peals of Lööspelian's celestial horn sounded like weeping. But Eliastralee heard; and she wondered what sorrow had afflicted her sister.

Achamkriss rose to meet his challenge, with wing-beats like thunder; and the fires of their battle raged over the field, lighting the sky for miles, and dropping flames and thunderbolts upon the myrmidons struggling below. The great dragon flinched when the shadow of the Sword of Justice passed over his heart, and he shrieked in anger when its keen edge (thrice-forged by He who would one day teach the Dweorga their craft) bit into his armoured flesh. But even as the Dragon-God quailed, so too did Cielagan. For the merest touch of Karválanyaya was agony to him now; for Lagu and Bræa had enchanted it to unleash its fire against the law-breakers, and thus its divine wrath scourged his flesh and his soul no less fiercely than its bitter blade clove the hide of his foe.

And that, in the end, was his undoing; for, tainted as he was by the consummation of his lust with a minion of darkness, Cielagan, loyal servant of the Lightbringer, was at last overcome. The Sword of Justice denied him its full power; and without its fell, holy fire, Achamkriss proved his master. At length, wounded by fang, claw, and the fiery blast of the enemy's breath, Cielagan fell. And at his fall, the Earth shook, and the Heavens wept; and the Giants and the Dragons were heartened, and redoubled their attack. And the hearts of the Sarvalóka faltered as their general plummeted from the skies, and then failed; and they fled. And great was the slaughter in their rout.

As the armies of darkness ranged freely over the battlefield, the last to flee were the heralds, Eliastralee and Lööspelian; their silver clarions became mighty swords in their hands, and they searched long and long for his body, striving with black-skinned fiends and wraiths of fire. Eliastralee was stern and sad, but always cautious; but Lööspelian was intemperate and disconsolate, winging hither and yon without care for the enemy, and sobbing uncontrollably. And when, together, they found the great sword Karválanyaya lying dim, lightless, and abandoned upon the field, Lööspelian shrieked out the pain of her sorrow and remorse. And Eliastralee wondered again what had so wounded her younger sister's indomitable spirit.

Their search was in vain; for another had marked the Vibhúh's fall, and had hastened to gather up his wounded flesh; and he had been spirited away. Thus did Cielagan not even witness the final destruction of his army.

♦

The minions of Bardan bore him away from the battle; and they bound his wounds with rough, bloodstained cloth, for the fangs and talons of Achamkriss had done grievous harm upon his alabaster flesh. To a deep, dark place, full of shadows and despair, they carried him; and at the last, placed him upon his knees on sharp, ebon stones, before a great doorway of iron; and they withdrew.

Cielagan waited; his wounds ached, and his blood dripped and froze upon the flagstones, and his breath smoked in the frigid air. At last, the iron doorway blazed with light, and ravening flame scoured the air of the chamber. Something dark entered the gloom of the grotto; and a Presence, heavy as a thousand, thousand stones, weighed down upon his soul. Cielagan knew who it was, that had come to mock him in his misery and defeat.

Svarúpa sevaka, the presence intoned solemnly; which, in the tongue of Heaven, means, "true servant". The words dripped like blood and bile from the dark apparition's tongue. I thank thee, Cielagan, son of light. Thou hast given me the victory.

Though it was endless torture to even draw breath in that dark place and before that dark being, Cielagan struggled to his feet. Blood like starlight poured from his wounds, sinking into the hungry stones. "Ender-in-Shadow," he gasped. "What thou hast won was won through craft, and through mine own failing. Thou canst not lay a heavier curse upon me than that which I have already in shame taken upon myself. Therefore, taunt me no more, but slay me, and have done."

Slay you? the fiend said, in feigned surprise. And be forever thought a mean and niggardly master? Nay, General of the Skies. Thou hast rendered great assistance unto the Lord of Shadow. My generosity is beyond measure, and even the least of my minions praise it. Thy service has been great, and so thy reward must be equally great. Thou hast but to name it, and it will be thine. A low, grating laugh shook the chamber, like stones grinding together deep under the Earth, as though the fiend knew already what boon Cielagan would demand.

A welter of hatred and lust for vengeance rose up in the breast of Cielagan. These were, to him, new sensations, never before experienced; and he welcomed them, for they bit through the cold numbness of despair, and warmed him in his sorrow. He looked up; and before him, saw a vast, roiling cloud of darkness, shot through with streaks of orange flame; and he knew that he who stood before him was the Ender himself – Bardan, Lord of Death and Darkness. And, too, he knew what benison, what gift, he desired above all others.

"Lord of Darkness," he grated through clenched teeth, "thou hast destroyed me; and did I for a moment believe that thou wouldst give it to me, I would demand thy black and bloodless heart. Instead, in its place –" he paused, smiling "– I name, as my blood-gift, the heart of the treacherous minion who was thy tool. Dharmachárin; Eternal Duty; the false face of my beloved Eliastralee – she it was, who defiled and destroyed me. Give me her heart, Bardan Eyðar, and I will consider myself well repaid."

So be it, quoth the shadow.

The stones of the cavern rumbled and rolled; and Kënaqësi appeared in burst of smoke and red light, just as Cielagan had last seen her; unclad, save for the gilt-embroidered and guilt-stained cloth she had torn from the Lightbringer's altar. When she beheld who it was that stood in the iron doorway, wreathed in shadow and flame, she shrieked, and fell upon her face, moaning in terror.

Arise, daughter of darkness, the shadow intoned. No prostration; for thou hast performed thy task admirably, and I am well pleased with thee.

Kënaqësi struggled to her feet, and stood before her master, knees trembling and eyes downcast. "Rrofshi, Zotëri," she whispered, her voice quaking.

Entranced thou this servant of the Light with the power of thy charms? the shadow asked.

"Yes, Master."

That was well done. Know you that I have asked him to name his prize for granting us this day's victory.

The fiend-whore glanced sidelong at Cielagan, who stood, silent and still, on the razor-sharp stones; and, as had happened in his pavilion, she was struck once again by the remnants of beauty still clinging to him. And the black and bloodless heart within her warmed at the thought of what they had shared. She dared to hope that he felt as she did; for already, she had fallen enamored of the mighty general. "He should have whatever he desires, Master," she agreed, blushing, her eyes downcast.

He hath asked for thy heart, the shadow whispered.

"It is his," Kënaqësi replied, elated.

The yellow blaze of eyes within the shadow narrowed. Thou should'st have striven for his love with greater fervor, daughter, the shadow rumbled hungrily. He hath asked for thy heart, but not thy hand. A twisting limb of roiling, fiery smoke undulated towards her.

"Master, I do not understand," she said, uncertain. Then comprehension at last flooded into her, and she raised her hands raised, and stumbled backwards. But a limb of shadow caught her, and steadied her, and held her motionless.

Here is thy prize, servant of the light, the shadow sighed, throbbing with dreadful anticipation. Take it.

Cielagan rose slowly to his feet and he approached the struggling demon. He plucked the altar cloth from her, exposing her white, flawless bosom; and leaned down, and put his lips to her ear. "My soul is lost," quoth he, "and I am damned, and for the pit." He spoke in a whisper, and his voice quivered with hints of suppressed rage. "But so too art thou, traitress; and for thy treason and thy depravity, it is fit that thou should'st precede me there." And, so saying, he caught her throat in his left hand; and plunged his mighty right hand into her chest.

Bones splintered and cracked beneath his blow, and a gout of black ichor burst from her lips. Ebon gore splashed and smoked upon the stones; and it seemed as though the dark cloud of Bardan laughed, and a chorus of shadows capered and howled in furious delight. Cielagan felt the fiend's heart squirming and struggling beneath his fingers; and when he clenched his fist, and wrenched the shriveled, black and shrunken thing out of her chest, her eyes widened, and she gasped; but she said nothing. She only kept her gaze fixed firmly on his face.

He held the dripping, limply pulsing organ up before her eyes, which were already growing dim. "I thank you for giving me your heart, demon," he grated, smiling cruelly at her pain. And it seemed to Kënaqësi that the harsh, bloody light emanating from the eyes of the Master of Shadow glinted afresh from the Angel's eyes.

She turned her gaze to the flame-shot cloud that roiled and hovered before the iron door, holding her rigid in its grasp. "Master...I claim...my right..." she whispered. With each word, her voice sunk further, and droplets of gore spattered from her lips.

What right do you claim, daughter? the shadow asked. Speak swiftly, for your time is nearly done.

"My right... a bargain...duly sealed..." she gasped. Only the force of her will kept her alive; but she was weakening with every breath. "Sealed flesh...to flesh...I promised...this one...my heart...and he promised...me...his..." And then she crumpled to the flagstones, and moved no more.

A just claim, the shadow mused. My apologies, Servant of Bræa. But accounts must be balanced. My daughter's claim is fair. All debts must be paid. A limb of shadow flicked toward him; and, in a welter of blood, fire and agony, Cielagan's chest burst open. The shadow reached through shattered iron, flesh and bone, and tore out his heart. As he watched, Bardan held the heaving, pumping organ up before him; and then a lick of shadow and flame surged out, and caressed it; and the heart was turned to white, flawless stone, like an egg formed of purest marble.

Cielagan cried out as the shadow laid the gleaming thing beside Kënaqësi's recumbent form. Thus is thy debt to my daughter repaid. A pity, the master of shadow rumbled softly, but I fear it will do her no good now. And in any case, a heart of stone serves no purpose.

The general felt the eyes of flame and shadow upon him. One cannot live without a heart, Cielagan, the shadow added in a ghost of a whisper.

Cielagan felt his life ebbing, and looked down at the black, gore-encrusted thing squirming in his hand, throbbing with loathing and hatred. He felt a great fear of the unknown; and an even greater fear of the judgement that awaited him before the Throne. He felt his breath shallowing, his vision fading, and his limbs growing chill. And then, once again, he felt his late lover's black, shrunken heart writhing feebly in his fist.

He turned his gaze full on the shadow that undulated expectantly in the darkness. The unseen eyes regarded him dispassionately, as if waiting to see what he would do. With his eyes locked on that empty, taunting shadow, he took one last, halting breath; and then he carefully placed Kënaqësi's black, twitching heart in the vast, gaping hole in his chest.

His flesh closed eagerly about it, and he gasped. It was cold.

Hail Cielagan, my son, the shadow whispered. Welcome, thou true servant of Darkness. And behind that whisper, the General, Master, and Lord Most High heard the discordant, howling shrieks of a thousand, thousand fiends, clamouring for the rulership and destruction of all Anuru, and for the blood of the Anari, and of the Host. And his new heart – the heart of the fiendish lover that lay slain at his feet – rejoiced within his breast.

And then Cielagan realized what he had done; that he had, in a moment of weakness, chosen the Dark over the Light; chosen his own desire over pure service; chosen eternal pain, torment and suffering over the sweet repose of oblivion. He wept; and because they came from his new heart, the tears he shed were viscid, stinking, and black, and scorched the stone where they fell. "Demon, release me," he begged. "Slay me; grant me peace."

And waste thy talents and my gift? Bardan replied. Never. Never! Thou'rt mine utterly, now, General and Master and Lord Most High. Thou shalt stand at the forefront of my legions, and by my grace, and by thy skill, the grip of the puling Anari upon this world and all within it shall be broken forever. And the Shadow and Darkness shall reign.

"Thou mayest command my flesh, for now it is truly thine," Cielagan spat, "but the soul within me remains mine own. And I reject thy poisoned gift, and deny it dominion over me; and so shall I, as long as I live." And the force of his will was such that Cielagan severed within himself all but the most tenuous links between the heart of the fiend Kënaqësi and his own flesh; and so, although he lived, his strength, which had at one time been great enough to shatter mountains, failed; and he fell to the stone floor: breathing, awake, and aware, and yet unmoving.

So mighty a minion, the Shadow rejoiced. Time is my slave, as thou art, and therefore can I afford to wait. In time, thou wilt come to accept my gift, and glory in thy newfound strength and purpose, and take thy deservèd place at my right hand.

Then Bardan took from Cielagan his name, and dubbed him Zemërdreq, that in the Dark Speech means "Fiendheart." And the minions of Bardan seized the motionless body of Cielagan, and took it to a deep cavern under the earth; and there they placed him upon a stone chair before a vast pool of blood. In that pool, Bardan caused to be reflected all of the suffering, hurt and horror, in Heaven and upon Earth, that thereafter flowed from Cielagan's failure. And these were legion; for the Master of Shadow hoped that, in time, despair would force the fallen General to accept his bloody gift, and embrace his fiendish lover's heart; and, growing strong again, that Cielagan would willingly serve the Master of Shadow in the vanguard of the armies of darkness.

In time, Cielagan's flesh sealed around Kënaqësi's heart, but never wholly; for Cielagan thoughs eons of torment passed and bowed him down, he refused to wholly accept the accursèd gift. Thus ever after Cielagan bled blood, red and vital, and poisoned and black, from the great rent in his breast; and this venomous blood kept the enchanted pool filled, and it cursed all that he saw therein. And as he pondered the horror and suffering that he witnessed – that he had caused – Cielagan wondered whether he should end his long suffering and vigil; whether he should accept his failure, give up any hope of returning to the service of the Light, and embrace the fiendish heart within him. But he never did.

♦

After the defeat of the Sarvalóka, the heralds of Cielagan, Lööspelian and Eliastralee, flew to the Asurashikara, the Devilpeak, to deliver the ill news to their mistress Tîan, the Imprisoned Goddess. And Lööspelian bore with her the Sword of Justice, wrapped carefully in her cloak; for in her secret heart, she feared that she had been the cause of all that had happened, and she dreaded what its touch would do to her, lawbreaker that she was. They found the mountain peak of imprisoned Tîan shrouded in storms and showers of lightning; and it seemed to Eliastralee that all the heavens were weeping at the loss that the Host had suffered that day. But to Lööspelian, the thunder and fire were a mark of her mistress' rage and condemnation, and she trembled in fear.

Tîan knelt on the cold, gray stone, as she had done since that dread day, ages past, when treacherous Zaman, Tîan's own sister, had struck her between the wing roots with Tîan's own sword, great Vasatri, forged from of the Light of Creation; and the blade, passing through her breast, had struck and slain Zaman's servant Balcocheth \- who, in the manner of his fiendish folk, had become one of the stones of the Earth, to remain, unmoving and immovable, until the Breaking of the World. No blood flowed from the terrible wounds; for the sword was truly hers, and though it transfixed her to the stone, it refused to harm her. And because it rejected any hand but hers, and she could not reach it to wield it, Tîan was condemned to lie upon the stone of the Devilpeak forever, until the End.

Tîan's long imprisonment meant that justice lay stilled and quiescent, while injustice roamed free throughout the Universe. Yet through the stone upon which she lay, she could feel the pulse of all the World, and knew when injustice struck, and where, and so could better direct her minions. And thus was Tîan was content with her lot, and did what she could to bring justice to the Kindred, and to all who struggled for life within the scope of her sister Bræa's creation.

When Lööspelian laid the great sword Karválanyaya before her, Tîan was silent. She did not weep for the fallen, for Justice knows neither sorrow nor remorse, but only the law and its breaking. It knows that there are no true accidents in the Universe; that all things flow, for weal or woe, from the decisions of those who act. Nor did Eliastralee weep; for to her, the day's disaster was but one setback in a long struggle, that would see both sides revel in victory and wallow in defeat many times before the End. But Lööspelian wept. She wept enough for all three.

Why weepest thou, daughter? Tîan asked. Gather the threads of thy courage together, and take up thy shield and sword; for there are many, that thou called brother and sister, to be avenged. Nodding at the Karválanyaya, she said, Remember thy friend and master, mighty Cielagan; and if thou wilt, bear the Sword of Justice into battle. Thou canst do no greater honour to his memory than to avenge his fall with his own glaive.

"I am not worthy to bear his blade, nor even to speak his name," Lööspelian replied through her tears. "For the fault is mine that he is fallen." And she poured out her tale to her mistress, and to her sister Eliastralee, who stood, shocked and silent, as the sad story unfolded in all its terrible fullness.

When the weeping Angel of the Horn was done, Tîan smiled sadly. Though knowest that through the medium of the air and the murmurs of the earth, said she, all of the tales of justice and injustice come to me. And thus would I have known this even if I did not already know thy heart, daughter, and the General's as well. The Goddess of Justice put her hand on Lööspelian's, and continued, Thy heart is thine own, Lööspelian. It was Cielagan's heart that failed; for he lusted after thy sister, Eliastralee, as he should not have done; and gave in to his lust; and thus was he ensnared. It was his failing, not thine, that led to his fall.

But Lööspelian would not be comforted. "He is dead, and we are lost, and it was my doing," she wailed.

It was not your doing, Tîan replied, nor are we lost. The Powers of the Light have suffered a defeat, and it was a just and deserved defeat. Cielagan stood at the head of our Host, tainted by his crime; and that taint marred the purity of all our folk, and so they failed.

It was no accident; it was Justice.

The goddess paused, then added reluctantly, Nor is he dead. He languishes in the stronghold of the Ender, his own heart torn from him, and that of the fiend that broke him bound within his breast by his own hand. He suffers all the torments of the damned, without hope of an ending, and will so suffer, for as long as the world endures. Such is the manner in which the Lord of the Uruqua pays those he tempts into treason.

At this sad news, Eliastralee bowed her head, and wept her first tears since the defeat; for she had loved the strength and mastery and purity of Cielagan, and his dreadful fate broke the heart within her. But Lööspelian was elated. "If he lives," she cried, "then we may yet save him!" And from the empty air she plucked her argent horn; and with a word, it became a glimmering sword, flaming hot and white, a tongue of Heaven's own fire.

But Tîan frowned. Hast thou not heard my decree? she asked sternly. Cielagan's fate is a just punishment for his sins. Though he may still be redeemed, it will be as he was cursed; not be by thy hand, but by his own. Should he bend to Bardan's will; or, damned as he now is, expire and face Oblivion; then will his name be written into the history of the Universe as traitor to the Light.

His only hope for salvation is to remain steadfast; to resist Bardan's blandishments and gifts; to reject forever the fiendish heart to which he hath been bound, and to forever deny himself the bleak semblance of strength and life that it would grant him. His fate is to suffer the agonies of his failure; to bear his doom, until the world breaks. Only then may he be redeemed, and rejoin the Host in the endless time after time.

"That is not justice!" Lööspelian cried, appalled. "It is harsh and cruel, a penance too heavy for even the mightiest of hearts to bear!"

And yet he must bear it, Tîan replied, her voice was as cold as the winds that scoured the mountain peak, and he knows that he must. He hath seen more clearly than thou, daughter, the fate that awaits him; one that is like unto mine: to accept the consequences of his failure, and to endure, until all bonds are sundered at the Breaking of the World.

The eyes of the imprisoned goddess flashed with angry light, and even chained, the might of the Anari shone through. Thou wilt respect his courage and his penance, Lööspelian, Minion of Light, and leave him to bear this penance – and perhaps, in the fullness of time, emerge victorious. If thou gainsayest my judgment in this, then shalt thou be truly lost. Bend thou, therefore, to my will, and to Justice.

"I will not!" Lööspelian cried. "This is not justice! He would not have come to this fate were it not for my words, my deeds! The first betrayal was mine, not his, and it is wrong that he should suffer for my weakness!" She was shaking with terror at speaking so to her divine mistress; but also with rage. "If it lies within my strength to save him, then save him I shall!" And she quaked in fear at her temerity; but she held her ground, and raised her shining sword before her.

Tîan looked upon her, sad but stern; and when she spoke, her voice was unyielding stone. As it was for Cielagan, so it is for thee, she intoned severely. There art but three choices for thy kind: to serve the Light; to serve the Dark; or to face oblivion. The Gift of Bræa is not thine, minion, to come and go as thou wilt, or to serve whomsoever thou choosest. Should'st thou leave my side and not perish, then thou shalt become an agent of the shadows, a minion of the Uruqua. Thou art with the Light, or against it; no other choice exists for the Sarvalóka.

Cast not thy lot with Cielagan, daughter, for he is lost. If thou throwest thyself into the maelstrom after one who has already drowned, then thou canst do naught but drown thyself.

"Is there no right, no glory, in making the attempt nonetheless?" the herald demanded.

There can be no glory, and no right, Tîan replied firmly, when the Law is flouted.

"That, too, is unjust," Lööspelian said defiantly, "to demand that we who stand for all that is good and glorious in the world must eschew right action in obedience to thy principle. Cielagan would have snatched me" – and she turned to face Eliastralee – "or thee, sister, from the uttermost depths of the Pit. Whatever his sin, we who love him owe him no less loyalty."

And with those words, she drew herself up to her full height, and fire like the glory of heaven blazed from her eyes. "I reject thy ruling, Mistress. I shall do what I know to be right; and if, in so doing, I must defy thy edicts, then defy them I shall. I may perish in the attempt; but I shall try!"

It is not thy life I fear for, daughter, but thy soul, Tîan said, genuine sorrow replacing the outrage in her tone. The edicts thou despisest are not mine. They are those of Bræa and Bardan, from whom the Minions sprang; and of Anā and Ūru themselves, who made the Universe, and who together, at the dawn of time, forged the Law that governs all. That Law may not be debated, by those who dwell above or below. It may only be flouted, or obeyed.

She raised her hand in a gesture not of benediction, but of aversion and condemnation. Thy choice is made. Farewell, Lööspelian.

"No!" cried Eliastralee. But it was too late. The sword that Lööspelian held aloft glinted once, twice, and thrice; and then it dissolved into shadow. That shadow wound around the startled herald, binding her tightly, and then bled into her. Lööspelian screamed in agony as her gleaming armour burst asunder; her flesh turned from the purest white to a dark, sickly, verdant hue; the heavenly pallor of her wings darkened to the red of congealing blood; talons sprouted from her hands and feet, fangs from betwixt her lips, and horns from her head; and her eyes, when she opened them at last, burned with all the fires of the infernal realms. Then her eyes closed again, and she tottered, as if to fall.

"Sister!" Eliastralee shrieked again. Reaching out, she grasped Lööspelian by the arm; but she withdrew her hand again, when Lööspelian gasped as though burned by her sister's touch.

So begins thy long exile, Lööspelian, Daughter of Darkness, Tîan intoned sadly. Like Cielagan, though art fallen from grace. Get thee hence from my sight, fiend. Go whither thou wilt, excepting only the realms of the Anari; for these are now, and forever more, denied thee, on pain of thine instant destruction.

"This...is not...justice!" Lööspelian gasped, regarding her new diabolical form with utter horror. "I shall atone for my misdeeds in mine own time, and in mine own way! I shall save Cielagan, whom thou also wouldst abandon to the Enemy! And if that deed doth not merit my redemption, then the Anari deserve neither my fealty nor my faith!"

Do as thou wilt, Tîan said sternly, but look not for forgiveness. There is neither atonement, nor a road back for thee now. Thy choice has been made, Lööspelian, and I weep at it; but it was thine, not mine. And thou must now accept all that comes with it. And the great blade between her shoulders, and protruding from her breast, glowed with a blinding, holy light, that fell upon Lööspelian's new, fiendish flesh, searing her like the heat of a forge.

Lööspelian turned to her sister, who glowed with a similar heat and light; and though she felt shrunken and foul beside Eliastralee, she did not feel weak; for a hot fire of purpose swept through her, and warmed her heart, which wept still for Cielagan. "Say farewell, Sister," she said with a sad smile. "For we shall not meet again on this side of the Breaking."

"I will never say thee farewell," Eliastralee replied, her voice breaking; and tears that she had not shed for the fallen of the Sarvalóka at last fell fast and free for her beloved sister, and the grim fate that she had chosen. "Instead, I shall pray that thou wilt succeed in thy task. I know thy heart, Sister; and if anyone could fulfill such a reckless vow, and rescue thy love and mine from eternal damnation, it is thee."

She took the fiend's hand, and though both winced at the pain of that touch, they endured it; and she said, "Should'st thou return with Cielagan in triumph, I shall kneel at thy feet, and kiss them, whatever colour they may be." And so saying, she did kiss her sister's forehead; and at even so brief a contact, both cried out; for Eliastralee's lips, and Lööspelian's flesh, were alike burned and blistered. And Eliastralee said, "Know that, however long thy exile may endure, always will I love and cherish thee."

Enough, Tîan commanded. Her voice was harsh, but Eliastralee heard in it sorrow and regret. Go now, Lööspelian, daughter of the shadow, and never return.

And as the imprisoned goddess and her herald watched in sorrowful silence, the horned angel of darkness strode to the edge of the cliff. "This is not justice," Lööspelian said one final time; and, wrapping her dusky, blood-hued wings about her, she stepped off into the night.

She fell; and falling, she smote the earth below like a bolt of fire from the heavens, and was forever lost to the Light.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

I like a good love story as much as the next girl, but I prefer it when they have a happy ending. This one means something to me, though, as I helped to free Eliastralee from the servants of the Lover-in-the-Darkness, and I later met Lööspelian aboard a ship on the way to Vejborg.

I feel bad for what Eliastralee went through. Lööspelian has endured much worse over the long ages, but my sympathy for her is somewhat attenuated by the fact that she once brought a bunch of devils to try to kill us.

...yeah, I know. It's a long story. In fact, "It's a long story" would be a good subtitle for this book.

Twentieth Rune: Minne lohikäärmalta?

### (Where are the Dragons?)

♦

(from the Tarusta Lehtori Kultainen, by Ryskankanakis)

Where are the Dragons?

When morning is calling, and Bræadan dawning,

The great wyrms, a-yawning, from stony beds creep;

When night's shade is falling, and starlight is shining,

On gilt beds reclining, they hie them to sleep.

When hart in the valley or hind in the clearing

Their yearlings are rearing, they plunge from the skies;

Nor linger, nor dally, they fall like the thundering;

Flock and herd sundering, skyward they rise.

When war's in the offing, and bright armour glistening,

Talon-spurs christening, battleward-bound;

Their treasure-troves doffing, and trumpet-calls shattering,

War machines battering, down on the ground;

Where arrows are whistling, war-horns are blowing,

And hot blood is flowing, and helms shining bright;

Where spear-points are bristling, never despair;

For you'll find they are there, in the thick of the fight.

Where are the Dragons?

When silver is gleaming, and gemstones are glinting

Exertion unstinting, amassing their hoards;

Of treasure-troves dreaming, their wealth is a wonder

Of pillage and plunder from peasants and lords;

A king's ransom hoarded, o'er ages laborious

Bright gold and glorious, ever to shine!

His toil rewarded, the vigilant miser

Grows richer and wiser by deed and design.

When rising blood kindles, the ready wyrm reckons –

The mating urge beckons, and all heed its call;

The treasure-lust dwindles, and hearts fill with wonder,

All other ties sunder, when passions enthral.

The ready wyrm rises in splendour victorious;

Majesty glorious outshines the sun;

The new lovers' guises a-gleam in the shimmering,

Sunbeams a-glimmering, 'till they are one.

Where are the Dragons?

When wyrmlings are hatching, the weyr-master guarding,

The weyr-mistress warding her children from woe.

With weyr-leader watching, as seasons are turning;

The wyrmlings are learning the things they must know.

With first steps they stumble, until they grow stronger,

Then stumble no longer; the Earth they defy,

From weyr's-edge they tumble, proud parents beholding,

And new wings unfolding, strike out for the sky.

When age dims the scales, the mighty heart falters –

For time all things alters, and wyrms know it, too –

When limbs are grown frail, and bright fangs are blunted,

The hunters are hunted; the skies they eschew.

Bid farewell to leisure, to harts and to cattle,

To mates and to battle; to new needs succumb;

Bid farewell to treasure; their offspring they chasten;

To the Vale they hasten, for twilight has come.

Where are the Dragons?

At the end of long living, they seek out the stones

Where the bare, weathered bones mark an ancient wyrm's heart;

Life's legend reliving, and offspring attending

All bitter pain ending – in glory, depart!

In bright Dracosedes, the Mountains of Miros,

Above fair Fulgoris, where all sorrows cease,

They fly there eternally, fairest and First-Born,

Awaiting the last horn, forever at peace.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

This is one of my favourites. I'd love to be a dragon – to be able to fly, to do magic, to live for thousands of years, to breathe fire on people that annoy you, to be able to swat them with your gigantic tail...

Plus, you know – sleeping on a giant pile of money. Who wouldn't love that?

Twenty-First Rune: Carrgealdor Malloch Ægðer Ísengrámalár

(The War-Song of Malloch and the Iron Fury, aka "The Lay of the Bridge of Bones")

♦

(from the Æfenléoð Hargóinna, the "Evensongs of Hargóin")

Glycomon Magjithural by Vilyacarkin swore

The children of Shpërngulje Vajzë would suffer wrong no more

By Dashnorrej he swore it, and named a trysting day;

And so his messengers went forth, to east and south, to west and north

To summon his array.

To east and south, to west and north, the message travels fast,

And soon each cave and cavern has heard the deep-horn's blast

Shame to the son of Dashnorrej who lingers underground

When Glycomon Magjithural to Gropëndën is bound.

The swords of Zymtëkeqardhjes are rousing them from sleep;

The bows of Shtrojpërgjakur are gathering in the deep

The spears of Qetëvaditur have heard the trumpet's sound;

For Glycomon Magjithural to Gropëndën is bound.

Thus shake the shimmering shadows as the Shadelf sallies forth;

From caverns to the south and west, and caves to east and north;

The denizens of thellerrët have armed and marched away;

And bound for Gropëndën they are, gërmojeqen to slay.

And Glycomon Magjithural is marching in the van

Ahead of all his people, in command of every clan

Mesnatëbrisku, Midnight Blade, shines cold in his right hand

And in his left he bears with glee his distant grandsire's legacy –

Bardhëshkop; the Ichor Wand.

The people of Dweorgaheim are labouring in peace

The blacksmiths work their bellows, and the elders take their ease

The teachers tend to lessons, and the children gladly play

Not knowing battle is at hand, and Glycomon's array.

By craft and subtle magic the Dthéostornor advance;

And they catch unwary sentries on the point of poisoned lance;

And the weary dwarves returning to their caverns and their rest

By spells, to yield are enticed; to Vilyacarkin sacrificed,

At Glycomon's behest.

Now to the gates of dthrosmcíne, the cry "Invaders!" comes

Pursued by clash of battle, and the heavy beat of drums

Thus to the throne of the Ædeling there comes the dreadful call;

"Dthéostornor have won the gates, and Drosmcíne must fall!"

Hark to the tremoring footsteps as the folk of Thrymsheen flee;

Through the streets of their battered city, littered with stone and scree;

Hark to the clash of sword-strokes as the nihtscúara draw near;

And the cries of the folk of Dweorgaheim a-trembling in their fear!

The glorious halls of Dthrosmcíne soon fall to the fearsome foe;

And the Ædeling is the last to flee, to follow his folk below.

To the deepest delve of Dweorgaheim, the last redoubt of stone,

Where the dwarf-folk speed in direst need, to make their stand alone.

Across the bridge at Níestgrafet, the last of the dwarf-folk fly

For close on their heels the Dthéostor come, and the Dthéostornéatr cry;

The last bridge stands 'fore Hálignanféalt, that the dwarves of the Deep call home;

There stands their wall of blood and iron, above the roiling foam.

Then a call from the caverns that lie behind: fell words that defeat portend;

"Carrceasterhlíd, the Gate of Stone, stands fast, and will not descend!

"The way to deeps lies open, and the Dthéostor's hordes come on,

"Let the Fury form on the great stone bridge, with all but the best withdrawn!"

The Ísengrám are the last to stay, the mightiest host of all;

With their champions Afton the Red-Beard, and Kléofric the Tall –

And foremost among their number stands he of the greatest name,

Fell Ulfred Malloch the Mighty, who unto the stone-bridge came.

The Hereræswa spoke to his soldiers, and he bade them bank their fears

But Afton laughed at his calming words, saying, "Gentlemen, please, no tears;

"The host that stands before us is naught but a rabble of darkling elves –

"Why, we three sluggards could send you home, and slaughter them all ourselves!"

"He speaks for me," Kléofric growled, "for my axe cries out for blood;

"I could cleave a thousand with ease," quoth he, "without moving from where I stood.

"But in case a small one slipped me by, I'd best have a surety,

"To keep him from causing mischief"; answered Malloch, "I guess that's me."

So Ulfred Malloch the Mighty to his general spake, and said:

"Take the rest of our brothers; repair the gate; we'll stand 'til our lives are sped.

" 'Til the stone walls crack and the heavens fall; 'til the sky-stars turn to sand;

" 'Til the Veróldbrast takes us, one and all; and even beyond, we'll stand."

"Let the hordes of Dthéostornor come on; let them come on, one and all!

"We'll see if their blood is red anon; like sheaves of wheat they'll fall.

"And the gangewifre that comes with them, and the wielders of blade and spell

"We'll treat as we would any Dthéostornéat, and send them all to Hell!"

So the Hereræswa called to his soldiers, and withdrew them beyond the Gate;

And the stone-wrights strove with Carrceasterhlíd, but their stonework came too late.

For across the span of Níestgrafet, the glint of spears was seen

The full, fearsome foe from the dark below, alight with an eerie sheen.

Now nearer fast and nearer, the host of the deeps doth come;

And loudly and more loudly still, the cries of the elves ring sharp and shrill,

And clench their foes in a dreadful chill with the beat of the battle drum!

Now plainly and more plainly, through the shadowed gloom appears

The deadly gleam of their elven swords, held high in the hands of elven lords;

The deadly gleam of their arcane wards, and the points of their poisoned spears.

On the right stands Red-Beard Afton, with a broadsword in each hand;

Tall Kléofric laughs as he hefts his axe; on the left he takes his stand.

And before them, Ulfred Malloch plants his boots upon the stone,

And he raises his hammer to cavern's height, and he speaks this prayer alone:

"O Lagu, sire of Dweorga! Hark thou to thy sons this day!

"Grant them the courage and strength of arm to hold this foe at bay!

"Thy children are few and fearsome, and the foemen vast and dire;

"With thy sons, abide; and valour and pride, in their quaking hearts inspire!"

"I humbly beseech thee, father, lend thy strength to Carrceasterhlíd –

"For this enemy seeks to sunder it, as not even thy hammer did;

"Protect the stone and the stone-folk from the fiends of shade and slime;

"Stand firm on the side of thy children, and bless thou Dweorgaheim!"

At these words, Afton Red-Beard nodded, and Kléofric the Tall said, "Aye;"

And the ranks of Dthéostor gathered, and they uttered a fearful cry.

The swords of the dark elves glimmered, and the helms of the dark elves gleamed,

From the shadows they poured in a ravening horde,

And onto the bridge they streamed.

The first felt Kléofric's axe-blade, and cleft in twain was he;

The second met Afton's flickering swords, and he was rent in three;

The third chanced Malloch; the hammer swung, sundering flesh and bone;

And the Shadelf died, and was swept aside, and flung to the stainèd stone.

Three more met the same swift ending, and the three after them the same,

And so wist the battle for hours, as the Three played their deadly game.

Their armour was proof 'gainst every shaft that the Dark elves shot or threw;

And they held the Great Gate all alone, standing side-by-side on that bridge of stone,

For none could these Three subdue.

(While deep in the works of Carrceasterhlíd, the stone-masons plied their trade,

For even the mightiest Three could not stand for long 'gainst that grim parade.

But the Great Gate defied their efforts, and stayed firmly fixed in place

And they knew if they could not budge it, their deaths they must needs embrace.)

When ten-score elves had fallen – two hundred Dthéostornor –

A shadow advanced to the great rift-edge, where the Three stood drenched in gore.

A taller wight than his kin-folk, white staff in his left hand;

And in his right, limned with flickering light, a grim-forged ebon brand.

The Spellweaver raised his ichor staff, and in voice of the shadows cried,

And from out of the nihtscúa crawled a thing from the unformed realms Outside;

A horror of cold and darkness, a terror of bile and flame,

That gibbered in shivering madness as onto the bridge it came.

Kléofric the Tall said nothing, but his axe swung hard and true;

Afton the Red Beard grimaced, but he clove it through and through;

And the mighty warrior Malloch raised him up to his full height –

And his hammer of stone came crashing down, and returned it to ebon night.

"Slaves of the Minatorderr!" the fell Spellweaver cried,

"Thy kin-folk have suffered enough anon, and many of them have died!

"Thou see'st me as an enemy, who would be thy foremost friend;

"Salute me as lord and master, and the bloodshed here will end!

"Open thy gates to my army, and give me their iron key;

"You may keep your caves and your caverns still,

"If you cede to my will, my commands fulfil, and serve me on bended knee!"

"Your offer is fair," cried Afton back, and his red beard wagged accord;

"I see no reason why I should not take an elf as my sovereign lord!"

Then he paused for a moment; "However – my arms ache with pain acute,

"From gutting ten-score of your elflings; I don't think I could salute."

"And I have this twinge in my lower back," cried Kléofric the Tall,

"I strained it smashing your warriors' heads into our granite wall.

"And then my axe got stuck in the spine of your pointy-eared little friend;

"And I wrenched my knee when I pulled it out – I'm afraid that it just won't bend!"

"And what sayeth Ulfred Malloch?" the elf-lord wrothly cried;

"Wilt thou stand on this bridge forever, 'til all of thy folk have died?

"The dwarves prize courage and wisdom; show both, they will follow thee –

"Save thy blood and thy breath; I will spare thee from death,

"If thou serv'st me loyally!"

Malloch silently leaned on his hammer, and betook him a glance around;

The Shadelven corpses littered the bridge, and their red blood stained the ground;

His breath came short and halting, and his armour was streaked with gore;

And his shield was hacked and scarred by blows, and his limbs were bruised and sore;

Yet his feet were firmly planted on the Deeprealm's healing stones –

And the strength of the mountains was in his heart, and their strength was in his bones.

But he knew that before the Spellweaver's might, even that great strength must fall;

So he growled unto Afton and Kléofric, "Get you back to the city wall."

Their faith in Malloch was firm and fast, and back to the wall they strode;

And Malloch spake thus to the Spellweaver: "Get ye hence from the dwarves' abode!

"Thou lover of death and darkness; thou bringer of hate and fear;

"I give thee this oath, thou shalt have both death

"And darkness, an' come'st thou here!"

At this, the Spellweaver cried his ire, and he bade his hosts come on;

And Malloch turned to his comrades, to Carrceasterhlíd withdrawn,

And he raised his voice: "Farewell, my friends – we shall meet in the halls unknown!"

And he raised his hammer, and brought it down on that slender span of stone.

With that blow, he cried out in glorious joy, and the Dwarf-Lords heard that cry:

For it echoed throughout the Deepdark, and sundered the lowering sky.

And deep in his Halls of Wonder, where Lagu reflects alone,

He raised up his hand, and He broke that span of ageless, age-old stone.

The stone bridge shattered at Malloch's feet, and into the gap it fell;

And Malloch the Mighty went with it, and ten-score elves as well;

They fell to the depths of Níestgrafet, and its darkling waters deep;

And there to this day doth Malloch the Brave and his fallen foemen sleep.

The thundering fall of the sundered bridge shook the walls of Hálignanféalt,

Where the folk of Dweorga had fled in fear, and the priests of the Dwarf-Lords dwelt;

And that shock broke the chains of Carrceasterhlíd, and the Great Gate, thund'ring, fell;

And the Deeprealm was sealed against the schemes

Of the fiendish Spellweaver's conquering dreams;

And they laughed at his impotent, maddened screams, as they rang the victory bell.

The tale of Malloch was ended, but the Spellweaver's tale went on;

He was barred from the depths of Hálignanféalt, but his fury was far from gone.

His army plundered fair Dthrosmcíne, and ravaged the towns below,

'Til the heroes at Infléde caught him, and Ironfist laid him low.

Defeated, the Dthéostornor elf-horde fled, to their gloomy deep-dark homes,

Where the wild gangewifre spins his thread, and the dread gedthancáetr roams;

The dwarves rejoiced at their victory, and the Spellweaver's staff they placed

Upon Lagu's altar of shining stone, that it's evil might be erased.

They raised up a statue of Malloch in Hálignanféalt's great hall

Where all could honour his courage, and his valorous, valiant fall;

And o'er the deep Níestgrafet, built they a bridge of shining steel

Forged from the elf-horde's melted blades; watched o'er by fallen heroes' shades

At rest in the Deepdark's crystal glades – and they marked it with Malloch's seal.

And in the caverns around the bridge, they laid each fallen friend

Whose noble spirits Carrceasterhlíd forever doth defend;

So there, at the gate of Hálignanféalt stands the shimmering Bridge of Bones

Where Kléofric, Afton and Malloch stood – and defended the Deeprealm's stones.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

You know, this one sounds awfully familiar to me. Somebody ought to check up on who wrote it.

(Author's Note: this poem is based on, and is an homage to, Thomas Babbington Macaulay's famous epic, "Horatius at the Bridge". Given that I was describing how Malloch had defended his home against the Spellweaver, it was impossible not to write something in the roughly the same style of heroic couplets. Horatius ended up better off than Malloch, though.)

Twenty-Second Rune: In Eldarcanum

♦

(from the Victoria Alferae, by Amalux Cantor, Versificator Regalis Elvorum)

In Eldarcanum, magic burns behind the walls of shining stone;

Within the hearts of those who strive to work the cold, forbidding spells

That draw upon the hidden wells, and feed the spirits fell that thrive

and flock to feast of flesh and bone.

In Eldarcanum, night-time calls; a blazon bright beneath the Dome

Illuminating all who seek to learn the cold, forbidding lore;

To open wide death's yawning door – the bonds of light and life to break,

and set those spirits free to roam.

In Eldarcanum, beauty waits to snare the eye, and thrill the heart;

To slake the pilgrim's burning thirst, and sate the lust of all who haste

Her subtle sweetnesses to taste. Of all who suckle there, the first

to drink are like the first to part.

In Eldarcanum, knowledge grows behind the windows, chill and bright

Behind Priscossia's rigid walls, where lies the wisdom of the years

All steeped in Tîor's darkest fears; the Fleshbound Tome the caster calls

to seek its secrets in the night.

In Eldarcanum, darkness hides the Ars Anecros mastered there;

The deepest truths of magic fell; clasp hands, and chant the subtle spell

And draw upon death's hidden well the heart and hand to hell;

Hold hard, ye elves of light and air – the Long Halls' Lord your work abides,

His matchless might and art to share!

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

Elvish, and still short. Hunh.

I've never been to Eldarcanum, and I don't think I ever want to go. It's full of revenants, and it's been my personal experience that even when they have pockets, they rarely have anything valuable in them. I prefer to rob living people. They yell louder, they have better stuff, and they're not so...icky.
Twenty-Third Rune: The Ballad of Perky and Ella

♦

(from the Victoria Alferae, by Amalux Cantor, Versificator Regalis Elvorum)

Percorian of Duiveltine,

a scion of a noble line,

And Astrapratum's highest lord,

desired him a wife;

But nary an elven maiden fair

his storied temper wished to dare

Or risk his ever-ready sword,

all notched and stained with strife.

Fair Ælyndark, the daughter of

a house of kings bethought her of

The lengthy line of suitors that

her loveliness attracted;

But not a one amid the throng

that pled their suits with gifts and song

Aroused in her the ardour that

might lead to vows contracted.

Percorian of Duiveltine,

all decked and clad in raiment fine

Stood at the throne of Callaýian,

his sister fair to claim;

And swore an oath in ringing tones

upon the Starhall's ancient stones

That Ælyndark would join his clan,

and bear his ancient name.

Stern Callaýian, the elven king,

was ill-disposed to such a thing

And with the suitor's brazen claim

was deeply unimpressed;

He turned unto his sister fair

and asked the maiden then and there

How stood her heart to bear the name

of Callaýian's brash guest.

Fair Ælyndark, a clever girl,

jeered at the foul-mouthed, cocksure churl

And asked him if he had two knees,

and whether they were sound;

Her puzzled suitor answered "Aye";

Fair Ælyndark then asked him why

they creaked and groaned like windshorn trees;

"Pray, place them on the ground."

Percorian of Duiveltine,

empurpled by a choler fine

Spat on the Starhall's ancient stones,

and drew his blood-stained sword;

And swore by the heights of the Duivelmark

to take as his mate fair Ælyndark

And by his Perfidelis bones,

he pledged his solemn word.

Stung by the threat of this warlord stark,

then panicked fairest Ælyndark

She feared her suitor's ill-judged ire,

and feared him as a spouse;

She'd always longed to wed for love,

and in her fear bethought her of

A friend of her long-dead, lordly sire

allied unto her house.

Atavens of Silverstair, fair-haired, tall,

answered fair Ælyndark's heartfelt call

And came at a run to assist the maid

with spell and blade in hand.

A swordsman-mage known far and wide;

a hero to all who for justice cried

He answered Ælyndark's plea for aid,

and swore at her side to stand.

He was silver-eyed, stern, yet he laughed out loud;

and wise and assured, but never proud

And swift on his feet, like he walked on air,

and all whom he met felt his argent stare

A bowman of ages; a swordsman strong;

a master of poesie, dance, and song –

And the maid of the elves, Ælyndarka the fair,

fell in love with Atavens of Silverstair.

Percorian of Duiveltine,

his courage bolstered by good red wine

To the palace crept on a moonless night

on an errand fell and dire;

A suitor scorned with his blade in hand,

a hank of rope, and a burning brand

And his two fierce brothers of mickle might,

twin sons of a savage sire.

At the royal house up the wall they climbed

and they reached her window as Vespers chimed

As silent as shadow they entered in,

but sought for the maid in vain;

Silver they found there, and jewels and gold,

but the hearth and the bedding were both stone-cold

And they pondered how back to the walls to win,

and hie them home again.

Then out of the shadows a lantern flares,

and catches the miscreants unawares;

And a figure steps from the silent dark,

and greets them in friendly tones:

"Sons of the Duiveltine, drop thy blades,

and forebear to bedevil reluctant maids;

"Get thee hence from the house of fair Ælyndark,

lest I feast on thy shattered bones."

Percorian cursed, and he raised his sword;

"I am come to be Ælyndark's love and lord,

"And to take up my rightful place and all,

upon Tîor's ancestral throne;

"Stay me not, lest you die; you are but one man,

and we are the chiefs of a war-wise clan

"Should you face us here, you are certes to fall,

and seek the Long Halls alone."

"Thrice has thou erred, thou foolish lord,"

quoth the voice from the shadow; "I bear no sword,

"And nor do I face ye three alone,

thou son of an ended clan;

"If thine eyes were sharper, then they would mark

that here with me standeth fair Ælyndark!

"Nor ever shalt thou ascend the throne,

for, wretch – I am no man!"

Then the lamp-light died, and the screams began;

fell sounds to hear from the mouth of man;

And the red blood flowed, and it stained the floor

of the elf-maid's charnel room;

And when the last of the cries were done,

and the battle lost, and the battle won,

The light of the lantern flared once more,

and the elf-maid learned her doom.

Three corpses lay on the chamber floor,

and one man stood by her bedroom door;

Of the dead, but two were of Duiveltine –

the third was from Silverstair!

And Ælyndark wept at her love's demise,

'till she spied Duke Percorian's silver eyes...

...and together they drank of love's sweet wine,

Did the silver-eyed Duke of the Duiveltine,

And the princess descended of Tîor's line,

Hight Ælyndark the Fair.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

This one came as something of a surprise to me...but at the same time, it didn't. I mean, I always knew that there was something a little odd about the elven royal family; I just thought it came from overexposure to magic, not dragons in the woodpile. This sure explains a lot, though. I'll bet there's more – a lot more – in the Filigree Throne trilogy, seeing as how that one's about civil war in Elvehelm and all.

Twenty-Fourth Rune: The Apotheosis of Miros

♦

(from the Libram Regnum Tertius)

A moment later – or an eternity; she could not tell – she awoke to cool breezes and soft birdsong, feeling the gentle caress of meadow grass against her bare flesh. She savoured the sensations, uncertain where she was, and uncaring. She had not felt the tickle of verdure since she had closeted herself, all willingly, within the basalt fastness of Sciarratekkan's weyr.

At length, she opened her eyes and sat up. A short distance away sat one of her kinsman, cross-legged on the sward: an elf clad in a simple grey tunic and kirtle, unarmed and unarmoured, with unruly white-blonde hair and odd, glimmering, silvery eyes.

Glancing around, she saw that they were alone in the midst of a grassy dell surrounded by shivering pines. The stars shone brightly above, limning her surroundings with a shimmering argent radiance, but it seemed that they shed extra luminescence on the stranger sitting silently before her.

She noticed that she was unclad; but seven years with a wyrm for a mate had made her disdainful of raiment. Making no effort to conceal her nakedness, she asked, curious, "Are these the Long Halls?"

"No," the stranger replied. His voice was light and melodious, even playful. "It is the forest of your homeland.

"Why?" he grinned suddenly. "Are you dead?"

Glancing down at her pristine flesh, Miros shrugged, puzzled. "I thought I was," she said, "but now...." Wondering, she ran her hand over the smooth, unmarred expanse of her midriff. There were no marks, nothing at all; no evidence to indicate that she had ever even been...

She glanced back at the stranger. "I should be dead," she said gravely. "I meant to die. Who are you? Did you save me?"

"On the contrary," the stranger answered, his solemn tone and manner belying the sparkle in his eyes. "You saved me, mistress. Or more properly, through your courage and single-minded sacrifice, you saved our people."

She frowned. " 'Our' people?"

"My people, and yours. The elves."

"Are you a king, then?" she asked, confused. If he were, she had never met or even heard of him.

"You might say that."

She pondered for a moment, and then said, "You are Hara Sophus, are you not?"

He nodded.

"You brought me back. From the Long Halls."

Another nod.

"Why?"

"Because I have a task for you," he replied. "One for which I believe you might be suited. Would you consider making a pact with me?"

"I do not know," Miros said. "The last pact I struck did not turn out well." Marvelling at her miraculous survival, she glanced down again at her miraculously unmarked flesh. "I have no skill at bargaining."

"I disagree," the stranger replied, still solemn. "It seems to me that you made a wager with a deadly foe, and won it justly. Though the cost must have seemed high to you, the reward was beyond price. But in any case," he added, grinning again, "you need not fear. I am not your foe. And I do not make unfair bargains."

Miros wondered whether she could trust him, and then decided that it didn't matter. A calm acceptance had washed over her; and if she were indeed returned from eternal oblivion to walk once again the verdant earth that she so loved, what matter the cost? And so she shrugged, and asked, "What terms do you ask?"

"Little enough," the stranger answered with a smile. "You will serve me forever, without reward of any kind. You will use all of your power, knowledge and wisdom for the betterment of others, without expectation of recognition, remuneration or even thanks. You will struggle for an age, and another, and still another, and yet when the ages are done, and you are weary with toil, you will be further behind than when you began. And when the world breaks, and your people go to the Long Halls for eternity, you will not go with them, but will pass beyond the Void and into the oblivion of the Unmaking with me, and my brothers and sisters."

She stared at him. He smiled again, his grin infectious. "What do you say?"

"That does not sound very attractive," she replied, sceptical. "Is there no benefit in this pact for me?"

The stranger smiled more broadly. "There are many. One of them," he said, giving a nod, "is that you will wear a slightly different form."

Miros snorted derisively...and to her astonishment, flame jetted from her nostrils. Startled, she reeled backwards and nearly fell over, instinctively flapping her enormous wings to keep her balance. Her tail swept into place behind her, muscles tightening to brace her against the ground and keep her upright. She cried out in alarm...but the cry was a clarion of fury, like a peal of trumpets.

She glanced down. Where smooth, pale flesh had been, a rippling carapace of intricately-detailed golden mail gleamed. She shot a terrified look at the stranger, and reeled again. He was gone, his place on the sward taken by a gigantic silver dragon. The towering creature sat back on its haunches, its head, like hers, higher than the treetops. It regarding her with a bemused glance – and its eyes were the same pools of liquid silver that the grey-clad elf had boasted.

"What do you say?" the stranger repeated, this time in the dragons' tongue, with a hint of a chuckle in his tone.

The wyrm-speech startled her; for a moment, she heard a ghost of Sciarratekkan's outraged, dying bellow in the stranger's words, and was stunned to find that, in the inferno of power that was her wyrm's heart, she felt a hot kernel of sorrow blossom for the ancient dragon, and a terrible stab of pain at his loss.

And hers.

"Lady?" the silver stranger asked, regarding her intently.

Let the pain become your power, she told herself, hearing her father's voice in the words.

She looked into the silver dragon's dancing argent eyes. "I accept!" she said. And her voice was a shattering bellow.

"Excellent," he nodded. "Then here is your first task."

There was a flash of light; she blinked, dazzled. On the grass at her feet, a tiny bundle appeared, bloody and broken.

Her daughter.

With her new eyes, her new heart, she saw what she had done: new life, a wealth of possibility, a future, a magnificent legacy...and all of them snuffed out, by her own hand.

Dragons can feel sorrow, but they cannot weep. Instead, she roared her rage, her fury at her own deed, at the sky, pouring out her mourning and regret in fire.

The silver dragon allowed her to grieve. When the storm had passed, she raised her eyes to his, and said, "Can you undo what I have done?"

"I can," the other dragon replied, "if you can tell me why I should."

She searched her conscience, came to a decision, and answered truthfully: "So that I may honour my lifemate. And so that...that I might one day see once more his love for me. In her eyes."

A smile of approval spread over the god's fanged visage. "Done!" he shouted. Bending down, he touched a platinum-hued claw to the tiny, pathetic bundle. Hot, argent light flashed, and Miros flinched. When she opened her eyes again, a scarlet dragonet squirmed on the sward before her. The tiny thing looked up at her, mewling feebly. The sight wrung her spirit.

"She has her father's hue," Hara warned.

"She has her mother's heart," Miros shrugged. "What does her hue matter?" And so saying, she bent down, and touched her own steely, gilt claw to the miniscule creature's head.

The dragonet stretched its neck, rubbing its scalp against her talon, cooing contentedly. As it did so, a bright, yellow light began at her claw-tip, running down the wyrmling's dorsal ridge, spreading across its supple hide until the tiny reptile gleamed a brilliant gold.

When the transformation was complete, Miros placed a massive palm on the grass so that the tiny, golden dragon could climb up onto it. She raised her hand to her face, and allowed the creature to rub its muzzle against hers. "You are Allyrysalkian," she said softly. The little thing squeaked in reply. "And I am Miros. You may call me 'mother', Ally."

The tiny dragonet replied by opening its jaws and nipping at her nose. Its fangs were tiny, but sharp enough to draw blood. Miros winced at the sudden, stinging pain.

The enormous silvery dragon barked a laugh. "I welcome you to my service, Miros, Mistress of Magic, and Mother of Dragons. I welcome you, with a full and grateful heart.

"But I am afraid," he added with a toothy grin, "that difficult daughters are destined to run in your family."

She ignored him. Crouching slightly, glancing down at the tiny dragon standing on her hand, clutching one of her massive talons. This child was her future, her life. There would be more; and she found, to her infinite surprise and delight, that she was looking forward to meeting them.

"Hold tight, little Ally," she whispered. Her child was new; not only new born, but a new being – the very first of a line that would in the fullness of time come to be known as the Daughters of Dragons. They would be her especial care, the more so because they were descended from her blood. So blessed, they would change the world. She was sure of it.

She cupped the wyrmling to her armoured breast; and with a thrust of mighty legs and a sweeping downbeat of enormous wings, Miros – elf-princess, goddess of magic, and mother of the Kaunovalta – gathered her newfound strength...

...and like a bolt of golden lightning, hurled herself at the sky.

♦♦♦

Gwen's Notes

That sort of puts a cap on the story, doesn't it? It's nice to see that everything worked out well for Miros. Things didn't work out so well for the folks who had to deal with her descendents, of course...but that, as they say, is another tale.
Appendix – Historia Antiquitatis: The Ancient World

♦

The following is an excerpt from the _Historia Antiquitatis_ , one of the early masterworks of Ceorlinus Rectinarius, _Sapienter Regalis_ of the Third House of Elvehelm in the reign of Allarýchian Æyllian, _Rex Regis Elvii_ (b. 384 D, r. 687 D, m. 997 D, d. 1299 D); and his son and heir, Siarahalla Æyllian, _Rex Regis Elvii_ (b. 1141 D, r. 1299 D, d. 212 N).

As an aid to comprehension, the reader should note that historians generally order the history of the World Made into seven discrete Ages. The history of the Ancient World comprises the Beginning; the War of the Powers; the Age of Making; and the Age of Wisdom, that ended with the Fall of Ancient Harad, the Gloaming of the Wyrms, and the Closing of the Dome of the Firmament.

The Modern World comprises the Eon of Darkness, that followed the fall of Ancient Harad at the end of the Age of Wisdom; the Age of Discovery, that began when the Argent Three brought the Tarinas Valtakirjas, the Book of the Powers, to the elf-king, ending the Darkness, and that lasted until the rise of the Shadow King, the War of the Shadow, the Sundering of the World, and the destruction of Yl of the Towers; and the Age of New Hope, that began with the defeat of the Shadow King, and that has endured thus far a thousand years and more.

The history of the Modern World is elsewhere told. This discourse addresses the Ages of the Ancient World, and what transpired before the Darkness.

♦

Primordium – The Beginning

_The universe began as an empty void, and long endured in this estate. At length, the void was broken by a light, and that light expanded and grew until it shone bright and clear; but the universe is endless and the light, great though it is, is not. And in the moment the universe knew light it knew also darkness. And in time the light came to know itself, and it was Ana; and in that same moment, the darkness became aware, and it was Uru. Where the light met the dark lay a place that was neither; and it knew both Ana and Uru, and forth from the union of the light and dark came the Powers. And the Powers were the Anari, the Bringers of the Light; and the Uruqua, the Keepers of the Dark._

_The Anari were seven; three elder daughters, and four younger sons. Eldest and first among them was Bræa, the Brightest, whose name in the elder tongue means "beautiful". And she was the vessel of Ana, and wielded all of the powers of the Light. After Bræa came Tian the Just, she whose name means "order"; and her twin sister Vara the Compassionate, whose name means "mercy". They were all three of them tall, and beautiful beyond the reach of mortal word. Tian was stern and wielded a sword forged of the Light of Ana called_ Vasatri _, a fiery brand that none but she could wield; but Vara had a kind face and bore, in latter years after the forging of Anuru, a rod of the wood of the First Tree, which healed all living creatures, even unto calling the Children of the Powers, the Kindred, back from the halls of Tvalt._

_The Brothers of the Anari were four. Eldest was Hara the Wise, whose name, in the elder tongue, meant "wisdom". He was tall and slender, with golden hair and eyes of silver, shimmering with the light of the stars that came after; and he bore a scroll given him by Bræa, upon which was written with all of the knowledge of the universe. Next came Esu the Brave, whose name means "courage", who was tall and strong, with heavy fists a ready laugh, and who bore a hammer of adamant; and with it in hand he, and he alone, had the strength to sunder the foundations of the universe. After Esu came Nosa, short and dark, quick of hand and of humour, whose name means "wit", and who bore a girdle woven of the light of Ana, that made him fleet of foot, able to outrun even Ana itself. And after Nosa came the youngest of the Anari, Lagu the Strong, whose name means "indomitable". Lagu was short, broad and mighty; and though stern and quick of temper, he was steadfast of heart, and proof in body and in spirit against all of the terrors and blandishments of the dark._

_The Uruqua, the Keepers of the Dark, were likewise seven in number. Eldest among them, and in power a twin to Bræa, was Bardan the Slayer. Bardan moved in a cloud of shadow that none could penetrate, and that brought terror and despair to all he approached. The touch of Bardan was death, and his name, to the Elder Race, meant "the ending". After Bardan came forth Zaman the Deceiver, Sister of Death and Mother of Lies. She was the fairest of the powers, white of face and of sable locks, surpassed only by Bræa in her dark beauty, and none could resist her voice or the power of her words. Her name meant "deceit" in the Elder tongue. After Zaman came Tvalt, Keeper of the Halls of the Dead and Lord of the Afterdark, whose name meant "the infinite". Tvalt had no aspect, for he was without form, a force incorporeal and yet implacable; yet unlike his siblings he was not marked by evil, but was absolute and incarnate, the overseer and the judge of all; but still evil things loved to serve him, for he was set in lordship over death. And although he had no visage, his hands were skeletal, and cold._

_Kær the Thief was younger sister to Tvalt; she was lithe and comely, but cold of heart, quick of mind and of hand, and faster in stride than all of the Powers, save only Nosa. She wielded a whip woven of shadow that brought endless dreams to any it touched, and her name meant "treachery". After Kær came Morga the Destroyer, a giant of fire, hideous of visage, who wielded an immense sword forged of flame and darkness, and whose name meant "armageddon." After Morga came his sister Ekhalra, called the Witherer, whose aspect was tall, dark and shapely, in the morning a beauty second only to Bræa, in the evening a shadow fell and loathsome to behold. Her mere glance brought weakness, her breath rot and decay, and her touch destroyed all. And the last of the Uruqua was Dæsuqlu, the Pestilent One, whose aspect was as of a scabrous cripple, horrible to behold; but whose true form was unfixed, mutable and changing, but immensely powerful, deranging to the mortal mind, whose presence brought vermin, debility and disease, whose name meant "Plague."_

♦

Bello Dominatii – The War of the Powers

_For eons the Anari and the Uruqua strove between light and dark, each to gain the ascendancy over the other, without ever taking physical form, for there was no firmament upon which to stand to do battle. After an age, Hara consulted with Bræa, and the Anari met and reached agreement with the Uruqua that a place to contain and circumscribe their battles should be made. So the Anari and the Uruqua together wielded the powers of Light and Dark, and from the void brought forth Anuru, the World of Light and Dark._

_At first, the Heavens were the province of the Light, and the Earth was the province of the Dark. From the Heavens came forth the Avatars of Light to serve the Anari; and from the Earth, the Avatars of Dark, to serve the Uruqua. And each of the Powers chose some from among Avatars to be their greatest assistants; and these became the Servants of the Powers. But Bræa and Bardan, the mightiest of the Powers, took no Servants, for in truth, they needed none. And after Anuru was formed and the Avatars come forth, Ana and Uru bespoke them, and they together wrought a place in the void to contain Anuru; and that place was the Ether, and all of Heaven and of Earth were contained therein. And Ana and Uru, and the Powers, and their Servants, and the Avatars of Light and Dark took shape and substance in the Void beyond the Ether, but travelled freely therein, throughout Heaven and Earth. And Anuru, woe betide that small and misbegotten mote of Evertime, became their battleground._

_Once the Avatars had come forth from Heaven and from Earth, and the Servants had been selected to lead them, the Anari and the Uruqua recommenced their battling for the supremacy of all; and mighty were their struggles. The earth was torn and rent with their lightnings, and the heavens burnt by their fires. Waters were cast up, and mountains hurled down in ruin. At length, the treachery of Bardan was made manifest, for at the height of the battle, he tore the foundations of the Earth, and from the gash in Evertime he wrought, poured forth as a mighty torrent the Minions of the Dark, the spirits of which had been sown in the earth by the Uruqua, and that had lain in slumber, and in ambuscade, for the Anari and the Avatars of the Light. And the Minions of the Dark were legion, and the Anari and their Avatars were pressed backwards in battle, near unto defeat. But as the end approached, the wisdom of Hara told, for he had conspired with Bræa to sow the spirits of the Minions of the Light in the heavens; and they fell upon the Minions of the dark, as bolts from the skies; and though the Minions of the Light were fewer in number, their power was far the greater; and they slew, and were slain, in great number. And the slain Minions of the Dark became the rocks of the mountains, the stones of the hills, and the grains of sand of the beaches of Anuru; but the Minions of the Light slain in battle became the stars of the sky._

_And it is said that one of these slayings wrought the greatest evil in Anuru. For Balcocheth, an Avatar of the Dark, one of the Servants of Zaman the Deceiver, met in battle with Tian the Just; and although he was supported by hordes of his Minions, and Tian stood alone, yet she remained one of the Anari and a mighty Power of the Universe, and strove against him with her sword Vasatri, forged of the Light of Ana. In the battle, she sore wounded Balcocheth, and he fell to his knees and begged for mercy; and Tian stayed her hand, and called for her sister Vara to aid the stricken Servant of Zaman._

_But his pleadings were treachery, for Balcocheth was not mortally wounded. As Tian stooped to his aid, Balcocheth seized Vasatri and cast the mighty sword to his mistress Zaman, who lay hidden among the stones; and Zaman seized the sword, and smote Tian through the back; and the great Sword of Light passed through Tian and pierced Balcocheth, and slew him as he stood. And so, in the way of his kind, he became in an instant one of the great mountains of Anuru._

_Although Tian lived (for even the power of Vasatri was not great enough to slay its own mistress, one of the Powers of Light), she lay in agony, pinned to the evil heart of the stone; and because she could not reach the hilts of the great sword, and because none else had the strength to withdraw it, she could not be freed. And so, it is said, she remains unto this day, the Justice and Order of the world laid low, unmoving and ineffectual, betrayed and brought to naught by Treachery._

_But Zaman, wielding Vasatri, had awoken the Light of Ana to her foulness; and the might of the sword struck her even as she flourished it, burning off the hand that wielded the eternal glaive, searing her visage fair, consuming her left eye, and deforming and disfiguring her; and from the loveliest of all beings after Bræa, she became the foulest and most hideous of hags. And so, ever after, walked she the varied paths of Anuru._

_Even before the battle between Tian, and Balcocheth, and Zaman had ended, still another treachery of Bardan was revealed; for he had broken his oath to Bræa, taking seven of the greatest of the Avatars of the Dark as his Servants. And into them he poured the Power and Might of Uru; and such was their hideous strength that they equalled, and nigh surpassed, the Uruqua in their wrath. And so the Anari, with the defeat and imprisonment of Tian, found themselves at a great disadvantage; and for them, the War of the Powers turned to ill._

♦

_Sæculum Factionis_ _– The Age of Making_

Fearing defeat in the War, Bræa pleaded with Ana for counsel; and both the Anari and the Uruqua were permitted to create new beings, of great but lesser stature, to serve in their wars. These new lives were to be weak in power but unlimited in number; and the skill of their creators would determine success or failure. But because this meant shattering the accord between Ana and Uru (which in truth had already been breached by Bardan), the creation of the new beings, although undertaken by Bræa alone, was perforce accompanied by the Ban, which forbade the creation of any more beings of speech, and free will, and immortal spirit within Anuru.

_And so Bræa laboured and brought forth the Eldest, the Brahiri, which name means "Children of Bræa"; and they were fair of face and unlike any beings yet seen within the confines of Anuru. Four peoples of the Brahiri were created. The First People were tall and very fair, with pale skin and dark hair and eyes; and they were patient and gentle, and on their brow was writ Wisdom. The Second People were short, broad and dark of hair and skin; and they were strong and enduring as the stones of world upon which they trod. The Third People were tall, fair-haired and blue-eyed, and these were fleet of foot and eager to know the secrets of Anuru; and the Fourth People were small, nimble and dark of skin and hair, and quick and clever. These were the People of the Spoken Word, created by Bræa, ever after called The Kindred; and in the instant of their waking, Ana closed the door of creation, and no more speaking creatures of free will and immortal spirit could ever after be called into being by the Powers upon Anuru, for good or for ill. And this sealing for all time of the door of creation was called the Ban of Ana._

_But Uru, learning of the Ban of Ana, was incensed, for he perceived that the Peoples forged by Bræa, though yet young and but in the dawning of their powers, would fight for the Bringers of the Light; and though they were frail in comparison to the Powers, Avatars and Minions of the Dark, yet they were fecund, and soon would people Anuru in great numbers. So he strove mightily against the Ban, but it fell upon Anuru before he could undertake to oppose it. Thus, although he brought forth creatures and monsters innumerable, none could share the gifts of the Kindred of the Spoken Word, of Free Will, and of the Immortal Spirit; and were but beasts. And Uru was wroth, and he seized instead upon many of his Minions of the Dark, and warped them into terrible and fell monsters, and set them in eternal enmity against the Children of Bræa; and so were created the fell serpents, the great spiders, the wolves of terror, the dragons, the giants, and all of the other horrors of Anuru. Some were lesser in strength and short-lived; but others were wise, mighty and long in years. And in time, some – especially the dragons – grew fell and terrible, exceeding the Minions in their power, to rival even the Avatars as the mightiest of the servants of the Dark._

_While Uru was withdrawn into the darkness and engaged in his hideous creations, abetted by Bardan, Zaman, and Tvalt, Bræa gathered her new-born Children in one place upon the earth and instructed them in the Spoken Word. And there was no time in that place, for the Lantern had not yet risen, nor had the Lamps that were to come in latter days; and the Children lived in peace and ease by the light and strength that lay in the Anari alone. They learned quickly; and as they learned, they grew in wisdom and power and independence; and Bræa, after a time, understood the terrible price that came with the Ban of Ana. For the Children of Bræa were not slaves; they knew no subservience to either Light or Dark, but were free of will, and so, unlike the Servants, the Avatars, and the Minions, free to disobey; even to oppose the Light, and to bend to the will and whim of evil. And this perplexed Bræa, for the Servants, the Avatars and the Minions of the Powers had been brought forth in servitude and obedience; and they could struggle, and argue, and twist; but in the end they could not rebel against their masters._

_But the Children of Bræa were wilful; and although, compared to the greater beings, they were ephemeral, and fragile, and could be killed, yet they could not be cowed. And this freedom woke a kernel of fear in the bosom of Bræa; for she foresaw that this independence of spirit could lead them to follow and serve the Dark as easily as the Light. And moreover, for the Kindred, this independence of spirit, it seemed, endured even after death, for unlike the Avatars, the Minions, and even the Monsters of Bardan, the Kindred, when their bodies were slain, did not disappear forever from Anuru, but rather passed into the Long Halls of the Dead, under the eyes of Tvalt; whence the powerful might someday return._

Liberi Bræa – the Betrayal of Bræa

_And when she perceived this, Bræa railed against the light; and such was her despair at having unleashed Free Will upon Anuru that she sought to unmake her children, and return them to the stuff of Heaven and Earth whence they had come, lest they fall prey to the blandishments of Uru, and so tip the balance even further against the Light. But Ana stayed Bræa's hand, saying, "That which I have permitted thee to create, thou mayest not uncreate. Wouldst thou then slay thy sons and thy daughters for being not slaves? Thine dismay and distrust are unbecoming of the Light, and therefore do I say that these are now no longer thy children. While thou mayest instruct and even walk among them, never again will they hew unto you. No more are they in thy charge."_

_And so saying, Ana summoned the Brothers of Bræa: Hara, Esu, Nosa and Lagu, and gave unto each of them the care and instruction of one of the Peoples. To Hara she bequeathed the care of the First People, those who were tall, dark-haired and wise, and they became the Haradi. To Lagu was given care of the Second People, those who were short, strong and of indomitable will, and they became the Lagudi. Esu received the care of the Third People, the Fair-haired Wanderers, to be known ever after as the Esudi; and Nosa was granted care over the small, nimble folk of the Fourth People, and they became the Nosadi. And the four brothers separated, taking their new charges to different parts of Anuru to instruct them as each saw fit. And Bræa did weep at this parting, and repented of her attempt to slay her children; and she vowed that ever after she would strive to protect and nurture them. But Ana forbade even this, warning Bræa that while she might still impart knowledge to her former Children, and even allow her Servants and Avatars to assist them, yet she could never raise her hand again, either in their defence of, or against them. And Bræa bowed her head in submission to Ana, and in grief at her loss. But in time, she found a means to subvert even the will of Ana, and give unto her children a gift that would strengthen them against their foes._

_But for the nonce, her grief was all-consuming; and in that grief, the Light that was in Bræa left her, and she became a lowly and silent spirit, incomparably mighty, and of beauty unsurpassed; but quiet and humble. And rather than see it vanish from Anuru, Ana took the light of Bræa, and fashioned it into an orb of exceeding puissance and beauty, and placed it in the Heavens near unto Anuru, so that the light of Bræa could yet be seen by her Children, and they might feel her warmth upon their faces. And the orb was ever after called Bræadan, which in the language of the Anari, meant "Lantern of Bræa"._

_But the will of Uru was not to be denied; and he was wroth that the light of Bræa should fall without hindrance across all of Anuru, and lay bare the schemes of the Uruqua, and expose the fell pits in which his monsters were bred, and the dark vales in which they prospered. And so with a word, he set the Earth into motion, and spun it like a ball, so that all of the lands would know darkness as well as light, with each defeating the other in turn, allowing the Master of Shadow sufficient darkness for his fell deeds._

_Thus were created the days. And as the march of days began, so began the count of time; and with the count of time, the Age of Making ended, and the Age of Wisdom began._

♦

Aetatis Sapientiae – The Age of Wisdom

When he had finished with each of his vile creations, Uru sent them into the world, and they gave their service and their loyalty to the Powers of the Dark. But while they had not free will, the fell beasts of the Dark were unruly, even disobedient; and so Bardan took them under his careful overlordship, for he feared that if his siblings, who were ever untrustworthy and jealous of his rule, were to gain their allegiance, with so mighty a following, they might one day challenge him for mastery of the Uruqu.

Thus, aided by his Seven Servants, Bardan undertook to instruct the new beasts in the knowledge and wisdom of Uru. The mightiest of his servants, Gargarik, undertook the instruction of the Giants, while Penchriss, called The Wily, was given dominion over serpents. Mordakris, greatest of hunters, gained lordship over wolves and other seeking beasts, and Xanthanis, the Venomous One, was made king of spiders. Korkrynn, the Far-Seeing, blood enemy of Gemmo, Lady of Winds, became Mistress of Raptors, and was as queen to all fell creatures of the skies; and Borduru, the swiftest and most despised of Bardan's servants, was given dominion over the vermin of Anuru.

Last came Achamkris, eldest and wisest of Bardan's followers; and she was given lordship over the dragons; for of all Bardan's creations, these were the wisest and most wilful of creatures. And Achamkriss was pleased with her overlordship; and she hoped that her charges might become even more powerful in time. And to this end, she struck a bargain with Gargarik, so that each aided the other; and so the dragons grew in strength and power, becoming mighty beyond all belief; and the giants grew in wisdom and lore, and those who could, learned the Art Magic from the dragons.

Still Acahmkris was not done; and in the guise of one of the Kindred, she he espied upon the Haradi, and stole from them the secret of speech, and gave it unto the dragons; and thus the dragons alone retained the words and potency of the Elder tongue, in which the Art Magic was first born upon Anuru. And so too were the dragons the first of Bardan's foul creations to gain the power of the spoken word.

And this was a momentous decision, with far-reaching consequences. The dragons taught the Giants to speak, and so the word spread among the fell creatures, and those who had wit to learn it, did so, and Bardan's forces grew mighty, and built great empires of evil. But where the speech of the Haradi was soft and musical, and suited even to the tongues of dragons (for the dragons had perforce taken the form of the Haradi to learn it), none other of Bardan's foul brood could mouth the Elven words; and so the speech of the evil creatures was harsh and foul. And each race of evil bent the word to its own uses; and so in time the foul races were estranged.

Under the tutelage of Acahmkris, the dragons prospered and grew in lore and might, and they lived long years, and came thereafter to be the most powerful, and wisest, and longest-lived of all the mortal beings upon Anuru. Fell minions of the Dark quailed before them, and even the mightiest of the Avatars feared to contend with the lords and princes of dragonkind. But the seeds of the deed of Achamkris were their own punishment and reward; and certain of the dragons could not bear the corruption of the speech they had learned from the Haradi. And so they separated from their kin, who remained with their brothers, the Children of Bardan; and these exiles betook themselves to the distant places of Anuru, to find a new path. And in time, they found it among the Kindred; but that is a later tale.

Still, despite all of their might, the dragons were outdone by the Children of Bræa, for they did not possess immortality of spirit; nor could they learn the Free Will that was the gift of Bræa; for that was hers and hers alone to give, a secret even the wily Acahmkris could not wrest from the Brahiri.

The creation and instruction of the fell creatures took Bardan an Age of Anuru, and during this time the Children of Bræa flourished and spread across the earth. The Haradi were slow to grow in numbers, but wise in the ways of tree and forest, and so formed families that became great domains and even kingdoms; and the woods and the hills were their domain. They contemplated the stars and were taught the mysteries of Heaven and of Earth by Hara and by Bræa; and they became mighty in lore and power.

The Esudi were the most fecund of beings, and courageous in exploration, and they spread rapidly across Anuru, founding cities and tilling the land, as they were taught by Esu and by Bræa; and while not nearly so long-lived as the Haradi, they were the most adventurous, and their empires grew and flourished; and ever the red sword shone among them.

The Lagudi, less fecund, but strong and wise in the lore of working stone and metal, found the high hills and cold mountains to their liking, and learned the arts of mining and of the forge from Lagu and from Bræa; and they crafted wondrous things in their soaring halls beneath the stone; and they remained ever the most observant and careful in their devotions to the Powers.

But the Nosadi, although secretive in person among themselves, were yet gregarious with others, and so sought out no lands of their own, but lived in harmony among their brethren; and they were taught, by Nosa and Bræa alike, to be quick of thought, eye and hand. And although, from time to time, they fell out with their brethren, yet they were hardy in time of trial, and feared no being, either in Heaven or upon the Earth.

And in time, each race of Bræa's children was settled in peace and prosperity; and all were content to live under the light of Bræadan; and their mother watched them from afar. But far from the light, in the shadowed places of the Earth, who brother Bardan wrought in watchful silence, and strove towards the destruction of all that she, and the Anari, had worked to build.

_Prosapiae Haradi_ _– the Houses of Harad_

Throughout the Age of Wisdom, the Powers of Light lived in close harmony with their subjects, walking and even living among them; and even so did Bræa, whose Children had been given over unto the care of her brothers. And because the light that was in her had left her, and had been sealed into the ever-burning lamp that lit Anuru, Bræa walked more easily among her children than her siblings could, wearing her _manu_ of matchless beauty, and teaching quiet wisdom to all who would listen.

At length, after many long years, she was at last overcome by her loneliness, and so she took a husband from among the men of Harad. His name was Ciarloth, foremost among all her pupils; and the people of Harad wondered at her choice, for though he was wise and tall, and of fair visage, he was but a common man, and not one of the many kings that had risen among the fair folk. In time Ciarloth and Bræa brought forth children, that were likewise tall, and all wondered at them; for they were pale of skin, and dark of hair like unto their sire, but wisdom and beauty beyond compare had they from their mother.

Because they were born of the Children, they were beings of Heaven and Earth; but with the blood of Bræa mingled into their line, they were the fairest and wisest of all of the Children of the Mother. They were far-sighted, and had dominion over the Skies and the Seas; the birds of air and beasts of the earth answered to their call; and such a strength was in them that they feared no Power of Dark. And these children did not die within Anuru unless slain; and even then, their spirits were ever reborn beyond the Ether, in the fair homes of the Anari.

The children of Bræa and Ciarloth were **Niamlo** , **Brahad** , **Siallath** and **Xiardith** ; and these together were called the _First House of Harad_. And those of the First House were ever after mighty beyond all of the other Children; and in time they became living legends among the Haradi, seeking no kingship, but only to increase their knowledge, and use their powers to the betterment of the world. But of the line that held the kingship after Ciarloth, misfortune came hand-in-hand with might; and treason befell them, and horror, and death. And this dark fate pursued all of his heirs, even unto modern days.

When he saw that his elder sister had come to live in peace and joy with the Children, Hara, her her eldest brother, took a wife from the women of Harad; one Oramna, she whose beauty was first among the Mortal Children, before the birth of Niamlo. Long had she been Hara's pupil in the wisdom of the stars, and she was wise beyond all save the Anari themselves; and even more wise in the ways of the mortal world. For she followed, as Hara had taught her, the stars in their courses, and knew the names of tree and rill and stone, and numbered well all the beasts, fair and foul, of Anuru. Their children were **Elloamna** , who carried her mother's beauty, and **Îardan** , who bore his mother's wisdom. And both came to life with their father Hara's boundless knowledge of the universe, his unquenchable thirst to know more, and his undying love of all things upon Anuru. And they were the progenitors of the _Second House of Harad_ , renowned for their knowledge, and wisdom, and guardianship and lore of Heaven and of Earth, and everything within them.

The First and Second Houses grew slowly, and prospered, and were ever revered among the Haradi, latterly called the Elves. No misfortune befell their long descent - save only for those who mingled the two divine bloodlines. More will be told of them later. We turn first to the origins of those called the Hiarsk, to whom the unknowing and ignorant have given the appellation "Half-Elf".

Originis Hiarskae, Benedictiae Bræaoni, et Fatum Humanitus – On the Origins of the Hiarsk, the Blessing of Bræa, and the Wyrd of Men

Niamlo, eldest daughter of Bræa, and most beautiful of the Haradi, dark-eyed and dark-haired and tall, wandered long without taking a husband; for in truth she desired only the knowledge of the skies and the stars. Yet at the last she met and fell enamoured with Chuadwaith of Esud. And this astonished her kin among the Haradi, for he was not even of her own people, but one of the Esudi, a child of the people of Esu, arrogant, violent and inquisitive.

Yet their union had been foretold, fated and written in the Book of the Heavens. For in her youth, Niamlo had been stolen away and hidden by the Uruqua Tvalt, concealed amongst the Dead who roamed his Long Halls; for he coveted her force of life and her beauty, the likes of which had never been seen except among the Anari. Indeed, so closely did she resemble Tvalt's sister, Zaman (before her beauty had been blighted by her treachery), that Tvalt desired her; and he held Niamlo captive, against her wish, in order that the Powers of Dark might thereafter force Bræa, her mother, to do their bidding.

Chuadwaith was the son of the son of a King of Esud, who had heeded the dark but compelling words of Bardan, and owed fealty to Tvalt; but when he saw Niamlo held captive, his heart changed within him, and he freed her and fled with her. Tvalt was wroth, and his fell and deathless minions pursued the fugitive pair across Anuru, and even unto the ends of the Earth. But Chuadwaith was wise in the ways of the world, and a mighty warrior besides, and he protected her against all foes.

The pair took refuge in the deep places of Anuru, with the Children of Lagud, where their King, Gargarund, the mightiest and most skilled of smiths, foresaw the battles that lay ahead for Chuadwaith. And so he himself took hammer in hand, and thrice-forged a mighty sword of black iron from the heart of the mountain; and this he gave to Chuadwaith to aid him in preserving the daughter of Bræa. And he called the sword _Bjergshjert_ , which means "Mountain's Heart". And while living among the Lagudi, in the dark of the earth, Niamlo bore three children to Chuadwaith: two sons, **Ciarndim** and **Ciardak** , and a daughter, **Hiarhala**. And for years, Chuadwaith battled the minions and monsters of the Dark, both above the earth and below; but never did the seekers sent by Tvalt find him or his family.

At length, after all his machinations had failed to locate the daughter of Bræa, Bardan sent his servant **Mordakris** , Lord of Hunters and of Wolves, to find and retrieve her and her daughters; and Mordakris was the wisest of hunters, and could not be denied. He followed Chuadwaith to the kingdom of the Lagudi, and assailed them with the wolves and fell hunting beasts, and the most horrid of minions, that were his to command; but the Lagudi were steadfast, and were themselves mighty warriors, and were armed and armoured as no others upon Anuru. And Bardan sent even his sister Zaman, blighted in her visage, but wise in fell blandishments and promises; but the hearts of the Lagudi were loyal to the light and firm, and could not be swayed. And even did Bardan send his fell brother Dæsuqlu, Lord of Pestilence, to plague the Lagudi with fell humours and disease, and to call forth from the Underworld the most horrific of creatures to harry them; but the Lagudi withstood them, and defeated them all.

In desperation, Mordakris himself agreed to single combat with Chuadwaith, and it was his undoing; for Chuadwaith, although by this time old and gray of hair, was yet mightiest among the men of Esud; and although sore wounded, he slew Mordakris with the black sword of Lagud; and the Earth and Heavens shook at the great wolf's fall, for never before had one of the Children slain one of the mightiest of the Servants of the Dark. It is said that at the death of Mordakris, even Bardan trembled in his shadowy fastness beyond the stars; for the death of Chuadwaith had shown him that men might be slain, but that the spirit of the Children of Esud could never be bought, blandished or cowed.

Niamlo fled the scene of the battle with the body of her husband, and bore him back to the hidden halls of Lagud; and there she stayed with him, neither eating nor drinking, until at length she too passed into the shadows; and the greatest beauty that ever was or ever shall be fled the world with her. But though they had passed from Anuru, neither Chuadwaith, nor his wife Niamlo, came ever after unto the Halls of the Dead; for they had sworn eternal enmity to the ravisher Tvalt, and would not suffer his overlordship, either in life or in death. But Bræa deemed it unfit that, after so many travails, they should find no rest after death, and so she importuned Ana to find for them some place of peace. And so to preserve in the record of the heavens the story of their courage and their fidelity unto death, Ana took their spirits and forged of them two orbs, and set them in the Heavens near unto the Earth; and these were called _Chuadan_ and _Lodan_ , the lamps of Chuadwaith and Niamlo. Unlike the lamp of Bræa, they stood in the Heavens but a little apart from the Earth; and they followed differing paths, so that at times they lay together in the sky, and at times apart. And Chuadan was bold and bright, flashing the light of Bræadan from his face, and it seemed that he followed Lodan through the sky, as Chuadwaith had pursued Niamlo when she was held by Tvalt. But Lodan was silvery and dark, and lay chill and beautiful against the vault of the night, gracing it as Niamlo had once graced the Earth.

The children who followed after Chuadwaith were the first People of Two Houses, of parentage deriving from Harad and Esud; and they were ever after called the _Hiarsk_ , known in latter days (to those unwise in ancient lore) as the Half-Elven. Because of their parentage, they were fair, wise and long in years like unto the Haradi; but also were they strong, and fleet, and full of courage and wonder, like unto the Children of Esud. And though in latter years the Hiarsk were frowned upon by both Houses, and declined somewhat in might and wisdom, yet none could forget that their heritage was once the mightiest, the wisest and the bravest of all the Kindred; for all could look into the sky and see, in Chuadan and Lodan, the light upon the Earth of the mother and father of the first of the Hiarsk.

And the black sword _Bjergshjert_ was passed down from father to son in the line of the Overlords of the Hiarsk, for many a long age; until in the fullness of time it was lost. But while it was still known upon the Earth, by this sword were the Lords of the Hiarsk acknowledged as first among the firstborn of all of the Kindred.

But by far the greatest legacy of the intermingling of the two folk through Chuadwaith and Niamlo was the Choice that was given to the Hiarsk, alone of all the Kindred. They, and none other, had the right to choose between the fate of the Haradi – to live forever a life of wisdom and sadness, unless slain, within Anuru, and then to pass to the Halls of Tvalt for a time, before coming to a final rest beyond the Dome of the Firmament (that that eternal bliss which is called the _Blessing of Bræa_ ); or to live a short life, full of joy and glory, before passing through the Halls of the Dead and beyond, to an unknown fate outside of the Universe, beyond even the ken of Ana and Uru (that which is called the _Wyrd of Men_ ).

_Prosapiae Primus_ _: The First House of the Elves_

Brahad, the eldest son of Bræa, took his wife from among the Haradi; and his heirs were of direct lineage from Bræa, and took their mates only within the Haradi, and enjoined their descendents to do likewise, and they became the First House of Harad, known as the Îar-anHaradi. And they were known in the latter days as the Wandering Elves, for they forebore to settle, and preferred ever to seek new lands under new skies. And they remained the tallest, and the wisest, and the longest-lived of the Houses of Harad, and they loved the mountains and the skies, and searched the stars for wisdom. In their search for wisdom, they built no empires, but wandered ever the Earth; and thus they were never numerous, though mighty. Like their father, they died not within Anuru; but if slain, they shared in the Blessing of Bræa, that is to go to the Long Halls after Death, beyond the Dome of the Firmament, there to await their Mistress-Mother's call, at the Breaking of the World.

_Prosapiae Secundus_ _: The Second House of the Elves_

Siallath, the younger daughter of Bræa, took as her husband Îardan, the younger son of Hara. And their children were a son, Îardath, and a daughter, Sialladan; and in this line flowed the beauty of Bræa and the wisdom of Hara. Like the First House, the scions of the Second took their mates only within the Haradi, and were called the Second House of Harad. Though not as long-lived or as tall as those of the First House, they were more beautiful, and were greater lovers of the forests and the trees. And in latter days, they were known as the Cho-anHaradi, which means the "Grey Elves", and their kingdoms were mighty in Anuru, if brief; for their love lay in wisdom and knowledge and arcane skill, not in power or rulership. And like the First House, they shared in the Blessing of Bræa.

_Prosapiae Tertius_ _: The Third House of the Elves_

Elloamna, the eldest daughter of Hara, whose name meant "Silver-White" for her shining, silvery hair (so unlike the ebon locks of most of the Haradi), took as her mate Erudiath, the First King of Harad. And they had one daughter, Haramna, in whom the light and beauty of Elloamna lived on. And Haramna was taken as wife by Xiardith, the youngest son of Bræa; and their children were golden-haired and blue, grey and silver-eyed; and they were strong and swift of foot, and three in number, and were famous among the Haradi.

Eldest was **Tior** , whose name means "Tallest", and he bore wisdom upon his brow, and the power of light in his hand, and his eyes were blue; and he bore the raven tresses of his common forebears. Yet he became the greatest worker of the powers of light and dark in the history of Harad. Tior it was who breached the walls of heaven and created the Well of Stars, from whose endless depths flow all of the mighty powers of the Haradi, and all who wield the arcane flux; and he created the Rods of Majesty, once wielded by the mightiest kings of Harad, and of which none now survive. And Tior it was who, at the Well of Stars, forged for his brother Dior the great two-handed sword _Alurenqua_ , which means "Blade of Light and Darkness"; and the blade became an heirloom of the Third House, the were-weapon of the war chieftains of Harad, that only those of the greatest strength and power could wield. And finally, Tior was the first of the magi to comprehend the mysteries and manipulation of the great river of time; and he recorded this knowledge in a series of scrolls known as the _Miruklær_ , the "Wisdom of Time", now, like many of his works, lost. And he served his subjects as High King of the Third House of the Haradi. But Tior's thirst for knowledge and power knew no bounds, and he met a foul end; and thus his legacy is one of darkness and shadow, as well as light.

Next in line was **Dior** , whose eyes were silver, and whose name meant "Strongest"; might was in his hand, the greatest warrior the Haradi ever knew. He it was who entered the lair of the Great Green Wyrm Chyardan and slew him; and who led the Haradi to battle against the Minions of the Dark; and who, wielding the great sword _Alurenqua_ at the crisis of battle, strove against and cast down Baluchog, one of the greatest Minions of the Dark, a mighty servant of Morga the Destroyer. Dior took as his wife a common maiden of the Haradi; and after the ending of Tior's line in the treachery of Biardath, those of the line of Dior were the High Kings of the Third House of the Haradi.

And last came **Diorwine** , she of the grey eyes, with raven hair like her brothers, and matchless beauty, whose name meant "Gentle Strength"; she who in entering the world slew her mother Haramna, and was raised by the eagles of the air and the beasts of the forest; for her father Erudiath knew naught of her, but thought her dead along with her dam. It was only as a grown woman that she returned to her father's courts; and when she did, she held in friendship the beasts of the land and the birds of the air; and even the foul monsters of Bardan did her bidding, save only the most ancient and powerful of the dragons; for it was in her spirit to love all that she saw, and be loved by all that saw her. Yet this power was in the end to prove her undoing; and hers was to be a sad fate, and foul.

And in latter days the scions of the Third House lived and intermingled with those of the Second; but children who bore raven hair, like Tior, were ever after known as the Ello-anHaradi, which means "High Elves". The Third House brought forth many of the mightiest warriors, wizards and kings of Harad. And like those of the First and Second Houses, they died not in Anuru unless slain, and when they passed, they shared in the Blessing of Bræa.

_Prosapiae Quartus_ _: The Fourth House of the Elves_

After an age of practicing and perfecting his art, Tior, High King of the Third House of Harad, took to wife Hiarhala the Hiarsk, daughter of Niamlo and Chuadwaith. She was as tall and fair as one of the Haradi, but there was in her the strength and courage of her Esudi father, and well she bore the studious and distant nature of her husband; and the people marvelled at her, for she had hair red as flame, and green eyes. And in the course of their short time together (for the Hiarsk, though longer-lived than most men, were yet short in span of years compared to the elders among the Haradi; and Tior's time was shorter still, though he knew it not), she bore two sons and two daughters. Eldest was Kiarask, a mighty warrior of the Hiarsk, who founded a kingdom that became an empire of Esud; and after him, for he had no children, his sisters Ciardana and Tiorhala ruled his empire, as did their children after them.

But the youngest son, **Xiardath** , whose name meant "Last-Born", was his father's child in sooth, for he resembled most closely the people of the Third House, fair-skinned and black-haired; and he learned his father's lore and power, and became, after Tior, the most powerful mage in the history of Anuru. As his power waxed, so did his pride, and he became mighty in Harad, and also secretive, and resentful of his father's mastery. Xiardath demanded of his father that he be taught the deepest of wisdom; but Tior, sensing the darkness in his son, refused. And so Xiardath sought the forbidden knowledge on his own. In his search for wisdom and mastery, he came at last upon Zaman, hooded, disguised as a mighty sorceress; and she instructed him at length. And though he gained great power from her tutelage, it was the power of the Dark, and it consumed his soul; and soon he had turned away from his people, seeking ever more fell and puissant magicks under the corrupting eye of Zaman the Deceiver.

At last there came the day when, swollen with pride and the power of the Uruqua, Xiardath launched war against his father, and challenged him for control of all Harad. The son strove for mastery with the father; and because Tior would not slay his son, Xiardath emerged victorious; and wielding the forbidden powers of the Dark, he breached the walls of time and space, and cast his father Tior into the realms of the Void beyond the universe. And so noble Tior alone, of all the Haradi, was reft of the Blessing of Bræa; he came never unto the Long Halls, and his mighty spirit has departed beyond the knowledge of Ana and Uru.

After the battle of father and son, the Kingdom of the Third House lay in ruins; most of the noble family were slain, and nigh all of their servants. Yet among the wrack of war and woe Xiardath found a maiden, seemingly of the Haradi, wild of visage, but of exceeding beauty, with the raven hair and silver eyes of his father's house; but she spoke not, for she had been rudely treated by the warriors of Xiardath. Gazing upon her, Xiardath loved her instantly, for such was her particular power; and took her from the ruins of Tior's household, and kept her as concubine, ad victorem spolias. And thus was the doom of the Third House sealed; for he did this not knowing that she was Diorwine, his own father's younger sister, caught up in the fates of war.

Thus were sown the seeds of an eon of hatred and destruction in Harad, for at length Diorwine bore a child; but the child of Xiardath, whose spirit had been corrupted by the dark magicks he wove, got upon his own kin, was born dark of skin, with bone-white hair, and eyes as black as his father's heart. And the boy was called by his father **Biardath** , which means "Ill-Born"; for the birthing was difficult, and Diorwine, who had never recovered from the agonies of battle, did not survive it. And Xiardath, dismayed by the death of Diorwine, and disgusted by the deformity of his son, cast the infant boy out of his household, sending one of his apprentices to dispose of the infant in the forest.

But the apprentice was found by Kankallanach, one of the Great Wyrms of Ice, a mighty dragon, and the father of mighty dragons. One of the eldest of Bardan's fell monsters, Kankallanach recognized the power that lay within the infant; and the white wyrm consumed the apprentice, and took the infant Biardath under his wing, bearing him far into the north; and the dragon raised him, and taught him great magicks unknown to the Elves, and even the Powers of Dark, but only by the dragons. And in time the boy grew in power to rival his father, and hate him. When he came of age he returned with Kankallanach to Harad, accompanied by a vast host; and together they cast down Xiardath, and slew him and all his household, and razed his palace; and Biardath took the kingdom for his own, and thus founded the Fourth House of the Haradi. From his father's bones, and the blood of his mentor, and other fell things, Biardath forged a mighty staff with which to wield his magicks; and this was called the Wand of Biardath.

Biardath sired two lines; for he first wed Fanduiline, of the House of Dior, and her pure blood erased the taint from his house; her daughter, Gennara, survived in hiding to become the wife of Yarchian, called The Renewer. But this was in later years. When Fanduiline died, Biardath wed Shannyra, a fell sorceress, one of the Minions of Bardan, and his children by her bore his true features, and the taint of his heart, and were ever after dark of skin, white of hair, and mighty in magic. And both lines possessed the strength and courage of the Esudi mingled, from long before, with the blood of Bræa and Hara. The dark-haired line came eventually back to the light, and perpetuated the line of the Third House of Harad; but the children with white hair and black eyes, who were called in latter days the "Shadelven", were the Fourth House of Harad; and they were called also Sobrinatrii, the "cousins of the Shadow", the Shadelven of the Deepdark.

The children of the Fourth House, like their forebears, were immortal in Anuru; and through their lineage, they were permitted to share in the Blessing of Bræa. But because of the taint cast upon the Fourth House by the crimes of Biardath, and his mingling of blood with the foul sorceress Shannyra, those of this line who passed beyond Anuru and into the Void were ever after banned from the Light; and it is said that instead, their spirits were offered refuge by Bardan, who was eager for their wisdom and power, and glad to number so many of the fallen Children of Bræa among his mighty followers.

_Prosapiae Quintus_ _: The Fifth House of the Elves_

Ciarndim, eldest son of Niamlo, eldest daughter of Bræa and Chuadwaith of Esud, founded and perpetuated the Fifth House. And his children ever after were _Hiarsk_ , for they married only within the peoples of Esud; but though shorter-lived than the pure Elves, they were strong and fair, and the wisdom and beauty of Bræa never wholly left their line; and they were known as the Ur-Vestelven, or the "Wandering Half-Elves". And they were the Fifth House of Harad, also called the Second House of the _Hiarsk_. But although they were very long in years, like their Esudi fathers they shared not in the Blessing of Bræa; and when they died or were slain in Anuru, their spirits departed beyond the Void; and although they lingered for a time in the Halls of Tvalt, and could even be called by and compelled to serve the Powers, yet they could not be forever held, and eventually departed, and it is not known where they go. And the departure of the spirits of the _Hiarsk_ , like those of the Esudi, was called in later days the _Wyrd of Man_. And this, the Fifth House of the Haradi, had no High King; for they settled not, and built no empires among the Haradi; but their descendents were known everywhere as wise and mighty among the peoples of Anuru.

_Prosapiae Sixtus_ _: The Sixth House of the Elves_

Of the children of Tior and Hiarhala, Kiarask, the eldest son, had no issue; and his empire, as has already been said, was ruled after him, first by his sister Ciardana, who never married; and later by his sister Tiorhala, who ruled the empire for many a long year. Tiorhala married a Prince of Harad, bringing the blood of the fair folk into her mighty line, and that line lasted an age and more, and was called the Sixth House of Harad; but the strength of Hiarhala's blood could never thin, and the descendents of the Sixth House, though possessing all of the gifts and strengths of the Haradi, yet ever resembled closely the strongest and fairest of the peoples of Esud, with red hair and green eyes, even though they long ruled a kingdom of Harad. And because the blood of the Sixth House was refreshed from time to time both by Haradi and Esudi husbands and wives, the children of this house were known in latter days as the An-Vestelven, or the "Noble Half-Elves". They were the Sixth House of Harad, or the First House of the Hiarsk, and also they shared in the Wyrd of Man. And those of the line of Tiorhala were ever after the High Kings of the Sixth House of the Haradi.

_Nobilitatio Adfinus_ _: The Royal Lines of Esud, Lagud and Nosad_

The people of Lagud and Nosad had no Great Houses like the people of Harad, for they married and bred only within their own; and their nobility and royalty lay only within their own peoples. But the Esudi had many Great Houses, for they were legion in their fecundity, and forged empires across the Earth throughout the Age of Wisdom; and the Royal Houses of Esud, were from time to time enriched with the blood of the Ur-Vestelven of the Fifth House; or the An-Vestelven of the Sixth House. And thus were they longer-lived, and mighty in power and wisdom among the Esudi.

And on rare occasion, new Vestelven came into Anuru, when people of Esud had children by those of Harad; and if these were not scions of the other Houses, they were called the "Tar-Hiarsk", or the "Lost Half-Elven"; and also were they called "Half-Breeds", "Half-Bloods", and even "Half-Men", and often they were despised by both of their peoples; for they belonged neither among the Esudi, nor among the Haradi; nor even were they of the ancient lines of the Vestelven; and so they were forsaken by all, and children of none. And theirs was a sad lot, for in sooth many of them were wise and fair, and strong both of hand and heart; and they wrought much good upon Anuru.

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Aetatis Proeliari – The Age of Battles

So it was that the Children of Bræa, throughout the Age of Wisdom, gained power and wisdom, and lordship and mastery over much of Anuru. Mighty were the empires of the Esudi, and wise the kingdoms of the Haradi; strong the realms of the peoples of Lagud, and everywhere, the Nosadi lived among their brethren. And though they diverged and grew apart, still fixed and unbreachable were the ties between the Children of Bræa; and they were known throughout Anuru as the Kindred.

But the Age of Wisdom finally passed into ruin when Uru, after long labours in the dark places of Anuru, unleashed his foul monsters against the Kindred; and thus began the _Age of Battles_. The kingdoms and empires of the Kindred were strong, and they resisted long the onslaught of the creatures of Darkness. So Bardan, on the advice of Uru, and with the aid of his brothers and sisters of the Dark, came forth from his fastness under cover of shadow, and stole away many of the Kindred; and took them to the deep places of the earth; and with fell magicks, warped and bent their spirits and their forms. And over time, and in defiance of the Ban of Ana, Bardan and his siblings created new Speaking Peoples from the twisted and mutilated bodies of the stolen Kindred.

From the children of Hara, Bardan bred the _Orcs_ , the cleverest and most obedient of his monsters; from the children of Esu, the _Ogres,_ not so wise, but massive and mighty, as hard as the stones of the hills, and second in strength only to the giants; from the stolen Lagudi, he bred the _Goblins_ , who were iron-tough and cruel, and cunning in the ways of stone and earth; and from the children of Nosa, he made the _Gnomes_ , as nimble and clever as their cousins. And these new races he bred each with the other as well; from Orcs and Ogres, Bardan made the _Urks_ , who were both mighty and wise in warfare and evil, and who became the leaders of the new armies of darkness. From orcs and goblins, he made the _Hobgoblins_ , cunning warriors of the under-earth, and strong in Bardan's fell magicks; and from ogres and goblins he made the _Bugbears_ , hardy and repellent creatures, with fell fangs and mighty claws. And all of these shared the powers of Speech, of Free Will, and of Immortal Spirit, for their parentage was from Bræa; and they hated their distant parents.

But of all his creations, Bardan found the Gnomes least ready to his hand; for like the children of Nosad, they were hardy and feared no power or creature, and so were not so readily bent to evil; and they could not be made to breed with the others of Bardan's speaking monsters. And so Bardan did not loose the Gnomes upon the world, but kept them in abject bondage as his slaves; and in their torment, they wrought hard armour and mighty weapons for his armies, and so they grew in wisdom and skill, and feared and hated their master.

Then because his children were legion, Bardan sought among his brothers and sisters for any who would rule and govern over his new children. _Morga_ , the Destroyer, adored the might and power of the Ogres and agreed to rule over them, while disfigured _Zaman_ took the clever and deceitful Orcs as her charge. _Kær_ the Thief became the god of the Gnomes, although their worship was fitful and grudging. The Goblins with their love of destruction and decay fell under the rulership of _Dæsuglu_ , the Pestilent One, while the Hobgoblins (and the _Trolls,_ whom Bardan bred by mating Ogres with fell monstrosities of his own making) came to worship _Ekhalra_ the Witherer. But _Bardan_ took the mightiest of the fell warriors, the Urks, for his own, and raised them above all others of his children; and they became first among the speaking monsters.

Thus when the speaking monsters were launched against the empires and kingdoms of the Kindred, the war was renewed in earnest; and the Kindred feared for their survival. While the Powers of Light and Darkness struggled between Heaven and Earth, and their Servants, Avatars and Minions battled ceaselessly for the mastery, the Children of Bræa struggled against the foul creatures of Bardan and Uru. And because the minds of the Powers were turned away from their creations by battle and slaughter, the free will of their offspring arose. Certain of the Children of Bræa turned away from the Light and entered the service of Uru; and many of the disobedient beasts and speaking monsters of Uru left the lordship of the Dark and joined the ranks of the Children of Bræa. So it was that certain of the Haradi, the Esudi and the Lagudi fell into evil; while many dragons, giants, wolves and raptors of the skies aided the side of good; and their betrayal of Bardan was ever after called the _Great Division_. But of the children of dark, the serpents and the vermin, the Orcs and Urks, the Ogres and the Goblins, and the Hobgoblins and the Trolls, remained ever evil; and of the Nosadi, and their cousins the Gnomes, many escaped their bondage, and none ever after re-entered the service of the dark.

And as the Battles of the Powers sundered Anuru, cleaving and burning the Earth and the Heavens alike, empires tottered, and kingdoms fell, and the Powers began to fear for their offspring, for the Battles took a fearful toll of the Minions, the Monsters and the Children. Mighty empires and kingdoms crumbled, and whole swaths of the children of the dark were slaughtered. For the Powers, the Servants and the Avatars possessed a life beyond Heaven and Earth; and so if their Manu were to be slain in battle on Anuru, each would arise again beyond the Dome of the Firmament, to return anew to war at the next rising of the Lamps. But those of the Minions, the Monsters, and the Children who were slain did not rise again; for the spirit that animated them was not of the Powers, but rather was the gift of Ana and Uru, and so when that spirit strayed in death to the Halls of Tvalt and beyond, it could not return.

_Votum Aeternus_ _– The Vow of Eternity_

Fearing the eventual destruction of all that lay within the Ether, Bræa sought out Bardan, who was equally fearful; and between them, they swore the _Vow of Eternity_. Under the terms of the Vow, the Powers of Light and of Dark withdrew forever beyond the Ether, which was encircled by an impenetrable shield forged by the Powers, called the _Dome of the Firmament_ ; and nevermore could the Powers exercise their might directly within the Dome, either in the Ether, or upon the Heavens or the Earth. Under the Vow, each of the Powers could assume a mortal form (called a _manu_ ) like that previously worn when walking in Anuru; but in that form, they could not wield the indomitable might of Light and Dark, and so would be little greater in power than the manu of the Avatars. And even less so, for although the Vow allowed the Powers to teach and to counsel, it forbade the Anari and the Uruqua in mortal guise to lead or to dominate the lesser beings contained within the Dome. And the _manae_ of the Powers, if slain within the Dome, would cease to be, and the Powers would be forced to return to their halls beyond the Dome, there to linger a long age, before they could once again take a mortal form within Anuru.

While Bræa and Bardan, in their separate wisdom, saw the necessity of the Vow, their siblings were hard to convince; for the Brothers of Bræa wished to continue to instruct, protect and live as gods among the Kindred; and the siblings of Bardan sought the growth and dominance over Anuru of the creatures over whom each had dominion. And far worse it was, for to balance the Universe, all of the Powers must withdraw behind the Dome; but _Tian_ lay still upon the highest peak of Anuru, mortally wounded and yet undying, imprisoned by the combined forces of light and of dark, not be released by any Power or combination of Powers. And thus Bræa and Bardan were forced by the balance of the Universe to agree that one of the Uruqua had to be left behind, to live eternally in self and form in the Heaven and Earth made by light and dark, imprisoned until the End within the Dome.

At first Bardan wished to usurp this right, for he saw that, alone within the Dome, he could by his power quickly dominate all of Anuru; but then he feared that the Uruqua, without his leadership, could not withstand the assaults of the Anari in the Void beyond the Dome. And so he asked his sister Zaman to accept the task, but she refused, fearing to risk imprisonment in the mortal realm with _Tian_ , whom she had betrayed. Tvalt refused to leave the Halls of the Dead, which were his charge until the End; and Kær, when the call came, was nowhere to be found. At length Morga the Destroyer agreed; but Bræa refused, for in his power and heedless madness, he might well obliterate the world, and all within it; and likewise she refused Dæsuglu, fearful that his filth and pestilence would destroy altogether that which had been wrought.

At the end, the Anari and the Uruqua agreed that Ekhalra would remain behind to balance the sacrifice of _Tian_. And so each of the Uruqua bequeathed to her a portion of their wealth, and their might, and their followers and slaves, and built for her a mighty realm in a desolate place far from the Kindred lands, and peopled it with monsters and all manner of fell beasts; and there she agreed to abide, reigning in awful majesty until world's end. And though her power was much reduced, yet once the Dome had closed, she was by far the mightiest being within it; and none dared assail her strongholds.

So it was that Bræa and Bardan invoked their place as wielders of the power of Ana and Uru, who had no wish to see their creations destroyed; and the Light and the Dark agreed, and the Anari and the Uruqua withdrew forever beyond the Dome of the Firmament. And the Uruqua raged at being forced to relinquish for all eternity the chance of dominating the Heavens and the Earth; but the Anari wept at being forced to forever abandon their wounded sister _Tian_ , who was condemned by the Vow to remain imprisoned within the Dome, pinioned forever to a mountain peak by the great sword _Vasatri_. But Ekhalra gloried in her new pre-eminence, and with the Anari and the Uruqua gone, she took the title _Queen of the World_ , and gathered all evil and powerful beings unto her; and the rumour of her terrible might reached even unto the kingdoms and empires of the Kindred, and beyond. And thus began the slow decay and withering of all that had once been beautiful and eternal in Anuru.

But the Vow had an unexpected effect upon the Servants of the Anari and the Uruqua, and upon the Avatars of the Light and the Dark as well; for although they were some of them nearly as mighty as the Powers, and were nonetheless of the void, yet they were bound to Heaven and Earth; and thus the Vow trapped them between worlds, across the great divide of the Dome; and although their power was weakened, yet they could exercise it both within the Dome and beyond it. Thus they were not left powerless to influence the affairs of their children upon Anuru. And to ease this, Bræa and Bardan forged the River of the Stars, a space that was not; a place that was no place, and yet was an easy road between the Void and the Ether, and those with both wisdom and power could find and cross the River at will. And so the Servants and the Avatars came to serve as the messengers of the Powers, carrying their word and working their will in Heaven and upon the Earth, where the Anari and the Uruqua no longer held sway. And in time, the Children came to worship the absent Powers as gods, forgetting that once they had lived among them, and sired their races, and taught them as parents.

♦

_Positura Universitas_ _– The Ordering of the Universe_

Thus had four ages of the Universe passed: _the Age of the Beginning_ , which saw the birth of the Universe from the Void, and of the Powers of Light and Dark, and of the Avatars, and the selection of the Servants of Light and Dark, and the War of the Powers; _the Age of the Making_ , which saw the creation of Heaven and of Earth, and of the Minions of Light and Dark, and of the Children of Bræa; _the Age of Wisdom_ , in which the Anari lived among and instructed the Children, and they waxed and spread across Anuru; and in which the Uruqua bred the Monsters; and _the Age of Battles_ , in which the monsters were loosed upon the earth, and the War of the Powers was renewed. And the Age of Battles was brought to an end with the forging of the Dome of the Firmament, and the withdrawal of the Powers beyond its eternal walls; and with the springing forth from the Universe of the River of Stars to serve as a bridge across the Dome.

Thus at the end of the Age of Battles, the Universe lay divided: upon the Earth dwelt the Kindred and the Monsters, including the Speaking Monsters that Uru had forged from the Kindred. Between _Heaven_ and _Earth_ dwelt the Minions of Light and of Dark, and Heaven and Earth, taken together, were _Anuru_. At the outermost edge of the Heavens began the _Ether_ , a formless place touched by Creation, but largely empty; and yet ripe with the possibility that, someday, worlds could be built there, thus expanding that portion of the Universe called Anuru. For the Ether was the bedrock of Creation, and it permeated and penetrated the waters of the seas and the stones of the mountains; it is the real stuff lying at the secret heart of the world, and that which we perceive as solid and real is but illusion. And the Servants and the Avatars, and certain of the Minions, and some of the Monsters, and even the Kindred, if aided by powerful magics, could touch the Ether, and even travel through it, walking upon the bedrock of creation, and passing like ghosts through the less substantial matter of creation. For to those of wisdom and of sight, the Ether is the real world; and the real world is naught but a dream.

And at the outermost edge of the Ether lay the unbreachable walls of the _Dome of the Firmament_. All mortals, with the Ether and all of Anuru, and all that which changes, lay within the Dome; and of all creatures, only the Servants and the Avatars of Light and of Dark could cross the boundary of the Dome and retain their true form, sailing the _River of the Stars_ (known to magi as planum stellans), which was the only road to penetrate the Dome of the Firmament. Beyond the Dome lay that which is unchanging – the _Universe_ and the Powers and their homes and servants. And beyond the Universe, the _Void_ – the nothingness that was the Universe before it had been touched by the Hands of Ana and Uru.

And the Powers, after their Exile, took the Vast, trackless reaches of the Universe as their new home; and they built realms, and lands and castles, forests and lairs for themselves and for those of their Servants, and Avatars, and Minions whom they took to dwell with them. Some of these realms grew powerful and mighty, and tremendous under the gaze of their rulers; yea, even gigantic. Thus were created the Inner Planes – the vast making of Anuru, and the lands of light and of darkness, and the plane of shadow; and the homes of the beings Elemental: Vandilori, the place of water; Inflammari, the realm afire; Epheminor, the endless sky; and Soldynor, the caverns of stone. And where these planes touched, other places sprang up, strange and wonderful in their infinite variety.

Beyond the Dome, that variety only grew; in the vast reaches of the Universe, the realms of the Powers, their Servants and their Avatars stood in eternal magnificence. There mighty Esu sits on the granite throne of Asgard, the Realm of Heroes, drinking from an ever-full horn at the head of the table in Valræddi, the Endless Board. Asgard's many hills, halls and dales are governed by his Servants and those he calls his allies and his friends: Albéorg, the Highest Mountain, is the realm of Karg; Barraj rules the stone magnificence of the Hall of the Mountain King; Larranel hunts the harts of heaven in Alfheim, the Glorious Wild; and Tchudash, bent beneath an eternity of mighty sorrows, keeps well the Harmsalr, which men call the Halls of Grief.

Not far away stands Fulgoris, the realm of Hara, called the Endless Land of Light: a land of great forests, broad fields, peaceful pastures, song and pleasure. There Tioreth, the Father of Wolves, strides the bright wilderness of Aesculeti, the Oak Forest, which borders on Aeternaecis, the realm of Feynillor Freagan, also called the Eternal Battlefield. Annistara Akistan welcomes seekers after knowledge to the citadel of white magic called Viasileo, the Silent Streets. Nestled into verdant hills stands the Viridarium, the Palace of Pleasure, where Miyaga, at Hara's wish, lives in happy exile from her brethren among the Uruqua. And finally in the highest of the mountains, not far from the libraries and classrooms of Annistara's scholarly abode, Miros abides in a high weyr stuffed to overflowing with scrolls and tomes – this is Dracosedes, the Dragonhome, which (apart from the Sanctum Arcanum) is perhaps the greatest repository of magical knowledge outside the Dome.

But what lay beyond the Universe, within the trackless and untraveled Void, was not known; for only Ana and Uru, the Light and the Dark, had come before, and thus only they knew what predated the beginning of the Universe; save for luckless Tior, and his grandson Biardath, whom vengeful kin had cast beyond the ken of Kindred or of Power; beyond the reaches of the Universe, and lost for all time.

_The Ordering of Beings_

All that is, or ever was, once was unified; but when the **Forces** came into being at the dawn of time, this Unity split into two disunities: the **Universe** , which contained the Forces; and the **Void** , which contained nothing, and was an infinitude of emptiness.

All beings in the Universe fall into one of seven **Orders**. The Orders, from most to least powerful, are as follows:

**The Primordial Forces (** **vigorum primordiae** **)**

There are only two forces in the Universe: The Light (called Ana), and the Dark, called Uru. All beings in the Universe flow from one or the other, or from the union of the two.

The Immortals

The Powers. The Powers are the undiluted, unmingled offspring of the Forces. The powers sprung from thought Ana are called the Anari; they are Bræa, _Tian_ , Vara, Hara, Esu, Nosa and Lagu. Those brought from the designs of Uru are called the Uruqua, and they are Bardan, Zaman, Tvalt, Kaer, Morga, Ekhalra and Daesuglu.

The Servants. During the War of the Powers, the Anari and the Uruqua alike sought to bolster their numbers and their strength, and so they created many more beings, like unto themselves but of lesser power. These were called the Minions of Light and Dark. Each of the Powers took a number of the mightiest of their minions and raised them to the statue of Servants; and these answered directly to the Power to which each owed allegiance and obedience. Bræa and Bardan originally agreed to eschew Servants, for each was mighty; but Bardan betrayed this bargain, and took seven Servants, more than any of his siblings. The remainder of the Anari and the Uruqua took each of them three Servants.

The Avatars. In time, the Anari and the Uruqua raised up others of their minions, to hold sway over lesser forces or realms that fell outside of the domains of their Servants, and that yet required supervision. The Avatars thus stood second to the Servants, yet still far mightier than the remainder of the minions.

The Minions. These beings formed the armies of Light and Darkness during the War of the Powers. Like the Powers themselves, and like the Servants and Avatars drawn from among their numbers, the Minions were formed of pure Force, either Light or Dark. The Minions count among their numbers all of the myriad Celestials, Fiends, Elementals and Outsiders that populate the Universe.

The Mortals

The First-Born. In his bid to overwhelm the Anari and their servants, Bardan created the First-Born – the Dragons, represented by First Mother and First Father, of whose nine eggs only two survived (Nidhoggr, the Eater of the Slain, progenitrix of the dragons of darkness; and Oroprimus, progenitor of the dragons of light); and the Giants, mighty beings who gave birth to many differentiated offspring, that rapidly spread throughout the waking world.

The Speaking Peoples. In the Age of Making, Bræa created her Children, giving them three gifts: freedom of will; a sielu, or immortality of spirit; and speech. It was the latter gift that distinguished them within Anuru, and enabled them in later years to build mighty kingdoms and empires. Because of these gifts, the Children of Bræa were not constrained by the intent or designs of the Forces, or even by the strictures of the Universe itself, and thus they posed a danger to its very foundations; for in time, they could learn to overcome the laws circumscribing the divisions between the Universe and the Void, and overturn time and being. For this reason, Ana forbade the creation of any more beings of free will, immortal spirit, and speech. Bardan strove against the **Ban of Ana** for eons; but while he succeeded in acquiring the secrets of speech, he could not overturn the Ban; and thus he was ever unable to create beings of immortal spirit, nor – because he did not himself understand freedom, but demanded only unquestioning obedience from his slaves – could he ever discover the secret of creating beings of free will.

Thus the first Speaking Peoples were the **Children of Bræa** ; and after the Light that was in Bræa left her, and was formed into Bræadan, the Lantern of Bræa, her children were sundered, and taken for instruction by her younger brothers, and became known as the Haradi, the Esudi, the Nosadi and the Lagudi. And in latter years these selfsame peoples were called, in the corrupted Travelling Tongue, elvii, men, holbytlan and dwéorga.

The Speaking Monsters. Before they earned these new names, however, Bardan, acting in treachery and under cover of dark, kidnapped many of these Children of Bræa, and spirited them away; and he tortured and warped them, creating new, fell beings to serve him. And because they came from the Children, these new creatures had speech, though it was foul; and they were of immortal spirit, though that spirit shrieked and wailed within each at the horrors visited upon it; and they had free will, though that will was ever bent to the wishes of Bardan. From elves, Bardan created the o **rcs** ; from men, the o **gres** ; from halflings, the g **nomes** ; and from dwarves, the g **oblins**. These new creatures Bardan called the Speaking Monsters; and he thereafter mingled their blood with the blood of his fell beasts and minions, and thereby created innumerable monstrosities and horrors to plague Anuru.

Alone of these fell creatures the gnomes refused to serve the Powers of Dark, and turned back to the light; and for this reason, the elves, men, halflings, dwarves and gnomes are together called the **Kindred**. For though the Gnomes are not Children of Bræa, because they turned as one away from the Darkness to serve the Light, the Children of Bræa count the Gnomes as brothers.

The Beasts. Last of all come the creatures of Anuru that do not share the gifts bestowed upon her Children by Bræa, or wrested from them through foul craft by Bardan. Numbered among these are all of the animals of the fields, the birds of the skies, the fish that swim, and the dark things that dwell far underground.

♦♦♦
Epilogue

♦

Well, if you've made it this far, then you've no doubt noticed, as I mentioned in my introduction to this collection, the one glaring, crippling error in the text. Fortunately, there's something I can do about it.

There once was a Halfling named Gwen

Who possessed an incendiary pen

She wrote naughty rhymes

While committing sly crimes

And she did it again and again.

There – now it has a limerick. You're welcome.

\- Gwendolyne of Æryn

♦♦♦

## The End
Other books by D. Alexander Neill

### The Chronicles of Anuru

Tales of the Wyrm, Volume 1: A companion to the Chronicles of Anuru

(available now!)

Kaunovalta

Book I: The Running Girl

Book II: Dweorgaheim

Book III: Daughter of Dragons

(available now!)

The Brotherhood of Wyrms

Book I: The Road into Ruin

Book II: The Lover in the Darkness

Book III: The Tower by the Sea

(coming in 2013)

Bjornssaga

Book I: The Sea Dragon (Available now!)

Book II: The Azure Wind

Book III: Shadow-of-Midnight

(coming in 2015)

The Filigree Throne

Book I: The Last Warden

Book II: Red Rose and White

Book III: The Queen of Summer

(coming sometime before the end of the century)

The End in Fire

Book I: Dragonhome

Book II: Ebon Night

Book III: The Breaking of the World

(coming hopefully before the heat death of the universe)

 My Smashwords Author Site

 My Amazon Author Site

♦♦♦

FOR MORE INFORMATION, INCLUDING BACKGROUND, LORE,

AND WORD ON ONGOING PROJECTS,

VISIT MY WEBSITE...

http://www.alexanderneill.com/

...AND MY BLOG:

http://chroniclesofanuru.blogspot.ca/

###

