Chapter Eleven.
The Dark Vale of Windlemoss.
In Shandalar, all now stood in preparedness… or near as could be, with the hour not yet to hand. Cirion's war bailiffs had scoured for warriors, summoning all from throughout the Realm. In Rhom, as preparations were made for the Mordbrood assault; fate stood forth, as fate is wont to do. Cuchulain... Tristan's own churgeon, made issue concerning young Caron, and what then, stood true concerning her wounding. T'was seemingly well-healed, yet held Caron's strength fully in the deny. No more would this young maid make gallop on horseback, albeit, her will was firm, and she was brave of heart.
He furnished Karina such thoughts he held foremost... his close-held concernment in gentle accord. Perhaps, Caron should bide in the safety of Rhom… such as it was; and now gainsay her sword. Karina made solemn assent to this issue. If Caron stayed, then she would do the same. Perhaps, Cuchulain could teach the tending of wounds to Caron; for when the time came, she would be safe in the Dispensary within the great walls of Rhom. Here, there would be much to do, and small ponderment in time for the thoughts of remorse, or perceivement of failing Queen Cirion; either by fickle chance, or by design.
Karina then held council with Tristan, and laid out a plan in concernment of tactical advantage. Should he stand assent, she would fly forth her Merlin to Shandalar, bearing intelligence plain, concerning the standing of Rhom. She would apprise Lorimer of her plan for the mustering forth, and the riding out of a full Legion of Faluan Warrior guard, bound unto Rhom. There, they would join with Karina to fatten the Cavalry that there did lie. Karina would undertake position in Calamar's stead; charged, as he was, with the crash and the fly of the flame-flaying doom from the Engines of War out of Khallis that Tristan had guilefully emplaced about the walls of Rhom to lay calamity upon the Mordbrood.
Tristan was wise in the matter of the Faluan Warrior guard that she thought to summon this day. These were Karina's sword-sisters who once rode as Khuzud-Mahin, in a time seeming now, far in the past. They would be of sturdy advantage to the forces of Rhom. So it was; later that day, the Lord Falconer of the Shandalar Citadel came to Cirion bearing the message from out of The City of Rhom. This message had been Merlin-flown in the span of two Sundial shadows. Cirion agreed with Karina's request; Shandalar was well protected by the great Redoubt Lorimer had thrown across the flanks of the icy-blue crags guarding The Low Riggs of Striding Edge.
Thus, Cirion called out her Faluan Lieutenant, Nindelen; Karina's young Second-in-Command, and charged her to ride out the Third Legion, fully armoured, and make haste this day unto Rhom, to there, make stand. Thus, they rode out of the Shandalar Citadel, bound at full gallop for Lorenfalu, and wisely, Nindelen laid forth pickets, severally; for in the Wastelands, Nindelen well knew Darklings might lie in the lurk and the ambush. T'was hereabouts, Caron had embraced her demise, and here, young Donella was slain by the Horanaurk... see there; her cairn standing plain to their eyes.
The cairn of Donella stood lonesomely forlorn, and yet, it stood full of hope. For there to their view; from the spindle of Rowan Taeana had pierced through Donella's heart, a young Rowan tree flourished. And Rowan was ever, the Holy of Holies. Thus, whilst it flourished, The Light still stood firm. Nindelen laid forth on the cairn a small wreath of Moonflowers she had carried. Then, t'was onward to Rhom. Spurring her mount forward, as the air filled with the thunder of hooves, they galloped away on down through the wide plains of Lorenfalu, resolved that the Darklings would pay dear for the losing of the youngling Donella.
Meantime, in the west; at the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere; much stood there for the tell since Lokari journeyed from Storien-Rhudd to lay informations of the Covenant bonded 'twixt Khanis, the Brood-Sire of the Eyrie of Dragons that dwelt upon Great Camas Mhor; and The Forces of The Light. This would become a fearsome fellowship to prosecute the approaching war.
The Algethi out of Elisriendell, and The Riders of Lothleitha had, by mutual assent, chosen each to the other, and love gently blossomed among them. Though, for now, it meant there could be no sweet bonding together. Each maiden need remain chaste and pure as fresh snow, or she could no more make commune with her Unicorn. Yet, such bonding would come to pass; t'was plain in the seeing.
And so too, with Staisha and Callam… fully smitten, and each to the other, soft plighting their Troth... the young Guardian of Light, and Lothleitha's Huntress, both dreaming of better times as yet, far away; but knowing such times stood not to them for the dreaming... not whilst The Mordbrood advanced from the east. Yet, still they spun dreams of a time that would be their time; for time now stood thin until such dreaming must cease.
Yet, there was advantage, most singular in this accord. For they stood now, a tightly-knit band. Each held the bright flame of care and concernment to each and to all, in the matter to hand. This was a thing that the Mordbrood held not, for one moment; devoid as they were, of compassion and grace. Thus, when at length, they engaged with the Darklings; those Darklings would look on the terrible face of their doom as the Squadron of gryphons fell on them; and, as they struggled to preserve their span... looking to skywards... then suddenly, the charge of the Riders of Lothleitha would break upon them; riding them down... a great, white wave of terror; with leissor mail glittering and sabres drawn... sabres as deadly as Dushrakhas. It was plain that few Darklings would see a new dawn.
This was, but one of the grave impositions to gift to the Mordbrood as they came into sight. In the Khallis Redoubt there were many War Councils with Cirion and Lorimer deep into the thin hours of the morning. Thoris Barandor laid tactics specific. Whence the Mordbrood broached The High Pass of Ling; his Khuzud-Mahin would lay mayhems and slaughter upon them, and as they reeled back from this dreadfulness, his Thuvian long-axemen and sword masters... until now, held in concealment in air shafts that furnished the mines; would stand forth about them and hack them asunder. This, t'was hoped, would confound completely, The Mordbrood's dark and loathsome designs. Meantime, Cirion would approach down the Ice Mountain passes; intercepting the Mordbrood Host already situate in the High Pass of Ling. Here, she would lay carnage upon them, supported by the Dragon flights, laying down the Shrivelling doom all about them. This then, would be Lokari's bold endeavour in its completeness. Cirion's Faluan Guard would lay mayhems to those Mordbrood who still stood... though the span of their standing would then, as like, be singularly slender.
Were that not enough woe to heap on the Horanaurks; Thallian Beckstrider, Lord of The Brotherhood of FionnMhor, had elected a plan with Eldamar to lay doom complete upon the Mordbrood, for certain and sure. The Brotherhood of FionnMhor would ride out far to the north, skirting all around the edge of the Erinthor Ice Fields; and on down the borders of Old Eldanore to where, could be found The Dark Vale of Windlemoss where, t'was said, sunlight shone not at all, and it was black as the tomb.
What dwelt therein never was told in the telling; with no knowing what slithered and crept about in the darkness. Yet, if they could, but make a broachment complete; the prize was beyond the full sum of their fears. The Dark Vale of Windlemoss wended and wove through the eastern Shandalar Ice Peaks to The Plain of Malphaers. And there then, The Brotherhood of FionnMhor could breach the advance of the distant Mordbrood advancing to fatten the first Host; thus leaving them doomed... and to Beckstrider's humour, this trapment held good.
In Penvallanar, The Sorceress, Shahran bid her love Beckstrider sweetest farewell. She gifted a Charm of The Great Mother to him to hold him safe if the dread Darkness beset him about. Thus, as he rode up and away from Penvallanar, riding west into the sink of the sun, she made plaintive Homage that he be safe cradled within the soft dreaming of Elaiana… For she had loved Beckstrider for all of her days, since far back in their springtimes, and she full well knew The Circle of Amriath was turning. They would share the days. She foresaw this as true. And yet, t'would be wise to weave her magic about him; for bold as he was, he was still 'naught, but an Algethi. And what stood before him was far more perilous than The Mordbrood.
T'was odds-even that t'would be The Dark Entity: "Baelar," called too, "The Lord of The Underdark"; ever seeking to turn back to Evil, The Great Dream of Elaiana; and thus, plunging all back into Chaos once more. Were this to be accomplished; such Order that stood, would ever then be fully undone. For, in this thing lay the full doom of The Light. Here stood the next Age of Darkness, and all that it held, with Amriath laid waste as The Abyss yawned open, and from it, the Darkness fully welled.
Beckstrider knew not of such things, and no matter; for if he had, he would have laid to it scant regard. What he could not see was not there for the fighting. He lived by the sword, with his courage unmarred by the wild tales of Demons, and gibbering Wraiths; by whispers of things that went bump in the night. Shahran, the Sorceress knew this, and laid subtle spellbindings to shield her true heart's delight. But even she knew not what lurked in The Dark Vale of Windlemoss, creeping about in the darkness. Her Glass of Revealment stood mute in this matter. Her hope of protecting Beckstrider stood slim. But, creeping there was, in that black valley. The days of peace were waning swiftly; and she gave a small shiver, as like, a grey goose had, at that very moment; flown over her grave.
She sent word to each Moon maiden and White witch; each Prophetess, each Sorceress, and laid the tell of what stood before them; entreating that they all weave such magic protection as they then possessed for The Ride of The Brotherhood of FionnMhor down The Dark Vale of Windlemoss. And so; a great spellbinding was raised in Plenmellar to bolster, and buttress the Forces of The Light; and Shahran, the Sorceress hoped t'were enough to keep her love safe from the clutch of The Darkness.
Meantime; back in Rhom, as the Faluan Warrior guard patrolled the Heights of Rhyddu, Karina and Cuchulain made soft advisement to Caron concerning the thing she well knew. Her wound, though mended, had left her fragile; and no more would she gallop her Rhola Bay Mare. Might she consider a 'pothicking 'prentice position... with Cuchulain, guiding and tutoring her? Karina would stay in Rhom as Commander of the Faluan Warrior guard; they would not have to be parted; and soon enough, Cuchulain would need all the help that he might muster when the fighting began.
Caron looked at them. She knew in her heart, that her days as Queen Cirion's Mistress of Horse were fully run and her sword days were over. Thus, she elected to follow this course. For she knew that Cuchulain loved her as if she were a daughter, and had 'naught, but her well-being in his thoughts. Karina would remain at Rhom, and this was their plan to prevail with her safety. They cloaked it discreetly, yet it stood fully in her knowing.
Whilst this resolve was settled in the dispensary; out on the walls, a young sentry spied a dusting far off on the plain, out to northerly-west. He furnished his Captain of Watch with his anxious warning. The Captain smiled softly, for he guessed t'was Eldamar, Lord Guardian of The Light, riding in from Yeranoor... perhaps, with news that stood well. He studied the dust that stood still, far distant... above yet, one Sundial-shadow in passing before they might tell. But, caution was the watchword, so he despatched a message in haste, to Karina, concerning this thing.
No sooner was the message brought to her hearing, than the clatter of hooves echoed about the Great Mustering Yard. Karina rode out in the bright of the morning with three Faluan guards close formating behind her as she rode swiftly onto the wide plain in intercept, to see what she would find in the distant dust.
She hoped it would be Lord Eldamar, but the dust stood large, if it were then, but the one rider. She made loose her sword hilt strap, but then, she perceived in the bright of the sun... two riders; and there could be no more mistaking. She knew that white form as well as she knew the lines upon her hand... Starshadow! Indeed, t'was The Lord Guardian Eldamar, returned from out of Yeranoor's shadowy wastes. And with him, a maid riding on a great Cordach war stallion... a breed seen here now, not at all; a breed then, last seen in the Lost Realm of Erinthor before the icy doom overwhelmed all.
What of the maid? Karina supposed she held in sum, perhaps, twenty, and five summers. She rode tall in the saddle in breeches and doublet; a sword to her side... and she was beautiful. Her hair was as pale as the bark of a birch tree, and she was sparkling, deep emerald of eye. Karina saw, as if regarding a looking glass, that this maid was cut from cloth of the same weave as was she... independent and fiery; a warrior leader in all but name. But, what did she here, with Eldamar? Who was she? And why was her gaze on Eldamar so fair? Could it be, at last, that Eldamar chose a Bond-mate? 'Aye, this indeed was conundrum, complete!
Eldamar made greetings unto Karina, and laid forth his tell of the maid by his side. This was Arlanna, the daughter of Thallian Beckstrider; and here, no tell would be denied. He told of the Fionndell Covenant, and of Arlanna's choice in the Great Gathering Hall. Karina smiled, for Eldamar deserved a soft, sweet taste of love before The Darkness might overwhelm all. For of late, intelligence laid, told of The Mordbrood approach now, but a handful of leagues beyond Ling. Such time as was left, now made gift for Eldamar and Arlanna; stood not for squander, or disparaging. And so, she welcomed Arlanna as they rode the wide plain upon their return to Rhom, and as they rode, they made commune together.
How stood then, her lineage? Where was she from? Arlanna made answer with grace to the questionment. Her mother was Princess of Old Eldanore; her father had tutored her in the diverse slaughter of Darklings. She rode with The Brotherhood of FionnMhor, ranging the Shadowlands and the High Woldings; The Wastes of Plenmellar, and Lankriggen too. So then; thought Karina; Arlanna was true warrior maid; though already, this thing she well knew.
As they rode in through the Great Gates of Rhom, Eldamar held shadowed concern in his mind. How then, would Tristan make greetings to Arlanna? Would his mother's shadow blight such greeting? Arlanna looked into his heart, and she saw his concernment. She reached out, and softly squeezed his hand. It was her choosing, not his, in prevailment. She knew in her heart Tristan would understand, and would not gainsay of his father such comfort as her Bonding would gift him, after being alone for so long. Amriath owed much to Eldamar; not least of all, his hearing once more, love's sweet melody.
Tristan stood in the Great Palace Courtyard, the smile to his face standing open and welcoming. He greeted them both with no trace of displeasure. Arlanna was welcome in Lorenfalu. For in truth now, for many moons Tristan had fretted concerning his father's self-held solitude. He had fretted that Eldamar might fade, as a rainbow fades; lacking love's sunbeams to smile through the clouds of his lonesomeness.
Gwythlyn rode out of the Shandalar Citadel, bearing the pledge of The Shadaiian Clan; onward to Lorenfalu, and to Rhom. With six troopers riding close escort, they rode out through the great, oaken gated Redoubt of The Low Riggs of Striding Edge into the grim High Pass of Ling, and thence, on down to Khallis. Here, danger from Darklings stood slim. But not so, the next ride all out through the Wastelands of Khallis. For here in abundance, might lie Darklings in lurk and encirclement as they probed the border defences to seekingly try to confound any weakness perhaps, overlooked, or thought trivial... perhaps, upon then, feyly frowned. So here, they spurred steed and made gallop; their hooves filled with thunder that echoed about the Wastelands.
Thirty leagues galloped, and soon into view came the cairn of Donella, lonesome and forlorn. There!... but, about it, were several dark figures pulling it down. Then… came the uncouth blaring of a horn. Suddenly, they were beset by black arrows screaming all about them, swiftly cutting down four of her troopers. A Darkling patrol! Yet... not a patrol. They were digging the cairn. Then, came the truth in its full loathsomeness. They were Horanaurks, scouring, to raise up Donella... to strip her long bones, upon which they would feed. Donella... long-cairned now beyond three-score moons, and well mouldering. Indeed, a most foul, and loathsome vermin were these Horanaurks! But, no time to ponder this... no time at all.
Her last Troopers fell. Gwythlyn was now alone. If this were to be her dooming, she would at least take some there, with her as she stood to her last, lonesome passing to the song of Sathulinan. Unsheathing her great sword "Gurthelkaa", also called "Icing Death," she spurred her Bay mare forward, riding down on them with the War-cry of Yeranoor loud upon her lips as she made prepare to lay mayhems upon them. The Last Ride of Gwythlyn; worthy of minstrel tales, yet, none there to see... 'nor tell of her ride. No matter; her grandfather Ghlinngar... and Eldamar too, would be proud.
Then, suddenly, her Rhola Bay mare fell, pierced through with an arrow, and trapping her leg as she tumbled to the ground. Was this then, her end?... To be slaughtered, and boned like a salmon? The Horanaurks crept all around, their blood-red eyes glittering... fresh, warm marrow to suck. Their leader stepped up, and he unslung his bow. He notched a viciously barbed, black arrow to bowstring. He gloatingly watched her, and drew bow slowly. Now, some amusement, in the manner that a farm-cat will torment a mouse. How well would this Algethi-wench writhe and squeal if he laid his first arrow deep into her belly? He licked his warty lips, and his blood-red eyes gleamed.
But then, came the shriek of a broad-headed arrow that ripped out his throat, and spun him around, at the same moment he loosed off the arrow which thudded, most harmlessly into the ground. And there! On the rise, from the Heights of Rhyddu burst a troop of Karina's young Faluan guard riding down, laying in their arrows; sword-shredding the scattering Horanaurks... and in their slaughter, the task was not vexsome.
Soon enough, the young Faluan guards had slaughtered the Horanaurks to the last one; then, circled back to where Gwythlyn lay pinioned; their victory complete. But, her rescue had been a close run thing. They surrounded Gwythlyn and hauled her Bay mare up, freeing her leg; the worry standing plain in their faces. T'was far too close, too close by the half... and hereabouts, prudent, not long to remain. For this were a forage patrol of the Horanaurk, and there would be more... perhaps, close by. This was no place to be caught in the open... not with the Grand Duchess of Shandalar.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Lieutenant Nindelen had, but seven troopers and they were no match for a Horanaurk War-band... indeed, even with Gwythlyn, the Yeranoor Wraith-Hunter in their company. It stood prudent to ride for Rhom at utmost speed. But, Gwythlyn stood firm. She would not leave this place until the cairn of Donella stood once more, unspoiled. The young guard agreed, and Nindelen then ruefully assented and joined them as they carefully toiled in making good the Horanaurk sacrilege, until the cairn stood again, as the cairn was meant to be. Donella was again fully safe in her Eternal slumber, watched over and shaded by the young Rowan.
Riding eight leagues took, but three-quarters of one Sundial shadow, and there, laying before them, was The City of Rhom. Lieutenant Nindelen bade farewell to Gwythlyn, and turning her Troop, struck out upwards and on, to ride the Heights of Rhyddu in patrol. Gwythlyn rode down to the great city gate, dusted and tired, in her torn riding habit. Entering therethrough, she was conveyed swiftly to Tristan to lay her tale before him. And there, in his company sat her true Grandsire, Eldamar. Who rose; concern full in his eyes as she laid out her tell. She told of the demise of her troopers, her close-run salvation, and how she now stood deeply in debt to the young Faluans.
She told of the pledge of The Shadaiian Clan. Of how, when danger stood, fully present and clear; the alarm should be ridden to the Forest of Raventhorn Scar. She told of how the Shadaiian War Host would stand forth to their aid. Eldamar made urgement that Gwythlyn must take of her ease. Arlanna would keep her company, and they could then, make full acquaintance of one another in hope of a friendship in full harmony.
Far to the west, at The Great Crystal Castle serenely beset by the Cornflower-Blue Mere; in the lustrous and luminous Great Hall, a Council made solemn debate. For it was perfectly plain that when the alarm came from Lorenfalu... as surely it would; then the time would stand woefully thin. Rhom lay fully five moons away to the east in the sternest of gallop. Marcus elected perhaps, to begin seeking some place close to The Delvlings... some place they could quarter their Forces, complete; there, awaiting the voice of the great brazen trumpet of Rhom calling them forward to engage in battle. Eldamar's old forge-master, Elshore... come down to the Great Crystal Castle to furnish the blades of the Riders of Lothleitha with a dusting of Olistalix-Bane, stood forth, and laid out a single name to Council in his quiet voice... Calverstock; standing, but two leagues from Rhom in the deep Delvling green.
Calverstock, long ago, was a Cavalry outpost in the Suhai Wars, where it ever had been safe and secluded. Now long forgotten since Rhom flowered brightly in Lorenfalu, and with few in remain who had quartered in Calverstock. But one was Elshore, and he certainly knew that for the purpose, it fitted as snug as glove of the finest kid leather. Calverstock lay beset by the sweet fresh springs feeding the young River Calver, and fresh water was a consummate need for Algethi, and for horse; for gryphon, and for unicorn. There too, were stables and barns, perhaps needing repair... perhaps, not.
The Council made choice to ride scouts out to Calverstock, to make perceivement of how things lay there. Yet, there was small surfeit of time for the squander. Thus, Callam and Staisha elected to fly the gryphons, by reason that Calverstock was fully above four moons in the gallop, and yet, up on high, the progress complete might be broached in as many, or less… Sundial shadow-spans. For in truth, days gathered now, stood more worthy than gold or jewels; and besides, Staisha had never made flight on a gryphon. Her eyes sparkled brightly, with thought of this brazen adventure.
Saddlement was made of old Baelvane and Gildrim... the two who had flown Chelaine safely to Rhom with Marcus when she was with child, on that day, those long summers past. These two gryphons still held aplomb and fair humour as ever they had, and would furnish to Staisha a safe ride on her first high foray; and no more to say on this thing. They spread out their great wings, and rose into the skies of that beautiful day... up and away, full sedate in their majesty, close side by side, as they flew into the east. Amriath spread forth, far below them, and, as Staisha grew confidence, their pace fattened until they were rushing far swifter than a horse could make gallop. The wind in her hair, streamed golden; her forget-me-not blue eyes were as bright as the eyes of a youngling listening, as tales were told around the fires on the Eve of Lammas.
And so, they flew on, as the Sundial made turning its shadows, until there appeared to their sight, a speck in the east, moving swiftly towards them. As they flew on, then, the larger it grew, until it stood plain to their sight. It was a great eagle that drifted about them, and then took station before them... as if guiding them unto Calverstock. It rode the sky a dozen, or so, cubits forward, serenely flying their pathway with great languid beat of its wings, as it flew eastwards. At length then, slowly, the eagle descended, and there lay The Delvlings of Lorenfalu.
The Delvlings… the deep, greening buttress to west of the City of Rhom, spreading northwards for five leagues; thick and wide. The southerly reaches turned east towards The Heights of Rhyddu, gifting full protection to Rhom upon the two sides. And there! Calverstock, standing un-ruined; and a figure awaiting without the Old Hall, who held forth an arm upon which the great eagle landed. The gryphons made landing, 'nigh, light as a feather; and from out the saddle, Callam stepped down and walked to the figure. It was a woman, having eyes of the softest brown, and holding beyond two-score summers upon her. Who spoke, saying:
'Welcome, my Lord Callam, I know of the need of The Light for containment here in this place. I am Calelindi, Enchantress of Calverstock. Such aid as I possess, I gift to you.'
Then she spoke long, in concernment of muster of magics and spellbindings; of the call from out of Penvallanar made by Shahran the Sorceress. She told of all the things that she knew, from flying her eagle far out over The Plain of Malphaers, to spy on The Mordbrood. She told of how they stood close to The Heights of Rhyddu; now, but ten leagues out to east, on the scrublands of The Plain of Malphaers. She told of how they were swiftly fashioning great Siege Engines, intent on the breaching of Rhom's great Curtain wall. In truth, The Time of The Light was fading in full sum. Calelindi had seen this, and there was no time to lose... no time at all. Callam and Staisha made swiftest surveyment the outpost of Old Calverstock in its whole. T'would indeed fit their needs for the containment. Old Elshore had spoken wisely. T' would meet the role of forward encampment, and more.
Calelindi smiled softly as the name Elshore fell as they communed… Elshore the Forge-Master. Well she remembered, when she was, but a youngling; of how he made her heart sing. Long ago, in the time of The Suhai Wars; he was handsome and tall. All the young maids used to creep to the forge-bothy to watch him toil, as the sparks would fly as he laid his hammer to iron in the heat; clad in 'naught but his breeches, with his muscles a'shine, all sweaty and rippling; lit soft by the glow of the forge-bed.
Though young, they all held designs upon him, as all young maids will; and his very name still gave her flutter. Perhaps, presently, she might progress forth to the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere to see her old flame there once more. She smiled at this foolish, but sweet affectation. They were both old now; the summers had flown, and the odds were full-even, he would not remember the wide-eyed young maid now that she was full-grown. And yet... he may do so; for she was his favourite amongst those young maids who vexed him, as they practised their new-found, and womanly wiles upon him. Warm was the memory, 'aye, warm... and most sweet.
Callam elected to tarry in Calverstock, making preparations for the containment there of the squadron of gryphons and the Riders of Lothleitha. Calelindi and Staisha should repair back to the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere to lay informations, and should Elshore thereto, remain in prevailment; Calelindi might rekindle their friendship. But, that was not for now, not until the morrow. The sun was fast-sinking golden in the west. Return was not now theirs for the taking. To bide the night in Calverstock stood now, the best device. Calelindi told there were, but two chambers worthy for sleeping. The remain stood fully in the deny; being spoiled and damp from summers uncounted in lack of their use.
Would it be an imposition for Staisha to lie a'bed with Callam? For she knew the Creed of The Riders of Lothleitha, and she saw too, how smitten were they, each to the other. Would temptation cloak them about as in each others arms they sweetly lay? For there was no charm she could weave to protect them... for love conquered all in the soft of the night. One moment of weakness... of sweetly shared passion, and Staisha would forfeit, complete and outright, her gift to commune with her Unicorn if she fully bonded with Callam in breathless accord.
So then, Calelindi spell-wove to them, gift of the knowing of all sweetness to share and afford, each to the other. The knowing of all the lover's skills, the secret, and luscious delights... yet not breaching her Maidenhood. The knowing of all the caresses and kisses, exquisitely pleasuring; of the giving, and sharing of such sweet ecstasy. For there was, but small time before The Darkness crept and enveloped them all; and how tragic then, might be their lot... if decrying such ecstasy shared; one would fall, without sharing with the other but, one sweet night in each others' arms?
The next morning dawned fair, as Calelindi knocked upon the chamber door wherein, the lovers reposed. Looking in, she was made gift sight of such sweetness. It would indeed then, be most hard to suppose the spell-weave had not prevailed; for there lay Callam, and in his arms, gently wrapped all about; her hair, a sweet tousled, golden cloud upon the pillow, lay Staisha, contented and spent. Softly she roused from her slumber and stretched like a kitten, and then, seeing Calelindi there, the softest of blushes swiftly rose into her cheeks. A vision of shyness, most sweet, and most fair. Calelindi spoke softly:
'Fair morrow, My Lord, and fair morrow, My Lady. Spent ye well, the night?'
Then, laying down food and wine for their refreshment, took leave of them, softly smiling in her delight. And no more to say. Her spellweaving stood plain in their eyes. They had indeed, made a journey, most sweet. If all was future lost, they had shared this one night... perhaps, not fully bonded... but in passion complete. Thus, neither would perish, if they were fated so to do; not knowing the exquisite flame-kiss of love. But, such things stood now, in the future.
The gryphons were saddled and prepared to fly into the west… back to the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere, where perhaps, Elshore, as yet may tarry. For Callam and Staisha were both fully resolved that Calelindi would indeed meet with Elshore once more. This, in gratitude for the sweet night she had gifted; in hope that old memories might shine anew. Staisha made mount Baelvane as did Calelindi upon Gildrim.
The gryphons spread wing and rose into the skies, turning into the west; flying close, side by side. Calelindi's great eagle made circle about them. On wings broadly spread, it made drifting and glide; ever then watchful it stood as sentinel, guarding their passage as onwards they progressed. Within the span of, but one Sundial shadow, Lorenfalu stood far beyond their sighting.
Meantime, Callam fully compassed and surveyed the outpost of Calverstock. It would serve well for the containment there; fresh water aplenty, the stables and barns yet un-tumbled, and quarters in sound fettle. The springs still ran sweet. 'Aye, the place was 'nigh perfect; concealed as it was in the greening beyond prying gaze; and when the Alarm came, there were but two leagues to gallop to Rhom. The Mordbrood would be gifted a dreadful surprise.
Far to the North, The Brotherhood of FionnMhor rode the borders of Old Eldanore, having compassed the Ice Fields and weathered the bone-chilling blizzards that howled all about Erinthor. They prevailed, and none were lost; but now... there… all yawning before them; fully cloaked in black, ominous gloom, lay The Dark Vale of Windlemoss, beckoning silently. They gathered their courage, and rode down therein, feeling the cold clutch of fearing the unknown as nebulous glim wrapped them about as like, a winding sheet. As they made progress, the glim became darker, and the hooves of their steeds echoed hollowly. They made to fire links to give light to their passage, but none would prevail as the mists curled about. The span of their flaring stood brief for their comfort, then, spluttering, guttering, swiftly snuffed out. And darkness; so thick as to be cut with a blade; befell them.
As they progressed the deeper therein, The Dark Vale of Windlemoss laid siege about them; as echoing eerily, they heard at first, a thin moaning from out of the darkness. Perhaps, t'was 'naught but the wind... yet, it made their blood run cold and thin. It swelled to a howling, and frightensome gibbering that tore at the courage of even those most bold in their company. They perceived shadowy things that made drifting and flitting about them, filling them with dread. Shadows clutched at them with fingers beslimed, and boneless; and such glimpses they held, seemed to be creatures that were Wraith-like, yet... were not Wraiths.
The Brotherhood of FionnMhor drew sword, and cast blade-stroke all about. The foul beings seemed to lack substance as each sword cut passed through them. Beckstrider knew their time was swiftly fading. Calling his Captain of Guard, Beckstrider made issue that half of The Brotherhood muster to the Captain, and ride back from out of The Dark Vale of Windlemoss. For it stood plain, that this minacious tract of land could well be the dooming of all, and much lay in the need to prevail to The Plain of Malphaers. The Captain must seek passage where there was thought to be none... and no time to squander on the besetment of fears.
Beckstrider rode forth with one-half of The Brotherhood. Two-score, and ten rode the Windlemoss glim. Half a league on; the beings fell upon them, and dreadful indeed, was the path of the riders' doom. The creatures struck swiftly. Fingers beslimed, and boneless, pierced their chests, tearing their Charas from out of their bodies, and no hope of rising to Sathulinan... not this day. Beckstrider made their stand in a deep, empty corrie, and no choice to make... for The Brotherhood had lost fifteen. Here, was as good a place as any to make their last stand. He could not fight these shadows, all flitting about them. As he prepared to meet his doom, of a sudden, he made fancy that he heard Shahran's voice speak... as if she stood beside him:
'The Charm of The Great Mother... lay it into the water-bag, and drink you all, and you shall not despair.'
Beckstrider tore the small charm from his neck chain, opened the water-bag, and dropped it therein. He watched; his eyes wide with wonderment... as in the depths, at first softly, a glowing began. It blossomed, until the water shone golden as sunlight in springtime. Swiftly they drank, passing from hand to hand. Beckstrider drank last, and swift came the full knowing of what now beset them in this loathsome place. These creatures were spawned from the Abyss itself. They were "Baelar'enin." The Underdark Sorcery prowled about this place. Small wonder their doom as they made their ride down The Dark Vale of Windlemoss. Yet this were as nothing; for brave as they were, they were yet still… 'naught but Algethi; and what might lurk further down into the darkness could well be The Dreadful, Dark Entity: "Baelar," called too, "The Lord of The Underdark."
As Beckstrider watched; then a wondrous thing. A soft golden glow beset The Brotherhood round, and seeing this… then, with a wailing and moaning, The Baelar'enin fell back. Grasping this chance, The Brotherhood of FionnMhor rode out in galloped battle array, their swords biting deep, and with each Baelar'enin struck down, a captive Algethi Charas rose into the sombre sky.
With the soft Song of Sathulinan sweet in their ears, they rode swiftly down The Dark Vale of Windlemoss, embraced in the arms of The High Goddess Elaiana. Her glow shone all about them until, there, before them, they beheldt a Blackness, blacker by far, than the blackest of nights; that moved through the darkness, and seemed to suck out of the darkness It moved through... all traces of light.
Could this be the manifestation of the dreaded Dark Entity: "Baelar," called too, "The Lord of The Underdark?" Was this the doom to their desperate ride? And, how could they fight this thing? They might as well try to fight Moon-mist as over some mere it would drift. How could they prevail in the face of such reckless, dread Evil?
Beckstrider called horses in-reined, and… It was moving towards them... 'nay, It was stalking them. Blacker It grew, as the darkness It drained of all traces of light. Beckstrider made gallop towards this Dreadful Entity. This was his task, and they heard him make loud the War-cry of Fionndell, bold in its calling. If Shahran had seen it, she would have been proud of her old love.
Beckstrider rode into the darkness, a golden wreathed figure, his sword held on high; as It stood before him, far blacker than even the pitch black It stood in, and crept ever closer. It seemed he must ride to his doom. Yet, as he rode beyond their eyes, then, of a sudden, the skies parted clear; flooding The Dark Vale of Windlemoss with golden sunbeams, that in the clouds, made to form shapes... shapes that perhaps, stood in image as the face of a beautiful woman with her eyes closed... as if, in dreaming.
As the sunbeams beset the dread blackness; the most soul-shredding scream rang out... or more than a scream, a most terrible keening and wailing, that echoed the Windlemoss gloom. Such a sound never sprang from the throat of a creature of The Light. It was out of The Abyss. The Blackness began a'writhing, and swiftly faded in the manner that Moon-mist will swirl, and will fade in the fresh morning breeze. In the clearing thereof, they perceived Beckstrider; his sword all shattered and sharded; swaying, fully spent, upon his knees.
The Brotherhood made swift stand to him. He knelt without hurt, but his eyes were distant, vague, and gazing. He spoke of his sword blade shattering; of red, evil eyes, and a woman's voice, softly, gently laid into his thoughts; whispering:
'Beckstrider, stand not in Dread Despair; I hold you safe in my Dreaming, this day.'
The Vale seemingly, was closing in; his temples were throbbing as he stretched out his hands, as if warding away this Thing. Then, a shimmer grew soft between his fingers, all swelling and blossoming, until it shone there; a perfect Golden Orb, shining bright as the zenith, between his outstretched hands. Soothing his black despair, the glow crept, until it fully cloaked his body. Then, from the Golden Orb, stabbed blindingly, spears of bright golden light, piercing the Blackness again, and again; and then, suddenly, he felt he was falling far downward, and downward. On and on down, condemned never to rise. Bathed in soft golden light; falling forever, far and away. Then, he opened his eyes to soft azure skies, and a circle of faces... his Brotherhood, ringing him round in concern; their worry standing full plain in their countenances. They had thought him lost, never for the return.
Beckstrider accomplished his footing, and cast gaze about Windlemoss Vale, now lacking in gloom. The Vale lay bright in the afternoon sunlight, and was, no more, the dark, shadowed lair of the dread Baelar'enin. As he gazed about, came the blare of a Fionndell hunting horn, and riding hard up the Vale, the young Captain of Guard, and the sum of The Brotherhood came galloping back; perhaps, then, to avail themselves needful aid to their Brothers. For as he was ordered away, such orderment stood not well upon the young Captain to so forsake his Brothers in Arms, though Beckstrider had ordered that this thing stood fully needsome. And so, they had returned, with no thought of the consequence. But as they rode, the skies made to clear, drifting the glim from the Vale, and such shadowy things that they saw there, seemed loath to draw near.
The Brotherhood of FionnMhor stood once more in completeness, less the ten and five who fell that day. These were all gathered, and laid in a great cairn as one, 'ere The Brotherhood rode on all down through The Windlemoss Vale, now sun-lit… now naught, but one more valley from out of Eldanore, cleaving the eastern-most Blue Ice Mountains, remote and untrodden since The Suhai War. Beckstrider elected to make full, hard gallop to make early in broach, The Plain of Malphaers. Then, with good fortune; there would be time enough to lay a cunning entrapment to confound the Mordbrood Host in the approach.
Beckstrider rode out of the mouth of the deep cleft that guarded the southernmost throat of Windlemoss Vale; out onto the Plain of Malphaers some score of leagues east of Ling; and to his sight, he could not fail to perceive the dark mass some ten-leagues distantly to the east. The Mordbrood Host were marching in ragged array; made indolent, from the brave slaughter of farmers and ploughboys. They were not to know that The Brotherhood now stood in their path.
The Brotherhood of FionnMhor laid their trap in the tumbledown buttress of Windlemoss Crag; the Algethi fort laid waste in the Suhai Wars, and never rebuilt, by reason that the cliff-face above it made sag and crumble, but as yet, had not tumbled. But tumble it might, and no warning thereto. Beckstrider thought this might stand him a sturdy advantage. Beckstrider was cunning, and he knew that sooner than later, he needs must fall back; for they were slim in number against The Mordbrood. Why not then, entice forth The Mordbrood within the ruins, and then drop the cliff-face upon them to bury them complete? In his sharp thinking, a plan began to form. For though they stood but four-score and five strong... scarcely enough to lay mayhems... perhaps, if they might break the stride of the second Mordbrood Host advancing to fully fatten the First Host for a slender span in passing; then, precious was such time to The Mordbrood denied. For, such time now given to the defenders of Ling stood not for the squander. The Mordbrood were ominously close now, and it was not smoke from some distantly-fired homestead or farm... but Mordbrood camp fires that now smudged in the sky to the east of Ling.