Chapter Nine.

The Keeper of The Dread Imposition.

Eldamar, Lord Guardian of The Light; Lokari of Elisriendell, and Lorimer, Captain of Guard to Queen Cirion of Shandalar, had journeyed northwards to Storien-Rhudd to stand sober Council concerning the plan of Lokari in the matter of engaging the Mordbrood of Valdarthost; as agreed between Eldamar and Khanis; Sire of the Dragon Eyrie of Storien-Rhudd, out on the Yeranoor Woldings, five moons since passed.

As they came closer to the Eyrie upon the high slopes of Great Camas Mhor, Eldamar drew forth a parchment and read from it, the spell discovered in The Tarsius of Yeranoor. This spell would gift them all with the knowing of Charybon Runic tongue, so they might yet fully commune, bereft of confusion, and in manner befitting, with the Dragons there present. This act was not a moment too soon, for there on the rise stood two Great Carad-Lokis... The Red Dragons, who guarded the Eyrie beyond. Eldamar stood forth, saying:

'I am Eldamar, here to Council with Khanis; and this then, is my Bond.'

He laid down his sword, as then, so did the others. The Carad-Lokis bid them progress forth; and so, they strode into the Eyrie of Dragons bare-handed, to show all their words would stand true. There, in the greeting, stood Khanis, beset with The Loki High Council of Storien-Rhudd who sat in a half circle about a great tablet of stone holding great age, and yet, smoothly hewn. On this great tablet were carved strange devices from the spin-drift of Ages, seeming to be some lost, ancient tongue. Eldamar made study, and slowly crept the knowing. T'was "Charyanthe"... The Dream-song tongue of The High Goddess Elaiana… "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being"... or some tongue close in manner to the same. But, why then stood it here brazenly, full to his gaze? For this held age far back from beyond the Beginnings; at the Dawning of the First Age of The Light. Seeing his face full beset with bewilderment, Khanis spoke forth, saying:

'Guardian; t'is plain thou hast the knowing of this here before ye. Pray furnish such knowing 'an Ye would; for there is but one in remain among us who holds the key to this conundrum, and he cloaks his thoughts and will not make the Tell. Perhaps, ye will stand and commune on this matter, for I hold a humour it may bode us fair fortune.'

Eldamar replied; he knew little of this matter. The Charyanthe tongue was thought lost in the Ancient of Days, far back in the Ruin of Chaos. The sum of such knowing were a scant few lines stumbled upon in reading the Codicil of The Great Tarsius of Yeranoor; and therein … no clue to this thing. For such then, as Ghlinngar had written was, but riddle… and riddle would not bring forth the truthing of it. Perhaps, if given leave to make commune with this Loki who held such knowing in cloak, they might arrive at the sum of the answer. And in his words they saw truth, and sense spoke.

So then, Khanis directed Eldamar forth to the far, northern towering rock face that buttressed the Eyrie of Storien-Rhudd and there, stood a great cavern. Its portico was intricately compassed and bound with weathered, carved Charybon Runic devices cut deep into the rock. Eldamar stood before the portico and made full, and careful read... "The Halls of the Keeper of The Dread Imposition," 'Aye, that was a curious Title, indeed!

He stepped within, and followed a long gallery, until before him, opened a chamber wherein sat a mighty, and ancient Mor-Loki... a Black Dragon; with countless summers standing upon and about him. The ancient Mor-Loki was surrounded by young female Dragons in number, who tended his every wont or smallest desire. Eldamar thought wryly, if this were then, dotage... this was a most fortunate Loki, indeed! The young female Dragons stared at Eldamar with greatest suspicion as he made to approach The Mor-Loki, who regarded Eldamar with pale, misty amber eyes, and then, spoke... his words clear and measured.

'Ye are The Lord Guardian of The Light having name, Eldamar. Why ye stand here, I know in sum. Ye seek the truth of yon Charyanthe tablet, though I be forsworn then, to not make the tell. Yet, ye know t'is the Dream-song tongue of The High Goddess Elaiana… "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being," and the need of telling the Tale of the Dread Imposition stands large; for my span methinks, soon shall be run. T'would seem ye stand fully in Her Grace; Eldamar, Lord Guardian of The Light. Thus, the hour stands full nigh to furnish enlightenment upon thee concerning my brethrens' Dread Imposition. So I shall make tell to Ye, and no other; Lord Guardian of The Light, from The Shining Land. For, in laying the tell, I commit the fate of my brethren about here, fully into thy keeping.'

Then he commanded the young female Dragons begone. It was not for them to hear this thing. So, with vexed curiosity standing plain upon them, they made decamp, and he began the tell. His old, amber eyes became distant, as he wandered far back into the Age-mists long passed... back to the time when The Chaos prevailed, and The High Goddess Elaiana dreamed forth Order at last.

Long ago, in The Age of The Beginnings; his brethren forebears stood in Favour and Grace. Dreamed in the young, gentle slumber of Elaiana; they were the first of all Algethi-kind to stand in the lands that would in time yet to come, be all of the lands that lay fully in the sun. They tended her as She dreamed Her Great Dream of Creation, but soon enough, would their Grace be blighted. For, to every equal, there then, is an opposite.

From The Abyss creepingly came The Baelar'enin... the ancient High spirits, who served The Dread Entity, Baelar, who would be called "The Lord of The Underdark," who ever sought to turn back to Evil, The Great Dreaming of Elaiana, thus, plunging all back into Chaos once more, with such Order that stood, ever then, smote down into the Darkness.

But the Forebears had risen, confounding The Baelar'enin and thrusting them back to the Deep Abyss, where Baelar, in his raging, elected to heap a terrible, Dread Imposition upon those who would dare, his Great Plan to undo… his dreadful "Sath-Ninduru" that he would lay forth… The dread, creeping "Night of the Shadows Rising," These contumelious Guardians would be forever blighted. So, he smote them down with the Underdark sorcery. They were plucked each and all, from out of The Dreaming of Elaiana… and fully shorn of all Grace. He transformed them into Dragons; fully shunned, with no hope to ever redeem their Grace or their Dream-form.

They became feared by all living creatures, except for one… the one that Baelar had overlooked in his rage and his venom… the one being She dreamed at the last... the first true, Dream-created Algethi. This Algethi held the name, Lokari... in the Charyanthe tongue, meaning, "The Lord of the Dragons." He stood alone, and gathered together the Dragons who were fully beset with the doom and the fearing. Led by Lokari, they made the long roam all out through the sunlit lands; ever then, seeking some place they might prosper... perhaps, safely brood. At last, on the shoulder of Great Camas Mhor, remote, and fully safe; they found this place: Storien-Rhudd. Elaiana had, in Her Dream of creation, gifted Lokari with knowing the key to the Underdark sorceries... these spiteful impositions which were so recklessly bestrewn by The Dread Entity, Baelar.

There, on the shoulder of Great Camas Mhor in the Eyrie that would be come to be called Storien-Rhudd; Lokari then spied... as if laid there before him for the finding... a mighty stone tablet upon which, he carved fair in Charyanthe tongue, the sum of the key to the Dread Imposition in hope, that in time, there would come one who held the knowing of how The Dread Imposition might be undone.

Down through the ages, the Dragons had prospered unhindered; remote in seclusion. Lokari had long since departed his span, but the Dragons remembered in full constancy, down through generation upon generation, the Algethi who had brought them back into The Light. The one chosen as "Keeper of The Dread Imposition," was ever a Mor-Loki, as black as the night.

'But, Now,'

Spoke the Mor-Loki,

'Cast gaze about thee. In this Hue of countenance, I stand alone. There is no other Mor-Loki about this place. I am the last of my kind; and such was ordained from The Age of The Beginnings; the charge of "The Keeper of The Dread Imposition" should ever grace a Mor-Loki. This, to gift reminding of the unwavering malice we hold unto Darklings who blight this land.'

Now, it stood clear... as if writ plain upon parchment; the sum of this dreadful, blind malice besetting the Dragons of Storien-Rhudd, in concernment of Darklings... and the fiery fluming of each that they found. Eldamar made ponder… could then, the gryphons of The Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere be victims too, of such a Dread Imposition? For their malice also stood full- plain in their ruby eyes. The Mor-Loki spoke again:

'Aye, Lord Eldamar, the path of thy ponderment stands full and true. Thy gryphons indeed, were once Algethi; and for their part, was Dread Imposition fully gifted to them in kind.'

Eldamar laid question. Was here then, the knowing of such tongue? For, with him, it stood not at all. The Mor-Loki answered; t'was long since lost in the misting of Ages... all traces were mislaid, except, there perhaps was one place it might linger. That place was The Land of The Beginnings. Far out to the east stood the Land, by name, Astalan. It was far out of reach; infested as it was now; by The Mordbrood. But, there, in the Land of The Sire of Eldamar, there lay a secret, green valley... t'was hoped, undiscovered by Darklings. For anciently, standing thereby, was a great Dolmen... being a great flat stone laid upon upright ones, in manner of a great table. This Dolmen being the remains of some ancient earthen cairn.

Betwixt the upright stones, wherethrough, at the dawning of the day, the sun softly smiled; t'was whispered this were no less than the portal into The Great Dreaming of The High Goddess Elaiana... wherein, Eldamar could stand, fully beset by The Dream of "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being," and perhaps, find upon his returning, that She had smiled softly upon him and the knowing of the Charyanthe tongue would stand firm in his mind.

The Ancient Mor-Loki then laid on Eldamar, instruction specific, as to where he thought, in far Astalan; lay the secret green valley… by name, Rhonas-Mhoir, deep in the Shire of Ardaltun. The ancient Mor-Loki continued, saying:

'I know of the Covenant ye seek, and it shall be so. Go Ye forth, and make summon, Khanis to my presence. As Ye pass outwardly from this place, apprise my carers to seek not my presence until I have counselled Khanis with urgement, stern. This covenant needs be laid forth in full binding. For much may stand or fall on which way he would turn in this matter concerning the laying of dread doom upon the Mordbrood by Dragon, by Algethi, and by Thuvian; and of lifting the blight of The Dread Imposition.'

Eldamar stepped forth from the great Keeper's cavern and there, to his eyes stood a curious thing. The young female Dragons were all besetting Lokari... as would Algethi maidens so do upon Lammas night. They were all batting eyes, graceful movement; soft whisper, and languid beguilement, and Lokari standing there bewildered, yet, finding this pleasing. Such guileful attendance was a newness to him. Eldamar thought; Dread Imposition once lifted… should these Lokis take form as they were meant to hold, perhaps Lokari would find he had bitten more than he might chew. He would just wait and see.

But then, as he pondered, there came forth Tahkaiia, the young Silver Female with whom he had laid tale of the Darklings that day out on the Yeranoor Woldings. She spoke forth; her words sharp as any sword blade. For she stood beset with a jealous demeanour... even as much as some Algethi maiden spurned. And though she still made lisp, it was not now, gentle, but hissingly turned, and beset with venomous malice. She spoke:

'Get you back to your Master, you doxies, and stand not the Dragon Lord fully in your sight. It stands fully demeaning; your wanton attentions.'

Her eyes glittered amber. The young, female Dragons made cower, and slinkingly distanced Lokari, who stood fully beset with bemusement. Tahkaiia then stood most closely beside him. Eldamar smiled softly, for even and yet, it would seem that Tahkaiia held shine for Lokari, and he, fully unschooled in the wiles, most singular, of females. Yet, here may well stand the first pairing in this endeavour. This thing, indeed, stood perfectly plain to his eyes. And it was clear, that Tahkaiia held sway amongst all the females of Storien-Rhudd; and half the sum gained, was then, half-battle won; and Eldamar knew then, that such prospect held good.

Khanis came forth from the great Keeper's Cavern. His countenance spoke of resolve standing plain. Taking his place at the Charyanthe tablet, The Loki High Council looked to him. He laid forth the Tell of advisement and counsel "The Keeper of The Dread Imposition" had laid forth upon him; and in the hearing, the Council stood silent... a silence so thick, as to cut with a blade. For they had no knowing of "The Dread Imposition"... this venomous spleen of "The Lord of The Underdark." Never then, had it been spoken of... never then, had they imagined that their Forebears were long ago, dreamt forth as Algethi-kind. And, as the rage blossomed; their malice for all Darkling kind stood fully naked in each amber eye. And, with full accord, they elected this covenant sealed and not one stood forth against this thing.

Eldamar, Lokari, and Lorimer stood, and laid out the plan in its bold impudence. They told the tale of the Squadron of gryphons... of riders, of crossbows. All things were spread forth before The Loki High Council of Storien-Rhudd who sat wondrous at the tell. Never, in all of their brightest, imagined tales, had such a bold endeavour been compassed in ponder. And, further; "The Keeper of The Dread Imposition" had gifted to Khanis, a swayment known, but to himself. Lokari of Elisriendell was descended in unbroken line from the first Dream-formed Algethi... he, who had gathered, and brought forth the Dragons cast out by the Underdark sorcery, and led them upon the long roam unto High Camas Mhor. This then, was the key to the lock of this endeavour. Lokari was then, indeed Dragon Lord. The Loki High Council stood full acceptance, and no word was laid forward to impede the plan.

The Council made gatherment of all the boldest young Dragons of Storien-Rhudd, and laid forth the plan in its audacious impudence; and it was seen that the Dragons found it good. They fully embraced such chance as was mooted, to lay forth utter doom on the Darklings... to rid the land once, and for all, of those who would try to enslave Amriath, and bind all the Kingdoms and Realms in black, bitter thrall.

And more; with such ridding, Eldamar could proceed to quest Astalan, seeking out Rhonas-Mhoir and the key to the Charyanthe tablet, by which he might undo The Dread Imposition, thus setting the Lokis free. This was a prize beyond hope, beyond measure; for should he prevail, then Eldamar would stand beset with the knowing of reading the carve of the Charyanthe tablet, as had been foreplanned by the first Dragon Lord in the Ancient of Days. Then, in the reading; The Dread Imposition would be fully smitten down, to bring forth the Lokis back to the dream-form of The High Goddess Elaiana.

But, that was for then; and for now, was the need of the tutorment of this plan, impudent and sweet. Could the Algethi warriors ride upon the Dragons? In the first hard turn, would they not fully unseat themselves, and tumble... perhaps, to their doom? Could they aim a crossbow, firm and true? As he pondered this thing, Eldamar saw Tahkaiia move to Lokari, and saw his question would soon be gifted of an answer. She bent her head to him, and she whispered. Lokari smiled; then she knelt, and Lokari climbed upon her back. She spread forth her wings, and climbed into the sky.

At first, she flew gently and softly, and quietly. She compassed about the reaches of Storien-Rhudd, with each turn slow and flat; watched by all with great perturbation... and yet, to those watching, the sight stood fair. Then, she climbed higher, and flew out more distantly. Her turns slowly became sharper... her speed became greater yet, and then… such calamity was perceived by the watchers... a sight in the sky they would not soon forget. For, as she turned steep... suddenly, from the shoulder of Great Camas Mhor, came a wind that swiftly lifted her wing, and tumbled Lokari full out of his seating, plunging him earthwards to his certain doom.

Far swifter than a falcon could ever turn in the stoop; she swung about in her own length, and dove down; her wings pointing back, as like, the head of an arrow. She rushed, and she caught him 'ere he struck the ground, and there, in her great Dragon talons she held him, as gentle as ever would mother clasp her infant. She landed as soft as a feather upon her hind legs, and Lokari looked at her; laid forth a great sigh of relief, and smiled. Eldamar saw here, a bond beyond friendship, and wondered perhaps, should his quest fully prevail; what form Tahkaiia might hold as an Algethi maiden. For she stood, as a Dragon, most comely, indeed! But, such was 'naught but imagine and whimsy; for they now need question Lokari and Tahkaiia as to what measures be needed to gainsay such fright that most recently gifted their view.

Lokari said there was great need for a saddle of sorts. For the Dragon scales smoothly did slide 'twixt clutch of the legs as the Dragon stood hard in the turning, and t'was simple to forfeit the grip... and perhaps, a bridle to guide... but Tahkaiia gainsaid such a thought.

T'would ever impede the laying of flume, and the shrivelling doom. Instead; why not a collar if there stood the wont? A collar would allow attachment of reins to rider and Dragon, in mutual accord... as bridle did to horse in the mellay of battle. Control, and full guidance to each would then, be gifted.

Thus, furnished with these notions, The High Council, Eldamar, Lokari, and Lorimer debated at length upon tutorment, upon tactics and diverse arrangements; for each and all knew the shadows were gathering out on the Plain of Malphaers. The time of this bold endeavour stood thin to bring all of this thing to full blossom, and they need be swift, and they need be wise. Storien-Rhudd was no place for the practice; the Camas Mhor wind-gustings had shown this were true. The Riggs of Grey Prestor had no place for smithying... for the forging of collars and bridle clasps. The thin dust that wreathed there about would taint the forgings. The Great Northern Plain was too open for secrecy; The Citadel of Shandalar was too small. But, there was one place that would stand to their purpose, and that place was the silent, dread, Corries of Thar.

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The Corries of Thar were abandoned but two summers past, when Cirion ended the banishments; and there still stood the dwellings that would serve as quarters... with most, needing little, perhaps, no repair. And so, t'was agreed and the covenant bonded, to meet in that place within the passing of five moons. Eldamar, Lokari, and Lorimer rode south to gather the artisans, and so began the path that would lead to the Doom of the Darklings... to each and to every one. The Great Suhai War would stand less than some rousting tavern brawl against such doom as now, might be laid upon the heads of these Darkling vermin... this Mordbrood of Valdarthost.

When they took sight of the Towers of Shandalar, then they parted... each to his allotted task. Lokari would ride west to The Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere. T'was a stern ride of at least five Moons. Lorimer would repair to the Shandalar Citadel, and Eldamar would ride away for Khallis to seek the bequest of Cirion, laid upon Thoris Barandor; who stood now as Clan Lord, by reason alone, of the covenant, bonded 'twixt Cirion, and Kyla.

The covenant was revered by the Great Korin-Throng, who stood without issue at the manner of choosing the New Clan Lord as laid by Cirion, with grace and fairness; and 'though she would never speak of it... t'was useful as evincible truth, should Khallis waver. Eldamar, if need be; would lay in the face of Thoris Barandor his debt owed without questionment, to The Shandalar Queen, should then some decryment stand large in Barandor's mind.

But, there was no needing of this aforesaid issue; for he was made fully welcome... more welcome indeed, than he ever had been in the days of his old sword-brother, Filar. Thoris Barandor was out of Erinthor. Erinthoreans held humour gentler than other Thuvians, and held close on three, and one-half cubits in stand... 'nigh as tall as the warrior Algethi from far Elisriendell, beyond The Shining Land. Thus, they were closer to Algethi in stature and humour than they were to their Thuvian kin.

There had been changes in Khallis since Eldamar last stood in the Great Citadel. The Thuvians now looked not to their own, as they had done in earlier times. Filar's demise spoke firm in the tell of the doom that lurked out on the Plain of Malphaers, and of how a single Kingdom could not stand alone. Thoris Barandor, though young in his summers; was wise in instinct, garnered from his Forebear's long roam. Upon hearing the tell of the endeavour in all its boldness and impudence, Thoris gave a slim smile, and asked of Eldamar, what could Khallis offer? And so, they drank Khalmead, and spoke for a while. Eldamar made askance for metal smiths, armourers… perhaps, a bushel or two of leissor. Thoris Barandor bade him take his easement, and strode from the chamber. Presently, a young Khuzud-Mahin maiden entreated Eldamar to come to the Khallis Redoubt; and there in the Courtyard, stood many great wagons.

Thoris had made good his debt without issue. Three of the wagons were laden with great sacks of leissor and plate metal, sturdy, and tough. One was piled high with tanned Mammoth hide leather for reins and for saddles... far more than the sum in wanting. And, were that not enough, there arrayed in the Courtyard, were a score or more metal smiths and armourers, and wagons fully laden with anvils, forge bellows, and engines specific, for shaping and curving plate.

Thoris Barandor smiled softly, and spoke; as Eldamar stood, with his eyes wide, as he gazed at all there displayed to his sight.

'What say you, My Lord Eldamar; will this meet your wantings? For Filar would gift this to you, without doubt. And this…'

He drew forth a small signal horn, laying forth a note that rang clear; and made bid Eldamar, come stand to the Khallis gate. On the air, a soft rumbling grew. There, on the great Khallis Plain, in formation rode fully, three Legions of Khuzud-Mahin; who, in the approachment, stood high in their stirrups, and drew forth their Dushrakhas, saluting Eldamar and Thoris Barandor; who spoke, saying:

'Here be your strength, and your eyes. They will ride Guardian patrol, and compass your journey in sum 'gainst any Darkling surprise. Here is my Bond, and my Covenant to you, as Filar would have laid such Bond, were he here. For when comes the hour for engaging The Mordbrood, then we shall stand with you. I shall set watchers to seek out the signal from the beacon upon the High Watchtower of Ling. Upon that signal, the Flower of Khallis, with sword, and with long-axe, will march forth to join you, and finish this thing. For I have a score that stands long in the settling... the Darkling destruction of far Erinthor, and my Forebear's enslavement in the Second Great Darkness. Their Nemesis slumbered, but slumbers no more, and we shall lay mayhems as only Thuvians may do; shredding The Mordbrood and all of their kind. We shall, together, wipe them from off the face of Amriath, and never more, will Darklings lurk about these lands.'

And with that, Thoris Barandor clasped hand with Eldamar in friendship, and made his farewell. The wagons made rumble out onto the wide plain. The Khuzud-Mahin fell into formation, protecting the caravan all and about, to left, and to right; and to front, and to rear. Half a Legion galloped before them to seek out such Darklings that might lie in the lurk, as they made journey into the far northern Outlands, some ten Sundial shadows ride beyond Shandalar, as had been agreed at The Loki High Council. Onwards they progressed, without issue, towards the silent, dread, Corries of Thar. No Darklings were sighted as the caravan progressed the northern Shandalar plains. T'would seem that this enterprise had taken its first step under the smile of fair fortune.

Meantime; in the Shandalar Citadel; Lorimer laid forth the tell on how this endeavour lay, to Cirion, Gwythlyn, and the Faluan guard. Karina though, was still absent; far away in Rhom, comforting Caron safe in the Palace as her wound slowly mended. Yet, Caron was still fully beset with the terror of what she had seen, and she could not forget the Horanaurks' bright, blood-red eyes leering at her as they stripped her of her armour. She could not forget their drooling at her nakedness, and she made shiver, and whimpered as she slept in Karina's arms, safe through the night.

Cuchulain, Tristan's own churgeon, who tended her, stood content that her wound would mend sweet, but, he held great concern of the night terrors upon her. He decided to gently entreat Karina, when he next stood forth to furnish fresh bandage; perhaps, she should renew gentle lovemaking, and this might, indeed wash away Caron's terrors, for ecstasy smote down all things. Cuchulain held not the thorn of intolerance. T'was not his place to judge whom, the heart chose to love; and it was fully plain they adored each other... and with such a love, he could not disapprove.

Next morning, he softly tapped on the door to their chamber, stepped in, and beheld a most sweet, and tender sight. Young Caron lay, wrapped softly in the arms of Karina; her head, soft breast-pillowed from the chill of the night. Karina made a startled movement... which wakened young Caron, who made to draw out of her arms.

Cuchulain swiftly, bade them take their ease. A movement so sudden, might cause Caron harm, by tearing the stitching he laid with such subtle finesse, to ensure she would mend blemish free. He laid hand softly on Karina's shoulder, and spread forth his thoughts to the lovers in a manner, gentle. But at the word, "lovemaking," suddenly, the sweetest blush filled Caron's cheeks with the prettiest hue... such blush as a dog-rose will bloom in the springtime; and he saw, with no doubting, why Karina so loved this pretty young maiden.

Then; as he was binding fresh bandage about Caron's wound, with the Alfirin Tincture, freshly applied; he spoke... as a mother might counsel a daughter; of carnal excitements which were perhaps, best forsaken... at least, until Caron was mended; for Cuchulain knew the full sum of this feminine art, and he said he would be vexed in extremeness, if over-wild passion caused stitches to pull free. Yet, he spoke with a soft smile; and in this, the maids held no rancour, for they saw that Cuchulain truly cared; and thus, a bond grew swiftly between lovers and churgeon.

He smiled once again, as to the door, he repaired; and spoke, saying he would post guard in the passageway, fully out of hearing... yet close enough by, to dissuade any crass or unseemly intrusion which might cause distress as a'bed, they did lie. Cuchulain was indeed wise in his counsel; for soon and enough; Caron's night terrors flew far and away on the wings of sweet passion, in the soft, healing Kingdom of Lorenfalu.

Far to the west, riding hard; Lokari accomplished the golden meadows by evening's lowering light, and there, before him stood the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere. It lay, a most welcoming sight. Riding to greet him, came Callam and Staisha, and he stood well met by his comrade of old. As they rode up the causeway, Lokari laid forth the tell of the bold endeavour. There, at the great edifice of the Crystal gate, Chelaine and Marcus stood in greeting, impatient to hear of Eldamar's endeavours; impatient to hear if the portents bode well. And, what of this Gwythlyn? Indeed, was she truly half-sister to Marcus, and Cirion, too?

Lokari told of the ride of Eldamar to Yeranoor and of such things that he knew, concerning the Yeranoor maid, by name, Gwythlyn. He spoke of how, as Grand Duchess, she stood in the Court of Shandalar. He told of her eyes... the eyes of her Grandfather, Eldamar… the truth shining out for all to see; eyes of pure Amethyst hue, 'nigh unheard of in Algethi-kind. She was, indeed kin; this was plain to see. Yet, that was enough, there were matters more pressing. Had news of The Mordbrood advance reached them, here?... Of the cloving in twain, on the Plain of Malphaers of The Mordbrood?... Of their progress to southerly-west, spied from the Watchtower of Ling some ten moons since past, and their intent, never needing to be guessed?

T'was, as like, that they would fall upon the City of Rhom, intent on laying waste the Kingdom of Lorenfalu; and storming the High Pass of Ling at the same time, with the intention of cleaving asunder, and thus, confounding the defence. 'Aye, this notion stood true. So, needs must, this endeavour lay now, most pressing.

Marcus spoke...

'Nay, young one, tarry awhile. Your tongue tumbles over your words. Take your ease; let us first eat, then, we may plan with guile.'

So then; they repaired to the shimmering Great Hall, where a Great table, with food and wine lay before them; and there, sat the Riders of Lothleitha, and the Algethi out of Elisriendell. Who laid a great cheer upon sight of Lokari, begrimed and dusted from his epic ride from out of Shandalar in the space of five moon shadows... and he was 'nigh spent, it could not be denied. But, yet... they elicited all informations that they could garner, and each question was met with grace by Lokari, albeit, he stood most weary. For they deserved truthfulness, 'though he thought they had no grasp of the knowing of what faced them far out on the Plain of Malphaers.

These bright-eyed young maidens and Algethi from the Greening saw only adventure; fully blind to the fears their Elders had tasted in conflict with Darklings. And, Darklings were as 'naught, compared with this breed... this Mordbrood of Valdarthost, marching upon them. These vermin were advancing upon them at frightening speed. Watching their innocent courage... the laughter, the jesting; across his mind, a shadow crept. He knew that to prevail in the face of The Mordbrood, their chance stood slim... indeed, they had slim chance at all. But wisely, he thought to keep close-held, his counsel. There was no cause to demean this bright hope in the west; for soon enough, would the truth dawn upon them. Soon enough, would they be called to stand to the test.

Far to the north, in The Corries of Thar; the forges bellowed by day, and by night. The air rang unending, with hammer on anvil as the armourers plied their art. The great rolling engines thundered; curving armour plate. Out in the bothies, the saddlers toiled with the cutting and stitching of tanned Mammoth hides, crafting the saddles and reins for the Lokis; and each stitch thus set, was laid with careful pride... as if, t'were set upon a Thuvian war saddle. For only the best stood to this endeavour... for span to the ground stood much further from Loki, than from horse if the stitching should fail whilst the Loki flew. Down in the cavern that once stood as dungeon, wherein, Gilmar defiled Karina in lust; the metal smiths moulded the buckles and fitments, safe from the taint of the thin, wind-blown dust.

At the throat of the Corries of Thar, like some grim overseer, Gilmar the Meditor hung, bleach-boned in his chains; clinking and clattering in the pale wind as it tugged at his remains. His mournful, dread melody went unnoticed; cloaked as it was, by the bellow and ring of forge and of anvil; the scrape and clang of file and hammer. Forgotten, his grisly bones softly swung in the wind… a grim, and awful warning of Justice complete; and none paid him any heed, as full-fettered, he hung. For, with much to be done, and with scant time to accomplish it, scarce a glance was cast towards his clattering bones.

One by one, out of Storien-Rhudd; the Lokis made flight to the Corries of Thar for fitting with collar of metal, and saddle, and harness of leather. T'was hoped to avert such calamity as befell young Lokari on his first flight with Tahkaiia that day; and though, one or two were most wilfully stubborn; at length, all the Lokis were fitted with harness and saddle. Yet, it must be told, there were diverse amusements as ill-fitting collars were sized whilst in place. The merest huff of vexation from the Loki, and the metal-smith would endure a mild singe.

But, soon enough, all the Lokis were fitted, and the armourers made tallies of fitment, each to the Loki by name to the fitment; then all were stored away, so that none were mislaid. For, when came the hour, swiftly then, need the Lokis be collared and saddled, and made ready to fly... for swiftly, would The Mordbrood break upon them; and if not ready, then swiftly they might all embrace their doom.

The Algethi out of Elisriendell journeyed northwards to Shandalar, to choose the Faluan guards they thought most fitting for riding the Lokis, and they were pleased that the choice was not hard. Cirion's guard stood enthralled by this endeavour. Many stood forward. Thirty were chosen from amongst them... a score of them, sword-maids. Then, they rode out to The Corries of Thar. The first eight moons were spent in the skill of accomplishing the riding of the Lokis, far up in the sky. The next eight, in learning the skills of the crossbow, without piercing Loki... or rider, who flew beside them.

The Algethi out of Elisriendell then made tutorment in tactics specific for Squadron affray, bound on the rules of engagement of Algethi Cavalry, but 'bellished in most subtle of manner, learned from the wise hand of Callam, and honed on their riding the gryphons, that summer previous. Soon enough, then, the Faluan guards fully embraced this diverse tutorment, and stood ready to prosecute the coming war.

As autumn fell; the Corries of Thar were stripped of all sign that they had ever been there. The caravans rumbled to Khallis and Shandalar, bearing equipments and tools, leaving bare, the huts and the barns and the bothies, with no clue for the Darklings to find... not a hint of this thing. The only things that remained were the bare, bleached bones of Gilmar, who swung in the wind with a soft tinkling. The Lokis returned over Great Camas Mhor, back to the High Eyrie of Storien-Rhudd, and laid forth the tale to The Loki High Council, who sat in contentment, and saw it was good.

Lorimer sat in the High Council Chamber of Shandalar, and laid an earnest debate. Should they not look to strengthen the Low Riggs of Striding Edge with some Redoubt? For the hour stood late, and the only defence between the Plain of Malphaers, and Shandalar was the High Watchtower of Ling; and it would take small sum of thew to lay waste to that edifice. Ominous, his voice in the Chamber did ring.

Cirion and Gwythlyn sat silent, awaiting the Council's reply to this warning. After much coughing and murmur, and fidget, Stannard the Chancellor stood forth saying, much as he saw the soundness of argument, Shandalar's coffers stood low, in extreme. The Council had judged this thing far too expensive. Perhaps, Revetments would serve as in place of a Great Redoubt?

Cirion stood, and quietly crossed the Great Chamber, turning, to full-face the Council; her eyes hard and cold. Had they forgotten the last time they had gainsaid her? Were their memories so feeble and faded? Were they then, so old, as not to remember that Lorimer was indeed Captain of Guard, who knew how this thing lay? And the wont of Lorimer was the wont of The Queen; and who among them now, would yet again gainsay her?

And, so; in the Low Riggs of Striding Edge, through the late autumn, was raised up a Mighty Redoubt spanning the flanks of the Icy-blue crags, and denying the Mordbrood a path to the wide plains that lay about the Shandalar Citadel, and thence, on to Yeranoor, and all the lands that lay far into the west. Lorimer's plan denied the key to the Kingdoms, and soon and enough, t'would be put to the test.

Cirion thought that the time stood ripe before them to visit the High Watchtower of Ling again, to cast gaze out over the Plain of Malphaers and see if the Mordbrood were yet, much closer in their approach. So, Cirion, Gwythlyn; Moyna, and Lorimer, armoured in manner of Faluan guard, made ready to ride. The young Lukas entreated… could he ride with them? Denying him stood hard upon them. He so wanted to prove his braveness to Moyna… to prove he was no more, a boy; and so they agreed. There was no danger lurking. He ran for his armour, his eyes full of rejoicing.

They rode out through the Redoubt to the High Pass of Ling at Eventide, as the sun was settling into the west. Soon enough, the towering High Watchtower stood before them. But then, they perceived a most ominous thing. No light shone forth from the casements, and there was no sound… were they all then, sleeping? They reined in and dismounted as one, and softly approached the great, wide-open doorway. Then… something wet, dripped from above. They looked up, and there hung something that once, had been The Captain of Watch… the one Cirion had berated for his sloth and his indolence on her last visit. But now, he cared not at all for berating... for he was 'naught, but red shreds and tatters. He seemed to lack bones to both legs, and to both arms.

Lorimer soft whispered…

'Horanaurks,'

And all their senses were sharpened with sudden alarm. For there too, within, sprawled two more watchers, both filleted as neat as a fishwife will fillet a trout. Now, swords were drawn as they compassed the Watchtower, searching far up, and around and about, but finding nothing. The Watchtower sat gloatingly empty and silent... as silent as a grave.

Cirion turned, to climb the stairs to the watch platform, then suddenly, there came the shriek of an arrow, and Lukas swiftly threw himself forward, protecting his Queen. The arrow took him hard; full square in the chest. He fell into the arms of his lover... his Moyna. He looked lost, and frightened. He had tried his best to protect his Queen.

Gwythlyn slipped silently out of the door of the Watchtower. Now Ghlinngar's instruction would stand her full advantage. She quietly drew forth the great sword named "Gurthelkaa", also called "Icing Death," as she moved in the darkness, soft as a gazelle in the forest deeping. Here, was the art of the Wraith-Hunter, so patiently tutored; she moved like Moon-mist on the Cornflower-Blue Mere.

A Shadow! She suddenly struck; and a strangled shriek echoed all down the Pass, piercing and sharp. And there lay a Horanaurk, split full asunder, from temple to hip, with but a single sword stroke.

The others ran to her, and gazed at the carnage, and, it was some time before a single word was laid forth. For they had no knowing of Gwythlyn's sword prowess, for she made no issue of her skill with a blade. But, this... this rag of black ruin before them, stood proving that Darklings indeed need be sorely a'feared of The Grand Duchess of Shandalar. For this vermin was Horanaurk. T'was consummately vexsome to separate them from their loathsome span… yet here, Gwythlyn had prevailed with, but a single sword stroke; and amazement stood great upon them.

But, this was not the time for amazing. Thence, back to the Watchtower they made swift return, and there in the Watchtower, knelt Moyna, gently cradling Lukas. They saw in her face, bleak despair for her young lover. Her tears tumbled her cheeks bitterly, softly... for Lukas held lips that were swift-turning blue. Her tear-brimming eyes looked to them, but saw them not. Her Lukas was dying, and nothing to do but to watch him, as he slowly faded... as eventide fades into darkness. His eyes searched his Moyna's face... frightened, bewildered; seeking some answer there, as to his plight.

But then, from without; having compassed the Watchtower, and finding no more Darklings; strode Gwythlyn in haste. Seeing the tragedy spread there before her, she laid hand to her sword belt, where snugly lay a small phial of Oil of Alfirin... so rare as to be thought, but whisper and dream. Indeed, the score of the sum of quantity she had here would, as like, purchase victuals enough, to feed the Shandalar Citadel for close on the passing of a summer. Common Tincture of Alfirin was to be had in copious amount, but Oil of Alfirin… that was a differentness. For every sester of Tincture, there was, at most, one drop of Oil of Alfirin to be had.

She moved swiftly to where Lukas fadingly lay; grasped firm, the black arrow, and carefully drew it from him... and with a swift movement, cast it to one side. She then laid the Oil of Alfirin deep into the piercing, and not a moment too soon; for between his lips grew a glow, all palesome golden. His Charas was stirring; but then, it softly faded, and they all knew it was not this night that his Charas would rise out; not this night, would it seek Sathulinan.

Slowly, but slowly, his lips lost their blueness, though he held countenance still, of a deathly pallor. But, it was enough. They gazed in awe and wonderment at the soft kiss of the Alfirin, as slowly, the pallor of death left young Lukas, as he swam up from the depths of his doom. Much later, then; as he stood stronger, they shunned that blighted tower to ride back to Shandalar; but in their fretting, they thought not to look into the east, or they would have seen the campfires much closer now, in their ominous twinkling.